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 i^*'
 
 
 AN ENTHUSIAST. 
 
 BY 
 
 CAROLINE FOTHERGILL, 
 
 AUTHOR OP 
 PUT ro THB PROOF," " THE SECOND BEST," " FOBS OF A HOCSEHOLD. 
 
 '' 'Tis an awkward thing to play with souls." 
 
 R. Browning. 
 
 THREE VOLUMES. 
 VOL. I. 
 
 Eontion : 
 WARIi AND DOWNEY, 
 
 12, YORK STREET, COVENT GARDEN. 
 
 1887.
 
 LONDON : 
 PRINTED BV GILBERT AND EIVINGTON, LIMITED, 
 
 ST. John's square.
 
 f^3 
 
 BOOK I. 
 STANEDALE. 
 
 The Blossom iu the Bud.
 
 AN ENTHUSIAST 
 
 PROLOGUE. 
 
 The pedestrian who had wandered into 
 the little village church, and, weary after 
 a long walk in the hot sun, had fallen asleep 
 in the cool dimness of the organ-loft, woke 
 suddenly and rubbed his eyes. He was 
 sufficiently awake to be conscious that the 
 words which he heard some one reading: in 
 a measured, monotonous voice, were part 
 of the marriage service, but he felt no 
 curiosity about the people who were being 
 married. He did not at any time find 
 villagers very interesting, and now he was 
 still too drowsy to raise his head and look 
 
 VOL. I. B
 
 2 AN ENTHUSIAST. 
 
 down into tlie cliurcli. He closed liis eyes 
 and dozed off again, still hearing as in a 
 dream the voice of the clergyman, exhort- 
 inof the man and woman who stood before 
 him. Then the voice ceased, steps came 
 along the aisle, he heard the people go into 
 tlie vestry, from which they presently 
 came out again and left the church. Once 
 more that unbroken silence prevailed 
 which had reigned when he had first 
 stepped into the building; but it lasted 
 a very short time. Before he fell asleep 
 again he was roused, and this time 
 thoroughly, by a sudden peal of laughter 
 which broke in upon the sleepy stillness of 
 a July morning, which is on the point of 
 merging into afternoon, and rang through 
 the empty old church. It was a girl's 
 laughter, — about that, there could be no 
 mistake, — and whoever she was, she must 
 ha^e been very much amused at something.
 
 AN EXTHrSlAST. 6 
 
 for she T\^ent on laughing in an uncon- 
 trollable, ecstatic manner, which seemed 
 strange amid such surroundings. It was 
 wonderful laughter, so rippling, so melodi- 
 ous, and so full of enjoj^ment. The man 
 in the organ-loft listened spellbound ; he 
 felt that he would never forget that 
 laughter; if he heard it again after twenty 
 years he would recognize it. Moreover, 
 his curiosity was roused at last. It was 
 impossible such laughter as that could 
 come from the throat of a common village 
 girl ; he resolved to get up and go and see 
 what had happened. But when he got 
 downstairs, he found the church door was 
 already locked ; the sound had come to his 
 ears through the open windows. By the 
 time bis knocldug and shaking at the 
 door had been heard, and the clerk had 
 come to set him free, his mood had 
 changed, and he was too heated and out of 
 B 2
 
 4 AN ENTHUSIAST. 
 
 temper to make any inquiries concerning 
 the marriage which had just taken place. 
 He shook the dust off his feet, and went 
 his way to the next place on the pro- 
 gramme of the walking tour which he was 
 making. Other thoughts came to obliter- 
 ate the memory of what had just taken 
 place, only, as his ill-humour worked itself 
 off, he remembered more and more clearly 
 those peals of laughter which had sounded 
 from the churchyard, and he enjoyed the 
 thought that if ever Fate brought him 
 across the path of this unknown, unseen 
 bride, whose marriage seemed to cause her 
 such amusement, he would be able at once 
 to identify her.
 
 AX ENTHUSIAST. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 " When day with evening blending 
 Sinks from the summer sky, 
 I've seen thy spirit bending 
 In fond idolatry." 
 
 "In summer's mellow midnight." 
 
 The sun was setting over Stanedale Pike 
 with a ruddy brilliance wliicli promised a 
 fine day for the morrow. Everything 
 was bathed in the clear evening light, and 
 stood out against the stainless blue of the 
 sky with a clearness of outline not ob- 
 servable in the daytime. Distant objects 
 looked near ; the farms scattered over the 
 fell- sides were more clearly distinguishable 
 from the moors and fields which surrounded 
 them — one mis^ht almost have counted the
 
 6 AN ENTHUSIAST. 
 
 cattle and slieep as tliey moved about in 
 their pastures. Under these circum- 
 stances a woman clad in white and seated 
 in the midst of those darkly purple moors 
 upon which the setting sun shone directly, 
 must have been a very conspicuous object. 
 She sat upon a heap of turf, her feet 
 resting on the heather, her chin supported 
 upon her hand, gazing across the valley to 
 the huge Pike, the summit of which still 
 glowed in the ruddy light, though the rest 
 of its surface lay in the shadow and looked 
 almost threateningly dark as compared 
 with the rest of the country. 
 
 She could scarcely have looked upon a 
 more beautiful scene. Eound her lay the 
 moors, fringed on the horizon with a line 
 of firs ; below her lay woods, heavy in the 
 sombre green of their late summer foliage ; 
 beyond the woods came wide sloping green 
 fields, and then the lake, an exquisitely
 
 A^^ E^"THI:STA?^T. 7 
 
 beautiful sheet of water, now lying motion- 
 less, half in light and half in shadow. On 
 the other side of the water were more 
 fields and a few scattered houses formino: 
 the village of Stanedale, the whole backed 
 up by the Pike and other hills of no great 
 height, perhaps, as compared with moun- 
 tains not on English soil, but showiug 
 grandly amid their actual surroundings. 
 That was what she saw when she looked 
 straight before her ; if she turned her eyes 
 to the right, she saw the head of the lake, 
 shut in by rugged heath-clad screes ; to the 
 left she saw down the water — its whole ex- 
 tent lay before her to where at Lake Foot 
 it slipped away in a silently gliding 
 stream. 
 
 The woman herself, who sat looking at 
 all this beauty, drinking it in with eyes 
 and senses, was just as beautiful in her 
 own way. She was tall — that was plain
 
 8 AN ENTHUSIAST. 
 
 even "when she was sitting down — and 
 there was wonderful grace in lier bending 
 attitude, with one elbow supported on her 
 knee, and the other hand hanging loosely 
 by her side. Her face was a very strik- 
 ing one, with a great deal of power, and 
 power of no common order, in its chiselled 
 features. The mouth and chin, expressive 
 at once of strength and tenderness, were 
 marvellously beautiful; golden hair was 
 loosely coiled on top of her head, and 
 then by some freak of nature her eyes, 
 eyelashes, and eyebrows were jet-black — 
 the eyebrows very delicately pencilled, 
 and forming two level lines upon her 
 forehead ; the eyes were very peculiar, 
 deep and soft, but lit up at times by a 
 gleam which suggested that the spirit of 
 all evil had made his abode in the girFs 
 soul. The whole face was animated by a 
 humorous look which showed that its
 
 AN ENTHUSIAST. 9 
 
 owner was wont to regard life in general 
 rather as a comedy tlian a tragedy. Only 
 a very careful observer would have seen 
 indications in this beautiful face of a 
 strange spirit of yielding and de- 
 pendence, which existed side by side 
 with other and very opposite charac- 
 teristics. Just now she was absorbed 
 in watching the sun set; she had spent 
 a perfect day upon the moors, she was 
 seeing the day fade into as perfect an 
 evening, and the transformation-scene 
 stirred the deepest part of her nature. 
 
 The sun sank behind the Pike, and a 
 kind of shadowy chill fell upon the 
 earth — it looked a face from which a 
 smile had vanished. After sitting for a 
 few minutes longer, her eyes fixed upon 
 the lake, the hue of which had suddenly 
 changed from silver to leaden, the girl 
 rose to her feet and prepared to go.
 
 10 AN ENTHUSIAST. 
 
 She picked up her hat, which lay on the 
 ground beside her, took the little basket 
 in her hand, and began to tread the rough, 
 stony road which led down into the valley. 
 She walked very slowly, often pausing to 
 look around her, or to gather a flower, or 
 a bunch of leaves, which she put into her 
 basket. Once she took out her watch, 
 and smiled as she said aloud, for in those 
 lonely roads there was no one to overhear 
 her, — 
 
 '' Late ! but the domestic constitution 
 will be so convulsed with the arrival of 
 the distinguished stranger that my irregu- 
 larity may pass unnoticed." 
 
 She continued her walk not less leisurely 
 than before. She had now reached the 
 high-road which went round the lake, so 
 put on her hat, though she still left her 
 gloves in the bottom of her basket. She 
 skirted the lake for some little distance
 
 AN ENTHUSIAST. 11 
 
 and passed tbrougli the village, wliicli liad 
 not yet developed a street, then she turned 
 down a road leading to the lake, with 
 fields on one side and rippling beck on 
 the other. At one point the stream was 
 spanned by an old ivy-hung bridge, which 
 had to be crossed before you got to the 
 old greystone house called Beckbridge. 
 This house was built in the shadow of the 
 Pike, and commanded a beautiful view of 
 the lake and the moors. There was a 
 great deal of ground belonging to the 
 house, all of which, except that immediately 
 surrounding the building, was in a very 
 wild, uncultivated condition. 
 
 In the dining-room of this house at this 
 same moment, four people were seated at 
 the tea-table — Mr. Richardson, his two 
 daughters, and a man, a guest, who had 
 arrived an hour earlier. 
 
 Mr. Richardson was a noble-looking old
 
 12 AN ENTHUSIAST. 
 
 man, tall and white-liaired, with, large and 
 ratlier irregular, though very powerful 
 features. His face always wore a thoughtful 
 and rather absent expression, and his lips 
 parted frequently in a humorous smile. 
 His eldest daughter, Marion, who sat 
 opposite to him, was a tall girl with a 
 beautiful face, and more dignity than grace 
 of manner and carriage. There was 
 always a frown upon her forehead, and her 
 lips were often drawn together in rather a 
 straight line. Marion had grievances, and 
 thought that her lot in life was rather 
 hard. Her mother had died nine years 
 before, when she was sixteen, and Marion, 
 with all the enthusiasm of which her nature 
 was capable, had determined to supply her 
 place with her father, and make him, if 
 possible, forget his wife's loss. She had 
 not succeeded. Her father and she had 
 little in common, and after resisting his
 
 AN ENTHUSIAST. 13 
 
 daughter's consolations for some time, he 
 put her and her sister under the temporary 
 care of their aunt, and went from home. 
 He wandered oyer the greater part of the 
 world, and when he came home, after an 
 absence of five years, he brought with him 
 what only served to widen the gap between 
 his daughter and himself. Ethel, the 
 younger girl, was two years Marion's junior, 
 like her sister, on a small and insignificant 
 scale, and closely attached to her. 
 
 The guest was Stephen Knox, a man 
 whom Mr. Richardson and his daughters 
 had met in the early summer at a watering 
 place where they had spent a short time. 
 He had paid Marion a great deal of 
 attention, and a few days before this 
 particular one had written to suggest a 
 short visit to Stanedale, basing his claim 
 on some rather vague words of Mr. 
 Richardson's, uttered at parting, and for-
 
 14 AN ENTHUSIAST. 
 
 gotten as soon as spoken. The visit was 
 regarded by Marion and lier sister as an 
 event of great importance in tlieir quiet 
 lives, and Stephen's manner on meeting 
 Marion again had certainly given con- 
 siderable colour to tlieir suppositions. 
 But nothing definite had yet been said. 
 
 To these four people came in the girl 
 who had been sitting on the moors watch- 
 ing^ the sun set. She came in with the 
 graceful, gliding step peculiar to her, and 
 took the empty place between Ethel and 
 Mr. Richardson. He stretched out his 
 hand to her under cover of the tablecloth, 
 and she pressed it, saying with rather a 
 deprecating little smile, — 
 
 " I am a wretch, I know." 
 
 *' I cannot contradict you," he replied. 
 
 They exchanged a few more remarks 
 quite to themselves, and then she turned 
 to take her cup of tea from Ethel's hand.
 
 AN ENTHCSTAST. 15 
 
 But she gave so little attention to what 
 she was doing, being in fact absorbed in 
 her conversation with Mr. Ricliardson, that 
 the cup slipped in the saucer, and but for 
 a timely effort on Ethel's part, must have 
 fallen on to the table. Marion watched the 
 trifling incident narrowly, and when the 
 cup had been safely placed on the table, said, 
 with a deepening of her habitual frown, — 
 
 " I wish you would be more careful, 
 Llaryla. You almost spilt your tea." 
 
 " I suppose there is more in the pot," 
 just turning her face to the speaker, and 
 her voice sounded provokingly careless. 
 Marion's lips tightened as she replied, — 
 
 " You do not seem to reflect that a cap- 
 ful- of tea poured on to the tablecloth would 
 not improve its appearance." 
 
 " Surely this is not the only tablecloth 
 we have got," smiling in a way w^hich 
 suggested amused toleration, and could
 
 16 AN ENTHUSIAST. 
 
 scarcely fail to be irritating to Marion. But 
 this little conversation brought her atten- 
 tion to what was going on around her, and 
 she said, — 
 
 " Won't you introduce me to your 
 friend ? " 
 
 " Certainly," said Marion, rather stiffly ; 
 " Mr. Knox, Miss Goldengay — papa's 
 ward," she added in explanation. 
 
 Miss Goldengay and Mr. Knox bowed, 
 exchanged a few trifling remarks, and then 
 the girl returned to her interrupted con- 
 versation with Mr. Eichardsouj while Mr. 
 Knox resumed his with Marion and her 
 sister. 
 
 When tea was over, they all went into 
 the drawing-room. Marion and Ethel each 
 took up some needlework. Marjda hung 
 aimlessly about for some little time, turning 
 over the books and papers which lay on the 
 various tables, leaned out of the open
 
 AX EXTHCSIAST. 17 
 
 window for a minute or two, uttered more 
 
 than one deep sigli, and finally left the 
 
 room. She did not appear again during 
 
 the evenino^. Even when candles were 
 
 lighted and good-nights exchanged, she 
 
 was not forthcoming. Stephen felt a 
 
 little offended as he went upstairs ; he was 
 
 accustomed to be treated with a great deal 
 
 of respect. 
 
 The guest-chamber in which he was 
 
 lodged was at the front of the house, and 
 
 the first thing he did when he reached it 
 
 was to go to the window, draw up the 
 
 blind, and look out. The full moon was 
 
 shining, and he felt the tiny yellow flame 
 
 of his candle to be very unnecessary, so he 
 
 put it out, and then found that the room 
 
 was almost as light as in the daytime. 
 
 The window was slightly open, he pushed 
 
 it up as high as it would go, and leaned 
 
 out into the night, drinking in the cool air 
 VOL. I.
 
 18 AN ENTHUSIAST. 
 
 and exquisite perfumes of a country mid- 
 niglit, while his ejes wandered over the 
 view before him. The lake lay in the 
 moonlight, looking like a sheet of molten 
 silver, the wide moors spread themselves 
 out in its radiance, the trees stood motion- 
 less. The only sound which came to his 
 ears was the rush of the beck, near the 
 house, as it hastened over the stones to the 
 lake. It was impossible not to feel that it 
 would be a sin to go to bed on such a night ; 
 besides, Mr. Knox seemed still to hear in 
 his ears the roar of the train in which he 
 had spent so many hours that day ; his 
 pulses were still beating more rapidly than 
 usual, with the pleasurable excitement of 
 his arrival and meeting with Marion. He 
 wanted a little time for reflection, and 
 what time could be better than this still 
 moonlight night, when every one but himself 
 would be in bed and asleep and he seemed
 
 AX ENTHUSIAST. 19 
 
 for the moment to have the whole world 
 to himself ? 
 
 His thoughts ran chiefly on Marion. He 
 had admired her very much w^hen he 
 had first made her acquaintance in a hotel ; 
 to-day, when he saw her for the first time 
 in her own home, he admired her still 
 more. He had every intention of asking 
 her to be his wife, and from many signs 
 which he, as a lover, had interpreted in only 
 one way, he did not anticipate a refusal. 
 She was a queenly creature he told him- 
 self, an English girl of the best type ; with 
 an English girl's beauty, luxuriant brown 
 hair, and clear grey eyes. He thought of 
 her grave, dignified manner, cold and 
 reserved with strangers, but with him, 
 the chosen one, thawing half shyly, half 
 unresistingly. He thought of her pale, 
 proud face, told over in his mind her pure, 
 fair features, and heaved a sigh of content 
 c 2
 
 20 AN ENTHUSIAST. 
 
 as he tliouglit tliat on the day when he 
 
 pleased he could call all these his own. 
 
 He could scarcely understand how he 
 
 had found such a peerless creature still 
 
 fancy-free. He lost himself in a dream 
 
 from which he was roused suddenly by 
 
 the oldest, craziest set of chimes he had 
 
 ever heard. They rang out from the old 
 
 church tower, and after a pause the clock 
 
 struck one. He pulled out his watch and 
 
 mechanically compared London time with 
 
 that which regulated the movements of 
 
 Stanedale, and then sank back into his 
 
 dreams. 
 
 He did not know how long this second 
 dream had lasted before he was roused 
 agaiu, this time by hearing the gate in the 
 garden below, swing upon its hinges and 
 fall softly to. He started up, wondering 
 if in a place like Stanedale thieves could 
 possibly break through and steal when
 
 AN EXTECSIAST. 21 
 
 honest folks were supposed to be asleep 
 and off their guard. 
 
 With the idea in his mind that thieves 
 were possible, he drew back and looked 
 from behind his curtains very cautiously, 
 and he needed all his presence of mind to 
 prevent the exclamation which rose to his 
 lips becoming audible and drawing atten- 
 tion to himself. 
 
 The person who had come in at the 
 gate, and was now standing in the middle 
 of the drive, looking around her, was no 
 other than Miss Goldengay herself. There 
 could not possibly be any mistake. Even 
 in this short time, Mr. Knox felt familiar 
 with the tall, slender figure in a white dress 
 and the beautiful gold-crowned head. 
 She stood perfectly still, her hands clasped 
 before her, her head slightly lifted and 
 turned so that he could see her profile. 
 
 Mr. Knox was silent from sheer amaze-
 
 22 AN ENTHUSIAST. 
 
 ment. What in tlie name of fortune, he 
 thought, was she doing out at that hour, 
 and alone ? Where had she been ? What 
 was Mr. Richardson thinking of to allow 
 his ward to wander about the country in 
 the small hours of the morning ? 
 
 All this time he was watching her, and 
 now she turned, she was coming in. He 
 drew back a little further ; he did not 
 want her to see him, and in passing before 
 the house, she might so easily look up. 
 How, he asked himself, did she propose to 
 get in ? She did not appear to be in 
 haste ; she walked about the garden for a 
 time, gathering a flower here and there, 
 and then, after another look at the lake 
 and the moors, came towards the house. 
 She did not attempt to get in at the front 
 door, she went round to the side, and he 
 saw nothing more of her. He listened for 
 the sound of a door opening or closing, for
 
 AX ENTHUSIAST. 23 
 
 footsteps on the stairs, but lie heard 
 nothing, and after he had listened and 
 waited for some time, the chimes again 
 rang out, the clock struck two, and he 
 began to think it was time to go to bed. 
 He did not, however, go to sleep. His 
 brain was just as active as it had been 
 before ; but now. he thought of Marjla 
 instead of Marion. He thought of her 
 with repulsion and anger as an ill-regulated 
 being, whose connection with respectable 
 people was to be deplored. At last, he 
 sought consolation in the supposition that 
 she was mad — must be mad. So many 
 things seemed to point to it ; particularly 
 this midniofht ramblins^ in the liofht of 
 
 o o o 
 
 the full moon; it accounted, too, for 
 her negligent manner to himself. The 
 thought must have given him comfort, for 
 in the midst of it he fell asleep.
 
 AN ESTHITSIAST. 
 
 CHAPTER n. 
 
 " And many shocks 
 Our order .... 
 Must every day endure." 
 
 The consequence of Mr. Knox's prolonged 
 night-watch was that he came downstairs 
 late for breakfast on the folio win 2: 
 morning. His tardy arrival seemed to 
 have been the subject of some discussion, 
 for as he opened the door he heard a 
 voice he recognized as belonging to Miss 
 Goldengay, saying, — 
 
 " He is not ours, we have nothing to do 
 with him, we need not wait." 
 
 On looking towards her, he saw that 
 both she and Mr. Eichardson had begun
 
 AN E^sTHUSIAST. 25 
 
 breakfast, and from a slight cloud on 
 Marion's forehead, which, however, dis- 
 appeared as she caught sight of him, he 
 concluded that the house had been divided 
 on the question of his importance. 
 
 Greetings were exchanged, and then 
 Maryla turned again to her guardian, 
 saying,— 
 
 " It will be a magnificent day. I shall 
 take my lunch out again, and not reappear 
 until tea-time." 
 
 Mr. Knox, with a vivid recollection of 
 what had taken place the night before, 
 turned to her, saying, — 
 
 " Are you never timid about walking 
 alone on these lonely country roads, Miss 
 Golden gay ? " 
 
 " Why should I be timid ? These roads 
 are too unfrequented to be unsafe ; you 
 may walk fifteen or sixteen miles without 
 meeting any one."
 
 26 AN ENTHUSIAST. 
 
 ''But is that quite wise ? You might 
 meet some very disagreeable person." 
 
 " No ; I tell you, I never meet any one." 
 
 " Exactly. It cannot be safe for 
 you." 
 
 "If I never meet any one, I cannot 
 possibly run any risk ; my safety lies in 
 their excessive loneliness." 
 
 Mr. Richardson was looking at his ward 
 and smiling, and Maryla's eyes were 
 beginning to gleam, w^hile her lips twitched. 
 Mr. Knox saw it all, and it did not make 
 him more yielding. When he was not 
 yielding, he was rigid, and he now said 
 obstinately, — 
 
 *'Your defence is no defence at all. 
 You might meet some one, and then it 
 would be very unpleasant for you." 
 
 '' Possibilities are infinite. A great 
 many things might happen, but they never 
 do."
 
 AN ENTHUSIAST. 27 
 
 " There are some possibilities against 
 which we may guard ; it is foohsh to run 
 unnecessary risks." 
 
 '' I quite agree with you. I have heard 
 that if it were known what risks were run 
 in every railway journey, many people 
 would never enter a train." 
 
 Before he could reply, Marion began to 
 speak. 
 
 ^' You exaggerate very much, Maryla. 
 You do sometimes meet disagreeable 
 people. You know you often bring home 
 tales of tramps you have met." 
 
 Mr. Knox smiled triumphantly, but 
 Maryla went on calmly, — 
 
 " Tramps are not always disagreeable ; 
 I like some tramps very much ; they are 
 such good company, and have seen so 
 many places. Sometimes they have a 
 very keen sense of humour. I remember 
 one who took an honest pride in his
 
 28 AN ENTHUSIAST. 
 
 calling ; he called himself a cosmopolitan. 
 There were few places where he said he 
 had not spent at least a night ; at some 
 towns he had sojourned weeks or even 
 months, always free of expense, his friends 
 having taken upon themselves the cost of 
 his lodging and maintenance." 
 
 She leaned back in her chair and laughed 
 a low, soft laugh, full of amusement. Mr. 
 Eichardson also laughed heartily ; Marion 
 and Ethel looked a little disgusted, Mr. 
 Knox preserved a grave silence. 
 
 "There was another," went on Miss 
 Goldengay, " whom I met on the North- 
 ern Eoad. He had a wonderful amount 
 of independence, and was walking from 
 Rilford, where so many workpeople were 
 out of employment just then. I asked him 
 if he had found absolutely nothing to 
 do at Eilford." 
 
 '' * Oh, yes,' he said, ' a fellow offered
 
 AN EXTHCSIAST. 29 
 
 me work at twelve shillings a week, but 
 I told him to keep his brass and let it 
 grow a bit.' " 
 
 Again she laughed, and this time the 
 sound seemed familiar to Mr. Knox ; it was 
 like the echo of laughter he had heard 
 before, though where or when he could 
 not tell. But his disgust could no longer 
 be restrained, and he began to speak 
 strongly. 
 
 " Is it possible," he said, " that you 
 venture to speak to such wretches, gaol- 
 birds from your description, who prefer 
 tramping along the high-road to earning 
 an honest living ? I have no doubt the 
 man had a wife and children." 
 
 " He had. He said he was tired of 
 them, and was going to start afresh else- 
 where." 
 
 " Your sympathies really run in strange 
 channels. What about the wife left to
 
 30 AN ENTHUSIAST. 
 
 support her children as best she could ? 
 One feels almost tempted to say she 
 would be justified in following his 
 example." 
 
 " From what he said I gathered that 
 she had taken the initiative." 
 
 Mr. Knox was not prepared with a 
 retort, and Marjla, having finished her 
 breakfast, rose and left the room. 
 
