felNGLsEv M mmy-m^^jT-.i , m^immmmitmm^^ LIBRARY OF THL UNIVERSITY or ILLINOIS Return this book on or before the Latest Date stamped below. A charge is made on all overdue books. University of Illinois Library L161— H41 UNCLE MAX VOL. I. PRINTED BY SPOTTISWOODE AND CO., NEW-STREET SQUARE LONDON UNCLE MAX BY KOSA NOUCHETTE CAREY AUTHOR OF 'XBLLIES MEMORIES 'NOT LIKE OTHER GIRLS 'WEE WIFIE IN THKEE VOLUMES VOL. I. LONDON RICHARD BENTLEY & SON, NEW BURLINGTON STREET ^nblisbtrs in <0rbinarn to }Ui |tt3J£Stn t^e ^ntett 1887 All rights reserved CONTENTS OP THE FIKST VOLUME, CHAPTEP. I. on OF I HE lillST . IT. BEHIND THE BAKS III. CI^■DEEELLA .... IV. UNCLE MAX BEEAKS THE ICE V. ' WHEN THE CAT IS AWAT ' . TI. THE IVHITE COTTAGE . Til. GILES HAMILTON, ESQ, . Till. NEW BROOMS SWEEP CLEAN , IX. THE FLAG OF TEFCE . X. A DIFFICULT PATIENT , XI. ONE OF G0D"s HEROINES XII. A MISSED VOCATION Xni. LADT BETTY ... XIY. LADT BETTY LEAVES HEK MUFF XV. UP AT GLADWTN . XVI. GLADYS PAGE 1 22 39 60 83 105 123 143 164 183 203 225 244 262 281 305 ■i^T^ ^\}'^SmSSv^f^^9mm!iilh!^^Si. ^^m UNCLE MAX. CHAPTEE I. OUT OF THE MIST. T appears to me, looking back over a past experience, that certain clays in one's life stand out prominently as landmarks, when we arrive at some finger- post pointing out the road that we should follow. We come out of some deep, rutty lane, where the hedgerows obscure the prospect, and where the footsteps of some unknown pas- senp:er have left tracks in the moist red clay. The confused tracery of green leaves overhead seems to weave fanciful patterns against the dim blue of the sky ; the very air is low-pitched VOL. I. B 2 OUT OF THE MIST and oppressive. All at once we find ourselves in an open space ; the free winds of heaven are blowing over us ; there are four roads meeting ; the finger-post points silently, ' This way to such a place ; ' we can take our choice, counting the milestones rather wearily as we pass them. The road may be a httle tedious, the stones may hurt our feet ; but if it be the right road it will brin^ us to our destination. In looking back it always seems to me as fhough I came to a fresh landmark in my experi- ence that November afternoon when I saw Uncle Max standing in the twiliglit, waiting for me. There had been the waste of a great trouble in my young life — sorrow, confusion, then utter chaos. I had struggled on somehow after my twin brother's death, trying to fight against despau' with all my youthful vitality ; creating new duties for myself, tlu^owing out fresh feelers everj^where ; now and then crying out in my imdisciplined way that tlie task was too hard for me ; that I loathed my life ; that it was im- possible to live any longer without love and appreciation and sympathy ; that so uncongenial an atmosphere could be no home to me ; that the world was an utter negation and a mockery. ' DO^''T BE DISAGREEABLE, URSULA ' 3 That was before I went to the hospital, at the time when my trouble was fresh and I was breaking my heart with the longing to see Charlie's face again. Most people who have hved long in the world, and have parted with their beloved, know what that sort of hopeless ache means. My work was over at the hospital, and 1 had come home again to rest — so they said,, but in reality to work out plans for my future- life, in a sort of sullen silence, that seemed to shut me out from all sympathy. It had wrapped me in a sort of mantle of reserve all the afternoon, during which I had been driving with Aunt Phihppa and Sara. The air would do me good. I was moped, hipped, with all that dreary hospital work — so they said. It would distract and amuse me to Avatch Sara making her purchases. Eeluctance, silent opposition, only whetted their charitable mood. 'Don't be disagreeable, Ursula. You might as well help me choose my new mantle,' Sara had said, quite pleasantly, and I had given in. with a bad grace. Another time I might have been amused B 2 4 OUT OF THE MIST by Aunt Pliilippa's majestic deportment and Sara's brisk importance, lier girlish airs and graces ; but I ^vas too sad at heart to indulge in ray usual sath'e. Everything seemed stupid and tiresome ; the hum of voices wearied me ; the show-room at Marshall and Snelgrove's seemed a confused Babel ; everywhere strange voices — a hubbub of sound ; tall figures in black passing and repassing ; strange faces re- flected in endless pier-glasses — faces of puckered anxiety repeating themselves in ludicrous vrai- semblance. I saw our own little group reproduced in one. There was Aunt Philippa, tall and portly, with her well-preserved beauty, a little full- blown ])erhaps, but still ' marvellously ' good- looking for her age, if she could only have not been so conscious of the fact. Then, Sara, standing there slim and straight, with the furred mantle just slipping over her smooth shoulders, radiant with good health, good looks, perfectly contented with her- self and the whole world, as it behoves a hand- some, high-spirited young woman to be with her surroundings, looking bright, unconcerned, good-humoured, in spite of her mother's fussy I GIVE MY OPINIOX 5 criticisms — Aunt Philippa was always a little fussy about dress. Between the two I could just catch a glimpse of myself — a tall girl, dressed very plainly in black, with a dark complexion, large, anxious-looking eyes, that seemed appealing for relief from all this dulness — a shadowy sort of image of discontent and protest in the back- ground, hovering behind Aunt Philippa's velvet mantle and Sara's slim, supple figure. ' Well, Ursula,' said Sara, still good-humour- edly, ' will you not give us your opinion ? Does this dolman suit me, or would you prefer a long jacket trimmed with skunk ? ' I remember I decided in favour of the jacket, only Aunt Philippa interposed, a little con temptuously — ' What does Ursula know about the present fashion ? She has spent the last year in the wards of St. Thomas's, my dear,' dropping her voice, and taking up her gold-rimmed eye- glasses to inspect me more critically — a mere habit, for I had reason to know Aunt Philippa was not the least near-sighted. ' I cannot see any occasion for you to dress so dowdily, with three hundred a year to spend absolutely on 6 OUT OF THE MIST yourself — for of course poor Charlie's little share has come to you. You could surely make yourself presentable, especially as you know we are going to Hyde Park Mansions to -see Lesbia.' This was too much for my equanimity. * What does it matter ? I am not coming with you, Aunt Philippa,' I retorted, somewhat vexed at this personality ; but Sara overheard us and strove to pour oil on the troubled waters. ' Leave Ursula alone, mother ; she looks tolerably well this afternoon ; only mourning never suits a dark complexion — ' But I did not wait to hear any more. I wandered about the place disconsolately, pretcjiding to examine things with passing curiosity, but my eyes were throbbing and my heart beating angrily at Sara's thoughtless speech. A sudden remem- brance seemed to steal before me vividly — Charlie's pale face, with its sad, sweet smile, haunted me. ' Courage, Ursula ; it will be over soon.' Those were his last words, poor boy, and he was looking at me and not at Lesbia as he spoke. I always wondered what he meant by them. Was it his long pain, w^hich he VANITY AND VEXATION OF SFIRIT 7 had borne so patiently, that would soon be over ? or was it that cruel parting to which he alluded ? or did he strive to comfort me at the last, with the assurance — alas ! for our mortal nature, so sadly true — that pain cannot last for ever, that even faithful sorrow is shortlived and comforts itself in time ; that I was young enough to outlive more than one trouble, and that I might take courage from this thought ? I looked down at the black dress, such as I had worn nearly two years for him, and raged as I remembered Sara's flippant words. ' My darling, I would wear mourning for you all my life gladly,' I said, with an inward sob that was more auger than sorrow, ' if I thought you would care for me to do it. Oh, what a world this is, Charlie, surely vanity and vexation of spirit ! ' I did not mean to be cross with Sara, but my thoughts had taken a gloomy turn, and I could not recover my spirits — indeed, as we drove down Bond Street, where Sara had some glittering little toy to purchase, I reiterated my intention of not calhng at Hyde Park Mansions. 8 OUT OF THE MIST ' I elo not want any tea,' I said wearily, ' and I would rather go home. Give my love to Lesbia ; I will see her another day.' 'Lesbia will be hurt,' remonstrated Sara. 'What a little misanthrope you are, Ursula I St. Thomas's has injured you socially ; you have become a hermit-crab all at once, and it is such nonsense at your age.' 'Oh, let me be, Sara I " I pleaded ; 'I am tired, and Lesbia always chatters so ; and Mrs* Fullerton is worse ; besides, did you not tell me she was coming to dine with us this evening ? ' ' Yes, to be sure ; but she wanted us to meet the Percy Glyns. Mirrel and Winifred Glyn are to be thero this afternoon. Xever mind, Lesbia will uu lerstand when I say you are in one of your ridiculous moods,' and Sara hunnncd a little tune gaily, as though she meant no odence by her words and was dis- posed to let me go my own way. ' The carriage can take you home, Ursula ; we can walk those few yards,' observed Aunt Philippa as she descended leisurely and Sara tripped after her, still humming ; but I took no notice of her words : I had liad enough dulness THE PAKK IX X'OVEMBER 9 and decorum to last me for some time, the Black Prince and his consort Bay might find their way to their own stables without deposit- ing me at the front door of the house at Hyde Park Gate. I told Clarence so, to his great astonishment, and walked across the road in an opposite direction to home, as though my feet were winged with quicksilver. For the Park in that dim November light seemed to allure me — there was a red glow of sunset in the distance ; a faint, climbing mist between the trees ; the gas-lamps were twink- Hng everywhere. I could hear the ringing of some church bell ; there was space, freedom for thought, a vague, uncertain prospect, out of which figures were looming curiously ; a de- lightful sense that I was sinning against con- ventionahty and Aunt Philippa. ' Halloa, Ursula !' exclaimed a voice in great astonishment ; and there, out of the mist, was a kind face looking at me — a face with a brown beard, and dark eyes with a touch of amusement in them ; and the eyes and the beard and the bright, welcoming smile belonged to Uncle Max. As I caui^ht at his outstretched hand with 10 OUT OF THE MIST a half-stifled exclamation of delight, a poUce- man turned round and looked at us with an air of interest. No doubt he thought the tall, brown-bearded clergyman in the shabby coat — • it was one of Uncle Max's peculiarities to wear a shabby coat occasionally — was the sweetheart of the young lady in black. Uncle Max — I am afraid I oftener called him Max — was only a few years older than myself, and had occupied the position of an elder brother to me. He was my poor mother's only brother, and had been dearly loved by her — not as I had loved Charlie, perhaps ; Ijut they had been much to each other, and lie had always seemed nearer to me than Aunt Philippa, who was my father's sister ; perhaps because there was nothing in common between us, and I had always been devoted to Uncle Max. ' Well, Ursula,' he said, pretending to look grave, but evidently far too pleased to see me to give me a very severe lecture, ' what is the meaning of this ? Does Mrs. Garston allow young ladies under her charge to stroll about Hyde Park in the twilight, or have you stolen a march on her — naughty little she-bear ? ' ' IT IS SO QUIET HERE ' ll I drew my hand away witli an offended air ; when Uncle Max wished to tease or punish me he always reminded me that the name of Ursula signified she-bear, and would sometimes call me ' the little black growler ' : and at such times it was provoking to think that Sara sig- nified Princess. I have always wondered how far and how strongly our baptismal names in- fluence us. Of course he would not let me walk beside him in that dignified manner ; the next instant I heard his clear hearty laugh, and then I laughed too. ' What an absurd child you are ! I was thinking over your letter as I walked along. It did not bring me to London, certainly ; I had business of my own ; but, all the same, I have walked across the Park this eveninsf to CD talk to you about this extraordinary scheme.' But I would not let him go on. He was about to cross the road, so I took his arm and turned him back. And there was the grey mist creeping up between the trees, and the lamps glimmering in the distance, and the faint pink glow had not yet died away. ' It is so quiet here,' I pleaded, ' and I could not get you alone for a moment if we went in. 12 OUT OF THE MIST Uncle Brian will be tliere, and Jill, and we could not say a word. Aunt Philippa and Sara have gone to see Lesbia. I liave been driving with them all the afternoon. Sara has been shopping, and how bored I was ! ' ' You uncivihsed little heathen ! ' Then, very gravely, ' Well, how is poor Lesbia? ' ' Do not waste your pity on her,' I returned impatiently. ' She is as well and cheerful as possible. Even Sara says so. She is not breaking lier lieart about Charlie. She lias left off mourning and is as gay as ever.' ' You are always hard on Lesbia,' he re- turned gently. * She is young, my dear, you forget that, and a pretty girl, and very much admired. It always seems to me she was very fond of the poor fellow.' ' She w^as good to him in his illness, but she never cared for Charlie as he did for her. He worshipped the very ground she walked on. He thought her perfection. Uncle Max, it was pitiful to hear him sometimes. He would tell me how sweet and unselfish she was, and all the time I knew she was but an ordinary, com- monplace girl. If he had lived to marry her he would have been disappointed in her. He ' LESBIA HAS SUCH LITTLE AIMS ' 13 was so large-hearted, and Lesbia has such httle aims.' ' So you always say, Ursula. But you women are so severe in your judgment of each other. I doubt myself if the girl Hves whom you would have considered good enough for Charlie. Yes, yes, my dear ' — as I uttered a dissenting protest to this — ' he was a fine fellow, and his was a most lovable character; but it was his last illness that ripened him.' ' He was always perfect in my eyes,' I returned, in a choked voice. ' That was because you loved him ; and no doubt Lesbia possessed the same ideal goodness for him. Love throws its own glamour,' he went on, and his voice was unusually grave ; ' it does not believe in commonplace mediocrity ; it lifts up its idol to some fanciful pedestal, where the poor thing feels very uncomfortable and out of its element, and then persists in falling down and worshipping it. We humans are very droll, Ursula ; we will create our own divinities.' 'Lesbia would have disappointed him,' I persisted, obstinately ; but I might as well have talked to the wind. Uncle Max could not 14 OUT OF THE MIST find it in his heart to be hard to a pretty girl. ' That is open to doubt, my dear. Lesbia is amiable and charming, and I daresay she would have made a nice little wife. Poor Charlie hated clever women, and in that respect she w^ould have suited him.' After this I knew it was no good in trying to change his opinion. Uncle Max held his own views with remarkable tenacity ; he had old-fashioned notions witli respect to women, rather singular in so young a man — for he was only thirty ; he preferred to believe in their goodness, in spite of any amount of demonstra- tion to the contrary ; it vexed him to be re- minded of the shortcomings of his friends ; by nature he was an optimist, and had a large amount of fliith in people's good intentions. 'He meant Avell, poor fellow, in spite of his failures,' was a speech I have heard more than once from his lips. He was always ready to condone a faidt or heal a breach ; indeed, his sweet nature found it difficult to bear a ^rudc-e against any one ; he was only hard to himself, and on no one else did he strive to impose so heavy a yoke. I was only silent for a minute, 'BUT MY LETTER, UKCLE MAX ' 15 and then I turned the conversation into another channel. ' But my letter, Uncle Max ! * ' Ah, true, your letter ; but I have not for- gotten it. How old are you, Ursula ? I always fors^et/ ' Five -and- twenty this month.' ' To be sure — I ought to have remem« bered ; and you have three hundred a year of your own.' I nodded. ' And your present home is distasteful to you ? ' in an inquiring tone. ' It is no home to me,' I returned passion- ately. ' Oh, Uncle Max, how can one call it home after the dear old rectory, where we were so happy, father, and mother, and Charlie — and -^' ' Yes, I know, poor child ; and you have had heavy troubles. It cannot be like the old home, I am well aware of that, Ursula; but your aunt is a good woman. I have always found her strictly just. She was your father's only sister ; when she offered you a home she promised to treat you with every indulgence, as though you were her own daughter.' 16 OUT OF THE MIST 'Aunt Philippa means to be kind,' I said, struggling to repress my tears — tears always troubled Uncle Max — ' she is kind in her way, and so is Sara. I have every comfort, every luxury ; they want me to be gay and enjoy myself, to lead tlieir life ; but it only makes me miserable ; tliey do not understand me ; they see I do not think with them, and then they laugh at me and call me morbid. Xo one really wants me but poor Jill — I am so fond of Jill.' ' Why cannot you lead tlieir life, Ui'sula? ' ' Because it is not life at all,' was my reso- lute answer ; ' to me it is the most wearisome existence possible. Listen to me, Uncle Max. Do you think I could possibly spend my days as Sara does — writing a few notes, doing a little fancy work, shopping and paying visits, and dancing half the night ? Do you think you could transform such a poor little Cinderella into a fairy princess, like Sara, or Lesbia ? Xo ; the drudgery of such a life would kill me with e?miii and discontent.' 'It is not the life I would choose for you, certainly,' he said, pulling his beard in some perplexity ; ' it is far too worldly to suit my I PRESS THE POI^'T 17 taste ; if Charlie had iived you woidd have made your home with him. He often talked to me about that, poor fellow. I thought a year or two at Hyde Park Gate would do you no harm, and might be wholesome training; but it has proved a failure, I see that.' ' They would be happier without me,' I went on more quietly, for he w^as evidently coming round to my view^ of the case. ' Aunt Phihppa does not mean to be unkind, but she often lets me see that I am in the w^ay, that she is not proud of me. She would have taken more in- terest in me if I had been handsome, like Sara ; but a plain, dowdy niece is not to her taste. No, let me finish. Uncle Max' — for he wanted to interrupt me here. ' They made a great fuss about my training at the hospital last year, but I am sure they did not miss me ; Sara spoke yesterday as though she thought I was going back to St. Thomas's, and Aunt Pliihppa made no objection. I heard her tell Mrs. Fullerton once "that really Ursula was so strong-minded and dif- ferent from other girls that she was prepared for anything, even for her being a female doctor." ' ' Well, my dear, you are certainly rather pecuhar, you know.' VOL. I. C 18* OUT OF THE MIST ' Oh, Uncle Max,' I said monrnfiilly, ' are you going to misunderstand me too P Provi- dence lias deprived me of my parents and my only brotlier ; is it strong-minded or peculiar to be so lonely and sad at heart that gaiety only jars on me ? Can I forget my mother's teaching, when she said, "Ursula, if you live for the world you will bo miserable. Try to do your duty and benefit your fellow-creatures, and happiness nuist follow '' ? ' ' Yes, poor Emmie, she was a good woman : you might do worse than take after her.' ' She would not approve of the life I am leading at Hyde Park Gate,' I went on. ' She and Aunt Philippa never cared for each other. I often think that if she had known she would not have liked me to be there. Sundays are wretched. V\'e goto church? — yes, because it is respectable to do so ; but there is a sort of re-union every Sunday evening.' ' I wish I could offer you a home, Ursula ; but ' here Uncle Max hesitated. ' That would not do at all,' I returned promptly ; ' your bachelor home would not do for me ; besides, you might marry — of course, joii will,' but he flushed rather uncomfortably UXCLE MAX HESITATES 19 at that, and said, ' Pshaw ! what nonsense ! ' We had paused under a kmp-post, and I could see him phiinly ; perhaps he knew this, for lie hur- ried me on, this time in the direction of home. 'I am five-and-twenty,' I continued, trying to collect the salient points of my argument. ' I am indebted to none for my maintenance ; I am free, and my own mistress ; I neglect no duty by refusing to live under Uncle Brian's roof; no one wants me ; I contribute to no one's happiness.' ' Except to Jill's,' observed Uncle Max. ' Jill ! but she is only a child, barely sixteen, and Sara is becoming jealous of my influence. I shall only breed dissension in the household if I remain. Uncle Max, you are a good man — a clergyman — you cannot conscientiously tell me that I am not free to lead my own life, to choose my own work in the world.' ' Perhaps not,' he replied, in a hesitating voice. ' But the scheme is a peculiar one. You wish me to find respectable lodgings in my parish, where you will be independent and free from supervision, and to place your superfluous health and strength — you are a muscular Christian, Ursula — at the service of my sick c 2 20 OUT OF THE MIST poor, and for tliis post you have previously trained yourself.' I think it will be a good sort of life,' I returned carelessly, but how my heart was beating ! ' I like it so much, and I should like t3 be near you. Uncle Max, and work under you as my vicar. I have thought about this for years. Charlie and I often talked of it. I was to live w^ith him and Lesbia, and devote my time to this work. He thought it such a nice idea to go and nurse poor people in their homes. And he promised that he Avould come and siug to them. But now I must carry out my plan alone, for Charlie cannot help me now.' And as I thought of the sj'mpathy that had never failed me my voice quivered and I could say no more. 'I wish w^e ^vere all in heaven,' growled Uncle Max — but his tone was a little husky — ' for this world is a most uncomfortable place for good people, or people witli a craze. I think Charlie is w^ell out of it.' 'Under which category do you mean to ])lace me ? ' I asked, trjdng to laugh. ' My dear, there is a craze in most women. Thev have such an obstinate faith in their MAX RINGS THE BELL 21 own good intention?. If they find half a dozen fools to believe in them they will start a crusade to found a new Utopia. Women are the most meddlesome things in creation : they never let well alone. Their pretty little fingers are in every human pie. That is why we get so much unwholesome crust and so little meat, and, of course, our digestion is ruined.' ' Uncle Max ' but he would not be serious any longer. 'Ursula, I utterly refuse to inhale any more of this mist. I think a comfortable armchair by the fire would be far more con- ducive to comfort. You have given me plenty of food for thought, and I mean to sleep on it. Now, not another word. I am going to ring the bell.' And Uncle Max was as good as his word. ciiArxErt II. BEIIIXI) THE BARS. T was quite true, as I had told Uncle Max, that the scheme had been no new one ; it was no sudden emanation from a girl's brain, morbid with discontent and fruitless lonainXLE :max breaks the ice low voice for half an hour together without minding a single stop or pausing to take breath. Mr. Tudor used to laugh at her, or get out of her way, when he had had enough of it ; she only tried it on her master once, but Max stood and stared at her with such surprise and such puzzled good humour that she grew ashamed and stopped in the very middle of a sentence. But with all her temper neither of them could have spared ^Irs. Drabble, she made them so comfortable. CHAPTER V. ' WHEN THE CAT IS AWAY.' UXT PHILIPPA had one verv good point in her character : she was not of a nagging disposition. TVhen she scolded slie did it thoroughly, and was perhaps a long time doinof it, but she never carried it into the next day. Jill always said lier mother was too indolent for a prolonged eflbrt, but then poor Jill often said naughty things — but we all of us knew that Aimt Philippa's wratli soon evaporated ; it made her hot and uncomfortable while it lasted, and she was glad to be quit of it, so she refrained herself prudently when I spoke of my approaching departure ; and being of a busthng temperament, and not averse to changes unless they gave Iier much trouble, G 2 84 ' WHEN THE CAT IS AWAY ' she took a great deal of interest in my arrange- ments, and bought a nice little travelling-clock that she said would be useful to me. Seeing her so pleasant and reasonable, I made a Immble petition that Jill might be set free from some of her lessons to help me pack my books and ornaments. She made a little demur at this and offered Draper's services instead ; but it was Jill I wanted, for the poor child was fretting sadly about my going away, and I thought it would comfort her to help me. So after a time Aunt Philippa relented, after extorting a promise from Jill that she would work all the harder after I had gone ; and as young people seldom think about the future except in the way of foolish dreams, Jill cheer- fully gave her word. So for the last few days we were constantly together, and Friiulein had an unexpected holiday. Jill worked like a horse in my service, and only broke one Dresden group ; she came to me half crying with the fragment in her hand — the poor little shepherdess had lost her head as well as her crook, and the pink coat of the shepherd had an unseemly rent in it ; but I only laughed at the disaster, and would not scold her for her JILL DEVOTES HERSELF TO MY SERVICE 85 awkwardness. China had a knack of slipping through Jill's fingers, she had a loose uncertain grasp of things that were brittle and delicate, she had not learnt to control her muscles or restrain her strength. She had a way of lifting me up when T teased her that turns me giddy to remember ; I was quite a child in her hands. She was always ashamed of herself when she had done it, and begged my pardon, and as long as she put me on my feet again I w^as ready to forgive anything. Jill felt a sort of forlorn consolation in using up her strength in my service, she would hardly let me do any- thing myself ; I might sit down and order her about from morning to night if I chose. I made her very happy by leaving some of my possessions under her care — some books that I knew she would like to read, and other treasures that I had locked up in my wardrobe. Jill had the key and could rummage if she liked, but she told me quite seriously that it would comfort her to come and look at them sometimes — ' It will feel as though you were coming back some day, Ursie,' she said affec- tionately. Late one afternoon I left her busy in my 86 'WHEN THE CAT IS AWAY ' room, and went to the Albert Hall Mansions to bid good-bye to Lesbia. I had called once or twice, but had always missed her. So I slipped across in the twilight, as I thought at that hour they would have returned from their drive. The Albert Hall Mansions were only a stone's throw from Uncle Brian's house, so I con- sidered myself safe from any remonstrance on Aunt Philippa's part. 1 liked to go there in the soft, early dusk ; the smooth noiseless ascent of the lift, and the lighted floors that we passed, gave one an odd, dreamy feeling. Mrs. FuUerton had a handsome suite of apartments on the third floor, and there was a beautiful view from her drawing-room window of the Park and the Albert Memorial. It was a nice, cheerful situation, and Mrs. Fullerton, who liked gaiety, preferred it to llutherford Lodge, though Lesbia had been born there, and she had passed her happiest days in it. I found Mrs. Fullerton alone, but she seemed very friendly, and w^as evidently glad to see me. I suppose I was better company than her own thoughts. I liked Mrs. Fullerton, after a temperate ' I AM RATHER ANXIOUS ABOUT LESBIA ' 87 fasliion. She was a nice little woman, and would have been nicer still if she had talked less and thought more. But when one's words lie at the tip of one's tongue there is little time for reflection, and there is sure to be tares amongst the wheat. She was looking serious this evening, but that did not interfere with her comeliness, or her pleasant manners. I found her warmth gratifying, and prepared to unbend more than usual. ' Sit down, my dear. No, not on that chair, take the easy one by the fire. You are looking rather fagged, Ursula. It seems to be the fashion with young people now they get middle-aged before their time. Oh yes, Lesbia is out. It is the Engleharts' " At Home," and she pro- mised to go with Mrs. Pierrepoint. But she will be back soon. Now we are alone, I want to ask you a question. I am rather anxious about Lesbia. Dr. Spratt says there is a want of tone about her. She is too thin, and her appetite is not good. The child gets prettier every day, but she looks far too delicate.' I could not deny this. Lesbia certainly looked far from strong, and then she took cold 88 *WHEN THE CAT IS AWAY* SO easily. I hinted that perhaps late hours and so much visiting (for the Fullertous had an immense circle of acquaintances, with possibly- half a dozen friends amongst them) might be bad for her. Mrs. Fullerton looked rather mournful at this. ' I hope you have not put that in her head/ she returned uneasily. ' All yesterday she was begging me to give up the place and go back to Eutherford Lodge. Major Parkhurst is going to India in February, and so the liouse will be on our hands.' ' I think the change will be good for Lesbia. It is such a pretty place, and she was always so fond of it.' ' Oh, it is pretty enough,' with a discontented air ; ' but life in a village is a very tame affair. There are not more than four famihcs in the whole place whom we can visit, and when w^e want a little gaiety we have to drive into Pinkerton.' ' I think it would be good for Lesbia'i^ health, Mrs. Fullerton.' 