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 LI E> R.AR.Y 
 
 OF THE 
 
 UNIVERSITY 
 
 or ILLINOIS 
 
 8J13 
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 ^^ ^^^' 
 
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 v„.„
 
 ANNIS WAELEIGH'S 
 FOETUNES. 
 
 BY HOLME LEE, 
 
 AUTHOR OF 
 
 *' SYLVAN holt's DAUGHTEE," "wAEP AXD WOOF," 
 
 ETC. ETC. 
 
 IN THREE VOLUMES. 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
 LONDON: 
 SMITH, ELDER AND CO., 65, CORNHILL. 
 
 M.DCCC.LXm.
 
 IThe right of Translation is reserved^]
 
 ?5 3 
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 L, OF THE PIRST VOLUME, 
 
 ;^ — 
 
 "*■ PAKT FIEST. 
 
 THE ELDER GENERATION". 
 
 Jhap. Page 
 
 \i I. The Eldee Ge>t:eation 1 
 
 (^ n. At WHnfSTA>-E Tower_ 66 
 
 m. The Old Hurtlemere House 90 
 
 rv. Two Strings to his Bow 125 
 
 V. In the Winterly Weather 152 
 
 VI. Married for Money 175 
 
 Vn. Sir Laurence Warleigh 197 
 
 "^ PAET SECOND. 
 
 ^ SIR LAURENCE'S LITTLE WILDLING. 
 
 I. Annis at Hurtlemere 223 
 
 v^"- 
 
 ^ n. Oliver Warleigh's Second Embassy 263 
 
 5 
 
 4.
 
 Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 
 in 2009 with funding from 
 
 University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/anniswarleighsfo01leeh
 
 AMIS WAELEIGE'S FOETMES. 
 
 PART FIRST. 
 
 THE ELDER GENERATIOX. 
 CHAPTER THE FIRST. 
 
 HOME. 
 
 Glad sight whenever new with old 
 Is joined through some dear home -bora tie ; 
 
 The Hfe of all that we behold 
 Depends upon that mystery. — TVordswokth. 
 
 I. 
 
 It was like a dream ! From her own window — the 
 window of her own dear old room at home — Rachel 
 Withers was looking over the wide moorland, wrapt 
 in its rich purple August mantle, where the sunset 
 glowed with a fervent heat, and the winds that were 
 never still frolicked roughly by in their breezy play ; 
 TOL. I. 1
 
 2 ANNIS WAELEIGH'S FORTUNES. 
 
 over the ripening cornfields, and lully pastures, and 
 warm-scented fir-woods to Hurtle-Force, where the 
 river rushed down the rocks in two great silvery 
 leaps, then, in a shallow, stone-encumbered bed, 
 wound its devious way through the beautiful little 
 valley, past the church, past Prior's Mill, under the 
 steep arch of Riccall bridge, by BrafFerton and 
 •Floyd's Seat, to the wider levels of the plain, where 
 it was lost in a hazy glory of gold and crimson 
 evening clouds. 
 
 Oh ! the delight of being at home again in these 
 wild, familiar scenes ! The people welcomed them 
 back as they might have welcomed kinsfolk, and 
 an exile of six years had only made their old pastor's 
 children love them better. There was very little 
 change either within or without the rectory. A few 
 faces of ancient friends had disappeared, and some 
 of the unkempt bairns had grown up into rough- 
 hewn men and women ; but there had been no 
 wholesale emigrations such as occur in less isolated 
 places, and all the families were still where they 
 were. The parish was wide and scattered, but 
 John Withers was vigorous, and hard walking never 
 came amiss to him, any more than it had done to his 
 father. He was off up the dale now to the Hurtlemere 
 House, where Sir "William Warleigh was staying for
 
 HOME. 3 
 
 the shooting. Rachel would have accompanied him, 
 but they did not know who was there besides; 
 Laurence they were sure was abroad, and the girls 
 had not appeared at church yet ; while sleek, crafty, 
 velvet-gloved Oliver with the claws was never a 
 favourite of hers. 
 
 In-doors they were quite settled already. As 
 
 j^Ir. Brooke took the household plenishuig off their 
 
 hands when they went away, so they had taken it 
 
 back off his widow's hands when she was obliged to 
 
 leave. Thus, each piece of furniture was an intimate 
 
 acquaintance, and as the Brookes were a thrifty, 
 
 childless couple, nothing looked the worse for its 
 
 alien service. The carved oak that their parents 
 
 gathered together when they were married, suited 
 
 the wainscoted rooms ; for, if quaint and cumbrous, 
 
 it was also rich. It was a pleasure inexpressible for 
 
 Rachel to help John in putting the precious volumes 
 
 of their father's library up on then' old shelves, and, 
 
 as nearly as they could recollect, in their old places, 
 
 until, now that they were arranged, they looked as if 
 
 they had never been away. The garden had been 
 
 beautifully kept in their absence, and Kester Greaves, 
 
 who was the Brookes' odd man, remained with them 
 
 in the same capacity ; Mary Deane, the cook, also 
 
 stayed, and Phemie, her cousin, as housemaid ; and 
 
 1—2
 
 4 ANNIS WAELEIGH'S FORTUNES. 
 
 they, with two dogs and a cat, made up the Withers' 
 present domestic establishment. 
 
 Their old friends the Andersides were at Brafferton 
 still, but the grey curate was gone — promoted to 
 a parsonage of his own amongst the Potteries — and a 
 Ml'. Gilsland worked in his stead. He was a Trinity 
 man like John Withers, but took his degree a year 
 earlier. Their acquaintance was very slight while at 
 Cambridge, but they seemed disposed now to cultivate 
 each other's society ; and Mr. Gilsland congratulated 
 himself loudly on meeting with a civilized companion 
 amongst the barbarians, as he called the canny dales* 
 folk. Rachel was surprised that he did not appreciate 
 them more highly ; the rough humour and strong 
 practical sense that distinguished them were traits of 
 character which she thought most men would have 
 valued. A plain, home-spun race they undeniably 
 were, and blunt and independent in their ways, but 
 also they were full of honest self-respect and of a 
 simple, sincere kindliness that usually proved most 
 attachable qualities between priest and people. John 
 Withers vowed that he would rather lay his bones in 
 the dust of Hurtledale than migrate even to a 
 bishopric, and of the same counsel was his sister; 
 for oh, how bonnie the familiar landscape looked 
 that night, how freshly the native air blew in on her
 
 HOME. 5 
 
 brow through the open window ! She could almost 
 have cried for joy when she thought they were at 
 home once more — at liome once more ! 
 
 Their father had been rector of Hurtledale for 
 nearly forty years, and had survived the loss of his 
 wife only three months, dying a few days after his 
 son's ordination. John was Rachel's elder by ten 
 years ; he was the firstborn of his mother, and she 
 w^as her little recklincr. Of the three children who 
 came between them not one outlived the perils of 
 infancy. They left home, therefore, in the early 
 days of their mourning, brother and sister, alone in 
 the world, yet they left it divided ; John to go to his 
 first curacy in Wales, and Rachel to encounter the 
 unknown hardships of life at school. It was terrible 
 to look forward to, but, after all, she was veiy happy 
 there. She would not have forgotten any of the 
 time between then and now if she could, or any of 
 the Mends she found amongst her young companions. 
 There was great pleasure m that enthusiasm of girls' 
 love, and she counted those white days long on which 
 their letters came ; though she had begun to see that 
 the glory of it must soon pass away, and that already 
 two or three were falling off from the list, absorbed 
 into hopes and cares and duties other than those of 
 visionary youth.
 
 6 ANNIS WARLEIGH'S FORTUNES. 
 
 John laughed at her romance, but he had quite 
 as strong a genius for friendship as herself. Were 
 not Arthur Hill and he almost more than brothers ? 
 It was always gala-day when they two met after 
 ever so brief a separation, and John was the better 
 for it a whole month after. They were not likely 
 to come together at present however, for Arthur 
 Hill had just gone abroad as travelling tutor with 
 a young Scotch nobleman, and was not to return 
 to Hurtledale for a year or more. John had hoped 
 to catch him, were it only for a single day, before 
 his departure; but the first news he heard when 
 he arrived at the rectory with his sister was, that 
 Arthur Hill had been over the previous evening 
 to see if they were come, as he was setting off to 
 Carlisle to join his charge early on the following 
 day. This was a great disappointment to both, and 
 it seemed the more grievous that they had thus 
 missed each other by only a few hours. But except 
 this one cross to their anticipations, the AVithers' had 
 had a perfectly happy return to Hurtledale.
 
 HOME. 
 
 IT. 
 
 Rachel Withers -^-as a sensible, well-principled, 
 every-day young woman, not pretty, but pleasing ; 
 plump, rosy, good-humoured and healthy; not ro- 
 mantic to look at, but with a fund of real romance 
 in her heart. She was oi:e of those happy-tempered 
 people w^ho never quite outlive their illusions. Any 
 child of average expertness might have taken her 
 in, for she never suspected bad motives or was 
 afflicted with mean suspicions. She believed all the 
 world to be as sincere, straightforward, and kindly 
 disposed as herself; but do not from this argue her 
 a fooL She was only eighteen, and had lived her 
 life hitherto amongst honest people. 
 
 She esteemed it a happy fate to be elected her 
 brother's housekeeper on leaving school, instead of 
 having to turn out into the world to fight her way 
 amongst strangers — a possibility which judicious 
 friends had considered it a duty to keep well before 
 her eyes during the progress of her education, that 
 she might be broken in to the idea of work if it 
 became practically desirable in the end that she 
 should undertake it. If John should marry, then 
 the chances were that she would have to go adrift 
 on some course of her own, for though she had a
 
 8 ANNIS WARLEIGH'S FORTUNES. 
 
 little money she had not a competence; but that 
 might be a long day first, and as previsions of evil 
 are foolish, and she was of a cheerful disposition, she 
 put them resolutely away from her mind, and would 
 none of their harassment. 
 
 She soon began to have her share of the parish 
 work tolerably well in hand. There was no extreme 
 poverty amongst the people. It was possible to 
 know the ways and means of every man, woman, and 
 child in the dale, and to prevent by timely aid of one 
 kind or another the sharp pinch of such necessity as 
 often cripples the poor of great towns in seasons of 
 scarcity. The faces of the little ones at school were 
 full and ruddy enough, and when the bairns are not 
 pined things are never much amiss with the locker at 
 home. Her chief misgiving as to how she should get 
 on in her office of purveyor of the rectory charities, 
 was that she could not bear to see physical want 
 of any kind without wishing to relieve it; and 
 experienced persons warned her that such appear- 
 ances were apt to be deceitful ; she could not offer a 
 good book and advice in lieu of bread and brands if 
 signs of hunger and a cold hearthstone met her eyes ; 
 and she would certainly rather give to six who had 
 no need, and who were taking her in, than send one 
 poor body faint and empty away. By and by, like*
 
 HOME. 9 
 
 other beginners, she would learn to discriminate 
 between real and feigned or earned distress, John 
 encouragingly said, but meanwhile she must not 
 expect to go quite scot-free from mistakes and their 
 vexatious consequences. Mary Deane promised to be 
 a great assistance to her when she was in doubt 
 or difiScultj; a shrewd dales-woman herself, and 
 many years servant at the rectory, she was beforehand 
 with those who tried to impose on her young 
 mistress ; but at the same time she was always 
 ready with a good word for such as deserved one. 
 She mentioned Effie Benson, for instance, as a worthy 
 woman both meriting and requiring little occasional 
 helps. 
 
 " She puts on a fair face afore folk, but she's worse 
 off than a many that looks downright starved," was 
 Mary's testimony. " She's that clean you might eat 
 your dinner off of her stone floor, and that proud she 
 would not beg bit nor sup if she were dying o' want. 
 They are often that way — them that has seen better 
 days. There's handsome things in her house, and 
 the walls is her own, and the roofs her own, and the 
 patch o' ground's her own, but I'm thinking that's 
 well nigh all she has except the four pounds o' rent 
 she gets for the paddock that's let to Robb at Prior's 
 Mill. And she's past work if ever she were fit for
 
 10 ANNIS WARLEIGPI'S EORTUNES. 
 
 much, which maybe she wasn't. She knitted socks 
 for old master; but Mr. Withers doesn't happen 
 wear worsted socks ? " Yes, he did, and that reminded 
 Rachel that he would want new ones for the coming 
 winter : therefore Effie should have the pins and the 
 yarn to-morrow. 
 
 Then amongst those Mary would fain have dis- 
 couraged, there was Ally Wray, whom Rachel recol- 
 lected at perpetual feud with her old man, since 
 whose death she had come out quite a changed 
 character — at least as far as tongue goes. When 
 Rachel went to pay her her first visit Ally whined, 
 and shook her head, and talked goody in the most 
 amazing manner ; lamenting her dear Cranky — with 
 whom she had quarrelled actively and passively every 
 day of his life — as if they had been the most affec- 
 tionate and united couple in the dale. " Auld Cant," 
 Mary called her, and doled out her share of soup 
 with grumbling reluctance. Mr. Anderside had a 
 queer story against two of his nieces, simple, worthy 
 ladies, whom she had completely hoodwinked with 
 her pious talk. They put her into a pathetic httle 
 tract, and when they left Hurtledale, they sent copies 
 of it to the school for distribution ; since which reve- 
 lation of her successful pretences. Ally had been 
 esteemed by her neighbours wickeder than ever;
 
 HOME. 11 
 
 indeed the flimsy romance was a study more curious 
 than edifying to those who knew Ally's choice 
 familiar phrases, her fables and her hypocrisies ; but 
 Auld Cant though she was, Rachel would not curtail 
 her of her flannel or her soup, even at Mary's 
 indignant suggestion; for she was nearly destitute, 
 and had only a half-witted son to work for her. 
 
 The village school-mistress was a fagged, lean, white 
 little woman who always looked at the last gasp of 
 weariness ; but she contrived to get through her 
 business well, and to make the girls neat plain sewers. 
 To Rachel's great satisfaction she found none of them 
 cobbling at bits of coarse, muslin embroidery, and the 
 most primitive notions of usefulness still prevailed 
 amongst them. The schoolmaster had also a jaded 
 and over-worked appearance, and he worried the boys 
 with too much preaching; but he and his wife were 
 a respectable, worthy couple, and when they had 
 a better system to go upon would neither wear out 
 themselves nor their scholars so much as they had 
 done. Mrs. Brooke confessed to Rachel that she 
 never could take a real interest in the schools ; con- 
 sequently they were not well overlooked, and many 
 things would bear improvement. 
 
 Mr. Gilsland was pleased to laugh at what he 
 called Rachel's laborious energy as a reformer —
 
 12 ANNIS WARLEIGH'S FORTUNES. 
 
 though indeed she had accomplished nothing yet — 
 and to predict speedy fatigue. " New brooms sweep 
 clean/' said he, speaking proverbially; "but they 
 wear out and grow slack at their work in time. For 
 my part, I know no more unthankful duty than that 
 of trying to raise the condition of these cloddish 
 barbarians." 
 
 Rachel could not agree with him, neither could 
 John ; but then they had been born and bred amongst 
 the people, and were as familiar with their sterling 
 virtues as with their harsh speech and rough manners. 
 This Mr. Gilsland was not. He had come amongst 
 them a stranger, apparently with pre-conceived notions 
 of rustical picturesqueness and simplicity ; and being 
 rudely disenchanted by his first impressions, did not 
 seem to have cared to try whether the ore below the 
 surface was worth labouring or not; and thus he 
 found no pleasure in a lot which had some of the 
 happiest opportunities in the world. John Withers 
 endeavoured to convince him of his error ; for he did 
 not like to see a man falling weary of his duties, and 
 yielding to discouragement without an effort to with- 
 stand its deadening influence; but his success was 
 very partial ; for Mr. Gilsland was not a person 
 easily moved to give up a prejudice when his per- 
 sonal tastes and refinements were involved therein.
 
 HOME. 13 
 
 III. 
 
 When John Withers and his sister came home 
 again to Hurtledale, IMrs. Sara Grandage, Rachel's 
 godmamma, was away in Scotland, but she presently 
 returned, and on the morrow after they heard of her 
 arrival, they went over to pay her a visit in her 
 delicious old nest at Prior's Bank. She vivaciously 
 declared herself neither a day older nor a day worse 
 than when they left her six years before, and was as 
 full of pleasant, satirical speeches as ever. Bitter- 
 sweet was the old lady's name with them formerly, 
 and Bittersweet would she be as long as there was an 
 atom of her left. They found her in the garden, 
 leaning on her tall stick, and presiding over the 
 labours of three weeding boys, to whose diligence she 
 gave anything but commendatory testimony. 
 
 " One boy is a boy," said she ; " two boys are 
 half a boy, and three boys are no boy at all, unless 
 you have your eye on them at every moment." And 
 then she marshalled them round the bank, pointing 
 out her alterations and confessing with much truth 
 that her pet shrubs took almost too much exercise for 
 health in their transplanting and re-transplanting. 
 The main features of the place would continue always 
 the same in their romantic beauty, but every little
 
 14 ANNIS WARLEIGIl'S FORTUNES. 
 
 detail seemed to have undergone a change since the 
 Withers' saw it last. There was a new wild-flower 
 walk winding round by the river under the ash-trees 
 that was charming. Mrs. Sara Grandage had had 
 the plants brought from far and near, and even from 
 abroad to garnish it ; and in the spring it looked like 
 fairy-land with its splendour of gentian and violet, 
 primrose and anemone, bluebell and daffodil, oxer- 
 hung and mingled in with rare choice ferns which 
 flourished luxuriantly in the warm, moist, sheltered 
 nooks of the rocks. Rachel felt tired after theu' 
 three-mile walk, but her godmamma was as brisk as a 
 bee, and kept them out full an hour in the sun before 
 she dared plead a reasonable fatigue. Twice John 
 tried to beguile her indoors, but she would not go 
 until she pleased, and then it was almost time to set 
 out on their return. She insisted, however, on their 
 remaining to drink tea, and bribed John to consent 
 by promising them the pony carriage ancf Clip, her 
 factotum, to drive them home in the moonhght over 
 the moor. 
 
 Whether Bittersweet grew older or not must be 
 left to her own feelings, but she certainly grew 
 smaller in the world. As she sat perched in her 
 high-cushioned chair before the table, daintily sipping 
 her costly tea, Rachel thought she had never seen
 
 HOilE. 15 
 
 anything human so v/ee or so witch-like. Malice 
 twinkled in her bright black eye, and what in other 
 old folk's faces wonld be called crowsfeet, in hers were 
 the curls of laughter and of merry mockery that had 
 not yet by any means mocked or laughed their last. 
 
 '' Well, Johnny man," said she, after critically con- 
 sidering him for several silent minutes ; " your 
 beard is grown, and it is not red after all — perhaps 
 you are not such a pepper-box as you used to be ? 
 Clip protests you are grand in the pulpit — six foot if 
 you are an inch. And he allows that you preach 
 middlin\ I shall come and hear you myself, though 
 what a lad like you can have to tell an old woman 
 who has known sixty years of the ups and downs of 
 the world I cannot guess ! I hope you don't give 
 more than twenty minutes' sermon? I never had 
 much taste for long sermons since I fell asleep under 
 your grandfather's, which had as many heads as 
 Hydra and always hummed over the hour. If they 
 could all have hummed together it would have 
 abridged the discourse and have been a mighty 
 improvement." 
 
 The old lady then turned her pointed observation 
 on Rachel, and was graciously pleased to say that she 
 had not come home spoilt, so far as she could 
 detect. "John has appropriated more than his share
 
 16 ANNIS WARLEIGII'S FORTUNES. 
 
 of the family beauty, but your face will wear well. 
 Mistress Rachel," continued she. "It will wear 
 well, and you will be handsomer at eight-and-thirty 
 than you are at eighteen ; and eight-and-thirty is a 
 very trying period for a woman, let me tell you, 
 especially if she be single. I call it the grizzling age 
 when one is neither old nor young, and when what- 
 ever is ugly in temper or character comes out and 
 stamps the countenance for the rest of a lifetime. 
 Cultivate your cheerfulness, my dear, and your 
 faculty of enjoying little present pleasures, and you 
 will find yourself at sixty lively and evergreen 
 still." 
 
 Then she gossiped of her friends and neighbours 
 near and remote; told her young guests how she 
 thought Kitty Anderside had done foolishly in re- 
 fusing to accompany the grey curate to the Potteries ; 
 how Mr. Gilsland was not — in her opinion — worth 
 his shoe-leather as a hill-pastor; how Sir William 
 Warleigh had driven his elder son abroad by his 
 persecutions; how Oliver had contracted a prudent 
 marriage with a well-dowered widow lady consider- 
 ably older than himself; and how, finally, the girls 
 were just as solitary and neglected as ever. 
 
 " Mrs. Damer Warleigh of Bristowe is their one 
 friend," said she ; " and even her dauo^hters do not
 
 HOME. 17 
 
 go to Whinstane. In fact no gentlewoman but Mrs. 
 Darner Warleifjli ever does 2:0 to Wliinstane. Sir 
 "William boozes with Lis grooms and other question- 
 able company — the only company he can command 
 — and she would stay away but for a promise she 
 made to their mother when she was dying. Somebody 
 told me they were up at the Hurtlemere House now 
 with their father, but I have never seen them about ; 
 perhaps he will not let them go beyond the gates 
 here any more than at Whinstane." 
 
 John AVithers said he could not enlighten her. 
 When he paid his visit of ceremony Sir William was 
 out in the woods, and the great pew in the church 
 had been unoccupied last Sunday. Sir William had 
 not called at the rectory since, and they had seen no 
 one from the Hurtlemere House of whom they could 
 inquire. But if the girls were really there, he hoped 
 Rachel would see them soon and renew their ac- 
 quaintance. 
 
 ly. 
 
 The evening next after this, Mr. Anderside spent 
 at the rectory, and on some reference being made by 
 Rachel Withers to Sir William Warleigh and his 
 peculiar ways, the old gentleman startled his host by 
 
 VOL. I. 2
 
 18 AKKIS WAELEIGlfS FORTUNES. 
 
 exclaiming contemptuously, " Sir William is a War- 
 leigh by name only — not one drop of the blood of 
 that ancient and respectable stock flows in his veins ! 
 Colonel Warleigh of Penslaven picked him up by 
 mischance during a night-ride from his cousin's 
 house at Bristowe — an ugly, wide-mouthed, swarthy 
 brat, dropped by some travelling tinker's drab, and 
 left to perish in the snow. The colonel was not 
 commonly a humane man — rather the reverse, indeed 
 — but he heard the child squeal, dismounted, lifted it 
 put of the mire, and carried it home to Penslaven, 
 when the kitchen- wenches brought it up in conjunc- 
 tion with the grooms until it developed into the 
 wickedest imp that perhaps ever came on earth for 
 the furtherance of its father's business ! " 
 
 This was one of the secrets that everybody knows, 
 and that nobody much cares to talk about. The cir- 
 cumstances happened long before Rachel or John 
 Withers was born — full fifty years ago — but they 
 were not of a nature to be forgotten until after the 
 lapse of generations. Neither John nor his sister 
 had, however, any knowledge of them beyond com- 
 mon report, which had clouded the original event with 
 a haze of supernatural traditions, the property of every 
 winter fireside story-teller in the dales. They were 
 glad therefore to have lit upon an authentic source of
 
 HOME. 19 
 
 information, and Mr. Anderside was probably the most 
 authentic now in existence ; for he had been curate at 
 Penslaven when the incident took place. John and 
 Rachel both questioned him, and he told them the 
 story as far as he knew it ; premising that his old 
 patron, the colonel himself, had done his utmost to 
 envelope the beginnings of it in mystery, and to dis- 
 courage any inquiry that might have brought the 
 simple facts to light. 
 
 The world in general and Colonel Warleigh's near 
 connexions in particular, he said, excused his eccen- 
 tricities on the plea that he was rather mad ; and 
 some such plea was needed when, having quarrelled 
 with his cousin Damer, and being himself wifeless 
 and childless, he devised the mortifying expedient of 
 educating his beggar's brat, of giving liim his name 
 and making him his heu\ Thenceforward the mis- 
 shapen urchin was Master William Warleigh. 
 Tailors clothed him, tutors laboured at him, toadies 
 flattered him, and he became a man — a man charac- 
 terized by a low shrewdness, a malignant cunning, 
 and a dastardly tyrannical spirit. In due time Colonel 
 Warleigh married him to a very youthful, pretty, 
 proud girl, who with her little fortune had been 
 unwisely committed to his guardianship ; and she, 
 having borne him four children, and suffered his 
 
 2—2
 
 20 ANNIS WARLEIGH'S FORTUNES. 
 
 brutality twelve years, broke her heart and died. 
 There was a portrait of her hanging still in the great 
 drawing-room at Whinstane Tower — a delicate, fair- 
 skinned, dark-eyed woman, handsome and imperious 
 — the process of breaking such a woman's heart must 
 have been cruel, but Sir William did it. 
 
 One of the grewsome dales' legends said that Lady 
 Warleigh walked and wept still in the great chambers 
 at Whinstane Tower just as she did in her lifetime ; 
 and certain it was that from the day of her burial the 
 most intimate scene of her endurance had been 
 locked, barred, and sealed against every intruder, 
 and her husband betook himself for his nightly rest 
 to a room in the servants' quarters, where he lay 
 upon a sofa with a rug over him, and fire and candles 
 burning all the year round. He had a right to be 
 haunted by an evil conscience if ever man had ; but 
 the vault in Penslaven Church must have been far, 
 far too welcome a refuge for his wife* that she should 
 ever be tempted to stray back to Whinstane Tower 
 where her degrading martyrdom was undergone. 
 
 In answer to some further inquiries from John 
 Withers, Mr. Anderside told them that Colonel 
 Warleigh had lived long enough to fear and distrust 
 his adopted heir, and to love and cherish the little 
 Laurence — eldest born son of that ill-omened mar-
 
 HOME. 21 
 
 riage. He paid a heavy penalty for the indulgence 
 of his vindictive caprices; for as he grew old and 
 feeble, he found a bitter tyrant in Sir William — 
 that graceless savage in looks and manners, lower in 
 all his passions and instincts than the horse he rode 
 or the dogs he thrashed. When he died, Sir William 
 became undisputed master of Penslaven and Whin- 
 stanedale ; master of four children, living reminders 
 of his half-murdered wife ; master of a pack of hounds 
 and a pack of servants, each one of whom, dogs 
 as well as men, was his superior. His baronetcy, a 
 parliamentary bribe, his rank as county magnate and 
 member, and his power as a great landed proprietor 
 made his name notorious. He was a man hated and 
 feared — a man to whom soon none but the basest and 
 most servile of his class would extend the hand of 
 fellowship. Penslaven he let as soon as it became 
 his own, continuing to live on at Whinstane Tower 
 with his two sons and two daughters, who were 
 growing up into men and women, while ho was 
 scarcely past middle age ; for Colonel Warleigh had 
 married him to his unhappy wife very young, and the 
 children had been born early and in rapid succession. 
 Mr. Hill, who got the living of Penslaven when 
 Mr. Ander side's rector was removed to a deanery, 
 gave them all lessons together, and as nature had not
 
 22 AXNIS WARLEIGH'S FORTUNES. 
 
 withheld from them capacity, they had made their 
 profit out of them. He considered them a very 
 peculiar group of young people. Nothing knew they 
 of the facts of their paternity. They contemplated 
 the fine old Warleigh portraits with undisturbed 
 complacency as the portraits of their veritable pro- 
 genitors, and, apparently, never speculated how such 
 a boor as their father, with the flat head and bull 
 neck, could have sprung from that ancient and 
 courtly stock. They even picked out Warleigh 
 features and Warleigh traits of character in each 
 other, and accounted for them by line and rule of the 
 family traditions — and it was undeniable that such 
 features and such traits they actually possessed, 
 though how they came by them was an inexplicable 
 enigma to the gossips. 
 
 Rachel Withers had a dim recollection of the girls 
 as children when she was a very little child herself, 
 and also of once seeing their mother in the fir-wood 
 behind the Hurtlemere House, walking and talking 
 with her own. This was the last time Lady Warleigh 
 was ever in the dale. Two or three years later, 
 John Withers and Laurence Warleigh struck up a 
 staunch alliance, which was periodically renewed 
 when Sir William came over in August, and brought 
 his family to remain a month. Boys and girls both ran
 
 HOME. 23 
 
 wild, and the young Withers' with them. Indeed, when 
 they were all together, they were not easy to keep 
 within bounds. Rachel remembered the fragile 
 thing Grace was very distinctly, and how Laurence 
 used to carry her pick-a-back when she fell tired 
 on their rambles. Katherine ^yas much stronger, 
 and very independent. She liked them all except 
 Oliver, who, John used to say, was sly ; she did not 
 know of her own knowledo-e that he was slv, but 
 she knew that he was cruel to animals, and that 
 he had an ugly, sneering mouth, like the picture 
 of Apollyon in PilgrhrLS Progress, and that they 
 called him, even to his face, '* velvet-gloved Oliver 
 with the claws." 
 
 Mr. Anderside spoke of Laurence Warleigh as of 
 one who had originally the making of a fine cha- 
 racter in him. He had a rash and hasty temper, but 
 he was affectionate and generous, and there was 
 a warm-hearted sincerity about him that Oliver 
 totally lacked. Oliver, he said, was always quiet 
 and ready, with considerable ability, ambition, and 
 guile. He had never come to open quarrel with 
 Sir William, as had done his more impetuous brother, 
 and long since he began to find his advantage in 
 a wily forbearance. Everybody about Whinstane 
 knew^ who was the favourite son.
 
 24 ANNIS WARLEIGH'S FORTUNES. 
 
 Oliver also had fared better with respect to educa- 
 tion than Laurence ; he was sent to a public school 
 and afterwards to Cambridge, while Laurence "was 
 never away from the dales until he %vas nearly 
 twenty. At Mrs. Damer Warleigh's instance, he 
 was then permitted to go abroad with a fit companion 
 for three years of foreign travel. Returning home 
 at the expiration of his leave of absence, the coarse, 
 domineering habits of his father revolted him. He 
 found himself, though a man, still checked, thwarted, 
 and tasked like a school-boy. Licessant quarrels 
 arose, and his life at Whinstane Tower became, at 
 length, an existence of dull, degrading misery. He 
 first remonstrated, then resisted, and finally — for 
 peace sake, and because he saw no term to his 
 persecutions — left home altogether. Sir William 
 refused to make him any allowance, and for nearly 
 seven years he had been wandering to and fro the 
 world, subsisting on the little means he derived from 
 the sheepwalks of Hurtledale, which he possessed 
 independent of his father. The old Hurtlemere 
 House and two farms adjacent were bequeathed 
 to him by his godfather. Moor Murray, a famous 
 Nimrod in his generation, wdio lived in those parts 
 a life of contented savagery, and died while Laurence 
 was still a boy. Since Moor Murray's death, the
 
 HOME. 25 
 
 Hui'tlemere House liad served humbly as a farm- 
 stead, two or three apartments only being kept up 
 for the use of Sir William and those he brought over 
 for the shootintr. 
 
 During the past year Sir William was said to 
 have frequently urged his elder son's return, pro- 
 mising him a sufficient income if he would marry 
 and settle as the heir to great estates should; but 
 Laurence either did not like the lady of his father's 
 selection, or else he found the sweets of liberty more 
 precious than the bonds of Wliinstane, howsoever 
 shared and gilded; for hitherto he had invariably 
 declined compliance. No one who knew the coarse, 
 ruffianly man his father was, could wonder at his re- 
 fusal. Mr. Anderside considered it wise in every way. 
 
 OKver had married at three-and-twenty, and mar- 
 ried satisfactorily to his father; but he lived away 
 from home, and thus perhaps the more easily kept 
 on excellent terms with him. It was asserted that 
 Sir William would have dearly liked to give him 
 the privileges of an elder son over Laurence's head, 
 but Colonel Warleigh had made the entail as strict 
 as by law he could, and not one stick or stone about 
 Penslaven or Whinstandale could be alienated with- 
 out the heir's consent. Lucky for him that it 
 could not.
 
 26 ANNIS WARLEIGH'S FOETUNES. 
 
 About the girls Mr. Anderside could tell Rachel 
 nothing; he had not seen them for years — never 
 since Laurence went abroad for the first time. They 
 went nowhere into society^ not even to Bristowe, 
 and were supposed to live secluded as nuns. Girls, 
 the old man called them, but they were mature 
 women; Katherine being twenty-four, and Grace 
 only one year younger. In experience and know- 
 ledge of the world, however, they were mere 
 children. 
 
 Lady Foulis, the old colonel's half-sister, was in 
 being still, and still shut up in her turret at Whin- 
 stane where he left her. But that fire and fao-^-ot 
 had ceased to burn upon the gallows' knowe, she 
 might long ere this have made a weird w^itch-light 
 in the world; for lapse of time had by no means 
 sweetened her evil reputation, and when folks men- 
 tioned her name they uttered it with bated breath 
 even yet. 
 
 Thus much of the popular history of the War- 
 leighs, antecedent to the date of the Withers' return 
 to Hurtledale, Mr. Anderside made known to his 
 young friends, and it was pretty nearly all there 
 was to tell, except what was conjectural.
 
 HOME. 27 
 
 Sir William Warleigh's daughters were with him 
 at the Hurtlemere House, as Mrs. Sara Grandage 
 had told her godchild, and the next Sunday they 
 appeared at church. On the following morning they 
 called at the rectory ; it was nearly ten years since 
 Rachel had seen them, and they met almost like 
 strangers. 
 
 The sisters had both grown up with their mother's 
 proud, pure type of face, but they looked shy and 
 shivery, like women who have never known the 
 warm cherishing of affection. They appeared 
 reserved, too, — Katherine almost icily so — but 
 Rachel fancied it was more from habit, and the 
 life they led, than from natural disposition, and 
 that it would wear off on longer acquaintance. 
 John Withers was not at home when they called, but 
 as Rachel felt sure that he would be disappointed at 
 missing them, she begged them to stay to luncheon ; 
 but they declined, and seemed immediately rather In 
 haste to be gone, which made her at once suspect that 
 this was a stolen visit, — and so it was. Just as they 
 were taking leave, however, in John came, and a 
 delay necessarily ensued. He had one or two 
 reminiscences In common with them, which Rachel
 
 28 ANNIS WAKLEIGH'S FORTUNES. 
 
 did not share ; in particular tliey had Arthur Hill 
 to talk about, and John was glad to hear later news 
 of him than any he possessed. 
 
 By and by, Katherine thawed from her cold 
 demeanour, and Grace spoke out with an almost 
 childlike impulsiveness, when the newness of the 
 meeting was got over. Grace had an exceedingly 
 sweet, attractive smile, and only wanted a little more 
 ease and vivacity to be charming ; and from a certain 
 expression and tone that betrayed her in speaking of 
 Arthur Hill, Rachel shrewdly imagined that, secluded 
 as might be the existence she and her sister were 
 condemned to, they were not quite shut out from 
 natural sympathies and interests. Finally, they 
 were prevailed on to eat their luncheon at the 
 rectory, and afterwards John Withers and his sister 
 walked with them over the fell, nearly as far as the 
 Mere. Out of doors they expanded almost into 
 sociability, checking themselves now and then as 
 young people do who fear they are saying too much, 
 or making themselves over-familiar. They both 
 evidently possessed an undeveloped capacity for 
 being happy, and tempers less high and elastic 
 would have suffered far more than theirs had done 
 from the unhealthy restraint and monotony of 
 Whinstane. Throughout the whole conversation
 
 HOME. 29 
 
 they never alluded once to anything that was 
 unusual in their position. They spoke of Laurence 
 with great affection, and Grace hoped he would come 
 liome before Christmas ; Katherine said nothing of 
 her hopes, but from the sigh that followed her sister's 
 words, Rachel felt sure she had no expectation of 
 his return — perhaps, even she did not desire it, or 
 dreaded the renewal of the daily disputes that had 
 embittered their lives when they vrere together 
 formerly. Oliver was not mentioned amongst 
 them. 
 
 That the events within their experience had been 
 few was manifest from the vividness with which they 
 recalled several half-forgotten exploits to the minds 
 of their early playfellows. Katherine asked if they 
 remembered escaping with Laurence and herself to 
 the Force, and paddling across the river, shoeless and 
 stockingless, to be caught by their father on the 
 other side, and marched home in disgrace. Rachel 
 — a perfect tomboy in her childhood — recollected it 
 well as a tragical incident, attended with penalties 
 for disobedience, and serious warnings that they 
 would all come to be drowned some day if they 
 ventured on repeating the experiment; recollected 
 that, and much more, when the chords of memory 
 were thus pleasantly struck.
 
 30 ANNIS WAELEIGH'S FORTUNES. 
 
 " Oh, yes, I remember," said she, her face 
 brightening with the reflection of those sunny days. 
 " We were very happy when we were little things. 
 But that was a naughty prank, and we did grievous 
 penance for it, John and I. Thenceforward, we 
 refrained from the river with its strong eddies and 
 deep pools, and were content with the lesser dangers 
 of the High-beck, where the slippery stepping-stones 
 were a perpetual temptation and delight. I can hear 
 mamma's gentle admonition now, ' Children, you 
 had better come round by the bridge ; ' and nurse's 
 shrill outcry of ' Bairns, I'll no' ha' you wetting 
 your feet!' as we followed in single file over the 
 perilous crags. Many a fall and many a ducking 
 did we get when the beck was full, but we never 
 gave up the stepping-stones until we gave up home 
 and all. Oh, yes, I remember ! " 
 
 Even during the short time they were together 
 that morning, Rachel Withers found out that the 
 ' tastes of her companions were as simple as their 
 education had been narrow. " We have no accom- 
 plishments — we can read," said Katherine, with a 
 peculiar smile, half sad, half mocking, on her 
 beautiful lip. " We can read, and that is all." Yet 
 two faces more refined and intelhgent John Withers 
 thought he had never seen.
 
 HOiSIE. 31 
 
 They had just reached the stile mto the nr-wood, 
 and were preparing to part, with mutual expressious 
 of pleasure at having renewed their acquaintance, 
 when Sir Wilham WarleiVh confronted them, comino- 
 up the path with his gun over his shoulder, and his 
 dogs at his heels. There was no time for evasion, 
 and, perhaps, it was as well; though Katherine's 
 heightened colom- and Grace's timid eje betrayed 
 that their first impulse was to run away. He came 
 close before he appeared to recognize John Withers 
 and Rachel, and, touching his cap with ironical 
 civility, was about to pass on without a word, 
 when Katherine plucked up a sudden spirit, and 
 asked if he had forgotten them. No, he had not 
 forgotten them, replied the old bear, but he was 
 after birds of another feather just then. And so 
 he left them, lookmg uglier, more ungainly, and 
 more inhospitable in Rachel's dismayed eyes than 
 ever man looked before. To his daughters, his 
 behaviour was a mere matter of course. 
 
 " We shall come and see you again, if we may," 
 Grace said, nervously ; and Rachel replied that 
 she should be £;lad to see them whenever they 
 liked; on which Katherine bade her, if they did 
 not present themselves at the rectory any more, 
 understand that they might not walk so far alone —
 
 32 ANNIS WAKLEIGH'S FORTUNES. 
 
 which both John and she felt implied the probability 
 of Sir William's placing a veto on their acquaintance. 
 And with that they parted. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Though Sir William Warleigh appeared to live 
 in a state of chronic suspicion of servants, children, 
 and all about him, he yet did not see fit to lay any 
 restrictions on his daughters' visits to the rectory — 
 a forbearance for which they seemed hardly able 
 to account, though they took the fullest advantage 
 of it. They were there nearly every day, and 
 always found a warm welcome both from Rachel 
 and her brother. It was so pleasant and cheering 
 to be with them, Katherine said, that when the 
 time came to go back to Whinstane, they should 
 find the Tower lonelier and drearier than ever. 
 They loved a good talk, and asked a thousand 
 questions of the ways and manners of the world 
 beyond the dales, which Rachel and even John 
 could answer but very imperfectly — cast as their 
 lots had been in the quietest places. But they 
 were curiously ignorant, and found matter for 
 interest and speculation in the most trifling details. 
 Katherine had the stronger mind of the two, but
 
 HOME. 33 
 
 Grace had the tenderer character. Rachel was not 
 mistaken in her sentimental conjectures : Grace and 
 Arthur Hill had a sort of engagement pending 
 between them, known to his friends, but not yet 
 confessed to Sir William, and whether it would ever 
 come to anything Grace despondently doubted. 
 Intimacy ripens fast amongst young people who 
 begin it with a friendly disposition, and before the 
 girls had known each other a week, they had 
 had this tender subject under discussion a score of 
 times. 
 
 In a recent letter to John Withers, Arthur Hill 
 had told his story too, and asked his friend's comisel 
 and opinion ; but John, in reply, had declared him- 
 self utterly inexperienced, and would not accept 
 the responsibility of advising him on a matter so 
 delicate and critical. This plea of inexperience 
 was not likely to be worth much very long now, 
 however, for John had begun to sing Katherine's 
 praises in his sister's ears every hour of the day; 
 and in their walks over the moor, to take the girls 
 home after their visits to the rectory, they always 
 paired off together, leaving Rachel and Grace to 
 cultivate each other's conversation uninterruptedly. 
 
 One afternoon at this juncture, Mrs. Sara 
 Grandage, driving over to the rectory to see her 
 
 VOL. I. 3
 
 34 ANNIS WARLEIGH'S FORTUNES. 
 
 god-daugliter, arrived at the moment when the 
 sociable little group were about to set off to the 
 Force. She, good-naturedly, refused to detain them 
 then, but, to indemnify herself for the present dis- 
 appointment, made them all promise to go to Prior's 
 Bank to luncheon on the following day. 
 
 Rachel went in the morning early, but John had 
 business on hand which kept him at home until 
 afternoon; when he arrived at last, however, he 
 found Katherine and Grace Warleigh both there, 
 and sly old Bittersweet, from a wicked glance she 
 gave him, betrayed herself as archly suspicious of 
 his budding sentiments : he wondered whether Rachel 
 had found him out, and had been saying anything. 
 But no, Rachel looked calm and innocent. Mr. 
 Gilsland had dropped in, and she was holding a 
 little chat very agreeably with him. Rachel was no 
 spoil-sport or premature meddler; she had far too 
 much sympathy with her brother not to have put 
 a just interpretation on his much-talk of Katherine, 
 but she held her peace while she wished him good 
 luck. 
 
