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 L I B RA R.Y 
 
 OF THE 
 
 U N IVERSITY 
 
 or ILLINOIS 
 
 823 
 
 Cl8w 
 
 18T5 
 
 V. I
 
 t\
 
 A^ooED AND Married. 
 
 % iofei 
 
 BY 
 
 EOSA NOUCHETTE CAREY, 
 
 author op 
 Nellie's memories," "wee wifie," "Barbara heathcote's trial,* 
 
 A»D "ROBERT ORD's ATONEMENT." 
 
 m THKEE VOLUMES. 
 VOL. I. 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 TINSLET BROTHERS, 8, CATHERINE STREET, STRAND. 
 1875. 
 
 lEight of Transtlation reserved by the Author,']
 
 LONDOX : 
 ■DWARDS AND CO., PKINTFKS, CHANDOS STREET, 
 COVENT GARDElf.
 
 V.I 
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 THE FIRST VOLUME. 
 
 CHAP. PAG3 
 
 I. CONCERNING COBWEBS 1 
 
 II. KIDDLE-A-WINK INTRODUCES HIMSELF ... 23 
 
 III. A HEADACHE AND A MYSTERY ^ 47 
 
 , IV. NUMBER THREE PARADISE ROW 69 
 
 V. THE GREAT UNKNOWN 93 
 
 VI. THE RIGHTS AND WRONGS OF WOMEN . . .115 
 VII. A GLIMPSE INTO THE HAPPY VALLEY . . . 135 
 
 VIII. THE VALLEY OF THE XI DD 158 
 
 , IX. WHO IS HONOR NETHECOTE ? ...... 183 
 
 X. NIDDERDALE COTTAGE 204 
 
 XI. A BIT OF THE SQUIRE's TEMPER 231 
 
 XII. THE VILLAGE PEACEMAKEI? ,,.,.. 252
 
 Wooed and Married, 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 CONCERNING COBWEBS. 
 
 NCE upon a time there was a little old 
 woman who essayed to sweep the sky 
 free from cobwebs. 
 
 One dandles the children on oner's knee with 
 a laugh at the sing-song rhyme of the oft-repeated 
 story, " Old woman, old woman, whither so 
 high ?^^ 
 
 After all, there is an odd sort of pathos, a 
 parabolic excellence in these nursery stories. 
 The cobwebs are nearer earth, to be sure ; young 
 brains get entangled in them ; the old brooms 
 will not sweep clean; the fine filmy threads 
 intersect everything — to some eyes even the sky 
 itself is not clear. 
 
 If Dymphna Elliott could have had her way 
 there would be nothing unpleasant in life — sun- 
 shine without clouds, roses without thorns, 
 cobwebs nowhere. This is how she would 
 arrange matters : plenty of loving-kindness, no 
 
 VOL. I. 1
 
 2 Wooed and Married. 
 
 stint of sympatliy, a new system of largesse 
 and almsgiving. 
 
 Impracticable, absurd ! 
 
 Tangled among the cobwebs, indeed ! 
 
 Of all visionaries^ youth is the most fallacious; 
 its very genius is abrupt, destructive, erratic. It 
 moves in a cycle of its own devising — fixed orbits 
 are its detestation; broken-up byways, forbidden 
 thoroughfares, audacious short-cuts are better 
 than the old paths. If it had its way, it would 
 rather flash as a meteor through space than be 
 dragged at the chariot-wheels of steady old 
 Time. 
 
 Here are cobwebs enough ! 
 
 Here is a young brain crying scorn on an 
 old worn-out world, just tottering on to its six 
 thousand years of sin and pain and weariness ; 
 youthful impatience and petulance striving to 
 stamp out ancient landmarks, to obliterate old 
 proverbs, to bring in the sunshine of a new 
 creation. 
 
 Futile labour of a Sisyphus ! 
 
 Ludicrous, but sad. 
 
 A thing out of its proper niche is always a 
 pitiful sight. Young birds in strange nests, a 
 drone in a hive of busy workers, a young face on 
 the outskirts of a crowd, seeking kindness and 
 protection in a world of staring sightseers, im- 
 potent childish pride opposed to cold shrugs and 
 dignified repression — these are as sad as the rich 
 gleaning of beautiful thoughts and warm affec- 
 tions scattered over an empty harvest-field. 
 
 Misunderstood !
 
 Concerning Cobwebs. 3 
 
 What a whole world of pain and slow torture 
 there is in that one word ! One pronounces its 
 syllables slowly and with reluctance. Dym once 
 declared, in one of her reckless moments, that 
 the word would be found engraven on her heart, 
 as Calais was on the heart of an embittered 
 queen. 
 
 Calais and ^lary — misunderstood and Dym- 
 phna Elliott. Somebody else says, with a wise 
 shake of the head, nothing but Temper — written 
 in italics and with a big capital. 
 
 Some people cannot see their own cobwebs. 
 
 After all, one may have different opinions. 
 
 The little tribunal at present sitting on the 
 Dymphna case are arriving at an adverse verdict ; 
 the jury are agreed, every man of them, and the 
 poor old judge is beginning to settle his black 
 cap with trembling hands. 
 
 It goes hard with some natures to arrive at 
 any decision. 
 
 Mrs. Tressilian was one of these. 
 
 With her, procrastination was a reprieve. 
 She loved to defer action, to live for ever in a 
 region of possibilities and uncertainty. For one 
 thing, she was never certain of anything but her 
 own symptoms. 
 
 A foe to impulse, large and lymphatic of dis- 
 position, one read " hypochondi'iac ''■' written 
 legibly on her fair apathetic features, which 
 were just now disturbed from their ordinary 
 placidity. 
 
 She was deep in an argument with her 
 daughter. And, as usual, having the worst of it. 
 
 \—%
 
 Wooed and Married, 
 
 Beatrix Tressilian was plaintiff, j^iy^ and 
 counsel in her own person. 
 
 " Temper, my dear mother — temper, every bit 
 of it/' 
 
 " So you have said before, Beatrix. You 
 know it makes me nervous to hear a thing 
 repeated over and over again, as you have been 
 doing for the last half-hour; and Dr. Richter 
 only just gone, and my composing-draught not 
 taken j"*^ and Mrs. Tressilian, in real agitation, 
 had recourse to her vinaigrette. 
 
 ^^ My dear mother, we shall never arrive at 
 any decision if you do not keep calm,'" replied 
 her daughter coldly. 
 
 The scene was a sunshiny drawing-room some- 
 where in the region of Bclgravia. A room unique 
 as a triumph of upholstery, and tropical in tem- 
 perature ; a perfect miracle of satin, ormolu, and 
 bric-a-brac ; faint perfumes of rare Indian woods 
 blending oddly with the cool fresh scent of roses 
 and heliotrope ; the centre figure of the whole, 
 the tall girl in the riding-habit, who stands toy- 
 ing somewhat impatiently with her whip. 
 
 Take them all in all — irregularities, defects, 
 and such small errata of Nature — in looking at 
 Beatrix Tressilian you are looking at a lovely 
 woman ; but you must rest satisfied with this 
 knowledge — there is little beyond. 
 
 Beatrix Tressilian is the centre figure of many 
 a picture ; a young goddess, whom few men would 
 dare to elect as their household divinity. 
 
 A splendid young figure, too ; yellow-haired 
 as a Venus, and glowing with health and
 
 Concerning Cobwebs. 
 
 vigour ; orrey-eyedj and as erect as an Amazon, 
 Tvith small white hands that can grip with a 
 man^s strength^ with a mouth that can set itself 
 closely in an immovable curve even when the 
 lips smile. Such is Beatrix Tressilian. 
 
 In fairy tales the e^ol genius of the story is 
 always some witch or hag or hideous old fairy, 
 wizened of face and malevolent in temper. In 
 the nursery, sin and ugliness always go together; 
 it is only the grown-up children that can read 
 that verse aright about " the angel of light.^' 
 Dym was ever ready to aver that Beatrix 
 Tressilian was the evil genius of her story. There 
 were times, doubtless, when she thought the 
 fiery oven or the red- hot shoes would be in- 
 suflScient punishment. Her witch was yeUow- 
 haired and grey-eyed, but she was the cross old 
 fairy godmother for all that. 
 
 ''^And you really think, my d.ear,''^ began 
 Mrs. Tressilian hesitatingly, in a slow full voice 
 which had grown slower and riper with age — a 
 voice which always seemed to flow on with 
 sleepy modulation — ^^you really think, my dear, 
 that we ought to reprimand Miss Elliott severely 
 for such conduct T* 
 
 What a contrast between mother and 
 daughter ! Perfection of health and hypochon- 
 dria — youthful severity opposed to the pitying 
 leniency of age. 
 
 '' Think ? I am sure of it,''^ returned Beatrix 
 quickly. '' I think it is our duty for Edith's 
 sake to take decided steps at once— at once,'''' 
 with a meaning pause on the repetition.
 
 n Wooed and Marriei. 
 
 " Very well/'' replied her mother fretfully ; 
 " but it is very unfortunate^ just as Dr. Richter 
 says I am to avoid unnecessary agitation ; and 
 I am sure it "will agitate me dreadfully to send 
 that poor girl away/^ 
 
 "YeSj it is unfortunate/" assented Beatrix 
 coldly; "but you ought to have taken my 
 ad^dce, mother, in the first instance. I told you 
 Miss Elliott Tvould never do for Edith ; she is 
 too much a spoilt child herself/'' 
 
 " I am sure I do not know why I should 
 always be guided by you, Beatrix," returned 
 Mrs. Tressilian, with an attempt at dignity, but 
 failing lamentably, and relapsing into her fretful 
 state. " I think it very hard that you can never 
 get on with EditVs governesses; this is the 
 seventh we have tried, and each one worse than 
 the last. I am sure it must be your fault some- 
 how ; for she seems a harmless little thing 
 enough, and very pretcily spoken, too. I shall 
 never forget how nicely she attended to me in 
 my last nervous attack."' 
 
 A scornful smile passed over IMiss Trcssilian's 
 fine features. 
 
 " Always the same thing, mother. Because 
 she acquitted herself handily in your sick-room 
 she must prove an excellent governess for Edith, 
 and all her sullenness and bad humours are to be 
 forgiven.'" 
 
 " But she is never sullen with me, Beatrix — 
 at least when you are not in the room ; though 
 I cannot deny she is a little abrupt and offhand
 
 X!o7icerning Cohioehs. 
 
 in her manner sometimes. But we must re- 
 member how young she is, Trichy/^ 
 
 " That is what I mean, mother ; she is so 
 absurdly young — not eighteen, I believe. Look 
 at her and Edith together : why, they go on just 
 like a couple of children, romping and laughing; 
 but the moment I go into the room there is that 
 odious black look, and the least remonstrance is 
 met by impertinence or a shower of tears.''^ 
 
 " I do think you are a little hard on her, 
 Trichy.^^ 
 
 Beatrix shrugged her shoulders; she was 
 growing weary of the discussion. She always 
 got her way in the end, but delay provoked her. 
 She had made up her mind that her sister's 
 governess was obnoxious to her, and not to be 
 tolerated for a moment. Her mother^'s hints of 
 mercy to the culprit had no effect on her ; the 
 soft wave of " the charity that eudureth^" broke 
 unavailingly against her determination. Six 
 governesses had already been dismissed from 
 Lansdowne House ; the fiat had already gone 
 forth against the seventh — Miss Elliott must go. 
 Miss Tressilian's will had always been the law in 
 that house ; " recommended to mercy'^ had never 
 been her motto. 
 
 " Well, perhaps you are right, Beatrix,'-' con- 
 tinued her mother, after another vacillating 
 pause ; and she drew the bone of contention — a 
 blotted copybook — towards her with a furtive 
 sigh. '' After all, it was very wrong and silly 
 of her to scribble all this nonsense in Edith's
 
 8 Wooed and Married, 
 
 book ; it shows an ill-regulated and undisciplined 
 mind at the best/^ 
 
 There they were, the few foolish sentences 
 which had brought down the vials of wrath on 
 Miss Elliott's devoted head. 
 
 Cobwebs, and dusty ones too. 
 
 A little scornful tirade drawn out of a girFs 
 sad heart, and scrawled idly in a rounded school- 
 girl's hand in an old copybook, blotted and half 
 erased with tears : 
 
 " In the year of our Lord eighteen hundred and 
 forty — I, Dyraphna Mabel Elliott, being of sound 
 mind, and in possession of all my faculties, do 
 hereby set forth and solemnly declare, that life is 
 nothing but a deceit and snare, made up of 
 appearances without reality, beginnings with no 
 end, efforts without success, disappointment and 
 weariness always. And so endeth the first 
 chapter of Dym's life.'' 
 
 And over leaf, just jotted down as a sort o 
 bitter jest, verging on the pathetic, a fragment in 
 the same girlish hand : 
 
 ^' A new sort of barometer , invented expressly for 
 Will. Not an aneroid. 
 
 *' Sunday. — ' In coelo quies,' and nowhere 
 else. Wind in the east ; strong enough to blow 
 out the altar lights ; very chilly atmosphere. 
 
 " Monday. — An April day : plenty of sun- 
 shine and showers; sunshine predominating, 
 rainbow tints appearing at intervals; towards 
 evening one little star on the edge of a blue
 
 Concerning Cobwebs, 9 
 
 cloud, signifying hope; no fogs or Will-o^-the- 
 wisps. 
 
 " Tuesday. — A dead calm : all things at a low 
 level ; lights without shades ; atmosphere sultry ; 
 temperature changing towards evening. 
 
 *' Wednesday. — A fit of vapours early ; in the 
 afternoon a new edition of the play Much Ado 
 about Nothing ; a storm in a teacup ; calm again 
 towards evening. 
 
 " Thursday. — General fogginess ; darkness 
 within and without. ' Alas, poor Yorick V alias 
 Dym. 
 
 " Friday. — Gusty, and decidedly tempestuous; 
 rapid oscillations of the mercury ; atmospheric 
 pressure ; clouds drifting wildly ; one little bark 
 far out at sea, struggling among the breakers. 
 
 '' Saturday. — Still in the deep waters ; no 
 lights ahead ; no port in view ; adverse winds 
 blowing; all hands on deck/^ 
 
 And here was a great blot of tears. 
 
 Poor little cynic ! and brought before such a 
 tribunal, too. Here was a ruthless hand ready 
 to sweep down cobwebs. 
 
 " Did you ever read such rubbish in your life, 
 mother ? There is plenty more farther on," 
 continued the young censor severely ; " but it is 
 not worth wasting your time over it.''"' 
 
 "I don't half understand it,'' returned 
 Mrs. Tressilian helplessly. 
 
 " Of course you don't," interrupted Beatrix, 
 in her magnificent voice of scorn. ^' Who could 
 understand such crazed fancies ? It is nearly
 
 10 Wooed and Married. 
 
 time for your afternoon nap/^ -svent on the -wary 
 Toimg diplomatist. '' Suppose I send Miss 
 Elliott to YOU. as I pass the schoolroom. Edith 
 is only practising." 
 
 '- You wont leave me ? You do not wish me 
 to speak to her alone V asked her mother in an 
 alarmed voice. 
 
 Like other good-natured people, Mrs. Tres- 
 silian had a wholesome horror of scenes ; she 
 had conceived some kindly feeling towards the 
 young girl whom chance had placed under her 
 roof; and then, as she rememhered Edith was so 
 fond of her, what a pity, she thought, Beatrix 
 had taken this fancy into her head ! the two did 
 get on very badly together ; but she was not sure 
 that Beatrix was not the most to blame ; but for 
 the sake of peace she must go. Beatrix could 
 be stubborn, inexorable even, as her mother 
 knew. Meanwhile the poor little culprit her- 
 self, as yet ignorant of the storm tliat awaited 
 her, sat in the hot, close schoolroom, turning 
 over the leaves of Edith's music -book, and 
 trying hard not to give her instructions in a 
 sharp querulous voice. 
 
 '- Dear Miss Elliott, it is so hot,'-' pleaded the 
 child, " and I am so tired ; do let me leave off. 
 I am sure it is a good long hour since I 
 began." 
 
 " Xonsense, Edie ; how often I have told 
 YOU not to be idle ! You are verv inattentive 
 this afternoon. Hold your wrist lower, and go 
 on with the scale in C minor." And as the 
 child''s rosy face lengthened perceptibly over the
 
 Concerning Cobwebs. 11 
 
 petulant reproof, she continued in a milder 
 voice : " you are so tiresome^ Edie, and the 
 weather is so hot '' — an admission made in such 
 a weaiy young voice that Edith stopped alto- 
 gether in her playing to throw her arms round 
 her governess's neck, with a penitent kiss 
 or two. 
 
 " Couldn't we go in the park this evening ? 
 You look so pale ; and I am sure a walk would 
 do you good/' went on the child coaxingly. 
 But both child and governess started asunder, 
 as though detected in some wi'ong, as the door 
 was flung back, and Miss Tressilian stood on 
 the threshold. 
 
 "Faugh, what an atmosphere! How often 
 I have asked you. Miss Elliott, to open the 
 window at the top as well as at the bottom ; no 
 wonder Edie looks so flushed. Never mind 
 your scales for a moment, Edie ; you were only 
 talking when I came in. Mamma wants to 
 speak to :Miss Elliott." 
 
 Miss Elliott rose immediately, without a 
 word. She was a slight pale girl, somewhat low 
 in stature, and looking younger than her 
 age, which, in truth, was barely eighteen, and 
 with a sweet foreign- looking face, its clear olive 
 complexion redeemed entirely from plainness by 
 the bright clever-looking dark eyes. 
 
 ]Miss Elliott might have known what awaited 
 her in the drawing-room by the sudden colour 
 that flushed into her pale face as she hastily 
 obeyed Miss Ti-essilian's summons ; but it died 
 awav into ominous whiteness as, with much
 
 12 Wooed and Married. 
 
 prompting from her daughter, Mrs. Tressiliau 
 slowly and laboriously delivered herself of her 
 summing up. 
 
 ^^ I hope you are following me. Miss Elliott. 
 You quite understand the various faults I am 
 trying to point out to you ?'^ 
 
 " I understand you perfectly/^ returned the 
 girl, in an odd quavering voice ; but the effort 
 to speak made her cheeks burn again. You 
 wish — that is, you think that I am not fit to 
 teach Edith any more T' 
 
 " Yes, that is my mother^s meaning/' inter- 
 posed Beatrix hastily. 
 
 " I never said she was not fit, Trichy,'' began 
 Mrs. Tressiliau reproachfully. " You are so 
 harsh in your expressions. I only said, Miss 
 Elliott, that considering all things, your youth, 
 inexperience, and what my daughter considers 
 your personal antagonism to her, that it would 
 be better that, on all accounts, we should part.'^ 
 
 ^^ And you will really send me away ?" cried 
 the poor child — for she was little more than a 
 child — in a frightened voice. 
 
 " I do not see I have any alternative,'"' replied 
 Mrs. Tressiliau ; and then, becoming helpless 
 again in her pity : " You see, you are so young ; 
 hardly old enough for such a responsible posi- 
 tion. My child's interests would suffer, ""^ she 
 went on with a little dignity; but Miss Elliott 
 interrupted her. 
 
 " Yes, I know ; that is just what they all say 
 of me. I am too childish, too silly, too ill- 
 tempered; but I did try so to do my best.
 
 Concerning Cobwebs. 13^ 
 
 And now Will will never believe that I did. And 
 I am sure/' in a broken voice — ^^ I am sure 
 Edie is fond of me." 
 
 A harder heart than Mrs. Tressilian^s would 
 have been moved to pity at the involuntary- 
 pathos of those simple words. The girFs flushed 
 face^ and voice choked with barely-repressed sobs, 
 were eloquent pleading enough. A painful hesi- 
 tation appeared on the lady's good-natured face, 
 and if truth were to be told, her motherly soul 
 yearned to comfort the young culprit before 
 her; but Beatrix, who had hitherto held aloof, 
 struck in here with her calm sarcastic voice. 
 
 " I don-'t see that Edith^s fondness has any- 
 thing to do with it, mother; a child always 
 attaches itself to a playfellow ; and with nil con- 
 sideration to Miss Elliott-'s good intentions, I 
 think she was little more to Edith. ^^ 
 
 At the first sound of Miss Tressilian^s voice, 
 the young governesses manner wholly changed. 
 She drew herself up, and pressed her hands to 
 her eyes hastily, as though to force back the 
 tears, while a proud sullen look came over her 
 face. 
 
 ^' It was wrong, to say the least of it,^'' con- 
 tinued Beatrix, in the same cold voice, ^^to write 
 all that rubbish in Edith^'s book; wrong and 
 childish in the extreme .''^ 
 
 Here an indignant exclamation on Miss 
 Elliott''s part stopped her. 
 
 " I might have known this was your doing. 
 Miss Tressilian. What have I done to you 
 that you should become my enemy T'
 
 14 Wooed and Married. 
 
 " My dear^ Beatrix meant no unkindness 
 to you/" exclaimed Mrs. Tressilian, alarmed at 
 the angry gesture with which Miss Elliott pos- 
 sessed herself of the offending copybook ; ^' it 
 was very wrong and foolish to write those silly 
 things. You know you are a little incautious 
 in some things, my dear Miss Elliott."' 
 
 " But no one had the right to read them/" 
 cried the girl, passionately ; '' no one — no one ! 
 It was mean, dishonourable. I did not think it 
 of you, Miss Tressilian. Such a little thing as 
 that, too, and to be turned against me."" 
 
 " Miss Elliott, I cannot allow you to speak to 
 my daughter in that manner."" 
 
 " Why should I not speak to her ? Has she 
 ever given me a kind word or look ? Has she 
 ever remembered she is only a girl like myself? 
 Ah, I may well call her my enemy ; no one but 
 an enemy could liave done me this wrong."" 
 
 Beatrix shrugged her shoulders slightly. 
 
 " I think Miss Elliott is giving you a tolerable 
 proof of her temper, mamma."" 
 
 " But who arouses that temper, Miss Tres- 
 silian? Cruel, cruel; and to think you are not 
 much older than I. Let me go, Mrs. Tressilian. 
 I would not stop here even if I were starving 
 and had not a crust in the world."" 
 
 '^ An amiable spirit in which to take reproof,"" 
 muttered Beatrix, still more scornfully. 
 
 *' I only said I was sorry because of Edith, 
 and because"" — faltering in spite of herself — 
 " because it is so hard to go back and be a 
 burden on Will. If it had not been for your
 
 Concerning Cohivebs. 15 
 
 daughter/^ she continued^ clasping her hands in 
 mere anguish of recollection^ ^' I think 1 should 
 have begged and prayed you, dear Mrs, Tressilian, 
 to let me stop on a little longer and try. to do 
 better. I have not been once cross this week, 
 and Edith was getting so fond of me; and now 
 he will look so sad when I tell him that I have 
 come back to him again/^ 
 
 '' My dear, I never meant that you should not 
 stay out your month; and perhaps, if Beatrix 
 does not mind, we might arrange some- 
 thing " began Mrs. Tressilian soothiiigh\ 
 
 " Not for the world V cried the young girl, 
 rising. " I know you mean kindly — you alv» ays 
 do ; but I have made up my mind now that I 
 will not remain a day longer in this house 
 than I can help. It is not your fault that 
 I have been so unhappy here, and I never 
 thought that we should part like this. But it 
 is better so — much better so ; " and fearful of 
 breaking down again in the presence of her 
 enemy, the young governess hastened from the 
 room. 
 
 '^ What do you think of your protegee now, 
 mother?'"' exclaimed Beatrix triumphantly, when 
 they were left alone. 
 
 " I am sure I don^t know, Beatrix,^^ returned 
 her mother peevishly, and half crying ; '- only 
 you have both made me ill between you ; " and 
 seeing that her mother was really too agitated to 
 pursue the question, Beatrix very adroitly turned 
 the subject. 
 
 Meanwhile Miss Elliott, after retreating with
 
 16 Wooed and Married. 
 
 some dignity from the room^ was indulging 
 herself in a very hearty and unromantic fit of 
 crying in her own little garret upstairs — a room 
 which had always gone by the name of the 
 governess's room, and which had been pronounced 
 "by Miss Tressilian to be good enough for the 
 purpose. 
 
 In fairy stories the poor little heroine is 
 always the occupant of a garret^, unless she sleeps 
 among the cinders, as that world-renowned 
 kitchen- wench Cinderella did. The intermediate 
 floors — the state rooms, with their hangings and 
 canopies — are always devoted to the harsh step- 
 mother or the cruel sisters. In this sort of 
 literature startling contrasts are the chief glory 
 of the tale — plenty of ashes to begin with ; cloth 
 of gold, hundreds and thousands of spangles, a 
 wonderful glitter and sheen to embellish the 
 end. 
 
 This poor little Cinderella dwelt like a fairy 
 princess in her garret ; its sloping whitewashed 
 walls were as dear to her as Beatrix's pink and 
 white draperies were to her in the room down- 
 stairs. What wonderful dreams she had here ! 
 From the window she could see the park, a strip 
 of green lying somewhere on the confines of the 
 sunset ; behind the grand houses opposite she 
 could catch glimpses of a wonderful panorama, 
 fleeting views of great red and golden clouds, 
 waves and billows of light. The old boxes piled 
 up under the window made a throne fit for a 
 queen. Here Dym would sit in the twilight for 
 hours, while Edith, in her silk or gauze frock^
 
 Concerning Cobwebs. 17 
 
 was dancing about the still empty drawing-rooms. 
 Sometimes she could hear the laughter and the 
 rustle of dresses as the ladies came up the stairs. 
 She would hide sometimes in a dark corner on 
 the landing below and watch them^ as one 
 watches a flock of strange birds. What wonder- 
 ful plumage, she thought; what white throats 
 and queenly heads ! She would shrink back 
 ashamed as the tallest and queenliest of them all 
 passed her. " How well she looks ! People 
 with yellow hair ought always to wear sea-green/^ 
 she thought, as she slipped away again to her 
 throne among the boxes. 
 
 Sometimes she would come back to her place 
 with hot cheeks and wet eyes, and when the 
 music began stop her ears and cry softly. '^ It 
 is not right. Why should one be so different V 
 she thought. " I suppose if the want were not 
 here I should not feel it so. I wonder if all 
 governesses are so lonely and sad as I. Will 
 will say it is my fault, and that I ought to make 
 myself happy. He would not like me to be 
 sitting up here looking at the stars, and feeling 
 so out of tune with it all. O Will, Will, if I 
 could only have a good talk with you now \" 
 And Dym^s tears would flow again. 
 
 " Aren^t you ashamed of yourself, sitting all 
 in the dark, and with the window wide open 
 too T' cries Caroline, running in with a stream 
 of light and good-natured bustle. "Why, you 
 aren^t more than a child yourself. Miss Elliott. 
 And such a nice little supper as I have served for 
 you in the schoolroom ! A little bit of chicken hot, 
 
 VOL. I. 2
 
 18 Wooed and Married. 
 
 and a meringue as I liave stole from James him- 
 self as lie was carrying the tray down/^ 
 
 ^^ Thank you, Caroline; you are very good/^ 
 says the poor little governess very humbly, and 
 drying her eyes. 
 
 Somehow the schoolroom, with its shady lamp 
 and gi'eat armchair, and the cozy supper, seem 
 to lift a little of the burden oflP her ; she does not 
 scorn the meringue, which Caroline pronounces 
 so as to rhyme with syringe. Many a time has 
 Caroline's good-tempered face and rough-and- 
 ready kindnesses banished the dark cloud. 
 ^^ Thank you, Caroline ; you are very good, and 
 it does look comfortable,''^ she would say again ; 
 and she would eat her supper gratefully, and 
 forget the grand dresses downstairs, and that she 
 was only a poor little Cinderella of a governess. 
 
 Dym did not always have such sad thoughts. 
 Sometimes her garret might have been an 
 enchanted palace, she peopled it so grandly. 
 What castles she built there ! what marvellous 
 snatches of poetry and prose she compiled ! The 
 girFs mind was in that state of transition when 
 it was obliged to find an outlet for itself. 
 
 Young people run this sort of gauntlet once 
 in their lives ; they arm themselves with all sorts 
 of fancied powers, and ride full tilt against 
 circumstance. This phase is to some existences 
 what childish ailments are to the physical consti- 
 tution ; they go through it as a child goes through 
 whooping-cough or scarlatina. No one is to 
 blame for it — they themselves least of all. It is 
 a healtliy outlet, nothing more. These embryo
 
 Concerning Cobwebs. 19 
 
 poets^ novelists^ and artists indeed turn for the 
 most part into very practical matter-of-fact 
 people ; only a few refuse to lay down their 
 childish arms. By-and-bye we shall see them 
 harnessed in statelier panoply,, and rushing down 
 into the arena to do battle to the death. Bring 
 laurel and bay to encircle the brows of the 
 conquerors^ and peace and a decent grave to the 
 vanquished ! 
 
 Dym^s crude efforts were chiefly rhymic — 
 small adaptations of thought and measure in the 
 Barrett-Browning style^ very flimsy of structure, 
 full of startling paradoxes^ and hardly recognisable 
 by the great ideal. Dym gave it up after a 
 time, and settled down to the sober prose of her 
 own life. It did no great harm — it served to 
 pass away a good many lonely hours ; but I think 
 she was a sadder and better woman when she 
 could utter Mrs. Barrett-Browning^s ^Maledic- 
 tion '''' with her heart, instead of seeking to 
 reproduce a feeble imitation with her brain. 
 
 Nevertheless, with some exceptions, the hours 
 in her garret were Dym^s happiest ones. 
 
 Poor Dym ! it was a sad enough face that she 
 brought there after her interview with Mrs. 
 Tressilian. Wounded pride, anger, and fear 
 throbbed in the girl's sore heart as she sat on 
 the edge of her little bed when her first burst of 
 anguish was over, with the tears rolling down 
 her cheeks one by one. 
 
 Into what bitter earnest her poor little jest 
 had turned ! She was struggling among the 
 breakers, indeed. 
 
 2—3
 
 20 Wooed and Married. 
 
 " I did try to do my best. Will, I did indeed/' 
 she kept saying, speaking out loud in her agita- 
 tion; ^^but who can keep one's temper with her? 
 I wonder if you will believe it — if you ever do 
 believe it of me/' she continued, with a gesture 
 of despair, walking hurriedly to and fro, as 
 though some thought had made her restless. '' I 
 know I behaved very badly at that school, and 
 that I might have got on better with Miss 
 Northcote ; but I did mean to do my best here." 
 And then, with a fresh burst of grief, ^' But to 
 think of my going back to be a burden to him 
 again, dear old fellow ! I have always been 
 more a care than a comfort to him; and he so 
 ill and overworked too. Ah, if mamma were 
 only alive, and I could put down my head on her 
 lap and tell her how good I meant to be, and 
 how I have failed ! Will will never believe me." 
 And so on, till the poor child's head ached with 
 the intensity of her misery. 
 
 By-and-bye a new thought seemed to strike 
 her ; and with a desperate sort of movement, as 
 though she feared courage would fail her, she sat 
 herself down to write to this same unknown 
 Will. The tears came again and again as she 
 did so; but she dashed them away impatiently, 
 and only went on the faster. 
 
 " My own dearest old Will Conqueror, — I 
 only hope you will make this out ; but I have 
 been crying so tbat I can hardly see plain. 
 .How can I help it when I am so miserable? —
 
 Concerning Cobicehs. 21 
 
 " miserable '^ rendered illegible by a great tear- 
 blot. — O Will, what will you say ? I am dis- 
 missed again from my situation. Mrs. Tressilian 
 told me I must go this afternoon, and I have 
 been crying ever since. I am so afraid that you 
 will not believe that I meant to do my very best 
 this time. How can 1 help being young and 
 silly, and all the horrid things they called me, 
 when I shall not be eighteen for another month? 
 People expect too much of me ; and it was 
 unkind of Miss Tressilian saying they did not 
 Avant a playfellow for Edith — and so unfair, too, 
 when Mrs. Tressilian said when she engaged me 
 that my age did not matter at all, as Edith was 
 still delicate and must not study much, and she 
 wanted a cheerful young person who could 
 amuse her. 
 
 "And, Will dear, I have tried so hard to do 
 my duty. I have not been nearly so cross as I 
 was at Miss Northcote's, and I have broken my- 
 self of all the silly habits that used to annoy 
 Mrs. Saunders so. I daresay I did behave very 
 badly then, and I am afraid Miss Northcote was 
 right when she told you I encouraged her girls 
 to break the rules ; but you know I never could 
 bear school, and I am sure 1 am quite staid and 
 prim now. And, Will, I really have tried to get 
 the better of my temper. I am sure I cannot 
 have been so cross, or Edith would not be so 
 fond of me. She has been like a little sister to 
 me for kindness and goodness. If it had not 
 been for Miss Tressilian's sneering speeches I 
 should have been quite amiable ; but you cannot
 
 22 Wooed and Married. 
 
 think how she goads and irritates me — she is as 
 bad to me as a red rag is to a bull. 
 
 " But what is the good of my saying all this ? 
 I know you will just shake your head and say, 
 * You know it is your own fault, Dym ;' and it 
 is this that makes me so mad. I cannot bear 
 coming back to you again like a bad penny. I 
 always have been a burden to you^ dear old 
 Will, and it hurts me so to think it. I know I 
 shall cry night and day till I sec you. And, 
 Will, do try and believe the best of me. I 
 might have done better, of course, and I need 
 not have made myself so disagreeable to ^liss 
 Tressilian ; but if you only knew how provoking 
 she is ! Do write a word to me, there^s a dear 
 old fellow, and tell me you know I tried my 
 best. — Your losing and sorrowful little sister, 
 
 " Dym.^' 
 
 And when she had finished her letter, she 
 just read it over, sighing as though her heart 
 would break; and then, with a muttered, 
 '^ What is the good of giving him a montli^s 
 pain in advance?^' she tore it up into little 
 pieces and scattered them on the roof, where a 
 few deluded sparrows mistook the white frag- 
 ments for crumbs. 
 
 That Avas the way in which Dymphna Elliott 
 faced her heaviest troubles. 
 
 The cobwebs were not swept away yet.
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 KIDDLE-A-WINK INTRODUCES HIMSELF. 
 
 OMEWHAT later in the evening Dym 
 crept down to the schoolroom very red- 
 eyed and subdued, and very much 
 ashamed of herself for keeping the schoolroom 
 tea waiting. Edith would be tired and very 
 cross with her long fast, she thought with a 
 good deal of compunction. Edith was not there, 
 however. 
 
 The schoolroom was a long narrow slip of a 
 room — evidently an after-thought of the architect 
 — but pleasant, and well lighted by two windows; 
 the door stood open, and the evening sun 
 streamed on the small round tea-table, which 
 Caroline had set out with more than her usual 
 liberality and love of good things; but before 
 Dym had more than time to wonder at the 
 unusual display of preserves and cakes, a very 
 small grey dog — the very smallest and wiriest of 
 Skye terriers that she had ever seen — ran at her 
 with a short howl of surprise, and then suddenly 
 sat up on his hind legs and begged. This was 
 startling, to say the least of it, but it was far 
 more so to find that the dog was not the sole 
 occupant of the room. A very tall man, in a
 
 24 Wooed and Married. 
 
 dark-tweed shooting-coat, was leaning- against 
 the mantelpiece, in that embarrassing position 
 which only brought a pair of very broad shoulders 
 and the back of a curly head into prominent 
 notice; for the owner of these shoulders was 
 looking intently at the green and gold shavings 
 with which the grate was encumbered. 
 
 Miss Elliott might be forgiven for the surprise 
 that kept her immovable in the doorway, while 
 the little Skye terrier sat up and waved its paws 
 at her in dumb friendliness; for no form of 
 mankind, no brothers or cousins, were ever 
 know to cross the threshold of the schoolroom. 
 
 The young cornet of Dragoons, Charlie Ti'es- 
 silian, only honoured his sister and her governess 
 with a good-luimourcd nod when he met them 
 on the stairs or about the Park. He vouchsafed 
 a curious glance once, when he first came upon 
 Dym in her little close bonnet. I suppose the 
 olive complexion and dark eyes of the little 
 governess did not meet with his approval, for he 
 never volunteered a second look. Not that 
 Dym cared about it, though ; there w ere plenty 
 of these gay young officers about the house, in 
 attendance on Miss Tressilian. Dym could hear 
 the clanking of their spurs sometimes on the 
 polished staircase when they came in from a 
 dress parade, when she was hearing Edith her 
 German verbs ; " Miss Elliott/"* Edith would 
 say archly, " when I grow up I shall marry 
 Colonel Delaire; he is much the nicest of them; 
 he has great yellow moustaches, and a beard 
 that hurts when he kisses me. I donH think he
 
 Kiddle- a-winJc Introduces Himself. 25 
 
 ought to kiss Beatrix so often, Miss Elliott, do 
 you? She is quite grown up, you know, and 
 the others don^t do it/"* 
 
 ^^ Hush ! go on with your verb, Edith,"^ says 
 the governess, with a sigh ; she thinks it must 
 be rather nice to be Beatrix, and to have a 
 colonel of her own. She catches glimpses of 
 her sometimes, as she passes the drawing-room 
 door, sitting at the piano in her white evening 
 dress, quite surrounded by these young fellows. 
 She knew the colonel Ecith had spoken about ; 
 he was a pleasant, gentlemanly man, and had 
 spoken very kindly to them one day when a 
 great dog had frightened them in Kensington 
 Gardens. 
 
 '^ Who is that little dark-eyed girl whom I 
 meet so often in the Park with Edith 1" asked the 
 colonel, when he saw her passing by the open 
 door. 
 
 '' Oh, Miss Elliott, her governess,'' answers 
 Beatrix indifferently ; " it is a pity mamma has 
 engaged such a dowdy little thing. You have 
 turned over too quickly, Frank ; I have two bars 
 to play.'' 
 
 Old Dr. Schreiber, the German master, is the 
 only masculine figure that ever crosses the school- 
 room threshold ; he wears a curious old wig and 
 plaid waistcoat, and indulged plentifully in snuff. 
 Dym hates him and his old-fashioned politeness 
 and broken English compliments. 
 
 " Ah, you are a child of the South, Meess 
 Elliott," he would say. ^^ You have the Italian 
 blood in your veins " (Dym's grandmother was
 
 26 Wooed and Married. 
 
 an Italian) ; '' you are not cold and proud, like 
 these islanders — they are ver great, but ach 
 Himmel '' and the rest of the old man^s rhap- 
 sody would be lost in a pinch of snuff. 
 
 Dym knew in an instant that the broad 
 shoulders and the tweed shooting-coat did not 
 belong either to Charlie Tressilian or to any of 
 his brother officers — the brown curly hair looked 
 sun-dried, and wholly unlike the trim closely-cut 
 heads she remembered. Her little thrill of as- 
 tonishment was followed by a long pause of inde- 
 cision — how was she to address herself to tliis 
 stranger ? The back of a man's head does not 
 conduce to conversation ; it was difficult to go 
 forward, and awkward to retreat. She did 
 neither, but just coughed slightly. 
 
 " Ah, are you there, my little friend V came 
 in brisk amiable tones from the fireplace. 
 " Have you told them I am dying for a cup of 
 tea r' 
 
 Dym grew hot, and then felt inclined to laugh. 
 At any risks, she must make him turn round. 
 
 " Tliey have gone out to dinner ; are you 
 expecting Miss Tressilian, sir?'-* 
 
 At the first sound of the demure voice the 
 arms dropped from the mantelpiece, and a 
 brown-bearded face looked round in evident as- 
 tonishment. • 
 
 " Who in the name of wonder— I beg your 
 pardon^ but I thought my little cousin was here ; 
 I am afraid I was very rude just now; I did not 
 hear you enter. Kiddle-a-wink, you rogue, just 
 leave the lady alone.''
 
 Kiddle- a-mnJc Introduces Himself. 27 
 
 Certainly tlae oddest person. A cousin— Dym 
 had never heard of him. Stop ; had not Edith 
 talked often of a Cousin Guy ? Perhaps this ^as 
 he. What a tall man he was ! big, too, and 
 dressed in an odd foreign sort of fashion, with a 
 blue handkerchief knotted loosely round his 
 throat, the ends flying, and the very brownest 
 face she had ever seen in her life, with dark 
 quizzical eyes. 
 
 '• I knew they were all out,'' he continued 
 good-humouredly, as though to relieve her 
 evident embarrassment; "the butler told me 
 they had a dinner engagement. I know they 
 are awfully gay people. Never mind me ; I am 
 used to disappointments, and they did not expect 
 me. I only told Charlie I might look in one of 
 these days."" 
 
 " But you have not dined, Mr. " stam- 
 mered Dym, more than ever convinced that this 
 must be '' the Cousin Guy,'' and longing with all 
 her heart that Edith would come back. 
 
 " Guy Chichester, at your service," returned 
 that gentleman, promptly answering the involun- 
 tary stammer. " I suppose I ought to have 
 introduced myself before, as Edith is not here to 
 do it for me. I believe I have the pleasure of 
 speaking to " 
 
 " I am only Miss Elliott, the governess," in- 
 terrupted Dym shyly, feeling painfully conscious 
 of her red eyes and pale cheeks, and wishing she 
 had changed her shabby gown, a faded lilac 
 gingham, for her usual afternoon black silk. She 
 was not sure the quizzical eyes had not already
 
 28 y/ooed and Married. 
 
 noticed these and sundry other defects. ^' Shall 
 I go and tell Orton to serve you up some dinner 
 at once ?^^ 
 
 ^^ On no account ; I have already declined 
 Orton's kind attentions. Edith has promised 
 me a cup of tea. I suppose she will be back 
 directly she has attended to the kitten^s comfort. 
 I found some young demons in the shape of boys 
 stoning a little kitten^ so I just dropped it in my 
 pocket, much to Kiddle-a-wink^s disgust, and 
 brought it on to Edith to cosset and cuddle to 
 her hearths content. I hope/^ with another 
 kind inquisitive glance, " that Edith's governess 
 will not resent my uninvited presence in her own 
 sacred precincts.'^ 
 
 ^^ I am afraid Mrs. TressiJian will not like it/' 
 answered Dym honestly — she always spoke the 
 truth, whatever it cost her; but her eyes said, 
 " Edith and I will like it very much indeed.'' 
 
 " Oh, I will take the consequences of that," 
 coolly sitting down, and drawing the dog's black 
 muzzle into his hand. " Cousin Guy always 
 does as he likes here." Then with a droll look 
 in his eyes, " Doesn't Edith change her gover- 
 nesses very often ? When I last had tea here, 
 a funny little lady of fifty-five — Miss Dale I 
 think they called her — poured it out for me, and 
 the time before that I found a very stout widow 
 lady in charge." 
 
 It was impossible not to laugh at Mr. 
 Chichester's mischievous tone, and Dym did so 
 very heartily, and then tried to look demure. 
 
 '^ You have not l)een a governess long,'^ was
 
 Eiddle-a-wink Introduces Hhnself. 29 
 
 the next statement volunteered by this singular 
 person. 
 
 " How can you tell that T^ asked Dym, 
 somewhat timidly. 
 
 " Why, you are not very old, to begin with ; 
 and, next, you have not learnt to look prim and 
 demure without a perceptible effort. Wait till 
 you are Miss Dale^s age. Ah, here comes 
 Edith, and with the kitten hugged up in her 
 apron, I declare. Why, my fair Saxon, do you 
 mean to lead me a cat-and-dog life after all ? 
 Look at Kiddle-a-wink^s ears.''' 
 
 '-^ O Cousin Guy,''' exclaimed the child, running 
 up to him Avith her eyes full of tears, ^^ one of 
 those dreadful stones had hurt it after all ; one 
 of its paws was bleeding ; and when we put the 
 poor thing down, it just held it up, mewing 
 dreadfully. Caroline says it is broken, and she 
 has been trying to bind it all this time, only Kitty 
 does cry so T" 
 
 '' Who is Caroline ? I don''t think she is 
 much of a surgeon. Do you call that a band- 
 age Y^ asked Cousin Guy, in the good-humoured, 
 half-cynical tone that seemed natural to him. 
 ^^ Hand over the victim to me."*^ And in spite of 
 the poor animaFs plaintive cries, so trying to the 
 nerves of Edith and her young governess, the 
 brown shapely hands busied themselves with the 
 wounded limb as tenderly and adroitly as would 
 a womau^s. 
 
 '^ There, I call that more respectable. Don^t 
 you think I ought to be appointed dresser to 
 Ouy^s Hospital, Miss Elliott ? Now put your
 
 30 Wooed and Married. 
 
 patient to bed, Miss Nurse/^ And poor pussy 
 having been deposited in a large -work-basket 
 ■well lined with an old sbawl^ Mr. Chichester 
 quietly suggested that he had not yet enjoyed 
 his promised cup of tea ; whereupon Dym moved 
 to the table, feeling sorely puzzled as to what 
 Miss Tressilian would think of these proceedings. 
 
 The whole affair, however, seemed no novelty 
 to Cousin Guy ; and as for Edith, she was in the 
 seventh heaven of delight. Dym had now dis- 
 covered for herself that Mr. Chichester was not 
 an unfrequent visitor to the schoolroom, and 
 this set her more at her ease. She was very 
 quiet at first, and left the conversation chiefly to 
 Edith ; but Mr. Chichester appealed so fre- 
 quently to her, and his drollery and bonhomie 
 were so infectious, that Dym^s mirth-loving 
 nature could hardly hold out long; and she 
 soon forgot her swollen eyes and shabby dress in 
 listening to the pleasant sallies of their new 
 companion. 
 
 Dym was in a perilous state between old pain 
 and new pleasure ; but she wisely put away 
 her heart-ache, and determined to enjoy the 
 present. What a wonderful break that evening 
 was in the monotony of the schoolroom life! 
 That any one should address her in tones of 
 equality — nay, more, of interest — was novelty 
 enough to our little Cinderella. The long narrow 
 room seemed quite blocked up by the broad 
 shoulders and big muscular figure, but it looked 
 all the more cheerful for it. It was pleasanter 
 to see Mr. Chichester pulling at his tawny brown
 
 Kiddle- a-ioinlc Introduces Himself. 31 
 
 beard Tvith his sunburnt vigorous hand than to 
 watch old Herr Schreiber taking snufi\ She 
 sat on in a sort of dream^ while Mr. Chichester 
 cut long even slices of breads or helped his little 
 cousin to her favourite preserve^ rattling on 
 merrily all the time. 
 
 '' Who was it who used always to be cutting 
 bread-and-butter? Ah^ Werther's Charlotte^. I 
 remember. I saw it parodied once. Have you 
 ever read the Sorrows of TVerther, Miss Elliott ?'' 
 
 Yes, Dym had. She had read it three times, 
 and was ashamed to confess she liked it very 
 much indeed. People thought it sentimental; 
 she called it pathetic. Mr. Chichester looked 
 at her with a comical frown of perplexity and 
 amusement. 
 
 ^' You must be very young. I went through 
 that sort of thing a dozen years ago/-* he went 
 on in a rallying tone. " I am not much over 
 thirty now. Do we all think Werther delicious 
 at eighteen, I wonder ? What can be the plea- 
 sures of melancholy, Miss Elliott, that youth is 
 so desirous of enjoying them ? It always seems 
 to me that one has so much of the real thing in 
 life.^^ 
 
 '- You are right,^^ answered Dym in a choked 
 voice. Her colour rose a little. Was it a 
 chance hit, or had Mr. Chichester perceived her 
 red eyes ? "I think one likes it better in 
 books,-*^ she went on, making a brave effort to 
 recover herself and to speak naturally, " just as 
 one enjoys the twilight or sad music.''' 
 
 Mr. Chichester smiled.
 
 Wooed and Married. 
 
 " Do you really tliink people do always enjoy 
 them — elder people, I mean? I should fancy 
 half-lights are rather a nuisance in some moods, 
 and the sweetest music a " long-drawn-out 
 pain/'' as some one calls it. But that is the 
 worst of you women ^^ — with a sudden frown — 
 ^^yoLi contrive somehow to extract a sort of 
 enjoyment out of sorrow itself. Catch a sen- 
 sible man listening to melancholy tunes in the 
 twilight when things have gone wrong with 
 him I"^ and he gave a little scornful laugh, and 
 his tone struck Dym as somewhat bitter. 
 
 '^ I am afraid you think us very silly /^ she 
 replied, timidly. 
 