'Well, well,' a little peevishly, ' we must talk to Dr. Pratt about it. But how is Lesbia lesbia's suitors 89 to settle well if I bury her in that poky little village ? Perhaps I ought not to say so to you, Ursula ; but poor dear Charlie has been dead these two years, so there can be no harm in speaking of such things now. But Sir Henry Sinclair is here a great deal, and there is no mistaking his intentions, only Lesbia keeps him at such a distance.' I thought it very bad taste of Mrs. Fullerton always to talk to me about Lesbia's suitors. Lesbia never mentioned such things herself. As far as I could judge, she was very shy with them all. I could not believe that the placid young baronet had any chance with her. She might possibly marry, but poor Charlie's successor would hardly be a thick- set, clumsy young man, with few original ideas of his own. Colonel Ferguson would have been far better, but he evidently prefeiTcd Sara. I was spared any reply, for Lesbia entered the room at that moment. She looked more delicately fair than usual, perhaps because of the contrast with her heavy furs. Her hair shone like gold under her little velvet bonnet, but though she was so warmly dressed she 90 'TTHHy TEE CAT IS AWAY* shivered and crept as close as possible to the fire. Mrs. Fullerton had some notes to 'write, so she went into the dining-room to write them, and very good-natm^ly left us by our- selves. Lesbia looked at me rather ^vistfully. ' I have missed you twice, Ursula. I am so sorry ; and now you go the day after to- morrow. I wish I could do something for you. Is there nothing you could leave in my charge ? ' ' Only Jill/ I said, half laughing. ' K you would take a httle more notice of her after I have gone, I should be so thanldul to you.' I thought Lesbia seemed somewhat amused at the request. ' Poor old Jill. I will do my best, but she never will talk to me. I think I should like her better than Sara, if she would only open her lips to me. Well, Ursula, what have you and mother been talking about ? ' 'About Eutherford Lodge,' I returned quickly. 'Do you really want to go back there?' ' Did mother talk about that ? * looking ' I MEAX TO DO MY BEST ' ^1 excessively pleased. ' Oh yes, I am longing to go back. I don't want to frighten you, Ursie, dear — and, indeed, there is no need — but this hfe is half killing me. I am too close to Hyde Park Gate — one never gets a chance of for- getting old troubles ; and then mother is always saying gaiety is good for me, and she will accept every invitation that comes — and I get so horribly tired ; and then one cannot fight so well against depression.' I took her hand silently, but made no answer ; but I suppose she felt my sympathy. ' You must not think I am wicked and rebelhous,' she went on with a sigh. ' I pro- mised dear Charlie to be brave, and not let the trouble spoil my life ; he would have it that I was so young that happiness must return after a time, and so I mean to do my best to be happy, for mother's sake, as well as my own ; and I know Charhe would not Hke me to go on Gfrievimr,' with a sad little smile. ' 'No, dai'Hng, and I quite understand you.' And she cheered up at that. • I knew you would, and that is why I want to tell you things. I have tried to do as mother wished, but I do not think her plan 92 ' WHEN THE CAT IS AWAY ' answers ; excitement carries one away, and one can be as merry as other girls for a time, but it all comes back worse than ever.' ' Mere gaiety never satisfied an aching heart yet.' ' No ; I told mother so, and I begged her to go back to Eutherford because it is so quiet and peaceful there, and I think I shall be happier. I shall have my garden and conser- vatory, and there wall be plenty of riding and tennis. I am very fond of our vicar's wife, Mrs. Trevor, and I rather enjoy helping her in the Sunday School and at the mothers' meet- ing ; not that I do much, for I am not hke you, Ursula, but I like to pretend to be useful sometimes.' ' I see Avhat you mean, Lesbia ; your life will be more natural and less strained than it is here.' ' Yes, and time will hang less heavy on my hands. I do love gardening, Ursula. I know I shall forget my troubles wlien I find myself with dear old Patrick again, grumbling because I will pick the roses. I shall sleep better in my little room, and wake less unhappy. Oh, mother ! ' as Mrs. Fullerton entered at that THERE WAS XOTHIXG MORBID ABOUT LESBIA 93 moment with a half finished note in her hand, ' I am telhng Ursula how home-sick I am, and how I long for the dear old Lodge. Do let us go back, mother darling, I want to Imnt for violets again in the little shady hollow beyond the lime-tree walk.' ' Yes, dearest, we will go if you really wish it so much,' returned Mrs. Fullerton, with a sigh. ' Why, my pet, did you think I should refuse ? ' as Lesbia put her arms round her neck, and thanked her. ' When a mother has only got one child she is not likely to deny her much, is she, Ursula ? ' ' Oh, mother, how good you are to me! ' re- turned Lesbia, and her blue eyes w^ere shining with joy. When Mrs. Fullerton had left the room again she told me that she had often cried herself to sleep with the longing to be in her old home again ; she loved every flower in the garden, every animal about the place, and she grew quite bright and cheerful as she planned out her days. No, there was nothing morbid about Lesbia's nature ; she was an honest, well- meaning girl, who had had a great disappoint- ment in her hfe ; she meant to outlive it if she could, to be as happy as possible. A wise in- 94 'WHEX THE CAT IS AWAY stinct told her that her best chance of lieahng lay in country sights and sounds — the fresh gallop over the downs, the pleasant saunter through the sweet Sussex lanes, the sweet breath of her roses and carnations would all woo her back to healtli and cheerfulness. When the pretty colour came back into Lesbia's face her mother would not regret her sacrifice ; and then I remembered that Charlie's friend, Harcourt Manners, lived about half a dozen miles from Eutherford, and always attended the Pinkerton dances, and he was a nice intelU- gent fellow. But I scolded back the foolish thoughts, and felt ashamed of myself for enter- taining them. I parted from Lesbia very affectionately, for she seemed loth to say good-bye, but I knew poor Jill would be grumbling at my absence — the others were dining out, and I had promised to join the sclioolroom tea, which was to he half an hour later on my account, but it was nearly six before I made my appearance — very penitent at my delay, and fully expecting a scolding. I found Jill, however, kneeling on the rug making toast, with Sooty in lier arms ; she had A SCHOOLROOM TEA 95 blacked her face in lier efforts, but looked in high good humour. ' Fraulein has crone out for the whole eveninor — that freckled Fraulein Misschenstock has been here, and has invited her to tea and supper. Mamma said she could go, as you would remain with me, so we shall be alone and cosy for the whole evening. Xow, you may pour out tea^ if you like, for I have all this buttered toast on my mind. I am as hungry as a hunter ; but there is a whole seed-cake I am glad to see. j^ow, darling, be quick, for you have kept me so long waiting,' and Jill bruslied vigorously at her blackened cheek, and beamed at me. But, alas ! w^e had reckoned without our host, and a grand disappointment was in store for us, though, as it turned out, things were not as bad as they appeared to be at first. I was praising Jill's buttered toast, for I knew she prided herself on this delicacy, and she had just cut herself a thick wedge of the seed-cake, which she was discussing with a schoolgirl's appetite, when I heard Uncle Brian's voice calling for Ursula rather loudly, so I ran to the head of the staircase, and to my 96 ' WHEN THE CAT IS AWAY ' surprise saw him coming up in his slow dignified manner. ' Look here, Ursula, I shall be late at the Pollocks', and your aunt and Sara have gone on, and there is Tudor in the drawing-room, just arrived with a message from Cunliffe. Of course we must put him up ; but the trouble is there is no dinner, and, of course, he is famished — young men always are.' My heart sank as I thought of Jill, but there was no help for it. Max's friends were sacred. Mr. Tudor must be made as comfort- able as possible. ' It cannot be helped, Uncle Brian,' I re- turned, trying to keep the vexation I felt out of my voice, ' supposing you send Mr. Tudor up to the schoolroom, and we will give him some tea. Jill has made some excellent buttered toast, and Clayton can get some supper for him by-and-by in the dining-room, there is sure to be a cold joint — or perhaps Mrs. Martin will have something cooked for him. ' That must do,' he replied, somewhat re- lieved at this advice ; ' we shall be back soon after tea, so you will not have him long on your hands ; entertain him as well as you can, I DARE XOT TELL JILL 97 there's a good girl,' He had quite forgotten, and so had I for the moment, that Fraulein was out for the evening, and that possibly Aunt Philippa might object to a young man joining the schoolroom tea ; but as it proved after- wards, she was more shocked at Uncle Brian than at any one else — she said he ought to have given up his dinner and stayed with his ixuest. ' I confess I do not see wdiat Ursula could have done better,' she remarked severely ; * she could not spend the evening alone with him in the drawing-room — and of course he wanted his tea ; that comes of allowing Fraulein to neglect her duties, she is too fond of spending her time with Fraulein Misschen stock.' I did not dare break the news to Jill, for fear she should lock herself iu her own room, for she never liked the society of young men — they laughed at her too much, in a civil sort of way ; so I hurried down into the drawing-room and explained matters to Mr. Tudor, wdiom I found w^alkino^ about the room and looking somewhat ill at ease. He seemed rather amused at tlie idea of the schoolroom tea, but owmed that he was VOL. I. H 98 ' AVHEX THE CAT IS AWAY hungry and tired, as he had had a fourteen- mile walk that day. 'It is all Mr. Cunhffe's fault that I am quartered on you in this way,' he said, laugli- ing a little nervously — and very likely Uncle Brian's dignified reception had made him uncomfortable ; ' but he woidd insist on my bringing my bag, and Mr. Garston has a dinner engagement, and cannot attend to business until to-morrow morning.' ' I am afraid you would like a dinner en- gagement, too, after your fourteen miles,' I returned, in a sympathetic voice, for he did look very tired. ' We will give yon some tea now% and then you can get rid of the dust of the journey, and by that time Mrs. Martin will have done her best to provide you with some supper.' ' I see I have fallen in o-ood hands,' he rephed, brightening at this in a boyish sort of way. ' Where is the schoolroom ? I did not know there was such an apartment, but of course Mrs. Garston told me that lier youngest daughter had not finished her studies. I think I saw her once — she was very tall, and had dark hair.' Jill's face of dismay 99 ' Oh yes, that was Jill — I mean Jocelyn, but we always call her Jill. Will you come this w^ay, please. Friiulein is out, and we were having a good time by ourselves.' ' And I have come to spoil it,' he answered regretfully, as I opened the door. I shall never forget Jill's face when she saw us on the threshold. She quite forgot to shake hands with Mr. Tudor in her dismay, but stood hunching her shoulders, with Sooty still clasped in her arms and her great eyes staring at him, till he said a pleasant word to her, and then she flushed up, and subsided into her chair. I stole an anxious glance at the cake ; to my great relief Jill had been quietly proceeding with her meal in my absence, for I knew that in her chagrin she would refuse to touch another morsel. I wondered a little what Mr. Tudor would think of her ungracious reception of him ; but he showed his good breeding by taking no notice of it, and confining his remarks to me. Jill's ill-humour thawed by-and-by when she saw how he entered into the spirit of the fun. He vaunted his own skill with the toasting- fork, and in spite of fatigue insisted on super^ H 2 100 ' WHEN THE CAT IS AWAY ' intending another batch of the buttered toast ; he was very particular about tlie clearness of the fire, and delivered quite an harangue on the subject. Jill's sulky countenance relaxed by-and-by, she opened her lips to contradict him, and was met so skilfully that she appealed to me for assistance. By the time tea was over, we were as friendly with Mr. Tudor as though Ave liad known him all our hves, and Jill was laughing heartily over liis racy descriptions of school- room feasts and other escapades of iiis youth. He looked absurdly young in sj)ite of his clerical dress, he had a bright face and a pecu- liarly frank manner that made me trust him at once ; he did not look particularly clever, and Jill had the best of liim in argument, but one felt instinctively that lie was a man who would never do a mean or unkind action, that he would tell the truth to his own detriment with a simple honesty that made up for lack of talent. I could see that Jill's bigness and clever- ness surprised him. He evidently found her amusing, for he tried to draw her out; per- haps he liked to see how her great eyes opened Jill's erigiitxess axd okigixality 101 and then grew bright, as she tossed back lier black locks or shook them impatiently. When Jill was happy and at ease her face would grow illuminated ; her varying expression, her animation, her quaint picturesque talk, made her thoroughly interesting. I was never dull in Jill's company, she had always something fresh to say, slie had a fund of originality, and drew her words newly coined from her own mint. I do not beheve that ^h. Tudor quite understood her, for he was a simple young fellow. But she piqued his curiosity. I must have appeared quite a tame, commonplace person beside lier. When Jill went out of the room to fetch something, he asked me, rather curiously, how old she was, and when I told him that she was a mere child, not quite sixteen, he said, half musing, ' that she seemed older than that. She knew so much about things, but he supposed she was very clever.' We went down into the drawinc^-room after this, and Jill kept me company while Mr. Tudor supped in state, with Clayton and Clarence to wait on him. He came up after a very short 102 'AVIIEX THE CAT IS AWAY ' interval, and said, half laugliing, ' that his supper had been a most formal affair.' 'By the bye, Miss Garston,' he observed, as though by an afterthought, ' I hear you are coming down to Heathfield.' He stole a glance at Jill as he spoke. She had discarded her Indian muslin and coral necklace as being too grand for the occasion, and wore her ruby velveteen that always suited her admirably. She looked very nice, and quite at her ease, sitting half buried in Uncle Brian's armchair, instead of being bolt upriglit in her corner. She had drawn her big feet carefully under her gown, and was quite a presentable young lady. I thought Mr. Tudor was rather impressed with the transformation — Cinderella in her brown schoolroom frock, with a smutty cheek and rumpled collar, was quite a different person — presto — change — the young princess in the ruby dress has smooth locks and a thick gold necklace. She has big shining eyes and a happy child's laugh. Her little white teeth gleam in the lamplight. I do not wonder in the least that Mr. Tudor looks at Jill as he talks to me. It is a habit people have with me. But I answered him quite graciously. 'HAVE YOU NOT HEAED OF GLADWYN ? ' 103 ' Yes, I am coming down to Heatlifield the day after to-morrow. I suppose I ought to say Deo volente. I hope you all mean to be good to me, Mr. Tudor, and not laugh at my poor little pretensions.' ' I shall not laugh, for one,' he replied, looking me full in the face now with his honest eyes. ' I think it is a good work, Miss Gar- ston. The Vicar ' — he always called Uncle Max the Vicar — 'was talking about it up at Gladwyn the other day, and Mr. Hamilton said ' ' Gladwyn ? Is that the name of a house ? ' I asked, interrupting Mr. Tudor a little ab- ruptly. ' To be sure. Have you not heard of Gladwyn ? ' And at that he looked a little amused ; but I was not fated to hear more of Gladwyn that night, for the next moment Aunt Philippa came bustling into the room, and Sara and Uncle Brian followed her. CHAPTER VI. THE WHITE COTTACiE. 00D-13YE is an iiii[)leasaiit word to sny, and I said mine as ([uicklyas possible, bnt I did not like the remembrance of Jill's wet cheek that I luul kis.^ed — I was haunted by it during the greater part of my brief journey. For some inexplicable reason I had chosen to arrive at Ileathlield late in the afternoon ; I wanted to slip into my new home in tlie dusk. I knew tliat Uncle Max would meet me at tlie station, and look after my luggage, so I should have no trouble, and I hoped that I should wake up among my neigli- bours the next morning before tliey knew of my arrival. When we stopped at some station a little wdiile before we reached Heathfield, the guard put a gentleman in my compartment — I foncicd HE LOOKED LIKE A EOMLSH PRIEST 105 they had not noticed me, for a hirge bhick retriever followed him. The gentleman lifted his hat directly he saw me, and apologised for his dog's presence, until I assured him it made no difference to me ; and then he drew a newspaper from his bag and tried to read by the somewhat flickering li2[ht. As I had nothinf:^ else to do, and his attention was evidently very much absorbed, I looked at him from time to time in an idle, furtive sort of way. He had taken off his hat and put it on the seat ; his dark smooth shaven face reminded me of a Eomish priest, but he had no tonsure ; instead of that he had thick closely cropped hair without a hint or suspicion of baldness, was strongly built and very broad, and looked like a man who had undergone training. I was rather given to study the counten- ance of my fellow passengers — it was a way I had — but I was not particularly prepossessed with this man's face ; it looked hard and stern, and his manner, though perfectly gentlemanl3% was a little brusque. I abandoned the Eomish priest theory after a second glance, and told myself he was more like a Eoman gladiator. 106 THE WHITE CX3TTAGE As we approached Heatlifield, he folded up " his paper and patted his dog, who had sat all this time at liis feet, wdth his head on his knees. It was a beautiful, intelligent animal, and had soft eyes hke a woman, and by the way he wagged his tail and licked the hand that fondled his glossy head, I saw he was devoted to his master. Just then I encountered a swift, searching glance fi'om the stranger, whicli rather surprised me. He had looked at me as he spoke in an indifferent way ; but this second look was a httle perplexing; it was as though lie liad suddenly recognised me, and that the fact amused him, and yet we had never met before, — it w^as such an uncommon face, so singular altogether, that I could never have forgotten it. I grew irritated without reason, for how could a stranger recognise me ? Happily the lights from the station flashed before my eyes at that moment, and I began nodding and smiling towards a corner by the bookstall, where a felt hat and brown head w^ere all that I could see of Uncle Max. ' Well, here you are, Ursula, punctual to a minute,' exclaimed Max, as he shook hands. ' HALLOA, HAMILTON ! ' 107 'Halloa, Hamilton, where did you spring from?' going to the carriage door to speak to my fellow-passenger. I was so provoked at this, fearing an introduction, for Max was such a friendly soul, that I went to the luggage-van, and began counting my boxes, and Max did not hurry himself to look after me. ' Now then,' he observed cheerily, when he condescended to join me, ' is your luggage all right ? Do you mean all those traps are yours ; bless me, Ursula, what will Mrs. Barton say? Put them on the fly, you fellows, and be sharp about it. Come along, child, it is pelting cats and dogs, if you know what that means ; you have a wet w^elcome to Heathfield.' I took the news philosophically, and assured him it did not matter in the least. We could hear the rain beating against the windows as w^e reached the booking office. A closed wag- gonette with a pair of horses was waiting at the door ; my fellow passenger, whom Max had addressed as Hamilton, was standing on the pavement, speaking somewhat angrily to the coachman. I heard the man's answer as he touched his hat. ' Miss Darrell said I was to brino- the was:- 108 Till-: WHITE COTTAGK gonctte, sir ; it did not miii so badly wlicn tlie order was brought round to the stables.' ' I could have taken a fly easily ; it is worse than folly bringing out the Iiorses this wet night. Jump in, Nap. What, must I go first? Manners before a wet coat.' I heard no more, for ^lax hurrii.'d me into a fly, and the waggonette passed us on the road. ' Who was that ? ' I asked curioush\ 'Oh, that is Mr. namilton. Why did you not wait for me to introduce liim to you, Ursula ? He is a rich doctor who lives in these parts ; he practises f )r his own pleasure among the poor people ; he will not attend gentle- folks. He told me that he had studied medi- cine meaning to make it his profession, but a distant relative died and left him a fortune, and by so doing spoiled his career.' 'That was i-ather ungracious of him; bu*. he looks the sort of man who could do ])lenly of grumbling. Wliere does he live, Max 't ' ' Oh, at Gladwyn ; I cannot show you the house now, because we do not pass it. There is the church, Ursula, and there is Tudor in his macintosh cominix out of the Vicaraiie that is the best of Lawrence, he never shirks THAT ODIOUS MR. HAMILTON 109 his duty ; he hates the job, but he does it. He is aoiuci down to see old Smithers, and ^et sworn at for his pains.' ' Have you got any cases ready for me, Max? ' I asked, with a httle tingUng of excite- ment. 'Hamikon has. I w^as at Gladwyn the other evening, and had a talk with him. He was a little offhand about your mission ; he thinks you must be romantic, and all that sort of thins. You would have laui^^hed to have heard him talk, and I let him go on just for the joke of it. It was rich to hear him say that he did not beheve in hysterical goodness ; a girl would do anything now to get herself talked about — no, I did not mean to repeat that,' interrupting himself, wdth an annoyed air. ' Hamilton always says more than he means. Look, Ursula, there is the White Cottage ; that bow window to the right belongs to your par- lour. Now, my dear, I will open the gate, and you must just run up the path as quickly as you can, for you can hardly hold up an um- brella in this wind. You see the cottage does not boast of a carriage drive.' That odious Mr. Hamilton — or Dr. Hamilton, 110 THE WHITE COTTAGE wliicli was it ? No wonder be looked like a Eomisli priest if lie could make those Jesuitical remarks ! I felt I almost hated him, but I re- solved to banish him from my mind, as I ran past the dripping laurels that bordered the narrow path. The cottage door was open as soon as our fly had stopped at the gate ; and by the light I could see the neat flower borders and clipped yews, and a leafless wide- spreading tree Avith a seat under it. As I made my way into the porcli, a very big man without his coat passed me with a civil ' good evening.' I thought it must be Nathaniel, from his great height, and, of course, the prim-looking little widow in black, standing on the threshold, was Mrs. Barton. She had a nice plaintive face, and spoke in a mild deprecating voice. ' Good evening, Mrs. Barton. What dread- ful weather ; I hope my wet boxes will not spoil the oilcloth.' ' That is easily wiped off. Miss Garston ; but I am thinking the damp must have made you chilly ; come into the parlour, there is a fine rousing fire that will soon warm you. A fire is a deal of comfort on a wet, cool night ; I have lighted one in your bed-room, too/ MY PARLOUR LOOKS COSY 111 Evidently Mrs. Barton spared lierself no trouble. I was a iire-worsliipper, and loved to see tlie ruddy flame lighting up all the odd corners, and I was glad to think both my rooms would be cheerful. The parlour looked the picture of comfort ; my piano was nicely placed, and the davenport, and the chair that I had sent with it. A large old-fashioned couch was drawn across the window, the round table had a white cloth on it, and the tea-tray and a cottage loaf were suggestive of a meal. The room was long and rather Ioav, but the bow window gave it a cosy aspect ; one glance satis- fied me that I had space for the principal part of my books, the rest could be put in my bed- room. When ]\lrs. Barton stirred the fire and lighted the candles the room looked extremely cheerful ; especially as Tinker, the collie, had taken a fancy to the rug, and had stretched himself upon it after giving me a wag of his tail as a welcome. Mrs. Barton would hardly give me time to warm my hands before she begged me to follow her upstairs and take off my things w^hile they brought in the luggage. I found my bed-room had one peculiarity, you had to descend two broad steps before you entered it. 112 TIII>: WHITE COTTAGE It was the same size as the parlour, aud liad A bow window. The furniture was luiusually good ; it had belonged to the previous lodger, Mrs. Meredith, who had bequeathed it to Mrs. Barton at her death. I was thankful to see a pretty iron bedstead with a brass ring and blue cliintz hangings, in- stead of the four-poster I had dreaded. There was a commodious cupboard and a handsome Spanish mahogany chest of drawers that Mrs. Barton pointed out with great inide. A bright fire burnt in tlie blue-tiled fireplace ; there was an easy-chair and a I'ound tal)le in tlie ])o\v window ; a pleasant perfume of lavender-scented sheets pervaded the room, and a winter nose- gay of red and white chrysanthennmis was prettily arranged in a curious china bowl. I praised everything to Mrs. Barton's satisfaction, and then she went downstairs to see to the tea, first giving me the information tliat Nathaniel was coming upstairs with the big trunk, and would I tell him where to place it. He entered the next moment, carrying the heavy trunk on his shoulder as easily as though it were a toy. He was a good-looking man with a fair beard and a pair of honest blue MAX MAKES HIMSELF AT HOME 113 eyes, and iu spite of his size and strength — foi he was a perfect son of Anak — seemed rather shy and retiring. I left him loosening the straps of my box. and went downstairs to find Uncle Max. He had made himself quite at liome, and was sitting in the big easy-cliair contemplatinn- the fire. ' Well, Ursula, how do you like your rooms .