 They were in the middle of the sitting when a 
 carriage drove round to the door, and who should 
 enter but Mrs. Damer Warleigh of Bristowe. Her 
 face of pleased surprise as she scanned the gathering
 
 HOME. 35 
 
 was delightful to behold, and when she got Rachel 
 Withers to herself for a moment she whispered, 
 squeezing her hand with great energy, — 
 
 " My dear, if you can be kind to those poor girls, 
 dor 
 
 Rachel replied that they all had the best disposition 
 in the world to improve each other's acquaintance. 
 Mrs. Damer then inquired if Sir William knew of it, 
 and expressed her astonishment that he had not 
 peremptorily commanded its discontinuance ; she 
 afterwards, with Mrs. Sara Grandage's connivance, 
 took Grace to talk to privately, and carried h-er off 
 into the garden, where secrets were told and comfort 
 administered. When they rejoined the party in 
 the drawing-room a quarter of an hour later, Grace 
 looked all the brighter and the better for her out- 
 pouring in the shrubbery — Mrs. Damer had promised 
 to befriend her cause when the time and opportunity 
 arrived, and she might be relied on to do it. 
 
 She took her young kinswomen away with her 
 when she left, and drove to the Hurtlemere House, 
 though they warned her their father would not be 
 found in-doors. 
 
 " So much the better if he is not," replied she, 
 without the slightest circumlocution. '^And so 
 much the pleasanter for all of us. I shall have done 
 
 3—2
 
 36 ANNIS WAPvLEIGH'S FORTUNES. 
 
 my duty, and had my glimpse of you girls without 
 any annoyance. Now tell me how you came to 
 renew your acquaintance with John Withers and his 
 sister — I approve of it thoroughly." 
 
 And they told her, the talk lasting all the way up 
 the hill to the Hurtlemere House, and as long as 
 Mrs. Damer Warleioh's leisure would allow her 
 to listen to them afterwards. 
 
 Mrs. Sara Grandage was not the woman to lose 
 the opportunity for a little social criticism when 
 it fell in her way so conveniently as it did that 
 afternoon ; and as soon as the Bristowe carriage 
 disappeared through the gates she began. 
 
 " The old generation is handsomer than the new — 
 neither of those girls will ever match Mrs. Damer 
 Warleigh," said she, decisively. 
 
 John Withers admitted that she was a grand 
 specimen of old lady-hood, but he maintained that 
 Katherine was quite as fine-looking. 
 
 " Too pale and severe," interposed Mr. Gilsland, 
 in the tone of one who esteems himself a connoisseur. 
 " I prefer a bright, sunshiny beauty, with more of 
 colour and less of the statuesque." 
 
 Rachel's godmamma flashed a wicked glance in 
 her face, and though, of course, the poor girl knew 
 perfectly well that the handsome curate's remark
 
 HOilE. 37 
 
 could have no reference whatever to her, she felt 
 herself blushing abominably. And Bittersweet's next 
 ■words were not of a hind to cool her conscious 
 cheeks. " You prefer the dumpling order of beauty 
 then, Mr. Gilsland?" Now Dumpling was her pet 
 name for Rachel, though she certainly had not 
 qualified for it yet, whatever she might do, and the 
 insinuation put her still further out of countenance. 
 
 "Well, yes; call it the dumpling order, if 
 you like," said he, " but rosebud order would be 
 prettier and more correctly descriptive," and then, 
 either with or without intention, he looked aside 
 at Rachel before her blush had gone down, and 
 began making inquiries about Sir William Warleigh's 
 reputed wealth. 
 
 " He is as rich as Croesus and as niorD-ard as a Jew," 
 replied Mrs. Sara Grandage, with malicious meaning 
 in her heart. "He cannot but be rich, for his 
 income is vast, and his expenditure nothing. Neither 
 of his sons has an allowance from him, and I have 
 heard him swear he will never give any man six- 
 pence with his daughters. It would be a bad 
 speculation to go wooing to Whinstane Tower, Mr. 
 Gilsland, very bad." And here Bittersweet paused, 
 with her short, dry cough, which she contrived to 
 make so sio^nificant.
 
 38 ANNIS WARLEIGH'S FORTUNES. 
 
 As John Withers walked home with his sister 
 in the cool of the evening, he was very silent, turning 
 over some serious thought in his mind. At last he 
 spoke, saying, reflectively, — 
 
 "I am not sure that I like that Mr. Gilsland, 
 Rachel ; do you find him a pleasant person ? " 
 
 Rachel said, " Yes," but nothing mare aloud. In 
 fact, she had conceived some slight prepossession in 
 the handsome curate's favour, and her brother's 
 question startled her. 
 
 " So John does not like him — I wonder why," 
 she thought within herself; but no solution of 
 his dislike presented itself to her, and she 
 passed an evening of secret uneasiness and per- 
 plexity. 
 
 YII. 
 
 When Katherine Warleigh told Rachel Withers 
 that she and her sister possessed no accomplishments, 
 she spoke literally. No attempt had been made to 
 give them the elegant education suited to their rank ; 
 they could not dance or draw, or play, or sing, or 
 understand any language but their own ; in that, 
 however, they were so well versed that John Withers 
 declared them to be the best informed women in their
 
 HOME. 39 
 
 national literature that he had ever met with. 
 Katherine and he held long discussions on history, 
 poetry and romance, and with Grace's appropriate 
 quotations chiming in the trio were really very 
 delightful for an ignoramus like Rachel to listen to. 
 While those girls had browsed at large and at will in 
 a vast library of good authors, she had been drilling 
 in the bald routine of classes. Sometimes she was 
 more than half inclined to wish she could exchange 
 her own careful training and pruning for their 
 luxuriant neglect ; but John encouraged her to supply 
 her deficiencies in a methodical way, and promised 
 her a fair meed of success if she would devote a 
 portion of each day to a regular course of study 
 under his direction. This she gladly acceded to ; for 
 she felt very vacant-minded amongst well-read people. 
 But school-bred girls always do ; in fact, they have 
 only just learned how to learn when they are launched 
 on the world as finished and polished specimens of 
 womankind. 
 
 The month of August was now getting over fast, 
 and soon the rectory would lose its pleasant visitors — 
 pleasant they were in every sense of the word. They 
 had an air of taking refuge with Rachel as it were, 
 though she was so much younger than themselves ; 
 and with John's aid she cheered them infinitely.
 
 40 ANNIS WARLEIGH'S FORTUNES. 
 
 They were not like the same women they were a few 
 weeks back ; they looked not only brighter in spirits 
 but better in health. 
 
 " Oh ! Whinstane is a weariful, weariful place," 
 said Katherine one day, in a moment of sudden 
 expansion. " I wish we were remaining at the 
 Hurtlemere House through the winter, that we might 
 keep the benefit of your society." 
 
 John Withers and his sister heartily echoed the 
 wish. 
 
 On another occasion she said to Rachel : — 
 
 " If we can obtain leave to invite you to the Tower, 
 will you come ? " 
 
 The question took Rachel by surprise, and she 
 glanced across at John who, for the instant, seemed 
 as much startled as herself. Katherine saw the effect 
 her unexpected demand had had on both, and, sighing, 
 added hurriedly, 
 
 '^Perhaps it is useless to talk about anything so 
 improbable. No one ever has been invited to Whin- 
 stane within my memory, and papa is not more 
 hospitable than formerly." 
 
 Nothing further was said on the subject then, but 
 afterwards, when John and Rachel were alone, he 
 asked her if she should hesitate about going to 
 Whinstane were the chance given her. " Because,"
 
 HOME. 41 
 
 continued he, " I wish for my sake you could and 
 would." 
 
 " For your sake, Johnny ? " echoed Rachel, with a 
 little pretence of ignorance to draw him out; and then 
 he began to speak of Katherine, and to tell her how- 
 he beheved she was the one woman in the world who 
 would make his life happy. 
 
 " Not yet I have no intention of marrying yet,^"* 
 he ran on. " I am not even sure that she cares for 
 me or would consent if I asked her." 
 
 Rachel was of opinion that she would, however ; 
 she thought the attraction was mutual ; but she did 
 not know that it w^ould be right for her to say so, 
 therefore she only reassured him with a promise that 
 she would not be instrumental in ending their friend- 
 ship by refusing to do anything in reason that might 
 be required of her. 
 
 Whinstane Tower by all accounts could not be the 
 most delightful place in the world to stay at, 
 especially for a person so sensitive to the proprieties 
 of hfe as Rachel Withers ; but the risk of having to 
 go there did not appear very imminent at present; 
 therefore, though she would have done that and much 
 more to please John or forward his interests, she set 
 her mind at ease about it But her brother continued 
 to cherish the idea, and founded on it a good many
 
 42.. 
 
 agreeable visions. Since Sir William Warleigh had 
 been pleased to give a tacit consent to his daughters' 
 intimacy at the rectory, it was within the range of 
 possibilities that he might encourage it elsewhere. 
 They had all met him one evening on the fells a long 
 distance from home, and he had condescended so far 
 as to inform them that there was a storm coming on. 
 And it came — a terrific thunderstorm — before they 
 could gain any shelter. This thunderstorm it was 
 that brought John Withers' feelings to a crisis, and 
 his wits to a distinct determination about his future 
 life— Katherine was so beautifully calm through the 
 danger, while Rachel was stunned and Grace nearly 
 frightened to death. He had not fallen in love, as the 
 saying is, but he knew that Katherine suited him; he 
 was nearly thirty years old, and what he wanted in a 
 wife was not a mere pretty sweeting or a house-proud 
 mother dignity, but a pleasant and intelligent com- 
 panion ; and this she had the capacity to be to him 
 more than any woman he had ever seen. 
 
 It would now have greatly relieved him to know 
 what might be Sir William Warleigh's views about 
 marrying his daughters ; and this he saw no readier 
 means of learning than through his sister's keeping 
 up. at Whinstane the intimacy that had opened so 
 promisingly in Hurtledale.
 
 HOME. 43 
 
 VIII. 
 
 IVIrs. Sara Grandage always gave three garden 
 entertainments to her many friends during the con- 
 tinuance of the warm long days, and on the twenty- 
 ninth of August she issued her invitations for the 
 last picnic of the season ; fixing it for the fourth of 
 September. The mountain-ash berries were red ripe 
 ah-eady — earliest sign of the coming cold ; and harvest 
 once over, winter came down on Hurtledale almost 
 immediately. 
 
 There are few days long anticipated and anticipated 
 with eager pleasure that do not turn out more or less 
 of disappointments — and such a day was this to John 
 Withers and Sir William Warleigh's daughters. 
 
 " We shall not fail to be there," were Katherine's 
 last words on the previous evening when she parted 
 with her friends at the stile leading into the fir-wood, 
 and on reaching Prior's Bank the first news they heard 
 was, "You will not see your friends from the Hurtle- 
 mere House to-day — they went off to Whinstane 
 before six o'clock this morning. One of Sir William's 
 vicious caprices, I suppose ! " 
 
 Of course, John's pleasure in the day was gone, 
 but Rachel made shift to enjoy it. Several old
 
 44 ANNIS WARLEIGH'S FORTUNES. 
 
 friends were there whom they had not yet seen since 
 their return to Hurtledale — the Grantleys, Carltons, 
 and Mr. Crofts, the grey curate, amongst the num- 
 ber, he in faithful attendance on his cruel Kitty 
 Anderside. And Mr. Gilsland also appeared, though 
 he had disquieted Rachel's thoughts by telling her 
 beforehand he was afraid he should not be able 
 to come; disquieted poor Rachel's thoughts that 
 ran on the handsome curate now far more than was 
 discreet. 
 
 She could not quite make out why he was not 
 more popular in Hurtledale. Everybody allowed 
 that he was clever and gentlemanlike, but he was 
 nowhere very cordially received. Only a few days 
 ago at the rectory, Mr. Anderside, in speaking of him 
 to John, had said before her, " Gilsland does not 
 get on well with the people : they do not like his 
 ways any more than he likes theirs, and I fear 
 the fault lies with him." Now that struck her as 
 unjust : why should the fault lie with him any more 
 than with them? or why should it not, as faults 
 mostly do, lie on both sides equally? 
 
 He was not in his right place, and he could not 
 help feeling it and betraying that he felt it, she said 
 in his excuse ; and it was not very surprising that, 
 after a public school and brilliant college life, a
 
 HOME. 45 
 
 young man should find a narrow country society 
 irksome. The only trait in him that seemed to her 
 unnatural was that he had so little faith in himself or 
 in his future prospects. He appeared to have made up 
 his mind already that he should live and die a poor, 
 obscure, neglected curate ; and poverty with obscurity 
 wore the guise of terrible evils to him. He and 
 Rachel had met very frequently on the neutral 
 territory of Prior's Bank, which was about midway 
 between Brafferton and the rectory, and whenever 
 they had met he had poured out to her his desires, 
 ambitions, dissatisfactions and grievances with a 
 very fluent eloquence. She was a tender-hearted 
 creature and had plenty of sympathy at his service. 
 Not so Mrs. Sara Grandage — she had not common 
 patience with him. 
 
 " What he wants is to walk straightway into some 
 fat living, and to sit down in lazy dignity for the rest 
 of his days," she said, very tartly on one occasion, after 
 he had entertained Rachel and herself with half an 
 hour of complamings. " He is an inveterate grumbler 
 and discontented person. What is he or what Jias 
 he that he should pretend to be above his position 
 here ? Let him deserve a higher and he will get it." 
 Bittersweet had had a varied experience of life, and 
 she always declared that people earned their precise
 
 46 ANNIS WARLEIGH'S FORTUNES. 
 
 deserts ; they won what they were worth, and if they 
 were worth nothing they won nothing. Raehel 
 heard, but refused to accept this article of her god- 
 mamma's worldly creed without further observation 
 with her own spectacles, because it bore hard on the 
 unsuccessful and unlucky, whose lot, she thought, 
 was heavy enough already without that last straw to 
 break their backs; but there might be a general truth 
 in it too, she candidly allowed. 
 
 Rachel was a common-place person herself, not 
 given to chimerical troubles, and always preferring 
 to behold the bright side of things ; but that was 
 temperament, constitutional cheerfulness, or what 
 not. She would not have said that fainting was 
 affectation because she never fainted, or that 
 hysterics were rubbish because she could not have 
 gone off into a fit if she had tried, or that low spirits 
 were fancy because her own were tolerably equal ; 
 yet she had heard each and all of these assertions 
 made by the non-afflicted. One step at a time in life 
 is enough for most persons with the pleasures of hope 
 before, but there are some who cannot rest content 
 unless a good prospect lie assured in front. Of these 
 last was Mr. Gilsland, Rachel said, and people called 
 him self-seeking and disagreeable, because he was ill 
 at ease in a circle where he did not feel himself
 
 HOME. 47 
 
 appreciated, and where he had no expectation of a 
 change for the better. In a congenial sphere, and 
 amongst congenial Mends, she was sure he would be 
 a pleasant friend himself. It almost provoked her 
 to hear him spoken against — even John was not fair 
 to him, and had begun to declare that he was a 
 weariness to his spirit whenever he joined him for a 
 "walk on the moors ! 
 
 "Of course," she went on, a little hotly and 
 hurriedly, when she saw the shrewd sarcasm with 
 which Bittersweet heard her ; " of course it is always 
 wisest and safest to keep our little trials to ourselves, 
 and not draw too often on the charity and considera- 
 tion of our neighbours. Sunshine is very natm^ally 
 preferred to shade, and those people go fastest and 
 farthest who apply themselves to making things 
 smooth and pleasant in this world. Perhaps Mr. 
 Gilsland will by-and-by learn the wisdom of not 
 seeking sympathy from such as have none to spare, 
 and of practising silence about those aspirations and 
 desires which all the wishing in the universe will 
 not satisfy. John advises him to work, work, work, 
 as the best and only means of filling his mind and 
 his time, and thus excluding discontented reveries ; 
 but John does not perceive that Mr. Gilsland has 
 none of his vigour, energy, or love for active labour.
 
 48 ANNIS WARLEIGH'S FORTUNES. 
 
 They are differently made. John throws himself 
 into his duty with all the eagerness that others spend 
 in the pursuit of pleasure, and his duty is absolute 
 pleasure to him, dear good fellow that he is ; but to 
 Mr. Gilsland the same routine is the worst monotony 
 of boredom ! " Rachel was quite out of breath 
 between tears and excitement when she came to 
 the end of this little oration, and Mrs. Sara Grandage, 
 in her amazed vexation at what her emotion betrayed, 
 found not a single word at the moment wherewith 
 to answer her. Rachel had excellent grounds for 
 what she stated respecting Mr. Gilsland's views of 
 work : only the day before, with a rueful smile, 
 he had given her a very explicit description of his 
 labours and his feelings. 
 
 " On Sunday," said he, " I preach twice to the 
 barbarians who nod and yawn in my very face or 
 sit open-mouthed and expectant, as if my words were 
 tangible things to be physically swallowed and 
 digested. Some few wave their heads with respon- 
 sive groanings that make me imagine myself in Little 
 Bethel, and the schoolmaster tattoos rapidly on the 
 boys' heads to keep them awake. When it is over, 
 I go to my lodgings, depressed with the idea that 
 not one soul of my congregation is the wiser or the 
 better for any word of mine. I do not know how
 
 HOME. 49 
 
 to address these uncultured people ; I have not the 
 key to their prejudices or their tastes. I cannot 
 be with them hail-fellow-well-met, like worthy Mr. 
 Anderside, w^ho goes into their cottages, and talks 
 about the childi'en, the pigs, the potato crops, and 
 the complaints with as much interest and eloquence 
 as he would bestow on matters of real significance. 
 One old soul tells me at every visit that all her aches 
 and pains proceed from * habstraction on the brain ! ' 
 and another has an unfailing source of lamentation 
 in her 'poor, dear inside.' It is my business to 
 listen and comfort, but I hsten and am dumb. I had 
 no vocation for the Church, and I ought never to have 
 entered it." 
 
 Rachel did not ask him why then he had entered 
 it. It struck on her very painfully that his heart 
 was not in his work, and she knew^ as well as any- 
 body that such work as his cannot be well done 
 without good heart She believed him conscientious, 
 she understood the permanence of the holy orders 
 he had taken upon himself, and she overflowed with 
 feelings of pity and kindness tow^ards him. So when 
 her godmamma Grandage or any one else spoke of 
 his shortcomings in duty or his general discontent, 
 she ralHed to his defence, and said her say in spite 
 of them all. But if this good and guileless damsel 
 
 VOL. L 4
 
 50 ANNIS WAELEIGH'S FOETUNES. 
 
 was deceived in the estimate she formed of the hand- 
 some curate's character, other persons were shrewd 
 enough to take him at his just value, and that vahie 
 was by no means a high one. 
 
 Mr. Gilsland spoke truly when he said that he had 
 no vocation for the Church ; he had none — none 
 whatever. It was his vocation to be a gentleman, 
 or what he esteemed such ; and he had gone into 
 orders as the shortest and readiest cut to the position. 
 Of mean birth, but as a boy very beautiful and 
 talented, he had found wealthy patrons ; he had made 
 his way through a public school and had gone to 
 college with an exhibition. There, so far as scholar- 
 ship went, he did well, but his conduct was not such 
 as secures the confidence of friends. He had earned 
 the reputation of being a slippery person. BrafFerton 
 was now his third curacy, and he was as far from 
 preferment as ever. The sphere did not satisfy him; 
 he felt his powers wasted there, he was ambitious of 
 great things, but he was far too much in haste ever to 
 achieve permanent success. 
 
 A mood of profound discouragement was upon him 
 at the time when John Withers and his sister returned 
 to Hurtledale. Rachel crossed his path, and a new 
 road to honour opened before him. He cast his eyes 
 on her with mixed motives. In the first place she
 
 EOIilE. 51 
 
 belonged to the class of old-fashioned gentle-folks 
 with whom he was not, nor ever would be, cater-cou- 
 sins ; in the second, she had money — gossip had 
 magnified it into quite a pretty fortune ; and in the 
 third, she was a gentle, pleasing person, young and 
 fresh, in whom he should no doubt have skill to 
 develop all wifely virtues. He thought about her 
 often, and soon fancied himself well on the way to 
 winning her favour. So he was unfortunately — 
 Rachel's heart was caught betwixt pity and sympathy, 
 and was ready for a surrender. He made a little 
 sentimental pretence with himself and protested that 
 he had fallen in love with her too — but it was that 
 sort of falling which has an eye to ultimate safety. 
 He had looked and implied a lover's " trust me ! " but 
 he had never uttered a word that Rachel could hold 
 as a pledge that he was not fooling her. Fooling 
 her; the wicked thought never entered her honest 
 little head or caused her honest little heart a single 
 pang ! People might think and say of him what they 
 liked, but for her part, she knew him to be an excel- 
 lent, delightful, most misunderstood, and misplaced 
 person — and when she said this she was in earnest. 
 
 People have such diflPerent ways of thinking and 
 feeling ! Rachel remembered when they left Hurtle- 
 dale and John went to his curacy in Wales, how they 
 
 4—2 
 
 UNlVERSmr OF flUMflfS
 
 52 ANNIS WAELEIGH'S FORTUNES. 
 
 would have esteemed it one of the happiest events 
 possible could he have had the office Mr. Gilsland 
 now held ; but there never was a chance of such luck 
 for him. The grey curate had possessed it in peace 
 and thankfulness for nearly twenty years, and was 
 a man of fifty before he got his parsonage in the 
 Potteries. 
 
 After Mrs. Sara Grandage's party, by the by, it 
 was circulated amongst the gossips that Kitty Ander- 
 side had reconsidered her decision, and was going to 
 join Mr. Crofts in his new cure after all. She said to 
 excuse herself — though indeed she needed no excuse 
 —that they had worked together so long at Brafferton 
 that she could not get on alone ; and so had come to 
 the conclusion of going to help him where he was. 
 Kachel heartily wished her well, though she too had 
 her little stone to cast at Mr. Gilsland; it was brought 
 to her sensitive ears that Kitty had actually been 
 heard to call him a " pragmatical puppy ; " but she 
 could not quite beheve it. " Pragmatical puppy," did 
 not sound like one of Kitty's gentle phrases — never- 
 theless, it was a fact that Kitty said it.
 
 ho:me. 53 
 
 IX. 
 
 It is always a rather melancholy time out of doors 
 when the dead leaves are rustling on the roads and 
 rotting in the ditches ; but Rachel Withers enjoyed 
 the lonor evenincrs with the curtains drawn and fire 
 and lamp ablaze ; especially she enjoyed them when 
 her brother had a friend staying in the house. 
 When the real winter set in with frost and snow, 
 they were rather too far out of the world for visiting 
 much ; but sometimes Mr. Anderside came over for 
 a night, and sometimes Mr. Gilsland, and a third face 
 made a cheerful variety by their hearth. It did John 
 good too — his sister was convinced of it, though he 
 professed to like quite as well being alone ; which was, 
 to say the least of it, inhospitable. But the fact was, 
 lie gave a world of thought just then to Katherine 
 Warleigh, all the more thought perhaps that she did 
 not keep her promise of writing. Six lines to tell 
 Rachel why they had left the Hmllemere House so 
 suddenly was all she had received since they returned 
 to Whinstane Tower. 
 
 That John should dream of her was natural 
 enough, and Rachel would have been the last person 
 in the world to complain of such preoccupation had
 
 54 ANNIS WARLEIGH'S FORTUNES. 
 
 it not made liim unsociable with other people. He posi- 
 tively would not ask Mr. Gilsland to stay one gloomy 
 October afternoon, though Rachel was sure he ex- 
 pected an invitation, and went away disappointed ; 
 and when she ventured to say it was hardly civil, he 
 cut her quite short, declaring that he did not want 
 Mr. Gilsland coming to the Rectory so often. 
 
 So often I when it was, she did not know how long 
 since his last call ! Ten days, said John, but she 
 was sure it must be more. And for her part, she 
 added with a little air of dignity, she liked guests 
 about the house. It was not as if they were poor 
 and could not afford to entertain them; tlien she 
 should not care. And with that she retired to her 
 own room, and perhaps shed a few tears as she 
 pictured to herself the handsome curate breasting his 
 lonely way over the moors against the wind, through 
 the six dreary miles that stretched between the 
 churlish Rectory and his dull lodgings in Brafferton. 
 
 Another day about this period she had a brisk 
 passage of words with Mrs. Sara Grandage on the 
 same subject. Bittersweet took upon herself to ask 
 her goddaughter what she could see in Mr. Gilsland. 
 
 "He has a long figure, a pretty face, and locks 
 like Absalom," said she in her quizzing fashion. 
 " Put him on lilac kid gloves and a diamond ring on
 
 iio:me. 55 
 
 his finger, and give him a perfumed handkerchief to 
 use at pathetic moments, and you have the very 
 sweetest picture of a pet parson." 
 
 So truly ill-natured of her, Rachel retorted ; as if 
 he chose his own face or could help being handsome I 
 
 But that was just Bittersweet's way — when she 
 conceived an antipathy to any person she could not 
 acknowledoje a singrle virtue or merit he had. 
 
 " What do I see in him ? What does anybody see 
 m anybody? What does he see in me, that he 
 should always peer over a roomful with his short- 
 sighted eyes until he discovers my place, when he 
 makes straight for it as if there were nobody else 
 present ? And sometimes I wish he would not, for 
 it is so marked — though you need not fancy I am 
 ashamed of his attentions; for I am veri/ far from 
 that I I am not witty, or pretty, or in any way 
 entertaining beyond other young women, yet appa- 
 rently he prefers my society to theirs. And why 
 should not I prefer his? I always do like people 
 who show a liking for me, and I always shall I " cried 
 Miss Defiance, with her head aloft. 
 
 Then she told her godmamma very irreverently 
 that she was welcome to have her fancies and 
 delusions like the rest of the world, but it was 
 perfectly preposterous for her or anybody to accuse
 
 5Q ANNIS WAIILEIGH*S FORTUNES. 
 
 Mr. Gilsland of having an eye to her little shred of a 
 fortune. 
 
 " And it is uncivil to me, too," added she, indig- 
 nantly ; " for if I am no better than other girls, 
 neither am I conspicuously worse. Why may I not 
 be supposed to have some small attractions of my 
 own, besides pounds, shillings, and pence ? " 
 
 Bittersweet enjoyed her wrath and actually had 
 the — what shall I call it ? — the ahominahleness to say 
 to her face : 
 
 "You are cut out for an old maid. Dumpling. 
 Don't marry, and I'll leave you a nice little fortune; 
 marry, and I'll cut you off with a shilling ! " 
 
 To tell any girl at eighteen she is cut out for an 
 old maid ! If that is not sin, what is ? 
 
 Oh, how Rachel fired up ! 
 
 " How dare you say that, godmamma ? And 
 you married yourself ! " cried she. 
 
 " So I did, but it is a long while ago, and I knew 
 no better. I would not marry now, I assure you." 
 
 " You are an old woman, you are a hundred ! 
 And it is a shame of you to speak against marrying 
 when all the world makes a proverb for goodness 
 of your husband's name ! " 
 
 " He was a very philosophical person." 
 
 " I should think he had need to be I " retorted
 
 HOME. 57 
 
 Mistress Rachel, with epigrammatic point. Bitter- 
 sweet only laughed and the laugh brought her god- 
 daughter back to good-humour. "Perhaps," said 
 she more calmly, " I am rather formal and Dutch to 
 look at, but I am not all starch ! I am sure I could 
 be yery fond of somebody who was fond of me, and 
 to elect myself one of St. Catherine's maids before 
 I am twenty — Xo, You may promise me your nice 
 little fortune ten years hence if you choose, but I'll 
 make no treaty for it with you now ! I would not if 
 there were no Mr. Gilsland in the world ! Not marry, 
 indeed ! " and the young woman went off as stately as 
 Queen Elizabeth's ruff. 
 
 Independently of her own marrying or letting it 
 alone, Rachel Withers thoroughly enjoyed a wedding. 
 People might say what they liked about weddings 
 being dull, melancholy and so forth, but she liked to 
 see them ; and when she was asked towards the end 
 of October to* hold the gloyes at Kitty Anderside's, 
 she was proud and delighted to accept the invitation. 
 
 She told Mrs. Sara Grandage afterwards that she 
 could not imagine what made the women cry at 
 weddings, and what they got into such a state of tre- 
 mulous excitement for. "It is always a risk, they say 
 tragically. Rish ! it could not haye been much of a 
 risk for Kitty Anderside or Mr. Crofts who haye
 
 58 ANNIS WAELEIGH'S FORTUNES. 
 
 been friends and neighbours for twenty years ; yet 
 her kinsfolk wept as if she were going to be carried 
 to execution instead of to a comfortable parsonage 
 amongst the Potteries. I was glad to see she had 
 more sense than to cry herself, and Mr. Crofts looked 
 quite spruce and jubilant, only his clothes fitted so ill. 
 Kitty wore pearl grey satin and a bonnet — a wreath 
 and a veil would have been absurd at her age, you 
 know — and very nice and pleasant she was, trying to 
 make everybody feel as happy and as much at their 
 ease as herself." 
 
 John Withers and his sister went over to BrafFer- 
 ton the evening before the wedding when there was a 
 family dinner-party, and a full gathering of friends 
 out of the town afterwards. The entertainment was 
 rather dull and whispery and Mr. Gilsland was not 
 there. Rachel could not help thinking how much 
 more lively and agreeable a good dance would have 
 made everything — but dancing was qfuite tabooed in 
 the Andersides' circle. 
 
 They had a beautiful morning for the wedding, and 
 the church was crowded; all the school-children 
 forming double lines of rosy faces up the centre aisle. 
 Nothing particular happened except that old Miss 
 Briggs, who was second bridesmaid, was taken faint, 
 and had to be led into the vestry by John ; she said to
 
 HOME. 59 
 
 excuse herself that the ceremony was so awful. 
 And it did sound very solemn even to Rachel when 
 she heard it read in church. She wondered how 
 people who make marriages of convenience could 
 stand and listen to that service: she thoug-ht there 
 ought to be something special for their occasions and 
 quite different. 
 
 After breakfast the bride and bridegroom set off on 
 their journey home to the Parsonage amongst the 
 Potteries, and there was another gathering in the 
 evening — including the curate — ^which was by many 
 deorees more cheerful than that of the nicrht before. 
 People seemed to have got a weight off their spirits, 
 and though conversation was still the sole amuse- 
 ment, they recovered their natural voices and ven- 
 tured to use them without dread of being considered 
 unfeeling — an inexpressible relief to the brides- 
 maids. 
 
 X. 
 
 One morning about midway the month of Decem- 
 ber a letter arrived at the rectory containing the 
 much-talked-of invitation to Whinstane, which 
 Rachel had given up as forgotten and done with two 
 months ago. It was Grace Warleigh who wrote.
 
 60 ANNIS WAELEIGH'S FOKTUNES. 
 
 but Katherine added a postscript seconding her 
 wishes very cordially. 
 
 " Can you come as soon as Christmas Day is turned 
 and remain with us a fortnight ? " she said. " Papa 
 made no demur when we asked him this unusual 
 favour; had we imagined he would consent so readily 
 we should have begged for it long ere this." 
 
 John Withers kept his eyes on his sister with a 
 wistful earnestness as she read these lines aloud, and 
 said when she reached the end of them, " You will 
 go, Rachel ? " to which she answered, " Oh, yes, to 
 be sure ! " as if she quite enjoyed the idea ; which she 
 certainly did not, much as she liked their friends. 
 But anything to please John ; so her acceptance was 
 written and despatched forthwith. 
 
 They had had a steady, dull time during the pre- 
 vious three weeks at the Rectory ; for the winter had 
 set in with terrible snow-storms, and kept everybody 
 prisoners at home. A poor old hawker had been 
 found one Sunday morning frozen to death in the 
 narrow lane between Deepgyll and the Force, his 
 pack under his head, and his body half buried in the 
 drift. The roads were almost impassable except on 
 horseback, and the fells were one vast dazzling blank 
 of snow. There was another heavy fall on the day 
 Grace Warleigh's letter came, which levelled the
 
 HOME. 61 
 
 cliurcliyard graves, and wrapt them in beautiful new 
 winding-sheets for Christmas. It did not appear very 
 clear to Rachel how, under these circumstances, she 
 was to get to Whinstane Tower, eighteen miles off; 
 but John coolly said, 
 
 ^' Where there was a will there was a way," and 
 after that, of course, she knew she should go, even 
 though she might have to fly through the air on a 
 broomstick ! 
 
 Rachel's own little affairs had made no particular 
 progress since Kitty Anderside's wedding. She had 
 only seen Mr. Gilsland once dm'ing the drear month 
 of November, when she met him accidentally in a 
 shop at Brafferton ; he was very pleasant, as usual, 
 but also, as usual, had a little grievance — he could 
 not procure any fresh butter. Rachel wished he did 
 not make so much ado about trifles — John would have 
 eaten dry bread for a twelvemonth before he would 
 have dreamt of complaining to Katherine Warleigh ! 
 However, she promised to speak to Robb's wife at 
 the mill to send him some, though she knew it was 
 very scarce, and not good at this season when the 
 cows could get no grass. The winter bade fair to be 
 one of more than common severity ; the hollies were 
 scarlet with berries even then for the frozen-out birds, 
 which was always taken in Hurtledale as a sign
 
 62 ANNIS WARLEIGH'S FORTUNES. 
 
 of hard weather that would continue late and 
 long. 
 
 But that malicious old Bittersweet defeated Rachel's 
 kindly efforts for the curate's creature- comforts ; she 
 saw her a day or two after her embassy to the miller's 
 wife, and cried, mockingly, wagging her head, " I 
 have disappointed Mr. Gilsland of his butter. 
 Dumpling; I want every ounce dame Robb can 
 make, and she dare not offend me by selling it 
 elsewhere. I am delighted to teach him a lesson 
 of self-denial, and I hope he may profit by it. Have 
 you got a lock of his lovely hair yet ? Good-by, my 
 dear, and keep up your spirits ! " 
 
 Since this, Rachel had not seen the curate either 
 at home or abroad; but only two days before 
 Christmas, John, returning from Brafferton towards 
 dusk, called her into his study for a bit of serious 
 conversation. He had been over to the Andersides', 
 where he had met Mr. Gilsland, and they had had 
 some talk together. " Some grave talk, Rachel, 
 and about you,^'' he told her, and then stopped short, 
 looking not a little vexed. After a minute's pause, , 
 he asked, abruptly, — 
 
 " Do you really feel that you can care for that 
 man, Rachel ? " 
 
 Rachel did not answer him; she felt her colour
 
 HOME. 63 
 
 come and go, and something rising in her throat 
 as if it would choke her. John was kind and 
 considerate, but he was woefully disappointed ; 
 and there was a touch of impatience in his voice, 
 as he said, without pushing her to a confession, 
 " Then, I suppose, I must make him welcome here 
 more frequently. I will not assume the responsibility 
 of thwarting your fancy, but I wish it had been for 
 anybody else ! " 
 
 Rachel had been forced to see, almost from the 
 beginning of their acquaintance, that her brother 
 did not like Mr, Gilsland, and as he was not apt 
 to take up unfounded prejudices, she now begged 
 him to give her his reasons for it He could not 
 exactly state to her one. Mr. Gilsland's personal 
 and professional character were fair, he allowed, 
 and his means would, doubtless, improve; his con- 
 nections were unknown, but then a man is himself, 
 and not his family. No, he did not object to him 
 on the score of his birth, though he should have 
 preferred seeing his sister marry a gentleman of 
 condition equal to her own, but he was afraid his 
 temper was queer ! 
 
 *^A11 our tempers are queer sometimes," rejoined 
 Rachel, and the effort of speaking brought back her 
 self-possession.
 
 64 ANNIS WARLEIGH'S FORTUNES. 
 
 Finally, John said Mr. Gilsland had appealed to 
 him, as his sister's natural guardian, to permit his 
 visits at the Rectory, and that he did not feel he 
 had a right to forbid them if they were agreeable 
 to her. " We have always thought you a little 
 woman of sense," added he, more cheerfully, per- 
 ceiving that poor Rachel was a little cast down 
 by his opinion of her lover, " and if you do not 
 approve of him on closer acquaintance, you can 
 depute me to tell him so. There need be no engage- 
 ment yet, understand that distinctly : you must 
 know each other better first. He will have no 
 opportunity of seeing you before you go to Whin- 
 stane, so think the matter over while you are there, 
 and if you return home in your present frame of 
 mind, then he shall have leave to come." 
 
 If her brother had appeared in the least degree 
 pleased with her prospects, Rachel would have 
 been proud and happy beyond measure; but, as it 
 was, she felt fretted with a host of uncomfortable 
 fears. Still, atop of them all, there sang in her 
 heart, ever and anon, that rejoicing cry, "He 
 loves me ! I knew he did, I knew he did ! " which 
 drowns every other voice when it gets an utterance. 
 John might be grave, and Bittersweet might be 
 sarcastic, but they could only ruffle her on the
 
 HOME. 65 
 
 surface while she had that balm of comfort 
 within. 
 
 And as soon as Christmas Day and the school-feast 
 were over, Rachel packed up her traps, left John 
 to the tender mercies of Mary Deane and Phemie, 
 who promised to take good care of him in her 
 absence, and departed to Whinstane in the jingling 
 Brafferton chaise, and in a most enviable mood 
 of mind. She had received her first letter from 
 Mr. Gilsland, and had answered it with joyous 
 sincerity, and also she had received a letter from 
 Bittersweet, whom John had apprised of the crisis 
 in his sister's affairs. In this letter, Rachel was 
 apostrophized as " a bewitched duckling, ready to 
 run straight into reynard's mouth, with a quack 
 of tragical glee, directly he opened It ! " and informed 
 that her godmamma only waited her decision to send 
 for her lawyer to alter her will. 
 
 The young woman consulted her dignity, and said 
 she mic/ht wait 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 66 ANNIS WABLEIGH'S TORTUNES. 
 
 CHAPTER THE SECOND. 
 
 AT WHINSTANE TOWER. 
 
 None serve him but constrained things whose hearts are absent. 
 
 Shakspeaee. 
 
 I. 
 
 Rachel Withers could hardly believe that it was 
 real ; she felt as if at any moment she might have 
 woke up out of her dream, and have found herself 
 back at the homely, comfortable rectory. But, no, 
 she was verily at Whinstane Tower. Katherine 
 Warleigh was in the adjoining room, probably fast 
 asleep, and the droning of Lady Foulis's organ 
 drifted with the sobs of the night gusts eerily round 
 about the walls. From the fulness of the sound, 
 Rachel knew that she must be playing with her 
 window wide, even at that hour and in that bitter 
 frost. Was the woman insensible to cold, or were 
 these midnight misereres to the winds of heaven parts 
 of an unfinished penance ? 
 
 Rachel had passed by the foot of her private
 
 AT WHIXSTANE TOWER. 67 
 
 staircase that daV;, and had seen her servant coming 
 down — a dumb, old, faithful-looking soul, who was, 
 perhaps, the only soul alive, besides herself, who 
 knew the core of her mystery. Even Sir William 
 Warleigh had no distinct understanding of it. She 
 had come back to Whinstane, after a year or two's 
 absence, just about the time when he was brought 
 thither, and had begun living then precisely as she 
 was living now, only she was young at that date, 
 and at this she was old. The dales' world gossiped 
 about her awfully long ago, but, when it had said 
 its say, seeing her no more, forgot her; the new 
 generation rarely heard her name, or heard it only 
 as the echo of an unintelligible tragedy. 
 
 Katherine and Grace Warleigh, familiar with the 
 idea of her ever since they were bom, had neither 
 interest nor curiosity on the matter. At very long 
 intervals, when they were children. Lady Foulis 
 sent for them, and they went reluctantly. She 
 had possession of the easternmost turret for her 
 life, and, on a stated day of the year. Sir William 
 saw her to pay her her income, which was charged 
 on the Penslaven lands. She was not mad, the 
 girls assured Rachel, whatever else she might be ; 
 and Katherine said she was certainly one of the old 
 race — a genuine Warleigh, born and bred ; for she 
 
 5 — 2
 
 68 ANNIS WARLEIGH'S FORTUNES. 
 
 had the noble features, the full lips, and the resplen- 
 dent dark eyes that gleamed from many a stately 
 canvas in the picture-gallery. She was a papist, 
 and Grace's pet theory concerning her was that 
 she had been a nun, and had fled her convent 
 with some lover — loved not wisely, but too well — and 
 that being overtaken by swift remorse for her broken 
 vows, she had thenceforth given herself up to 
 a voluntary imprisonment. This speculation w^as 
 as near the truth — and as far from it — as many 
 another that hovered round the mystery of her 
 name. 
 
 The life at Whinstane was, indeed, a life of weariful 
 stagnation — Rachel Withers could not have endured 
 it very long. They went down in the morning 
 to a surly breakfast in the grey twilight — for Sir 
 William kept the earliest hours, and allowed no 
 voice but his own to be heard as he read his paper. 
 They munched their toast in silence, and made 
 signals for sugar, or butter, or bacon with the most 
 stealthy carefulness, and if, in their transit to and 
 fro the table, any vessel clinked against another, 
 his scowl was almost as savage as a blow. Yet 
 Grace declared he was quite in a genial mood for 
 him since the news had come that Oliver's wife 
 had brought him a little son: perhaps the good
 
 AT WHIXSTAXE TOWER. 69 
 
 effect of it was wearing off now, however ; for it 
 was a month old when Rachel arrived at the Tower ; 
 and he had begun to be desperately impatient to 
 hear from Laurence, in answer to a most mag- 
 nanimous proposal that he considered he had made 
 him ; and his vexation each morning when the post- 
 bag yielded up nothing but the daily paper, was very 
 apparent. 
 
 After breakfast was over, the young women 
 wandered into the wilderness of a library, and 
 cowered round the fire within the screen, talldng 
 in whispers — nobody at Whinstane seemed to dare 
 to speak in a natural tone except Sir William, and 
 Rachel was fast catching the timid habit. There 
 they monotonized until nearly noon, when they went 
 into the park, and marched up and down a path 
 that had been swept for them in the snow. The 
 first morning they walked as far as the rectory, and 
 saw ^Irs. Hill for ten minutes — an event which had 
 brightened Grace ever since. She read a letter 
 from Arthur, and communicated a message to his 
 mother for reply, and with this crumb of comfort 
 was refreshed beyond belief. Rachel wrote to John 
 afterwards, and Katherine looked over her shoulder 
 for a minute or two while she was doing so, but she 
 sent no message to him ; perhaps she was too shy,
 
 70 
 
 his sister thought, and then wondered whether she 
 really liked him ; they were not long enough to- 
 gether for any very profound attachment to be formed 
 — if a reasonable affection be an affair of time ; but 
 she believed sincerely that only opportunity lacked 
 to accomplish in Katherine's mind what was already 
 past changing in John's. 
 
 Luncheon made an incident in the middle of the 
 day. Sir William always presented himself at the 
 tal)le if he were about the house, and questioned his 
 daughters straightly as to where they had been and 
 what they had done since breakfast, invariably 
 sneering and growling over the summary. They 
 were not allowed to interfere m the village school, 
 or to share any part of Mrs. Hill's parish work. 
 There was not one kind duty or office towards their 
 poorer neighbours in which they might engage. No 
 Christmas bounties were dispensed from the Tower 
 as from other great houses, and so cruelly strict was 
 Sir William's rule that never a cottager of all his 
 labouring tenants would have dared to gather a 
 fagot of broken sticks to warm his frozen hearth. 
 There was no hunting just now because of the hard 
 weather, but when the meet was anywhere in the 
 neighbourhood, the girls were forbidden to stir 
 beyond the flower-gardens. If Sir William had been
 
 AT WHINSTANE TOWER. 71 
 
 the tenderest father in the world he could not have 
 testified more care over their every movement than 
 he did ; but his watchfulness arose from his habits of 
 mean suspicion, not out of an anxious natural affec- 
 tion, and it was irksome accordingly. 
 