 " I think you are all somewhat addicted to 
 playing with edged tools,^'' he went on, and his 
 gravity was unmistakable. " I have heard from 
 one of the old Fathers of the art of cultivating 
 cheerfulness, but never of the cultivation of 
 melancholy. Fogs should be dispersed at all 
 hazards,^' he continued, but his eyes w^ere 
 twinkling again. " When women sit and spin 
 trash in the moonlight, men go out and work.^' 
 
 " Too bad,^"* was all Dym could find to say. 
 
 Mr. Chichester, who had successfully shaken 
 off his sudden moodiness, looked at her a little 
 cuiiously. 
 
 "■ "Why," he asked, " have you never imagined 
 yourself worse off than Nature and Providence 
 intended you to be ? Forgive me/'' he continued, 
 in a lower voice, as Dym tried to find some 
 answer ; " I am afraid, after all, I am playing 
 with edged tools myself. Edith, as we have
 
 Kiddle- a-winJc Introduces Himself. 33 
 
 finished our tea^ what do you think of asking 
 Miss Elliott if you and I shall have a walk in 
 Kensington Gardens T^ 
 
 Edith clapped her hands gleefully_, and then 
 stopped herself. 
 
 '•' May not Miss Elliott go too, Cousin Guy ?' 
 
 " Of course Miss Elliott may go if she wishes 
 it/^ returned Cousin Guy, stroking Edith^'s flossy 
 hair as he spoke. 
 
 " Certainly not. Edith, how could you think 
 of such a thicg?^'' exclaimed the young gover- 
 ness in a little flurry. " Mr. Chichester, please 
 do not keep her out late; her chest is rather 
 delicate, and it is so damp in those Gardens 
 under the trees.^^ 
 
 " Spoken as Miss Dale might have spoken it. 
 I see there is hope of you yet. Miss Elliott. 
 To hear is to obey. And we cannot tempt you 
 to favour us with your company ?^^ ' 
 
 "No, thank you, sir,^"* replied Dym very 
 gravely. She read, with the unerring instinct 
 of a lady, why Mr. Chichester^s invitation to 
 herself was not very pressing. " Mrs. Tressilian 
 would not like it, and you are quite able to take 
 care of Edith without me.^^ 
 
 "True, noblesse oblige. What tiresome 
 things les convenances are, are they not. Miss 
 Elliott? Here you are dying for a breath of 
 fresh air. Nature says, ' Come."* Decorum, that 
 cross-grained old jade, says, ^ Stop at home." 
 Inclination has the worst of it as usual. ^" 
 
 " I can get plenty of fresh air in the squares. '' 
 
 "And a fine opportunity for addressing an 
 
 VOL. T. 3
 
 34 Wooed and Married. 
 
 ode to melanclioly at the same time. Don^t 
 get spinning in the moonlight,, Miss Elliott, 
 while we are gone/^ Mr. Chichester^s tone 
 was so droll and sympathetic, that Dym could 
 not take umbrage at it. " Edith, run and get 
 ready, and don''t stand staring at us so. Don^t 
 you know that only clever people can talk real 
 nonsense T' 
 
 '' I. don't think Edith knows what real non- 
 sense is/^ said Dym, rather sadly. '^ I try my 
 best ; but I am afraid one gets rather moped 
 and cross up here.^^ 
 
 '^ You ought to keep a bottle labelled ^Spirits/ 
 on the mantelpiece, ' to be shaken as well as 
 taken,^ Miss Elliott. Have you ever tried a 
 good game of battledore and shuttlecock when 
 you were unusually cross ?^' 
 
 " ]S^o. What an odd idea !" replied Dym, 
 laughing. 
 
 " You will find it a very good idea, and a 
 most infallible remedy. I tried it once — kept 
 up a cool two thousand with a little friend of 
 mine ; and after the unwonted exercise found 
 myself, with blistered hands and refreshed spirits, 
 quite in a state for a comfortable nap. Try it. 
 Miss Elliott.^' 
 
 " Perhaps I will some time ; you may recom- 
 mend it to Edith too. I have passed ^the 
 battledore and shuttlecock^ stage, 1 am afraid.''^ 
 
 " Y^ou mean you require more violent remedies. 
 You are acknowledging a good deal. Miss Elliott. 
 Has my fair Cousin Beatrix no power or spell to 
 exorcise these spirits, ' black, or blue, or grey V I
 
 Kiddle-a-ioink Introduces Himself. 35 
 
 believe there is a system of freemasonry between 
 girls /^ 
 
 "" Not between us/^ replied Dym^ drawing 
 herself up proudly. If her life had depended 
 upon itj she could not have helped the sudden 
 sharp tone of dissent. She took herself to task 
 for it afterwards. Mr. Chichester would think 
 her so unamiable, she thought. She was not 
 aware of the hard repellent look her face took 
 at such moments, breaking up the soft outline 
 of her features, and marring their pleasantness 
 with bitter lines. Dym^s face was a sadly 
 eloquent one, ten times more eloquent than 
 her words. It already told a volume to 
 Mr. Chichester, if he cared to read it. 
 
 Dym never knew what he thought of her curt 
 speech. He went away with Edith shortly 
 afterwards, bidding her good-bye very kindly, 
 but without offering his hand. Dym sat at the 
 window watching them as they went through 
 the square. What a grand-looking man he was, 
 she thought ; grander far than Colonel Delaire, 
 or any of those young officers. He held his 
 little cousin by the hand, and the child walked 
 along, looking eagerly up in his face, and chat- 
 tering to him. Dym could fancy him smiling in 
 his beard, in his droll way, as he answered her. 
 
 " I should think he could make people afraid 
 of him sometimes, with all his good nature,^'' she 
 thought, as they passed round the farthest 
 corner and were lost to view. " How his eyes 
 flashed and how annoyed he looked when he 
 spoke of people indulging their troubles ! I 
 
 3—2
 
 3 6 TFooed and Married. 
 
 don^t fancy lie has a good temper — not mucli 
 better than mine. lie must look like a lion 
 when he is roused. Somehow his raillery has a 
 pleasant sharpness, which does not hurt ; while 
 Miss Tressilian^s sneers sting like nettles. I 
 suppose he has a good heart, and that makes the 
 difference," went on the young philosopher. She 
 had quite forgotten her need of fresh air; or 
 else exercise in the lonely deserted squares seemed 
 else irksome to her. ^' After all, I am spinning in 
 the moonlight/-' she said to herself, with some- 
 thing like remorse, as she put the schoolroom 
 tidy, and then settled down to a piece of intricate 
 knitting, which had to be partially unravelled 
 and then put in order for Mrs. Tressilian. She 
 cast an amused glance at the kitten now and 
 then. Edith had insisted on a name being found 
 for it, and there had been a perfect war of wits 
 over the tea-table. Dym had suggested Tabitha; 
 Edith thought Chance or Foundling more appro- 
 priate ; but Mr. Chichester had insisted that 
 nothing under three or even four syllables 
 would do. A name must be hit upon that 
 would perpetually remind them of the painful 
 circumstances through which the victim had 
 found entrance under their hospitable roof. 
 Edith objected to the Howler, and thought 
 Wanderer sounded too much like a race-horse; 
 he would therefore, with their permission, fix on 
 Lamentations as a peculiarly beautiful and 
 touching name, a sobriquet to which poor Edith 
 somewhat ruefully consented.
 
 Kiddle- a-ioink Introduces Himself. 37 
 
 It was quite late before Edith returned^ with 
 her hands full of roses. 
 
 " Aren^t these beautiful^ Miss Elliott ? Cousin 
 Guy asked if you were fond of flowers^ and he 
 told me I must bring you home these, to make 
 up for the walk you lost. He told me to tell 
 you that they were ever so much better than 
 moonshine. What did he mean by that, I 
 wonder T' 
 
 '' Mr. Chichester sent me these T' exclaimed 
 Dym, hardly thinking she heard right. She 
 laid her hot face against the cool fragrant heap 
 that lay in her lap ; the soft pinks and blush- 
 tints gleamed pearly white in the semi-darkness; 
 the gas-lamp at the corner of the dark square 
 reflected the girFs bent head dimly. 
 
 " How dark it is ! and I am ever so tired. 
 Cousin Guy threatened to carry me once, and I 
 was afraid he meant it. No, he did not send 
 them exactly; he said it must be my present, in 
 return for all the trouble I give you. Do I 
 give you much trouble. Miss Elliott T' asked the 
 child earnestly. " There was a girl sitting at 
 the corner, just by one of the park gates : her 
 basket was nearly full, and she looked so tired 
 and hungry. Cousin Guy made her empty it into 
 my lap, and we sorted the bunches under the 
 trees. I don^t think she ever had so much 
 money in her life before; she went on wiping 
 her eyes with her shawl, and wishing the heavens 
 to be his bed. I could not tell what she meant, 
 till Cousin Guy said it was only gratitude, and
 
 38 Wooed and Married. 
 
 that an Irish blessing did no harm ; and then he 
 told me to briog them all home to you/" 
 
 " I see ; thank you, Edith/'' returned Dym 
 quietly. She laid aside the roses reluctantly, as 
 Edith clambered into her lap and nestled against 
 her. Her thoughts wandered two or three times 
 as she strove to interest herself in the chikVs 
 eager descriptions. 
 
 " Did Mr. Chichester come in with you, 
 Edie V she asked at last, rousing herself from a 
 reverie. 
 
 " Yes — no ; he only brought me to the door. 
 I heard him say something to James about 
 calling again later. I know he inquired what 
 time they would be back. Do you know. 
 Miss Elliott, Cousin Guy asked me how it was 
 that you and Trichy got on so badly together.'''' 
 
 " Impossible \" exclaimed Dym, starting. 
 "Edie, you must have misunderstood your cousin."" 
 
 " Well, perhaps he did not say so in exactly 
 those words. He asked me if I liked you better 
 than Miss Dale; and when I said a hundred 
 thousand times better, he laughed, and asked if 
 Trichy did too. Of course I told him no, and 
 how miserable she made you whenever she came 
 into the schoolroom."" 
 
 " Well !"" ejaculated Dym anxiously. 
 
 " I don"t know whether he heard me, for he 
 answered rather dryly, that it takes two to make 
 a quarrel, and that Trichy might possibly be in 
 the right sometimes ; and when I said I was 
 sure she never was, he scolded me for speaking 
 so disloyally of my sister.""
 
 Kiddle-a-ioink Introduces Himself. 39 
 
 *^ And he Tvas quite riglit/^ returned lier 
 governess severely. ^^You ought to have known 
 better_, Edith/^ Dym put a stop to the conver- 
 sation quite peremptorily^, by insisting that it was 
 time for her little charge to go to bed. She 
 turned a deaf ear when Edith pleaded for farther 
 indulgence, and committed her remorselessly into 
 Caroline''s keeping, when that individual came to 
 fetch her. Edith carried off some of the roses 
 in revenge. Another time there would have 
 been a playful scramble, but to-night her young 
 governess was not in the mood. She contented 
 herself with placing the remainder in water, and 
 then sat down to her knitting again. ^' It takes 
 two to make a quarrel,'''' she said to herself, as 
 she cast-off rapid stitches on her needle; and 
 perhaps if Guy Chichester had seen the puck- 
 ered brow and involuntary frown at this moment, 
 he might have avowed he was right. 
 
 Some two hours later, as the carriage set 
 down the two ladies at the door of Lansdowne 
 House, a tall dark figure, louoging against the 
 railings, started forward and assisted them to 
 alight. 
 
 " Why, it is Guy himself, I declare \" exclaimed 
 a sleepy affectionate voice from the interior of 
 the carriage. 
 
 Beatrix volunteered no welcome. " Mamma 
 is very tired,''"' was all she said, as she leant 
 lightly on her cousin^s arm; and she swept past 
 him up the steps in her white cloak. When they 
 followed her into the inner drawing-room, they 
 found her giving orders to her maid about closing
 
 40 JFooed and Married. 
 
 tlie windows and bringing up the coffee. " You 
 will have some in your dressing-room as usual, 
 will you not, mamma ?^^ 
 
 "Yes, my dear, I think so; but I have not 
 yet spoken to Guy. My dear Guy, whatever 
 brings you here so late to night ?'^ 
 
 " As usual, a whim, my dear aunt ; but this 
 is not my first visit. I have been well entertained 
 by Edith, I assure you.^' 
 
 " You have been here all the evening T' 
 
 Beatrix looked up sharply. 
 
 " Y^ou had better ask him, mamma, how long 
 he has been up in town,^^ she observed, with a 
 little empressement. 
 
 '• Plumph, my fair cousin ; so that is the 
 reason why your ladyship deigns to receive me 
 so coldly,"*^ returned Guy, smiling mischievously. 
 " Well, if I cared to evade your question, I 
 could well do so. I have been in town — that is, 
 at the "West-end — some six hours, two of which 
 were spent at Lansdowne House ; and I have 
 been six weeks in a place not fit to mention in 
 aristocratic ears, but certainly not twelve miles 
 from London.'''' 
 
 " I thought so,'" came in disdainful tones from 
 Beatrix. " Besides '' 
 
 " Besides what ? Don^t spare my feelings.'''' 
 
 " You were seen " 
 
 " How shocking V^ 
 
 " There is nothing to laugh at, Guy. Colonel 
 Delaire came in and told us one day he had met
 
 Kiddle- a-ioinh Introduces Himself, 41 
 
 " Indeed ! Was it in the Seven Dials or 
 Camden Town V 
 
 " He did not mention the locality. He said 
 you had your old shooting-coat on — I wish you 
 would let me burn it — and looked rather as 
 though you had fallen into the hands of the 
 Philistines/' 
 
 " My dear Beatrix^ you know poor Frank was 
 only laughing — you did look so shocked." 
 
 " Never mind^ Aunt Celia ; don^t trouble your- 
 self to apologize for me. Trichy knows I am 
 a sad fellow — always in the hands of some 
 Philistines or other; but it was mean of the 
 colonel to show me up at headquarters." 
 
 " He thought we should be so pleased, dear 
 Guy.- 
 
 ^'^ What ! at hearing I was in the hands of the 
 Philistines. For shame, Aunt Celia !" 
 
 " I wish you would not go on joking, Guy. 
 You know mamma is dreadfully tired.''' 
 
 ^^ That means I am to be silent, and that you 
 are to go to bed, auntie ; what a capital policeman 
 you would make, Trichy ; your very tone would 
 make people ' move on.' " 
 
 Miss Tressilian moved away somewhat dis- 
 pleased; it was never her way to retort on an 
 impertinence ; she held herself aloof quite stiffly, 
 while Guy interchanged an aflFectionate good- 
 night with his elder relative. Neither did she 
 seem to see him till he took the seat opposite to 
 her, and deliberately helped himself to some coffee. 
 
 " Where is Charlie ?" he asked suddenly.
 
 42 Wooed and Married. 
 
 ^' At the Opera ; he will be in by-and-bye/^ 
 
 '^ All right ; I will look in on him to-morrow. 
 1 must not stay now^ I suppose ?^^ 
 
 " That^s as you please. Mrs. Vivian will be 
 down directly.'"' 
 
 ^^ How many tame cats do you keep about the 
 house V^ asked her cousin mischievously. 
 
 ^^ Mrs. Vivian is a friend/^ returned Beatrix 
 in her most repressive voice. " She is in 
 trouble^ poor thing ! and it came into my head 
 to-night that perhaps mamma might make it 
 worth her while to stay on as Edith^s governess.^' 
 
 " Edith has a governess, has she not V 
 
 ^' Oh, yes — Miss Elliott ; but she is going." 
 
 '^ Indeed/^ observed Guy, in the very driest 
 of tones. 
 
 " Yes, she will not do at all. She will insist 
 on having her own way in everything, and spoils 
 Edith dreadfully/' 
 
 " Edith seemed very happy, and much stronger 
 in health, I thought.'^ 
 
 " Ah, Mentone did us all good, mamma 
 especially. Don^t say a word to her about Miss 
 EUiott^s going, please. She is dreadfully in- 
 fatuated on the subject, and I have had difaculty 
 enough to make her see things properly. Miss 
 Elliott is just the deceptive sort of person that 
 can creep into any one's good graces."" 
 
 " She has not crept into yours," muttered Guy. 
 
 " No, because I have perception enough to 
 read her truly. I never knew any one more 
 unfit for a governess ; she and Edith waste half 
 their time in childish romps."
 
 Kiddle-a-winh Introduces Himself. 43 
 
 " So much the better/^ was the gruff answer. 
 
 " And then she is so ill-tempered — a perfect 
 little fury when provoked/^ 
 
 Guy shrugged his shoulders. ^^ Under no 
 provocation^ I suppose ?" 
 
 Beatrix bit her lip. "You are so tiresome^ 
 Guy j there is no talking to you.^^ 
 
 ''^ Confess^ Trichy^ you are a little hard on her." 
 
 No answer. 
 
 " And so the poor little thing must go ?" 
 
 ''' If you cannot find anything more interesting 
 to talk about, I shall leave you^ Guy." 
 
 " Not before Mrs. Vivian comes, I hope. How 
 nice you look to-night, Trichy, with all those 
 green waves, and puffings, and white water-lilies ! 
 If I were an artist I would paint you as Undine." 
 
 " Or any other soulless being, I suppose," 
 returned Beatrix, who, for some reason or other, 
 was in an evident ill-humour. 
 
 ^^ Ah, Undine got her soul afterwards j so will 
 you, when you have an Huldbrand of your own. 
 By-the-bye, what^s this between you and Frank 
 Delaire ?" 
 
 Beatrix flushed up to her temples, and turned 
 away. 
 
 ^^ Ah, Undine, have I caught you ?" 
 
 ^' Hush ! here is Mrs. Vivian at last," as a 
 brisk little widow, with dark restless eyes, and 
 very airily attired, made her entrance. " You 
 have been long enough making your appearance^ 
 Susan." 
 
 " I have been with dear Mrs. Tressilian. This 
 is your cousin, Mr. Chichester — Oh, yes, I
 
 44 Wooed and Married. 
 
 remember him/^ But Guy, wlio was subject to 
 sudden sympathies and antipathies^ replied very 
 curtly to the lady^s effusive greeting. 
 
 " I suppose it is no use waiting for Charlie 
 any longer ; he has gone into supper somewhere/' 
 he observed,, looking at his watch. " I have only 
 ten minutes to spare^ and you are tired, Beatrix. ''' 
 
 " Not in the least. You know w^e are late 
 people/^ was the careless answer, but she fol- 
 lowed him into the outer room notwithstanding. 
 On the threshold he stopped and took her hands. 
 
 " You had better tell me all about it/' he 
 said, with pleasant pcremptoriness. 
 
 '^ About what T' But the tell-tale colour 
 began to rise again. 
 
 '' About Frank Delaire. Are you engaged to 
 him, Trichy T' 
 
 " I don't see what right you have to ask me 
 that question,'' she replied, trying hard to re- 
 sume her former cold manner. 
 
 " What right ! Am I not a man and a 
 cousin ?" 
 
 ^' I don't see what that has to do with it." 
 
 " Don't you ?" 
 
 ^^ I may choose to keep my own counsel." 
 
 " Well done. Undine." 
 
 " Besides/' trying to disengage herself, ^^ I 
 cannot see how my affairs can possibly interest 
 you." 
 
 ^^ It is sufficient interest to me to know that 
 an honest fellow's constancy is to be rewarded 
 \i'^ my pretty cousin's hand."
 
 Kiddle- a-ioinh Introduces Himself. 45 
 
 ^' Pshaw ! pray allow me to go back to 
 Mrs. Vivian/-' 
 
 " Unhand me, sir ; that was what you meant. 
 There^ you are free — only sufifer me to make the 
 remark that you are in a singularly unapproach- 
 able mood to-night/'' 
 
 A sudden glitter as of tears sprang to Beatrix 
 Tressilian^s eyes. 
 
 " Because I am too proud to repose confidence 
 where none is returned. Why should you con- 
 sider you have the right to question me about 
 Frank, when you refuse to answer a single 
 question of mine ?" 
 
 "■ Frank ! Now I am sure I have to con- 
 gratulate you.^^ 
 
 " Don^t. I hate congratulations.^^ 
 
 " But is it really so, Trichy T' 
 
 *'I suppose so/' in a half-proud, half- 
 melancholy voice. 
 
 " Dear Beatrix, I am so glad,""* replied her 
 cousin, affectionately. '^ Frank Delaire is a 
 capital fellow, and '^ 
 
 " And what Y' 
 
 " He will have an awfully pretty wife.'' But 
 Beatrix drew back with almost a defiant gesture. 
 
 ^^ Don't, Guy. I will not have you say that." 
 
 " Why should I not say it ?" 
 
 " Because — I don't know ! what are my looks 
 to you ? There, let us change the subject." 
 
 '' With all my heart. Good night, Trichy." 
 
 '' Good night. I suppose," catching her 
 breath quickly, and not looking at him — ^^ I
 
 46 Wooed and Married. 
 
 suppose you are not rid of tlie old delusion vet, 
 Guy?^' 
 
 A quick contraction of the brow and a look 
 of pain before Guy Chichester answered, " No, 
 nor ever shall be -^ and then somewhat abruptly 
 he bade his cousin good night,
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 A HEADACHE AND A MYSTERY. 
 
 FTER that Mr. Chichester seemed to 
 have taken up his abode at Lansdowne 
 House. 
 
 Miss Elliott soon became aware of the fact ; 
 his visit was a sad hindrance to Edith''s studies. 
 True^ he never again invaded the schoolroom, 
 but Edith was sent for perpetually to bear him 
 company in all sorts of walking and driving 
 expeditions. Edith must go with them to the 
 Royal Academy, or to some water-colour exhi- 
 bition; she accompanied them to concerts or 
 morning visits to the various studios of his artist 
 friends. Cousin Guy would not hear an excuse 
 or word of remonstrance ; no party of pleasure 
 was formed without her. Why should not the 
 child be amused as well as they ? The governess 
 wondered what Miss Tressilian thought of it. 
 
 Miss Tressilian said very little to any one at 
 this time. She swept past the governess once 
 or twice, looking prouder and sterner than ever. 
 Dym saw her once standing in the embrasure of 
 one of the hall windows, looking out with a very 
 dissatisfied face^ just after Mr. Chichester had
 
 48 Wooed and Married. 
 
 ridden away with his little cousin from the door. 
 Edith looked back and waved her hand to her 
 sister_, but Beatrix vouchsafed no response. The 
 child looked a jxretty picture in her blue habit, 
 with her fair hair streaming down in the sun- 
 light. She laughed aloud with dehght as her 
 white pony curveted and champed at his bit. 
 
 ''' What wonderful manes you both have !■" 
 observed her cousin, smiling. " Does Miss 
 Elliott groom yours ?" 
 
 " No ; Caroline, of course. Is she not a 
 beauty, my pretty Fanchette ? Trichy, you had 
 better have come with us, it is such a lovely 
 day/' 
 
 Beatrix turned away without vouchsafing an 
 answer, and Miss Elliott was struck by the 
 loweriug look of discontent on her face as she 
 slowly ascended the stairs. 
 
 Dym gained a curious insight into things by- 
 and-bye; the child's artless prattle told her 
 much — Cousin Guy and his wonderful sayings 
 and doings were the constant theme of her con- 
 versation in the schoolroom. Dym tried to 
 divert her mind into other channels, but soon 
 gave up the attempt in despair. Edith would 
 talk of nothing but her hero. 
 
 Cousin Guy had a great house ; she had seen 
 it once when she was a very, very little child. 
 Mamma and Beatrix had taken her, and they 
 had stayed a long time. Only Beatrix had 
 quarrelled with Aunt Constance. 
 
 Who was Aunt Constance ? came involuntarily 
 from Dym's lips.
 
 A Headache and a Mystery. 49 
 
 Ok, slie was Cousin Guy^s mother. Cousin 
 Guy lived with her. Edith could not remember 
 the name of the place ; they always spoke of it 
 as the Happy Valley. Was it not Rasselas who 
 lived with his brothers in the Happy Valley ? 
 Cousin Guy had a great black horse named 
 Mahomet ; he always had jokes about him, and 
 said he had a great respect for the Prophet; and 
 he had called his beautiful Scotch collie Kelpie ; 
 was that not a funny name ? And one of these 
 days, when Beatrix was married, they were all 
 going to stay up at Ingleside — that was the 
 name of his house. 
 
 ^' Why not before T' asked Miss Elliott, rather 
 curiously. She was growing a little weary of it, 
 but somehow it interested her; was it because 
 it took oflP her thoughts from her own sad life, 
 she thought. Edith opened her eyes very 
 widely at the question, and shook her head in a 
 wise way. 
 
 Oh, Trichy wanted to go ^;ery much, but 
 Cousin Guy had not asked her; they were not 
 to come till she was married, and then Colonel 
 Delaire would come too. Cousin Guy had told 
 her a great secret — that Beatrix and Colonel 
 Delaire were to marry each other. Did Miss 
 Elliott know it ; and was that the reason why 
 Beatrix was never allowed to ride with any one 
 else ? She wanted to go with them the other 
 day, but Cousin Guy would not allow it, and told 
 her to wait for Frank. ^^ I am sure,^^ finished 
 the child, thoughtfully, '^ that she likes Cousin 
 <juy best.'' 
 
 VOL. I. 4
 
 5 Wooed an d Married. 
 
 " Hush, Edie ; what a dreadful idea V began 
 Miss Elliott reprovingly. '^ My dear child, do 
 you know what you are saying ?" 
 
 ^' But, Miss Elliott, I am sure of it. Trichy 
 minds every word Cousin Guy tells her, and she 
 is always contradicting Colonel Delaire. Guy 
 says she snubs liim dreadfully — he made her cry 
 once when he was scolding her — and he will call 
 her Undine before them all, and that makes her 
 angry ; she is always cross now when he is not 
 in the room.^^ 
 
 '' Really, Edith, I cannot allow you to go on 
 talking in this manner. Get out your lesson 
 books ; we are getting into dreadfully idle ways.^* 
 And somewhat awed by her governess's unusually 
 austere manner, Edith for once obeyed in silence. 
 
 But after all there were very few lessons done. 
 Miss Elliott spent most of her time in solitude ; 
 she sat alone by one of the schoolroom windows 
 the greater part of the day, busied over a! heap of 
 white drapery. The garret with its throne of 
 boxes was forsaken. She preferred the long 
 narrow window that looked down into the 
 square ; she used to watch them mount or dis- 
 mount, or drive away gaily equipped for an 
 afternoon in the park. Heaven knows what 
 restless fancies filled the gii'l's head as the heavy 
 barouche rolled from the door ; in her vague way 
 she was composing another sorrowful '' Song of the 
 Shirt f she drew her needle out sometimes with 
 an impatient sigh. " How dreadful it is to be 
 voung and to want things \" she would say to 
 herself. '^ How can Will — how can any one
 
 A Headache and a Master]/. 5 1 
 
 ■understand ? Is it wrong to have the want, I 
 wonder ? What was that he said? ^ When women 
 sit and dream, men go out and work/ I would 
 rather be a man, of course; women have much 
 the worst of it in everything; they cannot get 
 away from themselves somehow/' 
 
 Some one speaks of the divine hungers of the 
 soul ; there is surely a parching draught of thirst 
 likewise. Young things crave hungrily to be 
 satisfied, the bread and salt of life does not suffice 
 them ; they want the leeks and the cucumbers of 
 Egypt — they demand pleasure as a right, fruition 
 as a recompense. 
 
 Existence without its complement of gratified 
 wishes is but a bare crust, which they take 
 thanklessly from the All-Father. Youth often 
 looks at death fearlessly, while age quails at it. 
 With what mighty mysteries and awfal question- 
 ings it dares to concern itself, as a child plays in 
 the sunshine at the edge of an abyss ! The 
 Unknown, the Terrible, the Imaginative — these 
 are what fascinate the neophyte, while it shuns 
 the real actual joys of the present. 
 
 Dym^s better nature, her own rational self 
 irrespective of cobwebs, was to be brought into 
 play by-and-bye. 
 
 Edith had talked a great deal about a grand 
 picnic that was to be held in Beatrixes honour — 
 the officers of the regiment had got it up. They 
 were to drive down to Richmond — Colonel De- 
 laire in his four-in-hand, and the ladies in open 
 carriages — and there was to be luncheon in tne 
 park, and a grand dinner at the Star and Garcer. 
 
 """"^^Rsirt 
 
 Ato
 
 52 Wooed and Married. 
 
 A little daughter of one of the officers was to be 
 there, and it was decreed by the reigning powers, 
 Beatrix and Cousin Guy, that Edith should bear 
 her company. 
 
 Edith was of course in a transport of delight 
 from morning to night; she was to have a fresh 
 toilette for the occasion — INIadame Laroche, Bea- 
 trixes dressmaker, was to furnish it. When the 
 day arrived she came running into the school- 
 room to show herself — a little golden-haired 
 princess all in rose-coloui'ed clouds. 
 
 Miss Elliott gave a heavy sigh when the little 
 apparition vanished from the door. She had 
 not the heart to take up her usual station by 
 the window. The schoolroom looked dark and 
 close ; outside the sun was shining, the birds sang 
 in the garden of the square, the horses pranced 
 gaily up and down before the house ; there was 
 plenty of light giddy laughter — a band broke 
 into thundering music — a party of happy eques- 
 trians cantered by. 
 
 "I wonder if I shall ever be allowed a little 
 enjoyment T^ murmured poor Dym with tears in 
 lier eyes as she moved away. ^' I suppose I ought 
 to be glad to have a whole long day to myself 
 undisturbed. How hard it is to be good and 
 mind what Will says ! my poor Will, who never 
 has a day's enjoyment in his life. There, I will 
 try to be good and do the first disagreeable thing 
 that comes to hand.^' 
 
 And as Dym arrived at this laudable determi- 
 nation, she bethought herself how often Miss 
 Tressilian had wanted her help in sorting and
 
 A Headache and a Mydery. 53 
 
 arranging her music^ and resolved to do it this 
 time unasked. 
 
 The great drawing-room was almost oppressive 
 in its perfumed heat and stillness; the door leading 
 to the conservatory was open_, and the fragrance 
 of the flowers was almost overpowering. In the 
 bustle the servants had omitted to open the 
 window^ and the outer blinds were not closed; 
 the sun streamed in on the satin couches and 
 gilded mirrors. Dym, in her dark gingham 
 dress^ looked the only speck of shadow as she 
 moved noiselessly hither and thither_, picking up 
 here a geranium leaf and there a pair of light 
 gloves crumpled and thrown down ; a pale-blue 
 scarf lay on an ottoman^ a white-lace parasol was 
 tossed down on a distant table — relics of the gay 
 party. 
 
 Dym took it up and examined it with almost 
 childish pleasure. ^^ How nice to use such 
 beautiful things V' she thought ; but she dropped 
 it with a startled movement as slow uncertain 
 steps came up from the conservatory ;, and to her 
 astonishment Mr. Chichester^s broad shoulders 
 filled up the doorway. 
 
 Dym could not help a little cry of surprise. 
 
 '■^ You here^ Mr. Chichester ! Have you not 
 gone with the others V* 
 
 " It appears not/' he returned dryly. " Miss 
 Elliott, I am ashamed to trouble you; but would 
 you mind pulling down some blind or other, and 
 shutting out that horrible glare ? I have the 
 most confounded headache f' and he threw him- 
 self down on a couch that stood near him, with
 
 54 Wooed and Married. 
 
 such an expression of suffering that Dym looked 
 at him with some perplexity and trouble. 
 
 " Are you ill_, Mr. Chichester V she inquired 
 timidly^ for the brown-bearded face had a livid 
 look on it that frightened her. 
 
 Mr. Chichester opened his eyes impatiently at 
 the question. 
 
 " Only this infernal — I beg your. pardon, this 
 horrible headache. I had a slight sunstroke 
 once — ugh V the monosyllable evidently wrung 
 from him by a fresh access of torture. " Oh, 
 that glare V he repeated in a voice that quickened 
 Dym into sudden activity. 
 
 Dym understood all about it now, and was 
 ashamed of her needless question. She closed most 
 of the outer blinds and threw open windows and 
 doors till a refreshing current of air rewarded 
 her cff'orts ; she even moved away a vase of 
 flowers that stood near him. 
 
 " I know all about these headaches/^ she said 
 very softly, but with some natural hesitation. 
 " I have often treated them. I think I can give 
 you a little relief, if you will let me.^'' 
 
 Probably Mr. Chichester was past answering, 
 for he merely moved his lips in assent without 
 opening his eyes. 
 
 " I have never seen Will look quite as bad as 
 that,^-* she thought, as she hurried off" to Mrs. 
 Tressilian''s room in search of handkerchiefs and 
 eau-de-Cologne. She stood by him with almost 
 professional gravity as she changed the cool fra- 
 grant cloths every moment. 
 
 ^' I could never get ice for Will,^^ thought the
 
 A Headache and a Mystery. 55 
 
 poor little sister ; ^^ there^ I think he is begin- 
 ning to feel a little relieved already/' as the 
 deep furrows of pain relaxed and smoothed 
 themselves out. 
 
 What an odd position ! Dym gave a comical 
 little smile once at herself. Was it right? 
 Ought she to have sent for any assistance? 
 Would Miss Tressilian blame her ? Would 
 Mr. Chichester himself think it strange when 
 he once fairly roused from this trance of suffer- 
 ing ? Dym had not time to think it out. A 
 groan from her patient seemed to rebuke such 
 worldly-wise caution. " We must do as we would 
 be done by/^ she thought stoically; '^it can 
 never be wrong to relieve pain. Will calls it a 
 woman's mission." And emboldened by this last 
 thought, she even ventured to lift the brown 
 clenched hands and moisten the hot palms, and 
 then went on steeping the handkerchiefs in iced 
 water, with all the better heart that they needed 
 now to be less frequently changed. 
 
 It is impossible to tell whether nursing is 
 ever really to be taught or acquired, but it is 
 certain that the instinct is born in some women. 
 Dym Elliott had not served an apprenticeship to 
 the sick-room; she had rarely seen people ill; 
 in most cases she would have been ignorant of 
 all remedies, nevertheless it came naturally to 
 her to move noiselessly and speak softly. The 
 small nervous fingers had an exquisite touch of 
 firmness and sympathy ; they lay so lightly on 
 Guy Chichester^s throbbing nerves that he 
 -^scarcely stirred under them, and though still
 
 56 Wooed and Married. 
 
 snffermg too much to speak, the heavy frown of 
 paiu lessened perceptibly. 
 
 A strange stolen sense of pleasure crept into 
 Dym^s mind ; it was so sweet to be useful, and 
 to feel her services were needed by any one ; it 
 made her feel less lonely, and more akin to the 
 outer world — to be allowed to minister suffices 
 some women. She smiled quite happily when 
 she found, at the end of an hour, that he had 
 fallen into a refreshing sleep. She sat behind 
 him, fanning the flies away and making a soft 
 current of air round him. The silence, the heat, 
 the fragrance, the continued movement lulled 
 her into all manner of pleasing reveries. At the 
 first sign of awakening she crept away and 
 begged Caroline to make one of her cups of 
 delicious coffee, and then came back and ad- 
 ministered it with the same old-fashioned 
 gravity. 
 
 Mr. Chichester glanced at her rather drolly 
 over the rim of his cup ; he looked his ordinary 
 self again, only very pale, and there were dark 
 lines under his eyes. 
 
 ^'^ Where have you learnt to cure people, 
 Miss Elliott? Have you some Avonderful power 
 to charm away headaches ?" 
 
 " I have seen my brother suffer in the same 
 way, but he never looked quite as ill as you did," 
 returned Dym, quietly ; '' and you must not talk 
 now," she added, as she shook up his pillow and 
 cari'ied away his empty cup. " There is the 
 handbell near you, Mr. Chichester, and I shall 
 send up James with some luncheon presently.
 
 A Headache and a Mystery. 57 
 
 I should try and go to sleep again if I were 
 you.-'' 
 
 "^ Are you going to leave me then V^ observed 
 Mr. Chichester^ raising himself on his elbow; 
 but whether Dym heard or not she had already 
 disappeared^ and when he woke up from a second 
 refreshing nap the promised luncheon had 
 arrived, a fact which Kiddle-a-wink notified by 
 jumping on him and licking his face to arouse him. 
 
 Miss Elliott had a second patient before 
 night. The long excitement and drive in the 
 hot sun had been too much for Edith, always 
 a delicate child ; towards evening she had flagged, 
 and, to her mother's alarm_, feverish symptoms 
 appeared. Mr. Chichester had sufficiently re- 
 covered from his indisposition to meet the 
 returning party at the door. He received his 
 little favourite in his arms, and after looking 
 in her face with undisguised anxiety, quietly 
 carried her upstairs, and begged Caroline to 
 summon Miss Elliott while he sent for a 
 doctor. 
 
 '^ There is not the slightest occasion, Guy,'' 
 remonstrated Beatrix, who had followed him, 
 and now stood by the bedside in her gay 
 dress, looking down at her little sister. " Edith 
 often has these feverish attacks, and Caroline 
 knows exactly how to treat them. If mamma 
 wants a doctor, well and good ; perhaps it is 
 safest to be cautious in such cases ; but there is 
 not the slightest need to disturb Miss Elliott." 
 
 "Are you going to sit up with her yourself 
 then, Beatrix?"
 
 JTooed cmd Married. 
 
 "My dear Guy, alter tliis fatiguing day 
 surely you would not ask such a thing." 
 
 "No, I think Miss Elliott would be the 
 proper person -, she seems fond of the child." 
 
 '' So is Caroline." 
 
 "Perhaps so. I have no doubt Caroline is 
 « most raluable person, but I have a strong 
 dislike to leave children to the tender mercies 
 of any servant/' persisted !Mr. Chichester, with 
 a touch of displeasure in his voice. " If 
 neither you nor ^liss Elliott sit up with the 
 child, I shall remain here myself.'^ 
 
 Beatrix's sole answer was a scomfiil toss of 
 the head as she turned away. Evidently she 
 resented her cousin's interference, but was 
 powerless to oppose him. Mr. Chichester waited 
 a moment till he saw Miss Elliott enter the 
 Toom, and then he followed his cousin down- 
 stairs. Dym gave a little start of surprise when 
 die saw him ; but he took no notice of her^ and 
 very soon both she and Susan were absorbed by 
 their little patient, who was manifesting all a 
 child's restlessness and impatience. The doctor 
 did not make his appearance till late, and then 
 spoke very vaguely. It was the heat — she had 
 been over-excited lately — the brain, a very sen- 
 sitive one, had been over-wrought — something 
 or somebody had evidently disturbed her; but, 
 after dl, it might only be a recurrence of the 
 old attacks — they must keep her quiet, perfectly 
 quiet, and free from agitation — he had always 
 warned them against any form of excitement 
 for her.
 
 A Headache and a Mystery. 59 
 
 Dym, as she felt the child's throbbing pulses, 
 thought Cousin Guy^s good nature might pro- 
 bably work fearful mischief. It -was very difficult 
 to enforce the quiet that was recommended. 
 Edith would talk ; she pillowed her hot head on 
 her governesses arm, and babbled on endlessly of 
 the green park, and the sunshine that made her 
 head ache, and the champagne that some one 
 made her taste; and then wandered on con- 
 fusedly about something she had overheard that 
 morning ; some one — she thought it was 
 Trichv — had said Miss Elliott was going away — 
 yes, she was sure it was Trichy ; it was just like 
 her ill-nature. Was Miss Elliott going ? She 
 must not — oh, she must not; and here Edith 
 clung to her and became so excited that Dvm 
 grew quite alarmed, and begged Susan to go 
 down and see if her mother or sister was still 
 awake and could come to her. 
 
 Susan came back after some delay, and the 
 expected aid arrived in the form of ^Ir. Chichester, 
 who hastily explained that after the doctor's 
 favourable bulletin he had persuaded his aunt 
 and cousin to retire to bed, as they were dread- 
 fully fatigued with the day's excitement, and 
 that he was only sitting up himself an hour or 
 two in case anything should be required. 
 
 Dym thought of his day of suffering, and 
 wondered at his imprudent self-forgetfulness. 
 She drew back into the shadow of the curtain as 
 Edith stretched out her arms delightedly to her 
 cousin. It was curious and touching to see the 
 intimacy between the child and the man, they
 
 60 Wooed and Married. 
 
 both so evidently understood eacli other. Guy 
 Chichester sat down on the edge of the bed, and 
 fondled the little hot hands that stroked his 
 beard. 
 
 " Well now, Edith, what^s the meaning of all 
 this disturbance ? ¥/hy don^t you lie still and 
 go to sleep as a good child should ? You are 
 not half so obedient as Kiddle-a-wink." 
 
 " Because I can^t, Cousin Guy/^ moaned the 
 child. " It is so hot and I^m so restless ; and, 
 oh dear, whatever made Trichy say such a 
 thing?'' 
 
 " You ungrateful little mortal ! and Miss 
 Elliott has been fanning you for the last hour. 
 Come now, what did Trichy say ? Some of her 
 nonsense, I expect.-" 
 
 " Oh no, it is all true ; Caroline says it is. 
 Cousin Guv, wont vou eo and ask mamma and 
 Trichy not to let Miss Elliott go away ? They 
 say she has only another fortnight, and that that 
 dreadful Mrs. A^ivian is to come; and, oh dear, 
 I do love Miss Elliott so V 
 
 Mr. Chichester gave a low whistle. 
 
 " Whew ! that is what is troubling the small 
 head and making it so hot, is it ?" 
 
 But Edith stopped him appealingly. 
 
 ^' Oh, do, Cousin Guy, do make them not send 
 her away ! You can't think how nice and kind 
 she is, and she does not want to go — do you. 
 Miss Elliott?'' 
 
 Dym came forward in much distress. 
 
 " I do not know who has been telling her. 
 It is a great pity ; I knew she would go on in
 
 A Headache and a Mastery. 61 
 
 this way. Edie dear, you must be good about 
 it. Don^t you think your mamma and sister 
 know what is best for you ?''^ 
 
 " It is not mamma ; it is Trichy V cried the 
 child vehemently. " You know Trichy hates 
 you, and makes you cry. It is she who is 
 sending you away. Ask Caroline. O Cousin 
 Guy, you can always make her do what you 
 like ; do, do make her promise to keep dear 
 Miss Elliott V 
 
 -' Do you wish me to try ?" asked Mr. Chi- 
 chester, looking at Miss Elliott for the first 
 time. 
 
 Dym's angry blush was a sufficient answer. 
 
 ^^ On no account. Mr. Chichester, please 
 take no notice of what she says. I wish they 
 had not brought you up. Edith, you must be 
 reasonable ; little girls cannot understand these 
 things. I would not stop now if your sister 
 were to ask me to remain. ^^ 
 
 " 'Don't mind her,^^ pleaded the child ; " she 
 is hurt of course. Do what I ask you. Cousin 
 Guy.^^ 
 
 " Edith, I desire you will not ; I shall be very 
 
 angry. Mr. Chichester, you will not '' Dym 
 
 broke down between stammering and hot flushes. 
 
 Mr. Chichester shrugged his shoulders with a 
 good-humoured look of perplexity. 
 
 " You don^t want to make my head bad again 
 between you, do you ? I feel warning symp- 
 toms. Edith, you naughty child, lie down and 
 go to sleep. Don^t you know children have no 
 business to meddle with things they do not
 
 62 Wooed and Married. 
 
 understand. '^ Then, as EditVs lip quivered and 
 she looked ready to cry, '^ There, go to sleep, 
 pussie, and I promise you that Miss Elliott shall 
 not go if I can prevent it.^^ And with that 
 Edith allowed herself to be pacified. 
 
 Miss Elliott signed to Caroline to take her 
 place by the bedside, and quietly followed Cousin 
 Guy from the room. 
 
 '' Mr. Chichester.^' 
 
 " Well ?" halting in the lamp-lighted passage, 
 and regarding her disturbed face wdth some 
 amusement. " You don't want me to break my 
 word to Edith ?" 
 
 " You ought not to have promised such a 
 thing. I do beg, I entreat, that you will not 
 speak to Miss Tressilian on my behalf" 
 
 " I am thinking of Edith,'' with a contra- 
 dictory twinkle of the eyes. 
 
 The young governess coloured, but maintained 
 her ground nevertheless. 
 
 " Edith will soon get used to Mrs. Vivian. I 
 think it is better for her, too, that I should go. 
 I am very young and inexperienced — every one 
 says so. I do my best." Here something rose 
 in the girl's throat, and she hurried on : '^'^ I do 
 beg, Mr. Chichester, that you will not interfere 
 ia this matter." An attempt at dignity verging 
 on the pathetic. 
 
 " May I ask one question ? Is it my aunt's 
 wish that you should go ?" 
 
 " I think not ; I believe Miss Tressilian has 
 persuaded her that I am unfit to manage Edith." 
 
 " Have you another situation in view ?"
 
 A Headache a/id a Mystery. 6'i 
 
 " No/' very sadly. 
 
 '^ And you will have some diflficulty in finding 
 one?" 
 
 ^^ I am afraid so." 
 
 " Forgive me if I seem impertinent, but is 
 this thing of consequence to you 1'^ 
 
 Something sympathetic in the tone broke 
 down Dym's reserve, and the tears came into 
 her dark eyes. 
 
 '^ Of every consequence. I have only Will — 
 that is my brother. We two are alone in the 
 whole world, and he is only a poor curate, and 
 cannot afford to keep me." 
 
 " Hush, don't cry ! There are worse troubles 
 than poverty. There, go back to your p:itient." 
 
 ^'^ And you will not speak ?" 
 
 " Cela depend. Supposing you shake hands 
 and say good-night." 
 
 Dym put out a hand very timidly. 
 
 '' Good-night, Mr. Chichester." 
 
 '' Good-night, Miss Elliott. By-the-bye, I 
 have never thanked you for your skilful nursing 
 this morning." 
 
 "There is no need for thanks. I was very 
 glad to do my best for you. Are you quite sure 
 you are better ?" 
 
 " Humph, tolerably so ! That brother of 
 yours must be a lucky fellow to get such nursings 
 Miss Elliott. There, good-night. Don't spin 
 any more cobwebs ;" and Mr. Chichester turned 
 on his heel with a good-humoured nod and went 
 downstairs. 
 
 Miss Elliott had not much more trouble with
 
 64 Wooed and Married. 
 
 her little patient that night; she very soon 
 dropped off into a feverish sleep, which lasted 
 "vrith short intermission till the morning. 
 
 After all, Beatrixes prognostications were cor- 
 rect — it was only one of the child^s ordinary 
 attacks, accelerated by excitement and fatigue. 
 For a few days she was ill enough to keep Miss 
 Elliott a close prisoner to her sick-room ; for 
 with the obstinacy of a spoiled child she would 
 hardly permit her sister to come near her, and 
 even her mother and Caroline were barely tolerated. 
 Cousin Guy paid regular visits, and was always 
 welcomed by a languid smile. When she was 
 well enough, Lc would stop and play with her 
 for an hour or two. He took very little notice 
 of Edith's nurse beyond a cheerful word or two. 
 Dym would sit apart sewing in the window, 
 quite content to be a listener. She could not 
 help a smile now and then at his droll sallies, 
 but at other times she looked drooping, almost 
 sad. The hour for her departure was drawing 
 near, and she began to suspect that Mr. Chi- 
 chester's promised mediation had failed. 
 
 Her suspicion was soon verified. 
 
 One afternoon, when Edith was well enough 
 to be carried down to the drawing-room, Dym 
 was standing listlessly by the schoolroom-window, 
 fondling Kiddle-a-wink, who often found his 
 way upstairs, when a sudden eager prick of the 
 ears and a pleased bark made her turn round. 
 
 " Is there any admittance for Kiddle-a-wink's 
 :er V 
 
 ^^ I don^t know — I suppose so," stammered
 
 A Headache and a Mysterij. 65 
 
 Dym nervously. She was a little afraid of INIr. 
 Chichester's quizzical eyes. 
 
 " Edith is downstairs in the drawing-room, 
 sir/' 
 
 ^' As I carried her there myself, I suppose I 
 am aware of that fact. I also strongly suspect 
 that my Cousin Beatrix has just ridden from the 
 door with Colonel Delaire, and that my aunt is 
 asleep.^' 
 
 " Does Edith want me, Mr. Chichester V 
 
 " On the contrary. I believe it is I who want 
 you. I have come to tell you, Miss Elliott, 
 that, as usual, I have been a most egregious 
 blunderer — that, in fact, I have failed in toto" 
 
 '' So I supposed,''"' was the almost inaudible 
 answer. 
 
 " Verdict, ' Served me right.'' I suppose I 
 ought to have taken your advice, and not meddled 
 in matters too high for me. I wonder how they 
 would ever preserve the balance of power in a 
 woman''s parliament; there would be nothing 
 but opposition benches— no ayes, all noes. 
 Where do you women manage to invest your 
 vast stock of pride ?" 
 