^ Oh yes, there are two cups and saucers,' as I looked inquiringly at the table, ' because Mrs. Barton expects me to remain to tea. She is frying ham and eggs at the present moment — I hope you do not mind such homely country fare, but to-morrow you will be your own housekeeper.' I assured Uncle Max that I had fallen in love with the White Cottage, and that I liked Mrs. Barton excessively, that my bedroom was especially cosy and was most comfortably furnished. ' You will see how pretty this room will look when I put up my new curtains and pictures,' I went on ; ' it is a little bare at present, but it will soon have a more furnished appearance. I mean to be so busy to-morrow settling all my treasures,' and I spoke with so VOL. I. I 114 THE WHITE COTTAGE mucli animation that Uncle Max smiled at what he called my youthful enthusiasm. ' You may be as busy as you like all day/ he returned in his pleasant way, ' so that you come up to the Vicarage in the afternoon to see Mrs. Drabble. Lawrence will be out — that fellow always is out ' — in a humorous tone of vexation. ' He makes himself so confoundedly agreeable tliat people are always asking him to dinner — he is terribly secular, is Lawrence, but lie is young and will mend ; come up to the Vicarage and dine with me, Ursula ; I want you to taste Mrs. DrabbleVs pancakes, they are food for angels, as Lawrence always says.' I accepted tlie invitation a little regretfully, for it seemed luird to leave my hermitage the first evening, but then Uncle Max had been so good to me that it would never do to dis- . appoint him, and as Mr. Tudor would be out we should be very cosy together. Mrs. Barton brought in the ham and eme severitv. Let me own that I distrusted vot7, m ml ' Miss Giirstcn. I have a horror of gush, and what I call the working mania of young ladies, and you had not proved to me then that you could work. At the present day, if a girl is restless and bad-tempered and cannot get on with her own people, she takes up hospital- nursing, and a rare muddle she makes of ii sometimes. I own hospital work is better thiin the convent of the Middle -^ges. where the VOL. I. X ITS THE FLAG OF TEUCE troublesome young ladies were safely immured ; but, as I said before, I distrust the hysterical restlessness of the age.' ' Xo doubt you have a fair amount of argu- ment on your side/ I replied, so meekly, that he looked at me, and then got up from his chair and said hastily that I was tired, and he was thoughtless to keep me waiting for my tea. ' Let me give you some, while you tell me about the case/ was my hospitable reply ; for though I felt no special desire to prolong our ttte-a-tcte, mere civihty prompted my offer. He hesitated, then to my surprise sat down again, and said he would be very much obliged if I would give him a cup of tea, as he was tired too, and had to go farther and keep his dinner waiting. I went out of the room to remove my hat -and speak to Mrs. Barton. When I came back he was standing before Charlie's photograph ■and e\idently studyinf^ it with some attention, but he made no remark about it ; and I told him of my own accord that it was the portrait of my twin brother who had died two years ago. Indeed ! There is no likeness ; at least I 'I MUST TELL YOU ABOUT PHEEE LOCKE ' 179 should not have known it was your brother. This is often the case between relations,' he continued hastily, as though he feared he had hurt me. ' What a snug little berth you have, Miss Garston, and everything so ship -shape too. I suppose that is your piano, but I am afraid you will have little time to practise,' and thcD, as I handed him his tea, he threw himself down in the easy-chair and seemed prepared to enjoy himself. Looking at Mr. Hamilton this evening I could liave beheved he had two sides to his character : he presented such a complete con- trast to the Mr. Hamilton in Uncle Max's study that I was quite puzzled by it. He had certainly a clever face, and his smile was quick and bright ; it was only in rest that his mouth looked so stern and hard. I found myself wondering once or twice if he had knowji any great trouble that had embittered hiui. ' Well, I must tell you about poor Phebe Locke,' he began suddenly. ' I want you to find out what you can do for her. The Lockes are respectable people : PJ^ebe and her sister were dressmakers. They live a httle lower down — at Woodbine Cottage. 180 THE FLAG OF TRUCE ' Some years ago spinal disease came on, and now Pliebe is bed-ridden. She suffers a good deal at times, but her worst trouble is that her nerves are disordered, most likely from the dulness and monotony of her life. She suffers cruelly from low spirits, and no wonder, lying all day in that dull little back room. Her sister cannot sit with her, as Phebc cannot bear the noise of tlie sewing-machine, and the siij^ht of tlie outer world seems to irritate her. Tlie neighbours would come in to cheer her up, but she does not seem able to bear their loud voices. It is w^onderful,' he continued musingly, ' how education and re- fmement train the voice ; strange to say, though my voice is not particularly low, and certainly not sweet, it never seems to jar upon her.' 'Very likely not,' I returned quickly; 'no doubt she depends upon you for all her comforts; to most invaUds the doctor's visit is the one bright spot in the day.' ' It seems strange that we do not project our own shadows sometimes and make our patient shiver,' he said with a touch of gruff- ness. 'It is little that I can do for Thebe, I SURPRISE MR. HAMILTO^' 181 except order her a blister or ice Avlieu she needs it. One cannot touch the real nervous suffering : there is where I look to you for help ; a little cheerful talk now and then may lighten her burthen. Anyhow it would be a help for poor Miss Locke, who has a sad time of it trying to earn food for them both. There is a little niece who lives with them, a subdued uncanny little creature, who looks as though the childhood were crushed out of her ; you might take her in hand too.' ' I wonder if Phebe would like me to sino- to her,' I observed quietly. ' I have found it answer sometimes in nervous illnesses.' I thought my remark surprised him. ' It is a good idea,' he said slowly, ' you might try it. Of course it would depend a great deal on the quality of voice and style of singing. I wonder if you would allow me to judge of this ' — looking meaningly at the piano ; but I shook my head at this and he did not press the point. We had very little talk after this, for he w^ent away almost directly— first arranging to meet me at Mrs. Marshall's about four the next day and go with me to Woodbine Cottage. 182 THE FLAG OF TRUCE ' You ^vill find plenty of work, Miss Garston,' were liis final Avords, ' so do not waste your strengtli unnecessarily ; ' and tlieu he left tlie room, but came back a moment afterwards to say that his sisters meant to call on me, only they thought I was hardly settled yet ; ' we must get Mr. Cunliffe to bring 3'ou up to Gladwyn — we must not let you mope/ I thouglit there was little chance of this with Uncle Max and Mr. Tudor always looking after me. Mr. IlamiUon had hardly closed the door before Uncle Max opened it again. ' So the enemy has tasted bread and salt, Ursula,' he said, looking excessively pleased ; ' that is right, my dear — ^do not give way to absurd prejudices. You and Hamilton will get on splendidly b^'-and-by, when you get used to his brusque manner ; ' and though I did not quite endorse this opinion, I was obliged to acknowledge to myself that the last half-hour had not been so unpleasant after all. CHAPTER X. A DIFFICULT PATIENT. little talk with Granny the next Mrs. Marshall was dosing uneasily, and I was sitting by Granny nursing the baby, and waiting for Mr. Hamilton, when I felt her cold wrinkled hand laid on mine. ' What is it, Elspeth ? ' I asked, thinking she wanted something. ' What put it in your liead, my bairn, to do the Lord's work, that is what I am wanting to know. I have been listening to you this morn- ing singing like a bird about the house, with all the bit creatures chirping about you, and I said to myself, What could have put it into her head to leave all her fine friends, and come and wait on the likes of us old and sick folk and voung bairns ? ' 184 A DIFFICULT PATIENT I do not know wliat there was in this speech that made me cry, but I know I had some difficulty in answering, but I tokl lier a Httle about Charhe, and how sad I was, and how I loved the work, and she patted my hand softly all the time. 'Never fret, my bairn. You will not be lonely long, the Lord will see to that. He would not let you work for Ilim, and do nothing lor you iu return. Nay, that is not His way. Look at me — as Doctor said the other day, I have drec'd my weird ; few and evil have been my days, like Jacob, but here I sit like a lady by the lire, warm and comfort- able and hearty, thank God ; and Andrew's wife lies on her death-bed, poor woman.' * Yes ; but, Elspeth, you sit there in the dark.' ' Eh, but it is peaceful and quiet-Uke, and the Lord bides witli me, " and darkness and light are both alike to Him,'" finished Elspeth, reverently. And then I lieard tlie click of the gate, and rose hastily, only the baby cried as I laid her on Elspeth's lap, and I had to stay a moment to pacify her. Mr. Hamilton came in and stood by us. 'THERE IS XO ONE LIKE UXCLE MAX ' 185 ' Do not huriy yourself, I can easily wait a few minutes if you are not ready ; are you sure you are not too tired to come ? ' lie con- tinued, looking at me a little inquisitively, and I was certain that lie noticed the trace of tears on my face. Why was it I never could speak of my darling quite calmly ? ' I am perfectly ready, and baby has left off crying,' I returned, taking up my basket, and then we left the house together. ' I hope you do not suffer from low spirits like the rest of us,' he said in rather a kind tone, as we walked on. 'It is to be expected that a cross-grained fellow like myself should have fits of the blues occasionally ; that is one thing I particularly admire about Cunliffe — however worried he is one never sees him out of humour ; his ups and downs are never per- ceptible. I do believe he is less selfish than other people.' ' There is no one like Uncle Max,' I rejoined fervently. 'Is it not odd that we should suit each other so well ? ' he asked presently, ' for we are complete contrasts. I can bear him to say things to me that I would knock any other 186 A DIFFICULT PATIENT fellow down for saying. That is Avliy I let him preach to me, because he honestly believes what he says and tries to act up to his profession.' He broke off here, for by this time we had reached Woodbine Cottage, and he unlatched the gate for me. A thin-faced child with a cropped head and clean wliite pinafore opened the door, and dropped an alarmed curtsey when she saw us. 'Please, sir, Aunt Susan is out, and Aunt Phebe is very bad this afternoon, and cannot see any one. She is lying in the dark, and I was to let none of the neighbours in while Aunt Susan was away.' ' All right, Kitty, but Aunt Phebe will see me,' and he ivalked into the passage, and told the child to close the door gently. The room we passed was strewn with work material, and looked cold and comfortless, but a small kitchen opposite had a warm cozy aspect. Mr. Hamilton passed both rooms and tapped at a door lower down the passage, and then without waiting for an answer entered, and beckoned me to follow him. A dark curtain had been drawn across the window, and the dim glow of a cindery tire PHEBE LOCKE 187 scarcely o'ave sufficient lidit to discern the different pieces of furniture. Mr. Hamilton gave vent to a suppressed exclamation of im- patience as he seized the poker, but I could not but notice the skilful and almost noiseless manner in which he manipulated the coals. Then he looked round for a match;, and liglited a candle on the mantelpiece, in spite of a peevish remonstrance from the patient. ' You will make my head worse, doctor — nothing but the dark eases it.' ' Nonsense, Phebe, I know better than that,' he returned cheerfully, and then he stepped up to the bed — and I followed him. The woman who lay there was still young in years. She could not have been more than three or four and thirty, but every semblance of youth was crushed out of her by some subtle and myste- rious suffering ; it might have been the face of a dead woman only for the living eyes that locked at us. The hopeless wistful look in those eyes gave me a singular shock. I had never seen human eyes with the same expression — they seemed as though they were appealing against some awful destiny. Once when I and Charlie 188 A DIFFICULT PATIENT were staying at Eutherford a beautiful spaniel belonging to Lesbia had been accidentally shot, while straying in some wood. The poor animal had dragged himself with pain and difficulty to the garden-gate, and there we found him. I shall never forget the wistfulness of the poor creature's eyes when his mistress knelt down and caressed him. He died a few minutes afterwards licking her hand. I could not help thinking of Tito when I first saw Phebe Locke ; for the same unreasoning anguish seemed in the sick woman's eyes. A tormented soul looked out of them. There was something rigid and imcompro- mising in the whole aspect of the sick room ; there was nothing; to tone down and soften the harsh details of bodily suffering ; everytliing was in spotless order ; the sheets were white as the driven snow ; a formidable plialanx of medicine bottles stood on the small square table ; tliere were no books, no pictures, no flowers : a sampler hung over the mantelpiece, that was all. I saw IVir. Hamilton glance disapprovingly at the row of bottles. ' I told Kitty to clear all that rubbish away,' he said curtly. ' Why do you not have something MORBID FANCIES 1^9 pleasanter to look at, Pliebe ? — some flowers or a canary ; you would find plenty of amusement in watching a canary.' ' Birds are never still for a moment ; tliey would drive me mad,' returned Phebe, in the hollow tones that seemed natural to her ; ' flowers are better, but what have I to do with flowers ? Doctor,' her voice rising into a shrill crescendo, ' you must give me something to send me to sleep, or I shall go mad. I think, think, think, until my head is in a craze with pain and misery.' ' Well, well, we will see about it,' humouring her as though she were a child. ' Will you not speak to this lady, Phebe? She has come down here to help us all — sick people and unhappy people, and every one that wants help.' ' She can't do anything for me,' muttered Phebe, restlessly ; 'no one — not even you, Doctor — can do anything for me. I am doomed — doomed before my time.' Mr. Hamilton looked at me meaningly, as though to say, 'Now you see what you have to do ; this is more your work than mine.* I obeved the hint and accosted the sick w^oman 190 A DIFFICULT PATIEXT as cheerfully as tliougli lier dismal speecli liad not curdled my blood. ' I hope I shall be some comfort to you ; it is hard indeed if no one can help you when you have so much to bear.' ' To bear ! ' repeating my words as though they stung her. ' I have laid here for three years — three years come Christmas Eve, Doctor — between these four walls : summer and winter, winter and summer, and never knew except by heat or cold what season of the year it w\is. And I am young — just turned four and thirty — and I may lay here thirty 3'ears more, unless I die or go mad.' ' Now, Phebe,' remonstrated Mr. Hamilton, and how gently he spoke, ' have I not told you over and over that things may mend yet if you will only be patient and good ? You are just making things worse by bearing them so badly. Why, a friend of mine has been seven years on her back like you, and she is the happiest, cheeriest body ; it is quite a pleasure to go into her room.' ' Maybe she is good and I am Avicked,' returned Phebe, sullenly. ' I cannot help it. Doctor ; it is one of my bad days, and nothing but wicked words come uppermost. The devil I SIXG TO PHEBE 191 has a deal of power when a woman is cliainecl as I am.' 'Don't you think you could exorcise the demon by a song, Miss Garston,' observed 'Mr. Hamilton, in an undertone. ' This is just the case where music may be a sootliing influence ; something must be tried for the poor creature.' The proposition almost took away my breath. Sing now ! before Mr. Hamilton ! and yet how in sheer humanity could I refuse. I had often suDg before to my patients, and had never minded it in the least ; but before Mr. Hamilton ! ' You need not think of me,' he continued provokingly — for of course I was thinking of him — ' I am no critic in the musical hue. Just try how it answers, will you,' and he walked away and turned his back to us, and seemed absorbed in the sampler. For one minute I hesitated, and then I cleared my throat. ' I am going to sing some- thing, Phebe. Mr. Hamilton thinks it will do you good,' and then, fearful lest her wayward- ness should stop me, I commenced at once with the first line of the beautiful hymn, ' Art thou weary, art thou languid ? ' My voice trembled sadly at first, and my 192 A DIFFICULT PATIEXT burning face and cold hands testified to my nervousness ; but after the first verse I forget Mr. Hamilton's presence and only remembered it was Charlie's favourite hymn I was singing, and sang it with a full heart. When I had finished I bent over Phebe and asked if 1 should sing any more, and to my great delight she nodded assent. I sang ' Abide with me ' and several other suitable hymns, and I did not stop until the hard look of woe in Phebe's eyes had softened into a more gentle expression. As I paused I looked across the room. Mr. Hamilton was still standing by the mantelpiece perfectly motionless. He had covered his eyes with his hand, and seemed lost in profound thought. He absolutely started when I ad- dressed him. ' Yes, we will go if you have finished,' but he did not look at me as he spoke. ' Phebe, has the young lady done you any good ? Did you close your eyes and think you heard an angel singing ? Now you must let me take her away, for she is very tired, and has worked hard to-day. To-morrow, if you ask her, she will come again.' ' I SHALL COME AGAIX TO-MORROW ' 193 ' I shall not wait to be asked,' I returned, answering the dumb, w^istful look that greeted the doctor's words. 'Oh, yes, I shall come again to-morrow, and we will have a little talk, and I will bring you some flowers, and if you care to hear me sing I have plenty of pretty songs ; ' and then I kissed her forehead, for I felt strongly drawn to the poor creature, as though she were a strange, suffering sister, and I thought that the kiss and the song and the flowers would be a threefold cord of sympathy for her to bind round her harassed soul through the lono; hours of the nioiit. Mr. Hamilton followed me silently out, and on the threshold, w^e encountered Susan Locke. She was a thin, subdued-looking woman, dressed in rusty black, with a careworn, depressed ex- pression that changed into pleasure at the sight of Mr. Hamilton. ' Oh, Doctor, this is good of you, surely — and you so busy ; it is one of Phebe's bad days, when nothing pleases her and she will have naught to say to us, but groan and groan until one's heart is pretty nigh broken. I was half hoping that you would look in on us and give her a bit of a word.' VOL. I. 194: A DIFFICULT PATIENT ' Miss Garstoii lias done more than that/ replied Mr. Hamilton. 'I think you will find your sister a little cheered ; give her some- thing comfortable to eat and drink, and speak as cheerfully as you can. Good night, Miss Locke ; ' and then he motioned to me to pre- cede him down the little garden. Mr. Hamilton was so very silent all the way home that I was somewhat puzzled ; he did not speak at all about Phebe — only said that he was afraid that I was very tired, and tliat he was the same ; and when we came in sight of the cottage, he left me rather abruptly — if it had not been for his few approving words to Susan Locke, I should have thought something had displeased him. Uncle Max made me feel a little uncom- fortable the next morning. I met him as I was starting for my daily Avork, and he walked with me to Mrs. Marshall's. " I was up at Gladwyn last evening, Ursula,' he began. ' Miss Elizabeth is still away, but the other ladies asked very kindly after you. Miss Hamilton means to call on you one after- noon, only she seems puzzled to know how she is ever to find you at home. I cannot think 'THOSE FLOWERS ARE XOT FOR PHEBE ? ' 195 what put Hamilton into such a bad temper ; he scarcely spoke to any of us, and looked horribly cranky, only I laughed at him and he got better ; he never mentioned your name ; you have not fallen out again, eh — little she-bear ? ' looking at me rather anxiously. ' Oh dear no ; we are perfectly civil to each other ; I understand him better now.' But all the same, I could not help w^ondering as I parted from Max w^hat could have made Mr. Hamilton so strangely silent. It was still early in the afternoon when I found myself free to go and see Phebe ; she had been on my mind all day, and had kept me awake for a long time ; those miserable eyes haunted me. I longed so to comfort her. Miss Locke opened the door; I thought she seemed pleased to see me, but she eyed my basket of flowers dubiously. ' Phebe is looking for you, Miss Garston, though she says nothing about it — it is not her way ; but I see her eyes turning to the door every now and then, and she made Kitty open the curtains ; if I may make so bold, those flowers are not for Phebe, surely ? ' 'Yes, indeed they are, Miss Locke. Dr. 2 196 A DIFFICULT PATIENT Hamilton wishes her to have something pleasant to look at.' But Miss Locke only shook her head. ' The neighbours have sent in flowers often and often, and she has made me carry them out of the room ; the Vicar used to send them, too, but he knows now that it is no manner of use — she always says they do not put flowers in tombs, only outside them ; she will have it she is living in a tomb.' ' We must get this idea out of her head,' I returned cheerfully, for I was obstinately bent on having my own way about the flowers. Kitty was sewing on a little stool by the window ; the curtains were undrawn, so that the room was tolerably light, and might have been cheerful, only an ugly wire blind shut out all view of the little garden. I could not help marvelling at the strange perversity that could wilfully exclude every possible alleviation ; there must be some sad warp or twist of the mental nature that could be so prolific of unwholesome fancies. As I turned to the bed I thought Phebe looked even more ghastly in the dayhght than she had done last evening ; her skin was yellow and shri- velled, like the skin of an old woman ; her LITTLE KITTY 197 eyes looked deep set and gloomy, but their expression struck me as more human ; her thin lips even wore the semblance of a smile. When I had greeted her, and had drawn from her rather reluctantly that she had had some hours' sleep the previous night, I spoke to Kitty. The little creature looked so subdued and moped in the miserable atmosphere, that I was full of pity for her, so I showed her a new skipping-rope that I had bought on my way, and bade her ask her Aunt Susan's permission to go out and play. The child's dull eyes brightened in a moment — ' May I go out. Aunt Phebe ? ' she asked breathlessly. 'Yes, go, if you like,' was the somewhat ungracious answer. ' She is glad enough to get away from me,' she muttered, when Kitty had shut the door gently behind her. ' Children have no heart ; slie is an ungrateful, selfish little thing ; but they are all that — we clothe her and feed her, and it is little we get out of her in return ; and Susan is working her fingers to the bone for the two of us.' I took no notice of this outburst, and com- menced clearing away the medicine-bottles to 198 A DIFFICULT PATIENT make room for my basket of chrysantliemums and ivy-leaves. Uncle Max had procured them for me, but I had no idea as I arranged tliem that they had come from Gladwyn. Phebe watched my movements very gloomily ; she evidently disapproved of the whole proceeding. I carried out the bottles to Miss Locke, and begged her to throw them away — ' they are of no use to her,' I observed. ' Mr. Hamilton intends to send her a new mix- ture, and this array of half-emptied phials is simply absurd — it is just a whim. If your sister asks for them when I have gone, you can tell her that ]\Iiss Garston ordered them to be destroj^ed.' On my return to the room I found Phebe lying with her eyes closed. I could have laughed outright at her perversity, for of course she had shut them to exclude the sight of the flower-basket, though it was the loveliest little bit of colour, the dark red chrysanthemum nestled so prettily amongst trails of tiny varie- gated ivy. I resolved to punish her for this piece of morbid obstinacy, and took down the ^vire blind ; she was speechless with anger when she found out what I had done, but I was re- PHEBE SHUTS HER EYES 199 solved not to humour these ridiculous fancies ; the dull wintry light was not too much for lier. 'You must not be allowed to have your own way so entirely,' I said, laughing, ' your sister is very wrong to give in to you. Mr. Hamilton wishes your room to be more cheer- ful — he says the dull surroundings depress and keep you low and desponding, and I must carry out his orders, and try how we are to make your room a little brighter. J^ow,' — as she seemed about to speak — ' I am going to sing to you, and then we will have a talk.' ' I don't care to hear singing to-day, my head buzzes so *with all this flack,' was the sullen answer ; but I took no notice of this ill- tempered remark, and begun a little Scotch ballad that I thought was bright and spirited. She closed her eyes again, with an expres- sion of weariness and disgust, that made me smile in spite of my efforts to keep serious ; but I soon found out that she was listening, and so I sang one song after another, without pausing for any comment, and pretended not to notice when the haggard weary eyes unclosed, and fixed themselves first on the flowers, next on my face, and last and longest at the strip of 200 A DIFFICULT PATIENT lawn, with the bare gooseberry bushes and the narrow path edged with privet. When I had sung several ballads, I waited for a minute and then commenced Bishop Ken's evening hymn, but my voice shook a little as I saw a sudden heaving under tlie bed- clothes, and in another moment the large slow tears coursed down Phebe's thin flice. It was hard to finish the liymn, but I would not have dispensed with the Gloria. ' What is it, Phebe ? ' I asked gently, when I had finished. ' I am sorry that I have made you cry.' ' You need not be sorry,' she sobbed at last, with difficulty, 'it eases my head, and! thought nothing would ever draw a tear from me again. I was too miserable to cry, and they say — I have read it somewhere, in the days when I used to read — that there is no such thing as a tear in Hell.' I tried not to look astonished at this strange speech. I must let this poor creature talk, or how should I ever find out the root of her disease ; so I answered quietly that no doubt she was right, that in that place of outer dark- ness there should be weeping, without tears. 