 The afternoon was always inexpressibly long and 
 slow. The wintry sky looked too heavy, dreary, and 
 cloud-laden to tempt any one forth a second time in 
 the day, and when luncheon was over, the girls 
 betook themselves to the hbrary again, and crooned 
 through the old stories till it was dark. All the 
 witch legends, ghost tales, and secret family traditions 
 of the dales had found a storehouse in Katherine's 
 brain, and she delighted in airing her musty pos- 
 sessions. This weird chat lasted them until dinner 
 which was as silent and cheerless a meal as breakfast. 
 After that they saw Sir William no more, and 
 what became of him Rachel did not care to inquire. 
 They retreated to the screened library hearth and 
 the eerie phantom talk ; and at ten o'clock ' they 
 were supposed to go to their rooms, and they did go ; 
 and there Rachel shivered and wrote down in her 
 little locked diary the no-events of the day until the 
 pen dropt from her stiffened fingers ; for a fire was 
 not allowed to her in her chamber, and her friends 
 were stinted to an inch of candle. Their maid was
 
 72 ANNIS WARLEIGH'S FORTUNES. 
 
 a perfectly respectful, disagreeable spy of a woman, 
 viho executed Sir William's will as sternly as a 
 jailer. 
 
 Oh, any way of escape from such a life would be 
 a change for the better! Rachel Withers would 
 rather have been the humblest working-woman in 
 the world, free to come and go, to speak and breathe, 
 than either of these two imprisoned creatures. They 
 did not look so handsome as when they were in 
 Hurtledale, and enjoyed an occasional outlet for 
 themselves. Their features were drawn and set 
 querulously, their eyes were scared, plaintive, 
 anxious, watchful. Surely the despotism of a 
 household tyrant is the chief curse women can have 
 to groan under ! All of cruelty that rumour attri- 
 buted to Sir William Warleigli fell short of what 
 Rachel saw his daughters daily endure. Filial 
 obedience to such a man could be no longer a duty ; 
 Laurence had broken from his yoke, Oliver diplo- 
 matically evaded it, and the sooner Katherine and 
 Grace found deliverance from his mastership the 
 happier for all of them ! With his leave or without 
 his leave, Rachel hoped and trusted that when the 
 day came that Arthur Hill and her brother John 
 could give them good homes and kind protection, 
 they would go without scruple or hesitation to the care
 
 AT WHINSTANE TOWER. 73 
 
 of those who loved them, and who would make their 
 lives w^orth living. And this doctrine she preached 
 as well as believed ; perhaps, if Sir William had been 
 aware of it he w^ould not have made her the wel- 
 come guest she was. 
 
 II. 
 
 Laurence Warleigh was married — the news reached 
 Whinstane Tower on the morning of New Year's 
 Day. 
 
 Sir William had just sworn at Katherine and 
 dragged the breakfast-table aslant towards the fire 
 when Nichols, the butler, brought in the post-bag. His 
 master snatched it roughly out of the man's hands, 
 and flung it upon the rug, where Grace was kneeling to 
 warm her thin shivering person ; bidding her open it 
 and give him his Times, and look if there were any 
 letter from Laurence. Meanwhile he applied himself 
 to the strong ale and game-pie with which he w^as 
 accustomed to lay the foundation of his ogre's break- 
 fast ; and when his son's missive was timidly handed 
 to him, he only laid down his knife and fork to break 
 the seal and flatten the sheet of paper open on the 
 table, and then resumed his weapons that he might 
 satisfy his hunger and his curiosity at one and the
 
 74 ANNIS WARLEIGH'S FORTUNES. 
 
 same time. His daughters watched his countenance 
 furtively as he read, and saw it change from its animal 
 coarseness and quiescence to a purple and bloated 
 rage. When he opened his mouth, it was to stutter 
 out a volley of frightful oaths which made the young 
 women quail and avert their heads ; and having read 
 the document to an end, he tore it furiously in two, 
 flung it towards the fire, and leaving his meal 
 unfinished, dashed out of the room. 
 
 Rachel Withers held herself aloof while his 
 daughters brought their pale, terrified faces together, 
 and speculated in whispers on what Laurence's new 
 offence could be ; but not until they saw their father 
 galloping down the avenue at the top of his horse's 
 speed, did they venture to take up the fragments of 
 their brother's letter, and read it. Katherine sighed 
 as she perused the scant lines, and said the letter 
 had given Laurence some trouble to write, and was 
 not very conciliatory in tone. How could it be 
 conciliatory ? pleaded Grace, and then they talked low 
 and hopelessly on the further estrangement that was 
 sure to ensue ; the younger sister wishing that 
 Oliver were at home to prevent it, and the elder 
 professing to believe that his interference would do 
 more harm than good. 
 
 Considering the importance of the intelligence that
 
 AT WHINSTAXE TOWER. 75 
 
 Laurence Warleigh's letter conveyed, it was very- 
 cool, brief and explicit; but considering also the 
 terms on which he stood with his father it was as 
 respectful as such unwelcome news could possibly 
 be. The young man began by saying that the 
 subject of his epistle would surprise, and perhaps 
 displease. Sir William, but as concealment would now 
 be equally wrong and futile he had written to apprise 
 him of his marriage with a young and lovely woman, 
 the orphan and only daughter of Captain Gwynne, a 
 naval officer, who had died in her childhood, bequeath- 
 ing her to the care of his mother, the only near relative 
 she had. She was a Roman Catholic, but a sincere, 
 pious, good girl as ever breathed ; without fortune, but 
 of simple tastes and habits. He wound up by mention- 
 ing that for the present they proposed making their 
 home at the Hurtlemere House, and by expressing a 
 hope that his sisters would be permitted to visit them 
 there. And that was all — he acknowledged no 
 breach of authority, and seemed quite unconscious of 
 any pardon being needed for what he had done. 
 
 " Think of the Hurtlemere House in winter," 
 whispered Grace, drawing her breath with a shudder 
 through her closed teeth ; " that great pine wood at 
 the back, and nothing but the tarn and snowy fells 
 to look out upon. They ought to be very much in
 
 76 ANNIS WARLEIGH'S FORTUNES, 
 
 love to support that intolerable dreariness — I hope 
 they are ! " 
 
 " I wish Laurence had not married in a corner as 
 if he were ashamed of his choice," said Katherine. 
 
 " Poor fellow ! " sighed Grace ; " he was so perse- 
 cuted — home was made so miserable to him." 
 
 " Not more miserable than to us/' responded her 
 sister ; and then they fell into a dreary silence, and 
 stood looking out at the skeleton trees of the avenue 
 and the snow-buried undulations of the park, where 
 had reigned for nearly a month past as black a frost 
 as any within the memory of Whinstandale. 
 
 Sir William returned home at noon, his rage 
 cowed down, but full of a malignant disappointment 
 and an implacable spite. From the wrathful ejacu- 
 lations that frothed over while he sat with his 
 daughters and guest at luncheon they gathered that 
 he had been to his agent to try what he could do 
 to punish his offending son, and that he had come 
 back with the mortifying assurance that he could do 
 nothing. Afterwards he bade Katherine write to 
 her brother Oliver, and command his immediate 
 presence at Whinstane. 
 
 " A black beginning this for the New Year," 
 thought poor Rachel, whose luck had set her in the 
 midst of this dismal episode. " Oh, how thankful
 
 AT WHDsSTAKE TOWER. 77 
 
 shall I be when my visit is over, and I return to 
 the peace and kindly comforts of home! " 
 
 The same afternoon about four o'clock, while 
 Katherine and she were prosing over the family 
 event by the library fire, Grace came running in 
 to say that Lady Foulis had sent for them and they 
 must go immediately. The sisters disappeared and 
 Rachel was left alone — not for many minutes how- 
 ever ; for Katherine came back almost at once to tell 
 her that she was wanted too. Lady Foulis would 
 like to see the guest Sir William did not distrust, 
 was the explanation of this unexpected summons, and 
 she obeyed it with awakened curiosity. 
 
 The apartments occupied by Lady Foulis lay 
 all tof^ether in the north-eastern wino- of the Tower. 
 They were approached by a separate staircase, and 
 the door by which they formerly communicated with 
 the great corridor had been walled up. Katherine 
 bade Rachel take heed to her steps as they began to 
 mount the spiral stair ; for it was steep and gloomy, 
 and when they reached the top both were glad to 
 pause and take breath. Opposite to them was a 
 door standing ajar, through which shone the light of 
 a lamp, and when they had waited a moment, the 
 staid-visaged woman whom Rachel had seen once 
 before looked out and bade them enter.
 
 78 ANNIS WARLEIGH'S FORTUNES. 
 
 It would not be easy to say what Rachel expected 
 to behold, but assuredly it was not what she saw. 
 Visions of sorceresses grey and terrible, of witches 
 wild and weird, of remorse-stricken penitents worn 
 and wasted in living death, had flitted momentarily 
 before her imagination as she climbed the turret 
 steps ; but when the servant opened an inner door, 
 a rush of warm, incense-perfumed air passed over 
 her, and she was ushered into a pretty octagon- 
 shaped room, half darkened by the crimson drapery 
 of five narrow high windows, and half lighted by the 
 ruddy gleam of fir-logs ablaze on the hearth. Her 
 first impression was as of a solemn, glowing picture. 
 
 " This is our friend, Rachel Withers," said Grace, 
 coming forward, and taking her hand to lead her to 
 Lady Foulis, who sat erect in a high-backed chair at 
 one corner of the fireside. Each gave the other a 
 direct glance full of inquiry, and then in obedience 
 to a sign from Katherine Rachel sat down by her on 
 a bench of oak which Grace had previously drawn 
 towards the hearth for her own accommodation. 
 
 What Lady Foulis saw in Rachel Withers matters 
 little here ; what Rachel saw in her was a woman 
 tall, straight, and stately ; a woman verging on 
 seventy or past it, with silver-white hair crisped up 
 in some bygone fashion, and covered with a kerchief
 
 AT WHmSTANE TOWER. 79 
 
 of black lace tied loosely over it. All her dress was 
 of fine black clotli, flowing and graceful ; her hands 
 were long, lean and fair, and her face was like many 
 another face in the gallery of portraits, only more 
 aged perhaps than any of those Warleigh beauties 
 were when they committed their charms to the 
 verdict of posterity — that is to say, her face was like 
 theirs in feature ; the curve of the lips, though fallen, 
 was as full ; the eyes, though marred by time, were 
 as large and as beautifully cut ; but in the expression 
 of her countenance there was something very pecu- 
 liar and not pleasing. Rachel had heard tell of the 
 second-sight — she could have fancied that Lady 
 Foulis had that weird gift. 
 
 There was nothing supernatural in her surronnd- 
 ings now, however, — nothing but what contributed 
 to the general air of comfort and convenience. 
 Behmd her chair was a curtain drawn back from a 
 tiny oratory in a recess of the wall, graced and 
 decked in the common way. The organ, by means 
 of which she disturbed Rachel's nightly rest, oc- 
 cupied a corresponding position behind the bench on 
 which she was seated with Katherine and Grace. 
 A thick crimson carpet covered the middle of the 
 stone floor, and in the centre of it was a table 
 garnished with books and works like that of any
 
 80 ANNIS WARLEIGH'S TORTUNES. 
 
 other gentlewoman. Wliat the books were, Rachel 
 did not see ; Katherme suggested afterwards books 
 of necromancy, and Grace books of devotion ; perhaps 
 they were both or neither, or only books of general 
 reading — they looked like it — and Lady Foulis had 
 occasional parcels from the outside world which 
 perhaps contained them. She had letters too, not- 
 withstanding that she was a witch ; in fact, to keep 
 up the ghostly shimmer of a mystery we must not 
 inspect it too closely. Before Rachel Withers had 
 been in her presence five minutes she began to think 
 her a person quite capable of being explained ; the 
 agreeable feeling was not permanent, but during its 
 continuance it enabled her to collect her faculties, 
 and steady her nerves for what might be to come. 
 
 ^^ I revolved just long enough on the wheel of 
 fashion to have all the sentiment ground out of me," 
 were the first distinct words she heard Lady Foulis 
 utter. She was speaking to Grace when Katherine 
 and she entered, and at that sentence interrupted 
 herself to receive them. Rachel hoped that when 
 they were settled she would resume what sounded 
 like a reminiscence of her early life, but she did not ; 
 she began on quite another subject, on that which 
 was occupying the minds of the whole household — 
 on Laurence's marriage.
 
 AT WHINSTANE TOWER. 81 
 
 " Laurence Warleigh has taken to himself a wife, 
 and Whinstandale has lighted no bonfires and rung 
 no bells," said she. " It used not to be so in tlie old 
 time. We have a legend amongst us that says, ' Bride 
 unwelcomed, babe unblest.' And Oliver is to come 
 home and be king, is he, velvet-gloved Oliver with 
 the claws ? " Katherine rephed that she had written to 
 him that day by her father's orders. " And his ugly 
 wife and their boy — father and son, they will both 
 stand in better folks' shoon than their own," added 
 Lady Foulis, sneering with a tremulous, withered lip. 
 
 '- How do you know that Oliver's wife is ugly ? " 
 asked Grace. " We have none of us seen her." 
 
 " Did he not marry her for money ? " was the 
 answer. " But Laurence's bride is a beauty — he 
 always had an eye for a sweet fair face, and he 
 married her for love." 
 
 " He was sure never to marry for anything lower 
 or less," murmured Katherine. 
 
 While this conversation was passing, though 
 Hachel did not look at Lady Foulis, and felt indeed 
 strangely restrained from doing so, she was conscious 
 of the dark eyes intently watching her, and was at 
 length startled by her saying with a quaint abrupt- 
 ness : " You are making the best of the time present, 
 you are content and happy now?" to which she 
 
 VOL. I. 6
 
 82 ANNIS WAKLEIGH'S FORTUNES. 
 
 answered, " Yes/' promptly enough, though the red 
 flew into her face and her pulse redoubled its speed. 
 " That is wise — the future is always unsure," rejoined 
 Lady Foulis, and then addressing Katherine and 
 Grace she said ; " You, poor things, are having your 
 worst days here — your bright ones will happen else- 
 where ! " 
 
 " We have need to long for them," sighed 
 Katherine. " If they don't make haste we shall be 
 past enjoying them." 
 
 ^^ Have patience yet ; they may not be so far off 
 as they seem," 
 
 All these words of Lady Foulis might be regarded 
 either as gravely prophetical or as simple common- 
 places, whichever her hearers liked ; but it was good- 
 by to Rachel Withers' composure ; she fell sombre 
 and silent, and was physically chilled as if a cold 
 shadow enveloped her. Her two friends talked on ; 
 told Lady Foulis whom they had seen in Hurtledale, 
 and what delightful hours they had spent at the 
 rectory ; and she listened, and put in little phrases 
 in quite a matter-of-fact way. All the time this was 
 transacting, Rachel felt or fancied in some inex- 
 plicable manner that the weird woman's thoughts 
 were bent upon herself; very foolish she knew it 
 was, but she could not help it ; all her nerves were
 
 AT YrHINSTAXE TOWEE. 83 
 
 strung up and in a state of high excitement : the 
 imagination plays our judgment strange tricks. 
 
 Lady Foulis did not detain her visitors very long, 
 and when she intimated their dismissal, she rose and 
 touched Rachel on the cheek, saying that it was a 
 lifetime ago since she had seen anything so round or 
 so rosy ; Rachel's skin crisped and shivered at her as 
 one shivers at a wicked story, and she was thankful 
 to get away again, even to the dreary library ; but it 
 was ever so long before the ice of that caress was 
 melted out of her warm veins. 
 
 Katherine could not forbear smiling. '^ You 
 will go away and confirm Lady Foulis's reputation 
 as a witch," said she. 
 
 Rachel shuddered irrepressibly and replied that, 
 speaking in dales' parlance, she certainly was not 
 canny. 
 
 " Noa" agreed Grace. " She has a remarkable 
 influence. Wherever she draws it from or whatever 
 purpose she puts it to, she has an influence beyond 
 the ordinary power of women. I believe in witchcraft 
 — the Bible admits it, you know." 
 
 " I should like to be sure whether she has really 
 any foreknowledge of events, or whether she merely 
 casts out her oraculai* speeches by way of cheering 
 us," Katherine murmured, reflectively. 
 
 6—2
 
 84 ANNIS WARLEIGH'S FORTUNES. 
 
 " She has always promised us some good ulti 
 mately," said Grace ; " and whether her promises 
 come true or not I am glad to dream over them 
 while we have so little that is pleasant present 
 with us." 
 
 Rachel said she had no faith in prognostics, and 
 Katherine said neither had she — she wished she had 
 — and then they entered on a discussion thereof, 
 tending to the conclusion that they were all weaker 
 than they were willing to admit. They agreed that 
 warnings of a spiritual nature were perfectly ridi- 
 culous and impossible; but something w^ithin them 
 deeper than reason silently protested against their 
 loudest assertions. Their brains denied, but their 
 nerves confessed to the influence of mysteries beyond 
 the reach of their philosophy to explain. 
 
 " I don't believe in ghosts, yet am I mortally afraid 
 of them," shuddered Rachel, with a sensation as of 
 cold water running down her back. " Lady Foulis's 
 kiss was like a frost-blight — and what did she mean 
 about the future being unsure ? " Katherine advised 
 her not to worry herself with speculating on any 
 dark sayings, and fortunately she was not of the 
 temper that inclines to do it. 
 
 "As soon as I see the smoke of our blessed 
 Hurtledale chimneys, I shall be as blithe as a bee
 
 AT WHIXSTANE TOWER. 85 
 
 once more," said she, rallying her courage ; ^^ but 
 here I could positively learn to mope and be miser- 
 able if I slept, or did not sleep rather, within sound 
 of that solemn organ — listen to the dirge, it is moan- 
 ing and sobbing through now. Oh, Katie, oh, 
 Grace, I hope it won't be long before some true 
 knight comes riding this way to carry you oflP from 
 your haunted castle ! " 
 
 Her friends laughed and asked why her wits ran 
 so much on weddinos — was it Laurence's had set 
 them a-gee ? She said no, and somehow it came to 
 pass during the next hour, that the ghost-talk retired 
 outside the screen, and within it Rachel told them 
 her little love story. True was the sympathy and 
 tender — but lioic, ichy had she kept the beautiful 
 secret from them so long? She had been with them 
 four whole days ! 
 
 III. 
 
 Swiftly obedient to his father's summons, on the 
 third of January Oliver Warleigh arrived at the 
 Tower ; and terms for his permanent establishment 
 there were soon made between them. Katherine 
 was very angry. She felt that Laurence would not 
 be forgiven now, and that they should be more
 
 86 ANNIS WARLEIGH'S FORTUNES. 
 
 widely separated than ever. It would be Oliver's 
 interest to keep him away from Whinstane, and 
 what was Oliver's interest nobody expected him to 
 neglect. Be that as it might, however, by the 
 arrangements Sir William agreed to with his younger 
 son, his daughters' lives could hardly fail to be 
 changed for the better. With a sister-in-law living 
 at the Tower they must acquire a certain measure of 
 liberty and society. Oliver stipulated for the oc- 
 cupancy of the whole of the west wing, for his 
 separate table, servants, horses, and carriage, all at 
 Sir William's expense, and his demands were granted 
 without demur. 
 
 Laurence would thus be kept out of his rightful 
 place, and it might be for a long, long term of years- 
 — no one could foresee the end of it. Grace thought 
 that Oliver would never lend himself to hinder a 
 reconciliation when the freshness of the oflPence wore 
 off his father's mind ; but Katherine declared she 
 would not trust him unless it could be managed with 
 advantage to himself. Rachel Withers, being placed 
 in the midst of these changes, heard, if she did not 
 share in, the sisters' debates. Oliver, after the 
 momentary surprise of finding any lady at Whin- 
 stane as a guest, was very gracious to her ; but he 
 impressed her no more favourably now than formerly.
 
 AT WHIXSTAXE TOWER. 87 
 
 It was singular how he could be so polished and even 
 fine-lookincr a man, and vet have such a strang;e 
 likeness to Sir William. He asked her twenty 
 questions about John and about their return to 
 Hurtledale, and was pleased to say that as she had 
 made the good beginning of coming to the Tower as 
 a visitor, so he hoped to see her there again and that 
 frequently. Rachel's answer was courteous, but 
 there were mental reservations behind it — of her 
 own free will she would never see the dreadful 
 place again I 
 
 Her fortnight was now drawing to an end, and 
 
 glad would she be to go home — there was no place 
 
 like it that she had found yet ! Mr. Gilsland was 
 
 there — that is, he was in Hurtledale. She had 
 
 thought about him incessantly since she came to 
 
 Whinstane, and the conclusion of her thinkings was 
 
 that she really loved him, let his faults in other 
 
 people's eyes be what they might. Mrs. Sara 
 
 Grandasje had written to her asrain in her serious 
 
 sarcastic vein, but it did not alter her sentiments a 
 
 bit ; of course, she felt with regret that nobody agreed 
 
 with her m them, but she consoled herself with the 
 
 reflection that hers was probably not a singular case. 
 
 On her last night at the Tower, to the general 
 
 surprise, Lady Foulis sent for her again, and sent
 
 88 AISNIS WARLEIGH'S TORTUNES. 
 
 for her alone. Katherine averred that she was not 
 mad and never had been, but on this occasion 
 Rachel certainly was relieved to find that the sober 
 attendant remained in the room as long as she stayed. 
 Her talk was very wild and incoherent, and while 
 Rachel sat nervously regarding her a strange idea 
 shot into her mind — Lady Foulis had a look of Sir 
 William and she had a look of Oliver ; a rare ex- 
 pression came into her face which at odd moments 
 struck out into a likeness and vanished ; some trick 
 of feature — of lip or eye it must have been ; for when 
 she sought it, it was not there, and no sooner had 
 she said to herself " Again ! " than it was gone. She 
 told Rachel in a dreamy, involved sentence which it 
 was not easy to understand, that she was to be 
 mixed up in some mysterious fashion with the for- 
 tunes and misfortunes of the Warleighs of Whin- 
 standale. At present her destiny seemed to run 
 clear of theirs, and likely to run clear for ever and a 
 day, but she hoped the weird woman's prediction 
 meant giood-luck to John in his wooino; of Katherine. 
 But the Sibyl, if Sibyl she were, was not in her 
 inspired mood that night, she neither fired nor froze 
 her listener, who went away from her presence 
 simply wondering how and why it had made her so 
 uncomfortable before.
 
 AT WHINSTAXE TOWER. 89 
 
 " All my own exalted imagination, I suppose, 
 wrought up to expect witcheries and beguilements," 
 soliloquized she. " A little more preparation, and I 
 might perhaps see ghosts, then hear them speak, and 
 believe them to be actual visitants from another 
 world ! It is just as well that I am going away 
 before my fancy has time to get a wry twist. I would 
 not for anything become a mystical, visionary, phan- 
 tomizing body such as this old house might make of 
 a stronger mind than mine after a course of its dul- 
 ness, dreariness, and monotony. I have not had one 
 real good night's rest since I came ; but to-morrow, 
 to-morrow, to-morrow I go home, and that comfort- 
 ing thought will rock me asleep, in spite of Lady 
 Foulis and her weariful organ ! "
 
 90 ANNIS WARLEIGH'S FORTUNES. 
 
 CHAPTER THE THIRD. 
 
 THE OLD HURTLEMERE HOUSE. 
 
 All houses wherein men have lived and died 
 Are haunted houses. 
 
 Longfellow. 
 
 I. 
 
 The old Hurtlemere House was not a gay bower 
 for a bride in the frozen days of mid-winter, but 
 Laurence Warleigh would have now no other choice 
 of a home. Rachel Withers walked up there the 
 day after her return home, as Grace had entreated 
 her, to see what manner of preparation Mistress 
 Dobie had made for the coming of her young 
 master and his bride. She had done her best, but 
 Rachel thought the house looked more solitary, 
 grey, and weather-beaten, more haunted, cold, and 
 ghostly than ever house looked before. The top- 
 most slope of the fell rose abruptly behind it, clad 
 from base to brow with dusky fir-woods ; in front 
 lay the tarn, fed by a thousand trickling rills from
 
 THE OLD HURTLE^IERE HOUSE. 91 
 
 the moors, while round and about swept the purple 
 lines of the mountains, like stern barriers to fence 
 out the world. In the season of flowers and sun- 
 shine it had some of the sw^eetest charms of solitude, 
 but any place more wild or desolate in the dead time 
 of the year it would have been difficult to find, even 
 in these lonely dales of the bleak north-west. The 
 lake was crisped over with ice, and a long, lament- 
 able blast went moaninor and wailing throucrh the 
 trees like the very voice of despairing anguish. 
 Every sight, every sound gave her a presentiment 
 of sorrow. Let those laugh at presentiments who 
 could, but she never dared ! 
 
 And on the ensuing day happened such a mis- 
 chance! They were really grieved, John Withers 
 and his sister, though it was not a very momentous 
 thing to be grieved about, perhaps. They had 
 arranged that Hurtledale church bells, at least, 
 should ring Laurence Warleigh and his bride a 
 peal of welcome at their coming home, but they 
 did not arrive in the afternoon when they were 
 looked for, and as it grew dark, Kester Greaves, 
 tired of waiting in the cold, went away to his com- 
 fortable fireside, and forgot all about them. The 
 next morning they heard at the rectory that the 
 young couple had arrived last night.
 
 92 ANNIS WAKLEIGH'S FOETUNES. 
 
 Of course, plentiful details were circulating about 
 the event already ; one wonders how such details fly- 
 abroad; but Mistress Dobie dearly loved a gossip, 
 and had sympathetic cronies enough to help her talk. 
 Mrs. Sara Grandage was mightily interested to hear 
 the earliest report of the bride ; and from one source 
 or another she gleaned the fullest and most circum- 
 stantial particulars of everything that had happened 
 at the Hurtlemere House; and when she had got 
 them well in hand she drove over to luncheon at the 
 rectory for the special purpose of telling Rachel all 
 " how and about it," as she said ; and Rachel was 
 quite as glad to listen as Bittersweet to narrate. 
 
 It was nightfall when the young people reached 
 their destination, having had twice to vary their 
 route to avoid the heavy snow-drifts that blocked up 
 the hollows of the hills. They brought with them a 
 south-country girl as maid, who cried for the last six 
 miles at the sight of the dreary moors, for which she 
 had exchanged the sunny slopes of Surrey. The 
 bride's spirits, on the contrary, rose buoyantly with 
 every difficulty and discomfort, and when the ram- 
 shackle post-chaise, in which they had travelled 
 from Brafferton, rolled in at the gates, she laughed 
 and said it had been quite a merry, adventurous 
 coming-home!
 
 THE OLD HURTLE^IERE HOUSE. 93 
 
 Mathew Dobie and his wife, spruced up in their 
 Sunday best, received the young squire and his 
 bride at the door ; he, with his short grunt meant 
 to be expressive of welcome; she, with smiles, 
 curtseys, and diffusive apologies for the bitter 
 weather, the time of night, and every other un- 
 avoidable incident attending their arrival ; and then 
 ushered them into the east parlour, where all 
 possible preparations had been made for their 
 reception. A fire of pine-knots flashed in the 
 wide range, and a round table spread for dinner 
 stood opposite the hearth, with chairs drawn up 
 on either side. Big bushes of holly, twinkling with 
 red, ripe berries, were stuck above the chimney, 
 and the spoils of the chase, which were the appro- 
 priate decorations of Moor Murray's house, had been 
 re-arranged on the wainscoted walls with a careful 
 eye to their effect. 
 
 The bride expressed herself as charmed with the 
 picturesque novelty of all she saw : " It is so quaint 
 and cosy, Laurence, I like the look of it," said she. 
 " It has the air of the best room at a country inn, 
 such as heroes stop at in romances ! " 
 
 Then Laurence glanced round at the ruddy, 
 winterly scene, and paid Mistress Dobie a compli- 
 ment on her skill in educinn comfort out of such
 
 94 ANNIS WAKLEIGH'S FORTUNES. 
 
 poor means as lay at her disposal, and immediately 
 settled himself in the unwieldy chair opposite to that 
 in which his wife had already ensconced herself 
 to enjoy the genial shine of the fire. She loosed her 
 travelling cloak and hood as she sat there, and put 
 them off; and when all her golden hair fell down 
 upon her neck, and caught the glinting rays about 
 her cheeks, that blushed like roses from the frosty 
 air, worthy Mistress Dobie, used to hard and homely 
 outlines, pronounced her, with enthusiasm, a real 
 beauty, ^* fair as a flower and sweet as spice ! " 
 
 Thus far, all had gone delightfully. Laurence 
 laughed, and the bonnie bride turned to her with 
 some merry words of thanks, but, as she spoke, 
 there came over the silly old woman's face a look 
 of woeful dismay, and abruptly exclaiming that she 
 must see about that slow lass, Magsie, or dinner 
 would be spoilt, she hurried from the room and 
 returned to the kitchen with all the wholesome 
 colour bleached out of her broad cheeks. Her 
 husband was there, and blameless scapegoat Magsie, 
 roasting herself as well as the game, and Lucy, the 
 poor maid, who had sunk down on the settle in the 
 chimney-nook, and sat wearing a countenance of 
 ineffable discontent and disojust. 
 
 Mistress Dobie entered the kitchen Avringing her
 
 THE OLD HURTLEMERE HOUSE. 95 
 
 hands and betraying other signs of extreme distress, 
 and when Mathew demanded what ailed the woman 
 — was she gone daft all at once ? she answered him 
 in a gust of sobs, " I've getten a shock, Mathew, I've 
 getten a shock ! Why has Master Laurence brought 
 that pretty cretur to this lonesome wilderness, so far 
 fra her ahi country an her ain kin ? Is it likehngs 
 she'll prosper here — a wee bit delicate bud up ov' 
 our bleak moors ? If he don't carry her awa', an' 
 that soon, worse'll come of it." 
 
 Mathew looked provoked, and took his pipe out 
 of his mouth, to bid her hold her foolish tongue, and 
 then replaced it, and puffed away with serene 
 philosophy ; but Lucy, whose eyes still brimmed 
 with tears, began to whimper, and say it did seem 
 a terrible lonesome spot to live in — nothing but 
 snow, water, and woods shut up amongst moun- 
 tains. 
 
 "It is a dowly, dowly spot, that it is," agreed 
 Mistress Dobie, with a glance that sparkled defiance 
 of Mathew, and a tongue that would not be stayed. 
 " We can't see t' reek fra' a neebor's chimley t' year 
 in an' t' year out — for neebors there's none; an' 
 only when t' wind sets fair can we hear t' jow o' 
 t' church bells. We might be dwelling in a heathen 
 land. I hardliners know how I've bidden to live here
 
 6 ANNIS WAELEIGH'S FORTUNES. 
 
 going along o' thirty year, an' me a Christian body 
 that alius enjoyed my privileges afore." 
 
 " Thou's bidden to live here, Dolly, woman, acause 
 J'se lived here, an' acause it's been thy dooty," said 
 her husband, with sententious gravity. " An' now 
 let's ha' no more prate nor clack, but show this lass 
 to her missis's chaumer, for they'll be wanting to 
 rightle thersels afore dinner, pretty folks alius does. 
 Come, bustle, woman, bustle ; t' grass'll grow under 
 thy feet, an' this bod'Il be ower done, backen an' 
 baste as Magsie will, if there's much langer to 
 wait." 
 
 Thus peremptorily admonished. Mistress Dobie 
 led Lucy up the great draughty staircase, and having 
 made her acquainted with the geography of her own 
 and her mistress's rooms, she left her there and 
 went down again to the kitchen, still wearing her 
 troubled air of mystery. Having shut the door, 
 and spied round furtively to make sure that there 
 was nobody within hearing but her husband and 
 Magsie, she drew near to Mathew, who was refilling 
 his pipe, and caused him to suspend the operation 
 of lighting it by uplifting a solemn forefinger, and 
 saying, in a voice of compassionate awe, — 
 
 " She's doomed, Mathew, she's doomed, that bonnie, 
 bonnie thing ! Don't thou sneer. She was smiling
 
 THE OLD HURTLEMERE HOUSE. 97 
 
 ■wi' her innicent lips, an' speaking to me so soft an' 
 sweet, when I see all at once them ichite hands 
 wavering aboon her head, like as if they was blessing 
 her. Thou might ha' knocked me down wi' a feather, 
 I was so fleyed. An' thou knaws what it means, 
 Mathew ; I see 'em, I tell thee, I see 'em wi' my 
 two eyes as plain as I see Magsie now I " 
 
 " Out, woman, out I can she see wi' her ten toes ? 
 What suld I heed o' ghostises an' white hands ? A 
 blessing'll harm her none, come it fra' sperrit or come 
 it fra' flesh. Don't let on wi' no such stuff to yon 
 bit o' a lass upstairs : she's a faint-hearted body fra 
 t' mak on her, an' wad be for warning her lady, till, 
 among ye, ye'd scare her into t' churchyard. T' folly 
 o' womanfolk is fairly enew to drive a sensy man 
 daft, an' t' aulder they grows, t' sillier they gets — 
 that's my exper'ence." 
 
 With tliis shrewd remark, felt to be exhaustive of 
 the subject, Mathew restored his pipe to his mouth 
 and held his peace ; while Magsie, who had listened 
 open-mouthed and bewildered, let the bird on the 
 spit burn — a catastrophe that appealed so forcibly to 
 Mistress Dobie's nose and temper that she promptly 
 discharged her from her neglected duty, and super- 
 intended the roast herself with a careful querulous- 
 ness that left her no further leisure for her phantom 
 
 TOL. I. 7
 
 98 * ANNIS WARLEIGH'S FORTUNES. 
 
 fears until the dinner was duly served, and Master 
 Laurence and his fair young wife were shut up in 
 the old parlour to make the best of it. 
 
 Later in the evening she was summoned to 
 answer a question — Were the outer wooden shutters 
 made fast over the windows? Laurence said his 
 wife shivered, and felt an icy blast blowing upon her 
 head wherever she sat. Yes, the shutters were all 
 made fast, but the house was full of draughts. 
 Mistress Dobie told them, and then added ; ^^ It's a 
 bitter black frost. Master Laurence, an' a nor-east 
 wind to-night ; an' when that's t' case, there's gusts 
 i' this room to rive t' very hair off of ane's head. It 
 don't become me to advise, but I suld say this is 
 hardlings the spot for a delicate south-bred lady." 
 
 "But a nor-east wind does not happen every 
 night," said the bride; to which Mistress Dobie 
 responded, " It mostlings does. Hurtledale's a rare 
 place for cold weather. I says sometimes when 
 Winter leaves other folks he comes up here an' stays 
 wi' us, until we're fain indeed to see his back when 
 he does go — and go he doesn't most years, not for 
 good, till into May, an' he alius shows us his blue 
 neb again quite t' fore end o' October." 
 
 The young wife only laughed at this and rejoined 
 that they would try to make him warm and wel-
 
 THE OLD HURTLE:MERE HOUSE. 99 
 
 come; and when Mistress Dobie went back to 
 Matbew in the kitchen she proclaimed that ^Master 
 Laurence's wife was the lady to draw sunbeams out 
 of cucumbers, and that whether the White Hands 
 meant mischief or not, her life, while it lasted, was 
 sure to be a happy one. 
 
 John Withers was not present w4ien Bittersweet 
 detailed her story — detailed it at much greater 
 length than is recorded here, making it sound ex- 
 tremely hke the initial chapter of a romance ; so that 
 Rachel had the pleasure of repeating it to him, w^hich 
 she did in spite of numerous impatient ejaculations 
 and a final verdict that " Mistress Dobie was a 
 superstitious old goose, and ought to have her tongue 
 tied if she had no discretion in the use of it '' — a 
 rather strong remark for the rector. 
 
 "It is very strange, but people always have 
 believed in the legend of the White Hands that 
 haunt the old Hurtlemere House," said Rachel. 
 '^ Katherine Warlelgh was talking to me about it one 
 afternoon at Whinstane, and she would have been 
 quite annoyed had I expressed a doubt of its 
 truth." 
 
 John here actually went the length of saying that 
 he thought Katherine had more sense ! 
 
 "Old families are as tenacious of their ghost- 
 
 7—2
 
 100 ANNIS WAKLEIGH'S FORTUNES. 
 
 stories as of their personal honour," persisted Rachel, 
 who wanted to go on talking ; but John took down 
 a big book from its shelf, buried his studious pate in 
 it, and turned a deaf ear to her little subsequent 
 remarks, thus intimating to her that the present was 
 a time to be silent. 
 
 Rachel felt rather cross — John really sometimes 
 treated her quite like a child ; and to restore herself 
 to a sense of ease and dignity, she went immediately 
 to her desk and wrote Mr. Gilsland a letter — he 
 never wearied of her chat, either in person or on 
 paper. They were new lovers, and oh! how delight- 
 ful it was ! 
 
 II. 
 
 Rachel Withers did not hear from Whinstane, 
 though she wrote twice before the month was out, 
 and both John and she then began to think that all 
 correspondence with Hurtledale would be interdicted; 
 Sir William Warleigh might suspect his daughters 
 of opening a secret channel of communication with 
 their offending brother through her if they were 
 allowed to exchange letters. 
 
 During the interim they had seen the bride 
 twice, and were agreed that Laurence Warleigh had
 
 THE OLD HURTLE^IERE HOUSE. 101 
 
 as fair an excuse for an imprudent marriage as ever 
 man possessed. Her name was Helena — Nell, he 
 called her. She was a bright beauty, very happy 
 and sprightly looking, with dark blue eyes, abundant 
 golden brown hair, dehcate features, and the sweetest 
 little mouth in the world— such a contrast to 
 Laurence, who was a big, massive fellow, burnt 
 almost to an umber shade. His complexion coloured 
 well, he observed to John Withers, who was struck 
 by his Indian tint ; and then he told him that it was 
 thus enriched during a couple of years to and fro 
 the wild savannahs of America. He had been a 
 great traveller during his absence from the dales, 
 and was as pleasant and frank a companion as any 
 one could desire ; he always had a fine temper, and 
 his wandering life and various hardships had not 
 spoilt but mellowed it. 
 
 Jolm Withers and Laurence Warleigh were glad 
 to meet again ; for as friends and companions they 
 had formerly suited each other to the core ; Helena 
 and Rachel also were sociably inclined, and while the 
 young men talked together of hair-breadth escapes 
 and adventures in worlds remote, they made acquaint- 
 ance over the world at home. They soon arrived at 
 the degree of intimacy implied by the use of Christian 
 names ; for Laurence introduced Rachel to his wife
 
 102 ANNIS WARLEIGlfS FORTUNES. 
 
 as an old playmate of his sisters, and they took to 
 eacli other straightway. 
 
 All her life hitherto Helena had spent in sunshiny, 
 flowery cottages, lightsomely fitted and furnished; 
 but the dusky glow of her ancient rooms at the 
 Hurtlemere House pleased her romantically. She 
 had a vivid fancy and an active imagination both 
 healthily toned and cheerful. 
 
 On the first day of February she was out of the 
 garden for the first time since they arrived. The 
 wind had dropped a little, and a pale sunshine gleamed 
 faintly along the ridges of the moors. Laurence still 
 thought the cold almost too severe, but she quite 
 craved for a walk, and he let her go. For some 
 time they kept along the hard frozen lane between 
 high sheltering banks and walls; and then at her 
 special wish they essayed to climb the fell up a path 
 that was trodden daily by Mathew Dobie in going to 
 and fro to the sheepfold. Nothing but young blood 
 and young spirits could have kept them from freezing 
 when they reached the brow ; for the wind was 
 keen and steely as a razor. Thence Helena had 
 a view of the dale-world beyond her bower of 
 Hurtlemere. Laurence pointed out by name three 
 or four scattered villages in Mirkdale, as many lonely 
 farmsteads and two church-towers. Then, bidding
 
 THE OLD HURTLEMERE HOUSE. 103 
 
 her carry lier eye along a certain line of moor to the 
 far north, he said she might see Penslaven and 
 Whinstane Tower almost parallel with each other on 
 the horizon; but either her vision fell short, or the 
 winter atmosphere was too hazy, for neither castle 
 nor tower could she discern — only sinuous waves of 
 mountains beyond mountains, and cloud upon cloud, 
 until mist and vapour, wood and hill were all fused 
 and melted together in one grey purplish shade. 
 Two grand old feudal fortresses scowled at each other 
 across the wide valley upon which they looked imme- 
 diately down, and a rapid, shallow river still ran its 
 swift course between the plains of snow in spite of the 
 long frost. They almost raced down to the mere 
 again, arriving at home out of breath and in a glow 
 of exuberant spu-its. Lucy ceased repining at the 
 sight of them, and Mistress Dobie exclaimed in the 
 warmth of her heart, " Bless 'em ! it did her good to 
 look at 'em ! If they weren't as blithe and happy as 
 a pair of May birds ! " 
 
 That was in the morning — in the afternoon snow 
 fell again, and Helena worked while Laurence read 
 to her. When blind man's holiday came in the 
 twilight, instead of ordering candles, they told stories 
 over the fire — ghost-stories — and Laurence, with his 
 secluded northern breeding, had, like his sisters.
 
 104 ANNIS WARLEIGH'S FORTUNES. 
 
 many a flesh-creeping tale to tell. These eldritch 
 legends were rather grewsome diet for Helena's 
 nerves ; for though they fascinated her, she confessed 
 to Rachel Withers half laughing afterwards that she 
 was afraid to go upstairs without somebody at her 
 elbow when she had been listening to them. 
 
 The east parlour which they chiefly occupied had 
 the best look-out from the house, but it was a very 
 cold room. Helena frequently complained there of 
 the icy draught blowing down on her head, and 
 professed that if it continued she must take to 
 wearing a little black skull-cap like Father Hurst 
 who used to come to her grandmamma's ; but 
 Laurence laid a hand atop of her golden curls and 
 vowed he would never see them hidden. 
 
 One afternoon when John Withers and his sister 
 had gone up to the Hurtlemere House, Rachel and 
 Helena were left to themselves a short time, while 
 Laurence carried John off into the hall to inspect 
 some newly arrived trophies of his wild travels and 
 hunting expeditions. In their absence Mistress 
 Doble presented herself in quest of certain household 
 commands, and observing that Helena had thrown 
 a handkerchief over her head, she inquired^ with an 
 air of heartfelt earnestness, if she were suffering 
 from a chill again. Helena admitted that she was.
 