 ^^ Miss Tressilian is very proud, !Mr. Chiches- 
 ter.^' 
 
 "So is somebody else — six of one and half a 
 dozen of another. I wash my hands of you 
 both. Ulysses ploughing the sea-shore with 
 his ill-matched team has an easy task com- 
 pared to a man who has to reconcile two angry 
 women.'' 
 
 " Edith represents the infant Telemachus, I 
 VOL. I. 5
 
 66 Wooed and Married. 
 
 suppose/^ returned Dym^ trying to enter into 
 his humour. 
 
 ^^ Exactly so. Well, as I hare got into hot 
 water for your sake_, I hope you will be grateful, 
 anyhow. I have got my conge from Lansdowne 
 House.^^ 
 
 " Do you mean you and Miss Tressilian have 
 quarrelled ? O Mr. Chichester !" 
 
 ^^ Don't alarm yourself ; a diflference of opinion 
 is not uncommon between us. j\Iy Cousin 
 Beatrix is not a manageable woman. I am not 
 fond of manageable women. When I am pro- 
 voked to say anything specially l)itter, I generally 
 pack my bag.^^ 
 
 " Indeed V^ Dym could find no satisfactory 
 answer to this strange confidence. 
 
 " I believe James is packing mine now. I am 
 an erratic animal, IMiss Elliott, a large edition 
 of the Miss Mowchcr type — ^ here, there, and 
 everywhere.^ By-the-bye, if I hear of anything 
 to your advantage, shall I advertise ?" 
 
 " I don't understand you,'' began Dym, in a 
 puzzled tone. 
 
 " I will explain myself, then. If I hear of a 
 very young governess being wanted immediately, 
 on fabulous terms, how am I — they — how is any 
 one to communicate with you?" 
 
 " Oh, I sec. You mean, I am to give you 
 my address, or rather my brother's." 
 
 " Exactly so ; brothers are very safe persons." 
 
 Dym did not quite know what to make of 
 the mocking tones ; older and wiser people were 
 seldom quite sure when Guy Chichester was
 
 A Headache and a Mystery. 67 
 
 speakiug in jest or earnest. She gravely waited 
 while he produced his pocket-book_, and obediently 
 wrote down her address — 
 
 "The Rev. William Elliott, 
 
 3_, Paradise Row [leading out of Maiden Road), 
 Kentish Toivn." 
 
 She half fancied that she saw a start of surprise 
 as Mr. Chichester read her entry. He gave her 
 a quick searching look and seemed about to 
 speak, and then checked himself. When he 
 next spoke he had resumed his ordinary manner. 
 
 " Where does your brother work ?^^ 
 
 " At St. Luke^s. Such an ugly old church, 
 and such a poor parish. The vicar, Mr. 
 Benedict, is away on sick leave. Will is sole 
 curate in charge.^' 
 
 " Did he advertise in the Guardian for help 
 long time ago T' 
 
 " Yes, when he felt himself breaking down ; 
 but no one would accept the miserable stipend 
 he offered them, and so he has to go on alone. 
 There has been a great deal of sickness about 
 lately, and he has been miserably overworked, 
 the night-schools come so heavily on him.^^ 
 
 "I daresay. Thank you. Miss Elliott, for 
 being so frank with me ; I am really anxious to 
 serve you if I can — if only,^^ he hesitated, " for 
 EditVs sake, and because of my cousin^s injustice 
 to you. You know I am Edith^s guardian/' 
 
 " I did not know it, sir.^-' 
 
 " Probably not. Well, I donH care to exert 
 
 5— s
 
 6 8 Wooed and Married, 
 
 my authority "annecessarily. Perhaps, after all, 
 though you can^t help it, you are rather young. 
 Come, Kiddle-a-wink, my fine fellow, we must 
 be going. Adieu ! au revoir, Miss Elliott.'''' 
 
 ^^ It is good-bye altogether, sir ; I am leaving 
 the day after to-morrow.'''' 
 
 '^ So much the better ; delays are weak. 
 Never mind ; it is au revoir, for all that." And 
 with a kindly shake of the hand Guy Chichester 
 left the room. 
 
 The next day the Reverend William Elliott 
 received the following curt missive : 
 
 '' Tired of my West-end life already, and in a 
 frightfully bad temper. Hard work the only 
 cure. Shall take the night-schools to-morrow, 
 and keep on for the next three weeks. Tell Bill 
 Saunders to be careful, and have none of his non- 
 sense for the future. Hope your cough is 
 better. — Yours to command, 
 
 " An Honest Friend and Well-wisher 
 TO St. Luke's."
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 NUMBER THREE PARADISE ROW. 
 
 SUPPOSE most people have agreed that 
 Camden Town is hardly to be con- 
 sidered as a fashionable locality. It is 
 possible to find it on the map. But an inha- 
 bitant of Belgravia will hardly so compromise 
 himself or herself as to be quite sure of its exact 
 locality. Hampstead may be mentioned with a 
 certain amount of caution^ and there is some- 
 thing delightfully Bohemian in the thought of 
 St. John^^s Wood. Artists and singers group 
 themselves there in colonies^ which trench some- 
 what fastidiously on the border- land which 
 vaguely hints at Kilburn. Regent's Park has a 
 strong flavour of ge utility _, which, much diluted,, 
 spreads itself out with some difficulty to the 
 green confines of Primrose Hill; but Camden 
 Town ! breathe it not into ears polite ! 
 
 It is out of the radius, unredeemable, a spot 
 of earth abandoned to the spoiler; one of a 
 triumvirate, for its twin sisters, Kentish and 
 Somers Towns, must veil their heads under the 
 same genteel obloquy. People who have heard 
 of Whitechapel, of the Seven Dials, of Poplar, of
 
 70 Wooed and Married, 
 
 the Isle of Dogs^ from the Records of the City 
 Missionary, will someliow comprehend these 
 places in the same dim category as regions 
 where such people ought to work — as outskirts 
 where the overflowing lava of population in the 
 great city may spread itself out,, and cover the 
 ground, drinking-r^ fresh country air, and 
 gaining glimpses of green fields and trees, till 
 the endless rows of thinly-walled houses shut 
 out the transient view ; till the comfortless 
 lodging-houses fill to suffocation ; till the squalor 
 of poverty and a nation^s ever-increasing need 
 devour everything like Pharaoh's hungry kine ; 
 till room and more room are fiercely demanded, 
 and the crowds of children playing in the 
 gutters seem, with their innocent, famine-worn 
 faces, to protest unconsciously against their own 
 existence. 
 
 " Whosoever shall ofiend one of these little 
 ones — '' What, these little ones ! — these hungry 
 and ignorant blasphemers, from whose words we 
 recoil in horror, from whom we draw aside our 
 very garments to defend them against their 
 contaminating touch; these children who drink 
 in vice with their mother's milk, who know 
 nothing but to starve and lie and curse ; these 
 little ones ! " Whosoever shall offend one of 
 these—'' 
 
 These things are the hieroglyphics of life — the 
 mystery which nineteenth-century philanthropists 
 are striving to solve with compulsory education, 
 with pitiable gifts of larger light, which shall 
 only serve to show them the deeper darkness of
 
 Number Three Faradise R020. 71 
 
 theii' surroundings. True^ the light advances. 
 Many are the earnest workers^ the earnest 
 thinkers, who have set themselves but this one 
 life task — to fight till death against the serried 
 ranks of evil; who will carry if it he but a 
 flickering torchlight into these dark places of the 
 earth, if haply they can rescue one soul, one 
 starving diseased body, nay, even one of these 
 little ones, who suflPer the martyrdom of the 
 Innocents a hundred times, whose dumb cries 
 are unheard on earth, but which fill heaven. 
 
 These are the true heroes, the heroines, the 
 faithful servants in the Parable, the workers in 
 the vineyards. Still is the work never-ceasing, 
 while the labourers are few. 
 
 Few people envied the Reverend William 
 Elliott, the hard-working curate at St. Luke's. 
 Some of the most earnest minded of his flock 
 helped and encouraged him, it is true; but the 
 rest — those even of his poorer parishioners — 
 pitied and somewhat looked down on him. 
 
 He was a poor man as they were, dwelling 
 amongst them in a home scarcely better than 
 theirs — a man, too, that could not bear his 
 poverty with any special grace or dignity — such 
 were his infirmities — but who lived out his 
 blameless and suffering life with the cheerfulness 
 and constancy of a martyr. 
 
 Few more noble characters than William 
 Elliott, few more solely tried lives. 
 
 By birth a gentleman, and with a gentleman's 
 refined mind and fastidious taste, with great 
 powers of intellect, and of a naturally sociable
 
 72 JFooed and Married. 
 
 temperament^ Providence — or^ as people some- 
 what irreverently term it, Fate — had removed 
 him from the studious seclusion of college life, 
 and the delights of cultivated and congenial 
 fellowship, to a curat e^s hard-working life and 
 bare pittance at St. Luke^s, Kentish Town. 
 
 Not that he regretted this transition : in spite 
 of its poverty and drawbacks, William Elliott 
 had the purest enthusiasm for his work. From 
 the first he had grasped the deep responsibilities 
 of his vocation. There was never any doubt, 
 any looking back, in his mind. To be the poor 
 man''s priest, and to live among poor men, con- 
 stituted his sole ambition. Nevertheless, there- 
 had come to the patient soldier of the Cross a 
 long interval of anxious waiting, of hope and 
 fear deferred, as to whether he should ever be 
 permitted to buckle on his harness again and go. 
 down to the battle. 
 
 In the prime of his youth, in the first fresh- 
 ness of his work, when he had only just taken 
 priest's orders, he had been struck down by a 
 violent fever, caught during his ministrations 
 beside a dying bed. It was badly treated and 
 carelessly nursed. His landlady shared the 
 universal panic, and left the young clergyman to 
 the tender mercies of a hireling, who neglected 
 and robbed him. His recovery was tedious, and 
 was further delayed by the harassed state of his 
 mind and the want of even necessary comforts. 
 
 He had nothing to relieve the tedium of those 
 dreary days spent in that close back room ; no 
 one to sit by him and bring him the fruit and
 
 Number Three Paradise Bow. 73 
 
 flowers he babbled about in bis delirium; no 
 womanly sympathy to lessen the imtability of 
 convalescence or restrain imprudence ; and so it 
 was that one damp cloudy-looking day he crept 
 out from his sick room, and, tempted by a 
 transient sun-gleam, stole slowly away down the 
 empty streets. 
 
 He did this again and again ; and one day, 
 impatient of his weakness, taxed his feeble 
 powers to reach a given spot, where he could see 
 the green fields of Highgate and feel the soft 
 free winds of heaven blow freshly over him. It 
 was a somewhat sultry evening. A bricklayer, 
 smoking his pipe by a stile, drew back to let 
 the sick-looking gentleman pass, and, in answer 
 to his languid good evening, muttered out 
 hoarsely, ^^That there was going to be a rare 
 thunderstorm and a mort of rain, and wise folks 
 would house themselves as quick as possible. ^^ 
 
 " What do you mean, my man T^ asked the 
 young clergyman, looking up at the lurid clouds 
 with some alarm. ^^ I have been walking further 
 than I intended, and have not been thinking. 
 Will the storm break over us soon, do you 
 say ?" 
 
 The man held up his hand in answer — both 
 heard the low rumblings of distant thunder. 
 
 " Better go back, sir ; there is no shelter 
 further on,^-* he answered civilly enough. 
 
 " Thank you, I think I w'Al" answered 
 William -Elliott faintly. He had been very 
 happy a moment before, thinking out little bits of 
 a sermon he hoped to preach the following Sunday.
 
 74 Wooed and Married. 
 
 Now all at once he felt an oppression and failure 
 of strength — the heavy atmosphere suffocated 
 him — he dragged his feet more wearily every 
 step, and had to pause now and then, and lean 
 against a fence for support. The man was 
 right ; in a few minutes the storm had broken 
 over them. 
 
 And what a storm ! 
 
 It beat down on the poor invalid with over- 
 whelming fury. AVilliam Elliott just remem- 
 bered creeping under an old wall for shelter, 
 with a confusing consciousness of blinding 
 flashes and the crashing of thunder, followed by 
 torrents of rain ; then darkness, a smell of cool 
 fresh earth, a strange numbness and giddiness, 
 followed by a blank. 
 
 He never knew how long he lay in that 
 strange fainting fit of his under the old wall. 
 The storm was over, the birds were singing in 
 the evening sunshine, the fields were full of wet 
 fragrance, when some artisans returning from 
 their work found him, a dead man as they 
 thought, and carried him home. 
 
 And in the home of those humble Samaritans 
 William Elliott fought out that desperate life 
 combat. 
 
 ^^ Better he should die/' they said, who 
 watched that terrible conflict. 
 
 ^^ Yes, if it be His will,"*^ answered William 
 Elliott. 
 
 But he never prayed to die. In all his 
 torture his manhood was strong within him. In 
 his hours of direst anguish, when his whole body
 
 Number Three Paradise Bow. 75 
 
 was convulsed, and they marvelled how lie could 
 and did endure, no rebellious murmurs escaped 
 his lips ; and even when the pain forced tears 
 from his eyes, his only complaint was, " Oh, if 
 I could only bear it better ! Do you think it 
 will soon be over ?'^ 
 
 When the clergyman of the place, an old 
 man, visited him, and exhorted him to patience, 
 telling him for his comfort that death could not 
 long be delayed, William Elliott shook his head 
 with a sorrowful smile. 
 
 " I never thought any one could halt so long 
 in the Valley of the Shadow of Death. It is 
 weary work to be waiting outside as it were ; 
 but,^^ with a little shudder, " they wont open the 
 door for me just yet/"' And then he slowly, 
 •and with weak voice, repeated the words, '"' I 
 shall not die, but live.'''' And he was right. 
 
 It was a complication of rheumatic fever and 
 sciatica, and for many months he remained help- 
 less in the hands of his nurses. When he grew 
 a little better, they asked if he had no relative 
 who could come to him. 
 
 " Only a young sister,^^ he replied, with a sigh ; 
 but when they implored him to send for her, he 
 refused. Dym must not come to him ; she was 
 at a school iti Paris, preparing herself for her 
 future work ; it would never do to interrupt or 
 break off her studies, they could not afford it. 
 And then he Avent on to explain, in his gentle 
 way, that they were very poor; that this long 
 illness was draining the little stock of money 
 that he had laid aside for such contingencies ;
 
 76 Wooed and Married. 
 
 that it was well to face such things ; that it 
 would be many, many months^ perhaps yearSj 
 before he would be fit for work, and even then he 
 might be crippled. Might it not even be that 
 Dym would have to support them both ? 
 
 And so the letters that reached Dym in her 
 foreign school were cheerful ones, though written 
 ill a strange hand, and spoke lightly of his ill- 
 ness. He had rheumatism very badly, and could 
 not use his pen ; he had caught cold, and his 
 back and limbs were affected. It might be a 
 long time before he could resume his work ; but 
 he had some money laid by, and he must draw 
 on that, though he had been saving it so carefully 
 for their future home. But Dym must not be 
 anxious, he had kind nurses and plenty of com- 
 forts ; and she must work hard now, and come^ 
 home by-and-bye. 
 
 Dym could not quite banish the anxiety, but 
 she had plenty of faith. She did not believe that 
 Will would deceive her about himself; presently, 
 when he could resume his cramped handwriting, 
 she grew more cheerful. She wondered some- 
 times why he still delayed applying lor another 
 curacy, and fancied he was not strong enough for 
 work j but she had no conception of the truth. 
 
 Her brother had spared her two years of pain ; 
 but he could not relieve her from the shock of 
 first seeing him. 
 
 Dym uttered a cry of anguish when she saw 
 him at the station. He was her own brother, 
 from whom she had parted three years ago, but 
 she would have passed him in the street.
 
 Number Three Paradise Bow. 77 
 
 True he had told her jokingly in one of his 
 letters that he was very crooked, and had taken 
 to spectacles, as his eyes troubled him a good 
 deal j and Dym had fretted over this for three 
 days ; but even this had not pre^^ared her for 
 the change. She had seen him last a fresh- 
 coloured youth, erect, and rather tall than other- 
 wise ; now he was bowed in so singular a manner 
 that people spoke of him as " the deformed clergy- 
 man '^^ and when he moved he dragged one leg 
 as he walked. The bright complexion had faded 
 into sickly sallowness, as of one in habitual 
 suffering ; and the beautiful eyes looked changed 
 in expression, seen through those hideous 
 glasses ; while young as he was, barely eight- 
 and-twenty, his fair hair was already touched with 
 grey. 
 
 '' O Will, Will \'' And the poor little sister 
 clung to him in such a passion of tears that, 
 albeit unused to such luxuries, William Elliott 
 was obliged to hurry her into the safe obscurity 
 of a cab, and in the darkness to take off his own 
 damp glasses, and wipe them again and again. 
 
 Dym never forgave him that long deceit, 
 neither would she ever leave him without first 
 extorting from him a faithful promise that she 
 should come and nurse him if he were ill again. 
 
 '^ But I am never going to be ill again,^' with 
 a shudder half real and half pretended. 
 
 "^ iS^o ; but you must tell me when anything 
 ails you, and then I can judge for myself; 
 remember, Will, you have promised — when you 
 are in any pain/''
 
 78 Wooed and Married. 
 
 " My clear child, when am I without pain V^ 
 
 " Oh, of course your rheumatism is trouble- 
 some; the doctor says you must expect that. 
 All I want to know is, if you have anything out 
 of the common, if you have caught cold or your 
 eyes are bad, and how you will manage when 
 you begin work again. Do you think Mr. Bene- 
 dict will be kind to you T^ 
 
 " Undoubtedly. I told him all about it, Dym, 
 and how no one would employ me because of 
 my infirmities, and that you and I were making 
 up our minds in earnest to starve ; and he seemed 
 quite touched. Of course he cannot tell yet 
 how far I am fit for work, but I am to know in 
 three months^ time — and Fll merit my name yet, 
 Dym, and be Conqueror to the last." A pet 
 name she had called him from a child. 
 
 So it was that William Elliott won his place 
 at St. Luke^s, and kept it too, in spite of weak 
 health, uncertain powers, and the discontented 
 murmurs of, happily, a minority of the congre- 
 gation, who could not brook the curate^s 
 peculiarities and, above all, his poverty. 
 
 For he was very poor, and was not ashamed to 
 own himself as such. What it cost him to keep 
 himself, to a certain extent as a gentleman, and yet 
 not to be in debt, was known only to the brother 
 and sister ; and, as Dym herself honestly avowed, 
 she was only a burden to him. 
 
 Dym was the dearest little creature in the 
 world to those who loved her, but she was cer- 
 tainly one of Mr Chichester^s "unmanageable 
 women^' — she had a temper, and she had not
 
 Number Three Paradise Boio, 79 
 
 learned to govern it; she was as jealous and 
 proud as a small Lucifer_, and people found it 
 out, and would not put up with it. 
 
 Pym could not keep her places ; she had only- 
 been a governess for eight months_, and had 
 already tried three situations and had lost them. 
 
 At Miss Northcote's, where she had been 
 pupil-governessj she had sided with the elder girls, 
 and rebelled against lawful authority — the pupil- 
 teacher was in all the mischief that was going on. 
 In three weeks Miss Northcote wrote in despair 
 to her brother to take her away. 
 
 Dym had never seen such a look on Willis 
 face as when he came to fetch her. 
 
 Dym cried till her eyes were sore. SIio would 
 much rather he had scolded her, but he never 
 said a word — only when he found her another 
 situation in the same capacity in a smaller school, 
 he gravely reminded her that after their father^s 
 death he had spent half the little stock of money 
 he had left them in giving her a good education ; 
 that he could not at present afford to maintain 
 her ; and that unless she could govern her childish 
 temper it would be the worse for them both. 
 
 Dym cried again, and promised, and really did 
 very well in the beginning ; but the work was 
 too hard for a girl of seventeen. Mrs. Saunders 
 was a rigid disciplinarian, and had small sympathy 
 with girlish failings. Dym^s spirits flagged, her 
 health suffered, she got into careless ways, and 
 then grew miserable at her failures. Mrs. 
 Saunders had small patience with either faults or 
 penitence ; she told Miss Elliott in pretty plain
 
 80 Wooed and Married. 
 
 terms, that sucli fine ladies would not suit her; 
 her French accent was perfect,, but her temper 
 was execrable — in short, she was not cut out for 
 a governess. 
 
 " I must teach, or I must starve/^ cried the 
 girl in a little fury of despair, turning fiercely 
 upon her tormentor. Somehow, the blunt man- 
 ner did not offend Mrs. Saunders ; on the con- 
 trary, her pity was somewhat moved by it ; she 
 took the girl, not unkindly, by the hand after that, 
 and gave her a long harangue on the duties of 
 gentleness and patience in women — to which Dym 
 listened rebelliously — and then she pushed a letter 
 towards her. Ih was from a lady — a connexion of 
 one of her girls — who was in sad trouble about 
 her governesses. She wanted a very young lady; 
 youth no obstacle — a cheerful, well-mannered 
 young person, and tolerably well educated — who 
 could undertake the charge of her little girl 
 Edith, a very delicate child, who required care- 
 ful supervision and a few daily lessons; any- 
 thing like real study being forbidden by the 
 doctors. 
 
 " And I should say this place would just suit 
 you, Miss Elliott. You are too young, and, if 
 you will permit me to say so, too frivolous, for 
 the drudgery of school. I know Mrs. Tressilian 
 slightly ; she will take any young person I 
 recommend; she is very solicitous about this 
 child, as she has already lost two daughters at 
 the same age — so you understand the responsi- 
 bility will hardly be so light as the work." 
 
 Dym nodded and smiled. One child, too
 
 Number Three Faradise Mow. 81 
 
 mucli study interdicted ; the place seemed just 
 made for her. She listened in a sort of rapturous 
 dream to the many prosy directions of the good 
 schoolmistress. Here, at least, she could have 
 a little time to herself, and enjoy something like 
 pleasure. 
 
 So it was that Dym Elliott came to Lans- 
 downe House ; but as in all Paradises, even here 
 the serpent was not wanting. Dym had plenty 
 of time to herself — she had leisure and loneliness 
 to indulge in fancies to her hearths content — but 
 it might be doubted whether Mrs. Saunders^s 
 crowded dormitories were not a more wholesome 
 discipline. Dym began to exaggerate, and then 
 to brood over her exaggerations. She kept her 
 outwoiks undefended, and so exposed her citadel 
 to sudden attacks. Miss Tressilian''s manner 
 was not a pleasing one to dependents — she dis- 
 liked Dym^s bluntness from the first. Dym's 
 pride was always catching fire. Sometimes she 
 bore in silence — oftener she retaliated. Never 
 a meek woman, the ^^ soft answer that turns 
 away wrath^'' somehow never came at the right 
 moment. Mrs. Tressilian liked her, but her 
 manner to Beatrix was offensive. Both were to 
 blame, Guy Chichester thought, and Mr. Chi- 
 chester was generally right; his only mistake 
 was in taking part with the losing side. 
 
 He generally blundered in his generosity. 
 
 Those sort of people make great mistakes in 
 their lives. Guy Chichester^s mistakes were not 
 few. But he was, nevertheless^ a good fellow 
 for all that, 
 
 VOL. I. 6
 
 82 Wooed and Married. 
 
 Revenons a nos moutons, as our neighbours 
 say. 
 
 The Reverend William Elliott lived in No. 3, 
 Paradise Row^ the row being on the shady side of 
 a street leading out of the Maiden Road, within 
 easy distance of IMother Shipton. 
 
 There is nothing to find fault with in the air; 
 nevertheless, the locality itself is not a savoury 
 one. The streets are tolerably wide, but the 
 houses are too densely populated ; there is too 
 much poverty and too many cheap fish-shops to 
 be quite wholesome ; still there are worse places 
 than Maiden Road, and certainly far worse than 
 Paradise Row. 
 
 The row itself was a quiet respectable row, 
 much aff'ected by dressmakers and seamstresses. 
 A tailor lived at one end, and, if the truth must 
 be told, a mangle had lately been advertised at 
 the other end. ^Ir. Elliott always said he did 
 not mind the tailor — wasn^t one of Kingsley's 
 heroes, Alton Locke, a tailor ? — but, as he 
 observed pathetically, the mangle was too much 
 for him — it meant a coming down of gentility, 
 and nothing but a reduction of rent and taxes 
 could repair that damage. Somebody said a 
 sweep had taken the upper floor ; if so. No. 26 
 had certainly been delivered into the hands of 
 the Philistines. There must be limits to every- 
 thing, and a sweep was beyond those limits. 
 
 For William Elliott had a certain sweet whole- 
 some humour of his own. And its beauty was, 
 that it hurt no one. 
 
 No. 3 was tenanted by those same good
 
 Number Three Paradise Mow. 83 
 
 Samaritans who had tended the 3'oung clergyman 
 through his long trouble ; as far as it lay in his 
 power he had repaid their kindness. Love 
 begets love — a strong friendship grew between 
 these worthy people and their patient. When 
 he moved to St. Luke^s_, having heard of employ- 
 ment in that place, Dick Maynard and his wife 
 moved too. The little furniture that Mr. Elliott 
 had accumulated in his college life was quite 
 sufficient for the two small rooms which were all 
 he could afford out of his slender income. In 
 Dym^s brief visits,, a small, barely-furnished 
 apartment at the top of the house vras allotted 
 her by the worthy couple, w^ho had lost all their 
 children but one — little lame Dick, as he was 
 called. Dick slept in the little room next to 
 Dym^s, and whistled her awake in the morning. 
 He kept a family of young linnets and a couple 
 of white mice in his room, and had a habit of 
 playing on the accordion at three o^ clock in the 
 morning. With the exception of these amiable 
 peculiarities, and the incessant sound of his 
 crutches on the uncarpeted stairs and floor, Dick 
 was a very harmless neighbour, and kept the 
 dark mornings tuneful like a sprightly little 
 cock. 
 
 Dick had a vast admiration for Miss Elliott, 
 whom he called "his pretty lady/^ but the 
 whole of his child^s worship was given to her 
 brother. Ever since the time when he had sat 
 curled up at the foot of the sick bed for hours 
 together, amusing the poor invalid with his 
 incessant childish prattle, an intense love and 
 
 6— :2
 
 84 Wooed and Married. 
 
 reverence for Mr. Elliott had crept into his 
 simple heart. Deprived by his affliction of all 
 the usual boyish sports— for he had been lame 
 from his birth — the little fello^w^s greatest 
 happiness was to be allowed to sit in Mr. Elliott's 
 room^ where he would amuse himself for a whole 
 day together, without interrupting the composi- 
 tion of a sermon_, and he would remain so quiet 
 that sometimes Mr. Elliott would forget the 
 child's presence altogether. 
 
 Dick said his simple lessons to Mr. Elliott 
 daily. The few fragments of leisure that 
 remained to the overworked curate were always 
 devoted to the little cripple. Thus did William 
 Elliott strive to repay to the parents the many 
 homely kindnesses that were lavished on him 
 during his long illness. 
 
 Dick was sitting on the steps one sunny after- 
 noon^ mending his linnets' cage_, and singing to 
 himself in a low crooning voice, when a shadow^ 
 thrown on the pavement, made him look up, 
 and there was his pretty lady smiling at him. 
 
 " Good evening, Dick." 
 
 The boy's eyes sparkled. ^^ O Miss Elliott, 
 what a start you did give me ! Mother does not 
 expect you, does she ?" 
 
 ^^ Neither mother nor any one. Hush, Dick, 
 don't make a noise. I want to surprise my 
 brother ; is he in there ?" 
 
 Dick nodded. " Just come in from the 
 schools. My, wont he be pleased !" And, in a 
 rapture of ecstasy, Dick took out his accordion
 
 Number Three Paradise Row, 85 
 
 and played softly^, ^^ O Willie, we have missed 
 you/'' and finished with " God save the 
 Queen/^ 
 
 Meanwhile, Dyni had gone in from the sun- 
 shine to the dark narrow passage inside ; she 
 stood outside the half- closed door listening for a 
 moment, as though she lacked courage to enter, 
 but she pushed it open more boldly on hearing 
 a slight well-known cough. 
 
 The room was small certainly, but had a 
 cosy, well-used air about it ; it was not badly 
 furnished either. A leather-covered library 
 table ; two or three handsomely- carved chairs, 
 relics of college luxury ; a well-filled bookcase ; 
 a reading-stand and lamp ; and a snug-looking 
 couch — all spoke of William EUiott^s better 
 days. A stand of flowers, carefully tended, 
 guarded the privacy of the window, and a rough 
 yellow dog lay on the hearthrug. Mr. Elliott 
 himself sat busily writing at the table, with his 
 back towards the door. 
 
 Nip groAvled a little, and then turned over on 
 his back and grovelled when he saw his mistake — 
 he was an abject dog, and he knew it. Dym 
 looked pitifully for a moment at the bowed figure 
 before her, and then stole forward and laid a 
 hand on his shoulder. 
 
 '^ Will.^^ 
 
 "HulloaF' 
 
 Nip ceased grovelling, and began barking in 
 earnest at the exclamation and the start that 
 sent all the papers flying. If Mr. Elliott had
 
 86 Wooed and Married. 
 
 meant to rise^ he could not well have done so, 
 with Dym^s two arms round his neck nearly 
 strangling him. 
 
 " My dear Dym \" 
 
 " My dear, dear old Will Conqueror !" 
 
 " Let me get a look at you, girl ; you 
 are almost depriving me of breath — there, that 
 is better," taking off his spectacles the better to- 
 regard her. " Now what^s the meaning of all 
 this ? Has Mrs. Tressilian given you another 
 holiday?" 
 
 Dym shook her head. 
 
 '' What, have you taken French leave, then ?" 
 
 " Don^t ask so many questions -, aren't you 
 glad to see me? O Will, it is so delicious to 
 be looking at your dear old face again !" 
 
 Mr. Elliott laughed ; but he was not quite 
 satisfied. In spite of her pleasure, Dym looked 
 pale and a little worn, and she did not freely 
 meet her brother's eyes ; on the contrary, his 
 close inspection seemed to embarrass her, and she 
 turned away, and laid aside her hat and jacket 
 with an evident desire to gain time. Instinctively 
 Mr. Elliott felt then that things were not right 
 with his young sister. 
 
 ^^Well, you provoking child, when are you 
 going to answer me ? There, leave your hair 
 alone ; you look as tidy and trim as possible." 
 
 " Do I ?" answered Dym absently. " I sup- 
 pose I must tell you all about it. Will ; it is 
 better to get it all over. There, take your old 
 chair, and I will bring up my own footstool. 
 Out of the way, Nip, good dog!" And suiting
 
 Number Tliree Paradise Boiu. 87 
 
 her action to her ^ords^ Dym dropped down on 
 her lowly seat^ and crossing her hands on her 
 brother's, knee^ laid her cheek upon them. 
 
 It was not a good beginning, and Mr. Elliott 
 felt sure there wes something amiss. 
 
 ^' Come^ little one^ confess. You are in trouble 
 again. ■'■' 
 
 " O Will_, in horrible trouble. I don''t know 
 what makes it so hard to tell you to-day ; but I 
 can^t get it out. You will be so sorry, and I 
 canH help it, but they wont let me stay/' 
 
 '^Dym!'' 
 
 " There, I knew how shocked you would be."" 
 
 An awful silence. 
 
 *^I did try, Will, I did indeed ; but they said 
 I was young and silly; and Miss Tressilian was 
 disagreeable, and they would not keep me."''' 
 
 Still the same silence. 
 
 "' O Will, if you take it in this way I don^t 
 know what I shall do V and for once in her life 
 Dym e^ddently dreaded her brother^s reproof. 
 It came at last with a sternness that was almost 
 crushing. 
 
 " Child, child, after all my care, all my 
 prayers for you, do you mean to break my 
 heart ?' 
 
 Dym looked up at him frightened ; never had 
 he spoken to her with such solemnity, in such 
 a tone of repressed grief. 
 
 ^' Dym, could you not have saved me from 
 this?^^" 
 
 Dym tried to pluck up spirit to answer, but 
 the effort failed. The reproach had touched her
 
 88 Wooed and Married. 
 
 better nature. She dropped her head again on 
 his knee, and murmured almost in audibly — 
 
 " You have never been so hard on me 
 before/^ 
 
 " Because you have never so sorely tried me. 
 Come, Dym, you are not a child now ; how 
 often are you to come back to me with 
 the same story of miserable failures? Must I 
 remind you again and again that ' he that doth 
 not work, neither must he eat ' ?" 
 
 '^ Will, I cannot bear it — you are unjust 
 to me/'' 
 
 ^' Is it unjust to remind you tliat we are 
 poorer than ever, and that you at least must not 
 starve ?" 
 
 " Better starve than be trampled on." 
 
 " Always the same thing — pride, temper, 
 jealousy. My dear, when are you going to be 
 a woman, and learn to govern yourself?" 
 
 Dym made no answer; the large tears were 
 dropping into her lap one by one. Will was un- 
 just to her ; he would not believe that she really 
 had tried this time. She had come to him in her 
 trouble for a little comfort, and all this was very 
 bitter to her. Mr. Elliott sighed very deeply 
 once or twice, and then he put his hand on her 
 head, and softly stroked her hair. 
 
 " Come, my dear, tell me all about it," he 
 said coaxingly; and Dym dried her eyes and 
 cheered up a little, and told her story by-and- 
 bye in a humble way that thoroughly touched 
 her listener's heart. Dym, woman-like, felt she 
 had made a point — and instantly lost it.
 
 Number Three Paradise Row. 89 
 
 " There, Will, do you think I was so much 
 to blame ?^^ she finished a little triumphantly. 
 
 The answer disappointed her. 
 
 (( Very much indeed," was the uncompromising 
 rejoinder. 
 
 " How so ?" she asked, in a crestfallen tone. 
 " Surely you will allow Miss Tressiliau was more 
 in fault than I ?' 
 
 " My dear little sister, as usual you are taking 
 the worst side of the argument. Granted Miss 
 Tressilian was tlie aggressor, does it never occur 
 to you that people, governesses especially, may 
 sometimes be called upon to endure P"*^ 
 
 " But, Will " 
 
 " My dear Dym, I am very sorry for all this — 
 very sorry, because I must tell you, once for 
 all, I am disappointed in you; you seem to 
 have so little stability." 
 
 '^Now you are going to be unkind again." 
 
 ^' I am going to tell you the truth, cer- 
 tainly. Dym, you have no idea how all this 
 hurts me — with the best intentions in the world 
 your efforts are so frightfully weak. Child, 
 how ever will you make your way in the world 
 if you do not learn to restrain this jealous 
 temper of yours?" 
 
 ^* O Will, do be more merciful ! Every one 
 cannot be as good as you; and you never will 
 believe that I try." 
 
 " Yes, I do," he replied, thoughtfully ; '^ no 
 one knows better than I what a noble-hearted 
 girl you are at the bottom. But, Dym dar- 
 ling, I do so long to see the higher nature
 
 90 Wooed and Married. 
 
 assert itself; these three ^vretched failures of 
 yours make me tremble so for the future. 
 What would you do if you had not got me 
 to fall back upon as a last resource ? — though 
 I fear I am but a poor protector to you, 
 poor child. '^ 
 
 This was too much for Dj'm^s affectionate 
 heart ; — and she clung round her brother's 
 neck with a vehement " No_, No ! '^ 
 
 " Ah, but I am/' he repeated in a tone of 
 quiet conviction,, blended with sadness. " If I 
 had ever so poor a home to offer you, I should 
 be more than content ; but with my health 
 how is that to be achieved ?" 
 
 " You dear old Conqueror, I will not let you 
 talk so. There, that serves me right for making 
 you so unhappy ; if it will make you more 
 comfortable to hear it, I'll own I have been bad 
 in every way — cross, touchy, disagreeable, and 
 altogether horrid." 
 
 " Nay," he returned, with a smile, " that is 
 making yourself out too bad. After all, Dym, 
 I am afraid you are not cut out for a gover- 
 ness." 
 
 " I am sure of it," was the eager reply. 
 " Oh, if I could only take in plain sewing, and 
 live here with you, I am sure I should be 
 always good ! Then, very coaxingly, " Couldn't 
 it be managed, Will dear ? I might give 
 music-lessons, or teach French, or even a place 
 as daily governess might suit me better. Do say 
 you wont send me away again. Will; you don't 
 know half how unhappy I am away from you."
 
 Nuinher Three Paradise Bow. 91 
 
 " My dear;, a governess in Kentish Town V^ 
 
 " Why not ? It is not worse than being a 
 curate here. Who is proud now^ I should like 
 to know?''^ 
 
 " But with all your advantages " 
 
 " I am not half so clever as you, Will/'' 
 
 " The idea of comparing us two — an old 
 crippled hulk as I am. Dym, are you sure I 
 was only eight- and- twenty last birthday ? I feel 
 forty, at least; look how thin my hair is — and 
 turning grey too,''^ 
 
 '' That comes of those horrible headaches ; 
 but when you take those ugly glasses off your 
 eyes you are as nice as ever. I do like your 
 eyes, Will.^' 
 
 " Little flatterer." 
 
 "Ah, but you like it all the same; you get 
 so dull living in these little rooms, and having 
 no one to say pretty things to you. You feel 
 better already for having me to scold." 
 
 " I have not scolded you half properly, I am 
 afraid." 
 
 " It will keep. Suppose you ring the bell 
 instead, and ask Mrs. Maynard to bring us 
 some tea. I am so hungry and thirsty and tired, 
 W^ill, and you have not made me a bit com- 
 fortable. There, I know what you are' going to 
 say — it is Mrs. Maynard^s washing-day." 
 
 " What a memory you have, Dym ! Of course 
 
 it is, but I daresay " and here the curate 
 
 looked helplessly round. 
 
 " Never mind, W^ill ; sit where you are. I'll 
 have everything ready in a moment ;" and before
 
 ^2 
 
 Wooed and Married. 
 
 Mr. Elliott could look down she had disappeared, 
 and so quick were her movements that before 
 another quarter of an hour had elapsed the 
 brother and sister were established cosily at their 
 frugal meal.
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 THE GREAT UNKNOWN. 
 
 YM, do you know the Great Unknown 
 has turned up again ?" 
 '' Nonsense, Will !" 
 
 Dym sat opposite her brother,, with the tea 
 equipage between them. 
 
 The cloth that covered the small library-table 
 was carefully darned and spotless in colour; the 
 very teapot, though only of Britannia metal, 
 was evidently burnished by willing hands, and 
 reflected Dym-'s beaming face in a widening 
 caricature. 
 
 It was wonderful how beaming Dym^s face 
 could look just now. Miss Tressilian would 
 hardly have recognised the little pale-faced 
 governess. Dym^s olive complexion had warmed 
 into sudden colour ; her eyes were full of soft 
 brilliance ; in her whole appearance there was 
 animation, life, verve ; under such aspects Dym 
 could look very pretty. 
 
 The Parisian education had not been altogether 
 thrown away. Dym could put on a shabby 
 dress, and wear it with the grace of a French- 
 woman ; in spite of her slender purse, she never
 
 94 Wooed and Married. 
 
 looked ill dressed on any occasion. She had all 
 sorts of simple knacks and contrivances ; she 
 would redeem plainness with a knot of gay- 
 coloured ribbon ; she knew how to adjust a bow 
 or a flower coquettishly. This sort of tact is 
 very valuable to a woman ; and though Dym had 
 not a speck of vanity in her composition^ she 
 was often heard to say " that it was a woman's 
 duty^ a plain woman's especially, to make the 
 best of herself/' 
 
 Mr. Elliott's admiration for his young sister 
 was unbounded — he had regarded her triai figure 
 complacently more than once before he had burst 
 out with an involuntary, " You look very pretty, 
 Dym." 
 
 '' I am so glad you think so, AVill dear," she 
 had answered quite simply ; and then William 
 Elliott had followed up the remark with another 
 rather startling one, " Do you know the Great 
 Unknown has turned up again ?" 
 
 " Nonsense, Will !" 
 
 " It is true, I assure you." 
 
 " Do you mean Mr. Latimer has really been 
 here again ?" 
 
 ^' Latimer ! nonsense ; that's not his name." 
 
 ^^It is what he chooses to call himself, I 
 suppose. Will, don't you think it is wrong for 
 people not to call themselves by their proper 
 names ?" 
 
 '^ That depends. I believe the motive ought 
 to accuse or excuse in such a case. Of course 
 I think it is a pity ; nay, more, a mistake." 
 
 " I call it deceit."
 
 Tlie Great Unknown, 
 
 ^' Humplij that sounds harsh — women are 
 always so intolerant. This happens to be pure 
 caprice — a whim ; the man is full of whims/'' 
 
 " He does seem to be a most extraordinary 
 person. Did he ever give you his reasons. 
 Will ?' 
 
 " Well, they were hardly to be called reasons. 
 He told me once that he had taken this singular 
 alias to escape the notice of a host of gay London 
 friends. " I don^t want to be unearthed just 
 now/'' he remarked, " and to have a great hue 
 and cry after me ; cannot you respect iny in- 
 cognito a little longer, Mr. Elliott?''' And 
 when I hazarded the observation that I thought 
 his fashionable friends would hardly explore 
 Kentish Town in search of him, he answered 
 dryly enough, ' Possibly not ; but when one has 
 such a staff of moral police — in the shape of 
 one^s friends — a man hardly knows when he is 
 safe.' Oh, he is all right, you may depend 
 upon it. Of course I could not press him any 
 further.'' 
 
 Dym shook her head sagely, and pursed up 
 her lips. 
 
 ^^You are infatuated. Will. The Great 
 Unknown has bewitched your better judgment.'" 
 
 " I confess he interests me strongly. A man 
 who can act as he does, and for a whim evidently — 
 oh, there's some stuff in him ! After all, one 
 must judge of a man by his actions, and not by 
 his words." 
 
 " True." 
 
 You
 
 96 Wooed and Married. 
 
 may shake your liead^ Dyni, but there^s some- 
 thing great about Mr. Latimer/^ 
 
 " Who Avas it who preached to me against the 
 folly of hero-ATorship ? Ah^ I have you there, 
 WiU/^ 
 
 ^^Not at all. I suppose a man's honest 
 appreciation is of more value than a school-girFs 
 hysterical admiration. School-girls are so 
 superficial and unsafe in their missish likings 
 and dislikings."'"' 
 
 " Will, oughtn''t you to be ashamed of your- 
 self? Hysterical, missish — for shame V" 
 
 " So they are. Never mind, Dym ; I'll 
 forgive you a great deal if you will properly 
 admire Mr. Latimer.-" 
 
 " I am afraid I do a little already,'' returned 
 Dym honestly. ^' Do people fall in love on 
 hearsay, I wonder ? How long is it since we 
 first heard of this mysterious individual, Will ?" 
 
 " Let me see. It must be eighteen months 
 ago — it was just after I had got to St. Luke's. 
 I was beginning my three months' probation, I 
 remember." 
 
 " So do I. Eighteen months — what a long 
 time to be faithful to St. Luke's !" 
 
 William Elliott's eyes had a far-away look of 
 pleased remembrance. " How well I remember 
 our first meeting — the time and place and all ! 
 It was original, to say the least of it ; everything 
 the man said or did was unlike what any one 
 else would have said or done under the circum- 
 stances. It was a wet night, and I was preaching 
 at St. Luke's to a very scanty congregation. I
 
 The Great TJnhioion. 97 
 
 even remember the subject of my sermon ; for I 
 had lost heart about things^ and I seemed to be 
 preachiug to myself more than to any one else. 
 It was about ^ not being weary in well-doing/ 
 and when I went into the vestry there he was 
 waiting for me/'' 
 
 *^ To be sure — how odd it all was V' cried 
 Dym. She had heard it before^ but her brother's 
 pleasure in the reminiscence charmed her ; she 
 would not have interrupted his recital for 
 worlds. 
 
 William Elliott rubbed his hands slowly over 
 each other^ and went on. 
 
 " Yes_, there he was lolling against the vestry 
 mantelpiece, and looking like a good-tempered 
 giant; and when he saw me, he came forward 
 and shook hands. I can almost feel his grip 
 now. ^ That's a capital sermon of yours, Mr. 
 Elliott/ he said, ^ and I want to have a good talk 
 with you about it / and his manner was just as 
 cordial and pleasant as though we had met 
 yesterday/' 
 
 "Dear, dear/' laughed Dym, ^^what a very 
 droll person he must be. Will !" 
 
 " Droll ! I should think so. I never saw 
 such a pure piece of originality in my life before. 
 ^WelV lie went on in the same cheery voice, 
 ^ what I like so much about it was, that you 
 spoke as a man should who tried to practise what 
 he preached.' Odd, wasn't it ?" 
 
 '*" I think he must be a very Broad Church- 
 man/' observed Dym solemnly. 
 
 Her brother laughed outright. 
 
 VOL. I. 7
 
 98 IVooed and Married, 
 
 '* Well done, Dym ; that's what I call begging 
 an argument. Never mind his particular party ; 
 I shouldn't wonder at all if his school were 
 different from ours ; but to return to that 
 Friday evening. You know Morris had just 
 sent to me to baptize a dying child, so of course 
 I could not stand talking to him there ; but when 
 I explained the urgent cause for my haste, ' Til 
 go with you/ he returned briskly ; ' one can 
 talk outside as well as inside, and I daresay you 
 will be glad of a strong arm this boisterous night, 
 as you don't appear over strong/ 
 
 " As you may suppose, I was a little confused 
 by his offer of company, but how to refuse it was 
 the question ; one thing, it was not far to 
 Preston Street, and I could get rid of him there. 
 But I did not know my man : it was blowing 
 great guns, as they say, outside, and the rain 
 came down too at intervals. Before we had got 
 past the church railings I was glad enough of 
 the arm he offered me. We did not do much 
 talking by the way ; the wind beat the conversa- 
 tion out of us ; but he shouted out a few cheery 
 words now and then, and, as far as I can 
 remember, on subjects far removed from the 
 sermon ; I am not quite sure that it was not on 
 art criticism, or something of the kind. 
 
 " Well, when we got to the Morrises, I just 
 said a civil good-night, and thanked him ; but 
 he returned, ^ No occasion,' and came in with 
 me. 1 recollect that I had some diflSculty in 
 persuading him that he need not stand sponsor 
 for the child, as it was evidently dying fast. I
 
 The Great Unhioicn. 99 
 
 believe he had some odd notions on the subject. 
 Strange to say, we were only just in time — the 
 poor little creature almost stiffened in my arms. 
 ' Yerily in the bosom of the Church/ he muttered, 
 looking down on the dead baby much as though 
 it were his own ; ' poor little white-folded lamb V 
 And he spoke almost roughly to the poor mother 
 when her tears dropped on the little dead face. 
 ^ Shame to let the salt of earth touch anything 
 so pure/ he said. 
 
 " Well, hearing him speak so beautifully, and 
 seeing how tender he was over the poor baby — 
 he gave the parents money too, I am sure — it 
 was rather a shock to me to hear him say when 
 he came out — 
 
 " ^ I wish we had a nineteenth-century Herod.^ 
 
 '^ ^ Why, in the name of Heaven?'' I answered, 
 quite dumbfounded at his vehemence. 
 
 " ' Oh, I have shocked you, have I?^ peering 
 down at me in the darkness and shouting still, 
 though the wind had lulled. ' I cannot help it ; it 
 is my misfortune to be always shocking some one : 
 you are a clergyman, and you wont like to 
 answer, but wouldn^t it be a real deed of mercy 
 to put nine-tenths of the infant population of 
 England out of their misery in the quickest and 
 most painless manner possible V 
 
 '' ' Drown them like kittens, I suppose you 
 mean T " 
 
 " O Will, you never told me this part before — 
 what a horrible man V 
 
 *^ He smiled at my literal interpretation, but 
 went on seriously — 
 
 7—2
 
 100 Wooed mid Married. 
 
 " ' \sq\\, but of course the government must 
 do it ; we cannot have private murders/ 
 
 ^' ^ You prefer a wholesale slaughter of the 
 innocents ?^ 
 
 " He nodded. 
 
