;«?^8f5?sfsssss^jf^^s$sgiss^sj^^ 
 
LI E) RAFLY 
 
 OF THE 
 
 UNIVLR5ITY 
 
 or ILLINOIS 
 
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 '^r' 
 
DKIVEN BEFORE THE STORM, 
 
 YOL. I. 
 
NEW AND POPULAE NOVELS 
 
 AT ALL THE LIBRARIES. 
 
 COURTLEROY. By Anne Beale, author of 'Fay 
 
 Arlington,' &c. 3 vols. 
 
 VICTIMS. By Theo Gift, author of 'Pretty Miss 
 
 Bellew,' ' Visited on the Children,' ' Lil Lorimer,' &c. 3 vols. 
 
 PASSAGES IN THE LIFE OF A LADY, in 1814— 
 
 1815—1816. By Hamilton Aide, author of ' Rita,' &c. 3 vols. 
 
 TILL MY, WEDDING-DAY. By a French Lady. 
 
 2 vols. 
 
 THE GREEN HILLS BY THE SEA: A Manx 
 
 Story. By Hugh Coleman Davidson. 3 vols. 
 
 HURST & BLACKETT, 13, GREAT MARLBOROUGH STREET. 
 
DRIVEN BEFORE THE STORM 
 
 GERTRUDE FORDE, 
 
 AUTHOR OF 
 
 A lady's tour in CORSICA," " IX THE OLD PALAZZO, 
 ETC., ETC. 
 
 IN THREE VOLUMES. 
 VOL. L 
 
 LONDON : 
 
 HURST AND BLACKETT, PUBLISHERS, 
 
 13, GREAT MARLBOROUGH STREET. 
 
 1887. 
 
 All Rights reserved. 
 
Richard Clay and Sons, 
 
 bread street hill, london, 
 
 Bungay, Suffolk. 
 
V. 1L 
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 OF 
 
 THE EI EST VOLUME. 
 
 <^ 
 
 
 S: 
 
 CHAPTER 
 
 I. ABOUT THE HERO AND A AVAIF 
 
 II. THE ISLAND OF GOATS . 
 
 III. ' I GUESS you're TOO SHARP UPON THE MEN ' 
 
 IV. A TUSSLE WITH THE WAVES . 
 
 V, A WINDY WALK .... 
 
 VI. AN UNPOPULAR MEMBER OF SOCIETY 
 
 VII. ' WE PROMISED TO BE FRIENDS ' 
 
 VIII. MISS HOPKINS RECALLS THE PAST . 
 
 IX. AN UNEXPECTED MEETING 
 
 X. JARRING ELEMENTS 
 
 XI. RECONCILED 
 
 XII. JUDITH'S LOVER .... 
 
 XIII. NELL DOES BATTLE WITH THE MEN OF 
 HOUSEHOLD .... 
 
 HER 
 
 XIV. 
 
 THE CONDITION OF YOUR PECUNIARY AFFAIRS 
 
 1 
 
 18 
 
 35 
 
 69 
 
 92 
 
 133 
 
 159 
 
 181 
 
 196 
 
 215 
 
 226 
 
 250 
 
 268 
 
 284 
 
 ^ 
 
DKIVEN BEFORE THE STORM. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 ABOUT THE HERO AND A WAIF. 
 
 ' But the poor dog, in life the firmest friend, 
 The first to welcome, foremost to defend, 
 "Whose honest heart is still his master's own. 
 Who labours, fights, lives, breathes for him alone— 
 Unhonoured falls, unnoticed all his worth, 
 Denied in heaven the soul he held on earth ! ' 
 
 Byron. 
 
 The sky was grey and cloudy, with here 
 and there a patch of chequered blue ; aiid 
 the Mediterranean lapped lazily upon its 
 level shore in a sort of sullen calm. The 
 afternoon of the April day was drawing to 
 a close in better mood than had been pro- 
 mised by a showery morning ; and, for a 
 
 VOL. I. B 
 
2 DRIVEN BEFORE THE STORM. 
 
 pedestrian in southern Italy, was of quite 
 the right sort — cool, sunless, and picturesque. 
 Such a personage now lay, stretching his 
 long limbs at ease upon the shingle, care- 
 lessly digging little holes in the somewhat 
 dirty sand around him — his straw hat flung 
 off, and his short fair hair bared to the 
 pleasant breeze, his blue eyes resting in a 
 half-absent satisfaction upon the lovely 
 scene before him. 
 
 An Englishman this tourist, every inch 
 of him, as might plainly be seen, as much 
 from his close-cropped head, clean-shaven 
 chin, and yellow moustache, as from the 
 national cut of the light tweed suit fitting 
 loosely to the broad athletic figure. 
 
 Sunset was beginning to creep over sky 
 and sea. The patches of blue spread and 
 deepened, the leaden interstices flushed into 
 a soft pink, and the transformation scene 
 commenced. Vivid bars of crimson and 
 purple spread long arms across the golden 
 
ABOUT THE HERO AND A WAIF. 3 
 
 heavens, whilst Ischia and Procida gradu- 
 ally mapped out their indented outlines 
 against a glorified background, and all 
 the bays and promontories of the matchless 
 Gulf of Naples slowly unveiled themselves 
 from the day's jealous mist, and brought 
 themselves to within a stone's throw of the 
 observer, painted in every shade of pink 
 and blue and mauve. 
 
 Barrington De Witt was not sentimental, 
 neither was he an artist, but he was a keen 
 appreciator of Nature in her picturesque 
 moods, and his gaze remained riveted upon 
 the scene. 
 
 ' What a pity John Pon is not here,' he 
 muttered to himself ; ' it's too good to have 
 all to oneself.' 
 
 When at length the colours began to 
 fade, he still lay on, partly to enjoy that 
 curious dying-out of sky and sea life, and 
 partly because a good rest was pleasant after 
 the long walk to Baiss and its environs. 
 
 B 2 
 
4 DRIVEN BEFORE THE STORM. 
 
 But on removing his gaze lie became aware 
 that he was not alone. It was only a dog 
 after all; but De Witt was fond of dogs, 
 and instead of threatening him with stick or 
 stones, glanced amiably towards the poor 
 beast as he came forward timidly, yet with 
 purpose in his eyes, and sat himself down 
 but a couple of yards distant, with faintly 
 wagging tail and a beseeching face. He 
 was a thin and lanky creature, of a kind 
 seldom seen in that part of the world, more 
 of a coUey than anything else — evidently 
 a young dog, and one that might possibly, 
 when filled out with food, and washed clean 
 from mud and dirt, attain to good looks. 
 That he was highly intelligent could be 
 seen at once from the expression of his 
 clear brown eyes. De Witt whistled slightly 
 and held out a friendly hand, and in an 
 instant the gaunt creature came forward 
 and licked his fingers. 
 
 Eeader, if you have ever lived in southern 
 
ABOUT THE HERO AND A WAIF. 5 
 
 Italy, you will recognize this as a some- 
 what extraordinary fact, and understand 
 the attentive scrutiny with which De Witt 
 favoured his new acquaintance. The in- 
 telligence and affections of the canine race 
 are not, as a rule, cultivated in those 
 neighbourhoods ; and to meet with a dog 
 either wise or caressing, especially an ap- 
 parently stray and homeless dog, is an 
 incident as rare as astonishing. 
 
 ' Where do you come from ? ' asked the 
 man ; and the dog looked earnestly and 
 lovingly into his face. ' And what do you 
 want ? ' continued Homo. Canis wao- ged 
 his tail and repeated the lick. 
 
 ' Rubbish ! ' remarked Homo, ' don't tell 
 me. It isn't love you want ; it's victuals.' 
 
 Canis crept a little closer, and wagged 
 his tail a little harder. 
 
 'I do believe,' observed Homo, Hhat 
 you understand English. I shouldn't wonder 
 if you were an English dog.' And Canis 
 
6 DRIVEN BEFORE THE STORM. 
 
 continued the wagging silently, perhaps 
 affirmatively. But there was no doubt as 
 to his sentiments when his companion took 
 a packet of biscuits from his coat-pocket. 
 * There/ said Homo, 'eat those up, and 
 then decamp.' 
 
 The biscuits were devoured hungrily, 
 silently, gratefully ; but there was no de- 
 camping. Canis remained silently watch- 
 ing his new friend, stretched out beside him 
 as near as he was permitted to come. 
 When at length De Witt rose, shaking the 
 sand from his clothes and preparing to 
 start homewards, he rose too and followed 
 step by step with a determined air. 
 
 ' Now, look here, old fellow,' said Barring- 
 ton after a few yards, turning to survey his 
 companion, 'my pockets are empty, there 
 isn't another crumb in my possession. I 
 can't adopt you, neither do I intend to treat 
 you to tahle-dliote at the hotel to-night. 
 So suppose you slope it ! ' 
 
ABOUT THE HERO AND A WAIF. 7 
 
 The stray dog looked him in the face 
 unflinchingiy. That he understood the 
 purport of De Witt's words and gestures 
 was evident ; that he had not the slightest 
 intention of obeying was quite equally 
 evident. Even the threat of the stick or 
 the launching of one or two small stones in 
 his direction failed to move him. He was 
 clearly a dog of a resolute will. Barrington 
 fancied that his eyes filled with a dumb 
 reproach at these repulses, as he withdrew 
 himself to a humbler distance, but these 
 were the barren results of the efi"ort to 
 repudiate his society ; and as De Witt 
 turned his back upon the fading glories of 
 the Mediterranean, and toiled up the long 
 steep hill of Posilippo, the thin dusty 
 animal kept its place steadily behind him. 
 
 Tahle-dliote was just over by the time 
 De Witt reached his hotel ; and, not sorry 
 to miss the long steaming meal, he had a 
 cosy little dinner to himself in one corner of 
 
8 DRIVEN BEFOEE THE STORM. 
 
 the long dining-room, issuing an hour later, 
 cigar in mouth, to his favourite bench in 
 the hotel garden — a bench overshadowed by 
 a great chestnut-tree, and looking out upon 
 a wide-reaching view. It was placed not 
 far from the entrance gate ; and there — 
 silently, sadly, crouching beside the iron 
 railings, his body without, his nose within, 
 his whole attitude one of humble suppli- 
 cation — sat the poor waif of the Posilippo 
 shore. Every boy who passed pulled his 
 tail, or otherwise insulted him, but he 
 seemed regardless of insult and bereft of 
 fear, as he sat like a dirty canine Peri at 
 the gate of Paradise, watching for his self- 
 chosen benefactor. His tail went round 
 and round as Barrington sauntered for- 
 wards, and his eyes never quitted the 
 Englishman as he sat down to enjoy his 
 smoke beneath the trees. De Witt began 
 to feel quite uncomfortable beneath the 
 dog's appealing gaze, and turned his back 
 
ABOUT THE HEEO AND A WAIF. 9 
 
 upon him as he flung one arm across the 
 rail of the bench, and gazed out upon the 
 surrounding scene. Both sea and sky were 
 now calm and blue ; and the Chiaja, lit up 
 by its wide semicircle of lamps, glittered 
 like fairyland around the sleeping bay. 
 
 There was a step on the gravel beside 
 him, and he turned his head as the new- 
 comer, a short and wiry man, sprang up and 
 perched himself upon the arm of the bench 
 with crossed legs, like an agile goblin. 
 
 ' Back at last ! ' remarked the Honourable 
 John Ponsonby, usually called ' John Pon ' 
 by his intimates — a dark, keen-eyed man, 
 with black hair and moustache, and a 
 hooked nose. ' Cicero and all the other old 
 blokes at home to receive you at Baise ? ' 
 
 Barrington nodded. ^ It's the pleasantest 
 day I've had since I came south,' he re- 
 marked. ' I wish you'd been able to come 
 with me, Ponsonby. We had a tarantella 
 in a ruined temple.' 
 
10 DRIVEN BEFORE THE STORM. 
 
 ' And all tlie other touristries, I suppose. 
 But I dida't come down merely to amuse 
 myself, like you, my dear fellow. I'm a 
 business man ; and I must be off to- 
 morrow morning by cockcrow.' 
 
 ' To-morrow morning ? What a nui- 
 sance ! ' 
 
 ' A telegram shortened me up. You'll be 
 snoring when I depart.' 
 
 ' I say, Ponsonby, what am I to do when 
 you are gone ? There isn't a decent man to 
 speak to in the hotel.' 
 
 * Well, they ain't a very juicy lot here, I 
 must say. Suppose you try Capri. I had 
 no end of a jolly three days there before I 
 met you.' 
 
 ' There's nothing but artists and beggar- 
 maids at Capri, is there ? ' 
 
 ' All the better. The artists are pleasant 
 fellows, and the beggar-maids so many 
 houris.' 
 
 ' Anything to climb ? ' 
 
ABOUT THE HERO AND A WAIF. 11 
 
 ' Only hills, but one or two stiff ones, 
 and rocks where you might break your neck 
 if you tried hard. A primitive, friendly 
 population, and a tidy little hotel or two.' 
 
 *They dance the tarantella all day long 
 there, I suppose % I've seen it twice, and 
 that's about enouiyh.' 
 
 * They make a pause occasionally ; and 
 some of them sell coral or drive donkeys.' 
 
 ' But I don't wear coral necklaces, and I 
 don't like riding donkeys.' 
 
 'Then you can go out boating and risk 
 a drowning. It is rarely calm two days 
 together.' 
 
 ' That sounds better,' remarked Barring- 
 ton, thoughtfully. ' I dare say I may go. 
 It doesn't seem a bad sort of a place for a 
 few days. I wish you could come with me, 
 Pom' 
 
 * I wish I could ; but I can't. And it 
 wouldn't suit me to be an idle man.' 
 
 De Witt removed his cigar from his 
 
12 DRIVEN BEFORE THE STORM. 
 
 mouth, and slowly turned towards his 
 companion. 
 
 'I seem a lazy sort of a fellow to you, I 
 suppose, Ponsonby ? ' 
 
 The Honourable John shruo^o^ed his 
 shoulders lightly, thereby nearly but not 
 quite destroying his balance upon the back 
 of the bench. 
 
 ' Well, I'd give any sum to be back in 
 my old profession if I could ! It wasn't my 
 doing that I ever left it.' 
 
 ' Of course not.' 
 
 ' I'm sick already of hanging about doing 
 nothing, though it's only a year since my 
 father died.' 
 
 ' Then, my dear fellow, hadn't you better 
 look out for some occupation without loss 
 of time, seeing you may have another forty 
 or fifty years of it ? ' 
 
 ' How can I ? I'm not fit for anything 
 else.' 
 
 ' You might get something to do if 
 
ABOUT THE HERO AND A WAIF. 13 
 
 you didn't want to l)e paid for it, you 
 know/ 
 
 ' I don't think I could fancy any other 
 kind of work.' 
 
 ^H'm — just so. And can't you return to 
 the property and look after that ? ' 
 
 ' Impossible, so my lawyers tell me. The 
 estate has got so involved the last few years, 
 that the only hope is for me to live away 
 from it for a time.' 
 
 'That's a bore.' 
 
 ' Yes ; not that I'm particularly keen 
 upon country life ; but the old place has 
 its attractions. But it's an expensive one 
 to keep up, and my father's horses ran the 
 income down to a low ebb.' 
 
 * Well, you must take to painting in 
 water-colours : that's what all the idle 
 men do abroad.' 
 
 * I never could put two lines together in 
 my life.' 
 
 ' I'm afraid the French horn is out of date, 
 
/ 
 
 14 DRIVEN BEFORE THE STORM. 
 
 and you are too old for the violin. There's 
 only one thing left for you to do, De Witt. 
 You must fall in love.' 
 
 ' With a Capri coral girl ? ' 
 
 * I fell in love with all the coral girls 
 there/ remarked Ponsonby meditatively. 
 * What's that cur doing at the gate-post, I 
 wonder ? ' 
 
 ' Followed me from Posilippo.' 
 
 Ponsonby whistled, and with one bound 
 the dog leapt in, passing his outstretched 
 hand, however, without notice, and pressing 
 his nose to De Witt's knee. 
 
 ' Nice dawg, intelligent dawg,' remarked 
 the Honourable John ; ' he knows Fm too 
 poor to pay his ticket back to England for 
 him.' 
 
 * Then you think he's an English dog ? ' 
 'I do. Well, I must turn in now, De 
 
 Witt, and pack my portmanteau. Au revoir 
 to our next meeting in England. When 
 do you think of returning homewards ? ' 
 
ABOUT THE HERO AND A WAIF. 15 
 
 'Haven't a notion. AVhen I'm too 
 sick of the Continent to stand it any 
 longer.' 
 
 ' That will be very shortly ? ' 
 
 * Unless I take a trip to California or 
 somewhere.' 
 
 ' You couldn't do better. I wish there 
 was time to get to the Rocky Mountains 
 and back during the vacation.' 
 
 De Witt still sat on for some time after 
 his friend left him. Friend he would 
 scarcely have called him in England, for a 
 few chance meetings in society had then 
 constituted the sum of their mutual ac- 
 quaintance ; but ten days spent in a foreign 
 country in the same hotel, chiefly tenanted 
 at the present moment by uncongenial 
 foreigners, had evoked a pleasant liking and 
 a certain amount of intimacy between the 
 two Englishmen. John Ponsonby was so 
 sincere and so straightforward of disposi- 
 tion, as well as so easy and humorous in 
 
16 DRIVEN BEFORE THE STORM. 
 
 conversation, that he was a general favourite 
 with those who knew him. 
 
 Presently the city clocks struck out 
 eleven, and there was a sound as of the 
 closing of some of the hotel doors and 
 windows. A waiter who had been hovering 
 about under the trees for the last half hour, 
 enjoying his leisure in the cool night air, 
 approached De Witt politely. 
 
 ' Scusi, signor,' he asked, in his mingled 
 jargon of English and Italian (for he was 
 not the polyglot head-waiter), * but that dog 
 — is he of you ? ' 
 
 'No,' replied De Witt, half-reluctantly, 
 as the poor beast crept closer to him, as if 
 begging for protection. 
 
 * He is from the street, signor ? ' 
 'De Witt nodded. And the next moment 
 there was a loud yelp, accompanied by a 
 violent kick from the suave and smiling 
 waiter, as the stray dog was sent flying 
 towards the gate. 
 
ABOUT THE HERO AND A WAIF. 17 
 
 ' I say ! What are you doing, you brute ? ' 
 exclaimed De Witt, jumping up angrily. 
 ' Don't kick the dog like that ! ' 
 
 The waiter stared helplessly, in the act 
 of administering a second kick. 
 
 * But what will you, signor ? He is only 
 a dog. I have to close the gates.' 
 
 De Witt paused a moment ; then he 
 called the waif towards him and patted its 
 head. 
 
 ' Pat him in a stable somewhere,' he 
 said, slipping a couple of francs into the 
 man's hand, ' until to-morrow morning, and 
 give him something to eat.' 
 
 The waiter bowed and smiled with civil 
 acquiescence. But the incident of ' il Signor 
 Capitano Inglese ' and the lost dog did not 
 lose in the telling, and served next day as 
 a prime joke among the hotel servants, to 
 illustrate the imbecilities of a most eccentric 
 insular race. 
 
 VOL. I. c 
 
18 DRIVEN BEFORE THE STORM. 
 
 CHAPTER 11. 
 
 THE ISLAND OF GOATS. 
 
 ' The wind had no more strength than this 
 
 That leisurely it blew, 
 To make one leaf the next to kiss, 
 
 That closely by it grew.' — M. Draytoit. 
 
 The little steamer was slowly ploughing 
 her way from the port of Naples towards 
 the island of Capri. On the deck sat 
 Barrington de Witt, his feet accommodated 
 by a spare chair, a cigar in his mouth, and 
 the lost dog beside him. The latter had 
 gained his point, and was now no longer 
 lost, but a happy and prosperous animal, 
 well fed, well washed, and well combed, 
 supplied with the name of * Waif/ and with 
 a lenient master — and in consequence of all 
 these novel circumstances, acknowledged to 
 
THE ISLAND OF GOATS, 19 
 
 be a proud and handsome dog. Barrington 
 had his Baedeker spread out before him, 
 but he was not studying it — his eyes were 
 fixed, in tranquil enjoyment, alternately upon 
 the dancing waves, and upon a group of his 
 fellow-passengers seated just in front of him. 
 It was a grand relief, after two dull 
 and soaking days, — when, in the absence 
 of Ponsonby, the hotel salon and smoking- 
 room had become more insufferably dull 
 than ever, — to be out once more under a 
 clear blue sky and on the laughing lively 
 sea. The sea indeed was a little too lively 
 for some of the passengers, who by-and-by 
 grew pale, and began to retire apart, or even 
 to disappear down the narrow stairs which 
 led to the Liliputian black hole below 
 dignified by the name of cabin. De Witt's 
 neighbours, however, were not sea-sick, 
 although one of their party, a stout, 
 motherly-looking woman, seemed to be 
 
 nervously afraid that she might be going 
 
 c 2 
 
20 DRIVEN BEFORE THE STORM. 
 
 to be a bad sailor. But perhaps she was 
 induced to be thus timid by the perpetual 
 fussings of her husband, a little elderly man, 
 whose bulk would not have made the half 
 of hers, and who seemed unable to be still 
 for a moment. Although evidently well- 
 to-do people, Barrington recognized them 
 at once as unaccustomed travellers. Kot 
 so the two younger members of the party, 
 who seemed quite at their ease, both as 
 regarded fear of the vessel's motion, or 
 of any other incident of travel. It was 
 small wonder that Barrington found his 
 gaze returning again and again towards 
 the group, for two prettier girls it would be 
 difficult to place side by side : one tiny, 
 spirituelle, and fair, with that fragile beauty 
 so characteristic of American belles ; the 
 other tall, upright, and dark, with ^ piquant e, 
 spirited face, and something a little haughty 
 about the firm curves of the fine mouth. 
 It was easy to see, from the likeness 
 
THE ISLAND OF GOATS. 21 
 
 between tliem, that this latter was the 
 daughter of the large handsome lady, and 
 equally clear that the little one, who spoke 
 with a marked transatlantic twang, was no 
 relation to either. She was very lively and 
 gay-tempered, this fair American, and her 
 clear high voice fell distinctly upon De 
 Witt's ears, whilst the softer, lower tones of 
 the other girl were comparatively indis- 
 tinguishable. Before many minutes were 
 over' Barrington had possessed himself of 
 the interesting fact that the name of the tall 
 girl was Nell, and that of her companion 
 Blanche ; after which, perhaps feeling that 
 he had learnt enough for a passing acquaint- 
 ance, he closed his eyes and leant back 
 drowsily, with a faint sybaritic enjoyment 
 of pleasant sounds as conveyed in the duet 
 betwixt the plashing wavelets and the fresh 
 young voices. An hour later he was roused 
 by a sudden stir on board, and by the cessa- 
 tion of the steamer's paddles. 
 
22 DRIVEN BEFOEE THE STOEM. 
 
 ' I dare not go, Edward, indeed I dare 
 not,' the stout lady was saying, with trepid- 
 ation in her tones ; ' I almost wish you and 
 the girls would give it up.' Which remark 
 Avas closely followed by exclamations of 
 unqualified disgust from the two girls. • 
 
 Barrington looked about him, and seeing 
 overhead a great upright mass of brown 
 rock, stretching away into more empurpled 
 hues on either side, he recognized that he 
 was beneath the lee of the rug:o;ed Island of 
 Goats. And very goat-like indeed it ap- 
 peared from the present point of view of 
 perpendicular limestone clifi", where even a 
 goat of moderate accomplishments might 
 have experienced some embarrassment in 
 finding a route upwards. 
 
 ' Going to the Blue Grotto, sir ? ' inquired 
 the civil captain ; and De Witt nodded and 
 rose, perceiving, as he approached the side 
 of the vessel, that the little fleet of tiny 
 skifis which swarmed around within the 
 
THE ISLAND OF GOATS. 23 
 
 calm belt of water sheltered by overhanging 
 walls, were already more than half of them 
 occupied, and on their road to the grotto. 
 
 ' I'm sure it isn't safe ! ' repeated the 
 lady. ' How high is the entrance ? ' (This 
 to the captain.) 
 
 ' Between two and three feet, signora,' he 
 replied a little impatiently. ' Come, you 
 must say whether you mean to go or not.' 
 
 She gave an exclamation of horror and 
 drew back decisively ; but her husband was 
 already upon the ladder, closely followed by 
 the two younger ladies. 
 
 ' We are all right, mamma ! ' laughed the 
 tall girl. ' But it's quite as well you should 
 stay behind ; you might upset the boat if 
 you were frightened.' 
 
 ' Come, Miss Hopkins,' said the gentle- 
 man, offering his hand to the other, 'jump 
 in.' And her friend was proceeding to 
 follow her example, when the boatman 
 interfered with a wave of his hand. 
 
24 DRIVEN BEFORE THE STORM. 
 
 * Not more than two passengers in each 
 boat ; it is not permitted/ he remarked. 
 And indeed the three persons already 
 embarked seemed fully enough for the frail 
 skiff. 
 
 The elderly gentleman seemed terribly 
 put about by this injunction ; and it was 
 difficult for De Witt, standing waiting 
 just behind, to restrain a smile at the 
 excited remonstrance he poured forth in a 
 mingled jargon of English and Italian. It 
 was impossible, he seemed to think, or 
 improper, for either of his charges to do 
 without his escort. It was the puzzle of 
 the fox and the goose crossing the stream 
 over again. At length a brilliant idea 
 seemed to strike him. 
 
 ' I will take Miss Hopkins first, and then 
 return for you, Nell,' he remarked to the 
 second girl. 
 
 * Impossible, papa, 1 should miss it,' was 
 her reply. 'The steamer would not wait. 
 
THE ISLAND OF GOATS 25 
 
 We are already the last.' And she stepped 
 quietly into a neighbouring boat. 
 
 ' Nell, come back, I desire ! ' he ex- 
 claimed fussily. 
 
 But I am sorry to say the young woman 
 paid no attention to his remonstrances, and 
 merely turned her back upon him. Barring- 
 ton, slightly raising his hat, followed her ; 
 but as he seated himself in the boat an 
 anxious face peered over the steamer's side. 
 
 ' I see you are an Englishman, sir,' 
 remarked the lady ; ' do you consider there 
 is any real danger in going to the grotto ? ' 
 
 ' None whatever,' he replied, smiling ; ^ I 
 do not think you need be nervous about 
 your daughter, madam.' And the good 
 lady thanked him with a friendly air ; 
 fortunately too short-sighted to be con- 
 scious either of the scowls of her little 
 husband or the indignant flush of her inde- 
 pendent daughter. 
 
 To be seated in the stern of a narrow 
 
26 DEIVEN BEFOEE THE STORM. 
 
 boat, closely wedged beside a young and 
 pretty girl, is a sufficiently attractive 
 position to any man not a misoginist ; and 
 when to this fact is added that of being 
 a perfect stranger to his fellow-passenger, 
 certainly gains in piquancy. De Witt's 
 companion, however, did not appear to be 
 of a sociable disposition, and kept her head 
 turned away from him, leaving visible only 
 the outline of a rosy cheek and a small pink 
 ear. When, however, they neared the en- 
 trance to the grotto, she gave a sudden 
 gasp, and turned towards him. ^ Surely we 
 are not going through that hole ? ' she 
 asked. ' Is it possible to get through ? ' 
 The opening in the rock did indeed look 
 perilously low and narrow, and Barrington 
 did not wonder at her fears as he observed 
 the swell advancing and retiring, at times 
 almost filling up the small space. 
 
 * It is all right,' he replied. ^ Every one 
 else has gone through, you see. But,' he 
 
THE ISLAND OF GOATS. 27 
 
 added, ' we will return if you would rather 
 not go in ■? ' 
 
 * Oil no, no ! ' she said, laughing at herself. 
 ' Of course we will go on.' 
 
 ' Then shut your eyes,' he remarked, with 
 a friendly smile, ' and I will tell you when 
 you are safe inside.' 
 
 ' Lie down in the boat, signor, signorina,' 
 commanded the boatman ; ' lie flat ! ' And 
 with a little irrepressible smile, half of 
 amusement aud half of embarrassment, the 
 two obeyed. The next moment there came 
 an advancing wave, and the boatman seized 
 his oars. On they swept towards the dark 
 slit in the wall, in went the oars, down 
 crouched the pilot, the rocks grated against 
 the boat's sides, and they were in the 
 famous grotto. 
 
 * Now get up, signor, signorina ! ' And, 
 surrounded by darkness, they complied. 
 
 ' Papa ! ' she called towards the nearest 
 of the spectral boats with spectral freight 
 
28 DRIVEN BEFORE THE STORM. 
 
 that glided round them, * is that you and 
 Blanche ? ' 
 
 ' Thank goodness we are all safe, yes ! ' 
 was the reply. ' I nearly lost my scalp in 
 coming in.' 
 
 The little American laughed outright. 
 'You quite pinched the skin off my arm, 
 I know, Mr. Brereton ! Oh, Nell, turn round 
 and see the blue at the entrance ! Isn't it 
 quite too elegant 1 ' 
 
 But Miss Lino-wood's admiration was of a 
 less demonstrative nature than that of her 
 friend, though she laughed softly to herself 
 at the little Yankee term ; and Barriugton, 
 to whose lips the word had also brought 
 a smile, felt a moment's sympathetic link 
 between himself and his companion. This 
 was strengthened by the pretty look of 
 gratitude and graceful bend of the head 
 with which, on emerging once more into 
 daylight, she acknowledged the trifling act 
 of courtesy which had spread his overcoat 
 
THE ISLAND OF GOATS. 29 
 
 as a rug to protect her from the not 
 over-clean bottom of the boat ; and she was 
 quite gracious and conversational during 
 their few minutes' return pull, accepting 
 with another smile the hand he held out 
 to assist her up the vessel's side. 
 
 It was a beautiful face, thought De Witt, 
 when so illumined — beautiful not merely 
 with the loveliness of form and colour, but 
 with the nameless attraction of high spirit 
 and strongly-defined character. With the 
 smile faded the best and most winsome part 
 of its beauty — the dark eyes became too 
 cold and searching, the lips too still and 
 proud. He was possibly formulating some 
 such opinion within his mind when some 
 one touched him lightly on the arm, and 
 he became aware that the stout lacly was 
 once more claiming his attention. 
 
 ' I must thank you for a moment, sir,' 
 she remarked in a tone half condescending, 
 half friendly, ' for your kind care of my 
 
30 DRIVEN BEFORE THE STORM. 
 
 clauorhter. I did not lialf like her to 2:0 
 into such a wild sort of place without my 
 husband's protection ; but with an Euglish 
 gentleman like yourself in the same boat, I 
 felt I need not be anxious about her safety.' 
 
 The good woman was certainly grateful 
 for small benefits ; barring the spreading 
 of the overcoat and the lending of the 
 hand up and down the vessel's ladder, 
 Barrington was conscious of nothing par- 
 ticularly useful or heroic in his behaviour. 
 But she was probably one of those unaccus- 
 tomed travellers to whom every Italian 
 appears more or less in the light of a 
 brigand, to whose tender mercies she would 
 tremble to commit the keeping of herself 
 or her child ; and since it was her pleasure 
 to be friendly, he had no objection to any 
 little interchange of civilities which might 
 lead to a pleasant acquaintance. 
 
 ' I fear,' he said as he raised his hat, 
 and involuntarily cast an amused glance 
 
THE ISLAND OF GOATS. 31 
 
 towards the young lady, ' that my care 
 amounted to nothing, but I am very glad 
 1 was the means of sparing you anxiety.' 
 
 For a moment Miss Lingwood's frank 
 smile replied to his ; but the next it faded, 
 and she seemed to retire within herself 
 again. 
 
 'There was nothing to take care of, 
 mamma,' she remarked calmly. ' I looked 
 after myself, and this gentleman after him- 
 self, and the boatman looked after us both, 
 as he was bound to do,' and she moved away. 
 
 Had she a temper, thought Barrington, 
 or was she simply of a sarcastic turn of 
 mind ? a reflection in which he was inter- 
 rupted by the approach of a seedy-looking 
 little man of cadaverous features, who ad- 
 vanced humbly and pushed into his hand a 
 hotel card. He was speedily followed by an- 
 other, stout and better dressed, who walked 
 forward with a semi-military step, but was 
 swiftly elbowed from his post by a third, so 
 
32 DRIVEN BEFORE THE STORM. 
 
 extremely loquacious in singing the praises 
 of his house, that De Witt, after briefly 
 naming his hotel, turned and fled, walking 
 towards the bows of the vessel and scan- 
 ning with interest the long steep island, up 
 which wound the white pathway which led 
 to the principal and central village of Capri. 
 
 Here he was presently joined by Mr. 
 Brereton, to whom the unwelcome attentions 
 had been transferred. 
 
 ' Good heavens ! ' exclaimed the latter 
 irritably, * those fellows are enough to drive 
 one mad 1 How did you get rid of them ? ' 
 
 ' I named my hotel.' 
 
 ' I haven't a notion which is the best. 
 Can you inform me ? ' 
 
 ' I can't answer for that ; but mine was 
 the one recommended to me by a friend.' 
 
 ' Oh, then no doubt it is the best,' re- 
 plied his companion, catching eagerly at 
 this straw for relief. 
 
 The next moment all was confusion, as 
 
THE ISLAND OF GOATS. 33 
 
 the passengers once more descended into 
 the little boats ; and, amid the wild gesticu- 
 lations and babel of outcries proceeding 
 from native throats upon the tiny pier, De 
 Witt overheard his new acquaintance re- 
 peating the name of his own hotel. Thus 
 he found himself likely to see more of 
 his quartette of fellow-travellers. He had 
 time, how^ever, to notice that whilst Mrs. 
 Brereton turned from him with a good- 
 natured nod, and her husband was by no 
 means averse to a little friendly assistance 
 in his halting Italian, 'their daughter stood 
 apart, apparently studiously unconscious 
 of his existence. Nor did he meet the 
 ladies again that day ; for, after a hurried 
 luncheon, Waif and his master started for 
 a tour of general inspection round the 
 island, which kept them out till after night 
 had fallen, and the table d'hote dmner 
 was long over. Then, his solitary repast 
 finished, De Witt lit his cigar and had a 
 
 VOL. I. D 
 
34 DRIVEN BEFORE THE STORM. 
 
 quiet smoke, in which occupation he was 
 presently joined by another guest, some 
 time resident in the house — a tall, con- 
 sumptive-looking artist, who seemed a 
 simple-hearted, good sort of fellow enough. 
 
you'ke too sharp upon the men ! ' 35 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 ' I GUESS you're too SHARP UPON THE MEN 1 ' 
 
 ' Gather ye rose-buds while ye may, 
 Old Time is still a-flying, 
 And this same flower that smiles to-day, 
 
 To-morrow will be dying.' — Robt. Herrick. 
 