 Marion and Ethel had planned to take 
 Mr. Knox out-of-doors, but as they left 
 the dining-room, Miss Richardson was 
 given a note which had just been brought 
 by a servant. It was from Mr. Eichard- 
 son's sister, and was to give notice that she 
 intended to drive over to Beckbridge that 
 morning, and spend the day with her 
 nieces. The projected walk had therefore 
 to be given up, and it was presently 
 revealed to Stephen that Marion and 
 Ethel were going to be busy, and that he
 
 AX ENTHUSIAST. 31 
 
 was expected to dispose of his own 
 time. 
 
 He went into the garden and leaned 
 over the wall, wondering what he should 
 do with himself. He still felt angry with 
 Marjla. He did not like her; it was 
 clear that she had an unamiable and 
 unwomanly character, and he feared that 
 her presence would much decrease the 
 pleasure of his visit to Stanedale. A girl 
 who stayed out-of-doors till two o'clock in 
 the morning, and avowed a preference for 
 the society of tramps, was no fit com- 
 panion for his future wife. Then he 
 wondered who she was. When he had 
 made the acquaintance of Mr. Richardson 
 and his daughters, he had never heard any 
 one of them mention Maryla Goldengay. 
 How long had she been living at Beck- 
 bridge, and where had she come from ? 
 There did not appear to be much affection
 
 32 AN ENTHUSIAST. 
 
 between lier and the Misses E-icharclson, 
 though her guardian seemed very fond of 
 her. 
 
 As these thoughts passed through his 
 mind he became aware of the presence of 
 his obnoxious acquaintance. She must 
 have left the house bj some back or side 
 entrance, and was now walking slowly 
 along the steep road leading to the station, 
 with a basket swinging from her hand, 
 and he suddenly remembered what he had 
 heard her say at breakfast, that she was 
 going to take her Umch out-of-doors and 
 stay till tea-time. He resolved to follow 
 her and see where she was going : he might 
 find an opportunity for saying what 
 burned on his tongue. 
 
 The wall against which he was leaning 
 was conveniently low; he put his hand on to 
 the top and vaulted into the road. He 
 did not want to talk to Maryla just then.
 
 AN ENTHUSIAST. 33 
 
 only to see where slie was going ; so lie 
 kept at a discreet distance behind her, 
 hoping that she would not turn her head 
 and see him. 
 
 It was not Marjla's custom to look 
 behind her either when walking or doing 
 anything else, so Mr. Knox was able to 
 follow her in perfect safety. She went 
 steadily on up the steep road, under a 
 railway-arch, and then turning a little to the 
 right, she began to mount an almost perpen- 
 dicular hill, shadedby tall, over-arching trees, 
 and with a brawling little stream hurrying 
 down on one side. Mr. Knox, who was 
 unaccustomed to hills, was struck with 
 dismay ; he could imagine that if he slipped 
 he AYOuld roll to the bottom of the hill as 
 though down an alpine precipice. The trees, 
 too, seemed to shut out the Hght and air ; he 
 could have wished them away, but that just 
 then he stumbled over a projecting root . 
 
 VOL. I. D
 
 34 AN ENTHUSIAST. 
 
 It then flashed across him that these same 
 projecting roots with which the ground was 
 covered might be used as rests against 
 which to plant his feet when it became 
 absolutely necessary to pause and take 
 breath. He tried the plan and found it 
 answer admirably. 
 
 By this time Maryla was some distance 
 before him. She walked on lightly and 
 easily, nor did she slacken speed even at 
 the steepest part of the path. 
 
 At the top of the hill Mr. Knox stopped 
 and looked back. He was lifted his^h 
 above the village, even above the tops of 
 the trees. He saw straight down into the 
 beautiful Stanedale valley, and could trace 
 the high-road winding between the heavy 
 woods and lofty cliffs, to where the higher 
 hills rose in the distance and shut out any 
 further view. Looking to the right, he 
 caught a glimpse of the lake. There were
 
 AX ENTHUSIAST. 35 
 
 no sounds except such as belonged purely 
 to tlie woods and fields, the trilling of 
 birds and the lowing of cows in the pastures, 
 broken in upon from time to time by the 
 complaining of the sheep upon the liills. 
 Even the soul of Mr. Knox was stirred by 
 what he saw, and the deep peace and still- 
 ness which rested on it all, and with an 
 unconscious sigh he turned to follow 
 Maryla. 
 
 At first he feared he had lost her ; but 
 he saw her hat above a wall a long way in 
 advance of where he stood. He hastened 
 in that direction, and soon found himself 
 in a rough lane with walls and high 
 tangled hedges on each side, and Maryla 
 walking leisurely before him. In a few 
 minutes they reached the open moors at 
 the foot of the Pike, which towered grandly 
 up into the blue sky. Here the air was 
 quite different from down in the valley ; 
 D 2
 
 36 AN ENTHUSIAST. 
 
 keen and fresli, redolent of heather and 
 wide, open space. He drank it in, and 
 even as he walked felt new strength enter 
 into him. 
 
 He wondered where Maryla was leading 
 him — they were out on the open moors, 
 remote from all sound and sight of life, 
 except that belonging to the moors them- 
 selves. Wilder and barer grew the 
 country, not even a solitary farmhouse 
 was in sight, and still Maryla walked on. 
 They had passed one or two small tarns, 
 brown and clear, and more than one tiny 
 beck, born of a day's rain and likely to 
 cease its flow as suddenly as it had begun ; 
 but presently his ears were smitten by a roar 
 and rush of waters, and turning a shoulder 
 of the hill, they came upon a bold, brown 
 mountain torrent, which came rushing over 
 the moor, singing aloud for very joy afc 
 having broken loose from its ^orison among
 
 AX ENTHUSIAST. 37 
 
 the mountains. Here Maryla turned aside 
 from the path, and after crossing a wide 
 strip of marshy ground, where Mr. Knox 
 had some difficulty in following her, she 
 stopped. Then turning suddenly she saw 
 him. 
 
 She did not speak at once and he profited 
 by the short pause to scramble over the few 
 rocks which lay between them and to place 
 himself at her side. Then he said with 
 rather an awkward smile, — 
 
 " I daresay you are wondering how I 
 found my way here ? " 
 
 " You followed me, I suppose." 
 
 '' Well, yes, I did. I was in the garden 
 and saw you setting off." 
 
 " How is it you are not with the 
 Richardsons ? Before you came into the 
 breakfast-room they were planning some 
 wonderful excursion for your enjoyment." 
 
 Mr. Knox explained how the excursion
 
 38 AX ENTHUSIAST. 
 
 had come to nothing. Marjla smiled 
 openly when she heard who was coming, 
 and then said, — 
 
 " How is it that you did not overtake 
 me sooner? " 
 
 He looked a little confused, bnt began 
 an explanation which Maryla interrupted 
 by saying,— 
 
 *' I had a dog once, and sometimes when 
 I went out and told him to stop at home 
 he would follow me under the trees, or 
 otherwise keep out of sight until he 
 thought he had got too far to be sent 
 back, and then he came out of hiding, 
 evidently thinking he had done a very 
 clever thing." 
 
 " Well ? '' he said boldly, though he felt 
 both his colour and temper rising. 
 
 " Oh, nothing. It is an anecdote, that 
 is all." 
 
 She went away to some little distance
 
 AN ENTHUSIAST. 39 
 
 as she spoke, and he stood still, feeling 
 rather awkward and saying nothing. Then 
 his eyes wandered to the place where they 
 were. They stood on high ground, in a 
 kind of hollow between the Pike and some 
 tall, large crags which rose on the other 
 side. The hollow itself was occupied by a 
 small tarn, on the brink of which they 
 stood. The water looked almost black, 
 there was not a scrap of vegetation grow- 
 ing near it, not a single water-plant broke 
 the dark smoothness of its surface. The 
 ground all about was strewn with masses 
 of rock, grey and weather-beaten as the 
 crags that towered above. At the end 
 of the tarn, the water broke away and 
 was heard rushing under the stones, 
 though there was nothing to be seen. In 
 the middle of the tarn lay a large bare 
 rock, and the motionless water lay black 
 against its sides. The crags and hills
 
 40 AN ENTHUSIAST. 
 
 came sheer down to the brink of tlie little 
 lake. Now, on a brilliant August morn- 
 ing, with the sun shining outside and a 
 cloudless blue sky above, it looked as little 
 eerie as it could, but Mr. Knox could not 
 help wondering how it would appear at 
 night, in the starlight, or with the moon 
 silvering the black water and throwing 
 strange shadows upon the ground and on 
 the sides of the hills. This reminded him 
 of the errand upon which he had come, 
 and he moved to the place where Maryla 
 was now seated on a fragment of rock, 
 with her basket on the ground beside her. 
 
 " To be quite truthful,'' he began, '' I 
 did follow you here with a purpose. I 
 wanted to ask you a question." 
 
 " Suppose you sit down — we could talk 
 more comfortably in that way.'' 
 
 He seated himself near her and then 
 sat silent, suddenly realizing that he was
 
 AN ENTHUSIAST. 41 
 
 a perfect stranger to this girl, and had 
 scarcely a right to remonstrate with her. 
 There was something, too, in her strange 
 black eyes which made it difficult for him 
 to speak. He conquered the feeling, 
 how^ever, and said, — 
 
 '' I wanted to ask where you went last 
 night, when you left the drawing-room 
 after tea." 
 
 " How do you know I went any- 
 where ? " 
 
 " I saw you come in just before two 
 o'clock this morning, and I naturally felt 
 some curiosity about w^hat you had been 
 doing out of doors at a time when most 
 people are in bed and asleep." 
 
 " If curiosity were as natural to me as 
 you say it is to you, I might ask what 
 you were doing up at an hour when, 
 as you justly observe, most people are in 
 bed."
 
 4^ AX ENTHUSIAST. 
 
 He liad not expected this counter- 
 accusation and was silent for a moment. 
 She watched him with a gathering smile. 
 
 " Come," she said at last, " how is it 
 that you saw me ? " 
 
 '' I could not sleep," he replied; "my 
 head ached after my journey, and the 
 •view from my window was so beautiful, 
 I could not leave it." 
 
 " Why did you not make some sign 
 that you were there ? I do not mind 
 being looked at, but I decidedly object 
 to being peeped at from behind curtains." 
 
 ''But," he said, leaving that point, 
 '' where had you been ? " 
 
 " Where do you suppose ? " leaning 
 back in her rocky seat. 
 
 "I thought it possible that you had 
 been to see some sick person and could 
 not get home sooner." 
 
 She smiled frankly as she answered, —
 
 AX ENTHUSIAST. 43 
 
 "I never go to visit sick people; I had 
 been here." 
 
 " Here ! " 
 
 " Here at Hawks water, where jou and 
 I are sitting now." 
 
 " Impossible ! " 
 
 " Not at all. You have just come 
 yourself, and you see that, as roads go 
 in this part of the world, the road up 
 here is very good." 
 
 She spoke lightly, and Mr. Knox was 
 silent, trying to realize it. 
 
 She watched him with evident amuse- 
 ment, and began to laugh, as she said, — 
 
 '' You don't seem to take it in even yet, 
 though there is nothing so very remark- 
 able in it." 
 
 " How could you do anything so 
 imprudent?" he said at last. ''Suppose 
 you had met somebody ? " 
 
 '' This is the last place in the world
 
 44 AN ENTHUSIAST. 
 
 where I should be likely to meet any one 
 at that hour." 
 
 " But what made you come ? " 
 *' I came for a walk, and stayed thinking." 
 '' Do you often take such walks ? " 
 '' Yes, very often," speaking as if rather 
 tired of the subject. 
 
 *' I am surprised that Mr. Richardson 
 allows it." 
 
 '' Mr. Richardson ? " she paused, smiling, 
 and then went on — *' Mr. Richardson 
 allows me everything ; he spoils me fear- 
 fully, he is ridiculously fond of me." 
 
 There was a pause. Maryla sat looking 
 straight before her, the smile still hovering 
 round her lips, a softness in her eyes 
 which made them dangerously beautiful, 
 Mr. Knox spoke first : — 
 
 '' I daresay you will be surprised to hear 
 that until yesterday I had no idea of your 
 existence. When I knew Mr. Richardson
 
 AN EXTHUSIAST. 45 
 
 and liis claugliters at Sands they never 
 mentioned yon." 
 
 " I am not at all surprised ; why should 
 they mention me ? " 
 
 " You live with them and form part of 
 their life. It seems strange to me that I 
 never heard your name." 
 
 '' When there are certain disagreeables 
 to be borne at home, people try to forget 
 them when they go away." 
 
 " What do you mean ? Why do you 
 speak so mysteriously ? I wish you would 
 tell me how you came to be Mr. Eichard- 
 son's ward." 
 
 " I have no objection to tell you. You 
 would probably hear some time, and of 
 course I shall show myself in a more 
 advantageous light than they would."
 
 46 AN ENTHUSIAST. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 "List a brief tale." 
 
 Miss Goldengay sat in silence for a 
 minute or two, and then began her story. 
 
 " My father and his brother were the 
 only children of their parents, and my 
 father was the younger son. I can tell 
 you nothing about him, because I never 
 knew him, he died a short time before I 
 was born. He had very good prospects, 
 but he ruined them all by marrying mama. 
 He was sent into the Continent to forget 
 a foolish attachment in England, and he 
 straightway met mama, fell violently in 
 love with her, and they were married at 
 once. I must tell you that mama is the 
 only person from whom I ever heard this
 
 AN ENTHUSIAST. 47 
 
 story. Mama was a Pole, very beautiful, 
 and of course very poor. So was lier 
 husband yery poor. His family, as you 
 may believe, lost no time in quarrelling with 
 him, and he never saw any of them after 
 his marriage. When mama and I lived on 
 the Continent, and I saw how beautiful and 
 admired she was, and found how happily 
 we lived on our little bit of money, I never 
 could understand why his people quarrelled 
 with him. Since I came to England, 
 four years ago, I have understood very 
 well. When they had been married a 
 few months, papa died, and mama was 
 left a widow with very little money." 
 
 She paused for a moment and then 
 continued : — 
 
 " I dp not know whether I could make 
 you understand what kind of woman 
 mama was. When I was a child she was 
 a great mystery to me, but as I grew up I
 
 48 AN ENTHUSIAST. 
 
 found her very interesting. I do not tliink 
 there are nitiny women like her, which, 
 perhaps, is less to be regretted than might 
 appear at first sight. What is the 
 matter?" she broke off abruptly to 
 ask. 
 
 " I did not speak." 
 
 *' Not with your tongue ; but your face 
 is more expressive than you suppose. I 
 have said something of which you disap- 
 prove." 
 
 " Pray go on with your story." 
 
 " Not until you have told me what you 
 were thinking ; though, after all, I can 
 guess." 
 
 " Indeed," was his rather sceptical 
 reply. 
 
 '' You were thinking 1 was wrong to 
 speak or mama in that way ? " 
 
 '' I was thinking so. I dislike to hear 
 parents spoken of disrespectfully."
 
 AN ENTHUSIAST. 49 
 
 She laughed a little, and he said again, — 
 "Please go on with your story." 
 " Do not interrupt me again, or I shall 
 never get to the end.'' 
 
 " I did not interrupt you, I said nothing ; 
 it was you who attacked me. What was 
 your mother like ? " 
 
 " She was very beautiful, — not in my 
 way, but dark and very small, and merciless 
 in her judgment of women without beauty. 
 She had very winning manners, and 
 wherever we went she was surrounded by 
 a crowd of men, all making love to her, 
 and keeping her in a good humour. Most 
 women in that position would not have 
 cared to have a daughter always with 
 them who grew apace, and promised to be 
 as beautiful as themselves. She was very 
 unlike other women; she looked much 
 younger than she was, and she liked to 
 astonish people by telling them how many 
 
 VOL. I. E
 
 50 AN ENTHUSIAST. 
 
 years had gone by since lier wedding-day, 
 and to produce a daughter taller than 
 herself. She was not afraid of losing her 
 influence over men ; if she had lived to be 
 a little black- eyed, white-haired old lady of 
 a hundred, I believe she would have had as 
 many admirers as when she was twenty." 
 
 " When is Mr. Richardson coming in ? " 
 asked her companion. 
 
 " Now, at this moment," she replied. 
 " We were in Dresden, and one of mama's 
 friends brought Mr. Richardson to our 
 rooms. It was after the death of his wife, 
 and he was on his way home after having 
 wandered all over the world. He admired 
 mama, though I think he always laughed 
 at her a little, but he and I soon became 
 great friends. We spent all our time 
 together ; he was kinder to me than I can 
 say. I had seen a great many English 
 gentlemen — he was the first who made me
 
 AN ENTHUSIAST. 51 
 
 want to come to England and live amongst 
 them." 
 
 Mr. Knox was astonished at the change 
 in her ; her voice thrilled him : with the 
 wonderful softness in her face and eyes she 
 looked exquisite. 
 
 '* He was much distressed at the state 
 into which my morals and education had 
 fallen, and he proposed to mama that I 
 should come here and live with him and 
 his daughters, as his youngest daughter. 
 *' Did she consent ? " 
 " She consented. He brought me with 
 him four years ago, and I have lived here 
 since." 
 
 '' And your mother ? " 
 " She died the following year." 
 " Did she leave you in his charge ? " 
 '' She left me in nobody's charge. She 
 died very suddenly, witliout a moment's 
 
 warning. 
 
 ^ ^ LIBRARY 
 
 UNIVERSmrOFIMtNorr
 
 52 AN ENTHUSIAST. 
 
 *' Then it was by your own arrangement 
 you stayed here, or did Mr. Ricliardson 
 propose it ? I almost wonder your relations 
 did not claim you." 
 
 A singular change passed over Maryla's 
 face. For a moment Mr. Knox thought 
 she was going to be very angry ; then she 
 smiled and said, — 
 
 " I thought I told you there had been a 
 quarrel; I do not know that they were 
 aware of my existence." 
 
 '' I once met a Sir Edward Goldengay ; 
 is he any relation to you ? " 
 
 " He is my uncle, my father's elder 
 brother." 
 
 '' I think you are foolish not to make up 
 the quarrel. Mr. Richardson is an old 
 man ; what will you do when he dies, and 
 you have no relatives to go to ? " 
 
 Her eyes gleamed with sudden anger, 
 and her face went very white.
 
 AX ENTHUSIAST. 53 
 
 '' How dare jou talk of his death ! " she 
 said ; ^' and what is it to you if I have not 
 a friend in the world ? " 
 
 " Oh, nothing," he replied rather stiffly, 
 " I only thought I would give you a little 
 advice. I confess I see nothing in what I 
 said to warrant such atone or such words." 
 
 She laughed a little unsteadily. " Do 
 not say any more such things. I beg of 
 you." 
 
 There was a silence which lasted some 
 little time, and which Marjda broke by 
 saying,— 
 
 " I was just sixteen then. Have you no 
 curiosity about Marion's and Ethel's feel- 
 ino^s when I came ? " 
 
 Something in her tone caused him to 
 answer guardedly, — 
 
 "I do not quite understa.nd." 
 
 '' Do you suppose they liked my 
 coming ? "
 
 54 AN ENTHUSIAST. 
 
 <« Why should they not ? You speak as 
 if they were naturally unfriendly towards 
 you. I am sure both Miss Eichardson 
 and her sister are above that kind of 
 thing." 
 
 '* No doubt. I have no hesitation in say- 
 ing that all they did was right, and that 
 the sense of outrage they experienced was 
 altogether justifiable. It might have been 
 better if we would have accepted the situa- 
 tion in the same spirit, but they cried and 
 I laughed, and the more they cried, the 
 more I laughed, and made myself every 
 day more hateful to them." 
 
 " You were wrong,'' interrupted Mr. 
 Knox ; *' you had no right to laugh. You 
 might have made friends of them from the 
 beginning ; it is evidently your own fault 
 if you are not on good terms now." 
 
 " I have no doubt of it : did I not say 
 they had reason on their side all through ? ""
 
 AN ENTHUSIAST. 55 
 
 " Miss Richardson could not be wilfully 
 unkind to any one, it would be contrary to 
 her nature, which I am convinced is all 
 sweetness. Her mind is too delicate to 
 allow her to inflict suffering upon any 
 one." 
 
 " I quite agree with you," replied 
 Maryla, looking not at him, but straight 
 before her to the high ridge of moor on the 
 other side of the lake. " She is, I am sure, 
 of very uncommon clay, and as such must 
 have careful handling. We all know that 
 the rarest things are often the most brittle, 
 and will not stand wear and tear like 
 coarser vessels. 
 
 " I do not understand you ; you speak 
 in riddles." 
 
 " Perhaps you will learn by experience." 
 
 Her words were followed by a somewhat 
 lengthy silence, which Mr. Knox at last 
 broke by asking, —
 
 56 AN ENTHUSIAST. 
 
 " What liave you been doing all this 
 time ? '' 
 
 *' I ? " rousing herself ; " very much what 
 I am doing now, spending my time out of 
 doors without any definite employment. 
 Without any wish to represent myself as 
 less obnoxious than I must of necessity 
 have been, I can*t think I was very much 
 in the way. This kind of country was 
 quite new to me, and I at once began to 
 explore it. In tlie parts of Germany where 
 I had lived there are no hills like these, no 
 woods and lakes and lanes. I had spent 
 my childhood near Posen, and you must 
 have been in that country before you can 
 picture its utter flatness. In the flattest 
 parts of England, Mr. Richardson says, 
 you are within sight, or a day*s walk of 
 the hills, but there you may travel for days, 
 and the country is as flat as when you set 
 out. The woods are different^ tliey are
 
 AX ENTHUSIAST. 57 
 
 forests, and the lakes are so vast and 
 lonely, so unlike these." 
 
 '' N^ot a country which you would be very 
 sorry to leave, I should think ? " 
 
 " It was my own country ; remember 1 
 am half a Pole." 
 
 The intelligence gave him a little shock ; 
 he had somehow failed to grasp that the 
 girl seated at his side was the daughter of 
 a penniless Polish countess and a dis- 
 inherited younger son. 
 
 " What are you going to do now ? " he 
 asked; ''areyou going to live herealways ?" 
 
 Her face changed, her figure seemed to 
 expand, her eyes looked larger, and her 
 lips parted, as though drawing in a wider, 
 fuller life, her delicate nostrils quivered a 
 little. She looked like a caged eagle, 
 biding its time till the door of its prison 
 should be opened. 
 
 '' At present," she replied, '' Mr.
 
 58 AN ENTHUSIAST. 
 
 Richardson claims me ; I owe everytliing 
 to him and he needs me, but later — " 
 
 *' What later ? " looking at her rather 
 curiously. 
 
 " I shall go and live in a town." 
 
 He laughed at this unexpected answer, 
 and, as though she did not wish to pursue 
 the subject, she said, — 
 
 " Now tell me something about your- 
 self? Who are you, where do you live, 
 and what do you do ? " 
 
 " My story is more commonplace than 
 yours. The only resemblance between us 
 is that we are both without either parents 
 or brothers and sisters. I live in London. 
 I was born there, and as I have a sufficient 
 fortune I do nothing in particular. Before 
 I came here I was negotiating with Sir 
 William Hunter about a secretaryship 
 which he had offered me ; I do not know 
 if it will come to anything."
 
 AN ENTHgSIAST. 59 
 
 '^ Why not?" 
 
 " He is going to India, and I do not know 
 if I should care to go. Besides, the cir- 
 cumstances are different now." 
 
 " If you marry Marion, you will have to 
 give up that idea," thought Maryla, but 
 aloud she said, while she lifted up her little 
 basket and opened it, — 
 
 " I am going to eat my lunch. I can't 
 offer you much, because there was only 
 enough put up for me. You can choose 
 between short commons here, and peace 
 and plenty at Beckbridge." 
 
 " He felt that she might have made it 
 more difficult for him to say, " I will stay 
 here, " aod he took that for a sign that she 
 wanted him to stay, so he answered 
 lazily,— 
 
 " Thank you, I do not want anything; 
 but if you can spare me a biscuit, I will 
 eat that to keep you company. "
 
 GO AN ENTHUSIAST. 
 
 As they lunclied they talked of many 
 things. Stephen had left his seat, and 
 stretched himself upon the ground near 
 Maryla, and she sat and looked at him. 
 Her eyes rested calmly and critically upon 
 his tall, strong figure, his dark, colourless 
 face, with features regular enough for 
 beauty, and which yet repelled her 
 strangely. She looked at him for some 
 time and then thought, — 
 
 "You look as cold as ice, but, if I am 
 not very much mistaken, you can get into 
 tremendous rages, when you will do any 
 mad thing, and you are as jealous as 
 Othello. It is well for Marion that she 
 has no other admirers.'*
 
 AN ENTHUSIAST. 61 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 "The argument of yoiir praise^ balm of your age," 
 
 " Why is your speech so faint 'i Are you not well 1 '' 
 " I have a pain upon my forehead here." 
 