'I NEVER WAS A GOOD WOMAN' 201 and a gnashing of teeth, beside which our bitterest human sorrow would seem hke nothing. ' That is true,' she returned, with a groan ; ' but, Miss Garston, hell has begun for me here ; for three years I have been in torment, and rightly too — and rightly too — for I never was a good woman, never like Susan, who read her Bible and went to church — oh, she is a good creature is Susan.' ' I am glad to hear it, Phebe ; so, you see, your affliction, heavy as it is — and I am not saying it is not heavy — is not without allevia- tion. The Merciful Father, who has laid this cross upon you, has given you this kind com- panion as a consoler. What a comfort you must be to each other, what a divme work has been given to you both to do — to bring up that motherless little creature, who must owe her very life and happiness to you ! ' She lay and looked at me with an expression of bewildered astonishment, and at this moment Miss Locke opened the door, carrying a little tea-tray for her sister. I had a glimpse of Kitty curled up on the mat outside the door, with the skipping-rope still in her hand. She 202 A DIFFICULT PATIEXT had evidently been listening to the singing, for she crept away, but in the distance I could hear her humming 'Ye banks and braes' in a sweet childish treble that was very har- monious and true. CHAPTER XI. ONE OF god's HEROIXES. 0. I was quite right when I told poor Phebe that her sad case was not without alleviation. I was still more sure of the truth of my words when I saw with what care Miss Locke had prepared the in- valid's meal, and how gently she helped to place her in a proper position. There was evidently no want of love between the sisters ; only on one side the love was more self- sacrificing and unselfish than on the other. It needed only a look at Susan Locke's spare form and thin, careworn face, to tell me that she was wearing herself out in her sister's service. Phebe looked in her face and broke into a harsh laugh, to poor Susan's great alarm. 20i ONE OF god's heroines ' What do yon think Miss Garstoii has been saying, Susan ? That we must be a comfort to each other. Fancy my being a comfort to you ! You poor thing, when I am the plague and burden of your life.' And she laughed again in a way that was scarcely mirthful. ' Nay, Phebe, you have no need to say such things,' returned her sister, sadly ; but she was probably used to these sort of speeclies. ' I am bound to take care of you and Kitty, who are all I have left in the world. It is not that I find it hard, but that you might make it easier by looking a little cheered sometimes.' Pliebe took this c^entle rebuke somewhat scornfully. ' Cheered ! The woman actually says cheered, when I am already on tlie borderland of the place of torment. Was I not as good as dead and buried three years ago ? And did not father always tell us that hell begins in tliis world for the wicked ? ' ' Ay, that was father's notion ; and I was never clever enough to argue with him. But you are not wicked, my woman, only a bit tiresome and perverse, and wanting in faith.' And Miss Locke, wdio was used to these wild IXTROSPECTIOX AXD SELF-WILL 205 moods, patted her sister's shoulder, and bade her drink her tea before it got cold, in a sensible matter-of-fact way, tliat was not without its influence on the wayward creature ; for she did not refuse the comforting draught. I took my leave soon after this after pro- mising to repeat my visit on the next evenino-. Phebe bade me good-bye rather coldly, but I took no notice of her contrary mood. Miss Locke followed me out of the room, and asked me anxiously what I thought of her sister. ' It is difficult to judge,' I returned, hesita- ting a little. ' You must remember this is only my second visit, and I have not made much way with her. She is in a state of bodily and mental discomfort very painful to witness. If I am not mistaken, she is driving herself half crazy with introspection and self-will. You must not give way to this morbid desire to increase her own wretchedness. She needs firmness as well as kindness.' Miss Locke looked at me wistfully a moment. ' What am I to do ? She would fret herself into a fever if I crossed her whims. Directly you have left the house she will be asking for that wire blind again, though it would do her 206 ONE OF god's heroines poor eyes good to see the tlirushes feeding on the lawn, and there is the httle robin that comes to us every winter and taps at the window for crumbs ; but she would shut them all out — birds, and sunshine, and flowers.' 'Just as she would shut out her Father's love, if she could ; but it is all round her, and no inward or outward darkness can hinder that. Miss Locke, you must be very firm. You must not move the flowers or replace the bhnd on any pretext whatever. Slie must be com- forted in spite of lierself. Slie reminds me of some passionate child who breaks all its toys because some wish has been denied. We are sorry for the child's disappointment, but a wise parent would inflict punishment for the fit of passion.' Miss Locke sighed ; lier mouth twitched w^ith repressed emotion. She was evidently an affectionate, reticent woman, who found it diflii- cult to express her feelings. ' I am keeping you standing all this time,' she said apologetically, ' and I might have asked you to sit down a minute in our little kitchen. Let me pour you out a cup of tea, Miss Garston. Kitty and I were just going to begin.' 'SHE IS A GOOD LITTLE THIXG ' 207 I accepted this offer, as I tliought Miss Locke evidently wanted to speak to me. She seemed pleased at my acquiescence, and told Kitty to stay with her Aunt Phebe a few minutes. ' I have baked a nice hot cake with currants in it, Kitty,' she said persuasively, 'and you shall have your share, hot and buttered, if you will be patient and wait a little.' ' She is a good little thing,' I observed, as the child reluctantly withdrew to her dreary post, after a longing look at the table, while Miss Locke placed a rocking-chair with a faded green cushion by the fire, and opened the oven door to inspect the cake. ' It is dull work for the little creature to be so much in the sick room. It is hardly a wholesome atmosphere for a child.' Miss Locke shook her head as though she endorsed this opinion. ' What am I to do ? ' she returned sorrowfully. ' Kitty is young, but she has to bear our burthens. I spare her all I can ; but when I am at my dressmaking Phebe cannot be left alone, and she has learnt to be quiet and handy, and can do all sorts of things for Phebe. I know it is 208 oxE OF god's heroines not good for her living alone with us, but the Lord has ordered the child's life as well as ours,' she finished reverently. ' We must see what can be done for Kitty/ was my answer. ' She can be free to play while I am with your sister. I sent her out with her new skipping-rope this evening. Wliat brought her back so soon ? ' ' It was the singing,' returned Miss Locke, smiling. ' The street-door was just ajar, and Kitty crept in and curled herself up on the mat. It sounded so beautiful, you see ; for Kitty and I only hear singing at cliurch, and it is not often I can get there, with Phebe wanting me ; so it did us both good, you may be sure of that.' I could not but be pleased at this simple tribute of praise, but something else struck me more, the unobtrusive goodness and self-denial of Susan Locke. What a life hers must be ! I hinted at this as gently as I could. ' Ay, Phebe has always been a care to me,' she sighed. ' She was never as strong and hearty as other girls, and she wanted lier own Avay, and fretted when slie could not get it. Father spoiled her, and mother gave into her more 'SHE HAS HAD A DEAL OF TROUBLE' 209 than she did to me ; and when trouble came all along of Eobert Owen, and he used her cruel, just flinging her aside when he saw some one he fancied more than Phebe, and driving her mad with spite and jealousy, then she let herself go, as it were. She was never religious, not to speak of all the time she kept company with Eobert, so when her hopes of him came to an end she had nothing to support her — it needs plenty of faith to make us bear our troubles patiently.' ' And then her health failed.' ' Yes ; and mother died, and father followed her wathin six months, and Phebe could not be with them, and she took on about that ; she has had a deal of trouble, and that is why I cannot find it in my heart to be hard on her — she w^as that fond of Eobert, though he was a worthless sort of fellow, that, as the saying is, she wor- shipped the ground he walked on. Ah, Phebe w^as bonnie-looking then, though she was never over-strong, and had not much colour ; but he need not have called her a sickly ill-tempered wench when he threw her over and married Nancy. It was a cruel way to serve a woman that loved him as Phebe did'. VOL. I. P 210 OXE OF god's IIERUIXES ' She has certainly had her sliare of trouble. How long ago did this happen to your sister ? ' ' It must be five years since Eobert and Nancy were married. Phebe was never the same woman since then, though her health did not fail for a. year or more afterwards ; Mr. Hamilton always says she lias had a good riddance of Eobert. He never thought much of him, and he has told me that it is far better that Phebe never had a chance of marrying him, for she would have been a sad burthen to any man — and she would not have had you to nurse her ; ' and Miss Locke's careworn face brightened. ' That is just what I tell myself, when I am out of heart about her ; the Lord knew Eobert would have been a cruel husband to her — for he is not too kind to Nancy — and so He kept Phebe away from him. Phebe is not one to bear unkindness — it just maddens her, and we have all spoilt lier.' ' Just so, and she knows her power over you ; I am afraid she gives you a great deal to bear. Miss Locke.' ' I never mind it from her,' she answered simply. ' She is all I have in the world except 'THERE IS OXE WHO KN'OWS IT ALL ' 211 Kitty, and I am thinking what I can do for her from morning to nij^ht ; that is the best and the worst of my work, one need never stop thinking for it. Sometimes, when I am tired, or things have gone wrong with my customers, or I am a bit behindhand with the rent, I wish I could talk it over with her — it would ease me somehow ; but I never do give way to the feel- ing, for it w^ould only fret and w^orry her.' ' You are WTong,' I returned warmly. ' Mr. Hamilton would tell you so if you asked him ; any worry, any outside trouble, would be better for Phebe than this unhealthy feeding on her- self. Take my advice. Miss Locke — talk about yourself and your own troubles, Phebe is fond of you, it will rouse her to enter more into your life.' Miss Locke shook her head, and the tears came into her mild hazel eyes. ' There is One who knows it all. I'll not be troubhng my poor Phebe,' she said, and her hands trembled a little. Kitty came in at this moment and said her Aunt Phebe wanted her, so we were obhged to break off the conver- sation. I thought about it all rather sadly as I sat 212 ONE OF god's heroines by my solitary fire that evening ^vitli Tinker's head on my lap. He had taken to me, and I always found hirn waiting for my return ; but it was less of Phebe than of Susan I was tliinking. I was so absorbed in my reflections that Uncle Max's voice outside quite startled me. ' May I come in, Ursula ? ' he said, thrusting in his head. ' I have been at the choir practice, so I thought I would call as I passed.' Of course I gave him a warm welcome, and he drew his chair to tlie opposite side of the lire, and declared lie felt very comfortable ; then he asked me why I was looking grave, and if I were tired of my solitude. I disclaimed this indignantly, and gave him a sketch of my day's work, ending with my talk to Susan Locke.' He seemed interested, and listened atten- tively. ' It is such a sad case. Max — poor Phebe's, I mean — but I am almost as sorry for her sister. Susan Locke is such a good woman.' ' You would say so if you knew all, Ursula, but Miss Locke would never tell you herself. When Phebe's illness came on, and Hamilton told them that she might not get well for a year, or two, or perhaps longer, Susan broke off SUSAX BREAKS OFF HER EXGAGEMEXT 213 her own engagement to stay with her sister. Her father was just dead, and the child Kitty had to live with them.' ' Miss Locke engaged ! ' I exclaimed in some surprise, for it had never struck me that the homely middle-aged woman had this sort of experience in her life. Max looked amused. ' In that class they do not always choose youth and beauty. Certainly Susan Locke was neither young nor handsome, but she Avas a neat-looking body, only she has aged of late. Do you want to know all about it ? Well, she was engaged to a man named Duncan — he was a widower with three or four children ; he had the all-sort shop down the village, only he moved last year. He was a respectable man and had a comfortable little business, and I dare say he thought Miss Locke would make a good mother to his children. She told me all about it, poor thing ! She would have liked to marry Duncan ; she was fond of him, and thought he w^ould have made her a steady husband ; but with Phebe on her hands she could not do her duty to him or the children. 214 o.\E OF god's iieroixes ' " And there is Kitty — and lie lias enough of his own ; and a sickly body like Pliebe would hinder the comfort of the house, and I have promised mother to take care of her.'* And tlien she asked my opinion. Well, I could not but own that with the shop and the house to mind, and five cliildren, counting Kitty, and a bed-ridden invalid, her hands would be over-weighted witli work and worry. ' '' I think so too," she answere'l as quietly as possible, " and I have no right to burthen Duncan. I am sure he will listen to reason when I tell liim Pliebe is against our marry- im?." And slie never said another word about it. But Duncan came to me about six months afterwards and asked me to put up his banns. ' " I wanted Susan Locke," he said, in a shamefaced manner, " but that sister of hers hinders our marrying ; so, as I must think of the children, I have got Janet Sharpe to pro- mise me. She is a good, steady lass, and Susan speaks well of her." ' Uncle Max had told his story without in- terruption. I listened to it with almost painful interest. With what quiet self-denial this homely phebe's horkor of clergymen 215 woman had put aside her own hopes of happi- ness for the sake of the sickly creature de- pendent on her ! She had owned her affection for Duncan with the utmost simphcity ; but in her unselfishness she refused to burthen him with her responsibilities. If she married him she must do her duty by him and his children, and she felt that Phebe would be a drag on her strength and time. ' She is a good woman, Uncle Max,' I ob- served when he had finished. ' She is workingr herself to death, and Phebe never gives her a word of comfort.' ' How can you expect it ? ' he replied quietly. 'You cannot draw comfort out of empty wells, and poor Phebe's heart is like a broken cistern, holdincr nothing^.' ' But surely you talk to her. Uncle Max ? ' ' I have tried to do so,' he answered sadly ; ' but for the last year she has refused to see me, and Hamilton has advised me to keep away. If I cross the threshold it is to see Miss Locke. I thought it was a whim at first, and I sent Tudor in my stead ; but she was so rude to him, and lashed herself into such a fury against us clerics, that he came back look- 216 ONE OF god's heroines ing quite scared, and asked why I had sent him to a mad woman.' ' She was angry with me to-day.' And I told him about the bhnd. ' That is right, Ursula,' he said encourag- ingl3\ ' You have made a good beginning ; the singing may do more to soften her strange nature than all our preaching. You will be a comfort to Miss Locke, at any rate.' And then he stopped, and looked at me rather wistfully, as though he longed to tell me something but could not make up his mind to do it. ' You will be a comfort to us all if you go on in this way,' he continued ; and then he surprised me by asking if I had not yet seen the ladies from Gladwyn. The question struck me as rather irrelevant, but I took care not to say so as I answered in the negative. ' You have been here nearly a week ; they might have risked a call by this time,' he re- turned, knitting his brows as though something perplexed him ; but I broke in on his reflec- tions rather impatiently. ' I declare, Max, you have quite piqued my curiosity about these people ; some mystery 'SHE IS THE LIVELY ONE' 217 seems to attacli to Gladwyn. I sliall expect to see something very wonderful.' 'Then you will be disappointed,' he re- turned quietly, not a bit offended by my petu- lance. 'I cannot help wishing you to make acquaintance with them, as they are such inti- mate friends of mine, and I think it will be a mutual benefit.' Then, as I made no reply to this, he went on, still more mildly : ' I confess I should like your opinion of them. I have a great reliance in your intuition and common sense ; and you are so deliciously frank and outspoken, Ursula, that I shall soon know what you think. Well, I must not stay gossiping here. Your company is very charm- ing, my dear, but I have letters to write before bedtime. You will see our friends in church on Sunday. I hear Miss Elizabeth comes home to-morrow ; she is the lively one — not quite of the merry Pecksniff order, but still a bright, chatty little lady. From morning till night It is Betty's delight To chatter and talk without stopping. You know the rest, Ursula, my dear. By the 218 ONE OF god's heroines bye,' opening the door, and looking cautiously into the passage, ' I wonder whom the Bartons are entertaining in the kitchen to-night ? I hear a masculine voice.' ' It is only Mr. Hamilton,' I returned in- differently. ' I heard him come in half an hour ago ; he is giving Nathaniel a lesson in mathematics.' ' To be sure. What a good fellow he is ! ' in an enthusiastic tone. ' Well, good-night, child ; do not sit up late,' and he vanished. I am afraid I disregarded this injunction, for I wanted to write to my poor Jill — who was never absent from my mind — and Lesbia ; and I was loth to leave the fireside, and too much excited for sleep. When I liad fmij^hed my letters I still sat on gazing into the bright caverns of coal, and thinking over Susan Locke's history. ' How many good pco[)le there are in the world ! ' I said half aloud ; but I almost jumped out of my chair at the sound of a deep, angry voice on the other side of the door. ' It is a thriftless, wasteful sort of thing burning the candle at both ends. Women have very little common sense after all.' A DOLL FOR KITTY 219 I extinguished the lamp hastily, for of course Mr. Hamilton's growl was meant for me, thoudi it was addressed to Nathaniel. I heard him close the door a moment afterwards, and Nathaniel crept back into the kitchen. I woke rather tired the next day and owned he was right, for I found my duties somewhat irksome that morning. The feeling did not pass off, and I actually discovered that I was dreading my visit to Phebe, only of course I scouted it as nonsense. Miss Locke was out, and Kitty opened the door. Her little demure face brightened when she saw me, and especially when I placed a large brown-paper parcel in her arms, of that oblong shape dear to all doll-loving children, and bade her take it into the kitchen. ' It is too dark and cold for you to play outside, Kitty,' I observed, ' so perhaps you will make the acquaintance of the blue-eyed baby I have brought you ; when Aunt Susan comes in, you can ask her for some pieces to dress her in, for her paper robe is rather cold.' Kitty's eyes grew wide with surprise and delight as she ran off w^ith her treasure ; the baby-doll w^ould be a playmate for the 220 ONE OF god's heroines lonely child, and solace those weary hours in the sick room. I "would rather have brought her a kitten, but I felt instinctively that no animal would be tolerated by the invalid. It was somewhat dark when I entered the room, but one glance showed me that my directions had been obeyed ; the window was unshaded and the flowers were in their place. Phebe was lying watching the fire. I saw at once that she was in a better mood. The few questions I put to licr were answered quietly and to the ])oint, and there was no excitement or exaggeration in her manner. I did not talk much. After a minute or two I sat down by the uncurtained window and began to sing as usual. I commenced with a simple ballad, but very soon my songs merged into hymns. It began to be a pleasure to me to sing in that room. I had a strange feeling as thougli my voice were keeping the evil spirits away. I thought of the shepherd boy who played before Saul and refreshed the king's tormented mind ; and now and then an unuttered prayer would rise to my lips that in this way I might be able to comfort the sad soul that truly Satan had bound. I HANG UP THE PICTURE 221 When my voice grew a little weary, I rose softly and took down the old brown sampler, as I wished to replace it by a little picture I had brought with me. It was a sacred photograph of the cruci- fixion, in a simple Oxford frame, and had always been a great favourite with me ; it was less painful in its details than other delinea- tions of this subject — the face of the Divine sufferer wore an expression of tender pity. Beneath the cross the Blessed Virgin and St. John stood with clasped hands — adopted love and most sacred responsibility — receiving sanc- tion and benediction. I had scarcely hung it on the nail before Phebe's querulous voice remonstrated with me. ' Why can you not leave well alone, Miss Garston ? I was thanking you in my heart for the music, but you have just driven it away. I cannot have that picture before my eyes ; it is too painful.' ' You will not find it so,' I repHed quietly ; 'it is a little present I have brought you. My dead brother bought it for me when he was a boy at school, and it is one of the things I most prize. He is dead, you 222 ONE OF GOD S HEROINES know, and that makes it doubly dear to me. That is why I want you to have it, because I have so much and yoii so little.' My speech moved her a httle, for her great eyes softened as she looked at me. 'So you have been in trouble, too,' she said softly. ' And yet you can sing like a bird that has lost its way and finds itself nearly at the gate of Paradise.' ' Shall I tell you about my trouble ?' I re- turned, sitting down by the bed. It wTung my heart to talk of Charhe, but I knew the history of his suffering and patience would teach Phebe a valuable lesson. An hour passed by unheeded, and when I had finished I exclaimed at the lateness of the hour. ' Ay, you have tired yourself — you look quite pale,' was her answer ; ' but you have made me forget myself for the first time in my life.' She stopped, and then with more effort continued, ' Come again to-morrow, and I will tell you my trouble ; it is worse than yours, and has made me the crazy creature you see. Yes, I will tell you all about it ; ' but half crying, as though she had little hope of con- ' HAVE YOU HEARD OF ROBERT ? ' 223 testing my will, 'You will not leave that picture to make my heart ache more than it does now ? ' 'My poor Phebe/ I said, kissing her, ' when your heart once aches for the thought of another's sorrow your healing will have begun. Let that picture say to you what no one has said to you before, " that all your life you have been an idolater, that you have worshipped only yourself and one other " ' 'Whom? What do you mean? Have you heard of Eobert? ' she asked excitedly. ' To-morrow is Sunday,' I returned, touch- ing her softly. ' I am going to church in the morning, and I shall not be here until evening ; but we shall have time then for a long talk, and you shall tell me everything ; ' and then without waiting for an answer I left the room. It was late indeed. Miss Locke had long returned, and was busying herself over her sister's supper ; she held up her finger to me smiling as I passed, and I peeped in. Kitty was lying on the rug fast asleep with the doll in her arms. ' I found them hke this when I came in,* whispered Miss Locke ; ' she must have been 224 oxE OF god's heroines listening to the music and fallen asleep. How late you have stopped with Phebe ; it is nearly eight o'clock ! ' ' I do not think the time has been wasted,' I answered cheerfully, as I bade her good-night and stepped out into the darkness. Is time ever wasted, I wonder, when we stop in our daily work to give one of these weak ones a cup of cold water ? It is not for me to answer, only our recording angel knows how some such little deed of kindness may brigliten some dim struggling life that seems over-full of pain. CHAPTEE XII. A MISSED VOCATIOX. T Wiis pleasant to wake to bright siin- sliine the next morning, and to hear the sparrows twittering in the ivy. It had been my intention to set apart Sunday as much as possible as a day of rest and refreshment. Of course I could not expect always to control the various appeals for my help or to be free from my patients, but by management I hoped to secure the greater part of the day for myself. I had told Peggy not to expect me at the cottage until the afternoon ; everything was in such order that there was no necessity for me to forego the morning service. My promise to Pheba Locke would keep me a prisoner for the evening, but I determined that her sister VOL. I. Q 226 A MISSED VOCATIOX and Kitty should be set free to go to church, so my loss would be their gain. I thought of Jill as I dressed myself. She had often owned to me that the Sundays at Hyde Park Gate w^ere not to her taste. Visitors thronged the house in the afternoon ; Sara dis- cussed her week's amusements with her friends or yawned over a novel ; the morning's, sermon was followed as a matter of course by a gay luncheon party. ' What does it mean, Ursula ? Jill would say, opening her big black eyes as widely as possible ; ' I do not understand. Mr. Erskine has been tellini]^ us that we ouc^ht to renounce the world and our own wills, and not to follow the multitude to do foolishness, and all the afternoon mother and Sara have been talking about dresses for the fancy-ball ; is there one rehgion for churcli and another for home ? Do we fold it up aud put it away with our prayer-books in the little book-cupboard that father locks so carefully?' finished Jill, with girhsh scorn. Poor Jill, she had a Avide generous nature, with great capabilities, but she was growing up in a chilling atmosphere. Young girls are terribly honest ; they dig down to the very root THE SHAMS OF COXVENTIOXALITY 227 of things; tliey drag oiF tlie swathing cloths from the mummy face of conventionahty. What does it mean ? they ask. Is there truth any- where ? Endless shams surround them ; people listen to sermons, then they shake off the dust of the holy place carefully from the very hem of their