 The following day showed the perfection 
 of southern spring climate, and Barrington, 
 who was given to erratic hours, and, when 
 he did not lie over late, sometimes rose 
 very early, was up and out of the house 
 before any of its other occupants had put 
 in an appearance to breakfast. During the 
 two or three hours that had elapsed, he and 
 Waif had made acquaintance with a wide 
 semicircle of cliff scenery, and were now 
 half-way up the path leading towards 
 Lo Capo. 
 
 D 2 
 
36 DRIVEN BEFORE THE STORM. 
 
 It seemed to have struck both simulta- 
 neously that the sun was hot, and that a 
 pause was desirable ; and for the last 
 quarter of an hour they had been reclining 
 side by side upon the broken remains of a 
 ruined fern-covered wall, — blue sea on every 
 side of them, — Barrington's hat tilted over 
 his eyes, and his head comfortably pillowed 
 on the dog's soft coat. He had gradually 
 fallen into a half-sleepy reverie of many 
 things and persons — a reverie only some- 
 times interrupted by the intrusion beneath 
 the straw brim of his hat of a long black 
 nose and a pair of wistful eyes, apparently 
 apologetically curious to know the subject 
 of his musings. Somehow De Witt's mind 
 had gone back to past days. It was all 
 very jolly here now — there was nothing to 
 complain of in life just at present, with 
 this glorious sky overhead, these incom- 
 parable rocks all round, and — ' Get off, 
 Waif ! don't lick my nose, you brute ! * — 
 
' you'ee too sharp upon the men ! ' 37 
 
 the possibilities of agreeable society to be 
 had ; but, hang it ! even skies and rocks 
 and pleasant society grow monotonous to 
 some men after a time, with nothing in the 
 future to break a horizon of monotony. 
 Oh, for the old times, the happy days of 
 regimental life ! If only he had never left 
 the service ! How little he thought when, 
 one glaring day at Aldershot, he received 
 the doctor's letter, begging him to obtain 
 leave and come down at once to his father, 
 stricken by a severe stroke of paralysis, 
 that he should never return thither as a 
 member of the camp, never rejoin the 
 regimental mess, squeeze his big bath into 
 the tiny hut room, or march among his 
 comrades over the parched grey dust 
 that carpets the ground of that dried-up 
 district. 
 
 In truth, De Witt had been somewhat 
 hardly treated by his father. Never of a 
 very unselfish disposition, or disposed to 
 
38 DRIVEN BEFORE THE STORM. 
 
 consult over-mucli the feelings of those 
 about him, the old man, when struck down 
 in the hunting-field, laid prostrate, and 
 debarred from the one occupation to his 
 mind worth living for, became querulously 
 determined to keep fast hold of the only- 
 person who could be found to relieve the 
 dulness of this unaccustomed confinement. 
 A fox-hunting, country-bred squire of the 
 old, almost extinct type, Mr. De Witt had 
 never felt either the inclination or the 
 necessity for mental culture, and rarely 
 turned a page except those of his ' Sporting 
 Times ' or ' Field.' Music and art were to 
 him dead letters, the sound of the horn, the 
 only note for which he cared, and the points 
 of a well-bred horse, his only definition of 
 the lines of beauty. He had made no 
 objection to his son entering the army, 
 although he would perhaps have preferred 
 to keep him loafing about the premises at 
 Hadley Hall, and thought him a fool to 
 
' you're too sharp upon the men ! ' 39 
 
 want further interests in life than those 
 supplied by the field and the race-course, 
 with the ambition of a future M.F.H.ship ; 
 but now that he lay paralyzed, a log of 
 inactivity, he was not going to part with 
 his only son ; Barry must be at his beck 
 and call, must visit the hunters daily, see 
 after that clever knave of a head groom, 
 Finchley, and read him the latest news 
 of the sporting world, from which he 
 found himself so suddenly and irretrievably 
 banished. 
 
 Barrington had acquiesced good-humour- 
 edly enough at first in the programme; he 
 was sorry for the old man, and, although 
 they had not an idea in common, he was 
 his father, and in a pitiable condition. When, 
 however, month after month stretched on, 
 and the leave was again and again applied for 
 and extended, he began to grow very weary 
 of his post, and to suggest a change of plans. 
 But this movement on his part was met by a 
 
40 DRIVEN BEFOEE THE STORM. 
 
 startling announcement from the elder man. 
 Mr. De Witt informed his son that he never 
 meant him to rejoin so long as he himself 
 were living. And a quarrel nearly ensued 
 — as nearly as was compatible with Barring- 
 ton's easy temper, and his fathers desire 
 not to rouse him into an open defiance, 
 and so to lose his point. To prevent this, 
 he adopted a fretful and complaining tone. 
 
 ' You can do what you like when I am 
 gone,' he said. * I shan't trouble you long. 
 Can't you give up your own way for a few 
 months '? ' 
 
 And the young man found himself forced 
 to accede, with a suspicion that began to be 
 certainty how it would end. When, however, 
 the final notice came, that leave could no 
 longer be renewed, and that he must either 
 return to his duties or retire, Barrington 
 once more approached the old man, deter- 
 mined to fight a battle for his profession. 
 Needless to say, he retired worsted. A 
 
'you're too shaep upon the men!' 41 
 
 father against a son, selfish obstinacy 
 against a yielding, kindly nature, was 
 sure to win the day. Even had Barrington 
 decided upon open rebellion, ,the elder De 
 Witt held the purse-strings, he was abso- 
 lutely dependent upon him, and could 
 scarcely manage to exist solely upon his 
 pay. But he never thought of rebelling 
 against him. He merely received in silence 
 the old man's closing remark, ' You'll be 
 glad to see me in my grave, I dare say ! ' 
 and then with a sore heart sat down to 
 send in his papers. 
 
 Perhaps the most trying part of the 
 business was, that the sacrifice seemed after 
 all so unavailing, and that before another 
 six months were over, the squire had gone 
 to join a race of fox-hunting forefathers in 
 the family vault at Hadley village church. 
 
 And thus at seven-and-twenty Barring- 
 ton had found himself alone in the world, 
 professionless and homeless, — for he was 
 
42 DKIVEX BEFORE THE STORM. 
 
 advised to leave the impoverished family 
 seat to recoup its income by a timely 
 economy, — and comparatively friendless 
 amongst a set of dull country people who 
 had been civil enough, but whom he found 
 for the most part thoroughly uncongenial. 
 
 The six hunters were sold, all except 
 one which he kept for a time for his own 
 use ; the two racers in course of training 
 at a celebrated training stable in the next 
 county were likewise disposed of, the 
 servants paid off, and De Witt said good- 
 bye to Hadley, and went up to town with 
 a very hazy idea as to what to do with 
 himself. In town he knocked up against 
 a good many of his former fellow-officers, 
 and the sio-ht of them did not tend to 
 allay the irritable disgust with which he 
 contemplated his own resignation. This 
 was indeed the second great trouble of his 
 life, and eventually drove him abroad to 
 seek distraction in foreign life and travel. 
 
'you'PwE too sharp upox the men!' 43 
 
 The only other trouble he had ever ex- 
 perienced in the course of a pleasant easy 
 existence had been the loss of his mother. 
 Fifteen years ago it was now, but every detail 
 of her death and illness was as firmly fixed in 
 his memory as if it had happened yesterday. 
 His father had never been much to him, 
 as boy or man ; but his beautiful young 
 mother he had adored whilst living, and 
 still worshipped in memory. Graceful, 
 sparkling, and accomplished, her match 
 with the good-looking, one-idea'd s^^^^^s- 
 man, so greatly her inferior, was a matter 
 of astonishment to all her friends ; yet they 
 always appeared to be a happy couple, 
 and if Mr. De Witt had ever cared un- 
 selfishly in his life, it had been for his 
 spirited, delicate bride. She had been a 
 good and affectionate wife, but it was clear 
 to every one that her heart was chiefly 
 bound up in her boy, the only child of their 
 marriage, and who, both in physiognomy 
 
44 DRIVEN BEFORE THE STORM. 
 
 and disposition, resembled herself rather 
 than his father. 
 
 At the time of her death, Barrington 
 had been but thirteen, the shyest and most 
 awkward of ages, — the age when a boy 
 may feel, l^ut cannot express his feelings, — 
 and perhaps no one amongst the mourners 
 gathered together at the funeral had guessed 
 how sore was the heart of the big, silent, 
 unfriendly boy who so sullenly refused all 
 advances to draw him into conversation. 
 None perhaps, save one, who, by her warm, 
 loving sympathy, had become from that date 
 his dearest friend, his woman confidante. 
 This was Aunt Judith ; or, to give her her 
 full title. Miss Judith CoUyer. Miss Collyer 
 was not very old even now, — decidedly 
 upon the sunny side of forty, — but at the 
 time of her sister's death she had been 
 quite a young girl, not more than one or 
 two and twenty. She bore a great resem- 
 blance to her elder sister, who perhaps had 
 
' you're too sharp upon the men ! ' 45 
 
 been the more beautiful and sjnrituelle of 
 the two, whilst Judith was the more grace- 
 ful and piquante. Her intelligence was 
 keen, and her tongue ready, but rarely 
 sharp ; and to a natural reticence of dis- 
 position, she joined unusual powers of 
 discriminating the character of others. She 
 had but few friends of her own sex, but 
 those staunch ones; whilst her ready wit 
 and pleasing presence made her many 
 admirers amongst the other, notwithstand- 
 ing a little trick she had of making fun of 
 them before their faces. 
 
 Aunt Judith it was who had followed 
 the lonely boy where he lay outstretched, 
 miserable and tearless, after his mother's 
 funeral, in an out-of-the-way part of the 
 garden ; had asked him no questions, made 
 no prelimiuary remarks, but had probed the 
 child's stricken heart at once, and joined its 
 sorrow to her own ; sitting beside him on 
 the ground, stroking the ruffled hair, as. 
 
46 DRIVEN BEFORE THE STORM. 
 
 with the tears running down her own 
 smooth pale cheeks, and her large bright 
 €yes full of tenderness, she talked to him 
 softly of his mother, of his own trouble, 
 and of his future life, until the flood-gates 
 were opened, and he sobbed out his first 
 bitterness with his head upon her knee. 
 
 By nature Aunt Judith was shy, but 
 she had said things then which the boy 
 had never forgotten, and which, planted 
 as they were in the impressionable soil 
 of sorrow, had perhaps helped to mould 
 his character in after years, and to keep 
 it free from some of those grosser sins 
 which are likely to assail a man, young, 
 attractive, and independent. He was think- 
 ing of Aunt Judith now as he leant against 
 the Capri rocks, and somehow^ the remem- 
 brance of her brought before him the face 
 of his yesterday's companion in the Blue 
 Grotto. Something there undoubtedly was 
 akin in the two countenances; probably 
 
'you'ee too shaep upon the mex ! ' 47 
 
 in the lines, sweet, but a little scornful, as 
 if impatient of the humbug of the world, 
 about the lips of both. 
 
 But at this moment Waif suddenly raised 
 his head and stood at attention, hearing the 
 approach of passers-by. And the next 
 moment they appeared upon the scene, in 
 single file upon the narrow rocky path ; and 
 De Witt pushed his hat from his brows and 
 sat up. First came Miss Hopkins, the young 
 American, seated not ungracefully upon a 
 large donkey, and in full flow^ of a vigorous 
 flirtation with the consumptive artist, Mr. 
 Wallace ; next, Mrs. Brereton, escorted by 
 a handsome, smiling donkey-woman, whose 
 whacks upon the broad back of the beast of 
 burden seemed as constant as they were 
 necessary ; and last of all, her daughter, 
 likewise on donkey-back, and followed by 
 Mr. Brereton and another woman-driver. 
 
 All the party greeted De Witt after some 
 fashion ; the donkey - women grinned and 
 
48 DRIVEN BEFORE THE STORM. 
 
 smiled their sweetest at him out of rich 
 brown eyes ; the little American gave him 
 a coquettish glance, whilst her companion 
 nodded in a friendly manner, and Mrs. 
 Brereton asked him if he were bound in 
 the same direction as themselves. 
 
 It was decidedly to De Witt's credit that 
 he was able at one and the same moment 
 to reply to this question, to acknowledge 
 the artist's nod, and also to observe Miss 
 Lingwood sufficiently closely to perceive 
 that, whilst bending her head in an infini- 
 tesimal amount of recognition, a slight flush 
 swept over her cheek. 
 
 A few moments later the party had 
 rounded the corner and were out of sight, 
 and De Witt, who was always rather chary 
 of thrusting himself upon the notice of 
 new acquaintances, continued his reverie for 
 another quarter of an hour before moving 
 in the same direction. When he did 
 so, he walked on to the top of the hill, 
 
you'ee too sharp upon the men !' 49 
 
 passing the others, who had digressed 
 towards the so-called Tiberius' Tower at the 
 foot of the eminence. Just as he reached 
 the summit, however, he stumbled up against 
 AYallace the artist, standing supporting 
 himself against a rock. His face was 
 ghastly white and his breath laboured. 
 
 ' It's all right,' he said with a faint smile, 
 as De Witt approached. 'I ran up the 
 slope too quickly, that's all' And he 
 paused to take breath again. ' You haven't 
 got such a thing as a drop of brandy about 
 you, have you ? ' 
 
 De Witt pulled a flask from his pocket, 
 and pouring some cherry brandy into the 
 cup, held it towards the other. 
 
 ' Thanks ; I'm getting all right now. 
 My heart's a bit weak, you see ; I mustn't 
 go the pace up-hill.' 
 
 ' Do you often have these attacks ? ' 
 
 'Pretty often, if I'm not careful. I 
 generally take something with me, but I 
 
 VOL. I. E 
 
50 DETVEN BEFORE THE STORM. 
 
 forgot it to-day. You see Fm a consump- 
 tive sort of fellow. When I first came here, 
 a year ago, the doctors wouldn't promise 
 me six months' lease of life ; but Capri's 
 done me no end of good, and now they give 
 me several years. I shouldn't wonder 
 myself if I cheated them yet out of a 
 score.' 
 
 'Not if you run up-hill.' 
 
 ' No, I'm a fool to forget that. But, 
 lord I if you could only have heard me 
 coughing when first I came here. I scarcely 
 ever stopped, and the man in the next 
 room to mine complained he couldn't get a 
 wink of sleep all night. Now I only have 
 half-an-hour or so every morning when I 
 get up. You've got that room now. Did 
 you hear me this morning ? ' 
 
 ' A little,' replied De Witt, smiling at his 
 companion's simplicity. ' But why aren't 
 you with the others ? ' 
 
 ' Well, you see, Miss Hopkins left her 
 
' you're too sharp upon the men ! ' 51 
 
 parasol somewhere on the grass up here, 
 and sent me after it ; and I didn't want to 
 keep her waiting. And now, after all, I 
 have never found it, and she will be 
 wondering why I don't turn up.' 
 
 *Sit still quietly, and Waif and I will 
 find it for you.' And De Witt started 
 off. 
 
 ' Here, Waif, good fellow, hunt about, 
 and bring what you find ! ' 
 
 In another two or three minutes he had 
 returned, and was beside the artist again. 
 
 * I've seen the chapel and the hermit, 
 and Waif has found the parasol, so we 
 haven't wasted time, have we ? Would you 
 like an arm ? ' 
 
 ' Oh, no ; I'm as right as a trivet now, 
 and much obliged to you for everything. 
 I say, you won't say anything about my 
 going queer, will you ? ' 
 
 * Certainly not.' 
 
 ' That hermit fellow's a humbug, do you 
 
 E 1 
 
 ,ssrs.s< 
 
52 DRIVEN BEFOKE THE STORM. 
 
 know ? He puts on his cassock and liis long 
 face for the summer visitors only. In 
 private life lie's a shoemaker, and as jolly 
 as any other man.' 
 
 ' Ah ! then I'm glad I hadn't time to 
 listen to his twaddle. I was in hopes 
 humbug hadn't spread to Capri yet.' 
 
 * Don't you think it's everywhere ? ' asked 
 the young artist, with a boyish earnestness 
 that made his companion smile. 
 
 By this time they were nearing the 
 bottom of the slope and the Tiberius Tower, 
 and whilst Mr. Wallace hastened to restore 
 her lost sunshade to the fair American, 
 Barrington was accosted by Mrs. Brereton, 
 always the most socially-disposed of the 
 party. 
 
 'Excuse me,' she said, after exchanging 
 a few commonplaces on the subject of the 
 scenery and the climate, ' but Mr. Wallace, 
 who was so good as to offer to show us the 
 way to this place to-day, mentioned your 
 
' you'ee too sharp upon the men ! ' 53 
 
 name incidentally just now, and I must 
 ask if you liave any connections in Somerset- 
 shire ? ' 
 
 * My father's first cousin lives there.' 
 ' At Eolston Court ? ' 
 
 ' The same.' 
 
 * Dear me ! We know Sir Simon quite 
 well ; intimately in fact. How small the 
 world is ! How strange it would have been 
 if we had met you there ! for I suppose you 
 have stayed there sometimes ? ' 
 
 ' I have paid one or two visits ; but my 
 father and he were not very congenial 
 spirits. My father was all for horses, and 
 Sir Simon is a bookworm.' 
 
 ' A very hospitable and agreeable book- 
 worm. Then your father is dead, Captain 
 De Witt ? ' 
 
 ' A year ago, madam.' 
 
 ' I must introduce myself and my hus- 
 band to you. Edward, Captain De Witt is 
 a cousin of our old friend, Sir Simon.' 
 
54 DEIVEN BEFORE THE STORM. 
 
 ' The iDtroduction comes rather late,' 
 remarked her husband, in what was in- 
 tended for a pleasant manner ; * for Captain 
 De Witt and I have already had one or two 
 conversations, and I was indeed indebted 
 to him for the name of our hotel.' 
 
 Talk now flowed briskly, but was not 
 joined in by Miss Lingwood, who sat a 
 little apart on the short tufted grass, her 
 eyes fixed upon the sapphire sea, apparently 
 unconscious of anything except its gleam- 
 ing, sparkling beauty. 
 
 When the word for returnins^ was sriven, 
 the procession started in different wise from 
 that maintained in going, for both girls 
 declared that they preferred descending 
 on foot; and Mr. Brereton, who remarked 
 that the sun was a little too much for 
 him, mounted his step-daughter's donkey. 
 Miss Hopkins and her artist admirer led 
 the way, and were soon out of sight ; Mr. 
 and Mrs. Brereton followed each other 
 
'you RE TOO SHARP UPON THE MEN ! ' 55 
 
 somewhat nervously down the stony way, 
 and De Witt naturally imagined that 
 Miss Lingwood's society would fall to 
 his share. He was wrong, however, for 
 she engaojed herself in a haltiner convers- 
 ation with one of the laughing donkey- 
 women, whilst her mother absorbed his 
 own attention. 
 
 They were more than half-way home 
 when Mrs. Brereton gave a sudden cry. 
 * Oh, that foolish girl ! She puts my heart 
 in my mouth. How I wish she would not 
 climb such places ! I am sure she risks 
 her neck,' and she pointed to where her 
 daughter stood upon a pinnacle of rock 
 some little distance off, showing against 
 the clear blue horizon like a lithe young- 
 statue on a pedestal. 
 
 ' She is not safe,' remarked her husband ; 
 ' I had better go after her. What a worry 
 these girls are ! Why can't you make them 
 behave sensibly, Lucia 1 ' 
 
56 DEIVEN BEFORE THE STORM. 
 
 But Lucia was too anxious to take any 
 notice of this reproof. 
 
 ' Nonsense, Edward, you can't go, you 
 would lose your head directly at that 
 height I You know you can't climb.' 
 
 ' Let me go,' said De Witt, though sus- 
 picious that the young lady might bestow 
 a snubbing upon him in return for the 
 proffered assistance ; and his offer was 
 accepted with gratitude. 
 
 'Have you a strong head. Captain De 
 Witt ? You have no idea the places that 
 child gets to.' 
 
 Barrington restrained a smile \\'ith 
 difficulty. 
 
 ' I think I feel competent to scale that 
 rock,' he replied soberly. 
 
 He was soon at the foot of the peak. On 
 seeing him approach Miss Lingwood had 
 at first commenced descending, but after 
 a moment or two had paused, and returned 
 to her former position, whence she sat. 
 
'you're too shaep upon the men!' 57 
 
 eyeing him curiously with a flushed, half- 
 laughing face. 
 
 ' I am sent to assist you down,' he 
 remarked, as he swung himself up beside 
 her ; ' your parents are unhappy about your 
 safety.' 
 
 * My parent, if you please.' 
 ' I beg your pardon ? ' 
 
 ' My parent. Mr. Brereton is my step- 
 father.' 
 
 * Indeed. But he is anxious too. But I did 
 not suppose you would accept any assistance.' 
 
 ' Then you are wrong.' 
 
 ' Indeed ? Then I am glad I came.' 
 
 ' Did you think I should be annoyed by 
 your coming ? ' 
 
 ' I thought it — ^just possible.' 
 
 ' So I probably should have been if I 
 could have managed it alone. But I 
 couldn't, you see. I tried, and failed. I 
 confess the humiliating truth — I got fright- 
 ened, and my knees shook.' 
 
58 DRIVEN BEFOEE THE STOEM. 
 
 How charming she looked now as she 
 smiled her frank fall smile, her eyes spark- 
 ling with fun, and her face lit up with 
 amusement ! De Witt with difficulty re- 
 strained himself from saying so ; and he 
 was mentally comparing her with the silent 
 impassive girl of a few minutes ago, when 
 she roused him by a sudden exclamation. 
 
 ' How I wish I were a man ! ' 
 
 'I don't,' he replied, with a friendly 
 smile that spared him the rebuff such a 
 speech from any other might have elicited 
 from Nell Lingwood. ' But why ? ' 
 
 ' Oh, because it is such a horrid shame 
 that everything pleasant should be right 
 and easy to men, which is difficult and 
 improper for women. Look at the way you 
 swung yourself up here, just like — like- — ' 
 
 ' Like a big kangaroo,' he suggested. 
 
 ' Well, like a kangaroo then. And look 
 at my idiotcy — unable to go down without 
 help/ 
 
* you're too sharp upon the men!' 59 
 
 ' What sliould you have done if I hadn't 
 come after you ? Called for assistance 1 ' 
 
 ' Never ! I would have sat here all night 
 first. I should have tried to get down, 
 and probably fallen.' 
 
 ' Good heavens ! You would have broken 
 your neck.' 
 
 ' Well, if I had, it's my own neck. But 
 we must be descending now.' 
 
 ' Wouldn't you like first to go up to the 
 very top, as you are so fond of climbing ? 
 It would not take us long.' 
 
 Miss Lino'wood lauorhed. ' If mamma 
 only guessed that you were tempting me 
 on to further heights instead of bringing 
 me down ! ' 
 
 'It is very wrong of me, I know/ said 
 De Witt, with an air of comic enjoyment. 
 
 * But I can't say no ! ' 
 
 The summit was reached in safety, and 
 then the bottom regained ; and, whether 
 it were that admiration which a steady 
 
60 DRIVEN BEFORE THE STORM. 
 
 eye, a strong arm, and a light foot invari- 
 ably rouses in a girl's breast, or from any 
 other cause, De Witt's companion showed 
 no further signs of wanting to run away 
 from him, but walked beside him in friendly 
 chat. 
 
 'You are a good climber. Captain De 
 Witt. Have you ever done any Alps '? ' 
 
 *A few; but I have travelled but little 
 till the last year. I never was abroad 
 before, except as a small boy to a German 
 school.' 
 
 'And yet you speak Italian so well' 
 
 ' One can't help speaking Italian. The 
 people are so sympathetic, and their faces 
 so expressive, that one can almost under- 
 stand them without words.' 
 
 ' Are you very fond of Italians ? ' 
 
 'Yes, I like them. They are so warm- 
 hearted, so friendly.' 
 
 'But do you care for friendliness that 
 means nothing 1 ' 
 
' you're too shaep upon the men ! ' 61 
 
 ' I don't think it means notliinsf. One 
 doesn't want deep and lasting sentiments 
 for every-day trifles, but one likes good- 
 humoured sociability.' 
 
 ' Those people would do nothing for you 
 if you really wanted help.' 
 
 ' I don't know that. I don't see myself 
 why pleasant civil persons should be of a 
 more selfish mould than grumpy ones.' 
 
 Miss Lingwood laughed. 'Do you call 
 the English a grumpy nation, Captain De 
 Witt?' 
 
 'Abroad you usually meet with two 
 varieties — the loud obtrusive si)ecimen, and 
 the stifi", noli-mi-tangereJ 
 
 ' I know it used to be said that the 
 English Mees abroad was a starched, stuck- 
 up creature, but my experience now is, that 
 most of those one meets on the Continent 
 are extremely free-and-easy, not to say 
 fast girls.' 
 
 * Yes, there are a good many of that sort. 
 
62 DRIVEN BEFORE THE STORM. 
 
 But there are still some who remind one of 
 Edmond About's English heroines in ''Le 
 Eoi des Montagnes." ' 
 
 ' Yes,' she said, with a mischievous smile, 
 ' or of the young lady who was wrecked 
 off the coast of Malabar.' 
 
 ' What did she do ? ' 
 
 'The steamer she was on ran upon the 
 rocks somewhere, and the passengers' lives 
 were in danger. She was terribly frightened, 
 and flung her arms round one of the ship's 
 officers, imploring him to save her. This 
 he did, jumping into the sea with her, and 
 swimmino; with her to land. But the next 
 morning when he met her again, and hoped 
 she was none the worse for her terrors 
 of the previous day, she put up her eye- 
 glass and remarked that she was not aware 
 that she had had the pleasure of an 
 introduction.' 
 
 The story was well told, and Barrington, 
 amused to see how soon she had dropped 
 
' you're too sharp upon the men ! ' 63 
 
 her first armour of unsociability, could not 
 help wondering whether the little flush 
 that had risen to her cheeks during the 
 narration were due to a consciousness that 
 the cap in any fashion fitted her own head. 
 Certainly there was little or no stiffness 
 about her now ; she seemed completely to 
 have thrown off" the somewhat chilling 
 reserve which had before characterized her, 
 and was so pleasant a companion, that he 
 was conscious of a slight feeling of annoy- 
 ance at the sight of Mr. Brereton, still 
 mounted upon his ass, patiently waiting 
 for them at a turn of the road. 
 
 ^ You were so lons^ I beg-an to fear 
 
 o o 
 
 something might have happened/ he re- 
 marked. ' I suppose it was a steep place 
 to come down ? Your mother is gone on, 
 Eleanor ; she is quite over-tired with this 
 dreadful road and the shaking of the 
 donkey's step.' 
 
 Barrington could not resist stealing a 
 
64" DRIVEN BEFORE THE STORM. 
 
 glance towards his companion during the first 
 part of this sentence, perceiving, as he did 
 so, a corresponding gleam of amusement on 
 her features, which she vainly endeavoured 
 to conceal from him. During the rest of 
 the way home, however, Miss Lingwood 
 resumed her conversation with Eafaella, 
 the donkey-girl, whilst De Witt strolled 
 on beside her stepfather, cigar in mouth. 
 He found the little salon empty when 
 he entered it dressed for dinner, and sitting 
 down to the piano, amused himself by 
 strumming various old airs, and singing a 
 snatch of song now and then in a fair bari- 
 tone. He had not much voice, but he had 
 a great deal of taste. He looked up as the 
 door opened and Miss Lingwood entered, 
 followed by her friend. The latter ap- 
 peared to have partially resumed her de- 
 fensive armour during the two or three 
 hours that had elapsed since the return 
 from her walk, but she was not quite proof 
 
' YOU'ilE TOO SHARP UPOX THE MEX ! ' 65 
 
 ag;ainst the orenial smile with whicli De 
 Witt greeted their entrance, and she sat 
 down not far from the piano. 
 
 'Don't stop — don't get up/ exclaimed 
 Blanche Hopkins, as he rose from the piano ; 
 ' it's quite a pleasure to hear any one sing 
 or play decently. There wasn't a soul with 
 a note of music in them at our hotel in 
 Naples. Was there, Nell ? ' 
 
 Miss Ling wood nodded assent, and De 
 Witt continued his playing, this time, how- 
 ever, breaking into one of the new, pathetic 
 waltz tunes, that, as Blanche Hopkins said, 
 'just set her wondering always whether to 
 cry or to dance/ and led to an animated dis- 
 cussion between herself and him as to the 
 different merits of the ' Boston,' the ' Liver- 
 pool lurch,' and the ' Swing.' In the midst 
 of which the rest of the company dropped 
 in, and the young artist squeezed himself 
 into a low chair beside the pretty American 
 and joined in the argument, until the 
 
 VOL. I. F 
 
66 DRIVEN BEFORE THE STORM. 
 
 announcement of dinner caused a general 
 break-up, and De Witt found himself 
 seated between Miss Lingwood and a fat 
 Russian smelling strongly of hair-grease. 
 
 Eaves-dropping is a shocking and dis- 
 honourable practice ; no gentleman could 
 plead guilty to so low a misdemeanour. 
 Yet there are circumstances under which 
 the most innocently-intentioned of persons 
 overhear remarks of a private nature, 
 possibly referring to themselves. 
 
 Such was the case with De Witt that 
 evening, as he sat upon the stone balustrade 
 of a little balcony leading out of one of the 
 sitting-rooms, about eleven o'clock. It was 
 a warm beautiful night, the stars were 
 brilliant and the air breezeless, and he did 
 not realize how near he was to some of 
 the bedroom windows, until a girlish voice 
 suddenly struck upon his ear. 
 
 ' I do wish, Blanche,' it said gravely, 
 'that you would not flirt so much. It's 
 
'yoq're too shaep upon the men!' 67 
 
 somebody fresh at each place. Noio it's 
 that poor young artist/ 
 
 * Don't ^ou talk, my dear ! Didn't you 
 scramble up that great rock on purpose 
 for handsome Mr. Longlegs to fetch you 
 down ? ' 
 
 There was a real annoyance in Miss 
 Lingwood's tone as she replied : 
 
 ' You know, Blanche, that is not true ! 
 You 7mo2D I climb everywhere, and, if I 
 had thought he was coming, should have 
 stopped below. I have had enough and 
 too much of that sort of thing, and am sick 
 of it. It all disgusts me now I know what 
 it is worth.' 
 
 ' Oh, my dear, you're too sharp upon the 
 men. I guess they are not all liars, though 
 David did say so.' 
 
 ' I think they are all self-interested.' 
 
 De Witt fancied he detected a note of 
 sadness in the girl's voice, as, motioning in 
 silence to Waif, he moved away guiltily to 
 
 F 2 
 
68 DRIVEN BEFORE THE STORM. 
 
 the other end of the terrace, instinctively 
 wondering what mournful experience could 
 have instilled suspicions so uncomplimentary 
 to his sex in the breast of a young and 
 handsome woman. 
 
A TUSSLE WITH THE WAVES. 69 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 A TUSSLE WITH THE WAVES. 
 
 ' And I have loved tliee, Ocean ! and my joy 
 Of youthful sports was on thy breast to be 
 Borne, like thy bubbles, onward : from a boy 
 I . . trusted to thy billows far and near, 
 And laid my hand upon thy mane — as I do here.' 
 
 Byron. 
 
 The acquaintance between De Witt and 
 the Brereton party rapidly ripened. The 
 artist too was generally to be found hover- 
 ing somewhere in the vicinity of Miss 
 Hopkins ; and on the occasion of any long 
 expedition, shared with the other the care 
 of arranging and providing for its success. 
 The guests in the house were fewer than 
 usual, and were not an interesting set. 
 
70 DRIVEN BEFOEE THE STORM. 
 
 There were two or three Eussians, a loud- 
 voiced party of muscular Germans, male 
 and female, and a low-church English 
 parson and his pale-looking, depressed 
 wife and daughter ; besides a newly-married 
 couple, w^ho usually had their meals by 
 themselves, rarely entered the public sitting- 
 room, and seemed to regard their fellow 
 humans as monsters to be avoided or 
 glanced at suspiciously without words. 
 Under these circumstances, according to 
 the rule of mutual attraction, the agreeable 
 members of the party naturally gravitated 
 towards each other and formed a sociable 
 quintett, only slightly disturbed by the 
 prim and fussy tendencies of Mr. Brereton, 
 who was a far more strict and efficient 
 chaperone than his wife, and was sometimes, 
 De Witt fancied, a little too much inclined 
 to give prominence to that onerous position. 
 The daily scrambles were now generally 
 undertaken by the four young people 
 
A TUSSLE WITH THE WAVES. 71 
 
 together, Mr. Brereton making a bad fifth, 
 and the evenings spent together, round the 
 little tuneless piano, in the rendering of music, 
 vocal and instrumental, more or less successful. 
 After a week, however, of idyllic calm and 
 sunshine, the weather suddenly changed, 
 and the true April climate began to declare 
 itself. The sea rose into green, foam-tipped 
 mountains, and dashed with a noise of 
 thunder on to the Marina or against the 
 rocky clifi's ; and the winds howled and 
 raged from every quarter, sweeping across 
 the island and meeting in a fury on the 
 narrow saddle that ran down its centre. 
 The little diurnal steamer appeared no more, 
 no fresh tourists arrived, and those that 
 were already in the hotels found themselves 
 condemned to an exile of uncertain duration 
 from the mainland. Mrs. Brereton and her 
 two charges took the matter very philo- 
 sophically. The elder lady got out her 
 crewel work and touched up her sketches 
 
72 DRIVEN BEFORE THE STORM. 
 
 under Wallace's assistance, and the two girls 
 sang: duets and dried seaweeds : but Mr. 
 Brereton was not so patiently disposed. 
 
 It was about the time fixed for their 
 return to Sorrento, and he became nervous 
 and irritable at the delay, doing his best to 
 rouse the same feelings in the placid breast 
 of his wife. As day by day the storms 
 continued, his discontent increased, and 
 displayed itself in an acerbity of temper 
 that made him far from an agreeable 
 companion, and must have been very try- 
 ing to the amiable partner of his life. In 
 plain words, Mr. Brereton nagged^ a process 
 which only induced an additional deference 
 and submission from his gentle spouse (with 
 perhaps now and then a furtive tear or 
 two), but which the two girls appeared to 
 treat with indifference that bespoke a 
 certain amount of mild contempt. 
 
 Just about this time, Barrington began 
 to notice that there was not any very large 
 
A TUSSLE WITH THE WAVES. 73 
 
 amount of devotion existino; between Miss 
 Lingwood and her step-father. He was 
 extremely careful of her, and, as a rule, out- 
 wardly polite to her ; but there was evidently 
 little real cordiality between them, and 
 more than once, after one of the former's 
 querulous outbreaks, De Witt had caught 
 her eyes fixed upon her mother for a 
 moment pitifully, and then turned towards 
 him with a look not unlike scornful dislike. 
 Nell Lingwood, he felt, was not one to be 
 chary in the distribution of her feelings ; 
 her emotions were all well accentuated ; were 
 she to love, she would do it with all her 
 heart ; were she to dislike, there would be 
 no doubt about the matter. 
 