 THE OLD HURTLEMERE HOUSE. 105 
 
 on winch the anxious worthy soul said in a voice of 
 solemn entreaty, " Oh ! if Master Laurence would 
 only take heed in time and carry you awa' fra Hurtle- 
 mere it would be well for ye both. It arn't going to 
 agree wi' you, an' how is it likelings it suld ? There's 
 naught I like less to hear young folks complain on 
 than creeps an' shivers o' the skin." Helena only 
 laughed and said Mistress Dobie was an inhospitable 
 person who wanted to be rid of the trouble of them. 
 
 " Nay, none so," protested she ; " the more in a 
 house the merrier, I alius say ! " 
 
 "But I like Hurtlemere. I shall never cease to 
 like it. Laurence brought me home to it, and home 
 it will be as long as he chooses." 
 
 " I've discharged my conscience ! " rejoined Mis- 
 tress Dobie, spreading forth her hands as if putting 
 aside a responsibility. "I've discharged my con- 
 science, and Miss Rachel there has heerd me. 
 Wilfu'ness has aye doom in it." 
 
 "You can tell ghost-stories. Mistress Dobie; I 
 know you can ! " cried Helena. " I hear it in your 
 voice and see it in your eyes ! " 
 
 " Never speak lightly o' spiritual things," said the 
 dame, slowly shaking the head of rebuke. " Ane 
 misbeliever, like my Matt, is enow in a house. Ance 
 a ghost appear til' him an' he'll doubt nae mair, none he !
 
 106 ANNIS WARLEIGH'S FORTUNES. 
 
 An' there's that poor washed-out bit of a Lucy — she's 
 for saying she don't believe i' no such logic nayther." 
 
 '^ She has been taught that there is nothing worse 
 in the world than ourselves — grandmamma always 
 told us so when we were afraid of going to bed in 
 the twilight/' replied Helena, while dimples of fun 
 played rosily about her lips. 
 
 " Oh, but there is tho' ! " exclaimed Mistress 
 Dobie in prompt and indignant denial of such a 
 monstrous assertion. " Letting alane t' gret enemy 
 o' us all — an' I suppose nobody 'ull dare be so wicked 
 as to go an' set it abroad as he^s dead — there's folks 
 upo' folks a lang sight worse nor us. Does anybody 
 want to even my good man wi' Black Bill o' 
 Moorhus, who'll come to be hanged if he only live 
 till t' tow's twined ; or me to that auld witch, Peggy 
 Tristy, who thrives by cursing her neebors uphill an' 
 down dale o' the Red Riggs ? Sure o' it, there's a 
 precious crew o' sinners a bonny sight worse nor us. 
 I'll stan' to that whiles I can stan' at a'." And 
 having worked round to earthly views and people. 
 Mistress Dobie resumed her natural voice, dropt her 
 plaintive brows, and became for a few moments a 
 mere quick-tempered woman of this world instead of 
 a lugubrious interpreter of the oracles of the other. 
 But the fascination of ghost-talk was upon her too
 
 THE OLD HURTLEMERE HOUSE. 107 
 
 strongly for her yet to refrain lier tongue from it ; 
 for, after a pause to recover breath, she began, to 
 Rachel's exceeding dismay, to narrate that old legend 
 which attached to the Hurtlemere House. 
 
 " When anybody iv' this house is marked for death 
 within the twelvemonth," said she, solemnly ; " any- 
 hody mind, there's two White Hands appears aboon 
 their heads, blessing 'em continually. It was a lady 
 iv' the gret civil-war times, they teU, as was blessing 
 three sons afore they went out to fight, when it 
 was borne in upon her heart tliat she suld never see 
 ane o' 'em more — an^ she never did; for they was aU 
 slain i' the battle. I've seen them hands myself — 
 I've seen 'em oft enew. I saw 'em ower Master 
 Laurence's mother the year she was taken ; an' I 
 saw 'em ower my own son — him as stout an' hale a 
 young man as ere a ane i' all t' dale. Yet it came to 
 pass ane December night when the waters was out, 
 and him coming home fra' Brafferton market, he 
 missed the causeway an' fell into the river. We 
 sought liim high, an' we sought him low, an' some 
 said he'd 'listed an' gone for a soldier ; his father, he 
 hoped, but / hoped never. Says I, ' I saw the 
 White Hands ower his head only the night afore he 
 were lost, an' alive to Hurtlemere ne'er will he come 
 back.' An' when t' flood went down they found him
 
 108 ANNIS WARLEIGH'S FOBTUNES. 
 
 where tli' water had not been more nor two feet deep. 
 It was his doom ; I said nought. He hes i' the 
 churchyard upo' t' hill, where Mathew's kin lie — 
 right-hand side as you go in at t' yett. There's 
 no stone — nought. But I knows where my boy 
 lies." 
 
 Helena looked very grave during this recital of a 
 well-known tragedy, which Rachel Withers remem- 
 bered as having happened when she was a child ; 
 but immediately it w^as ended, she said, " Dear 
 Mistress Dobie, don't tell Lucy this story ; it would 
 terrify her out of her senses. She has been grieving 
 to me already about the haunted loneliness of this 
 place, and I cannot bear to think of losing her." 
 
 " She's but a wan-spirited body, and I wouldn't 
 scare her for all i' the world," gasped Mistress 
 Dobie with a confusion which betrayed how her 
 tongue had outrun her discretion with Lucy and 
 the legend already. 
 
 Helena detected the fact, but she did not drive 
 the old gossip to an avowal, and when she was left 
 with Rachel alone, her only remark was that she 
 thought such traditions as that of the White Hands 
 were the most fabulous nonsense in the world. Of 
 course, Rachel agreed with her; for whatever she 
 might feel or fancy in the mysterious atmosphere of
 
 THE OLD HUKTLEMERE HOUSE. 109 
 
 Whinstane, in the sunshine of Hurtledale she did 
 not believe in ghosts one bit. 
 
 They had some further talk on everyday matters 
 until Laurence and John rejoined them after their 
 inspection of the wonderful bones and skins^ spoils 
 of American plains and forests. The rector and 
 his sister then ended their visit and went away, not 
 a single allusion to Whinstane Tower having been 
 spoken by any of the party. Neither had it been 
 mentioned on the previous occasions of their 
 meeting. 
 
 III. 
 
 No carriage and but one rough cob entered into 
 the modest establishment of Laurence Warleicrh and 
 his wife. The weather continued terrible, and when 
 she could not walk she stayed indoors altogether. 
 She sewed and Laurence read, but the winter days 
 were long, and their stock of books was soon ex- 
 hausted. One day early in March Laurence walked 
 down to the rectory to borrow something amusing, 
 and carried off Mansfield Park, 
 
 For the first time since his arrival with his wife 
 at the Hurtlemere House, John Withers thought he 
 looked out of spirits, and a very little encourage-
 
 110 ANNIS WARLEIGH'S FORTUNES. 
 
 ment brought liim, at last, to speak of his father ; he 
 said that he had taken no notice of his marriage in 
 any way — that all the family indeed had treated the 
 announcement with silent contempt. 
 
 *^ It took them by surprise, but surely they 
 have had leisure to consider of it by this time," 
 said he. " I am grieved for Nell that they have not 
 given her a welcome, and she feels it too. I would 
 go over, but I should not like to have the dogs set 
 on me, which Sir William would do without scruple 
 if he were in a savage mood. I have written to ask 
 Mrs. Damer Warleigh to come and cheer Nell out of 
 her disappointment as soon as the frost breaks up. 
 The girls might have written ; at any rate, they have 
 no quarrel with me ; and if Oliver be at Whinstane, 
 as I am told he is, I cannot imagine why I hear 
 nothing from him." 
 
 It was evident to John Withers that Laurence 
 had no idea of the virulence of Sir William's rage 
 against him, and also that he had no distrust of his 
 brother Oliver. His was one of those noble tempers 
 that never suspects. And who could warn him 
 against his own flesh and blood ? 
 
 It was about ten days subsequent to this, that 
 Rachel Withers, after a week's confinement to the 
 swept walks in the garden and shrubbery, one
 
 THE OLD HURTLEMERE HOUSE. Ill 
 
 morning summoned courage to go up to the Hurtle- 
 mere House by the cart-road. A hard walk it was, 
 and when she arrived there she would have given 
 anything to escape; but Mistress Dobie, unwitting 
 of aught amiss, received her gladly, and ushered her 
 into the east room; and when she entered, there, 
 behold, was Helena weeping, and Laurence at his 
 wits' end to comfort her ! Rachel's first impulse 
 was to retreat, but Laurence called out to her not to 
 run away ; and while she stood hesitating and feel- 
 ing wretchedly awkward, Helena came forward and 
 declared sobbing that it was all about nothing — all 
 about nothing, when these were the first tears since 
 their marriage ! 
 
 Like a pair of babies they confessed themselves to 
 Rachel, and in confessing were perhaps a little com- 
 forted. It seemed that Laurence had been writing 
 a second letter to Mrs. Damer Warleigh, and that 
 when it was finished, he tried to tempt Helena out 
 for a walk ; but she, cowering over the fire, looked 
 up at him with pitiful eyes and said, " No ; the 
 wind w^as so loud, the frost so cold." He urged that 
 she had walked in worse weather; for though the 
 sky looked lowering, it was fair overhead and crisp 
 underfoot, while the sun had made several attempts 
 to escape from its curtain of clouds. It would do
 
 112 ANNIS WARLEIGH'S FORTUNES. 
 
 her goocl^ he said^ she was only suffering from a little 
 lazy fit. 
 
 Instead of answering him she began to cry, and 
 when he besought her to tell him what ailed her, she 
 could only hide her pretty pathetic face on his 
 shoulder, and say she did not know. He could 
 not understand it in the least. She went on weeping 
 lamentably; not with moans or hysterical shrieks, 
 but as if a gradual flood of tears had been long 
 swelling in her heart, and was now overflowing in 
 spite of her. At this crisis Rachel had the mis- 
 fortune to intrude upon them. Laurence had little 
 experience of women, or he would have known what 
 an easement it is sometimes to be let alone to weep 
 for no ostensible cause ; so he began to fret and 
 fume, and to fancy that Helena was dissatisfied and 
 unhappy, and then he vowed he would carry her 
 away from Hurtledale forthwith. 
 
 At that she opened her lips, and said it was over — 
 her crying fit, she meant — and he must not mind. 
 But he would mind. He railed against his father, 
 against Oliver, against his sisters, for what he called 
 their cruel neglect, and grew so bitter of speech, at 
 last, that Helena was fain in her turn to assume the 
 task of consoler ; and brightening up, professed her- 
 self ashamed of her childish outbreak, and wondered
 
 THE OLD HURTLEMERE HOUSE. 113 
 
 hardly less than Laurence hmiself what had made 
 her give way to such foolishness. Finally, peace 
 was restored. 
 
 Sober-minded Rachel Withers went home deeply 
 grieved and anxious after what she had witnessed ; 
 she believed she understood it, but she did not quite, 
 Helena was no doubt feeling the pain of her un- 
 acknowledged position ; for she had that tenderness 
 and cheerful kindness of heart that suffer most from 
 unfriendly neglect. She knew when she married 
 Laurence that there was estrangement betwixt him 
 and his father, but she trusted to see it healed, and 
 counted with perfect confidence on his sisters for 
 her frequent companions. She was barely seven- 
 teen years old, and until she saw Hurtledale, she 
 never saw lack of family affection. Rachel Withers 
 was good and thoughtful, but she could not make 
 of her the friend she looked to find ready-made in 
 Katherine and Grace ; and as week after week went 
 on, and Whinstane was silent, and they made no 
 sign, her disappointment grew certainly very heavy. 
 But neither was it this that caused that overflow 
 of tears which Rachel saw; what it was Helena 
 kept in her heart a secret — a secret even from 
 Laurence. 
 
 TOL. I. 8
 
 114 ANNIS WARLEIGH'S rORTUNES. 
 
 ly. 
 
 The sixth of April was a foregleam of spring. 
 When Rachel Withers rose that morning there was 
 no frost on the windows ; a rapid thaw had set in, 
 and the fell was marked in long furrows of black and 
 white; the latter becoming narrower and narrower 
 as the sun gained in power, until only here and 
 there soiled patches lay on the north side of a bush, 
 a boulder, or a hollow in the slopes. The sky was 
 brilliant and cloudless, the wind hushed, and only the 
 sound of the hill streams, flooded by the melting 
 snows and running riot in their pebbly channels, 
 broke the delicious calm of the morning. 
 
 John Withers was pledged to a long round of 
 pastoral visits, and after Rachel's duties at home and 
 in the school were accomplished, she began to think 
 she could not do better than redeem a promise she 
 had made to Helena of spending with her the first 
 free morning she found at her disposal ; she therefore 
 set off and reached the Hurtlemere House just as 
 Helena was on the point of starting with Lucy for a 
 ramble in the woods to see what they could discover 
 in the way of mosses and wild-flowers. She received 
 her very gladly and explained that Laurence had
 
 THE OLD HURTLE:MERE HOUSE. 115 
 
 gone over to BrafFerton, wliicli made her coming 
 the more opportune. 
 
 " I have just been telling Lucy that the violets will 
 be out at Everham now, " Helena said. " When 
 grandmamma opens the breakfast-room window of a 
 morning before prayers there rushes in such a swxet 
 perfume ! " 
 
 " And the primroses in Beechwood ! " exclaimed 
 Lucy, brightening at the recollection. "Oh, what 
 gatherings we did use to have ! " 
 
 " We have wealth of wild-flowers too," Rachel told 
 them. " Here comes Mathew Dobie — ask him if we 
 have not." 
 
 In answer to their questions the gruff old farmer 
 said, 
 
 "Yes, there was snowdrops, primroses, 'niminies, 
 daffydowndillies, blue-bells, king-cups, cowslips an' 
 all sorts i' their seasons — t' woods was like as if they 
 were carpeted wi' 'em. An' up o' t' muirs there was 
 t' gorse, yaller as gould, an' never no more out o' 
 blossom than kissing was out o' fashion ; an' i' 
 August wasn't there t' heather, like a royal king's 
 robe o' purple — flowers ! ay, there was flowers i' 
 plenty for them as wanted 'em." 
 
 So they went up into the wood, splashing through 
 the marshy grass, Helena and Lucy laughing and 
 
 8—2
 
 116 ANNIS WARLEIGH'S FORTUNES. 
 
 gay as a couple of holiday cliildren. They rambled 
 far and wide under the trees, and stayed out 
 gathering beautiful mosses and other treasures for 
 more than two hours ; and when they returned 
 indoors Helena and Rachel made themselves busy 
 in decking the east parlour with their spoils of 
 greenery. Helena was much more skilful at the 
 tasteful task than her companion ; it was astonishing 
 what pretty, ingenious pyramids she constructed 
 with a few roots of primroses, ready to burst into 
 bloom, mingled with snowdrops, all the mould being 
 hidden in rich, long-fronded moss. 
 
 They had concluded their work, Lucy had cleared 
 away the relics, and they were just about to dispose 
 themselves for a comfortable cose by the fireside, when 
 there appeared, advancing up the avenue, a lady 
 on horseback, wrapt in a heavy cloak, with the hood 
 drawn over her head, and attended by an elderly 
 man-servant. Rachel's first thought was of Katherine, 
 but a second glance assured her that it was Mrs. 
 Damer Warleigh, of Bristowe. Mistress Dobie 
 was already bustling out to receive her, and Helena 
 watched her dismount with mingled pleasure and 
 trepidation. 
 
 '' What a disappointment that Laurence is away," 
 whispered she ; and then they heard the visitor's
 
 THE OLD HURTLEMERE HOUSE. 117 
 
 clear voice in the hall, saying, "So your master 
 is not at home ? I am sorry for that, but it is his 
 wife I came to see chiefly. Tell her I am here." 
 
 " An' fain she'll be, Mrs. Damer," was the distinct 
 response. " You're the first o' Master Laurence's 
 kin that has thought it worth while to come near her, 
 poor young thing that she is ! " 
 
 Then the door opened, and Helena met, with 
 a beating heart, first the gaze and then the warm 
 embrace of the dignified old lady, who kissed her 
 several times on both blushing cheeks before she 
 let her go, perhaps because she knew there were 
 tears in the sweet veiled eyes. 
 
 " So, my dear, so," said she, soothingly, lifting up 
 her chin, and looking in the pretty face very kindly, 
 "you and I are going to be friends." And then 
 Helena, forcibly swallowing down the sob that had 
 risen in her throat, smiled forth a real welcome. 
 "Laurence is gone to Braff'erton, I hear," ]\Irs. 
 Damer went on, " and, as he is not with us, the 
 next best thino; is to sit down and talk about him." 
 And, suitino- the action to the word, she let Helena 
 and Rachel take off her cloak, and being ensconced 
 in an easy-chair by the fire, she began — 
 
 " I hope you know that nothing but the weather 
 has kept me away so long," she said. " Laurence
 
 118 ANNIS WAELEIGH'S FORTUNES. 
 
 is almost my own boy, and I have been anxious 
 to see his wife ever since he brought her up to this 
 wild Hurtledale, but the frost has been enough to 
 pinch an old woman to death. However, when 
 his letter reached me this morning, I said to the 
 squire, ' Nothing shall hinder me from going to see 
 that pair of babes in the wood to-day. Thomas shall 
 saddle me the mare, and I will ride over directly 
 after breakfast ; there is a moon, so expect me back 
 by bed-time, and not before.' And now, as Laurence 
 is at Brafferton, I can stay peaceably to see him, 
 and hear his plans. I trust he does not intend to 
 bury himself and you alive here much longer, 
 for I must protest strenuously against that folly." 
 
 " We are very happy ; we like Hurtledale," 
 replied Helena, w4io was now wearing her sunniest 
 face. " I do not care for the world." 
 
 " The world, the world, my innocent child, what 
 do you mean by the world f Solitude is not good 
 for young folks — you will mope and grow weary. 
 Living here always would be to you like planting 
 a rose-bush under the cold shadow of a north wall, 
 and bidding it bloom. It would never bloom, my 
 dear, it would pine away and die. Then, Laurence 
 is a young man, and must have society after his 
 kind or he will be spoilt. You are enough for each
 
 THE OLD HURTLE:\IERE HOUSE. 119 
 
 other to-day and to-morrow, and the day after 
 to-morrow in one sense, but there is virtue in variety, 
 and in dulness lie the seeds of many discontents. 
 Trust me, child, dulness will find its way to 
 Hurtlemere if you persist in making it your per- 
 manent retreat" 
 
 *^I am ready to do whatever Laurence wishes," 
 replied Helena, cheerfully. ^*' We have amused 
 ourselves very well so far, and spring is coming. 
 If I had his sisters for my companions sometimes, 
 I should have nothing left to desire." 
 
 Mrs. Darner Warleigh made no direct answer to 
 this remark, but encouraged Helena to speak about 
 her childhood, her grandmamma Gwynne, and her 
 bringing up at Everham, every word she uttered 
 reflecting her good feeling, good sense, and sweetness 
 of disposition.. " 'Twas a thousand pities she was a 
 Romau Catholic ! " the kind old lady said to Rachel 
 when they were for a moment alone ; but that could 
 not be imputed to her as a fault, and she adopted the 
 fair young wife straightway into her warm affections. 
 They all lunched together, and the afternoon sped 
 swiftly on, four o'clock arriving and bringing 
 Laurence with it almost before Helena had had time 
 to feel his absence long. His eager greeting testified 
 how welcome was this visit from Mrs. Damer
 
 120 ANNIS WARLEIGH'S FORTUNES. 
 
 Warleigh, and after personal inquiries and congratu- 
 lations were over, he immediately began to ask about 
 the state of things and feelings at Whinstane ; but in 
 consideration of his innocent wife's presence, she gave 
 the briefest and most reluctant answers. 
 
 " Speak out," said he at last ; '^ what is for me is 
 for Helena too; and Rachel Withers knows all 
 about us." 
 
 " Your sisters never have been free to do as they 
 would, — you must remember that, Laurence," re- 
 plied Mrs. Damer in a deprecating tone. "And 
 they are as much under harsh authority now as 
 formerly." 
 
 Helena coloured painfully, and looked up in 
 Laurence's face as he exclaimed hotly, " Then they 
 do not mean to come over ? " 
 
 " Sir William has forbidden them — and perhaps 
 Oliver is not acting quite as he should. I told him 
 so myself." 
 
 " Oliver ! Has Oliver turned against me ? He 
 wrote fairly enough beforehand — was he not to be 
 trusted?" 
 
 " He is not befriending your cause now. He is 
 supreme at Whinstane — he and his Lady Georgiana. 
 Katherine is by no means in love with her ; indeed, 
 they are quite antagonistic spirits."
 
 THE OLD HURTLEilERE HOUSE. 121 
 
 '^ Katherine has a wiU of her o^yn, and can exercise 
 it on occasion. And so she is not coming — neither 
 she nor Grace ! Never mind, Nell, we can live 
 ■without them — let them go ! " 
 
 There was a very grieved look on the young wife's 
 downcast face at this conclusion to her hopes of 
 friends amongst Laurence's family. He continued to 
 speak on as if he made no account of their neglect, 
 but he did not make very great account of it indeed. 
 He was deeply wounded and mortified, for Helena's 
 sake perhaps more than for his own ; for though they 
 had that love between them which softens every despite 
 of fortune, still it was hard to have brought her so 
 far from home and familiar friends, to find only the 
 chilling shadow of avoidance and neglect amongst his 
 people. The heir's wife and unacknowledged — it was 
 a very cruel position for her indeed. 
 
 After a considerable pause, Mrs. Damer Warleigh 
 opened the subject of their having taken up their 
 abode at the Hurtlemere House. "We shall stay 
 here," Laurence replied. " We must stay here — we 
 are lucky in possessing even such a home as this 
 independent of my father. And Nell likes it— don't 
 you, my darling ? " 
 
 " Better than any place in the whole wide world," 
 was the fervent response.
 
 122 ANNIS WARLEIGH'S FORTUNES. 
 
 "It is nonsense to talk about must^^ said Mrs. 
 Darner again. " We all know that there are a 
 hundred ways and means by which the heir to Pens- 
 laven and Whinstane might raise money if he would 
 — not that I advise you to resort to wasteful ex- 
 pedients. I could not make out from Oliver, 
 whether Sir William is allowing you anything now 
 or not." 
 
 "He has not given me sixpence since I left the 
 Tower last — Oliver knows that very well. As for 
 borrowing money, I do not care to contract any 
 obligations that must make me look forward to my 
 father's death for relief. We are not people of 
 Insurious habits, Nell and I, and therefore we may 
 get along here for a time contentedly enough." 
 
 " Oh, yes I " murmured Helena, and gazed up at 
 him with a glorified love and confidence shining in 
 her sweet face. 
 
 " I shall buy a pony to carry her about the moors, 
 and we shall remain in Hurtledale," continued 
 Laurence, warming into a more cheerful mood. "You 
 and your girls will come over now and then to see 
 usj or if you do not — well ! we shall live like Adam 
 and Eve alone in Paradise." 
 
 " I do not remember that Eve enjoyed the indul- 
 gence of a pony," replied Mrs. Damer pleasantly.
 
 THE OLD HURTLE:MEEE HOUSE. 123 
 
 " However, you are both young, happy and strong, 
 and a year's seclusion can do you no great harm. If 
 Hurtledale should grow weary yon are not under a vow 
 to stay in it, but can avail yourselves of the privilege 
 of changing your independent minds. It is a toil of 
 a pleasure for indifferent folks to get up here, and 
 you are sure to be left pretty much to your own 
 society; but we will see you as often as we can, 
 though I must warn you that we have a grand 
 scheme pending at Bristowe. The squire has all 
 but promised to carry us to Switzerland this summer; 
 if we go it will be early in next month, and then this 
 visit must stand for both how-d'ye-do and good- 
 by!" 
 
 " The gods are against us ! " said Laurence half- 
 laughing. " But we shall circumvent them — you 
 will not find us grown over with moss when you 
 come back." 
 
 " I hope not," rejoined the old lady ; and then 
 they talked on more lightly and pleasantly of 
 Laurence's travels and of the sons and daughters 
 who had been married from Bristowe since he went 
 away, until John Withers came in to take his sister 
 home, accordinor to an arrano-ement made betw^een 
 them before she set off in the morning. 
 
 They walked back to the rectory by the moor and
 
 124 ANNIS WAKLEIGH'S FOKTUNES. 
 
 the Higli-beck, whicli was coursing down its rocky 
 bed full and noisily, and when they had crossed by 
 the bridge — for the stepping-stones were quite 
 washed over by the swollen stream — Rachel told her 
 brother how there was no present chance of a recon- 
 ciliation between Whinstane and the Hurtlemere 
 House. 
 
 '' I am very sorry to hear it," said he, and spoke 
 no more until they reached the rectory. By his face 
 he was think in o; about Katherine.
 
 125 
 
 CHAPTER THE FOURTH. 
 
 TWO STRINGS TO HIS BOW. 
 
 It is good to be oflF with the old love 
 Before you are on ■with the new. 
 
 Old Ballad. 
 
 I. 
 
 The sudden break-up of the frost set all the dale 
 free, and everybody began rushing about calling on 
 everybody else, and making the most of the welcome 
 sunshine. Amongst the earliest, Mrs. Sara Grand- 
 age drove up to the rectory in the chill dignity- 
 mood which she had chosen to adopt towards her 
 goddaughter since her engagement to Mr. Gilsland 
 had been acknowledged — she declared that she could 
 not reconcile herself to it, and that the more she saw 
 of him, the less she liked him. Sheer prejudice, 
 Rachel was convinced. She did not believe Bitter- 
 sweet was ever cordially glad to hear of young folks 
 manying, but how was the world to go on unless 
 they did ? She would have cared less for her
 
 126 ANNIS WARLEIGH'S FORTUNES. 
 
 opinions, however, had not John also been so 
 obviously of her mind. He had quite wounded her 
 feelings a little while back by saying with an air of 
 resigned vreariness that a man need not see much 
 of his brother-in-law if they did not suit. True 
 enough, rejoined poor Rachel, but she should 
 not like her marriage to detach her from her 
 brother or any of her old friends. Her course of 
 true love, you perceive, was not running quite 
 smooth. 
 
 Bittersweet had certainly repented her of that 
 grand threat of altering her will. Said she there- 
 anent, "I respect the liberty of the subject. Dumpling, 
 and would by no means restrain a wilfiil woman 
 from being miserable in her own way ; therefore you 
 will get what I intended you to have at my death, 
 but not before. And I am not going to die yet, 
 remember that. My family are all long-lived." 
 Rachel replied that she might live for ever for any 
 coveting she felt for her legacy ; and then Bittersweet 
 protested, "Ay, but if Mr. Gilsland knew what I 
 have left you he would begrudge me every breath I 
 have to draw I " 
 
 Rachel grew most eloquently indignant. "Why 
 should you attribute such wicked selfishness to a 
 person of whom you can know so little ? " cried she.
 
 TWO STRINGS TO HIS BOW. 127 
 
 " I do not discern in liim this yulgar craving for 
 money, though I sometimes wish he indulged leas 
 ambitious hopes of worldly adTancement. A great 
 position and wide popularity are not essential to my 
 scheme of happiness ; I could be quite content never 
 to raise my eyes beyond Hurtledale ; but then I am 
 only a woman, and he is a man of spirit and genius ! " 
 Bittersweet curled up her nose expressively and said 
 he was nothing of the sort. 
 
 Kachel Withers's friends and acquaintance did not 
 fail of their duty towards her in the way of advice 
 and of warning ; but they entirely misunderstood her 
 temper if they hoped to detach her from Mr. Gilsland 
 by constant abuse and sarcasm. It was always her 
 propensity to take the part of unlucky or unpopular 
 people, and her sympathy went invariably with the 
 unsuccessful person whom the rest of the world com- 
 bined to run down. Every word therefore that was 
 said against her lover only made her the more deter- 
 mined to see with her own eyes and judge with her 
 own heart of the good that was in him. 
 
 Amongst others, worthy Mrs. Anderside must 
 needs take her to task. " I have known you ever 
 since you were born, Rachel, and you never 
 thoroughly surprised me before," said she solemnly. 
 " How disappointed your dear mamma would be if
 
 128 ANNIS WAKLEIGH'S FORTUNES. 
 
 slie were living now ! I always took you for a 
 steady-going, right-headed, practical little body, with- 
 out a taint of sentimentality about you, and they tell 
 me you have positively fallen in love with our curled 
 Adonis of a curate! I declared that I would not 
 believe it until I had it from your own lips. Now is 
 it true ? " Rachel admitted that it was, and the old 
 lady, after indulging herself with a prolonged gaze at 
 her conscious face, exclaimed in a tone of comical 
 vexation, " Won't Kitty be grieved when she 
 hears it ! " 
 
 " Why should Kitty be grieved ? " Rachel rather 
 indiscreetly asked. 
 
 "For the same reason that everybody else is 
 grieved — because there is no chance of your being 
 happy with him," was the reply. " My dear child, 
 what can you know of his disposition, his temper, 
 his character ? You have been too hasty by half in 
 forming an engagement; it is barely six months 
 since you first met. Look at Kitty and excellent 
 Mr. Crofts, how patiently they waited." 
 
 " They waited twenty years, I believe, but if I am 
 not married earlier than Kitty I will remain a spinster 
 to the end of my days," retorted Rachel. Kitty was, 
 indeed, hardly a judicious example for her mother 
 to cite, and she became sensible of the fact when the
 
 TWO STRINGS TO HIS BOW. 129 
 
 deed was done ; but she continued her lecture 
 notwithstanding. 
 
 " For three-and-twenty years did Mr. Crofts remain 
 in the same humble lodging over Jane Nabbs' milli- 
 nery shop, and never a complaint did he make m all 
 that time of any want or inattention. Mr. Gilsland 
 succeeded him in the same rooms, and before the 
 week was out I had been down twice to accommodate 
 difficulties. At the month's end he changed his 
 quarters, and changed them so much for the worse 
 that he had notice to quit before he had occupied his 
 apartments three days; they say the woman of 
 the house rang all the bells for joy when he was 
 going out of it — very insolent of her if she did, but 
 I can quite believe it. Since then he has"' moved 
 four or five times, and I hear he is now on the eve 
 of another flitting. Each of the womanfolk who has 
 had to deal with him, proclaims him a selfish, 
 thankless, inconsiderate fidget. ^ He'd be cheap at two 
 guineas a week, ma'am, and seven shillings is the 
 money/ said Jane Nabbs; ^I don't know when I've 
 been so rejoiced to see anybody's back as I was to 
 see Mr. Gilsland's. Mr. Crofts was worth a hundred 
 of him!'" 
 
 Rachel was not prepared to dispute that proposition 
 with Mrs. Nabbs or with Mrs. Anderside either, but 
 
 TOL. I. 9
 
 130 ANNIS WAELEIGH'S FOKTUNES. 
 
 she thought and said it was very unkind and veiy 
 lurong to collect and retail to her all the paltry gossip 
 that was circulated against Mr. Gilsland; but she 
 did not believe one half of it — no, nor one tenth part 
 of it ! Warming up into fiery indignation as she 
 proceeded, she said, " He has lived hitherto in com- 
 parative luxury, and I see nothing wonderful in his 
 failing to be comfortable even in the best of their 
 poor little Brafferton lodgings — I should be rather 
 astonished if he were ! It is easy enough to be^ self- 
 denying and contented in theory, but the practice of 
 most of us would give way if it w^ere tried every day 
 at dinner-time with chops half scorched and half raw, 
 and potatoes to match them, either as hard as stones 
 or boiled to a mummy. It is very fine for people to 
 talk lightly of other folks' semi-starvation, when they 
 have got a good cook themselves." By which little 
 oration Mistress Rachel betrayed that her lover was 
 not above worrying her with his petty discomforts at 
 home as well as his lack of appreciation abroad ; and 
 for a naturally meek young woman it will be allowed 
 that she came out pretty strong in his defence.
 
 TWO STRINGS TO HIS BOW. 131 
 
 IL 
 
 If time did not fly in Hurtledale, it kept even pace 
 and was rarely heavy, rarely lagging. ^ With her 
 domestic affairs, the school, and the poor people, 
 Rachel Withers had few leisure hours on her hands 
 that had not more claims than enough to satisfy. 
 Either Mr. Gilsland was at the rectory or she must 
 write to him ; and very exacting he proved in that 
 particular — or there was a visit owing, or Mrs. Sara 
 Grandage dropped in for her speU of contemporary 
 social liistory, as she "was pleased to call her gossip, 
 or something else, unforeseen, happened. She could 
 almost have found in her heart to envy Laurence 
 Warleigh and his wife the quiet leisure of their lives, 
 with nobody going near them, and nothing to attend 
 to but each other. 
 
 When spring was fully come, with its fresh beauty 
 of field and forest, on the pony which Laurence, 
 according to his promise, had bought for Helena's 
 service, she rode to Brafferton and back to say her 
 prayers in the Catholic chapel twice or thrice a 
 week ; then to and fro the hills, and, as the days 
 lengthened, they made further excursions amongst 
 the dales into other haunts as secluded as their own, 
 
 9—2
 
 132 ANNIS WARLEIGH'S FORTUNES. 
 
 where generation after generation had lived and 
 died, seemingly without ever a thought of forsaking 
 their remote homes for any busier world. Years 
 hence, if God spared them, their existence now would 
 be to look back upon like one long, sunshiny day. 
 
 By this time, Helena and Lucy were both quite 
 satisfied with the manner of their new life in the 
 dales. They had made themselves little household 
 interests: they gardened, they had pets of fowls, 
 and their interludes of talk about Grandmamma 
 Gwynne and dear old Everham were becoming more 
 and more rare, until, by-and-by, they promised to 
 lapse into the past and to be almost forgotten in the 
 way of regret. Laurence Warleigh bore the kind 
 of life pretty well. He trudged by his wife's pony 
 far and near in all their wanderings, for he was a 
 famous pedestrian; and at home he was for ever at 
 her elbow, reading to her, admiring her bits of 
 work, and occasionally offering her a little willing 
 but awkward assistance. A very charming picture 
 of Darby and Joan in the heyday of love they 
 made. 
 
 One day when Rachel Withers was up at the 
 Hurtlemere House, Helena took her into her little 
 oratory, which was a quaint room projecting over 
 the great porch, with three narrow arched windows
 
 TWO STRIXGS TO HIS BOW. 133 
 
 looking three separate ways. She had decorated 
 it rather fantastically, as it seemed to Protestant 
 Rachel, with transparencies of saints against the 
 lights east and west, while, reared up in front of 
 the centre one, was a crucifix — the cross in ebony, 
 the figure in ivory, very finely carved. Every inch 
 of wainscot bore a picture, a garland, or some symbol 
 of her faith. Here, also, were her devotional books, 
 and when Laurence was not with her this was her 
 favourite retreat. She was a sincere, pious soul as 
 ever breathed. Once she told Rachel that she had 
 had thoughts of becoming a nun, and called it a 
 " blessed vocation," but perhaps she found it a still 
 more blessed vocation to be Laurence Warleigh's 
 wife. He did his utmost to make up to her for 
 the lack of all other friends and aflfection, and, 
 appai'ently, with full success. "Whatever her wicked 
 little secret that she kept so close, it was not fretting 
 her now : each time that Rachel saw her she looked 
 brighter and happier than the last. 
 
 " I wonder whether I shall be as happy when 
 I am married ! " thought Rachel, and followed the 
 speculation up with a sigh. Was that sigh ominous 
 of some doubt creeping in? That she had her 
 troubles we have good reason to know. 
 
 It was about this time^ early in June — that she
 
 134 ANNIS WARLEIGH'S FORTUNES. 
 
 went over with John to pay a three days' visit at 
 Floyd's Seat — a visit which had been promised 
 and put off, and promised and put off it would be 
 hard to say how frequently since their return to 
 Hurtledale. The Grantleys were hospitable people, 
 and never of their own will had their house empty. 
 There was a dinner-party the first evening, to which 
 came Mr. Gilsland in very high feather and his 
 most lover-like and amiable mood. Rachel was 
 content that night, for nobody jeered her or flouted 
 him ; he was not intimate with the Grantleys, 
 and for her sake they inclined to think him a 
 pleasing person. 
 
 On the following day there was the Annual 
 Archery Meeting held in the grounds, and to assist 
 at it came a considerable muster of company from 
 all round the neighbourhood, which made it the 
 pleasantest, gayest entertainment that Hurtledale 
 had seen since last summer's closing picnic at 
 Prior's Bank. Rachel Withers never pretended 
 to deny that she was fond of a little cheerful society ; 
 and as the curate again appeared on the scene, and 
 again in his genial temper, she had the promise of a 
 day of bliss before her. But it was not destined to 
 go over without a little speck or two of bitterness. 
 
 The most talked-about and conspicuous person
 
 TWO STRINGS TO HIS BOW. 135 
 
 at Floyd's Seat on this memorable occasion was that 
 Miss Briggs, who has been mentioned once ah-eadv, as 
 having distinguished herself by being taken faint in 
 church at Kitty Anderside's wedding. But she was 
 very far from being taken faint now; for she had just 
 fallen into a surprising great fortune by the death of 
 an eccentric old kinswoman, who, though she would 
 never see her as long as she was alive, had made 
 up for the neglect now by bequeathing to her all her 
 possessions — to the prejudice, it was said, of a couple 
 of nephews, whom she had brought up in the ex- 
 pectation of being her heirs. Now an heiress is 
 always interesting, and though IMiss Briggs was 
 rather old to be still a young woman, she had not 
 given up irrevocably her pretensions to youthfulness ; 
 and her accession to fortune did, no doubt, materially 
 lessen the sum of her years. Rumour varied as 
 to the amount of her inheritance: some persons 
 said it was five thousand a year, others reduced 
 it to two ; but let the facts be what they might, 
 the poor spinster had received a mighty increase of 
 wealth, and betrayed, by every air and gesture, that 
 she felt herself to be a person of magnified import- 
 ance in the eyes of society. 
 
 Rachel Withers had heard of her great good 
 luck, and expected to see her flourishing in all
 
 136 ANNIS WARLEIGH'S FORTUNES. 
 
 the gloss and crispness of new mourning; but old 
 habits are not got over in a day, and Miss Briggs 
 had apparently adapted to her own service some 
 of the rustiest relics in her deceased kinswoman's 
 wardrobe ; for she was wonderfully equipt in an aged 
 black lutestring, tight in the sleeves, with epaulettes, 
 and a rigid economy of breadth in the skirt. Over 
 it she wore a little velvet pelerine, trimmed with 
 bugles, and to crown all, a chip bonnet of ante- 
 diluvian shape, embellished with a broad, drooping 
 feather on each side. Her unusual splendour gave 
 rise to much criticism amongst her numerous acquaint- 
 ance ; but she bore herself throughout the day with 
 the serene self-possession of a woman who feels 
 herself exceedingly well dressed ; and so she was 
 well dressed for Betsy Briggs with sixty pounds 
 a year, but for Miss Briggs, the fortunate heiress, 
 she was, perhaps, rather behind the fashion — at least 
 people said so who were lately from Paris. 
 
 She was always a plain woman, but she never 
 looked plainer than on this public occasion ; for her 
 affectations and minauderies were carried over the 
 borders of the grotesque. It appeared more than 
 once as if she were striving to act up to some 
 comical conception she had formed of what a rich 
 woman ought to be. Not one word did she utter
 
 TWO STRINGS TO HIS BOW. 137 
 
 without contortions of eyes, mouth and peaked-up 
 nose, which she elevated in the air as if snuffing 
 admiration, while she stept to and fro the lawn 
 amongst the company, viewing herself on either side 
 with the complacency and self-delight of a six-year- 
 old child in its holiday clothes. Oh! she felt 
 grand ! 
 
 She was not a sweet-natured woman at heart, and 
 the unexpected rise in her fortunes seemed to have 
 brought out in full flavour two or three latent 
 qualities not commonly accounted pleasant. "Yes, 
 ma'am," and " No, sir," were her humble formulas in 
 past times, and to Mrs. Sara Grandage, who was 
 rather arbitrary, but who had done her a thousand 
 substantial kindnesses when she needed them, she 
 was then especially deferential ; but now, to Rachel 
 Withers' mischievous amusement, she quite changed 
 her tone — soothed her, advised her, and referred to 
 the precautions necessary at her time of life, though 
 she knew as well as anybody that her ancient patro- 
 ness hated to hear her age or infirmities spoken of. 
 
 It was a queer scene for an onlooker. Bittersweet's 
 bright black eyes sparkled with ire ; she always had a 
 repugnance for Miss Briggs as a fawner and toady, 
 even while she pitied and assisted her ; but now she 
 was thoroughly disgusted, and declared she was more
 
 138 ANNIS WARLEIGH'S FORTUNES. 
 
 odious with her new fortune than ever she had been 
 in her low estate. 
 
 "But there is one consolation," added she, spite- 
 fully, addressing her goddaughter ; "she is such a 
 mean-spirited thing, she will never have the heart to 
 Spend her money ; she will indulge herself in the 
 pleasures of accumulation — very dear to many who 
 have known poverty ! " 
 
 Rachel had her sly little laugh at her godmamma, 
 but her own turn with Miss Briggs was coming 
 by-and-by. That lady was one of Mr. Gilsland's 
 very few admirers in BrafFerton, and Bittersweet 
 liked to tease Rachel by saying the lean spinster 
 had a secret tendresse for him; and he for her 
 cups of comfortable bohea. Of course, Rachel 
 could afford to bear these jibes good-humouredly — 
 she knew the curate's real opinion of old Miss Briggs. 
 Nevertheless slie felt a spasm of very genuine and 
 imdignified vexation when the heiress came up to 
 her and whispered in her sharp, tittering, lacka- 
 daisacal way — - 
 
 " He ! he ! Miss Rachel, so you and Mr. Gilsland 
 are to marry! WJienf When he jumps into a 
 fat rectory, and your ship comes home with your 
 fortune ? It will be another case of Kitty Ander- 
 side and the grey curate, I expect — twenty years'
 
 TWO STRINGS TO HIS BOW. 139 
 
 courtship and a parsonage in the Potteries at 
 last ! " 
 
 Rachel wished the spinster could have heard a 
 few of the curate's latest criticisms on her own 
 fascinations, then would she have been sweetly 
 avenged for this insolence; but as her benevolent 
 aspirations were only made in her own heart. Miss 
 Briggs retired uninjm'ed and triumphant. She did 
 not like Rachel Withers, for some reason best known 
 to herself, and it was an intense satisfaction to her 
 to feel that she had planted one thorn at least in that 
 successful young woman's bosom. 
 
 But in the course of the day Rachel came in for 
 her compensations. Other old friends congratulated 
 her, and said kind things to her ; and though 
 Mrs. Sara Grandage would not have been Bitter- 
 sweet had she not done her little best to dash her 
 goddaughter's contentment, she was not so resolutely 
 malicious as usual. She caught Rachel once stand- 
 ing alone, while Mr. Gilsland, who had been her 
 companion until a moment before, was speaking aside 
 with a stranger ; she was smiling to herself at a 
 pleasant thought, and looking so superlatively silly 
 that the opportunity for raillery was too good to be 
 lost 
 
 '• Oh, you beatified goose ! " cried the old lady.
 