 " ' Sounds grimly, doesn^t it ? — I prefer han- 
 dling the theory. Look at that babe we left just 
 now^dead with the baptismal chrism still wet on its 
 brow — what would it have been in a few years ? 
 Did you see that brute of a father? his hand, 
 when he stretched it out for my bounty^ felt like 
 a drunk ard*s/ 
 
 " ' Too true, I fear/ 
 
 " ' AVell, which do you prefer, the Union, or 
 Paradise — an Inferno liere with a doubtful liere- 
 after, or the spotless rest of that poor baby ? 
 How could that child grow up good amidst those 
 surroundings T 
 
 " ^ Humph ! vexed questions/ 
 
 ^^And then we plunged into a deeply interest- 
 ing conversation wliicli lasted till midnight/^ 
 
 " Just like your imprudence, Will. Of course 
 you took him home ?" 
 
 " Yes. When he found I would not stand 
 outside, he allowed himself to be persuaded to 
 enter ; but I do not recollect that he took a seat, 
 neither did lie in the least enlighten me about 
 himself ; but of course I saw he was a gentleman 
 and had received a university education." 
 
 '^ I suppose he found out then that you were 
 a Balliol man ?" 
 
 "Yes, we ran the gauntlet between Balliol
 
 The Great TJnlmown. 101 
 
 and IMagdalen. I think it was that that stirred 
 me up so^ and made me forget the time/^ 
 
 " And he did not tell you his name ?^' 
 
 "Xo^ not a bit of it. When I opened the 
 door for him and wished him good nighty he just 
 vanished in the darkness^ whisking away like 
 a comet or Will-o^-the-wisp^ or any other erratic 
 substance/'' 
 
 ^' But you saw him again the next Sunday ?" 
 
 " To be sure. I got a glimpse of him at the 
 conclusion of my morning^s sermon, sitting under 
 the gallery^ and I was not surprised when he 
 followed me into the vestry. You recollect^ 
 Dym, I told you how interested he was in our 
 schools.''^ 
 
 ^^ And that was the commencement of his 
 work at St. Luke^s ? Really it is very extra- 
 ordinary^ Will.^'' 
 
 " Yes_, is it not ? He worked^ off and on, 
 with me I should say six or seven weeks before 
 he vanished for as many months ; he was 
 always coming and going when one least ex- 
 pected it.^^ 
 
 "But he vras a great help to you. I re- 
 member your writing to me and telling me a 
 great deal of all this, and what a comfort he was 
 to you in the night schools.''^ 
 
 " Ah, I was new to my work then, and, be- 
 fore he came, the night schools were my bugbear. 
 I was not so strong as I am now, and my lame- 
 ness was against me ; the boys would play 
 tricks, and I could not always take summary
 
 1 02 Wooed and Married. 
 
 justice. I shall never forget the first evening 
 I took Latimer down to my cub garden — didn't 
 the cubs get it that night !" 
 
 '' Serve them right too ; those boys behaved 
 shamefully. Mr. Benedict told me all about 
 it." 
 
 " My dcar^ cubs want licking into shape ; boys 
 are rather rough in their play sometimes. I 
 think Bill Saunders played his last trick when he 
 blew out those candles.''"' 
 
 " And Mr. Latimer relighted them ?" 
 ^^ Yes ; how were the poor lambs to know he 
 had a box of matches in his pocket ? The sudden 
 light threw them in confusion. How Bill 
 howled for mercy V 
 
 " Did Mr. Latimer thrash him 't" 
 " Yes ; and all the ringleaders besides. We 
 have had order in the night schools since then. 
 Mr. Benedict and I always call them ^ Latimer's 
 lambs.' You would not recognise one or two of 
 my cubs now.'' 
 
 " I thought Bill Saunders was improved the 
 last time I saw him." 
 
 " That he is ; and he bears Mr. Latimer no 
 malice either. An English lad is rather like a 
 thorough-bred mastiff — never resents a just blow 
 from a master's hand. Bill is always asking 
 when ^L\ Latimer is coming up : he is quite 
 civil to me in his absence ; and last winter the 
 lad actually saved me from an awkv.ard fall." 
 
 "Bravo, Bill! Do you know, Will, I quite 
 long to see this Mr. Latimer, and thank him for 
 helping you."
 
 The Great Unknown. 103 
 
 " Well, you will soon have your opportunity/' 
 
 "^ What, is he coming up ?" 
 
 " He "vvill be at the schools to-night ; but 
 moderate your raptures. Mr. Latimer hates 
 hero-worship as much as I do, and thanks are 
 poison to him. Do you know, Dym, he is 
 a curious mixture of reserve and frankness ; 
 with all his cheerfulness I have found out one 
 thing.'' 
 
 " That he is not happy ?" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " You ought to seek his confidence, Will. 
 What's the good of being a clergyman if you 
 cannot give comfort and advice where it is 
 needed? Why don't you ask him straight out 
 if he has anything on his mind ?" 
 
 ''^ Because I know that he has." 
 
 " O Will !" opening her eyes. 
 
 " I don't believe he has a murder on his con- 
 sciencC;, or anything of that sort ; it is evident 
 to me that the man is only restless and ill at 
 ease ; he seems to me sometimes as though he 
 were working against himself." 
 
 ^•' But does he never talk about himself ?" 
 
 " Very seldom, and then only vaguely ; lie 
 hinted once that he was very rich, and wanted 
 me to pity him for it. ' It is such a bore to 
 have no aim in life/ he said to me ; ^ I tried to 
 get into Parliament once, only the seat was 
 sharply contested,, and 1 had to give it up. One 
 gets tired of travelling when one is always 
 alone ;' and one day he said something ' about 
 only wishing for one thing, and not being able
 
 104 Wooed and Married. 
 
 to get it ; but whether it was the seat in Parlia- 
 ment he was talking about,, or a woman, or 
 some pet ambition, I have not the slightest 
 idea/^ 
 
 '' But, Will, why don't you try to find out ?' 
 
 '' My dear, when you see the Unknown 
 you can answer that question for yourself. 
 Mr. Latimer is not a man one can question ; 
 he has his moments of frankness, but they never 
 concern himself. Since that first time we met 
 he has never spoken to me as though I were a 
 clergyman ; never sought advice in any way, I 
 mean, and though I know he resj^ccts my cloth, 
 he has very droll ways of showing it. Did you 
 hear how he treated poor Ned Smithers T' 
 
 " Was that the bo}^ whom you both nursed in 
 the fever V 
 
 "No, that was another case; this happened 
 quite recently. No, I remember I never told 
 you. Arc you tired of the subject, Dym T' 
 
 " Tired of what interests you so ? Fie, Will!^-' 
 
 '^ How can one help being interested \" he 
 ejaculated ; " such noble self-devotion and real 
 Christianity hidden away under all that comical 
 roughness. Well, Dym, I am quite sure the 
 story is worth hearing. You know Brent's 
 Buildings ?' 
 
 " That queer little street turning out of 
 Weedington Road?" 
 
 " Yes, a wretchedly poor neighbourhood. 
 Well, we heard from young Shaw at the night 
 schools that Ned Smithers had met with an 
 accident, and was likely to do badly ; and
 
 The Great Unknoivn, 105 
 
 Latimer said^ as usual^ lie atouM go with me^ 
 and^ if necessary, act as my almoner. Well, 
 we went along as nsual arm-in-arm — the giant 
 and the dwarf, as some street wags once called 
 us ; and when we got to Brent^s Buildings we 
 found a very dismal state of things, and that it 
 was all up with poor Ned/^ 
 
 " Do you mean that he was dying V 
 '^ Dying ; ah, but what a death ! I wont 
 harrow up your feelings, Dym, more than I can 
 help. Poor Ned was always a drunkard and 
 blasphemer : but the cursed drink was not the 
 actual cause of his death. Those navvies run 
 terrible risks. An embankment on the line of 
 railway they were constructing gave way ; two 
 men were killed on the spot. Ned''s injuries 
 were no less mortal, but mortification had not 
 yet put a stop to his agonies. I know what 
 pain is, Dym, and how it taxes all a man^s forti- 
 tude and Christianity to bear it ; it makes me 
 shudder even now to think of Ned writhing on 
 his miserable couch, and poisoning the fetid air 
 with his curses.^" 
 
 ^' O Will, please don^t tell me any more."" 
 " The picture will be less gloomy by-and-bye. 
 How these people manage to exist is the Avonder ; 
 navvies get good wages, but I suppose Ned had 
 drunk his, for such abject poverty 1 had never 
 seen before in my life; the brawny giant him- 
 self was lying on a heap of straw, with only an 
 old blanket over him — fancy that, and a damp 
 brick floor and no fire, on a cold winter^s night. 
 But worse than that, there was his poor wife,
 
 106 IFoo ed an d Married. 
 
 only just recovered from her confinemc wi, with 
 miserable-looking twins in her arms : I never saw 
 such a pitiable sight as that mother and her 
 babies. 'Two of them, and smothering would 
 be regarded as a sin/ I heard Latimer mutter to 
 himself. I frowned at him, but he took no 
 notice ; he had pro^^ped himself up against the 
 place where the mantelpiece ought to be, and stood 
 frowning at them all the time I was reading and 
 praying beside poor Ned, with the damp from 
 the floor creeping into my bones.'''' 
 
 " O Will ! and with your rheumatism too.^'' 
 
 " I think that is what made him interrupt us; 
 for when I rose from my knees, there he was 
 standing beside mc. ' Hadn^t you better leave 
 off V he said in that dry way of his ; ' he hasn^t 
 been listening to a word — have you, Necl?^ 
 
 " The man muttered something in answer ; it 
 sounded like ' parson be blowed.'' '^ 
 
 "' There !^ he exclaimed, turning on me 
 triumphantly, ' I thought so ; that^s all you get 
 for catching your death on those horrible flags/ 
 
 '• ^ My dear Latimer,^ I remonstrated gently, 
 ' you must allow me to do what I consider to be 
 my duty.^ 
 
 " '^ Nonsense V he returned ; ' I never could 
 tolerate a suicide ; you had better leave Ned to 
 me — I can manage him better.^ 
 
 '' I will not deny I was a little hurt. 
 
 " ' My dear sir, this is not a layman's func- 
 tion.' 
 
 ^' ' Pooh ! nonsense ; don''t get hot about it : 
 it is only a question whether there shall be two
 
 The Great UnhiGivn. 107 
 
 dying men or one. Ned, haven^t you had 
 enough of the parson just now T 
 
 ^' ' Curse you ! what do I want with either of 
 you ?^ returned the man savagely. ' Can^t a 
 man die without having a couple of gents 
 standing and staring and praying over him till 
 his flesh creeps on his bones? Who wants your 
 prayers? Til die as I like/ and here he 
 stretched out his huge fist and shook it at us — 
 it might have felled an ox easily — and broke into 
 language too horrible to relate. 
 
 '' The blasphemy sickened me — I put my 
 hands over my ears to escape it; the poor wife 
 crept up to him timidly. ' O Ned, my man^, 
 hush thee ; thee art frightening parson/ she 
 cried. 
 
 " Latimer coolly took the man^s fist in his, 
 and examined it reflectively. 
 
 '' ^ These are the thews and sinews of England 
 they talk about. Ned, don^t trouble yourself; 
 I am not going to waste a single prayer on you, 
 or the parson either; tell me, my man, how 
 often have you turned this hand of yours against 
 that poor wife T 
 
 ^' ' Sal knows,' sneered the man with a 
 demoniacal laugh. ' Tell the gentlemen, Sal ; 
 served her right — a whining, white-faced ^ 
 
 "Mr. Latimer quietly laid the fist down, and 
 then deliberately shook his own in the savage's 
 face. 
 
 "'^You cowardly rufiian, if you were not a 
 mass of broken . bones I'd have it out with you. 
 Look at that face — a young one, too. God in
 
 108 Wooed and Married. 
 
 heaven ! to see a woman's face look like that, 
 with all the comeliness bruised out of it / and 
 so righteous was his indignation, that the man 
 actually cowered beneath his vehemence. Again 
 the wife, womanlike, interfered. 
 
 " ' Don't ^ee, sir, don't "ee bully my master/ 
 cried the poor creature, quite terrified and 
 trembling, and pressing one of her babies more 
 closel}'' to her. 
 
 ^•' ' You go and sit down,' said Latimer not 
 •unkindly ; ^ women always make things worse 
 with their meddling ; I never bully any one but 
 a coward. Ned, my man, we've had it out, and 
 my feelings are a little relieved ; I can't be hard 
 on such a poor brute as you — a dying brute, 
 too. Shake hands, and keep a civil tongue in 
 your head. Now I daresay you have had enough 
 talk, and would like a good fire and something 
 warm to drink. I am going out with the parson 
 to cater for you. We'll make Sal and you more 
 comfortable before we've done with you.' 
 
 " Would you believe it, Dym, there were 
 actually tears in the poor fellow's eyes ? 
 
 " ' That's what I call a gentleman,' he 
 muttered; and without another word Latimer 
 took my arm and hurried me from the room. 
 
 " Outside I attempted to remonstrate with 
 him. 
 
 " ^ My dear Latimer, I daresay your way will 
 answer best in the end ; but to interfere between 
 a priest and one of his iiock ' 
 
 " ^ Go on,' he returned good-temperedly ; 
 ^ words Avont break bones, and I've got yon out
 
 The Great Unknown. 109 
 
 of that damp vault alive. Faugh ! how sweet 
 the air is after it ! twilight^ too. Do you ever 
 study astronomy, Elliott? I have a theory/ 
 and then and there he propounded it, inveigling 
 me so artfully in an argument that I never saw 
 his drift till I found myself at my own door. 
 
 " ' Good-night, Mr. Elliott ; take my advice — 
 have a good roaring fire and a strong dose of 
 spirits-and-water, and then get quickly into 
 bed.^ 
 
 *^''May I ask what you are going to do, 
 Mr. Latimer?^ 
 
 '^ ' I ! oh, I am going to cater presently, and 
 then go back to Ned.^ 
 
 '' ' So am I.^ 
 
 ^' ' Are you ? There are locks and doors even 
 in Brent's Buildings. Nay, Elliott, I am serious ; 
 this night^s work is no joking matter to either of 
 us. My dear fellow, though I am only a lay- 
 man, I am stronger than you. Just take my 
 advice for once ; leave Ned this one night to me, 
 and come first thing in the morning/ and, Dym, 
 will you credit the fact ? I was weak enougfh to 
 obey him.^^ 
 
 " O Will, I could almost love him for this ; 
 don^t you see he knew it would be your death, 
 and he just went on in that rough way to get 
 you out of the place/' 
 
 Mr. Elliott smiled. ^^ I told you you would 
 find my story interesting. Well, I felt pretty 
 bad by that time, and was glad enough to follow 
 his prescription. As it was, I had a terrible 
 night of pain, and was only just able to hobble
 
 110 JFooed and Married. 
 
 down to Brent^s Buildings in the morning ; the 
 sun cheered me up a little^ though. When T 
 got to the place, there was Latimer lolling 
 against the railings and smoking a cigar, as 
 though Brent's Buildings was the choicest neigh- 
 bourhood, and he rather liked it than otherwise. 
 
 " ^ What sort of a night have you had ? how 
 is Ned T I asked. 
 
 " ' Bad, very bad — making for the other side 
 rapidly, I am afraid ; in other respects things are 
 more satisfactory/ 
 
 " ' How so r 
 
 " ' I don''t think I have heard more than two 
 dozen oaths, and he always apologizes for them 
 afterwards — life habits, you sec ; we must not be 
 too hard on him. But come in ; I must not 
 keep you standing in this cold wind.' 
 
 " He had said so little that I was not prepared 
 for the changed aspect of things. Mr. Latimer 
 and his coadjutors had done wonders. Ned 
 could not be moved, it was true — those mangled 
 limbs must remain as they were to the last; but 
 there was plenty of clean warm covering over 
 him, and a bright fire burned in the grate. The 
 poor wife sat beside it in a comfortable chair 
 propped up with pillows, with one twin in her 
 lap ; the other, alas, lay in a white wrapper on a 
 shelf. 
 
 " ^ Yes, it is gone/ whispered Mr. Latimer, 
 noticing my look. ^ The poor little thing had 
 con\Tilsions in the night, and before I could fetch 
 a doctor it was gone; pity the other does not 
 follow. That's the fourth child she has lost.'
 
 The Great Unhioicn. Ill 
 
 ^'I said a few soothing words to the mother, 
 who was fondling her remaining baby, dry-eyed. 
 I suppose constant misery dries up the fount of 
 tears ; and when I turned to Ned^s bedside I 
 was surprised to find he greeted me with con- 
 siderably less roughness. 
 
 *^ ^ He^s ready for the parson now, you see,^ 
 said Latimer, who still followed me ; he^s had 
 some of the doctor^s good stuff, and is rather 
 more free from pain. He can listen to you now; 
 can't you, Ned V 
 
 " ' Yes, if parson pleases. You bean't a-going, 
 sir ?' looking at him wistfully. 
 
 " * Not for long. Til be back by-and-bye ; by 
 the time you want me.'' 
 
 ^' ' Thank you, sir.' 
 
 '^ ' And, Ned my man, you'll keep your word, 
 and make a clean breast to the parson Y 
 
 " ^ Yes, sir ; yes.' 
 
 '^ ^ This poor fellow,' putting his hand on his 
 shoulder, and pressing it lightly, ' tells me that 
 he has been a great sinner ; he almost murdered 
 a man once ; didn't you, Ned ?' 
 
 " ^ Yes, one of my mates ; they locked me up 
 for it, though.' 
 
 " ^ And he says that he has been a bad 
 husband to Sal; pretty nearly starved her and 
 her children. And he wants to know, Mr. 
 Elliott — you being a clergyman and understand- 
 ing such things — whether he has any cause to 
 hope that he will ever see his little boy again. 
 It seems, since his boy's death, he has* taken to 
 drinking.
 
 112 Wooed and Married. 
 
 " ^ Ay, to drown thought. He were sich a 
 pretty little chap, were Charlie ; and he minded 
 me rarely. " Where's daddie V lie nsed to call 
 out, as soon as ever he could speak. You mind 
 it, Sal.^ And the man wiped away a tear furtively 
 with his sleeve. 
 
 ^' * And he wants to know if he shall ever see 
 Charlie again. Now, Mr. Elliott^ your work is 
 cut out for you / and then this singular being 
 did consent to leave us alone together." 
 
 "And did he die. Will?" 
 
 '^ Yes ; but not for a good many days after 
 that. It was very uphill work with him ; but, 
 thank God, he made an edifying end. Not that 
 he ever said much to me ; but he seemed grateful, 
 and liked to hear me read and pray by him ; 
 just a few words at the last made me feel the 
 man was really a penitent. 
 
 " ^ You gentle^em,' he said, speaking with 
 difficulty, for the end was drawing near ; ^ you 
 gentlemen! will walk head erect into heaven. If 
 the good Lord will only let me creep in just at 
 the last, rd be more than content.' 
 
 ^^ ' On your hands and knees,'' quoth Latimer. 
 * Well put, my man.' 
 
 " ^ And, Sal, my lass, you must mind what 
 parson sees, and try for to come in afterwards. 
 I've not been a good master to you, my woman^ 
 but it is too late to say naught about that; now 
 maybe you'll get a better master nor I, when 
 Tm cold.' 
 
 *^ ' Nay, Ned. I never went fur to think of 
 such a thing,' cried the poor thing, panting and
 
 TJie Great Ujihioicn. 113 
 
 sobbing ; * but for the drink we migbt have been 
 so comfortable like/ 
 
 ^' '■ Ah/ murmured the dying man, ^ thou art 
 about right, Sal. Don''t let Charlie drink ; it 
 is a pity to let a little chap like that get into 
 mischief Charlie lad, you are tired maybe ; let 
 dad carry you/ he muttered on drowsily. When 
 it came to the last, he would keep his face to 
 Mr. Latimer ; and once made a groping on the 
 bedclothes, as though for his hand. 
 
 ^^ ' Vm. a- creeping in, sir,^ he said once with a 
 sudden brightening — those were his last words. 
 My dear child '*'' — for T)\m. was crying softly to 
 herself — '' I ought not to have saddened you like 
 this, and on your first evening too.''"' 
 
 " Oh but, Will, it is so beautiful ; no wonder 
 vou say !Mr. Latimer has something great about 
 iiim.^' 
 
 " Yes ; but you must not raise your expecta- 
 tions too high, or you might be disappointed 
 when you see him. Well, what is it, Dick ?" 
 
 " Mr. Latimer, sir.'' 
 
 ^' Here ? Oh, what shall 1 do V cried Dym 
 excitedly, trying to clear away the traces of her 
 tears. 
 
 '' Don't be frightened, miss ; Mr. Latimer 
 ain't a-coming in. He left word for you, sir, 
 that as you had a iady with you he would not 
 interrupt you, but that you would see him at the 
 schools." 
 
 "Dear me, I never knew him to do that 
 before/' returned Mr. Elliott, looking puzzled; 
 then, as the boy closed the door, ^' It must be 
 
 VOL. I. 8
 
 114 Wooed and Married. 
 
 because you are with me, Dyui ; and yet lie is 
 the last man to be shy of a lady ; what an 
 enigma he is, to be sure ! Well/^ in a tone of 
 regret, ^' 1 must be off now. Perhaps he will 
 come in with me by-and-bye ; anyhow, I am sorry 
 you are disappointed/^ 
 
 '^ Disappointed ! not at all,^' returned Dym 
 contradictorily. " There, run off. Will, you will 
 be late /^ and when she had watched her brother 
 out, Dym sat down and thought of ]\Ir. Latimer 
 for the rest of the evening.
 
 
 
 CHAPTER. VI. 
 
 THE RIGHTS AND WRONGS OF WOMEN. 
 
 ONTRARY to Dvm's expectations, Mr. 
 Latimer did not make his appearance 
 in Paradise Row that evening, nor on 
 many succeeding evenings ; he had always some 
 excuse ready when William Elliott pressed him 
 to accompany him home on the nights when 
 they were at work together at the schools. Dym, 
 who at first looked for him with some eagerness, 
 at last relinquished her watch in despair. 
 
 When life is monotonous, trifles appear of 
 magnitude. In the confined landscape of 
 Paradise Row, Mr. Latimer^s figure loomed 
 gigantic in the foreground. Dym, out of 
 natural contradiction, longed to brush it out; 
 womanlike, she revolted against the vagueness 
 and mystery ; she wanted the dim outline to gain 
 form and colouring. But soon her thoughts 
 were directed into another channel. 
 
 William Elliott had acceded, with evident 
 reluctance, to Dym^s plan of seeking employment 
 as daily governess ; but though her efforts were 
 most persevering, they had not as yet met with 
 success. 
 
 8—2
 
 116 Wooed and Married. 
 
 Either education was at a low ebb or gover- 
 nesses were at a discount in Kentish Town. Dym 
 tried Haver stock Hill and even Hampstead^ but 
 the market seemed overstocked. A great com- 
 mercial panic had taken place in the City a few 
 months previously, and scores of girls^ younger and 
 less well-educated than Dym, had been thrown 
 on their own resources — girls luxuriously brought 
 up, and taught everything but to govern them- 
 selves and teach others, were driven from the 
 fastnesses of happy homes and launched suddenly 
 upon the world. Incompetence seeking com- 
 petence ; youth and helplessness going hand-in- 
 hand to find a stewardship,, where they could 
 starve themselves and bring others to beggary. 
 
 And the beggary of the heart and mind — what 
 more pitiable than that ! 
 
 Dym''s neat little figure traversed miles of 
 pavement in answer to countless advertisements, 
 but she never found anything to suit ; her youth 
 was against her. Sometimes people told her to 
 her face that she was not good-tempered; at 
 such moments Dym could not always repress her 
 impatience and disappointment. '^ This situation 
 would quite suit me,'^ she said once, when she 
 was weary of doors closing against her — "^only 
 two little girls; I will not quarrel about the 
 terms. ^■' 
 
 " Pardon me, but you will not suit me. Miss 
 Elliott/^ returned the lady coldly. "You are 
 too brusque and decided for such a young per- 
 son ; let me tell you, for your future guidance, 
 that mothers like to have the management of
 
 The nights and Wrongs of Women. 117 
 
 their own cliildren ; you have set aside my 
 remarks once or twice already/^ 
 
 ^- 1 have not always given satisfaction, but I 
 have good references/^ faltered Dym, more 
 humbly. 
 
 "I do not doubt it; forgive me if I pain you, 
 but you do not look old enough, nor yet suffi- 
 ciently staid for me to entrust my girls to your 
 care/'' 
 
 Very much the same thing was repeated at the 
 next house, where Dym found herself in the 
 presence of a very strong-minded woman, e\i- 
 dently one of those original characters who com- 
 bine domesticity with plenty of pulilic speaking. 
 
 Dym found out, years afterwards, that this 
 lady was a member of the school-board, that she 
 spoke on public platforms, and was conspicuous 
 for her advocacy of the rights of women. On 
 the present occasion she very soon inspired our 
 little heroine vfith a painful degree of awe. 
 
 " Well, why have you come to me ?'" began the 
 strong-minded matron in a loud, manly voice. 
 Afterwards, Dym thought the voice not an un- 
 pleasant one. ^^ Seeking a governesses situation, 
 are you ? Absurd ! you are too young. What do 
 you say — you can^t help your age ? No, but you 
 can speak louder while you are about it. Tut ! 
 go home to your mother, child ; we have too many 
 incompetent young persons in the present day 
 applying to us as governesses — a pack of useless 
 rubbish ; it cannot be every girFs vocation to 
 teach — whether they are qualified for it or no ; 
 we ought to subject the thing to competitive
 
 118 Wooed and Married. 
 
 examination. Why shouldn't women take their 
 degree^ I should like to know T' for this was in 
 the days before the Cambridge examination for 
 women. 
 
 " I am not quite incompetent/'' interrupted 
 Dym in a frightened voice ; " I know French and 
 German — I can talk French almost as well as 
 English — and if the children be young '^ 
 
 " Who said the children were young ? One is 
 not bound to state their ages in an advertise- 
 ment; my eldest girl looks almost as old as you, 
 only of course she has masters. French and 
 German — trash ! The question is, are you up 
 in algebra and mathematics generally ; have you 
 any idea of geology ; do you know what a strata 
 means ; or in architecture could you give me the 
 history of the several transition periods ; do you 
 know more than the fancy work of botany — in a 
 word, could you administer education in any 
 other than homoeopathic quantities ? There, go 
 home to your mother, girl !'' 
 
 " I have no mother," returned Dym, vainly 
 trying to repress her tears. " Of course I could 
 not teach your daughters all those things ; I 
 thought, perhaps, you had younger children, 
 or '' 
 
 " My youngest is over twelve,''' replied the 
 matron, a little less grimly ; " she is working 
 hard at classics with a tutor now. Why shouldn't 
 women teach classics, I should like to know ? I 
 hate men about a house — clergymen especially. 
 Got no mother you say, child — ' bleating about 
 the world like an unfolded lamb,' as Elizabeth
 
 The RifjMs and Wrongs of Women. 119 
 
 Barrett-Bxowning has it. What is it she says ? 
 and 
 
 ' Felt a mother- want about the world, 
 And still went seeking, Hke a bleating lamb 
 Left out at night in shutting up the fold.' 
 
 Sad^ sad /^ and the strong-minded lady actually 
 sighed. " Jane/^ she continued, ringing loudly, 
 ^^ bring this young lady some wine and cake ; she 
 has had a long walk, and is tired.^^ And after 
 that touch of motherly kindness, Dym did not 
 find her voice loud. 
 
 She warmed up into something like confidence 
 over the cake and wine, and her attempt was 
 met by good nature. 
 
 ^'^ Of course you must work, child, every one 
 must. Why are we sent into the world, except 
 to do our part thoroughly ? Why, I work my- 
 self,^^ waving a large benevolent-looking hand 
 with plenty of rings on it, and pointing to the 
 massive handsome furniture. " I suppose people 
 would consider me very rich— 1 don^t know ; I 
 leave all that to Mr. Garnet. I only know I 
 work as hard as any charwoman from morning to 
 night ; why, I have a ladies^ committee on for 
 this very afternoon.''^ 
 
 "Don't let me detain you,""* said Dym 
 timidly. 
 
 ^•^ I shouldn't let any one — not the Prime 
 Minister himself — detain me. I am not to be 
 detained. By-and-bye, when the world is a little 
 more educated to the notion, why shouldn't a 
 woman be Prime Minister ?" And Dym, tickled 
 by the sudden transition, and the absurdity of
 
 120 Wooed a7id Married. 
 
 the idea, actually burst out laugliing ; she looked 
 a little foolish though when Mrs. Garnet stopped 
 and asked why. 
 
 " Why ? Oh, because — because the very idea 
 seems so strange/^ 
 
 '^ All new ideas are strange. Who was the 
 first Queen on record ? Dido or Candace or — 
 come, being a governess you ought to know ; I 
 have a better memory for statistics. Well, who- 
 ever she was — black, brown, or white — did not 
 the Conservative party in her generation, think 
 you, consider a woman on the throne a very 
 shocking idea ?" 
 
 This was beyond our small governess, so she 
 only remarked, " I daresay/^ 
 
 "A safe answer. You luiowliowto trim your 
 sails. Miss Elliott. Well, why Avould it be worse 
 having a woman for a Prime ^tinister than for a 
 queen to be on the throne ?" 
 
 " She couldn't do all the work,^"* suggested 
 Dym, with a veiy vague idea of what Prime 
 Ministers had to do. 
 
 "That remains to be proved. Of course it 
 would not be in my time, or in yours either ; we 
 have to educate our men, aiul our women too, up 
 to it ; women must vote and sit in Parliament 
 before that comes to pass — ah, one must not look 
 too far forward. I have a theory, only I havenH 
 time to work it out, that perfection will only 
 precede dissolution — that, in short, the world 
 is gradually wearing itself out. What do you 
 want. Camellia T' to a pale, fashionable-looking 
 young lady who entered the drawing-room at
 
 The JRi(/hts and Wrongs of Women. 121 
 
 this juncture, and who had evidently been reared 
 at a forcing temperature. 
 
 " I did not know you were engaged, mother ; 
 only Madame Bousanquet 'has sent home your 
 bonnet with ostrich instead of marabout feathers/'' 
 
 " Dear^ dear, and I wanted it for this very 
 afternoon ; how very trying, Camellia ! It is 
 impossible I can appear on the platform in my 
 old blue one/' 
 
 '^ Quite impossible. Lady Yaughan would 
 think it a slight to her party.'' And seeing that 
 this trifling incident was really troubling the 
 minds of both mother and daughter — in spite of 
 the speedy dissolution of things material — Dym 
 took a hasty leave of her kind-hearted enter- 
 tainer. 
 
 She returned thoroughly disheartened by this 
 afternoon's work, and almost with a despairing 
 resolve to give up teaching altogether and take 
 in plain sewing, ''^ that is, if Will will let me," 
 thought the poor girl, dragging her feet wearily 
 over the threshold. But she \vas too used to 
 disappointment by this time to make any special 
 complaint. She just put her head in the door 
 and said^ in a voice that feigned cheerfulness and 
 belied her face — 
 
 '* It is nil desperandum, Will, to the end of 
 the chapter/' 
 
 ^' Well said ; a brave remark, and woman- 
 like too/' accompanied by a sigh. " Suppose you 
 follow your observation into the room. Miss 
 Elliott.'' 
 
 The voice was not Will's. Dvm's heart
 
 122 Wooed a7id Married. 
 
 began to beat more quickly. Could it be the 
 Uifknown at last ? What a ridiculous way to 
 announce herself ! Strange to say, the voice 
 sounded somewhat familiarly to her ; she ad- 
 vanced into the room feeling very foolish, and 
 confronted — Mr. Chichester. 
 
 " Why, it — it is you P^ she exclaimed, breath- 
 less with astonishment. 
 
 " Yes, it is I, quite true ; do you often indulge 
 in such clever remarks. Miss Elliott ? I beg 
 your pardon. I was under the idea you were 
 going to shake hands, but you are too much 
 occupied in questioning my identity. By the 
 beard of my father," stroking his placidly, " have 
 you forgotten me already ?" 
 
 " No ; oh, how rude I must seem ! But I 
 can^t help being surprised to see you sitting 
 there, when I only expected to see Will." 
 
 " Was your proverbial philosophy intended 
 for Will, then ?" 
 
 " Of course it was : and then to find vou 
 here, Mr. Chichester \" 
 
 " Oh, I told you it would be au revoir, 
 Beally, ]\Iiss Elliott, I am the humblest fellow 
 breathing, but I could almost believe you were 
 glad to see me." 
 
 " So I am — very glad indeed," repeated Dym, 
 with the simple honesty of a child ; and Mr. 
 Chichester looked pleased. '' How long have 
 you been here — have you seen my brother — and 
 where is he ? Did you really find your way 
 to Kentish Town from Lansdowne House ?" 
 
 Mr. Chichester held up his hands appealingly.
 
 The Ri^Jits a7id Wrongs of Women. 123 
 
 '^ One question at a time ; Avhat, all those to 
 answer ! Supposing we each take a seat^ Miss 
 Elliott/'' suiting the action to his word, and 
 resuming WilFs favourite lounging chair. 
 *^ There, T know exactly why you have chosen 
 that seat, back to the light — you want me not 
 to see that Kentish Town air has not agreed with 
 you/' 
 
 ^''It agrees with me perfectly/' argued Dym 
 stoutly. 
 
 ^''Pardon me, you are too imle et triste, as 
 Mrs. Vivian says. What a female she is ! 
 Are some women created in a bandbox ? Mrs. 
 Vivian always looks as though she has just 
 stepped out of one. Please do not mention 
 her name if you wish to keep me in a good 
 temper. Miss Elliott." 
 
 " How does Edith get on with her T' asked 
 Dym, passing over the fact magnanimously that 
 Mr. Chichester, and not she, had first mentioned 
 that lady's name ; and why did he call her 
 triste and pale, when she was sure she was 
 neither ? 
 
 " Well, she does not get on at all ; it is 
 breaking a butterfly on the wheel to put my 
 little pet under the domination of such a 
 woman. After all. Miss Elliott, Edith's guar- 
 dian was obliged to interfere — officially, I mean 
 Mrs. Vivian will not trouble Lansdowne House, 
 long." 
 
 " And you have really dismissed her ?" 
 
 Dym said no more, but inwardly she felt a 
 little hurt. If Mr. Chichester were really
 
 124 Wooed and Married. 
 
 Editli^s guardian, and liad been invested with 
 full control over the cliild, why had he not 
 exerted his authority to keep the goverr, ss whom 
 Edith loved ? Had he not very plainly testified 
 to his cousin^s injustice in sending her away 
 without due cause ? But why had he not pre- 
 vented it ? Surely, surely it must be because 
 he himself had thought her unfit for her post. 
 
 '' Please let me have the benefit, Miss Elliott. 
 I have a troublesome knack of reading people^s 
 thoughts/^ 
 
 Dym started and coloured ; and then, be- 
 coming more conscious that Mr. Chichester's 
 grave, quizzical eyes were reading her truly, 
 became so exceedingly hot, that even he had 
 compassion on her. 
 
 '^ Never mind, if you did harbour such a 
 thought ; it was a perfectly natural one, though 
 somewhat difficult to answer. I am rather a 
 contradictory character, Miss Elliott ; I have 
 scruples of conscience, as other people have, and 
 one of these scruples concerned you/^ 
 
 '' Me !" 
 
 Dym was too shame-faced and crestfallen to 
 say more. Had a fresh monitor arisen to 
 rebuke her thoughtlessness in the person of 
 Guy Chichester? 
 
 ^' Ungrateful, wasnH it, after your kindly 
 ministrations too ? When I have another head- 
 ache, I think I must send for you. You have 
 taken care, you see, that you shall never be 
 forgotten in one capacity. Why not take to sick- 
 nursing, Miss Elliott, and abandon teaching ?'^
 
 The Righh and Wrongs of Women. 125 
 
 " I can guess what you think of me^ by that 
 one speech /^ in a tone more humble than Dym 
 generally used. People could be humble before 
 Guy Chichester without feeling themselves humi- 
 liated; it is so that real superiority asserts itself. 
 
 '■^ How can you tell what I think of you ? I 
 am far too young a man — please to recollect I 
 am not thirty-five yet — to render it perfectly 
 safe to act as Mentor to any young ladies.^'' 
 
 " Neither do I desire to be your Telemachus/^ 
 returned Dym^, somewhat audaciously^ exasperated 
 by this covert rebuke. 
 
 " Exactly so. Perhaps I may say I do like 
 your thorough honesty ; it is a quality so unique 
 in these present times. Do you know, Miss 
 Elliott, I have come to the conclusion, from the 
 little I have seen of you, that we are both un- 
 like any one else in the world ?'"' 
 
 ^^ You are, Mr. Chichester ;^^ the tone scarcely 
 modified yet. 
 
 ^^ I suppose you did not mean to be personal, 
 but those two monosyllables were very expres- 
 sive ; and then is it not strange that we both 
 labour under the same misfortune V^ 
 
 His manner was so entirely changed, so 
 solemn even, that Dym looked up. 
 
 " What is that, Mr. Chichester ?' 
 
 "We both have — will my plain speaking 
 offend you, I wonder V^ 
 
 " No, oh no.'' 
 
 "A bad temper." 
 
 W^hat a pleasant hearing for Dym ! She sat 
 absolutely dumb. In another moment Mr.
 
 126 IFooed and Married, 
 
 Chichester was standing before her^ holding 
 out his hand. 
 
 ^^ Please forgive me/' 
 
 '' For what? '^ returned Dym stiffly, but 
 making up her mind, nevertheless, that she would 
 never forgive him; that she hated — yes, she 
 hated him ! 
 
 " Oh, I am so sorry. Why did you provoke 
 me to it by your honesty ? You are so uncon- 
 ventional, that I thought you would not mind un- 
 conventionality in return. What a fool I have 
 been, and what a mistake I have made '/' 
 
 " Not at all ; but you have departed very 
 quickly from your resolution." 
 
 '^ An enigma — unriddle the Sphinx, please. '^ 
 
 " Not to say what you think of me," returned 
 Dym, biting her lip. 
 
 " Well retorted. But Mentor did not claim 
 the same faults as Telcmachus. I put myself in 
 the same category. Miss Elliott, as your fellow- 
 sinner ; please remember that. Well, Guj^ 
 Chichester, this is a lesson to you, my good 
 fellow, not to be such a fool again as to believe 
 any woman, at any age, can bear to hear the 
 truth." 
 
 " You are making things worse, instead of 
 better, Mr. Chichester, to be told now that I 
 cannot bear the truth :" in a lamentable voice of 
 injured innocence. 
 
 Mr. Chichester rubbed his hands with a comical 
 gesture of despair. If only Dym could feel he 
 was not enjoying himself at her expense ! 
 
 *^ There, again, Tm done for — head and heels
 
 The Bi(/Jds and Wrongs of Women. 127 
 
 over into the Slough of Despond^ and not a hand 
 even to help me out. Miss Elliott^ in most 
 cases something undera duel — say^ an apology — 
 is supposed to make full amends. Come, Miss 
 Elliott, be generous ; I do so hate giving a fel- 
 low-creature pain ;" and there was such a win- 
 ning look of bonhomie in Guy Chichester^s eyes, 
 that Dym^s brief hatred died away, and her pride 
 with it. 
 
 " There, then, I forgive you, will that do ?" 
 
 " Shake hands, then, like men and brothers — 
 sisters — what do I mean ?" And thereupon a 
 very healing laugh broke from Dym^s lips. 
 
 " That^s right ; I thought you had forgotten 
 how to laugh in Kentish Town. Do you recol- 
 lect what fun we used to have in Edith^s sick- 
 room T^ 
 
 ''^You and Edith you mean/^ 
 
 " True ; you held yourself somewhat aloof from 
 our frivolity. Nevertheless, I have often heard 
 suppressed sounds from your corner. Do you 
 recollect my story of ^ The House of Cards T^ 
 
 '' Wait a moment, Mr, Chichester ; please 
 don^t go on just yet. I want to tell you some- 
 thing." 
 
 "What?" 
 
 " That you were right about my temper." 
 
 " Halloa ! Honesty without her mask again." 
 
 " I was only a little put out that you should 
 notice it so soon. I am rather sore en this 
 subject, Mr. Chichester; my temper is my 
 bane." 
 
 " Get rid of it, then."
 
 128 Wooed an d Marriea. 
 
 " Good advice ; but liow to follow it V 
 
 " Throw it off as Sindbad did the Old Man of 
 the Sea. How old are you^ Miss Elliott? An- 
 other plain question/'' 
 
 " Eighteen/' 
 
 " Age of innocence ! eighteen versus three- 
 and-thirty. My dear Miss Elliott, you will 
 never make me believe your Old Man of the Sea 
 is as formidable or sticks half so hard as mine/' 
 
 Dym leant her chin on her hand and regarded 
 him fixedly. 
 
 " Wherefore that inquisitorial glance ?" 
 
 " You really have a bad temper, Mr. 
 Chichester ?" 
 
 '^ I advise you not to ask/' 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 " My answer might frighten you/' 
 
 " I thought so/' in a cheerful tone, " but/' 
 hesitating, " I suppose people like you in spite 
 of it." 
 
 " My mother does/' 
 
 " Oh, mothers always do ; but other people 
 who know you well, are they afraid of you ?" 
 
 " They would be if they saw me in one of my 
 bad moods ; but come, come, I am not going to 
 put myself in the pillory, as an example and 
 warning to naughty girls and boys. I am a 
 terrible fellow when you come to know me, Miss 
 Elliott ; but I suppose I have my good 
 points. I must have/' suddenly changing 
 his voice, and sighing. " ]\Iy dear Miss Elliott, 
 you and I have been running a tilt, half 
 in jest and half in earnest, jjour passer le temps.
 
 The Rights and Wrongs of Women. 129 
 
 It is pleasant pastime_, but there^s many a true 
 word spoken in jest. I was a little impertinent 
 to you just now."" 
 
 " No, pray do not say %o" 
 
 " Truth will out^ you see. I told you I had 
 scruples of conscience about retaining you. as 
 Edith's governess, when a word from me would 
 have turned the scale. If I did not speak that 
 word, it was not because I believed all my 
 cousin^s accusation. From the first, I felt her to 
 be manifestly unjust, and I preferred to judge for 
 myself 
 
 " And your verdict was against me V^ 
 
 " Not altogether/'' with a merry twinkle of the 
 eye, "^ only I felt you were unfit for your posi- 
 tion. Edith, it is true, had not suffered from 
 your caprice ; but she might. There was affection 
 between you, but, pardon me, Miss Elliott, no 
 wise guiding."" 
 
 " I tried my best,'' very softly. 
 
 ^^ No one could know you even a little and 
 not see that ; but take the word of a spoilt child 
 of Fortune, who knows better how to preach 
 than to practise— don't waste your life in making 
 vain efforts. Strike out new paths for yourself — 
 rise above mere conventionality — be true to your 
 own nature. You have not patience or temper^ 
 or the mellowed wisdom of experience to fit you 
 for a guide of youth ; you want to be in leading- 
 strings yourself yet; you will not do for a 
 governess, but you will make a capital sick- 
 
 nurse." 
 
 Dym shuddered. 
 
 VOL. I. 9
 
 130 Wooed and Married. 
 
 '' You do not like my suggestion/^ 
 
 '^ To be in a sick-room all one's life — no^, oh 
 no!'^ 
 
 " You want something gayer and more varied. 
 You surprise me. T should have held it to be 
 woman's noblest vocation/' 
 
 ^' That is what ^Vill always says/' shrugging 
 her shoulders. 
 
 '^ Sensible Will ; but what is the good of 
 talking seuse to unwilling ears ? Miss Elliott, 
 I told you before that I was very anxious to 
 repair my cousin's injustice, and to help you by 
 any means within my power; the question is 
 how ?" 
 
 "True." Dym uttered the word slowly. 
 " Then you don't think I shall ever do well as a 
 governess ?" 
 
 " It is not your vocation." 
 
 " Vocation ! I hate the word ; it seems to 
 bind one down so. Do you think I might go 
 out as a companion, Mr. Chichester ?" 
 
 " The very thing. I wonder your friends have 
 not thought of it before. A good thought, Miss 
 Elliott. Ah, did you see that shadow across the 
 window ? I believe it must be your brother." 
 
 Dym sprang up and opened the door. 
 
 ^' What, Dym, only just come back ?" 
 
 '^ There, I've had my hat on all this time, and 
 never knew it. O Will, how late you are, and 
 just when I wanted you so !" 
 
 " Wanted me ? Why, what is the matter ? 
 What a colour you've got, Dym ! Why,
 
 The Rights and Wrongs of Women. 131 
 
 Latimer_, you don^t mean to say you^ve honoured 
 us at last T^ 
 
 " Better late than never : your sister has been 
 
 entertaining me for the last hour. Miss Elliott, 
 
 ^-n-ithout being personal — a thing I detest — ma;^ 
 
 1 remark you are opening your eyes rather 
 
 widely T 
 
 ''O Will — the Unknown. Why, this — this 
 is my Mr. Chichester, the one I spoke to you 
 about — Edith's guardian I mean/^ finished Dym, 
 feeling she was explaining herself very badly. 
 
 ^^ Guy Latimer Chichester, at your service,^' 
 remarked that individual coolly, taking no 
 notice of Dym^s unfortunate possessive pronoun. 
 ''^ There, murder will out, Elliott; your sister 
 has betrayed me, and now is your mind re- 
 lieved?" 
 
 " Very much so," replied William Elliott 
 frankly. " I hate fictitious sobriquets — every- 
 thing fair and open for me. If I had known 
 Latimer was really your baptismal name, it 
 would not have stuck so often in my throat ; 
 anyhow, I am thankful you are not an earl^s 
 son in disguise; simple Guy Chichester, I 
 suppose ?" 
 
 ^*' I sometimes take an esquire at the end," *^ 
 responded ^Ir. Chichester dryly. " What a 
 family yours is for honesty ! your sister there 
 is like a pane of glass." 
 
 Dym laughed and ran out of the room, on 
 hospitable thoughts intent. Mr. Chichester, her 
 unknown hero, the wonderful Mr. Latimer ; it 
 
 9—2
 
 132 Wooed aiicl Married. 
 
 was too strange, too delightful altogether ; and 
 she had been nearly quarrelling with him^ too, 
 when all the time he had been WilFs friend, 
 who had helped him so. Dym felt she could 
 never be sufficiently contrite. ^ 
 
 When she had finished her little preparations — 
 not forgetting to don her smartest ribbons in 
 honour of the occasion — Bym went back to 
 the sitting-room and marched up straight to 
 Mr. Chichester. 
 
 " I have been thinking it all over, and I have 
 so often wanted to thank you.^' 
 
 *^' To thank mc, for what ? I will thank you 
 presently, when you have given me some tea." 
 
 ^^ I thought you were getting it ready, Dym." 
 
 ^' So I was ; it will be here directly. Will ; 
 don^t be impatient. But, Mr. Chichester, I 
 cannot be happy till I have thanked you for all 
 you have done for Will and St. Luke^s. For 
 what are you looking ?" for Mr. Chichester, red 
 in the face, was groping mysteriously under his 
 chair. 
 
 '^ For my hat ; I think I have mislaid it." 
 
 " Here it is ; take it away, Dym, hide it 
 somewhere. You foolish girl, didnH I tell you 
 Mr. Latimer hated gratitude ?" 
 
 '^ Was it that that was driving him away ? 
 Sit down, Mr. Chichester ; you shall have your 
 tea directly." And with much tact Dym bustled 
 about, and, aided by her brother, soon produced 
 a creditable enough looking meal, during the 
 course of which Mr. Chichester gradually re- 
 covered his equanimity.
 
 The ItigJits and Wrongs of Women. 133 
 
 What a pleasant evening that was ! the plea- 
 santest, Dym thought^ that she had ever spent. 
 And before the end of it she had achieved 
 one success — Mr. Chichester pronounced her a 
 good listener. High praise from a clever man. 
 
 As a general rule men prefer responsive to 
 suggestive powers in a woman. A woman whose 
 intellect is ambitious enough to emulate the 
 other sex is rarely a favourite with either. The 
 bright intelligence that can appreciate without 
 deterioration ; that can, if occasion require, sum 
 up into brief review the salient points of an 
 argument or a thing discussed ; that can even 
 weigh and judge its merits without obtruding 
 contradiction and opiniouativeness — this is justly- 
 prized by men ; and a listener, be she an in- 
 telligent one, is worth half a score of clever 
 talkers. 
 
 Dym could talk cleverly sometimes, but she 
 loved better to listen, and especially to such men 
 as Will and Guy Chichester. Both men of no 
 mean order of intellect. Mr. Chichester com- 
 bined rare eloquence with much native shrewd- 
 ness ; his mode of speech was always abrupt, 
 but now and then it woujd be startling; his 
 discourse, when on most solemn subjects, would 
 be varied by lightning-like flashes of metaphor 
 or humour. Will was a more even speaker. 
 