 For his part De Witt had no objection 
 to the change in the weather. It would 
 have been a pity to break up so pleasant 
 a party so soon, as would have been done 
 by a return to the mainland, and it was 
 interestino: to see the little island lashed 
 
/4 DRIVEN BEFORE THE STORM. 
 
 into such a conditioa of elemental fury. 
 He had rather a weakness for storms 
 himself, and enjoyed fighting his way along 
 the narrow paths at the risk of being blown 
 over the clifis ; or lying on the seashore 
 watching the advancing waves as they 
 flung their sheet of spray over Waif and 
 himself. One might get tired of this sort 
 of thing ; but for a few days it was 
 very pleasant. And it was nice, after 
 such an afternoon's solitary battling with 
 wind and rain, to take off one's drenched 
 things, have a good wash, and come in, 
 feelinor clean and civilized as^ain, to the 
 quiet, brightly-lit salon, and an evening of 
 music and merry talk. 
 
 One morning Barrington rose early and 
 made his way down to the Marina before 
 any one else in the house was up or about. 
 The wind was blowing fiercely, but the 
 sky was almost clear, and, for the first 
 time for a week, there was no rain falling. 
 
A TUSSLE WITH THE WAVES. 75 
 
 Eough as it was, the post-boat, an ordinary 
 rowing boat, was, as he expected, preparing 
 to start to the mainland to fetch the letters. 
 There was a little demur amongst the men 
 as Barrington made his request to be taken 
 amongst them, but a gratuity settled the 
 question, and he stepped on board. Cer- 
 tainly, had the swarthy crew guessed that 
 no pressing business, but simply pleasure, 
 called him with them, they would have 
 expressed still more volubly their sense of 
 his foolhardiness in joining their trio. 
 
 *You mustn't mind a good tossing, 
 signor,' remarked the captain of the boat ; 
 ' it's a bad day, and going to be worse. I 
 don't much like the going myself.' 
 
 De Witt glanced at his dog, who was 
 preparing to follow him, and suddenly 
 motioned him back. 
 
 ' Eight, signor,' said the man ; ' no room 
 for dogs to-day. You must sit as still as a 
 mouse.' 
 
76 DRIVEN BEFORE THE STORM. 
 
 Barrington smiled. He could not have 
 explained the instinct that made him un- 
 willing to risk his faithful canine friend in 
 an adventure about which he had no fears 
 for himself. 
 
 ' Back, Waif ! Go home, good dog ! ' he 
 shouted to the unwilling animal ; and, for 
 the first time since he had come into his 
 master's keeping, Waif deferred obedience. 
 
 ' Back, Waif ! Do you hear what I say ? 
 This moment, sir ! Home ! ' 
 
 And a miserable, tail-drooping dog, after 
 one last long appealing look towards the 
 boat and its beloved contents, turned sadly 
 away from the pier and went up the hill. 
 Poor Waif ! who knows his trouble in that 
 moment ? How could he tell that his lord 
 would ever return from that watery ex- 
 pedition to rejoice his loving eyes ? How 
 could he tell he was not once more a 
 deserted and masterless dog ? But I think 
 he knew better than that ; I think a short 
 
A TUSSLE WITH THE WAVES. 11 
 
 acquaintance with De Witt had taught him 
 that the latter was not one to desert his 
 friends ; and if he went up-hill with a sad 
 heart and dispirited mien, it was because 
 he feared that rising treacherous sea, and 
 would have preferred to share its peril with 
 his idol. 
 
 Meanwhile, Barrington and his three 
 companions were indeed having a tossing, 
 and progressed but slowly, owing to the 
 impossibility of employing much sail in 
 such a gale. The boat was remarkably 
 sea-worthy, and the captain of the crew 
 experienced and skilful, yet the trip was 
 not wholly without danger, and was cer- 
 tainly one which no other craft save the 
 post-boat would have undertaken in such 
 weather. To De Witt it was all pure 
 enjoyment ; there was nothing he liked 
 better than a ofood buffetino- out at sea ; 
 and as the great waves rose up on all sides, 
 covering him with spray and threatening to 
 
78 DRIVEN BEFORE THE STORM. 
 
 encrulf the boat, he flunoj his hat under the 
 seat and looked around him rejoicingly. 
 
 The Capri sailors were certainly no 
 cowards, or they would not have gone out 
 that day, but the pleased expression of the 
 Englishman's countenance was by no means 
 reflected upon theirs ; and, as they toiled 
 slowly on, their features grew longer and 
 more anxious, and they regarded the 
 stranger with astonished and half-indiojnant 
 eyes. Suddenly came two seas that, not- 
 withstanding the careful steering of the cap- 
 tain, swept the boat nearly broadside on, and 
 more than half filled her with water ; and 
 for a moment all three men turned white 
 and ejaculated to their saints, before putting 
 themselves to the work of baling out. 
 
 ' Let me have the oars,' said De Witt, 
 quietly creeping on to one of the rowing 
 seats ; ' it is only fair to take my turn.' 
 And the captain, who would have demurred, 
 desisted when he perceived that the new 
 
A TUSSLE WITH THE WAVES. 79 
 
 oarsman pulled with a strong, steady stroke 
 throuo^li the boilino- sea. 
 
 Meanwhile, Barriagton was aware of a 
 little movement amongst the men, and dis- 
 covered that a box was being handed round, 
 into which each put a donation for the 
 benefit of the Madonna, in the way of 
 pledging her present protection. They cast 
 one dubious glance towards him, and then, 
 seeing how usefully he was engaged, re- 
 placed the box silently beneath the seat, 
 and attended themselves once more to 
 business. In another few minutes they had 
 safely turned the corner of the last Capo, 
 and were rowing into Sorrento in com- 
 paratively smooth water. 
 
 'You row well, signor,' said the polite 
 captain, showing two lines of white teeth in 
 his satisfaction, as at length all four sprang 
 out upon the little pier, shaking the wet off 
 their clothes like so many newfoundlands ; 
 ' but we shall have an easier time of it goins 
 
80 DRIVEN BEFORE THE STORM. 
 
 back. Cospetto ! we were nearly swamped 
 this time. Bat the wind is going down 
 already, and is in our favour returning.' 
 
 He was quite right ; the return journey 
 was a far less excitiug one ; the wind was 
 abating, and was not too much to fill the 
 sails satisfactorily, and to send the boat 
 along at a rattling pace, rising gallantly to 
 the helm and dipping her prow gaily in the 
 pure green waves as she cut a way through 
 the foam-covered surface. There was no 
 talk about the Madonna's box this time, 
 and perhaps Geronimo or Tgnazio began to 
 feel a lurking suspicion that they had been 
 too generous, and that ten centissimi might 
 have done as well as the half-franc they had 
 been foolish enough to put in. If they did 
 so, however, it was not for long. A rough 
 sea and a chopping wind always make it 
 a case of touch and go in an open sailing 
 boat, and a moment's carelessness at any 
 time is quite enough to prove fatal. So it 
 
A TUSSLE WITH THE WAVES. 81 
 
 was in this case. They were not far from 
 the home landmo; stao;e, and all but beneath 
 the shadow of the Capri cliffs, when a 
 sudden squall caught them — a rush of wind 
 from a new quarter, howling down from 
 between one of the rocky gullies. 
 
 * Loosen ! ' shouted the captain to the 
 man who was holding the sheet in his hand, 
 but both were a moment too late. The 
 g:ust cau2:ht the sail almost taut, and in an 
 instant heeled the boat over ; whilst the 
 sailor, losing his balance, clung to the line 
 instead of letting go. In another second 
 the boat had capsized, and its four occupants 
 were in the water. Fortunately all could 
 swim ; and as the craft was fairly bottom 
 upwards, and none entangled, all could 
 and did grasp its keel firmly. Barrington 
 gave one of the men, who seemed less 
 ready than the rest, a helpful shove ; and 
 then, seeinof that all were safe, cast a 
 glance in the direction of the shore. 
 
 VOL. I. G 
 
82 DRIVEN BEFOEE THE STORM. 
 
 * Coraggio ! ' exclaimed the captain at the 
 same moment, *they are coming to our 
 assistance.' And De Witt heard the re- 
 assuring shouts, and now and then saw, 
 above the moving waves, two punts coming 
 swiftly towards them. It was as well ; for 
 in this sea it would have been impossible 
 to right their own boat, and hazardous to 
 swim through the surf that broke upon the 
 shore. It was difficult enough, as it was, to 
 take breath between the sheets of spray 
 that broke incessantly above their heads 
 across the boat. But first, before the two 
 punts could reach them, arrived at the 
 scene of action a black object, that made 
 straight for Barrington, and paused beside 
 him at his order. 
 
 ' Back, Waif — down, sir ! ' 
 
 How poor Waif managed to be the first 
 we must proceed to explain. 
 
 When at breakfast time, he, contrary to 
 custom, appeared alone with a sad and 
 
A TUSSLE WITH THE WAVES. 83 
 
 dejected countenance, and the meal was 
 finished without the appearance of his 
 master, one or two persons inquired the 
 reason why, particularly young Wallace, 
 who questioned the hotel-keeper. 
 
 ' AYell, signor,' said the latter, ' I think 
 the Signor Capitano must be gone over in 
 the post boat ; for his dog came up alone 
 from the direction of the shore, and there is 
 certainly no other boat that would put 
 across in this sea.' 
 
 A little further questioning in the village 
 soon elicited the fact that De Witt had so 
 done ; and the artist returned, decidedly put 
 out. 
 
 ' What a fool the fellow is ! ' he re- 
 marked to Mr. Brereton ; 'to go to-day of 
 all days — the worst gale we have had yet. 
 I wonder the post went over. If he knew 
 the Mediterranean as well as I do he 
 wouldn't risk his neck out on such a sea.' 
 
 ' He must be altogether short of common 
 
 G 2 
 
84 DRIVEN BEFORE THE STORM. 
 
 sense, and more than that, to hazard his life 
 for a mere piece of foolhardiness ! ' replied 
 Mr. Brereton, whose friendliness towards 
 the ex-officer seemed to abate in proportion 
 as that of the ladies of his party augmented. 
 His tone of detraction appeared to rouse a 
 general disapprobation. 
 
 ' A fellow shouldn't be a milk-sop either, 
 you know,' remarked the artist. 
 
 ' Oh, my dear,' said Mrs. Brereton, * very 
 probably he had some good reason for going 
 over to-day.' 
 
 Mr. Brereton turned away irritably. 
 
 ' All you women have gone mad upon 
 the fellow,' he muttered ; ' in your opinion 
 that sort of show-oiF courage is a fine thino^, 
 I suppose.' 
 
 'It might be show-off in us, but it is 
 natural, I fancy, to some people,' observed 
 his step-daughter. 
 
 Her tone was very quiet, but there was a 
 momentary glow upon her face which did 
 
A TUSSLE WITH THE WAVES. 8o 
 
 not tend to improve Mr. Brereton's temper 
 as he turned an angry look upon her and 
 left the room. 
 
 Breakfast was no sooner over than 
 Blanche Hopkins besought her friend to 
 take a turn in the direction of the Marina. 
 
 ' I doa't want to see the boat come in,' 
 said Nell ; ' we are not so A^ery anxious 
 about Captain De Witt's safety.' 
 
 * Aren't we ? ' asked the little American. 
 * I guess I am, though, and I don't mind 
 saying so. But we needn't wait for it to 
 come in. We can just watch it in sight, 
 that's all.' And her companion acquiesced. 
 Waif following them silently, with none of 
 his usual youthful bounds and curve tings. 
 
 When at length they found a sheltered 
 nook not far from the landing stage, and 
 sat down for a while, he squeezed himself 
 in between them ; for Waif was fond of 
 ladies' society — nice ladies, that is to say. 
 He seemed greatly gratified when Miss 
 
86 DRIVEN BEFORE THE STORM. 
 
 Lingwood placed a hand upon liis head 
 and kept it there. 
 
 As a rule Miss Hopkins paid Waif the 
 most attention, yet it was Nell Lingwood 
 whom the dog plainly preferred. The truth 
 was, Waif w^ould have found it impossible 
 to diflPer from his master in a matter of taste. 
 
 * Nice dog,' she said, caressing his sleek 
 black head ; ' dear old dog.' And Waif 
 responded by gently laying a clean but 
 sandy paw upon her shoulder, and looking 
 affectionately into her face with his hazel 
 eyes. 
 
 * Almost as nice as his master, but not 
 quite,' said Blanche Hopkins slyly. 
 
 Nell's face became for one moment rosy 
 red ; then she softly pushed down Waif's 
 paw, and answered coldly, 
 
 ' A great deal nicer than any master 
 could be. Do you really imagine, Blanche, 
 that it is necessary to fall in love with 
 every agreeable man one meets ? ' 
 
A TUSSLE WITH THE WAVES. 87 
 
 ' I don't know, dear. I think / do, more 
 or less.' 
 
 ' Ah ! but they all fall in love with you 
 first — really.' 
 
 *And do you think that nobody falls 
 in love with you — " really " ? Are you so 
 repellant ? ' 
 
 Nell drooped her head for a moment. 
 
 ' No one will ever care for me disinterest- 
 edly, I think,' she said in a low voice. 
 
 ' Oh, my dear, how unjust you are ! Do 
 you think there are no real gentlemen — no 
 noble-minded men in the world ? ' 
 
 * I don't know ; there are many more of 
 the other sort, I fancy.' 
 
 * What a pity you've got such a lot of 
 money ! ' remarked Miss Hopkins, looking 
 at her friend compassionately ; ' you would 
 be much happier if you weren't an heiress.' 
 
 ' I should be a free woman,' said the 
 other, as if in assent to her words. 
 
 And then silence fell between the two 
 
88 DRIVEN BEFORE THE STORM. 
 
 girls, as they sat watching the long lines of 
 dazzling foam, and listeaing to the roar of 
 the breakers that dashed in upon the shore 
 below them. Presently Nell Ling wood 
 rose. 
 
 'There is no sign of the boat, Blanche,' 
 she said ; ' we had better go on ; it is often 
 late, you know, when the weather is bad. 
 Will it be late to-day, Gruiseppe ? ' she 
 inquired of a young boatman whose ac- 
 quaintance they had made, and who 
 happened to be passing. 
 
 ' Si, signorina, it may not be in for an 
 hour or two yet ; perhaps they will wait at 
 Sorrento till the wind abates.' 
 
 And the pair dawdled homewards, calling 
 to Waif to follow them. But Waif had 
 other intentions, and merely wagged his 
 tail in reply as a parting salutation. There 
 was no reason now why he should not take 
 up his position on the shore, and await his 
 master's return. That day, the next, or 
 
A TUSSLE WITH THE WAVES. 89 
 
 when ? No matter ; when he did come his 
 dog would be the first to see him. It was 
 all very well leaving the pier and returning 
 to the house that mornino; when he was 
 bidden. He had performed the duty of 
 obedience without argument. But there 
 had been no fiat against his return to the 
 shore ; and there he now meant to stay — a 
 scpare, erect dog, with nose pointed sea- 
 wards and keen eyes scanning the distant 
 horizon. 
 
 Patience usually has its reward at last. 
 And presently the bright eyes grew more 
 fixed in their observation as a speck ap- 
 peared in view, now rising above, now lost 
 among the waves ; and all Waifs body 
 began to quiver with the eagerness of a 
 hope which soon became certainty. His 
 master was there ! He shifted his position 
 a few yards, and again sat himself down 
 statue-like. But a few moments later there 
 was a sudden sharp short yelp from the 
 
90 DRIVEN BEFORE THE STORM. 
 
 dog ; and he had plunged headlong off the 
 pier into the boiling surf, and was making 
 his way oat to sea with steady strokes of 
 his strong young limbs. He had been the 
 first to see the upsetting of the boat, and 
 was the first to reach the floating men ; and 
 when De Witt called to him to retire, and 
 to abstain from lending assistance, he re- 
 mained swimming about, round and round 
 his master, in an agony of apprehension. 
 
 The submersion was a tolerably lengthy 
 one, and the first boat was none too soon 
 for one or two of the men, who were 
 growing exhausted with the effort of 
 holding on to a slippery surface whilst 
 being knocked about so roughly by the 
 angry sea. Barrington, however, was little 
 the worse for his plunge ; his circulation 
 was sufficiently good and his arms suffi- 
 ciently athletic to make the situation less 
 trying to him than to most men, whilst 
 his nerves were proof to stand against a 
 
A TUSSLE WITH THE WAVES. 91 
 
 tolerably severe test. He began to laugh 
 as soon as he had scrambled into the boat 
 after his companions — chiefly at the woe- 
 begone appearance they all presented, and 
 could not resist the enjoyment of a word of 
 chaff. 
 
 ' Where is the Madonna's box ? ' he asked 
 with mischief in his eye ; ' did she not even 
 take the trouble to save that ? What a 
 pity you wasted your soldi.' 
 
 The Captain crossed himself. 
 
 *Hush, Signor,' he said, shivering with 
 the cold of his long immersion, for the day 
 was unusually chilly ; ' you should not joke 
 on such a matter. Who knows but that we 
 might all have been drowned just now if it 
 had not been for the goodness of Our Lady 
 del Succorso ? ' 
 
92 DRIVEN BEFORE THE STORM. 
 
 CHAPTER Y. 
 
 A WINDY WALK. 
 
 ' Precipitous cliffs, black and lowering — 
 Waves rolling hoarsely and high — 
 Foam streaks, like pale lips quivering. 
 Pressed towards a last good-bye.' — Anon. 
 
 De Witt took care to creep indoors 
 as unobtrusively as possible. He bad no 
 fancy to play the hero of a somewhat 
 foolish prank, and was congratulating him- 
 self upon his luck in meeting no one, when, 
 upon the top of the staircase, he came face 
 to face with Blanche Hopkins and Mr. 
 Wallace. 
 
 Miss Hopkins flew towards him impuls- 
 ively. 
 
 * We were coming to meet the rescued 
 
A WINDY WALK. 93 
 
 crew ! ' she exclaimed ; ' how quick you 
 have come up. Oh, I am glad you are all 
 right ! But we shan't soon forgive you the 
 fright you gave us all, I guess. There ! 
 if you had managed to drown yourself — 
 only fancy ! ' 
 
 ' There would have been one useless 
 mortal the less in the world,' he replied, 
 unable to resist holding the small hand 
 in his for a moment. ' Should you have 
 cared ? ' 
 
 ' Cared ! I should think so ! I should 
 have felt like crying my eyes out.' 
 
 Then she burst into a fit of merry 
 laughter. 
 
 ' Oh, my ! what a guy you are ! they 
 forgot to wring you out after your washing. 
 ]\Irs. Brereton — Nell — look here ! ' 
 
 But he hurriedly escaped, echoing her 
 laugh, and followed by Wallace. 
 
 ' Well, you are a pretty fool ! ' remarked 
 the latter, but in so friendly a tone that his 
 
94 DRIVEN BEFORE THE STORM. 
 
 words could not give offence. * Did you 
 want to commit suicide genteelly ? ' 
 
 ' Why should the boat upset j ust because 
 I was in it ? Am I a tJonah ? ' 
 
 ' I dare say the men think so.' 
 
 ' I dare say they do ; they were frightened 
 enough, poor idiots, to think anything. I 
 say, Wallace, as you are here, just make 
 yourself useful, will you ? and go at the bell 
 till you bring up somebody to take away 
 these wet things.' 
 
 ' It's a mercy they weren't your grave- 
 clothes.' 
 
 •' Perhaps it is ; though why we should 
 capsize just then I can't imagine. It was 
 fairly calm, and no gale to speak of. Just 
 my luck, to play the fool like this.' 
 
 ' You should have seen their faces in the 
 salon when the news came that you were 
 upset.' 
 
 ' Why ? ' asked Barring ton, with a shame- 
 faced laugh. ' Did they go into hysterics ? ' 
 
A WINDY WALK. 95 
 
 ' Mrs. Brereton nearly did. She shrieked 
 aloud until that little sprat of a husband of 
 hers scolded her into quiet.' 
 
 'And the girls — they didn't go into 
 hysterics, I suppose ? ' 
 
 'They were awfully upset. They both 
 went as white — as white as that sheet, and 
 one of them burst into tears.' 
 
 ' Which ? ' asked Barrington, his head 
 just emerging from the basin. 
 
 ' Miss Hopkins.' 
 
 Barrington plunged his head in once 
 more before he spoke. 
 
 ' She is a dear little impulsive girl,' he 
 remarked then. 
 
 ' De Witt — do you think she cares a 
 scrap for me ? Don't look so startled, man ; 
 haven't you seen all along how it was with 
 me ? I've worshipped her, fairly worshipped 
 her from the first hour I saw her. She's 
 the loveliest and the sweetest little creature 
 that ever stepped upon this earth. But 
 
96 DRIVEN BEFORE THE STORM. 
 
 there— it doesn't matter whether she cares 
 for me or not. I mustn't say anything to 
 her, I suppose. I suppose a man who's 
 said to be in a consumption oughtn't to 
 think of marrying, ought he ? ' 
 
 De Witt rubbed his face hard with the 
 toweh 
 
 •' How can I tell you, my dear fellow ? 
 It's rather a nice question, isn't it ? Are 
 you really so sure you are under sentence of 
 death ? ' 
 
 ' I don't know ; sometimes I think I'm 
 getting better. But I suppose I'm not. 
 No, I don't believe I ought to ask any 
 girl to marry me. But it's hard. I'm 
 not penniless, and I'm getting on. And 
 I would make that girl a good husband, 
 if she'd have me. I dare say you think 
 me a queer fellow, De Witt, for blurting 
 aU this out to you, a comparative stranger; 
 but you have a way with you, and some- 
 how I've had a liking for you from the 
 
A WINDY WALK. 97 
 
 first. You are the first man that's come 
 to Capri since I arrived here that I've 
 taken to.' 
 
 ' I wish I could help you ; fate seems 
 hard upon you.' 
 
 * Thanks ; it is.' iVnd the young artist 
 rose and walked towards the window, a 
 cloud upon his usually smooth brow. 
 
 He had almost recovered his usual light- 
 heartedness, however, when the household 
 assembled for lunch, and joined De Witt 
 heartily in a proposal made by him for a 
 lonoj walk towards the lio^hthouse at the 
 further end of the island. 
 
 ' What's to be seen there ? ' asked Mr. 
 Brereton, ungraciously. 
 
 ' The surf, of course,' replied the artist. 
 ' It will be a hundred or more feet high 
 over those rocks.' 
 
 ' We've got plenty of rocks close at hand, 
 and surf too,' remarked Mr. Brereton ; but 
 nobody heeded him. 
 
 VOL. L H 
 
98 DRIVEN BEFORE THE STORM. 
 
 ' Mamma, will you come ? ' asked Miss 
 Lingwood. 
 
 ' Me, my dear ! — how could I get all that 
 way ? All my bones are sore as it is with 
 those horrible donkeys. Besides, I should 
 be blown away in this wind.' 
 
 'You must be mad, Eleanor, to propose 
 such a thing to your mother,' remarked 
 her step-father with scant courtesy ; and 
 Blanche Hopkins laughed, and said in her 
 pretty impudent way, — 
 
 ' Don't be so cross, Mr. Brereton ; we can 
 take very good care of ourselves.' 
 
 But this Mr. Brereton would not permit, 
 and he accordingly escorted the quartette 
 for the first few miles, making himself 
 generally disagreeable with his complaints 
 about the steepness of the hill, the rough- 
 ness of the roads, and the boisterous nature 
 of the wind. 
 
 Blanche Hopkins, who with De Witt was 
 walking a little behind the other three, 
 
A WINDY WALK. 99 
 
 laughed again merrily, as stray portions of 
 a growl came wafting back towards them on 
 the wings of the breeze. 
 
 ' Poor Nell ! ' she exclaimed compassion- 
 ately. * I'm glad, anyhow, I have not got 
 such a discontented little man tied about 
 tx) my skirts wherever I go. Isn't it just 
 wonderful that Mrs. Brereton should ever 
 have taken a fancy to him ? ' 
 
 * Wonderful indeed ! ' acquiesced De Witt. 
 ' And yet, you know,' pursued the girl, 
 
 who was of a very charitable disposition, 
 ' he's not so bad — it's only he's so bother- 
 ing. I believe he's fond in his way of his 
 wife.' 
 
 ' And his step -daughter ? ' asked De Witt. 
 
 Miss Hopkins screwed up her rosy little 
 mouth. 
 
 * Ah, well, you see, that's a different 
 matter. Nell's an important person because 
 of her money, but I guess they don't quite 
 hit it off together.' 
 
 H 2 
 
100 DRIVEN BEFORE THE STOEM. 
 
 ' Oh, Miss Lingwood's an heiress, is she ? ' 
 
 * Well, we shouldn't call it such great 
 things in America, but they think more of 
 a little money in England, and I suppose 
 old Brereton would be just mad if she were 
 to marry and take it off with her/ 
 
 'Perhaps Miss Lingwood may meet 
 with some one who doesn't care about her 
 fortune.' 
 
 * I don't see why she shouldn't ; she's 
 nice enough and pretty enough. But she 
 doesn't think she will/ 
 
 ' Has she so bad an opinion of mankind 
 in general ? ' asked Barrington, thinking of 
 the conversation he had overheard on the 
 balcony. 
 
 'Well, you see, it's a nasty thing in 
 England for a girl to have a lot of money. 
 There are so many adventurers and fortune- 
 hunters always pestering her, that it's no 
 wonder if she begins to think everybody's 
 the same. I don't. I've plenty of my own 
 
A WINDY WALK. 101 
 
 too ; but, goodness me ! I can always tell 
 you what a man's like the moment I set 
 eyes on him.' 
 
 'I hope you judge me favourably — and 
 Wallace ? ' 
 
 'Well, now, if I didn't, do you think I 
 would talk to you like this ? ' 
 
 ' Thank you. Miss Hopkins. I don't 
 think anything you say to me will be 
 abused.' And De Witt looked at his com- 
 panion with a sense of cordiality. 
 
 ' There ! ' she exclaimed, * I told you Mr. 
 Brereton would not trouble us long. He's 
 turning back now; he don't like the wind. 
 Well, there's one thing we've got to thank 
 this wind for, and that is, that Kobert 
 Lingwood won't come over so long as it 
 lasts. He's an awful sailor.' 
 
 ' Who on earth is Eobert Lingwood ? ' 
 inquired her companion. 
 
 ' The son. Ah, his father's not a patch 
 upon him ! He is real horrid. He's the 
 
102 DRIVEN BEFORE THE STORM. 
 
 only man I ever saw in my life that I 
 couldn't find a single thing to like in/ 
 
 Barrington laughed at this declaration of 
 so catholic a regard for humanity. 
 
 ' I guess he's in an awful rage now with 
 us and the weather, kicking his heels at 
 Sorrento,' she continued. ' Well, Mr. Brere- 
 ton, so you are going home again ? ' 
 
 ' Yes ; I have had enough of it. It's not 
 a fit day for man or beast. And what there 
 can be in a lump of spray to go scrambling 
 for miles over this abominable country 
 passes me. But of course, if you like it, 
 you must go on.' 
 
 Mr. Brereton's desertion caused a little 
 change in the arrangement of the quar- 
 tette. The two in front waited for the 
 others, and for some few paces they all 
 walked on abreast; then the narrowness 
 of the path again separated them, and, 
 somehow or other, Barrington found him- 
 self beside Miss Lingwood, whilst Wallace 
 
A WINDY WALK. 103 
 
 marched on more quickly with the young 
 American. 
 
 A lovely colour flushed her cheeks, she 
 was more gay and sparkling even than 
 usual ; and the poor artist, as he walked 
 beside her on the little path, sometimes 
 holding her hand for a moment in his to 
 assist her over the rough places, felt his 
 head completely gone, and more madly in 
 love than ever. His good resolutions went 
 to the winds, and he became more and more 
 sentimental as at length they sat down to 
 rest in a nook close beneath the rearing 
 rocks. 
 
 * Oh ! ' said Blanche, shuddering as she 
 gazed down into the boiling sea, and then 
 shut her eyes, ' I can't bear to look into 
 it, when I think how nearly Captain De 
 Witt was drowned this morning ! ' 
 
 * You were very much terrified about 
 that. Miss Hopkins ? ' 
 
 *"\Vell, I should just say I was!' 
 
104 DRIVEN BEFORE THE STORM. 
 
 'Would you have been as sorry if it 
 had been meV he asked, with a lover's 
 jealousy. ' Would you mind if such a 
 thing happened to me as to be drowned 
 or killed in any way ? ' 
 
 ' Mind ? Why, I guess I should just go 
 wild about it.' 
 
 ' Would you really ? Do you really like 
 me?' 
 
 * Why, of course I do,' and she turned her 
 bright eyes full upon him. ' We've all had 
 real nice times together on this little island 
 here, haven't we ? ' 
 
 ' Too nice for me,' groaned poor Wallace. 
 'I sha'n't get over it for years when you 
 go away — perhaps never.' 
 
 ' Oh, yes, you will,' she said genially ; ' it 
 isn't so bad as that.' 
 
 ' It couldn't be worse/ he exclaimed, 
 desperately. ' I never cared for any one 
 before — and now — I could just lie down 
 and die for you — for you, Blanche. And 
 
A WIXDY WALK. 105 
 
 I suppose I oughtn't to say it, only that 
 I know you don't care one scrap for me.' 
 
 * Oh, yes, I do though — I like you 
 awfully.' 
 
 'But not in that way! You wouldn't 
 marry me ? ^ 
 
 ' No, not in that way,' she replied slowly. 
 * But in any other way. Won't any other 
 way do, Mr. Wallace ? Mayn't we be just 
 dear friends ? ' 
 
 ' I'll be thankful to be anything you 
 will let me,' said the young artist. ' I may 
 as well go off the hooks as not,' he con- 
 tinued despondently. ' I never can get 
 anything I wish. I don't care if I do die 
 of consumption now.' 
 
 ' Oh, Mr. Wallace ! get nothing ? Why, 
 you, so good, and kind, and clever, and so 
 good-looking, you will get most things in 
 life you want — from the ladies, at any 
 rate. And with your talent, why, you 
 will soon get to the top of the tree ; and 
 
106 DRIVEN BEFORE THE STORM. 
 
 how proud I shall be to have a friend a 
 Eoyal Academician.' 
 
 'Don't try to comfort me — it's no use,' 
 said Wallace. 
 
 'Well, then, Mr. Wallace, I'll tell you 
 a secret — a secret nobody knows but my 
 friend Nell, not even Mrs. Brereton. But 
 I know I can trust you. I was engaged 
 to be married before ever I left America ; 
 or perhaps — it's most likely, you know — I 
 might have taken a fancy to you.' And 
 she blushed, and smiled into his face. ' No 
 one knows of it, Mr. Wallace. We're wait- 
 ing because my people think he's too poor, 
 and he don't feel himself like marrying on 
 my money ; but he's getting on pretty well 
 now. So say you'll forgive me, won't you ? ' 
 
 Wallace had turned towards her, in- 
 terested half against his will as she began 
 her little confidence ; and now he took the 
 hand she held out towards him, and raised 
 it to his lips. 
 
A WINDY WALK. 107 
 
 ' I may do this, mayn't I, Blanche ? And 
 call you by your own pretty name just 
 once ? ' 
 
 * You might always call me Blanche if 
 you liked, only I'm afraid Mrs. Brereton 
 mightn't think it proper.' 
 
 * If I'd known this before, Blanche — ■ 
 And yet, I don't believe knowing anything 
 would have prevented my caring for you. It 
 took hold of me the first evening I saw you.' 
 
 And he continued to talk gently, sadly 
 of his own trouble, and of his wasted love, 
 without anything on the girl's part making 
 him feel as if she were not the most natural 
 recipient of his confidences. Miss Hopkins, 
 in fact, was so tender, so sympathetic, that 
 her manner unconsciously soothed him, and 
 helped to heal the wound she had inflicted, 
 whilst binding the artist to her more strongly 
 than ever. She was so gentle and so flatter- 
 ing, that by degrees she restored his troubled 
 self-respect, and even his equanimity, and 
 
108 DRIVEN BEFORE THE STORM. 
 
 seemed quite to act the part of a mother 
 consoling a sorrowful child. 
 
 Meanwhile De Witt and his companion 
 had struggled on to the very verge of the 
 steepest cliffs, where for some time they 
 crouched upon the overhanging rocks, 
 unable to hear each other's voices atnid 
 the wild tumult of the thundering waves, 
 and wetted by the sheets of foam that 
 rose up from beneath their feet, a hundred 
 feet below. 
 
 It was long before Nell Lingwood could 
 tear herself away ; she seemed to find a 
 fascination in the wild chaos of the w^aters 
 and the impassive strength of the resisting 
 walls ; and even when they had retired a 
 little way, and were walking slowdy up 
 the path again together, she was silent for 
 several minutes, as if still under the spell 
 of that terrible grandeur. 
 
 Then she turned towards De Witt, 
 speaking abruptly : 
 
A WINDY WALK. 109 
 
 ' It wasn't like that where you were this 
 morning ? ' 
 
 ' Why, no. If it had been, there would 
 not have been a bit of us left as bio: as 
 a sixpenny -piece.' 
 
 ' What did you feel like when you found 
 yourself in the water ? ' 
 
 ' Well, I felt very foolish.' 
 
 ' Not frightened ? ' 
 
 ' Not particularly ; why should I ? I 
 knew we should all be able probably to 
 hold on till a boat came.' 
 
 ' Have you never been frightened in your 
 life ? ' 
 
 * Eather. I was mortally frightened once 
 when a mad dog got into the barrack-yard 
 and raced me round it ; and I remember 
 nearly dying of fright once when a fish- 
 bone stuck in my throat, and couldn't be 
 got to go up or down.' 
 
 ' What a wonderful thing nerve is,' said 
 his companion musiugly ; ' I wish I had it.' 
 
110 DRIVEN BEFORE THE STORM. 
 
 ^ I dare say you have as much as I. 
 Women, at any rate, have an awful lot of 
 moral courage. They don't care for public 
 opinion a tithe what men do.' 
 
 ' No, I don't think they do. But then that 
 is because they have more depth of feeling.' 
 
 ' Have men so little feeling ? ' he asked 
 with a smile. ' You are hard upon us, 
 Miss Lingwood.' 
 
 Her cheek flushed. 
 
 ' One must not generalize, I suppose.' 
 
 ' Men are not all alike surely, any more 
 than women,' he observed. ' I fear you are 
 a severe critic' 
 
 'I am afraid I am,' she replied with 
 sudden humility ; * and it is so horrid for a 
 woman to be suspicious and uncharitable, is 
 it not ? But I have been unlucky, I think.' 
 And the sadness of her tone touched De 
 Witt. 
 
 ' It is better to think too well than too ill 
 of people, is it nof?' he asked. 'For my 
 
A WINDY WALK. Ill 
 
 part, I would rather find myself taken in 
 sometimes than risk the loss of a possible 
 friend.' 
 