 140 ANNIS WAELEIGH'S FORTUNES. 
 
 making a comical caricature of lier attitude and 
 expression. ^^ Do let the natural woman come out 
 a little more. What is your lip curled up to your 
 nose for if you are to turn out sentimental ? I would 
 never have stood godmother for you if I could have 
 believed you would ! " 
 
 Here Mr. Gilsland, having done with his friend, 
 advanced to rejoin Rachel, on which Bittersweet 
 withdrew herself, pursing up her mouth and say- 
 ing, *^Now we are going to look niminy-piminy 
 again ! " 
 
 He asked what were her charming remarks, but 
 did not press for an answer; he knew very well 
 that he was no favourite with the sarcastic old lady 
 at Prior's Bank, and distrusted her accordingly. 
 
 John Withers and his sister were remaining at 
 Floyd's Seat over the following day, and therefore 
 they witnessed the dispersion of the general company ; 
 and it was not without a pang of acute wrath, that 
 Rachel saw Miss Briggs offer, and Mr. Gilsland 
 accept, a seat in the hired pony-chaise in which the 
 heiress was returning to Brafferton. Mrs. Sara 
 Grandage looked on rejoicing, and with a sudden 
 inspiration of wickedness, said to her suffering god- 
 daughter — " An engagement is not final. Dumpling 
 — nothing is final but a marriage ; what will you bet
 
 TWO STEIXGS TO HIS BOW. 141 
 
 me that your beautiful curate is not fitting a new 
 string to his bow ? " 
 
 If a reproachful glance could have killed, 
 Bittersweet had never stirred again from that 
 hour ! 
 
 HI. 
 
 " What respect the world pays to money ! What 
 court old Miss Briggs receives since the fame of 
 her fortunes spread through the dales ! Yesterday 
 when John and I drove into Braflferton there were 
 two carriages standing at her door, and ours made 
 the third — I would not have called, but John said 
 I must When we got into her stuffy little parlour, 
 there we found the Grantleys and Carltons, whom 
 she was entertaining with conversation in her grand 
 new manner, only dropping now and then by accident 
 into her old servile style. We had not paid her a 
 visit since she came to her kingdom and she received 
 us with the loftiest patronage; we were the last 
 friends who had honoured her, she said. Oh, 
 Bittersweet, how odious money makes odious 
 people ! " This moral tag to her story issued with 
 a good deal of expletive force from Mistress Rachel 
 Withers' lips, and her godmamma encouraged her to
 
 142 ANNIS WABLEIGH'S FORTUNES. 
 
 go on with the tale of her visit to the heiress ; it was 
 excellent fun to the old lady to see her put out of 
 temper. Until lately she had been almost monoton- 
 ously sweet and soft ; but nature was asserting 
 herself again without the poor girl's precisely know- 
 ing why. 
 
 '^ Well, we had not been there many minutes," 
 continued she, "when in came Mr. Gilsland, 
 bringing Miss Briggs a little pamphlet which it 
 appeared she had commissioned him to procure for 
 her ; and she was so diffusive in her thanks that he 
 tried to stop her — but she would not be stopt until 
 she had had her say out. Then the Grantleys and 
 Carltons took leave, and as soon as they were gone, 
 again did she rehearse her fulsome — ^ So very 
 much indebted, so very kind iyideed of you, Mr. 
 Gilsland,' as if he had walked to London and back 
 for her, until John's face expanded into an irrepres- 
 sible grin, to cover which he begged to ask, if it were 
 no secret, what this precious pamphlet was about ? 
 And she began to say she was not sure she might 
 tell, with such an affectation of archness and mystery 
 as put Mr. Gilsland quite out of countenance. I 
 could see he was intensely provoked ! " 
 
 Bittersweet laughed enjoyingly. 
 
 " I wish I had been there ! " said she.
 
 TWO STRINGS TO HIS BOW, 143 
 
 " And after all," proceeded Rachel, " the paper 
 turned out to be neither more nor less than the pro- 
 spectus of some inferior school where the orphaned 
 sons of clergymen are received at a lower charge 
 than other pupils, and that she wanted the informa- 
 tion to help her to dispose of that brace of luckless 
 lads whom her cousin's caprice has left dependent 
 on her tender mercies. She squeezed my hand 
 impressively as I was coming away, and whispered 
 in confidence, ^ You see, my dear, a single woman 
 must seek an adviser amongst her friends when 
 her responsibilities are so great as mine.' ' Why 
 don't you go to Mr. Anderside, then ? ' said I, 
 and left her quite annoyed. Affected old thing ! 
 Mr. Gilsland took his hat to accompany us, but on 
 some pretence or other she managed to detain him, 
 and we saw him no more; for we drove straight 
 home after a visit to the rectory. Twice or thrice 
 on the way John broke out into his merry, enjoying 
 laugh, for which there was no excuse that I could 
 see ; and when I made him tell me why he did it, 
 he only asked if I had no sense of humour, and said 
 that scene in Miss Briggs' parlour was the finest bit 
 of comedy he had ever witnessed. Perhaps I might 
 have thought so too if anybody but ]Mr. Gilsland 
 had taken the chief role in it ; as it was I am afraid
 
 144 ANNIS WARLEIGH'S FORTUNES. 
 
 my temper got the better of me, for I exclaimed 
 passionately that Miss Briggs was a detestable 
 woman! which set John off again into a perfect 
 peal of laughter — and it was ridiculous." 
 
 Thus far Mistress Rachel with unembarrassed 
 fluency ; and then she melted into a flood of tears. 
 Her godmamma looked on as she had listened — with 
 delightful composure ; and as soon as the shower 
 was over, said with perfect confidence in the 
 wisdom of the advice she was offering, " Dumpling, 
 if that man gives you the chance, quarrel with 
 him." 
 
 " But I don't want to quarrel with him," sobbed 
 Rachel, " and it is all her fault ! " 
 
 "Then, my dear, he will quarrel with you. I 
 will bet you a thousand pounds to a penny that your 
 faithful swain has fitted a new string to his bow." 
 Bittersweet spoke with the calm assurance of fate, 
 and though, of course, Rachel did not believe her, 
 the words went down into her heart and made it 
 heavy. 
 
 The following day Mr. Gilsland was due at the 
 rectory, but he disappointed Rachel and did not 
 come — it was the first time he had failed of his 
 appointment yet. When it grew so late that she 
 knew it was useless to go on expecting him, she set
 
 TWO STRINGS TO HIS BOW. 145 
 
 off for a walk upon the moor alone. On reacliing 
 the ridge of the fell that looked over into Mirkdale, 
 there she stumbled on Laurence "Warleigh and 
 Helena, seated on a plaid amongst the heather enjoy- 
 ing the splendid June sunset. Helena was looking 
 marvellously lovely, there was the softest, sainthest 
 expression in her eyes. What they had been speak- 
 ing of before Rachel interrupted them, she could not 
 tell, but the moment Laurence espied her he sprang 
 up exclaiming, " Here is Rachel Withers, now let 
 us be gay ! Tell us the news in the dales, Rachel, or 
 how the world wags beyond them ! " 
 
 There was a little effort in his manner, and Rachel 
 would gladly have excused herself, and left them to 
 their own company, but they would not permit her 
 to escape, and they walked as far as the High -beck 
 together. The stream was rippling over the stones 
 wuth a pleasant fulness of sound, and somewhere 
 down in Mirkdale there was the ringing of church- 
 bells which chimed musically in with its melody. It 
 was a sweet summer landscape such as Rachel would 
 have enjoyed with the inmost fibre of her nature, had 
 not a strange feeling of doubt and depression kept 
 thrusting itself like a cloud betwixt her and its 
 beauty. She carried the haunting presentiment 
 home with her, and asked herself a hundred times 
 
 VOL. I. 10
 
 146 ANNIS WAELEIGH'S FOKTUNES. 
 
 during that dreary, sleepless night — could all the 
 world be just in lightly esteeming her lover, and she 
 alone wrong in taking him for a true man ? 
 
 ly. 
 
 Said Bittersweet with good-humoured sarcasm, 
 ^^ There is the wooing that is all butter and honey, 
 the wooing that is all sugar and spice, and the 
 wooing that is all scratch and claw, snap and snarl — 
 which is yours. Dumpling ? If you grow thin and 
 ugly over it, I will never forgive you ! " 
 
 *^ Am I growing thin and ugly over it ? I am a 
 good deal worried in my mind, and that is the fact," — 
 a great confession this for a girl like Rachel Withers 
 to make, especially to a woman who had been against 
 her all along. She made it about a month after the 
 archery gathering at Floyd's Seat, since which her 
 tender little affairs had been going altogether wrong. 
 She wished she were a little happier. She could not 
 persuade herself into a belief that she either was 
 contented, or ought to be contented, while things 
 continued as they were. It was quite impossible to 
 guess what had lately come over Mr. Gilsland ; she 
 never felt less bright or cheerful than after a walk 
 and talk with him ; he wore and discouraged her mind
 
 TWO STEDsGS TO HIS BOW. 147 
 
 with complainings and gloomy previsions as empty 
 often as tliey were useless. John Withers had 
 ceased to intermeddle either one way or another ; he 
 saw his sister was worried, but she had made her 
 engagement with her eyes open, and in defiance of 
 his opinion, and she must bear the brunt of discover- 
 ing her mistake — an engagement was a more serious 
 business in his views than in Bittersweet's — she would 
 have broken a dozen rather than not. How different 
 this love-making was to what poor Rachel fancied ! 
 No pleasant, sunshiny hours of quiet converse now 
 their mutual strangeness was gone — nothing but 
 thorns, prickles, uneasiness ! 
 
 " If I knew how to satisfy iiim I would do it — he 
 knows I would, and yet he is always finding fault 
 with me," said she in pitiful, querulous accents, 
 which were balm to her godmamma's ears. 
 
 Only the last time he was at the rectory he had 
 said to her with cutting coldness, "You have no 
 sympathy with me, Rachel; you never attempt to 
 realize my position. If I tell you how Mr. Anderside 
 leaves the burden of the parish on my shoulders, you 
 answer that he is growing an old man — as if that had 
 anything to do with it. A little condolence would 
 please me far better than your constant cheerfulness. 
 You do not feel how alien to ail my tastes and all my 
 
 10—2
 
 148 ANNIS WARLEIGH'S FORTUNES. 
 
 habits is the stagnation of provincial society. I die 
 in it — sometimes I am capable of any rashness to 
 deliver myself from it. You suggest that I should 
 resign my curacy here and seek another elsewhere — 
 that does not sound as if you valued my company 
 much, but I will let it pass as well-meant, though I 
 must remind you that curacies with stipends of one 
 hundred and fifty pounds a year are not waiting to 
 drop into my mouth directly I open it. No, I see 
 nothing before me but years of this distasteful 
 drudgery! It is sheer madness for a gentleman to 
 take orders unless he have large private means or 
 powerful patronage ; and I have neither money nor 
 friends at court." 
 
 Rachel could not answer him — his thoughts were 
 not her thoughts, nor his hopes her hopes : she never 
 could have imagined how widely they differed unless 
 she had pledged herself to share them. She would 
 have been very happy during a long day of small 
 things with affection to shine on it, but she began to 
 perceive with shrinking reluctance that Mr. Gilsland 
 did not love her as a man must love the woman he 
 marries if she is to enjoy any measure of content — 
 yet still she clung to him. 
 
 "Give him up — I would never be so poor-spirited 
 as to bind myself to a man who did not care for me ! "
 
 TWO STRINGS TO HIS BOW. 149 
 
 cried Bittersweet, contemptuously. " Besides, it is 
 both foolish and wrong." 
 
 " You might as well saj it is foolish and wrong to 
 have a pug-nose — it may be against the laws of 
 beauty, but it is not against the laws of nature. And 
 it is my nature to go on loving what I have once 
 loved though it disappoint me ever so," answered 
 Rachel with a bitter earnestness. 
 
 " So much the worse for you ! " said her god- 
 mamma, and ceased from her reasoning. The 
 sagacious old lady knew that patience, time and the 
 hour would bring this troublesome affair to the end 
 she desired to see. 
 
 And in fact that end came very shortly. One day 
 early in August Mr. Gilsland walked over to the 
 rectory ; it was sultry weather, and he arrived there 
 very hot, tired and dusty; very much out of love 
 with the world and with himself Rachel met him 
 less gracefully than usual ; she also was heated and 
 weary with a tedious morning amongst the children 
 in the school ; and an uncomfortable doubt and dread 
 of him was in her mind. There was thunder in their 
 moral atmosphere, and a general tendency towards 
 storm. 
 
 They talked a little wdiile on common things, 
 verging gradually towards personal interests, Rachel
 
 150 ANNIS WARLEIGH'S FORTUNES. 
 
 becoming more and more conscious every moment 
 that tlie curate had something to say which he had 
 yet a difficulty in bringing out. She did not help 
 him with a single word — she had quite enough to do 
 to keep guard over herself. 
 
 At last it came, awkwardly, blunderingly, but still 
 it came. Mr. Gilsland was not without a sense of 
 the proprieties, and he knew he was doing a hazardous 
 deed, but he did not stick at doing it. He told 
 Rachel that when he made her an ofPer of marriage 
 he was under the impression that she possessed a 
 considerable fortune, and he implied that she had 
 herself deceived him. 
 
 This insinuation she passed by ; he knew he was 
 lying, and she knew that he knew it — but to the first 
 part of his statement she made answer with a steady 
 little face and more dignity than was usual with her, — 
 " No, Alfred, I have only a thousand pounds, and I 
 think I must have told you so." She had not told 
 him so, but he had been aware of the fact some 
 months ; John had given him the information when 
 he permitted the engagement. " I think I must 
 have told you so," repeated Rachel, and then looking 
 straight into his eyes, she added, " but if you repent 
 of your promise I will not hold you to it." 
 
 This was precisely what he wanted to bring her to,
 
 TWO STRINGS TO HIS BOW. 151 
 
 but he was excessively angry when it was achieved. 
 He called her all the cold-hearted things in the world, 
 and finally went away in a rage. But he never came 
 to the rectory again, and Rachel Withers' little love- 
 story was ended.
 
 152 ANNIS WARLEIGH'S FORTUNES. 
 
 CHAPTER THE FIFTH. 
 
 IN THE WINTERLY WEATHER. 
 The blank grey was not made to blast her hair. — Byron. 
 
 There was something again a little amiss with 
 Laurence Warleigh's wife. Her spirits that were 
 so even were becoming as uncertain as the winds. 
 She fretted about Laurence, and fancied she saw 
 often a look of tedium creeping over his face ; her 
 tender heart was smitten with many an aching 
 fear lest their present existence of sweet idleness 
 might grow flat, stale, and burdensome to him. 
 Then, quite forgetful of herself, she urged him 
 to make a change, though what change she could 
 never suggest; but he always answered her that 
 Hurtledale satisfied him, and until she wearied of 
 it there they would remain. 
 
 By tacit consent, they never mentioned Whinstane
 
 IN THE WINTEKLY WEATHER. 153 
 
 or his sisters now, and in this instance Laurence 
 Warleigh's passive stubbornness of endurance began 
 strongly to manifest itself; for though he resented 
 the neglect of his family in silence, he resented it 
 with a very deep displeasure. No doubt but that 
 Helena brooded over it too. She had some cruel 
 moments of self-torment from the thought that she 
 it was who had alienated Laurence from his own 
 people, and many a dread lest a time might come 
 when she should not be there to compensate him for 
 what he had lost. But was he not separated from 
 them almost as widely before he married her ? though 
 a door of reconciliation was then open to him had 
 he chosen to avail himself of it. It was a pity that 
 either of them should suffer the matter to weigh 
 on their hearts, however ; for what was Sir William 
 Warleigh that any one should heed his displeasure ? 
 
 There is nothing in this world without alloy. 
 Fondly and faithfully as they loved each other, 
 there were thorns, and sharp ones, in their rose- 
 garden of Eden. 
 
 Visitors they had none, besides John Withers 
 and his sister. They were quite out of the world. 
 Laurence Warleigh's bringing up at Whinstane 
 had isolated him from companions of his own age 
 and standing, and his wandering life before his
 
 154 ANNIS WARLEIGH'S FORTUNES. 
 
 mamage had helped still further to keep him poor 
 in friends near home. Neither were his present 
 circumstances such as to tempt the gentlefolks of 
 the dales to lay aside their mossy dignity and make 
 advances to the unknown son of the notorious Sir 
 William Warleigh, even did not the distance of the 
 Hurtlemere House from all their civilized dwellings 
 make a visit thither in the best of weather a hard 
 day's work. The Darner Warleighs, who might 
 have brought them forward, were gone abroad, 
 and they, therefore, lived entirely to themselves; 
 and it was not to be marvelled at if Laurence did 
 now and then crave some more muscular mental 
 diet than his fair young wife's society could afford 
 him. 
 
 As the summer and autumn passed over, and 
 November winds began ta scatter the leaves in 
 the woods, Helena grew worse. Some unconfessed 
 source of trouble influenced her spirits capriciously. 
 She had long and apparently causeless fits of weeping, 
 and days when she would sit still, pale and speechless, 
 from morning to night. Merry little Doctor Beane 
 who attended her, made light of her freaks, but 
 during the last few weeks Laurence had several 
 times mooted anxiously the advisability of carrying 
 her away from the loneliness of Hurtledale; and
 
 IN THE WINTEKLY WTIATHER. 155 
 
 he would undoubtedly have done so had she not 
 now been herself averse to move. 
 
 It was one day about this time that she took 
 her couraore in her hands, and bess^e^i Laurence to 
 let her write to his sisters — she wanted them to 
 forgive her for taking him from them ; to think of 
 her gently, though they were never to meet, she 
 pleaded: it would be a happiness to her to know 
 that they did not quite hate and despise her. Poor 
 girls, they would have received her with open arms 
 and open hearts had the chance been allowed them ! 
 He would not at first, but a little more entreaty pre- 
 vailed, and he gave her reluctant leave to do as 
 she wished, though he forewarned her of ill-success. 
 She refused to be discouraged, however : she thought 
 she should have skill to move the hearts of two 
 women whose own lives were not very happy, and 
 she addressed them toorether. 
 
 o 
 
 It was a simple, touching little letter that she 
 wrote. Katherine's proud throat swelled as she 
 read it, and Grace cried aloud that she would 
 set off to Hurtlemere that very hour ; then their 
 father's coarse voice recalled them to themselves, 
 asking what they were snivelling about, and com- 
 manding them to hand him the letter. He snarled 
 and swore over it a good deal, then flung it on the
 
 156 ANNIS WARLEIGH'S FORTUNES. 
 
 fire, and, with yindictive bitterness, forbade them 
 to answer it at their peril. Katherine was haughtily 
 silent, but Grace burst into a passion of tears, and 
 was hustled out of the room by her sister to escape 
 their father's rage. Oliver discreetly held his peace, 
 taking neither part, but a day or two after, when 
 Sir William showed signs of relenting before his 
 daughters' persistent entreaties that he would allow 
 them to go over to see Laurence's wife, he spoke 
 strongly against it; sneered their petition down, 
 and said it was a very mean expedient in his brother 
 to let Helena's pen plead for their restoration to 
 favour. Lady Georgina took the same self-interested 
 view of it, and Sir William — always most angry 
 when he thought himself cajoled — renewed his stern 
 injunction to his daughters against either writing 
 or going to the Hurtlemere House. And thus it 
 came to pass that poor Helena's pathetic appeal went 
 unnoticed. 
 
 Each succeeding day after it was sent, Laurence 
 or Mathew Dobie went down to the post as 
 soon as the letters w^ere in to inquire if there had 
 come any reply. She too would go to the gate to 
 shorten her suspense in waiting for their return, and 
 it was cruel to see the disappointed yet hopeful air 
 with which she met the empty-handed messenger
 
 IN THE WINTERLY WEATHER. 157 
 
 returning diu'ing the first week. "Nothing yet — 
 perhaps they are away, and it may come to-morrow." 
 But for many to-morrows it did not come, and as the 
 conviction of her utter failure forced itself on her 
 mind she became more despondent and tearful than 
 ever. 
 
 Mistress Dobie reasoned with her solemnly, for 
 she perceived that it drove her master almost mad 
 when he saw his darling thus causelessly distnist. 
 " He loves you as his very life is bound up in you," 
 urged the worthy old woman ; " an' how can you 
 heed anybody's unchristian spite when that's so ? I 
 wouldn't, not I ! It behoves you to cheer up and be 
 merry for all sakes ; I don't know what Mrs. Damer 
 'ud say, an' she could see that pitiful face ! " 
 
 Then poor Helena strove with her weakness, 
 but as she mournfully said, she could not help it. 
 Dr. Beane bade them be patient with her, and pro- 
 phesied that in due time all would be right again 
 and the little lady happier than ever; but his 
 cunning eye had lately discerned that she had a 
 secret fear on her mind; he could not persuade it 
 out of her, and he said to himself with misgiving — 
 " The child has got it into her head that she is going 
 to die." 
 
 And that was just what Helena had got into her
 
 158 ANNIS WARLEIGH'S FORTUNES. 
 
 head — foolish Lucy had told her weepmg in the 
 spring that the White Hands had been seen hover- 
 ing over her from the very night Laurence had 
 brought her home^ and as her hour of trial drew 
 near, she made up her mind that she QJiitst die and 
 leave him — die and leave him; and all her bitter 
 tears and anguish betrayed how little able she was 
 yet to resign herself and go ! 
 
 IL 
 
 The last time that Rachel Withers saw Helena 
 was in the ensuing January. She found her fitfully 
 gay ; Laurence had received a long letter from Mrs. 
 Damer Warleigh announcing their speedy return to 
 Bristowe, and this had enlivened her. He went out 
 for a walk, leaving his wife and her friend together, 
 and they had a gossip over the travellers' news, during 
 which Helena smiled more genuinely than she had 
 smiled for months. But the brightness did not last. 
 When she passed from foreign adventures to speak 
 of Mrs. Damer Warleigh's influence at Whinstane 
 her face clouded over again with a weary depression. 
 " She is my last hope of a reconciliation between 
 Laurence and his family," said she. *^ If anything 
 should happen to me he will never forgive them — the
 
 IN THE WINTERLY WEATHEE. 159 
 
 breach. ^Yill never be healed. By any means and on 
 any terms, I yearn for it to be closed before my 
 child is born." 
 
 Mistress Dobie had occasion to enter the room 
 while Rachel was there, and on Helena's remarking 
 that the lowering of the storm-clouds reminded her 
 of the weather when Laurence brought her home to 
 the Hurtlemere House, ^^ What a long, long time 
 ago ! " she looked round at the gentle creature and 
 exclaimed : " 'Deed but you'll find t' years '11 be 
 short enew by an' by ! As you grow auld like me 
 you'll hardlings care to count 'em, they'll flee so 
 fast." 
 
 A convulsive shudder ran through Helena's frame 
 from head to foot, and with a smile more touching 
 than any tears, she said, '^It was only the White 
 Hands over my head — I feel them often now. Do 
 you think they are blessing me to a long life. 
 Mistress Dobie, or do they hover over me for a 
 warning, * that the blank grey was not made to blast 
 my hair ? ' " 
 
 " White Hands and fash ! " exclaimed the dame 
 with well-acted contempt but genuine alarm; "my 
 dear lady, it is but an auld wife's tale that you 
 shouldn't give heed to — more shame to me that telled 
 you! Ignorant folk take up wi' that sort o' logic,
 
 160 ANNIS WARLEIGH'S FORTUNES. 
 
 but it is not for us as knows better. Pray, never let 
 Master Laurence li^ar you go on wi' tliat." 
 
 Helena glanced at Rachel half amused, but when 
 Mistress Dobie had gone out she said very quietly 
 and resignedly, " Don't call me weak, Rachel, but 
 ever since I got to know how they told a story in 
 the dale that the White Hands were seen over my head 
 from the first night that Laurence brought me here, 
 I have felt sure I shall not live. I kept it to myself 
 and fretted over it terribly once, but it does not 
 weigh on me so sadly now. God has given me 
 peace, but my heart breaks for Laurence ! We 
 have been very happy together — I am only a little 
 fondling thing, but oh, how he loves me ! It is 
 almost pain to think of it now ; I wish I might have 
 stayed with him a little, little longer. And he does 
 not know — he does not know that I must go ! " 
 
 Rachel Withers could never afterwards recall her 
 words, and the look on her face, without the tears 
 starting to her eyes. She said whatever she could 
 think of to reassure and comfort her, but to what 
 purpose was it reasoning against such a fixed imagi- 
 nation — a prevision so likely to bring about its own 
 fulfilment? When Laurence Warleigh returned 
 from his walk, she kissed Helena good-by and went 
 away — kissed her and said good-by for the last
 
 IN THE WINTERLY WEATHER. 161 
 
 time! Mistress Dobie let her out at the front 
 door, and whispered earnestly as she did so, ^' Oh, 
 Miss Rachel, don't be long o' seeing my dear lady 
 again. She frets sorely after being friends wi' them 
 proud misses at Whinstane ; she'd fain bespeak their 
 kindness for th' lile bairn she thinks she'll ha' to 
 leave as soon as it comes into this cauld world ; 
 and her heart does not misgie her for nought, I 
 know." 
 
 No, — Helena's sweet face looked like one that was 
 never to grow old, and the Shadow of Death was 
 haunting the dim chambers of the Hurtlemere House 
 already. 
 
 HI. 
 
 It was through a heavy snow-storm that Mrs. 
 Damer Warleigh, two days after her return to 
 Bristowe, rode up to Hurtlemere, an urgent letter 
 from Laurence having reached her by a special 
 messenger at noon. It was night when she arrived, 
 and everything was dark except a single thread of 
 light stealing through a chink in the closed shutters 
 of an upper chamber. The deep snow muffled the 
 sound of the horses' feet, and no one appeared to 
 admit her until after a second and lengthy summons. 
 
 VOL. I. 11
 
 162 ANNIS WAELEIGH'S FORTUNES. 
 
 At last Mistress Dobie presented herself at the door, 
 looking dull and bewildered, like a person suddenly 
 awakened out of the leaden sleep of utter exhaustion ; 
 and as Mrs. Darner Warleigh stepped across the 
 threshold, she said, with laconic despair ; " She's 
 dead — it's all ower, an' she's dead, an' done wi' her 
 troubles ! " 
 
 The visitor asked for Laurence and was answered; 
 "He's out somewhere i' the storm; bite nor sup 
 hasn't passed his lips sin' morning. Oh! Mrs. 
 Damer, but we ha' had a time o' it ! " 
 
 Mrs, Damer Warleigh w^alked through the house 
 into the kitchen and stood before the fire, the snow 
 melting from her in tiny rills as Magsie, stupefied 
 with crying, relieved her from some of her heaviest 
 wTaps. Mathew Dobie was smoking his pipe in his 
 chimney-corner with his usual calm philosophy; 
 Lucy was not visible, and Mrs. Damer asked for 
 her. 
 
 " She's getten charge o' t' babe, an' as it keeps her 
 fra fretting that's ane bother out o' hand," replied 
 Mistress Dobie. Mathew now considerately pro- 
 posed to go with his lantern in search of his master 
 and bring him in, but his wife thought he had better 
 let him be. " It don't do to mell' wi' folk i' his 
 frame o' mind, they comes to best by thersels'," said
 
 IN THE WINTERLY WEATHER. 163 
 
 she. " He wer worse nor mad this morning — it 
 wer awfu' to see him. An' oh^ the wicked, wicked 
 words he spoke ! I hope God A'mightj don't 
 hearken to men when they're out o' thersels ? She 
 were sensible to the last, poor pretty cretur that she 
 was, an' good as pretty ! " IMi's. Damer inquired if 
 the child was a boy or a gu'l. 
 
 " A girl, an' it's not amiss considering. No fear 
 but it '11 live, Doctor Beane says ; an' we ha' sent for 
 Mary Wray, as has just lost her own baby, to come 
 nurse it. Lucy has ta'en to it amazing, an' I ha' 
 shifted 'em quite out o' Master Laurence's way ; for 
 oh, IMrs. Damer, I don't think he's safe. When she was 
 gone, he flung out into t' storm like ane possessed, 
 an' he has never come nigh hand t' door-stane since. 
 It's cruel to see her lying there, an' him raving 
 demented out up o' t' fell. There I see him this 
 afternoon crying — Lord, how he was crying ! Them 
 at Whinstane's gotten much to answer for, indeed 
 ha' they." 
 
 After some time Mistress Dobie led the way to 
 the silent chamber where Helena was lying in her 
 dreamless death-slumber, — poor little loving, achino- 
 heart at rest for ever! Mrs. Damer could not 
 refrain herself from weeping aloud as she gazed at 
 the marble face, and remembered the happy young 
 
 11—2
 
 164 AN2;is warleigh's fortunes. 
 
 wife she had left in her earthly Eden but a few 
 months ago. 
 
 While they were standing there the hall-door 
 opened and shut, and Mistress Dobie said in a 
 frightened undertone, 
 
 " That's Master Laurence's foot coming in wi' 
 Mathew — pray he don't break out again!" and 
 she would have closed the door, had not Mrs. Darner 
 said, " No, let him meet her there ; " and the next 
 moment he came into the room, drenched, wild, 
 incoherent. 
 
 The kind old lady took his hand and said, " Ah ! 
 Laurence, I did not look for such a greeting as this ! 
 It is a bitter, bitter bereavement, but God's will be 
 done ! " 
 
 " Was it God's will ? Nay, it was their devilish 
 pride and cruelty that killed her ! " exclaimed he 
 hoarsely. " She could not bear it — it broke her 
 heart. They killed her, I say, they killed her ; hell's 
 curse upon them all!" and his voice rose to an 
 awful cry. 
 
 " Hush, Laurie, hush, in this holy presence," 
 whispered Mrs. Damer. Her tone and manner 
 subdued his frenzy, but when she would have had 
 him quit the room with her, he stubbornly refused, 
 and stayed all night watching by the unconscious
 
 IX THE WINTERLY WEATHER* 165 
 
 clay. The last twelve hours had done on him the 
 work of half a lifetime. 
 
 As soon as the news reached Whinstane that 
 Laurence's wife had borne a living child and was 
 dead. Sir William Warleigh sent Oliver over with 
 leave for her to be laid in the vault at Penslaven ; 
 but Laurence refused to see his brother, and returned 
 for all answer that neither her dust nor his should 
 ever come to the place of his kinsfolk. She was 
 buried therefore in Hurtledale churchyard just 
 below the chancel-w^indow. 
 
 While Helena lay dead in the house, John Withers 
 was sent for to baptize her child. The name given 
 to it was Anni^. 
 
 IV. 
 
 As the winter went on Laurence Warleigh settled 
 down again in a certain fashion, if that can be 
 called settling in which every hoiu' of a man's life 
 is marred by a tormented restlessness, a feverish 
 impatience and anger against God, against his kins- 
 folk and against himself. His kind nature was 
 embittered, his generous temper warped and soured. 
 He went and came about his house in a docro;ed
 
 166 ANNIS WARLEIGH'S FORTUNES. 
 
 silence, dark, down-looking and miserable. He 
 suffered the canker of resentment to eat into his 
 heart, and was as deaf to all overtures from 
 Whinstane as Whinstane had been to his while 
 Helena lived. Mrs. Damer Warleigh and the Squire 
 spent themselves in urging him to leave Hurtlemere 
 with its many sorrowful memories, even if he resumed 
 the wandering life he led before his marriage, but 
 all in vain. He expressed a determination never to 
 remove from the house where his darling and he 
 lived through their brief happiness ; and though 
 not much weight could be attached to a resolution 
 entered into in a season of vehement grief, the event 
 proved that he had as much tenacity of remembrance 
 as quickness of suffering. His old charm of manner, 
 his fire and freedom, were quite gone, and in their 
 stead reigned a harsh sullenness which Mistress 
 Dobie excused by pleading that he was not at all 
 times himself — that he was half mad, in fact; and 
 indeed^ his conduct was marked in many instances 
 with something stronger than eccentricity. Mathew 
 Dobie averred that there was no little of Sir 
 William's wild blood in him, and that a dour man 
 would he be if he lived and let it get the better of 
 his mother's milk. 
 
 He testified no thought for his child, and if it were
 
 IX THE WINTERLY WEATHER. 167 
 
 brought of set purpose in his way he never noticed 
 it, greatly to the ire of its foster-mother, of Lucy 
 and of the other womankind in the house. The 
 little creature being named Annis, and born on a 
 Friday, was, according to all old wives' prognostics, 
 predestined to be much under spiritual influences, 
 and unlucky in its temporal concerns; but thanks 
 to the care and good nursing of Mary Wray, in its 
 infancy it grew and throve apace. 
 
 It was about midway in the month of March that 
 Katherine Warleigh did rather a venturesome thing 
 in defiance of her father's commands ; she rode over 
 into Hurtledale, having left the Tower alone by the 
 connivance of a favourite servant before the rest of 
 the household were astir, and arrived at the rectory 
 just as John Withers and his sister were sitting 
 down to breakfast. She had come with the deter- 
 mination of seeing Laurence and his child, and of 
 persuading him if possible to be reconciled with 
 them at home ; Sir William's wrath was rising again 
 after a temporary lull, and Oliver was doing his 
 utmost to keep it warm; now or never therefore 
 must be reunion. 
 
 The brilliant freshness of the morning had tinged 
 Katherine's cheeks with an exquisite bloom and 
 made her look exceedingly handsome, but when she
 
 168 ANNIS WARLEIGH'S FORTUNES. 
 
 came to sit quiet and talk troubles over her counten- 
 ance fell and the beauty dropt away from it. Her 
 account of the state of affairs at Whinstane was not 
 cheering; Sir William was as violent and tyrannical 
 as ever, and Oliver and Oliver's wife ruled the 
 household despotically. Katherine was by no means 
 inclined to think her sister-in-law's presence at the 
 Tower an advantage. 
 
 Grace's correspondence with Arthur Hill had been 
 discovered about six months before, and at Oliver's 
 instigation peremptorily forbidden, and her naturally 
 weak health and spirits had sunk, in consequence, 
 lower than ever. Oliver carried all with a high 
 hand, and appeared to be feathering his own future 
 nest luxuriously out of the convertible wealth of 
 the estate; but to his wife the monotony and 
 dreariness of life in the dales was a most irksome 
 bondage. She kept almost as much in her own 
 rooms as did Lady Foulis, and had brought no 
 society whatever about the Tower. Katherine 
 described her as a highly accomplished, frigid 
 woman, very plain but elegant and distinguished in 
 air and manner. She was the daughter of a spend- 
 thrift Irish earl, and had been educated abroad; 
 she was full ten years older than Oliver, and the 
 fortune for which he had the credit of having married
 
 IN THE WINTERLY WEATHER. 169 
 
 lier came from her settlement at her first marriage 
 with a great brewer; in this he had not been very 
 far-sighted, however, for at her death the whole of 
 it would revert to the family of her first husband. 
 Her children — she had two now — were kept in 
 superlative good order; "Indeed," said Katherine, 
 " they are trained never to speak above their breath, 
 and as for crying — they dare not do it ! Even the 
 baby is subdued and behaves as beautifully as if 
 it were made of wax and moved with wires." 
 
 She had fifty questions to ask about Laurence and 
 his little daughter, but John and Rachel could only 
 tell her what they heard by common report them- 
 selves. They never saw^ him now except at a 
 distance riding along the road; he had not been 
 inside their doors nor they inside his since the day 
 of Helena's funeral. Mary Wray lived up at the 
 Hurtlemere House, and little Annis was said to be 
 " a mighty fine bairn ; " but John, who baptized her, 
 was no judge of babies and Rachel had not seen her. 
 They showed Katherine Helena's grave under the 
 chancel window ; there w^as no memorial stone upon 
 it — only a young cedar that Laurence had planted 
 with his own hands a few days after she was buried. 
 In reference to that letter the neglect of which had 
 caused Helena such bitter pain, Katherine said
 
 ITO ANNIS WAKLEIGH'S FORTUNES. 
 
 explicitly that had not Oliver interfered, Sir William 
 would have granted her request, and have permitted 
 them to come over ; he was in great hopes her child 
 would prove a boy, and intimated that if it did, he 
 would make its birth the occasion of forgiving his 
 son, and of doing what he called ' the right thing,' 
 by him. His rage and disappointment were terrible 
 when the last news reached him, and there was 
 such angry division betwixt him and Oliver for 
 some time that there was every probability of the 
 second establishment at Whinstane being driven 
 away. But Oliver was conciliatory and plausible, 
 and had made himself so necessary to his father 
 that the breach was of no long continuance. 
 
 When Katherine had rested at the rectory about 
 an hour, John Withers went up with her over the 
 moor to the Hurtlemere House ; but Laurence was 
 gone out on horseback no one could tell her whither, 
 and from the orders given to Mathew Dobie before 
 he started, he was not looked for back until nightfall. 
 This was grievously disappointing after the risk of 
 her father's anger that she had run; but she saw 
 the child, and thought its appearance and tendance 
 all that could be desired. Mary Wray was affection- 
 ately attached to her nursling. 
 
 This was scarcely the opportunity for John to
 
 IX THE WINTERLY WEATHER. 171 
 
 advance his own cause, but nevertheless he drew some 
 encouragement from Katherine's visit. Oliver liad 
 put a period to Arthur Hill's correspondence with 
 his sister Grace on the score of inferior position, and 
 the same plea might be raised against lumself ; but 
 Katherine would be less easily turned aside than 
 Grace when her feelings were once engaged. On 
 the whole he gathered some hope from her having 
 betaken herself to the rectory, as to a place where 
 she should find sure friends ; and Rachel threw her 
 word into the balance with it, by saying that their 
 preference though still unspoken was mutual, and to 
 an observer quite evident. 
 
 V. 
 
 Two days after Katherine's ride into Hurtledale 
 there came a rumour that Sir William AVarleigh 
 was dead — rumour was right for once ; he was dead, 
 and Sir Laurence was come to his kingdom ! 
 
 It would have been sheer h^-pocrisy to put on 
 feces of sorrow. Kester Greaves even came to 
 the rector}^ to ask if he was to ring the bells for the 
 new Squire. " Not until the old Squire is buried," 
 replied his master; and then the man seemed 
 to understand that such premature public rejoicing-
 
 172 
 
 would be indecent. " B at/' muttered lie, as lie retired 
 from the study door, '' that don't prevent folks fra' 
 being glad all t' same." 
 
 It did not — Sir William Warleigh's death was a 
 positive source of relief and congratulation to many. 
 There is always hope in the heir, and Sir Laurence 
 could scarcely fail to reign better than his father 
 had done. Whinstandale began to look forward to 
 happier days than it had enjoyed for many years. 
 It seemed doubtful to the sagacious, however, 
 whether he would fulfil their expectations ; for his 
 first exercise of his new dignity was a refusal to 
 attend at his father's funeral — a measure which 
 everybody reprobated with horror, and none more 
 loudly than his brother Oliver. 
 
 The old Squire's death had happened on this wise. 
 He was thrown from his horse when out hunting, 
 but no bones were broken, and except from the 
 shock, he did not appear at first to have sustained 
 any material injury. He was alarmed for himself, 
 however, and bade Oliver summon his son Laurence. 
 
 " Pooh, pooh," said Oliver, *^ let us see how you 
 go on." 
 
 The next day Sir William became more urgent. 
 *^ I will see Laurence ; I tell you it is all over with 
 me, and I must see him." Oliver pacified his
 
 IX THE WINTERLY WEATHER. 173 
 
 impatience by promising to send for his brother on 
 the morrow, but he did not send ; and on the third 
 day Sir William was dead. 
 
 When the funeral procession was formed and 
 ready to start, there happened a curious incident. 
 Down from her Tower came Lady Foulis draped in 
 heaviest mourning and took her place as chief in it. 
 It w^as whispered about that she was Sir William's 
 mother, and those who had seen him in his coffin 
 averred, that he showed in his dead visage some- 
 thing of the old Warleigh race that living he had 
 never shown. 
 
 Then were the old stories revived to be a nine 
 days' wonder, and to fade back again into fable-land 
 when the gossips' tongues where tired of wagging. 
 Colonel Warleigh's legend of his finding of the cliild, 
 which had gained universal credence at the time he 
 invented and circulated it, was never disbelieved 
 until fifty years were gone and the object of it was in 
 his grave. 
 
 "Well," said old Mr. Anderside when he heard 
 the last bit that had been added to the marvellous 
 story ; " I never gave the Colonel credit for so much 
 ingenuity in lying. He told me the tale with his own 
 lips, and I took it to be as true as gospel ; there must 
 have been something desperately bad in the facts
 
 174 ANNIS WAKLEIGH'S FOETUNES. 
 
 when he made that cloak for them. But there is 
 no profit that I know of to be got out of speculating 
 
 on them at this time of day " 
 
 There was not, and beside the dales' world in 
 general had quite enough to do in speculating about 
 the heir — a much more interesting subject of talk 
 than any dead Squire could possibly be.
 
 175 
 
 CHAPTER THE SIXTH. 
 
 MARRIED FOR MONEY. 
 
 Whereiinto is money good ? 
 Who has it not wants hardihood, 
 Who has it has much trouble and care, 
 Who once has had it has desjiair. 
 
 I. 
 
 ^^ I Ail not surprised, and there is one comfort, 
 Dumpling — you are not likely to break your heart 
 over it ; " was Mrs. Sara Grandage's reply when she 
 heard from Rachel Withers' own lips that her 
 engagement to Mr. Gilsland was at an end; then 
 she bestowed on her one of her rare kisses, and bade 
 her never mind ! As if she did — no, she was very, 
 very, very glad it was over; she felt nothing so 
 strongly just then as a sense of relief at her deliver- 
 ance. When the quarrel was new, indignation bore 
 her up ; then came a reaction of doubt lest she had 
 done wrong in her haste; and finally ensued the
 
 176 ANNIS WARLEIGH'S FORTUNES. 
 
 calm satisfaction of having freed herself and him 
 from a yoke which to wear would have been a life- 
 long misery to both. 
 
 "You don't look the disappointed w^oman either. 
 Dumpling, that is another blessing," went on her 
 queer consoler. " Your cheeks will soon be apple- 
 red and round again, which is more than they have 
 been for these two months past. Now, child, give 
 way; let yourself go, and help me to pull him 
 to pieces. You can see him with the eyes of the 
 flesh now he has rubbed the glamour off, and isn't he 
 provocative of sarcasm ? Don't look so demure, I 
 know you are feeling downright wicked ! " Perhaps 
 she was, but she refrained herself; it would have 
 been very unhandsome behaviour, — and possibly 
 even yet a little against the grain, — to chime in with 
 her godmamma's mocking tone. 
 