garments ; their religion, as Jill expressed, is left beside their prayer-books. Ah ! if one could but see clearly, with eyes purged from every remnant of earthhness — see as the angels do — the thick fog of unrisen and unprayed prayers clinging to the rafters of every empty church, we might well shudder in the clogging heavy atmosphere. Jill had not more religion than many other girls, but she wanted to be true ; the incon- sistency of human nature baffled and perplexed her ; she was not more ready to renounce the world than Sara w^as, but she wished to know the inner meaning of things, and in this I longed to help her. I could not help thinking of her tenderiy and pitifully as I walked down the road leading to the little JSTorman church. I was early, and the building was nearly empty when I entered the porch ; but it was quiet and restful to sit there and review the past week, q2 228 A MISSED VOCATIOX and watch the sunshine hghting up the red brick walls and touching the rood-screen, while a taint purple gleam fell on the chancel pave- ment. Two ladies entered the seat before me, and I looked at them a little curiously. They were both very handsomely dressed, but it was not their fashionable appearance that attracted me. I had caught sight of a most beautiful and striking face belonging to one of them that somehow riveted my attention. The lady was apparently very young, and had a tall graceful figure, and strange colour- less liair that looked as tliough it ought to have been golden, only the gloss had faded out of it, but it was lovely hair, fine and soft as a baby's. As she rose she slightly turned round, and our eyes met for a moment ; they were large melancholy eyes, and the face, beautiful as it was, was very worn and thin, and absolutely without colour. I could see her profile plainly all through the service, but the dull impassive expression of the countenance that she had turned upon me gave me a sensation of pain, she looked like a person who had experienced THE LADIES FROM GLAD^TX 229 some great trouble or undergone some terrible illness. I could not make up my mind which it could be. The other lady was much older, and had no claims to beauty. I could see her face plainly, for she looked round once or twice as though she were expecting some one. She must have been over thirty, and had rather a singular face ; it was thin, dark-com- plexioned, and very sallow ; she was a stylish- looking woman, but her appearance did not interest me. To my surprise, just as the service commenced Mr. Hamilton came in and joined them. So these must be the ladies from Gladwyn, I thought. That beautiful pale girl must be his sister Gladys, and the other one Miss Darrell. I tried to keep my attention to my own devotions, but every now and then my eyes would stray to the lovely face before me. Mr. Hamilton's behaviom- was irreproachable. I could hear his voice following all the responses, and he sang the hymns very heartily. I think he knew I was behind him, for he handed me a hymn-book, with a slight smile, when I was offerinsc to share mine with a 230 A MISSED VOCATION young woman. Miss Darrell gave me a curiously penetrating look when she came out that did not quite please me, but the girl who followed her did not seem to notice my presence. I sat still in my place for a minute, as I did not wish to encounter them in the porch. I had lino'ered so loncf that the conoTeo;ation had quite dispersed v/hen I got out, but, to my sur- prise, I could see the three walking very slowly down the road. Could they have been waiting for me ? I wondered, but I dismissed this idea as absurd. But I could not forcret the face that had so interested me — and when I encountered Uncle Max on his way to the children's service I questioned him at once about the two ladies. ' Yes, you are right, Ursula,' he said, a little absently. ' The one with fair hair was Miss Gladys ; her cousin. Miss Darrell, sat by Hamilton.' ' But you never told me how beautiful she was,' I replied, in rather an injured voice. ' She has a j)erfect face, only it is so worn and unhappy-looking. ' 'You must not keep me,' observed Max, hurriedly, ' Miss Darrell wants to speak to me I CAME FACE TO FACE WITH MISS DARRELL 231 before service.' And he ruslied off, leaving me standing in the middle of the path rather wondering at his abruptness, for the bell had not commenced. A little farther on, I came face to face with Miss Darrell ; she was walking with Mr. Tudor, and seemed talking to him with much animation. She bowed slightly, as he took off his hat to me, in a graceful w^ell-bred manner, but her face prepossessed me even less than it had done in the morning. She had keen, dark eyes like Mr. Hamilton's, only they somehow repelled me. I was somewhat quick with my likes and dishkes, as I had proved by the dis- like I had taken to Mr. Hamilton. This feeling- was wearing off, and I w^as no longer so strongly prejudiced against him. I might even find Lliss Darrell less repelling when I spoke to her. She was evidently a gentlewoman ; her move- ments were quiet and graceful, and she had a good carriage. I w^as somewhat surprised on reaching the cottage to find Mr. Hamilton sitting by my patient. He had Janie on his knee, and seemed as though he had been there for some time, but he rose at once when he saw me. 232 A MISSED VOCATION' ' I was waitiDg for you, Miss GarstoD,' he said quietly. ' I wanted to give you some direc- tions about Mrs. Marshall,' and when he had finished, he said a little abruptly : 'What made you so long coming out of church this morning P I was waitini? to intro- duce my sifter and cousin to you, but you were determined to disappoint me.' I was a httle confused by this. ' Did you recognise me ? ' I asked rather tamely. ' Xo — not in that smart bonnet/ was the unexpected reply. ' I did not identify the wearer with the villa^re nurse, until I heard voiir voice in the Te Deum — you am hardly disguise your voice, Miss Gan^ton — my cousin Etta pricked up her ears when she heard it ; ' and then, as I made no answer, he picked up his hat with rather an amused air and wished me good-bye. I was rather offended at the mention of my bonnet ; the little grey wing that relieved its sombre black trimmings could hardly be called smart — a word I abhorred — but he probably said it to tease me. ' Ay, the doctor has been teUing us you HE HAD BEEX PRAISIXG MY VOICE 233 have a voice like a skylark,' observed Elspeth ; ' but I have been thinking it must be more like an angel's voice, my bairn, since you mostly use it to sing the Lord's praises, and to cheer the sick folk round you — that is more than a skylark does.' So he had been praising my voice. What an odd man ! I stayed at the cottage about two hours, and read a little to the children and Elspeth, and then I started for the Lockes. Kitty clapped her hands when she heard she was to go to church with her Aunt Susan. I found out afterwards the child had always gone alone. Phebe was evidently expectiug me, for her eyes were fixed on the door as I entered, and the same shadowy smile I had seen once before swept over her wan features when she saw me. She seemed ready and eager to talk, but I ad- hered to my usual programme. I was rather afraid that our conversation would excite her, so I wanted to quiet her first. I sang a few of my favourite hymns, and then read the evening psalms. She heard me somewhat reluctantly, but when I had finished her face cleared, and 234 A MISSED YOCATIOX without any preamble she commenced her story. I never remember that recital without pain. It positively wrung my heart to listen to her. I had heard the outhne of her sad story from her sister's lips, but it had lacked colour ; it had been a simple statement of hicts, and no more. But now Phebe's passionate words seemed to clothe it with power ; the very sight of tlie ghastly and almost distracted foce on tlie pillow gave a miserable pathos to tlie story. It was in vain to check excitement wliile tlie unhappy creature poured out the history of her wrongs — the old, old story, of a credulous woman's heart being trampled u[)on and tortured by an unworthy lover, was enacted again before me. ' I just worshipped the ground he ^valked on, and he threw me aside like a broken toy,' she said over and over again. ' And the worst of it is that, villain as he is, I cannot unlove him, though I am that mad with him sometimes that I could almost murder him.' ' Love is strong as death, and jealousy is cruel as the grave,' I muttered, half to myself, but she overheard me. SHUTTING OUT THE SUNLIGHT 235 ' Ay, that is just true; she returned eagerly, ' there are times when I hate Eobert anclXancy and wonld hke to hannt them. Did I not tell you, Miss Garston, that hell had begun with me already? I was never a good woman — never, not even when I was happy and Eobert loved me. I was just full of him, and wanted nothing else in heaven and earth ; and when the trouble came, and father and mother died, and I lay here hke a log — only a log has not got a livinor heart in it — I seemed to 2:0 mad with the anger and unhappiness, and I felt " the worm that dieth not, and the fire that is not quenched." ' I stooped over and wiped her poor lips and poor head, for she Avas fearfully exhausted, and then in a perfect passion of pity closed her face between my hands, and bade God bless her. ' What do you mean ? ' she said, staring at me ; but her voice trembled. ' Hav'n't I been telling you how wicked I am? Do you think that is a reason for His blessing me ? ' ' I think His blessing has always been with you, my poor Phebe, like the sunlight that you try to shut out from your windows. You hide yourself in your own darkness, and pretend 236 A MISSED VOCATION tliat the all-embracing love is not for you. Well may you call your present existence a tomb ; but you must not -wrong your Almighty Father — not He, but you yourself have walled yourself up with your own sinful hands, and then you wonder at the weight that lies upon your heart.' ' Can I forget my trouble when I am not able to move ? ' she said bitterly. And it was sad to see how lier liands beat upon the bed- clothes. But I held them in mine. They were icy cold. Tlie action seemed to calm licr frenzy. 'You cannot forget,' I returned quietly; ' but all this time, all these weary years, you micfht have learnt to for^^ive Eobert.' ' Nay, I will have nothing to do with for- giving,' was the hard answer. ' And yet you say you love him, Phebe. Why, the very devils would laugh at such a notion of love.' ' Didn't I say I both loved and hated him ? ' very fiercely. ' Speak the truth, and say you hate him, and God forgive you your sin. But it is a greater one than Eobert has committed against you.' THE church's intercessiox 237 ' How dare you say sucli things to me, Miss Garston ? ' trying to free her hands ; but still I held them fast. ' You will make me hate you next. I am not a pleasant-tempered woman.' ' If you do, I will promise you forgiveness beforehand. Why, you poor creature, do you think I could ever be hard on you ? ' The fierce light in her eyes softened. ' Nay, I did not mean what I said ; but you excite me with your talk. How can you know what I feel about these things ? You cannot put your- self in my place.' ' The heart knoweth its own bitterness, Phebe ; and it may be that in your place I should fail utterly in patience ; but if we will not lie still under His hand, and learn the lesson He would fain teach us, it may be that fresh trials may be sent to humble us.' ' Do you think things could be much worse with me ? ' becoming excited again ; but I stroked her hand, and begged her gently to let me finish my speech. ' Phebe, as you lie there on your cross — the whole Church throughout the world is praying for you Sunday after Sunday when the prayer goes up for those who are desolate and op- 238 A MISSED VOCATION pressed. And who so desolate and oppressed as you ? ' ' True, most true,' she murmured. ' You are cradled in the supplications of the faithful. A thousand hearts are hearing your sorrows, and yet you say impiously that you are on the borderland of hell ; but no, you will never go there. There are too many marks of His love upon you. All this suffering has more meaning than that.' It is impossible to describe the look she gave me — astonishment, incredulity, and some- thing like dawning hope were blended in it, but she remained silent. ' You have missed your vocation, that is true. You were set apart here to do most divine work ; but you have failed over it. Still you may be forgiven. How many prayers you might have prayed for Eobert ! You miglit have been an invisible shield between him and temptation. There is so much poAver in the prayers of unselfish love. This room, which you describe as a tomb, or an antechamber of hell, might liave been an inner sanctuary, from which blessings might flow out over the whole neig^hbourhood. Silent 'THERE IS ONE WHO CAX CAST IT OUT' 239 lessons of patience might have been preached here. Your sister's weary hands might have been strengthened. You could have mutually consoled each other, and now ' I paused, for here conscience completed the sentence. I saw a tear steal under her eyelid, and then course slowly down her face. ' I have made Susan miserable. I know that, and she is never mipatient with me if I am ever so cross with her. Ah ! I deserve my punishment, for I have been a selfish, hateful creature all my life. I do think sometimes that an evil spirit hves in me.' ' There is One wdio can cast it out ; but you must ask Him, Phebe. Such a few words will do : " Lord, help me ! " Now we have talked enough, and Susan will be coming back from church. I mean to sing you the evening hymn, and then I must go.' And almost before I had finished the last line, Phebe, exhausted with emotion, had sunk into a refreshing sleep, and I crept softly out of the room to watch for Susan's return. I felt strangely weary as I walked home. It was almost as though I had witnessed a human soul struo-ghng in the grasp of seme 240 A MISSED YOCATIOI^ evil spirit. Tt was the first time I had ever ministered to mental disease. Never before had I reahsed what self-will, uuchastened by sorrow and untaught by religion, can bring a woman. Once or twice that evening I had doubted whether the brain were really un- hinged ; but I had come to the conclusion that it was only excess of morbid excitement. My way home led me past the Vicarage. Just as I was in sight of it, two figures came out of the gate and waited to let me pass. One of them was the churchwarden, Mr. Townsend, and the other, Mr. Hamilton. It was impos- sible to avoid recognition in tlie bright moon- lifjht ; but I was rather amazed when I heard Mr. Hamilton bid Mr. Townsend good-niglit, and a moment after he overtook me. ' You are out late to-night, Miss Garston. Do you always mean to play truant from evenins^ service ? ' I told him how I had spent my time, but I suppose my voice betrayed inward fatigue, for he said, rather kindly : ' This sort of work does not suit you ; you are looking quite pale this evening. You must not let your feelings exhaust you. I am sorry A DIFFICULT FIECE OF WOKK 241 for Phebe myself, but she is a very tiresome patient. Do you think you have made any impression on her ? ' He seemed rather astonished when I briefly mentioned the subject of our talk. ' Did she tell you about herself? Come, you have made great progress. Let her get rid of some of the poison that seems to choke her, and then there will be some chance of doing her good. She has taken a great fancy to you, that is evident ; and, if you will allow me to say so, I think you are just the person to influence her.' ' It is a very diflScult piece of work,' I re- turned ; but he changed the subject so abruptly that I felt convinced that he knew how utterly jaded I was. He told me a humorous anecdote about a child that made me laugh, and when we reached the gate of the cottage he bade me, rather peremptorily, put away all w^orrying thoughts and to go to bed, which piece of advice I followed as meekly as possible, after first reading a passage out of my favourite ' Thomas a Kempis ' ; but I thought of Phebe all the time I w^as reading it : — ' The cross, therefore, is always ready, and VOL. I. E 242 A MISSED VOCATIOX everywhere waits for thee. Thou canst not escape it wJiithersoever thou runnest ; for wdiithersoever thou goest, thou carriest thyself with thee and shall ever find thyself. ... If thou bear the cross cheerfully, it will bear thee and lead thee to the desired end, namely, where there shall be an end of suffering, thougli here there sliall not be. If thou bear it un- willingl}^, tliou makest for thyself a (new) burthen and increaseth tliy load, and yet, not- withstanding, thou nuist bear it.' CHAPTEE XIII. LADY BETTY. HE next evening I was refused admit- tance to Phebe's room. Miss Locke met me at the door, looking more depressed than usual, and asked me to follow her into the kitchen, wliere we found Kitty in the rockino'- chair by the hearth dressing; her new doll. 'It is just as she treated the Vicar and Mr. Tudor,' she observed disconsolately. ' I don't quite know what ails her to-day ; she had a beautiful night, and slept hke a baby, and when I took her breakfast to her she put her arms round my neck and asked me to kiss her — a thing she has not done for a year or more ; and she went on for a long time about R 2 244: LADY BETTY how bad she had been to me, and wanting me to forgive her and make it np with her.' ' WeU ? ' I demanded, rather impatiently, as Susan wiped her patient eyes and took np her sewing. ' Well, poor lamb ! I told her I would for- give her anything and everything if she would only let me go on with my work, for I had Mrs. Druce's mourning to finish ; but she would not let me stir for a long time, and cried so bitterly — though she says she never can cry — that I thought of sending for you or Dr. Hamilton. But she cried more when I mentioned you, and said, No, she would not see you ; you had left her more miserable than she was before : and she made me promise to send you away if you came this evening, which I am loth to do after all your kindness to her.' * I have brought her some fresh flowers this evening,' was my reply. ' Do not dis- tress yourself, Miss Locke ; we must expect Phebe to be contrary sometimes.' And the words came to my mind, ' And ofttimes it castetli him into tlie fire and oft into the water.' 'You have discharge.! your duty, but I SIXG TO SUSAX AXD KITTY 245 I am not going just yet. Let me lielj) you with that work. I am very fond of sewing, and that is a nice easy piece. Shall you mind if I sing to you and Kitty a httle ? ' I need not have asked the question when I saw the fretted look pass from Miss Locke's face. ' It is the greatest pleasure Kitty and I have, next to aoing^ to church,' she said humbly. ' Your voice does sound so sweet ; it soothes like a lullaby. It is my behef,' speaking under her breath so that the child should not hear her, ' that she is just trying to punish herself by sending you away.' I thought perhaps this might be the case, for who could understand all the perversities of a diseased mind ? But if Phebe's will was strong for evil, mine was stronger still to over- come her for her own good. I was determined on two things — first, I would not leave the house without seeing her ; and, secondly, that nothing should induce me to stay with her after this reception. She must be disciplined to civility at all costs. Max had been wrong to yield to her sick whims. I must have sung for a long time, to judge by the amount of work I contrived to do, and 24G LADY BETTY if I had snug like a Avliole nest full of skylarks I could not have pleased my audience more. I was sorry to set Miss Locke's tears flowing, because it hindered her work ; tears are such a simple luxury, but poor folk cannot always afford to induli^e in them. I had just connnenced that beautiful song, ' Waft her, angels, througli the air,' when the impatient thumping of a stick on the floor arrested me ; it came from Phebe's room. ' I will go to her,' I said, weaving ]\Iiss Locke back and picking up my flowers. ' Do not look so scared, she means those knocks for me,' and I was right in my surmise. I ibund lier lying very quietly, with tlie traces of tears still on her face ; she addressed me quite gently. ' Do not sing any more, please ; I cannot bear it, it makes my heart ache too much to-night.' ' Very well,' I returned cheerfully, ' I will just mend your Are, for it is getting low, and put these flowers in water, and then I will l^id 3^ou good-night.' ' You are vexed with me for being rude,' she said, almost timidly. ' I told Susan to send you away, because I could not bear any more AN AWAKENING COXSCIEXCE 247 talk. You made me so unhappy yesterday, Miss Garston.' I was cruel enough to tell her that I was glad to hear it, and I must have looked as though I meant it. ' Oh, don't,' she said, shrinking as though I had dealt her a blow. ' I want you to unsay those words — they pierce me like thorns. Please tell me you did not mean them.' 'How can I know to w^hat you are alludiag ? ' I replied, in rather an unsympathetic tone ; but I did not intend to be soft with her to-day — she had treated me badly and must repent her ingratitude. ' I certainly meant every word I said yesterday.' To my great surprise she burst into tears, and repeated word for word a fragment of a sentence that I had said. ' It haunts me, Miss Garston, and frightens me somehow. I have been saying it over and over in my dreams — that is w^hat upsets me so to-day — " if w^e will not he still under His hand" — yes, you said that, knowing I have never lain still for a moment — " and if we will not learn the lesson He w^ould fain teach us, it may be that fresh trials may be sent to humble us." ' 248 LADY BETTY Pity kept me silent for a moment, but I knew that I must not shirk my work. ' I am sorry if the truth pains you, Phebe, but it is no less the truth ; how am I to look at you and think that Goel has finished His work ? ' She put up both her hands and motioned me away with almost a face of horror, but I took no notice. I arranged the llowers and tended the fire, and tlien oflered her some cooling drink, which she did not refuse, and then I bade her good-night. ' What ! ' she exclaimed, ' are you going to leave me hke that, and not a word to sootlie me, after making me so unhappy ? Think of the long night I have to go tln'ough.' ' Xever mind tlie lengtli of the night, if only you can hear His voice in tlie darkness. You wanted to send me away, Phebe ; well, and to-morrow I shall not come ; I shall stay at home and rest myself. You can send me away, and little harm will happen ; but take care you do not send Him away.' And I left the room. When I told Miss Locke that I was not coming the next evening she looked frightened. 'POOR NAP !' 249 ' Has my poor Phebe ofFended you so badly, then ? ' she asked tremulously. ' I am not offended at all,' I replied ; ' but Phebe has need to learn all sorts of painful lessons. I shall have all the warmer welcome on Wednesday, after leaving her to herself a little ; ' but Mss Locke only shook her head at this. The next day w^as so lovely that I promised myself the indulgence of a long country walk ; there was a pretty village about two miles from Heathfield that I longed to see again. But my little plan was frustrated, for just as I was starting I heard Tinker bark furiously ; a moment afterwards there was a rush and scuffle, followed by a shriek in a girlish treble ; in another moment I had seized my umbrella and flown to the door. There was a fight going on between Tinker and a large black retriever, and a little lady in brown was wandering round them helplessly wringing her hands and crying ' Oh, Nap ! poor Nap ! ' I took her for a child the first moment, she was so very small. ' Do not be frightened, my dear,' I said soothingly, ' I will make Tinker behave himself — and a well-aimed blow from my umbrella made him draw off growhng. 250 LADY BETTY In another moment I had liim by the collar, and by dint of threats and coaxing contrived to shut him up in the kitchen. He was not a quarrelsome dog generally, but, as I heard afterwards. Nap was an old antagonist ; they had once fallen out about Peter, and had never been friends since. I found the little brown o-irl sittino- iu the porch with her arms round the retriever's neck ; she was kissing his black face, and begging him to forget the insult he had received from that horrid Barton dog. ' Poor old Tinker is not horrid at all, I assure you,' I said, laughing ; ' he is a dear fellow, and I am already very fond of him.' ' But he nearly killed Xap,' she returned, with a little frown ; ' he is worse than a savage, for he has no notion of hospitality. Nap and I came to call,' rising with an air of great dignity. ' I suppose you are Miss Garston. I am Lady Betty.' I had never heard of such a person in Heathfield; but of course Uncle Max would enhghten me. As I looked at her more closely I saw my mistake in thinking she was a child ; little brown thing as she was, she was fully 'WE HAVE COME FOR A CALL' 251 grown up, and, though not in the least pretty, had a bright piquant face, a nez retrousse, and a pair of mischievous eyes. She was dressed rather extravagantly in a brown velvet walking-dress, with an absurd little hat, that would have fitted a child, on the top of her dark wavy hair ; she only wanted a touch of red about her to look like a magnified robin redbreast. ' Well,' she said impatiently, as I hesitated a moment in my surprise, ' I have told you we have come for a call, Xap and I ; but if you are o;oincf out ' ' Oh, that is not the least consequence,' I returned, waking up to a sense of my duty. ' I am very pleased to see you and N'ap ; but you must not stop any longer in this cold porch ; the wind is rather cutting;. There is a nice fire in my parlour.' And I led the way in. I was rather puzzled about Nap, for I seemed to recognise his sleek head and mild brown eyes ; and yet w^here could I have seen him ? He trotted in contentedly after his mis- tress, and stretched himself out on the rug Tinker's fashion ; but Lady Betty, instead of seating herself, began to walk round the room 252 LADY BETTY aucl inspect my books and cliina, making re- marks upon everything in a brisk voice, and questioning me about sundry things that attracted lier notice in rather an inquisitive manner ; but, to my great surprise and rehef, she passed Charhe's picture without remark or comment — only I saw her glancing at it now and then from under her long lashes. Tliis mystified me a little ; but I thought her whole behaviour a little peculiar. I had never before seen callers on their first visit perambulating the room like polar bears or throwing out curious feelers everywhere. As a rule they sat up stiffly enoudi and discussed the weather. Lady Betty was evidently a character ; most likely she prided herself on being unlike other people. I was just beginning to wish that she would sit down and let me question her in my turn, when she suddenly put up her eye-glasses and burst into a most musical little laugh. ' Oh, do come here, Miss Garston ; this is too amusing ! There goes her Majesty Gladys of Gladwyn, accompanied by her Prime Minister. Don't they look as though they were walking in the Eow? — heads up — everything in perfect trim ! They are coming to call — yes ! — no ! I QUESTION LADY BETTY 253 They are going to the Cockaignes first — what an escape I my dear creature, if they come here I shall fly to Mrs. Barton. The Prime Minister's airs will be too much for my gravity.' I gave her a very divided attention, for I was watching Miss Hamilton and her com- panion with much interest. I could see that Miss Darrell was chatting volubly ; but Mss Hamilton's face looked as grave and impassive as it had looked on Sunday. When they had passed out of sight I turned to Lady Betty rather eagerly ; she had dropped her eye- glasses, but an amused smile still played round her lips. ' La belle cousine is improving the occasion as usual. Poor Gladys, how bored she looks ! but there is no escape for her this afternoon, for the Prime Minister has her in tow. I wonder from what text she is preaching ? Ezekiel's dry bones, I should think, from her Majesty's face.' ' Do you know the Hamiltous of Gladwyn very intimately ? ' I asked innocently ; but I grew rather out of patience when Lady Betty first lifted her eye-glass and stared at me, with the air of a non-comprehending kitten, and then 254 LADY BETTY buried her face in a very fiufTy little mufT in a fit of uncontrolled merriment. I was provoked by this, and determined not to say a word. So presently she came out of her muff and asked me, with mirthful eyes, for whom I took her.' 