 ' You are quite right/ she said. ' I am 
 always telling myself so. But then circum- 
 stances — ' 
 
 And she stopped, crimsoning suddenly. 
 
 He did not press her to finish her sen- 
 tence ; he was too much struck by the new 
 phase in her character. He had not 
 thought it in her to put aside her reserve 
 so completely. 
 
 ' Don t you think, Captain De Witt,' she 
 continued presently in the same tone, * it 
 requires a large mind not to judge all the 
 world by our own little surroundings ? ' 
 
 ' Well, I suppose so. I suppose the mole 
 thinks all creation must be blind, and the 
 chrysalis doesn't guess there is anything 
 outside its skin.' 
 
 ' When I am inclined to be narrow,' she 
 remarked laughing, yet half serious, ' I 
 
112 DRIVEN BEFORE THE STORM. 
 
 will think of the mole and the chrysalis. 
 Thank you, Captain De Witt. I think, if I 
 could change identities, I would become 
 Blanche Hopkins. She has such a sweet 
 nature. She likes almost everybody, and 
 can put up with people who drive me wild.' 
 
 ' But a person who doesn't like every- 
 body may perhaps like a few the more 
 strongly"?' And he looked towards her 
 interrogatively. 
 
 ' I don't know about that. If you mean 
 me, I think I am not much given to 
 making friends. Blanche there is about the 
 nearest approach I ever made to a friend- 
 ship, and I am only one of a dozen with her.' 
 
 ' Male or female ? ' asked Barrington, his 
 eyes wandering to where the young lady 
 referred to stood outlined before them on 
 a little eminence not far off, her animated 
 face turned towards her companion. 
 
 Miss Lingwood laughed softly as her gaze 
 followed his. 
 
A WINDY WALK. 113 
 
 'Both,' slie replied. 'That is going to 
 be another sample of Blanche's peculiar 
 talent, I am afraid.' 
 
 ' The talent of transmuting lovers into 
 friends ? ' he asked. 
 
 ' Exactly.' 
 
 ' It is a rare one,' he remarked, ' but 
 must no doubt be very useful to so pretty 
 and attractive a girl. But is it not rather a 
 fragile form of friendship when achieved ? ' 
 
 ' I should have thought so. But then 
 I don't believe in men and women friend- 
 ships, even where people are supposed not 
 to be in love.' 
 
 ' I am sorry,' he said gravely. * Do you 
 make no exceptions to your rule ? ' 
 
 ' Oh, no doubt there may be exceptions.' 
 
 * Because I had hoped that we might 
 call ourselves something like friends al- 
 ready.' 
 
 Nell Lingwood paused, and glanced for 
 a moment quickly towards him ; then her 
 
 VOL. L I 
 
114 DRIVEN BEFOEE THE STORM. 
 
 eyes met his with a sudden frankness that 
 lit up her face with sunshine. 
 
 ' Perhaps we are,' she replied. * I don't 
 wish to be bigoted. I am quite willing to 
 try it.' 
 
 ' Then/ he said brightly, * let us sign the 
 covenant, and write down the friendship 
 mutual from this moment.' 
 
 'But there must be two conditions, 
 Captain De Witt.' 
 
 ' Which are ? ' 
 
 ' Well, first, that friends only speak the 
 truth, the entire truth, to each other ; and 
 secondly, that they never flatter or pay 
 each other compliments.' 
 
 ' But in keeping the first condition I am 
 afraid I may sometimes be — unjustly — con- 
 sidered guilty of breaking the second.' 
 
 A slight cloud rested upon her brow. 
 
 * You are doing it first thing. Is not 
 that speech meant for a compliment ? ' 
 
 ' It is not meant for one.' 
 
A WINDY WALK. 115 
 
 ' If you knew how I hated flattery, how I 
 loathe the very suspicion of a compliment ! ' 
 she exclaimed impatiently. 
 
 ' Indeed/ he said seriously and humbly, 
 * I will try my very best not to be dis- 
 agreeably civil — I will be as rude as ever I 
 can.' 
 
 ' Now you are making fun of me. But 
 we can never be friends if you do not 
 understand the sort of physical repulsion 
 what people call "pretty speeches" give me. 
 I can't explain it, but I am very much in 
 earnest.' 
 
 ' I am sure you are ; and so am I. And 
 as I don't want you to dislike me, I shall 
 remember the warning.' 
 
 ' Thank you,' she said, with a sort oi 
 childlike simplicity. 
 
 She was still very young at heart, he 
 felt, notwithstanding her implied know- 
 ledge of the world, and suspicion of men 
 and manners. The girl seemed full of 
 
 I 2 
 
116 DRIVEN BEFORE THE STORM. 
 
 contradictions ; her character and her very 
 words and thoughts seemed to have so 
 many different inflections, to run in so 
 many different groves, according to the vein 
 of feeling that momentarily possessed her, 
 that she appeared to him like a different 
 person at different times. She seemed to 
 have acquired a habit of self-repression 
 foreign to her natural disposition, and to 
 be constantly checking a strong and 
 demonstrative individuality. Since he had 
 taken to studying her, the fancy gained 
 possession of his mind that she somehow 
 typified a beautiful and expansive organism, 
 cramped into half development by the 
 outside shell of unfavourable circumstances. 
 It was a fanciful idea, but one that grew 
 upon him more and more as he became 
 better acquainted, and which certainly did 
 not lessen his interest in his companion. 
 
 ' All the more,' he added, watching her 
 from beneath half-closed eyelids, * because 
 
A WINDY WALK. 117 
 
 I am sure that if you disliked any one, it 
 would not be by halves.' 
 
 She gave a little humiliated sigh. 
 
 ' Have you found out already how vindic- 
 tive I am ? But I think there is only one 
 person in the world I really dislike. And,' 
 she continued, her face flushing, * he is mean, 
 and prying, and small-minded. Don't you 
 think it is an instinct — almost a right one 
 — to dislike low, mean people ? ' 
 
 ' In the same way one dislikes all 
 creeping beasts ? Well, as you say, it is, 
 at any rate, a natural instinct, and probably 
 a healthy one.' 
 
 ' Of course I know,' she said thoughtfully, 
 ' one ought to try to dislike the qualities, 
 but tolerate the person. But it is very 
 diflScult to draw that distinction in practise, 
 is it not ? ' 
 
 'Very,' replied Barrington, smiling a little. 
 
 She seemed now to have completely 
 taken him at his word, and to have thrown 
 
118 DRIVEN BEFOEE THE STORM. 
 
 off the armour of self-defence ; and with 
 her evidently sincere promise of friendship, 
 she showed herself to him with a frank in- 
 genuousness that touched him, and proved 
 to him that his theory of the cramped 
 organism was beyond doubt correct. 
 
 * I wonder,' he continued, ' if it is not too 
 curious a question — what he has done to 
 deserve your dislike ? ' 
 
 ' It is not anything particular that he has 
 done. Don t you see ? It is not so much 
 what people do as what they are that 
 makes one like or dislike them. One could 
 forgive a great injury perhaps, but one can 
 never learn to like a person one despises. 
 Perhaps you may see the one I am thinking 
 of some day, and then, I think, you will 
 feel it too.' 
 
 It was not unpleasant, Barrington felt, 
 to be classed by a pretty girl as likely to 
 be in sympathy with her on the score of 
 a sensation of contempt for inferior people ; 
 
A WINDY WALK. 119 
 
 and it suddenly flashed across him as an 
 inspiration who was the particular human 
 reptile referred to. It must be the Kobert 
 Brereton named by Blanche Hopkins — the 
 one man in whom that charitable little 
 coquette could see no redeeming trait — 
 Miss Liogwood's step-brother. Truly, De 
 Witt began to feel almost curious to behold 
 this unfavourable specimen of humanity, 
 and knew not which most to pity — Nell 
 Lingwood, for the burden of such a con- 
 nection, or the young man himself, for his 
 overweening unpopularity with two such 
 charming girls. He was too discreet, how- 
 ever, to put forward his discovery, and 
 their talk presently drifted into other 
 channels. 
 
 So interested were they both, and so 
 pleasant a shelter was the little nook which 
 Barrington had found, that it was not until 
 a bar of crimson bes^an to stretch itself 
 across the golden sky, catching the girl's 
 
120 DRIVEN BEFORE THE STORM. 
 
 eye, that she bethought herself of the hour, 
 and started from her seat. 
 
 'Captain De Witt! Is it really sunset 
 time ? ' 
 
 'The sun has not set yet. It is not 
 much after seven o'clock,' he replied. 
 
 ' We shall be late for dinner.' And she 
 began to hurry forwards. 
 
 'What then?' he demanded coolly. 
 'We shall be a snug little partie carree — 
 much better.' 
 
 ' Where are Blanche and Mr. Wallace ? 
 I don't see them anywhere.' 
 
 'Probably mooning about somewhere near.' 
 
 ' Oh, no, they are not ; they are gone 
 home. They might have given us a call.' 
 
 ' Perhaps they thought we were old 
 enough and wise enough to take care of 
 ourselves.' 
 
 ' I wish you would come on. Captain De 
 Witt ; you are so dreadfully cool about 
 everything.' 
 
A WINDY WALK. 121 
 
 ' Why slioulcl I pretend to be sorry when 
 I'm not ? Why didn't I put you with your 
 back to the sunset ? ' 
 
 ' Then it is unkind of you/ she said, half- 
 petulantly, ' when you knew I should like 
 to have been home for dinner.' 
 
 ' Am I not always to speak the truth ? ' 
 he asked. 
 
 Her only reply was to hurry on even 
 faster, with a slight gesture of irritation. 
 
 ' Take care. Miss Lingwood. Let me give 
 you a hand. That stone is loose.' 
 
 But she had already put her foot upon 
 the stone in question, and begun to mount 
 the low, half-broken wall, over which he 
 had vaulted, and was now turning to offer 
 her his assistance. 
 
 His hand was not taken, however; the 
 stone turned, and she would have fallen if 
 he had not caught her in his arms. She 
 gave a momentary struggle, as if to release 
 herself; then the laugh died away upon 
 
122 DRIVEN BEFORE THE STORM. 
 
 her lips, and with a sudden cry he felt 
 her full weight hanging upon him. 
 
 ' Let me sit down,' she exclaimed, faintly ; 
 and he placed her gently upon the ground. 
 
 Her face was deadly white, and her eyes 
 closed for a minute. After a few moments, 
 however, they reopened, whilst he was bend- 
 ing over her in his man's distracted horror of 
 a fainting fit ; and she endeavoured to smile. 
 
 'I'm all right,' she said, trying, to raise 
 herself into a sitting posture ; ' don't look 
 so frightened ! ' 
 
 ' Pray lie still a minute longer ; you are 
 so white.' 
 
 'Ifeel white,' she said, laughing feebly. 
 
 ' Where did you hurt yourself ? ' 
 
 ' It was my foot — that horrid stone. I'm 
 afraid I've sprained it.' 
 
 ' Well, you had better not try to walk 
 for a few minutes/ 
 
 She moved her foot, touched it, and then 
 looked up ruefully. 
 
A WIXDY WALK. 123 
 
 * I don't believe I can walk at all. Oh, 
 what sliaU I do ? ' 
 
 Barrington laughed with the spontaneous 
 audacity that comes natural to some men, 
 and is so rarely taken amiss by the fair 
 sex. 
 
 ' Why, if it comes to that, I would carry 
 you to Anacapri for sixpence ! You are 
 light enough.' 
 
 'Oh, it is too serious for a joke ! ' 
 
 ' But, if you insist upon having a four- 
 footed beast of burden in preference, we can 
 soon get a donkey from the village.' 
 
 ' You will have to go and fetch it. Oh, 
 I'm so sorry to give all this trouble ! ' 
 
 ' Perhaps I shall see the others, and they 
 can send us back one.' 
 
 He ran down the pathway, shouting 
 vigorously. But only the echoes responded 
 to his cry of, ' Wallace ! I say, Wallace ! ' 
 and he was pausing in deliberation, un- 
 willing to leave her alone whilst he returned 
 
124 DRIVEN BEFORE THE STORM. 
 
 to the village, and yet perceiving the 
 necessity of something being done at once, 
 when his face suddenly brightened at the 
 sight of a ragged young peasant plodding 
 towards him from the direction of the light- 
 house. Here was the very thing ! And in a 
 couple of minutes he had joined the man, 
 and in his easily-flowing, ungrammatical 
 Italian had explained his errand, and sent 
 the contadino off post-haste, with the promise 
 of a liberal reward. Then he returned to 
 his companion, reporting his success, and 
 helping her to drag herself into a more com- 
 fortable position against the little sheltering 
 wall. But her replies to his remarks grew 
 briefer and briefer, and presently, after a 
 pause, she suddenly exclaimed : 
 
 ' I can't bear it any longer ! ' 
 
 ' Are you going to faint again ? ' he asked 
 in real terror, for she was almost whiter 
 than at first ; and at the words she laughed 
 hysterically. 
 
A WINDY WALK. 125 
 
 ' No ; but my boot — it hurts me so 
 terribly. I can't get it off. I tried while 
 you were talking to that man, but my foot 
 is so swelled — ' 
 
 ' Why didnt you tell me before ? ' he 
 asked, as he fished a clasp-knife out of his 
 pocket. ' Why, I could have relieved you 
 in a minute.' And he began hastily cutting 
 the buttons off, one by one. 
 
 * Of course,' she said, ' I ought to have 
 known that a man always has a knife in his 
 pocket.' And as he proceeded to pull off 
 the boot as gently as possible, she set her 
 lips firmly together, and suppressed a cry. 
 
 * It hurt,' he said, looking up at her and 
 keeping her foot for one moment in his 
 hand ; ' poor little foot ! ' And he laid it 
 down tenderly as he put the boot in his 
 pocket. 
 
 Nell made no reply. Probably she 
 realized that pity, and, under the circum- 
 stances, even something not unlike a caress, 
 
126 DRIVEN BEFORE THE STORM. 
 
 was a-dmissible between friends. Eelieved 
 from the strain of the boot, she declared 
 the pain to be nothing, and became quite 
 cheerful. 
 
 To De Witt the period of waiting was 
 certainly no unpleasant time. To sit out 
 on a lonely hill-side, surrounded by wild 
 rocks, a foaming sea, and a many-coloured 
 sky, during that soft pause of comparative 
 stillness that so often accompanies the 
 dying oat of a stormy day — so to sit with 
 a pleasant companion, a beautiful girl, 
 beside him, was certainly no uncongenial 
 method of spending half-an-hour. The wind 
 had dropped rapidly the last hour, and it 
 was now almost calm. 
 
 Nell Liugwood, perhaps still in a little 
 pain or weakened by her fainting, sat lean- 
 ing back more silent than before, but 
 smiling and interested as he talked to her, 
 her pale face looking very sweet in the 
 fading daylight. It seemed to De Witt, 
 
A WIXDY WALK. 127 
 
 whether true or not, that a new and un- 
 w^onted touch of softness pervaded the 
 atmosphere between them ; and he spoke 
 to her of things he had never named before 
 — of personal thoughts and hopes, of the 
 little disappointments and trivialities that 
 make up the main sum of our lives, and 
 yet which, as a rule, w^e keep to ourselves, 
 unless some such moment and companion 
 tempt us to break loose from an intuitive 
 reticence, by that insidious charm of word- 
 less interest, of silent sympathy. 
 
 When at length steps were heard upon 
 the stony path, and his messenger was 
 seen returning, followed by a donkey and a 
 donkey woman, it seemed to him as if the 
 man had fulfilled his errand almost too 
 quickly. He sprang up, however, and saw 
 that the sun had now really set, and that 
 it was as well for Nell Lingwood's wounded 
 foot that they had not been longer belated 
 on this rough uneven way. 
 
128 DRIVEN BEFORE THE STORM. 
 
 She rose with the assistance of his hand. 
 ' If you will give me your arm, I can get 
 over the wall,' she said. 
 
 * How ? ' he asked incredulously. ' How 
 will you climb with one foot ? ' 
 
 * I can hop,' she replied, laughing. 
 
 He did not attempt to offer his arm. 
 ' Even you cannot do the impossible,' he 
 said gravely. ' I shall carry you.' 
 
 And lifting her in his arms, he picked his 
 way carefully over the fallen stones, and 
 placed her upon the saddle. As he did so 
 he glanced for a moment into her face. 
 She was not angry as she gave him a quiet 
 ' Thank you.' Was there even a softer look 
 upon the beautiful features, or was it only 
 the effect of the little rosy flush that had 
 risen to her cheeks ? 
 
 He was silent for a few moments. He 
 had made a discovery. He loved this girl. 
 Perhaps he had already been in love with 
 her for some days — since he first saw her. 
 
A WINDY WALK. 129 
 
 It was possible. But it was whilst holding 
 her in his arms that the conviction broke 
 upon him so surely, so suddenly. It was 
 only for a few seconds ; but he acknow- 
 ledged the fact, and it gave him food for 
 reflection. 
 
 'Signor,' said the peasant, edging up to 
 him on the narrow pathway, * I met 
 another lady and gentleman not far from 
 the village. And the lady was so tired, 
 she wanted us to let her have the donkey 
 to ride back to Capri ; but I told her we 
 could not, because it was for your Signora, 
 who had hurt her foot. So then they said 
 they were of the same party, and if they 
 had not been so tired, they should have 
 come back to help you. They lamented 
 greatly that the Signora should have hurt 
 herself.' 
 
 This diverted Barrington's thoughts, and 
 
 he laughingly translated the account to his 
 
 companion. 
 
 VOL. L K 
 
130 DRIVEN BEFORE THE STORM. 
 
 * Poor Blanche ! ' slie exclaimed. ' I don't 
 wonder she is tired ; I don't suppose she 
 has ever walked so far as this in her life 
 before. I feel mean to have deprived her 
 of perhaps the one donkey of Anacapri.' 
 
 ' Here they are ! ' exclaimed De Witt a 
 few moments later, as they turned the 
 corner into the village. 
 
 The pair were, in fact, seated upon the 
 grass by the roadside ; before them a 
 second donkey, with a side-saddle and an 
 attendant boy. 
 
 * So you have managed to find another 
 beast for Miss Hopkins, I see,' remarked 
 De Witt, as the others rose quickly, per- 
 ceiving them. 
 
 ' Yes, we were lucky enough to meet 
 with it,' replied the young artist. ' I don't 
 know how we could have got on without, 
 for Miss Hopkins is quite done up. But 
 we couldn't make up our minds to go on 
 without you, we were both so anxious 
 
A WINDY WALK. 131 
 
 about Miss Lingwood ; so we thought we 
 would wait here till you came up.' 
 
 *And all go home in disgrace together/ 
 added the little American. ' Oh, Nell dear, 
 ho 10 are you ? Is your foot bad ? ' 
 
 ' I shall get over it,' laughed the other, 
 lightly ; whilst Barrington smiled to himself 
 at Wallace's ing-enious remark. 
 
 His anxiety had been a decent excuse for 
 persuading Miss Hopkins into lengthening 
 a pleasant tete-a-tete walk by yet another 
 half-hour. He was amused, but not sar- 
 donic. Who was he to laugh at any man 
 for being transparently, foolishly in love ? 
 The turn of each must come. Poor fellow I 
 it was a pity Wallace had set his heart 
 upon a girl who, according to her friend, 
 was not likely to accept the gift at its 
 full value. 
 
 It was almost if not quite dark when 
 at length the little procession paused at 
 the entrance to the hotel, and the two 
 
 K 2 
 
132 DRIVEN BEFOEE THE STORM. 
 
 men proceeded to help the girls off their 
 respective beasts. Nell's foot was quite 
 stiff, and she hobbled with difficulty down 
 the passage. 
 
 ' My word ! ' whispered Blanche in a 
 confiding aside to her companions, ' shan't 
 we all catch it now? Won't there be just 
 a chorus of "I told you so's" when she 
 comes limping in ! ' 
 
AX UNPOPULAR MEMBER OF SOCIETY. 133 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 AX UXPOPULAR MEMBER OF SOCIETY. 
 
 ' Self-love is not so vile a sin as self-for^'etting.' 
 
 Shakespeare. 
 
 The breakfast-room was empty the next 
 morning when De Witt entered, and he 
 finished his metd in solitude. The day was 
 bright and fine, and AVallace no doubt was 
 off to his studio ; whilst the ladies of the 
 Brereton party were, he supposed, too tired 
 to put in an appearance. He lingered 
 about some little time in hope of an oppor- 
 tunity to inquire after Miss Lingwood's 
 sprained foot, and then went for a desultory 
 stroll with Waif. 
 
 AVhen he returned it was nearly lunch- 
 time, and most of the party were assembled 
 
134 DHIVEN BEFOEE THE STORM. 
 
 in tlie little salon. Nell herself, however 
 was not there, he saw at a glance ; and he 
 moved towards her mother to make his 
 inquiries. 
 
 Mrs. Brereton's kindly face wore a rather 
 worried expression, and De Witt felt sure 
 her husband had been nag-orinoj at her. 
 
 ' I'm afraid it's rather bad, thank you, 
 Captain De Witt,' she replied, — 'a some- 
 what severe sprain ; I don't think she will 
 be able to put her foot down for some days.' 
 
 " Days ! ' echoed her husband snappishly ; 
 ' she will be lucky if she can walk in a 
 week ! And just when the bad weather 
 has broken up, and we might have got 
 away from the place.' 
 
 'Well, you know, Edward,' remarked his 
 wife, soothingly, ' we must have stayed a 
 couple of days longer for Eobert to see the 
 island.' 
 
 ' A couple of days ! Don't I tell you the 
 girl will be on the sofa for a week at least ? ' 
 
AX UNPOPULAH MEMBER OF SOCIETY. 135 
 
 * It is very unfortunate/ said De AVitt, 
 reflecting, as he spoke, upon the insincerity 
 of his words. ' One never knows when a 
 mishap of that sort may not happen.' 
 
 ' I told you all yesterday you were on 
 a fool's errand,' remarked the elder man 
 with irritation. * I knew some harm would 
 come of it. Through that storm, and such 
 an unfit distance ! I told the girls ; but 
 nobody ever listens to me.' 
 
 ' Oh, yes, they do, dear,' said Mrs. 
 Breretoti ; ' but young people will be young 
 people. And it might just as well have 
 happened any other day, you know.' 
 
 Probably she thought De Witt had borne 
 his scolding well, for she smiled in a friendly 
 manner towards him, and then called to a 
 young man who stood near with his hands 
 in his pockets, gazing out of the window. 
 
 ' Eobert, come here. I want to introduce 
 you to our friend. Captain De Witt. My 
 stepson, Mr. Brereton.' 
 
136 DRIVEN BEFORE THE STORM. 
 
 The young man turned round and gave 
 first a sharp, scrutinizing glance, and then a 
 stiff nod to the other. He was of a short, 
 slight figure, and of sandy hair and com- 
 plexion, and his prevailing characteristic 
 mip^ht be said to be insio-nificance. His 
 eyes were his most salient point, for, small 
 and set closely together, they had a certain 
 air of penetration about them that was 
 more than half cunning ; and when you 
 looked closely into them, they too were 
 yellow, or as nearly that colour as human 
 eyes may be. He was dressed in a light 
 yellow suit, and gave Barrington altogether 
 the impression of a short piece of tow-rope 
 stuck up on end. 
 
 So this was Nell's step-brother — the 
 object of her uncontrollable dislike. Well, 
 it was quite possible that a more intimate 
 acquaintance with Mr. Robert Brereton 
 might cement a sympathy between them on 
 that point as well as others. He was not 
 
AN UNPOPULAR MEMBER OF SOCIETY. 137 
 
 charmed at first sight with his companion, 
 but he gave him a good-humoured nod and 
 word of greeting ; for it was not De Witt's 
 nature to be unfriendly without due cause 
 to any one. 
 
 But then he stood looking down upon 
 the little yellow man for a moment en- 
 grossed in two reflections — the first a silent 
 pity for Nell afflicted with the burden of 
 such a connection, the second a silent 
 wonder how any man under thirty could 
 have had time to acquire so disagreeable 
 an expression of countenance. 
 
 ' He is an unmitigated little cad, poor 
 little chap ! ' he thought to himself ; asking 
 aloud, ' I suppose you had a first-rate 
 crossing this morning ? ' 
 
 ' Well, I don't know about first-rate,' 
 replied the other ; ' we had plenty of 
 tossing. This Mediterranean is a beastly 
 sea enough, it seems to me.' 
 
 He subsided into silence, and began to 
 
13S DRIVEN BEFORE THE STORM. 
 
 gaze out of the window again ; and De 
 Witt, feeling that he had done his duty 
 by the new-comer, strolled off to meet 
 Blanche Hopkins, who had just entered. 
 
 ' Tired ? I should just think I was ! ' she 
 exclaimed, in response to his queries. ' But 
 I'd do it all over again for the sake of 
 those rocks. And so would Nell, she says 
 — sprained foot and all. What do I think 
 of Nell's foot? Well, I guess she'll be 
 dancing around again in a few days. But 
 my I what a fuss that old man does make 
 over it ! And so,' she whispered, ' the 
 paragon's come at last 1 Isn't he a beauty ? 
 Have you spoken to him ? Now he's here 
 there'll be an end of all our fun. He goes 
 poking around just like a ferret, does 
 Robert. I guess Nell's foot doesn't matter 
 now, for we shouldn't have got any more 
 nice walks.' 
 
 ' Miss Ling wood is not coming to lunch ? ' 
 inquired Barrington. 
 
AN UNPOPULAR MEMBER OF SOCIETY. 139 
 
 * No, I guess she won't try to come up 
 and down-stairs for a day or two. After 
 lunch ? Well, I don't know ; 1 don't see 
 why she shouldn't — this room's on the same 
 fioor.' 
 
 Luncheon seemed to De Witt an un- 
 usually long and dreary affair that day. 
 Nell's absence seemed to make an unac- 
 countable blank, and it was poor comfort 
 to find her step-brother installed in her 
 customary place beside himself. Mr. Kobert 
 Brereton was not communicative ; probably 
 at no time was he remarkable for powers 
 of conversation ; and after the exchange of 
 one or two commonplaces, De Witt and he 
 made no further effort towards sociability. 
 
 Immediately after luncheon Mr. and Mrs. 
 Brereton started for a drive to Anacapri, 
 but their son did not accompany them ; and 
 glancing into the salon a few minutes later, 
 De Witt perceived him seated there with 
 a newspaper in his hand. This completely 
 
140 DRIVEN BEFORE THE STORM. 
 
 j)ut to flight his own half- form eel in- 
 tention of finishino^ his novel in the one 
 easy-chair afforded by that apartment ; and 
 whistling to Waif, he lit his cigar, and 
 dawdled out towards the Punta Tragara ; 
 after a while leaving the little platform 
 that commands so heaveoly a view, and 
 clambering downwards nearer to the purple 
 sea, with its malachite bays and rings of 
 silver foam ; watching the restless sea birds, 
 and flinging pebbles against the hollowed 
 rocks. Presently, however. Waif pricked 
 his ears and gave a low growl, the faintest 
 of growls, for which he instantly apologized 
 by lowering his head and lying down with 
 an air of meaning nothing at all, and 
 having made a trifling mistake in manners. 
 Glancing upwards, Barrington saw a slight 
 figure on the little path above him — a 
 figure in a yellow suit, with eyeglass fixed 
 into his short-sighted eyes. The figure stood 
 still for several seconds, scanning the view ; 
 
AN UNPOPULAR MEMBER OF SOCIETY. 141 
 
 then went forward upon the rocky pathway, 
 not perceiving De Witt and his companion. 
 And after a few moments the latter rose, 
 and followed by his dog, reascended the 
 hill and sauntered slowly homewards. 
 
 He had scarcely seated himself, novel in 
 hand, and Waif at his feet, in front of 
 the open window of the now deserted salon, 
 when the door softly opened, and a pretty 
 face full of mystery pjeered in, and gave a 
 glance around. 
 
 ' That's all right,' she remarked, soito 
 voce ; ' he seems out of the way ! ' 
 
 'Yes,' said Barrino-ton, 'he's safe enouorh 
 for some time ; he's 2:one towards the 
 Fariglioni rocks.' 
 
 Blanche Hopkins laughed gleefully. 
 
 ' Ain't you a smart young man T she 
 asked. ' Well, now that the coast's clear — 
 for I don't count you — ' 
 
 ' Of course not,' said Barringtoii, ' I never 
 count.' 
 
142 DRIVEN BEFORE THE STORM. 
 
 ' I shall go and fetch in Nell. What do 
 you say to that ? ' 
 
 * I say, by all means ! ' he replied, jumping 
 up with alacrity. 
 
 ' What's the good of moping in a bed- 
 room all day ?' continued the young lady. 
 ' I believe that old woodchunk wants to 
 punish her for her walk yesterday. She's 
 not sick, you know.' 
 
 De Witt laughed aloud. 
 
 'That old what? Oh, Miss Hopkins, 
 what an invaluable vocabulary is yours ! ' 
 
 ''Well, I'm pretty smart, I guess, when 
 it comes to abusing any one ! ' she remarked, 
 placidly. *Now, Captain De Witt, you get 
 the couch ready ; and when you hear me 
 open that door, come and give her your 
 arm, and we'll get her in between us.' 
 
 In another minute or two the doorway 
 indicated — which was that of Miss Ling- 
 wood's room — opened, and Nell appeared, 
 framed within it, laughing softly as she 
 
AN UNPOPULAR MEMBER OF SOCIETY. 143 
 
 hung Oil to her little friend's frail support. 
 It was an easier matter when De Witt's 
 firm arm had been substituted ; and in a 
 few moments more she had limped into 
 the salon, and was comfortably established 
 upon the sofa. 
 
 The girl's face was still a little pale, and 
 she acknowledged to a bad night ; but 
 when De Witt began some self-reproachings 
 on the score of her injured foot, she declared 
 that it had not hurt her — much. 
 
 * By the bye,' she remarked, ' I think you 
 have my boot still, Captain De Witt. 1 
 am sorry you should have had to carry it 
 all the way home.' 
 
 Somehow Barringtou had forgotten to 
 return the boot. 
 
 ' It loas a great weight,' he said gravely ; 
 ' so very large.' 
 
 And Blanche laughed. 
 
 ' Here are the buttons,' he added, bringing 
 them one by one out of his waistcoat pocket. 
 
144 DEIVEN BEFOUE THE STOEM. 
 
 * What a careful young man ! ' exclaimed 
 Blanche. ' Quite an old bachelor,' she 
 added, lookinsr in his face to see if he 
 appreciated the joke. 
 
 ' This is much pleasanter than the bed- 
 room,' remarked Nell, as her friend drew 
 a low chais near the couch, and leant her 
 head against it ; whilst Waif laid an apolo- 
 getic lick upon a slender hand which she 
 stretched out towards him. 
 
 ' Isn't it ? ' asked Blanche. ' If only no 
 one else will come in — no one else, unless 
 it's Mr. AVallace. We don't mind Mr. 
 Wallace, do we ? ' 
 
 ' Not in the least. Some of us rather 
 like him,' said Barrington, who had estab- 
 lished himself comfortably in a chair upon 
 the other side. 
 
 Nell seemed in a silent mood ; but there 
 was no want of friendliness about her 
 silence. 
 
 ' Suppose you read aloud to us. Captain 
 
AX UNPOPULAR MEMBER OF SOCIETY. 145 
 
 De Witt ? ' remarked Miss Hopkins. ^ I 
 feel sure you're a first-rate reader.' 
 
 ' Should you like it ? ' lie asked, turning 
 towards the invalid ; and meeting her eyes 
 for the first time that morning, with some- 
 thing of an efi'ort. 
 
 ' There is nothing I love more,' she 
 replied. 
 
 This settled the matter, and he rose. 
 
 ' What shall it be ? ' he inquired. ' Poetry 
 or prose ? ' 
 
 ' Whichever you like ; poetry, if you 
 have any with you.' 
 
 He went to his room, returning with a 
 small volume in his hand. 
 
 ' I don't fancy you will know this man's 
 name,' he observed. ' He is a new man, 
 but I think he has a touch of the real fire 
 in him.' 
 
 The two girls appeared to think so too, 
 
 as, re-seating himself, he proceeded to read 
 
 aloud in a quiet rich voice, that expressed a 
 VOL. L L 
 
146 DRIVEN BEFOEE THE STORM. 
 
 perfect understanding with and sympathy 
 for his author. 
 
 Both of them begged for another when 
 the first — a long poem, a sort of parable 
 of life — was ended. 
 
 ' I am glad you like him,' said De Witt 
 simply (unconscious how much of his 
 hearers' appreciation was due to his ow^n 
 effective rendering). ' Here is another, 
 shorter but more sentimental. You must 
 excuse that — a poet to live must be senti- 
 mental — and metaphysical.' 
 
 * 1 like it,' said the American girl. 
 
 In the middle of this poem Wallace came 
 in, but the reader did not pause ; and with 
 a bright smile of general greeting, the 
 young artist dropped into a seat and joined 
 the little circle. 
 
 A hot discussion arose when at length 
 De Witt closed his book. 
 
 ' The fellow doesn't know anything about 
 true love,' exclaimed Wallace boldly; 'he 
 
AN UNPOPULAR MEMBER OF SOCIETY. 147 
 
 seems to think it possible to love two 
 people at the same time/ 
 
 * Isn't that possible — to some natures ? ' 
 asked De Witt, to draw him out. 
 
 ' Of course not. A feeble creature who 
 can do that isn't worthy of the name of 
 man — or woman 1 ' 
 
 ' Yet a good many of Anthony TroUope's 
 heroes are oruilty of it,' 
 
 * Hang Anthony TroUope's heroes ! So 
 they are, weak, washy sort of specimens — 
 many of them. You agree with me, don't 
 you. Miss Hopkins ? ' he asked eagerly. 
 
 'Well, I was just trying to make up my 
 mind. I knew a case of a young man at 
 home who did like that. He lived in 
 Chicago ; and he had been a long time 
 acquainted with a young lady there, and 
 felt like being in love with her. But one 
 day he went up to Louisville on a visit, and 
 there he met a beautiful girl, who just 
 turned his head, and he made her an offer 
 
 L 2 
 
148 DRIVEN BEFORE THE STORM. 
 
 the same week. Well, when he got home, 
 he met his old flame again, and she seemed 
 to think it was all settled between them, 
 and it made him feel bad, particularly when 
 he thought over how nice she was, and how 
 many years he'd been real fond of her. He 
 began to think he'd made a mistake about 
 the other girl and been a fool, and that after 
 all he didn't really care about her as much as 
 he had fancied. So, as he was an honour- 
 able young man, he just took the train and 
 went ofi" to Louisville to tell her so, and to 
 eat humble pie. But when he got there, 
 he found she was so much lovelier than he 
 expected, that he felt more in love with her 
 than ever, and couldn't manage to say it. 
 So he went back engaged to her ; and he 
 didn't like it at all, for as soon as ever he 
 returned there was the old one smilin^^^ 
 around and quite unconscious, and getting 
 her former influence over him again. It 
 wasn't only that he felt like bein^ a sneak : 
 
AN UXPOPQLAR MEMBER OF SOCIETY. 149 
 
 l)ut he was real miserable, not knowing 
 which he loved the best' 
 
 'How did it end?' asked Do Witt, 
 enjoying the artist's protestive countenance 
 of disgust. 
 