 " He will marry Miss Briggs before the year is out 
 and won't he have a treat in his wife ? " Bittersweet 
 went on, derisively. " Oh, lucky Miss Briggs ! Oh, 
 blessed Mr. Gilsland ! Don't be mortified. Dumpling, 
 but I saw your charms grew pale in the curate's eyes 
 the moment she appeared in her coach of fortune. 
 You have shown a prompt and generous magnanimity 
 in giving him up that all your friends admire ; but 
 tell me truly, are you not jealous ? "
 
 MARRIED FOR MOXEY. 177 
 
 *^ Jealous — as if one could be jealous of one's 
 grandmother!" exclaimed Rachel with sovereign 
 contempt. 
 
 No, Rachel Withers was a sober little woman, not 
 liable to the commotion of violent passions. Perhaps 
 it was not in her nature to be acutely jealous of 
 anybody or anything ; those anguishes she had read 
 of in romances found no echo of affinity within her 
 gentle bosom. A silent, long pain, a deep, secret 
 mortification she could exhaust in all their bitterness, 
 but she was not the person to protest that all life was 
 wasted, or to worry her neighbours because the love 
 on which she had set her heart had come to such a 
 ridiculous end. On the contrary, she became more 
 assiduous than ever in her visits amongst the poor, 
 and never relaxed for a single day her attendance at 
 the school. Some persons may argue from this 
 sensible conduct that she never really loved Mr. 
 Gilsland at all; if she did not, she fancied she 
 did; and it comes to precisely the same thing in 
 the end, when there is no opportunity given to 
 prove it. 
 
 Now though he had used her ill, she did not even 
 yet think very ill of him ; and all her godmamma's 
 sarcastic predictions did not make her believe that he 
 would do so conspicuously foolish and mercenary a 
 
 TOL. I. 12
 
 178 ANNIS WARLEIGH'S FORTUNES. 
 
 deed as a marriage with Miss Briggs would be. 
 Miss Briggs was, without metaphor, old enough to be 
 his mother. Her temper was bad, her manners were 
 disagreeable, and her person was not only unattrac- 
 tive but obtrusively ugly ; good folks say we should 
 not call any of God's creatures ugly, but she was 
 ugly with affectation, pretension and ill-nature. 
 Rachel knew the curate was afraid of being poor — 
 which is a very different thing from coveting great 
 wealth ; but she refused as long as facts would allow 
 to credit that he could fathom that abyss of absurdity 
 and greed into which a man plunges when he sells 
 himself to a woman made of money, and of nothing 
 but money. 
 
 Events, however, were too strong for her faith. 
 October was not out before an engagement between 
 the handsome curate and the fortunate heiress was 
 announced ; and November was not out before they 
 had ratified it in Brafferton Church in the presence 
 of a large and critical congregation. It was done. 
 Rachel could not speak a word for him any more. 
 She could have forgiven him anything but flying to 
 the feet of Miss Briggs ! if he had won the prettiest 
 girl in the dale, she would have forgiven them both ; 
 but she could not forgive him his cowardly meanness 
 that had earned him her contempt. She was made
 
 MARRIED POR MONEY. 179 
 
 ashamed that she had ever loved him, and it was a 
 long while before she could be in charity with her- 
 self acrain for havino; done it 
 
 Mrs. Sara Grandage, the irreclaimable, curious old 
 gossip, actually went to the wedding, and she told 
 Rachel afterwards that the bride was got up to 
 such a degree of perfection that through her rich 
 veil nobody would have guessed her at more than 
 thirty. 
 
 "Nay," said Rachel, shaking her head with a 
 doubtful smile, " no milliner could abolish her 
 ancient gait ! " 
 
 "But she was padded and puflPed and bustled 
 off into an elegant symmetry," continued Bittersweet, 
 spreading her own skirts abroad in any demonstra- 
 tion of flowing bridal raiment. " Leanness is much 
 more manageable in the hands of an artiste than 
 over-redundancy of flesh, and I assure you. Dumpling 
 — and you need not look as if you did not believe 
 me — that all the church admired her extremely. 
 She was a miracle of success : she was got up 
 quite regardless of expense : white satin, lace flounces, 
 and scarf, wreath of orange-blossoms and roses, and 
 a sweeping veil that covered her all over. She 
 tottered a little m walking up to the altar, but that 
 was only a proper display of nervousness, which 
 
 12 — 2
 
 180 ANNIS WARLEIGH'S FORTUNES. 
 
 interested us all immensely, and enhanced her 
 maidenly charms." 
 
 Here John Withers, who was present while Mrs. 
 Sara Grandage was giving his sister this florid 
 account, declared that if they were going to quiz 
 so abominably he should leave them to themselves ; 
 which he did accordingly, and as soon as he was 
 out of hearing, Bittersweet began to say, "Now, 
 Dumpling, I am sure you are dying to know how 
 he looked, but I will not tell you until you ask me 
 the question formally." 
 
 " Well, then," said the quiet young woman, " how 
 did Mr. Gilsland bear himself through the crisis of 
 his fate?" 
 
 " That was very coolly put ; Dumpling, I don't 
 think you have an atom of heart ! Well, my dear, 
 he looked very nice and as natty as a dandy parson 
 could. I cannot tell you what he wore, but his 
 clothes were an admirable fit, and his hair was in the 
 glossiest curl ; his face was rather blanched, it is true, 
 but I daresay that twice or thrice during the 
 ceremony it flashed across his mind how awfully 
 he was committing himself. I declare it was almost 
 as tragical as the sacrifice of Iphigenia done into 
 a modern version! There was plenty of company, 
 and what the congratulations lacked in sense I
 
 ^lARRlED FOR MONEY. 181 
 
 hope they made up in sound. She wept but did 
 not faint. Now, Curiosity, is there anything .more 
 you would like to hear ? " 
 
 Of course. Curiosity would like to hear everything 
 — all about the bride-visits, which were just over 
 too. To this. Bittersweet pretended to demur. She 
 did not make her call on either of the appointed 
 state-days, but took the happy couple by surprise 
 in the sweet confidence of private life, as she phrased 
 it ; and she did not think it was quite fair to betray 
 the secrets of families. But her scruples soon vanished 
 before the irresistible enjoyment of telling a funny 
 story. 
 
 " You know. Dumpling, how hard it is to teach an 
 old dog new tricks," began she, sinking her voice, 
 "and you may suppose that after all her years of 
 pinching it would be hard to teach Betsy Briggs 
 a wise liberality. I found her sitting in her bleak 
 dining-room, furbishing up an old bonnet for 
 dark days, while the wretched curate was reading 
 aloud to her a missionary report — she was always 
 goody, you know. And I assure you he looks already 
 witliin an ace of hanging himself." Rachel hoped not, 
 and reminded Bittersweet that she had a trick of 
 seeing things sometimes less as they were than 
 as she would like them to be. " I expected you
 
 182 ANNIS WAELEIGH'S FORTUNES. 
 
 would contradict me, and, perhaps, defend /wm," 
 retorted the godmamma, and then she went on with 
 her story. 
 
 '^ They told me about their tour, during which 
 the frightful extravagance of the hotel bills quite 
 spoilt the bride's pleasure. ^ But Mr. Gilsland will 
 do everything so lavishly,' she explained, shaking 
 her head at him with fond reproach. Then they 
 discussed the comparative cost of living in the north 
 or the south, and while he was decidedly in favour of 
 London, she said, despotically, (and I wish you could 
 have heard her say it. Dumpling ! ) ^ No, Alfred, 
 dear, we must keep the curacy until we have had 
 time to look round for something else. It would be 
 frivolous to throw away a hundred and fifty pounds 
 a year — quite a competence, quite a competence if 
 we had nothing else ! ' We were discussing this 
 topic from various points of view when there came 
 a single premonitory knock at the door, followed 
 immediately by the entrance of the cook carrying 
 a paste-board, whereon were two pie-dishes full of 
 sliced apples. With sulky stolidity, the woman said 
 she had come according to orders to have the sugar 
 put amongst the fruit. But I am much mistaken 
 if the twinkle in her dull eyes did not betray a deep- 
 laid kitchen-plot for the exposure and mortification
 
 MARRIED FOE MONEY. 183 
 
 of missis, Mrs. Gilsland carried off the incident 
 with, a laugli and a domestic truism, but the miserable 
 curate grew scarlet, and when she said to him, 
 * Alfred, dear, icUl you do it? the sugar is in the 
 sideboard,' the scene was killing. She has him 
 in good order already, for he rose, and produced the 
 sugar, and sprinkled it sparsely over the fhiit, while 
 she all the time curbed his extravagance by crying, 
 in a gradually ascending minor scale, ' Enough, 
 enough, enough, my dear, I say, enough I ' That 
 is what a man comes to who marries for money — his 
 rich wife makes him put sugar into apple-pies. This 
 pleasing addition to his duties appears- to be all he 
 has gained yet from his far-sight speculation. You 
 are avenged already. Dumpling, if that is any 
 satisfaction to you ! " 
 
 " I cannot say it is," murmured Rachel, and there 
 were positively tears standing in her foolish eyes. 
 
 "You silly Kttle goose!" cried her godmamma; 
 *^why don't you rejoice in his humiliation? Any 
 sensible woman would. And to think m what 
 comfort you would have lapt his soul! how you 
 would have petted him, and cosseted him, and 
 slaved after his every whim and fancy ! I hope he 
 likes his exchange, that is aU — I should not." 
 
 At the cheerful Christmas season Mrs. Sara
 
 184 ANNIS WARLEIGH'S FORTUNES. 
 
 Grandage always made as many musters of her 
 friends as she could, and in pursuance of her annual 
 custom, she invited John Withers and his sister to 
 dine with her on New Year's Day. Rachel did not 
 ask the precise question, and therefore there was no 
 need for a precise answer, but it was both implied 
 and understood that Mr. and Mrs. Gilsland were not 
 invited for the same evening. Rachel therefore 
 went in peace and serenity, looking very nice in 
 white muslin with a sprig of holly in her bright 
 brown hair ; but as she was engaged in conversation 
 with Mrs. Anderside, the two last guests, for whom 
 dinner waited, were ushered into the drawing-room, 
 and behold they were the curate and his charming 
 wife ! Bittersweet's malicious enjoyment of her 
 trick was beyond description; but the party was 
 large, and happily for Rachel she never came near 
 enough to Mr. Gilsland to make recognition necessary. 
 She had not seen him since that memorable day 
 when they quarrelled and parted. 
 
 Mrs. Gilsland was in full bridal splendour all but 
 the veil, her poor old arms and withered neck con- 
 trasting sweetly with her shining white satin drapery ; 
 it was a cold night, and she looked miserably pinched, 
 but she stoically refused to be made comfortable with 
 a shawl of Bittersweet's, and wore her bride's airs
 
 MARRIED FOR MONEY. 185 
 
 and graces with a dignity that was most comicallj 
 impressive. Her husband seemed to shrink a good 
 deal out of sight — liking his situation perhaps as 
 little as Rachel did hers — and somebody made the 
 remark afterwards that he was smaller than he used 
 to be. He had lost his confident manner, and his 
 assurance that he was pleasing somebody — was 
 thoroughly ill at ease, in fact. 
 
 It was a very flat evening to several of the com- 
 pany, and John and Rachel both expressed themselves 
 glad when the party broke up; but the sprightly 
 little hostess declared it went off capitally, and to 
 her no doubt it did; for she always found her 
 sweetest amusement in the cross-purposes of her 
 friends and acquaintance. 
 
 H. 
 
 Rachel Withers did not see Mr. Gilsland again 
 until one afternoon in the spring when she had gone 
 out with John for a walk on the moors. They came 
 suddenly upon him at a turn in the path where 
 avoidance was impossible, and they all made a stand, 
 and spoke like common acquaintance. Rachel was 
 looking as fresh as a rose, and the meeting did 
 not lower her colour — perhaps it was that caused
 
 186 ANNIS WARLEIGH'S FOETUNES. 
 
 Mr, Gilsland to say it must be more healthy living 
 high up in the dale than down at Brafferton. 
 
 " We hope to leave tfie place before winter comes 
 round again; for it does not suit my wife at all," 
 he added. 
 
 John regretted to hear she was not welL 
 
 " She is always ailing, always ailing ; but I hope 
 she will be better when I get her away into the 
 south," responded the curate, and lifting his hat to 
 Rachel with a little of his old maimer, went off 
 nervously swinging his stick. 
 
 '^ After all," said John Withers, "one cannot 
 help feeling some pity for a man who has taken 
 himself in so grievously as poor Gilsland ! " 
 
 No, Rachel could never think of him now without 
 being divided between laughing and crying. She 
 actually wished he were more in the way of getting 
 some of the good for which he had bargained. He 
 looked literally shabby and poor when, they met on 
 the moor, and his dress was by no means the most 
 remarkable falling off in his appearance. Instead of 
 bettering his condition by a rich marriage he had 
 devoted himself to a slow, lingering, miserable 
 martyrdom. He could not liave much abstract 
 pleasure in reflecting that his wife's income verged 
 on three thousand a year when in their present
 
 MARRIED FOR MONEY. 187 
 
 luxurious establishment they could barelv expend 
 three hundred. They had taken a half- furnished 
 house that had stood long unoccupied, and its wants 
 were excused on the plea of its being only a tempo- 
 rary residence ; an inferior cook and a very aged 
 housemaid formed the domestic staff, and the horse 
 that was to lighten the poor curate's labours had not 
 been found yet. The only indulgence Mrs. Gilsland 
 allowed herself was an extravagance of physic — one 
 that her husband could hardly be anxious to share 
 with her. 
 
 Mrs. Sara Grandage delighted in giving an imita- 
 tion of her airs of invalidism. 
 
 " There she lies on her sofa all day with her face 
 made up into the most mevely look, wbile that 
 wretched curate waits hand and foot on her caprices," 
 said the vivacious old lady. " It would touch the 
 heart of a stone. Dumpling, to see how thoroughly 
 dejected, crushed and effaced he is in his wife's house. 
 Their marriage settlements left him quite dependent 
 on her mercy and charity, and precious little of either 
 does she exercise in his behoof. She is so odiously 
 stingy and oppressive that if I were in his shoes 
 I would try a little bullying." 
 
 Even through the magnifying glasses of gossip 
 and scandal it was easy to see a long vista of domestic
 
 188 ANNIS WARLEIGH'S FORTUNES. 
 
 misery in that ill-assorted household. They dis- 
 agreed in public as well as in private, and she 
 invariably got the last- word. Mr. Gilsland had tried 
 to deal plausibly with his wife, and while she had the 
 power of the purse he was no match for her at all. 
 Bittersweet delighted to tell Rachel that Mrs. Gilsland 
 always referred to her as " that girl,^ and said she 
 should never wish to see her again within her doors ; 
 as if Rachel were anxious to storm her castle of 
 harmony! The reason alleged was Rachel's satiri- 
 cal spirit, but poor body, if she had shut out all who 
 made fun of her, she would have had to shut out 
 every soul of her acquaintance ! 
 
 There was little present likelihood of their leav- 
 ing Brafferton, though Mr. Anderside would gladly 
 have been rid of his unpopular curate. Whether it 
 was that Mrs. Gilsland really felt too ill for exertion, 
 or whether it was that she preferred established 
 friends to new ones, it is hard to say, but at all events 
 she was exceedingly reluctant to change her quarters. 
 Bittersweet declared she was as strong now as in her 
 Betsy Briggs' days, and everybody knew that Betsy 
 Briggs was the toughest woman in the parish. She 
 made nothing of walking in and out to Prior's Bank 
 three or four times a week. But now, when she 
 visited her friends, she hired the chaise from the inn.
 
 iSIARRIED FOR MONEY. 189 
 
 and went in frousy state, which lavishness of expense 
 convinced Rachel that her ailments were not all fancy, 
 as some folks wickedly delighted to say. 
 
 " Who would lie day after day on a sofa in a dull 
 room pretending to be ill?" said she, deprecating 
 her godmamma's sarcasms. " For my part I would 
 rather dig, or delve, or follow the plough, or break 
 stones on the high road than act such a tedious play 
 for the amusement of the gossips ! " 
 . " You are a woman of sense. Dumpling, and Betsy 
 Briggs always was, and always will be, a fantastic 
 fool ! " retorted Bittersweet ; and Rachel was fain to 
 drop her useless defence. 
 
 But a time of reverses was at hand; the heiress 
 had enjoyed barely a year of golden prosperity when 
 fortune decreed that she must return to poverty's 
 hodden grey, carrying the most wretched of men and 
 curates down with her in her humiliating descent. 
 
 " Swift retribution for a man who married for 
 money," said one. 
 
 " Mrs. Gilsland will have to find the use of Betsy 
 Briggs' feet again," said another. 
 
 Nobody had a word of sympathy at their service 
 or any feeling of pity. Yague rumours flew about 
 the dale for a few days, and then the whole story 
 came out.
 
 190 ANNIS WARLEIGH'S FORTUNES. 
 
 It appeared that when Mrs. Gilsland's eccentric 
 cousin Dawson died, and her papers came to be 
 looked over for the will, the document discovered, 
 though in all respects regular, was of very old date, 
 and that her man of business openly stated the fact of 
 his having drawn up another which had been duly 
 executed in the presence of his head clerk and him- 
 self only two years before. This instrument was not 
 forthcoming, however, when wanted; suspicions 
 arose that the testatrix had destroyed it in the 
 design of making a new one; and this her lawyer 
 said she had twice consulted him upon, without being 
 able to decide as to its provisions; he was daily 
 expecting her final instructions when she was taken 
 ill, grew rapidly worse and died. Her confidential 
 servant also stated that during the last night of her 
 life she appeared much distressed in her mind, but 
 that she got ease when she had sent a message to 
 Mr. Saunderson, her lawyer. 
 
 " If I am fit to see Saunderson to-morrow I will," 
 were her words ; " but if not, tell him that perhaps 
 things could not be better settled than they are ; and 
 the will he made is in the cabinet that my cousin 
 John is to have." 
 
 Before morning the old lady was gone ; and the 
 recent will not being found where she said, that by
 
 3IAREIED POE MONEY. 191 
 
 which Mrs. Gilsland became rich and the two nephews 
 were left quite unprovided for, was held to be her 
 true testament, and acted on accordingly. 
 
 Thus far the tale flowed without mystery; but 
 now it went that the missing wiU had actually turned 
 up in the identical cabinet where Mrs. Dawson told 
 her maid it would be found. The cousin John to 
 whom, as a family relic, it was bequeathed, conveyed 
 it to his house ; and his wife declining to admit it 
 as too ancient and cumbrous amongst the modern 
 furniture of her best rooms, it ultimately found a 
 refuge in their boys' tool-shed, where it served 
 conveniently as a museum of curiosities. A little 
 while ago one of the tiny drawers in which birds'- 
 eggs were ranged in wool got fast, and the eldest 
 boy, in prizing it open, broke off a splinter of wood, 
 in the cavity beyond which he espied something 
 "ghttering like gold." Immediately the young 
 carpe nters went to work, and in a few minutes they 
 had discovered three narrow shdes, constructed in 
 each division between the centre tier of drawers. 
 They missed the secret of the spring, but found that 
 a piece of wood, not much stronger than veneer, and 
 folding upwards on a concealed hinge, was what had 
 hidden the slides or trays before. In one of these 
 were some old-fashioned trinkets of no great value.
 
 192 ANNIS WAELEIGH'S FORTUNES. 
 
 in the second was a miniature of Mr. Dawson, his 
 watch and his spectacles, and in the third was the 
 missing will, and a paper of memoranda which 
 purported to be part of the draft for that new 
 will about which she had consulted her lawyer. 
 
 This will Mr. Saunderson declared to be the one 
 he had drawn up. In it the name of Miss Briggs 
 did not occur at all, but amongst the memoranda 
 there was a sentence to the effect that Betsy Briggs 
 must have something — three hundred pounds would 
 be enough. Further the story ran that a compro- 
 mise had been offered to the present possessors of 
 the property and by them indignantly rejected. 
 Mr. Gilsland was said to have pronounced the 
 recently discovered will an impudent forgery, and 
 to have sworn to fight out the battle to the last gasp. 
 But every one thought the refusal of terms the 
 height of folly, and decided their cause as lost 
 before it was opened. The will had been submitted 
 to competent authorities, the lawyer who made it 
 took oath it was genuine, the opinion of counsel had 
 been heard on both sides and it was against the 
 Gilslands. Popularly speaking, they had not a leg 
 to stand on. 
 
 It was a most disastrous downfall ! The way in 
 which they had used Mrs. Dawson's nephews was
 
 MARRIED FOR MOXEY. 193 
 
 not to their credit ; they had sent them to a cheap 
 commercial school, though until their aunt's death 
 they had been brought up as gentlemen, and destined 
 to the church and the army. Common decency 
 forbade that they should be turned altogether adrift 
 on the world, but for any sense of kinship that 
 Mrs. Gilsland had testified, they might have starved 
 or gone to the poor-house. She had not borne her 
 prosperity with any grace, and when adversity came 
 she did not bear it with any resignation. As for the 
 curate, he was like some desperate animal caught 
 in a trap, and running aimlessly to and fro in 
 his agony to escape, when escape there was 
 none. 
 
 " Don't tell me," said Rachel Withers, shuttinor her 
 eyes with an expression of pain when her god- 
 mamma insisted on giving her a lively description of 
 his sufferings ; " don't tell me — I cannot bear to hear 
 it I I think he had quite got his deserts before 
 without losing the money for which he married his 
 odious wife ! " 
 
 But you see Rachel would have pitied anything 
 fallen into calamity ; it was the way with her. How 
 much soever she might have disliked them in their 
 good-luck, when trouble came, her own wrongs and 
 their disagreeableness she could remember no more. 
 
 VOL. I. 13
 
 194 ANNIS WARLEIGH'S TORTUNES. 
 
 " Poor souls ! " sighed she, " what hard lines theirs 
 will be now for both their lives to come ! " 
 
 One afternoon she walked over to Prior's Bank, 
 and on arriving thera found the old Brafferton chaise 
 standing at the gate ; and suspecting who was with 
 her godmamma, instead of at once going in, she 
 took a turn round the beautiful wild-flower walk by 
 the river, intending to keep out of the way until the 
 visitor was gone ; but being seen from the window, 
 a messenger was sent to call her to the drawing-room 
 at once. 
 
 On entering she found there Bittersweet looking 
 her most ireful and indignant, while Mrs. Gilsland 
 sat in tears, fretting her glove and humbling herself 
 in broken apologies. Kachel hated to see anybody 
 undergoing mortification and abasement, and in the 
 impulse of the moment, threw more warmth into her 
 greeting of the poor soul than perhaps could appear 
 to her genuine ; for though she took the outstretched 
 hand, and made some sort of response, she suspected 
 in her bitter heart that Rachel rejoiced in her 
 miseries. She only remained a few minutes longer, 
 and as soon as she was cjone, Mrs. Sara Granda^ie 
 broke out in undissembled wrath. 
 
 '•' You will never guess. Dumpling, what that 
 woman has been here beo-o-ino; me to do! She
 
 :married roR money. 195 
 
 wants me to back them with money in this most 
 unjust and abominable suit. ' No;, Betsy Gilsland,' 
 said I, ' I will not give you one farthing for any 
 such purpose. I will help you to get away from 
 Brafferton, but that is all the help you need look for 
 from me.' They cannot induce any respectable 
 attorney to undertake their cause, and how is it 
 likely they should ? It is as clear as the day tliat 
 they have no right to Mrs. Dawson's money, and 
 every hour longer they hold it they are robbing 
 those boys. I always thought until lately that 
 Mr. Gilsland had a peculiarly shrewd eye to the 
 main chance, but I am con-vinced now that he is as 
 short-sighted as all over-clever people are. It is 
 impossible he can retain the property, and yet 
 he is bent on giving the rightful owners as much 
 trouble as he can. He knows perfectly well the will 
 is no forgery — s/ie, the weak fool, with her own lips 
 admitted that, and afterwards had the audacity to 
 entreat me to support them. No, I told her, I had 
 not lived in honour and honesty for sixty years to 
 turn fellow-swindler in my old age ! I was too 
 angry to spare her, I assure you. Dumpling." 
 
 Clearly so. AVhen Bittersweet was angry she did 
 not spare anybody. 
 
 Of course, every sagacious person foresaw where 
 
 13—2
 
 196 ANNIS WAELEIGH'S FOETUNES. 
 
 this miserable affair must eventually end. When 
 the Gilslands had recovered from their first shock of 
 dismay, horror and rage, they came to their senses, 
 accepted the terms offered by Mrs. Dawson's 
 nephews and gave up the property. Mrs. Gilsland 
 received the three hundred pounds which her cousin 
 had Intended her to have, they left Brafferton, and 
 retired somewhere into a doleful obscurity. 
 
 But such a man as Mr. Gilsland never retires 
 beyond the reach of temptation; and he had put 
 himself so entirely out of the ordinary grooves of 
 prosperity that it was quite sure to find him sooner 
 or later, and to drag him deeper and deeper into the 
 sloughs of despond.
 
 19: 
 
 CHAPTER THE SEVENTH. 
 
 SIR LAUEENCE WARLEIGH. 
 
 La philosophie triomphe aiscment des mans passes et des maux a 
 venir ; maisles manx presents triomphentd'elle. — Rochefoucauld. 
 
 I. 
 
 It was now full six months since Sir William War- 
 leigh died, and since, to the reprobation of the whole 
 neighbourhood. Sir Laurence had refused to appear 
 at his father's funeral. He was beginning to drop 
 out of people's thoughts and conversation now. At 
 first the county hoped and expected that he would 
 emercje from his seclusion, and assume his due 
 position as master of Penslaven and Whinstane ; but 
 in this they were disappointed. He never left 
 Hurtledale for a single day. They had therefore 
 ceased to wonder over his preference for a hermit- 
 life, and had given up all hope of seeing the War- 
 leighs take their rightful place in society during the 
 present baronet's reign. It was a pity and much to
 
 198 ANNIS WARLEIGH'S FORTUNES. 
 
 be regretted, many persons said, that Oliver was not 
 the elder brother ; he was sensible of what rank and 
 wealth owe to the world, and would have regilded 
 the tarnished name of* Warleigh splendidly. Lady 
 Georgiana was very strongly of that opinion. By dint 
 of constant harping on the theme, she almost suc- 
 ceeded at last in convincing herself that her husband 
 was an injured person, defrauded of his birthright, 
 and suffering the evils of poverty that a half-crazy 
 impostor might let ancestral halls become howling 
 wildernesses, and accumulate untold sums of rents 
 in the hands of his provincial bankers. 
 
 Mr. Bond, the steward, was an honest, con- 
 scientious man, or he would have found his office 
 under Sir Laurence one of vast temptation and 
 opportunity; for his master committed all to his 
 charge, and found apparently neither interest nor 
 enjoyment in his possessions. He had made no 
 change whatever in his manner of living, which was 
 as rough and plain as that of a simple yeoman 
 farmer. From time to time various rumours had 
 flown abroad respecting his ways and habits, all 
 more or less derogatory to his credit, and mortifying 
 to those who were personally interested in his 
 honour. He was said to frequent low company and 
 to drink deej), but both these scandals were without
 
 SIR LAURENCE WARLEIGH. 199 
 
 foundation. He was abstemious in Helena's lifetime, 
 and since her death, a more unsociable man, whether 
 with equals or inferiors, could not have been found 
 throughout the length and breadth of the dales. 
 
 Gossip said her say, and probably Sir Laurence 
 heard never a word of it. With his dogs and his 
 gun, his horse and his boat on the tarn, his pipe, his 
 newspaper and his books, he had made himself quite 
 independent of the world with which he had quarrelled. 
 So rarely had he seen his child that Mistress Dobie 
 was ready to lay a wager any day that he would not 
 know it if he met it in an unaccustomed place ; 
 many and many a time had Mary Wray and Lucy 
 pranked it out in its best, and waylaid him in the hope 
 that he would notice it ; but he never did, and his 
 manners were so surly and alarming to the women 
 that they agreed at last it was safest to keep it 
 altogether out of his sight. Through the interven- 
 tion of Mrs. Damer Warleigh a sort of reconciliation 
 had been established between him and his sisters, but 
 OHver he had peremptorily refused to see; though 
 for the present he permitted him to continue at the 
 Tower. With his sisters there and Lady Foulis, it 
 was impossible immediately to disband the house- 
 hold ; but it was understood that at the end of the 
 year's mourning for their fatlier a change must be
 
 200 ANNIS WARLEIGH'S FORTUNES. 
 
 made. Lady Georgiana was in the practice of 
 declaring that they must then go and live somewhere 
 abroad for economy's sake; she might more truly 
 have said for pleasure's sake ; for they would really 
 be able to flourish with great bravery on the fine 
 spoils they had contrived to glean during the later 
 months of Sir WilKam's lifetime. Laurence not 
 being there to interfere or remonstrate, all the finest 
 timber on both estates had been ruthlessly swept 
 down and turned into money to satisfy Oliver's 
 rapacity. 
 
 One day about the time of falling leaves, Mrs. 
 Damer Warleigh, after a visit to the Hurtlemere 
 House, [called on her way home at Prior's Bank, 
 where Rachel Withers happened to be spending the 
 afternoon with her godmamma. The excellent old 
 lady fell immediately to talking of Sir Laurence, and 
 said she was afraid he would turn out nothing but a 
 disappointment to her and the Squire. She could 
 not understand his persistence in remaining in 
 Hurtledale when the luxuries and glories of Pens- 
 laven and Whinstane were at his disposal, and his 
 conduct at the time of his father's death she freely 
 characterized as monstrous and unnatural. There are 
 some people who cannot change their mood as easily 
 as their gloves, and Sir Laurence was one of them.
 
 SIR LAUEEXCE WARLEIGH. 201 
 
 " He allowed me to overwhelm lilm with re- 
 proaches and good counsels without uttering a word 
 in his own defence," said the visitor. "There he 
 sat and there / sat — he smoking like a kiln, I 
 lecturing until for lack of breath I could lecture no 
 longer. It is very provoking to see him so given up 
 to regret and indolence as he is, and nothing will 
 stir him out of them seemingly. The baby is a 
 capital little creature, but [not a bit like Helena, and 
 he does not seem to care a straw for it, though 
 he will not entrust it to his sisters. By-the-by, 
 Rachel, how is John ? " 
 
 This question sprang palpably out of some thought 
 of Katherine, and Rachel answered that he was very 
 well, on which Mrs. Damer said, " I should like him 
 to come over with you to Bristowe for a few days 
 next week if you can spare the time ; Katie and 
 Grace are both coming, and now that all my own 
 girls are married and gone, the place is dull for young 
 folks unless we can gather several together at once." 
 Rachel accepted the invitation on her own respon- 
 sibility ; she was sure John both could and would 
 make leisure for that visit, though for most people he 
 was ever ready with an excuse. And Rachel herself 
 would be very glad to see her friends again.
 
 202 ANNIS WAELEIGH'S FORTUNES. 
 
 II. 
 
 Bristowe was a pleasant house to stay at, and two 
 of its guests, at least, vastly enjoyed its social oppor- 
 tunities. Mrs. Darner Warleigli was not properly a 
 manoeuvrer, but John Withers and Katherine had 
 not been there two days before she had brought 
 about a thorough understanding between them. It 
 was an engagement at last. She was twenty-six 
 and would not need to ask anybody's consent to 
 being happy in her own way and according to her 
 own choice, even had there been any likelihood of 
 opposition from her brothers, which there was not. 
 Sir Laurence declined to interest himself in his 
 sisters' affairs altogether, and several times since 
 their father's death Lady Georgiana had proclaimed 
 her opinion that his daughters would be better off 
 settled in homes of their own, though ever so 
 humble, than left to themselves at Whinstane Tower 
 when she and Oliver deserted it. There could be no 
 two views on the subject. Both the Squire and Mrs. 
 Damer Warleigh professed themselves gratified by 
 Katherine's choice, and to all appearance John and 
 she would be a very evenly-yoked couple. She 
 was looking remarkably handsome at Bristowe, and
 
 Sm LAURENCE WARLEIGH. 203 
 
 though to Rachel's mind she was neither so tender 
 nor so attractive as Grace, she was mucli better 
 suited to John. 
 
 Whatever virtue Rachel lacked, she did not lack 
 patience in listening to lovers' rhapsodies, and thej 
 all seemed with one consent to have elected her Old 
 Woman to hearken to their respective experiences. 
 She was astonished how naturally she fell into the 
 character. Could she be on the verge of finding 
 her vocation in the world ? Was she really going to 
 be that somebody who, having no more particular 
 rejoicings or grievances of her own, was always to 
 be called on to sympathize in those of other people ? 
 It began to look rather like it. Bittersweet used 
 once to provoke her by saying that she was cut out 
 for an old maid, but she had come to think so herself 
 now ; and though she would not be one-aud-twenty 
 until December she had quite made up her mind that 
 the best part of her life and adventures was over, and 
 she bore the belief very patiently. She was always 
 a quiet young woman. 
 
 Arthur Hill was at this time in Syria, and his 
 correspondence with Grace Warleigh had never 
 been renewed. She was looking sadly pined and 
 disconsolate at Bristowe, and spoke in a plaintive 
 voice that had tears in it perpetually. One after-
 
 204 ANNIS WARLEIGH'S TORTUNES. 
 
 noon^ wandering with Rachel through the wood- 
 walks, they saw John and Katherine a little way in 
 advance, but so completely absorbed in each other 
 that they heard no footsteps behind them. The 
 friends turned off, therefore, into the fields, Grace 
 saying, " Do not let us disturb them ; I am ashamed 
 to show my face where happy people are," and her 
 sickly smile and sigh contrasted painfully with what 
 she knew to be the contented state of the inobservant 
 lovers. 
 
 Presently, and of her own accord, she began to 
 speak of Arthur Hill, and to tell Rachel how 
 roughly Oliver had behaved to her, and in what a 
 peremptory, assuming strain he had written to 
 Arthur to forbid their correspondence. 
 
 ^^ He never wrote to me after," she went on. " I 
 almost expected that he would set Oliver at nought, 
 but on some points he is very sensitive. I was 
 debarred from going to the rectory, so that I had 
 no chance of hearing of him or of sending any word 
 through his mother. I believe it is all over between 
 us for ever, and I was very much attached to him. 
 How do w^omen console themselves for these separa- 
 tions ? I hardly knew how Arthur was woven into 
 all my daily thoughts and future hopes until Oliver 
 sundered us. It is not possible that I should ever
 
 Sm LAURENCE WARLEIGH. 205 
 
 cease to love him, ever forget bim," — and so she talked 
 on, pitying herself, and foreseeing no mitigation in 
 the void of her dull life, until all at once she re- 
 membered that Rachel, too, had had what is called a 
 disappointment, when she manifested some curiosity 
 to know how she had got over it. 
 
 Rachel told her more easily than any one would 
 imagine, or than she could have imagined herself 
 beforehand. 
 
 " Ah, you are so sensible ! " said Grace, with a 
 faint inflection of disapproval in her tone. 
 
 "It was not a romantic episode to fret over. I 
 could not indulge myself in a sentimental sorrow 
 for the man who married Miss Briggs," replied 
 Rachel, a little decidedly. 
 
 "But did you never feel quite downcast and 
 hopeless — as if there were nothing left in the world 
 worth hving for ? " asked her companion, her 
 countenance expressing that to be quite her own state 
 of mind. 
 
 "To speak strict truth, I never did," was the 
 answer. " I was rather lost and vacant at first, 
 and the time hung long on my hands — as time 
 will when we have no central rallying point for 
 our leisure thoughts — but I was not mortally wounded. 
 I tried to get away from my feelings, and God and
 
 206 ANNIS WAKLEIGH'S FORTUNES. 
 
 my work helped me. I never gave up. Then John 
 was so -unfeignedly thankful, and godmammaGrandage 
 did nothing but congratulate me; and by-and-by 
 I knew I had had what I ought to consider a lucky 
 escape." 
 
 " I don't think I could ever have regarded it in 
 that light," murmured Grace. 
 
 " Perhaps not : we are differently constituted. I 
 turn everything bright side out, and accept cheerfully 
 what I cannot evade. Perhaps if all had gone 
 smoothly, and I had married Mr. Gilsland, he might 
 never have developed the traits he has done ; but if 
 he had, I should have been miserable as his wife. 
 He is timorous of ill-fortune, and incapable of with- 
 standing the temptations of poverty and a humble 
 position. Straightforward honesty and plain dealing 
 are not in him. He was paving his way to Miss 
 Briggs' golden graces before our engagement ceased, 
 as his prompt marriage within three months after 
 betrayed. I should prefer good temper and common 
 sense in domestic life before many finer-sounding 
 virtues, and it is in those two qualities that Mr. 
 Gilsland has shown himself most of all deficient. 
 Besides, like many women, I abhor meanness and 
 greed far worse than many more obtrusive vices ; and 
 I am really sorry that I have wasted the freshest
 
 SIR LAUEEXCE WARLEIGH. 207 
 
 of my affections on an unworthy object. It is just 
 my best lost, I esteem you much happier in your 
 love than myself." 
 
 " I think so, too. Nothing would comfort me 
 for the baseness and treachery of any one to whom 
 I had attached myself." 
 
 " Contempt is a swift chiller of affection. So long 
 as one can go on believing in a man one can o-o on 
 loving him through the most adverse circumstances ; 
 but once creep in scorn and it is all over I " 
 
 '' I have the deepest, sincerest respect for Arthur 
 Hill : T trust and pray it may never change ! " sighed 
 Grace ; but this time the sigh was lighter, for she. 
 found consolation in comparing her own trial with 
 her companion's — hers that might end in ulthnate 
 happiness, while Rachel's nothing could change. 
 
 To make the sense of relief permanent, Rachel, 
 who discerned her thoughts pretty correctly, offered 
 a few pleasant predictions which were quite as likely 
 as not to come true. Christmas would certainly see 
 Arthur Hill home again, and when he found how his 
 friend had prospered with Katherine, he might take 
 heart to renew his suit to her sister. Grace smiled 
 and said Rachel was very kind ; and the quiet little 
 woman felt that she had done somebody good.
 
 208 ANNIS WARLEIGH'S FORTUNES. 
 
 III. 
 
 The following morning, Mrs. Darner Warlelgli, 
 Katherine, and Rachel were seated in a pretty room 
 opening into the conservatory, all busy with idle- 
 w^ork and chat, when they saw Sir Laurence 
 Warleigh crossing the lawn towards the house, in 
 company with the Squire and John Withers; his 
 riding-whip in his hand and his country-made 
 clothes white with the dust of the roads. Katherine 
 sprang up, her face radiant with joyful surprise, and 
 called Grace from the library adjoining, for her first 
 thought was that her brother knew of their being 
 at Bristowe, and had come over on purpose to see 
 them. 
 
 But such was not the case. He had only met 
 them once before since Helena's death, and he met 
 them now with a quite natural reserve and coldness — 
 a more hopeless temper out of w^hich to educe good 
 family-feeling than anger, howsoever vehement. 
 Grace looked even more white and ill than usual, 
 and Katherine's momentary exuberance fell as quickly 
 as it had risen. They exchanged a few sentences, 
 but only on general subjects, and parted again with 
 the distant courtesy, and, on one side at least, with
 
 SIR LAUKEXCE WARLEIGH. 209 
 
 the indifference of strangers. They were strangers 
 in heart. Mrs. Darner Warleigh was grieved, but 
 the sisters expressed nothing of their feelings, though 
 it was impossible not to perceive how their brother's 
 neghgence wounded and disappointed them. 
 
 John Withers had some conversation with him 
 which may be described as having had no results. 
 Sir Laurence said Katherine was independent of him, 
 and would, of course, please herself; quite ignoring 
 the circumstance that when she was married their 
 homes would be almost within sight of each other. 
 But John took his churlishness very philosophically : 
 it was enough for him that he had neither opposition 
 nor delay to expect from the head of the family. 
 
 Oliver and his Lady Georgiana were so well 
 satisfied with the engagement, that the reply they 
 sent in acknowledgment of the letter that announced 
 it, was accompanied by an invitation to Whinstane 
 Tower; which, in the cultivation of their soon-to- 
 be family relations, both John and his sister accepted. 
 They went thither at the end of October, when the 
 few days of the latter summer were reigning on the 
 hills and in the woods, and thus the place looked 
 less desolate than as Rachel once saw it before in 
 the winterly Christmas weather. 
 
 The Oliver Warleighs showed themselves as 
 
 VOL. I. 14
 
 210 ANNIS WARLEIGH'S FORTUNES. 
 
 gracious towards tlieir guests as it became tliem 
 to do towards accepted future connections, but from 
 the first Rachel could not bring herself to like Lady 
 Georgiana. She was a tall woman, stiff rather than 
 stately, though well made, and her face was exceed- 
 ingly white — clay-white, and deeply pitted with 
 the small-pox. Her eyes were pale yellowish grey, 
 and the brows and lashes so light as to be scarcely 
 perceptible at a distance; her hair was a dull towy 
 flaxen, dressed in the most ornate style its natural 
 frizziness would admit of, — altogether an exceedingly 
 plain woman with a mean type of face and common- 
 place features. The children, fortunately for them, 
 took after their father rather than their mother; 
 and Mortimer, the eldest boy, was extremely pretty. 
 Rachel made quite a pet of him, but Katherine and 
 Grace had such a dislike to their sister-in-law that 
 they could hardly help carrying a little of it on to 
 her children's account. 
 
 Lady Georgiana was a remarkable disciplinarian — 
 even her ten months' old baby felt her power and 
 obeyed it. One day she offered the tiny victim to 
 Rachel's arms, but not liking the face of a stranger, 
 it naturally set up a small pipe of a cry, when Lady 
 Georgiana immediately withdrew with it to the 
 next room ; after a few minutes' absence she returned.
 
 SIR LAURENCE AVARLEIGH. 211 
 
 the atom sitting up on her arm with its feathers 
 composed, and again she offered it to Rachel's 
 embrace, but again baby gave way to an irrepressible 
 wail. Rachel felt quite ashamed of herself, and 
 apologized, saying she was afraid there was some- 
 thing about her he did not like ; to which Lady 
 Georgiana replied in her hard voice, *• Oh, no, not 
 at all, not at all ; but my children are inclined to 
 cry at the sight of strangers, and as it is a trick I 
 particularly dislike, I endeavour to cure them of 
 it at every opportunity ; " and a second time she 
 vanished behind the door. When she reappeared 
 baby went to Rachel without a whimper, and was 
 as good as gold. For a mother. Lady Georgiana 
 was a wonderful woman, and did not err on the 
 side of tenderness. 
 
 The first evening John Withers and his sister 
 were at Whinstane, Mr. and Mrs. Hill came to 
 dinner. The good old rector and his wife were 
 very kind to Grace and told her Arthur was soon 
 coming home. Her sad countenance cheered a little, 
 but it was nothing to be compared to Katherine's 
 jubilant brightness. Happiness was a new state of 
 being to her, and she carried the lustre of it in her 
 beautiful face. She was softer in manner too, and 
 her very voice had another tone. 
 