'You are Lady Betty, I understood,' was my stiff response. ' Yes, of course ; every one calls me that, ex- cept the Vicar, who will address me as Miss Elizabeth. I never will answer to that name ; I hate it so. The servants up at Gladwyn never dare to use it. 1 would get Etta to dismiss them if they did. Is it not a shame that people should not have a voice in the matter of tlieir name — that helpless infants should be abandoned to the tender mercies of some old fogey of a sponsor ? Miss Garston, if I were ever to hear you address me by that name it would be the death-warrant to our friendship.' ' Let me know who you really are first, and then I will promise not to oflend your peculiar prejudice.' ' Dear me ! ' she answered pettishly, ' you talk just like Giles. He often laughs at me and makes himself very unpleasant. But then, as I LIKE A BRIGHT-EYED BIRD 255 often tell him, philanthropists are not pleasant people with whom to live ; a man with a hobby is always odious. Well, Miss Garston, if you will be so prying, my name is Elizabeth Grant Hamilton ; only from a baby I have been called Lady Betty.' ' I shall remember,' I replied quietly, for really the httle thing seemed quite ruffled. This was evidently more than a whim on her part. ' It would have seemed to me a liberty to use a family pet name. But of course if you wish me to do so ' ' I do wish it,' rather peremptorily ; ' that is partly why Mr. Cunhffe and I are not good friends — that, and other reasons.' ' Oh, I am sorry you do not like Uncle Max,' I said, rather impulsively ; but she drew her- self up after the manner of an aggrieved pigeon. She was rather like a bright-eyed bird, with her fluffy hair and quick movements. ' Oil, I hke him well enough, but I do not understand him. Men are not easy to under- stand. He is quiet, but he is disappointing. We must not expect perfection in this world,' finished the little lady, sententiously. ' I have never met any one half as good as 25 G LADY BETTY Uncle Max,' was my warm retort. * He is the most unselfish of men.' ' Unselfish men make mistakes sometimes/ she returned dryly. ' Giles and he are great friends. He is up at Gladwyn a great deal, so is Mr. Tudor. Mr. Tudor is not a finished character, but he has good points — and one can tolerate him. There, how vexing, we were just beginning to talk comfortably, and I see the shadow of her Majesty's gown at the gate. Come, Nap, we must fly to Mrs. Barton's for refuge ; au revoh\ Miss Garston,' and kissing her little gloved hand tliis strangest of Lady Betties vanished, followed by tlie obedient Nap. My pulses quickened a little at the prospect of seeing the beautiful face of Gladys Hamilton in my little room ; but it was not she who entered first, but Miss Darrell, whose sliarp incisive glance had taken in every detail of my surroundings before her faultlessly-gloved hand had released mine ; and even when I turned to greet Miss Hamilton, her peculiar and somewhat toneless voice claimed my attention. ' How very fortunate,' she began, seating herself with elaborate caution with her back ' I HAVE XO TIME TO BE DULL ' 257 to the light. ' We hardly hoped to find you at liome, Miss Garston. My cousin Giles in- formed us how much engaged you were. We have been so interested in what Mr. Cunliffe told us about it. It is such a romantic scheme, and, as I am a very romantic person, you may be sure of my sympathy. Gladys, dear, is this not a charming room ? Positively you have so altered and beautified it that I can hardly believe it is the same room. I told a friend of ours, Mrs. Saunders, that it would never suit her, as it was such a shabby little place.' ' It is very nice,' returned Miss Hamilton, quietly. ' I hope,' fixing her large, beautiful eyes on me, ' that you are comfortable here ? We thought, perhaps, you might be a little dull.' ' I have no time to be dull,' I returned, smiling, but Miss Darrell interrupted me. ' No, of course not ; busy people are never dull. I told you so, Gladys, as we walked up the road. Depend upon it, I said. Miss Garston will hardly have a minute to give to our idle chatter. She will be wanting to get to her sick people, and wish us at Hanover. Still, as my cousin Giles said, we must do the right thing VOL. I. S 25K LADY BETTY and call, though I am sure you are not a con- ventional person, neither am I — oh, we are quite kindred souls here.' I tried to receive this speech in good part, but I certainly protested inwardly against the notion that Miss Darrell and I would ever be kindred souls. I felt an instinctive repugnance to her voice : its want of tone jarred on me ; and all the time she talked, her hard, bright eyes seemed to dart restlessly from Miss Hamilton to me. I felt sure that nothing could escape their scrutiny, but now and then, when one looked at her in return, she seemed to veil them most curiously under the long curling lashes. She was rather an elegant -looking woman, but her face was decidedly plain. She had thin lips and rather a square jaw, and her sallow complexion lacked colour. One could not guess her age exactly, but she might have been three or four and thirty. I heard her spoken of afterwards as a very interesting-looking person ; certainly her figure was fine, and she knew how to dress herself — a very useful art when women have no claim to beauty. Miss Darrell's voluble tongue seemed to touch MISS HAMILTON IS VERY SILENT 259 on every subject. Miss Hamilton sat perfectly silent, and I had not a chance of addressing her. Once, when I looked at her, I could see her eyes were fixed on my darling's picture. She was gazing at it with an air of absorbed melan- choly ; her lips were firmly closed, and her hands lay folded in her lap. ' That is the picture of my twin brother,' I said softly, to arouse her. To my surprise she turned paler than ever, and her lips quivered. ' Your twin brother, yes — and you have lost him ? ' But here Miss Darrell chimed in again — ' How very interesting ! What a blessing photography is, to be sure ! Do you take well. Miss Garston ? They make me a perfect fright. I tell my cousins that nothing on earth will induce me to try another sitting. Why should I endure such a martyrdom, if it be not to give pleasure to my fi:iends ? ' To my surprise, Miss Hamilton's voice in- terrupted her — it was a little like her step- brother's voice, and had a slight hesitation that was not in the least unpleasant. She spoke rather slowly : at least it seemed so by com- parison with Miss Darrell's quick sentences. s 2 260 LADY BETTY ' Etta, we have not done what Giles told us. We hope you will come and dine with us to- morrow, Miss Garston, without any ceremony/ ' Dear me, how careless of me,' broke in Miss Darrell, but her forehead contracted a little, as though her cousin's speech annoyed her. ' Giles gave the messcage to me, but we were talking so fast that I quite forgot it. My cousin will have it that you are dull, and our society may cheer you up. I do not hold with Giles. I think you are far too superior a j^jcrson to be afraid of a little solitude ; strong-minded people like you are generally fond of their own society; but all the same, I hope you do not mean to be quite a recluse.' 'We dine at seven, but I hope you will come as much earlier as you like,' interposed Miss Hamilton. ' Xo one will be with us but Mr. Tudor.' ' You forget Mr. CunlilTe, Gladys,' observed Miss Darrell, in rather a sharp voice. ' I am sure I do not know what the poor man has done to offend you ; but ever since last summer ' But here Miss Hamilton rose with a gesture that was almost queenly, and her impassive face looked m-aver than ever. MISS DAREELL SEEMS PUT OUT 261 ' 1 did not know you had invited Mr. Cunliffe, Etta, or I should certainly have men tioned him. Good-bye, Miss Garston ; we shall look for you soon after six.' There was something wistful in her ex- pression ; it seemed as though she wanted me to Gome, and yet I was a complete stranger to her. I felt very reluctant to dine at Gladwyn, but that look overruled me. ' I will try to come early,' was my answer, and then I drew back to let them pass. Miss Darrell bade me good-bye a little stiffly — something had evidently put her out ; as they went down the narrow garden path I could see she was speaking to Miss Hamilton rather angrily, but Miss Hamilton seemed to take no notice. What did it all mean ? I w^ondered ; and then I suddenly bethought myself of my other visitor. I had wholly forgotten her existence in my interest in her beautiful sister. What could have become of Lady Betty ? CHAPTER XIV. LADY BETTY LEAVES IIER .AIUFF. HIS question Avas speedily answered. The gate had scarcely closed be- hind my visitors wlicn I heard a gay little laugh behind me, and Lady Betty tripped across the passage, and took possession of the easy-chair in the friendliest way. ' Now we can iiave a chat and be cosy all by ourselves,' she said, with childish glee ; and then she stopped and looked at me, and her rosy little mouth began to pout, and a sort of baby frown came to her forehead. ' You don't seem pleased to see me again ; shall I go away ? Are you busy or tired, or is there anything the matter ? ' asked Lady Betty, in an extremely fractious voice. ' There is nothinc^ the matter, and I am I INVITE LADY BETTY TO TEA 263 delighted to see you, and — ' witli a sudden in- spiration, ' if you will be good enough to stay and have tea with me I will ask Mrs. Barton to send in one of her excellent tea-cakes.' This w^as evidently w^hat Lady Betty w^anted, for she nodded and took off her hat, and began to unbutton her long tan-coloured gloves in a cool businesslike way that amused me. I ran across to the kitchen, and gave Mrs. Barton a carte blanche for a sumptuous tea, and when I returned I found Lady Betty quite divested of her walking apparel, and patting her dark flufiy hair to reduce it to some degree of smoothness. She had a pretty little head, and it was covered by a mass of short curly hair that nothins^ would reduce to order. ' This is just what I like,' she said promptly. ' When Giles told us about you, and I made up my mind to call, I hoped you w^ould ask me to stay. I do dislike stiffness and conventionality excessively. I hope you mean to be friends with us, Miss Garston, for I have taken rather a fancy to you, in spite of your grave looks. Dear me, do you always look so grave ? ' ' Oh, no,' I returned, laughing. That is riofht ' with an approvinfr nod o approvmg 2iU LADY BETTY LEAVES HER MUFF 'you look ever so much nicer and younger when you smile. Well, what did the Prime Minister say? Was she very gushing and sympathetic? Did she patronise you in a ladylike way, and pat you on the head meta- phorically, until you felt ready to box her ears ? Ah, I know la belle couslne's little ways ? ' This was so exact a description of my con- versation with Miss Darrell that I laughed in a rather guilty foshion. Lady Betty clapped her hands delight e<.lly. ' Oh, I have found you out. You are not a bit solemn, really, only you put on the airs of a sister of mercy. So you don't like Etta ; you need not be afraid of telling me so ; she is the greatest humbug in the w«)rld, only Giles is so foolish as to believe in her. I call her a humbug because she pretends to be what she is not ; she is really a most prosaic sort of person, and she want^ to make people believe that she is a soft romantic body.' ' You are not very charitable in your esti- mate of your cousin, Lady Betiy.' ' Then she should not lead Gladys such a life — poor dear Majesty, to be nded by her AX EMBARRASSING CONFIDENCE 2G5 Prime Minister. I should like to see Etta try to dictate to me. Why, I should laugh in her face. She would not attempt it again. I can't think how it is,' looking a httle grave, ' that she has Gladys so completely under her thumb. Gladys is too proud to own that she is afraid of her, but all the same she never dares to act in opposition to Etta.' Lady Betty's confidence was rather em- barrassing, but I hardly knew how to check it. I began to think the household at Gladwyn must be a xery queer one. Uncle !Max had already hinted at a w^ant of harmony between Mr. Hamilton and his step-sisters, and ]\iiss Dan^ell seemed hardly a favourite with him, although he was too kind-hearted to say so openly. ' Has your cousm lived long ^^ith you ? ' I ventured to ask. ' Oh, yes ; ever since Gladys and I were little things ; before mamma died. Auntie lived with us too — poor auntie, w^e were very fond of her, but she was a sad invahd ; she died about three years ago. Etta has managed everything ever since.' ' Do you mean that Miss Darrell is house- 266 LADY BETTY LEAVES HER MUFF keeper ? I sliould have tliougbt that would have been your sister's place.' ' Oh, Gladys is called the mistress of the house, but none of the servants go to her for orders. If she gives any, Etta is sure to countermand them/ ' It is partly Gladys' fault,' went on Lady Betty, in her frank outspoken way. ' She tried for a little while to manage things ; but either slie was a terribly bad housekeeper, or Etta undermined her influence in the house ; but everything went wrong, and Giles got so angry — men do, you know, when the dear creatures' comforts are invaded — so tliere w^as a great fuss, and Gladys gave it up ; and now the Prime Minister manages the finances, and gives out stores, and thougli I hate to say it, things never w^ent more smoothly than they do now. Giles is scarcely ever vexed.' I am ashamed to say how much I was in- terested in Lady Betty's childish talk, and yet I knew it was wrons^ not to check her. What would Miss Hamilton say if she were to hear of our conversation ? Jill was rather a reckless talker, but she was nothing compared with this daring httle creature. Lady Betty told me LADY BETTY MAKES HERSELF AT HOME 267 afterwards, when we were better acquainted, that it had amused her so to see how widely I could open my eyes when I was surprised. I beheve she did it out of pure mischief. Our talk was happily interrupted by the appearance of Mrs. Barton and the tea-tray, which at once turned Lady Betty's thoughts into a new channel. There was so much to do. First she must help to arrange the table, and as no one else could cut such thin bread and butter she must try her hand at that. Then Nap must have his tea before we touched ours ; and when at last we did sit down she was praising the cake, and jumping up for the kettle, and waiting upon me ' because I was a dear good thing, and waited on poor people,' and coaxing me to take this or that as though I were her guest, and every now and then she paused to say ' how nice and cosy it was,' and how she was enjoying herself, and how glad she felt to miss that stupid dinner at Gladwyn, where no one talked but Giles and Etta, and Gladys sat as though she were half asleep, until she, Lady Betty, felt inclined to pinch them all. We were approaching the dangerous sub- 268 LADY BETTY LEAVES HER MUFF ject again, but I warded it off, by asking how slie and her sister employed their tune. She made a little face at me, as though the question bothered her. ' Oh, I do things — and Gladys — does things,' rather lucidly. ' Well, but what things, may 1 ask ? ' ' Why do you want to know ? ' was the unexpected retort. ' I don't question you, do I? Giles says women are dreadfully curious.' ' I think you are dreadfidly mysterious ; but as you are evidently ashamed of your occupa- tions, I will withdraw my question.' ' I do believe you are cross. Miss Garston — you are not a saint after all, though Giles says you sing like a cherub — I don't know where he ever heard one, but that is his affair. Well, as you choose to get pettish over it, I will be amiable, and tell you what we do. Etta says we waste our time dreadfully, but as it is our time and not hers, it is none of her business.' I thought it prudent to remain silent, so she wrinkled her brows and looked perplexed. ' Gladys — let me see what Gladys does : well, she used to teach in the schools, but she does not teach now — she says the infants make her head ache, that is why she has dropped ' MADAM CHARITY ' 269 the Sunday school. Xow Etta has her class. Then there was the mothers' meeting ; well, I never knew why she gave that up — I wonder if she knows herself — but Etta has got it ; and she has left off singing at the penny readings and village entertainments — Etta w^ould have replaced her there, only she has no voice. I think shq w^orks a httle for the poor people at the East End of London, but she does it in her ow^n room, because Etta laughs at her and calls her " Madam Charity." Gladys hates that. She takes long walks, and sketches a little and reads a good deal ; and there, that is all I know of her Majesty's doings.' Poor Miss Hamilton ; it certainly did not sound much of a hfe. 'And about yourself. Lady Betty.' ' Oh ! Lady Betty is here, there, and every- where,' mimicking me in a droll way. ' Lady Betty walks a little, talks a little, plays a little, and dances when she gets a chance. At pre- sent, lawn- tennis is a great object in her life ; last winter, swimming in Brill's bath and riding from Hove to Kemp Town or across the Brigh- ton Downs were her hobbies. Li the summer a gardening craze seized her, and just now she 270 LADY BETTY LEAVES HER MUFF is in an idle mood. What does it matter? a short Hfe and a merry one — eh, Miss Garston ! * I would not expostulate with this civilised little heathen, for she was evidently bent on provoking a lecture, and I determined to dis- appoint her. We had sat so long over our tea that the room was quite dark, and I rose to kindle the lamp. Lady Betty, as usual, was anxious to assist me, and went to the window to lower the blind. The next moment I heard an exclamation of annoyance, and as she came back to the table her little brown face was all aglow with some suppressed irritation. 'What is the matter. Lady Betty?' I asked, in some surprise. ' It is that provoking Etta again,' she began. ' She has guessed where I am, and has sent for me, the meddlesome old ' But here a tap at our room door stopped her outburst. As Lady Betty made no response, I said 'Come in,' and immediately a respectable- looking woman appeared in the doorway. She looked like a superior lady's-maid, and had a plain flice much marked by the small-pox, and rather dull light-coloured eyes. ' Well, Leah,' demanded Lady Betty, LEAH COMES FOR LADY BETTY 271 rather sulkily, 'what is your business with Miss Garston ? ' ' My business is with you, Lady Betty,' re- turned the woman, good-humouredly. ' Master came in just now and asked where you were — I think he told Miss Darrell that it was too late for you to be out walking ; so Miss Darrell said she believed you were at the White Cottage, for she saw your muff lying on Miss Garston's table ; so she told me to step up here, as it was too dark for you to walk alone, and I was to tell you that they would be wait- ing dinner/ ^Itis just like her interference,' muttered Lady Betty. ' But I suppose there would be a pretty fuss if I let the dinner spoil. Help me on with my jacket, Leah ; as you have come when no one wanted you, you had better make yourself useful.' She spoke with the peremptoriness of a spoiled child, but the woman smiled pleasantly and did as she was bid. She seemed a civil sort of person, evidently an old family servant. Something had struck me in her speech. Miss Darrell had seen Lady Betty's muff, and knew of her presence in the cottage, and yet she had 272 LADY BETTY LEAVES HER MUFF made no remark on the subject ; tins seemed strange, but would she not wonder still more at my silence ? ' Lady Betty,' I said hastily as this occurred to me ; ' j^our cousin will think it odd that I never spoke of you this afternoon ; but you ran out of the room so quickly, and then I fori]^ot all about it.' ' Oh, Etta will know I was only playing at hide-and-seek. Most likely she will think I bound you to secrecy. What a goose I was to leave my muff behind me — the very one Etta gave me, too ; why, she would see a pin, nothing escapes her — does it, Leah ? ' ' Not much, luidy Betty — slie has fine eyes for dust, I tell her. The new housemaid had better be careful Avith her room ; now, ma'am, if you are ready ? ' ' Good-bye, Miss Garston ; we shall meet to morrow,' returned Lady Betty, standing on tiptoe to kiss me, and as they went out I heard her say in quite a friendly manner to Leah, as though slie had already forgotten her grievance — ' Is not Miss Garston nice, Leah ? She has got such a kind face.' But I did not hear Leah's reply. ANOTHER VISITOR 273 I had not seen the last of my visitors, for about an hour afterwards, as I was finishino- a long chatty letter to Jill, there was the sharp click of the gate again, and Uncle Max came in. ' Are you busy, Ursula ? ' he said apologeti- cally, as I looked up in some surprise. ' I only called in as I was passing. I am going on to the Myers's — old Mr. Myers is ill and wants to see me.' But for all that Max drew his ac- customed chair to the fire, and looked at the blazing pine-knot a little dreamily. ' You keep good fires,' was his next remark. ' It is very cold to-night, there is a touch of frost in the air — Tudor was saying so just now. So you have had the ladies from Gladwyn here this afternoon.' ' How do you know that ? ' I asked in a sharp pouncing voice, for I was keeping that bit of news for a tit-bit. 'Oh, I met them,' he returned absently, * and they told me that you were to dine with them to-morrow. I call that nice and friendly, asking you without ceremony. What time shall you be ready, Ursula, for of course I shall not let you go alone the first time ? ' I was glad to hear this, for though I was VOL. I. T 274 LADY BETTY LEAVES HER MUFF not a shy person my first visit to Gladwyn would be a little formidable ; so I told him briefly that I would be ready by half past six, as they wished me to go early, and it would never do to be formal on my side. And then I gave him an account of Lady Betty's visit, but it did not seem to interest him much ; m fact, I do not believe that he listened very attentively. ' She is an odd little being,' he said rather absently, ' and prides herself on being as uncon- ventional as possible. They have spoiled her among them, Hamilton especially, but her droll ways amuse him. She has sulked with me lately because I will not give in to her absurd fad about Lady Betty. I tell her that she ought not to be ashamed of her baptismal name ; the angels will call her by it one day.' ' She is very amusing. I think I shall like her. Max ; but Miss Darrell does not please me. She is far too gushing and talkative for my taste ; she patronised and repressed me in the same breath. If there is anything I dislike it is to be patted on the head by a stranger.' ' Miss Hamilton did not pat you on the head, I suppose ? ' ' Miss Hamilton ! Oh dear no, she is of 'SHE REMINDS ME OF CLYTE ' 275 another calibre. I have quite fallen in love with her, her face is perfect, only rather too pale, and her manners are so gentle, and yet she has plenty of dignity ; she reminds me of Clyte, only her expression is not so contented and restful — she looks far too melancholy for a girl of her age.' ' Pshaw ! ' he said, rather impatiently, but I noticed he looked uncomfortable. 'What can have put such ideas in your head ? — you have only seen her twice — you could not expect her to smile in church.' Max seemed so thoroughly put out by my rcDiark that I thought it better to qualify my speech. ' Most likely Miss Darrell had been nagging at her.' His face cleared up directly. 'Depend upon it that was the reason she looked so grave,' he said with an air of relief. ' Miss Darrell can say ill-tempered things sometimes. Miss Hamilton is never as lively as Miss Eliza- beth ; she is always quiet and thoughtful ; some girls are like that, they are not sparkling and frothy.' I let him think that I accepted this state- ment as gospel, but in my heart I thought I T 2 276 LADY BETTY LEAVES IIER MUFF had never seen a sadder face than that of Gladys Hamilton ; to me it looked absolutely- joyless, as though some strange blight had fallen on her youth. I kept tliese thoughts to myself like a wise woman, and when Max looked at me rather searchingly as though he expected a verbal assent, I said : ' Yes, you are right, some girls are like tliat,' and left him to glean my meaning out of this parrot- like sentence. I could make nothing of Max this evening, lie seemed restless and ill at ease ; now and then he fell into a brown study and roused himself with difficulty. I was almost glad when he took his leave at last, for I had a feeling somehow — and a curious feeling it was — that we were talking at cross purposes, and that our speeches seemed to be lost hopelessly in a mental fog ; the cipher to our meaning seemed missing. But he bade me good-night as affectionately as though I had done him a world of good ; and when he had gone I sat down to my piano and sang all my old favourite songs, until the lateness of the hour warned me to extinguish my lamp and retire to bed. AN ILL-NATURED RESOLVE 277, I was just sinking into a sweet sleejD when I heard Nathaniel's voice bidding some one good-night, and in another moment I could Jiear firm quick footsteps down the gravel walk followed by Nap's joyous bark. Mr. Hamilton had been in the house all the time I had been amusing myself — I do not know why the idea annoyed me so. ^' How I wish he would keep away sometimes,' I thought fretfully ; ' he will think I am practising for to-morrow ; I will not sing if they press me to do so.' And with this ill-natured resolve I fell asleep. My dinner engagement obliged me to go to Phebe quite early in the afternoon. Miss Locke looked surprised as she opened the door, but she greeted me with a pleased smile. ' Phebe will hardly be looking for you yet,' she said, leading the way into the kitchen in the evident expectation of a chat ; ' she did finely yesterday in spite of her missing you ; when I went in to her in the morning she quite took my breath away by asking if there were not an easier chair in the house for you to use. " 'Deed, and there is Phebe woman," I said, quite pleased, for the poor thing is far too uncom- 2T8 LADY BETTY LEAVES HER MUFF fortable laerself to look after other people's comforts, and it was such a new thing to hear her speak like that, so I fetched father's big elbow-chair with a cushion or two and his little wooden footstool, and there it stands ready for you this afternoon.' ' That was very thoughtful of Phebe,' was my reply. ' Well, now, I thought you would be pleased, though it is only a trifle. But that is not all. Widow Drayton was sitting with me last after- noon, when all at once she puts up her finger and says, " Hark ! Is not that your Kitty's voice ? " And so I stole out into the passage to listen. And there, to be sure, was Kitty singing most beautifully some of the hymns you sang to Phebe ; and if she could not make out all the words she just went on with the tune, like a httle bird, and Phebe lay and listened to her, and all the time — as I could see through the crack of the door — her eyes were jQxed on the picture you gave her, and I said to mj^self, " Phebe, woman, this is as it should be. You may yet learn wisdom out of the lips of babes and suckhngs." ' 'I am very glad to hear all this, Miss AN IMPROVEMENT IN PHEBE 279 Locke,' I returned cheerfully. ' Kitty will be able to take my place sometimes. She will be a valuable httle ally ; now, as my time is limited, I will go to Phebe.' I was much struck by the changed expres- sion on Phebe's face as soon as I had entered the room. She certainly looked very ill, and when I questioned her avowed she had suffered a good deal of pain in the night ; but the wild hard look had left her eyes. There was intense depression, but that was all. She evidently enjoyed the singing as much as ever ; and I took care to sing my best. When I had finished I produced a story that I thought suitable, and began to read to her. She listened for about half an hour before she showed a symptom of weariness. At the first sign I stopped. ' Will you do something to please me in return ? ' I asked, when she had thanked me very civilly. ' I want you to go on with this book by yourself now. I know what you are going to say — that you never read ; that it makes your head ache and tires you. But if you care to please me you will waive all these objections, and we can talk over the story to- 280 LADY BETTY LEAVES HER MUFF morrow.' Then I told lier about my invitation for this evening, and about the beautiful Miss Hamilton, whose sweet face had interested me. And wlien we had chatted quite comfortably for a little while I rose to take my leave. Of course, she could not let me go without one sharp little word. ' You have been kinder to me to-day,' she said, pausing slightly. ' I suppose that is because I let you take your own Avay with me.' ' Every one likes his own way,' I said lightly. ' If I have been kinder to you, as you say, possibly it is because you liave deserved kindness more.' And I smiled at her and patted tlie thin hand, as though she were a cliild ; and so ' went on my way rejoicing,' as they say in the good old Book. CKAPTEE XV. UP AT GLADWY^'. 