 ' Well, it got settled for him at last this 
 way. The Louisville girl's brother heard of 
 the young lady in Chicago, and called upon 
 him to ask what he meant. So the young 
 man said he only wished he could tell him 
 what he meant ; for that he couldn't make 
 up his own mind. Then the brother went 
 at him like a tiger, called him a low sneak, 
 and wanted to knock him down, and they 
 had a fight. And that settled the matter ; 
 for of course my friend couldn't marry the 
 orirl whose brother had fouo;ht him.' 
 
 ' I don't believe he was any friend of 
 yours,' exclaimed Wallace hotly ; ' and any 
 way, he was a poor pitiful cur, that deserved 
 his licking ! ' 
 
 'Well, he's married the other one now,' 
 
150 DEIVEN BEFOEE THE STOEM. 
 
 she said complacently ; *' and they get on 
 very well together/ 
 
 * I don't envy her her husband,' remarked 
 Wallace. 
 
 * If people knew everything about each 
 other,' said Nell Lingwood vaguely, 'per- 
 haps very few of them would marry.' 
 
 ' That sounds a pessimist remark, Miss 
 Lingwood,' said Barrington ; whilst the 
 artist broke out in his vigorous, out- spoken 
 way. 
 
 ' I don't believe a word of it ! ' he said. 
 ' There are plenty of honest men and 
 women in the world, whatever poets and 
 preachers may think.' 
 
 ' I agree with you, Mr. Wallace,' said 
 Blanche Hopkins, with her frank, bright 
 smile ; ' everybody isn't so bad as they say, 
 by any means. Look at us four now — 
 ain't we good sort of people ? There's not 
 one of us would do a dirty trick, would 
 we V 
 
AN UNPOPULAR MEMBER OF SOCIETY. 151 
 
 ' Not one of us/ echoed Wallace firmly ; 
 whilst De Witt and Miss Lingwood both 
 burst out lauo'hincr. 
 
 The artist's composure was more than 
 restored. 
 
 'How jolly it is here!' he exclaimed. 
 ' Isn't it a snug little party ? It's almost 
 as good as another walk.' 
 
 He had scarcely finished speaking when 
 the door opened slowly, and a face looked 
 in, probably attracted by the peal of merry 
 laughter. If that were the case, however, 
 it was devoid of sympathy ffer the laughers. 
 On the contrary, Mr. Eobert Lingwood's 
 short-sighted eyes peered round with a 
 disgusted scrutiny that was not flattering 
 to the quartette beneath his inspection. 
 
 Havinor satisfied himself as to their 
 
 o 
 
 individuality, he j)roceeded to follow his 
 face into the room ; and a pause immedi- 
 ately ensued in the conversation. 
 
 ' You seem very merry here,' he remarked 
 
152 DRIVEN BEFORE THE STORM. 
 
 shortly, seeing that no one else offered up 
 an observation. 
 
 ' We were very merry/ said Blanche 
 recklessly, careless of the accentuated word. 
 
 ' I thought/ he observed, after another 
 pause, turning towards his step-sister, his 
 temper apparently not improved by the f^iir 
 American's innuendo, ' that you were going 
 to keep your room to-day ? ' 
 
 * Did you ? ' she said with indifference. 
 
 And Wallace, as he rose and passed De 
 Witt's chair, could not resist his almost 
 inaudible comnJfent — ' Score No. 2 ! ' 
 
 Barrington rose also, perhaps to hide a 
 smile, though in fact he felt angry enough 
 with the fellow for coming in to disturb so 
 sociable a party as theirs had been. He 
 was beginning already, this first day, to 
 experience a growing dislike of young 
 Brereton, quite unusual to his easy-going 
 nature ; and as he strolled out of the room, 
 accepting Wallace's invitation to take a turn 
 
AN UNPOPULAE MEMBER OF SOCIETY. 153 
 
 outside, lie nodded assent to the other's un- 
 varnished criticism — ' Pestering little brute ! ' 
 
 Meanwhile the brute in question was 
 standing before the salon window, giving 
 his opinion upon men and matters to his 
 step-sister. Somehow, in the three or four 
 minutes that had elapsed since he entered, 
 the room had cleared itself ; even Blanche 
 Hopkins had deserted her friend, and there 
 was no obstacle in the w^ay of the young 
 man ofFeriiig a little unpalateable advice. 
 
 ' Who's that fellow ? ' he asked grimly, as 
 Wallace and De Witt filed out together. 
 
 ' The last ? That's a young artist, Mr. 
 Wallace.' 
 
 * No, I don't mean him. I mean the 
 big, dandy fellow, who thinks so much of 
 himself.' 
 
 ' I thought you had been introduced to 
 him ? CaptaiD De Witt.' 
 
 ' Of course I know his name, but that's 
 nothing. Where does he come from ? ' 
 
154 DUIVEN BEFOEE THE STORM. 
 
 ' Perhaps you might find oat from the 
 visitor's book.' 
 
 ' You are all so mighty thick with him ; 
 your mother introducing him to me as " our 
 friend," and all that sort of thing.' 
 
 ' I believe he is a cousin of Sir Simon's — 
 down in Essex.' 
 
 * Cousin ! A cousin means anything. 
 Just like every man's a captain now-a- 
 days.' 
 
 ' Every man isn't a gentleman,' remarked 
 Nell, with half-conscious emphasis. ' But if 
 you feel so much interest in the matter, 
 why don't you go to him and ask him for 
 his credentials ? ' 
 
 ' He's just the cut of the swell ad- 
 venturer.; I know his style, and have a 
 good mind to tell him so.' 
 
 ' He's just the cut of a man who would 
 know how to resent impertinence, so I 
 wouldn't advise you to try it on.' 
 
 ' Look here, Nell, I never saw such fools 
 
AN UNPOPULAR MEMBER OF SOCIETY. 155 
 
 as you women. I should have thought 
 that you had had enough of those sort of 
 fellows.' 
 
 ' What sort of fellows ? ' she demanded, 
 raising herself on her elbow and flushing 
 angrily. 
 
 ' You know well enough — men who run 
 after a girl because she's money.' 
 
 * You are making two slight mistakes,' 
 she said, with the dangerous calm often 
 preceding a storm. * In the first place, the 
 fellow in question doesn't run after me ; and 
 in the second, he doesn't even know I have 
 money — I believe.' 
 
 ' Doesn't he ? Trust him ! ' sneered her 
 companion. * And as to making up to 
 you, do you think I have no eyes in my 
 head ? ' 
 
 ' It would be no loss to anybody but 
 yourself if you hadn't,' she retorted; 'for 
 you never see anything pleasant out of 
 them.' 
 
156 DRIVEN BEFORE THE STORM. 
 
 He was disconcerted for a moment, but 
 presently continued : 
 
 'Do you think I didn't see tlie pretty 
 picture as I came in just now?' 
 
 ' It was a very pretty picture till you 
 spoilt it, as you do everything you come 
 near. Did you see how your agreeable 
 presence drove every one out of the room ? ' 
 
 ' Yes, I did,' he retorted. ' It isn't so 
 easy to humbug a silly girl before her 
 brother.' 
 
 * My brother ! — never, thank God ! ' she 
 exclaimed, with a bitterness that surprised 
 even herself. * I could never have had the 
 ill-luck to have such a brother as you, 
 Kobert Brereton ! ' 
 
 ' You are very polite,' he said, roused at 
 last to a sullen anger. ' It would serve you 
 right if my father and I were to leave you 
 to the consequences of your folly.' 
 
 ' I wish to heaven you would ! ' she ex- 
 claimed passionately. 'You both poison 
 
AN UNPOPULAR MEMBER OF SOCIETY. 157 
 
 my very life with suspecting evil in every 
 one. Why mayn't I ever be allowed to 
 exchange a friendly word without your 
 horrid low suoraestions ? ' 
 
 ' A friendly word ! ' he repeated. ' That 
 fellow doesn't go in for friendship — he isn't 
 such a fool.' 
 
 ' He does. But why should I talk over 
 people with you ? You are incapable of 
 understanding anything but your own 
 viilgar ideas. Oh, Eobert Brereton,' and 
 she turned towards him with crimson 
 cheeks and sparkling eyes, ' what a poor 
 creature you are ! I wish I had never 
 seen you ; I should have been a happier 
 woman.' 
 
 'You would have been a deluded and 
 heart-broken one,' he responded, as he lefc 
 the room, a little cowed by her anger. 
 
 Meanwhile Barrington had returned from 
 his stroll with Wallace, and was taking a 
 little boot out of his coat-pocket, and looking 
 
158 DRIVEN BEFORE THE STORM. 
 
 at it with an expression lialf-affectionate, 
 half-amused. He smiled at himself even 
 as he detected his own lurking desire to 
 keep that little boot in his possession. 
 There was so much character about it ; he 
 fancied he could have picked it out from 
 amongst many others as Nell's. It was such 
 a determined, vigorous little boot, naughty 
 looking even, although so prettily shaped, 
 exactly like Nell herself, he thought. He 
 was not a poet, nor a Frenchman, so he did 
 not think of kissing it ; but he laughed self- 
 consciously as he rang his bell, and desired 
 Assunta to take it with his apologies to the 
 signorina. 
 
WE PEOMISED TO BE FRIENDS.' 159 
 
 CHAPTEE YIL 
 
 'we promised to be friends/ 
 
 ' They have most power to hurt us whom we love ; 
 We lay our sleeping lives within their arms.' 
 
 Beaumont and Fletcher. 
 
 This was not the only occasion on which 
 De Witt was made to read aloud to his 
 companions. It became, in fact, almost a 
 regular institution the next few days for 
 the little quartette to be formed in the 
 salon, or more often on the balcony open- 
 ing outside, and for Barrington to be voted 
 into the presidential chair, and supplied 
 with a suitable book. As Blanche re- 
 marked confidentially to her friend (and 
 possibly also to Wallace), they could not 
 sit talking all day long, and she for her 
 
160 DRIVEX BEFORE THE STORM. 
 
 part certainly did not intend to go in for a 
 course of tefe-a-fete walks with the paragon. 
 Barrington too seemed to have pretty well 
 exhausted the expeditions of the island, and 
 was generally ready enough to be at his 
 post after lunch. On these occasions Mrs. 
 Brereton now always acted as chaperon — a 
 position in which she was admirably fitted 
 to give satisfaction, inasmuch as she was 
 very good-natured, very simple-minded, and 
 rather sleepy. None of the four objected 
 in the least to her presence, and her admir- 
 ation of De Witt's good reading was little 
 impaired by the fact that it usually had the 
 effect of closing her eyes. 
 
 Meanwhile the weather continued clear, 
 and Mr. Lingwood continued cross. He 
 grew indeed crosser day by day, and his 
 irritability increased visibly once or twice, 
 when he happened to be a spectator of the 
 reading party. He was, however, powerless 
 to prevent it, and no one supposed that his 
 
'we promised to be friends.' 161 
 
 ili-temper had any other root tlian the 
 unavoidable delay caused in their plans. 
 Mr. Robert Lingwood also, if he had 
 scarcely created a favourable impression on 
 his arrival, certainly did not succeed in 
 increasing his popularity. He appeared to 
 every one in the light of an unsociable 
 person ; but to De Witt he was barely civil. 
 This fact seemed to trouble the latter but 
 little, although perhaps it mildly astonished 
 him ; but its demonstration more than once 
 brought a smile of peculiar meaning to the 
 rosy lips of Blanche Hopkins. 
 
 Truth to say, De Witt was not at this 
 time in a mood to trouble himself particu- 
 larly about the demeanour of any but one 
 person. So long as that person were of 
 disposition kind and gentle and friendly, 
 little on his part was desired elsewhere. 
 For the first time in his seven-and-twenty 
 years he was seriously in love. Small 
 affairs of course there had been — little 
 
 VOL. I. ' M 
 
162 DRIVEN BEFOEE THE STORM. 
 
 stirrings of the pulse and feelings, sucli as 
 come to all men and women at times 
 when young ; but never till now a stirring 
 which was not small, and feelings which 
 were strangely, unaccountably deep and 
 absorbing. 
 
 Why should they be there now ? "Who 
 can say? Nell Lingwood was beautiful 
 and sincere and lovable ; but so had been 
 many others. Why should it be she ? — a 
 question fate must answer. His hour had 
 come. 
 
 Yet, had he ever before met any woman 
 so full of strange, interesting contradictions, 
 so winning in her smiles, so haughty in her 
 coldness ; any face which in its pure proud 
 young beauty so mirrored and reflected a 
 quick intelligence, a sensitive heart ? 
 
 Nell was a very charming companion this 
 week : she was so gay, so genial, so open- 
 hearted ; her true eyes looked so fully 
 into Barrington's with a frank liking that 
 
'we promised to be friends.' 163 
 
 sometimes brought him misgivings, while it 
 could not but give him pleasure. 
 
 Thus several days passed, and the girl's 
 foot mended rapidly. She was presently 
 able to limp from room to room, and then to 
 make her way up and down-stairs ; and there 
 was no longer any reason for the Breretons 
 to delay their departure on her account. 
 
 Yet none the less did it seem to strike 
 De Witt with a sense of sudden upheaval, — 
 a personal earthquake, so to speak, — when 
 one afternoon, entering the little salon as 
 usual, he found Mr. Brereton settling final 
 arrangements with the landlord, preparatory 
 to a start by the next day's boat. He 
 moved on into the balcony, where the two 
 girls stood side by side, gazing towards the 
 diamond-covered sea. 
 
 ' Is it true you all leave to-morrow '? ' he 
 asked ; and his tone had not quite its usual 
 easy ring. 
 
 /Isn't it a l>ity ? ' replied Blanche. 'I 
 
 M 2 
 
164 DRIVEN BEFORE THE STORM. 
 
 don't believe we shall be half as jolly at 
 Sorrento as we've been here/ 
 
 ^ Are you sorry to goV he asked, turning 
 towards her companion. 
 
 ' Yes, of course I am — we have had such 
 a pleasant time of it/ she said readily ; 
 yet it seemed to him with a shade of 
 constraint about her tone, as if it were a 
 little forced. 
 
 There was a slight cloud upon her brow 
 too, as if something had occurred to annoy 
 her ; and her eyes followed Blanche, who was 
 sauntering slowly away, with an expression of 
 annoyance and perplexity. But Barrington, 
 man-like in his partial powers of observation, 
 did not notice either of these two trifles. 
 
 ' What will become of our friendship ? ' 
 he asked in a lower tone, trying to look 
 into her face. But she turned it away, and 
 for a moment gave no answer. 
 
 Then she responded lightly, as it seemed 
 to him — almost indiff"erently. 
 
'we peomised to be friends.' 165 
 
 ' What becomes of most friendships ? ' she 
 inquired with a short laugh. ' If people meet 
 again they are sometimes renewed; but they 
 mostly die of inanition, don't they ? ' 
 
 Something about her manner perplexed 
 and hurt him ; but it might be his own 
 awkwardness, and he felt impelled to go on 
 now. 
 
 ' But what,' he continued, in the same 
 low, quiet tone, Mf the friendship be 
 already dead, and changed to something 
 else ? ' 
 
 Mr. Brereton's step sounded upon the 
 balcony, and she moved hastily away. 
 
 ^Metaphysics are not in my line,' she 
 said quickly, and there was a sudden flush 
 upon her brow. 
 
 The next morning the Breretons departed, 
 and were escorted to the pier by Wallace 
 and De Witt, one on each side of Blanche 
 Hopkins, who preferred walking down with 
 
166 DRIVEN BEFORE THE STORM. 
 
 the gentlemen of the party to making a 
 third in the one springless vehicle of Capri. 
 
 ' I shouldn't wonder if you came over 
 to-day too,' she remarked archly to De 
 Witt 
 
 ' No more should I,' he returned. * I 
 shall very likely follow you in a couple of 
 hours in a sailing-boat.' 
 
 Not another word of a private nature 
 had been exchanged between himself and 
 Miss Lingwood since the previous after- 
 noon, and the calm farewells on both sides 
 were in marked contrast to the transparent 
 emotion displayed by the young artist as 
 he parted from his idol. Mrs. Brereton 
 bade both young men a cordial adieu, 
 remarkiDg that she supposed they should 
 soon have the pleasure of seeing De Witt 
 again — an observation which drew upon 
 her the heavy scowl of her stepson, her 
 husband being at the moment too busy 
 fussing over the luggage to hear her ; and 
 
*WE PEOMISED TO BE FEIENDS.' 167 
 
 the boat put off to the steamer, Wallace 
 being left lamenting and waving his hand- 
 kerchief in response to the repeated saluta- 
 tions of the fair Blanche. 
 
 The afternoon of the same day was draw- 
 ing to a close as a small rowing-boat passed 
 over the same track from Capri to the 
 mainland, bearing its two passengers, a 
 man and a dog. The dog sat blinking in 
 the sunshine, and sleepily watching the dip 
 of the oars into the clear malachite water ; 
 but the man was sitting in his shirt-sleeves, 
 rowing with a long vigorous stroke that 
 brought the perspiration to the brow of 
 his more lethargic southern comrade. 
 
 Barrington had been divided between a 
 departure on that day or the morrow, but 
 finally elected to be off at once, telling 
 himself that the cause of this decision was 
 the irritating repetition of poor Wallace's 
 refrain. 
 
 Blanche Hopkins was undoubtedly a 
 
168 DRIVEN BEFORE THE STORM. 
 
 pretty girl and a nice girl, and he was 
 the last person in the world to deny the 
 fact ; but still a constant and mournful 
 reiteration, clothed in different forms of 
 speech, of this interesting truth was enough 
 to tire out any man, who for the space of 
 several hours could not escape from the 
 reiterator. 
 
 So, with a hearty wring of the hand, and 
 mutual kindly wishes, De Witt parted from 
 the artist, and found himself with his port- 
 manteau sailing calmly over that silver sea 
 which had so roughly treated him, on his 
 last voyage. He paid but little attention 
 this time, however, to the passing scenery, 
 or the conversation of the boatmen, for his 
 mind w^as full. 
 
 The question upon which it was at work 
 was a somewhat vexing and perplexing 
 one ; nevertheless, before he had reached 
 his destination he had solved it to his 
 own satisfaction. 
 
*WE PROMISED TO BE FRIENDS. 169 
 
 He had orone too far now to retract : the 
 greatest wish of his life, as it seemed to 
 him, was at stake, and must be settled one 
 way or the other. 
 
 Her conduct yesterday had been enig- 
 matical, wounding ; but it was possible that 
 she had not meant it to be so. She was at 
 all times a girl somewhat difficult to under- 
 stand — her moods were variable ; but a 
 heart tender and earnest existed somewhere, 
 concealed beneath her many eccentricities, 
 and it had sometimes seemed to him that 
 he had not failed to touch it. In any case, 
 if it were not so, he had better know the 
 truth ; he was too much in earnest to be 
 debarred by the fear of a repulse. 
 
 Having made up his mind, De Witt felt 
 once more a man, and almost at his ease. 
 He would seek her out at her hotel, 
 and, so soon as the opportunity could be 
 found or made, would ask her plainly to 
 become his wife. He was not a rich man, 
 
170 DRIVEN BEFOEE THE STORM. 
 
 but he had enough to support a moderate 
 establishment, and at some future day, per- 
 haps not very far off, would be in a far 
 better position than now. 
 
 But Fate brought sooner than he ex- 
 pected the opportunity before him — laid it, 
 indeed, as one may say, at his feet. He 
 had scarcely landed on the little stone 
 causeway, and given instructions regarding 
 his hotel, before he became aware of a 
 solitary figure seated at some little distance 
 upon the pebbly shore. The figure had 
 its head turned away from him, and had 
 evidently not perceived either boat or 
 passenger ; but De Witt had little difficulty 
 in recognizing Nell Lingwood. 
 
 He paused a moment ; then sending on 
 the porter with his luggage, strode quickly 
 across the narrow strand. She appeared to 
 be deep in thought, for she did not turn 
 her head until he was close upon her, and 
 then she started and changed colour visibly. 
 
'we promised to be friends.' 171 
 
 It seemed almost for a moment as if she 
 thought of rising and hurrying from him ; 
 but the next she forced a smile to her lips, 
 and greeted him with an easy manner. 
 
 ' Why, Captain de Witt, over already ! 
 You are not long after us/ 
 
 ' No/ he said gravely, standing beside 
 her ; ' I did not mean to be/ 
 
 His manner discomposed her, and she 
 could think of nothing to say for a moment. 
 Then she looked up laughing, but without 
 meeting his gaze. 
 
 *You should have spared us all those 
 harrowing good-byes,' she remarked lightly, 
 * if you meant to reappear so soon.' 
 
 ' Were they harrowing ? ' he asked in the 
 same tone ; ' they seemed to me very super- 
 ficial ones.' 
 
 * Surely,' she said quickly, *you cannot 
 say that of our friend the artist and of 
 Blanche ? Their parting was enough to 
 move a sensitive heart to tears, was it not ? ' 
 
172 DRIVEN BEFORE THE STORM. 
 
 Barrington perceived her desire to avoid 
 deep waters, but it did not move him from 
 his resolution ; on the contrary, it fixed 
 him in a more dogged determination. 
 
 ' Don't let us talk of Wallace and Miss 
 Hopkins,' he said ; ' I want to talk of you — 
 and myself.' 
 
 She turned away with the air of a 
 petulant child. 
 
 ' / don't,' she said ; ' I would rather talk 
 of them.' 
 
 The blood was rising to his cheeks, but it 
 was too late to put him off now. If she 
 cared nothing at all for him, then her voice, 
 her eyes, her whole self had lied to him this 
 last pleasant week — so he told himself. 
 
 ' You had better let me say what I have 
 to say,' he remarked gently. * If I am 
 wrong, it will only hurt myself, not you. 
 But I think you must know what it is. 
 We promised to be friends, did we not, 
 Nell?' 
 
'we promised to be fkiexds.' 173 
 
 ' Yes/ she said, half inarticulately, her 
 face still turned away. 
 
 'Nell, I promised always to speak the 
 truth to you. I can be a friend no lonofer 
 — I must be something more. Will you 
 tell me that I may ? ' 
 
 She made a gesture which he did not 
 understand ; and he knelt beside her on the 
 shingle, trying to see into her averted face. 
 
 ' Can you not give me a little hope ? 
 You have guessed it, have you not — how 
 much I care for you ? ' 
 
 Then she suddenly turned towards him, 
 and the expression of her features startled 
 him. Pain and anger, distress and per- 
 plexity were written upon them, and her 
 lips quivered. 
 
 ' Why do you speak to me in that way ? ' 
 she asked, as it seemed to him indignantly. 
 ' Why can't you let things be as they were ? ' 
 
 * Because it is impossible,' he replied. ' I 
 must know one way or the other. It is 
 
174 DEIVEN BEFOEE THE STORM. 
 
 surely no sin to love you. Do you dislike 
 me so much ? ' lie added quickly. 
 
 'I liked you as a friend — very much.' 
 
 ' Can you never like me as something more ? ' 
 
 She gave a movement of repulsion. 
 
 ' I believed in you ! ' she exclaimed, half 
 passionately. ' But when you talk in that 
 way, I think I hate you ! ' 
 
 He rose suddenly. 
 
 ' I apologize. In what way do my words 
 offend ? ' 
 
 ' They transgress the covenant of friend- 
 ship.' 
 
 Her tone had regained its calm, and was 
 cold and formal. 
 
 For a moment he glanced at her half 
 incredulously ; then, with a bitter smile, he 
 lifted his cap. 
 
 ' The offence shall not be repeated,' he 
 said, and he turned and moved away. 
 
 At the commencement of the ascent he 
 abruptly encountered Blanche Hopkins. 
 
'we promised to be fpjexds.' 175 
 
 ' Oh, Captain De Witt, I am going to 
 Nell! Is she there?' 
 
 He pointed silently to where the solitary 
 figure sat motionless upon the shore, and 
 Blanche, glancing up, caught sight of an 
 unusual expression in the blue eyes. 
 
 ' I hope you are coming to stay here, 
 Captain De Witt ? ' she said. 
 
 ' No, Miss Hopkins, I am off to-day to 
 Castellamare, and shall hope to sleej) in 
 Naples.' 
 
 ' I'm sorry, very sorry. I hope we shall 
 see you again some day. Captain De Witt. 
 I shall never forget our pleasant times at 
 Capri.' 
 
 He laughed, but there was little mirth in 
 his lauorh. 
 
 o 
 
 ' Pleasant things sometimes disagree with 
 people, don't they ? ' he said, as he took her 
 outstretched hand. 
 
 'Good-bye,' she said, with a cordial warmth 
 in her manner ; ' I wish you happiness and 
 
176 DRIVEN BEFORE THE STORM. 
 
 success in your future life, for I think you 
 deserve it.' 
 
 ' Do people always get their deserts, do 
 you think ? ' he asked, with another hard 
 smile, as he shook her hand and moved on. 
 
 A few moments later, Blanche had flung 
 herself down upon the stones beside her 
 friend. 
 
 * Captain De Witt is gone,' she remarked 
 tentatively. 
 
 ' Is he ? ' was the laconic reply. 
 ' Did you send him off ? ' 
 
 * I fail to understand you.' 
 
 ' It's clear enough what I mean, I guess,' 
 retorted Blanche uncivilly. ' You can't 
 deceive me, Nell ; I know he came up here 
 to propose to you.' 
 
 ' If you know everything, why do you 
 ask?' 
 
 ' And you refused him ? Did you, 
 Nell ? ' 
 
 Her companion was silent. 
 
'we pkomised to be friends.' 177 
 
 Blanche's anger rose. 
 
 ' Well, Nell Ling wood, I always thought 
 you a fool about men, but you are a bigger 
 fool to-day even than I gave you credit for ! 
 You don't deserve to have such another 
 chance — a man kind and handsome and 
 well-bred ! ' 
 
 The other turned upon her with flashing 
 eyes. 
 
 ' If I am such a fool, had you not better 
 leave me alone to my folly ? ' 
 
 ' Yes,' retorted Blanche promptly ; ' and 
 I guess I couldn't leave you in worse 
 company ! ' 
 
 And she rose and walked away in an 
 anger that, even before she had regained the 
 hotel, was beginning to turn to pity for the 
 companion, whose position she understood 
 and commiserated in her warm little heart. 
 
 Meanwhile Nell Lino-wood sat on motion- 
 less, her hands clasped about her knees, 
 her eyes fixed upon the far-reaching sea. 
 
 VOL. I. N 
 
178 DEIVEN BEFOEE THE STOEM. 
 
 For an hour or more she so remained, still 
 as a carved statue, impassive as a statue 
 also in expression, save for the pallor that 
 crept more and more over the delicately-cut 
 features, the oval cheek. 
 
 ' The offence shall not be repeated/ 
 De Witt's last words kept ringhig in her 
 ears, recurriug again and. again like a 
 wearying chime of bells ; and again and 
 again she saw the look of pain, of astonish- 
 ment, of wounded pride upon the face bent 
 down to hers. 
 
 What had she done ? Was it true that 
 she had of her own doing put away a great 
 happiness from her — driven away for a 
 mere petulant whim, for the mere indul- 
 gence of an irritated pride, the one man 
 she had ever felt inclined to love ? She 
 was indeed, as Blanche had said, a fool — a 
 cruel, contemptible fool ! He had not gone 
 three yards from her when she recognized 
 the truth — that she would have given all 
 
'we promised to be friends.' 179 
 
 she possessed to recall him. But it was 
 too late — it would always be too late now. 
 * The offence would never be repeated.' 
 Of course not. She had made her own 
 burden, and she must bear it. She had 
 spurned him from her, and he was gone — 
 for ever. 
 
 She sat on long, with fixed and stupid 
 eyes that saw nothing, and stiff limbs 
 that had no energy to move homewards. 
 One idea and one thought only possessed 
 her, body and soul. 
 
 When at length she rose, and slowly 
 dragged herself up the steep pathway to 
 the town, there was a strano-e soreness in 
 her heart such as she had never experienced 
 before, and a strained look upon her fea- 
 tures, which, strive as she might to conceal 
 it, betrayed something of her secret to her 
 keen-eyed friend. But never a word passed 
 between them, then or later, upon the 
 subject. 
 
 N 2 
 
180 DEIVEN BEFORE TBE STORM. 
 
 Happy is it for those of us who have 
 never learnt that bitter lesson of life's 
 teaching — that the deepest of all the icrraves 
 of hope are those dng by our own hands. 
 
MISS HOPKINS RECALLS THE PAST. 181 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 MISS HOPKIXS EECALLS THE PAST. 
 
 ' The merest unre2;ard.ed thin; 
 
 'o> 
 
 Dropped into this my solitude, 
 
 Fills all my soul with echoing 
 
 Of dreams — as in some haunted wood, 
 
 A pebble's plash into a spring 
 
 Is by the circling air renewed.' — John Payne. 
 
 More than three months had elapsed. 
 It was now towards the end of July, and 
 the London season was beg^innins^ to show 
 symptoms of a sure decay. The streets of 
 the metropolis were hot and dusty ; even 
 the parks had lost their first cool freshness 
 in the long; drouo;ht, and none but the 
 most inveterate season-mongers — needy 
 adventurers on the look-out for an heiress, 
 or dowaofers with a numerous brood of 
 
182 DEIVEN BEFORE THE STOEM. 
 
 chickens to dispose of — but looked forward 
 with relief to their approaching release from 
 the social strain of exhausted atmospheres 
 and unceasing small -talk, and escape 
 towards the refreshing scent of country 
 meadows, or the musical sound of the 
 falling waves. 
 
 But if London had been hot, Italy 
 naturally had been worse ; if her streets 
 were full of a suffocating dust, and her 
 parks parched for want of rain, the streets 
 and public gardens of Florence had suffered 
 still more. The Lung' Arno was a perfect 
 furnace, and even the Cascine proved an 
 insufficient refuge from the pitiless rays of 
 a southern sun ; and De Witt had been 
 forced to fly and take refuge on his native 
 soil. He had no intention of remaining 
 any length of time in England, however ; 
 he should probably go south again next 
 winter, — unless indeed he went north in- 
 stead, — but for the moment he had formed 
 
MISS HOPKINS EECALLS THE PAST. 183 
 
 no Other plans, and it seemed the easiest 
 thing to do. He felt that he was leading 
 an aimless sort of existence, and it did not 
 please him. He had half a mind to go out 
 to Africa in the autumn, and see a little 
 wild life and sport for himself — or possibly 
 to South America, to have a look at 
 primeval forests and Mexican relics. 
 
 Meanwhile, attracted, like every English- 
 man on returning home, to the metropolis, 
 he was spending an idle week or two in his 
 old lodgings, seeing what was to be seen, and 
 renewing acquaintance with former friends. 
 He did not seem to have any very special 
 interest in all this, and he sometinies won- 
 dered to himself how blase he had grown 
 of late. Perhaps that episode at Capri had 
 a little changed and hardened him, as such 
 episodes are apt to do. It is not altogether 
 good for a man to be disaj^pointed in his ideal. 
 
 He told himself that he did not reo^ret 
 Miss Lingwood any longer — that he was 
 
184 DRIVEN BEFORE THE STORM. 
 
 not one to cry over spilt milk, or think 
 twice over a girl who had refused him ; and 
 it was perhaps true. The sting lay in the 
 fact that she had, by her conduct, lowered 
 his standard of the truth of womanhood, 
 and forced him to think lightly of one 
 whom he had mentally endowed with every 
 feminine grace and virtue. 
 
 His thoughts were perhaps not far out 
 of this direction, as he stood one mornino; 
 before a picture in one of the rooms of the 
 Royal Academy. It was a sketch taken 
 in Capri— a scene he knew well, and where 
 he had more than once wandered in com- 
 pany with Nell Lingvvood and her friend — 
 a view of wild rocks and wilder sea, faith- 
 fully represented. And De Witt felt him- 
 self once more on the little island ; the sea 
 breezes were playing round him, and Nell's 
 voice was in his ear. 
 
 For the moment the crowd around him 
 faded and had no existence ; and he turned 
 
MISS HOPKINS RECALLS THE PAST. 185 
 
 with a visible start when a pleasant little 
 voice, with a Yankee accent, sounded his 
 name, and some one touched him lightly on 
 the elbow. It seemed strange to discover 
 Blanche Hopkins standing beside him ; 
 and De AVitt's eyes involuntarily glanced 
 around, with a sort of vague expectation 
 of seeing Nell herself not far off. But 
 Blanche was alone, as she speedily informed 
 him. 
 
 ' I'm with other friends now,' she said, 
 avoiding by a sort of instinct the names 
 of her former companions ; 'I'm stopping 
 in London with them. But they've been 
 here already so often that they didn't want 
 to come again, so I just came off by myself. 
 I'm so glad to meet you again, Captain De 
 Witt.' 
 
 *Ancl I you,' he replied, cordially. 
 
 ' You looked at me as if I were a ghost 
 at first ! ' she remarked, with her merry 
 laugh. ' But I don't wonder you were 
 
186 DEIVEN BEFOEE THE STORM. 
 
 interested by that picture. Isn't it true ? 
 I've been back and back to it aQ;ain and 
 again. That's how I happened upon you. 
 Have you been here before ? ' 
 
 ' Once or twice,' said Barrington. 
 
 ' Well, then, I want you should just take 
 me round, and show me which are the best 
 pictures — considered the best of the year — 
 if it doesn't trouble you too much.' 
 
 ' Not at all ! I shall like it. But I can 
 only tell you which are the most thought 
 of — I am not enough of an artist to be sure 
 they are the best really.' 
 
 ' That's enough for me,' she replied. 
 
 Blanche was faultlessly dressed, and look- 
 ing extremely pretty ; and De Witt, in 
 escorting her round, experienced the some- 
 what empty satisfaction of a man conscious 
 that he is regarded wdth envious eyes as a 
 lucky fellow by most of his fellow-men. 
 At the end of about half-an-hour, how- 
 ever, she declared herself tired of pictures. 
 
MISS HOPKINS RECALLS THE PAST. 187 
 
 and anxious to escape from the crowded 
 heat of the building. 
 
 * I've had enough of it,' she said ; ' I 
 think I'll go home now. I guess I'll walk 
 back across the park. It isn't far.' 
 
 ' In that case/ said Barrington, ' I will 
 walk with you, if I may.' 
 