 It was on the clay following his long talk 
 with Maryla that Stephen found himself 
 walking with Mr. Richardson towards the 
 lake in the cool of the evening. Their way 
 lay along two wide grass-grown lanes 
 bordered by tall, ragged hedges full of 
 honeysuckle and a few late-blooming wild 
 roses. In the fields on either side the hay 
 was lying in fragrant heaps, for the season 
 had been a late one, and though it was 
 the beginning of August, cautious farmers 
 had not yet cleared their fields. At the end
 
 62 AN ENTHUSIAST. 
 
 of the first lane, tlie two men turned to 
 the left, and crossed a stone bridge over- 
 grown with ivy and spanning the clear, 
 shallow beck, flowing on its way to empty 
 itself into the lake. It was an exquisite 
 evening after an oppressively hot day, 
 and the sight of the wide smooth, sheet 
 of water was more grateful even than 
 usual. 
 
 It was the first time Stephen had been 
 alone with his host, and he was conscious 
 of a feeling of constraint. He had never 
 felt in sympathy with Mr. Richardson, he 
 could not understand him. He seemed to 
 have so little in common with his charm- 
 ing daughters, and to be in perfect 
 harmony with that strange creature Miss 
 Goldengay. He walked in silence, there- 
 fore, waiting for his companion to speak 
 first. His words, when they came, were 
 scarcely comprehensible.
 
 AN ENTHUSIAST. 63 
 
 '^ Wonderful, wonderful," he said ; and 
 again, " most wonderful, wonderful." 
 
 " Of what are you speaking ? " asked 
 Stephen in surprise. 
 
 " I was thinking aloud, and the subject 
 of my thoughts was my ward, Mary la." 
 
 " How is she wonderful ? " asked 
 Stephen. 
 
 In many ways ; the particular oue of 
 which I was thinking was her power of 
 description." 
 
 " How do you mean ? " 
 
 " She told me last night that she had 
 been explaining to you in the morning 
 how she came to live with me." 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 "Did she tell you anything about her 
 future prospects ?" 
 
 "Not anything." 
 
 "Nothing about her literary aspira- 
 tions ? "
 
 64 AN ENTHUSIAST. 
 
 " Not a word. Has slie sach aspira- 
 tions ? " • 
 
 '' What a strange creature she is ! I 
 expect that one day she will be a great 
 writer." 
 
 " Ah ! that is interesting. What makes 
 you think so ? " 
 
 *' The extraordinary power of writing 
 which she has even now." 
 
 " Is that really so ? Has she already 
 written anything ? " 
 
 *' She has written a great deal ; sketches 
 of the country and people ^round about 
 here. You were expressing surprise 
 yesterday at breakfast that she should 
 care to talk to the tramps and other people 
 whom she occasionally meets in her 
 rambles. If you saw the masterly studies 
 she makes of these chance meetings you 
 would be amazed." 
 
 " Really, if she has such great talents,
 
 AX ENTBUSIAST. 65 
 
 is it not a pity she does not enij)loj them 
 in her own rank of life ? " 
 
 '' She is a student, and a very promis- 
 ing one, of human nature," smiling rather 
 whimsically as he spoke. *' It is marvellous 
 to find such power in a girl of her age." 
 " Has she published anything yet ? " 
 *' Her last paper was so good, I insisted 
 upon sending it to that new magazine, 
 Men and Maimers ; it was accepted, and 
 she got paid for it, which after all is 
 the great test." 
 
 *' Is it known that she writes ? " 
 " It is a profound secret between her- 
 self and me. I have just betrayed it, 
 but you must let it go no further." 
 " What line will she take up ? " 
 '' Fiction ; she is equally strong in 
 dialogue." 
 
 Mr. Knox was silent, digesting this 
 intelligence ; then he said, — 
 
 VOL. I. F
 
 66 AN ENTHUSIAST. 
 
 " Her experience has been singularly 
 varied for so young a girl." 
 
 " Yes, you are right ; she led a strange 
 life before she came here. How well I 
 remember the first time I saw her ! It 
 was the first time I went to the Countess's 
 rooms, and there were a great many other 
 people there, all men. The Countess was 
 very beautiful, a tiny, fairy-like creature, 
 and in the course of the evening a dispute 
 arose between her and one of her guests, 
 concerning some trinket of which he had 
 got possession, and which he would not give 
 up. At last I remember he put it on the 
 top of a cabinet, of no great height, but 
 quite beyond her reach. Another guest 
 seeing her impatience, rose to get it for her, 
 and at the same time made some jesting 
 remark about her want of height. I had 
 not then got accustomed to the tone which 
 prevailed in the Countess's rooms, and
 
 AN ENTHUSIAST. 67 
 
 I was woadering a little at tlie whole affair, 
 when I heard a girl's voice, saying, — 
 
 " ' What would be tlie use of your 
 being tall, Count, if mama were tall 
 too?" 
 
 *' I turned and saw Maryla standing in 
 the doorway. She had been on the river, 
 and wore a boating-dress of white serge, 
 and a sailor-hat, which for some reason, 
 which she never would tell me, she always 
 called a Moses. We made friends at once, 
 and when I found how bad a life she was 
 leading for a girl of her age and character, 
 I had some serious talk with her mother, 
 and persuaded her to let Maryla come 
 home with me. She was really very fond 
 of her daughter, and willing to do the best 
 for her that lay in her power." 
 
 " Her coming must have made a great 
 change to your daughters." 
 
 " I am sorry to have to say that, on 
 F 2
 
 68 AN ENTHUSIAST. 
 
 that occasion, my clangliters disappointed 
 me very much." 
 
 ** She has prejudiced him against his 
 own children," thought Mr. Knox indig- 
 nantly. *' She tells me," he went od, 
 '' that she has relations living in England." 
 
 "Yes, Sir Edward Goldengay, of Court- 
 field, is her uncle. She has never ex- 
 pressed any wish to make their acquaint- 
 ance, and so I have never pressed the 
 matter, though I once proposed it.'* 
 
 By this time they had turned, and were 
 walking back to the house. As they went 
 up the garden, Ethel came out to meet 
 them, saying, — 
 
 " Here you are at last, papa. Mr. Henn 
 has been waiting nearly half an hour to 
 see you." 
 
 Mr. Henn was the vicar of Stanedale, 
 rather a pompous little man, and a source 
 of great amusement to Miss Goldengay."
 
 AN ENTHUSIAST. 69 
 
 Mr. Ricliardson went into the house, 
 exchanged greetings with his guest, and 
 then looked round the room, saying, — 
 
 '^ Where is Mary la ? " 
 
 '* I think she is in the study," answered 
 Ethel. 
 
 '^ Go and tell her Mr. Henn is here ; she 
 will like to see him." 
 
 The girls could not understand why 
 their father always sent for Maryla when 
 ]\Ir. Henn called ; for he bore her no 
 affection. This evening he went so far 
 as openly to protest, — 
 
 ''Do not disturb Miss G-oldengay at 
 her studies, I beg. I am very glad to 
 hear she has some definite employment; 
 it would be a great pity to interrupt her." 
 
 " She is not studying," said Mr. Richard- 
 son ; " she is only doing a little writing for 
 me. Go, Ethel," again turning to his 
 daughter.
 
 70 AN ENTHUSIAST. 
 
 Maryla came at once ; slie came in witli 
 a smile and shining eyes. She knew the 
 ■vicar held her in honest, upright abhorrence, 
 and it was a source of pure pleasure to her 
 to inflict her presence upon him. Marion 
 knew all this, and she was resolved that 
 this evening Maryla should not have her 
 way, so she kept the conversation in her 
 own hands. 
 
 "How do you like Mr. Vernon?" she 
 asked, and then turned to Stephen with an 
 explanation : '' Mr. Vernon is our new 
 curate, it is his first curacy, and Mr. 
 Henn has had to teach him a great deal." 
 
 "Vernon?" echoed the vicar, stroking 
 his chin, "I really don*t know what we 
 are to do with him ; a most painful thing 
 happened this morning at Lake Foot. 
 Perhaps you have heard of it." 
 
 No one had heard, and all were eager to 
 know to what he referred.
 
 AN ExNTHUSlASr. 71 
 
 " It was tbe christening of Mrs. Coward's 
 first baby, and as it was a private ceremony 
 at the house, I thought it rather a good 
 opportunity for Vernon to have his first 
 christening. I went over the service most 
 carefully with him, and told him not to be 
 nervous, it was a very simple afiPair. How- 
 ever, the baby was restless, and I suppose 
 he got flurried ; at any rate, he let the 
 child fall, and it was killed." 
 
 The silence which followed his words 
 was broken by peals of laughter from 
 Maryla. She laughed as though she were 
 never going to stop ; laughter of the 
 gods, without a false note in it, clear and 
 melodious and soft, as delicious as the 
 song of a bird or the rippling of the 
 beck outside. Marion flushed with annoy- 
 ance, and her voice rang sharply as she 
 said, — 
 
 " Maryla, how can you laugh ? I wonder
 
 7Z AN ENTHUSIAST. 
 
 you are not ashamed. I never heard any- 
 thing so sad ; the dear httle baby, and poor 
 Mrs. Coward — I am very, very sorry for 
 her." 
 
 Ethel joined in the chorus, and Maryla 
 continued to laugh. She was sitting on 
 the couch and she leaned her head against 
 the cushions and shook with laughter. 
 Mr. Richardson had prudently placed him- 
 self in a part of the room where his eyes 
 could not meet hers. Mr. Henn looked at 
 her severely, and said, — 
 
 " I am both shocked and grieved at 
 your behaviour. Miss Golden gay." 
 
 '* I wish you would go out of the room," 
 said Marion in tones of unmistakable anger. 
 '* It is painful to us all to hear you. 
 am utterly at a loss to imagine why you 
 laugh. I am sure when one pictures the 
 scene to oneself — " 
 
 " That is just what I am doing," said
 
 AN ENTHUSIAST. 73 
 
 Mary la. '' When I picture the scene — 
 AVhat 1-9 the matter, Mr. Knox?" 
 
 Every one turned to look at Mr. Knox, 
 who stood with colourless cheeks, slightly 
 parted lips, and distended eyes fixed upon 
 Maryla. 
 
 " If you must stare in that way," she 
 went on, as he said nothing, " why not 
 choose some one else to stare at ? " 
 
 He roused himself as she finished 
 speaking, and made an effort to regain 
 his usual manner, but the attempt was 
 such a failure that Marion said with some 
 anxiety, — 
 
 " I am afraid you do not feel well, Mr. 
 Knox." 
 
 '' No," said Stephen, still with an effort ; 
 '' I do not feel well, — a sudden pain at my 
 head. I am subject to it ; it will pass off ; 
 please think no more about it." 
 
 He spoke almost as if he were dreaming,
 
 74 AN ENTHUSIAST. 
 
 and wlien lie had finislied, he raised his 
 hand, not to his head, but to his heart. 
 
 *'You must hav^e something," said 
 Marion. " What do you generally 
 take?" 
 
 " JSTothing, nothing, thank you. It will 
 pass off; I generally leave it alone." 
 
 " That cannot be wise. If you neglect 
 it now, it may come on again in the night, 
 when you will be more helpless." 
 
 He was obliged to submit. Mr. Henn 
 took a hurried departure, and was accom- 
 panied to the door by Mr. Richardson and 
 Maryla, neither of whom returned to the 
 drawing-room. 
 
 Mr. Knox went to his room early, and 
 was entreated to ring for his breakfast in 
 the morning, if he did not feel perfectly 
 restored. 
 
 He was glad to be alone, glad to have 
 drawn the bolt between himself and in-
 
 AN ENTHUSIAST. 75 
 
 terruption, glad to be able to look as lie 
 felt. He crossed tbe room and leaned out 
 of the window, looking at the lake as it 
 lay in the moonlight. The beck rushed 
 b}^, filUng the air with its murmur, and 
 somewhere in the distance he heard a dog 
 barking. There were no other sounds to 
 break the train of his thoughts, and he 
 found no difficulty in fixing them upon 
 that one moment in his life which he just 
 then found full of interest. He went back 
 three years, to the summer in which, 
 following the advice of his medical man, 
 he had taken a short walking-tour. He 
 remembered reaching a little village — a 
 slight effort of memory brought back the 
 name to him — Hay garth. He remembered 
 that he strolled into the church, went up 
 into the organ-loft, and fell asleep. He 
 had partially wakened from his sleep to 
 the consciousness that a marriage was
 
 7G AN ENTHUSIAST. 
 
 going on beneath "him ; he had been fully 
 roused a few minutes later by a peal of 
 laughter coming from the churchyard. 
 He had thought at the time that he had 
 never before heard such laughter, and that 
 if he ever heard it again, he would be able 
 to identify the bride of that summer 
 morning. Three years had gone by since 
 that morning, and he bad completely for- 
 gotten the incident ; to-night he had heard 
 it again. 
 
 No, he told himself, it was impossible. 
 He rose from the window-ledge and began 
 to pace up and down the room. As 
 certainly as he told himself that the 
 laughter he had heard this evening, and 
 that he had heard in Hay garth Church 
 were not the same, so certainly did he 
 know that they were. There could not be 
 two such sounds — they were one and the 
 same.
 
 AN EXTIigSIAST. 11 
 
 Then was lie to siippose that Marjla 
 Groldengay was married ? It seemed 
 exceedingly probable. She had spoken of 
 her long walks, and Haygarth was, he 
 knew, only ten miles from Stanedale. It 
 would explain, too, her midnight ramble. 
 ]^o doubt she had been to pay a stolen 
 visit to her husband ; she had said she took 
 such walks often, and then had changed 
 the subject as though unwilling to pursue 
 it any further. There was, too, a careless 
 self-possession in her manner, which Miss 
 Richardson, in spite of her grave dignity, 
 did not always show. He had observed it 
 from the beginning, and after hearing her 
 story, had attributed it to the way in 
 which her earlier life had been spent ; now 
 it appeared in its proper light as the 
 manner natural to a married woman. 
 
 So far evervthinor seemed in favour of 
 her marriage, yet a little reflection showed
 
 78 AN ENTHUSIAST. 
 
 Mm that lie Had nothing but the vaguest 
 supposition to go upon. Because he felt 
 absolutely certain that Miss Goldengay 
 had been the person whose laughter had 
 made such an impression upon him, why 
 should he suppose that she had been 
 married? She might very easily have 
 been in Haygarth Churchyard when the 
 newly-married couple left the church. If 
 she saw anything in their manner or 
 appearance to excite her amusement, he 
 felt sure that no consideration would 
 prevent her giving free vent to it. That 
 was very much the more probable solution 
 of the mystery. And after all, what did it 
 matter to him if she should prove to be 
 married ? He did not like her, she was 
 deficient in all the qualities which he most 
 admired in a woman; if she had done 
 such a thing it did not matter to him; 
 except as it concerned Marion — there it
 
 A^ ENTHUSIAST. 79 
 
 touclied him and became a matter in wliicli 
 he had a right to judge and to act. He 
 wondered if Mr. Richardson knew who 
 the husband was, and why his wife did not 
 live with him. Then he told himself he 
 was a fool to trouble his head about the 
 matter, and went to bed. 
 
 When he awoke the next morning he 
 found that many of his suspicions had 
 vanished, and when he went downstairs 
 and saw Maryla, heard her voice, felt the 
 touch of her hand, and watched her free, 
 unfettered movements, he began to feel that 
 it was absurd to suspect such a girl of such 
 a deed. She was candour and transparency 
 itself : was it likely that a girl who would 
 tell her whole story without reserve to a 
 man whom four-and-twenty hours earlier 
 she had never seen, could keep such a 
 secret as a hidden marriage? 
 
 After breakfast he went out, with Marion
 
 80 AN ENTHUSIAST. 
 
 and Ethel. It was not a picnic, — tlie 
 Ricliardsons did not care for picnics, 
 unless a large party packed themselves 
 into two or three carriages, and, supported 
 by a proper number of hampers of good 
 things, drove to a place where there was 
 something to see, ruins, or a queer old 
 church, or a farmhouse with a panelled 
 room. At the same time they looked upon 
 a walk without an object as a meaningless 
 waste of precious hours. So to-day they 
 had arranged to walk to a certain farm, 
 drink a glass of milk, carry home a basket 
 of eggs, and get back in time for their early 
 dinner. Mr. Richardson had gone away 
 for the day on business, and Maryla had 
 roamed off alone in quite another direction, 
 with her little luncheon-basket in her hand. 
 Mr. Knox after a little fencing led the 
 conversation to Miss Goldengay, and pro- 
 ceeded to put some leading questions about
 
 AX ENTHUSIAST. 81 
 
 her. He was astonislied at the acrimonious 
 tone in which he was answered, and when 
 he contrasted it with the half-cynical, half- 
 humorous way in which Maryla had spoken 
 of her guardian's daughters, he felt for the 
 first time a stirring at his heart in favour 
 of Maryla. Later in the day, when he was 
 alone in the sunny, fragrant garden, he 
 thought of it again, and once more vague, 
 shadowy doubts began to creep into his 
 mind. He thought he was beginning to 
 understand the girl's nature, and as he 
 thought of what he had heard about her, 
 the idea of this marriage became more and 
 more likely. A little reflection showed 
 him that he must have been at Haygarth 
 very shortly after the death of Maryla' s 
 mother. Ethel had said how careless 
 and reckless she was, unmindful of conse- 
 quences, and concerned only with the 
 present hour. What might not a girl hke 
 VOL. I. G
 
 82 AX ExNTHUSIASr. 
 
 that do in a moment of despondency, perhaps 
 after a skirmish with these girls ? He 
 grew more and more uncomfortable, half- 
 blaming, half-excnsing her, mitil, hearing 
 the gate open and shut, he looked up and 
 saw her coming towards him. 
 
 " Where are the girls ? " she asked, 
 pausing when she was near him. 
 
 He frowned. Of course he was going 
 to ask Marion to marry him, but there 
 was no need to suppose that they must 
 be always together, as Miss Goldengay 
 seemed to think. 
 
 " They have gone to a meeting at the 
 Rectory," he replied. 
 
 " To deliberate upon what must be done 
 with Mr. Vernon, no doubt ; there is sure to 
 be a committee meeting about it. If I see 
 him I shall advise him to flee the country ; 
 his life will not be worth a moment's 
 purchase if he meets Mrs. Coward."
 
 AN ENTHUSIAST. 83 
 
 He preserved a displeased silence, and his 
 sympathy again swung round to the side of 
 the other girls. All Miss Goldengay's con- 
 versation was light and flippant, utterly 
 ^'anting in ballast and principle. He 
 beo:an to think her marriagfe raigfht have 
 been the result of causes very different 
 from those he had imagined. Out of pure 
 recklessness and hghtness of heart, she 
 might have got married and come home 
 again; perhaps her husband had sent her 
 home. The more he thought, the more he 
 disliked her whole manner and conversa- 
 tion ; he regretted that so ugly and ill- 
 conditioned a mind should be lodged in so 
 beautiful a body. He felt his severity relax 
 when he thought how very beautiful she 
 was, and then he was disgusted at his own 
 weakness, and felt quite glad when Marion 
 and Ethel returned. Yet he felt a little 
 impatient, and glad Maryla was not present, 
 G 2
 
 84 AN ENTHUSIAST. 
 
 when they told him that " Mr. Yernon's 
 misfortune" had been discussed, and it 
 had been arranged that for the present, at 
 any rate, he should be entrusted with no 
 more christenings.
 
 AN ENTHUSIAST. 
 
 CHAPTER Y. 
 
 " I'll have some proof." 
 
 A WEEK passed before Mr. Knox could 
 make up liis mind to take any steps 
 towards investigating the mystery which 
 seemed to surround Mary la, and during 
 that week he changed his opinion about 
 this marriage every day. There were 
 times when he felt almost ashamed of his 
 suspicions, and as though to suppose such 
 a creature as Miss Goldengay at that 
 moment appeared to be, could be guilty of 
 getting secretly married, was like crediting 
 Minerva with a nineteenth-century flirta- 
 tion. Again, she appeared in a light 
 which made him say within himself that
 
 86 AN ENTHUSIAST. 
 
 she was capable of anything, and tliat a 
 secret marriage in a remote country 
 cliurcli was but a small way of gauging 
 lier powers. If slie really were married, 
 he believed that she would do anything to 
 regain her liberty. Liberty seemed as the 
 breath of life to her : to spend her time on 
 the boundless moors, her view uninter- 
 rupted by walls and hedges, gloveless and 
 hatless, a small supply of the simplest food 
 in her basket, seemed to constitute her 
 idea of happiness. She needed neither 
 books nor work to pass the time — she was 
 content if she might spend long hours 
 sitting or lying upon the heather, watching 
 the great white clouds float through the 
 sky, melt away, form again out of nothing, 
 and throw fantastic shadows on the hills. 
 She said that when she had looked for a 
 little time at the clouds, the difficulties in 
 believing that the world was created out
 
 AN ENTHUSIAST. 87 
 
 of nothing, completely vanished. It was 
 only in the house that she was restless 
 and wanted '' something to do." As soon 
 as she felt a roof over her head, and four 
 walls enclose her, she changed : Mr. Knox, 
 watching her, thought that in the re- 
 stricted atmosphere of a house, her re- 
 splendent beauty became almost imper- 
 ceptibly paler. 
 
 During this week, Stephen became 
 more intimate with Miss Goldengay. He 
 thought she was revealing her nature to 
 him and he felt mingled pleasure and pain, 
 and a growing desire to know the truth 
 about her. He was not very happy. He 
 was oppressed with a vague uneasiness 
 which often made him sigh and knit his 
 brows, and feel disinclined to enjoy the 
 society of Marion and Mary la at the same 
 time. He was angry with himself for 
 having made the discovery that sometimes
 
 ob AN ENTHUSIAST. 
 
 Marion's dignity looked stiff beside 
 Maryla's careless ease. At last he made 
 up his mind to go to Haygarth and find 
 out whether he had been worrying 
 himself needlessly, or whether Miss 
 Goldengay had been guilty of all he 
 feared and suspected. At last, after much 
 private consultation of the Ordnance map, 
 and a little mental calculation, his plan 
 was ripe for execution, and he took the 
 first opportunity of carrying it out. 
 
 '' Is there not a place near here called 
 Brigg ? " he asked Marion one morning at 
 breakfast. 
 
 " It is not exactly near here; ifc is about 
 thirty miles away." 
 
 '' Oh," he said dubiously, '' I thought 
 it was nearer." Then after a moment, 
 spent apparently in consideration, he went 
 on, — 
 
 " How do you get there ? By train ? "
 
 AN ENTHUSIAST. 89 
 
 '' Yes; I tliink tliere are trains, papa," 
 raising her voice a little ; '' there are trains 
 to Brigg, are there not ? " 
 
 Mr. Richardson had been carrying on a 
 low-voiced conversation with Maryla. At 
 his daughter's question, he looked up 
 rather absently, saying, — 
 
 "Eh, my dear ? What did you say ? " 
 
 But Maryla' s quick ears had caught the 
 subject of conversation, and she asked, — 
 
 " What about Brigg ? Who wants to 
 go to Brigg ?" 
 
 Mr. Knox fancied that her voice al- 
 ready held a tone of suspicion, and he 
 answered, — 
 
 " I merely asked how far it is from 
 here." 
 
 '' Do you want to go there ? " 
 
 '' I have a note from a friend of mine," 
 tapping the table w^th a letter which he 
 had received that morning, " and he asks
 
 90 AN ENTHUSIAST. 
 
 me to make him a sketch of an old brido^e 
 at Brigg. But he seems under the 
 impression that the place is close to 
 here." 
 
 '' With a little trouble you can go by 
 train," said Maryla ; '* but it will need a 
 little contrivance to arrange it, because 
 the trains to Brisfg^ run for their own 
 convenience, not that of the public. You 
 can't go and come back in one day." 
 
 " I am sorry. If it had been within a 
 walk now — " 
 
 "There is a comfortable inn there," 
 said Mr. Eichardson. " You might go 
 one day and come back the next." 
 
 " If you will allow me," turning to 
 Marion. 
 
 It was found on investigation that 
 there was a train to Brigg in about two 
 hours, and by it Mr. Knox took his 
 departure. He felt some excitement as
 
 AN E NTH US FAST. 91 
 
 lie sat in the slowly-progressing market 
 train. He had resolved to carry out 
 the programme he had sketched, so that 
 he could not go to Haygarth until the 
 following day. 
 
 It was still early when he reached Hay- 
 garth. The church was a small building 
 wdiich might easily have been overlooked 
 by any one not acquainted with the village. 
 His heart beat fast as he walked along the 
 road and recognized things which had 
 caught his attention three years before. 
 
 He inquired for the clerk's house, and 
 was directed to the smithy. He explained 
 what he wanted, and, after overcoming 
 some scruples on the part of the black- 
 smith, was sent in the company of his 
 daughter to the church. 
 
 Mr. Knox prided himself upon never for- 
 getting a face he had once seen, and he 
 felt certain that the man who had just
 
 92 
 
 AN ENTHUSIAST. 
 
 received him was not the man who had let 
 him out of the church in which he had 
 been locked up. To make quite certain, 
 he asked the young woman walking at his 
 side, — 
 
 *' How long has your father been clerk 
 here?" 
 
 "About two years, ever sin' the old 
 man died/' 
 
 " One witness of the marriage removed 
 by death," he thought. " And the clergy- 
 man," he went on, '' is he dead too ? " 
 
 *'Aye," replied his guide indifferently, 
 "he is dead too." 
 