'XCLE MAX had never been famous for punctuality. He was slightly Bohe- mian in his habits, and rather given to desultory bachelor ways ; but his domestic time- keeper, Mrs. Drabble, ruled him most despoti- cally in the matter of meals, and it was amus- ing to see how she kept him and Mr, Tudor in order — neither of them ventured to keep the dinner waiting for fear of the housekeeper's black looks — sucli an offence they knew would be expiated by cold fish and burnt-up steaks. Uncle Max might invite the Bishop to dine, but if his lordship chose to be late Mrs. Drabble would take no pains to keep her dinner hot. 282 UP AT GLADWYN ' If gentlemen like to shilly-shally with their food, they must take things as they fmd them/ she would say ; and if her master ever ventured to remonstrate with her, she took care that he should suffer for it for a week. ' We must humour Mother Drabble,' Mr. Tudor would say good-humouredly, ' every one has a crotchet, and after all she is a worthy little woman, and makes us very comfortable. I never knew what good cooking meant until I came to the Vicarage ; ' and indeed Mrs. Drabble's custards and Ihiky crust were famed in tlie village. Miss Darrell had once begged very humbly that her cook Parker might take a lesson from lier, but Mrs. Drabble refused pointblank. ' There were those wdio liked to teach others and plenty of them, but she was one who minded her own business and kept her own receipts. If Miss Darrell wanted a custard made she was willing to do it for her and welcome, but she wanted no gossiping prying cooks about her kitchen.' As I knew Max's peculiarity, I was some- what surprised when, long before the appointed time, Mrs. Barton came up and told me that ' YOU LOOK VERY NICE ' 283 Mr. Cunliffe was in the parlour. I had com- menced my toilet in rather a leisurely fashion, but now I made haste to join him, and ran downstairs as quickly as possible, carrying my fur-lined cloak over my arm. ' You look very nice, my dear,' he said in quite a fatherly fashion ; ' have I ever seen that gown before ? ' The gown in point had been given to me by Lesbia, and had been made in Paris ; it was one of those thin black materials that make up into a charming demi -toilette, and was a favourite gown with me. I always remember the speech Lesbia made as she showed it to me. ' When you put on this gown, Ursula, you must think of the poor little woman who hoped to have been your sister.' This was one of the pretty little speeches that she often made. Poor dear Lesbia! she always did things so gracefully. In Charlie's lifetime I had thought her cold and frivolous, for she had not then folded up her butterfly wings ; but even then she was always doing kind little things. It was a dark night, neither moon nor stars to be seen, and after we had passed the church 284 UP AT GLADWYX the darkness seemed to envelop lis, and I could barely distinguish the path. Max seemed quite oblivious of this fact, for he would persist in pointing out invisible objects of interest. I was told of the wide stretch of country that lay on the right, and how freshly the soft breezes blew over the downs. ' There is the asylum, Ursula,' he observed cheerfully, waving his hand towards the black outline. ' Now we are passing Colonel Maber- ley's house, and here is Gladwyn. I Avish you could have seen it by daylight.' I wished so, too, for on entering the shrub- bery the darkness seemed to swallow us up bodily, and the heavy oak door might have belonged to a prison. The sharp clang of the bell made me shiver, and Dante's lines came into my mind rather inopportunely, ' All ye who enter here, leave hope behind.' But as soon as the door opened the scene was changed like magic ; the long hall was deliciously warm and light : it looked almost hke a corridor, with its dark marble figures holding sconces, and small carved tables between them. ' I will wait for you here, Ursula,' whispered Uncle Max ; and I went off in charge of the MISS darkell's room 285 same maid that I had seen before. Lady Betty had called her Leah, and as I followed her up- stairs I thought of that tender-eyed Leah who had been an unloved wife. Leah was very civil, but I thought her manner bordered on familiarity ; perhaps she had lived long in the family, and was treated more as a friend than a servant. She was an exceedingly plain young w^oman, and her hght eyes had a curious lack of expression in them, and yet, like Miss Darrell's, they seemed able to see everything. Seeing me glance round the room — it was a large, handsomely furnished bed-room, wdth a small dressing-room attached to it — she said, ' This is Miss Darrell's room. Mrs. Darrell used to occupy it, and Miss Etta slept in the dressing- room, but ever since her mother's death she has had both rooms.' ' Lideed,' w^as my brief reply ; but I could not help thinking that Miss Darrell had very pleasant and roomy quarters. There were evidences of luxury everywhere, from the bevelled glass of the walnut wood wardrobe to the silver-mounted dressing-case and ivory brushes on the toilet table. A pale embroidered 286 UP AT GLADWYN tea-gown lay across the couch, and a book that looked very much like a French novel was thrown beside it. Miss Darrcll was evidently a Sybarite in her tastes. Uncle Max was waiting for me at the foot of the stairs, and took me into the drawing- room at once. To our surprise we found Miss Hamilton there alone. The room was only dimly lighted, and she was sitting in a large carved chair beside the fire Avith an open book in her lap. I wonder if Max noticed how like a picture she looked. She was dressed very simply in a soft creamy cashmere, and her fair hair was piled up on her head in regal fashion : the smooth plaits seemed to crown her; a httle knot of red berries that had been carelessly fastened against her throat was the only colour about her ; but she looked more like Clyte than ever, and again I told myself that I had never seen a sweeter face. She greeted me with gentle warmth, but she hardly looked at Max; her white lids dropped over her eyes whenever he addressed her, and when she answered him she seemed to speak in a more measured voice than usual. MAX APPEARS NERVOUS 287 Max too appeared extremely nervous ; instead of sitting down, he stood ^upon the bearskin rug, and fidgeted with some tiny Chinese or- naments on the mantelpiece. Neither of them appeared at ease — was it possible that they were not friends? ' You are not often to be found in solitude. Miss Hamilton,' observed Max, and it struck me his voice was a httle peculiar. ' I do not think I have ever seen you sitting alone in this room before.' ' No,' she answered quickly, and then she went on in rather a hesitating manner : ' Etta and Lady Betty have been shoppino* in Brighton, and they came back by a late train, and now Etta is shut up with Giles in his study. Some letters that came by this morn- ing's post had to be answered.' ' Miss Darrell is Hamilton's secretary, is she not?' ' She writes a good many of his letters. Giles is rather idle about correspondence, and she helps him with his business and accounts. Etta is an extremely busy person.' * Miss Hamilton used to be busy too,' re- turned Max, quietly. ' I always considered you 288 IIP AT GLAD\YYX an example to our ladies. I lost one of my best workers when I lost you.' A painful colour came into Miss Hamilton's face. « Oh no ! ' she protested rather feebly. ' Etta is far cleverer than I at parish work. Teaching does not make her head ache.' ' Yours used not to ache last summer,' persisted Uncle Max, but she did not seem to hear him. She had turned to me, and there was almost an appealing look in her beautiful eyes, as though she were begging me to talk. ' Oh, do you know, Miss Garston,' she said nervously, ' that Giles was very nearly sending for you last night ? He was with Mrs. Blagrove's little girl until five this morning ; the poor little creature died at half past four, and he told us that he thought half a dozen times of sending for you.' ^ I wish he had done so. I should have been so glad to help.' ' Yes, he knew that, but he said it would have been such a shame rousing you out of your warm bed ; and he had not the heart to do it. So he stopped on himself, there was really nothing to be done ; but the parents were 'WHO IS TALKING ABOUT ETTA?' 289 in such a miserable state, that he did not hke to leave them ; he was so tired this afternoon that he dropped asleep instead of writing his letters, that is why Etta has to do them.' ' Who is talking about Etta ? ' observed Miss Darrell, coming in that moment, with a quick rustle of her silk skirt, looking as well dressed, self-possessed, and full of assurance as ever. 'Why are you good people sitting in the dark? Thornton would have hghted the candles if you had rung, Gladys ; but I suppose you forgot, and were dreaming over the fire as usual. Miss Garston, I suppose I ought to apologise for being late, but we are such busy people here — every moment is of value ; and though Gladys asked you to come early, I never thought you would be so good as to do so. Friendly people are scarce, are they not, Mr. CunlifFe ? By the bye,' holding up a taper finger loaded with sparkling rings, ' I have a scold- ing in store for you. Why did you not examine my class as usual last Sunday ? — the children tell me you never came near them.' ' I had so little time that I asked Tudor to take the classes for me,' he returned quickly, but he was looking at Miss Hamilton as he VOL. I. U 200 UP AT GLADWYX spoke. ' I am always sure of the children in that class — they have been so thoroughly well taught that there is very little need for me to interfere.' ' It would encourage their teachers if you were to do so/ returned Miss Darrell, smiling graciously. She evidently appropriated the praise to herself, but I am sure Uncle Max was not thinking of her when he spoke. Just then Lady Betty came into the room followed by Mr. Tudor. Lady Betty looked almost pretty to-night. She wore a dark ruby velveteen that exactly suited her brown skin ; lier fluffy hair was tolerably smooth, and slie liad a bright colour. She came and sat down beside me at once. ' Oh I I am so vexed that we are so late ; but it was all Etta's fault — she would look in at every shop window, and so of course we lo.^t the proper train.' ' What does the child say ? ' asked Miss Darrell, good-humouredly. She seemed in excellent spirits this evening — but how silent Miss Hamilton had become since her entrance. ' Of course poor Etta is blamed, she always is if auvthinn; croes wrong; in the house ; Etta is the ' HOW IS THE TILLAGE NURSE ? ' 291 family scapegoat ; but wlio was it, I wonder^ who wanted another turn on the pier — not Etta, certainly ? ' ' Just as though those few minutes would have mattered, and I did want another look at the sea,' returned Lady Betty, pettishly ; ' but no, you preferred those stupid shops, that i& why T hate to go into Brighton with you/ But Miss Darrell only laughed at this flimsy display of wrath. Just then Mr. Tudor had taken the other vacant chair beside me. ' How is the village nurse ? ' he asked in his bright way. I certainly liked Mr. Tudor ; he had such a pleasant, friendly way with him, and on his part he seemed always glad to see me. If I had ever talked slang, I might have said that we chummed together famously. He was a year younger than myself, and I took advantage of this to give him advice in an elder-sisterly fashion. ' You must take care that the clergy do not spoil the village nurse,' observed Miss Darrell, who had overheard him, and this time the taper finger was uplifted against Mr. Tudor. ' Oh, there is no fear of that,' he returned V 2 292 UP AT GLADWYX manfully; 'Miss Garston is too sensible to allow herself to be spoiled ; but it is quite right that we all should make much of her/ ' We will ask Giles if he agrees with this/ replied Miss Darrell, in a funny voice, and at that moment Mr. Hamilton entered the room. I do not know why I thought he looked nicer that evening — one thing, I had never seen him in evening dress, and it suited him better than liis rougli tweed ; he was quieter and less abrupt in manner, more dignified and less peremptory, but lie certainly looked very tired. He accosted me rather gravely, I thought, though he said that he was glad to see me at Gladwyn. His first remark after this was to complain of the lateness of the dinner. ' Parker is not very punctual this evening, Etta,' he observeil, looking at his watch. ' I think it was our fault, Giles,' returned liis cousin, plaintively. 'We kept Thornton such a long time in the study, and no doubt that is the cause of tlie delay. Parker is seldom a minute behindhand ; punctuality is her chief point, as Mrs. Edmonstone told me when I en2^a<2:ed her. You see,' turning to Uncle Max, AX EXGLISILMAX'S RIGHT 293 ' we are such a regular household that the least deviation in our nature quite throws us into confusion. I am so sorry, Giles, I am, indeed ; but will you ring for Thornton, and that will remind him of his duty.' Miss Darrell's submissive speech evidently disarmed Mr. Haniilton, and deprived him of his Englishman's right to grumble to his womankind ; so he said, quite amiably, that they would wait for Parker's pleasure a little longer, and then relapsed into silence. The next moment I saw him looking at me with rather an odd expression ; it was as though he were regarding a stranger whom he had not seen before — I suppose the term ' tak- ing stock' would explain my meaning. Just then dinner was announced, and he gave me his arm. The dining-room was very large and lofty, and was furnished in dark oak. A cu-cular seat with velvet cushions ran round the deep bay window. A small oval table stood before it. Dark ruby curtains closed in the bay. My first speech to Mr. Hamilton was to regret that he had not sent for me the previous night. 224c UP AT GLADWYN ' Oh, no ! ' he said pleasantly. ' I am quite glad now that your rest was not disturbed.' And then he went on looking at me with the same queer expression that his face had worn before. ' Do you know, Miss Garston, your remark quite startled me ? Someliow I do not seem to recognise my nurse to-night. When I came into the drawing-room just now I thought there was a strange young lady sitting by Tudor.' Of course I was cmious to know what he meant ; but he positively refused to enlighten me, and went on speaking about his poor little patient. ' She w\\s an oidy child ; but nothing could have saved her. The Blagroves are well-to-do people — Brighton shopkeepers — so they hardly come under the category of your patients. Miss Garston, you call yourself a servant of the poor, do you not ? ' ' I should not refuse to help any one who really needed it,' was my reply. ' But, of course, if people can afford to liire service, I should think my labour thrown away on them.' ' Ah ! just so. But now and then we meet with a case where hirelings can sfive no com- 'SERVANT OF THE POOR' 295 fort. With the Blagroves, for example, there was nothing to be done but just to watch the child's feeble life ebb away. A miracle only could have saved her ; but all the same, it was impossible to go away and leave them. They were young people, and had never seen death before.' I was surprised to hear him speak with so much feeling. And I liked that expression ' servant of the poor.' It sounded to me as though he had at last grasped my meaning, and that I had nothing more to fear from his sarcasm. I wondered what had wrought such a sudden change in Jiim, for I had only worked such a few days. Certainly, it would make tilings far easier if I could secure him as an ally ; and I began to liope that we should go on more smoothly in the future. Mr. Hamilton was evidently a man whom it would take long to know. His was by no means a character easy to read. One would be sm^e to be startled by new developments and curious contradictions. I had known him only for ten days ; but then we had met constantly in that short time. I had seen him liard in 296 UP AT GLADWYN manner and soft in speech — cool, critical, and disparaging ; at one moment satirical and pro- voking, the next full of though tfulness and readiness to help. No wonder I found it diffi- cult to comprehend him. When we had fmished discussing the Blagroves, Mr. Hamilton turned his attention to his other guests, and tried to [)romote the general conversation ; this left me at liberty to make my own observations. Miss Hamilton sat at the top of the table facing her brotlier ; and Uncle Max and Mr. Tudor were beside her ; but she did not speak to either of them unless tliey addressed her, and lier replies seemed to be very brief. If I had been less interested in lier I miglit liave accused her of want of animation, for it is hardly playing the rule of a hostess to look beautiful, and be chary of words and smiles. It was impossible to attribute her silence to absence of mind, for she followed every word that was spoken with grave attention ; but for some inexplicable reason she had withdrawn into herself. Uncle ]\Iax left her to herself after a time, and began to talk politics with Mr. Hamilton, and Mr. Tudor was soon com- pelled to follow his example. MISS darrell's good-humour 297 Poor Mr. Tudor! I rather pitied him, for his other neighbour, Lady Betty, had turned suddenly very sulky, and I had my surmises that Miss Darrell had said something to affront her ; for she made snapping little answers when any one spoke to her, and though they laughed at her, and nobody seemed to mind, most likely they thought it prudent to give her time to recover herself. Miss Darrell's radiant good-humour was a strange contrast to her two cousins' silence. She threw herself gallantly into the breach, and talked fast and well on every topic broached by the gentlemen. She was evidently clever and well read, and had dabbled in literature and politics. Her energy and vivacity were almost fatiguing. She seemed able to keep up two or three conversations at once. The lowest whisper did not escape her ear ; if Mr. Hamilton spoke to me, I saw her watchful eye on us, and she joined m at once with a sprightly word or two ; tlie next moment she was answering Uncle Max, who had at last hazarded a remark to his silent neighbour. Miss Hamilton had no time to reply ; her cousin's laugh and ready word were before her. 298 UP AT GLADWYN I found the same thing happeu when Mr. Tudor addressed me, before he had finished his sentence she had cliallenged the attention of the table. ' Giles,' she said good-humouredly ; ' do you know what Mr. Tudor said in the drawing- room just now, that it was the bounden duty of the Heathfield folk to spoil and make much of Miss Garston ? ' Both Mr. Tudor and I looked confused at this audacious speecli, but lie tried to defend himself as well as he could. * Xo, no, Miss Darrell, that was not quite what I said ; tlie whole style of the sentence is too laboured to belong to me — '' bounden duty," no, it does not sound like me at all.' ' We need not quarrel about terms,' she persisted, 'your meaning was just tlie same. Come, Mr. Tudor, you cannot unsay your own words, that it was right for you all to make much of Miss Garston.' I thought this was spoken in the worst possible taste, and I am sure Mr. Hamilton thought so too, for he smiled slightly and said, 'Nonsense, Etta, you let your tongue run away with you. I daresay that was not Tudor 's ' THAT CUTS BOTH WAYS ! ' 299 meaning at all ; lie is the most matter-of-fact fellow I know, and could not coin a compliment to save liis life. Besides which I expect he has found out by this time that it would be rather difficult to spoil Miss Garston — that cuts both ways, eh ! ' looking at me rather mischievously. ' Oh ! if all the gentlemen are in conspiracy to defend Miss Garston, I will say no more,' returned Miss Darrell, with a shrug, but she did not say it quite pleasantly. ' Gladys dear, I think we had better retire before I am quite crushed ; Giles's frown has quite flattened me out. Miss Garston, if you are ready,' making me a mocking little curtsy ; but Miss Hamil- ton waited for me at the door. and linked her arm in mine, taking possession of me in a graceful way that evidently pleased Max, for he looked at us smiling. ' Come into the conservatory, Gladys,' whispered Lady Betty in her sister's ear. ' Etta has a cold cominsf on and w^ill be afraid of followinsj us.' The conservatory led out of the drawing- room, and was lighted by coloured lamps that gave a pretty effect; it was full of choice flowers, and two or three cane chairs filled up the 300 Vr AT GLADWYX centre. It was not so warm as the drawing- room certainly, but it was pleasant to sit there in the dim perfumed atmosphere and peep through the open window at the iirelight. Miss Darreirfollowed us to the window with a discontented air. 'I hope you are not going to stay there many minutes, Gladys — you will certainly give yourself and Mss Garston a bad cold if you do. There is something wrong with the warming apparatus, and Giles says it will be some days before it will be properly warmed. I thought I told you so this morning.' ' I do not think Miss Garston will take cold, Etta, and it is very pleasant here ; ' but though Miss Darrell retreated from the window,! think we all felt as much constrained as though she had joined us, for not a word could escape her ear if she chose to listen. But this fact did not seem to daunt Lady Betty for long, for she soon began chattering volubly to us both. ' I am not so cross now as I was,' she said frankly. ' I am afraid I was very rude to Mr. Tudor at dinner ; but what could I do when Etta was so impertinent ? Ko, she is not there, LEAH BRIXGS SHAWLS 301 Gladys ; she has gone out of the room lookino- as cross as possible. But what do you think she said to me ? ' ' Xever mind telling us what she said, dear,' returned ]\iiss Hamilton, soothingly. ' Oh, but I want to tell Miss Garston — she looks dreadfully curious, and I do not like her to think me cross for notliing. I am not like that, am I, Gladys ? Well, just before we went in to dinner, she begged me in a w^hisper not to talk quite so much to Mr. Tudor as I had done last time. Now, what do you want, Leah ? ' pulling herself up rather abruptly. 'I have only brought you some shawls. Lady Betty, as Miss Darrell says the conserva- tory is so cold. She has told Thornton to men- tion to his master when he takes in the coffee that Miss Gladys is sitting here, and she hopes he will forbid it.' ' You can take away the shawls, Leah,' returned Miss Hamilton, quietly, but there was a scornful look on her pale face as she spoke. ' We are not going to remain here, since Miss Darrell is so anxious about our health. Shall we come in. Miss Garston, perhaps it is a trifle chilly here ? ' and seeing how the wind blew, 302 UP AT GLADWYN and that Miss Darrell was determined to have her way in the matter, I acquiesced silently ; but I was not a bit surprised to see Lady Betty stamp her httle foot as she followed us. Miss Darrell was lying back on a velvet lounge, and welcomed us with a provoking smile. ' I thought the threat of telling Giles would bring you in, Gladys,' she said laugliing ; ' what a foohsh child you arc to be so reckless of your health. Every one knows Gladys is delicate,' she went on, turning to me, ' everything gives her cold. Giles has been obliged to forbid lier attending evening service this winter — you were terribly rebellious about it, were you not, my dear ; but, of course, Giles luid his way. No one in this house ventures to disobey liim.' Miss Hamilton did not answer, she was standing looking into the fire, and her lips were set firmly as though nothing would make her unclose them. ' Oil, do sit down,' continued her cousin, pettishly ; ' it gives one such an uncomfortable feeling when a tall person stands like a statue before one.' And as Miss Hamilton quietly seated herself, she went on, ' Don't you think COUSINLY SOLICITUDE 303 religious people are far more self-willed than worldly ones, Miss Garston? I daresay you are self-willed yourself. Gladys made as much fuss about giving up evening service as though her salvation depended on her going twice or three times a day. " What is to prevent you reading the service in your own room ? " I used to say to her. " It cannot be your duty to disobey your brother and make yourself ill." ' ' The illness lay in your own imagination, Etta,' observed Miss Hamilton, coldly. ' Giles w^ould never have found out my chest was delicate if you had not told him so.' Miss Darrell gave her favourite little shrug, and inspected her rings. ' See what thanks I get for my cousinly care,' she said good-humouredly. ' I suppose, Gladys, you were vexed with me for telling him that you were w^orking yourself to death — that the close air of the schoolroom made your head ache, and that so much singing was too much for your strength.' ' If you please, Etta, we will talk about some other subject ; my health, or want of health, will not interest ]\Iiss Garston.' She 304 IT AT GLADWYX spoke with dignit}', and tlien, turning to me with a winning smile, ' Giles has told me about 3^our singing. Will you be good enough to sing something to us ? It would be a great pleasure ; botli Lady Betty and I are so fond of music' ' Miss Garston looks very tired, Gladys ; it is almost selfish to ask her,' observed Miss Darrell, softly ; and tlien I knew that Miss Hamilton's request dkl not ])lease her. I had vowed to myself that no amount of pressing should induce me to sing that evening, but I could not have refused that gentle solicita- tion. As I unbuttoned my gloves and took my place at the grand piano, I determined that I would sing anything and everything that Miss Hamilton wished — Miss Darrell should not silence me ; and with this resolve hot on me I commenced the opening bars of 'The Lost Chord,' and before I had finished the song- Miss Hamilton had crept into the corner beside me, and remained there as motionless as though my singing had turned her into stone. CHAPTER XVI. GLADYS. DO not know how the majority of people feel when they smg, but with me the love of music was almost a passion. I could forget my audience in a moment, and would be scarcely aware if the room were empty or crowded. For example, on this evening I had no idea that the gentlemen had entered the room, and the first intimation of the fact was conveyed to me by hearing a ' Bravo ! ' uttered by Mr. Hamilton under his breath. ' But you must not leave off,' he went on, quite earnestly. ' I want you to treat us as you treat poor Phebe Locke, and sing one song after another until you are tired.' I was about to refuse this request very VOL. I. X 306 GLADYS civilly but decidedly, for I had no notion of obeying such an arbitrary command, when Miss Hamilton touched my arm. ' Oh, do })lease go on i>inging as Giles says ; it is such it i)leasure to hear you.' And after this 1 could no longer refuse. So I sang one song after another, chiefly from memory, and sometimes I could hear a soft clapping of hands, and sometimes there was breathless silence, and a curious feeling came over me as I sang. I thought that the only person to whom I was singing was Miss Hamilton, and that I was pleading with her to tell me the reason of lier sadness, and why there was such a weary, hopeless look in her eyes, when the world was so young with her, and the God-given gift of beauty was hers. I was singing as though she and I were alone in the room, when Max suddenly whis- pered in my ear, ' That will do, Ursula,' and as soon as the verse concluded I left off. But before I could rise Miss Darrell was beside us. ' Oh, thank you so much, Miss Garston ; you are very amiable to sing so long. Giles was certainly loud in your praises, but I was hardly prepared for such a treat. Wliy, Gladys, ^ OCCUPATIOX IS GOOD FOR EVERY OXE ' 307 dear, have you been crying ? What an im- pressionable child you are ! Miss Garston has not contrived to draw tears from my eyes.' But without making any reply Miss Hamil- ton quietly left the room. Were her eyes wet, I wonder? Was that why Max stopped me? Did he want to shield her from her cousin's sharp scrutiny? If so, he failed. 