 Both men talked well. 
 
 Guy Chichester was the more daring in his 
 speculations; William Elliott felt more. 
 
 Dym, sitting by in unconscious criticism, 
 thought Guy Chichester was far the grandest
 
 134 Wooed and Married. 
 
 talker she had ever heard in her life ; but 
 WilFs words came home nearest to her heart. 
 
 The priest prevailed over the layman ; not by- 
 virtue of his office^, truth compelling me to avow 
 Guy Chichester was a Broad Churchman, but 
 simply because the priest had lived out his own 
 conWctionS; not taught them simply. 
 
 And this was the secret of the strange bond 
 that already bound these two men together — 
 mutual respect on the one side developing into 
 reverence, on the other into hero-worship, 
 not unmixed with pity ; for William Elliott had 
 already discovered that Guy Chichester was his 
 own encmv.
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 A GLIMPSE INTO THE HAPPY VALLEY. 
 
 YM had sufiBcient leisure to think over 
 her pleasant evening, for Mr. Chi- 
 chester never came near them for a 
 whole week after this — nay more, he Tvas missing 
 at the school. 
 
 Dym marvelled greatly over this sudden dis- 
 appearance, but her brother took the matter more 
 coolly. "You don^t suppose we keep this sort 
 of vara avis permanently at St. Luke^s/'' he said. 
 '' Very likely he has gone back to his own 
 people, and forgotten all about us, till the next 
 ill wind blows him southward again — a random 
 shot which on this occasion was tolerably wide 
 of the mark ; but Dym shook her head, and 
 would not be convinced. 
 
 " He would have said good-bye to us if he 
 were not coming back,"*^ she persisted; and 
 she looked up every time Will came in from 
 his evening work with the hope that Mr. Chi- 
 chester was with him. 
 
 And, as usual, he appeared when she least 
 expected him. 
 
 It was a very wet Sunday evening — there
 
 136 Wooed and Married. 
 
 had been a ceaseless down-pour most of tlie 
 afternoon — and only a small congregation, 
 chiefly women and boys — had collected in the 
 evening, in the hope of hearing the strange 
 preacher, Mr. Ainslie : had Mr. Ellioit preached, 
 even that scanty aggregate would have been 
 diminished by at least one-third, for the parish 
 of St. Luke's was not the most God-fearing and 
 church-going parish in Kentish Town. Dym 
 was standing up in a great square pew under 
 the west window, singing at the top of her clear 
 young voice, and watching the raindrops patter 
 against the glass. "When the organ ceased, she 
 almost fancied she could hear its rippling groans, 
 and the soughing of the light summer wind in 
 its branches ; the heavy drops splashed outside. 
 " Brief life is here our portion, brief sorrow, 
 short-lived care — '* sang Dym. A hand fiom 
 behind lier came abruptly on her book, with an 
 admonitory finger of caution — she was singing 
 the wrong verse. 
 
 Dym's sweet contralto broke down altogether 
 then. The old blind man at her side went 
 quavering on, " The life that knows no ending ;" 
 a magnificent bass voice caught up the refrain, 
 and carried it on. Dym had never heard the 
 voice, but she knew the great brown hand, with 
 the Oriental signet on the little finger. The 
 sudden reproof abashed her; she did not get 
 cool all the rest of the service. 
 
 Siie took the blind man out carefully, and 
 found her unconscious tormentor waiting for her 
 in the porch.
 
 A Glimpse into the Happy Valley. 137 
 
 ^' Well;, shall we go on^, or shall we wait for 
 your brother T' he demanded;, unfurling a 
 formidable-looking umbrella, after a glance of 
 disdain at Dym's neat little gingham one. 
 " DonH trouble yourself to open that ; it will do 
 for EditVs doll/' 
 
 " I always wait for Will. Good evening, 
 Mr. Chichester," with a dignified little inclina- 
 tion of the head, which said plainly,'^'^ We have 
 not met before to-day, I believe.''^ 
 
 " Oh, good evening. Miss Elliott," lifting his 
 hat, and making her a profound salaam, which 
 at once made Dym feel her observation was 
 superfluous. " What creatures of habit we are — 
 are we not ? In strict accordance with the truth 
 you ought to have said, '^ A bad evening, 
 Mr. Chichester/ but perhaps you only meant 
 a more ceremonious way of saying, * How do 
 you do V " 
 
 Dym was glad that she had to bow to a 
 chance acquaintance who was passing — it saved 
 her the trouble of replying. When she looked 
 round, Mr. Chichester had closed his umbrella 
 again, and was thoughtfully engaged in probing 
 the probable thickness of the flags. Dym, 
 who felt every one was criticising her tall dis- 
 tinguished-looking companion, drew back furthti 
 into the porch. 
 
 " Don^'t let me detain you," she whispered 
 nervously. Mr. Chichester was evidently in one 
 of his unapproachable moods to-night, and Dym 
 was a little afraid of her tete-a-tete. 
 
 ^^ Our ways lie together," he replied. ^^ How
 
 138 Wooed and Married. 
 
 light it is still out here in spite of the rain ! 
 The old Puritan, who constructed that conse- 
 crated barn," nodding his head slightly towards 
 the red-baize door, " has spoiled his best windows 
 by that hideous gallery. No wonder you could 
 not see to sing your hymn correctly." 
 
 " O, Mr. Chichester, how could you ?" 
 
 ^^ What ?" looking as innocent as a lamb on a 
 large scale. 
 
 ^' How could you startle me so ? It put me 
 out dreadfully." 
 
 " To have a great brown paw laid on your 
 book?" stretching it out mischievously. '^Serves 
 you right, Miss Elliott ; you Mere torturing my 
 ear needlessly." 
 
 " You ought to have been singing yourself. I 
 don't pity you," a little defiantly. 
 
 " Upon my honour, I am very sorry for you 
 though. Miss Elliott. Think of next Ash 
 Wednesday — how uncomfortable you will feel 
 during the Commination Service ; leading that 
 poor blind man all wrong, too." 
 
 Dym looked shocked. 
 
 " I suppose you can sing properly if you 
 try." 
 
 '' Will says so." 
 
 ^^ What ! Will Clericus ! Never believe 
 brothers, they are such flatterers. Yes, you 
 have a nice little lark-like voice, if you only 
 cultivated it properly ; the high notes were not 
 satisfactory though." 
 
 Dym inwardly resolved she would never sing
 
 A Glimpse into the Hapjji/ Valley. 139 
 
 in Mr. Chichester^s presence again — a tow 
 which circumstances scon obliged her to break. 
 
 " What a nice sermon Mr. Ainslie preached ! 
 Don^t you think so V' trying to turn the con- 
 versation into a less personal channel. 
 
 " No, I don't/^ kicking the baize door lightly 
 with his foot_, and looking a little vexed. 
 
 '' Why not ?" 
 
 "^ Because — now. Miss Elliott, don't — you 
 know I hate criticising sermons.''^ 
 
 ^^ Do you ? How could I know ? Ah, there 
 is Will, and Mr. Ainslie with him. You will be 
 glad of that ; wont you, Mr. Chichester V 
 
 " You will you mean. It struck me we were 
 rather boring each other/'' a bit of honesty 
 which somehow chilled Dym. 
 
 She walked home in silence, under the shelter 
 of the big umbrella, between her brother and 
 Mr. Chichester. Will had to warn her some- 
 times of the deep puddles. The meeting had 
 disappointed her. Instinctively she felt Mr. 
 Chichester's manner had a little changed — it was 
 less genial and more authoritative. Somehow, 
 even during the time she was Edith's governess, 
 she had never before realized the great distance 
 between them. Afterwards she understood that 
 Guy Chichester had set up this slight barrier 
 intentionally, though such was the man's uucon- 
 ventionality, that he was often the first to break 
 it down. 
 
 At their door he shook hands, and wished 
 them good-night.
 
 140 TTooed and Married. 
 
 " What ! you are not coming in ?'' asked 
 "Will, in surprise. 
 
 " No, my dear fellow ; no, not to-night. I 
 have an appointment down due west ; my cousin 
 Beatrix has invited me to a family council.^^ 
 
 " Then why in the world did you tramp down 
 here in the wet ?" persisted his friend, laying a 
 detaining hand on his arm. 
 
 " Not to hear Mr. Ainslie preach — no, nor 
 you either, so don^t expect a compliment. I came 
 to deliver this •/' taking a letter carefully from 
 his breast-pocket, and handing it to Dym. 
 
 '' For me ?" 
 
 " Look at the direction," was the curt 
 rejoinder. 
 
 Dym read : " Miss Elliott, care of the Reverend 
 William Elliott,'^ written in a flowing lady's 
 hand; then she turned it over, and examined 
 the crest : " Qui patitur vincit, — He conquers 
 who endures.'^ 
 
 " Why, that's our motto. Will.'' 
 
 " Impossible ! It is our crest," interrupted 
 Mr. Chichester. " The letter is from my mother. 
 Are the Chichesters and Elliotts related to each 
 other, then ?" 
 
 " From your mother !" breathlessly came from 
 Dym. 
 
 Her brother took the envelope quietly from 
 her hand and examined it. 
 
 " The clasped hands over the shield — yes, that 
 is ours. I believe, if the truth were known, we 
 are sixth or seventh cousins removed — that is, if 
 you are the Chichesters of Ingleside."
 
 A Glimpse into the Happy Valley. 141 
 
 " Yes, of course/^ somewhat impatiently. 
 
 " I saw the family tree once somewhere. I 
 know a Miss Fortescue,, my mother''s cousin, 
 married a Chichester; and I believe, in a 
 previous generation, there were other inter- 
 marriages between the Chichesters and Elliotts. 
 I know my grandfather^s name was Chichester 
 Elliott, and my own name is Fortescue/^ 
 
 " Yes, I see ; how droll ! pleasant though. I 
 wonder what my mother would say to it, if I 
 told her I>had found some new cousins. I don^t 
 think Beatrix would be quite pleased ^^ — with a 
 smile at Dym, who was still standing perplexedly 
 in the doorway. ^^ Is your branch of the family 
 quite extinct?" 
 
 Will pointed to Dym and himself. 
 
 " Humph ! worthy representatives. I don't 
 think we can quite claim cousinship though, 
 much as I should like it; the honour is too far 
 removed for that; but I think I will plague 
 Beatrix about our new relations.^^ 
 
 ^'' Please, don^t,"^ broke out involuntarily from 
 Dym. ^' But, Mr. Chichester, what makes your 
 mother write to me ?^' 
 
 "^ Open it and see. But here I am keeping 
 you both standing in the wet — good-night. By- 
 the-bye, Miss Elliott,-'^ coming back a few steps 
 and speaking mysteriously, " you will not send 
 your answer without letting me know what it is 
 to be." 
 
 '^ But where am I to find you, Mr. Chichester ?■" 
 
 " Where, oh, where ?" in a light mocking 
 voice. " Let me see ; I have acted postman
 
 142 Wooed and Married. 
 
 once in your behalf, so shall I do so again ? 
 Don^t send your letter till you sec me/^ 
 
 And after issuing this peremptory order, 
 Mr. Chichester again lifted his hat and departed. 
 
 " Now, Dym, for the letter/' cried Will, when 
 she had taken off her damp cloak and had 
 entered the sitting-room. " How long do you 
 suppose my patience can wait ?" 
 
 And Dym, whose hot cheeks had not yet 
 cooled from the excitement, drew her stool 
 forward, and suffered her brother to read it over 
 her shoulder. 
 
 " What a long letter ! O Will \" 
 
 " Hush ; we will talk about it afterwards.'^ 
 
 And Dym gave one little grasp, and hurried 
 on. 
 
 " ' My dear Miss Elliott,' it began. " What 
 nice writing \" murmured Dym. '' ' My dear 
 Miss Elliott, my son will have mutually introduced 
 us to each other, and I do not think I need 
 apologize for writing to you. I have long felt 
 a great interest in your In-other, from my son's 
 account of him.' " " Much obliged to her," 
 here came from Will, but Dym pinched him to 
 be quiet. ^' ^ He is doing a noble work for St. 
 Luke's, and needs all the help that our prayers 
 and the prayers of the faithful can give liim, to 
 strengthen his hands in such an unequal contest ; 
 and though a perfect stranger to me, I need not 
 say I -have long inchided St. Luke's in my lists 
 of iutercessions.' " Will's face looked so droll 
 at this juncture, that Dym threatened to finish: 
 the letter by herself. " No, no ; she means
 
 A Glimpse into the Happy Valley. 143 
 
 well; we are coming to the real business 
 directly /^ and they both read on — 
 
 " ^ My son tells me that you have lived for 
 some little time with my sister, Mrs. Tressilian, 
 in the capacity of Edith''s governess, and that, 
 owing to some disagreement with my eldest niece, 
 you were obliged to leave Lansdowne House 
 rather suddenly. Perhaps, as my son says there 
 were faults on both sides, I had better not enter 
 on this part of the subject.' " Quite right,'^ 
 muttered Dym ; " what business has Mr. Chi- 
 chester's mother to interfere?'' but she cooled 
 down a little farther on. ^' ^ My son hints that 
 teaching is not your vocation, and that your 
 friends wish to see you in some other capacity. 
 I am greatly in need myself of a pleasant 
 intelligent young lady, who would act as my 
 companion. Do you thiiik this would suit you ? 
 My son says it will exactly. I advise you, before 
 you decide, to talk it over with him. 
 
 '^ ^ But, my dear Miss Elliott, it will be 
 necessary for me to confide in you a little, in 
 order that you may understand your future 
 duties, should you think fit to accept my oifer. 
 I am afraid — for human nature is weak, and I 
 may say I am afraid — that it may please Provi- 
 dence, in its mysterious dispensation, to afflict me 
 with the loss of sight. I have been told by one 
 of our first oculists that a cataract is slowly 
 formiug in one eye, and lately there have been 
 the same symptoms in the other. If this goes 
 on — and I still shrink from the necessary opera- 
 tion — this must result in ultimate blindness, to
 
 144 Wooed and Married. 
 
 which^ I confess,, I look forward with some 
 dread. 
 
 " ' You Tvill be kind enough not to mention 
 this to my son, as I am happy to state that he 
 is still in ignorance of all this ; and as the 
 knowledge -uould distress him greatly, 1 wish it 
 to be kept from him as long as possible. Perhaps 
 his opportune suggestion of my having a com- 
 panion to amuse me may help to defer this 
 knowledge, as he will not notice my increasing 
 helplessness quite so soon. 
 
 ^' ^ I can still write, but with difficulty, only 
 all books are forbidden me ; a good reader is 
 therefore indispensable. And as my son tells 
 me you have a fair voice and pleasant intonation, 
 you will be a great acquisition to mc, < specially 
 if you also relieve me of all necessiry corre- 
 spondence, and assist mc in the several branches 
 of needlework, from which, I am tl.;tnkful to 
 say, I am not as yet debarred. 
 
 " ' I will leave my son to arrange ab< nt terms ; 
 perhaps we might say a hundred a year, if that 
 will meet your views. I shall be gird if you 
 will now communicate with me i)crs(Mially by 
 letter, as, in the event of your accc ptance, it 
 would be as well that we should iK't remain 
 strangers to each other. — With kind logards to 
 your brother, I remain, dear Miss Ell'v)tt, yours 
 truly, 
 
 '^^ Constance Medlicot Chic'iester. 
 
 " ' Ingieside, Birstwith, near Ripley.' 
 
 " A hundred a year, and with Mr. Cliichester's
 
 A Glimpse into the Happy Valley. 145 
 
 motlier ! O Will, Will V and in her fulness of 
 joy Dym gave him a great hug, which made him 
 wince with pain. Not a trace of it was suffered 
 to appear in his face though, as he took off his 
 spectacles and proudly surveyed his sister. 
 
 " A noble sum — and at eighteen too ! Why, 
 Dym, your fortune^s made. Latimer Chichester 
 has been your fairy godmother.^' 
 
 " And to think he had it in his pocket all the 
 time he was so disagreeable ! Will, do you 
 think that is what really took him away T* 
 '' 1 should not wonder." 
 
 " What, all the way to the North, and for 
 mer 
 
 " Very likely ; but I should advise you not to 
 speculate on probabilities. How about being a 
 daily governess now, Dym ?" 
 
 Dym contemplated him ruefully, and then her 
 face clouded. 
 
 " Well, little one, what now ?' 
 " O Will_, I forgot it was so far away."*^ 
 "Due north and south — Yorkshire and Kentish 
 Town j but never mind that." 
 
 " Ah, but I do mind. O Will, if you could 
 only live there too — in the Happy Valley, as 
 Edith calls it ?" 
 
 '^ My dear, I am cut out for London work ; 
 no inglorious ease, no rose-covered vicarage for 
 me. The grapes are sour. Dimples." 
 
 ^' It would just suit you," drawing a long 
 sigh. " Oh, you dear, patient boy, how am I to 
 leave you?" 
 
 Will patted her cheek indulgently, with a hand 
 
 VOL. I. 10
 
 146 Wooed and Married. 
 
 that was too white and thin, and smiled a little 
 sadly when Dym pulled it down and kissed it in^ 
 her girlish reverence. 
 
 " You glorious old Conqueror V 
 
 '^ You silly child J yoTi mean. Come, Dym, 
 this is not the way to sing your Te Deum/' 
 
 " I have not forgotten it/"* returned Dym, very 
 sweetly. " Why is it one always feels good when 
 one is happy T' 
 
 ^'^ Because happiness is intended to be our 
 normal state, I suppose, and ' we carry this con- 
 sciousness about with us as a remnant of our lost 
 Paradise/ as some one says ; and as a sign and 
 seal of our future one" he continued, almost in 
 a whisper, but Bym heard him. 
 
 Will rarely talked his religion, even to his 
 sister. He broke off now to remind her it was 
 late ; so Dym went off to her room, and dreamt 
 the pleasant dreams of youth, and Will sat far 
 into the night, till he waxed drowsy over his 
 work. 
 
 Dym was sitting at work the next day, the 
 floor was strewn with the pretty rose-coloured 
 breadths of a new dress she had just bought for 
 herself, when Mr. Chichester walked quietly in 
 and sat down beside her. 
 
 A moment afterwards he had taken up one of 
 the breadths, and was examining it critically. 
 
 " Very pretty. What do you call this — 
 grogram ?" 
 
 ^^ O Mr. Chichester, as though you did not 
 know better than that V laughed Dym ; ^' grog-
 
 A Glimpse mto the Happy Valley. 147 
 
 ram — who ever heard of such a stuff nowa- 
 days ?" 
 
 " Is it out of fashion^ then ? I should think 
 Pamela^ or Clarissa Harlowe, or one of Sir Charles 
 Grandison's ladies must have worn grogram. I 
 suppose now you call this general flimsiness 
 muslin. I knew an old gentleman, a friend of 
 my mother^s, who always classed all materials 
 for ladies^ dresses under the one head — 
 f grogram/ Well, what do all these prepara- 
 tions portend 'i" 
 
 " Guess/^ was the laughing answer. 
 
 Dym looked very fresh and bright this after- 
 noon, and she did not feel a bit afraid of Mr. 
 Chichester. What a beautifier happiness is ! 
 Even that severe critic Guy Chichester was 
 obliged to allow, as he looked at her, that there 
 was something very attractive about Miss Elliott. 
 '^ Guess,^' Dym had said, with the display of 
 dimples that had won for her her brother's pet 
 name. Mr. Chichester could not forbear a 
 smile. 
 
 " As though I have not guessed long ago. It 
 means, of course, that you have accepted my 
 mother^s invitation.^' 
 
 Dym nodded blithely. 
 
 " Indeed I have. O Mr. Chichester, a hundred 
 a year !" And her look added as plainly as a 
 look could, '' How delightful \" 
 
 " Does a hundred a year represent happiness 
 to you. Miss Elliott V a little sadly. 
 
 " No j but it offers independence, relief from 
 
 10—2
 
 148 Wooed and Married 
 
 "worry, my own honest maintenance, and a chance 
 of saving." 
 
 ^^ What ! all that for a hundred a year?" in- 
 credulously. 
 
 " Of course ; but, IMr. Chichester," dropping 
 her voice and speaking very earnestly, ^^ do you 
 really think I am worth so much ?" 
 
 " Now, Miss Telemachus, how am I to 
 answer that question ?" Dym blushed and 
 laughed again. 
 
 '' I wont have you quote that against me," 
 she said seriously ; ^' it is quite right for me to 
 ask you this, because your mother says I am to 
 consult you about it." 
 
 " Leaves it to me, does she ? Mistaken 
 woman ! Suppose, Miss Elliott, w^e say two 
 hundred then," with a merry twinkle. 
 
 "• ]Mr. Chichester, I did think you were going 
 to help me," somewhat reproachfully. 
 
 " Help you ! Of course I will ; as regards 
 this, it seems my mother names her own terms. 
 1 can only advise you to close with them as 
 quickly as possible." 
 
 '^ There is my answer," returned Dym 
 promptly, handing him the letter. 
 
 " Fastened up securely ! I am not to read it, 
 then ?" 
 
 " Of course not ; it is all right. Will has 
 looked over it." 
 
 " Has he? AVell, and what does Will Clericus 
 say — about the whole thing I mean ?" 
 
 "^ He is so pleased — so grateful about it all; 
 he never expected me to do half so well, I be-
 
 A Glimpse hito the Happy Valley. 149 
 
 lieve ; lie calls you my fairy godmother^ Mr. 
 Chichester/' 
 
 Mr. Chichester threw back his head and 
 laughed. "Well done^ Will Clericus. Why^ 
 that is better than dubbing myself Mentor. I 
 can''t promise you a pumpkin chariot to convey 
 you to Ingleside, Miss Elliott; but perhaps I might 
 manage to meet you at the station with my bays/' 
 
 ^^ Do you think that will be necessary ? You 
 must remember I am going to be your mother's 
 companion/^ said Dym. bravely, with the sweet 
 honesty which came so naturally to her. 
 
 Mr. Chichester's kindly liking for the lonely 
 girl positively deepened into something like 
 respect at this. 
 
 " Now I shouldn't have thought you capable 
 of such a speech/'' he retorted bluntly. ^^ Never 
 mind what I mean by that ; I am given to speak 
 in hieroglyphics. It is the fashion at Ingleside 
 to fetch all our friends from the station. I sup- 
 pose, though you are my mother's companion^ 
 you will allow me, if only for your brother's sake, 
 to include you in that category ?" 
 
 Dym gave him a grateful look. 
 
 " One thing/^ he went on with the same kind 
 seriousness, '^ I want to warn you against specu- 
 lating too much on your chances of happiness 
 with us — castles in the air are apt to dissolve in 
 a blue mist; even the Happy Valley has its draw- 
 back. We have no perfect paradises here un- 
 fortunately, so my advice to you. Miss Elliott, is, 
 take everything as it comes, and make the best 
 of it ; why, even my mother, though she is the
 
 150 Wooed and Married, 
 
 dearest mother in the world, may disappoint you 
 sometimes." 
 
 " But she is kind, is she not ?" asked Dyra, 
 rather timidly. She had conjured up in her 
 imagination a very stately old-fashioned dame, 
 very much like Guy himself, only somewhat 
 oracular in speech, and she did not wish her 
 illusion to be dispelled. 
 
 " Kind ! my mother is goodness itself ; but you 
 must not cross her pet hobbies if Inglcside is to 
 be the paradise you paint it." 
 
 " What are they ? DonH you think it might 
 be as well to know them beforehand ?" asked 
 Dym rather anxiously. 
 
 " Oh, you want to know how to steer, do you ? 
 What a crafty little person you must be ! Well, 
 I advise you to beware of Scylla and Charybdis. 
 Whatever your secret opinion may be about that 
 worthy divine, never say anything against Jeremy 
 Taylor, and always look edified when my mother 
 quotes him — that is Scylla, rock number one ; 
 now for the whirlpool Charybdis — never praise 
 Miss Nethecote ?" 
 
 " Jeremy Taylor ! Why, I have never read him, 
 or Thomas a Kempis either," cried Dym, in 
 despair. " And who is Miss Nethecote ?" 
 
 " A lady you will often see," returned Mr. 
 Chichester briefly, and stroking his beard. Pro- 
 bably he repented of this bit of confidence, for 
 he frowned somewhat, and changed the subjcci. 
 
 ^^ Did my mother mention any special duties 
 that you were to undertake. Miss Elliott ?" 
 
 "Yes; but they sounded too pleasant to be
 
 A Glimpse into the Happy Valley, 151 
 
 called duties. I am to read to her, and carry on 
 her correspondence, and to help her with her 
 f ancy- w ork " 
 
 ^' And wash the poodle, eh ? By the way, my 
 mother hates dogs, and I fill the house with them. 
 Dutiful, isn't it ? Miss Elliott, you talk lightly 
 of your duties — ^ where ignorance is bliss,'' you 
 know. You have no idea of the onerous task 
 that lies before. A hundred a year is buying you 
 cheaply; you will be a sort of white slave in 
 Ingleside. Do you know, my mother is a pro- 
 digious reader, only hitherto she has always read 
 to herself. This is a new w^him, having some 
 one to read to her.^' 
 
 " I shall like it above all things," maintained 
 Dym stoutly; ^^ teaching Edith was hard work 
 compared to this." 
 
 " Wait till you have tried," with a comical 
 glance. " How will you like reading by method, 
 I wonder — the Times and theology in the 
 morning, biography and travels in the afternoon, 
 and works of fiction in the evening ? Beware 
 of making a false computation of time, Miss 
 Elliott. To read any other than Paley's Evi- 
 dences before eleven, or to touch Letters from 
 Zanzibar before noon, would be a grievous offence 
 in my mother's eyes. I don't believe she could 
 enjoy the richest humour of Dickens till the 
 lamps were lit. I found her making a night of 
 it once over David Copperfield. 1 remember 
 well she twice sent her maid upstairs to fetch her 
 a pocket-handkerchief, when Dorothy ought to 
 have brought her a nightcap instead."
 
 152 Wooed and Married. 
 
 " You wont frighten me, Mr. Chichester/'' 
 
 " No, I believe you are invulnerable this after- 
 noon. My mother is rather fond of a Johnsonian 
 style of correspondence. But do you round your 
 periods well, and dot all your i^s V 
 
 " Will says I never do," was the laughing 
 response. 
 
 Mr. Chichester shook his head gravely. 
 
 " I am only warning. Never mind, I have 
 discharged my conscience, and now abandon you 
 to your own steering. Seriously, did my mother 
 really write you a kind letter, i\Iiss Elliott ?" 
 
 " Oh yes, it was very, very kind ; and indeed, 
 Mr. Chichester, at the risk of driving you away, 
 I must say thank you for all this.''' 
 
 '^ Well, say it, and be done with it/' rather 
 gruflfly. Then after a moment's silence that 
 frightened Dym, ^ ^ It was curious, wasu^t it, that 
 my mother should have been looking out for 
 some one of the kind ?" 
 
 " Very strange.'' 
 
 '' Why, I expected to have a vast amount of 
 trouble in persuading her to try you ; instead of 
 which, she thanked me with tears in her eyes for 
 proposing it. If she did not look just as well 
 and cheerful as usual, I should have been quite 
 uneasy ; as it was, I was rather taken aback by 
 her ready consent. She did not say anything to 
 you in her letter about getting old, or any non- 
 sense of that sort, did she ?''' turning on her 
 abruptly. 
 
 " No," returned Dym, hesitating ; she must be 
 very careful how she guarded Mrs. Chichester's
 
 A Glimpse into the Happy Valley. 153 
 
 confidence. ^'^ She spoke very kindly about 
 WiU/^ 
 
 ^^ Ah, you are in clover there. You may talk 
 all day about St. Luke^s to my mother, and she 
 Avould never be weary of it. Clergymen are her 
 pet hobby. Pity we can^t have your brother 
 down there/^ with a dissatisfied shrug. 
 
 " Haven^t you a nice vicar V asked Dym, 
 pleased with these snatches of confidence. 
 
 " Humph ! my mother likes him, though I 
 notice she never says anything about his sermons. 
 Mr. Fortescue — he is a relative too, you see ; 
 Cousin Latimer we call him — has one fault ; he 
 can^t forget he is a Fortescue, and unfortunately 
 his wife cannot forget it either, or that she was a 
 baronet^s daughter. It is such a pity ; the ^dcar- 
 age -vacs with the great house in setting the 
 fashion in Birstwith, only don^t tell my mother 
 so, please.''^ 
 
 '^ Why ?^^ in a tone of much amusement. 
 
 " Miss Elliott, do you always ask so many ques- 
 tions ? I think ^ come and sec* shall be my stock 
 answer. Please to recollect my mother is a sort 
 of female Louis Quatorze in all matters of form 
 and etiquette, and that the Trevors, and Miss 
 Nethecote, and even my high and mighty Cousin 
 Katherine herself are only satellites of her court. 
 But a truce to our idle gossip. You are neg- 
 lecting your work shamefully. Miss Elliott ; and 
 here comes Will Clericus." 
 
 Will had plenty to say to his friend ; and 
 they instantly plunged into St. Luke^s and parish 
 matters. And it was not till the end of the
 
 1 54 Wooed and Married. 
 
 eveuing that Dym^s private affairs came ou the 
 tapis again. 
 
 '- AVe have settled everything except the time, 
 I believe," observed Dym^s fairy godmother. 
 
 Will looked up quickly, and then sighed. 
 
 '^ You mean when I am to lose Dym. When 
 do you think it will be convenient to Mrs. 
 Chichester to receive her?" 
 
 " To-morrow." 
 
 " O Will !" with an appealing look at him. 
 
 ^' Better let me go home first and deliver the 
 letter, or shall I post it ?" looking coolly at 
 Dym^s frightened face. 
 
 '^ You will have to reconcile yourself to Peter 
 and the bays." 
 
 '' Shall we say next week, Latimer — pooh, I 
 mean Chichester ?" 
 
 "Right. That will suit all parties. Well, 
 Elliott, it is good-bye to St. Lukc^'s." 
 
 " Do you mean you are not coming back 
 for a long time ?" 
 
 '•' That depends on my moods and tenses, and 
 on certain — yes, on certain other circumstances ; 
 besides, for the present I am going to try how 
 idleness agrees with me." 
 
 " You have tried it once too often, by your 
 own account. I only judge you from your own 
 words. Why not travel ?" 
 
 " A pretty thing to say to a man who has 
 been bored at the Pyramids, yawned over the 
 Prophet's tomb, who has bartered temper and 
 Russian furs together, and been fit to drown 
 himself in the Falls of Niagara."
 
 A Glimpse into the Happy Valley. 155 
 
 " Turn over a new leaf^ then. Try farming." 
 
 " Oh, Nethecote does all that.'' 
 
 " Who is Nethecote T' 
 
 Dym, who had longed to ask the same ques- 
 tion_, almost clapped her hands. She listened^ 
 full of interest. 
 
 '^ Oh, he farms all the land for twelve miles 
 round — mine, his own, and Harry Trevor's in 
 the bargain; makes a good thing out of it, I 
 should say. I remember the time when he was 
 only under-bailiff. It shows what a man can 
 do by industry and perseverance. Everything 
 old Humphrey does turns to gold." 
 
 " Is he very old ?" asked Dym curiously. She 
 had forgotten, and was wondering almost again. 
 
 '^ Is he such a very ^ aged, aged man,' you 
 mean ? What did I say. Miss Elliott ? Come 
 and see." And thus rebuked, Dym went back 
 to her work in silence, and shortly afterwards 
 the subject dropped altogether. 
 
 The next evening Dym heard that Mr. 
 Chichester had been at the night-school, and had 
 given the boys a supper ; and the following day 
 he came to 'wish them good-bye. 
 
 " Keep up a good heart, Elliott, when your 
 sister is gone. We'll take care of her ; and 
 you've promised to come down and pay us a 
 visit. My mother insists on it, remember.'^ 
 Then to Dym : '' Good-bye, Miss Elliott ; au 
 revoir. When next we meet I hope you will 
 have forgiven me for my harshness to Edith's 
 governess." 
 
 " O Mr. Chichester, thatwas forgiven long ago."
 
 156 Wooed and Married. 
 
 " Very well ; then you must promise me abso- 
 lution beforeliand for the very next offence I 
 commit; look out for the bays on Thursday/' 
 And then he shook hands with them both and 
 left the room ; but Will followed him^ and the 
 two were walking up and down before Paradise 
 Row for a long time. The street was noisy and 
 full of children. Dym, from the window, saw 
 Guy Chichester gently pick up a crying child 
 and send it in to his mother; and once even, in 
 the midst of what seemed to be an engrossing 
 talk, he interfered between a knot of boys who 
 were beginning a scuffle ; and lastly, as a Sister 
 of ]\Icrcy — rather a rare spectacle m that 
 neighbourhood — came swiftly down the street in 
 long black cloak and close bonnet, under which 
 was a sweet, kindly young face, she saw Guy 
 Chichester raise his hat and stand bareheaded 
 till she had passed. 
 
 Dym had very few evenings with her brother, 
 and the last came all too quickly, as last even- 
 ings will do, and the next morning Will took 
 her to King's Cross himself, and put her in 
 the second-class carriage. 
 
 '^ Well, good-bye, Dimples ; take care of vour 
 little self.'' 
 
 '•' Oh, good-bye, my darling Will Conqueror/' 
 cried the little sister, sorrowfully. 
 
 " Don't fall to hero-worship too strongly, 
 and as Chichester himself says, Mook out for 
 breakers ahead.' There, God bless you, pet ; 
 you know how I shall miss you; and some- 
 thing husky came into Will's throat. Dym
 
 A Glimpse into the Eajjjoy Valley. 157 
 
 could only cling about his neck crving; her 
 heart was too full for speech. 
 
 " What a good face that young man has, 
 and yet how painfully deformed he is!'' said 
 a young lady to her father, who was watching 
 them fi'om the platform, "and, papa, I do 
 believe he is a clergyman too ; how soriy the 
 poor thing seems to be V 
 
 '' Ah, a sweetheart or sister I suppose ; come, 
 jump in, Minnie/' and Will, squeezing his 
 sister's hand, drew back and let them pass him. 
 Five minutes afterwards the train glided from 
 the station, a handkerchief fluttered, hands waved, 
 hats were lifted, the porters jostled past him, 
 and William Elliott was left alone.
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 THE VALLEY OF THE NIDD. 
 
 no has not heard of the Valley of the 
 Nidd? 
 
 A^isitors Avho resort to Harrogate, 
 that gay queen of inland watering-places, are 
 tolerably conversant with that fair tract of 
 country, well watered as another Eden by the 
 river Nidd, wherein lies this beautiful and 
 picturesque valley. 
 
 Pateley Bridge, Nidderdale, Birstwith, Hamps-- 
 thwaite, and Kiplcy all in their turn recall 
 summer wanderings and pleasant days of excur- 
 sion and holiday, and looking down over the rich 
 extent of meadow and pasture, thickly sown 
 with woods and plantations, one is driven to 
 confess that this is the garden of the West 
 Riding of Yorkshire. Down in a dip or hollow 
 of the valley lies Birstwith, its postal town 
 being Ripley, dropped down snugly on the 
 banks of the Nidd, a tiny toy village or " story- 
 book village," as some chance visitors termed it. 
 
 There is a pleasant Arcadian simplicity about 
 Birstwith, aU the same that there is a flavour of
 
 The Valley of the Nidd. 159 
 
 monopoly about it. Though only twenty minutes 
 by rail from Harrogate^ and boasting a station of 
 its owU;, the influx of visitors is rare; the only 
 lodgings to be procured are just opposite the 
 butcher^s. "Not at home to strangers ^^ is as plainly 
 legible in the whole aspect of the village as though 
 it were written up on a sign-board_, and creaked 
 noisily over the Railway Inn. 
 
 Not that there is any lack of hospitality 
 among the Birstwithians; on the contrary, the 
 curious stranger, though uninvited and his pre- 
 sence by no means solicited, is always made 
 heartily welcome at the vicarage and the mill. 
 The hospitality of the North is proverbial, nor 
 is Birstwith one whit behind in this respect, 
 though she guards her beauties coyly fi-om un- 
 discriminative eyes, and would fain hide herself 
 from general observation. And a fairer English 
 village never lay shrouded among the Yorkshire 
 moors. 
 
 From the level platform of the station the 
 view is singularly graceful and picturesque. The 
 arch of the road leading to the village with the 
 weir itself is indeed hidden, but the mill and the 
 mill-house, with its blackened ruin standing 
 amidst the trim garden, is the first object visible; 
 then the church and the Great House, which, 
 from its elevation, looks down over the entire 
 village; houses sparsely scattered here and there 
 gleam out in soft whiteness among the park-like 
 meadows, the river Nidd flowing through them, 
 now gliding on between its banks under a wealth 
 of umbrageous foKage, now chafing over its
 
 IGO Wooed and Married. 
 
 smooth white boulders, now twined into narrow 
 curves, or forming dark cool pools, where the 
 small red oxen come down to drink, — river and 
 meadows and richly wooded banks going on 
 alluringly for miles. 
 
 Dym, who was well tired by her journey and 
 her long waiting at the bustling Harrogate 
 station, trusted, from the slackening of the 
 engine, that they were drawing to their journey's 
 end, and could not help an audible sigh of 
 disappointment when Hampsthwaite instead of 
 Birstwith met her eye. Her sole fellow 
 passenger, who had got in at Harrogate, put 
 down his paper and smiled, and then, with a 
 thorough Englishman's mauvaise honte, not being 
 able to make up his mind to speak, took it up 
 again. 
 
 Dym yawned and looked at him ; he was a 
 tall muscular-looking man, very tanned and 
 freckled as though by constant exposure to sun 
 and wind, with strongly developed homely 
 features, and sandy — no, red hair, somewliat 
 sun-dried too ; he was dressed in a rough grey 
 suit, and wore shooting- gaiters and a broad- 
 brimmed straw hat, almost as broad as a 
 planter's ; his hands were large and freckled 
 also ; nevertheless Dym felt he was a gentleman. 
 
 But his face did not interest her, so she read 
 the back of the paper instead. The Pateley 
 Bridge, Nidderdale, and Ripon Herald — how dull 
 it bounded after the Daily Telegraph! Dym 
 co^ild just catch sight of the right-hand advertise- 
 ruci^t — '^The Braisty Woods Estate, in the
 
 The Valley of the Nidd. 161 
 
 parisli of Kirkby Malzeard^^ — what names! there^s 
 a worse one lower down — " Scriven-with-Tenter- 
 gate /' who ever heard of such a place ! and Dym 
 read on : " Scriven-with-Tentergate. To be sold 
 by anction_, at the Commercial Hotel, Knares- 
 borough^ all that close of excellent grass land 
 called Halfpenny Close, containing la. 2r. Op/^ — 
 whatever does that mean, 1 wonder ! — '^ be the 
 same more or less'' — how enigmatical ! — '' situate 
 in the township of Scriven-with-Tentergate, 
 adjoining the Knaresborough and Boroughbridge 
 Road/' read on Dym perplexedly, till she was 
 aware of a pair of light-hazel eyes peering at her 
 over the top of the paper. Dym bit her lip and 
 turned away. " May I offer you the paper ?" 
 volunteered the owner of the eyes in a voice not 
 quite free from the northern dialect, and with a 
 decided burr in it. Dym declined in rather a 
 shamefaced manner, and then, curiosity getting 
 the better of her timidity, ^'^Are we far from 
 Birstwith ?" she asked, with difficulty suppressing 
 another yawn. The gentleman smiled ; he had 
 a wide mouth, and when he smiled, he showed a 
 row of strong white teeth, and the skin under 
 his eyes puckered and wrinkled up; it was odd, 
 but it was irresistible ; it made Dym smile too. 
 
 " We shall be there in a very few minutes 
 now," he observed. " We have just passed 
 Hampsthwaite." 
 
 *' Where the station-master had a wooden leg ; 
 yes, I know;" and then, in spite of her efforts 
 to be very proper, Dym could not help putting 
 another rather funny question — " Do all the 
 
 VOL. I. 11
 
 162 Wooed and Married. 
 
 station-masters about here have only one leg or 
 one arm V' for Dym''s quick eyes had noted this 
 singularity. 
 
 It was impossible to help laughing, which her 
 new acquaintance did very heartily : it is 
 astonishing how a laugh does away with all 
 stiffness, even in a railway compartment where 
 there are only two occupants. 
 
 " You have noticed this peculiarity at our 
 three little stations, then : these disabled 
 pensioners of the service are placed there because 
 traffic is easy and work light. Our station- 
 master at Birstwith has his full complement of 
 legs and arms. You are passing through V with 
 an interrogative glance, not iuquisitive but 
 courteous. 
 
 " I am staying there ; please let me know as 
 soon as we are in sight of it,^^ she added in a 
 pleading voice. 
 
 " Which will be in a few minutes. Ah, I 
 know now, you are the young lady from London 
 whom Mrs. Chichester is expecting.^ 
 
 " How do you know that ?^^ turning on him 
 sharply, and her manner said very plainly, 
 " Who are you, I should like to know ?" 
 
 "Every one knows every one else^s business 
 in Birstwith ; that comes of living in a village. 
 Now look out from your or my window; there's 
 tlie miU/' 
 
 " What a pretty garden, and water too ! Oh, 
 and what an ugly black ruin !" 
 
 "Marks of some recent fire; there now, you 
 see the church — such a lovelv church — and the
 
 TJie Valley of the Nidd. 163 
 
 Great Hoiise^ as we call it; Ingleside I mean. 
 Now here we are at the station ; let me help 
 you out/^ 
 
 A fresh free wind blew round Dym as she 
 alighted; the late beams of an August sun 
 touched the level glories of meadows and rivers, 
 and lit them up into radiance ; the west was a 
 mass of rose colour and purple clouds ; from 
 woods and meadows the birds sang lustily ; the 
 lowing of cattle came over the uplands. Dym 
 stood on the high platform^ a little doubtful and 
 confused by the sudden beauty, while her 
 travelling companion handed out plaid shawl, 
 bonnet-box, and black bag. 
 
 " Halloa, Humphrey, playing ladies^-man, by 
 way of change. Leave all that for Dyson, man. 
 Here, Dyson, see after this lady^s luggage, and 
 send it up to Ingleside. Now, Miss Elliott, and 
 how do you do?"*^ 
 
 A moment before Dym was feeling strange 
 and uneasy ; now she seemed to. be back at St. 
 Luke^s again, or even in the narrow close 
 schoolroom at Lansdowne House. Guy Chi- 
 chester^s figure, in the old shooting- coat, looked 
 so delightfully familiar, even amid its new sur- 
 roundings, that her courage rose again. She put 
 her hand in his, and declared, in answer to his 
 inquiry, she was only a very, very little bit tired, 
 albeit a few minutes since she had been yawning 
 fearfully. 
 
 ^^That^s well,^^ he replied, with a glance of 
 amity that made her foolish little heart beat 
 more quickly. " You must have had a terribly 
 
 11—3
 
 164 TFooed and Married. 
 
 dull journey, though, all alone from Kinj^'s 
 Cross. Where did you put in an appearance, 
 Humphrey '^" 
 
 " Harrogate,^^ was the laconic answer. 
 
 '^ Harrogate ! Harry Trevor has come up by 
 this train too, I see. Well, you may safely trust 
 your goods and chattels to Dyson. Miss Elliott, 
 will you come with me, please ? Humphrey, I 
 suppose I can^t give you a lift?'' 
 
 ^' Not exactly ; Honor is waiting tea for me. 
 W^ell, squire, good-night. Good-night, Miss — 
 Miss '' 
 
 " Miss Elliott. W^hat, haven't you exchanged 
 cards yet ? Permit me ; Miss Elliott — INIr. 
 Humphrey Ncthccote, the worthiest and the 
 most honest Yorkshireman in the whole of the 
 West Riding;" and after this singular introduc- 
 tion, Mr. Chichester turned on his heel with a 
 nod and " follow me" wave of tlie hand, and 
 preceded them down the steep staircase, turning 
 back to offer a hand to Dym, who was not quite 
 so light-footed as usual. 
 
 " Been far, squire ? The bays look heated." 
 
 ^^ Only to Ripley and back. Took the waggo- 
 nette, you see. What's the matter with the 
 mare's foot, Peter — the oft-side one ?" And Mr. 
 Chichester went anxiously round to see, returning 
 a moment later with " all right," and bidding 
 Dym jump in. 
 
 "■ Down, Kelpie, down." 
 
 ^^ Kelpie — oh, I know. What a beautiful 
 dog !" exclaimed Dym, as a large Scotch collie
 
 The Valley of the Nidd. \ 6 5 
 
 dashed delightedly round Mr. Nethecote, and 
 then slobberedj well pleased, over his hand. 
 
 ^^ Kelpie knows his friends, Humphrey. His 
 delight is a tacit reproach for not coming up 
 oftener to Ingleside. Change your mind now, 
 man^ and throw over tea for a slice of our black 
 mutton.-''' 
 
 Mr. Nethecote shook his head. '^ What would 
 Honor say V 
 
 Mr. Chichester, who was drawing on his 
 driving-gloves, merely shrugged his shoulders 
 expressively. " Well, if you wont be persuaded, 
 good-bye, and love to Honor. We will bring 
 Miss Elliott to see her some day. Are you quite 
 comfortable, Miss Elliott?" regarding her bene- 
 volently from' his seat. ^'^We will drive slowly 
 through the village for your sake. You wont 
 mind the mare being a little playful at starting. 
 No matter how much I work her, she^s always 
 skittish, the jade — like the rest of her sex," Dym 
 was sure she heard him add under his breath. 
 " There, let go her head, Peter ;" and the next 
 minute they were clattering over the bridge, 
 where Mr. Nethecote, who was striding on, 
 nearly tumbled over a perambulator and a baby, 
 the two elder children beiag too much engaged 
 in curtsying to the squire to wheel it out of the 
 way. 
 
 Dym uttered a little cry of admiration as they 
 passed the mouth of the weir. Some boys were 
 splashing bare-legged among the boulders; the 
 water had a silvery gleam and flash ; the trees on
 
 166 Wooed and Married. 
 
 either side drooped their dark branches into the 
 stream ; under the bridge there was a strand of 
 pebbles; the mill-wheel whirred noisily. 
 
 '^'^They are late at work to-night/' she heard 
 Mr. Chichester say to Peter. 
 
 Past two shady-looking houses, with a drinking- 
 pump beside them ; past a long stretch of level 
 grass-land, so evenly kept and so well planted 
 with trees, that Dym thought it must be the park 
 belonging to the Great House, till she found out 
 her mistake afterwards ; past the almshouses, 
 with the monumental inscription in the centre of 
 the garden ; past the post-ofifice, the tailor's, and 
 one or two other shops ; then came the vicarage, 
 a low grey house, set prettily in its own grounds, 
 and looking on to the church, which stood high, 
 and had to be gained by formidable tiers of steps ; 
 round a sharp corner and past another grey 
 house ; then the lodge gates, and a long, but not 
 very wide sweep of carriage road leading to the 
 great house itself But Dym noticed they had 
 been ascending ever since they had left the mill; 
 this elevation gave her a glorious view over the 
 country. 
 
 In Dym's eyes Inglcside was a very imposing 
 residence. A large, white, irregularly built house 
 with innumerable windows, each commanding 
 separate views of interest, surrounded by large 
 sloping gardens, laid out tastefully in flower 
 parterres and terraces, and with walled-ia 
 kitchen gardens, whereof Dym caught sunny 
 glimpses. 
 
 " Voila Ingleside. Welcome the coming, speed
 
 The Valley of the Nidd. 167 
 
 the parting guest — that's our motto, Miss Elliott. 
 Take care of the wheel ; let me help you down/' 
 coming round to her assistance. " Where's my 
 mother?'' he inquired of the grey-haired butler, 
 to whom the sound of wheels had advertised 
 their arrival. 
 
 " In the drawing-room. Dinner is ready, 
 squire." 
 
 " Not served, I hope. Miss Elliott, you will 
 not be able to change your toilette to-night. 
 Tired, eh?" with one of those abrupt surveys 
 that were natural to Mr. Chichester. 
 