 They had now reached the church ; she 
 fitted the key into the lock, pushed open 
 the door, and stood aside for Mr. Knox to 
 go in. 
 
 He stood still and looked round before 
 going into the vestry. How well he re- 
 membered it, the bare whitewashed walls.
 
 AN ENTHUSIAST. 93 
 
 the flat papered ceiling, and windows of 
 greenish glass, the railed-off space which 
 served as a chancel, the altar covered with 
 an old and shabby altar-cloth, and bare 
 of all ornaments ! Was it possible, he 
 thought, as he stood and looked, that here 
 Marjla Goldengaj had uttered her mar- 
 riage vows, and apparently disregarded 
 them ever since ! He was roused by the 
 voice of his companion telling him that 
 she had got out the registers ; w^ould he 
 please to come and look. 
 
 He had merely told the girl that the 
 marriage he wanted to find had taken 
 place in Jane or July, three years earlier. 
 He himself knew the month, and even after 
 considerable calculation, the very day of 
 the ceremony, and he quickly turned over 
 the pages of the book with a curious feeling 
 of mingled hope and fear that the entry 
 he sought might not be there.
 
 94 AN ENTHUSIAST. 
 
 But it was. At the top of a page there 
 was the customary entry, and it Avas 
 signed " Maryla Groldengay." He turned 
 quite cold at the sight ; there was a sing- 
 ing in his ears, and a strange, confused 
 feeling in his head. He leaned against the 
 roughly whitewashed window-sill, upon 
 which the book lay open before him, and 
 looked out of the window without seeins^ 
 anything. For a few minutes he was 
 scarcely conscious of where he was. 
 
 After a time he roused himself, and 
 took a slip of paper from his pocket-book. 
 A few days before, he had, with this ex- 
 pedition in view, engaged Maryla in a 
 contest of penmanship, and so possessed 
 himself of her signature. He now took it 
 out, and compared it with the writing in 
 the book. They were the same. In spite 
 of one or two little differences of detail, 
 there could not be a shadow of a doubt
 
 AN ENTHUSIAST. 95 
 
 tliat tliesame hand liacl written both names, 
 and the hand which had written the name 
 in the book had never trembled. 
 
 Then for the first time he looked at the 
 name of the brideo^room — Maurice Wing*- 
 field. It w^as unknown to him ; he had 
 never seen or heard it before, and he stood 
 mechanically repeating the two names, 
 '' Mary la Goldengay, Maurice Wingfield." 
 
 He was roused by a movement on the 
 part of his guide, who stood at a Httle 
 distance. 
 
 ''Have you found what you wanted, 
 sir?" she asked as he rose from his Jeanino' 
 attitude against the window-ledge. 
 
 '* Yes, I thank you," he replied, shutting 
 the book as he spoke; and she was 
 astonished at the tone in which he spoke, 
 and still more at the whiteness of his 
 face. 
 
 He lingered in the vestry as she put the
 
 96 AN ENTHUSIAST. 
 
 registers awaj, and said, almost as if he 
 did not know what he was saying,— 
 
 *'This seems a very quiet place; I 
 suppose you do not see many strangers ? " 
 
 ''Eh, no," was her answer; "nobody 
 hardly ever comes here. You see there's 
 no railway, and the roads are bad, and it's 
 a far cry to Brigg, except for those that 
 have to corae and go." 
 
 '' But there's Stanedale; do you never 
 have people over from Stanedale ? " 
 
 She endeavoured to express her astonish- 
 ment by means of parted lips and widely- 
 distended eyes. 
 
 " Stanedale ! sir," she repeated. " Why 
 Stanedale is a matter of ten miles from 
 here, and no road at all, as you may call a 
 road ; you have to pick your way over the 
 hills and through ma ay a bog. Nay ! " with 
 a short laugh, ''I ne'er heard tell of any 
 Stanedale folk coming here."
 
 AX ENTHUSIAST. 97 
 
 '' Have you lived here long?" was his 
 next question. 
 
 " Only since father was made clerk. 
 Before then we lived at Brisfov" 
 
 After a few more questions he left the 
 church, and a little later the village, beiog 
 resolved rather to walk back to Brigg, and 
 take the train thence to Stanedale, tlian to 
 risk himself upon such a road as the 
 woman had described. If Mary la had 
 walked from Stanedale she must have 
 been eager to be married. 
 
 He had thought, that when once he 
 knew the truth about this marriage his 
 mind would be at rest, and he would know 
 how to act. It was not so at all. As he 
 travelled back to Stanedale, he found that 
 he was painfully undecided. Did Mr. 
 Richardson know, or did he not ? Ought 
 he to tell or to keep silence ? He could 
 not decide, and when he reached Stanedale, 
 
 VOL. I. H
 
 98 AN ENTHUSIAST. 
 
 he had arrived at no further conclusion 
 than that he would have an explanation 
 with Maryla the very next day. 
 
 It v^as still early in the afternoon when 
 he got back, but he did not see Maryla 
 until tea-time, when she came into the 
 room with a careless, happy expression, 
 which to Stephen seemed to denote 
 practised hypocrisy. Full of his new dis- 
 covery, her indifference irritated him 
 beyond endurance, and though, when he 
 first came in, he had felt that the most 
 distant allusion to his morning's occupation 
 would have covered him with confusion, 
 the sight of Miss Groldengay's calm uncon- 
 sciousness that she was treading on the 
 edge of a precipice, nerved him to mention 
 the subject himself. 
 
 It was very easy to lead up to it. He 
 was questioned about his expedition, and 
 it came in quite naturally to say, —
 
 AN ENTHUSIAST. 99 
 
 " I found I had more time on my hands 
 than I wanted, so this morning I walked 
 over to Haygarth. What an old-world 
 little place it is, have you ever been 
 
 there?" 
 
 He included everybody in his question. 
 Mr. Richardson was not attending, and 
 gave no answer, Marion and Ethel said no, 
 they had never been, they did not think 
 there was any road, or anything to justify 
 so great an effort when you reached the 
 village. Maryla answered calmly, — 
 
 " Yes, I have been there, it is a very 
 curious place." 
 
 '' When have you been ? " asked Etliel, 
 in surprise. 
 
 " I went several times when I first came 
 to live here. It must be three years since 
 I was there last." 
 
 *' How did you get there ? " 
 
 " I walked over the hills." 
 H 2
 
 100 AN ENTHUSIAST. 
 
 *' Did you ever go into the church?" 
 asked Stephen. 
 
 " Oh, yes," she replied smiling, and the 
 smile became a laugh. 
 
 ''Why do you laugh?" he asked sus- 
 piciously. 
 
 " I was laughing at the recollection of 
 an absurd incident, which happened to me 
 there." 
 
 She could be speaking only of her 
 marriage, and she called it " an absurd 
 incident," and laughed as she spoke. 
 Stephen felt his blood begin to boil. 
 
 '' It is seldom, I should think, that 
 churches are the scenes of absurd inci- 
 dents," he said stiffly ; and Mr. Richardson 
 said, — 
 
 '' Tell us about it." 
 
 " Nay," she replied, helping herself to 
 ^ome plums as she spoke, '' you might not 
 think it absurd, and nothing is more chill-
 
 AN ENTHUSIAST. 101 
 
 ing than to tell a tale at wliich nobody 
 laughs." 
 
 " I should imagine," said Stephen, " that 
 you are often in the position of finding 
 amusement in what appears perfectly 
 serious to other people." 
 
 " I am so happily constituted," was her 
 reply. 
 
 Mr. Richardson began to laugh, he 
 openly encouraged her, and Mr. Knox was 
 too much disgusted to say any more. He 
 began to find conversation with Miss 
 Goldengay a little difficult, she turned 
 everything into a jest ; it was his habit to 
 take the most palpable jest in perfect 
 seriousness. He mentally resolved that on 
 the morrow he would not spare her. But 
 she went on talking about Haygarth and 
 asked, — 
 
 " How did you get home ? " 
 
 " I came from Brigg. The woman who
 
 102 AN ENTHUSIAST. 
 
 showed me the church said there was no 
 proper road from Hay garth here." 
 
 " It is bad certainly, but not impassable. 
 I walked from here." 
 
 "And how did you get back ?" unable 
 to repress all signs of his curiosity. 
 
 She laughed again, saying, — 
 
 " I thought I never should get back, but 
 I walked the way I went." 
 
 '' I thought I never should get back," 
 that of course referred to her marriage ; he 
 wondered at her audacity in talking about 
 it, and was just going to reply, when he 
 was interrupted by a question from Marion. 
 She thought Stephen and Maryla had 
 talked together quite long enough ; besides, 
 their conversation was interesting to no- 
 body. She did not see how they them- 
 selves could be interested in such pointless 
 questions and answers. 
 
 All the rest of the evening Stephen felt
 
 AX ENTHUSIAST. 103 
 
 irritable and unsettled. The whole family- 
 had assembled in the drawing-room. Mr. 
 Eichardson had fallen asleep over the 
 newspaper; Marion and Ethel were busy 
 with their fancy work, Marjla was at the 
 piano, playing softly Polish songs and 
 dances, German '' Volkslieder,*' and old 
 waltzes which she remembered from the 
 day when slie had lived in Vienna and 
 Dresden. Marion presently proposed that 
 Mr. Knox should read to them, and he got 
 a volume of essays, and began at once, 
 glad of something which should replace in 
 his mind that endless repetition of " Maryla 
 Goldengay, Maurice Wingfield."
 
 104 AN ENTHUSIAST. 
 
 CHAPTER YI. 
 
 '• Are you fast married 1 " 
 
 The next morning Stephen felt excited 
 and nervous. He had a great undertaking 
 to carry out, and lie wished to do it 
 worthily. He had spent a great deal of 
 time, in the night before going to sleep, 
 and this morning after waking unusually 
 early, in reviewing the situation and 
 arranging how to open the attack. He 
 felt that it was impossible to count upon 
 Maryla, he could not tell how she would 
 behave. She might take the news that 
 her secret had been discovered with com- 
 posure, or he might find that her light 
 humour was only a mask to hide violent
 
 AN ENTHUSIAST. 105 
 
 passions. Would she stand revealed as a 
 deceiver, or as deceived ? perhaps she 
 carried an aching heart under her gay 
 manner. He did not know what would 
 happen ; he was decided on only one 
 point, that the explanation should not be 
 delayed. 
 
 Full of his plan, he turned to Maryla, 
 during breakfast, to ask, — 
 
 '' Are you going to spend the day out of 
 doors, Miss Goldengay ? " 
 
 Maryla replied that such was her inten- 
 tion. 
 
 "In that case," he went on rather 
 hastily, " may I go with you to wherever 
 you are going ? " 
 
 He knew that he was making an un- 
 precedented request, and his manner as 
 he spoke was cold and constrained, which 
 was his way of showing embarrassment. 
 
 There was a pause as he spoke; every
 
 106 AN ENTHUSIAST. 
 
 one was astonished. Marion drew Tierself 
 up, and her mouth looked all at once as if 
 it were of iron ; Ethel raised her eyebrows 
 and drew down the corners of her lips ; 
 even Mr. Richardson looked up for a 
 moment, and Marjla's face took an odd, 
 whimsical look which it wore at times. 
 
 '^ You may come if you wish to," she said 
 at last, " but I am going a very long way, 
 and on a very bad road. I know you are 
 susceptible to bad roads." 
 
 " Where are you going ? '' asked Mr. 
 Richardson. 
 
 '' To Ravensghyll Force." 
 
 '' That is almost too far, it is nine miles 
 each way." 
 
 "I shall do it verv well ; but you," turn- 
 ing to Mr. Knox, "will be half dead when 
 we get back." 
 
 " Nevertheless, I shall, with your per- 
 mission, venture," he replied; for it will
 
 AX ENTHUSIAST. 107 
 
 be easily understood that, in proportion 
 as she showed unwillingness for his society, 
 he became more resolute to accompany 
 her. 
 
 " Just as you please," she said indiffer- 
 ently, when he persisted ; " of course, you 
 can turn back when you feel inclined." 
 
 When breakfast was over, Marion and 
 her sister went into the drawing-room, 
 and Marion stood looking out of the 
 window, and saying nothing. Ethel 
 moved about the room, busy in arranging 
 some flowers she had gathered before 
 breakfast, but neither did she say any- 
 thing. 
 
 Before either had spoken, they were 
 joined by Mr. Knox. He glanced from 
 one to the other of the two girls, but they 
 were both silent; only Marion's figure 
 seemed to grow taller and straighter. To 
 break a rather awkward silence, he said, —
 
 108 AN ENTHUSIAST. 
 
 " How the weather keeps up ! It is 
 a magnificent day for spending on the 
 hills." 
 
 " Yes," replied Ethel, who was in every 
 way quicker and more impulsive than her 
 sister, " we had thought of going into 
 those woods I was telling you about 
 the other day ; but now, of course, we 
 must stay at home." 
 
 '' You are very good to plan so many 
 pleasures for me, but we can go another 
 time ; I hope we shall have more such days 
 as this." 
 
 " It does not signify," said Marion, 
 turning her face, from which every vestige 
 of feeling had vanished, towards them. 
 *' Ethel was foolish to mention the plan 
 at all. I hope that while you are here, 
 you will think only of your own amuse- 
 ment, and enjoy yourself in the way you 
 like best."
 
 AN ENTHUSIAST. 109 
 
 She spoke coldly and distantly, almost 
 as if lie had been a stranger to her. 
 
 ** Do not speak in that tone, I beg 
 of you," he said, moving nearer to her, 
 and making an effort to meet her eyes 
 fully. " You are annoyed that I asked 
 Miss Goldengay to let me go with her ; 
 but, I assure you, you are mistaken if you 
 suppose I prefer — " 
 
 Marion interrupted him with a little 
 chill laugh, saying, — 
 
 " There would be nothing remarkable in 
 your preferring Maryla's society. I know 
 that she is more interesting than Ethel or 
 I ; but I thought—" 
 
 She paused for a moment. Mr. Knox, 
 feeling almost equally angry with her and 
 Maryla, took advantage of her silence to 
 say,— 
 
 " I assure you that you misunderstand 
 me ; if I did not feel more grateful than I
 
 110 AN ENTHUSIAST. 
 
 can say for all the kindness which has been 
 shown me in this house, I should be the 
 most thankless of men. I must ask you to 
 believe that I am not anticipating any 
 enjoyment from my walk with Miss 
 Goldengay ; but it is necessary I should 
 speak to her sometime, and the sooner 
 the better, I think." 
 
 " I confess I do not understand," rather 
 drily. 
 
 " I know you do not, and I cannot explain 
 just now, — I must ask you to take my word 
 for it." 
 
 He spoke with a sudden assumption of 
 candour which would have made Mary la 
 laugh, but which brought a rather less 
 iron compression of Marion's lips. 
 
 '' 1 do not understand what j^ou can 
 have to say to her," she said slowly, but 
 less distantly than before. " Does she 
 know what it is ?"
 
 AN ENTHUSIAST. Ill 
 
 '' As far as I am aware, she has no idea," 
 he repKed, longiDg for something to 
 happen which would put an end to the 
 conversation. 
 
 Something did happen. Maryla came 
 in ready for walking, and saying, — 
 
 *' If you are ready, Mr. Knox, we will 
 go. The basket is in the hall ; you can 
 carry it." 
 
 Stephen exchanged a few parting words 
 with Marion, and then followed Maryla into 
 the garden. 
 
 She was apparently in one of her most 
 communicative moods, fresh air and sun- 
 shine acted upon her like a charm, and 
 she appeared ready to talk to any one out 
 of pure gladness of heart. They had not 
 gone far when she stopped an old woman 
 they met, and accosted her with '* Good- 
 morning, Mrs. Mason, how are you 
 to-day ? "
 
 112 AN ENTHnSTAST. 
 
 " Only middling, Miss Goldengay, T 
 can't say more." 
 
 " I am sorry for tliat. What is the 
 matter? you seemed very well the last 
 time I saw you." 
 
 " Well, you see. Miss, there's Annie come 
 to stay with us while Jem is in the hos- 
 pital." 
 
 " Annie ? that is your daughter-in- 
 law, is it not ? You do not seem fond of 
 her." 
 
 " I can't say I am, Miss. I often wonder 
 what made our Jem marry her, for she's 
 that vulgar ! 1 always say we're vulgar 
 enough, but I'm sure Annie's ten times 
 worse." 
 
 Maryla's eyes gleamed with amusement ; 
 but she bit her lips to hide a smile, and said 
 gravely, — 
 
 " That is certainly a great pity. I know 
 nothing more uncomfortable than to be
 
 AN ENTHUSIAST. 113 
 
 obliged to live witli people more vulgar 
 than ourselves." 
 
 *' I wouldn't say you were vulgar, Miss,'* 
 replied the woman impartially ; '' I've 
 always said you were a real lady, and so 
 have all the Stanedale folk ! " 
 
 " You are very kind, and I am much 
 obliged to you," said Maryla, and then 
 she wished Mrs. Mason good-morning, and 
 walked on with Stephen, who said, — 
 
 " What an insufferable old woman ! 
 How I do dislike the lower orders." 
 
 *' I daresay, if we were to change places, 
 they would dislike us equally, " said 
 Maryla serenely. 
 
 '' I don't understand what pleasure you 
 can find in talking to them," he went 
 on almost crossly. 
 
 ''Oh," she answered, ''they are human, 
 they have that in common with us. Some 
 of their ways are strikingly like ours. 
 
 VOL. I. I
 
 114 AN ENTHUSIAST. 
 
 There is an old man who Hves here, and is 
 looked up to as a great authority on the 
 weather. I met him once when I was 
 on one of my expeditions and asked his 
 opinion on the weather. Would it rain or 
 keep fine ? He gazed all around, and 
 looked fixedly at the clouds ; then he 
 gave utterance to the oracular sentiment, 
 ' Well, Miss, you may have rain, or you may 
 not.' I do not know how, even in our 
 position, artful dodging could have been 
 better illustrated.'* 
 
 " Which had you," asked Stephen, with 
 some show of interest. 
 
 '' I hadn't." 
 
 They went on in silence. Stephen did 
 not feel conversationally inclined He was 
 beginning to feel some nervousness about 
 what he wanted to say, and he wondered 
 how he would introduce the subject. The 
 road along which they were walking also
 
 AN ENTHUSIAST. 115 
 
 absorbed his attentioD. It was long since 
 they had left the village or even isolated 
 bouses behind them. The road, after rising 
 gradually, had reached a wide elevated 
 moor, across which it wound. On every 
 side rose bare and lofty hills with no sign 
 of life upon them; a few stunted, wind- 
 swept firs were all the trees which had found 
 courage to exist in this barren region. The 
 rushing of a stream, somewhere out of 
 sight, was the only sound which fell upon 
 the ears. So far as Mr. Knox could see, 
 he and his companion were the only living 
 creatures in this region of silence and deso- 
 lation. Since they had parted from Mrs. 
 Mason they had met no one, and he calcu- 
 lated that by this time they must have 
 walked at least six miles. 
 
 Mary la, too, had grown silent ; she was 
 walking at an easy, regular pace, neither 
 swiftly nor slowly, which must enable her 
 I 2
 
 116 AN ENTHUSIAST. 
 
 to walk an immense distance witliout 
 feeling fatigued. She liad never had on 
 any gloves, and by this time she had taken 
 off her hat, and swung it from her hand. 
 The sun ghnted on her golden hair, making 
 a kind of glory round her head, her 
 black eyes were raised to the hills, and her 
 lips a little parted as if to drink in the 
 scented moorland air. There was an 
 expression on her face, which only came 
 there when she was out of doors, or, 
 having just come in, was still under the 
 influence of the sun and wind. 
 
 He watched her for some time with much 
 curiosity. She walked differently from 
 English girls ; even her gown, though it 
 was only cotton, seemed to hang upon her 
 figure in a way he had never noticed in 
 the dress of any other woman. She 
 walked in silence for some time, and then 
 she began to repeat half to herself, —
 
 AX ENTHUSIAST. 11? 
 
 " Return, content ! for fondly I pursued 
 Even when a child the streams unheard, unseen, 
 Through tangled woods, impending rocks between ; 
 Or, free as air, with flying inquest view'd 
 The sullen reservoirs, whence their bold brood, 
 Pure as the morning, fretful, boisterous, keen, 
 Green as the salt sea-billows, white and green , 
 Poured down the hills a choral multitude." 
 
 He liad never heard lier quote poetry 
 before, and he was surprised to find her 
 familiar with Wordsworth, but he merely 
 asked, — 
 
 '' Where does this road lead to ? " 
 
 '' To the end of the world," was her 
 reply. *' Wait a minute, and you will 
 see." 
 
 They were climbing a steep and stony 
 bit of road as she spoke. When they had 
 reached the top of the rise, she pointed 
 before her, saying, — 
 
 "Now look." 
 
 They stood on very high ground, and the 
 hills towered above them on all sides. On
 
 118 AN ENTHUSIAST. 
 
 the right, the mountains descended, with a 
 grand, smooth sweep, sheer into the little 
 green valley lying at their feet. Straight 
 in front rose a rampart of mighty moun- 
 tains, beyond which only the imagination 
 could reach. It was indeed the end of 
 the world. Their path wound down 
 into this valley, and by the side of the 
 road rushed and roared a clear, cold 
 mountain torrent. Maryla pointed to it, 
 repeating, — 
 
 "Pure as the moriiing^ fretful, boisterous, keen, 
 Green as the salt sea-billows, white and green." 
 
 She stood in silence for a few minutes, 
 then she laughed a little, saying, — 
 
 '*A year or two ago there was a 
 scheme for running a railroad through this 
 valley." 
 
 "Are we going down there?" asked 
 Stephen..
 
 AN ENTHUSIAST. 119 
 
 " Yes, and then up the hill on the other 
 side to the Force." 
 
 By the time they reached the magnificent 
 waterfall, known as Raven sghyll Force, 
 Stephen was exhausted and fainting for 
 something to eat ; but Maryla would not 
 have lunch until she had been down at the 
 foot of the waterfall, and seen the column 
 of water fall a hundred feet into the deep, 
 black pool below. It was rather a diffi- 
 cult place to get to, an awkward descent 
 over broken, slippery rocks ; and, as 
 Stephen watched the girl's progress, he 
 could not help admiring the light, graceful 
 way in which she let herself go, almost 
 letting herself fall from one level to an- 
 other, and never making the least false 
 step. She was perfectly at ease, and 
 Stephen found himself thinking of Marion's 
 dignity, and of how out of place it would 
 have been here.
 
 120 AN ENTHUSIAST. 
 
 They had finished lunch, and Maryla had 
 bathed her hands and her fingers, pink- 
 tipped with handling ripe strawberries, in 
 the stream below the Force. She now 
 leaned back upon the soft heather, appa- 
 rently quite happy with the sun streaming 
 down upon her, and the subdued thunder 
 of the Force in her ears. A dreamy look 
 had come upon her face; she seemed 
 scarcely conscious of her companion's 
 existence. He suddenly reminded her 
 of it. 
 
 '' Do you remember. Miss Groldengay, 
 why I asked to come here with you ? " 
 
 " You did not tell me. I took you on 
 trust." 
 
 He had forgetten it was to Marion he 
 had said be must speak to Maryla, and he 
 was annoyed that she had found him out 
 in a mistake at the very beginning. 
 
 " I daresay you have been wondering,"
 
 AN ENTHUSIAST. 121 
 
 '' IN'o, I have not tliought of it." 
 
 *' It was about my visit to Hajgartli 
 yesterday." 
 
 " Oh, very well, suppose you begin." 
 
 " It was not the first time I had been 
 there." 
 
 She said nothing, but he fancied the 
 expression of her face changed a little. 
 He found it rather a difficult subject to 
 get into, but he must go on now. 
 
 *' I was there three years ago." 
 
 He had laid a little emphasis on the last 
 three words, and after having said them, 
 he made a pause. 
 
 '' I daresay you did not find many 
 changes, though you seem to attach some 
 importance to the three years." 
 
 " I found that the clergyman and clerk 
 were both new men since that time." 
 
 " Had they been baptized ? " asked 
 Maryla indifferently.
 
 122 AN ENTHUSIAST. 
 
 " Tliey were dead." 
 
 " AYell, they were not friends of mine. 
 I don't even know what they were 
 called." 
 
 " If I remember rightly, you said it was 
 three years since you had last been there." 
 
 " How you beat about the bush ! I 
 wish you would come to the point. What 
 do you mean by these mysterious hints ? " 
 
 " I think we were there at the same 
 time." 
 
 " Did you see me ? " 
 
 " No, I had never seen you ; but I had 
 heard you." 
 
 " Heard me ! What in the name of 
 fortune do you mean ? This is as bad as 
 being peeped at from behind window - 
 curtains when I came in from a walk." 
 
 " If you will allow me, I will tell you 
 what happened to me on my first visit to 
 Hay garth."
 
 AN ENTHUSIAST. 123 
 
 " Tell, by all means ; I can't conceive 
 what mystery you have got in Land." 
 