 14—2
 
 212 ANNIS WAELEIGH'S FOETUNES. 
 
 Wliiiistaiie was undeniably a pleasanter place to 
 stay at now than it had been during that first 
 memorable visit of Rachel Withers in Sir William 
 Warleigh's time ; but it was provoking both to her 
 and to her brother to watch Oliver exercising his 
 airs of mastership when they remembered who ought 
 to be living and ruling there. His sisters did not 
 seem to have power to say a word in furtherance of 
 their own wishes ; Lady Georgiana had her carriage, 
 but they had no carriage, and now, no horses to ride. 
 Sir William only left each of his daughters five 
 thousand pounds at her own disposal, and three 
 hundred a year for life, charged on the estate ; not 
 fortunes commensurate with his great wealth by any 
 means ; but Oliver had profited to the extent of 
 their loss. 
 
 The first night when Rachel went to bed, she 
 heard Lady Foulis, as usual, making the darkness 
 mournful with the drone of her organ. It was not 
 so sad at this time of year, when she could set her 
 window open to listen ; and this she did, looking up 
 at a sky where was no moon, but which was bright 
 with innumerable stars. How was it that standing 
 there, with the wind on her brow, and the sound in 
 her ears, there came over her heart and her brain 
 all that had passed between then and now ? All the
 
 SIR LAURE^XE WAELEIGH. 213 
 
 sun-bright hopes, and shadowy doubts, and dark 
 realizations of the doubts — all the Httle love-passages, 
 and vext words, and mortified tears that had put her 
 out of the pale of youth, and made of a gladsome 
 girl, a serious and grave-eyed woman. They came 
 and went, and her face was wet again, and the 
 sob in her throat again; and she said her prayers 
 and God comforted her ; and the morrow came like 
 any other day, and nobody knew or cared that she 
 had seen ghosts last night. She was a reticent 
 little woman, and kept her troubled visitants from 
 the other world of memory to herself. 
 
 Lady Foulis sent for her once during her stay at 
 Whinstane, and from certain allusions she made, 
 Rachel understood that she knew of the disappoint- 
 ments that had befallen her. There was no special 
 reference made to them, however, and the weird old 
 lady seemed better pleased to prattle on the theme 
 of Katherine's going to be married. " And Grace 
 too, Grace too,^^ she added, with an emphatic gesture 
 of her head. She had become somewhat hard of 
 hearing, but she still fingered her organ as incessantly 
 as ever. If we think of it, what a consolation it 
 must have been to her during her half-century of 
 captivity! Music would be the last passion, the 
 last sense to forsake her.
 
 214 ANNIS WARLEIGH'S FORTUNES. 
 
 When she was told by what name Sir Laurence's 
 little daughter had been called, she testified extreme 
 distress, wringing her withered hands and cry- 
 ing : "Oh, unwise, unwise! There was never an 
 Annis Warleigh lived to be good and happy yet. 
 It was my name — it is under a curse, under a 
 curse ! " 
 
 Katherine, in speaking of this to Rachel, regretted 
 that the name which was coupled with disaster and 
 dishonour to their house whenever it had been borne 
 by a daughter of it, should have fallen to Laurence's 
 child. But Rachel, with the warning of Helena and 
 the AVhite Hands strong in her recollection, said 
 that if these family traditions were not so mischievous 
 they would be simply ridiculous. Impress an imagi- 
 native mind with the idea that it is born to sorrow, 
 and the prophecy is very likely to work out its own 
 fulfilment. Idle words often sink deeper than the 
 speakers mean they should. If the first Annis 
 Warleigh was faithless to her husband, a poisoner, a 
 witch, and everything else that is wicked, her 
 descendants were surely not bound to take after her ! 
 Lady Foulis had undergone penance enough in her 
 own person to wear out any curse. 
 
 Katherine heard her say her say, and then 
 reiterated with unconvinced pertinacity :
 
 SIR LAUEEXCE WARLEIGH. 215 
 
 " All the same, I wish she were not called Annis. 
 She will be either very bad or very unlucky." 
 
 " Then," replied Rachel, " let us trust she may 
 be only unlucky ! " 
 
 lY. 
 
 Early in December Arthur Hill returned to 
 England, and perhaps nobody was very greatly 
 surprised when it was announced that two weddings 
 instead of one would take place at Whinstane in the 
 course of the ensuing spring. Grace and he needed 
 only to see each other to set their troubles straight, 
 and a Christmas morning letter brouo-ht the o^ood 
 news to Hurtledale Rectory, where no news could 
 have been more welcome. Rachel was cordially 
 glad for her friend, and to John Withers no brother- 
 in-law could have been so acceptable as Arthur 
 Hill. 
 
 Now and then the thought of how she should 
 dispose of herself when her brother married had 
 intruded itself very sadly on Rachel's rest, but she 
 early made up her mind to one thing — she would 
 not go on living at the rectory. Married folks were 
 best left to themselves, and besides she had no fancy 
 for taking a secondary place where she had been
 
 216 
 
 mistress. She liked to order and manage about a 
 house, and if she were to remain, she should con- 
 stantly be putting in her oar where she ought not. 
 It was nonsense of John to talk about Katherine's 
 wanting her to teach her household and parish ways ; 
 Katherine must learn for herself as she had done. 
 Perhaps it would have grieved her never to have 
 had the offer of a home with them made to her, but 
 when they had done their affectionate duty, she 
 began to think in earnest of doing her wise one. 
 She was sure a way would be made clear by-and-by, 
 and meanwhile she looked round her in patience 
 and hope. 
 
 Let her lot in life be what it might, Rachel Withers 
 would never be otherwise than what we call a happy 
 woman. It is worth a fortune to have a cheerful 
 temper and an easy adaptability of character. She 
 could thrive in any soil, and it must have been a 
 black cloud indeed through which her eyes could not 
 discern any portion of the silver lining ! The secret 
 of it was that she could enjoy the present, and throw 
 herself heartily into little passing pleasures ; but she 
 had no great enthusiasms, and one step at a time 
 in life was enough for her. She was not given to 
 daily self-anatomy as practised by heroines, but she 
 did her duty as far as she knew it, and became in
 
 SIR LAURENCE WARLEIGH. 217 
 
 process of time calmness and patience personified; 
 precisely what her mother had been before her in her 
 later years. 
 
 While Rachel was considering of her future lot, 
 her godmamma Grandacre was considering of it too : 
 and after mature deliberation she made her the offer 
 of a permanent home at Prior's Bank. 
 
 " While I live, live with me : when I am dead you 
 will find yourself sufficiently provided for," said the 
 old lady very kindly. '• I want company, and I hate 
 the idea of a hired companion ; I was always in an 
 agony lest Betsy Briggs should get hold of me, until 
 she came into her fortune and Mr. Gilsland married 
 her ; but now I feel comparatively safe. It seems to 
 me that you are thrown on the world. Dumpling, just 
 at the right moment to be picked up and adopted by 
 me; for I must have somebody soon, if I don't 
 have you. Go home and talk to John about it." 
 
 So Rachel went home and talked to John about it. 
 As far as she individually was concerned, she would 
 rather go to Prior's Bank than not, she said. Bitter- 
 sweet was fond of her, and they were as much used 
 to each other's oddities and quiddities as if they had 
 lived together for years. Old as Mrs. Sara Grandage 
 was her mind was serene, and her wits as bright as 
 ever ; while as for her habits, the only risk would be
 
 218 ANNIS WAKLEIGH'S FORTUNES. 
 
 of their proving too active for lier goddaughter. At 
 Prior's Bank she should still be in the midst of friends, 
 within reach of the schools and of some of her other 
 work with which Katherine's coming to the rectory 
 need not necessarily interfere. 
 
 John heard all and said little — he would not have 
 liked to live with Bittersweet, if it were only for her 
 untiring vivacity of speech ; but he knew his sister's 
 patience, and thought perhaps she might be able to 
 bear it. She was of a conversational turn her- 
 self. 
 
 Rachel and her godmamma had the matter over 
 several times again before anything was finally 
 decided, but as they were the principal persons 
 concerned in the result, they determined at last to 
 please themselves; and agreed that when John 
 brought Katherine home to the rectory his sister 
 should move to Prior's Bank. 
 
 In the prospect of her new home and its duties, 
 Rachel could not help wishing that nature had 
 endowed her with a warmer and more diffusive 
 manner towards those she loved. Whether it was 
 the violent check her affections had received, or 
 whether it was only her characteristic reserve 
 developing itself, she could not tell, but certainly her 
 cold shyness and formality were growing upon her.
 
 SIR LAURENCE WARLEIGH. 219 
 
 When it would have been appropriate to say some- 
 thing affectionate and cordial more often than not she 
 was tongue-tied. She conscientiously warned Bitter- 
 sweet of this, lest when they came to be always 
 together, she should be disappointed ; but her god- 
 mamma professed herself not exacting of displays of 
 tenderness, and comforted her not a little by answer- 
 ing to her avowals, " You are not so much cold as 
 quiet. Dumpling, and I know you will prove yery 
 satisfactory to me. Demonstrative people's ways are 
 pretty and touching, but they may be a bore and 
 grow fidgety in private life. One is safer with a 
 calm disposition in the long rim, and permanence 
 always pleased me better than vehemence." The 
 energetic old lady was, at all events, disposed to 
 make the best of her household companion, and next 
 after John, Rachel certainly loved her now better than 
 anybody else in the world. 
 
 In March the rectory had a thorough turn-out in 
 preparation for the coming of its new mistress ; and 
 poor Rachel, with all her endeavours, could not keep 
 away the little cloud of dulness which would creep 
 over her now and then, as she went to and fro the 
 house, directing and superintending the changes that 
 had to be. And John was so cheerful I 
 
 *^ Well," said she, taking herself to task one day.
 
 220 ANNIS WARLEIGH'S FORTUNES. 
 
 when she had been flatter than usual, " well, if this 
 goes on, I shall turn into a sour, cantankerous old 
 thing, resentful and envious of other people's happi- 
 ness, and that would be worse to bear than all ! 
 Going to Prior's Bank will be a sort of new beginning 
 of life to me — not so hopeful as the last, but I must 
 begin it with a good heart. When life looks level 
 and blank before one it is well to have won the 
 belief that God knows best. In saddened moments a 
 thought comes tempting me to fancy that I could 
 have arranged mj own lot more satisfactorily, but I 
 am utterly resolved to feel and say that after all God 
 must know best." 
 
 And Eachel's work went the better and her heart 
 was the lighter for her Christian philosophy. 
 
 The time flew very fast towards the end. One, 
 two, three days, and Rachel Withers must say good- 
 by to the dear old rectory as home, and go to make 
 way for its new mistress. She had a sort of leave- 
 taking at the school and of her poor folks, feeling all 
 the while as if a good cry would have eased her heart, 
 but the tears refused to flow. They said that they 
 should miss her ; and she would like them to miss her
 
 SIR LAURENCE WARLEIGH. 221 
 
 a little at first ; though in time Katherine was sure to 
 make up for her loss. She bade fair to become an 
 excellent clergyman's wife. 
 
 Sir Laurence Warleigh declined to attend at the 
 marriage of his sisters, and the ceremony took place 
 with the utmost privacy in Penslaven Chiu-ch ; only 
 Mrs. Damer "Warleigh and the Squire being invited 
 to be present. 
 
 The weddings over, John and Katherine set out 
 for a month's tour in Scotland, and Arthur Hill and 
 Grace departed to Devonshire, where he had been 
 presented to a small living, beautifully situated on the 
 coast. Rachel then went liome to Prior's Bank, and 
 very shortly afterwards the Oliver Warleighs dis- 
 charged their establishment, and retired to live in 
 Paris ; leaving Whinstane Tower to Lady Foulis and 
 the owls. 
 
 Sir Laurence Warleigh still remained faithful to 
 the old Hurtlemere House. 
 
 END OF PAKT THE FIRST.
 
 PAKT SECOND. 
 
 SIR LAURENCE'S LITTLE T7ILDLIXG. 
 CHAPTER THE FIRST. 
 
 ANNIS AT HURTLEMERE. 
 
 The sound of thy meny voice 
 
 Makes the old walls 
 
 Jubilant, and they rejoice 
 
 With the joy of thy young heart, 
 
 O'er the light of -whose gladness 
 
 No shadows of sadness 
 
 Erom the sombre background of memoiy start. 
 
 LOXGFELLO-W, 
 
 There was nothing about little Annis to remind 
 Sir Laurence Warleigh of the sweet wife he had lost 
 when she was born. She had russet-brown elf locks, 
 large, bluish-grey eyes like himself, and a sturdy, 
 wilful, fearless temper of her own as ever child was 
 made with. She enjoyed her liberty unchecked and
 
 224 ANNIS WAKLEIGH'S FORTUNES. 
 
 untliwarted, and was perhaps encouraged to be despotic 
 and imperious more than was quite good for her, 
 because her small tyrannies were an amusement to 
 those who loved her. Nothing the womenfolk liked 
 better than to see her drumming with tiny fist low 
 down on the door of the room where Sir Laurence 
 sat, and shouting to him to open and let her in. 
 
 There had been an important revolution transacted 
 at the Hurtlemere House soon after Annis began to 
 toddle alone, which was a source of rejoicing to all 
 concerned. One day, having evaded Lucy's watchful- 
 ness with that demure little spirit of mischief which 
 was her strongest baby trait, she strayed down to the 
 edge of the tarn, and there she was sitting in the 
 sunshine amongst the reeds, when Sir Laurence 
 happened to go thither to take out his boat. He 
 picked her up, much as he might have picked up a 
 terrier-pup, and Annis was as game. 
 
 She was used to see him from her nursery-window, 
 and Lucy had taught her to call him Papa as she 
 called a tree tree, and a horse Jiorse ; so when 
 he lifted her to a level with his face, she gazed 
 at him undaunted, lisped his name and poked out 
 one of her wee fat hands to clutch his beard. Sir 
 Laurence shook her ; she chuckled, kicked, and 
 crowed, and finally at his request, pouted two rosy
 
 ANNIS AT HURTLEMERE. 225 
 
 buds of lips and kissed him, until he ended by- 
 putting her into the boat and rowing across the tarn 
 with her; to the inexpressible anguish of Lucy bj 
 whom her loss was discovered almost as soon as she 
 disappeared. Sir Laurence kept her out with him 
 until dusk, and a terrible weeping and wailing was 
 going on round the borders of the tarn when he 
 w^as seen coming home with the little gipsy in his arms, 
 havincr left the boat on the further side of the water 
 and walked back through the woods. Lucy with a 
 loud cry dashed forward and snatched her away, 
 sobbing with hysterical delight; for she had almost 
 begun to think of the child as dead, and to picture to 
 herself the drowned locks and dear baby face tangled 
 amonsst the bushes overhancrino; the water which 
 might suddenly confront her and end her dreadful 
 search. 
 
 Sir Laurence understood the case without Mistress 
 Dobie's half-glad, half-angered explanations, and the 
 same evening he put an end to Lucy's wretched 
 anticipations of immediate dismissal for her negli- 
 gence, by giving her a sovereign, and bidding her 
 mind the child more carefully in future. Lucy in 
 the fervour of her penitence and gratitude transferred 
 the coin to the bag for the Catholic poor of BrafFerton, 
 and she could never for years after speak of Annis's 
 
 TOL. I. 15
 
 226 ANNIS WAELEIGH'S FORTUNES. 
 
 " blessed preservation " without weeping like Niobe. 
 Mary Wray who had been some time returned to her 
 husband's roof, but who loved the little creature as if 
 she were bone of her bone and flesh of her flesh, talked 
 of going back to the Hurtlemere House to take charge 
 of her foster-babe herself ; but her master refused to 
 spare her again, and instead she removed with him 
 into the small farm near the Force, which Sir 
 Laurence at this period granted them rent-free in 
 acknowledgment of Mary's office to his daughter. 
 
 Thus out of an imminent danger had come a great 
 good, and little Annis was no longer the only 
 neglected thing in her father's house. From that day 
 she was permitted to hang about his steps like any 
 other doggie; he taught her to run on messages, to fetch 
 and carry his boots, his slippers and his big pot of 
 tobacco, and to lie down on the rug and fall asleep 
 amongst the dogs when he wished her to be still. 
 Annis soon learnt to love him far better than her 
 nurses, fond as she was of them ; hers was a warm 
 heart that would cling faithfully to any one who 
 caressed her ; and her otherwise neglected childhood 
 was certainly not unhappy. 
 
 Lucy said she was a tom-boy, but she thought her 
 a precious darling, and would have quarrelled with 
 anybody who should have dared to And a fault in
 
 ANNIS AT HURTLEMERE. 227 
 
 her miracle of perfection. It seemed never to occur 
 to those who cared for and mdulged her that it was 
 in any way necessary to teach her the art of read- 
 ing; and though from the lips of Mistress Dobie, 
 who was a great adept at recitation, she had learnt a 
 number of quaint old ballads which Sir Laurence 
 set her to lisp at his knee in her dipt provincial 
 dialect while he was smoking his pipes of winter 
 evenings, she did not at four years old so much as 
 know her letters. Lucy's own education was very 
 imperfect, and did not compass the pronunciation of 
 long words without spelling which was probably the 
 reason why her views were so very lax. She 
 brought the child up just as she would have brought 
 up a child of her own, and being wholly trusted by 
 Sir Laurence was rather jealous of any advice or 
 interference from without. She was undoubtedly a 
 well-principled young woman, and her constant 
 affection cheered and warmed the motherless bairn ; 
 but kinsfolk and friends began to say that at four 
 years old Sir Laurence Warleigh's daughter should 
 have other companionship and tendance than that of 
 an ignorant young Romanist nurse how good and 
 kind soever she might be. In some respects Annis 
 was well done to, but in others there was much room 
 for improvement. Winter and summer her clothing 
 
 15—2
 
 228 ANNIS WARLEIGH'S FORTUNES. 
 
 was rough and plain, and not always either whole or 
 cleanly; for the little maiden ran as wild out of 
 doors as any cottager's child could do. One day her 
 Aunt Katherine going up to pay a rare visit at the 
 Hurtlemere House, saw the merry wee gipsy, with- 
 out hat and tanned berry-brown, perched astride of 
 a broad-backed cart-horse which Mathew Dobie 
 was leading down to water, and shouting at the 
 utmost pitch of her sound young lungs such en- 
 couraging ejaculations to Tinker as she had picked 
 up from the farmer's frequent use of them. 
 
 It was on this occasion that Katherine first essayed 
 a mild remonstrance with Sir Laurence, but he 
 appeared to think that there was time enough yet to 
 get his little wildling — 'who was only a better sort of 
 pet dog to him — into training, and would not be pre- 
 vailed on to subject her to any stricter discipline 
 than that she now throve under. A truly disheart- 
 ening account of her appearance and manners was 
 then sent to Grace, who thereupon joined in the 
 appeal, even offering to take the child into her own 
 charire : for she had none of her own. Katherine 
 might have wished to assume the responsibility too, 
 but her husband would not have permitted her to 
 add to her cares, even had her brother been willing 
 to let Annis rro to her ; and indeed, her hands were
 
 AXNIS AT HUETLEMERE. 229 
 
 quite full enough, with her own active, irrepressible 
 boys — two in the house, neither of them yet steady 
 on his pins, were anxiety and trouble enough for any 
 reasonable woman. 
 
 By some means or other the rumour of changes 
 affecting her foster-babe came round to jMary Wray's 
 ears, and she esteemed it her bounden duty to go 
 first to Katherine and afterwards to Sir Laurence 
 himself to inquire how mucb or how little truth there 
 was in wliat she had heard. She also gave them the 
 benefit of her opinion on what influences were likely 
 to affect her darling's destiny for good or ill, and 
 sucrcrested that if Annis must needs o-o from home to 
 be made a lady of, why should she not be sent to 
 Oliver Warleigh's wife who was an experienced 
 mother herself, and who must know what belonged 
 to bairns, having three of her own ? 
 
 This was how Lady Georgiana came first to be 
 thoucrht of as the most elicjible o-uardian for Sir 
 Laurence Warleigh's daughter. Her own children 
 were patterns of proper behaviour, and though no 
 love subsisted between her and her sisters-in-law, they 
 were both fain to agree that there was sense and 
 soundness in Mary Wray's suggestion. 
 
 But however the rest of the family might cabal 
 for the rescue of Annis from the ruinous necrlect and
 
 230 
 
 indulgence in the midst of whicli she was floarishing 
 as luxuriantly as an ill-weed could, Sir Laurence 
 himself had not the smallest intention of parting with 
 her ; and this comfortable assurance he gave her 
 foster-mother with his own lips. 
 
 '^ The bairn is but a bairn and can't be catching 
 much that's amiss yet ; " said Mary ; but on the 
 other hand it was very justly pleaded that refined 
 habits are seed for early sowing, and that Annis 
 ought soon to be transferred to the care of a gentle- 
 woman if she was to grow up into a little gentle- 
 woman herself. The manner of the change was the 
 difficulty, and also how to bring Sir Laurence to 
 consent to any change at all; but Katherine was 
 convinced of the wisdom of it more effectually than 
 ever, when she, on the occasion of another visit to 
 the Hurtlemere House, heard Lucy instructing her 
 niece in a Catholic child's prayers. Her Protestant 
 feelings took the alarm, and she wrote forthwith to 
 Lady Georgiana to sound her on the feasibility of 
 Mary Wray's idea. 
 
 Three or four days after the despatch of this letter, 
 Oliver Warleigh arrived at the rectory, perhaps 
 more to the surprise than the pleasure of its inhabi- 
 tants, but his welcome was quite sufficiently cordial 
 to induce him to remain. He and his wife had
 
 ANNIS AT HURTLEMERE. 231 
 
 caught eagerly at the possible advantages which 
 might accrue to them from having the care of Sir 
 Laurence's child; and primed with all manner of 
 plausible arguments in favour of the suggestion 
 Katherine had made to them, he came over in hot 
 haste to urge it on his brother in person. 
 
 II. 
 
 It was on a dull March afternoon that Ohver 
 Warleigh first presented himself in his character 
 of ambassador at the Hurtlemere House. Sir 
 Laui'ence was not indoors, but Mistress Dobie with a 
 rather frozen welcome ushered him into a room 
 adjoining that which his brother habitually occupied, 
 and bade him wait. One leaf of the folding-door 
 which commimicated with the next room stood ajar, 
 and looking through it, Oliver perceived that Annis 
 was there; and he remained for several minutes watch- 
 ing her attentively, and listening to her monotonous 
 chanting of one of those ancient ballads which were 
 her only accomphshment. 
 
 Couched upon the hearth in the midst of a group 
 of sleeping dogs sat the child, shaggy as any one 
 of them, singing straight through the tragical song of 
 " The Bonny Earl of Murray." At the close of the
 
 232 ANNIS WARLEIGH'S FORTUNES. 
 
 last verse, she laid her head down on the broad side 
 of one of the great hounds, stretched her little arm 
 np over its neck, and appeared to be composing 
 herself for a nap ; but the creaking of a board under 
 Oliver Warleigh's stealthy foot, made her turn and 
 look round. When she saw a stranger she rose on 
 her knees, gazed straight at him and said quaintly, 
 " Who are you ? You are not of this house." 
 
 " I am your uncle Oliver, my little petkin," replied 
 he, and held out his hand. 
 
 The propitiatory gesture was not responded to. 
 Annis got on her feet and stayed regarding him 
 neither diffident nor afraid for some moments, as if 
 she were considering his claims to her favour, and 
 deciding on them as extremely trifling. "A bold 
 little lass," thought he; but he made a second 
 advance by asking if she would like to come and sit 
 on his knee. *^ No," was the blunt response ; and 
 after watching the intruder suspiciously for another 
 minute or so, she made a sudden rush past him and 
 escaped out of the room. " A wild little lass," 
 thought Oliver Warleigh again, and sat him down 
 much disconcerted in his brother's chair. 
 
 Though it w^as scarcely more than midway the 
 afternoon, the day was so overcast that already it 
 was growing gloomy indoors; but he flung some
 
 ANmS AT HURTLEMERE. 233 
 
 logs out of the wood-basket upon the fire, and as the 
 pine knots kindled and blazed up the dim twilight 
 was sufifused with a warm and pleasant glow which 
 penetrated into the remoter parts of the large room. 
 But the ruddy fire-shine only brought out into 
 greater prominence its dreary, comfortless nakedness; 
 on the panelled walls no picture, on the oaken floor 
 no carpet, and the scant furniture of a rude and 
 cumbrous antiquity. It was not the east room which 
 was used when Helena was alive, but the long- 
 abandoned dining-hall, which in old times re-echoed 
 with mirth more loud than wise when Moor Murray 
 entertained his boon companions after a hard day's 
 sport. The aspect of Sir Laurence's daily abode for 
 these four years past, revealed to OKver Warleigh 
 more of his brother's actual life than could have done 
 the amplest spoken details. Its atmosphere was one 
 of a thousand pipes ; guns, dog-whips, fishing-tackle, 
 and other kindred articles ornamented every corner 
 and recess ; while several slovenly heaps of books and 
 magazines, strewn hither and thither upon the floor, 
 were indicative of Annis's constructive skill in 
 castle-building; other toys than these paper-bricks 
 she had none. 
 
 As his eye took in each dull detail of this gloomy 
 scene, Oliver Warleigh marvelled more and more;
 
 234 ANNIS WARLEIGH'S FOIiTUNES. 
 
 he lost patience in thinking of Laurence. " Every 
 pleasure of life within his reach, and not the spirit 
 to enjoy anything ! " soliloquized he. " There was 
 never a woman trode shoe-leather yet worthy of such 
 sacrifices to her memory ! And that gipsy-bred little 
 monkey heiress to Penslaven and Whinstane — if I 
 have any discernment concerning natural attraction 
 and antipathy there will not be much love lost 
 between her and my Lady Georgiana when they 
 come together." 
 
 For two hours or more he waited in the dreary, 
 half-lighted room for his brother's return, his only 
 amusement being to grasp the poker, strike the 
 smouldering logs, and then watch the routed myriads 
 of sparks fly up the wide chimney. At last the 
 outer door opened. Sir Laurence's heavy step crossed 
 the hall ; and sensible of a sudden and uncomfortable 
 flush of embarrassment, Oliver rose from his seat by 
 the hearth and listened. There was first the sound 
 of Mistress Dobie's voice, announcing his own arrival, 
 followed by a few minutes of dead silence, which 
 seemed to the anxious visitor to lengthen and 
 lengthen themselves out as if they would never 
 end. He experienced some very nervous fluctua- 
 tions of courage while every instant expecting his 
 injured brother to confront him; but he looked
 
 A^^XIS AT hurtle:\iere. 235 
 
 outwardly self-possessed enough when the door 
 opened, and Sir Laurence, entering, stood face to 
 face with him for the first time since they were hoys 
 together at Whinstane Tower. 
 
 They were quite strangers to each other's appear- 
 ance now, but they shook hands mechanically, and 
 Sir Laurence was the first to speak, though what 
 he said was as little like a fraternal greeting as it 
 well could be. '^ Over here on business ? " he asked ; 
 and Oliver answered with strict truth, " Yes, on 
 business of importance." 
 
 " Going on to Whinstane ? " inquired Sir Laurence 
 again. 
 
 "Xo; they have put me up at the rectory," was 
 the reply. 
 
 " It is close upon dinner-time, will you remain 
 and dine with me ? " was the next suggestion, one 
 to which Oliver readily acceded. 
 
 And that strange meeting was accomplished, 
 courteously and coldly as a meeting between two 
 strangers ! 
 
 Sir Laurence then immediately turned back to the 
 door which he had left open, and called aloud for 
 Annis, who came running as swiftly as her little 
 feet would carry her, but paused irresolute when 
 she perceived wko was still in possession of the
 
 236 ANNIS WARLEIGH'S FORTUNES. 
 
 hearth. Her father put an end to her indecision 
 by taking her up in his arms and carrying her to 
 the fireside, but all the while she kept the eyes of 
 suspicious watchfulness on the unwelcome guest; 
 and Oliver Warleigh did some violence to his 
 feelings when, by way of smoothing an avenue to 
 conversation, he remarked that she was a fine 
 child. 
 
 '^ She is like my mother," answered Sir Laurence, 
 and sat down with her on his knee. 
 
 Oliver acquiesced, though in reality he could not 
 see the faintest shadow of resemblance — that brown, 
 elfish mite like their beautiful mother! He grew 
 quite sarcastic over the idea inwardly; thought 
 paternal partiality might claim some allowance, but 
 when it reached such a stage of blindness as that, 
 it became only pitiable and ludicrous. With certain 
 persons a little contempt for their company induces 
 a remarkable degree of ease and assurance, and 
 when Oliver Warleigh discovered this weakness in 
 his brother to despise, he found his wits and his 
 tongue loosed, and began to talk fluently in spite 
 of the discouraging brevity of Sir Laurence's replies. 
 He gave his brother a sketch of his own promising 
 young family unasked. 
 
 "Our boys take after the Warleighs, and fine.
 
 ANNIS AT HURTLEMERE. 237 
 
 well-grown lads they are. Mortimer is a very fine 
 lad for six years old," said he, " and his tutor tells 
 us that he shows talent; but these are early days 
 yet to judge of what he may turn out. As much 
 depends on temperament as on capacity, and he has 
 a lazy, pleasure-loving turn such as is not commonly 
 the making of successful men. But he will have to 
 fight for himself — both my boys will have to fight 
 for themselves, for I shall have nothing to give 
 them ; so it is lucky they are blest with abundance 
 of mother-wit." 
 
 It did not appear that Oliver Warleigh was 
 deficient in paternal partiality any more than Sir 
 Laurence. He then went on to say that Lady 
 Georgiana and he were returning to England per- 
 manently in the S2:)rlng for. their children's sake ; 
 and expressing himself as entirely in favour of public 
 school education, asked his brother what was his 
 opinion about it. Sir Laurence could not profess 
 to have any opinion, or to pronounce on the advan- 
 tages or disadvantages of a system of which he knew 
 nothing. Then Oliver pressed him with the inquiry 
 whether he thought his ow^n training at home had 
 been good, to which he unhesitatingly replied, " Xo ; 
 as bad as bad could be." 
 
 '^ So it was," agreed Oliver ; and then he felt his
 
 238 ANNIS WARLEIGH'S EORTUNES. 
 
 way cautiously on untried ground by saying that 
 if Sir Laurence had gone to Eton, or Harrow, or 
 Rugby as a boy, lie would scarcely be burying him- 
 self alive in Hurtledale now; and concluded by 
 asking if he never meditated making any change in 
 his manner of life. 
 
 To this his brother abruptly replied, " What 
 change should I make?" and Oliver suggested 
 that he should return to Whinstane or take Penslaven 
 into his own hands. Sir Laurence answered that he 
 liked the Hurtlemere House better than either, and 
 continued, half absently, to stroke the rosily-flushed 
 cheek of Annis, which was next the fire, as if she 
 were the pervading influence of his reverie, until 
 Oliver, with adventurous boldness, said, " And what 
 must this poor little gipsy lose by being allowed to 
 grow up wild in such an out-of-the-way spot — she 
 who must inherit two of the finest estates in the 
 north, unless you alter your mind and marry 
 again." 
 
 Sir Laurence started as if he had been stung, and 
 exclaimed, harshly, — 
 
 " Have you travelled all the way from Paris to 
 ask me that ? You might have spared yourself the 
 pains!" 
 
 And then he got up and strode out of the room.
 
 ANNIS AT HUETLE.MEEE. 239 
 
 taking tbe cliild with liim. His suspicions of the 
 purport of his brother's undesired visit were evidently 
 aroused; but Ohver did not allow himself to be 
 discomposed ; he had won a hearing, the object of his 
 embassy had been approached, and though, for the 
 moment, he found himself flung roughly back, he 
 should know how the better to approach it again at 
 a more auspicious moment. 
 
 Sir Laurence reappeared without Annis when 
 dimier was on the table, and Oliver, discreetly 
 avoiding all recurrence to personal topics, plmiged 
 into the troubled sea of pohtics, foreign and domestic, 
 and at length succeeded in entanghng his brother in 
 an argument on the respective merits of the rival 
 statesmen of the day, between whom party feehng ran 
 high. Dinner over, they drew their chairs to the 
 hearth, and Sir Laurence ordered Annis to be sent in 
 again. Ohver would have preferred her absence; 
 and when she came, carrj'ing in her two hands, and 
 propt against her breast, a box of tobacco with 
 a couple of pipes carefully balanced on the top of it, 
 he fancied himself transferred to the parlour of some 
 way-side inn, with this small brown maiden to wait 
 upon the travellers. Sir Laurence asked him if he 
 smoked, and when he said, '• No, Lady Georgiana had 
 broken him of the habit directly after their marriage.
 
 240 ANNIS WARLEIGH'S FORTUNES. 
 
 and he had never attempted to resume it since," his 
 brother replied that Ladj Georgiana was unwise ; it 
 was a moral sedative; blue devils, black devils 
 and all other evil humours vanished in a cloud of 
 good tobacco-smoke. 
 
 Annis busied herself in filling her father's pipe, 
 using her little thumb for a stopper, and having seen 
 it alight and curling up in white, fragrant wreaths, 
 she appeared to consider her evening duty done, and 
 diverted herself in various ways about the room. At 
 last she settled on her knees by one of the jambes of 
 the chimney-piece, and with a handful of tobacco, 
 abstracted from the box, proceeded to dress in 
 shaggy wigs all the grotesquely carved heads \vithin 
 her reach that embellished it. Oliver Warleigh 
 could not keep his eyes from following the restless 
 movements of the child. He watched her pat the 
 lantern-jaws, and pinch the high noses, and whisper 
 in the great ears as if the things were human, and 
 stick twists of paper in their yawning mouths and 
 bid them smoke. She appeared to have invested 
 each figure with a name and certain character, and to 
 be enacting scenes in an irregular drama of her own 
 construction. One long-featured, down drooping face, 
 the topmost under the mantel-shelf, she addressed as 
 Sir Surnfitj and two chubby little sons of Bacchus,
 
 AN^'IS AT HURTLEilERE. 241 
 
 crowned with grape-clusters, as Ye Bales. The 
 largest head in the centre of the jambe was the Op-e, 
 and Ye Babes w^ere warned with much shaking of 
 Annis's elfish locks, not to come within snap of his 
 great jaws. It struck Oliver Warleigh by-and-by that 
 the imaginative little mischief was in some way or other 
 connecting him with this grinning visage of which it 
 pleased her to feign a shivering terror ; for her eye 
 glanced towards him twice or thrice, and then she 
 committed an inaudible secret to the keeping of Ye 
 Babes, and wagged her head with an air of great 
 sagacity, as if desirous of impressing them with 
 its profound importance. He should never forget the 
 thing's antics as long as he lived, he said to Katherine, 
 when he described this quaint scene. 
 
 There was no end to Annis's game until Lucy 
 came to carry her away to bed ; but first a biscuit 
 was given her, with which she fed her playfellows, 
 and then was taken on Sir Laurence's knee for a final 
 interval of petting before good-night. Oliver looked 
 on with some impatience while the two discoursed in 
 their little lancniacre, and was thankful when it was 
 over ; and Annis, having strained her father's head 
 to her bosom with all the force of her tiny arms, and 
 exclaimed, w4th passionate fondness, " I love you, 
 papa ; I do love you, papa," was handed over to Lucy. 
 
 TOL. I. 16
 
 242 
 
 But scarcely had the door closed upon them, than 
 Sir Laurence, as if repenting him of an omission, 
 laid down his pipe and followed; and the next 
 moment Oliver heard the child's voice as it receded 
 up the stairs, crying, " Good Donny, faster ; trot, 
 Donny, trot ! " and, with a rather mean curiosity, 
 he peeped out and saw that his brother was clumsily 
 feigning himself a horse, and giving her a ride 
 to bed. 
 
 Oliver laughed when he told this to his sister, and 
 it was not a kind laugh ; he thought Sir Laurence 
 a fool and the child as spoilt a little baggage as 
 ever breathed. But Katherine spoke up in their 
 defence. 
 
 " I love Laurie for his tenderness," said she, her 
 mother-feeling kindling in her eyes. " I think it is 
 beautiful ; and she is a dear wee darling with all her 
 savagery, and only wants system and kindness to 
 make her as docile as other children. I am very fond 
 of Annis^ Oliver." 
 
 Oliver replied, of course, of course ; she was only 
 over-indulged, that was all ; but Lady Georgian a was 
 a tight hand, and if ever she came under her rein, 
 she would very soon be broken in. No doubt she 
 would ! 
 
 When Sir Laurence rejoined his brother, Oliver
 
 A^'NIS AT HURTLEMERE. 243 
 
 dextrously contrived to turn the talk once more 
 towards the main object of his embassy, and though 
 Sir Laurence puffed a silent cloud, and seemed little 
 inclined to enter on the conversation, he harangued 
 about Lady Georgiana's skill in the management of 
 children, and the paramount necessity of implanting 
 good early habits in the young in a way that would 
 have done credit to a commissioner of education. 
 Thence he diverged to the remoteness of Hurtledale 
 from all means of instruction ; and at last, with 
 sudden earnestness he appealed to his brother to 
 know if he intended keeping his fine, clever little 
 daughter much longer Avithout opportunities of learn- 
 ing ; adding, that he had heard from his sisters how 
 she was not even being taught to read. 
 
 Sir Laurence replied abruptly that he did not 
 think any change yet necessary. 
 
 " The child might be fourteen instead of four, to 
 hear you talk ! She will do very well as she is for 
 some time to come. Katherine and Grace have 
 attacked me ah'eady, and I have desired them 
 to give themselves no anxiety on my daughter's 
 account." 
 
 " You can never send her to school ; she would 
 break her heart under the tedium of formal discipline," 
 said Oliver, pressing the charge ; " yet the longer she 
 
 16—2
 
 244 ANNIS WAELEIGH'S FORTUNES. 
 
 runs wild the more severe will restraint be when it 
 must come." 
 
 To this Sir Laurence answered that he had no 
 intention of exiling Annis from home. Then Oliver 
 suggested again that it would be by no means easy to 
 induce any lady capable of giving her an education 
 suited to her rank, to come and live at the Hurtle- 
 mere House. Sir Laurence responded that no idea 
 of bringing a stranger thither had ever occurred to 
 him; but he now saw that some scheme in which 
 Annis was concerned was labouring for delivery 
 in Oliver's breast, and he bade him impatiently 
 speak out, and not fence any longer with the 
 question. 
 
 Then said Oliver, uncertain for the moment 
 whether he was most relieved or disconcerted by the 
 sudden challenge, 
 
 " You have conjectured rightly. The women are 
 more anxious for their little niece's welfare than you 
 suppose ; and amongst them they have devised a 
 plan which they declare excellent ; this plan is that 
 you should entrust Annis to Lady Georgiana; besides 
 her two boy-cousins, she would also have our little 
 Clara, only a year younger than herself, for a play- 
 mate, and everybody who has to do with children 
 knows the value of equal companionship."
 
 ANNIS AT HURTLEMERE. 245 
 
 Sir Laurence listened in an embarrassing silence, 
 his face betraying nothing of how he was affected, 
 and it was not until the proposition had had several 
 minutes to sink into his mind, that Oliver, per- 
 ceiving he did not intend to speak, ventured to ask, 
 " Well, Laurence, how does it strike you?" 
 
 " I have never seen Lady Georgiana," was the 
 reply. 
 
 "But you could see her, either here or at Bristowe," 
 said Oliver. Again Sir Laurence smoked on in mute 
 meditation, and again his brother was reduced to the 
 expedient of asking a direct question. "Will you 
 meet her if she comes over ? " 
 
 " You must excuse me, Oliver — No," was the brief 
 answer; and after a few minutes' pause Sir Laurence 
 put an end to the debate by saying, " We will not 
 talk of this matter any more. Lady Georgiana I do 
 not know, but you made yourself my enemy ; and if 
 my sisters had behaved to Helena as they ought to 
 have done her child would have stood in need of none 
 of their kindnesses now. They mean well, perhaps, 
 but I am not disposed to hear their advice or to 
 be indebted to them for any help. If you have come 
 over specially with this object, I regret that you 
 should have taken so long a journey for nothing — a 
 letter would have answered the purpose quite as
 
 246 AKNIS WAKLEIGH'S FOETUNES. 
 
 well, and have been much less costly in every- 
 way." 
 
 '^I shall not regret it since it has given me tlie 
 chance of shaking hands with you again after 
 fourteen years, Laurence. We are friends now, 
 are we not ? " returned Oliver, plaintively. 
 
 " It was not my fault we were ever otherwise," 
 said Sir Laurence, affecting no enthusiasm of glad- 
 ness at their reunion. Oliver sighed, and there was 
 silence between them for some minutes. The old 
 clock in the hall striking eleven broke it, and warned 
 them that it was time to separate. 
 
 " They keep early hours at the rectory, I must 
 be going," said Oliver, and rose with a show of 
 reluctance. 
 
 " I will walk with you down the hill," replied Sir 
 Laurence ; and the brothers turned out together into 
 the cold starlit night. 
 
 At parting the elder suggested a hope of seeing 
 Oliver again before he left Hurtledale, a hope which 
 Oliver gratefully encouraged. Sir Laurence was 
 not so insensible to the elixir of society as he 
 imagined; it was an unconfessed pleasure to him 
 to see his brother's face and hear his voice once 
 more, notwithstanding all that was past and goner 
 and at their next meeting he invited him to transfer
 
 ANNIS AT HUETLEMERE. 247 
 
 himself from the rectory to the Hurtlemere House, 
 which Oliver did with a good deal of secret, wilj 
 exultation. 
 
 III. 
 
 Nobody, of course, supposed that Oliver Warleigh 
 undertook his mission in behalf of Annis from purely 
 disinterested motives. His wife had brought him 
 a fortune, but by all accounts she was a frightfully 
 extravagant woman. Paris was an expensive place 
 of residence, they kept up a showy establishment, 
 and their family would nov/ begin to increase in 
 wants with each advancing year, so that the tem- 
 porary guardianship of Sir Laurence's daughter with 
 a handsome allowance would have been a very 
 acceptable adjunct to their other cares. Thus far 
 Oliver had gained nothing, but he had lost nothing 
 either ; and to have re-established a footing in his 
 brother's house, closed against him for so many 
 years, was a desirable end achieved. 
 