'It is such a pity Gladys is so foohshly sensitive,' she went on, addressing Uncle Max ; ' these sort of natures are quite unfit for the stern duties of life. I am quite uneasy about her sometimes, am I not, Giles ? Her spirits are so uneven, and she has so little strength. Parochial work nearly killed her, Mr. Cunliffe. You said yourself how iU she looked in the summer.' ' True ; but I never thougrht the work hurt her,' replied Max, rather bluntly. ' I think it was a mistake for Miss Hamilton to give up all her duties ; occupation is good for every one.' ' That is my opinion,' observed Mr. Hamilton. ' Etta is always making a fuss about Gladys' health, but I tell her there is not the least reason for alarm ; many people not other- X 2 308 GLADYS wise delicate take cold easily ; it is true I advised her to give up evening service for a few weeks until she got stronger.' ' Indeed ! ' and here Max looked a little perplexed. ' I thought you told me, Miss Darrell, that your cousin found our service too long and wearisome, and this was the reason she stayed away.' ' Oh, no, you must have misunderstood me,' returned Miss Darrell, flushing a little. ' Gladys may have said she liked a shorter sermon in the evening, but that was hardly her reason for staying away, at least ' ' Of course not ; what nonsense you talk, Etta,' observed jlr. Hamilton, impatiently. ' You know what a trouble I had to coax Gladys to stay at home ; she was rather ob- stinate about it — as girls are — but I asked her as a special favour to myself to remain.' Max's face cleared up surprisingly, and as Miss Hamilton at that moment re-entered the room, he accosted her ahuost eagerly. ' Miss Hamilton, we have been talking about you in your absence ; your brother and I have been agreeing that it is really a great pity that you should have given up all your ' ANYTHING TO SEE YOU HAPPY ' 309 parish duties — it is a little hard on us all, is it not, Tudor? Your brother declares occupation will do you good ; now I am sure your cousin will not have the slightest objection to give up your old class, and she can take Miss Matthews's, and then I shall have two o-ood workers instead of one.' For an instant Miss Hamilton hesitated ; her face relaxed, and she looked at Max a little wistfully : but Miss Darrell interposed in her sprightly way — 'Do as vou like, Gladvs dear. Mr. Cunliffe will be too glad of your help, I am sure, as he sees how much you wish it. We all think you are fretting after your old scholars ; home duties are not excitiuQ- enoucrh, and even Giles notices how dull you are. Oh, you shall have my class with pleasure ; anything to see you happy, love ; shall we make the exchange to- morrow ? ' ' No, thank you, Etta ; I think things had better be as they are,' and Miss Hamilton walked away proudly, and spoke to Mr. Tudor ; the sudden brightness in her face had dimmed, and I was near enous^h to see that her hand trembled. 310 GLADYS ' There you see,' observed Miss Darrell, com- placently. ' I liave clone my best to persuade her in pubUc and private to amuse herself and not give way to her feelings of lassitude — " do a little, but not much," I liave often said to her ; but with Gladys it must be all or none.' ' Ursula, do you know how late it is ? ' asked Max, coming up to me. lie looked sud- denly very tired, and I saw at once that he wished me to go ; so I made my adieux as quickly as possible, and in a few minutes we had left the house accompanied by Mv. Tudor. Uncle Max was very quiet all the way home. I had expected him to be full of ques- tions as to how I had enjoyed my evening, but his only remark was to ask if I were very tired, and tlien he left me to ^Ir. Tudor. 'Well, liow do you like the folks up at Gladwyn? ' demanded Mr. Tudor. ' Lady J^etty was not in tlie best of humours to-night, and hardly deigned to speak to me ; but I am sure you must have admired Miss Hamilton.' ' I like both of them,' was my temperate reply ; ' you must not be hard on poor little Lady Betty. Miss Darrell had been lecturing her, and that made her cross.' MY PREJUDICE AGAIXST MISS DARRELL oil ' So I supposed,' was the prompt answer. ' Well, what did you think of the Dare-all — as the Vicar calls her sometimes ; is she not like a pleasant edition of Tupper's " Proverbial Philo- sophy " — verbose and fuU of long sentences ? how many words did she coin to-night, do you think ? ' There was a little scorn in the young man's voice. Miss Darrell was evidently not a favourite V in the Vicarage, yet most people would have called her elesjant and weU-mannered, and if she had no beauty, she was not bad-looking. She was so exceedingly well made up, and her style of dress was so suitable to her face, that I was not surprised to hear afterwards from Lady Betty that many people thought her cousin Etta handsome. Now when Mr. Tudor made this spiteful httle speech 1 felt rather pleased, for my dislike to Miss Darrell had in- creased rather than diminished by the evening^ experiences ; under her smooth speeches there lurked an antagonistic spirit ; something had prejudiced her against me even at our first meeting ; I was convinced that she did not like me, and would not encourage my visit to Gladwyn. Mr. Tudor and I talked a good deal 312 GLADYS about Lady Betty ; he described her as most whimsical and sound-hearted, half-child and half- woman, with a touch of the ]3rownie — lier brother often called her Brownie or little Nix, to tease her. She was very fond of her sister, he went on to say, but there was not much com- panionship between them. Miss Hamilton was very intellectual, and read a good deal, and Lady Betty never read aiiyiliiiiij: but novels; tliey all made a })et of her — even Mr. Hamilton, who was not much given to pets — but she was hardly an influence in the house. ' ^lie has not backbone enough,' he finished, ' and the Dare-all rules them all with a rod of iron — '' cased in velvet." ' Uncle Max listened to all this in silence, and as they ])arted with me at the gate of the White Cottage he only said ' Good night, Ursula,' in a de})ressed voice. He was evi- dently rather cast down about something ; perhaps Miss Hamilton's decision had disap- ])ointed him ; she had been his favourite worker and had helped him greatly ; he seemed to feel it hard that she should withdraw her services so suddenly. How w^istfully she had looked at him as he pleaded with her ; it was the first 'I MUST BE FRIENDS WITH HER ' 313 time I had seen her look at hiin of her own accord, and yet she had denied his request — very firmly and gently. 'I must be friends with her, and then perhaps she will tell me all about it some day,' I thought — for I was convinced that there was more than met the eye ; but it was some time before I could banish these perplexing thoughts. I saw a good deal of Lady Betty during the next week or two. I met her frequently on my way to the Lockes', and she would walk with me to the gate, and two or three times she made her appearance at the Marshalls' ; ' for it's no use calling at the White Cottage of an afternoon,' she would say disconsolately, ' for you are never at home, you inhospitable creature.' ' Why ! do you think I live here, Lady Betty ? ' I returned, smiling. ' Do you know I am becoming a most punctual person. I am always back at the White Cottage by five, and sometimes a little earlier, and I shall always be pleased if you will come in and have tea with me.' ' I should like it of all things,' replied Lady 314 GLADYS Betty, with a sigh ; ' and I will come sometimes, you will see if I don t. But I know Etta will make a fuss ; she always does if I stay out after dark — and it is dark at four now. That is why I pop in here to see you, because Etta is always busy in the mornings and never takes any notice of what we do.' ' But surely Miss Darrell will not object to your coming to see me ? ' I ;\sked, somewhat piqued at this. ' Oh dear no,' returned Lady Betty, jum- bling her words as though she found my ques- tion embarmssiug. 'Etta never objects openly to anything we do, only she throws stumbling- blocks in our way. I do not know why I have got it into my head that she would not like Gladp or me to come here without her, but it is there all the same — the idea, I mean; it was something she said the other night to Mrs. Maberley that gave me this impression. Mjs. Maberley wanted to call on you, because she said you were Mr. Cunliffe s niece, and people ought to take notice of you. And Etta said, "Oh dear yes; and it was a very kind thought on Mrs. Maberley 's part, and Mr. Cunlifie would think it so. That was 'SHE IS SO DEIL^DFULLY JE.iLOUS ' 315 why Giles liad invited you to Gladwyn ; but there was no hurry, and that you evidently were not prepared to enter into society. You had rather strong-minded views on this subject, and that she was not quite sure whether Giles was wise to encourage the intimacy with his sisters." ' ' Miss Darrell said this to Mrs. Maberley ? ' ' Yes. Was it not horrid of Etta ? I felt so cross. And Mrs. Maberley is such an old dear : only rather old-fashioned in her notions about girls. So Etta's speech rather frightened her, I could see. Of course she has not called yet? I am almost inclined to tell Giles about it.' ' Indeed, I hope you will do nothing of the kind, Lady Betty. I am sorry Miss Darrell does not hke me ; but I do not see that it matters so very much what people think of us.' ' Yes ; but when Etta takes a dishke to people she tries to prevent us from knowing them, that is the provoking part of it. She is so dreadfully jealous, and I expect it was your singing that gave umbrage. Etta is not at all accomphshed ; she never cared much for Gladys to sing, because she had such a 3]G GLADYS sweet voice, and it put her in llie background. All ! I know how mean it sounds, but it is just the trutli about Etta. And if I were to drop in for five-o'clock tea, as you say, Leah would be sure to make her appearance and say I was wanted at Gladwvn.' I found Lady Betty's confidential speeches rather embarrassing, and when I knew her a little better I took her to task rather seriously for her want of reticence. J^ut she only pouted and said, ' Wlien one looks at you, Miss Garston, one cannot help telling you things : they all tumble out without one's will. Tliat is what Ghidys means when she says you have a sympathetic face. I wish you would get her to talk to you.' As Lady Betty ])ersisted in liaiinting the Marshalls' cottage I determined to make her useful. So I set her to read to Elspeth, or to liive sewin^f lessons to PeGrm' or to amuse the younger children, while I w\as engaged with my patient ; and I soon found tliat she was a most helpful little body. Mr. Hamilton found her sitting in the kitchen one day surrounded by the children. She was telling them a story. The baby was MISS DARRELLS WORD-PLAY 317 sucking her thumb contentedly on her lap. Poor Mary was worse that day, and I had begged Lady Betty to keep the httle ones quiet, Mr. Hamilton came into the sick-room looking very much pleased. ' I only wish you could make Lady Betty a useful member of society, Miss Garston,' he said, with one of the rare smiles that always lit up his dark face so pleasantly. ' She is a good little thing, but she wants ballast. As a rule, young ladies are terribly idle.' I had called up at Gladwyn a few days after we had dined there, but to my great disappointment I did not see Miss Hamilton. Miss Darrell was alone, so my visit was as brief as possible. She told me at once that her cousins had gone over to Brighton for an afternoon's shopping, and that Mr. Hamilton had run up to London for a few hours. And then she commenced plying me with questions in a ladylike way about my work and my past life, but in such a skilful manner that it was almost impossible to avoid answering. She was so sure that I must be dull, living all alone. Oh ! of course I was too good and 318 GLADYS unselfisli to say so, but all the same I must be miserably dull. What could have put such a singular idea in my head, she wondered. When young ladies did this sort of thing there was generally some painful reason — they were unhappy at home, or they had had some disastrous love affair. Of course — laughing a little affectedly — she had no intention of hint- ing at sucli a reason in my case ; any one could see at a glance that I was not that sort of person. I was far too sensible and matter- of-fact : gentlemen would be quite afraid of me, I was so strong-minded. But all the same, she pleaded guilty to a feeling of natural curiosity why such an idea had come into my head. When I had warded off this successfully — for I declined to enlighten Miss Darrell on this subject — she flew off in a tangent to Aunt Philippa. 'It was such a pity when relations did not entirely harmonise. An aunt could never replace a mother. Ah ! she knew that too well ; and when there were daughters — and she had heard from Mr. Cunliffe that my cousin Sara was excessively pretty and charming — no doubt MISS DARRELLS 0PINI0:N- OF ME 319 there would be natural misunderstandings and jealousies. In spite of all my goodness I was only human. Of course she understood per- fectly how it all happened, and she felt very sorry for me.' I disclaimed the notion of any family dis- agreement wath some warmth, but I do not think she believed me. She had evidently got it into her head that I was a strong-minded young woman with an uncertain temper, who could not live peaceably at home. No doubt she had hinted this to Mrs. Maberley and other ladies. She would make this the excuse for discouraging any degree of intimacy with her cousins. I should not be asked very often to Gladwyn if it depended on Miss Darrell ; but Mr. Hamilton had a will of his own, and if he chose me as a companion for his sisters, Miss Darrell would find it difficult to exclude me. One could see at a glance that Mr. Hamilton was master in his own house. Miss Darrell seemed perfectly submissive to him. There was something almost obsequious in her manner to him. She watched his looks anxiously, and though she coaxed and flattered him, she did 320 GLADYS not seem quite certain how lie would take her speeches. ' We are a strange household ; don't you think so, Miss Garston ? ' she observed presently. ' Giles is our lord and master. None of us poor women dare to contradict him. When dear mamma was alive, she had a great deal of influence over him. He was very fond of her. Her death made a great difference in the house.' ' It must have been a great trouble to you, Miss DarrelL' ' Yes, indeed. I was almost broken-hearted- She had been the dearest and most indulgent of mothers ; but Giles w\as very good to me. Gladys and Lady Betty were very devoted to her ; perhaps you have heard them speak of Aunt Margaret. Ah ! I forgot, you have only seen Gladys twice,' and here she looked at me rather sharply, but I nodded acquiescence — ' Gladys was always a favourite with her.' ' Miss Hamilton must be a general favourite,' I replied, a little unguardedly. ' Ah ! I suppose you think her handsome,* in rather a forced manner ; ' many people say she is too pale, and rather too statuesque for their taste.' 'GLADYS HAS A TEMPER' 321 'In my opinion she is very beautiful,' I replied quickly. 'I told Uucle Max the other day that I thought her face almost perfect.' ' And what did he say ? ' slie asked rather eagerly. ' Did he agree with you ? ' but I was obKged to confess that I had forgotten his answer. ' I know Mr. Cunhffe thinks Gladys cold,' she went on. ' He is too kind-hearted to say so ; but I know he feels hurt at her desertion of her post. It was a strange whim on her part to give up all her parish work. I am afraid it was a little bit of temper. Gladys has a temper, though you may not think so. She is very firm, and does not brook the least interference on my part. Poor dear ! if it were not wrong, I should say she was a httle jealous of my in- fluence with Giles, because he likes me to do things for him ; but how am I to help doing what he asks me, when I owe the very bread I eat to his kindness ? ' Miss Darrell was poor and dependent then. This piece of news surprised me. I thought ot the glittering rings and silver-mounted dressing- case and all the luxurious appliances in her VOL. I Y 322 GLADYS toilet, and wondered if Mr. Hamilton had paid for them. Miss Darrell seemed to read my thoughts in a most wonderful way. ' Poor mother left very little except per- sonal jewellery. Yes, I owe everything to Giles's generosity. He is good enough to say that I earn my allowance — and indeed I am never idle — but,' interrupting herself, ' I do not want to talk of myself; I am a very insignificant person — just Giles's housekeeper ; Gladys is mistress of the house. I only wanted you to explain to Mr. Cunliffe that I am not to blame for Gladys's strange whim. Let me explain a little. She was looking very ill and overworked, and I bef][f]red Giles to lecture her. I told him that there was no need for Gladys to do quite so much ; in fact, she was putting herself a little too forward in the parish, considering how young she was, and the Vicar an unmarried man. So Giles and I gave her a word. I am sure he spoke most gently, and I was very careful in- deed in only giving her a hint that people, and even Mr. Cunliffe, might misconstrue such devo- tion. I never saw Gladys in such a passion ; and the next day she had flung everything up. She *HE LOOKED SO HURT' 323 told the Vicar that the schoolroom made her head ache, and that her throat was delicate, and she could not sing. Poor Mr. Cunliffe was in such despair, that I was obhged to offer my services. It is far too much for me, but what can I do ? the parish must not suffer for Gladys's wilfulness. Now if you could only explain things a little to Mr. Cunliffe : he looked so hurt the other night when Gladys refused to take her old class. No wonder he misses her, for she used to teach the children splendidly ; but if he knew it was only a little temper on Gladys's part he would look over it and be friends with her again. But you must have noticed your- self, Miss Garston, how little he had to say to her.' I had found it impossible to check Miss Darrell's loquacity or to edge in a single word ; but as soon as her breath failed I rose to take my leave, and she did not seek to detain me. ' You will explain this to Mr. Cunliffe, for Gladys's sake,' she said, holding my hand. ' I do want him to think well of her, and I can see his good opinion is shaken.' But to this I made no audible reply ; but, as I shook off the dust of Gladwyn, I told myself 324 GLADYS that Uncle Max should not hear Miss Darrell's version from my lips. She wished to make me a tool in her hands ; but her breach of con- fidence had a very different result to what she expected. Miss Darrelfs words had cleared up a perplexity in my mind ; I could read between the lines, and I fully exonerated Miss Hamilton. The following afternoon I had a most un- expected pleasure. When I came back to the cottage after my day's work Mrs. Barton met me at the door and told me that Miss Hamilton was in the parlour. I had thought slie meant Lady Betty ; but to Uij surprise I found Miss Hamilton seated by the fire. A pleased smile came to her face as I greeted her most warmly. She must have seen how glad I was ; but she slirank back rather nervously when I begged her to take off her furred mantle and stay to tea. She was not sure that she could remain. Lady Betty was alone, as Giles and Etta were dining at the Maberleys'. She had been asked, and had refused ; but Etta had taken in her work, as Mrs. Maberley had wanted them to go early. Perhaps she had better not stay, as it would not be kind to Lady Betty. But I I PRESS GLADYS TO STAY 325 soon overruled this objection. I told Miss Hamilton that I saw Lady Betty frequently, but that she herself had never called since her first visit, and that now I could not let her go. I think she wanted me to press her ; she was arguing against her own wishes, it was easy to see that. By-and-by she asked me in a low voice if I were sure to be alone, or if I expected any visitors ; and when I had assured her decidedly that no one but Uncle Max ever came to see me, and that I knew he was engaged this evening, her last scruple seemed to vanish, and she settled herself quite com- fortably for a chat. We talked for a little while on indifferent subjects. She told me about the neighbourhood and the people who lived in the large houses by the church, and about her brother's work in the parish, and how if rich people sent for him he always kept them waiting while he went to the poor ones. ' Giles calls himself the poor people's doctor — he attends them for nothing. He cannot always refuse rich people if they will have him, but he generally sends them to Dr. Eams- botham. You see he never takes money for his services, and as people know this they are 326 GLADYS ashamed to send for him ; and yet they want him because he is so clever. Giles is so fond of his profession ; he is always regretting that he had a fortune left him, for he says it would have been far pleasanter to have made one. Giles never did care for money ; he is ready to fling it away to any one who asks him.' Miss Hamilton kept up this desultory talk all teatime. She spoke with great animation about her brother, and I could hardly believe it was the same girl who had sat so silently at the head of the table that evening at Gladwyn. The sad abstracted look had left her face. It seemed as though for a little while she was determined to forget her troubles. When Mrs. Barton had taken away the tea- tray, she asked me, with the same wistful look in her eyes, to sing to her if I were not tired, and I complied at once. I sang for nearly half an hour, and then I returned to the fireside. I saw that Miss Hamilton put up her hand to shield her face from the light ; but I took no notice, and after a little while she began to talk. ' I never heard any singing like yours, Miss Garston ; it is a great gift. There is something SHE WAS SO SORRY FOR ME 327 different in your voice to any one else's ; it seems to touch one's heart.' ' If my singing always makes you sad, Miss Hamilton, it is a very dubious gift.' ' Ah ! but it is a pleasant sadness,' she re- plied quickly. ' I feel as though some kind friend were sympathising with me when you sing ; it tells me too that, hke myself, you have known trouble.' I sighed as I looked at Charlie's picture. Her eyes followed my glance, and I saw again that tremulous motion of her hands. ' Yes, I know,' she said hurriedly ; but her beautiful eyes w^ere full of tears. ' I have always been so sorry for you. You must feel so lonely without him.' The intense sympathy with which she said these few words seemed to break down my reserve. In a moment I had forgotten that we were strangers, as I told her about my love for Charlie, and the dear old life at the Eectory. It was impossible to doubt the interest wath which she listened to me. If I paused for an instant, she begged me very gently to tell her more about myself. She was so sorry for me ; but it did her good to hear me. 328 GLADYS When I spoke of the life at Hyde Park Gate, and told her how little I was fitted for that sort of existence, she put down her shielding hand, and looked at me with strange wistfulness. ' No, you are too real, too much in earnest, to be satisfied with that sort of life. Mr. CunlifFe used to tell us so. And I seemed to understand it all before I saw you. I always felt as though I knew you, even before we met. I hope,' hesitating a little, ' that we shall see a great deal of you. I know Giles wislies it.' ' You cannot come here too often, Miss Hamilton. It will always be such a pleasure to me to see you.' ' Oh ! I did not mean that,' she returned nervously. ' I may not be able to come here, — that is, not alone ; there are reasons, and you must not expect me ; but I hope you will come to Gladwyn whenever you have an hour to spare. Giles said so the other day. I think he meant you to be friends witli us. You uni>t not mind,' getting still more nervous, ' if Etta is a little odd sometimes. Her moods vary, and she does not always niake people feel as UXCLE MAX WALKS IN 329 thougli they were welcome ; but it is only manner, so you must not mind it.' ' Oh no ; I shall hope to come and see you and Lady Betty some time.' ' And,' she went on hurriedly, ' if there is anything that I can do to help you^ I hope you w^ill tell me so. Perhaps I cannot visit the people ; but there are other things — needle- work, or a httle money. Oh ! I have so much spare time, and it will be such a pleasure.' ' Oh yes ; you shall help me,' I returned cheerfully, for she was looking so extremely nervous that I wanted to reassure her ; but we were prevented from saying any more on this subject, for just then we heard the click of the httle gate, and the next moment Uncle Max walked into the room. END OF TEE P^IRST VOLUME. JSp oltiitroode d: Co. Printers, New-street Square, London. mch work ca?i be had separately , j^rice 6s., of all Booksellers in Torcn or Country. By MPS. HENRY WOOD. East Lynne, (140th Thousand.) Anne Hereford. Bessy Eane. The Channings. Court Netherleigh. Dene Hollow. Edina. Elster's Folly. George Canterbury's Will. Johnny Ludlow (1st Series). Johnny Ludlow (2nd Series). Lady Adelaide. Life's Secret, A. Lord Oakburn's Daughters. Master of Greylands, Mildred Arkell. Mrs. Halliburton's Troubles. Oryille College. Oswald Cray. Parkwater. Pomeroy Abbey. Red Court Farm, Roland Yorke. (A Sequel to ' The Channings.') Shadow of Ashlydyat. St. Martin's Eve. 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