 He told Iter the story and Maryla 
 listened in silence, though not without an 
 occasional twitching of the lips. When 
 he had finished speaking, she looked at 
 him serenely and said, — 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 " Well ? how well ? I do not think it 
 is w^el] at all." 
 
 '' What happened next ? I suppose you 
 did not come all this way to tell me that 
 little tale." 
 
 *' I was sure I should recognize that 
 laughter if I ever heard it again." 
 
 " And have you ever heard it again ? " 
 
 ' ' I heard it the night you laughed at 
 Mr. Henn's story about the curate." 
 
 " Oh ! "with an expression of enlighten- 
 ment, " that was what made you look so 
 queer ; not a pain in your heart or head at
 
 124 AN' ENTHUSIAST. 
 
 all. What a curious coincidence. May T 
 ask what conclusion you came to ? " 
 
 '' I should think you might guess ! " 
 
 " Perhaps I might, but I should never 
 think of doing so. No woman in her 
 senses would hazard a guess at such a 
 point in such a story. I prefer that you 
 should tell me." 
 
 " I naturally supposed that you had been 
 married." 
 
 '^Why?" 
 
 " You must admit that I had solid 
 grounds to go upon." 
 
 '' What kind of grounds ? " she said 
 flippantly, " coffee grounds ? I don't see 
 why you should suppose any such thing ; 
 you had not even seen me." 
 
 " Well, I did suppose it, and as T could 
 not rest in uncertainty, I went to Hay garth 
 again on purpose to find out the truth." 
 
 " What did you do when you got there ? "
 
 AN ENTHUSIAST. 125 
 
 *' I went to tlie cliurch and consulted tlie 
 register. I fonnd out that, as I supposed, 
 you had been married on the day I first 
 visited Haygarth. 
 
 His voice was cold and hard from sup- 
 pressed excitement, and he waited eagerly 
 for her reply. She did not keep him 
 waiting. 
 
 " You went over on purpose to do that ? 
 Your tale about w^anting to sketch at 
 Brigg was a sham ? " 
 
 " I did sketch at Brigg," he inter- 
 posed ; but she w^ent on without heeding 
 him, — 
 
 " You looked through the registers 
 to find my name, to pry out what I had 
 chosen to keep private ? " 
 
 " I went to verify my suspicions, and I 
 did verify them." 
 
 '' Sneak ! " 
 
 The blood rushed to Stephen's face, and
 
 126 AN ENTHUSIAST. 
 
 he sprang to his feet, almost choking with 
 rage. 
 
 "How dare you?" he cried at last, 
 glaring down at the girl as she sat among 
 the heather. 
 
 " Sneak ! " she repeated, looking straight 
 up at him with eyes before which his 
 fell. " It is a pity," she went on, " that 
 you are not a member of the secret 
 police, if there is such an institution in 
 England." 
 
 "You have no right to speak like that," 
 he said at last ; " I had reasons for what I 
 did." 
 
 "Oh, no doubt, reasons can always be 
 found for anything." 
 
 He said nothing, and after sitting in 
 silence for a few minutes, she began to 
 laugh purely and unrestrainedly the very 
 laughter which had twice already upset 
 Stephen's equanimity.
 
 AX ENTHUSIAST. 127 
 
 He looked at her almost witli disgust. 
 
 " I don't know what you see to laugh 
 at," he said at last. 
 
 *' I never thought that my laughter 
 would play me such a trick as that." 
 
 " Then you confess it ? " 
 
 " I don't see what would be the use of 
 denying it." 
 
 '* You were really married in that church 
 three years ago ? " 
 
 '' I really was." 
 
 " What about your husband ? " 
 
 ''Well, what about him ? " 
 
 '' I know his name. I wrote it down in 
 my 23ocket-book." 
 
 '' Was it Maurice Wingfield ? " 
 
 She pronounced the first name with a 
 soft little foreign accent, which made it 
 sound more musical than the English form. 
 He thought it would be agreeable to be 
 called Maurice, and addressed in such a
 
 128 AN ENTHUSIAST. 
 
 tone. Then be hardened his heart, and 
 said sternly, — 
 
 " Where is he ? How is it that you do 
 not live with him? " 
 
 She smiled sweetly, saying, — 
 
 ''Oh, that is my secret." 
 
 '' Will you not tell me ? " 
 
 '' No, indeed," shaking her head, and 
 the last word half lost in a ripple of 
 laughter. 
 
 ''Why not?" 
 
 " If for no other reason, because you 
 want very much to know." 
 
 I can find out without your help," he 
 said, nettled at the tone in which she 
 spoke. " I tell you I have got his name." 
 
 She went into another fit of lauohter, 
 und then said, — 
 
 " Oh, find out by all means — if you can. 
 I see now why you told me that both the 
 clergyman and clerk are dead ; but it seems
 
 AN ENTHUSIAST. 129 
 
 to me that it is more to my advantage than 
 jours." 
 
 " Does Mr. Richardson know of this ? " 
 
 " Nobody knows but you, and I, and my 
 husband." 
 
 " He is alive ? " 
 
 '^ I have never heard of his death." 
 
 " Do you often see him ? " 
 
 " I have not seen him once since we 
 parted soon after my marriage." 
 
 " Why was that ? " 
 
 " Just so, why was that ? " 
 
 " I wish you would answer my questions 
 properly; it is a very serious matter." 
 
 " I do not acknowledge your right to 
 ask me any questions at all, and the matter 
 is just as serious as I choose to make it." 
 
 " In that case it is nothing more than a 
 jest." 
 
 '^ Yes, but a very good one ; the best in 
 the world." 
 
 VOL. I. K
 
 130 AN ENTHUSIAST. 
 
 '' You are the only girl I ever heard of 
 who considered her marriage a jest." 
 
 " Perhaps I am the only girl whose 
 marriage was a jest." 
 
 '' What ! you were never married at 
 all ? " 
 
 " Oh, yes, I was ; with book and bell, or 
 whatever else is necessary, by the clergy- 
 man of the parish, and with the proper 
 number of witnesses." 
 
 " If everything was in proper order, why 
 do you say it was a jest ? " 
 
 '' To tease you, you looked so ferocious. 
 You have no sense of humour." 
 
 " I confess," he said drily, " that I do 
 not see the fun of the thing; to me it 
 appears a very serious matter." 
 
 " So you said before. Good gracious ! " 
 she went on with lazy amusement. " What 
 a tragedy you make out of nothing ; you 
 are as bad as Marion."
 
 AN ENTHUSIAST. 131 
 
 Stephen frowned. He saw no reason 
 for mentioning Marion's name, and lie only 
 said coldly, — 
 
 '' Of course my duty in this matter is 
 quite plain ; you must see it as well as I 
 do." 
 
 '* Opinions differ on even the simplest 
 points. I should prefer you to tell me 
 what it is." 
 
 '' Since Mr. Richardson is still in igno- 
 rance, it is my duty to tell him." 
 
 " Oh ! " she cried, as though struck with 
 amazement, " you would surely never be so 
 foolish." 
 
 " What do you mean by foolish ? " 
 
 " You would be throwing away your 
 very strongest weapon against me." 
 
 " You speak as if we were deadly 
 enemies." 
 
 " I do not think we love one another 
 just now. You would probably hate me 
 K 2
 
 132 AN ENTHUSIAST. 
 
 more when your scheme of revenge had 
 failed." 
 
 ''I don't know what you mean by 
 schemes of revenge. Perhaps you will 
 enlighten me." 
 
 " Certainly. At this present time I am 
 known to nobody beyond Stanedale. If 
 people were told I was married, though of 
 course a due amount of open reprobation 
 would be displayed, there is not a girl in 
 the place who would not in her heart envy 
 me for being the heroine of such an adven- 
 ture. As for making ill-feeling between 
 me and Mr. Richardson, you could not do 
 such a thing. He would be hurt for a 
 time that I had kept a secret from him ; 
 but, after that, we should be better friends 
 than ever." 
 
 She paused, and he was silent, conscious 
 that there was much truth in what she 
 said.
 
 AN ENTHUSIAST. 133 
 
 " You see," she went on, " if jou tell 
 now you gain nothing, but if you wait a 
 few years, perhaps even a shorter time, the 
 whole situation will have changed. I sup- 
 pose you do not imagine I am going to 
 live in Stanedale all my life, or that I shall 
 always be as unknown as I am now ? In 
 a few years, I shall probably have made 
 a great name, and, as a necessary con- 
 sequence, a great many enemies. Then 
 will be the time to bring out your infor- 
 mation with effect. If you only bide your 
 time you will have me completely in your 
 power." 
 
 He listened in great surprise, for he 
 at once saw the importance of what she 
 said. He remembered Mr. Richardson's 
 prophecy, and he felt that, if it were ever 
 fulfilled, he would hold a terrible weapon 
 against her. But what had possessed 
 her to offer him such a weapon ? Was it
 
 134 AN ENTHUSIAST. 
 
 sheer recklessness and devil-may-care spirit, 
 or had she some deep plot hidden under her 
 careless words ? He stole a glance at her 
 face, but it did not suggest plots, and he 
 had only to remember the carelessness she 
 had shown about this very marriage in 
 question, to convince him that in making 
 this strange proposition, she was only 
 acting in accordance with her nature. But 
 he asked, — 
 
 " What makes you say that ? If I were 
 an unscrupulous man I might make 
 terrible use of your admissions, and wreck 
 your whole life." 
 
 '' We are not now concerned with my 
 motives. It is quite possible that I have 
 none, and that I only tell you because I 
 rather enjoy the thought of having a 
 secret enemy." 
 
 Then it was, as he had supposed, pure 
 recklessness and want of ballast.
 
 AN ENTHUSIAST. 135 
 
 "Well," she said, after a short silence, 
 " are you still determined to tell him ? " 
 
 He did not reply at once. When he 
 thought of her face and tone, when she 
 had called him sneak, he felt his blood 
 boil, and an almost irresistible impulse to 
 go and proclaim her secret to the four 
 winds of heaven. But when he reflected 
 upon the power which the possession of 
 this secret gave him, of the tacit influence 
 which his knowledge would enable him to 
 exercise over her, that within certain limits 
 she would be within his grasp, and under 
 his control, his head turned ; the tempta- 
 tion was too strong for him, and he 
 replied, — 
 
 " No, on second thoughts I shall not tell 
 him." 
 
 She did not speak, only smiled; a smile 
 of pleasure and self-satisfaction which he 
 could not understand.
 
 13G AN ENTHUSIAST. 
 
 Soon afterWiirds they set out on the 
 homeward way, and walked almost in 
 silence. Stephen was lost in thought, and 
 Maryla appeared to be absorbed in watch- 
 ing the afternoon lights and shadows on 
 the hills, — the shadows deeper, the sunlight 
 mellower than when they had passed in 
 the morning. When they reached home 
 Mr. Knox felt broken with fatigue, while 
 Maryla looked as fresh and cool as when 
 she had left home. Her face wore its 
 usual aspect of careless content, and she 
 had a smile and a jest for Mr. Richardson 
 when they met in the garden. Stephen 
 watched her talking to her guardian, heard 
 her laughter ring out on the air, and 
 marvelled.
 
 AH ENTHUSIAST. 137 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 " Love no man in good earnest." 
 
 The sun was again setting over Stanedale 
 Pike, and again Maryla was watching it 
 from the moors on the other side of the lake. 
 This time she was not alone, Mr. Eichardson 
 was with her; she had spent the whole 
 day out of doors, and he, knowing in which 
 direction she had gone, had come out to 
 meet her. They had been talking of many 
 things, and just now were silent, watching 
 the sun sink lower and lower in a stormy 
 pomp of crimson clouds which boded ill for 
 the morrow. The light thrown on the water 
 was almost lurid, the little clouds which 
 floated in the sky were all tinged w4th red.
 
 13 S AN ENTHUSIAST. 
 
 It was earlier in the day than when 
 Maryla had been here on the night of 
 Stephen Knox's arrival; there was plenty of 
 time to watch the sun sink behind the cairn 
 which crowned the Pike, and walk leisurely 
 home without incurring any reprimand 
 from Marion. 
 
 They were silent till the last scrap of 
 the crimson ball had disappeared behind 
 the mountain, and then Maryla roused 
 herself from her reflections, and asked, — 
 
 " When do you suppose the solemn 
 column is going to propose to Marion ? " 
 
 She spoke of Mr. Knox by a name she 
 had been moved to bestow upon him by 
 his unbending dignity, and Mr. Richard- 
 son responded to it at once. He knit 
 his eyebrows, and ran his fingers through 
 his hair, as he replied, — 
 
 " My dear child, I have been asking my- 
 self that question for some little time now."
 
 AN ENTHUSIAST. 139 
 
 " He has been here a month ; it is quite 
 time he came to the point, and went his 
 way." 
 
 " Have you had enough of him ? " 
 
 " Quite. I have studied him through 
 and through. I know him perfectly, and 
 T wish him gone with all my heart." 
 
 '' I am glad you can wish anything 
 with all your heart ; it argues a state of 
 wholeness and soundness which is en- 
 couraging." 
 
 " You will not need encouragement on 
 that point as long as I am here. Stane- 
 dale does not present many opportunities 
 of taking that particular disease." 
 
 " One at a time is enough." 
 
 " So it is, if it be only strong enough. 
 So let us rather say the temptations of 
 Stanedale are wanting in strength, as well 
 as number." 
 
 " But, to go back to the solemn column.
 
 140 AN ENTHUSIAST. 
 
 do you really tliink you have mastered Ms 
 nature ? " 
 
 " I have felt sure of it since the day he 
 went with me to Ravensghyll, — do you 
 remember ? We had been talking, and 
 I gave him a decision to make. I asked 
 him a question, to which his answer had 
 to be yes or no. According to my 
 observation, he should have said no. 
 With his character, I felt sure he must 
 say it." 
 
 " From your tone, I judge that you 
 were not disappointed.'* 
 
 " Ko," smiling, '' he came up to my 
 expectations. If he had known, though, 
 how much depended on it, I do not think 
 he would have said it." 
 
 " What do you think of him? " 
 
 " I think he would be a dangerous 
 enemy to have. He is vindictive, and he 
 cannot endure to be laughed at."
 
 AN ENTHUSIAST. 141 
 
 " It is fortunate that Marion will never 
 feel tempted to laugh at him." 
 
 '^ Yes, what a solemn couple they will 
 make. They would balance a whole 
 nation of flimsy people like myself." 
 
 Mr. Richardson laughed, and took her 
 hand in his, fondling it gently, and look- 
 ing with pleasure at its smooth whiteness. 
 
 " I have wanted to speak to you about 
 Knox and Marion," he said, " I am not 
 altogether easy about him." 
 
 " You don't mean," turning and looking 
 straight at him, '' that you think he is 
 going to cry off ? " 
 
 " I am afraid it looks very like it." 
 
 There was a somewhat lengthy pause, 
 and then she said in a tone of the pro- 
 foundest conviction, — 
 
 " How unutterably disgusting ! " 
 
 " Why disgusting ? " 
 
 " It would upset all our plans. You
 
 142 AN ENTHUSIAST. 
 
 know liow often we have imagined the time 
 when either one or both of them would be 
 married, and vou and I should be left 
 alone to vagabondize as we chose, live 
 where we liked, and enjoy ourselves on the 
 Continent. You know we have looked 
 forward to it, and talked about it as a 
 thing sure to come in its own good time. 
 If our hopes are to be dashed to the 
 ground just when we thought they 
 were about to be realized, it will be too 
 provoking." 
 
 She spoke in a tone of genuine dis- 
 appointment, almost resentment, and Mr.: 
 Richardson looked rather relieved as he 
 heard her ; then he said, — 
 
 " Is it possible that during the last 
 week or two you have buoyed yourself up 
 with such hopes ? ' ' 
 
 *' I have not observed them lately ; I 
 have taken things for granted."
 
 AN ENTHCSIAST. 143 
 
 ** It was a mistake, and I almost think 
 Marion is beginning to see it now." 
 
 *' Then you will have to have an ex- 
 planation with him. How exasperating ! 
 I am very sorry for you." 
 
 "I suppose it is one of the pains 
 attached to the pleasure of having 
 daughters." 
 
 " Yes ; be thankful your ward will never 
 cause you any such worry." 
 
 " How am I to feel sure ? " smiling at 
 her again, 
 
 " Marion is the kind of girl who would 
 break her heart, and make a lifelong 
 trouble of such a thing. You know how 
 quickly I recover from any physical dis- 
 order, and it would be the same with any 
 mental disturbance. I should recover my 
 balance at once." 
 
 "Ah," he replied, " that is an idea; 
 have you thought it out at all ? "
 
 144 AN ENTHUSIAST. 
 
 " I was thinking of it just before you 
 joined me. You know there are certain 
 people of unsound constitution with whom 
 the slightest ailment becomes something 
 serious ; if they scratch their finger, the 
 scratch becomes a festering sore, and if 
 they have a really serious illness, they 
 never get over it. In the same way there 
 are people with naturally unhealthy minds, 
 to whom every trifle appears in the light 
 of a calamity. The least pin-prick to their 
 vanity or pride becomes a sore whichis long 
 in healing ; and if they have a disappoint- 
 ment in love, or ambition, or lose a friend 
 by death or estrangement, they are never 
 the same again. Their minds are un- 
 healthy and the wound never heals. Just 
 as a healthy body recovers quickly and 
 surely from any physical disturbance, 
 so a healthy mind regains its normal state 
 after any shock, with equal ease. Of course,
 
 AN ENTHUSIAST. 145 
 
 I know many people would not admit that. 
 It is interesting to receive sucli a mental 
 blow that your mind is never the same 
 again, to go through such seas of trouble 
 that all power of pleasure and enjoyment 
 is washed out of you, and you spend the 
 remainder of your life with a clouded 
 brow and sorrowful eyes. People like 
 that are considered very much more in- 
 teresting, and to have stronger and deeper 
 feelings, than those who regain their 
 mental balance after terrible experiences, 
 and come out of their troubles as sound as 
 before they went into them. The last- 
 named people are liable to be considered 
 as very frivolous and shallow, powerless to 
 take any deep impression, or to keep it if 
 taken. In reality it is the reverse. People 
 who get over their troubles quickly are 
 stronger than those who can never shake 
 them off. It is morbid and unhealthy to 
 
 VOL. I. L
 
 146 AN ENTHUSIAST. 
 
 remain all your life a victim to some loss 
 or disappointment, and it is only because 
 the majority of people are more or less 
 morbid and unhealthy that lives ' blasted 
 by misfortune ' and such calamities, have 
 become more interesting than healthy 
 natures which throw their troubles off." 
 
 Mr. Richardson had listened attentively, 
 though not without smiling from time to 
 time. When she had finished, he said, — 
 
 ** Your theory is ingenious, and at least 
 has the merit of originality. You spoke 
 so vehemently, I thought you must be 
 fighting your own battle.*' 
 
 " Perhaps I was. You know that, if 
 Marion and I were both to suffer a dis- 
 appointment in love, we should each bear 
 the disappointment in the way I have 
 described, and each be judged in the way I 
 have described.'* 
 
 *' Probably you are right. Still, if we
 
 AN ENTHUSIAST. 147 
 
 had time, I think I could point out some 
 flaws in your argument. Eemember the 
 analogy between mind and body is not 
 perfect." 
 
 " Yes, you are right, the argument 
 might lead us a very long way and leave 
 us in a blind alley at the end, all the more 
 so because I should be secretly fighting 
 my own theory. I have a sneaking hope 
 that mine may be one of the constitutions 
 you describe." 
 
 Mr. Richardson laughed, and raised his 
 eyebrows, saying, — 
 
 " What ! you want to undergo the 
 common lot of womanhood after all ? " 
 
 " N'ot for the mere pleasure of the thing, 
 but professionally. I should be able to 
 describe it so much better if I had once 
 felt it. I hate bad work, and I am afraid 
 that at first, at any rate, I must fail there." 
 
 " Oh, my dear child, you must not make 
 L 2
 
 148 AN ENTHUSIAST. 
 
 mountains out of molehills. Look at tlie 
 average novel, and tell me liow much of it 
 you suppose was drawn from nature and 
 how much from the imagination, more or 
 less pure and simple, of the author?" 
 
 " Yes, yes ; but then mine are not going 
 to be average novels ; at least, we hope 
 not. If I find they rise no higher than 
 that, I shall put a stop to them at once.'' 
 
 She shook her head back as she spoke, 
 and the peculiar inspired look came into 
 her face, which Stephen had seen more 
 than once, without being able to ex- 
 plain it. 
 
 " Have no fears on that head," said Mr. 
 Richardson, in a tone of calm conviction. 
 *' Your work will not be average work ; 
 the only danger will be lest it should not 
 be average enough. At first, at any rate, 
 it will be wise to consult the popular taste 
 and to think rather of what will be
 
 AN ENTHUSIAST. 149 
 
 acceptable to people, than of wliat is 
 wholly true to nature. You don't like 
 that, I know," laying his hand on hers, 
 " but, if you want to make your way, it 
 must be. Many an ambitious young 
 author has come to grief on that rock. 
 Don't make your characters too high 
 toned ; if you do, people won't read your 
 books, and I want your books to be read. 
 People don't like high-toned characters ; 
 they have an uneasy feeling that they are 
 a tacit reproach to themselves. People 
 don't want to be made better, and it is a 
 great mistake, and one into which a young 
 author is peculiarly liable to fall, to suppose 
 that they do. They want to be left in 
 peace, and that is why the average in 
 everything is so popular. If a person who 
 sets up to be a leader of humanity pitches 
 his standard above the moral stature of 
 his followers, he will pay for it by having
 
 150 AN ENTHUSIAST. 
 
 no followers at all. If he is a preaclier, 
 his church will be empty, he will probably 
 be persecuted and driven from the place ; 
 if he is a writer, people won't read his 
 books. And remember that from that 
 tribunal of the public there is no appeal. 
 It is of no use to feel conscious of merit, of 
 honesty and rectitude of purpose; if the 
 public is not with you, it is against you. 
 And of him against whom it is, one might 
 almost say ' Better for that man if he had 
 never been born.' The same may be said 
 of a woman with ten-fold trutli. You 
 remember the words, — 
 
 " * The brave, impetuous heart yields everywhere 
 To the subtle, contriving head ; 
 Great qualities are trodden down, 
 And littleness united 
 Is become invincible.' 
 
 There is a vast amount of truth in those 
 lines."
 
 AN ENTHUSIAST. 151 
 
 *' And you think there is danger of that 
 kind in store for me ? " 
 
 ** Yes, my child, assuredly. You have 
 something worth saying, and you know 
 how to say it. The only danger is lest 
 you choose your time wrongly ; there is so 
 much in doing or speaking just at the 
 right time." 
 
 *' The time will arrange itself ; the thing 
 is to have something to say, a message 
 from another world; to have a living 
 immortal soul within one, not a dead 
 stony image of one's lower self.'* 
 
 Mr. Richardson eyed her keenly. 
 
 " I like to hear you speak like that," he 
 said, when she had finished. " If I were 
 ever moved to prayer, it should be that I 
 might be alive when your triumph comes." 
 
 She caught her breath, and involuntarily 
 straightened herself against the pang which 
 shot throuofh her heart.
 
 152 AN ENTHUSIAST. 
 
 " Of course you will be alive ! *' she said 
 half jestingly, half vehemently. Then she 
 went on, — 
 
 " You are not worse, you have no fresh 
 symptoms ? " 
 
 " No, I am only more conscious of 
 the old ones. But, my love, you must 
 not look like that, or I shall be sorry that 
 I told you." 
 
 " No, no, you must not feel sorry, or 
 think I am going to be weak. I can be as 
 strong as you, and shall help and 
 comfort you to the end. Only it came so 
 suddenly, and latterly I have thought you 
 seemed better." 
 
 Her voice was low and faltering, un- 
 steady to brokenness. Her whole face 
 had changed ; it was sad and wistful, and 
 she fixed her dark eyes yearningly on 
 Mr. Richardson's face. 
 
 He drew her closer to him, and,
 
 AN ENTHUSIAST. 153 
 
 instead of answering her, said half play- 
 fully,- 
 
 " Will it be a great trouble to you wlien 
 I die ? " 
 
 " Oh, do not speak of it ! the mere 
 thought terrifies me. What shall I do 
 without your advice and help ? I shall be 
 so lonely, I dare not think of it." 
 
 There was a world of love in her voice 
 and words, and when she hadfinished speak- 
 ing, Mr. Richardson put his hand under her 
 upturned chin and kissed her, saying, — 
 
 '' If any of our Stanedale friends were 
 to see and hear you now, Maryla, they 
 would stare and rub their eyes, and say, 
 * Sure this is never she ! ' " 
 
 She laughed a little, and then said 
 jealously, — 
 
 " You have not told the others ? " 
 
 ''No," he said thoughtfully; "I am 
 afraid that when I must tell them, they
 
 154 AN ENTHUSIAST. 
 
 will reproacli me for my reticence. But 
 I do not feel as if I could confide in Marion, 
 so I shall leave them both in the dark as 
 long as possible." 
 
 " It will be much the best ; if they knew, 
 they would leave you no peace, you would 
 be worried to death." 
 