 " No," replied Dym, almost inaudibly ; but 
 she did not volunteer the statement that she felt 
 very nervous. She followed Mr. Chichester 
 keeping very (!!losely in his shadow, as they 
 passed through the large pleasant hall, prettily 
 inlaid with tesselated pavement, and then into a 
 side corridor, with a painted window and a con- 
 servatory, where Dym got a delicious glimpse of 
 cool green ferns, and heard the bubble of a foun- 
 tain ; then a door was flung open, a sweet soft 
 perfume as of roses suddenly pervaded the air, 
 and then Dym found herself in a large low room, 
 with narrow windows opening on to the lawn, 
 and full of old-fashioned chintz couches and 
 settees. A tall beautiful-faced woman, looking 
 in her brocade and lace ruffles as though she 
 had just stepped out from a picture-frame, came 
 forward to meet them. 
 
 '' Mother, I have brought Miss Elliott after 
 all. I told you I should be back from Ripley in 
 time to meet the train."
 
 1 OS Wooed and Married. 
 
 Dym was taken by the liaud, and kindly 
 scrutinized. 
 
 " You are very welcome, my dear ;" then the 
 tone relaxing from its slight formality with 
 excessive surprise. " How very young you are. 
 Miss Elliott! AMiy, Guy, this is hardly more 
 than a child/' Mr. Chichester laughed. "Why, 
 indeed, mother, I believe Miss Elliott has attained 
 the sober age of eighteen,'" he began ; but Dym, 
 who by reason of her frequent failures had been 
 taught to consider her youth as a fault, broke 
 out here a little pitifully — 
 
 " Please don't say I am too young," she said, 
 addressing ]Mrs. Chichester ; " I shall get older 
 soon. They all tell me that, and then I lose 
 heart about things ; but, indeed, I do mean to 
 try my best to please you ;" and as Dym ended 
 her little speech, faltering and blushing and look- 
 ing ready to qv\, she found a motherly kiss 
 imprinted on her cheek, and herself placed on a 
 corner of the couch with kindly peremptoriness. 
 
 " That's right, mother ; she looks terribly 
 tired. I believe Miles is just going to sound 
 the gong for dinner. Miss Elliott, you have 
 had the dust and fatigue of a long journey. 
 Ingleside is Liberty Hall — we have no rules of 
 the Medes and Persians here. My mother will 
 let you do just as you like. Will you come 
 down to dinner with us, or have a cup of tea in 
 your own room ?" 
 
 " Oh, a cup of tea, please," gasped out Dym. 
 It was all so strange and grand, and Dym felt 
 so travel- soiled beside Mrs. Chichester's silvery
 
 The Valley of the Nidd. 169 
 
 brocade^ a little rest and quiet would be refresh- 
 ing ; it was so thoughtful of Mr. Chichester to 
 propose it. 
 
 '^ Shall I ring for Dorothy, mother?'^ 
 
 ^^ No^ Gruy, thank you. I will show Miss 
 Elliott to her room myself. Come, my dear, 
 come ;^^ and Dym \ras thankful to obey. 
 
 ^^ I thought you would prefer a small room 
 next to me rather than a large one in the next 
 wing/'' observed Mrs. Chichester, as they went 
 up the low broad stairs together. 
 
 Dym, who was admiring the polished oak and 
 the antique car^dng of the balustrades, said 
 gratefully, " Oh, yes, thank you."*^ 
 
 " It is the Grey Room. We call all our rooms 
 after the colour of the paper and hangings — 
 mine is the Blue Room, and my son^s, which 
 is opposite, the Red Room. This is yours. Miss 
 Elliott.^^ 
 
 Dym remembered her garret and throne of 
 boxes at Lansdowne House, and the little glimpse 
 of the green park seen over the roofs of houses. 
 The Grey Room was small, but its two windows 
 commanded an enchanting prospect of the 
 garden, church, and meadows,, with silvery 
 flashes of the Nidd sparkling through the trees. 
 Dym^s brief survey took in an easy-chair, a 
 reading-table with a bowl of roses on it, and a 
 little bed, all grey and rose pink ; and then Cin- 
 derella gave a long-drawn sigh of pleasure. 
 
 *^^ How nice and pretty ! too pretty for me, 
 is it not ? I have never had such a room in my 
 life before.^'
 
 170 Wooed and Married. 
 
 Mrs. Chichester smiled benignantly at the 
 girFs frankness. 
 
 •^ I hope you will enjoy many pleasant dreams 
 in it, my dear. Ah_, there's the gong, and I 
 must not keep my son waiting. You shall have 
 some tea, and when you are rested, Dorothy 
 shall help you to unpack and arrange your 
 things. Remember, you are to make yourself 
 quite at home.'' 
 
 Dym^s first thought when she was left alone 
 was if only Will could see her, and the next a 
 feeling of wonderment that this should be 
 Mrs. Trcssilian's sister. 
 
 Mrs. Tressilian was very kind and motherly, 
 but " how unlike," soliloquized Dym, as she 
 recalled the fair lymphatic face and somewhat 
 obese proportions of that lady. 
 
 Mrs. Chichester was tall and somewhat full in 
 person, but she carried herself as erect as a girl. 
 Her complexion had retained its delicate colour- 
 ing of youth, and the large soft white curls 
 were just suited to her peculiar style of beauty. 
 She had evidently been a belle in her youth, 
 and still gloried innocently in that fact. Dym 
 thought she had never seen a statelier gentle- 
 woman. She told Mr. Chichester afterwards 
 that she admired his mother's quaint old- 
 fashioned way of dressing herself. " It is so 
 picturesque, and so out of the common,'" she 
 said. 
 
 " Ah, we've got to grogram at last,'' he re- 
 turned, smiling. '' None of your flimsy material, 
 your fly-catching sort of dresses, for my mother.
 
 The Valley of the Nidd. 17 1 
 
 If Jeremy Taylor had drawn up sumptuary laws, 
 ordering ^ that ye habits of ye gentlewomen be 
 always silken or of clothe of velvet or brocaded 
 tissues/ my mother could not have worn those 
 fabrics more obediently. Have you noticed what 
 a beautiful hand she has, Miss Elliott, and how 
 she always wears lace ruffles to set it off? You 
 have not an ugly hand yourself, by the way — 
 why not try what real Valenciennes will do 
 for you ? Isn''t my mother a regular female 
 Louis Quatorze V 
 
 A very neat-handed Phyllis, evidently a village 
 maiden, brought up Dym's tea. It turned out 
 her name was Phyllis, and that she was especially 
 bidden to wait on the new companion. Dym 
 liked her rosy cheeks and rustic manners ex- 
 ceedingly. She found out afterwards she was 
 the miller^'s daughter, and being a protegee of 
 Mrs. Chichester^s, had been taken to serve at the 
 Great House. ^^ There being so many of us, 
 miss, and the mill- house being hardly big enough 
 for the whole of us.''^ 
 
 Dym was delighted with Phyllis, but she 
 stood greatly in awe of Mistress Dorothy. 
 Dorothy wore a black silk, which was fresher 
 than Dym^'s very best company dress ; she had 
 grey curls, pinned up in imitation of Mrs. Chi- 
 chester, and a sober, somewhat hard-featured 
 face. Dym would willingly have declined her 
 assistance if she dared, but eighteen is not pro- 
 lific in moral courage. Dorothy^s attentions 
 were terrifying, but they were scarcely to be set 
 aside.
 
 172 Wooed and Married, 
 
 Dym's cheeks burned as her one box -was 
 unpacked, and her poor little dresses laid out on 
 the bed one by one by Dorothy's skilful hands, 
 ^'hat would Mrs. Chichester's grand maid think 
 of their scanty number, and of all her little 
 contrivances ; the few laces she had picked to 
 pieces, and washed and ironed herself; the 
 collars she had stitched ; her little stock of 
 ribbon and finerj^ : the one simple straw bonnet, 
 with its fresh trimmings, which, with her old 
 brown hat, was all Dym could boast ? 
 
 Dym's heart need not have throbbed so in its 
 girlish pride and wounded vanity. If Dorothy 
 had a hard-featured face, she had a warm heart. 
 Her quick eyes certainly detected the poverty, 
 but it only moved her to kindly pity for the 
 young stranger. 
 
 " Miss Beatrix doesn't fit ■ her dresses better,'' 
 she observed, during the confidential period 
 when she was brushing out her mistress's hair. 
 
 The new inmate at Ingleside was sleeping 
 peacefully when !Mrs. Chichester and her maid 
 were discussing her with the kindly curiosity 
 and discrimination natural to women. " And 
 then eveni'thing so neat, too. She can work 
 lace rarely, I see ; and her cuffs and collars were 
 of such a beautiful colour ! One always knows 
 when one touches a lady's things ; a lady's a 
 lady, be she ever so poor." 
 
 I think it would have been a salve to Dym's 
 pride if she had heard Dorothy. 
 
 Mrs. Chichester did not come up again, but 
 she sent a message by Phyllis, hoping that
 
 TJte Valley of the Xidd. 173 
 
 Miss Elliott had all she wanted, and that she 
 would recommend her to seek her bed early. 
 
 Dym did not do this, but sat up instead 
 writing a letter to Will, which drowsiness did 
 not permit her to finish. She had only laid 
 her head on her lavender- scented pillow, when 
 she smelt the fragrance of a cigar under her 
 wiudow, and heard Guy Chichester^s step on the 
 gravelled ten-ace below. A moment after he 
 called to his dog, and Dym was sure she could 
 hear them both scrunching through the shrub- 
 bery ; and so still was the night, that the clang 
 of the iron gate nearly a quarter of a mile off 
 was distinctly audible. 
 
 " Going out for a walk. Why, it must be 
 eleven o^clock. How strange V thought Dym 
 drowsily ; and then she fell asleep. 
 
 It was late the next morning — nearly nine 
 o^ clock — when Phyllis woke her. Dym jumped 
 up in a fright. 
 
 Mrs. Chichester said you were not to be 
 disturbed earlier, miss,-" observed her little hand- 
 maiden. 
 
 But Dym was not to be con^dnced, and dressed 
 herself in a huriy. 
 
 She tm-ned the handles of several doors — the 
 dining-room, billiard-room, and lastly INIr. 
 Chichester's library — before she discovered the 
 morning-room, or Green Room as it was phrased, 
 where she found Mrs. Chichester sitting alone 
 knitting, while a substantial meal, evidently un- 
 touched, lay on the table. 
 
 '• Good morning, my dear.^^
 
 ] 74 Wooed and Married. 
 
 " Good-morning — but oh, ]\Irs. Chichester, 
 have I kept you waiting 't'' 
 
 '' Breakfast never waits for any one at Ingle- 
 side/' was the somewhat dignified response. " It 
 was my own choice to keep you company this 
 morning, instead of breakfasting alone. Dorothy 
 always brings mc a cup of tea in my room. 
 Sometimes, though not often, I wait for Guy.^^ 
 
 " Indeed ! Is he so late ? I thought I heard 
 him go out last niglit,^"* was Dym's thoughtless 
 answer. 
 
 Mrs. Chichester, who was moving to the table, 
 looked a little sur])riscd that her son^s move- 
 ments had been observed. 
 
 " Yes, he very often gives Kelpie a run. Then 
 he is a great reader, and almost always sits up at 
 night when he is at home. !My son rarely break- 
 fasts with us. But it strikes me 1 have forgotten 
 my first duty as a hostess. T hope you have 
 slept well, Miss Elliott.'' 
 
 " Very well, thank you," replied Dym. 
 
 And then, as though in fiat contradiction of 
 his mother's wordS; ^Ir. Chichester walked into 
 the room. 
 
 " AVhat, Guy, up already !" 
 
 '* Down, I suppose you mean. Good-morn- 
 ing, mother/' kissing her ; " good morning, Miss 
 Elliott. Well, have you slept off your fatigue 
 yet ?" 
 
 " Oh, yes," observed Dym joyously. 
 
 The prospect of her tete-a-tete meal with 
 Mrs. Chichester had appeared rather formidable. 
 In spite of his abruptness and occasional sarcasm,
 
 Tlie Valley of the Nidd. 175 
 
 she was beginning to look upon Mr. Chichester 
 as an old acquaintance,, and to feel more at home 
 when he was present. She still stood in awe of 
 him^, it was true ; but in his genial moods he 
 could put her at her ease with him, and his face 
 and voice always recalled St. Luke^s. She had a 
 notion that he could be very formidable 
 too on occasions ; but on this first morn- 
 ing the squire looked as smooth as his own 
 beard ; under some circumstances that could be 
 rough also. 
 
 " I'll be bound you have written to Will 
 Clericus already. Look at her, mother ; she 
 begins to redden already like a culprit.''^ 
 
 ^' I did that last night ; but I have not 
 finished my letter ; I got so sleepy/^ stammered 
 Dym. 
 
 " Serves you right, Couldn''t he wait another 
 day ? I telegraphed to him that you had arrived 
 safely.^^ 
 
 '^ Did youj Mr. Chichester ? How very kind V^ 
 
 ^^ 1 suppose I was in one of my amiable moods 
 last night. It will prevent anxiety in No. 3, 
 Paradise Row. Did you see there was another 
 horrible collision on the Great Northern, mother 
 — eight killed and seventeen injured V 
 
 " No, Guy, I have not read it,^'' a little quietly. 
 " I think, if Miss Elliott be not too tired, after 
 breakfast I will get her to give me the par- 
 ticulars.^^ 
 
 " What, before Jeremy Taylor, mother T' 
 
 And the twinkle of his eyes said plainly, 
 " Your work is beginning already,, you see.^' But
 
 176 Wooed an d Married. 
 
 ^Irs. Chichester, as though her son's joke did not 
 quite please her, changed the subject altogether. 
 
 Mrs. Chichester spent her mornings in a large 
 upper room looking over the porch, and leading 
 out of the Blue Chamber. It was called her 
 dressing-room ; but there were no other evidences 
 of her toilette than were contained in the heavj- 
 japanned boxes where, years afterwards, Dym 
 found relics and hoards of fine cobweb lace, 
 an Oriental chain of pearls, and other old heir- 
 looms. 
 
 The room was pleasant, and had a delightful 
 view from one of the windows, beside which was 
 an old high-biickcd chair of carved oak, and a 
 table covered profusely with books and works. 
 At this table Dym found herself enscouced 
 shortlv after breakfast, but the Times as vet had 
 not been taken up. 
 
 '' Do not read just yet ; I want to talk to 
 you. It seems to me that we ought to know 
 each other a little,^' Mrs. Chichester had ob- 
 served, with a peremptory graciousness which 
 had driven the girl into shamefaced silence. 
 
 Already Dym had discovered she was a little 
 afraid of Mrs. Chichester, in spite of her beauty 
 and goodness. Dym was quite sure, from her 
 son's account, that she was very good. 
 
 " We ought to know each other a little better — 
 don't you think so? My son and I both hope 
 you Avill be happy here. Miss Elliott." 
 
 Dym hoped so too with all her heart, but she 
 assented only briefly. 
 
 " My son has taken a great interest in St.
 
 The Valley of the Nidd. 177 
 
 Luke^s and in your brother. Guy exaggerates 
 a little in his descriptions^ but he will have it 
 that your brother is little short of a saint /^ 
 
 " There is no one like Will/-' said Dym ; but 
 the tears sprang to her eyes. In mentioning 
 St. Luke^s Mrs. Chichester had effectually broken 
 the ice. 
 
 " Yes, Mr. Elliott seems a thorough clergyman. 
 What a pity he is in such poor health ! We 
 must have him down here, and see what York- 
 shire air will do for him.^'' 
 
 " Oh, thank you V cried Dym gratefully. She 
 was quite touched by this unexpected kindness. 
 She gave Mrs. Chichester a moving little account 
 of ^^ ilFs long illness and heroism, and self- 
 denying labours in the parish. " The .poorer a 
 person is, the better Will seems to like him. He 
 will have it,"" finished the little sister, '' that a 
 sick person ought to excite our reverence rather 
 than our compassiou. He quotes that from his 
 favourite saint, St. Francis de Sales.^^ 
 
 '' St. Louis of France used to tend the sick 
 on his knees, with uncovered head. I like these 
 notions,^-' moralized the elder lady. '^ These 
 sentiments of respect are not common among 
 young people nowadays. As Guy says, the old 
 chivalry of religion is fast dying out. I daresay,''^ 
 speaking hesitatingly, as though doubtful of her 
 own prudence — '^ I daresay Mr. Elliott somewhat 
 wondered at my son^s sudden devotion to St. 
 Luke^s.^^ 
 
 *^ I think Will was rather perplexed at first,'"* 
 said Dym honestly. 
 
 VOL. I. 12
 
 178 Wooed and Married, 
 
 "And afterwards? I hope you do not think 
 me curious; but Guy is so unlike other mcii, 
 that I cannot help wondering what people think 
 of his sudden flights and fancies.'^ 
 
 Here was a dilemma ; hut Dym met it sturdily. 
 
 "Will said it was a whim evidently that 
 hrought Mr. Chichester to St. Luke's ; but he 
 was glad of his help nevertheless, and they got 
 on very well together. I don't think Mr. 
 Chichester said much about himself in all these 
 weeks, and it was only a guess of Will's that it 
 was all excitement and restlessness that drove 
 him to the work. I think he got it into his 
 head that Mr. Chichester was not quite happy.'' 
 
 Dym was hardly wise in her excessive candour ; 
 for though Mrs. Chichester had evidently got the 
 answer she expected, an expression of pain crossed 
 her face ; she took up some work, sighed, and 
 laid it down again. 
 
 " There is no reason why my son should not 
 he happy," she returned, rather proudly, as 
 though something in Dym's speech offended her. 
 " Few men are blessed with more advantages, I 
 suppose," speaking to herself, " spoilt children 
 are always more or less capricious, and cry for the 
 moon. The cleverer a man is, the more numerous 
 his idiosyncrasies — don't you think so, Miss 
 Elliott ? I daresay even your brother has his 
 whims," 
 
 Dym, who felt she had touched on delicate 
 ground, and was justly rehuked, said, "Yes;" 
 and then trusted the subject would be changed. 
 
 Dvm had not been four- and- twenty hours in
 
 The Valley of the Nidd. 179 
 
 the house, yet already instinctively she felt that 
 there Avould be danger in claiming any prior in- 
 timacy with Mr. Chichester, or in betraying 
 familiarity with his pet hobbies. With all Mrs. 
 Chichester^s gentleness, there was a standoffish- 
 ness and a tone of monopoly in all that con- 
 cerned her son. He was evidently the object of 
 her intense idolatry ; but before many days were 
 over Dym argued shrewdly that she guarded her 
 mother^s prerogative a little too jealously. 
 
 Her devotion to him was unselfish, but it 
 lacked one element to insure perfection. Mrs. 
 Chichester loved her son, and her aflection was 
 most warmly reciprocated ; but she did not tho- 
 roughly understand him ; in some moods she 
 was even a little afraid of him. 
 
 Mother^s love is not always exempt from this 
 fear ; some women glory in it. The oft-repeated 
 story of the hen who rears a duckling, and then 
 sees her nursling take to the unknown element, 
 is true of many a mother. The young di™ity 
 she has worshipped from his infancy suddenly 
 breaks loose from his swaddling-bands, abandons 
 the leading-rein, puts aside the fond hand that 
 restrained him, and breaks out into devious ways, 
 or carves out new paths for himself away from 
 the old landmarks. One can imagine the mother 
 stretching out her hands across that unknown 
 territory, and praying him to return. Perchance 
 the wind carries back some light mocking 
 answer. Where is the child she has known ? 
 A few of these foolish hearts go on burning their 
 candles and kneeling before their empty shrines. 
 
 12—2
 
 180 Wooed and Married, 
 
 — . , 
 
 The wiser among them trim their household 
 lamp, and make the hearth-fire burn cheerily. 
 By-and-bye these young prodigals — these wan- 
 derers lost in their own mists — will come back, 
 allured and cheered by the old lights, and con- 
 descend to be warmed by them. 
 
 '^ Faith as a grain of mustard seed." What 
 mother is there who needs not to possess that ? 
 
 Dym had made a wrong calculation in repeat- 
 ing her brother's words ; Mrs. Chichester still 
 harped upon it. 
 
 ^' I hope you will never hint such a thing to 
 any one else — your brothcr^s suspicion I mean," 
 she went on this time rather appcalingly. ^^ My 
 son deserves to be happy, if any one in this 
 world ever docs ; he has excellent spirits — do not 
 you think so. Miss Elliott ?" 
 
 Dym eagerly answered that certainly Mr. Chi- 
 chester had excellent spirits, and went on to add, 
 with innocent hypocrisy, that no one ever made 
 her laugh before. 
 
 Mrs. Chichester's brow cleared. 
 
 ^^ His sallies of humour are so irresistible. 
 Dear Guy ! By-the-bye, Miss Elliott, I hope 
 you have carefully guarded the confidence I re- 
 posed in you ; I would not for worlds have my 
 son's suspicions aroused." 
 
 This affronted Dym. 
 
 " I never betray confidence, Mrs. Chichester," 
 she returned loftily ; and her manner was so full 
 of vexed dignity, that Mrs. Chichester could not 
 forbear a smile : they were finding out each 
 other's angles already.
 
 The Valley of the Nidd. 181 
 
 '' You do not know how quick Guy is ; a word 
 dropped carelessly — a look even — will tell him as 
 much as a whole sentence. I only want to put 
 you on your guard. Why^ he even took alarm 
 at my ready acquiescence with his wish to have 
 you as my companion/' 
 
 " Yes, he told me that/' returned Dym, half 
 mollified ; " he seemed to have anticipated some 
 difficulty. Perhaps 1 ought to tell you, 
 Mrs. Chichester, that he questioned me rather 
 closely as to what was contained in your letter — 
 if you had expressed yourself as failing, or any- 
 thing of that sort."" 
 
 '' And you put him off the scent ?'' 
 
 ^' I tried, but I don't know whether I quite 
 succeeded." 
 
 Mrs. Chichester sighed heavily, " Poor Guy !" 
 
 " Why do you distress yourself so, dear 
 Mrs. Chichester T' cried the girl impulsively, 
 moved at last to sincere sympathy. " 1 know you 
 do not wish to alarm your son needlessly, but 
 if you cannot spare him pain in the end " 
 
 " There is plenty of time," was the desponding 
 answer ; " there is no need for him to share this 
 long suspense beforehand. Remember, Miss 
 Elliott, your lips are sealed on this subject till I 
 unclose them." 
 
 " To him do you mean, or altogether ? Per- 
 haps," she went on, with a touch of womanli- 
 ness quaint in one so young, " it may relieve 
 you a little to talk out your fears to me ;" 
 then very sweetly, ^' My own dear mother was 
 blind before she died, Mrs. Chichester."
 
 182 Wooed and Married. 
 
 Mrs. Chichester shuddered^, and then held out 
 her hand to her young comforter, as though 
 touched, in spite of herself. Bym held it, and 
 looked up anxiously in her eyes ; they were 
 large brown eyes, very beautiful in colour and 
 expression, but in one of them Dym fancied she 
 could see a touch of filminess. 
 
 '• If mamma had lived," she went on, " the 
 doctors would have cured her. I have heard 
 all about it ; you donH know how easy it is ; 
 it is hardly an operation at all, it is so very 
 simple." 
 
 Mrs. Chichester shook her head. ''^ You 
 cannot couch a cataract till it is formed. I 
 know I am very silly to dread it so; perhaps, 
 after all, the dread will be removed long before 
 I shall need courage, for you know, INIiss Elliott, 
 I may have years to wait before that time 
 comes." 
 
 ^' Yes, I know," returned Dym softly ; and 
 then with a deep sigh Mrs. Chichester changed 
 the subject.
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 WHO IS HONOR NETHECOTE ? 
 
 YM was very glad she had arrived at this 
 happy understanding with Mrs. Chi- 
 chester ; for before luncheon was over 
 ]Mr. Chichester gave her convincing proof tha^: 
 he already considered her as one of the family. 
 She did not know that he had held weighty 
 argument with his mother on this very subject. 
 
 ^^ We must keep her in her place^ Gr^y/^ 
 Mrs. Chichester had said the night before Dym^s 
 arrival ; " we must be kind to her of course, 
 and make her feel herself at home, poor girl; 
 but I don^t think it will be for her ultimate 
 happiness to lift her out of her proper position.^^ 
 
 " What a painfully heavy remark, mother ; 
 addressed to me too. Who wants to lift Miss 
 Elliott out of her place ?^' 
 
 '' Xo ; but, Guy, it is necessary we should 
 arrive at some sort of understanding; it will 
 prevent awkwardness, and perhaps disappoint- 
 ment in the ecd.'''' 
 
 " Very well, mother ; she is your companion, 
 not mine — remember that.^^ 
 
 " You put things in such a strange light.
 
 184 Wooed and Married. 
 
 Guy/^ returned Mrs. Chichester,, ^' that there is 
 no arguing with you. If ^liss Elliott be my 
 companion, I am afraid she is also in some sort 
 your protegee. In her brother's house you could 
 hardly help noticing her, and in some respects 
 treating her as your equal.''^ 
 
 " Is not a lady on terms of equality with any 
 gentleman, mother V demanded Guy, pointedly. 
 
 '^ My dear boy, I must entreat you not to get 
 Quixotic. I am talking mere worldly wisdom to 
 you now. Of course, if ]\Iiss Elliott be a sensible 
 girl, as she must be, considering she is your heroes 
 sister, she will soon sec for herself that you hold a 
 different position hero from that you occupied in 
 her brother^s house ; it would never do for any 
 companion to be on terms of easy familiarity 
 with the master of the house. ^^ 
 
 " Which means I am not to say a civil word, 
 I suppose? Is that what you call being kind 
 to her ? O patronage, not frailty, thy name is 
 woman.^^ \ 
 
 " Guy, do not be absurd ! I never knew oiie^s 
 own son could be so trying. Ee civil by all 
 means ; but as you insist on having her at all 
 our family meals when we are alone, I should 
 think it would be well to be a little careful, 
 especially for the first few days ; for,^' finished 
 Mrs. Chichester, with most praiseworthy so- 
 lemnity, considering the incredulous smile on 
 Guy^s face, '^ I intend to begin as we are to go on.^* 
 
 ^^ So do I/"* sotle voce ; and then the squire 
 stroked his beard and said,"^ Pish \" and '' Pshaw!^^ 
 rather audibly. '' Have you quite done, mother ?'*
 
 Who is Honor Nethe cote ? 185 
 
 Mrs. Chichester rose and shook her head. 
 
 '' O Guy, Guy, it is uo use talking to you, 
 I see then/^ 
 
 *'' A wilful man maun have his way/^ in broad 
 Scotch, " I suppose you mean. How long have 
 you learnt such wisdom, mere cherie ?" And 
 as proof that the argument was finished, the 
 squire politely handed his mother to the door and 
 rang for cofi'ee. 
 
 And the next day, when Mrs. Chichester was 
 giving orders to Dorothy to meet Miss Elliott in 
 the pony-carriage, the squire coolly put his head 
 in at the door and announced his intention of 
 meeting the train himself. 
 
 Mrs. Chichester had sufficient tact not to 
 remonstrate. Probably by this time she had 
 learnt her lesson, and knew it would be useless. 
 
 But her delicate and subtle w^oman^s instinct 
 scented trouble afar. Miss Elliott was very, very 
 young, and painfully unsophisticated ; and Guy^s 
 bonhomie bordered on radicalism ; and though 
 she knew her son was fancy-proof, one was never 
 safe with these young girls, she thought : they 
 were always taking fancies in their head, and 
 thinking themselves badly used. 
 
 Which shows, as Mrs. Chichester had never 
 had a companion in her life before, that this lady 
 was not devoid of the astute wisdom generally 
 assigned to the mothers of families. 
 
 She had her idol and her golden pedestal all 
 complete, but she wanted to fence it round with 
 palings of conventionalities, for fear unhallowed 
 footsteps might approach too near.
 
 186 Wooed and Married. 
 
 It was all waste time and labour, for Mr- 
 Chichester knew very well what he was about; 
 and beino: singularly without vanity, and as 
 guileless in such things as a child, in spite of his 
 shrewdness, was just the man who would do un- 
 wise things out of pure kindness. 
 
 He had his own notions how his protegee was 
 to be treated at Ingleside, and these notions 
 being somewhat nice and Quixotic, there was 
 fear that, unless his mother achieved the happy 
 medium with respect to Miss Elliott, he might 
 run into the other extreme, and overdo the 
 thing, to make up for her coldness. 
 
 And all the time his conscience would be per- 
 fectly clear ; for in spite of his sarcasms he was 
 very anxious to draw the riglit line between 
 Miss Elliott and himself, and, if truth must be 
 told, he hardly thought on the subject at all till 
 his mother brought it up, his mind being full of 
 other things. 
 
 Kindness and generosity were Guy Chichester's 
 chief characteristics ; unfortunately they were 
 not always exercised with a due amount of 
 prudence. 
 
 Herein lay the danger. 
 
 He was so kind to Dym, that Dym would 
 have to learn for herself that he was kind to 
 every one else. 
 
 And he was so used to be adored, that a 
 little adoration, more or less, would hardly be 
 noticed by him. 
 
 He met them at the dining-room door on the 
 morning in question with a most reproachful face.
 
 WIio is Honor NetJiecote ? 187 
 
 " Mother,, where have you been ? The gong 
 has sounded just ten minutes — you will be late 
 for the field. Miss Elliott not even dressed V' 
 
 Dym looked down abashed, feeling all of a 
 sudden painfully conscious of her neat cambric, 
 and doubtful in her own mind whether the 
 sumptuaiy laws at Ingleside might not necessi- 
 tate a fresh toilette for luncheon. Mrs. Chi- 
 chester's next words dispelled this terrible fear. 
 
 " Nonsense, Guy ; we have plenty of time ; 
 I am not dressed myself. Kate asked me to 
 call for her about a quarter to three; there is 
 not the slightest occasion for us to be on the 
 field so early .^^ 
 
 ^^ I see, the whole court is to assemble at the 
 vicarage gate and form into grand procession. 
 I hear the CheWots and Saunders are coming 
 over fi'om Harrogate, and the Harcourts from 
 Knaresborough. I am glad you have stuck to 
 the old regime — cold collation at seven instead 
 of dinner. '^ 
 
 "And mind you do not bring too many 
 people, Guy,'^ returned his mother warningly ; 
 " this room will not hold over twenty com- 
 fortably.^' 
 
 ^' If the numbers are overwhelming, we can 
 draft them off to the vicarage. Kate likes a 
 crowd. I went over there this morning ; such 
 a fuss she was making. She had even turned 
 Latimer out of his study. If I were a husband 
 T should hate to confess I were henpecked. 
 There were his papers all huddled together, and 
 the poor man driven to play cricket with his
 
 188 Wooed and Married. 
 
 boys in a shady corner of the field. There's one 
 thing I admire abont yon, mother : yon never 
 make a fuss/' 
 
 " Katherine is generally considered a good 
 manager/' returned Mrs. Chichester, by no 
 means indifferent to this praise. 
 
 " Management ceases to be good when it is 
 evolved with discomfort and noise/' returned her 
 son somewhat dogmatically. " Can't you send 
 Dorothy down there to help ? — all the maids 
 were running about and looking so fagged. 
 Kate will be telling everybody this afternoon 
 that she is so done up, and can hardly stand. 
 Such nonsense; and all forsooth because the 
 London cousins are coming. How I do hate 
 toadyism !" 
 
 '^ Guy, my dear," remonstrated Mrs. Chi- 
 chester — her glance added, " we are not alone." 
 But Guy, who was helping himself to pickles, 
 coolly went on with his list of grievances. 
 
 " And there, in the midst of it, was little 
 Grace Dunster, nnpickiug a dress of my lady's. 
 I had up my lady, aud talked to her seriously. I 
 must own Kate had the grace to looked ashamed 
 of herself." 
 
 " O Guy, when will you leave off meddling 
 in other people's business ? Fancy ordering 
 off Kate's dressmaker !" 
 
 '' She had no business to be working at the 
 vicarage to-day, when the whole village has a 
 general holiday; it is insubordination to the 
 ruling powers. That's me !" striking his broad 
 chest with his hand, and laughing at his
 
 Who is Honor Nethecote ? 189 
 
 mother^s horrified face. " Katherine plays the 
 grey mare in her own domains. All your dark- 
 eyed women are shrews. ^^ And Dym was sure 
 that twinkle was meant for her. '^ But I got 
 the better of her. I told her slavery was 
 abolished in the United Kingdom of Great 
 Britain and Ireland^ and sent oflF poor Grace to 
 help Honor^ who was alone with the men in the 
 field. -^ 
 
 " Well, that was sensible, Guy ; better than 
 your drudging at it yourself, as you did last 
 year.'' 
 
 " Yes ; wasn't it ? I was only on the field 
 from ten to one. My argument with Katherine 
 occurred just before the gong sounded." 
 
 Mrs. Chichester's " Oh, indeed !" cid not 
 sound so well pleased. 
 
 " I am glad you don't call three hours' labour 
 in the hot sun drudgery; it has made me pretty 
 hungry, though. Miss Elliott, if you will not have 
 any more cold beef, I advise you to go and put 
 on that pink muslin." 
 
 The squire was issuing his own orders; but 
 Dym kept her place, and coloured distressfully, 
 and her eyes asked him so plainly the reason of 
 this mandate, that he laid down his knife and 
 fork in surprise. 
 
 "What, have you not told her, mother? 
 Miss Elliott goes with us, of course." 
 
 " Yes, of course," returned Mrs. Chichester. 
 " I was only waiting till luncheon was over to 
 tell Miss Elliott myself." 
 
 " Bather late in the day, is it not r Well,
 
 190 Wooed and Married. 
 
 they say *" it is never too late to mend/ All the 
 same, I hope that pink muslin is ready /^ And 
 disregarding his mother^s disapproving looks, he 
 rattled on, '' You see this is a gala day at Birst- 
 with, and we all put on our go-to-meeting clothes, 
 as Dame Ford expresses it. Why, my mother 
 has even ordered me to wear a blue frock-coat 
 for the occasion/' 
 
 "What occasion?'"' timidly asked Dym. 
 
 If she had only another cool summer dress to 
 wear instead of that pink muslin ! Poor Dym, 
 she was keenly alive to the impropriety of which 
 the squire had h?en guilty in betraying such an 
 intimate knowledge of her resources. She could 
 not well explain to Mrs. Chichester that he had 
 come upon her in the midst of her dressmaking 
 labours ; Init she was aware how strange it must 
 sound in her motherly ears. 
 
 " What occasion is it 1" she asked, feeling all 
 of a sudden that not even the salt of kindness 
 can make the bread of dependence perfectly 
 sweet. 
 
 " Dear, dear, Miss Elliott, twenty-four hours 
 at Ingleside, and not know that this is our annual 
 flower-show — our great fete-day ! Mother, what 
 have you aud Miss Elliott been doing with your- 
 selves all the morning ? I'll be bound St. Luke, 
 and not St. Jeremy, is at the bottom of it all. 
 If you once launch Miss Elliott on the subject of 
 St. Luke's, you are lost. I think I shall lay 
 Kentish Town and Will Clericus under an inter- 
 dict/'
 
 Who is Honor Nethecofe ? 191 
 
 " You had better go and get ready^ my dear/' 
 interrupted Mrs. Chichester^s gentle voice. 
 
 Dym^ whose ears were tingling with the squire's 
 benevolent jests^ made her escape from the room, 
 but not before she caught the words, ^^ O Guy, 
 Guy, you will spoil her !" spoken in a tone of 
 remonstrance. 
 
 Dym had a feeling of uneasiness all the time 
 she was dressing; even the crisp fresh folds of 
 the renowned pink muslin, and the knowledge 
 that it fitted exquisitely, and that she looked 
 unusually well, failed to give her pleasure. 
 Morbidly sensitive, she felt sure there was a jar 
 somewhere. Her nervousness was not lessened 
 when she found Dorothy^s movements had been 
 quicker than hers, and that Mrs. Chichester had 
 been ready for some minutes, and was waiting in 
 the porch. Dym^s eyes took in an alarmed 
 survey of pale-coloured satin and black-lace 
 drapery as she came up flushed and rustling, and 
 attempting to button her new grey gloves. 
 
 ^^ There is no occasion for hurry ; let me do 
 that for you, that is if my clumsy fingers can 
 manage it.'''' 
 
 If the squire had done it on purpose, his 
 politeness could not have provoked Dym more. 
 She waxed hotter than ever as Mr. Chichester 
 leisurely pulled at her glove ; either the day 
 was warm, or it was tighter than usual. Dym, 
 who prided herself on her neat hand, and who 
 could not afford many Paris kid gloves, looked 
 on impatiently at the ruthless work of destruction.
 
 192 Wooed and ^larried. 
 
 " That Avill do. Ah ! there, the seain has 
 gone. Never mind, Mr. Chicliester, please. I 
 am keeping your mother waiting.^' 
 
 She half expected another dignified remon- 
 strance from the porch. 
 
 " ' Well enongh is soon enough.'' " When 
 will you women learn that? How are you to 
 go all the afternoon with your glove unbuttoned? 
 There, it is achieved at last. Never mind the 
 rent. We may pick holes in ourselves, not in 
 other people/^ remarked the squire roguishly. 
 '^ If you had stood still it would not have 
 happened. There, run off."" 
 
 Dym needed no second bidding. She barely 
 waited to say " Thank you.^^ She glanced very 
 timidlv at Mrs. Chichester as she walked erect 
 and silent down the shrubberies. ^^ If we reach 
 that iron gate without a word,'' she thought, '' I 
 shall be safe; but at the same time I shall catch it.'' 
 
 And Dym was right. 
 
 " My dear," began Mrs. Chichester, — by-and- 
 bye, when Dym knew her better she found out 
 that Mrs. Chichester's voice was always the most 
 gentle when a lecture was impending, — " my dear, 
 I know it is very soon for me to speak, but I 
 cannot help thinking the sooner the better, in 
 this case : perhaps I may surprise you ; but I 
 do so wish to speak of your manner to my son." 
 
 If Mrs. Chichester had been perfectly just, 
 she would have said, " of my son's manner to 
 you." But Dym could be lectured where Guy 
 would not brook a word. 
 
 " Madam !" interrupted Dym, blushing scarlet.
 
 Who is Honor Nethecofe ? 193 
 
 If Mrs. Chichester had not been quite so gentle, 
 she would have seen a rare specimen of Dym^s 
 temper; but gentleness and courtesy disarm 
 wrath. 
 
 " My dear, you are so very young, and you 
 have no mother, you know/^ returned the elder 
 lady deprecatingly. " You must not mind if I 
 give you hints now and then. Your former 
 intimacy with my son doubtless warrants a great 
 deal of familiarity ; but though you have not been 
 many hours with us, you must see for yourself 
 
 that '' Mrs. Chichester hesitated a little — 
 
 " things are different, in short, from what they 
 were in Kentish Town.''' 
 
 '^ Dyra's only safety lay in silence ; but what 
 angry throbs there were under the pink dress ! 
 " I have not been here four-and-twenty hours, 
 and in all that time I have not spoken a dozen 
 words to Mr.. Chichester; I have hardly looked 
 at him,'"* thought the girl, feeling injured and 
 hurt in every fibre of her. Doubtless Mrs. 
 Chichester was a little premature in her 
 wisdcm. Poor Dym was being made the scape- 
 goat of the squire's transgression. Guy's luck- 
 less jokes, his journey to the station, the 
 weight of that unfinished argument — all bore 
 heavily on the innocent victim. But Dym was 
 very young and terribly imprudent. Perhaps, 
 after all, Mrs. Chichester was wise in trying to 
 make her understand the position of things with- 
 out delay. 
 
 " You must not be hurt with me, my dear," 
 she went on ; "I only speak for your good." (O 
 
 VOL. I. 13
 
 1 94 JFooed and Married. 
 
 Mrs. Chichester, fie for shame ! Was not some- 
 body else's good plainly involved ?) " Pray do 
 not misunderstand me, I want you to be good 
 friends with both of us, and to feel perfectly at 
 home. But could you not infuse a little more 
 respect in your manner to my son ? Don't you 
 think in your position, my dear, you might 
 address him as ^ Sir' ? It would sound a little 
 less abrupt — do you not think so ?" her tone 
 quite appealing in its gentleness. 
 
 " Certainly, if you wish it,'' answered Dym's 
 proud young voice. 
 
 " Thank you, my dear, I should like it. You 
 are very good to give in to an old woman's fancy. 
 When you know me a little, you will not mind 
 my finding fault with you now and then, will 
 you ? Elder people have their peculiarities, and 
 how are we to expect perfection at eighteen ? 
 Now we will say no more about it, and try and 
 enjoy our flower-show." And Mrs. Chichester 
 took the hand and the lorn grey glove so 
 pleasantly in hers, and looked so motherly and 
 benignant with her placid face and white curls, 
 that Dym's fit of wrath evaporated ; and though 
 she felt anything but invigorated by the bracing 
 tonic of Mrs. Chichester's reproofs, she was dis- 
 posed to think that perhaps she was right, though 
 the squire, and not she, had been to blame, and 
 that it behoved her to be very careful for the 
 future. 
 
 It is a singular fact in religion and morals, 
 that with every good resolution there is a counter 
 temptation. The seed and the birds of the air
 
 Who is Honor Nethecote ? 195 
 
 do so fully illustrate this truth. When one's 
 mind is most heavenly^ fresh complications are 
 sure to rise. 
 
 By the time they had reached the iron gate 
 Dym was certainly in a heavenly frame of mind ; 
 that is, in that devout and subdued state wherein 
 mistakes are lamented and improvement pro- 
 mised. She was a little low, perhaps, which is 
 not heavenly, and disposed to sit down and cry 
 for Will. She looked up at the open church 
 door so longingly — for Birstwith church always 
 stood open, so that the dwellers in the Happy 
 Valley might literally go up to pray — that Mrs. 
 Chichester, who felt sorry for the pain she had 
 inflicted, proposed that Dym should look over 
 the church while she went into the vicarage. 
 
 " I can give you a quarter of an hour, for we 
 need not be on the field before then,"''' she con- 
 tinued kindly. And Dym took the quarter of 
 an hour quite gi'atefully, and thanked her as 
 though it were a gift. 
 
 Life is made up of trifles. A hackneyed 
 phrase, but how true it is ! 
 
 Dym was sitting in the deep stone porch, to 
 collect her thoughts before going into the church, 
 when a loud view-halloo from below made her 
 raise her eyes, and there was the squire vaulting 
 over the chain, spikes and all, at the bottom of 
 the steps, and coming up them rapidly. 
 
 " One good turn deserves another,'^ he shouted. 
 
 " Have you a needle and thread, Miss Elliott ? 
 Look here, this comes of trying to clear a hedge 
 in the plantations. Should have got ofi" without 
 
 13— a
 
 196 Wooed and Married. 
 
 a scratch but for Kelpie — the brute got between 
 my legs." And the squire held out his arm to 
 show how the silk lining had been torn away 
 from the cuff of the blue frock-coat. " If you 
 can^t do it_, I will just run over to Burgess, the 
 tailor ; only he is sure to be on the field." 
 
 Dym produced her little huswife without a 
 word, aiid Mr. Chichester sat down beside her 
 on the cool stone bench. 
 
 " What a delicious view one has here, and how 
 nice and cool it is !" baring his head gratefully 
 to the breeze. " Those white tents show very 
 prettily among the trees, don^'t they. Miss 
 Elliott?" 
 
 ^^ They are very pretty, sir," biting off her 
 thread with a little snap at the end of the last 
 word. Mr. Chichester turned round, and eyed 
 her sharply. Perhaps Dym did not like her 
 work being so closely overlooked, for she certainly 
 blushed up. 
 
 " How hot you look ! Or is it the radiating 
 beams from that pink dress ? You ought to 
 wear white. Miss Elliott; and your gloves — how 
 I have torn them ! — donH match. Well, and 
 how do you get on with my mother? Is she 
 kind, ehV^ 
 
 Dym broke her thread, and apologized. 
 
 ^' Why, you are almost as clumsy as I am. 
 W^ho would have thought it — with those little 
 fingers too ! I think I prefer a large benevolent- 
 looking hand to a dimpled one. You oughtn't 
 to bite your thread, Miss Elliott ; it puts many a
 
 Who is Honor Nethecote? 197 
 
 fee into the dentist^s pocket. Well, you haven^t 
 answered my question/' 
 
 ^^ Mrs. Chicliester is very kind^ sir. I think 
 — that is^ I hope — we shall get on well to- 
 gether.^' 
 
 " I hope so ■'■00. There is a depressed tone of 
 humility in your voice. What^ breakers already ! 
 — temper versus philosophy. Well, if you are 
 not more companionable to my mother than you 
 are this afternoon — By the way, what makes you 
 call me ^ sir' ?" 
 
 Dym did not snap her thread this time, but 
 she sewed on as though her life depended on 
 it. ^' Turn your wrist a little more to the left, 
 please, Mr. Chichester. I am afraid I am keep- 
 ing you waiting a long time." 
 
 '' For my answer — yes. Is there anything the 
 matter, that you are so tongue-tied this after- 
 noon ?■" Oh, if that quizzical voice would only 
 be stiil ! 
 
 " Yes — that is — no, sir ; there is nothing the 
 matter," stammered Dym. 
 
 " Yes, sir — no, sir. Are you metamorphosed 
 into a schoolboy, Miss Elliott ? I tell you 
 flatly I wont have it." 
 
 No answer; only a rebellious little smile at 
 one corner of Dym's mouth. 
 
 "This is some of my mother's doings. Ha, 
 ha ! I scent grogram. Come, Miss Elliott, 
 confess ; honour bright." Here he stopped, bit 
 his lip angrily, and a dull red came into his 
 forehead. " Pshaw, I did not mean that.
 
 198 Wooed and Married. 
 
 Confess now^ Miss Elliott^ isn^t my mother at 
 the bottom of this 1:" 
 
 " She wishes it— that is — I think it only- 
 right, sir, considering my position/^ 
 
 '' Don't I tell you I wont have it ?'' rather 
 roughly. " You women make droll mistakes. 
 I should have thought my mother's companion 
 was a lady, and to be treated as one. Why 
 don't you curtsy to me. Miss Elliott, as the 
 village children do ; or call me Sir Squire, as 
 many of the country bumpkins do when they 
 address me ? There, I hope I have heard the 
 last of such nonsense.'* 
 
 " But, Mr. Chichester, you forget that your 
 mother's wishes are my law." Dym's mood 
 was getting less heavenly ; she wanted to argue 
 it out. 
 
 But she soon found out who was master at 
 Ingleside. 
 
 '' Oh, you are obstinate, are you ? There is 
 only one way of treating such cases. As I don't 
 choose William Elliott's sister to address me in 
 this manner, I shall never answer when you 
 call me ^ sir,' and if you persist in such folly, I 
 shall drop conversation altogether;" and Bym, 
 whose work was ended, and who was sitting 
 with folded hands, actually saw a flash in Guy 
 Chichester's eyes. 
 
 " But your mother ?" she faltered, as he rose 
 and took up his hat. 
 
 '^ Leave my mother to me, please." Perhaps 
 he repented of the fierceness, for he broke into a 
 smile directly afterwards, and Guy Chichester's
 
 Who is Honor Nethecote ? 199 
 
 smile was very sunny. " Well^ thank you for 
 your neat handiwork, Miss Elliott. Now I 
 think we had better be going. ^'' 
 
 As he was evidently waiting for her, Dym 
 obeyed, though with some trepidation ; but, as 
 she phrased it afterwards, her ill luck was in the 
 ascendant. Just as !Mr, Chichester was un- 
 fastening the chain at the bottom of the steps 
 a bevy of people came out of the vicarage 
 gate. In another minute they were in the 
 midst of them. 
 
 " Well, squire, we are only waiting for you.^' 
 
 " Guy_, what were you doing in the church 
 porch T' 
 
 Guy turned to his shy companion with a droll 
 mixture of fun and gravity. " See what it is to 
 be a person of importance. Miss Elliott. Was 
 it not the great Julius Caesar who said, ' It is 
 better to be first in a village than second in 
 Rome T I suppose you don^t know the happi- 
 ness of having all your actions canvassed. How 
 do you do, Lady Marsden ? Miss Patty, this 
 is your first visit to Birstwith, I believe. 
 Mrs. Tiievor^ your humble servant. My dear 
 mother, for fear you die of curiosity, which 
 occurrence will assuredly damp the fete, I will 
 explain that, haviug torn the silk lining of my 
 coat-sleeve, and seeing Miss Elliott in the porch, 
 I made my way to her, having a curious sort of 
 fancy that women and needles and thread are 
 synonymous terms — hence the result.^'' 
 
 "O Mr. Chichester, you are always so droll," 
 laughed Miss Patty.
 
 '200 Wooed and Married. 
 