 The park seemed a delicious refuge after 
 the noisy broiling streets ; and the two 
 lingered slowly in the shade, by degrees 
 finding themselves once more picking up 
 the threads of intimacy woven during merry 
 hours at Capri. When at length De Witt 
 proposed a short rest on a bench beneath 
 the trees, Blanche made no objection ; and 
 their talk insensibly drifted back to those 
 past times. De Witt might have fancied 
 the subject w^ould be one of constraint to 
 him, but it was not so. Blanche was so 
 cordial, so natural, so unconstrained herself, 
 that by degrees he fell into the same mood. 
 
 The Breretons, she informed him, were 
 
188 DRIVEN BEFORE THE STORM. 
 
 now at their country house ; they had re- 
 turned to England early in May, and after 
 spending only three weeks in town had 
 moved on northwards. She herself parted 
 from them at Siena, remaining in that 
 interesting old town with some newly-made 
 acquaintances several weeks longer. In 
 fact, she had landed but a few days ago, 
 rejoining the friends with whom she was 
 to stay until, a few months later, she 
 returned to America. 
 
 ' We never had such good times again 
 after w^e left Capri,' she remarked. 
 
 ' How was that ? ' he asked, after a pause. 
 
 ' I don't know. Robert Brereton spoilt 
 everything ; and Nell didn't seem to have 
 the same spirit for things.' 
 
 ' Did Miss Lingwood's foot get quite well 
 again ? ' he inquired, wondering at himself 
 for caring to speak again about this girl. 
 
 'Oh, it wasn't her foot — that was well 
 enough ; it was her spirits. You see, 
 
MISS HOPKINS RECALLS THE PAST. 189 
 
 Captain De Witt, I think we all quarrelled 
 at Sorrento — whicli isn't inspiriting now, is 
 it ? ' And she laughed a little. 
 
 ' I should think it would be difficult to 
 quarrel with you — you have too sweet a 
 temper,' remarked Barrington, a little 
 absently. 
 
 ' Oh, no, it isn't ! it's not sweet at all 
 when I'm mad. And I am sometimes mad 
 with Neli; 
 
 He was silent; but after another short" 
 pause she continued, playing w^ith the 
 fringe of her parasol, — 
 
 ' I'm sorry for Nell, real sorry for her 
 sometimes. She's got a fine nature. Captain 
 De Witt, but it's been warped by that step- 
 father and brother of hers. They are both 
 poor, mean sort of natures, those two.' 
 
 Barrington assented silently, and she 
 went on : 
 
 ' It's an awful drawback to a girl to 
 have money, and to have people round her 
 
190 DRIVEN BEFORE THE STORM. 
 
 always dinning it into her ears that — 
 that—' 
 
 ' That every man who pays her any 
 attention is a fortune-hunter 1 ' he asked 
 with perfect cahnness, but with a slight curl 
 upon his lip. 
 
 ' Well, it isn't only that. But she meets 
 with so many who are it — don't you see ? 
 And if she has no one with a pound of 
 common sense to help her, what is a girl 
 
 to do r 
 
 ' It is certainly a hard case,' he replied in 
 the same tone. 
 
 ' It's quite different in America,' she 
 continued ; ' it's all very well to talk of the 
 "almighty dollar," and that sort of thing, 
 — I guess it is almighty, and in other 
 countries as well as America — but we make 
 our money quicker, and we don't think as 
 much about losing it. My father's a rich 
 man himself, — made his fortune in oil, — and 
 I'm his only child ; but things don't afflict 
 
MISS HOPKIXS EECALLS THE PAST. 191 
 
 me as they do Nell. I shouldn't care one 
 red cent if I did find a man making up to 
 me for the sake of my money — I sliould 
 soon find him out, I oruess, and laug;h at 
 him. And it wouldn't make me afraid of 
 the honest ones afterwards. But I guess if 
 poor Nell ever thought of taking a fancy to 
 any one, that old Brereton would do his 
 best to poison her mind against him.' 
 
 'Why?' asked De Witt shortly, half 
 annoyed with himself for the query which 
 politeness seemed to require. 
 
 ' Well, you see, there's a very pretty 
 allowance for Nell, which they would lose if 
 she were to marry. And I don't think either 
 Mr. Brereton or his precious son Robert are 
 particularly fond of partiug with money 
 when they have once got a good hold of it.' 
 
 * Mrs. Brereton is not like that ? ' 
 
 ' Oh, no, she isn't mercenary. But then 
 any one can see she isn't over-wise — even 
 her daughter.' 
 
192 DRIVEN BEFORE THE STORM. 
 
 Barringtoii made no reply, and a long 
 silence ensued, which Blanche presently 
 broke by jumping up. 
 
 Tm afraid I've talked scandal, some,' 
 she remarked ; ' you must please forget it 
 all, Captain De Witt.' 
 
 Which of course was the last thing she 
 intended him to do. 
 
 He made no response save by smiling ; 
 and as they walked on, their conversation 
 turned to other subjects. 
 
 ' Are you remaining long in London ? ' 
 she presently asked. 
 
 ' No ; 1 believe I am going into the 
 country next week — on a visit to my cousin 
 in Sussex.' 
 
 ' Oh ! ' she exclaimed ; and immediately 
 checked herself. ' Is that the cousin I heard 
 you name once when we were abroad ? ' 
 
 ' Sir Simon ? Probably it was.' 
 
 ' Shall you have a nice party there ? ' 
 
 ' I don't know, I'm sure. I'm going for 
 
MISS HOPKINS RECALLS THE PAST. 193 
 
 the shooting. But there will be one nice 
 person there, I know.' 
 
 ' And who is she, Captain De Witt ? ' 
 
 ' Now, Miss Hopkins, why do you jump 
 to the conclusion that it's a she at all 1 
 But, as it happens, you are correct.' 
 
 ' Of course I am. What's she like — 
 young or old ? ' 
 
 ' Well,' said Barrington (who was cer- 
 tainly charitable on the score of a lady's 
 age), */ call her young, but possibly you 
 might call her old.' 
 
 ' I'm getting interested. Captain De Witt. 
 Is she pretty ? ' 
 
 ' She has just missed being beautiful, to 
 my mind.' 
 
 ' Oh ! ' gasped Blanche curiously. Then 
 she gave a sudden jump to a solution. 
 ' Why, perhaps it's your sister.' 
 
 ' No, I am sorry to say I have no sister. 
 
 But it's my aunt.' 
 
 ' Oh ! ' repeated the mystified girl ; whilst 
 VOL. r. 
 
194 DRIVEN BEFORE THE STORM. 
 
 Barrington laughed heartily, enjoying the 
 joke. 
 
 They had now reached Miss Hopkins's 
 destination, and there was no opportunity 
 for further conversation, as De Witt de- 
 clined her invitation to enter the house. 
 But, as he lit his cigar, and turned slowly 
 back across the park, the American girl 
 stood for a moment contemplating his re- 
 treating figure. It was a well-knit, athletic 
 figure, and — albeit without any deviation in 
 constancy to a certain person left behind in 
 the far West — belonged to a man greatly 
 admired by the fair Blanche. But her 
 regrets at this moment, as she stood looking 
 after him, were purely vicarious. 
 
 She was wondering, after the fashion of 
 the daughters of Eve, when they rashly 
 pick up edged tools in their dainty little 
 fingers, — as is sometimes their wont, — 
 whether she had handled them with suf- 
 ficient delicacy ? 
 
MISS HOPKINS RECALLS THE PAST. 195 
 
 * At any rate,' she said to herself, as she 
 turned away and entered the doorway, * I 
 didn't let out half I know. I guess I 
 was pretty prudent, any way, about Sir 
 Simon's.' 
 
 2 
 
196 DKIVEN BEFORE THE STOEM. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 AN UNEXPECTED MEETING. 
 
 ' A house without books is hke a body without a soul.' 
 
 Cicero. 
 
 ' Well, Barry, so here you are at last ! ' 
 
 ' Here I am, my venerable aunt, as you 
 remark ; and as hungry as a hunter. I 
 hope you don't dine at a very fashionable 
 hour, Simon ? ' 
 
 ' Eight o'clock,' replied the first voice ; 
 ' but here is a cup of tea to keep you going, 
 greedy boy.' 
 
 The speaker was a woman not young, but 
 of singular attractions. There was some- 
 thing about Judith CoUyer — a freshness, a 
 purity of look and voice which might have 
 passed unnoticed in a crowd, but which 
 
AN UNEXPECTED MEETING. 197 
 
 made those who had once turned their eyes 
 towards her look ao^ain and ag;ain. AVas it 
 also the beauty of the latge dark eyes, the 
 pale transparency of the soft skin, and the 
 fine lines of a slightly sarcastic mouth — or 
 perhaps the little high-bred air of reticence, 
 seeming to imply a strong and impulsive 
 nature held in check by a still stronger 
 will ? 
 
 ' Now,' she continued, ' let me look at 
 you. You don't look as blooming as I 
 expected after your travels, Barry.' 
 
 * Yon look as blooming^ as ever, and as 
 wicked,' he remarked disrespectfully, as he 
 bent to kiss her cheek. ^ What mischief 
 have you been up to lately, Miss Judy ? ' 
 
 * None worth mentioning, dear boy ; 
 times have been dull. Everything and 
 everybody has been stagnating since you 
 left home. It's so good of Simon to try to 
 wake us up a bit.' 
 
 ' Is he going to wake us up ? ' 
 
198 DRIVEN BEFORE THE STORM. 
 
 Ever since she could remember Miss 
 Collyer had been on intimate terms with 
 the baronet. He was in fact a distant 
 cousin of her father's, and had, as a young 
 man, been enslaved and tyrannized over by 
 the sparkling little girl, in much the same 
 way as he loved now to be teased and 
 patronized by the pretty graceful woman. 
 At his house it had been that Judith's 
 eldest sister, Harrington's mother, had first 
 met her future husband, Mr. De Witt ; and 
 the friendship had never been dropped. 
 
 He was a quiet, elderly gentleman, who 
 now stood by smiling, but saying nothing. 
 It seemed to be a proceeding to which he 
 was well accustomed to be spoken of in 
 the third person whilst present, and he ap- 
 peared well enough content to let some one 
 else be sponsor of his replies. 
 
 So it was now, as Aunt Judith answered 
 promptly, — 
 
 ' Rather ! We've got nine people already 
 
AN UNEXPECTED MEETING. 199 
 
 in the liouse, and a couple more coming 
 to-morrow. And there's a tennis and 
 archery party here to-morrow, and a fancy 
 ball at Chuds worth on Thursday.' 
 
 * Ghost of my grandmother ! ' exclaimed 
 Barringrton. ' I thouo;ht it was a sociable 
 trio made up of you and I and Simon there. 
 I might have left my evening pumps 
 behind. And are you going to the ball, 
 Aunt Judy ? ' 
 
 * Of course I I've settled to go as the 
 " Decayed Gentlewoman," the typical speci- 
 men, you know. And I think a sort of 
 mouldy green would be the proper colour 
 for my dress ; and I might have it trimmed 
 with a few dead leaves. That would be a 
 lovely high-art admixture, would it not ? ' 
 
 * Green wouldn't suit your complexion, 
 Aunt Judy,' said her nephew gravely. 
 
 But, as Sir Simon left the room. Miss 
 Colly er turned her dark eyes searchingly 
 towards her companion. 
 
200 DRIVEN BEFORE THE STORM. 
 
 ' What have you been doing, Barry ? ' 
 she asked suddenly. The unexpectedness 
 of the assault a little took him aback. 
 ' You have been worrying yourself about 
 something,' she said gently. 
 
 ' Never mind, Aunt Judy ; one can't go 
 through life on rose-leaves, you know.' 
 
 ' I think ^ou ought, dear ; you are so 
 good and kind.' 
 
 And she stroked his hair with a caressing 
 hand. 
 
 * But I don't want to know about it, 
 Barry,' she continued ; ' that is quite 
 unnecessary.' 
 
 ' Yes,' he said, half wearily, ' it's of no use 
 talking over some worries, even with any 
 one as kind as you are. Aunt Judy. But 
 it is very pleasant to be coaxed and flattered 
 again.' 
 
 ' Oh, Barry, I always tell you of your 
 faults when I see them ! ' 
 
 * Well, I suppose I must go and dress. 
 
AN UNEXPECTED MEETING. 201 
 
 Somehow, one feels this houseful rather a 
 bore. Where are they all now ? ' 
 
 ' In then' warrens, adorning for conquest 
 at dinner. And you and I shall be un- 
 adorned if we don't look sharp.' 
 
 ' I fancied I was coming down here to 
 chaperon you and Simon.' 
 
 * Why, you don't mean to say you — you, 
 spoilt creature — would reduce yourself to a 
 gooseberry ? ' 
 
 'Oh, I shouldn't mind it w^ith you two. 
 I should like to see old Simon spooning 
 you.' 
 
 ' Barry, you mustn't talk in that way ; I 
 don't like it ! ' 
 
 ' Why, you don't mean to say you don't 
 know how gone he is on you, and has been 
 for years ? ' 
 
 ' If I thought there was anything— that 
 mattered — do you think I should be here 
 now % ' 
 
 ' Why not ? Must he be deprived of the 
 
202 DRIVEN BEFORE THE STORM. 
 
 pleasure of seeing you because you won't 
 marry him ? ' 
 
 ' Oh, dear boy, don't talk like that. Do 
 you know, you've grown very silly ? A 
 winter in Italy has deteriorated your good 
 sense.' 
 
 And Judith Collyer ran away laughing. 
 
 When, twenty minutes later, De Witt 
 descended once more, not to the little 
 morning-room this time, but to the large 
 drawing-room, he found it fairly well filled 
 with guests, some outsiders, some visitors 
 staying in the house. The room was 
 somewhat dimly lit by half a dozen moder- 
 ator lamps, and in the semi-gloom, Bar- 
 rington fancied that all the company were 
 strangers to him. As he turned, however, 
 to glance at a row of ladies seated upon a 
 divan not far from the door, his gaze was 
 arrested by a figure almost at his elbow 
 — a girl dressed in a simple white silk, 
 whose face was almost as white as her 
 
AN UNEXPECTED MEETING. 203 
 
 dress ; and he started with surprise. For 
 a moment he thought he must be deceived ; 
 then he remembered his first day's acquaint- 
 ance with Mrs. Brereton. and how she had 
 spoken of his cousin, Sir Simon, as a mutual 
 friend. It was indeed Nell Lingwood. 
 Had he contemplated this meeting he 
 certainly would have thought twice about 
 accepting Simon's invitation. 
 
 Meanwhile their eyes had met, and he 
 had the poor satisfaction of perceiving that 
 if the rencontre were in any degree startling 
 and discomposing to himself, it was not less 
 so to her. It was too late for her to avoid 
 recoguition if she had wished to do so ; but 
 as she returned his stifi* bow, a vivid flush 
 spread across her face from brow to chin, 
 and he perceived that her self-possession 
 was for the moment more lost thau his 
 own. But in truth, he had recovered him- 
 self quickly, and no stranger would have 
 perceived any unusual inflection in the quiet 
 
204 DRIVEN BEFORE THE STORM. 
 
 tone with which he asked her some con- 
 ventional question — she knew not what — as 
 to their return from the continent. 
 
 She made some inarticulate answer ; and 
 when she next glanced upwards he was 
 gone. He was not perhaps particularly hot 
 upon renewing his acquaintance with Mrs. 
 Brereton ; but, under the circumstances, she 
 afforded relief, and he escaped to the 
 opposite end of the long room, where he had 
 caught sight of her voluminous draperies 
 and good-natured face. 
 
 The good lady was plainly a little em- 
 barrassed when Barrington presented him- 
 self before her, although she strove hard to 
 disguise the fact. She might have spared 
 herself the trouble, however ; a simple mind 
 and candid disposition always rendered 
 disguise impossible to her. She held out 
 her hand with a greeting that only failed in 
 cordiality from being a little nervous. 
 
 ' Clearly,' thought Barrington, ' her 
 
AN UNEXPECTED MEETING. 205 
 
 daughter has told her all that passed be- 
 tween us/ In which he was quite wrong. 
 Had he known the truth, Nell had kept that 
 episode entirely to herself. Not a syllable 
 had passed her lips, even to her mother, on 
 the subject ; and if Mrs. Brereton guessed 
 at all at the truth, it w^as simply her mater- 
 nal acumen that had informed her. Her 
 jDresent visible constraint w^as indeed con- 
 nected with the same cause ; but was 
 provoked by reminiscences of her husband's 
 jealous prejudice against the young man, 
 and the repeated scoldings he had bestowed 
 upon her on account of her mild partiality 
 for Barriugton. 
 
 She quickly thawed, how^ever, and re- 
 sumed her old friendly tone ; for, after all, 
 Edward w^as not here, nor Eobert, to blame 
 or criticize, and she might please herself. 
 Mrs. Brereton ^vas very far from being a 
 deceitful woman, but she was a weak- 
 minded one, a good deal persecuted by the 
 
206 DEIVEN BEFORE THE STOEM. 
 
 male members of her household; and she 
 had fallen naturally into the habit of a 
 painstaking submission whilst under their 
 surveillance, and an agreeable relaxation to 
 her own inclinations in their absence. 
 Besides which, she possessed to a large 
 degree the natural penchant of the kindly 
 British matron towards young and hand- 
 some men. 
 
 Just before dinner was announced, Judith 
 Collyer managed to touch her cousin's 
 elbow, and attract his attention for a 
 moment. 'Simon,' she said softly, 'please 
 to send Barrington in with Miss Hutchinson 
 or Mrs. Eobarts.' 
 
 'Why?' he asked vaguely. 'I had 
 thought of giving him a chance with Miss 
 Ling wood, the beautiful heiress.' 
 
 Miss Collyer frowned till her delicately 
 pencilled eyebrows met across her little 
 nose. 
 
 ' No, you great stupid man, do as I tell 
 
AN UNEXPECTED MEETING. 207 
 
 you ! You needn't ask why. And you 
 needn't introduce them either; they have 
 met before. Do you hear me ? ' 
 
 ' Yes, Judith,' answered the bookworm 
 meekly, casting a glance of satisfaction 
 over the slight gra.ceful figure and the 
 pretty imperious features — and Miss CoUyer 
 moved away. She had certainly the quickest 
 eyes in existence ; and Sir Simon, w^ho 
 revered her tac^t-from afar, never dreamt 
 of disputing her dictum on matters social. 
 
 Accordingly, a minute later, Barrington 
 was tapped on the shoulder, and, following 
 his host, was brought to a stand-still before 
 Miss Hutchinson. This was a large, golden - 
 haired young lady, quite of the modern 
 school of accomplishments — a little fast and 
 horsey, rather slangy, and extremely flirty. 
 She w^as exceedingly vivacious in convers- 
 ation, and seemed in no way discouraged 
 by a somewhat silent companion ; on the 
 contrary, it seemed to rouse her to a g;reater 
 
208 DEIVEN BEFORE THE STORM. 
 
 sense of her obligations to society — doubt- 
 less on the principle, that if one of a couple, 
 who should both be tolerably agreeable, is 
 slightly dull, the other should fill up the sum 
 total by making herself supremely agreeable. 
 
 After a time, however, he roused himself 
 to do what was expected of him, and 
 found that the carrying on of a convers- 
 ation of the Miss Hutchinson type, even 
 in its most brilliaint phases, was not in- 
 compatible with small exertion and a some- 
 what pre- occupied mind. Fight against the 
 inclination as he would, his eyes kept 
 reverting again and again to the other side 
 of the table, where Nell Lingwood sat with 
 her partner, an animated young baronet, 
 a local somebody. 
 
 Judith Collyer might prevent such a con- 
 tretemps as the sending of them in together 
 to dinner, but she could not prevent their 
 being placed nearly opposite each other ; and 
 Barrington could not look across the table 
 
AX UXEXPECTED MEETIXG. 209 
 
 without catching sight of her face. She 
 looked more beautiful than ever to-night, 
 and he was conscious of a st ran ere minirlino' 
 of two distinct and opposing sentiments — 
 one, a sort of repulsion towards this girl 
 who had heliaved so unwarrantably, so 
 strangely to him ; the other, of a half re- 
 awakened love roused by her presence, her 
 benuty, her nameless fascination. 
 
 He heard and replied to every remark 
 made by Miss Hutchinson, yet there was 
 scarcely a word uttered by Nell Liug- 
 wood which he missed ; and he was not 
 slow to observe her resolutely downcast 
 eyes, and the unusual flush which burnt 
 upon her cheeks. He began half to pity 
 her evident embarrassment, and tried to 
 fancy it w^as the pity of indifference. Per- 
 haps it gave her pain now to be reminded 
 of an occasion when she had behaved with 
 petulance, almost with insult, to one who 
 
 had certainly done nothing to deserve it. 
 VOL. I. p 
 
210 DRIVEN BEFOEE QHE STOEM. 
 
 Perhaps she had convinced herself, after the 
 event, that he, De Witt, was after all somc- 
 thino; better than an adventurer — that he 
 was an honest man and a gentleman. Well, 
 he had no bitterness against her ; he was 
 not ape enough to blame a girl if she did 
 not fall in love with him — particularly a girl 
 like this one, so beautiful, so attractive — so 
 rich, he added to himself, with a moment's 
 scorn. 
 
 And then he suddenly found himself 
 looking over Miss Lingwood's companion 
 with a close and unfriendly scrutiny that 
 criticized his every point, and found them 
 deficient. But still she kept her eyes 
 lowered ; she seemed to have a terror of 
 again meeting his glance ; and De Witt had 
 an uncomfortable sensation of being^ in the 
 w\ay of her comfort, and spoiling her dinner 
 for her. 
 
 The instincts of a gentleman made him 
 feel as if he ought to get up and change 
 
AX UNEXPECTED MEETING. 211 
 
 his place ; and, had it been possible, he 
 would have done so. Perhaps she might 
 have enjoyed an agreeable flirtation with 
 that very harmless-looking young man who 
 had taken her in if it had not been for 
 himself. He had no wish to be Banquo's 
 ghost to any one at the feast — however 
 much her embarrassment would place itself 
 before him in the liojht of a sort of involun- 
 tary amende for her former treatment of 
 him. Perhaps also it assured him that he 
 had not been so far wrong in his first 
 estimate of her character. She was sensi- 
 tive, she was generous ; if she had failed in 
 womanly courtesy, if she had been wanting 
 in womanly gentleness, it was the fault 
 of a sudden impulse stirred up by outside 
 influence, not of a disposition in itself 
 shallow or unfeeling. 
 
 Meanwhile he would do his best to 
 relieve her discomfort by keeping out of 
 her sight as miich as possible. Clearly, his 
 
 P 2 
 
212 DRIVEN BEFORE THE STORM. 
 
 presence was disagreeable to lier. The 
 situation was unfortunate for both of them ; 
 but it was his place, as a gentleman, to 
 minimize its unpleasantness for her. 
 
 Accordingly, dinner over, he permitted 
 Miss Hutchinson still to lead him captive 
 in her train. He turned over her music 
 for her when she sang, sat beside her when 
 she unearthed a book of photographs, and 
 managed to be deeply absorbed in a view 
 of Naples at the moment when Mrs. Brere- 
 ton and her daughter were bidding their 
 host and Miss Col Iyer good night. 
 
 Then he rose, and shaking off his chains, 
 approached the hearth-rug, gently gravi- 
 tating thence towards the door, and the 
 smoking-room beyond. He was getting 
 rather tired of Miss Hutchinson. It must 
 be somebody else to-morrow — Mrs. Eobarts 
 perhaps, or the baronet's shy, pink and 
 white sister — it mattered little which. 
 This was hard on poor Miss Hutchinson, 
 
AN UNEXPECTED MEETING. 213 
 
 who, notwithstanding the somewhat sudden 
 departure of her victim, believed his chains 
 secure, and was abeady meditating another 
 and more public procession of conquest on 
 the morrow. But Barrington's face wore 
 an unofenial look that nio;ht as he smoked 
 his cigar in silence ; and he contradicted 
 poor Sir Simon rather uncivilly on the 
 subject of his newly-imported cigars. But 
 then, what could an old bookworm know 
 about tobacco ? 
 
 ' My dear fellow,' he remarked, shortly, 
 ' what's your opinion worth ? You don't 
 know Shag from Cavendish.' 
 
 And Sir Simon was grieved on the score 
 of his hospitality, and felt his young cousin 
 was hard upon him ; but took the rebuke 
 meekly, acknowledging his ignorance upon 
 the subject in hand. 
 
 ' I never had tobacco in my mouth but 
 once,' he remarked ingenuously. ' I was 
 twelve years old then, and the groom lent me 
 
214 DKIVEN BEFOKE THE STOEM. 
 
 liis pipe for a joke. I have never forgotten, 
 all these years, how very sick it made me.' 
 
 Meanwhile, shall we glance for a moment 
 into one of the rooms up-stairs ? A large 
 room, well and handsomely furnished, 
 as were all the rooms at Eolston Court. 
 But, before the luxurious bed, knelt a girl, 
 her evening dress unchanged, her door 
 locked. Her arms were flunor across the 
 counterpane, and her face was hidden upon 
 her clasped hands. She was quite still, 
 quite motionless — for girls of the stuff 
 of Nell Ling wood find it hard to cry — 
 perhaps all the harder when their trouble 
 is a sore one. 
 
 There the kneeling figure remained for an 
 hour or more. Was she reflecting ? was she 
 praying ? was she suffering ? Who can look 
 inside the human heart and describe how 
 each one of us may, in our different way, 
 resign ourselves to reap the bitter harvest 
 we have sown ? 
 
JARRING ELEMENTS. 215 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 JARRING ELEMENTS. 
 
 ' The more fair and crystal is the sky, 
 The uglier seem the clouds that in it fly.' 
 
 Shakespeark. 
 
 The next morning Barrington joined the 
 shooting party that formed itself shortly- 
 after breakfast, and remained absent the 
 greater part of the day, taking luncheon in 
 the open. Towards four o'clock, however, 
 most of the gentlemen, mindful of their 
 duty to their host, returned in the direction 
 of the court and the archery party, and he 
 amongst them. 
 
 When he advanced Miss Lingwood was 
 aimino; at a taro-et, and he observed that 
 she was a very indifferent toxophilite. He 
 was therefore somewhat astonished when, 
 
216 DRIVEX BEFORE THE STORM. 
 
 after bein(y attached for an hour to the 
 
 o 
 
 side of Miss Hutchinson, who called him 
 up and requested his attendance as arrow 
 gatherer, he found the former declared by 
 Sir Simon to be the recipient of one of the 
 four prizes offered for competition to his 
 guests. 
 
 ' She gained it in the first set,' remarked 
 Miss Hutchinson, glancing towards the 
 pretty bracelet a little discontentedly. (She 
 had won nothing herself.) ' I don't think 
 much of archery myself,' she continued ; ' do 
 you ? It is so old-fashioned. If it was with 
 the rifle now, I would lay a fair wager I'd 
 beat them all here. That's real sport — this 
 is baby-play. Do you admire her much ? ' 
 
 ' Who ? Mis3 Lingwood ? ' he asked, to 
 gain time. 
 
 ' Yes. They make a fearful fuss over 
 her round about here, just because she's an 
 heiress. She has a tremendous pot of 
 money, they say. She's not my style.' 
 
JARRING ELEMENTS. 217 
 
 De Witt glanced towards Nell. Miss 
 Hutchinson's opinion did not appear to be 
 shared by the gentlemen present, most of 
 whom were now crowding round to con- 
 gratulate her on her success. The girl's 
 face was flushed ; but, as the smile died on 
 her lips, and she turned to move towards 
 the house, a peculiar sadness in her ex- 
 pression struck him forcibly for the first 
 time. He was rather absent as he escorted 
 Miss Hutchinson to the conservatories, and 
 assisted her to choose a flower to wear in 
 her hair that evening. 
 
 Sir Simon's party was beginning to thaw 
 into a social intimacy by this time ; and 
 when, after dinner, some one proposed a 
 little carpet-hop amongst themselves, the 
 notion w^as warmly greeted by most. 
 
 'You dance, of course. Captain De Witt? ' 
 inquired the lady beside him. 'Well then, 
 there will be five couples, and a lady over 
 to do the orchestra — quite enough.' 
 
218 DRIVEN BEFORE THE STORM. 
 
 ' Quite,' echoed every one ; whilst Miss 
 Collyer exclaimed, — ' I'm orchestra ; it's my 
 forte.' 
 
 ' Not till you have danced a waltz with 
 me,' remarked her nephew ; at the same 
 moment stealing a glance towards Nell 
 Lingwood. 
 
 She had remained silent when the 
 amusement was voted ; and Barrington felt 
 instinctively that she was the only other 
 person in the room beside himself to whom 
 the proposal had been distasteful. And yet 
 surely, with that slight supple figure, and 
 those graceful movements, dancing must 
 come natural to her ? 
 
 He was startled from his moment's ab- 
 straction by a pat on the arm from Aunt 
 Judith. 
 
 * Now then, Barrington, find your partner.' 
 
 * You,' he said, putting his arm round 
 her waist. 
 
 ' Nonsense ! Fight with one of your own 
 
JAEEING ELEMENTS. 219 
 
 size — T mean age ! Oh, well, I see Mrs. 
 Brereton has already installed herself upon 
 the music-stool.' 
 
 ' And it isn't big enough for you both, 
 my aunt ! ' 
 
 ' No, it isn't. Well, it's very good- 
 natured of her. But you oughtn't to dance 
 with me. Isn't there something in the 
 Articles against it ? ' 
 
 ' Do you mean,' he asked with gravity, ' a 
 man may not marry his grandmother ? ' 
 
 * Yes, that's it. So a man may not 
 waltz with his aunt.' 
 
 ' Mayn't he ? Oh, Aunt Judy, I don't 
 want to be bothered to talk. Do you 
 think they would miss me if I was to slope 
 off to bed ? ' 
 
 'Of course they would, Barry.' But 
 Miss Colly er looked concerned. ' Aren't 
 you in the mood for dancing ? ' 
 
 * I don't feel inclined for all those Miss 
 Hutchinsons, and Mrs. Eobarts', and 
 
220 DRIVEX BEFORE THE STORM. 
 
 people. It's such a grind to have to talk 
 and flirt when you feel dull.' 
 
 * Poor boy ! ' said Judith thoughtfully. 
 
 She had too much tact to try at the pre- 
 sent moment to probe his meaning further. 
 
 Duty, however, had to be done ; and the 
 next dance, another waltz, having been 
 achieved with Miss Hutchinson, who was 
 rather difficult to get rid of, — inasmuch as, 
 at its conclusion, she suggested cups of 
 tea, conservatory strolls, and every other 
 innocent device for retaining her partner at 
 her side, — Harrington found himself duly 
 installed in a set of Lancer3 with Mrs. 
 Eobarts, with Miss Lingwood as the lady 
 next beside him. 
 
 It did not add to his comfort to find, 
 after a moment, that Nell had chansfed 
 her place, and, under some pretext, put 
 herself and her partner in another posi- 
 tion ; and he scarcely knew why he felt 
 80 disturbed, as, in the turns of the 
 
JARRIXG ELEMENTS. 221 
 
 figures, he held in his for an instant her 
 cold limp hand, and noticed how stead- 
 fastly she avoided his eye. He was yet 
 more angry with himself than with her, as 
 he felt how those short touches, those brief 
 clasps of the small unwilling hand that had 
 once met his so genially, so frankly, even 
 now thrilled him with an emotion that he 
 could not suppress. 
 
 He was thankful when at length, after a 
 few more sets, the evening was voted too hot 
 for any more dancing; and music supervened. 
 Everybody seemed to sing, and nearly every- 
 body to play ; and one lady created much 
 applause by her successful performance upon 
 the zither, an instrument which she had 
 brought with her from the Tyrol. 
 
 Miss Lingwood, however, sat quietly in 
 her low chair not far from the window, 
 and resisted all entreaties ; which seemed 
 strange, as Barrington knew that her per- 
 formances, both musical and vocal, were 
 
222 DRIVEN BEFORE THE STORM. 
 
 above the average. Perhaps, however, she 
 found her present situation too agreeable 
 to wish to disturb it. Close beside her 
 sat Sir Henry Lovelace, the young baronet 
 of whom previous mention has been made, 
 and whom De Witt overheard saying softly 
 to his companion, — 
 
 * I am very unselfish to press you to go, 
 much as I love your singing ; for I had 
 rather you remained here.' 
 
 * Barrington,' asked Sir Simon suddenly, 
 across the long room, ' don't you sing 1 I 
 thought I remembered you did.' 
 
 *0h, yes,' murmured the unconscious 
 Mrs. Brereton, who had quite lapsed into 
 her old partiality for the young man, and 
 who had a hazy reminiscence of some Capri 
 vocalisms — 'of course he can. Do sing us 
 something. Captain De Witt.' 
 
 All the ladies echoed her request; and 
 without more ado, Barrington moved to the 
 piano. 
 
JARRING ELEMENTS. 223 
 
 He was not a great performer, but his 
 voice was sweet and well-modulated, and 
 he played as he sang — easily, without con- 
 straint or self-consciousness. His first 
 ballad gave great satisfaction to the com- 
 pany ; and a general request arose at its 
 conclusion for another. 
 
 Bari'ington had risen, but he sat down 
 again to comply without pressing, pausing a 
 moment, and then commencing in a voice 
 stronger and firmer than before. There was 
 a half smile on his face, but a sort of defiant 
 sadness in his heart, as he sang ; and never 
 perhaps had he given the simple little song 
 before with so much force and expression. 
 It was one which he had last sung at Capri, 
 and often there — for it was Nell Lingwood's 
 favourite, the one for which she always 
 asked when in a music-making mood — and 
 it seemed to bring before him with a 
 strang;e clearness all the details of the 
 shabby little hotel salon, the cracked piano. 
 
224 DRIVEN BEFORE THE STOEM. 
 
 and Nell's presence near. He had fancied 
 he would never care to sing that song 
 ao-ain ; but he chose it now, for some un 
 explained motive, and sang it with a sort of 
 bitter enjoyment that seemed to himself to 
 express an implied scorn of former love. 
 When it was finished he rose quickly and 
 walked towards the window. 
 
 ' How hot it is to-night ! ' he remarked, as 
 he stepped out upon the balcony, disregard- 
 ing Miss Hutchinson's pleading looks as she 
 sat alone upon a sofa. 
 
 At the further end of the long balcony 
 sat a figure leaning against the balustrade, 
 and he paced towards it unconsciously. As 
 he approached, however, the figure raised 
 its face from where it had been hidden, 
 lying ci gainst the cold bare stone, and 
 looked up startled. He was almost equally 
 startled to perceive Nell Lingwood ; yet 
 noticed the painful agitation on the pale 
 features upraised for a moment to his in the 
 
JARRIXG ELEMENTS. 225 
 
 moonlight. The next she rose hurriedly, 
 and before he could turn, had fled softly 
 indoors again by one of the many open 
 windows. He did not follow her example. 
 He went onwards, and descendioo: the flight 
 of steps, turned into the darkened shrubbery 
 below. At that moment he made up his 
 mind. He would tell his cousin to-night 
 that his visit must be a short one, and on 
 the morrow he w^ould take his departure. 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
226 DRIVEN BEFOEE THE STORM. 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 RECONCILED. 
 