 They sat for some time longer, and 
 then Maryla noticed the evening chill, and 
 thought they had better go. So hand in 
 hand, they came across the moors and down 
 into the valley towards home. 
 
 Marion and Ethel had spent the after- 
 noon in the little upstairs sitting-room, 
 sacred to themselves and their needlework. 
 It was a very pretty little room into which 
 no other member of the family ever set foot. 
 To Maryla it was ground as unknown as 
 was to them their father's study, where 
 Maryla spent most of her time when she
 
 AN ENTHUSIAST. 155 
 
 was in the house. In this room the sisters 
 were perfectly secure from interruption, 
 and they could look and speak just as they 
 pleased. 
 
 They were very busy, working for a 
 bazaar which a few enterprising spirits in 
 Stanedale had set on foot, and in which 
 they took a keen interest. Marion's face 
 no longer wore the calmly satisfied look 
 which had clothed it as she presided at the 
 tea-table on the evening of Mr. Knox's 
 arrival. She was both thinner and paler, 
 and her mouth had a downward droop, 
 which was yet half effaced by the naturally 
 haughty curve of the lips, as though 
 she were undergoing a continual mental 
 struggle. She plied her needle listlessly ; 
 it was easy to see that her mind was only 
 half in her work. Ethel, on the contrary, 
 drew her needle in and out with almost more 
 than her usual viofour. She broke a some-
 
 156 AN ENTHUSIAST. 
 
 what lengthy silence by saying in the tone 
 of one who continues an interrupted 
 conversation, — 
 
 " I don't at all see why you should take 
 such a gloomy view, Marion. I don't 
 really think that Mr. Knox has done any- 
 thing to justify it." 
 
 " You never knew him as I did," replied 
 Marion ; '' it is not to be expected that 
 you should notice his manner so closely." 
 
 '* You are imagining all kinds of things 
 which have no existence outside your own 
 brain. If you only listened to your reason 
 you would know at once that you are 
 inventing your own troubles.'* 
 
 " I wish I could think so," said the 
 elder girl ; " but I know, I can feel, that 
 he is no longer the same. But, if he has 
 changed, I daresay I can change with 
 equal ease." 
 
 "Now," said Ethel, "you are going to
 
 AN ENTHUSIAST. 157 
 
 try to persuade yourself tliat you do not 
 care for liim any more, when you know 
 quite well that you have not changed a 
 bit." 
 
 Marion bit her lip, and lifted her head 
 higher. 
 
 ^' I hope I shall never be so weak as to 
 care for a man who has grown indifferent 
 to me." 
 
 " He is not iudiflferent," persisted Ethel 
 valiantly, for she firmly believed that she 
 was speaking the truth. '' I do not think 
 you have any right to accuse him of want 
 of faith, because he sometimes pays 
 Mary la a little attention." 
 
 The mention of Mary la's name seemed 
 to fan the smouldering flame of Marion's 
 anger into life. 
 
 " There is not the slightest reason why 
 he should pay Mary la attentiou, either 
 much or little. He goes out of his way
 
 158 AN ENTHUSIAST. 
 
 to do it. Tliey were strangers wlien lie 
 came here. I do not see why they could 
 not have remained strangers." 
 
 Ethel said nothing, and presently 
 Marion went on, — 
 
 '^ It is all Maryla's fault. He has never 
 been the same since that day they went to 
 Ravensghyll together." 
 
 '' Maryla did not invite him to go with 
 her, she put difficulties in the way." 
 
 '' Difficulties which were easily over- 
 come, and which made him want to go 
 more than ever. He has never been the 
 same since." 
 
 " You fancy so, because he never told 
 you what he said to her." 
 
 *' Why did he not tell me ? " dropping 
 her work into her lap. "If there was 
 anything serious between us, I had a 
 rio-ht to know ; and if there was not, he 
 had no business to come here at all."
 
 AN ENTHUSIAST. 159 
 
 '* It must have been something con- 
 nected witli Maryla, of course, and perhaps 
 she did not wish to have it spoken of." 
 
 '' Then it was a secret," with growing 
 anger; *'and I dispute his right to have 
 secrets with her. How came he to have 
 any knowledge of her affairs ? he had never 
 seen her before he came here." 
 
 '' It was strange, I have thought so my- 
 self," admitted Ethel. 
 
 " I cannot bear to think of it," said her 
 sister, with some excitement. " I hate to 
 see him look at her, and he looks at her 
 very often." 
 
 " I can understand that," said Ethel 
 rather deprecatingly. " I like to look at 
 her too. She is very beautiful you must 
 confess. But at the same time, I don't 
 believe any man would prefer her to you. 
 I don't think men care to have girls like 
 Maryla for their wives.'*
 
 160 AN ENTHUSIAST. 
 
 '' No ; but they care to have them to look 
 at, and talk to, and that is the principal 
 thing." 
 
 "Don't be cynical," said Ethel cheer- 
 fully, in reply to the undisguised bitterness 
 of her sister's voice. " The man would 
 not be worth thinking about, who, after 
 growing fond of you, could transfer his 
 affections to a Maryla Goldengay. Why 
 her very name is against her, it is like 
 that of a pantomime-girl." 
 
 Marion smiled faintly, though imme- 
 diately afterwards, she hardened her voice 
 again, saying,— 
 
 " I do not know that he ever did get 
 fond of me, as you call it. We never had 
 any proof." 
 
 '' Oh, none at all," with smiling sarcasm. 
 '^ He never paid you any attention while 
 we were away ; he did not ask to come here 
 very soon after we had come home. Such
 
 AN ENTHUSIAST. 161 
 
 behaviour from a man to a woman is gene- 
 rally, I believe, taken to mean that lie 
 ratber dislikes her." 
 
 Marion smiled again. Her woman's 
 instinct told ber more truly tban Etbel's 
 superficial common sense, but sbe could not 
 help being swayed by it, it fell in so with 
 her inclinations. 
 
 '^ Why does he stay here," went on Ethel, 
 " if he does not want you ? " 
 
 ^'Wliy does he not ask me to marry him 
 if he does want me ? " 
 
 '' Oh; I fancy he is rather slow in every- 
 thing he does. lie is not a person with 
 whom one associates the idea of haste. 
 And if it comes to that, if he wants Mary la, 
 why does he not ask her ? " 
 
 In her kindness of heart she had 
 blundered terribly. Marion went crimson 
 and then very white, and she quivered from 
 head to foot. 
 
 VOL. I. M
 
 162 AN ENTHUSIAST. 
 
 *' Don't, even in fun, say those tilings, 
 Ethel," she said nervously. "You have 
 never felt as I feel now, and I hope you 
 never may. If I really thought there was 
 anything between them I would never 
 speak to Maryla again as long as I live." 
 
 Ethel was silent, unable to follow her 
 sister's mood. She was passionately fond 
 of, but far removed from understanding 
 her. She had never yet had any love 
 affair, and she was perfectly unconscious 
 of the stabs she was giving to Marion's 
 pride. ' She thought that common sense 
 was all on her side of the question. And 
 beyond that she could not see. After a 
 short silence she went on, — 
 
 " It used to be you who found fault with 
 me for saying hard things of Maryla, but 
 I don't think you are fair to her now. I 
 do ]iot think she cares for Mr. Knox at 
 all"
 
 AX ENTHUSIAST. 163 
 
 ^'I daresay not. It would not be 
 necessary for lier to like him ; slie could 
 do all the mischief she wanted without 
 that." 
 
 '• I have often heard her makins; fun ol 
 him with papa." 
 
 Marion clenched her hand with anofer. 
 
 o 
 
 '' Have you ? I could have believed it 
 of her, it is just the kind of thing she 
 would delight to do. But I did not think 
 papa would have joined in that." 
 
 '' He thinks everything she does right. 
 If she were to make fan of us, his own 
 daughters, I believe he would join in. He 
 is infatuated about her." 
 
 ''Yes." said Marion, "people have 
 infatuations about such girls as Maryla ; 
 for you and me they have only a calm, 
 unemotional friendship." 
 
 '' If what you say about Mr. Knox be 
 true, and an infatuation means to come 
 M 2
 
 164 AN ENTHUSIAST. 
 
 and stay in people's houses under false 
 pretences, 1 am glad we do not inspire 
 infatuations. At the same time," she went 
 on, returning to her wonted common- 
 sense mood, " I have observed that people 
 generally grow tired of infatuations and 
 are very glad to come back to calm, 
 unemotional affection. If Maryla really 
 has—" 
 
 Marion interrupted her with a little 
 stamp of the foot. 
 
 *' Ethel!" she cried excitedly, "how 
 can you go on like that ? You make me 
 hate Maryla. I have always disliked her 
 and her manner, but I thought I was 
 wrong and I did my best to hide it and 
 overcome it. She has always robbed me. 
 She robbed me of my father when mama 
 died ; I did my best to ttike her place, I 
 wanted to make papa forget his loss. He 
 would, not let me. While he was at home
 
 AN ENTHUSIAST. 165 
 
 he simt himself up in his study, and 
 then he went away and stayed for 
 years. When he came home again he 
 brought Mary la with him, and I saw at 
 once that she had his heart. When I 
 offered to do anything for him, it was 
 always ' No, thank you, my dear, Maryla 
 will do that; she remembers how 
 I had it in Germany.' They had a 
 thousand remembrances and associations 
 in common; he had forgotten all our 
 tastes and feelings. He cannot com- 
 plain if I am cold now ; he refused my 
 love when I offered it to him. I cannot 
 change now. Maryla stole him from me, 
 and now she has stolen what was more to 
 me than even papa's love. I cannot 
 forgive." 
 
 She paused, her chest heaving, her lips 
 trembling so that she could not speak. 
 She had never thought that even to Ethel
 
 166 AN ENTHUSIAST. 
 
 she could saj all slie had just said. The 
 double failure humiliated her bitterly, and 
 she would never forget the cause of her 
 humiliation. When the conversation had 
 begun she had had no intention of saying 
 such things, she had been led on, and 
 could not now retreat. She could only 
 repeat, — 
 
 '' She has robbed me twice, and if 
 she can do it a third time she will." 
 
 Ethel was silent. She did not know 
 what to say. Her attempts at comfort 
 seemed only to irritate her sister, and 
 in what concerned their father, she agreed 
 with her. While they sat silent, Ethel 
 distressed and half-frightened, Marion 
 proud, angry and sore-hearted, they heard 
 the garden gate open and shut and Maryla's 
 voice saying, — 
 
 " The house looks dead ; I wonder 
 where the column is."
 
 AN ENTHUSIAST. 167 
 
 " How imprudent you are," replied Mr. 
 Eicliardson ; '' every window in the liouse 
 is wide open." 
 
 " He would never apply it to himself. 
 If he heard me, he would solemnly wonder 
 of whom I could be speaking." 
 
 " To please me, be more circumspect." 
 
 '' That is another thing altogether ; you 
 have my promise." 
 
 The two girls heard every word of the 
 little dialogne, and as Maryla finished 
 speaking, Marion turned abruptly and left 
 the room in silence.
 
 168 AN ENTHUSIAST. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 " Would I had never seen her ! " 
 
 Me. Knox was far from liappy. He was 
 ready to curse the day on which he had 
 come to Stanedale, and yet he could not 
 tear himself away. The thought of bind- 
 iug himself to Marion was hateful to him ; 
 yet he was tortured with the feeling that 
 if he had changed, she had not. He knew 
 she loved him, and in his calmer and more 
 reasonable moments he told himself that, 
 as' she had given a hundred tacit and 
 perhaps unconscious indications of her love, 
 he was bound to respect such confessions, 
 and to ask her to be his wife. At least, 
 he owed it to her to let her choose if she
 
 AN ENTHUSIAST. 169 
 
 would marrj liim or not. He thouglit 
 these things wlien he was alone in his bed- 
 room at night, when the whole house was 
 still and he leaned out into the half dark- 
 ness of a summer night and heard the 
 beck flowing over the stones. Then he 
 was alone, neither Marion nor Maryla was 
 present ; the one to reproach him and 
 make him feel guilty, with her cold, proud 
 English face, which had lately grown a 
 little disdainful, the other to torment and 
 madden him with her strange beauty. At 
 these times he told himself that all his duty 
 was to Marion, and be resolved firmly that 
 on the morrow he would overcome his 
 infatuation, briug matters to a close, and 
 ask her to marry him, thus fulfilling the 
 intention with which he had come to Stane- 
 dale more than a month before. 
 
 But when the morning came, when he 
 saw the sun glint on Maryla's golden hair,
 
 170 AX ENTHUSIAST. 
 
 looked into the velvety depths of lier eyes, 
 heard her voice and laughter, and felt 
 the light touch of her hand as she bade 
 him good morning, all his good resolu- 
 tions melted like the hoarfrost of early 
 autumn ; he felt that the struggle was not 
 ended at all, that it never would be ended, 
 but must go on as long as his life lasted, 
 renewing itself every morning, to be 
 fought through the whole day, leaving him 
 at night with a sense of exhaustion and 
 defeat. 
 
 He knew now that his love for Maryla 
 was the one passion of his life ; instinct 
 told him that he would never feel a second 
 time what he felt now. He was drifting 
 along a stream, the current of which he 
 was powerless to resist. His one wish was 
 to be in Maryla's presence, to be near 
 her, to speak to and look at her, to get her 
 if possible to look at him. He began to
 
 AX ENTHUSIAST. 171 
 
 feel afraid of being in the presence of both 
 girls at the same time. He knew that his 
 remaining at Beckbridge was villainy, and 
 he groaned under a sense of sin which he 
 was yet powerless to throw off. He was 
 unconscious of Marion's presence except 
 from the sense of irritation which sometimes 
 accompanied it ; he had to exert all his 
 strength to prevent himself following 
 Maryla wherever she went. He sat often 
 with his eyes fixed on the ground, or 
 looking blankly out of the window, because 
 he knew that if he raised or turned them 
 aside they would fall on Maryla. Some- 
 times he felt reckless and told himself that 
 he would stay, he did not care what the 
 consequences might be; he would stay 
 until he was driven away. 
 
 His mental discomfort was in no way 
 lessened by the reflection that even did 
 Maryla return his love, she was not free
 
 172 AN ENTHUSIAST. 
 
 to do SO, that an insuperable barrier to 
 tlieir union lay in the fact that she was 
 married already. When he thought of that 
 marriage, he felt like a trapped tiger. 
 The whole thing was such a mystery, and 
 yet he could not doubt its truth. He 
 could not now tell Mr. Eichardson about 
 it, — if he did he would be throwing away 
 his one weapon without in the least bene- 
 fitting himself. Whatever Mr Richardson 
 decided to do, he would be allowed no share 
 in the proceedings. 
 
 He was thinking aD;)ut all these things 
 as he walked slowly along alone. He had 
 come out after the early dinner, because 
 the house seemed too small for him. 
 Maryla had gone out in the morning, he 
 knew not where. He had purposely ab- 
 stained from asking her, thinking that he 
 would give up this day to Marion. All 
 the morning he had kept his resolve ; he
 
 AN ENTHUSIAST. 173 
 
 had read aloud to the sisters as they sat 
 over their bazaar work. He was fond of 
 reading aloud, and knew that he read well. 
 He had looked forward to spending the 
 afternoon in the same w^ay, free from 
 temptation, if free from pleasure. But at 
 dinner, Marion had said she and her sister 
 must go to the Rectory. He had walked 
 there with them, and then turned aside 
 to pursue his own thoughts undisturbed. 
 
 The road he had chosen was favourable 
 to such a purpose. It led out of the 
 high-road, and wound up hill and down 
 betw^een rich overhanging woods to a 
 small and very beautiful lake called 
 High Tarn. The water lay in a hollow, 
 with rough, heathy hills surrounding it, 
 and a plantation of Scotch firs growing 
 almost to the water's edge. A wreath of 
 water-lilies extended all round the tarn 
 a few^ yards from the shore. There was
 
 174 AX ENTHUSIAST. 
 
 not a single liouse all along the road, and 
 few people ever came near the place. He 
 had turned along the lane at first, hardly 
 conscious of where he was going ; but 
 when after walking a little way he had 
 lifted his head and looked around him, he 
 was glad he had come here. 
 
 Just before reaching the hollow where 
 the lake lay, he came to a gate. As he 
 held it open in his hand he saw a sight 
 which made him stand still for a minute, 
 and then the gate slipped from his grasp 
 and fell to with a loud crash. 
 
 Down in the hollow at the edge of the 
 water sat Maryla, her hat, as usual, on 
 the ground, her hair falling over her 
 shoulders and, seated as she was, lying 
 around her on the grass. She appeared 
 to be in the act of twisting it up into the 
 heavy coils in which she usually wore it, 
 for she had one long lock hke a golden
 
 AX EXTIIUSIAST. 175 
 
 rope in Ler hands. At tlie sound of the 
 gate falling to, she looked np and saw 
 Stephen. 
 
 He would have been content to stand 
 and gaze at her, but seeing he was dis- 
 covered, he was forced to come forward. 
 He walked slowly down towards her, so 
 slowly that by the time he had reached 
 her side she had twisted up all her hair 
 and turned her head to him dressed as he 
 was accustomed to see it. 
 
 He did not speak ; no words suggested 
 themselves to him. She began at once 
 with her usual ease, — 
 
 '' I suppose you are too shocked to 
 speak ? Have you met many women who 
 dress their hair out-of-doors and use a 
 lake for a looking-glass ? " 
 
 As she spoke she bent dangerously far 
 over the water, and looked at her reflec- 
 tion in the still black depths.
 
 176 AX ENTHUSIAST. 
 
 "Take care wliat you are doing!" lie 
 said almost below liis breath. He dared 
 not lay liis hand upon her to restrain 
 her. 
 
 " If you come upon people in unex- 
 jDected ]3laces and at unexpected times, 
 you must expect to find them doing 
 unexpected things." 
 
 '' Has not that rather a Hibernian 
 savour ? " he asked, catching at anything 
 which might furnish a remark. " How 
 could I expect unexpected things ? " 
 
 " Oh, very easily, if you are prepared 
 for anything, and I thought that was one 
 of the signs by which one might tell a 
 wise man." 
 
 " Do you call me a wise man ? " he 
 asked, with rather a melancholy smile. 
 
 " I said, ' if you are prepared for 
 everything.' " 
 
 He laughed shortly, and said, —
 
 AN ENTHUSIAST, 177 
 
 " I did not expect to find you liere.'* 
 '' It is rather a favourite place of 
 mine." 
 
 " It is very lonely. I remember think- 
 ing so when I came here once with Miss 
 Eichardson and her sister." 
 
 His invocation of Marion was a confes- 
 sion of weakness. Maryla asked uncon- 
 sciously, — 
 
 " Where are they ? How is it you are 
 not with them now ? " 
 
 He frowned as he told her how he had 
 spent the morning and what had hindered 
 a like disposal of the afternoon. She 
 laughed and shrugged her shoulders when 
 he told her about the bazaar and the 
 meeting which the girls were attending at 
 the Rectory. Then she made some biting 
 speeches about the Stanedale people and 
 laughed at him when he ventured on a 
 reproof. At last she collected her things 
 VOL. I. N
 
 178 AN ENTHUSIAST. 
 
 and said slie was going home. He miglit 
 accompany lier or stay beliind as lie 
 listed. 
 
 '' I will come witli you," lie replied. 
 "I promised to call at the Rectory for 
 Miss Richardson." 
 
 " You are too late ; they will have left 
 before this," and she held out her watch 
 for him to look at. 
 
 He bit his lips genuinely annoyed. 
 When he met Marion at tea, it would be 
 impossible in Maryla's presence to give 
 any reason but the right one for his non- 
 appearance. 
 
 '' If I go now I may be able to join her 
 on the way." 
 
 "Possibly." 
 
 He rose and stood hesitatingly for a 
 moment, then he looked down at Maryla, 
 and asked, — 
 
 " Are you not coming ? "
 
 AN ENTHUSIAST. 179 
 
 " Not as tilings have turned out. You 
 will have to hurry. I dislike hurry, and 
 so I shall let you go alone and follow at 
 my leisure." 
 
 He could nob change again, so he set 
 off alone, and almost ran along the lane 
 leading to the high-road along which 
 Marion and her sister must come. When 
 he got to the road, he saw them coming 
 slowly along, and he uttered a sigh of 
 relief. 
 
 "TVe thought you were not coming," 
 said Ethel when they met. 
 
 " I went too far and forgot the time. 
 I have been hurrying back, hoping I should 
 meet you half-way." 
 
 As he spoke he took his usual place 
 by Marion's side and she began to speak 
 of something else. The moment was gone 
 and no mention had been made of Miss 
 Goldengay. If later she referred to their 
 N 2
 
 180 AN ENTHUSIAST. 
 
 meeting by the lake lie would stand con- 
 victed of want of truth. 
 
 She did refer to it. Whether innocently 
 or with malicious intent Stephen could 
 not tell. Her face was the picture of 
 innocence, but Mr. Knox was beginning to 
 imderstand tliat manner. 
 
 "Well," she said at tea, ''did you 
 meet ? " 
 
 She addressed no one in particular and 
 Marion asked with a little astonishment, — 
 
 *' Did who meet whom ? " 
 
 " Did Mr. Knox meet you ? He thought 
 he might join you on the way from the 
 Eector}^, — I thought he was too late." 
 
 " Mr. Knox did meet us," replied Marion, 
 and nothing more was said ; but whether 
 she knew it or not, Mary la made two bitter 
 enemies from that moment. 
 
 Stephen was bitterly angry with her, 
 and on the following evening he resolved
 
 AX ENTHUSIAST. 181 
 
 to give her a siglit of the wliip which he 
 kept concealed. Suddenly, without any 
 warning, he turned to Marion and 
 asked, — 
 
 " Did you ever know anything of a man 
 called Maurice Wingfield? " 
 
 Mr. Richardson was not present, and 
 Stephen, as he spoke, avoided meeting 
 Maryla's eyes ; but he could not help 
 glancing at her, and he saw that after 
 an almost imperceptible change of coun- 
 tenance, she was herself again. Marion 
 and Ethel, in answer to his question, re- 
 plied that they knew nothing of such a 
 person. 
 
 "He was never in this neighbour- 
 hood?" 
 
 •'' Never," replied Ethel ; '' it is the first 
 time I have heard such a name." 
 
 Maryla said nothing, and scarcely 
 seemed to heed the discussion. But she
 
 182 AN ENTHUSIAST. 
 
 presently got up and left the room, witliout 
 saying where she was going. 
 
 She went into the garden, and then 
 through the gate, and seated herself upon 
 the bridge which connected the house with 
 the road. She leaned over it and looked 
 down into the swiftly-flowing beck ; her 
 lips curled into a smile, and she said in a 
 whisper, — 
 
 " I suppose that is the column's idea of 
 fencing." 
 
 She sat still for a few minutes and then 
 left the bridge and walked slowly down to 
 the lake. When she got to the water's 
 edge she paused and began to speak half 
 aloud. 
 
 '' He is a fiend ! If he is going to 
 play me tricks like that, he must be got 
 rid of. I thought I heard Mr. Richardson's 
 step outside, and I was horribly frightened ; 
 fortunately the column had no idea how
 
 AX ENTHUSIAST. 183 
 
 frightened. The only thing is to play a 
 bold game, and rather invite him to tell 
 than seem to fear it. If Mr. Richardson 
 knew, I believe it would kill him. How 
 could we be so inconceivably foolish as to 
 leave the register like that, and the clergy- 
 man and clerk both to die ! It is too late 
 to do anything now; fortunately I have 
 succeeded in putting him on the wrong 
 track, but still he must be got rid of. It 
 was a desperate thing to give him that 
 weapon for the future, but I could do 
 nothing else. I wish Maurice was not 
 quite so far away; he might be of 
 some use now. Mr. Eichardson shall 
 never know, whatever straits I am put to. 
 He shall not know."
 
 184 AN ENTHUSIAST 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 " One scene 
 Of excellent dissembling." 
 
 It had rained all the morning ; but after 
 dinner it cleared, and Maryla set out to go 
 to Hawks water. Though she did not know 
 it, she was followed by Stephen Knox. 
 He had seen her go out at the gate, and, 
 on the spur of the moment, he had 
 snatched up his hat and resolved to follow 
 her as he had done once before. As he 
 climbed the steep hill behind the station, 
 threaded the lanes through the high open 
 fields at the top and breathed the strong 
 fresh air of early autumn, as he strode 
 over the moors, he thought almost uninter-
 
 AN ENTHUSIAST. 185 
 
 ruptedly of that; first time he had come 
 here. Then, he had felt only repugnance 
 to the girl who was walking in front of 
 him ; now — his face grew dark when he 
 thought of what he felt now, and of all 
 that was involved in that feehng. There 
 was also the knowledge that, even did she 
 love him, and he told himself fiercely that 
 she did, she must, during the last few days, 
 since he had found her at High Tarn, 
 she had given what he considered unmis- 
 takable signs that he was more to her 
 than a mere friend. Even did she love 
 him as he loved her, she could never be 
 his ; this absent, unknown husband came 
 between them and parted them more 
 effectually than any number of bolts and 
 bars. They had never renewed their 
 conversation about the marriage ; he had 
 often wished to do so, but had never 
 ventured to introduce the subject in the
 
 18G AN ENTHUSIAST. 
 
 total absence of encouragement from 
 Marjla. 
 