 He was witness to some rather curious incidents 
 behind the scenes at the Hurtlemere House. The 
 first morning when he descended from his room, 
 trim and stately, he found Sir Laurence in a rough 
 frieze coat of genuine Braff'erton cut, just rising from
 
 2-18 ANNIS WARLEIGH'S FORTUNES. 
 
 his finished breakfast. Annis also was there, done 
 up with a napkin under hei: chin, eating porridge 
 and milk with excellent appetite. She took the 
 opportunity of the slight diversion caused by her 
 uncle Oliver's entrance to carry her nearly empty 
 platter to the chimney-piece, and was just in the 
 act of putting a spoonful into the Ogre's mouth, 
 when Lucy appeared and prevented the accomplish- 
 ment of her hospitable designs. Annis was not too 
 well pleased at the interference, though she allowed 
 her dish and spoon to be transferred to the centre 
 of the table beyond her reach ; and the setting of 
 her lips and perverse little twist of her shoulders 
 betrayed the smouldering rebellion which broke out 
 into frank resistance, when Lucy offered a hand to 
 lead her from the room. Stubbornly entrenching 
 herself amongst the dogs upon the hearth, she braved 
 her mild monitress with a naughty eye, and dared 
 her audibly to touch her. Lucy wisely did not 
 attempt it, and after a little ineffectual coaxing, she 
 glided out of the room as noiselessly as she had come 
 in, leaving Annis triumphant. 
 
 Oliver Warleigh was very disagreeably impressed 
 by Lucy's position at the Hurtlemere House. He 
 told Katherine that she had the air of a person 
 accustomed to consideration and even deference.
 
 AXXIS AT HURTLEMERE. 249 
 
 He professed to discern in her craft and force of 
 will, and the coolest self-possession, all demurely 
 veiled under a modest simplicity of self-respect that 
 was plausible and well enough acted to deceive any- 
 body less versed in the wicked wiles of human 
 nature than himself. Katherine laughed merrily at 
 his ridiculous suspicions. Worldly wisdom may 
 sometimes be a light to the eyes, but almost as 
 often it is a mere misleading Will-'o-the-wisp ; and 
 in this instance it had certainly tempted Oliver 
 Warleigh's discernment astray. Lucy knew that 
 she was pretty, and she had that natural love of 
 limited power which is a trait in all intelligent 
 persons of her sex; but she had no more designs 
 on Sir Laurence, which his brother implied she had, 
 than upon the man in the moon. She had plighted 
 her troth a couple of years ago to the eldest son of 
 Robb, at Prior's ]\Iill, and it was to be a match as 
 soon as he could stock a farm and furnish a house 
 to take her to. But the vexatious idea Oliver had 
 conceived concerning her, tipt his tongue with 
 blackest gall of bitterness in speaking of his brother ; 
 he said to Katherine that Sir Laurence appeared to 
 him to have degenerated into an absolute boor, and 
 predicted that he might very probably, if the pro- 
 gress of deterioration continued, end his long mourn-
 
 2oO ANNIS WARLEIGH'S PORTUNES. 
 
 ing for Helena by the commission of the greatest of 
 all possible follies — that of marrying her maid ! A 
 pleasant cud for him to chew, this; and his sister 
 did not succeed in convincing him how more than 
 absurd was his fancy. 
 
 Annis and he, by his own candid confession, did 
 not grow in each other's good graces ; though the 
 evenings passed not unpleasantly at the Hurtlemere 
 House. He became more anxious for the success of 
 his mission every day he stayed there ; his earnest- 
 ness arising from a desire to get Lucy away along 
 with the child. Yet he steadily refrained himself 
 from the topic that was uppermost in his thoughts, 
 and w^hen he and his brother were alone, laid himself 
 out to amuse, telling his best society stories in his 
 best society manner, that he might not risk losing all 
 by over eagerness in pressing a distasteful subject. 
 
 Sir Laurence smoked his meditative pipes and said 
 little, but his brother's company was becoming very 
 pleasant to him. It was long since he had enter- 
 tained friend or kinsman at his lonely fireside. At 
 distant intervals appeared his steward, Mr. Bond, 
 and at still more distant, John Withers spent an 
 evening with him, and these were the only two 
 guests Annis knew as bearing her father company. 
 
 She liked to see Mr. Bond and John also ; for the
 
 ANXIS AT HUETLE^HERE. 251 
 
 first brought her gingerbread, and the second set her 
 up to say a long ballad, and always commended her 
 proficiency with a pat on the crown ; which, as 
 Annis loved praise, was perhaps as acceptable as the 
 spice-cake. But the new stranger who called him- 
 self uncle Oliver, was by no means so welcome; 
 some instinct deeper than reason warned her against 
 his surface cordiality, and she kept watch over him 
 in a spirit of distrustful defiance which she was too 
 young to dissimulate. 
 
 One evening she was invited to display before him 
 her powers of recitation, but she left Sir Sumfit and 
 Ye Babes reluctantly, and when perched on her 
 father's knee for the triumphant exhibition, with a 
 precocity of malice, which would express itself by 
 parable rather than not at all, she proceeded to chant 
 the Ballad of The Babes in the Wood, addressing 
 the narrative portions towards the dogs, and the 
 denunciations of the cruel uncle towards her kinsman 
 with the oddest little naughty look sparkling in her 
 eyes that ever child wore ; and when requested to 
 bid him proper good-night afterwards, she turned 
 suddenly, took a long stare at him, shook her elf- 
 locks and decamped. Oliver Warleigh laughed, but 
 there was neither laugh nor love in his heart, and it 
 was by no means a benevolent aspiration when he
 
 252 ANNIS WARLEIGH'S FORTUNES. 
 
 wished Lady Georgiana had her ! But even Lady 
 Georgiana might meet her match. She was equal 
 to icing a baby's tears, but whether she was equal to 
 Icing the passionate blood of such an one as Sir 
 Laurence's little wildling was yet to be tried. 
 
 On another occasion he witnessed an awful in- 
 stance of her waywardness and of her father's indul- 
 gence which had a worse effect on his temper than 
 any demonstration of dislike towards himself that 
 had preceded it. One eyening he proposed to his 
 brother a ride to Bristowe for the next morning; 
 the weather being fine and the roads good, why 
 should they not go ? Sir Laurence did not say why 
 not, but he demurred — could not Oliver go alone ? 
 Oliver replied that of course he could, but a ride 
 over the moor was pleasanter in company than in 
 solitude ; he did not urge the matter, however, and 
 at breakfast he was in no way surprised to hear his 
 brother announce that he had changed his mind and 
 would go to Bristowe; but he was surprised and 
 annoyed too when Sir Laurence added that Annis 
 would accompany them in fulfilment of an old pro- 
 mise to Mrs. Damer Warleigh. 
 
 " Can the little monkey ride so far ? " he asked, 
 darting a very sharp glance at the small porridge- 
 devourer who faced him.
 
 ANIsIS AT HURTLEMERE. 253 
 
 She nodded her head and said, ^^ Farther," with- 
 out the addition of an explanatory word. 
 
 Oliver Warleigh resigned himself. The elfish 
 mite seemed to have penetrated his feelings and to 
 be enjoying his vexation with imp-like malice. 
 Breakfast over, the horses were ordered, and when 
 Sir Laui'ence and his brother went out they found 
 Annis already mounted on her black pony, a swift, 
 sure-footed, handsome little beast, docile to her hand 
 and word as a well-trained dog. She was clad in a 
 heather-coloured habit of rough Scotch cloth, and 
 wore a boy's cap, with a silver thistle in front, tied 
 under her chin. She was as fearless and as much at 
 home on her pony as amongst the dogs on the hearth, 
 and her uncle Oliver reluctantly admitted to himself 
 at last, that the little gipsy, in spite of her dark locks 
 and nut-brown skin, was a very beautiful child. 
 
 Annis was a chatterbox ; her tongue wagged fast, 
 and for some distance she absorbed the chief part of 
 the talk; but by-and-by when they came to where 
 the road turned across the open moors, she would 
 have cantered off by herself had not her father, 
 though he loosed the leading rein, bidden her keep 
 close by his side. He looked down at her from 
 time to time very thoughtfully and very fondly as 
 if he were turning over in his mind some design
 
 254 ANNIS WARLEIGH'S FORTUNES. 
 
 fraught with pain to both. And so it presently 
 appeared that he was. Peremptorily as he had at 
 first refused to entertain the proposal made to him 
 of entrusting Annis to Lady Georgiana, it had since 
 recurred to him as perhaps worth consideration ; and 
 he now introduced the subject himself by saying to 
 Oliver that he supposed he should have to let his 
 little gipsy leave him soon, though it would be very 
 hard lines for her, go when and where she would. 
 
 Oliver had much ado to repress the thrill of 
 triumph that stirred in his heart at this unexpected 
 symptom of yielding on his brother's part; but he 
 replied with an air of sympathy and encouragement 
 that she was young enough yet to be very easily 
 moulded to new manners. He then led the con- 
 versation to Lady Georgiana, pleasing particulars of 
 whom he was fluent in detailing. After some 
 general remarks on the advantages of living abroad, 
 he went on to state his intentions with reference to 
 a home in England, and to expound all the beautiful 
 plans for the bringing-up of an heiress with which 
 his clever wife had primed him beforehand. Sir 
 Laurence heard him patiently, and though he said it 
 would be much against the grain whenever he let 
 her go, he acknowledged that it might very probably 
 be her best chance of good training and good treat-
 
 AXXIS AT HUETLEMERE. 255 
 
 ment ; and perhaps with an ulterior view of insuring 
 both, he made some reference to the money part of 
 the negotiation which OHver airily set aside as quite 
 secondary ; though anybody who knew him must 
 know that it would be his chief consideration. 
 
 The affair had got into this promising cue, while 
 Annis, trotting demurely at her father's side, heard 
 every word ; a stormy resolution gathered up in her 
 dark little face as she listened, and at the climax, she 
 wheeled her pony suddenly round, gave him a smart 
 stroke with her whip, and galloped back over the 
 moor as fast as it would carry her; believing that 
 she was immediately to be decoyed away and given 
 up to her wicked uncle ! Oliver Warleigh was for 
 instant pursuit, but Sir Laurence lifted a hasty hand 
 and bade him hold back, crying aloud, " ]\Iind the 
 quarry, my birdie," and then Annis was seen to 
 draw rein, to swerve into a lower track, and so to 
 continue her homeward flight straight as an arrow 
 from a bow. 
 
 " That danger's over, thank God ! " said Sir 
 Laurence ; " Brownie will carry her now safe to his 
 stable door. But you see what she is, Oliver, and 
 it cannot be helped. I must ride after her, but you 
 go on to Bristowe." 
 
 This, however, Oliver was secretlv too much
 
 256 ANNIS WARLEIGH'S FORTUNES. 
 
 provoked to do — besides he wished to see the end of 
 the sprite's adventure. 
 
 So far from being ashamed of her misconduct or 
 afraid of any consequences, Annis was sitting in the 
 sun on the steps outside the porch awaiting her 
 father and uncle ; and as soon as they appeared she 
 ran to the former and, clinging to his hand, laughed 
 and danced up and down with high spirits as if she 
 had performed some admirable feat for which she 
 expected to be praised. But Sir Laurence looked 
 grave, and lifting her up in his arms, asked if she 
 did not know she had been very naughty, on which 
 she rubbed her soft little face against his, curled 
 round his neck, and with wily caresses refused to see 
 or to know anything but that she was papa's darling 
 with whom he could not really be hungry. He kissed 
 her before he set her down, but he attempted no 
 further admonition, neither did he apologize to his 
 brother for his being disappointed of the ride to 
 Bristowe; and when Oliver would have reverted to 
 the momentous theme which her flight had so 
 inopportunely interrupted, he entreated him to let 
 it drop. 
 
 " It will not do to send her away so young — she 
 is unmanageable except by Lucy," said he, im- 
 patiently. " We may perhaps talk of it more
 
 ANNIS AT HURTLEMERE. 257 
 
 seriously when she has got another year over her 
 head. And even then there will be woeful scenes to 
 so throuo-h, for her love is strong; and her will is 
 strong, and her temper has never known the curb." 
 
 So much the better reason, Oliver thought, that it 
 should learn to know it without any further delay ; 
 but after Sir Laurence's decisive words he felt that, 
 for the present, it was advisable to consider the 
 negotiation at an end. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Though Oliver Warleigh had not succeeded in the 
 chief object of his mission, he could not be said to 
 have had his journey for nought ; for while he was 
 at the Hurtlemere House Sir Laurence promised to 
 undertake all the charges of his eldest boy's educa- 
 cation and future launch in the world. Oliver had 
 represented himself as almost an object for charity, and 
 told him that but for Lady Georgiana's fortune they 
 could barely have lived ; and that as the boys grew 
 up and went to Eton, they should have to practise a 
 severity of economy that neither of them would 
 relish. His sister Katherine was very incredulous 
 of these statements ; for she knew that he had carried 
 away from Whinstane and Penslaven, far more of 
 
 TOL. I. 17
 
 258 ANNIS WARLEIGIl'S TOETUNES. 
 
 spoils both before and after his father's death than he 
 had any right to, and that if he was poor now, it 
 could only be by his own and his wife's fault. She 
 did not know whether most to admire Sir Laurence's 
 generous forgiveness of Oliver, or most to fear what 
 looked like a weak return of trust and confidence in 
 him ; Laurence had not a grain of falsehood in his 
 own nature, and therefore could not suspect his 
 brother of persistent guile and double-dealing. 
 Oliver was a clever and specious man, but true he 
 was not ; and when she perceived how much more 
 he wanted Annis as a prize for his pocket than for 
 the child's own good, for a little moment she felt 
 more bent on circumventing than on helping him. 
 
 In Sir Laurence's resentment against those who 
 had not acknowledged his poor young wife, there 
 was no taint of vindictiveness — though he hardly 
 forgave he could not condescend to persecute; and 
 when he found himself looked up to as the wealthy 
 head of the family, he did with a free hand what was 
 expected from him. Oliver was astonished at his 
 generosity, but he was not touched ; his heart was 
 not of that nature which can be touched by magna- 
 nimity or made grateful by benefits. 
 
 The brothers dined at the rectory together one 
 evening, and John Withers, who had not seen them
 
 ANNIS AT HURTLEMERE. 259 
 
 side by side for nearly fifteen years, was struck with 
 the conspicuous difference between them ; far greater 
 now than when they were boys. The elder was the 
 taller man by a couple of inches, the better built and 
 the handsomer in feature, but his gait was become 
 heavy and slouching, he carried his head down, and 
 his dress differed in no wise from that of the rudest 
 yeoman farmer in the dales — a stranger might have 
 supposed him to be one of them without discrediting 
 his discernment in any measure. Oliver, on the 
 contrary, who inherited the high-bred delicacy of his 
 mother's face, and had lived the Hfe of gay society 
 under the tutelage of a wife, clever, fond and 
 fashionable, was a mirror of grace, poHsh and surface 
 courtesy ; but he was extremely disagreeable to some 
 people notwithstanding. His brothers-in-law dis- 
 liked and distrusted him, and old Mrs. Sara Grand- 
 age bestowed on him the epithet of serpentine ; to 
 Rachel Withers he was just the same velvet-gloved 
 Oliver with the claws as formerly ; so smooth and 
 sleek, but yet with a deadly spring in him and a 
 cruel, ruthless grip under his bland softness. 
 
 He fancied he had taken pretty Lucy's measure, 
 but she had taken his with a much shrewder accu- 
 racy, and had told Mary Wray that she hoped Sir 
 Laurence would never let Annis out of his sight — 
 
 17—2
 
 260 ANNIS WARLEIGH'S FORTUNES. 
 
 " at least not in his hands ; " wliicli insinuation had 
 thrown Mary into fresh anxiety about her foster- 
 child. From the moment Oliver Warleigh entered 
 the Hurtlemere House, Lucy's spirit had revolted 
 against him ; for treacherous as his conduct towards 
 his brother had been, the popular voice had magnified 
 it, and with many his name was a byeword for 
 cunning and cruelty. She watched and saw the 
 observation he spent on Annis; and the weight he 
 attached to her words and ways ; and when she felt 
 that he doubted her, her doubt of him redoubled ; 
 for why should he cast an evil eye on her unless, 
 because she was the child's most active guardian ? 
 
 However, relief to all those who feared and 
 suspected him was at hand. Having no further 
 temptation to remain in the monotonous seclusion of 
 Hurtledale, Oliver Warleigh betook himself home 
 again to his Lady Georgiana in Paris. Sir Laurence 
 said to Katherine : " He was in haste to begone ; '* 
 and she detected a strong undercurrent of disap- 
 pointment in the way he spoke. Oliver was cat- 
 witted; he could see and seize an immediate 
 advantage ; but he was not apt at reading the subtler 
 sentiments of any heart less self-absorbed than his 
 own, or he might have guessed that his hurried 
 departure as soon as he had gained all he was Ukely
 
 AXNIS AT HUETLEMERE. 261 
 
 to gain, would leave a harsh impression on his 
 brother's mind. It did so. A good and generous 
 feeling had been blighted in Sir Laurence, but the 
 natural warmth still lingered amongst the embers of 
 his life, which, drawn together by a tender and 
 faithful hand, might still have kindled again into heat 
 and flame. His sister Katherine perceived a sensible 
 change in him during the week Oliver stayed at the 
 Hurtlemere House; he had yielded to a belief that 
 for some little love of him, some real though late 
 repentance, Oliver had sought him in his solitude ; 
 but his prompt flight when he had made the utmost 
 profit out of his brother's generous mood, had quite 
 despoiled him of that pleasing imagination. For a 
 little while after. Sir Laurence seemed sterner and 
 less contented than before his visit. 
 
 One day Annis went down to spend the morning 
 at the rectory with her cousins Dicky and Andrew, 
 whom she tumbled about like nine-pins on their 
 nursery-floor, and being asked if she was not sorry 
 to bid her uncle Oliver good-by, answered without 
 reserve, " No, she was very glad." 
 
 "But he is going to send you some toys all the 
 way from Paris," urged Aunt Katherine in reference 
 to a promise of his. 
 
 " I don't want any, and he shall not come back
 
 262 ANNIS WAKLEIGH'S FORTUNES. 
 
 liere. He is ugly — I don't like him ; he wants to 
 take me away from papa, but I won't go ! " answered 
 the child, emphasizing her resolution by casting 
 down on the floor one of Dicky's doll's tea-cups, 
 which was broken in its fall ; but she had no repent- 
 ance for the disaster in that fiery moment. 
 
 The little gipsy had comprehended all the length 
 and breadth of the family plots so far as she was 
 personally concerned, and farther talk with her 
 elicited no modification of her first expressions of 
 antipathy. She was particularly strong on the point 
 of her uncle Oliver's ugliness; and to a child's 
 instinctive discernment, notwithstanding his hand- 
 some features, he might be ugly ; for there was no 
 kindness in his heart, and no pretence of it in his 
 manner, and his countenance was often darkling and 
 bad. 
 
 A general feeling of distrust was thus all OHver 
 Warleigh left behind him as the result of his first 
 embassy to the Hurtlemere House; and he went 
 away not altogether unconscious of it.
 
 263 
 
 CHAPTER THE SECOND. 
 
 OLIVER WARLEIGH'S SECOND EMBASSY. 
 
 One may smile, and smile, and be a villain. 
 
 Shakspeaee. 
 
 I. 
 
 One afternoon early in the month of April Mrs. Sara 
 Grandage and Rachel Withers were driving leisurely 
 up the lane by the Force Farm when they saw 
 Lucy waiting in the garden and Ann is swinging on 
 the gate. 
 
 " How do you do, Annis, and how is papa ? " cried 
 Bittersweet, nodding out of the window at the child. 
 Annis only stared and went on swinging, but the 
 sound of carriage-wheels brought Mary Wray into 
 the porch, cloaked and bonneted as if for a walk. 
 She made a gesture which caused Clip to pull up his 
 horses, and running down into the road, apologized 
 for the liberty she took in stopping them ; but said 
 she was going to the Hurtlemere House to nurse
 
 264 ANNIS WARLEIGH'S FORTUNES. 
 
 Sir Laurence , he was ill, lie had got a fever, and 
 wanted somebody handy to look after him. 
 
 " I thought maybe, Mrs. Withers didn't know ; 
 happen you'll call an' tell her on your way back," 
 added she. 
 
 They promised to do so, and then Mary, snatching 
 Annis from her dizzy elevation, took her by the hand 
 and set off in haste up the pastures ; while Lucy, at a 
 sign from Rachel, delayed a moment to give them a 
 little further explanation. 
 
 Sir Laurence, she said, had been ailing for more 
 than a fortnight past ; he had caught a cold which he 
 could not shake off, but he had refused to have 
 Dr. Beane sent for until this morning, when his 
 sufferings had increased so much as to make medical 
 advice imperatively necessary. The doctor did not 
 foresee danger, but he said Sir Laurence ought to 
 have been in his bed a week ago; and would not 
 promise him a good deliverance without quiet and 
 caution now. He advised that Mary Wray, whose 
 skill as a sick nurse was of the highest repute in the 
 dale, should be sent for; so Lucy had brought 
 Annis out for a walk, and summoned her straight- 
 way. 
 
 '^ We need not alarm Katherine," said Mrs. Sara 
 Grandage, as the carriage drove on. " We will just
 
 OLIVER WAELEIGH'S SECOND EMBASSY. 265 
 
 tell her Sir Laurence is not well, and that Beane has 
 seen him — a strong man like him cannot risk much 
 from a fcA^erish cold." 
 
 This was Bittersweet's way; being as tough as 
 bend-leather herself, she never believed anybody else 
 could ail much. 
 
 But when they stopped at the rectory to deliver 
 Mary's message, they found that the ill-news had 
 flown fast enough to get there before them, and that 
 both John and Katherine were gone up to the 
 Hurtlemere House themselves. 
 
 " Annis was as gay as a lark, so it cannot be very 
 serious," then said the old lady ; " and even if 
 Sir Laurence has a good bout of fever it may be 
 all the better for him eventually ; it will purge away 
 old melancholies, and make a new man of him. I 
 would not pull a long face yet. Dumpling, if I were 
 you." 
 
 Dumpling did not know she was pulling a long 
 face, but she was thinking it would be a woeful day 
 for Sir Laurence's little wildling if anything happened 
 to him. She had never given her adhesion to the 
 scheme her sister-in-law had conceived of sending 
 Annis to be brought up by Lady Georgiana. She 
 knew them both, and felt sure Annis would not take 
 kindly to the polishing processes by which her little
 
 266 ANNIS WAELEIGH'S FORTUNES. 
 
 cousins were made such perfect specimens of obedience 
 and propriety. It seemed almost wicked, all the 
 conspiring to take her away from her father whom 
 she worshipped, for the sake of handing her over to 
 the formal charities of that freezing wife of Oliver's. 
 What a martyrdom of clipping and training the 
 hapless little mortal would have to undergo before 
 her civilization was accomplished ! What matter if 
 she did say a few Catholic prayers and hymns, and 
 recite a few rude ballads in a provincial dialect ; she 
 had better grow up heathen or savage than dwindle 
 and die under the icy manipulations of Lady 
 Georgiana ! 
 
 All this Rachel thought, and all this she said to 
 her godmamma, who was much inclined to take 
 her view of part of the facts ; but who believed that 
 Katherine's anxiety to remove Annis from the 
 Hurtlemere House was greatly augmented by her 
 desire to see Sir Laurence make a change in his 
 method of living. The one alteration she hoped 
 might lead to the other. 
 
 In this Rachel acquiesced ; she knew well how both 
 his sisters mourned his alienation from society and 
 from themselves. The outward courtesies of kin- 
 ship were observed between them, but Sir Laurence 
 had never forgiven their neglect of Helena's letter
 
 OLIVER WAELEIGH'S SECOND EMBASSY. 267 
 
 and of herself. On his unjust persistence in blaming 
 them, they never commented ; they thought now, 
 indeed, that if they had dared their father's wrath 
 and disobeyed his commands it would have been 
 right ; but as for poor Helena, she was not made to 
 grow old ! They might have rejoiced her brief life 
 with their kindness, and have crowned her early 
 departing with one longed for, inexpressible comfort ; 
 but her death came from the hands of God and none 
 other ; and not all the love in the world could have 
 stayed it for a single day. 
 
 IL 
 
 Little Annis, much against her will, was trans- 
 ferred to the nursery at the rectory during her 
 father's illness, and immediately the news of it 
 reached Paris, Oliver Warleigh hastened back to the 
 Hurtlemere House. 
 
 Sir Laurence had a hard and sharp struggle for 
 his life, and when the crisis was over, a long 
 languor succeeded to the fierce trouble of his de- 
 lirium. Oliver watched him with a haggard anxiety, 
 and as soon as Dr. Beane pronounced his brother 
 saved, he seemed almost like to give up and die 
 in his stead ! John and Katherine advised his speedy
 
 268 ANNIS WAKLEIGH'S FORTUNES. 
 
 departure to Hastings, where Lady Georgiana had 
 just established herself in lodgings with her children; 
 and when the worst was past, he followed their 
 advice. It was time he went ; unless his nervous 
 excitability got some rest soon, he would be laid up 
 himself; and he felt it. 
 
 He looked half worn out, and Bittersweet mali- 
 ciously said, — 
 
 " He is going to be ill of Sir Laurence's getting 
 better ! " 
 
 Other people besides Bittersweet thought he was 
 disappointed at the issue, but of course they spoke 
 low when they spoke so ; except Rachel Withers, 
 who replied to her godmamma's sarcasm, " God 
 forgive me if I wrong him, but I do believe he is the 
 only person akin to Sir Laurence wdio does not 
 rejoice in his safety ! " 
 
 After a month's stay at the rectory, Annis went 
 home again, and a most sensible relief to her aunt 
 Katherine her departure was ; for the charge of her 
 during this time of trouble had been as onerous as 
 the charge of a freshly-caught wild animal. She 
 was constantly on the watch to circumvent Lucy, 
 and run away home to her father. She was quiet 
 enough now that she was back with him, and would 
 sit in his room by the hour together as still as a
 
 OLIVER WARLEIGH'S SECOND EMBASSY. 269 
 
 mouse, without either speaking or moving ; only 
 resting her cheek against his lean hand as it hung 
 down over the bed-side, and caressing it with her 
 wee soft palms. 
 
 " Make the most of your time, loving little Annis : 
 it will not be for very long now," he said to her one 
 day. 
 
 '^ I am going to stay with you ahvays, papa," 
 was her reply; so he left her in her blissful de- 
 lusion. 
 
 But the decree had gone forth ; the verdict that 
 pronounced Sir Laurence rescued from his imminent 
 peril, pronounced their separation ; — as soon as he 
 could travel he would be allowed neither rest nor 
 peace until he went away — so decided Bristowe, so 
 also Katherine and John. Dr. Beane would not 
 guarantee him another year of life without a thorough 
 change of habits, and against that sentence even his 
 own obstinacy could not stand firm. Annis seemed 
 to be the only impediment, and everybody was 
 utterly resolved that she should not stand in his way. 
 Oliver said little — perhaps he was not just then 
 capable of saying much; but when he went to 
 Hastings, he knew that so far as Annis was con- 
 cerned, the day was his own; for his brother's 
 extremity had brought round his opportunity.
 
 270 ANNIS WARLEIGH'S FORTUNES. 
 
 The child was not warned of what awaited her, 
 but gentle measures were adopted to wean her from 
 some of her wildest indocilities. Lucy adopted 
 towards her the most tenderly protective airs ; for 
 she and Mistress Dobie had a quarrel on the subject 
 of Annis's behaviour. 
 
 Said Mistress Dobie : 
 
 " She's a lile lady, an' must ha' a lady's bringing 
 up. Miss Katherine and Miss Grace, when they was 
 her age, was twice as forward an' high learnt, an' boo' 
 an' curtsey they did as pretty as my lady herself; but 
 Miss Annis an't got no manners at all, an' you 
 pettles her ower much by half." 
 
 Then Lucy protested : 
 
 " She don't want no manners ; she is a deal 
 better without if they'd make her as proud 
 and hard-hearted as her aunts ! " for Lucy had not 
 forgotten one slight passed on her dear, dead 
 mistress. 
 
 Everybody was agreed that when Annis went, 
 Lucy must go with her — to break her fall as it were ; 
 and though Robb's son at the mill said he should 
 *^ be wanting her at the back-end," he was told that 
 he must have patience a little longer. But he had 
 got the promise of the Upgyll Farm which the 
 present tenant was leaving at Lady-day ; the
 
 OLIVER WARLEIGirS SECOND EMBASSY. 271 
 
 summer would see the house duly renovated and 
 made ready for its pretty mistress, and after harvest 
 he declared he would brook no longer delay. There- 
 fore if Lucy went away with her darling at all, it 
 must be soon. 
 
 The main change was generally regarded as 
 settled, but the nearer it came to be made, the more 
 uneasy grew Mary Wray as to whether it would 
 be quite safe for her foster-child to go to her uncle 
 Oliver's house. Lucy had infected Mary with her 
 own distrust of him, and as her difficulty and distress 
 about it were too delicately personal to be laid 
 before the rector's wife, she brought them down to 
 Rachel Withers and unfolded them before her. 
 
 She began by saying that Lucy was " rather a 
 chancy body for taking likes and dislikes ; she was 
 full of her megrims, and did Miss Rachel think there 
 was aught in them ? " — a question much easier to ask 
 than to answer. 
 
 " Lucy says she can't abide him — nayther art nor 
 part of him," proceeded she, recapitulating the young 
 woman's precise expressions. '•' She don't like his 
 slant eyes, nor his voice that he always drops as 
 if he was afraid of the hearing of his own words, 
 nor yet his way of turning about, an' peeping, an' 
 listening. He's deep an' he's sharp too. I once
 
 272 ANNIS WARLEIGII'S FORTUNES. 
 
 thought liim a fair-spoken gentleman enough, but 
 nor me now nayther, Miss Rachel, I shouldn't wish 
 to come under his grindstone. I saw him while 
 master lay ill, an' it wasn't his good wishes nor his 
 prayers that mended him. Show me a pattern o' 
 the stuff an' I'll tell you what t' piece is. Talk o' 
 Sir Laurence being a hard man ; he'd stand up 
 front to his enemy, but Oliver, he'd stab his i' the 
 back, an' lick th' knife after for th' sweetness o* 
 revenge I " 
 
 Mary Wray used strong words when she warmed 
 to her subject, but the strongest found an echo in 
 Rachel Withers' heart; though she did not dare 
 add the weight of her own feeling against Oliver 
 Warleigh to the doubts Mary entertained. She 
 afterwards spoke to her godmamma about what had 
 passed, but Bittersweet gave another testimony. " I 
 do not believe that Oliver Warleigh's passions will 
 ever carry him over the borders of the most re- 
 spectable vices," said she. " He is quietly lavish, 
 grasping and self-seeking in practice, but his moral 
 theories are of the best. He is a plausible, skilful, 
 cautious person, and I daresay he will live all his 
 days in success and end them in peace and honour — 
 unless, indeed, the devil assail him with some very 
 strong and safe temptation."
 
 Rachel in the face of this opinion would have been 
 ashamed to confess her own suspicions, but her mind 
 misgave her sorely in secret that the choice of a new 
 home for Annis was about the worst that could have 
 been made. But the responsibility was none of hers ; 
 her voice was never heard in the matter from first 
 to last. 
 
 III. 
 
 About the middle of May the first step towards 
 the ultimate change was made by Sir Laurence going 
 over with Annis to Bristowe, where Oliver Warleigh 
 and Lady Georgiana were to meet them in the course of 
 a few days. Annis was in blissful ignorance of what 
 was preparing for her, and played round her father 
 and Lucy as merrily as at home. Rachel Withers 
 had gone to Bristowe as Katherine's deputy, she 
 being detained at the rectory by her own urgent 
 private affairs ; and the quiet, kind soul was as 
 thankful for the respite to Annis as if she herself 
 were on the point of being consigned to Lady 
 Georgiana's guardianship. It is impossible to say 
 that Annis was a good little girl as good little girls 
 are commonly estimated, but she was very loving 
 and very lovable; as truthful as the light, and so 
 
 VOL. I. ' ^ 18
 
 274 ANNIS WARLEIGH'S FORTUNES. 
 
 brave by nature that nothing daunted her. Every- 
 body at Bristowe took to her amazingly. 
 
 Arthur Hill and Grace were there — Grace rather 
 invalidish, as she always was, and now seeming 
 more so because she showed herself aggrieved that 
 Annis was not to be entrusted to her. But Mrs. 
 Darner Warleigh and the common sense of the 
 family generally, had been against her undertaking 
 so weighty a charge from the very first; Lady 
 Georgiana, with her robust health and successful 
 practical management of her own children, appeared 
 to every one except Rachel, Lucy and Mary Wray, 
 much better suited to it. 
 
 There had been a tender leaving-taking between 
 Mary and her foster-child before Annis set off; and 
 so, for that matter, had there been between Annis 
 and her pony, the dogs, Mathew and Mistress Dobie, 
 and even Sir Sumfit, Ye Babes and the Ogre ; but 
 this was the little gipsy's first going away from 
 home, and though she was allowed to believe that she 
 should return within a week, it was still a mighty 
 serious occasion. 
 
 Lucy had leave of absence from Hurtledale for 
 three months, at the end of which term of pro- 
 bation it was hoped that Annis would be sufficiently 
 settled and at home with her cousins to dispense
 
 OLIVER WARLEIGH'S SECOND EMBASSY. 275 
 
 with her services. Lady Georgiana strongly ob- 
 jected at first to her going with the child at all, 
 as likely to do more harm than good; but Sir 
 Laurence made such a point of it that she was 
 compelled to yield her opinion to his. Lucy also 
 had a decided feeling on the matter, and even 
 expressed herself as exceedingly jealous of what 
 might arise out of an arrangement which she had 
 from the beginning thought wrong. But whatever 
 anybody thought, the chief persons concerned were 
 not warned, and were not suspicious of any possible 
 mischief; and those who feared, and those who 
 doubted of results, could now but keep such fears 
 and such doubts to themselves, and hope for the 
 best. 
 
 Sir Laurence was gaining strength, but the grey 
 pallor of recent illness still showed in his face, and 
 it was quite touching to see Annis with her brown 
 and rosy visage pressed up against his, that he might 
 catch some of her colour, as she said. They were 
 almost constantly together, and Squire Damer War- 
 leigh often made a third with them, being all the 
 more welcome probably when he brought two or 
 three dogs in his train. The wilful little gipsy 
 disdained the mild amusements of the morning room, 
 and always made haste to escape from the blandish- 
 
 18—2
 
 276 ANNIS WAELEIGH'S FORTUNES. 
 
 ments of the womenkind, to the society of any 
 creature out of doors. Annis was much more partial 
 at this date to the other sex than to her own. To- 
 wards her aunt Grace she betrayed a manifest 
 disfavour by reason of her having indiscreetly pro- 
 posed a daily reading lesson ; she was now supposed 
 to have conquered the alphabet, but she passed a 
 by no means triumphant examination when Rachel 
 Withers tried her with the big letters on the top of a 
 reel of thread. Still she had a wonderful memory 
 for anything learnt by rote, and a very brief spell 
 of training and teaching would bring her up to the 
 level of the most " high learnt " children of her age. 
 She was strong and hardy as a little mountain pony 
 at this period, and tumbled down and picked herself 
 up again with many a bruise and graze, but never a 
 thought of tears. 
 
 "You need not be anxious for her, she will 
 take a great deal of killing," said Mrs. Damer 
 Warleigh, when Grace expressed some doubt as 
 to how she would bear the total change and separa- 
 tion. 
 
 A great deal of killing! well, even that was a 
 sort of comfort to reflect on in case Lady Georgiana 
 should prove a martinet. Everybody would naturally 
 have felt more uncertainty as to the issue of the
 
 OLIVER WAELEIGH'S SECOND EMBASSY. 277 
 
 experiment had Annis been a frail, delicate sprite, 
 instead of the tough little wildling she was. 
 
 A few days longer of her happy unconsciousness 
 went by ; then the Oliver Warleighs arrived, bring- 
 ing their eldest boy with them, and a change came 
 suddenly over the spirit of her dream. Oh ! the 
 resentful countenance she showed to all around her ; 
 what deep gloom in her eyes, what resolute indig- 
 nation on her set lips ! The intensity of her wrath 
 was hardly childlike ; so helpless, yet so strong was 
 it that it seemed more like the amazed rase of some 
 entrapt animal. In vain Mortimer coaxed her to 
 play with him — she would not stir from her father's 
 side. When he was out of doors, there was she, 
 hanging to his hand; when he was indoors, there 
 sat she on the floor embracing his leg, and defying 
 every one of them with her slow, dark glances. 
 
 Lady Georgiana was serene and amiable ; nothing 
 disturbed her cold placidity. Said Grace to her 
 one day half crying, "It will never do; the child 
 will break her heart ! " To which her sister-in-law 
 replied, laughing at her serious air, " Nonsense ! 
 things of that age have not found out yet that they 
 have any hearts to break. Away from her father 
 she will forcret him in a month ! " 
 
 Rachel AVithers was present, and her quiet spirit
 
 278 ANNIS WARLEIGH'S FORTUNES. 
 
 rose at this. "Forget her father in a month — no, 
 that will she not ! " cried she. " I would back 
 Gipsy's remembrance of those she loves to outlast 
 some of ours by many and many a day ! " Lady 
 Georgiana gave Rachel after this quite a shivering 
 feel; it might be prejudice, but whether from pre- 
 judice or a well-grounded reason, she could not 
 endure her. 
 
 Oliver was quite at home in the situation — 
 plausible, kind, considerate, and anxious to put 
 everybody else at ease. His eldest boy, Mortimer, 
 was really a clever, well-behaved little fellow, per- 
 fectly obedient, and yet not cowed; he loved his 
 stony-bosomed Spartan mother, watched her eye, 
 forestalled her commands, and seemed to let his 
 very thoughts move only under her authority. It 
 would need many, many weary efforts of coercion 
 to trim Annis into this perfection of order and 
 discipline. 
 
 One night after she was gone to bed Sir Laurence 
 and Rachel Withers had a little talk together about 
 her. He said, ^' You are the only woman who was 
 kind to Helena except Mrs. Darner Warleigh; and 
 you are the only woman her child takes to." 
 
 Rachel replied that Annis was more familiar with 
 her face — that was all.
 
 OLIVER WAFvLEIGH'S SECOND EMBASSY. 279 
 
 "I wish from my heart she were to be familiar 
 with no other," rejoined he ; and then he got up and 
 walked away looking perplext and gloomy. Pre- 
 sently he came back and began to ask if Rachel 
 approved of Lady Georgiana. What could she say ? 
 She told him she thought her very successful in the 
 management of children. 
 
 '' Yes," muttered he ; " but Annis manifests more 
 repugnance to her than to any of them — it is just 
 the scared shyness of the filly to the rough rider who 
 is to break her in." 
 
 Here Oliver interrupted them and challenged his 
 brother to a game at chess. 
 
 It was not Kachel only who had conceived an 
 aversion for Lady Georgiana when domesticated with 
 her in the same house. Mrs. Damer Warleigh's 
 kind heart yearned with pity over the child as the 
 time for her departure drew^ near ; and her change 
 of mood testified to her fear and loathing of her 
 future guardians. 
 
 '' I wish I had never meddled in the matter," she 
 said to Grace soon after Oliver and his wife arrived ; 
 " and the Squire does not half approve of it either. 
 'Tis a pity Kate could not take her — but then Kate 
 has her hands full, and Laurence perhaps would not 
 have consented."
 
 280 ANNIS WARLEIGIl'S FORTUNES. 
 
 " Kate could not manage her, and the difficulty of 
 
 keeping her from running away to the Hurtlemere 
 
 House would have made their lives too^ether a con- 
 es 
 
 tinual fight," replied Grace ; " but she might have 
 been suffered to come to ine. Arthur was not unwill- 
 ing, and I could have found her playmates enough. 
 She would have made up to me for having no 
 children of my own. I shall always think they 
 might have trusted her to me." 
 
 IV. 
 
 Annis was not distinctly apprised of her destiny 
 until the evening before she was parted from her 
 father. On that last night Sir Laurence himself told 
 her that in the morning she must go away with her 
 aunt Georgiana and her cousin Mortimer, and that 
 to please papa she must not cry but be a good little 
 darling. 
 
 o 
 
 She never quite believed it until that moment ; for 
 she looked up at him with a dumb, imploring gaze, 
 stretched her hand to his face, then hid her eyes 
 against his breast and never spoke. She was making 
 her mute resignation of his love. Only Rachel 
 Withers was present besides themselves ; and she
 
 OLIVER WARLEIGH'S SECOND EMBASSY. 281 
 
 had not expected this, neither had Sir Laurence, 
 Tears and violence they were prepared for, but not 
 this silent agony. For ever so long a pin might 
 have been heard to drop in the room. Sir Laurence 
 sat with his face bent down over the lovino- little 
 head, — a most pitiful tenderness in the whole attitude 
 of him. By-and-by he got up and carried her into 
 the quiet garden, all lovely with the freshness of 
 spring, and walked about with her in his arms until 
 dusk; then Rachel lost sight of them for a little 
 while, and about nine o'clock he came into the 
 drawing-room alone. Rachel went to peep at her 
 before going to her own room, and found her 
 fast asleep, with Lucy sitting by her pillow softly 
 sobbing — she said it was a shame, a cruel shame, so 
 it was, to take the poor little bairn from her father, 
 and she wished they might not all live to repent 
 it! 
 
 The next morning before anybody had moved 
 from the breakfast-table. Sir Laurence's horse and 
 Annis's pony passed the window — he was going to 
 ride with her one stage on her journey. The rest of 
 the travelling party were to follow in the carriage 
 half an hour later. 
 
 And that was the last glimpse any of them at 
 Bristowe had of the dear, pretty gipsy, perched on
 
 282 ANNIS WARLEIGH'S EORTUNES. 
 
 her beloved Brownie, and gazing round from face 
 to face with dark, dry eyes : theirs were not 
 dry. 
 
 " It is like the grief of a woman ! " sobbed Grace 
 as they rode away, the Squire walking down the 
 avenue beside Annis, and endeavouring to make 
 the scene more cheerful with buoyant, loud-voiced 
 talk. Rachel ran up to the gallery w^indow, and 
 watched along the road until they were out of 
 sight, but neither turned or looked back for a 
 moment. 
 
 Mrs. Damer Warleigh expected Sir Laurence 
 would return to Bristowe, but he did not ; and when 
 the servants came back with the carriage after 
 depositing Lucy and the Oliver Warleighs at the 
 railway-station, they brought a message to the effect 
 that Sir Laurence had gone straight away to the 
 Hurtlemere House after seeing his little daughter 
 off 
 
 " Did she fret ? " Rachel asked of old James, the 
 coachman. He couldn't say she did fret — not to be 
 seen. She was a good plucked one, that was what 
 she w^as ! 
 
 The women would rather have heard of a storm of 
 passionate tears than of that quiet, inward bleeding, 
 so unnatural in a child — but they repeated to each
 
 OLIVER WARLEIGH'S SECOND E^IBASSY. 283 
 
 otner for consolation old James's testimony to her 
 courage. She was a good plucked one, that was 
 what she was ; and she would take a great deal of 
 killing ! 
 
 END OF YOL. I.
 
 LONDON : 
 
 PRINTED BT SMITH, ELDER AND CO., 
 
 LITTLE GREEN ARBOUR COURT, OLD BAILET, E.G.
 
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