 Dym timidly made lier way to Mrs. Chi- 
 chester, and was rewarded for her effort by 
 being welcomed with a benign smile, and kindly 
 inti oduced to the vicar and his wife. 
 
 " This is my new companion, Kate. Latimer, 
 this is Miss Elliott — the young lady I spoke to 
 you about." 
 
 They both bowed, but Mrs. Fortescue looked 
 at her curiously. 
 
 " Rather a young companion, is she not, Aunt 
 Constance V with a smile meant to be winning, 
 but Dym thought there was something peculiar 
 in her tone. Dym had plenty of graphic 
 power; she reproduced the whole of the group 
 afterwards for WilFs benefit, adding droll little 
 touches of her own. Will, as he read her 
 description, felt as though he could see it all 
 exactly. The grey vicarage, covered with 
 climbing roses ; the churcli, and the long green 
 meadow, touched with sunlight and dotted with 
 white tents ; the vicar, standing tall and slim, 
 with long fair beard, and just a touch of Puseyism 
 in the cut of his coat, " looking very clerical, 
 very proper, and just as a Latimer Fortescue 
 ought to look,^^ put in Dym, with one of her sly 
 hits. ^' One could imagine him doing everything 
 but play cricket with his boys — two such bonnie 
 sturdy little rogues in grey Highland costume. 
 I donH think Mrs. Fortescue — that is. Cousin 
 Katherine — a bit pretty,^^ wrote Dym ; " but she 
 has dark eyes, and an oval face, and looks very 
 elegant. She wore quite a serpentine train of 
 white muslin. I watched her all the afternoon.
 
 Who is Honor Nefhecote ? 201 
 
 and I cannot think how she mana^'ed all those 
 limp-looking folds. With her long neck and 
 slow movements^ and all that whiteness^ she 
 looked just like a swan. She does it beautifully, 
 but I think she must have been studying it for 
 years/^ went on naughty Dym. " And every 
 now and then she wakes up from her languor, 
 and. is as brisk as possible. I know now what 
 Mr. Chichester meant by her management.^" 
 
 And then she went on to describe the London 
 cousins. Lady Marsden, a pretty clever widow, 
 looking almost as young as her own daughter; 
 and Miss Patty, with her voluble chatter and 
 incessant questions ; and a young cub of an 
 undergraduate brother, '^ against whom no one 
 must breathe a word,"*" because he is Sir George 
 Marsden, of Marsden Court ; and Mrs. Trevor, 
 a fine young woman, but so over-dressed that 
 Dym at once said she must be a farmer's 
 daughter, which was the truth; and her hus- 
 band, a stout placid young man, looking very 
 much the farmer too, and as unlike as possible 
 to the lawyer he really was. 
 
 After that they formed into procession, the 
 squire heading the van with Lady Marsden. 
 
 Dym followed slowly in their wake. They 
 went first into the large central tent, which was 
 devoted chiefly to the produce of the hot-houses 
 and conservatories of the Great House and 
 vicarage; here the fruit and flowers were really 
 very beautiful. The other tent was less im- 
 posing, but far more interesting, as it contained 
 merely the product of cottage gardens and
 
 202 Wooed an d Married. 
 
 windows — small plates of homely vegetables, 
 glass cases of honeycomb, piled-up heaps of 
 fruit, and big nosegays, or " bowpots,^' as the 
 villagers called them, this word defining excel- 
 lently the gaudy pyramids of colour, banked up 
 with green, that were disposed with more 
 liberality than taste on the well-scoured wooden 
 tables. 
 
 " This is not Honoris handiwork,^' l^ym heard 
 Mrs. Chichester say ; and the squire, who seemed 
 to hear everything, answered — 
 
 " Honor had enough to do with the large 
 tent and the refreshment booth. I made her 
 leave this to the boys and Grace Duuster. As 
 usual, we had a dispute over it. She has 
 vowed she will tell every one on the ground that 
 it is my fault." 
 
 " You deserve to be punished for your inter- 
 ference, Guy," was the quiet answer. " You 
 know the Nethecotes manage all these things. 
 You had no business to be on the field at all." 
 
 " When Greek meets Greek, great is the 
 tug of war. Fancy the ruling powers falling 
 out between themselves. I think little Grace 
 Dunster thought we were in earnest. Mother, 
 there are the Fotheringays. Y^our court is get- 
 ting too large; we had better adjourn to the 
 other tent." 
 
 " Who is this Honor Nethecote every one 
 seems talking about ?" whispered Miss Patty 
 to Mrs. Trevor. 
 
 " She is Mr. Nethecote's sister. That is he 
 in the tweed coat and straw hat, just speaking
 
 Who is Honor Nethecoie ? 203 
 
 ?quire." Here some one trod on Dym^s 
 dress, and slie lost the rest of the answer; but 
 as she followed on more slowly^ she found her- 
 self echoing Miss Patty^s words — 
 '' Who is Honor Nethecote ?"
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 NIDDERDALE COTTAGE. 
 
 ^^iHO is Honor Netliecotc ?'' 
 i\a wJ Dym's curiosity bojrau 
 
 Dym^s curiosity bogau to feel aggra- 
 vated by the constant recurrence of this 
 name. Who could this mysterious individual be, 
 Avho seemed to be the presiding spirit of the day, 
 so that nothing could be done without her super- 
 vision ? Was she young or old ? If she were 
 Humphrey's sister, was she phiin and freckled 
 as he was ? Dym wondered. There is nothing 
 like a mystery to excite interest. An unconscious 
 fascination impelled Dym to every spot where 
 Honor Nethccote's name was mentioned — it 
 seemed to be on the lips of every one, rich or 
 poor. 
 
 " Honor's taste — how beautiful V from Mrs. 
 Trevor. " Miss Nethecote — ah, she promised 
 Doll her fuchsia should be put in a good place.'' 
 The latter sotio voce from a lame, sickly-looking 
 girl, who with one crutch was trying to push her 
 way through a throng of merry-faced lasses. 
 " Ah, where's Phil, I wonder ?" with a patient 
 sort of sigh that excited Dym's compassion. 
 
 " You are tired:— can I help you to find your
 
 Nidderdale Cottage. 205 
 
 friends ? It must be very fatiguing to you in 
 this hot tent and with all this crowd," says Dym, 
 in her pleasant voice. 
 
 ^^ It is only DolFs fuchsia, thank you. Ah, 
 there it is ! I can see it over those heads/'' 
 
 " You had better see it closer,'''' returns Dym 
 kindly. She pilots a way for the lame girl, and 
 stations her very carefully where she can get a 
 good view of the precious flower. She has no 
 idea that this is the object of Guy Chichester's 
 chivalry this morning — the lame dressmaker, 
 Grace Dunster. Grace looks up with sparkling 
 eyes. " Isn't it beautiful ? I wish Doll could 
 see how well it looks. If it had been a child we 
 couldn't have tended it more. Phil used to 
 wash its leaves and count the buds every morn- 
 ing. I think the squire will be pleased with 
 it. Phil will carry it up when the show is 
 over.'"' 
 
 " Is it a present for the squire T' asks Dym, 
 with a winning look. She hears all about it 
 presently, when she and Grace are sitting to- 
 gether on a shady seat on a hillock under some 
 trees. The bands tune up as briskly as though 
 they were in the Cheltenham or Montpelier 
 Gardens. Mrs. Chichester and her court have 
 retired to the coolest tent; the villagers are 
 beginning to come in, in knots of twos and 
 threes. Dym sees Phyllis walking with her 
 fellow-servants from the Hall. Mistress Dorothy, 
 in her black silk and Paisley shawl, curtsies 
 primly as she passes the hillock where Dym and 
 her lame companion sit.
 
 206 Wooed an d Married. 
 
 " I should like to hear all about it_, Grace/' 
 says T)ym, settling herself comfortably against 
 the tree-trunk ; and Grace, nothing loth, com- 
 plies. 
 
 It was a long story, but Dym did not "^eary 
 of it — possibly because it reminded her of WilFs, 
 wherein Mr. Chichester was ever the hero ; with- 
 out doubt he was Grace's hero. The little dress- 
 maker's eyes filled with tears when she spoke of 
 his generosity and goodness. 
 
 Grace Dunster lived over Burgess the tailor's; 
 she had two little rooms there, which she called 
 home. But she did not live alone; she had two 
 young sisters, whom she had to maintain with 
 her needle. 
 
 Grace did not dwell much on their poverty 
 and struggles — it was not for naught that Grace 
 Dunster had that sweet earnest face ; patience 
 and endurance were written in every feature of it 
 — but she spoke of Doll, who had epileptic fits, 
 and would not live to be a woman ; and Phil, 
 who turned out to be a girl, " who is very rough, 
 but homely, miss, and scours and cleans up so 
 nicely, and helps me with a white seam when 
 her lessons are done and the other girls are at 
 play." 
 
 And then Grace related, but very briefly, how 
 her foot had been bad from a child, and how it 
 grew worse and worse, " till the bone seemed 
 on fire with pain;" and Grace worked on by 
 day, and cried herself to sleep at night, but 
 softly, so as not to wake Phil ; and how her 
 face grew pale and pinched-like with the con-
 
 Nidderdale Cottage. 207 
 
 stant trouble of it^ and folks said she would go 
 into a consumption and die ; and then how this 
 came about to the squire^s ears^ and one day, 
 when Grace was sitting alone sobbing a bit over 
 her work — ^just for reliefs sake — the squire and 
 Miss Nethecote came in together, and were 
 both of them so kind, and the squire asked her 
 if she would be a good brave girl, and do what 
 he told her ; and when she said " Yes,^' but very 
 wanderingly, he told her that Miss Nethecote 
 had offered to take Phil and Doll home to 
 Nidderdale Cottage, and promised her old ser- 
 vant should look after Doll ; but that he was 
 going to send Grace down to a grand London 
 hospital, where the cleverest doctors in the world 
 would see her poor foot, and tell her what must 
 be done to it ; and when Grace cried, though it 
 was only out of pure gratitude and joy like, " at 
 being so thought of, miss,^' he promised there 
 and then that he would come up to London and 
 see her. 
 
 And he kept his word, and came twice or 
 thrice into the great hospital ward when the 
 amputation was over, and Grace was relieved of 
 her life-long burden ; nay, more, when the doc- 
 tors said it would be long before she would be 
 .strong and fit for work again, he sent her to an- 
 other beautiful hospital built somewhere on the 
 seashore, where for six happy weeks Grace could 
 see the waves rippling over the sand, and drink 
 in health with the sweet sea-breezes. 
 
 Nor did his kindness end there ; " for if he 
 did not meet me himself at the station and bring
 
 2 OS Wooed and Married. 
 
 me hoTue in his fine open carriage^ which will 
 hold eight comfortable, miss ; and there I found 
 Phil and Doll and jNJiss Nethecote, and the tea- 
 table all dressed up with flowers, just as though it 
 were a school feast. Why, it is making you cry, 
 miss, I declare !" 
 
 Pym did actually brush away a tear. The 
 narrative, simple as it was, moved her to tearful 
 interest. ^Miat a great benevolent heart it must 
 be that could interest itself in the trouble of a 
 poor seamstress ! Other men were doubtless as 
 generous as Mr. Chichester; many a one would 
 have sent the poor little sufferer to the London 
 hospital, and, perhaps, even to the convalescent 
 home — the lives of rich men abound in such 
 deeds of largesse and almsgiving — but who among 
 these Dives in purple would have troubled them- 
 selves with even a thought of the girl l\ing lonely 
 and home-sick in her distant ward, pining for 
 news of Doll and Phil, and ready to cry her eyes 
 out with joy over the beautiful letter Miss Nethe- 
 cote had sent, enclosing a note in round hand 
 from Phil ; and who but the squire would have 
 brought his carriage round to the station door, 
 and himself supported poor little G racers totter- 
 ing steps down those dreadful stone stairs ! But 
 the climax of the story, the flower-decked table, 
 brought her back to the old grievance : " AVho 
 was Miss Nethecote ?" And she was about to 
 put some leading question to Grace when Mr. 
 Nethecote himself appeared at the foot of the 
 hillock. 
 
 He doff'ed his straw hat, and looked so hard at
 
 Nidderdale Cottage. 209 
 
 Dym tliat she felt frightened. She found out 
 afterwards that he was very short-sighted. 
 
 " Miss Elliott — ah, Grace^ how dVe do ? In 
 pleasant company, I see — Miss Elliott, the 
 squire wants you to come down to the tent and 
 have some refreshment, before it is too hot and 
 crowded.^^ 
 
 He had not forgotten her, then ? Dym looked 
 pleased, but returned rather diffidently that she 
 would rather stay where she was, unless Mrs. 
 Chichester wanted her. 
 
 " Madam doesn^t want you,^' returned Mr, 
 Nethecote brusquely ; " there^s a regular bevy of 
 dowagers in there,'^ nodding contemptuously to 
 the tent below. " ^ See the conqueriag Hero 
 comes,"* that^s out of compliment to yoU; squire,'^ 
 as Guy Chichester's broad shoulders appeared 
 below. " Here is a rebel for you ! Miss Elliott 
 wont obey orders — rather stop where she is.'"* 
 
 iVIr. Chichester looked up and smiled. '^ As 
 though you can expect anything but contradic- 
 tion from a woman, Humphrey/' in a tone of 
 unusual benevolence. " Can't you bring her 
 and Grace something good up there ? Miss 
 Elliott, I think after all you put on that pink 
 gown for effect — you are so determined to show 
 it. Holloa, Berwick, what are you after?" as 
 the boy rushed past him, panting and breathless. 
 
 "I am only going to the house to fetch my 
 wickets and bat. Cousin Guy ; those fellows up 
 there want to get up a game of cricket. Well, 
 what now, squii'e ?■" as Guy coolly took him by 
 
 VOL. I. 14
 
 210 Wooed and Married. 
 
 the shoulders and marched him off in a different 
 direction, to vhere a knot of boys were assem- 
 bled. 
 
 " I say, Ton boys, who proposed cricket ^ 
 
 The squire's tone was so awful, that consterna- 
 tion and silence prevailed, till a small boy said, 
 '^ Burgess, sir " and was instantly hustled to the 
 front. 
 
 " '\A'ho was that who peached on the other ? 
 Tim Rydell? Tim, I pity your father. I 
 wouldn't be the father of a sneak. Burgess, 
 stand forward." 
 
 " Yes, squire." 
 
 A sturdy curly-haired boy planted himself be- 
 fore the squire, grinning from ear to ear. 
 
 " You are the culprit, Ned, are you ?" 
 
 " Yes, squire," perfectly unabashed by the pub- 
 licity of the rebuke. 
 
 " You are the boy who seduced stilts and 
 monkeys into this ground, and now you propose 
 cricket." 
 
 " Well, we tossed up heads and tails, and 
 cricket came down heads ; and Brookes said 
 dancing was slow, and we couldn't manage pri- 
 soner's base, and Master Burke he offered to fetch 
 his bat and things ; and it is such a nice smooth 
 bit of land, squire," finished Ned in a wheedling 
 tone. 
 
 " You are a nice set of scamps, you are ! 
 Do you think cricket-balls are sugar-plums, that 
 they can be allowed amongst the tents and 
 dresses ? Do you want Miss Xethecote to act 
 long- stop, as she did last year, when a ball from
 
 ISidderdale Cottage. 211 
 
 your bowling, Burgess, nearly knocked down 
 Grace Diinster ? Did I not interdict cricket 
 then and there ? What do you mean by such 
 gross disobedience ? Berwick, I am ashamed of 
 you !" 
 
 " Please, Cousin Guy " 
 
 ^' Please, squire " — a chorus of '^ O sir V^ 
 
 " Not a word. I hate insubordination. Boys, 
 Tou all know me — that I will be minded. Ber- 
 wick, you deserve a thrashing; only your mother 
 would never forgive me ; nevertheless, you and 
 Burgess, as ringleaders, must quickly march off 
 the field; and you may take that little sneak 
 Tim Rydell with you. Come, be off with you V 
 
 " Nay, nay, Pll go bail for them, squire," in 
 Humphrey Nethecote's tones. 
 
 " Xo bail V* was the severe answer. 
 
 '' Boys, come to me ; I will take you nnder 
 my protection. Mr. Chichester, you cannot re- 
 fuse a favour to a lady — please grant a general 
 amnesty and pardon the ringleaders." 
 
 "Too bad. Miss Nethecote — you have always 
 a trick of turning up when you arc not wanted. 
 I am not in a mood for forgiveness.^' 
 
 Dvm peeped forward, but there was such a 
 crowd round the squire and the boys that, in 
 spite of her elevated position, it was impossible 
 to see clearly ; there were several ladies standing 
 near, all strangers to Dym, but the voice did not 
 belong to them — it evidently proceeded from one 
 of the tent-doors. 
 
 " In spite of your remarks, justice must be 
 tempered with mercy. Boys, make your apology 
 
 14 — 2
 
 2 1 2 Wooed and Married. 
 
 to the squire, aud promise to do better for the 
 future/' 
 
 " We are sorry, sir/' *^ I wish I had knocked 
 my head against a wall before I proposed it/' 
 added Ned remorsefully ; and " Cousin Guy, I'll 
 just carry my bat back/' from Berwick. 
 
 " Well, is Justice appeased, Mr. Chichester ?" 
 
 " Oh, go your ways, boys," was the squire's 
 somewhat irritated answer ; " next time, when 
 Miss Nethecote is not by to beg you off, I'll 
 thrash the whole lot of you." This terrible 
 threat was received w^ith a sliout of laughter ; 
 and the crowd merrily dispersed. 
 
 " Got her innings as usual/' muttered Mr. 
 Chichester, as he went back to rejoin tlie ladies ; 
 and Humi)hrcy Ketliecote came back to Dyui 
 with the good things he had provided for her and 
 Grace. 
 
 " Which was !Miss Nethecote ?" she asked, 
 leaning eagerly forward ; but Humphrey, who 
 was assisting Grace, did not hear her question. 
 By-and-bye, when they had finished, and Grace, 
 having sighted Phil from below, had hastily 
 adjusted her crutch and gone down in search of 
 her, this singular individual came and stationed 
 himself against the tree-trunk. 
 
 " Don't let me detain you. I mean, there 
 is plenty of room to sit down,'' Dym hastily 
 added, fearing she had been rude. 
 
 " Eh, what ? I am afraid I did not hear you. 
 Oh, there is no occasion for me to go down just 
 yet — and the squire asked me particularly to 
 look after you/'
 
 Nidderdale Cottage. 213 
 
 '^ He is very kind/' answered Dym^ in a low 
 voice. 
 
 '^ Kind ! Ah, the squire's always kind, except 
 to those boys just now. Ah, Honor had him 
 there. I told Honor once that the squire 
 ought to be a Jew; he is so careful to carry out 
 that bit of the Mosaic law about the widow, the 
 fatherless, and the stranger. I should think 
 you found that out at St. Luke's, didn't you ?" 
 with an interrogative glance. 
 
 Dym wondered what Mr. Nethecote would 
 have thought if he had heard the story of Ned 
 Smithers. Not but what it was all of a piece 
 with Grace Dunster's hero. Will had done 
 well to warn her against hero-worship. She 
 assented very quietly to Mr. Nethecote's ques- 
 tions. To tell the truth, the worthy York- 
 shire man somewhat bored Dym, who was a very 
 lively little creature ; he had spoiled her tete-a- 
 tete with Grace ; and she made up her mind 
 with Dymphna-like obstinacy that if his sister 
 were like him she must be very plain indeed. 
 
 " That was a queer idea of the squire's, taking 
 up his residence in Kentish Town, wasn't it ?" 
 went on Humphrey, in his gruff good-natured 
 voice. " There's no notion what a man may do 
 when he is once off his balance. I daresay, if 
 your brother were here, he could tell us plenty 
 of amusing anecdotes. No matter where he 
 goes or what he does, our squire is sure to be 
 talked about." 
 
 Dym, who was very shrewd, gathered three 
 things from this speech — first, to quote common
 
 :2 1 4 Wooed and Married, 
 
 parlance, " that there was a screw loose some- 
 where •" but this was no news to her. Only 
 the expression " off his balance/^ set her think- 
 ing whether Mr. Chichester might be somewhat 
 wrong in his head ; but after a minute she re- 
 jected this idea with disdain : the very thought 
 was disloyal to her hero. Next she discovered 
 that this worthy Humphrey was bitten with the 
 same enthusiasm, and that in some sort of way 
 he was a sturdy matter-of-fact prop to the 
 erratic genius of Guy Chichester. 
 
 '^ Ho, ho ! so the squire has his Mentor too/^ 
 she thought gleefully; but in this respect she 
 was wrong. Humphrey Nethecote was not 
 Guy Chichester's Mentor. 
 
 On the contrary; she found out afterwards, 
 though Humphrey in his canine-like fidelity 
 would have laid down his life for his friend, he 
 did not possess the slightest power or influence 
 over the squire — his next speech proved the 
 truth of this. 
 
 " Eh, it was an odd idea,^^ he continued 
 musingly. " Perhaps I am a little old-fashioned 
 in my notions — Honor says I am — but I never 
 can see the sense of a man kicking over the 
 traces. That's the squire's fault ; he gets the 
 bit between his teeth, a wrong idea in his head, 
 and he bolts off with it. ^Vhy, if he had stuck 
 to my advice — which he never does, bless you ! — 
 he would have just taken the home farm off my 
 shoulders, and worked all those new-fangled 
 ideas of his. But no ; he must be off to 
 Kentish Town, and teaching ragged boys in the
 
 Nidderdale Cottage. 215 
 
 night-school, and doing goodness knows what 
 besides; and for all I can say, Honor only 
 laughs at him/' 
 
 Evidently Mr. Nethecote thought that Mr. 
 Elliott/s sister would be pretty conversant with 
 the squire's vagaries. She hardly knew what 
 answer to make to this strange confidence; and 
 afraid of saying too much, she merely asked, 
 ^^ Is Honor your sister V^ which was a little bit 
 of hypocrisy on her part. 
 
 '^ What's to do now ?" he returned, looking at 
 her in surprise. " Of course Honor Nethecote 
 must be my sister — my half-sister, I should say, 
 for the same mother couldn't have the pair 
 of us." 
 
 " Then she is not like you ?" 
 
 Humphrey Nethecote wrinkled up his light 
 eyebrows ; and light eyebrows on a freckled 
 face are no beauty. 
 
 ^' Coom, coom. Miss Elliott, you are trying 
 your fu-un on me ;" for Mr. Nethecote's speech 
 was very broad. " I must tell the Duchess 
 that — like me, indeed !" and Mr. Nethecote 
 laughed heartily. 
 
 " How was I to know ?" returned Dym a 
 little pertly. " I have not seen your sister." 
 
 " Do you know what a farmer once said to 
 her ? ' Thee art t' tightest lass, Miss Nethecote,' 
 he said, ' not only in the West Riding, but in 
 the whole of Yorkshire ; and I'd drive a hard 
 bargain to buy thee if thy cheeks were but a 
 verra little bit redder.' How the squire laughed, 
 and advised Honor to rub her cheeks !"
 
 216 Wooed and Married. 
 
 Dym was very perplexed, but she began to 
 like honest Humphrey in spite of herself. 
 
 " Honor would have been up at the Great 
 House to see you this morning/^ he conticued^ 
 " but for the bustle of this flower- show. It is 
 early days to ask you, but I suppose Madam, as 
 we call her, is very kind to you T^ 
 
 " Very ; but 1 like the squire best/^ returned 
 Dym, with the fearlessness, but hardly the re- 
 ticence of eighteen. Humphrey gave a low 
 prolonged whistle, and stared at her; but Dym^s 
 piquante, innocent, little face evidently disarmed 
 him, and he broke into a candid smile. 
 
 " Ah, everybody's alike, high and low, rich 
 and poor, man or woman, I believe there^s the 
 bell for the prizes — see how the people are 
 crowding in. Shall I elbow you a passage, 
 Miss Elliott, or do you prefer the fresh air 
 outside ?" 
 
 " Yes, yes ; don^t wait for me, please — I 
 know you are wanted /' and afraid of monopo- 
 lizing him, Dym ran down the tiny slope and 
 wandered about the field by herself rather aim- 
 lessly, thinking every now and then that even 
 that stupid Humphrey was better company than 
 none; and keenly alive to the discomfort of 
 being alone in a crowd, before many minutes 
 were over she was ready to envy Phyllis, who was 
 walking with a trim-looking lad, evidently a 
 mechanic by his dress. 
 
 Phyllis blushed and curtsied in answer to 
 Dym^s nod; and then Dym came upon Grace 
 Dunster sitting in a shady nook with a shock-
 
 Nidderdale Cottage. 217 
 
 headed girl in a flaming red frock and white 
 pinafore, evidently Phil, but both looked so 
 happy that she would not disturb them, and 
 wandered on disconsolately till she found an 
 empty seat near a stand of exotics ;. there were 
 very few people about, and in watching them 
 Dym got drowsy, and nearly went to sleep. 
 
 She really was dreaming, or something like it ; 
 for she opened her eyes and said, " Will \" 
 when a hand was laid on her shoulder. 
 
 " Will ! no such luck. Here, Tve found her 
 asleep, I do declare V' cried Guy Chichester's 
 cheery voice ; at which Dym was wide awake in 
 a moment. " Here, Honor, come and take this 
 child home with you, and give her some tea; 
 my mother will not want her — we have twenty 
 to thirty people up at the house. ''^ 
 
 " Very well,^^ assented a quiet voice behind her. 
 
 Dym turned quickly round, and at last found 
 herself face to face with the owner of it. 
 
 And her first impression was that Miss Nethe- 
 cote was the most singular person she had ever 
 met, and her next that she was the most beauti- 
 ful woman she had ever seen in her life. And 
 this opinion was confirmed when she saw her in 
 her own home, when the shady hat no longer 
 concealed the broad white forehead and wide- 
 open grey eyes. The Yorkshire farmer w^as 
 right : Miss Nethecote was y^x^ pale, but the 
 shape of the face was perfect ; and Dym had 
 never before seen that peculiar shade of brown 
 hair which loolvs as though the sun were always 
 shining on it.
 
 The sn^niariiT, after alL iar oiienT in her 
 dres : in ^ite at tke wanndi of die evienin^ and 
 ^e feidvitT of «fe oocaaoB, Miss Xetfaeoote 
 v«e a dak-lilBc ciitim ii dreas, fittxi^ afanost 
 as dcHdtr ai a ndin^-lnfast, and a \om ndii^ bit 
 and fiadicn. "* Verv vcfl,' was all ^e said ; 
 bst ^e pleasantness of Iht swle made np fer 
 tfe IsevitT of her greeting, and die beld OBl her 
 hand to IK-m. It was m^ofed, and eren in 
 Aat — .wMuf of soft fafjMur a Tivid icaKmbnnce 
 of Mr. Chichester's wxds in the ponji radied to 
 her memarj. He had said he "^ liked a lai^ 
 kwking hand." Here it was ; 
 's hand as it was Drm's litLe little fingeis 
 qvite lost in it. 
 Strange that that tna mcnoent oi greeting 
 hm^ pain to Drm! Might it not be 
 of tike strange power and faaeinatkni 
 that,in^^of allhcr cAbrts, Honor Xethecote 
 to exeine oier onr little heroine ? For as 
 west on Djni eoold hare widhed die had 
 never seem Honor Xetheoote's face ; while all 
 the while dbe kned and deaved to her, as women 
 have loved and deaied sinee die days of Bath 
 AeMoahitesL 
 
 Miss Xedceote, after her hrief word of assent, 
 to dimk fnrdier delaj imneoeHsij, for 
 nde as tiioi^ to lead the waj, but 
 Mr. ChidMstcr stopped her. 
 
 ""If I woe joQ, I would take die short cat 
 the fields: dbe seems Terr tired. I wiU 
 it aB rijrht with nrr
 
 Xxdderdale Cottage, 219 
 
 Miss Xetheeotc nodded. " Come. !Miss 
 Effiott." 
 
 '•' Good-niglit, Honor/' looking wistfully after 
 them. 
 
 '•' Good-night, squire/' with a nondhaJmnt 
 wave of her hand, wiihont tnming her head. 
 " Bon't forget mercy wheai yoa are dealing widi 
 justice next time." 
 
 Bym. who felt, lamh-like,, that she was going 
 to be sacrificed to a fresh whim, and was not 
 quite easy in her mind as to what Mrs. Chi- 
 chester would say to this proceeding, coold not 
 help looking round as they walked on. Mr. 
 Chichester was still standing in the tent*door, 
 shading his eyes and watching them. They 
 were crossing on the unfrequented part of the 
 field. •*' Can you climb a fence ?" asked Miss 
 Nethecote abruptly. Here was a new inconsis- 
 tency : fancy this tall magnineent-lookiiig woman. 
 cKmbing a fence ! But to Dym's surprise die 
 achieved it far more lightly than even Dym her- 
 self. 
 
 '• I hope you are not afraid of bulls," was &e 
 next observation ; to which Dym, without any 
 hesitation, replied that she was very, veiy modi 
 afraid of them, and that, if Miss Nediecole 
 would aUow her. she would rather go back ; and 
 so on. 
 
 This brought matters to a standstill ; and 
 Miss Nethecote walked on for a minute, as 
 though gravely considering the position of affairs. 
 
 '* K we go back through the village and round
 
 220 JFooecI and Married. 
 
 by the !Mill, it will make the difference of more 
 than three-quarters of a mile, and Mr. Chichester 
 says YOU are very tired. So am I/' she added, 
 seeing Dym was ready to disclaim this eagerly. 
 " Mr. Trevor^s cattle will certainly be out in the 
 field — I passed them this afternoon ; but old 
 Cerberus, his black bull, was not amongst them. 
 Yes," she continued, with the decision of a 
 general who had just renewed his forces, and 
 had made up his mind to do battle — " yes, I 
 think we can venture. If you are afraid, you 
 shall take the side nearest the hedge. I'll 
 promise you for your comfort, Miss Elliott, that 
 I will be thoroughly tossed before I will let 
 them touch you." 
 
 All this was very terrible to Dym ; but there 
 was a " no-appeal " sort of tone in Miss Xethe- 
 cote's voice which made her think an argument 
 would be fruitless. Evidently there was more 
 than one strong will in Birstwith. A conscious- 
 ness of not wishing to be laughed at made her 
 determined to go through with it. She quaked 
 visibly, though, when they came to the meadow, 
 and found it full of moving black bodies and 
 formidable horns ; though Miss Xethecote pre- 
 tended not to see it. " fortune favours the 
 brave," they say. There was no awful cata- 
 strophe or hair-breadth escape of two females 
 down in the Pattley Bridge, Nidderdale, and 
 Ripon Herald that week. Tossing and goring 
 may be Taurus-like qualities ; but Squire Trevor's 
 cattle preferred quietly ruminating and whisking
 
 Nidderdale Cottage. 221 
 
 off flies to any such amusement, and only one 
 sound resembling a bellow made Dym^s heart 
 beat more quickly. 
 
 " There, the danger is over : as usual, antici- 
 pation is worse than reality. But I know what 
 our black cattle are to a Londoner's eyes. You 
 would have good nerve. Miss Elliott, if you had 
 not a trick of turning so pale. In six months 
 you will think nothing of going through these 
 fields alone.'' 
 
 " Never ! " was the vehement rejoinder. 
 " Why, how far you live from the village. Miss 
 Nethecote ! " 
 
 " By choice, and not from necessity," was the 
 somewhat singular reply ; and, as Dym looked 
 surprised, " Before Mr. Trevor came to Bii'stwith 
 my brother wished very much to take his house ; 
 but I told him it was far too near the Great 
 House and the Vicarage, and he gave it up, 
 though it was larger and more convenient for 
 him, poor fellow ! But I could not tolerate 
 livmg in the village." 
 
 '^ Mr. Chichester seems to like it." 
 *^ Oh, the squire ! He is no criterion. In 
 spite of his liking, he takes care to relieve it 
 often enough of his presence. If one were a 
 man, able to go to London, Paris, or Rome, or 
 even to Kentish Town, when one wished, it might 
 be different ; but a woman is such a cooped-up 
 creature," with a sigh ending in a smile. " Why, 
 I should be obliged to stop in from week's end to 
 week's end, and repent in dust and ashes when-
 
 222 Wooed and Married. 
 
 ever I add a fresh trimming to my dress or get 
 a new bonnet. I have left off dressing in Birst- 
 with/^ 
 
 Dym was getting new lights now. " You 
 mean that every one notices what you have on 
 and talks about it. I have heard it is always 
 the case in villages. ^^ 
 
 " Oh, the talk would not hurt me. I never 
 hear gossip. It is the base imitation of the real 
 article that tries my woman^s soul. Never 
 believe a woman is above this weakness, Miss 
 Elliott ; it is a li])el on our sex. All the good 
 women in the Bible were fond of dress. Oh, I 
 am no Puritan^ not I ! " 
 
 '' I think it is too bad to copy fashions,^^ ex- 
 claimed Dym, who was enjoying this thoroughly 
 feminine conversation. 
 
 " Do you ? You have a pink bonnet on to- 
 day. Yes ; it is very pretty — inexpensively 
 trimmed too ; it will just come within the means 
 of Phyllis and her sisters ; unless, not being Mrs. 
 Fortescuc^s or Miss Nethecote's, it is not fashion- 
 able enough for them.^' Then, as Dym laughed : 
 '' I assure you once. Miss Elliott, I wore a grey 
 silk — I adore grey silk. The following Sunday 
 — no_, the next but one — half the church was in 
 grey. I was not in a devout mood> and I 
 counted fifteen, in all materials, from grey rep 
 and poplin down to mousseline de laine and grey 
 duffle. Absurd, was it not ? " as Dym laughed. 
 " Now you may form some sort of conjecture 
 why I dislike living in a village. One may wear
 
 Nidderdale Cottage. 223 
 
 out Birstwith patience by adhering closely to 
 one costume ; but in other ways how is Birst- 
 with^s curiosity to be baffled T^ 
 
 Miss Nethecote had a slow^ musing way of 
 talking occasionally, but she looked up now, aad 
 spoke more quickly. 
 
 " Ah, there^s our house — Nidderdale House, 
 or Cottage, we call it. You can see the low 
 grey roof shining through the trees."*^ 
 
 " And that other one ? '' asked Dym, pointing 
 to a building a little farther down the road. 
 
 " That is Woodside, where Mr. Grey, the 
 doctor, lives. It is a little out of the way for 
 his practice, but there was no house vacant in 
 the village. His wife is a sad invalid. I have 
 been sitting with her nearly all the afternoon, 
 gossiping and playing with her babies.''^ 
 
 ^' Do you like her ? Is she nice V^ For 
 Dym had a laudable desire to learn all she 
 could of her future neighbours. 
 
 '* Yes, I like her very much ; she is the nicest 
 woman in Birstwith,^' was the frank rejoinder. 
 
 " What, nicer than Mrs. Chichester 1" But 
 Dym was sorry for her thoughtless remark after- 
 wards. A slight, almost imperceptible, change 
 came over Miss Nethecote^s fine face ; but when 
 Dym looked again it was gone. Possibly Miss 
 Nethecote thought honesty was the best policy, 
 for her answer was very straightforward. 
 
 '•' Well, perhaps I am not a fair judge. I 
 like Mrs. Chichester extremely, but then we 
 never can get on together. When two women
 
 224 Wooed and Married. 
 
 have two such wills, it would be wonderful if 
 they were not to clash sometimes. Don^t you 
 like a thoroughly helpless woman V^ 
 
 " No/"* returned Dym, promptly, finding it 
 was necessary to assert her own individuality ; 
 " not at all." 
 
 " That is because you are helpless yourself. 
 What," as Dym seemed bent on defending her- 
 self, " don^t you like to Jean all your weight on 
 somebody ? Is not it ' Will, Will ! ' from morn- 
 ing to night ? You see, a little bird tells me all 
 manner of things. Miss Elliott. One of these 
 days it will not be ' Will,' but somebody else." 
 
 " I am sure I shall not like Mrs. Grey,^' re- 
 turned Dym, viciously. What was the use of 
 asserting herself? Already she was worsted in 
 her argument. Of course she was helpless, and 
 she knew it ; but Miss Nethecote need not have 
 found it out so soon : she was as bad as, or even 
 worse than, the squire himself. 
 
 " You are deciding on poor evidence. If we 
 were not both so tired, I would take you on to 
 Woodside, and make you retract your words 
 before tea. As it is, I will content myself with 
 observing that Esther Grey is the sweetest woman 
 and the worst wife I ever saw ; if she were not 
 such a good mother, I might declare her unre- 
 deemable." 
 
 " My mind refuses to admit such an inconsis- 
 tency. Miss Nethecote." 
 
 " You are afraid you spoke prematurely. 
 Pray donH go to ]\Irs. Fortcscue for her opinion 
 of my favourite j she says Esther is a wretched
 
 Nidderdale Cottage. 225 
 
 manager, and that Mr. Grey has a sad time of 
 it with an ailing wife, six children, and small 
 means ; and perhaps she is right. Well, we all 
 have our faults ; it is peccavi with most of us» 
 Now, is this not a pretty corner V 
 
 They had crossed the last field, and had come 
 out on a little patch of white road shaded with 
 trees, and with a trout stream flowing beside it. 
 Beyond lay a picturesque piece of broken grass 
 land, resembling a miniature common. 
 
 "The air is fresher and more bracing up here 
 than if we lived lower down in the valley. Well^ 
 welcome to Nidderdale Cottage, Miss Elliott;" 
 and unlocking a door in the wall, Dym found 
 herself in a pleasant garden — half garden, half 
 orchard — with a trim little lawn and straggling 
 walks, bordered with apple-trees, and a long grey 
 cottage, with a bow window, the porch quite 
 smothered with honeysuckle and roses. 
 
 '' What a dear place V cried Dym. There 
 was a bubble and trickle of water everywhere ; 
 on the lawn was a bed of creamy tea-roses; in 
 every corner, and even through the trees, gleamed 
 tall turk^s-cap lilies ; a sweetbrier hedge steeped 
 the evening air with fragrance ; some doves 
 cooed from the roof. " How sweet and still it 
 all is ! Of course it is not so grand, but it is 
 prettier far than Ingleside." ' 
 
 " Ob, don^t speak against Ingleside ! I love 
 it," returned Miss Nethecote, rather contradic- 
 tively. " Yes, it is pretty enough, and Humphrey 
 takes great pains with it. But if women have 
 cages, I should like mine to be a gilded one. 
 
 VOL. I. 15
 
 226 Wooed an d Married, 
 
 The rooDis are not higli or large enough for my 
 taste. But all the same/^ continued this singular 
 being, '^ I suppose I shall live and die here/^ 
 
 Dym made no answer. To her Nidderdale 
 Cottage appeared a perfect Paradise. The rooms 
 were not large, certainly, and were evidently few 
 in number, but they were furnished with exquisite 
 taste, and in perfect accordance with the cottage- 
 like exterior. The principal sitting-room — Miss 
 Nethecote corrected her when she said drawing- 
 room — was fitted up with grey damask, and had 
 rose hangings ; and Honoris room was full of 
 beautiful things — Parian statuettes, Swiss carv- 
 ings, a kneeling figure in Genoese marble, and 
 Roman mosaics were prettily grouped on table 
 and bracket. ^^ After all,^' as Dym thought, 
 " there was no lack of gilding in Miss Nethe- 
 cote^s cage/^ Guy Chichester had said that 
 Avhatever Humphrey Nethecote touched turned 
 to gold. It certainly seemed as though it were 
 his hobby to lavish pretty things on his sister. 
 In spite of the low ceiling and latticed windows, 
 she thought that there was not a room in Ingle- 
 side more to her taste than Honor's bower. 
 
 It made her think more highly of Mr. Nethe- 
 cote, and she was rather disappointed when 
 Honor, in her matter-of-fact way, remarked that 
 they had newly furnished the house last year, 
 when some money had come to her, but that the 
 statuettes and Swiss carvings had been given her 
 by a friend. 
 
 " How nice to have such a friend \'^ ejaculated 
 Dym^ in the innocence of her heart.
 
 Nidderdale Cottage. 227 
 
 " Very/^ returned Miss Nethecote^ drily, 
 " especially as I hate gifts, and the friend knows 
 that I do. Miss Elliott, if you are ready, shall 
 we go downstairs ? Humphrey will be on the 
 field till nine o'clock, but he will be home in 
 time to walk back to Ingleside wdth you/'' 
 
 What a pleasant evening that was ! Dym 
 put down her first visit to Nidderdale Cottage as 
 one of her red-letter days. She had never before 
 enjoyed the society of an intellectual, thoroughly 
 womanly woman ; for, with all her eccentricities. 
 Miss Nethecote was certainly that. 
 
 They grew very confidential over the cosy 
 little meal, which was laid out in the bow- window 
 of a tiny room looking over the trout stream and 
 the meadow ; the grass ran up to the very win- 
 dow ; one stepped over the ledge on to the green 
 soft carpet. There was a group of alder-trees at 
 one end, and two beautiful Alderneys, as unlike 
 as possible to Squire Trevor's cattle, were quietly 
 chewing the cud under their shade ; a row of 
 beehives stood near the house ; a flock of white 
 geese were stretching out their long necks and 
 flapping their wings noisily. 
 
 " How beautiful V observed Dym, with some- 
 thing like a sigh. 
 
 " Yes, if only cows and grass could fill one's 
 life/' repeated Miss Nethecote, with a dreamy 
 smile. She had dropped the slight brusquerie 
 that Dym had noticed — for people said Miss 
 Nethecote could be brusque sometimes, and they 
 were right ; she sat opposite Dym, with grand 
 white forehead and bright candid eyes, looking 
 
 15—2
 
 228 Wooed and Married. 
 
 so fair and good that Dym caught herself wonder- 
 ing what ^Yill would think of her, and if she 
 would be right in electing Miss Nethecote as her 
 heroine. 
 
 Dym^s straightforward little soul was charmed 
 with the largeness and simplicity of Honoris 
 nature. With all her reticence, she could be as 
 frank and outspoken as Dym herself. 
 
 Her answers always went straight to the point. 
 Honor was always ready with her yea, yea, and 
 her nay, nay, when other people would have 
 hesitated or equivocated. She was perfectly 
 honest — people said too much so ; for example, 
 Dym was admiring a richly-chased chocolate-pot, 
 and asked if it were an heirloom. 
 
 " No," returned Miss Nethecote quietly ; '' it 
 was a present from the same kind friend to 
 Humphrey on his birthday. We do not boast 
 heirlooms in our family. I remember the time 
 when Humphrey was quite a poor man — that is, 
 comparatively poor, you know. Ah, he has had 
 his work to do in the world ! No wonder he is 
 a little rough, poor fellow. In those days I did 
 not talk of grey- silk gowns. Miss Elliott .^^ 
 
 " I think I heard INIr. Chichester sky some- 
 thing of this," replied Dym. • 
 
 '^ Did he tell you that we had lodgings at the 
 Mill, and that no one in Birstwith would have 
 thought of visiting us ? That was when Humphrey 
 was the old squire's undcr-bailiff, and I was little 
 more than a child. Poor old Humphrey, his pride 
 had something to bear then. And just look at 
 him now — there is not a man more respected in
 
 Nidderdole Cottage. 229 
 
 the West Riding ; and it is all his own doing 
 too/' 
 
 '^ After all there must be something in Hum- 
 phrey Nethecote/"* thought Dym remorsefully. 
 
 " But now I want to know more about you 
 and your brother/^ continued Miss Nethecote 
 winningly. She took the girPs hand and drew 
 her gently to the corner of the old-fashioned 
 couch, and then sat down beside her. '^ Never 
 mind about Humphrey and me — it is a stupid 
 subject_, and one that will keep. I have heard so 
 much about Mr. Elliott and St. Luke^s, and I 
 am longing to hear more/^ 
 
 Dym needed no other encouragement. In a 
 few more minutes she was pouring out her little 
 life history of failures and trials. Miss Nethe- 
 cote listened with admirable patience to the long 
 story of WilFs illness, which Dym seemed never 
 weary of repeating, and did not once own she 
 had heard it all before. Now and then she spoke 
 a few words of encouragement and sympathy, as 
 though to draw her out. 
 
 But, as Dym remembered afterwards, Miss 
 Nethecote talked very little. 
 
 She sat, in the flower-scented twilight, be- 
 side the open window, looking dreamily out on 
 the bed of roses all the time Dym was faltering 
 out her tender little egotisms. The moonlight 
 touched the white forehead and coronet of brown 
 hair with a soft halo, and then fell on the large 
 ringless hands, so quietly folded in her lap ; once 
 they stirred slightly as Dym waxed bolder and 
 spoke of ^Ir. Latimer and the Great Unknown.
 
 280 Wooed and Married. 
 
 She caught her breath and sighed wheu Dym, in 
 her young enthusiasm^ blundered on to the story 
 of the dying navvy;, and once bade her go on 
 almost abruptly, 
 
 *'I did not tell this to Mrs. Chichester this 
 morning/^ finished Dym, with an excited little 
 laugh ; " I thought it better not. And now — 
 how cold your hands are, Miss Nethecote ! " 
 
 " Oh, it is nothing ; we have been sitting so 
 long by the open window. Your voice was rather 
 pathetic in the darkness. Yes, you were right 
 not to tell. Guy — Mr. Chichester, I mean — - 
 w ould not like any one to know this. You must 
 keep it sacred between yourself and Will -" then, 
 as she dr'ew the girl towards her with a kiss, 
 " There, God bless you ! I mean, thank Heaven 
 for it ! You see, he died rcpeutant.^^ 
 
 But the strangest part was that, as Honor 
 kissed her, something wet touchcd> Dym^s cheek 
 at the same moment. And the next minute 
 Honor rose without a word, and passed through 
 the open window into the lily-scented darkness.
 
 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 A BIT OF THE SQUIRE S TEMPER. 
 
 YM^S first day at Ingleside had been an 
 eventful one ; but for the next few 
 weeks her life flowed on with almost 
 unbroken regularity. 
 
 A pleasing routine of duties filled up every 
 hour of the day. Never idle herself, Mrs. Chi- 
 chester found constant employment for her young 
 companion's active mind and fingers — listiessness 
 and vacuum were abhorrent to the mistress of 
 Ingleside. In spite of her drudgery as governess, 
 Dym had never been so fully as well as happily 
 employed in her life. 
 
 Dym fitted into her niche with admirable tact. 
 Quick to observe and learn, she soon discovered 
 her proper place in the house, and kept it. Her 
 bright brisk ways suited Mrs. Chichester to a 
 nicety, and though she still lectured the girl 
 kindly on little failings, or took her to task gently 
 for her brusquerie and impulsiveness, there was 
 such sincere affection in her tone that Dym ceased 
 to take umbrage at it, or to shy at every word 
 like an unbroken colt. 
 
 Dym on her part soon learnt to love Mrs.
 
 232 Wooed and Married. 
 
 Chichester very heartily, though her love as yet 
 lacked the enthusiasm of thorough partisanship. 
 Loyal to her old predilection, she took Guy Chi- 
 chester's part through thick and thin, and stoutly 
 maintained that his mother wanted tact ; but 
 she was very tolerant nevertheless, and soon 
 manifested an almost daughter-like dutifulness, 
 submitting herself to the dictums of the eider 
 lady with a docility that secretly astonished Mr. 
 Chichester. 
 
 " The Dymphna angles are wearing off nicely 
 and rounding themselves,'' he wrote once to Will. 
 " My mother's discipline is doing your sister a 
 great deal of good. I did not think before that 
 Miss Elliott possessed the bump of reverence, but 
 she gives in to all my mother's fads very prettily, 
 and it is pleasant to see their honest affection for 
 each other. My mother has been twice as bright 
 since Miss Elliott came." 
 
 It was a pity Dym could not see that letter, 
 for the one droj) that was lacking in her enjoy- 
 ment was Mr. Chichester himself. 
 
 He was very good to her, and showed her 
 plenty of grave kindness ; but the indefinable 
 change of manner that she had first noticed in 
 St. Luke's porch had returned the very next day 
 after the fiower-show, and had continued with 
 slight intermission ever since. 
 
 Dym had never again sinned against his fas- 
 tidiousness ; but for some days she was nervous^ 
 and feared to address him, till Mrs. Chichester, 
 with characteristic gentleness, set her mind com- 
 pletely at rest on this subject.
 