 To-daj he was going to be bolder. 
 When they should be seated together 
 in that gloomy little hollow, between 
 the Pike and Black Crag, he would 
 demand and obtain an explanation of 
 the whole mysterious affair. He would 
 make it his business to see if nothing could 
 be done ; for if there existed any possibihty 
 of making this girl hie- wife, his wife she 
 should be. She should not leave the place 
 until she had told him all he asked, pro- 
 mised all he wished. 
 
 In this mood, rather a dangerous one 
 for Maryla, he followed the girl into this 
 most solitary spot. The savage loneliness 
 of the moors harmonized with his pre- 
 sent frame of mind. He felt his heart 
 harden against Maryla, even though he 
 was going to tell her that he loved her.
 
 AN ENTHUSIAST. 187 
 
 and expected to hear that she loved him 
 in return. 
 
 It -was only when Maryla had reached the 
 tarn, that she turned and saw Mr. Knox 
 behind her. She frowned and looked 
 at him for a moment without speaking, 
 her dark eyes looking straight into his. 
 
 " You have followed me again," she 
 said at last. " It becomes annoying 
 when I cannot go out for a simple walk 
 without being tracked as if I were a 
 criminal." 
 
 " If I prefer to walk behind you instead 
 of at your side, I suppose I may." 
 
 '' I only ask you to let me know when 
 you are coming. It is the secrecy and 
 the discovery that I have been followed 
 without my knowledge to which I object." 
 
 " I should hardly have expected to hear 
 you objecting to secrecy." 
 
 *' It is not very long since I suggested
 
 188 AN ENTHUSIAST. 
 
 the advisability of being prepared for any- 
 thing." 
 
 " That is no answer at all, only an 
 evasion." 
 
 " I was not aware an answer was 
 necessary. But may I ask why you 
 followed me np here ? Scarcely to quarrel, 
 I suppose." 
 
 " It depends upon you whether we 
 quarrel or not." 
 
 '^ Then that question may, I think, be 
 considered as set at rest," seating herself 
 as she spoke at the place from which she 
 got her favourite view across the valley. 
 " So now, perhaps, you will go on to what 
 you originally intended to say." 
 
 She looked up at him as she spoke with 
 calmly indifferent eyes, her face expressing 
 no more than a slight degree of curiosity 
 about what he had come out to say. He 
 felt that she must know why he had
 
 AN ENTHUSIAST. 189 
 
 followed lier, and yet it was impossible to 
 guess wliat slie tliouglit or felt. 
 
 His eyes were gloomy and angry. 
 He loved Maryla passionately, and yet slie 
 tormented liim sorely, and often made liim 
 feel very angry Avitli her. To-day, liow- 
 ever, he had promised himself that all 
 should be made clear between them; so 
 he beat down his rising anger, steadied his 
 voice and said as calmly as he could, — 
 
 *' I came out to ask you a question !" 
 
 '* Only one ? Was it worth while 
 coming all this way to ask only one 
 question ? " 
 
 " One thing leads to another, and we 
 may have to go through quite a long con- 
 versation before we have done." 
 
 '' In that case we had better begin at 
 once or we may have to break off in the 
 middle." 
 
 " I had made up my mind that we would
 
 190 AN ENTHUSIAST. 
 
 not leave this place until we had 
 thoroughly exhausted the subject." 
 
 '' All the more reason for beginning ; 
 bat do sit down, it is really displeasing to 
 me when you persist in standing up. Sit 
 down here, and we can talk more comfort- 
 ably." 
 
 She laid her hand as she spoke, upon a 
 stone close to her own seat, and at the 
 same time she looked up at him with a 
 smile which set his nerves thrilling. 
 He seated himself at her bidding, and 
 remained silent for a few seconds after- 
 wards. 
 
 "Now your question?" she said in a 
 tone of encouragement. 
 
 '' I want you to tell me all about your 
 marriage and your husband." 
 
 She laughed softly when he had spoken, 
 and looked at him with an exjDression of 
 critical amusement.
 
 AX ENTHUSIAST. 191 
 
 ''You call that one question? If I 
 chose to satisfy your curiosity, we might 
 sit here talking till midnight, and I am 
 not sure that we should have thoroughly 
 exhausted the subject even then." 
 
 " Why do you talk of my curiosity ? as 
 if I had no interest in the matter." 
 
 '' I do not see what interest you can 
 have. What does it matter to you whether 
 I am married or not ? You can only want 
 to know from curiosity. To put it quite 
 plainly, what right have you to inquire 
 into what I choose to keep private ? " 
 
 She had brought things to a point now. 
 The explanation could no longer be 
 deferred ; whether knowingly or unknow- 
 ingly she had pulled the sword on to 
 her own neck. Mr. Knox listened to her 
 with his eyes fixed upon her face, and as 
 he did not at once speak she went on, — 
 
 '' If I had ever wished or thought it
 
 192 AN ENTHUSIAST. 
 
 necessary to tell you about my husband, 
 I sliould liave done so of my own accord. 
 I tliink it is both ill-bred and imper- 
 tinent of you to force the subject upon me 
 as you do. Any man with the least 
 penetration would have understood my 
 silence." 
 
 "What do you mean by speaking like 
 that ? " he asked at length. 
 
 " What do you mean by speaking like 
 that ? " she retorted. " Any one who 
 heard you would think you had some right 
 over me." 
 
 " So I have, the right of the man who 
 loves you." 
 
 " Oh," she answered slowly. 
 
 " And," he added with growing excite- 
 ment, " the right of the man whom, unless 
 for the last few days your whole life has 
 been a lie, you love too." 
 
 She had not taken her eyes off his face
 
 AN ENTHUSIAST. 193 
 
 after repeating lier question as to his 
 riglit to address lier, and her eyes still met 
 his as she said, — 
 
 " Hush ! you have no right to say that, 
 nor I to hear it." 
 
 '* I£ you allowed me to show you my 
 love all this time, I have a right to be 
 heard now." 
 
 *' Since when," she asked, " have I 
 allowed you to make love to me ? " 
 
 '' Do you mean to say that you did not 
 know I loved you ? " 
 
 " I have lately thought your manner a 
 little odd; so thatw^as the meaning of it." 
 
 '' Dare you say you did not know ? " 
 
 " How was I to think of such a thing? 
 There was Marion." 
 
 His gesture of repugnance was fierce as 
 he answered, — 
 
 ''Why do you drag her name in? It 
 was not she I wanted, but you, and you 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 194 AN ENTHUSIAST. 
 
 knew it. I might have been content with 
 her once, if I had never seen yon, but not 
 now." 
 
 " It is a pity you cannot have what you 
 want, but if there were no other obstacle, I 
 do not love you." 
 
 She was very cool. She never took her 
 eyes off his face. Just as long as she 
 kept her eyes on his would he acknowledge 
 her supremacy. Then, too, this was not, 
 for her, the worst part of the battle. If 
 she wished to be successful when that came 
 she must have all her wits about her, and 
 she was not at all afraid of Stephen, though 
 he did just now look very like a madman, 
 and the small deep tarn was dangerously 
 near. 
 
 He was silent for a moment after she 
 had spoken. He staggered under her 
 words and drew his breath with a sharp 
 gasp.
 
 AX ENTHUSIAST. 195 
 
 " Do not trifle with me," lie said at last ; 
 " I might lose my head if you tried me too 
 far." 
 
 " I am not trifliDg, I am speaking the 
 truth." 
 
 '' Can you speak the truth? Dare you 
 deny that during the last few days you 
 have done everything you could to make 
 me think you preferred me ? " 
 
 " My manner is what it is. I cannot help 
 it if you draw wrong inferences from it." 
 
 '' The usual excuse. To hear them talk, 
 you would think women were all sleep- 
 walkers, and perfectly unconscious of their 
 own actions." 
 
 ''That is rather an ingenious idea; you 
 will allow me to make a note of it." 
 
 " Answ^er me," he said almost roughly : 
 " dare you deny that you have lately given 
 me to suppose that my society was 
 interesting and agreeable to you 
 
 
 
 9
 
 196 AN ENTHUSIAST. 
 
 " How you harp upon one string ! I do 
 not deny it ; I never did deny it. I only 
 said you drew wrong inferences." 
 
 '' Then what was your reason ? " 
 
 " It was so very different from the one you 
 suppose, that I really hesitate to tell you." 
 
 " I must know ; you have gone too far 
 to retract." 
 
 '' Understand once for all that there is 
 no must in the matter. I tell you just as 
 much as I choose, and because I choose. 
 I did these things because I was studying 
 your character to put into my novel." 
 
 He stared at her for a moment, and then 
 said in a voice which showed the immense 
 restraint he was putting upon himself, — ■ 
 
 " "Will you repeat that ; T cannot hav^e 
 heard aright." 
 
 She repeated the last few words. 
 When she had finished, he drew a deep 
 breath.
 
 AX ENTHUSIAST. 197 
 
 '' Good God ! " Le said at last, " do you 
 mean that you deliberately led me on to 
 loye you when you liad not a particle of 
 feeling on your side ? " 
 
 " I deliberately led you on to nothing at 
 all. You interested me, you had exactly 
 the character of which I was then in want. 
 I do not see many people here, I must 
 work with the materials which fall in my 
 way." 
 
 " You did that in cold blood," he said, 
 almost as in a dream ; " are you a woman 
 or a fiend ? " 
 
 " The nsual cry," she said, shruggiug 
 her shoulders, " when men find women not 
 quite so simple as they had expected." 
 
 '' It is incredible," he went on without 
 heeding her, " I cannot beheve it. You 
 are not telling me the truth, you do love 
 me, and you are trying to put mo off in 
 that way. You must love me ; you have
 
 198 AN ENTHUSIAST. 
 
 as good as told me so over and over 
 
 aorain." 
 
 " Take care what you are saying, I do 
 not allow people to say those things to me. 
 I never felt in the least attracted to yon, 
 and you forget that however much I might 
 wish to think of you as something nearer 
 than a friend, I am not at liberty to do 
 so." 
 
 «' Forget it ? I have not forgotten it, 
 it is always in my mind, I can think of 
 nothing else. That is why I came here to- 
 day. Miss Goidengay — Maryla — you must 
 tell me the truth." 
 
 "Keep to Miss Goidengay, please. It 
 may not be my real name, but it is the 
 one by which I am known here. What do 
 you mean by the truth ? You do know 
 it." 
 
 " Is it a fact that you are not at liberty 
 to marry me ? "
 
 A^s ENTHUSIAST. 199 
 
 " How can I make it plainer to you than 
 I have already done ? Three years ago 
 I was married in Haygarth Church to 
 Maurice Wingfield. Yon have yourself 
 seen the register ; what more can I say ? " 
 
 '' Where is your husband ? What is he ? 
 Why does he leave you here, and why did 
 you part from him ? AYhy did you part ? 
 That is the question I ask myself night 
 and day. I want your answer novi-. Why 
 did you part ? " 
 
 " That is my secret." 
 
 " Is there any reason why I should not 
 know ? " 
 
 " None, except that I do not choose to 
 tell you." 
 
 *' I will find out, I will spend all my life 
 in the search." 
 
 *' You cannot find out." 
 
 '' If I found your husband would he tell 
 me?"
 
 200 AX ENTHUSIAST. 
 
 " Xot if lie knew I did not wish you to 
 be told." 
 
 " Does he love you ? " 
 
 She half sighed and the sigh changed 
 into a smile. 
 
 " Poor Maurice^ yes, he loves me very 
 much." 
 
 ''Did you leave him because of any 
 crime he had committed ? " 
 
 " He had committed no crime." 
 
 *' Whose suggestion was it that you 
 should part ? " 
 
 There was a slight pause before she 
 answered, — 
 
 " It was his suggestion." 
 
 " Did you leave him, or he you ? " 
 
 "He left me." 
 
 '•' Then the fault was on your side ? " 
 
 " Yes, what fault there was." 
 
 He could not altogether suppress a 
 smile, but proceeded with his catechism.
 
 AN ENTHUSIAST. 201 
 
 '' Do joii love him?" 
 
 "Did jou love him?" 
 
 " I never loved him." 
 
 " Then why did you marry him ? " 
 
 He was astonished at the effect of his 
 question. She did not answer at once, 
 her eyes fell, the colour rushed hotly 
 all over her face, shame and confusion 
 were written in every feature, her words 
 when they did come were low and 
 hesitating. 
 
 " I could not tell you." 
 
 He was silent. It was impossible to 
 piece together what she said so as to make 
 anything coherent out of it. The only 
 things which had been established were 
 that three years ago she had married 
 secretly a man who loved her, but whose 
 love she did not return. By his wish 
 they had parted and had never met again.
 
 202 AN EiNTHUSIAST. 
 
 The fault, '' what there was of it," was on 
 her side. He did not know what more to 
 say, and he sat lost in thought. His 
 excitement and passion had blazed out, his 
 sou] was weighed down by a depression 
 which he could not shake off. He had so 
 utterly failed in his undertaking. Since 
 confessing to himself that he loved Maryla, 
 he had been buoyed up by a vague hope 
 that when he came to investigate the 
 matter he would find some loophole by 
 which she might escape from her ill-judged 
 marriage; he had hoped more strongly 
 during the last few days, believing that 
 she would work with him, would be equally 
 anxious to find she was free. It had come 
 to an end, his house of cards had fallen 
 down with almost ridiculous despatch. 
 There was no loophole by which she 
 might escape, neither did she wish to
 
 AX ENTHUSIAST. 203 
 
 escape. She had never loved him, but 
 seeing his love for her and secure in her 
 own position, she had araused herself with 
 morally vivisecting him. There was 
 something unnatural about it, and it 
 began to dawn upon him that there were 
 depths in this girl's nature which he had not 
 fathomed. He found that he knew no more 
 about her than he had himself found out. 
 She had answered his questions as directly 
 as he had asked them, but she had told 
 him nothing which would be of the slightest 
 use to him. He tried to reconcile her 
 almost incredible carelessness in both 
 speech and action with the cold calcula- 
 tion and reticence which at other times she 
 displayed. Then he reminded himself that 
 she was not Miss Goldengay at all, but 
 Mrs. Maurice Wingfield, and his heart 
 once more grew hot with mingled auger
 
 20 i AN EXTHO'SIAST. 
 
 and longing. He turned to her again 
 to renew the conversation. 
 
 This silence, which for him had been 
 an interval of meditation, had for her 
 been a time of momentary relaxation and 
 then of mental bracing. One part of the 
 battle was over ; the other, and for her 
 the severest, was yet to come. She had 
 to summon all her strength and skill to 
 her aid. She must lead her companion 
 astray, make him believe that the worst 
 was past, and that she had little to fear 
 from what was coming. She sat arranging 
 her forces and almost unconsciously 
 fighting her battle. She had taken the 
 attitude she instinctively took when re- 
 flecting upon anything. Her right hand 
 hung loosely at her side, the long slender 
 fingers almost resting on the ground. 
 She was leaning slightly forward, her left 
 elbow rested on her knee, and her chin was
 
 .AX ENTHUSIAST. 205 
 
 supported on her palm. The warm colour 
 having died out of her face, it was even 
 paler than usual. Mr. Knox could not 
 see her eyes, but from her attitude and 
 the rest of her face, he imagined they 
 must wear rather a dreary expression ; 
 the beautiful mouth was a little hard. 
 What he read in her face caused him to 
 change his mind ; instead of speaking, he 
 looked at her in silence, and then turned 
 away and followed the direction of her 
 eyes as they looked across the valley. 
 Dark and lowering clouds alone met his 
 view, and the lake was blotted out. The 
 transient brilliance of the early afternoon 
 had faded like his hopes. The mists had 
 come down over the Pike, and the old 
 giant loomed dimly athwart them. The 
 silence of the moors was unbroken ; close 
 to them the little lake glimmered like a 
 dark eye swimming in tears. In all that
 
 20G AN ENTHUSIAST. 
 
 wide expanse they were the only human 
 beings. Without knowing why, he began 
 to think of this place as it must have 
 looked at midnight when Maryla came 
 here, and then his thoughts turned to the 
 following morning wdien, surrounded by 
 sunshine and blue sky, Maryla had told 
 him the story of her life, or — he reminded 
 himself with some bitterness — as much of 
 it as she had chosen to tell. Then he was 
 back in the present as they sat in the 
 mists and gloom, with strife and enmity 
 as well as love in their hearts. When 
 he looked again at the girl at his side, 
 he felt more compassion than anger. 
 She must be unhappy; it could not be 
 otherwise, and his love swallowed up 
 all other feelings, and he felt his heart 
 stir with infinite pity and tenderness 
 for her. 
 
 Suddenly she turned to him and spoke.
 
 AN ENTHUSIAST. 207 
 
 The gloomy look liad vanished from her 
 face, and her yoice sounded quite cheer- 
 ful. 
 
 ''Now," she said, ''there remains only 
 one thing for you to do. You must go 
 and tell Mr. Richardson everything." 
 
 " What do you mean by ' everything ' ? " 
 
 " What we have just been talking 
 about." 
 
 Her change of manner had jarred upon 
 him. The proposal she now made irritated 
 him still more, and he replied, — 
 
 " Your * everything ' is not very com- 
 prehensive. It does not, I presume, 
 include all we have said about your 
 marriage, and an evilly-disposed person 
 might have taken your words literally." 
 
 " How do you know I did not intend 
 you to take them literally ? " 
 
 " What do you mean ? Do you want 
 me to tell him about your marriage ? "
 
 208 AX EXTBUSIAST. 
 
 *' Are you going to tell liini ? " slie asked 
 almost eagerly. 
 
 " I don't understand. Do you want me 
 totellliim?" 
 
 "If you would." 
 
 " Not long ago you gave me a number 
 of reasons why you did not wisli him to 
 know." 
 
 " That is ever so long ago now." 
 
 " Do not the same reasons still exist ? " 
 
 " Everything has changed. To begin 
 with, I have been clever enough to make 
 you into an enemy, and I confess I do not 
 like to think of an enemy having in his 
 possession such a weapon as I gave you 
 when we first spoke of this. I think I 
 must have been a little mad at the time. I 
 do not any longer feel disposed to go 
 through life with a halter round my neck, 
 and feeling myself in the power of some- 
 body else. I daresay you would never have
 
 AX ENTHUSIAST. 200 
 
 thought of sucli a thing if I had not sug- 
 gested it to you, and I must have lost my 
 head a httle before I was so foolish as to 
 let you into such a secret. To be quite 
 candid, I have given you a little encourage- 
 ment. I thought you were a fit subject 
 for an experiment I wanted to make, and 
 I could not resist makino- it. All the time 
 you were speaking this afternoon, I would 
 have given anything to recall the idea I 
 had suggested to you. You have relieved 
 me immensely by saying you may tell 
 now." 
 
 " But I understood that you had your 
 own personal reasons for wishing him not 
 to know." 
 
 She shrugged her shoulders. 
 
 '' I am tired of my secret; it is rather 
 dull having a secret quite to oneself, and 
 when you are gone, no one will know of 
 this but myself. Then the secret itself 
 
 VOL. I. p
 
 210 AN ENTHUSIAST. 
 
 oppresses me ; it is tlie only one 1 haye 
 ever liad, and secrecy is foreign to my 
 nature. I do not tliink it aoTees with me. 
 Mr. Richardson would be hurt at first, but 
 when I had explained matters to him he 
 would forgive me and ^ve should be better 
 friends than ever. He would take the 
 affair in hand, and take steps to bring my 
 husband and me together — after all it was 
 a very little thing that parted us. Matters 
 would be patched up betw^een Maurice and 
 myself, and though I should have to sub- 
 side into ordinary married life with a man 
 w^hom I do not love, and give up the idea 
 of being a celebrated novelist, at least I 
 should feel safe, I should have done w^itli 
 secrets, and not feel as if I w^ere living on 
 the edge of a volcano. I have not courage 
 to tell Mr. Richardson myself, but if you 
 did it forme, I should simply have to fall 
 into the arrano-ement."
 
 AX ENTHUSIAST. 211 
 
 She paused, looking up at liim with 
 eyes which were like two dark deep 
 wells of feeling, and lips parted in a 
 smile hair protesting, half imploring. If 
 her mother could have seen her now, 
 she would have felt very proud of her. 
 Mr. Knox, as he looked down upon her, 
 felt his head swim, the soft lire of her 
 glance stole into his veins and thrilled him 
 through. One by one he had followed the 
 images she had called up, and as she 
 mentioned her husband, spoke of him by 
 name, he clenched his hands with rage. 
 While there is life, there is hope, so long as 
 she was not actually openly the wife of 
 another man, he could believe in some 
 wild chance which might make her his 
 wife. At the sight of her upturned velvet 
 eyes and parted lips, the blood rushed to 
 his face, his heart beat violently, and 
 red spots danced before his eyes. 
 p 2
 
 212 AN ENTHUSIAST. 
 
 "If you want your guardian to know," 
 lie said hoarsely, '' you must take 
 your courage in botli hands, and tell 
 him yourself. I will have no hand in 
 it." 
 
 Even as he spoke, her face changed, the 
 smile faded, her eyes fell. She said 
 nothing for a moment; then she raised 
 her eyebrows slightly, saying, — 
 
 '* Then I suppose I must continue to 
 live on the edge of the volcano ? " 
 
 *' Or get some one else to save you from 
 it." 
 
 There was a silence of some length, and 
 then she said, — 
 
 " Mr. Richardson must know of this ; 
 at least, you will not leave that to me." 
 
 '' Why must he know ? " 
 
 '^ I will never have another secret from 
 him, and there is another reason. Go 
 now, and tell him all."
 
 AN ENTHUSIAST. 213 
 
 '•' You will walk back to the villaofe 
 
 with me 
 
 " 
 
 '' I will go home when I think yon are 
 gone." 
 
 '' Am I not to see you again ? " 
 
 '•'No!" 
 
 '' Do not speak so inflexibly. It is 
 quite possible we may never meet again 
 here, but I am certain we shall at some 
 future time. The mere fact of the 
 secret between us will draw us together, 
 and when you are free I shall be near 
 you." 
 
 " In that case we will say ' au revoirJ " 
 
 "You make a jest of everything now; 
 perhaps you will be in a different mood 
 when we meet again." 
 
 '' Alt revoir,'' she repeated, and he 
 turned and left her. 
 
 She looked after him until his figure 
 was lost in the mist, then she returned
 
 214 AN ENTHUSIAST. 
 
 to lier seat and leaned back, closing her 
 eyes. She was trembling a little, and she 
 drew two or three long sighs. 
 
 Presently she rose to her feet and 
 stood on the biink of the tarn, looking 
 into its black depth. 
 
 " That is over," she said half aloud, 
 '' and I am glad of it, for I knew it must 
 come. I knew I could make him keep 
 silence if I appealed to the worst part of 
 his nature. It was rather a desperate 
 thing to do. If I had overacted one word 
 or look, he would have seen what my real 
 fear was, and he would have told. If he 
 had told, the shock would have killed Mr. 
 Richardson, and I, I, of all people, should 
 have had his death to answer for. He 
 shall never know of that marriage, — if I 
 choke with falsehoods, he shall never 
 know. If he knew it had led to that, he 
 would never forgive himself, though he
 
 AX KXTHL'SIAST. 215 
 
 would forgive me. That is it ; he ^YOulcl 
 forgive me, and never forgive himself." 
 
 She made a long pause. Her face was 
 very pale, there was a dreary look in her 
 eyes, and her mouth drooped mournfully. 
 Then she began to speak again. 
 
 " And I had to plead fear to the solemn 
 column ! So I am afraid, horribly afraid, 
 but for Mr. Richardson, not for myself. 
 When I beo'in to tremble for mv own 
 safety, it will be time to give up the battle. 
 But suppose he tells after all ! Why did 
 I send him to Mr. Richardson ? I wish T 
 knew what he would say. I must go 
 home. No, I cannot meet him again. ] 
 must wait till he has gone. When are 
 the trains, oh, when are the trains ? " 
 
 The house-door was shut when she 
 reached home, and she leaned against the 
 verandah as she waited for the maid to let
 
 216 AN ENTHUSIAST. 
 
 her in. The girl looked at her a little 
 curiously and said, — 
 
 " Master told me to ask you to go to 
 him in the study, Miss." 
 
 She stepped into the house in silence. 
 She could not speak, her tongue clave to 
 the roof of her mouth and her throat was 
 dry. She took off her hat and laid it on 
 the hall table ; then she went to the study, 
 and, contrary to her custom, knocked at 
 the door before going in. 
 
 Mr. Richardson was writing in his 
 usual place. She moved across the room 
 almost noiselessly, and stood before him, 
 saying,— 
 
 '* Ellen told me you wanted me ! " 
 
 He looked at her as she spoke. Despite 
 her wonderful self-command, she could 
 not speak in her usual voice, neither did 
 her eyes meet his. 
 
 '' Yes, my dear," he replied. '* But sit
 
 AN EXTHUSIAST. 217 
 
 down. How pale you are ! Of course 
 tliis is very annoying, but you must not 
 suppose for an instant that I liold you at 
 all to blame." 
 