 * Have you not heard it said fall oft, 
 A woman's nay doth stand for naught 1 ' 
 
 Shakespeare. 
 
 The next morning Miss Lingwood did 
 not appear at breakfast ; and Mrs, Brereton, 
 in answer to general inquiries, explained 
 that her daughter was suflfering from a 
 severe headache, that might put a stop to 
 her going to the fancy ball that night. 
 This excited general commiseration, and a 
 loudly-expressed chorus of regret ; and one 
 or two of the gentlemen declared that such 
 a calamity could not for a moment be 
 contemplated. 
 
 At luncheon, however, Nell was in her 
 
RECONCILED. 227 
 
 usual place, although certainly paler than 
 usual, and with dark rings round her eyes, 
 much as if she had not slept all night. 
 She appeared to be in good spirits, how- 
 ever, and talked fast and gaily to the man 
 who sat beside her. 
 
 Barrino^ton had not seen her in such orood 
 spirits since he arrived ; but it did not 
 alter his determination of taking his de- 
 parture that afternoon. She should not — 
 whatever her conduct to him had been — 
 say of him or think of him that he had 
 voluntarily annoyed her by his presence. 
 But his eyes kept straying every now and 
 then towards her end of the table. With 
 those constant smiles upon her lips, and 
 that brilliant sparkle in her talk, she seemed 
 so much more like the girl he had loved 
 at Capri, than had been his silent embar- 
 rassed neiofhbour of last niorht. Yet there 
 was a difference about her. Perhaps the 
 
 difference lay in the fact that her brilliancy, 
 
 Q 2 
 
228 DRIVEN BEFOEE THE STORM. 
 
 lier smiles, were now offered, not to himself, 
 but to another man I What mattered it 
 to him whom she favoured now ? ' If she 
 be not fair to me, what care I how fair 
 she heV And he applied himself with 
 assiduity to the amusement of two pretty 
 neighbours. 
 
 Lunch over, he followed his cousin into 
 the library, asking for a time-table. 
 
 ' You're not really going, I hope ? ' said 
 Sir Simon. ' I didn't think you were in 
 earnest last night. Why should you leave 
 us in such a hurry ? ' 
 
 ' I have business in town,' replied Bar- 
 rington shortly. 
 
 ' But you must stop over this fancy ball 
 to-night, won't you ? ' 
 
 ' Can't, old fellow ; it's very good of you 
 to wish it.' 
 
 'Oh, well,' groaned his cousin, 'if you 
 must go, there's the time-table. But I 
 can't let you go till after dinner. There's 
 
RECONCILED. 229 
 
 the evening express at 9.30. ^Yon't that 
 do?' 
 
 ' All right/ said Barrington ; ' that will 
 do.' 
 
 ' Then you can say good-bye to every- 
 body, you know ; and get a mouthful of 
 something to eat before you start,' said 
 the hospitable baronet, ignoring the ex- 
 cellent lunch from which they had just 
 risen. 
 
 Barrington was not so sure whether he 
 particularly wished to say good-bye to 
 every one ; but he thanked Sir Simon, and 
 assented as he left the room. 
 
 He felt relieved now that he had made 
 up his mind to go, and wished that he were 
 already in the train, rushing Town-wards. 
 Never again, he hoped, w^ould the doctrine 
 of unlucky chances lead him towards 
 another meetino- with Nell Lino-wood. Once 
 out of Rolston Court, and that episode 
 would be, he hoped, for ever closed. Thus 
 
230 DRIVEN BEFORE THE STORM. 
 
 reflecting, somewbat sorely and impatiently, 
 he lit Ms cigar and strolled out into the 
 garden, Waif beside him as usual, pacing 
 on slowly down one of the long and winding 
 walks. 
 
 Suddenly, as he turned the corner of the 
 shrubbery, he paused. He had come in 
 sight of a solitary figure seated upon the 
 garden bench at the angle of the pathway 
 just under the big beech tree. The figure 
 had a somewhat drooping and despondent 
 attitude, such as would perhaps come 
 naturally to a person suffering from a bad 
 headache ; and at sight of it De Witt 
 stood reflecting a moment- — with a sudden 
 impulse then flinging away his cigar, and 
 walking slowly onwards. 
 
 She started visibly as he approached her, 
 for the walk was so covered with moss that 
 she had not heard his footsteps until he 
 was almost beside her. Her face had been 
 white and sorrowful a moment before ; but 
 
RECONCILED. 231 
 
 now, as it turned towards him, a vivid flush 
 sufl"used her cheeks, and a stiff constraint 
 made itself felt in her manner. 
 
 De Witt raised his cap slightly as he 
 stood before her. 
 
 'Allow me,' he said quietly, 'to hope 
 that your headache will soon mend, and 
 that you will be able to take part in the 
 festivities this evening. I am called away, 
 and shall not be there, so will take this 
 opportunity of saying good-bye.' 
 
 Was he speaking in sarcasm or in all 
 simplicity '? It was beyond his companion's 
 power to say ; but she guessed intuitively 
 at the cause of his sudden departure. 
 
 Her colour had quickly faded, and her 
 voice w^as very formal as she answered — 
 although she herself heard plainly enough 
 the tremor that ran through it, — 
 
 ' Are you going so soon ? I fancied you 
 were stopping several days.' 
 
 ' It was only this morning that I found 
 
232 DRIVEN BEFORE THE STORM. 
 
 I must leave. I should be sorry,' he added, 
 after a moment, unable quite to restrain 
 his bitterness, ' to remain where I had 
 reason to believe my presence was a burden 
 to any lady in the house.' 
 
 * A burden ! ' she murmured incoherently, 
 the hot red once more spreading over her 
 cheeks. 
 
 'A burden,' he repeated calmly. 'Let 
 me hope now that you will enjoy a pleasant 
 evening, Miss Lingwood, since I shall not 
 be there to annoy you by my company.' 
 
 * It would not annoy me — ' She hesi- 
 tated, anger and pain struggling together 
 in her voice. 
 
 ' Indeed ? Well, I prefer to avoid the 
 chance of it. Good afternoon.' And once 
 more raising his hat, and without glancing 
 at the girl's face, he turned upon his heel 
 and sauntered slowly off. 
 
 What instinct was it — what good or bad 
 angel of his — that prompted him, when 
 
RECONCILED. 233 
 
 almost out of siglit, to turn once more and 
 glance backwards ? 
 
 The solitary figure still sat where he 
 had left it, but now all crouched and 
 bent too^ether : the head was buried in 
 the hands, and even at this distance, De 
 Witt could see how the slight shoulders 
 shook and quivered with unrestrained 
 emotion. 
 
 ' Nell ! why are you crying ? ' 
 
 At the sudden sound of his voice, striking 
 so unexpectedly upon her ear, she sprang 
 up as if she had been shot, her eyes flashing, 
 her face crimson. 
 
 But it was too late to hide the streaming 
 tears from his sight. He took her two 
 hands in his almost sternly, and forced her 
 to look at him. 
 
 ' What does it all mean ? ' he asked. 
 * Nell, you doiit hate me ! Why do you 
 make us both so miserable ? ' 
 
 Then, as she still strove to hide her face, 
 
234 DEIVEN BEFORE THE STORM. 
 
 the passionate sobs still rising in her throat, 
 he went on : 
 
 ' You may deceive in your words, you 
 may be cold in your manner, but your eyes 
 cannot tell me lies. Nell, you care for me 
 — why do you pretend you don't ? ' 
 
 ' I never pretended,' she said in a low 
 voice, as he drew her towards him ; ' it 
 was all wrong together — you didn't under- 
 stand.' 
 
 Then, as he put his arm round her, she 
 suddenly clung to him, sobbing, 
 
 ' Oh, don't go away again ! ' 
 
 'Am I likely r he asked. 'Nell, you 
 know if I ever went away willingly. You 
 drove me from you.' 
 
 ' It has been such a long, long time,' she 
 sighed. 
 
 ' It has been very long to me,' he said 
 gravely. 'And it came near to being for 
 ever, Nell ; for I should never have come 
 back after this time.' 
 
RECONCILED. 235 
 
 ' Oh, it was so cruel of you — you spoke 
 so hardly ! ' 
 
 ' Nell, I can't understand ; you talk now 
 as if / had changed to you.' 
 
 ' So you did, I thought.' 
 
 * Instead of which, it is you who behaved 
 badly to me. Have you forgotten that day 
 at Sorrento ? ' 
 
 'Ah, but I had not had time then. If 
 you only knew it all — You said we were 
 to be friends only.' 
 
 ' Till we could be something better.' 
 
 ' But I didn't want you to be anything 
 better — not at first. And you didn't put 
 it in that way at first.' 
 
 ' Why, of course I didn't — at first. Perhaps 
 I didn't know it myself then. A man doesn't 
 propose to a girl the first day he sees her.' 
 
 * Don't laugh at me! If you knew 
 everything, you wouldn't.' 
 
 ' Can't you tell me everything ? ' 
 
 * Papa and Kobert never would believe 
 
236 DRIVEN BEFORE THE STORM. 
 
 in your— ^friendship. And I was sure you 
 meant it really, and said so. I didn't want 
 you to be like all the others — not then.' 
 
 ' What others ? ' asked Barrington, half 
 mystified, half amused. 
 
 ' If you laugh I can't tell you. It all 
 seems so silly and horrid now ; but it has 
 been a dreadful trouble to me all my life. 
 Didn't I seem suspicious and cold to you 
 sometimes — at first ? ' 
 
 'I thought you seemed to have a poor 
 opinion of my sex in general — sometimes,' 
 he responded. 
 
 ' You wouldn't wonder if you knew. It 
 began when I was only sixteen or seventeen, 
 at school, and it was always going on after 
 I grew up. And papa and Robert told me 
 girls with money were always treated so, 
 and must beware of everybody. And once I 
 had a horrid lesson. I don't like to tell you.' 
 
 * Please tell me,' said Barrington ; ' you can 
 whisper it, you know — I have very sharp ears.' 
 
RECONCILED. 237 
 
 ' Well, it was a gentlemao, — and he 
 seemed a really nice man, — and lie was 
 clever and good-looking, and I thought he 
 really cared for me. I wasn't in love with 
 him, you know/ — she paused, — ^ but he was 
 very nice, and I was only nineteen, and I 
 did think he was in earnest. And I was 
 sorry for him, and had half made up my 
 mind to think about it, — only to think about 
 it, you know, — when some one, a friend of 
 papa's, brought a letter to show him written 
 by this man — such a horrid letter.' 
 
 ' What did it say ? ' 
 
 ' Well — now don't laugh this time ! It 
 was very silly to mind, I suppose, but in 
 it he called me Miss Moneybags, and — and 
 it showed he didn't really care one bit.' 
 
 ' The cad ! ' exclaimed Barrington. ' I 
 don't think it was at all silly to mind. 
 You had a lucky escape, Nell. So you 
 have been afraid of everybody since, poor 
 little girl ? ' 
 
238 DRIVEN BEFORE THE STORM. 
 
 ' I began to think everybody came for 
 my money, not for me — ' 
 
 ' Why, Nell, you little goose, you brown- 
 eyed witch,' and he emphasized each epithet 
 with a delicious kiss upon the soft wdiite 
 forehead lying against his shoulder, ' do 
 you know yourself so little as not to 
 have discovered yet that you have beauty 
 enough to dower half a dozen penniless 
 girls, and to turn a man's head ? ' 
 
 ' No,' she whispered ; * I don't think any 
 one really finds me very attractive — except 
 you.' 
 
 ' That's because you are such a cold little 
 icicle. So you have made up your mind 
 that I'm not a fortune-hunter, eh, Nell ? ' 
 
 ' Oh, don't ; you make me feel so ashamed 
 of myself — ' 
 
 ' Not at all. I don't see how you could 
 help yourself. Perhaps Mr. Brereton and 
 — Robert — may still regard me in that 
 light 1 ' 
 
RECONCILED. 239 
 
 ' I cannot tell what they may do, and I 
 do not care — not one scrap now. They are 
 not my masters.' And she drew herself 
 up proudly. 
 
 ' I like to see you look like that, Nell ; 
 it is like your old self, the girl I fell in 
 love with — ' 
 
 ' And who treated you so badly ? ' 
 
 ' Well, she did. But she was my queen 
 then ; and now I have got back my queen. 
 It didn't feel at all the thing to have her 
 crying and confessing her sins just now, 
 like any other common-place, humble- 
 minded girl.' 
 
 ' 1 did not confess any sins ! ' 
 
 ' That's right ; I like that sparkle. My 
 queen is always a trifle haughty by nature.' 
 
 ' Oh, Barrington, how long have we sat 
 here ? I must go in.' 
 
 ' You will be chilly if you sit any longer. 
 But won't it do if we walk up and down ? ' 
 
 * No, it won't ; I must go in at once. 
 
240 DRIVEN BEFORE THE STORM. 
 
 Besides, you know, you have to pack your 
 
 portmanteau ! ' 
 
 ' Oh, ah ! to be sure I have.' 
 
 ' Barrington ! you don't mean it ? ' 
 
 * Oh, my queen, do you want me to 
 stay "? Well, under all the circumstances, 
 perhaps my business may wait — that is to 
 say, if your head promises to get well 
 enough for the ball to-night.' 
 
 ' It is quite well already. Drop my arm 
 now% if you please.' 
 
 ' Are you afraid of meeting any one ? ' 
 
 * You know I am not 1 Am I afraid of 
 anybody in the world ? ' she asked scorn- 
 fully. 
 
 ' A little afraid of me — but that is right.' 
 Nell did not descend for afternoon tea ; 
 and vfhen, a little later, Mrs. Brereton 
 proceeded to her daughters room to make 
 inquiries, she found the invalid in a strange 
 mood. The girl had been pale and silent 
 all morning — her headache had seemed to 
 
RECONCILED. 241 
 
 depress her to an unusual extent ; but now 
 her mother found her seated in a low chair 
 before the window, her cheeks flushed, her 
 eyes bright, and her lips smiling. She 
 looked like a fair type of happiness per- 
 sonified, her whole expression so different 
 from that of the last few months, that Mrs. 
 Brereton stood amazed. 
 
 * Well,' said the latter, entering, ' your 
 head seems well, at any rate, my dear.' 
 
 ' Quite, quite well, dear mamma.' 
 
 * Then I suppose you will go to the ball ? ' 
 ' Yes, dear mother.' 
 
 The contented radiance of her smile could 
 not fail to strike Mrs. Brereton. She was 
 not a clever or an observant woman, but 
 she was a mother, and a kindly one^ where 
 her natural disposition was not perverted. 
 
 * Nell,' she exclaimed suddenly, ' what 
 has happened to you ? ' and she bent 
 down to look more closely into the beauti- 
 ful features. 
 
 VOL. L E, 
 
242 DRIVEN BEFORE THE STORM. 
 
 Nell's answer was to draw her face still 
 lower downwards, and to cover it with kisses. 
 
 ' Only that I have found out at last, 
 mother,' she whispered softly, * what it is 
 to be happy — to be perfectly happy, to have 
 nothing left to wish for on earth ! ' 
 
 Mrs. Brereton raised herself with a 
 startled countenance. 
 
 * Oh, Nell, what do you mean ? ' 
 
 ' I mean what I say, mother. After 
 months of sorrow — oh, such sorrow ! — I 
 have come to perfect happiness. Mother, 
 have you never seen, all these weary months, 
 how sad at heart I have been "? ' 
 
 ' I have often thought that something 
 weighed upon your mind, Nell ; but you 
 never would let me know what it was.' 
 
 * No, mother, I never would have told 
 you if things had not come right. Perhaps 
 it was wrong and proud of me, but I had 
 brought my own trouble on myself, and I 
 meant to bear my punishment in silence. 
 
RECONCILED. 243 
 
 But now that it has all come right, and that 
 he has spoken to me again, I can tell you 
 about it. He spoke to me first that day at 
 Sorrento, the first day we were there. 
 Don't look so mystified, mother, you know 
 whom I am speaking of.' 
 
 ' Captain De Witt ? ' asked Mrs. Brereton. 
 
 ' Yes. Well, I was horrid to him then. 
 Oh, mother, I behaved like a brute. I 
 was vexed, I think, because of all the nasty 
 things papa and Robert had said about 
 him, and because I had always declared 
 he only wished to be my friend, — you know, 
 mother, — and I liardly knew then how 
 much I cared for him. But I knew it 
 directly I had sent him away. I thought 
 I must have been mad to speak to him in 
 the way I had ; but it was too late, I knew 
 he never would come back. And he never 
 would have done so if I had not met him 
 here, and if — ' She paused, whilst the 
 vivid colour deepened on her cheeks. 
 
 E 2 
 
244 DEIVEN BEFORE THE STOEM. 
 
 ' It was good of him, so generous of him, 
 mother, to come back to me ; for I had 
 insulted him that day, and I knew it. And, 
 oh, I have felt all these months as if my 
 heart were breaking ; it seemed to get 
 worse every day, having to hide it and to 
 pretend to be the same as ever. I some- 
 times felt as if it would kill me ; and the 
 last three days have been the worst of all. 
 But I don't mind anything now — even all 
 that misery seems like a dream now. I can 
 think of nothing except how happy I am. 
 It seems too much happiness for any one 
 human being to have ; it almost frightens 
 me, mother ! ' 
 
 Mrs. Brereton did not withdraw the hand 
 which her daughter was softly caressing, 
 as she poured out her simple, passionately- 
 worded story ; but her face wore a per- 
 turbed expression, and after Nell had 
 finished speaking, she remained silent for 
 several seconds. 
 
eeco:j^ciled. 245 
 
 ' You are not vexed, dearest ? ' asked the 
 girl gently, as she laid her flushed cheek 
 against her mother's hand and pressed it 
 there. 
 
 ' N — 0,' replied the other slowly ; ' I sup- 
 pose it can't be helped. But,' she continued, 
 after a moment's pause, ' I am afraid it will 
 bring trouble, my dear.' 
 
 ' I know what you are thinking of, 
 mother. But why need we trouble about 
 that yet ? Let us be happy while we may. 
 I think I shall be strong enough to bear a 
 little worry and opposition over this. And 
 you like him, mother, do you not ? Say 
 you do 1 ' 
 
 ' I thought him a very pleasant and 
 gentlemanly person at Capri,' said Mrs. 
 Brereton guardedly. 
 
 * You will soon think more than that of 
 him, mother. But I will be satisfied if you 
 will only say you are glad to see your child 
 so happy.' 
 
246 DRIVEN BEFORE THE STORM. 
 
 ' I should like you always to be that, 
 I am sure, Nell, my dear/ 
 
 *I know you would, mother. Mother, 
 we have two days longer, perhaps three, 
 to enjoy ourselves in. You won't tell any 
 one before then, will you ? ' 
 
 'No, I suppose not. I hope it isn't 
 wrong.' 
 
 ' How can it be wrong "? You would not 
 have known if I had not told you ; and I 
 am not a child, I am twenty-two. And 
 after that, mother, I will fight the battle, 
 and I will bear the brunt. I will save you 
 all I can.' 
 
 ' Oh, my dear,' sighed the poor woman, 
 ' how can you ? It is impossible ; you don't 
 understand.' 
 
 ' I think I understand, mother ; but I 
 will do all I can to save you. I have often 
 been impatient and hot-tempered, dear, I 
 know ; but this time I will be so patient 
 that they will not be able to quarrel with 
 
EECONCILED. 247 
 
 me, and yet so firm that tliey will find it 
 useless to oppose me. But don't let us 
 think of that yet, dear mother, let us forget 
 it all for these few days/ 
 
 Mrs. Brereton kissed the upturned, plead- 
 ing face. 
 
 ' You shall be happy, my dear,' she said. 
 ' Take your three days — one is not young 
 twice.' And she sighed a quiet sigh full of 
 repressed pathos. 
 
 It was nearly dark when, some time later, 
 she left her daughter's room and proceeded 
 towards her own, to dress for dinner. In 
 the corridor she suddenly encountered a 
 figure that had been springing up the stairs 
 two steps at a time, and which paused with 
 a smiling face at her approach. 
 
 ' Oh, Captain De Witt ! ' she exclaimed, 
 unable to keep silence with her heart so 
 full. 
 
 He held out his hand with a beaming 
 smile. ' She has told you ? ' 
 
248 DRIVEN BEFORE THE STORM. 
 
 'Yes — yes, she's told me.' And she took 
 his hand half reluctantly. 
 
 'You don't object, I hope— mamma ?' 
 
 ' I don't know, I'm sure. Oh dear me ! ' 
 she exclaimed helplessly. 
 
 ' Well, you know,' he said persuasively, 
 ' it must have come some time, mustn't it ? 
 She must have married some one some day, 
 mustn't she ? ' 
 
 'I don't know what Mr. Brereton will 
 say to it.' 
 
 It was on the end of Barrington's tongue 
 to inquire what the dickens it mattered 
 what Mr. Brereton might say upon the 
 subject, but he was too happy to be can- 
 tankerous. So instead — 
 
 ' Well,' he said, ' you don't object to me 
 personally, do you, Mrs. Brereton ? ' 
 
 ' I ? Oh, I always liked you, you know. 
 Captain De Witt.' 
 
 ' Then I don't mind any one else.' 
 
 'But we mustn't be rash about these things.' 
 
RECONCILED. 249 
 
 ' But you don't refuse your sanction, do 
 you V 
 
 ' Oh, / am nobody, you know.' 
 
 * You are everybody — to ber and to me.' 
 
 Despite ber nervous fears, Mrs. Brereton 
 felt herself smiling into the handsome 
 face, with the boyish light -heartedness of 
 the clear blue eyes. 
 
 ' I am sure you are fond of ber. I shall 
 tell him so,' she remarked vaguely. 
 
 She was considerably flurried, however, 
 when Barrington suddenly bent down and 
 gave her a kiss. 
 
 ' How nice you are ! ' he said, with the 
 impudent audacity of success. ' Never 
 forget you are on our side — mamma ! ' 
 
 ' Oh, I've got to think it all over, Captain 
 De Witt. I am quite confused and upset. 
 And we shall all be late for dinner.' And 
 she hurried away. 
 
250 DRIVEN BEFORE THE STORM. 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 Judith's lover. 
 
 ' Better it seemed as now to walk, 
 And humbly by her gentle side, 
 Observe her smile and hear her talk, 
 Than call the world's next-best my bride.' 
 Coventry Patmore. 
 
 Miss Collyer was in the breakfast-room 
 at the usual hour next morning, but she 
 was alone. All the other members of the 
 Eolston party, whether ladies or gentlemen, 
 were as yet invisible, and probably engaged 
 in sleeping off the fatigues of the fancy ball 
 of the preceding night. Miss Collyer had 
 refused to go to this ball, although pressed 
 to do so, and had been the only stay-at- 
 home the evening before. Her promised 
 costume of mouldy green and dead leaves 
 
Judith's lover. 251 
 
 had not come home in time, she said. 
 This morning, therefore, she had the advan- 
 tage of the others, and was as fresh as 
 usual as she glided round the breakfast 
 room, rearra,nging flowers in the many 
 different vases. She was still euQ-ao-ed in 
 this occupation, with her back to the door, 
 when some one, walking softly over the 
 thick-piled carpet, came suddenly behind 
 her, and seizing her by the waist, swung 
 her without ceremony round the room in 
 a rapid waltz. 
 
 ' Oh, it's you, mad boy, of course ! ' she 
 exclaimed, as she followed in step, laughing ; 
 * haven't you had enough of that last night ? ' 
 
 He finished the turn without speaking, 
 swinging her into her place at the head of 
 the table, and seating himself beside her. 
 
 * Now for the coffee and scones,' he said. 
 'Miss CoUyer, I'm as hungry as ten 
 hunters.' 
 
 * Barry, what is the matter with you ? 
 
252 DRIVEN BEFOEE THE STORM. 
 
 What are you beaming at me like that for ? 
 and why do you contemplate the cups and 
 saucers with such a loving smile ? Are you 
 going mad, my boy ? ' 
 
 ^ Not going, but gone, Miss Judy. Who 
 wouldn't beam at such a delicious combina- 
 tion of comforts as breakfast and you 
 together ? ' 
 
 Aunt Judith passed him his cup of coffee 
 in silence, but after a moment she burst 
 out — 
 
 * Oh, Barry, I must speak ! ' 
 
 ' Speak out, revered auntie ; speak now, 
 or for ever hold your peace ! ' 
 
 ' Barry, it has come all right ! ' 
 
 ' Now, you little ferret, however did you 
 find out there was anything to come 
 right ? ' 
 
 ' I've known it ever since the first evening. 
 Of course I saw it at once. Women are 
 not like men, Barry ; they can see things 
 under their nose — not only those that are 
 
Judith's lover. 253 
 
 half a mile off. Tell me all quick. Are 
 vou ensjao^ed to her ? ' 
 
 * I am engaged to her, and it is all right, 
 sapient little aunt/ 
 
 ' My darling boy ! ' 
 
 ' There, you are upsetting all the coffee- 
 cnps, Aunt Judy, and disarranging my back 
 hair. And I've got to think of my personal 
 appearance now, you know.' 
 
 ' Oh, Barry ! I have been so unhappy for 
 you all these days. And I knew I mustn't 
 speak a word ; but my heart ached for you. 
 How was it all — why did things go wrong '^ ' 
 
 ' There had been a misunderstanding, 
 Aunt Judy — four months ago, when we 
 met abroad. I don't quite understand it 
 myself ; and what's the good of trying now% 
 when everything is all right ? I'm quite 
 content with matters as they are.' 
 
 * You are a good deal more than content, 
 my old boy ! Oh, Barry, I hope she is 
 worthy of you.' 
 
254 DRIVEN BEFORE THE STORM. 
 
 * You foolisli little person ! Put the 
 query the other way round, and you will 
 be nearer the mark.' 
 
 ' I like her, Barry.' 
 
 ' You'd better ! Another cup of coffee 
 and two more risolles, ma'am.' 
 
 ' Barrington, how unromantic you are ! 
 Lovers shouldn't be hungry.' 
 
 ' If you don't hold your tongue, I shall 
 dance you round the room again. And 
 you are not to tell any one of this, Aunt 
 Judy. She does not wish it known here.' 
 
 * As if you could hide it from anybody I 
 An owl could have guessed it last night 
 from your two transmogrified faces. And 
 as if I should tell any one ! ' 
 
 ' You might have told Simon perhaps, in 
 confidence. You confide a good deal in 
 Simon, don't you, Miss Collyer ? ' 
 
 To which Miss Collyer replied by main- 
 taining a cool and dignified silence. 
 
 Three more halcyon days there were for 
 
JUDITHS LOVEH. 255 
 
 the lovers — days which need not be de- 
 scribed, since their happiness was of that 
 kind which to any one who needs a de- 
 scription of it would be incomprehensible. 
 Suffice it to say that to each of the two, 
 neither of whom had been engaged before, 
 there came a naive surprise — to Nell, the 
 consciousness of her own power of loving, 
 and to Barrington, the discovery of the 
 unreserved confidence, the singular humility 
 of one he had at first thought proud and 
 self-restrained. Nell Lingwood, his sweet- 
 heart, was so utterly diff'erent a character 
 from Miss Lingwood, his acquaintance ; 
 having once confessed her love for him, no 
 fear, no criticism, no reserve seemed possible 
 to her. She seemed to live for and in him, 
 and to disquiet herself over nothing, scarcely 
 to think of anything else, so long as he 
 remained hers ; and De Witt, loving her 
 deeply and truly as he did, was half fright- 
 ened and wholly touched by the simplicity 
 
256 DRIVEN BEFORE THE STORM. 
 
 of her devotion. No wonder she had been 
 cautious and alarmed at first, timid and 
 half repelled before the advent of love, if 
 she knew herself capable of such intensity 
 of feeling. 
 
 As for Nell herself, short as had been 
 the new term of her happiness, it already 
 seemed to her as if the whole of her pre- 
 vious life had been a colourless dream, 
 and as if she had never really lived till 
 now. What had she done before this thing 
 happened to her ? how had she borne that 
 cold waste of vapid existence, self-centred 
 and emotionless, before the birth of the 
 new life, when self became extinguished, 
 and every thought of the present, every 
 hope of the future was fixed upon another ? 
 None but herself would ever know the 
 sudden transition her heart had experienced 
 during those last few days, from a dull, 
 despairing regret, to a perfect fulness of 
 content. She had no shame upon this 
 
Judith's lover. 257 
 
 point ; she acknowledged it freely to her 
 own mind ; she would perhaps have ac- 
 knowledged it also to Barrington, only 
 that, whenever she began to speak of 
 those dark, uncertain days, he invariably 
 smothered the confession in kisses. 
 
 But she told him she had never loved 
 before ; and he believed it, watching the 
 soft new glow of the love-light in her eyes, 
 the new sweetness of her dimpling smile, 
 and the tender silence and abstraction of 
 her manner when in general company. 
 
 Perhaps, strange to say, it was not a very 
 
 different matter with him ; for, except a 
 
 boyish fancy or two, passing too quickly 
 
 to take root, his heart had never been really 
 
 touched before. And it was now his time 
 
 to thank God, that, whatever his life had 
 
 been in other ways — conformed more or 
 
 less to the general standard of his age and 
 
 time — yet that on one point perhaps it had 
 
 not been ' as other men are,' and that no 
 VOL. I. s 
 
258 DEIVEN BEFORE THE STOEM. 
 
 record of shanie in the past lay upon his 
 mind to cast a shadow over the brightness 
 of the pure love of to-day — a record which 
 some might strive to forget, some to 
 condone, some to regret, but which none 
 could wipe out. 
 
 The engagement between the two was 
 kept secret during those three days ; at 
 least, it was intended to be so, but it 
 is probable that few of the party in 
 the house but suspected something of 
 the truth. Aunt Judith, however, the 
 one exception to the rule, showed her 
 usual prompt and sympathetic interest in 
 the matter, and was speedily installed as 
 mutual confidante, whilst an intimate and 
 affectionate friendship sprang up betwixt 
 Nell and herself. She was the best and 
 most tactful of assistants in a love affair 
 ever seen ; she could plan arrangements by 
 which the two could be together, with the 
 most barefaced inscenuousness of manner 
 
Judith's lover. 259 
 
 and unconsciousness of look, and conceal 
 their prolonged absences from the general 
 circle by the most artful of tactics. 
 
 And yet Miss Collyer was not without 
 a little secret anxiety of her own, which 
 weighed upon her mind this last day or two 
 of her visit, and even lost her some hours' 
 sleep. But she dismissed it loyally from 
 her mind as she came down to breakfast 
 this last morning, prepared somehow or 
 other to adjust matters so that Barring- 
 ton and his fiancee should have one long 
 walk together before they parted. It 
 was rather difficult to manaoe this with- 
 out attracting public attention, and the 
 lovers had to wait ; but Judith — who had 
 all through her visit acted, by request 
 of the host, somewhat in the character of 
 lady hostess — having bid adieu to several 
 parties of guests, found herself at last able 
 to leave the house for a stroll, arm in arm 
 with her friend. Miss Ling;wood. Needless 
 
 S 2 
 
260 DRIVEN BEFORE THE STORM. 
 
 to say, they had no sooner turned the corner 
 of the shrubbery before they were joined 
 by De Witt ; and, equally needless to say, 
 at the next corner, Miss CoUyer retraced 
 her steps. She was just in time to receive 
 the farewells of the last couple, whom Sir 
 Simon was escortino^ to their carriao^e with 
 his habitual courtesy of manner. When he 
 returned, she was standing alone by the 
 drawing-room fireplace ; for Mrs. Brereton 
 had retired upstairs to superintend the 
 packing of her boxes. 
 
 It was rather a chilly morning, and a 
 cheery fire blazed upou the hearth. As 
 Judith CoUyer stood beside it, one foot 
 upon the fender, her face looked thoughtful ; 
 and as her host re-entered, she started a 
 little. Her mind had been busy with 
 thoughts of the lovers whom she had but 
 just quitted, perhaps also with other 
 thoughts ; and Sir Simon and the present 
 moment were far away. 
 
Judith's lover. 261 
 
 He drew an easy-chair up to the fireplace. 
 
 ' Wou't you sit down ? ' he asked. 
 
 ' No, thanks, Simon ; I must be going 
 upstairs to take off my things.' 
 
 ' Don't hurry,' he said. 
 
 ' So all your guests are gone now except 
 the Breretons. Their train is just after 
 lunch, I think.' 
 
 * And Barrington, and you,' he said. 
 
 ' Yes. My cab is ordered at the same 
 time. Well, you have given us a very 
 pleasant week of it, Simon. I think every- 
 body has enjoyed him and herself.' 
 
 ' Thanks to you, I think, Judith.' 
 
 ' Not at all thanks to me. You are a 
 capital host, Simon.' 
 
 ' Can't you stop on a little, Judith ? 
 Barrington is staying another night.' 
 
 ' Simon, I am astonished at you ! Don't 
 you know it would be against all the 
 proprieties ? ' 
 
 /Would it?' he asked absently. Then 
 
262 DRIVEN BEFORE THE STORM. 
 
 he looked up with a sudden access of colour 
 on his quiet, elderly-featured face. 
 
 'Judith, if — if you could ever make up 
 your mind to like me a little — if you could 
 only come for good, you know — * 
 
 There was a long pause. Then at length 
 she spoke in a pained voice. 
 
 ' Oh, Simon, I am so sorry you have 
 thought of this ! I was afraid, the last day 
 or two^ — ' She in her turn paused. 
 
 ' Why, of course,' he remarked simply ; 
 * you must have known, Judith, that I have 
 cared for you and wanted to marry you for 
 this long time. But I was afraid there was 
 no hope.' 
 
 'And you would be so much happier 
 married ! ' she cried regretfully. * Oh, 
 Simon, take a fancy to some one else ! 
 Why can't you ? You are so good and 
 kind and true ; you ought not to live all 
 alone.' 
 
 'I would rather not,' he said, with the 
 
Judith's lover. 263 
 
 same child-like simplicity. ' I am often 
 lonely, and I think I could make a good 
 husband. But I could not take a fancy to 
 any one else. I don't think you know how 
 I love you, Judith ; it isn't only this last 
 year or two — I think I have loved you all 
 your life, since you were a little dark-eyed 
 girl, laughing and teasing gawky old Simon, 
 as you called me. But I don't wonder you 
 can't care for me. I am so much older than 
 you.' 
 
 ' Not so very much, after all, Simon.' 
 
 * Fifteen years, I think. And you are so 
 bright, and I am dull and prosy.' 
 
 * You are the cleverest friend I have, and 
 I am proud to be noticed by you ! ' 
 
 ' I am not half good enough for you, 
 whatever you may say. But if you could 
 have put up with me — ' 
 
 * Don't, Simon, be so humble ! I can't 
 bear to hear you. You are good enough 
 for any one.' 
 