 He did not know ! The relief was 
 almost too great. A mist came before her 
 eyes and she put her hand upon the 
 writing-table, she dare not move. Mr. 
 Richardson, seeing her emotion, got a 
 chair and made her seat herself. 
 
 *' You are quite upset," he said, smiling. 
 '^ I am afraid he alarmed you, and of 
 course you Avere not prepared for such a 
 declaration." 
 
 She had recovered her self-possession 
 and answered with a smile, — 
 
 " It was rather formidable. We were 
 quite alone, and once or twice he looked 
 so fierce, I almost thought he was going to 
 throw me into the water." 
 
 *« You are better now, that is right ;
 
 218 AX ENTHUSIAST. 
 
 just wanted to speak to you about it 
 because it is rather an awkward affair. 
 Marion—" 
 
 "Well," as lie paused, '' what does 
 Marion say ? ' ' 
 
 " She seems to take it very mucli to 
 heart, though from what she said, I 
 gathered that for some time she lias sus- 
 pected him of want of faith . But the extra- 
 ordinary part is that she persists in 
 asserting that you liave all the time been 
 aware of his preference for you, and have 
 done your utmost to encourage him. Of 
 course I did ray utmost to get the idea 
 out of her mind, but she is very 
 determined, and I wanted to prepare you 
 a little." 
 
 She rose impulsively from her chaii* 
 and raised his hand to her cheek. 
 
 " What a delightful man you are, and 
 how different from our worthy friend the
 
 AN ENTHUSIAST. 219 
 
 column. You always thought better of 
 me than I deservecl, and now the 
 disproportion between your esteem and 
 my deserts is embarrassing." 
 
 " "What on earth do you mean ? " 
 
 *' Marion is right. I did. see that the 
 column was transferrin 2: his valuable 
 aflfections from her to me, and I did 
 deliberately lead him on." 
 
 "Is that really so?" he asked in a 
 voice of some distress. 
 
 " Yes. I would not have troubled you 
 with such a confession, but I thought you 
 ouo^ht to know." 
 
 " I am very sorry to hear it." 
 
 She did not speak, but looked down at 
 the carpet. 
 
 '' What made vou do it ? " he asked at 
 
 1/ 
 
 last. 
 
 " I had two reasons : one was that I 
 had been studying his character, and I
 
 220 AN ENTHUSIAST. 
 
 wanted to make experiments upon Mm. 
 You cannot imagine what an interesting 
 occupation that is. It is like planning 
 a game of chess in your head and seeing 
 all your theories come out right." 
 
 He smiled a little dubiously, both at her 
 words and the tone of enthusiasm in which 
 they were spoken. 
 
 " We will talk about that later. Let 
 me hear your second reason." 
 
 " The second reason is that, having 
 learned all I could from him, I grew tired 
 to death of him and his solemnity. He 
 bored me beyond description, and my 
 one object was to get rid of him as soon as 
 |30ssible." 
 
 He bit his lips to hide a smile as he 
 asked, — 
 
 ''Well?" 
 
 '' So I brousfht matters to a crisis as 
 soon as I could. I knew that when they
 
 AX ENTHUSIAST. 221, 
 
 had reached the point they have done, he 
 would have to go." 
 
 '' And now you have attained your 
 object ? " 
 
 " I hope so. He has gone, I sup- 
 pose." 
 
 "Yes, he has gone. Your plan was 
 excellent, and thoroughly womanly. In 
 some ways, Maryla, you are wonderfully 
 like your mother." 
 
 She said nothing, and he went on, — 
 
 " Could you not have compassed your 
 object without wrecking Marion's hopes." 
 
 *' I did not wreck them. I gave him no 
 encouragement until I saw that, as far as 
 Marion was concerned, it would be all the 
 same whether I gave him encouragement 
 or not. You must have seen that he had 
 given up all idea of asking her to marry 
 him." 
 
 *' Yes, I must confess you are right."
 
 222 AN ENTHUSIAST. 
 
 There was a pause and then she laughed 
 and said, — 
 
 "Poor Marion ! I am sorry for her 
 disappointment. She did so want to get 
 married." 
 
 Mr. Richardson was silent, and she went 
 on, — ■ 
 
 "And I am sorry for our disappoint- 
 ment; we did so want her to get married." 
 
 " You are speaking of my daughter, 
 Maryla." 
 
 "Ah, yes, I had forgotten; blood is, 
 after all, thicker than water." 
 
 She turned away to the windoAY as she 
 spoke, and her words were followed by a 
 silence. Mr. Eichardson looked after her 
 for a time, then he rose, and, standing* 
 behind her, put his two hands upon her 
 shoulders. He did not say anything, 
 neither did she, but when they had stood 
 for a minute in this way, she put up one
 
 AX ENTHUSIAST. 223 
 
 of her hands, and without looking round 
 drew one of his to her lips, which she 
 pressed lightly against it. After this, they 
 turned away from the window and seated 
 themselves on the chairs they had occu- 
 pied before. 
 
 " AYliat did he tell joii ? " asked Maryla. 
 
 •' I believe he told me the truth, and he 
 
 expressed regret on Marion's account. I 
 
 do not think there was anything more to 
 
 say." 
 
 " Did she see him before he went ? " 
 '' No, I thought it better not." 
 " You were right, I think. It would 
 have been a harrowing scene and have done 
 no earthly good. I suppose you sent for 
 her and told her about it." 
 
 He nodded and she went on, — 
 " She will never forgive me of course, 
 that we must not expect,' but I do hope, 
 for your sake, she will not be very
 
 22i AN ENTHUSIAST. 
 
 unbending. How did she take it ? was 
 she angry, or grieved, or majestic, or 
 what?" 
 
 There was a touch of sadness in his 
 voice as he replied, — 
 
 '' I do not seem to have her confidence. 
 I fear it is partly my own fault. I have 
 not encouraged her to open her heart to 
 me. She would tell me nothing, her face 
 was like a mask, only she spoke very 
 hardly of you. It was from Ethel I learned 
 that she feels it very much." 
 
 She rose to go, but he stopped her, 
 saying,— 
 
 " Just one word first, my love. You 
 seem inclined to let your zeal run away 
 with you ; try to guard against that. It 
 might another time expose you to much 
 greater danger and serious misapprehen- 
 
 sion." 
 
 ■' I daresay, but when I am really inte-
 
 AN ENTHUSIAST. 225 
 
 rested, I forget to take precautionary 
 measures." 
 
 " Give me warnino^and I will take them 
 for you," drawing his finger down her 
 cheek as he spoke. 
 
 VOL. I. ^
 
 226 AN EKTHCSIAST. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 " The love and duty that I bear you." 
 
 Mahyla's fears were realized ; Marion was 
 unbending. Stie had gone to her room 
 after hearing what her father had to tell 
 her, and under the plea of a headache had 
 not left it again that day. On the follow- 
 inof morninor she had resumed her usual 
 place in the house, looking onlj a little 
 paler than was her wont. She never made 
 any allusion to the departed guest. She 
 spoke to her father and sister in her accus- 
 tomed tone and manner, but she ceased to 
 have any intercourse with Maryla. Nothing 
 A^ould have induced her to address a sing^le
 
 AN ENTHUSIAST. 227 
 
 word to the girl who, she believed, had of set 
 purpose, out of pure malice and wickedness, 
 destroyed her happiness. She had vowed 
 to herself that her hand should never touch 
 Maryla's ; she would not even look at her, 
 if she met her on the stairs or in the 
 passages, she stood aside lest even their 
 clothing should come in contact. Maryla 
 was scarcely either surprised or distressed. 
 She would have let bygones be bygones 
 and have behaved as though nothing had 
 happened. When she saw the attitude 
 Marion took, she shrugged her shoulders 
 and let her have her way. But she was 
 not long in finding out that this estrange- 
 ment was exceedingly distressing to Mr. 
 Hichardson ; it caused him both pain and 
 anxiety ; he worried over it and his health 
 grew worse. He could not insist upon 
 Marion keeping up an appearance of har- 
 mony because he could not now assert that 
 
 a 2
 
 228 AN ENTHUSIAST. 
 
 Maryla was altogether innocent in the 
 matter. He liad a slight attack, and 
 Maryla, alarmed, put aside her own feel- 
 ings and asked Marion to appear, at least 
 in the presence of her father, as if she 
 had forgotten. Marion stared in rather 
 haughty silence. Then Maryla parted 
 with her cherished secret, and said that 
 Mr. Richardson was far from strong and 
 that this unfortunate affair with its results 
 had not been calculated to give him mental 
 repose. Ethel was present, and Marion 
 turned to her saying, — 
 
 *' I should think we ought to know the 
 state of papa's health best, should not 
 you, Ethel ? He never complains and he 
 looks well. I do not think we need feel 
 alarmed." 
 
 Upon this, Maryla had, contrary to her 
 custom, grown angry, and said, — 
 
 *' You must do as you please about it,
 
 AN ENTHUSIAST. 229 
 
 on]j when the time comes, do not say I 
 did not give yon warning." 
 
 That attempt having failed, she made 
 
 np her mind to speak to Mr. Richardson 
 
 about a plan which had lately suggested 
 
 itself to her. Since the day of Mr. Knox's 
 
 departure, he had never been mentioned 
 
 by either her or her gnardiau ; he was too 
 
 much pained by the whole occurrence, and 
 
 perhaps he felt it a little hard that in 
 
 these difficult and painful circumstances it 
 
 was his ward and not his daughter who 
 
 had shown the truer love for him. Maryla 
 
 scarcely troubled the sisters ; when in the 
 
 house, she sat habitually in his study, and 
 
 at table, while speaking less than usual, 
 
 w^hat she said was addressed wholly to 
 
 him ; but even when they were alone, they 
 
 never spoke of the column, and so Maryla 
 
 had to employ all her resolution to speak 
 
 of the tacitly forbidden subject and of the
 
 230 AN ENTHUSIAST. 
 
 plan wliicli she had formed as she thought 
 of it in her walks over the hills and her 
 silent watching of the dying year. 
 
 One morning she went into the study, 
 and going up to where Mr. Richardson 
 was bending over the writing-table, she 
 gave a little caressing pull to his hair and 
 said, — 
 
 '' I want you to come out with me." 
 
 " It does not seem to have occurred to 
 you that I may not be able to come." 
 
 " You are coming. I want to talk to 
 you, and you know I can never say what 
 I mean so well in the house as out of 
 doors." 
 
 " You mean you cannot be so persua- 
 sive. That may be true, there is some- 
 thing about you which seems in harmony 
 with nature. If you ever have to refuse 
 a lover, take my advice and do it in the 
 house, out of doors he would never consent
 
 AN ENTHUSIAST. 231 
 
 to give up hope ; you always look your 
 very best in the open air." 
 
 •'You have forgotten the column." 
 
 " The column ! I had decided we would 
 never mention that man's name again." 
 
 " So had I, but I think we shall have to 
 break our vow. It is not exactly about 
 him, but in connection with him, that I 
 want to talk to you now." 
 
 '* Oh, well, in that case, we had better 
 go out of doors." 
 
 She got him into the hall, gave him his 
 hat, helped him on with his coat, searched 
 for his stick in the umbrella-stand, and at 
 last led him away captive, as he said, into 
 the garden. 
 
 ** Where are we going to?" he asked. 
 
 " I thought of the moors on the other 
 side of the lake, if that will not be too 
 far for you." 
 
 " I can manage it very well to-day, this
 
 232 AN ENTHUSIAST. 
 
 wonderful air puts new life into me, and I 
 feel capable of mucli." 
 
 '' You begin to understand tlie feeling of 
 immortality which I have in fine bright 
 weather or when things have gone very- 
 well with me. At such times I feel like 
 a bird, as if I weighed about a quarter 
 of a pound and could fly if any one 
 lifted me from the ground. Of course 
 trouble and worry seem no longer to 
 exist." 
 
 '' You are a marvellous creature," he 
 replied, pressing the hand which she had 
 slipped under his arm. 
 
 They did not speak of Mr. Knox until 
 they were seated in a warm sunny place 
 on the heather, with the calm lake below 
 them, the Pike rising grandly on the 
 opposite side, and all around the woods in 
 the pomp and glory of autumn. The 
 scene was one of surpassing peace and
 
 AN ENTHUSIAST. 233 
 
 beauty, the stillness so intense it seemed a 
 sacrilege to break it. 
 
 Maryla felt as if she could not speak, 
 her motive in making this proposition 
 might so easily be misunderstood. It was 
 only the conviction that she and her 
 guardian understood one another per- 
 fectly which made it possible for her to 
 speak at all. She scarcely knew whether 
 she wanted Mr. Richardson to grant her 
 request or not, but in the trust that he 
 would rightly understand her motive in 
 speaking, she was going to make it. The 
 first words were difficult to say, and Mr. 
 Eichardson, suddenly rousing himself as 
 though from a dream, asked — ■ 
 
 " What did you want to talk to me 
 about ? " 
 
 "About the way in which Marion 
 behaves ; it distresses you, does it 
 not?"
 
 234 AN ENTUUSUST. 
 
 He looked at her with rather an 
 enigmatical smile as he answered, — 
 
 " My dear, you surprise me ; I know that 
 your acquaintance with the Bible is only 
 limited, but you may have heard a saying, 
 which runs thus, ' Can the Ethiopian 
 change his skin, or the leopard his 
 spots ? "' 
 
 "Well?'* 
 
 " Well, under given circumstances, it is 
 Marion's nature to behave in a certain 
 way, and my nature to be distressed at her 
 behaviour. Unless you change the con- 
 ditions you cannot change the results." 
 
 *' You speak as if the conditions were 
 unchangeable." 
 
 " And you, as if you proposed to change 
 them." 
 
 " How do you know that ? " 
 
 "You must know what a sore Marion's 
 conduct makes in my heart. I do not
 
 AN ENTHUSIAST. 235 
 
 think you would have deliberately touched 
 that sore unless you had a remedy to 
 propose.'* 
 
 " ' Sir,' " she quoted, " ' it is proper to 
 inform you that our measures must he 
 healing.^ I am going to propose a healing 
 measure. I have caused Marion tbe 
 greatest disappointment she has ever had. 
 As long as we are together she will never 
 forget it, and as long as she does not 
 forget it, she will behave as she is doing 
 now. This is very bad for you; it is 
 destroying your peace and health. The 
 only cure is for one of us to go away. 
 Marion has a right to stay, so I propose 
 that I go." 
 
 She had purposely spoken briefly and 
 plainly. She would not by word, or look, 
 or tone betray her own inclmations, or 
 influence her companion. Sure though 
 she felt of the result, passionately fond
 
 236 AN ENTHUSIAST. 
 
 though she was of Mr. Eichardson, she 
 could not resist experimenting on her 
 knowledge of his character, and having 
 spoken, she waited in suspense for his 
 answer. 
 
 ''To go away from here is rather 
 vague ; explain a little what you mean." 
 
 " I cannot stay here always, as you 
 know. Some time I shall have to go and 
 try my fortune in the world. You know 
 what our plan was, that I should live in 
 some town and write my novels. We had 
 counted upon my taking the first steps 
 from the safety and obscurity of Stane- 
 dale. My plan is that, instead of waiting 
 until I must go, I take the occasion by the 
 hair and go now." 
 
 It was impossible to keep her voice 
 quite steady. At the last words it shook 
 perceptibly. The unsteadiness might be 
 attributed either to painful emotion at the
 
 AN ENTHUSIAST. 237 
 
 thought of leaving her home and the one 
 person to whom she was attached, or to 
 the irresistible excitement of anticipating 
 her new life. Her eyes, as she spoke, did 
 not meet those of her companion. 
 
 She knew she had said a bold thing. 
 The greatest stranger might give her 
 credit for filial feeling and attachment, 
 and a sincere wish to promote the peace 
 of the household at the expense of her 
 own happiness. Her warmest friend and 
 well-wisher, knowing her nature, might be 
 excused for divining in her proposal the 
 expression of a hidden wish which grati- 
 tude and affection had hitherto caused her 
 to keep to herself, and which she took 
 this first and favourable opportunity of 
 openly manifesting. 
 
 There was silence when she had finished 
 speaking. She was seated so that her 
 companion could see her face plainly, and
 
 238 AN ENTHUSIAST. 
 
 read everj expression whicli appeared 
 upon it. Bat he could not see one hand 
 which she had buried in the heather, and 
 her fingers were graspitig the tough, 
 springy stalks ready to tear the root from 
 the ground. 
 
 " So that is your plan ? " 
 
 "Yes; this cannot go on for ever; it 
 would wear you out. One of us must go, 
 and for every reason I am the one." 
 
 He bent his head, and looked into her 
 face. 
 
 "Do you for one moment believe that 
 I shall let you go ? *' 
 
 She did not raise her eyes, but her 
 mouth trembled almost imperceptibly at 
 the corner. For half a second it seemed 
 as if she were going to smile, but she 
 repressed it, and said, — • 
 
 " Some time, you know, it will have to 
 happen.''
 
 AN ENTHUSIAST. 239 
 
 ** Then, some time, it ^may, but daring 
 my life you shall never go ! Do you for 
 one instant imagine that because Marion 
 behaves like a child for the loss of a man 
 from whom she ought to be glad to be 
 delivered, that therefore you are to go 
 away, to be turned out of my house and 
 sent into the world as if you had com- 
 mitted some crime ? My child," his tone 
 softening as he took her hand, " you shall 
 never have that act of injustice to reproach 
 me with." 
 
 "I knew you w^ould say that; but, 
 remember, I proposed this for your sake. 
 If Marion does not change something 
 must be done. You cannot go on longer 
 like this." 
 
 ** If, after I have spoken to Marion this 
 evening, she does not change, it is she who 
 will have to go. I will not have you 
 driven away."
 
 240 AN ENTHUSIAST. 
 
 '' You would do better not to speak; it 
 will only make matters worse.' She will 
 think I have been complaining, and will 
 hate me more. Besides, you would have 
 to keep your word, and if your daughter 
 were sent away that I might be made 
 more comfortable, what would people say ? 
 Then, remember, I do not care for myself 
 whether she smiles or frowns upon me." 
 
 " You shall not go ! What, in the name 
 of fortune, should I do without you ? " 
 
 " Come with me. Leave Marion and 
 Ethel here. They will be perfectly safe, 
 and we can go and live a vagabond life 
 and be as happy as beggars." 
 
 " A brilliant suggestion upon my word. 
 Since you have developed a regard for 
 pubhc opinion, tell me what 'people 
 would say ' if I were to leave my two 
 daughters to live unprotected, while I 
 went to watch over my ward in town ?"
 
 AN ENTHUSIAST. 241 
 
 " They would saj^ that, considering the 
 respective characters of the daughters and 
 the ward, you had shown a remarkable 
 degree of common sense." 
 
 "^0, they would not. That is just 
 what they ought to say, so they would 
 take very good care not to say it." 
 
 " At any rate you would have the 
 soothing consciousness that you had done 
 right." 
 
 " Ah, now ! there is some sense in that. 
 Since we are speaking about these things, 
 I may as well tell you that I hate the 
 thought of your living alone ; you are not 
 in the least fit for it." 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 *' There is that pecuharity you have 
 which prompts you to prostrate yourself, 
 figuratively speaking, before any one who 
 has been kind to you. It is a very attrac- 
 tive feature in your character, the more so 
 
 VOL. I. * R
 
 242 AN ENTHUSIAST. 
 
 because jou ai^e often unreasonably hard 
 to people wlio have the misfortune not to 
 please you ; but it will be of little practical 
 use, nay, rather in your way, in the course of 
 your battle with the world. You ought to 
 have someone with you to guard you 
 against yourself." 
 
 " How wise you are ! about how many 
 people do you suppose I shall meet, who 
 will be kind to me ? " 
 
 " One will be enough to do all the 
 necessary damage." 
 
 " Then I am not to go away before I 
 must." 
 
 *' Only by your own wish." 
 
 He spoke gravely, but there w^as no tone 
 of inference in his voice. It evidently did 
 not occur to him to suspect any hidden 
 purpose in what she had said. 
 
 " There are one or two other matters 
 upon which I should like to speak to you,"
 
 AX ENTHUSIAST. 243 
 
 said Mr. Ricliardson presently, " we may 
 not liave so good an opportunity again." 
 
 " Your tone tells me there are business 
 matters, so let us get them over by all 
 means ; you know business is not my 
 forte." 
 
 '* Facts and figures are naturally dis- 
 tasteful to you, certainly, though your 
 head is so clear. One thing is about my 
 will. We were speaking a little time ago 
 of your share of my money. Are you 
 still of that opinion ? " 
 
 " Yes, and you too, I suppose." 
 
 " You are right, I want you to have a 
 third." 
 
 " I will not have a third. Do you not 
 see that, if you leave me equal with your 
 daughters, it will embitter them against 
 you, and make you a subject of strife, and 
 I will not have you made a subject of strife. 
 If you will leave me a hundred a year, 
 B 2
 
 244 AN ENTHUSIAST. 
 
 I shall be very grateful to you, and I shall 
 be independent. With that certain, I shall, 
 have no need to write pot-boilers, and it 
 will be a pleasure to owe that to you. 
 But, if you love me, let it be no more." 
 
 " A hundred a year is such a pittance." 
 
 '' It is independence. Besides, you 
 forget that I am going to make a vast 
 fortune with my novels. Before long, 
 your hundred a year will have sunk to the 
 proportions of a mere seed to keep my 
 memory green for you. Four times a year, 
 at any rate, I shall think of you. You 
 will scarcelv ask more than that." 
 
 " I am greedy, I exact a thought for 
 every day." 
 
 ''You unreasonable old man ! and like 
 most unreasonable people, 1 have no 
 doubt you will get what you want." 
 
 " Good girl." 
 
 *' And now the other thino^ ? "
 
 AN ENTHUSIAST. 245 
 
 " The other thing is less simple, but 
 you have lately shown me that it is 
 necessary." 
 
 *' How solemnly you speak ! I feel 
 quite nervous." 
 
 "It is I who feel nervous for you. I 
 want to warn you against the zeal with 
 which you pursue your art. Try not to 
 be so reckless in j^our studies ; you are so 
 unutterably, fearfully careless. Some day, 
 if you are not more prudent, you will bring 
 some great disaster upon yourself or some- 
 body else." 
 
 " I hope sincerely it may be somebody 
 else." 
 
 " So do I, but be serious for one 
 moment. You laugh now, you are young 
 and strong, with every confidence in your 
 own skill and firmness. But you have 
 had a little lesson which ought to teach 
 you that you cannot probe a man's inner-
 
 246 
 
 AN ENTHUSIAST. 
 
 most nature, and lead him tlirougli every 
 phase of emotion, with impunity. Such 
 a practice is — for a woman — Hterally play- 
 ing with fire ; sometime you will be 
 scorched in your turn." 
 
 '' I do not know whether I am scorch- 
 able." 
 
 '' Don't you, don't you ; are you sure ? 
 I do. I can imagine you passionately in 
 love, and I hope I may be alive when the 
 time comes. Only take care it is with the 
 right man. For heaven's sake don't 
 marry out of i^ique or gratitude, and then 
 find you have made some wretched mistake 
 which you will never be able to set right. 
 It would be the greatest folly of which you 
 CO aid be guilty." 
 
 She coloured deeply, and then went 
 very pale. After a moment's silence, she 
 laughed gaily, saying, — 
 
 " I should be very sorry for the unfor-
 
 AN ENTHUSIAST. 247 
 
 tunaie man who was tlie victim of my folly ; 
 should not you?" 
 
 *' Extremely, I am speaking as much for 
 Lis sake as for yours." 
 
 '^ I thank you in his name. Seriously 
 though, I must work in my own wa3^ 
 AYhen I see a man falling in love with me 
 I cannot resist trying him, and leading 
 him as far as he will go, I mean, in the 
 interests of my art." 
 
 ''I don't like it; if you are speak- 
 ing seriously, you ought not to live 
 alone." 
 
 '* T am speaking seriously, but you may 
 trust me. Nothing more than I choose 
 will ever happen to me." 
 
 " For heaven's sake take care what you 
 are doing," he said nervously. 
 
 She burst out laughing as she re- 
 plied, — 
 
 ** Heaven and I are strangers, but if
 
 248 AN ENTHUSIAST. 
 
 you really cat^e about it, I will try to be 
 
 careful." 
 
 * * * * 
 
 Tliis was almost the last conversation 
 about such things which they had. Early 
 in the winter Mr. Richardson's health 
 began to fail. In spite of every care he 
 grew weaker, and in the spring he died. 
 As soon as he was dead, Maryla left the 
 room and never entered it again in the 
 daytime. But Marion and Ethel knew 
 that, as soon as everyone had gone to bed, 
 she returned to the room where the dead 
 man lay, and stayed there till morning. 
 On the day of the funeral she went out 
 early, and did not come home till late 
 in the evening wlien it was already dark. 
 
 END OF VOL. I. 
 
 ILBKEX AND BIVINGIOW, LlMITiiD, ST. JOHNS BQUAKJi, LOWDON.
 

 
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 3 0112 045843999 
 
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