264 DRIVEN BEFORE THE STORM. 
 
 ' But you can't give me any hope, Judith ? 
 I would wait,' he added, with unconscious 
 pathos, ' if there were any chance ; aud not 
 mind anything, if only you could come to 
 think of it in time — although a man over 
 fifty has not much time to lose.' 
 
 ' Don't wait, dear Simon, please don't. 
 I am so fond of you ; but I feel I should 
 never come to it. Find some one else.' 
 
 'Nay, I did not mean that,' he said 
 quietly. ' If you won't have me, Judith, I 
 will remain as I am.' 
 
 ' Oh, you mustn't, Simon ! Plenty of 
 people would be proud to have you — 
 women younger and prettier than me.' 
 
 ' I don't want anybody younger,' he said 
 slowly ; ' and you are the prettiest woman 
 in the world to me, Judith.' 
 
 The tears rose to her eyes. ' I wish — how 
 I wish I could, Simon ! Indeed I do value 
 you.' 
 
 ' Your life is sometimes lonely, I have 
 
Judith's lover. 265 
 
 thought, like mine, Judith, though you are 
 so much younger ; and tliat gave me 
 courage to ask you now. Even if you 
 didn't care very much for me, I thought 
 you might think of it some day, perhaps. 
 You would have some one to love you 
 dearly always, and to shield you all your 
 life ; and a home where you would be valued 
 and cared for as you ought to be.' 
 
 * No, Simon, I would never insult your 
 chivalry by giving you a Yes out of self- 
 interest; you are too true a knight. You 
 are worth a woman's all, and you shall 
 never have the half from me.' 
 
 * I would rather have your half than any 
 other woman's all. Eemember that, Judith. 
 And, if ever there comes any time of sorrow 
 or loneliness to you, and you feel that — un- 
 attractive as I am — my deep devotion will 
 be any comfort, that my love is better 
 than nothing — remember I am always 
 waiting — I shall never change my mind.' 
 
266 BKIVEN BEFORE THE STOEM. 
 
 ' What ! bring you the dower of a broken- 
 spirited, worn-out woman ? Never, Simon ! ' 
 
 He sighed quietly. 
 
 'I shall always be ready,' he repeated 
 sadly. * However you came, whenever you 
 came, I should still rejoice — it would still 
 be the best gift in life to me/ 
 
 Judith Collyer held out her hand in 
 silence to him, and he clasped it for a 
 moment in both of his. 
 
 ' God bless you, dear Simon, for your 
 kind words,' she said, after a moment, in a 
 low voice ; ' it is something to feel one has 
 a friend like you in the world.' And she 
 moved softly out of the room, leaving him 
 standing before the fireplace. 
 
 It was many minutes before he stirred ; 
 and when at length he did so, he raised one 
 hand and passed it once or twice across his 
 forehead, as if to clear away some slight 
 mist that obscured his vision or his brain. 
 
 Then he went out with his usual quiet 
 
Judith's lover. 267 
 
 step in time to meet Mrs. Brereton in the 
 hall, and to greet her with his accustomed 
 courtesy, expressing the pleasure he had 
 derived from the visit of herself and 
 her daughter, and his sincere hope that it 
 would not be the last with which he should 
 be honoured. 
 
268 DRIVEN BEFORE THE STORM. 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 NELL DOES BATTLE WITH THE MEN OF HER 
 HOUSEHOLD. 
 
 * I am Sir Oracle, 
 And wlien I ope my lips, let no dog bark ! ' 
 
 Shakespeare. 
 
 Barrington had intended to escort his 
 fiancee home, but had been forbidden to do 
 so, and had submitted, although somewhat 
 reluctantly. If a battle of any sort were to 
 be fought, why might he not be there to 
 bear the worst of it, or at any rate to take 
 his share of blows in the affray % But Nell 
 decided otherwise. 
 
 ' No,' she said firmly, in answer to his 
 expostulations, * I can manage better alone ; 
 I had rather be by myself. I know papa 
 
NELL DOES BATTLE. 2G9 
 
 will be nasty at first, and I would rather 
 you were not there. It will blow over, I 
 think, very soon, and then you shall come 
 down.' 
 
 He guessed one at least of her motives — 
 that she dreaded anything like an irredeem- 
 able quarrel between himself and her con- 
 nections, in consequence of the opposition 
 which she evidently anticipated on their 
 part. Perhaps she was wise, although 
 what right was possessed by the step-father 
 and brother to interfere, if her mother and 
 herself approved, he could not at present 
 perceive. But for her sake he was willing 
 to avoid any unpleasantness of feeling or 
 collision of any kind. For his own, he 
 certainly would not have moved a straw 
 out of the way to preserve the good-fellow- 
 ship of two of the most uncongenial and 
 unpleasant men he ever remembered en- 
 countering. 
 
 It was about seven o'clock when Mrs. 
 
270 DRIVEN BEFORE THE STORM. 
 
 Ere^'eton aDd her daughter reached home, 
 a lonor drive havinor succeeded to their 
 railway journey. 
 
 The Cedars was a large house built in 
 the modern style, with no pretensions to 
 architecture, but situated in the midst of 
 a lovely country, with fine grounds of its 
 own. The surrounding property, consisting 
 of park and meadow land, a small common, 
 and an extensive wood, was all well preserved, 
 since both Mr. Brereton and his son were 
 fond of sport, which they kept pretty much 
 to themselves, an extra gun being a some- 
 what rare innovation in the shooting season. 
 
 Mrs. Brereton was tired with her journey ; 
 nevertheless, a feeling of nervousness made 
 her conversational, and she entertained her 
 husband and stepson at dinner with long 
 and graphic accounts of Sir Simon's hos- 
 pitality, to the ringiDg of whose praises Mr. 
 Brereton had no objection. He considered 
 Sir Simon a pleasant and well-informed 
 
NELL DOES BATTLE. 271 
 
 man, and would have accepted his invita- 
 tion to the late party himself, had it not 
 been for business which had compelled him 
 to be in London just at that time. Eobert 
 Ling-wood had been asked too, — Sir Simon 
 was too courteous to leave out this young 
 man, for whom he had no partiality what- 
 ever, — but he had declined the invitation. 
 Eobert did not shine in company ; he was 
 not of a genial or sociable disposition, 
 neither had he any accomplishments to gain 
 him popularity. He was, in fact, as a rule, 
 not appreciated ; and, like many others of 
 similar disposition, revenged himself by 
 scoffing at society's charms. 
 
 It had been agreed upon between the 
 mother and daughter that Nell was to 
 inform her step-father of her engagement 
 after dinner. Mrs. Brereton had wished to 
 postpone the evil moment, and, poor soul, 
 had pleaded hard for one night's peace, but 
 Nell was resolute. 
 
272 DEIVEN BEFORE THE STORM. 
 
 ' If a disagreeable thing has to be done, 
 mother/ she said, ' the sooner it is got over 
 the better. Though, for that matter,' she 
 added, raising her head proudly, ' I don't 
 know that even papa's opposition will 
 greatly affect my peace of mind.' 
 
 Mrs. Brereton looked at her daughter, 
 and wondered where she had acquired her 
 courage. Certainly it was not hereditary, 
 at least not from her side of the family. 
 Nell, when she was in earnest over any- 
 thing, could face without flinching anger 
 which would have cowed her, and sneers 
 which would have crushed her. ' Getting 
 it over ' was not at all her way of looking 
 at the disagreeable and the inevitable ; 
 ' putting it off' would have been more her 
 line of action. 
 
 She was never great at self-possession ; 
 and now, with her mind dwelling on the 
 probable storm in store for her that very 
 evening, she grew more and more nervous 
 
NELL DOES BATTLE. 273 
 
 and confused, and at last stumbled out the 
 very name she had intended to avoid. 
 At its mere mention there was a moment's 
 ominous pause, rendered all the more per- 
 ceptible by her own evident embarrassment. 
 It was so much the worse, inasmuch as the 
 dessert was now on the table, and the 
 servants had left the room ; so that no 
 motives of prudence or propriety need 
 restrain the tongues she dreaded. 
 
 ' Oh,' said her husband shortly ; ' so 
 Captain De Witt was there, was he ? I 
 don't think you made any mention of him 
 in your letters to me. And yet,' he added 
 after a moment, during which he had fixed 
 the unhappy, blushing woman with a severe 
 stare, ' if I remember right, he was a 
 favourite of yours abroad, just the sort of 
 young man you admire — plenty of assurance 
 and not too much brains ? ' 
 
 Saying which, and receiving no coherent 
 
 reply from his wife, who was floundering 
 VOL. L T 
 
274 DRIVEN BEFORE THE STORM. 
 
 about in a sea of half-uttered disclaimers, 
 he relapsed into silence ; and, taking a 
 pear from the dish before him, began to 
 peel it. 
 
 But his son was not content without 
 bringing the war into the enemy's camp at 
 once. 
 
 ^ I suppose,' he remarked with an undis- 
 guised sneer, turning his eye-glass towards 
 his step-sister, ' that he was busy making 
 up to you all the time, Nell — at the old 
 
 game ? ' 
 
 Mrs. Brereton gave a frightened glance 
 in her daughter's direction ; but Nell, 
 although the crimson colour filled her 
 cheeks, answered him with a quiet scorn 
 that was perfectly calm. 
 
 ' Your remarks are characterized by their 
 usual refinement,' she said, as she rose from 
 the table to follow her mother. 
 
 When, a few minutes later, Mr. Brereton 
 left the dining-room, she followed him into 
 
NELL DOES BATTLE. 275 
 
 the library where he usually spent a post- 
 prandial hour. 
 
 ' Papa/ she began abruptly, ' I have 
 something to tell you/ 
 
 He flung the book he had just taken from 
 the shelves upon the table. 
 
 ' You needn't tell me 1' he exclaimed 
 irritably. ^ Do you think I couldn't see it 
 from your mother's face ? I didn't think 
 you would be such a fool, Nell ! ' 
 
 ' Papa, heiYr me out. I am engaged to 
 Captain De Witt.' 
 
 ' I told you I knew it ! What's the good 
 of repeating if? I told your mother all 
 along how it would be — I saw you were 
 caught. But one niio;ht as well trust the 
 common sense of a rabbit as put faith in 
 your mother ! ' 
 
 ' Why should I not be caught, as you call 
 it ? ' asked the girl gravely. ' What is 
 there about Captain De Witt to make 
 him undesirable? And why should you 
 
 T 2 
 
276 DRIVEN BEFORE THE STORM. 
 
 have ever tried to set mama against 
 him?' 
 
 ' Oh, I've no patience with such folly ! 
 I should have thought by now, Nell, that 
 you might have learnt a wiser lesson.' 
 
 She drew nearer to him, and looked at 
 him without anger in her earnest eyes. 
 
 * Papa, I believe you mean kindly by all 
 this. I wish to believe it. I think you 
 really fancy you are saving me from some 
 danger- ' 
 
 ' Have you already forgotten,' he inter- 
 rupted, ' the fate I saved you from once 
 before ? ' 
 
 * No, papa, I have not forgotten it ; and 
 I have been grateful to you for so saving 
 me then. But, because one man is cruel 
 and heartless, do you mean to tell me that 
 truth does not exist in the world ? ' 
 
 ' I mean to tell you that an infatuated 
 girl who has lost her heart to a good-looking 
 fellow, is totally incapable of discriminating. 
 
NELL DOES BATTLE. 277 
 
 Who can judge in their own cause — above 
 all, a silly woman in love ? Pah ! ' — and 
 Mr. Brereton snorted angrily. 
 
 ' Papa, I wish to be patient ; do not 
 make me lose my temper. You are my 
 trustee, and were my guardian, so that I 
 feel I ought to consult you in everything 
 as much as I can, even if you were not 
 mama's husband. But is it fair to con- 
 demn a man against whom you know abso- 
 lutely nothing, simply from prejudice, born, 
 I think, of a sort of universal suspicion you 
 have contracted ao^ainst all unmarried men V 
 
 'I know absolutely nothing of the fellow 
 in any Vv^ay ; neither do you, Eleanor. Has 
 he ' — with another snort — * informed you of 
 his income ? ' 
 
 ' No, papa ; men don't make love by 
 telling their jiancee% how many hundreds or 
 thousands a year they have. They leave 
 that till they see the male relations, I 
 believe. But we know everything about — 
 
278 DKIVEN BEFOEE THE STORM. 
 
 liim. You cannot say he is a stranger to 
 you, when you know that he is a cousin of 
 your old friend, Sir Simon.' 
 
 ' Well, as you make your own bed, so 
 you will have to lie on it. I can't prevent 
 you cutting your own throat, if it pleases 
 you to do so. But I'm sorry for you. It 
 won'f be long before you will rue it.' 
 
 ' Papa, I shall never rue marrying the 
 man I care for. I am quite determined, 
 and no opposition can make me change my 
 mind ; but, for the sake of peace and good 
 feeling, I would have liked to mitigate your 
 prejudices. But, when you have seen him 
 and talked to him, you will perhaps think 
 differently.' 
 
 ' Never — never ! ' he exclaimed. ' Fair 
 words are uncommonly easy — especially to 
 men of that stamp. But, go your own way, 
 Eleanor, go your own way, until it leads 
 you over the precipice ! ' 
 
 His step-daughter could bear no more. 
 
NELL DOES BATTLE. 279 
 
 She bad reached the utmost limits of her 
 patience ; and she hurried from tlie room 
 with burning cheeks and a heart beating- 
 fast with repressed indignation. 
 
 Meanwhile Mrs. Brereton had been hav- 
 ing a very mauvais quart dlieure in the 
 drawing-room with her amiable step-son, 
 Kobert. Had Nell known of his presence, 
 and of the conversation that had taken 
 place between her mother and himself, 
 she certainly would not have returned 
 thither. But in fact, the young man find- 
 ing his step-mother alone, and discovering 
 that Nell was closeted with his father in 
 the library, guessed rapidly at the truth, 
 which he soon succeeded in confirming from 
 the lips of the elder lady. She was too 
 weak to stand against a verbal persecution ; 
 and after all, since Nell was informing 
 the father, what need to conceal the fact 
 from the son, his confidant ? 
 
 So Eobert soon possessed himself of her 
 
280 DRIVEN BEFORE THE STORM. 
 
 secret, manao^ing* to worm out of her a o;ood 
 many details ; after which he treated her 
 to his unvarnished opinion upon the subject, 
 in language equally unvarnished. The 
 young man's language could be strong at 
 times, when there was no restraining pre- 
 sence by ; and he was not in the habit of 
 softening its force before Mrs. Brer et on. 
 
 But he paused as Nell entered the room. 
 Nell was a different person from her mother ; 
 Nell had a high spirit and quick speech ; 
 and she had sometimes given him glances 
 from her full dark eyes, or cutting words 
 from her well-chiselled lips, that, thick- 
 skinned as he was, had penetrated through 
 his armour of self-assurance and stung him 
 pretty deeply. So he held his tongue now, 
 sulkily — but she was too absorbed to notice 
 that — longing, yet fearing, to rouse her by 
 some angry comment. 
 
 But it was impossible to him to restrain 
 his ill-temper loug ; and when she rose to 
 
NELL DOES BATTLE. 281 
 
 go to bed, bidding him a careless ' good- 
 nig^ht/ it broke forth into words. 
 
 ' Why don't you ask me for congratula- 
 tions ? ' he inquired, with a sneer. 
 
 'Because you would not give me them,' 
 she replied, half- wearily ; for her battle in 
 the library and all the mingled emotions of 
 the day had almost exhausted her. 
 
 But tbe gentleness of her manner only 
 encouraged him to proceed to further 
 lengths. 
 
 'Didn't I tell you he was a fortune- 
 hunter,' he asked, ' as well as a prig ? How 
 angry you were ! But you have found out 
 now that your disinterested friend was 
 making love all the time — blind as you are 
 — I suppose ? ' 
 
 He stood in her way to the door, and she 
 waved him aside, as she turned her blazing 
 eyes for a moment towards him. 
 
 'Kobert Lingwood,' she said, 'you can 
 leave Captain De Witt's name alone, if you 
 
282 DRIVEN BEFORE THE STORM. 
 
 please. I am not going to discuss my 
 affairs with you — disinterested as you are ! ' 
 
 This was a new shot, and for an instant 
 he flinched beneath its thrust ; but he 
 ventured upon a retaliation. 
 
 ' No/ he remarked, * he can manage all 
 your affairs for you now, can't he ? I 
 don't suppose he'll have any objection — 
 fine gentleman as he is.' 
 
 Nell turned at the doorway. Woman- 
 like, though wearied out, she could not 
 resist the last word. 
 
 ' Yes,' she retorted, with quiet scorn, 
 ' you are quite right — he is a gentleman ; 
 which you will never be, if you live to be 
 a hundred, Eobert.' 
 
 And she hurried up-stairs — humiliated, 
 angry, sore at heart, to lock her bed-room 
 door and hide her face in her hands. Why 
 was she forced to have her habitation with 
 such as this man was ? How disofusted, 
 how wearing, how unbearable was his verv 
 
NELL DOES BATTLE. 283 
 
 presence — his coarse speeches, and low sus- 
 picious thoughts. How had she ever borne 
 the degradation for so loDg ? 
 
 And then the tender tears filled her eyes, 
 and sinking upon her knees, she thanked 
 God for the love of a man, who, liable 
 to human failing as he might be, was up- 
 right, sincere, and simple-minded — one to 
 whom a low and suspicious thought was, 
 she believed, impossible, and to whom 
 coarse and unlovely language to a woman 
 would have been a thing unnatural and 
 detestable. 
 
284 DRIVEN BEFORE THE STORM. 
 
 CHAPTEE XIV. 
 'the condition of your pecuniary 
 
 AFFAIRS.' 
 
 ' How blest the humble cottar's fate, 
 He woos his simple dearie ; 
 The silly bogles, wealth and state, 
 
 Can never make them eerie ! ' — Burns. 
 
 It was the early afternoon of a lovely 
 September day as Barrington left the train 
 at the little station of Cotswold Moors, and, 
 sending his portmanteau to the village inn, 
 set out to walk the three or four miles 
 distance to the Cedars. In this primitive 
 spot a vehicle was not to be procured 
 without warning ; and, too impatient to wait, 
 he determined to make his way on foot. It 
 was a decision which he found no cause to 
 
* CONDITION OF PECUNIAEY AFFAIRS.' 285 
 
 regret, as, in the peculiar soft balminess of 
 a fine autumnal day, he turned briskly 
 down the indicated road, under noble elm- 
 trees shading undulating stretches of richest 
 pasture-land, and in sight of distant purple 
 hills, misty with the mid-day sun. 
 
 He had not delayed long after receiving 
 Nell's letter that morning — a letter of half- 
 wavering permission, rather than of cordial 
 invitation for his visit to her home. The 
 poor girl was not quite sure whether she 
 had done wisely now in telling him to 
 come, and certainly did not expect that h6 
 would have acted so promptly upon the 
 permission. But the intuition that it was 
 possible she might by the next post revoke 
 her words, caused Barrington to be off at 
 once. The week that had already passed 
 since parting with his fiancee had been a 
 long one ; he desired to see Mr. Brereton 
 and understand the position of affairs, and 
 chafed at the idea of being kept out of the 
 
286 DRIVEN BEFORE THE STORM. ' 
 
 way until Nell had smootlied matters into 
 shape. He was more at his ease now than 
 he had been all the week, and whistled as 
 he went along the solitary road. He had 
 no wish, however, unnecessarily to lengthen 
 his walk ; and, as he was not quite sure 
 that the direction he had taken was the 
 right one, he presently paused and looked 
 about him for sight of a homestead or a 
 wayfarer. 
 
 Homestead there appeared to be none, 
 within any reasonable distance at least ; 
 but a wayfarer presently came in sight, and 
 one who was sure to know the country — 
 since he was a sportsman with a gun over 
 his shoulder. On nearer approach he 
 seemed to be a gamekeeper — ^a heavy, big 
 young man, with a somewhat sullen face, 
 and dark, passionate-looking eyes. He 
 was civil enough, however, when accosted, 
 and at once pointed out the path to the 
 stranger. 
 
'condition of pecuniary affairs.' 287 
 
 ' Do you want to go to the house itself, 
 sir?' he asked. 'Well then, you had 
 better return a few yards, and cross the 
 stile where you saw me come over. That 
 path will lead you to the wood. You must 
 go on past the cottage at the outskirts of 
 it till you come to an iron fence and gate- 
 way ; and that will lead you into the park 
 itself.' 
 
 Barrington thanked him and went on, 
 noticing as he neared the cottage, a singu- 
 larly pretty girl, who emerged from the 
 wood, and after a moment's blushing pause, 
 dropped him a curtsey and disappeared 
 through the doorway. A few minutes later 
 he was beside the iron gate, and, as he 
 opened it, perceived in front of him a figure 
 slouching forwards with a gait he seemed 
 to recognize. As the gate fell to with 
 a sharp click, the figure turned, revealing 
 the features of Robert Brereton. His face 
 expressed some astonishment, but little 
 
288 DRIVEN BEFORE THE STORM. 
 
 cordiality ; and had it been possible, he 
 would probably have walked on without 
 recognizing the other. 
 
 Their eyes, however, had met, aiid he 
 was forced to stand still and offer some sort 
 of greeting as the other came up. Bar- 
 rington held out his hand frankly, and the 
 young man was obliged to take it in his 
 limp fingers. To De Witt's mind he was 
 the veriest little cad that could well be 
 picked up on a day's journey ; but he was 
 Nell's step-brother, and therefore to be 
 treated civilly, even if it had not been, 
 natural to the former to treat every one 
 with a good-humoured tolerance. 
 
 'Are you going my way — towards the 
 house ? ' he asked, as he dropped into line 
 with young Brereton. 
 
 ' Well, yes, I'm going home. I didn't 
 know you were coming over,' he added 
 slowly. 
 
 *No more did I until this morning. I 
 
'condition of peccjniaey affairs.' 289 
 
 am coming to pay a short visit only. I 
 shall return to the inn and sleep there. I 
 hope your father is in ? ' 
 
 * Well, yes, I believe the governor is in.' 
 
 * What a fine park this is ! ' 
 ' It's not bad.' 
 
 * Have you much game about ? ' 
 ' Pretty fair.' 
 
 * I met a lovely girl coming out of the 
 wood, who went into the cottage just there. 
 Who is she ? ' 
 
 ' She's Barrett the gamekeeper's daughter.' 
 
 * It was a gamekeeper — a young man — 
 who showed me the way from the high 
 road. Is he another friend of yours ? ' 
 
 ' Will Barrett — the son, I suppose,' re- 
 plied Kobert ; and Barrington, suddenly 
 catching sight of his features, saw a deep 
 scowl passing over them. It was clear that 
 the young gamekeeper was no favourite 
 with his companion. 
 
 Conversation, however — at no time one 
 VOL. I. u 
 
290 DEIVEN BEFOEE THE STORM. 
 
 of Eobert Brereton's accomplishments — 
 seemed more than ever to fail him to-day ; 
 and presently also De Witt, feeling that he 
 had done his duty, relapsed into a silence 
 which lasted until they had reached the house. 
 
 Barrington had been uncertain whether 
 to ask first for Nell, or to go at once to 
 business with her step-father ; consequently 
 he felt somewhat relieved when the man 
 who opened the door, volunteered the in- 
 formation that the ladies were out driving 
 tog-ether, but that the latter was in his 
 library, alone. 
 
 Accordingly, he sent in his card; and 
 shortly afterwards following it, was ushered 
 into Mr. Brereton's presence. His welcome, 
 he could not but feel, was a little stiff ; but 
 that he had expected. There were no 
 doubt many reasons why that gentleman 
 should find it hard to look with eyes of 
 favour upon his step-daughter's suitor — not 
 the least perhaps, being the fact that, on 
 
'condition of pecuniary affairs.' 291 
 
 her marriage, he would be a loser by the 
 thousand pounds a year allowed for her 
 home expenses — but that might wear off, or 
 if it did not, amounted to but little. No 
 doubt Nell was an heiress — how great he 
 neither knew nor eared — and, being a man 
 to whom the notion of living on his wife's 
 money is unpalatable, Barrington considered 
 that fact in the light of a misfortune ; but 
 he was by no means penniless himself, and 
 had, even now, enough to keep a wife in 
 comfort, if not in luxury ; so that he felt in 
 no whit ashamed of himself, nor inclined to 
 be cowed by any want of cordiality. 
 
 'You kaow what I have come about, Mr. 
 Brereton ? ' he said, so soon as the door 
 had closed upon the servant. 
 
 The latter motioned him gravely, almost 
 sententiously, towards a chair. 
 
 ' Well, yes, Captain De AVitt — I suppose 
 
 I must admit that I do.' 
 
 * Pompous old beggar ! ' thought De Witt 
 
 u 2 
 
292 DRIVEN BEFORE THE STORM. 
 
 to himself; but aloud he continued, good- 
 humouredly, — 
 
 * I should have liked to come at once and 
 talk over matters with you, but your step- 
 daughter wished me to wait.' 
 
 ' Yes — yes,' muttered Mr. Brereton in 
 the same manner ; ' she has told me some- 
 thing of the — the views which you — and 
 she — entertain towards one another.' 
 
 ' Well,' said Barrington ; ' and now, if you 
 will permit me, I will tell you more — tell 
 you in fact anything you may choose to 
 ask — for, as her late guardian, you of course 
 take the place of her late father.' 
 
 ' And as her present trustee,' interrupted 
 the other dryly. 
 
 ' True, as her trustee also. But I shall 
 not give you much trouble on that head, I 
 hope, Mr. Brereton. I don't know what is 
 Nell's fortune — I have never cared to in- 
 quire — but I believe it is considerable. 
 Whatever it is, however, you have my full 
 
'CONDITION" OF PECUNIARY AFFAIRS.' 293 
 
 consent to settle it in its entirety upon lier 
 personally — I sliall never want to touch 
 it/ 
 
 ' That is a generous proposal/ remarked 
 the elder man ; and Barrington fancied he 
 detected a flavour of sarcasm in his tone. 
 
 ' Well, you see, it is Nell herself that I 
 want, not her money.' 
 
 * That is what young men usually say, 
 when they are — in love.' 
 
 Barrington was beginning to grow im- 
 patient, and, without taking any notice of 
 this last remark, he plunged into business 
 details, regarding his own affairs and pro- 
 spects. His companion, he could see, was 
 listening attentively ; but at the end made 
 no comment. 
 
 ' So you see, Mr. Brereton, I have a 
 sufiiciency to offer your step-daughter now, 
 although I hope to have a better home for 
 her some day.' 
 
 ' Your affairs appear to me to be some- 
 
294 DRIVEN BEFORE THE STORM. 
 
 what involved/ replied his companion. ' Is 
 not your income more in the future than 
 the present, Captain De Witt?' 
 
 * Not at all/ said Barrington ; ' I consider 
 that my means are enough to satisfy any 
 woman who loves me, although I may not 
 be a rich man.' 
 
 * Possibly, Captain De Witt ; but perhaps 
 not enough to satisfy her guardians, who 
 are bound to look more closely after her 
 welfare than she is likely or able to do 
 herself. Pardon me ; but you must allow 
 me to think over this matter. You are 
 not the first suitor I have had for Eleanor's 
 hand.' 
 
 * Of course not. But perhaps I am the 
 first she herself has chosen ? ' 
 
 * That does not — ought not to weigh so 
 much with me as you seem to think. I am 
 bound, as the trustee of her interests, to be 
 very prudent, very cautious for her.' 
 
 ' I am willing to wait and let you think 
 
'condition of pecuniary affairs/ 295 
 
 it over, Mr. Brereton, if you wish for time 
 to get accustomed to the idea ; but I am 
 bound to tell you that I shall not change 
 my purpose, nor can I see any reasonable 
 grounds for your objections.' 
 
 * Captain De "VVitt, you must pardon me. 
 I have gone through a great deal of this 
 sort of thino;. I have sometimes wished,' 
 he continued, with irritation half-real, half- 
 assumed, *that I could wash my hands 
 wholly of the burden of it all. A girl 
 handsome and rich is a great responsibility. 
 Excuse me if I say that men w^ith greater 
 pretensions than you have, before now, 
 been considered ineligible for my step- 
 daughter, Eleanor, by her mother and 
 myself.' 
 
 * Do her own inclinations go for nothing, 
 then?' 
 
 * She is young and impulsive. She is 
 totally unfit to steer her own course, both 
 on account of her age and disposition/ 
 
296 DEIVEN BEFORE THE STOEM. 
 
 ' Well, Mr. Brereton, I do but waste your 
 time and words. I should be glad to have 
 your approbation, and hope that it may 
 come in time. Perhaps you will write 
 to me in the course of a few days when 
 you have thought things over ; and I 
 shall be very glad to come down at any 
 time from town, if you wish to see me again.' 
 
 And with the stiffest and coldest of 
 hand-shakes from his companion, Barring- 
 ton got himself out of the room, breathing 
 a sigh of relief when once outside that un- 
 congenial atmosphere. 
 
 What a mercy that he had not lost his 
 temper ! He had been perilously near doing 
 so more than once ; but fortunately nature 
 had endowed him with a naturally easy- 
 going and placable disposition. He would 
 have been sorry openly to quarrel with his 
 fiancees step-father, little as he cottoned to 
 that prim and fussy individual. 
 
 But he was not going to depart without 
 
297 
 
 a sio;ht of Nell's sweet face : and heariuo" 
 from the servant that they had just returned 
 from their drive, he had himself ushered 
 into the empty drawing-room, boldly send- 
 ing up a card to both ladies. 
 
 In a moment Nell w^as down, holding his 
 hands in hers, standing before him, blushing, 
 smiling — with radiant eyes, and a face full 
 of happiness. She had had a trying week, 
 but it was all forgotten in his presence. 
 
 ' I never knew you were here,' she 
 whispered, when at length he released her. 
 ' Oh, Barrington, how naughty of you to 
 come without telling me ! ' 
 
 * Did you think I was going to wait any 
 longer ? ' he asked, impudently. ' I thought 
 I came down to see your step-father ; but 
 now I know I came down for a sight of 
 you, my darling 1 Nell, Nell, what a sweet, 
 lovely child you are!— you turn my head 
 w^hen I look at you. How have I done 
 without a kiss for a whole week ? ' 
 
298 DRIVEN BEFORE THE STORM. 
 
 * Oh, Barrington, don't 1 I think you are 
 going crazy ! And what has papa said to 
 you ? He coiddnt, surely, be veri/ nasty 
 to you ? ' 
 
 ' Never mind him ; he will work right, 
 Nell ; he must work right.' 
 
 ' He is so hard — so cold and calculating, 
 Barrington ; you don't know.' 
 
 * But, my dear little girl, he can't prevent 
 us marrying, if it comes to facts. And he 
 is wiser than to fight long against the 
 inevitable. You are your own mistress.' 
 
 'But it would make me very miserable, 
 Barrington dear, to do anything without 
 their sanction. I don't care much for papa, 
 I know ; but poor mama — she is bound 
 up in him, and she can'fc bear going against 
 him. She couldn't do it — and yet she hates 
 vexing me. Poor mother ! ' 
 
 ' We will get our own way in time,^ he 
 repeated. ' Is it too late, Nell, for pretty 
 little girls to go out walking ? I could talk 
 so much better out of the house.' 
 
'condition of pecuniary affairs.' 299 
 
 * I will come. Oh, it does seem hard 
 that I cannot even ask you to spend the 
 night here ! ' 
 
 ' Never mind, dear. I dare say the 
 village bed won't be harder than the Capri 
 one. And I will come round this way in 
 the morning, in case a certain fair damsel 
 should be out, and feel inclined for an early 
 stroll in the park — say at ten o'clock, or 
 thereabouts ? That will give me plenty of 
 time to catch the mid- day train.' 
 
 ' Of course I will be ready. But it seems 
 so horrid to have to meet in that way, 
 like ' 
 
 *Like Jeames and Mary, or a couple of 
 intending burglars ? It is infra dig. But 
 then, it is our own choice, you know. I 
 presume Mr. Brereton would not order his 
 menials to thrust me from the seigneurial 
 door, were I to ring the bell ; nor, I suppose, 
 could any one prevent your receiving me 
 like any other visitor in the drawing-room.' 
 
 ' True,' she said, a little sadly. 
 
300 DRIVEN BEFORE THE STORM. 
 
 ^ We are neither of us the least ashamed 
 of ourselves ; are we, Nell ? ' 
 
 ' Ashamed ! Oh, Barrington, I am proud 
 — proud of your caring for me — so proud 
 of you yourself. I don't think you ever 
 could do a mean or ignoble thing — you 
 must always be a gentleman/ 
 
 ' Well, a gentleman isn t so very scarce 
 an article now-a-days, I hope, as you seem 
 to imply, Nell/ 
 
 ^ A perfect gentleman is very rare, I 
 think, Barrington. One who would never 
 be rough to a woman, or domineering to 
 those in his power ; never sneering, never 
 sarcastic. You could never do any of 
 those things, Barrington ! I think you 
 would always be courteous to me, however 
 lonsj we — knew each other.' 
 
 ' If I weren't, I should be a brute, my 
 darling. But don't make a hero out of a 
 terribly commonplace fellow.' 
 
 ' There was a time when I distrusted 
 every one, you know, Barrington. I don't 
 
301 
 
 think it was my nature ; but it was im- 
 pressed upon me daily to be suspicious. 
 But now I look upon every one more kindly 
 — not only because I am so happy, but 
 because I have learnt to trust. It has 
 taught me to feel that there may be good 
 in every one.' 
 
 ^Even in Eobert, Nell?' 
 
 *Yes, perhaps — even in Robert. I have 
 tried to be more patient, even with him, 
 the last few days.' 
 
 'And if I were to disappoint you, Nell, 
 would your heart then harden up to the 
 world at large, and would your faith in 
 human nature die a sudden, violent death ? ' 
 
 She paused a moment. Then she raised 
 her full clear eyes to his, shining with the 
 light of an earnest conviction. 
 
 *Even then, Barrington, I could never 
 be the same as I was before — I could never 
 be so hard again. I should feel that you 
 had loved me once, that I had once been 
 proud of you — and no after events could 
 
302 DRIVEN BEFORE THE STORM. 
 
 destroy that knowledge. But,' she added 
 solfty, ' you never will disappoint me — I 
 shall always be proud of you/ 
 
 He put his arm round her silently, for 
 he was moved ; and like the men of our 
 northern race, had an incapacity at such 
 times for the finding of words to express 
 himself. 
 
 But he knew not then how those words 
 of hers would be tested to their foundation, 
 not so many weeks hence ; nor how they 
 would then recur to him again and again, 
 in mingled remorse and consolation, as he 
 drank of the cup of human agony, and 
 went down to the depths of the valley of 
 humiliation. 
 
 END OF VOL. I. 
 
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