 A Bit of the Squire s Temper. 233 
 
 " My dear/^ she said, one day, flushing a 
 little over her words, as though they were diffi- 
 cult to her, " my son has been talking to me, 
 and I find that his views differ from mine. I 
 am afraid he has sadly radical opinions ; but we 
 must not forget that he is master here. He 
 wishes no formality in the form of your address 
 to him ; so, my dear ^' — as Dym blushed and 
 looked uncomfortable — '' you may consider my 
 words on Wednesday as completely unsaid ; but 
 all the same, I cannot help saying that since then 
 I have been greatly pleased at your change of 
 manner/^ and Dym tried hard to be grateful for 
 this commendation. This time she certainly be- 
 haved very well ; but it is to be doubted whether 
 she ever really enjoyed a conversation with Mr. 
 Chichester in his mother''s presence. 
 
 There is no tribunal so severe to a woman as 
 the censorship of her own sex. A man^s judg- 
 ment is lenient in comparison. Argus of the 
 hundred eyes ought to have been a woman. It 
 is lamentable how few ever compass the spirit of 
 the marvellous chapter on charity. Very often 
 the purer and better a woman, the harsher will 
 be her judgment. " Stand back, that the hem 
 of my garment may not be soiled,^^ is often the 
 inner language of a woman''s breast. It is the 
 phylacteries and long garments of the Pharisees 
 over again. Alas, what pitiable Christianity ! 
 How opposed to the wide-open hand of the bene- 
 volence that, fearless of self- compromise, helps 
 and lifts out of the mire ! 
 
 And hovr Draco-like are the laws of women
 
 284 Wooed and Married. 
 
 after all ! Life for life ; no forgiveness for sul- 
 lied honour; no appeal against the righteous 
 judgment of an unpitying world ; pure eyes raised 
 to heaven that would be better sometimes to be 
 directed to earthy and hands whose whiteness is 
 so carefully guarded, when, if contaminated by a 
 passing touch, they would be washed white again 
 even by the angels themselves. 
 
 For the angels look down on a workl of sin, 
 and love and pity it ; and women at their purest 
 come very far short of angels. 
 
 And when Dym knew both a little better, and 
 could compare woman with woman, she learnt 
 that this Avas the difference between Honor 
 Nethecote and Mrs. Cliichester ; for the one held 
 the narrowness of a gentle bigotry compared to 
 the large-soulcd nature of the other. 
 
 Honor was severe, cruel even, in lier estimate 
 of the other sex ; but she was never harsh to her 
 own. She could be a little satirical sometimes 
 to such w^omen as Mrs. Fortescue ; but to her 
 sisterhood in general she was eminently loyal. 
 And in this she was unlike other women. 
 
 And so people of Mrs. Fortescue^s calibre 
 called her fantastical and unconventional ; and 
 sometimes, though this latter word was whispered 
 low, even a little improper. 
 
 And the best of them said she was too chari- 
 table. 
 
 And Mrs. Chichester shook her head and said 
 the old grooves were the safest, and hoped that 
 Honor would not infect Miss Elliott with her un- 
 feminine notions ; and went on delivering her
 
 A Bit of the Squire s Temjoer. 235 
 
 little lectures on propriety and decorum into 
 Dym^s shrinking ears. 
 
 But Dym never was sure, in spite of Jeremy 
 Taylor^s and Mrs. Chichester^s strongly developed 
 ideas on assurance, whether Honoris religion did 
 not savour more of the doctrines of St. Paul. 
 But being young she kept this opinion to herself. 
 
 Only one day she told Will of it, and Will 
 agreed with her. 
 
 All her life long Dym stood a little in awe of 
 Mrs. Chichester^s lectures ; but on the whole she 
 took them very well, and after a time Mrs. Chi- 
 chester, who had no daughter, learnt to make 
 allowance for the eccentricities of youth, and to 
 be more lenient to its follies. 
 
 Even in these early days they got on astonish- 
 ingly well together. 
 
 And her duties came within the limits of her 
 capacity, and kept her temper smooth. 
 
 There was no lap-dog to wash ; but all the 
 flower vases, baskets, and epergnes, down to the 
 antique china bowl in ^Irs. Chichester^s private 
 sanctum, the library, were given into Dym^s 
 charge, who perfectly revelled in flowers. In the 
 sweet early mornings she would come in from 
 terrace or garden, looking as fresh as a rosebud 
 herself, and laden with treasures, great crim- 
 son-hearted roses or fragrant clove pinks, gathered 
 with the dew still clinging to them. Dym^s clear 
 little lark-like voice would be heard ringing from 
 room to room, as she arranged them in all man- 
 ner of pretty devices. 
 
 In the mornings she read to Mrs. Chichester,
 
 236 Wooed and Married. 
 
 or wrote endless letters from her dictation. Mrs. 
 Chichester would knit and dictate happily for 
 hours ; she always signed her name herself in her 
 clear ladylike text, " Constance Medlicot Chi- 
 chester/^ " Now, my dear, we will have the 
 leading article and the court circular, and then 
 we will go on with Mrs. Shimmelpennick^s Life/^ 
 With the exception of a chapter of Thomas a 
 Kempis, Dym saw very little of the theological 
 books. Mrs. Chichester was very methodical, 
 and Dym soon learnt to read the Psalms and 
 Morning Lessons as a matter of course. At 
 times it must be confessed that Mrs. Shimmel- 
 pennick and the memorials of the Hare family 
 bored her slightly. She had even the bad taste 
 to prefer " Dombey and Son " to Macdonald's 
 " Annals of a Quiet Neighbourhood.^' '^'^ Dickens 
 is very good, but he is hardly a religious writer ; 
 we must be careful how we arc carried away by 
 our love of the amusing/' prosed the elder lady 
 gently. 
 
 '^ Dickens is delicious, and I half worship him/' 
 cried Dym rebelliously. " There is not a piece 
 of pathos to equal little Paul's death. Dickens' 
 books make me feel good. I want to do more 
 for my fellow-creatures when I read them ; he is 
 noble, grand," went on the girl, waxing into en- 
 thusiasm. " When I read a story, I don't like it 
 to be a sermon ; if I must take them, I like my 
 drugs to be disguised in sweetmeats." 
 
 " All children talk alike/' returned her friend 
 soberly. " I am fond of Dickens too, and little 
 Paul's deaths when Guy read it last night, made
 
 A Bit of the Squire's Temper. 237 
 
 me cry dreadfully. These works of fiction are 
 very well, but we must not spoil our digestion 
 with sugar-plums. I am afraid you do not find 
 much pleasure in Mrs. Fletcher^s ' Experiences/ 
 my dear; but all the same, I believe it is more 
 wholesome reading for the morning.^^ 
 
 Dym had a little argument one day on the 
 life of the Princess Louise of France ; it was a 
 lovely morning, warm, yet tempered with shade, 
 and Dym had a rebellious conviction that the 
 banks of the Nidd would be delicious on such 
 a day. 
 
 " I think it was better to be the Princess 
 Louise in her pink dress than the Mere Therese 
 de St. Augustin/^ she exclaimed, half yawning 
 with weariness and the ennui that written good 
 thoughts always produce on a mind not ready 
 to digest them. " What is the use of making 
 oneself miserable? If I were a Romanist to- 
 morrow, I would keep my common sense ; what 
 merit can there be, for example, in eating a 
 rotten egg?^^ 
 
 " My dear, you are too apt to seize on an 
 unimportant point in a book and bring it pro- 
 minently forward. I suppose, not being Roman 
 Catholics, our ideas differ ; but I think these 
 Carmelite nuns were good creatures ; Mere 
 Therese especially is a shining example of a vie 
 devote/' 
 
 '' All the same, it is very disagreeable to be 
 always trying to find disagreeable things to do,''"' 
 returned Dym stu'obornly ; " one has plenty 
 without searching. The roses and sunshine
 
 238 JFooed and Married. 
 
 were made for our enjoyment. One of those 
 old Fathers of whom you are so fond told us it 
 was a good thing to abstain from smelling a 
 rose sometimes. HadnH we better draw down 
 the blinds ? I am sure Mere Therese would in 
 our place.^' 
 
 " Get your hat and take Kelpie for a run 
 across the meadows; the fine day is making 
 you argumentative," interrupted Mrs. Chichester 
 kindly, who had read the girFs restlessness 
 aright. " There, put a marker in the place ; I 
 shall have plenty to think over when you are 
 gone." 
 
 When Dym^ needing no further word, had 
 run out of the room, she sighed softly once or 
 twice at the girlish irreverence. " There is no 
 need to pull down the blind for me," she 
 thought to herself. ^' When one enters the 
 tunnel the light goes quickly. I have made 
 two mistakes in my work this morning, and 
 never found it out ; and last night I startled 
 Guy by falling over a footstool. If only I 
 could say this, ' It needs be,' more happily ;" and 
 Mrs. Chichester leaned her head on her hand 
 and sighed. 
 
 In spite of her narrowness, she was a brave 
 woman, and could tell of many a hand-to-hand 
 battle against depression in the long watches of 
 the night, when Dym was dreaming happily of 
 AVill. 
 
 In the afternoons they used to drive out ; 
 sometimes, but not often, Guy drove them. 
 Dym saw very Little of him ; he always dined
 
 A Bit of the Squire s Temper. 239 
 
 with them, but they rarely had a pleasant 
 sociable evening afterwards. 
 
 When Dym first arrived things were rather 
 different; he would follow them in from the 
 dining-room_, and ^Aould remain for an hour or 
 two, either listening to her reading or going on 
 with the book himself; sometimes he would 
 tease his mother into an argument, or persuade 
 them to accompany him to the billiard-room, 
 and see him and Harry Trevor knock about a 
 few balls for their amusement. Very often the 
 Vicar and Mrs. Fortescue would come up to 
 dinner, the latter in grande toilette ; these 
 evenings were more ceremonious and less 
 pleasant. Dym, who had droll fancies some- 
 times, always spoke of them as the " wax-light 
 evenings,^^ as on those occasions the white china 
 lamps were always replaced by an abundance 
 of these wax tapers. Mr. Nethecote and his 
 sister had not yet made their appearance at 
 Ingleside. 
 
 But these pleasant ways were relinquished one 
 by one. Before two weeks were over Dym 
 ceased to wonder that Mrs. Chichester should 
 require a companion, and was compelled to 
 avow that there were serious flaws even in her 
 hero. Dym had not often to complain of his 
 ill-timed pleasantry, for he rarely joked at all, and 
 then only on general subjects ; now and then he 
 would relapse into his abrupt quizzical moods, but 
 generally he was merely kind and polite, and, if 
 truth must be told, terribly absent. 
 
 Dym, who was on her best behaviour, never
 
 240 Wooed and Married. 
 
 ventured to remind him that she had not seen 
 him for two days. He spoke quite sharply once 
 when she commented very innocently on an 
 unusually long absence. Mrs. Chichester^ who 
 felt for her discomfiture, hastened to console her. 
 
 " My son never likes his movements to be 
 observed. When you know him better^ you will 
 not take a quick answer so much to heart. 
 Guy is kindness itself^ but he has a sharp way 
 sometimes with him^, and just now he is a 
 little restless."'' 
 
 Dym got over this^ but she never failed to 
 fret over a missing good-night; and once her 
 eyes filled with tears when Mr. Chichester came 
 into the room and left it again without even 
 seeing her. " He was kinder to me in Paradise 
 Row/' argued the girl sadly ; and yet she had 
 received abundant proof of his thoughtfulness 
 and generosity. 
 
 Dym drove out every afternoon with Mrs. 
 Chichester; they often made pleasant excursions 
 to places of interest in the neighbourhood^ or 
 sometimes went long distances to pay or return 
 calls. One afternoon they went on a shopping 
 expedition to Harrogate^ solely on Dym's 
 account. 
 
 When Dym had been a week at Ingleside, 
 Mrs. Chichester approached the subject of her 
 wardrobe with the greatest tact and delicacy; 
 they were going to have some friends to dinner — 
 only Kate and Mr. Fortescue, and a gentleman 
 from York — what was Miss Elliott going to 
 wear?
 
 A Bit of the Squire s Temper. 241 
 
 Dym^ who had rung the changes from shabby 
 black silk to pink muslin for seven whole evenings^ 
 hung her head a little confusedly, and then 
 summoning up her courage^ honestly confessed 
 the poverty of her resources. Will was too 
 poor to buy her many dresses. What should 
 she do ? If Mrs. Chichester liked, she would 
 willingly remain away for the evening. " I 
 cannot help myself, but I have no right to 
 shame you and Mr. Chichester by my shabbi- 
 ness/^ cried Dym honestly. 
 
 Mrs. Chichester stroked her hair by way of 
 answer. 
 
 ^' Don^t talk of shabbiness. With your pretty 
 figure you look well in anything; there is no 
 fear of your shaming us. Well, I will talk of it 
 again, my dear. Let Dorothy iron out your 
 dress, and we shall see.''^ 
 
 Of course Mrs. Chichester went to her son 
 directly afterwards. 
 
 ^^What shall we do, Guy? They are so 
 dreadfully poor, and I hate hurting people's 
 pride. Perhaps if you gave me a little money 
 to lay out for her, we might call it an advance. '^ 
 But Mr. Chichester objected. 
 
 " Advanced money is only borrowing. I 
 don't see any merit in giving way to false pride. 
 I always knew ^liss Elliott and her brother were 
 poor ; but hitherto they have never been ashamed 
 of their poverty.-" 
 
 "But, Guy '' 
 
 " But, mother, it would not be you if you 
 did not try a little management. A^Tiy not 
 
 VOL. I. 16
 
 242 Wooed and Married, 
 
 speak out plainly to Miss Elliott, ' I want my 
 companion to look the lady she is ; and as this 
 is not possible without means, I am going to 
 buy you two or three pretty dresses, and you 
 must come with me and choose them/ '' 
 
 " Don^t you think she might feel hurt, Guy V' 
 
 '' Not a bit of it/' 
 
 Mr. Chichester was right. A few graceful 
 words soon removed the difficulty, and put Dym 
 completely at her ease. 
 
 " It is so very kind of you, my dear, to allow 
 me to do this for you — you do not know what 
 pleasure you are giving me,'' she said, so grate- 
 fully that Dym felt ashamed of the reluctance 
 she had felt at first, and then gave herself up to 
 the novel delights of shopping on an extensive 
 scale. 
 
 I do not know that Mrs. Chichester thought 
 the purchases as wonderful as Dym did, but all 
 the same she was charmed with the girl's sober- 
 nerness and judgment ; as she told her son 
 afterwards, she did not believe a young thing 
 could have shown such good common sense. 
 
 Cinderella, suddenly transported into fairy- 
 land, found herself utterly undazzled and beyond 
 temptation ; she would have nothing to say to 
 the delicate maize and cream colours that were 
 shown out of pure compliment to her olive com- 
 plexion. " These things are not for me," she 
 objected. She put them all aside, and would 
 have nothing but a black silk. " One can always 
 put on different ribbons, and make a fresh toilet.
 
 A Bit of the Squire s Temper. 248 
 
 You would grow so weary of one colour/-* she 
 observed apologetically. 
 
 " Yes, a black silk will always look nice/' 
 assented Mrs. Chichester. She was very pleased 
 with her young charge, and took especial pains 
 over the richness of the fabric. Dym asked for 
 white muslin after that ; perhaps she remem- 
 bered that Mr. Chichester had once said " that 
 she would look well in a white gown.''' '^ That 
 will wash nicely/' she said, looking up with naive, 
 innocent eyes into Mrs. Chichester's face; but 
 that lady was too deeply engrossed to answer 
 her. 
 
 " You must have something for autumn wear ; 
 our northern winds are very cold," she returned, 
 somewhat absently, as she added a dark tweed 
 to Dym's stock, and then bade her match some 
 gloves quickly. '■ Guy said we were to be sure 
 not to forget these, and it is getting late." She 
 would not listen when Dym hesitated, and hur- 
 ried her out of the shop without listening to the 
 girl's faltering thanks. 
 
 '^ I think we have done our business well, but I 
 am tired, my dear, and must just close my eyes." 
 
 Dym covered her up without a word, and re- 
 mained quite still during the rest of the drive ; 
 but how happy she was notwithstanding ! A 
 light breeze had set in ; the grey dust whirled 
 about the horses' feet, the hedgerows were white 
 with it ; the cows were lowing across the green 
 upland ; groups of rustic children stared open- 
 mouthed at the fine equipage and the little bright- 
 
 16—2
 
 244 Wooed and Married. 
 
 eyed lady who sat in one corner smiling to 
 herself; the sun was sinking slowly behind a 
 great red and golden cloud. As they passed 
 Ripley mill there was a gleam and splash of 
 water. '' How beautiful it is ! One can be 
 happy in this world after all/' thought Dym. 
 " Every one is so good to me just now, and I do 
 not deserve it ;" and there was a stirring of true 
 affection in her heart as she glanced at her tLred 
 companion. 
 
 Mrs. Chichester was very quiet, but the sad, 
 beautiftd eyes were looking fondly at the land- 
 scape. " Two, perhaps three, years at the latest, 
 and all this will be a memory," she thought. 
 '^Ah, well; one day, instead of green fields, it 
 will be the '■ lake mingled with fire.' " 
 
 That afternoon and evening lingered pleasantly 
 in Dym's remembrance. Mr. Chichester was on 
 the terrace when they returned, and had a kind 
 greeting word for Dym as well as his mother. 
 The conversation during dinner was carried on 
 in a lighter vein than usual, and with less mani- 
 fest effort on the squire's part ; and afterwards 
 he followed them into the drawing-room, and 
 entertained them for an hour or two with recitals 
 and anecdotes picked up in his foreign travel. 
 
 Never had Mrs. Chichester looked happier; 
 and as to Dym, she could hardly compose herself 
 to sleep sufficiently. " Why is he not always as 
 he is to-night ?" she thought ; ^' it is Paradise 
 Eow over again. AVhat has been the reason of 
 all this stiffness and silence ? How weU and
 
 A Bif of the Squire s Temper. 245 
 
 cheerful he seemed ! And I am sure by his 
 manner he is pleased with me.'"' 
 
 But Dym^s pleasure at Mr. Chichester's changed 
 manner did not last long; the next day he was 
 taciturn^ almost silent^ and as time went on he 
 became still more moody and restless. 
 
 In spite of her extreme loyalty^ Dym was 
 compelled to avow at times that Mr. Chichester 
 was strangely irritable. 
 
 Trifles disturbed his equanimity; once or twice 
 he spoke almost sharply to his mother^ and though 
 he certainly apologized afterwards^, he seemed to 
 resent the grieved look on her face as an addi- 
 tional provocation. 
 
 " Something has put the squire out/'' she heard 
 Miles once say to his young assistant, Stewart ; 
 and the scared look on Stewart^s face when his 
 master severely reprimanded him for some breach 
 of duty proved the squire's displeasure was a 
 thing to be dreaded. 
 
 During those days Ingleside was not the para- 
 dise Dym thought it on her first arrival ; the 
 servants moved softly, almost timidly, about the 
 house ; and there was a wan look in Mrs. Chi- 
 chester's eyes when she came down in the morn- 
 ing, as though she had not slept, and a visible 
 flagging of spirits during the hours she and 
 Dym passed alone together. 
 
 Just now their evenings were almost as soK- 
 tary as their days. 
 
 The shooting season had commenced ; the 
 squii'c breakfasted in his library, and left the
 
 246 JFooed and Married. 
 
 house with his gun and dog directly afterwards, 
 seldom making his appearance in the evening till 
 the gong had sounded for dinner. 
 
 Strange to say, Dym almost learned to dread 
 those dinners. Mi-s. Chichester and she would 
 make some effort to appear gay and unconcerned 
 before the servants, but it was terribly hard work. 
 Dym would collect little scraps of village gossip, 
 and retail them bit by bit between the courses ; 
 Mrs. Chichester would respond, or address some 
 questions to her son about the day^s sport, which 
 he would answer absently and without interest j 
 but he seldom volunteered a subject on his own 
 account, and now and then would relapse into 
 such gloomy silence that the ladies, fearing to 
 disturb him, talked under their breath to each 
 other, or hurried over dessert in order to leave 
 the room more quickly. 
 
 " My son is ill at ease," the poor lady once 
 said to Dym, on one of these dismal occasions, 
 when he had scarcely opened his lips except to 
 refuse every dish that was offered him ; she had 
 spent a long time that morning with her cook, 
 devisiug a dinner that should be composed of all 
 his favourite dishes; and when he had waved 
 aside the last impatiently, she could forbear no 
 longer. '^ Guy, you will be ill if you do not 
 eat,^^ she said, anxiously ; " you have never 
 refused the mayonnaise before, dear — take a 
 little just to please me." 
 
 ^' I dislike forcing an appetite," was the 
 quick rejoinder. " Nethecote and I lunched 
 heartilv on the Five Acres. Your cook^s skill
 
 A Bit of the Squire s Temjjer. 247 
 
 is -wasted on me to night/^ And though actual 
 tears of disappointment stood in his mother^ s 
 eyes, he would touch nothing but some dry- 
 bread and celery. 
 
 '' Madam fears he wiU be off again/^ was 
 Humphrey's sole remark, when Dym, meeting 
 him in the village, confided to him, somewhat 
 incautiously, the state of affairs up at the Great 
 House. 
 
 " It is just like the calm before a storm,'' 
 replied the girl sadly. " All the servants look 
 dull and half frightened, and Mrs. Chichester is 
 so downcast I can hardly bear to see her; and 
 nobody comes to see us — not even your sister." 
 
 But Mr. Nethecote merely shrugged his 
 shoulders. 
 
 " When the storm comes, you wiU see Honor 
 soon enough ; she is no fair-weather friend to 
 Madam,-" was the oracular answer. 
 
 Dym did not know what to make of it all. 
 She often heard of Mr. Nethecote forming one 
 of the shooting-party; but the squire never 
 invited him in to dinner ; and though Mrs. 
 Chichester, willing to make a diversion, pro- 
 posed it one day, the proposition was quietly 
 negatived. But Dym was soon to judge for 
 herself what the Chichester temper meant. 
 
 She was standing one evening by the open 
 window, waiting for the announcement of dinner, 
 when the squire made his appearance in the 
 drawing-room somewhat earlier than usual. 
 
 Dym, who saw him enter, went forward in- 
 voluntarily with a smile.
 
 248 Wooed and Married. 
 
 She was in a gayer mood than usual^ liaving 
 received a long, cheerful letter from Will that 
 day. 
 
 She had just gathered some late blooming 
 roses, and wore them as a breast-knot on her 
 white dress. Somehow the roses, the white 
 dress, and the girlish freshness and sweetness of 
 Dym^s whole aspect seemed to strike Mr. Chi- 
 chester, and he relaxed from his grave mood to 
 say: 
 
 " You look very happy, Miss Elliott,^' before 
 he passed on to give his mother the kiss which 
 he never omitted. 
 
 " Any letters for me, mother T' 
 
 " Nothing of any consequence, Guy. I looked 
 over them all, and they were simply business 
 notes. Have you had good sport, my dear V' 
 
 " Pretty fair. Not much of a bag, after all. 
 Silcote is a poor shot, and Nethecote was not 
 there. Well, as I have ten minutes to spare, I 
 may as well look at them now.^^ And he left 
 the room. 
 
 " I think Mr. Chichester looks brighter to- 
 day ,^^ hazarded Dym ; but Mrs. Chichester only 
 sighed, and the silence was broken at last by 
 the sound of his returning step in the corridor. 
 
 This time he strode by Dym without a word. 
 
 " Mother, when did this letter come ?" he 
 asked, in a tone of suppressed anger. 
 
 Dym looked almost as frightened as his 
 mother, as she dropped her knitting and adjusted 
 her eye-glass nervously. There was a dark 
 look on the squire^s face, and the veins of his
 
 A Bit of the Squire s Temper. 249 
 
 temples were swollen like whipcord. If eyes 
 ever flashed^ his did then. 
 
 '' Mother, one would think you had never 
 seen the handwriting before/^ as Mrs. Chichester 
 slowly and painfully inspected it. 
 
 '^ It is so dark/' she stammered. '^ Oh_, yes, 
 I see from whom it is now. My dear boy, this 
 was not among the other letters — yes, I am 
 sure of that,^^ speaking eagerly, but with 
 decision. 
 
 ^' You are perfectly certain T^ 
 
 ^' Perfectly ; this must have come by a later 
 delivery — the three o^ clock, no doubt. I never 
 go into the library after the morning, and no 
 one has brought it to me."*^ 
 
 "^ I knew it was that fool Stewart^s fault ; and 
 he has told me a lie to cover his blunder. This 
 is the second time he has disobeyed my express 
 orders to bring you my letters when I am out. 
 Well, he shall know I am not to be trifled 
 with/' 
 
 " O Guy, my dear boy, do wait a moment, 
 and let me speak to him.'' 
 
 " Why, mother ?" very haughtily. 
 
 " You are so hasty, dear ; and I know he will 
 be too frightened and sorry to say anything. 
 There, he is gone," as the squire merely walked 
 out of the room with an additional frown on his 
 face. " Oh, what shall I do ?" she continued, 
 clasping her hands in distress, and quite ob- 
 livious of Dym's presence. 
 
 " If Stewart has disobeyed orders, he deserves, 
 to be scolded," observed Dym soothingly. " Mr*
 
 250 Wooed and Married. 
 
 Chichester has a right to be vexed at such 
 negligence/^ 
 
 " Vexed ! ah, but he will send him away ; and 
 Stewart is such a nice lad, and has a widowed 
 mother and six or seven young brothers and 
 sisters. He sends all his wages home to his 
 mother; it will break her heart if Guy sends 
 him away. Oh, what shall I do?" repeated 
 Mrs. Chichester helplessly. " And I promised 
 Stewart I would raise his wages next mouth for 
 good conduct." 
 
 '• Perhaps he will only give him a good 
 scolding, and let him stay," suggested Dym ; but 
 Mrs. Chichester shook her head. 
 
 " You don't know Guy. I never knew him 
 hard on a first oflfence ; but he rarely passes 
 over a second ; and he so hates disobedience !" 
 '^ Was the letter so important, then ?" 
 " 1 don^t know ; I suppose he thinks so. If 
 it had been any one else's letter, he might not 
 have noticed it so ; but now — no, it is all over 
 with Stewart." 
 
 Dym was afraid this was the case w^hen she 
 saw Stewart's face at dinner; the poor lad's 
 eyes were swollen with crying, and his hands 
 quite shook when he handed the plates. She 
 heard him blubbering out the whole tale after 
 dinner into the ear of his sympathizing mistress. 
 Mrs. Chichester went into the library after- 
 wards, and had a long talk with her son ; but 
 she came out with an agitated face, and told 
 Dym her intercession for the culprit had been 
 fruitless.
 
 A Bit of the Squire s Temper. 251 
 
 " He has given him only a week's notice ; 
 and the poor boy is so reckless that he declares 
 he will enlist rather than go home and face his 
 mother. I don''t think I ever saw Guy so put 
 out before ; he will not hear a word/' 
 
 Dym listened quite scared to this fresh reve- 
 lation of the squire's character. Could this be 
 Grace Punster's hero — the man who tended Ned 
 Smithers — who could grieve so tenderly over a 
 dead babe ? Strange inconsistency of a great 
 nature warped and disturbed by passion ! She 
 little knew^ though his mother guessed, that 
 poor Stewart was only the scapegoat of another's 
 fault. She could find nothing comforting to 
 say as Mrs. Chichester sat down and cried softly 
 in sheer vexation and pity. The eyes that were 
 too brave to weep over their approaching blind- 
 ness could shed tears over a servant-lad's 
 trouble. 
 
 " He must not go/' she said at last, wiping 
 her eyes. " He is a good boy, and never told a 
 lie before ; and I promised his mother to look 
 after him." 
 
 " But what can we do ?" asked Dym, dis- 
 consolately, " if Mr. Chichester is so unjust, and 
 will not allow you to plead for him ? " 
 
 ^Irs. Chichester's answer was singular. 
 
 ^^ Oh, no, you must not say that ; he is never 
 unjust ; my boy is never unkind unless these 
 moods are on him. Ah, well, my dear, it is no 
 use talking ; to-morrow we will go and see 
 Honor,"
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 THE VILLAGE PEACEMAKER. 
 
 ^p^^ OOD sometimes comes out of evil, 
 r^^^ Dym derived a crumb of consolation 
 l*^*^"^ - even from Stewart^s misfortune. As the 
 quaint old proverb hath it, " It is an ill wind 
 that blows no one any good." 
 
 " I shall see Honor again/' was her first 
 waking thought the next morning, as she puzzled 
 out of a labyrinth of dreams to find a fresh Sep- 
 tember wind blowing over the sunny terraces, 
 and " the last rose of summer " tapping softly 
 against her window pane. 
 
 That evening at Nidderdale Cottage seemed 
 full of far-off sweetness in the retrospect — a con- 
 fusion of lilies, moonlight, and low-toned talk. 
 Some •' long drawn out chord of sympathy " 
 never ceased to ^'ibrate stransrelv in the srirrs 
 heart at the mere mention of Honor's name. 
 Sometimes a chance speech from the squire or a 
 trick of his voice brought her ^ividly before her. 
 The odd abruptness, the undercurrent of deep 
 feeling, the slow vein of mingled thought and 
 satire, now dreamy, now breaking into full 
 current of speech — all returned again and again
 
 Tlie Village Peacemaker. 253 
 
 to Dym''s memory. Her interest had been 
 strongly excited — to tell the truth, she -. ^as 
 secretly wearying to see Miss Nethecote's face 
 again. 
 
 But since the ^-illage flower-show they had 
 neyer met. Twice a day on Sundays Dym had 
 caught sight of a pure Greek profile and grey- 
 silk dress in a little side pew appropriated to the 
 female singers ; for the yicar. in spite of his 
 High-Church procliyities^ had not yet succeeded 
 in organizing a trained choir, though report 
 whispered that a few ploughmen and farmers' 
 lads were being secretly drilled by the yicar and 
 Miss Nethecote in a far-off bam, not a great 
 distance from Xidderdale Cottage. 
 
 In default of white sui'plices and boy-choristers, 
 the choir stalls remained suggestiyely empty, and 
 the cantori side was distantly represented by the 
 miller^s stalwart sons, an harmonious blacksmith, 
 and the baker's assistant, who was fictitiously 
 supposed to haye the pui'est bass in the yillage ; 
 while the decani side responded in a yariety of 
 sweet trebles, led by INIiss Xethecote's fine 
 soprano. 
 
 Dym sat with Mrs. Chichester in the squire^s 
 pew, which commanded a good yiew of the 
 chancel and yacant stalls ; the squire himself 
 preferred occupying one of the free seats near 
 the' door ; he always sat on a bench in company 
 with Dame Ford, and an old patriarch in a 
 smock-frock, who looked about a hundred, and 
 was only sixty-fiye, and toothless. Dym, feeling 
 faint one Sunday, and sitting in the cool porch
 
 254 Wooed and Married. 
 
 a while to recover herself, saw the patriarch, 
 with horn spectacles on nose, looking over the 
 squire^s hig book and whining out a dreary fal- 
 setto. How rich and full Guy's tones sounded 
 by contrast ! 
 
 Dym marvelled not a little over this whim of 
 the squire^s. 
 
 ''^ Does not St. James tell us to have no 
 respect of persons?" he returned gravely, when 
 Dym had hazarded some inquiry as to this 
 curious choice of seat. " Though I am a Broad 
 Churchman, Miss Elliott, I am all for free and 
 open chui'ches. There is no rank in religion, 
 and for myself I would as soon go to heaven 
 with the dame and old ^Martin as with your 
 titled folks." 
 
 '^ Is that M'hy you sit near the door ? '' asked 
 Dym, with unusual boldness, for she was curious 
 on the subject ; but the squire only turned off 
 the question with a jest. He had met them as 
 usual at the bottom of the steps, and had given 
 his mother his arm. It was their custom to 
 linger a moment and exchange greetings and 
 little ciWlities with their neighbours. *' Kind- 
 ness is cheap ; it costs nothing to pat a curly 
 head and ask after mother, and you have no idea 
 how popular it makes one," he said once, laugh- 
 ing. Sometimes some wee toddling mite would 
 run out from the group of school- children, and 
 clasp the squire round the knee; if the cheeks 
 were clean and rosy, there were kisses and half- 
 pence as well as pats ; but they always left him 
 if they caught sight of Honor. Miss Nethecote
 
 The Village Peacemaker. 255 
 
 always came out last with her brother, and the 
 children clustered round her like bees round their 
 queen — boys as well as girls. Honor would 
 take a chubby hand or two and walk on swiftly 
 — she never volunteered more than a smile and a 
 nod to the squire^s party as she passed. 
 
 " You shall have plenty of lollipops if you will 
 stay with me/' the squire said once to a little 
 village beauty that he much affected ; she had 
 come running to him over the graves with her 
 red hood down on her neck and her fair hair 
 streaming. " You will stay with me, Susie, 
 wont you ? '^ But Susie would not. 
 
 " I'll give ''ee a kiss, but I must go to Nanny- 
 goat '" — for thereto had Miss Nethecote's name 
 degenerated on baby lips. " Great mammie, 
 tell he to put Susie down.'' 
 
 *^ She is always wild to go to the good lady, 
 Mr. Chitterful,"" explained Dame Ford, apologeti- 
 cally, for Susie was her grandchild. 
 
 '^ Faithless Susie, like the rest of your fair 
 sex,'' quoth the squire, as he put her down gently 
 from his arms. "^ There, run away, you baby." 
 " Red riding-hood " Susie had hold of the grey 
 silk after that, and trotted confidingly along, 
 chattering in her broken baby dialect to Honor. 
 
 ^'^ It is well to be Squire Chitterful — do you 
 admire Dame Ford's pronunciation, Miss Elliott ? 
 — ^but it is better to be ^ the good lady/ isn't it 
 now ? " 
 
 Evidently Miss Nethecote heard him, for she 
 coloured high as she passed on. Dym found out 
 afterwards that Miss Nethecote was chiefly known
 
 256 Wooed and Married, 
 
 by this name in the village ; and certainly the 
 contest for popularity between the two might 
 have run hot and high. Perhaps the balance 
 was in Honoris favour. " You see the squire 
 have moods, and Miss Xethecote have none/^ as 
 an old almsman once expressed it. 
 
 Dym danced away to fetch her hat on the 
 morning in question, when Mrs. Chichester had 
 again reiterated her determination to call on 
 Miss Nethecote. She listened with a sort of 
 wonderment as she heard her tell Stewart to 
 take the lower road, and to be sure not to drive 
 by the five- acre field, where the squire was shoot- 
 ing. " Was she afraid of the guns, or did she 
 wish her visit to Nidderdale to be kept a secret 
 from her son T* Dym had to keep her curiosity 
 to herself Mrs. Chichester's face this morning 
 did not invite confidence — there was a pained, 
 anxious expression upon it, and the same tired 
 look about the eyes, as though she had passed 
 another wakeful night. 
 
 During the drive she scarcely spoke, and 
 seemed so lost in thought that she quite started 
 when the carriage stopped, and Dym said, '' We 
 are just in time, for Miss Nethecote has only 
 this moment ridden up to the door.'' 
 
 Miss Nethecote saw them at once. She 
 quickly dismounted, and throwing the reins over 
 her horse's neck, gathered up her long habit in 
 one hand, and walked quietly towards the car- 
 riage, the mare following her like a dog. There 
 was a pleased smile of recognition as she saw
 
 The Village Feacemaher. 257 
 
 Dym_, and then she passed round to Mrs. Chi- 
 chester's side of the carriage. 
 
 " Good morning, Mrs. Chichester ; you do not 
 often pay me such early morning visits. Will 
 you come in ? — Humphrey is in the orchard.'^ 
 
 " No^ thank you/"* returned Mrs. Chichester ; 
 then in an embarrassed tone, " my business is to 
 you, Honor.'' 
 
 Honor nodded in a perfectly business-like 
 way, and then motioned Stewart aside. 
 
 ^^ What is wrong T* she asked, in a clear low 
 voice, as though it were an every-day occurrence 
 for Mrs. Chichester to drive up and tell her her 
 troubles. She stood perfectly silent, with her 
 ' hand on the carriage- door, while Mrs. Chichester 
 whispered a long story in her ear. Dym, who 
 could hardly catch a word, looked on in curious 
 admiration and wonder. What a picture Honor 
 was, standing under the trees in her blue habit 
 and shady hat and feathers, the mare lipping her 
 skirt daintily all the while in search of concealed 
 sugar ! 
 
 '^You must wait, Hagar, my beauty,'^ said 
 her mistress tenderly once, as Mrs. Chichester 
 grew hot and faltered over her narrative. The 
 poor lady wiped away a few more tears of dis- 
 tress and humiliation. 
 
 "You must be in trouble indeed,'' returned 
 Honor, looking at her steadily, when she had 
 •finished. 
 
 " I am ; I would not have had this happen 
 for worlds." 
 
 VOL. I. 17
 
 258 Wooed and Married. 
 
 " I mean you must be in a sore strait to send 
 for me/' observed Miss Nethecote, in a meaning 
 tone, at which Mrs. Chichester coloured up like 
 a girl. 
 
 " I thought you would help me/^ she pleaded. 
 
 Miss Nethecote knit her white brows over the 
 deprecatory tone. 
 
 " Have I ever refused to help you, Mrs. Chi- 
 chester ?'' 
 
 " God forbid ! I mean, what should we do if 
 you denied or grew tired of us ?" 
 
 " I wish I were,^' was the singular answer. 
 " Well, Mrs. Chichester, what do you want me 
 to do?'' 
 
 " Change your dress and come home with me.'' 
 
 " Impossible !" 
 
 " Oh, Honor !" 
 
 A grave inscrutable smile came over Miss 
 Nethecote's face. 
 
 '^ I cannot belie my name and break my word, 
 can I? I have promised to take luncheon with 
 Mrs. Grey." 
 
 ^^ Come afterwards ; come up to dinner — we 
 shall be quite alone this evening." 
 
 " I must have Humphrey for my vis-a-vis, 
 then." 
 
 " Very weU." 
 
 "And I must make another condition — you 
 must leave Miss Elliott with me." 
 
 Mrs. Chichester looked at Dym's happy face a 
 little suspiciously. 
 
 " I can't spare her. Honor," somewhat un- 
 easily.
 
 The Village Peacemaker » 259 
 
 '^ As you please/' was the careless answer. 
 
 '^ Do you really want her V^ in a relenting 
 tone. 
 
 " I have made up my mind not to want any- 
 thing in this world, Mrs. Chichester." 
 
 " Well, well, I ought not to refuse such a 
 trifling favour. I am getting a crabbed old 
 woman with my troubles. Guy is a dear boy; 
 but he is a great care to me.'' 
 
 " Most dear boys are," somewhat dryly. 
 
 " But you will do your best for Stewart to- 
 night. Honor ?" 
 
 " I have promised," was the laconic answer. 
 
 *' Guy is a little diflQcult just now. I hope 
 you will not have hard work, my dear." 
 
 "\ can't cheat myself into any such pleasing 
 belief. If there be one thing the squire loathes 
 as poison, it is a lie." 
 
 " But Stewart never said anything false be- 
 fore." 
 
 ^^ Well, that is in his favour, certainly. I 
 suppose, as the mischief lies at my door — my 
 letter being the unfortunate apple of discord — I 
 must do my utmost to rectify it ; but I will not 
 imitate Stewart's falsehood. The business was 
 of the utmost importance." 
 
 '^ So I feared," answered Mrs. Chichester. 
 
 ^^ A lad down our way was in sad trouble. I 
 told the squire all about it in my letter, and 
 begged him to be lenient to the culprit. If he 
 had known all the particulars, as I do, or even 
 half" — here Honor's mouth grew stern — "he 
 would hardly have committed the poor boy to 
 
 17—2
 
 260 Wooed and Married. 
 
 prison for a petty theft_, a first offence^ and half- 
 broken his brother''s heart. Stewart^s stupid 
 blunder has brought terrible grief to a respec- 
 table family/^ 
 
 "To be sure^ Guy was in court yesterday. 
 This is worse than I thought, Honor ; no wonder 
 Guy was so angry /^ 
 
 " He knew how grieved I should be ; one of 
 my Sunday scholars too — such a promising lad ;" 
 and actually a tear rolled down Miss Nethecote's 
 face as she spoke. I would have gone into court 
 and begged him off myself, only I was down 
 with Jane Travers, who was suddenly taken 
 worse. Never mind, Mrs. Chichester ; poor 
 George must bear his penalty now.'' 
 
 " My dear Honor, I had no idea of this/' and 
 Mrs. Chichester took her hand kindly ; but Miss 
 Nethecote quietly withdrew it. 
 
 " Things will go wrong sometimes ; but I don't 
 see that Stewart need suffer as well as poor 
 George. Now, Miss Elliott, jump out, please. 
 I don't think we need detain Mrs. Chichester 
 any longer." 
 
 " How quick you are to dismiss me, Honor V 
 exclaimed ]\Irs. Chichester, mournfully. 
 
 Miss Nethecote opened her lips as though to 
 answer, and then the grey eyes suddenly filled 
 up with tears, and she turned away. 
 
 " Good-bye, Honor ; you will not be late ?" 
 
 " Good-bye !" was the sole reply vouchsafed 
 by Miss Nethecote ; she bowed quite gravely in 
 answer to Mrs. Chichester's parting smile and 
 wave of her hand. She curved one arm round
 
 The Village Peacemaker. 261 
 
 the mare^'s neck and leaned on it somewliat hea- 
 vily; Dym heard her draw a heavy sigh of 
 relief as the carriage rolled along the sunny 
 roadj and then she turned on her quite gaily. 
 
 ^' ' Something attempted^ something done, hath 
 earned a night's repose/ I love that glorious 
 old blacksmith for that one speech. Isn't life a 
 patchwork, Miss Elliott?" linking her arm in 
 hers and leading the way to the house. " Every 
 day there is a fresh bit to put in — a star here, a 
 cross there."" 
 
 " What an idea \" laughed Dym, joyously. 
 There were the little lawn, the apple-trees, the 
 lilies, the doves cooing on the roof; through the 
 open door she could see great flecks of purple 
 shadow on the grass ; the cows had taken refuge 
 in the orchard, the geese came waddling up with 
 outstretched necks to the back door. 
 
 " Oh, how delicious ! How glad I am to be 
 here again V cooed Dym in unison with them. 
 How happy you must be to live in such a little 
 paradise !" 
 
 " Are earthly paradises free from briers and 
 nettles ? Tut, Miss Elliott ; you are too imagi- 
 native. To-day I only see cows and grass; the 
 lilies struggle up like weeds. I am still thinking 
 of my patchwork.'' 
 
 " You are fretting over that poor boy, you 
 mean," returned Dym softly. They were stand- 
 ing in the porch, and Miss Nethecote was feeding 
 the mare with the long- coveted dainty. 
 
 ^^ Why will not bits of sugar make us happy V 
 moralized Miss Nethecote — she was evidently in
 
 262 Wooed and Married. 
 
 no mood for sympathy. '^ The worst of patch- 
 work is, one cannot always fit one^s pieces ; onr 
 bit of stnfiP is three-cornered when we want it 
 square/' 
 
 " We can shape it to our liking, I suppose V 
 returned Dym, trying to enter into the humour 
 of the thing. 
 
 " Cut and snip it to pieces, I suppose you 
 mean. Ah, welF' — sighing — '^ I shall have some 
 tough work to-night. Now, Hagar, my darling, 
 sweets to the sweet, but moderation in all things ; 
 my pocket is empty. Miss Elliott, my mare 
 never loves her corn so much as when I feed her 
 myself; so while I attend to her, and change 
 my dress, you may as well bestow your company 
 on Humphrey, who is smoking his pipe under 
 the orchard wall." 
 
 So Dym wandered over the field, and found 
 her way into a tiny orchard, where she saw the 
 well-known shooting coat and straw hat, in com- 
 pany with a small grey dog, who ran forward, 
 barking furiously, and then changing his mind, 
 sat up and looked foolish. 
 
 *' Why, this is not — yes, it is — Kiddle- a- wink T' 
 
 Kiddle- a- wink cocked one ear, and begged 
 till he scented rabbits, and exchanging the pa- 
 thetic for the practical, disappeared down a 
 neighbouring warren, the fag end of a grey tail 
 wagging in mid air. 
 
 " Why is Kiddle-a-wink here V she asked, as 
 Humphrey came up and shook hands ; " he is 
 Mr. Chichester's dog.'' 
 
 " My sister would beg to differ from you. Miss
 
 The Village Peacemaker. 263 
 
 Elliott ; there is a great diflfereace between was 
 and is : he is Honoris property now/^ 
 
 " I thought Mr. Chichester was so fond of him/' 
 
 " Kiddle-a-wink unfortunately took a great 
 fancy to Honor, and would follow her about any- 
 where in preference to his master ; so the squire 
 told her one day she had better keep him. 
 Kiddle-a-wink was as bad as little Susie Ford 
 last Sunday/'' 
 
 " Every one seems to love Miss Nethecote/' 
 returned Dym musingly ; and then, as she walked 
 under the sunny wall with Humphrey, she re- 
 lated to him the history of last night; poor 
 Stewart's misfortune, the squire's wrath, and 
 Mrs. Chichester's unavailing intercession. 
 
 " Why does she think your sister will have 
 more influence with the squire?" asked the girl 
 curiously; she was growing very confidential 
 with this simple, honest Yorkshireman. She 
 began to understand that, in spite of his plain- 
 ness, he was a man one could respect and trust ; 
 during these weeks she had often met him in the 
 village, and had learnt to prattle fearlessly to 
 bim when he turned and walked back to Ingle- 
 side with her. 
 
 There was a curious mingling of good nature 
 and gentleness in the tone in which he always 
 answered her. Dym was never quite sure that 
 he did not regard her as a child, and look down 
 on her from the unanswerable altitude of middle 
 age. He would stave off awkward questions like 
 the present with a gruff " Ay, ay, young maidens 
 are always curious ;" or '^ Come, come, you did
 
 264 Wooed and Married. 
 
 not mean me to answer that now •" and elevate 
 his eyebrows in such droll perplexity that Dym 
 could only laugh. 
 
 Once when, in somewhat bad taste, I^ym per- 
 sisted in pressing him on some point, he patted 
 her gently on the shoulder with his great hand, 
 and said soothingly, "Nay, nay. Miss Elliott, 
 I'm a plain man ; one doesn^t like to use a down- 
 right No to a lady, so be a sensible girl and don't 
 ask me any more/' and Dym for a long time 
 after that felt like a scolded child. 
 
 But he never checked her long girlish pre- 
 ambles, and on the present occasion smoked his 
 pipe in profound gravity while Dym told her 
 story; and when she repeated her question a 
 second time, " Why does she think your sister 
 will have more influence with the squire?'' he 
 drew a long whifiP, and muttered, " It is not 
 thinking ; she knows it ;" and then in his usual 
 manner : 
 
 " Bless me, Miss Elliott, don't you know the 
 Duchess can do what she likes ? Haven't you 
 found out yet who is the village peacemaker, 
 and the Lady Bountiful of the whole place ?" 
 
 " I suppose it is your sister." 
 
 " Honor — of course it is Honor. Erom Dame 
 Eord to the squire there is not one of them that 
 can do without her. Bless her, they know what 
 a noble heart she has. There is not a lady in 
 the land that can compete with her. 
 
 Humphrey's hearty enthusiasm was very plea- 
 sant to Dym. She gave a sympathizing smile, 
 and waited for him to go on.
 
 The Village PeacemaJcer, 265 
 
 "From the moment she grew up to be a 
 woman, and almost before, nothing would do 
 but Honor — Honor. I never knew the time 
 when a child would not run to her and hide its 
 head in her lap. I have seen the very babies 
 try to clamber out of their mothers^ arms to get 
 to her. I suppose there is something winsome 
 .in her very face.^^ 
 
 " That is what I have felt/'' returned Dym 
 thoughtfully ; and then Humphrey took another 
 whiflf and went on. 
 
 " I don^'t believe that there is ever a man, 
 woman, or child taken sick for miles round that 
 Honor is not sent for. The number of death- 
 beds she has attended is astonishing. I have 
 seen her come home from a child^s funeral look- 
 ing as pitiful almost as the poor mother. She 
 is gossip, as they call it, to half the babies in the 
 place. She adopted a whole family once.^"' 
 
 " She must be very good,^^ sighed Dym. 
 
 '^ Ay, ^ the good lady," as they call her. Talk- 
 ing of every one wanting Honor, did you ever 
 liear of Gammer Jebbs" girl T' and as Dym re- 
 plied in the negative, Mr. Nethecote indulged in 
 a hearty laugh at the reminiscence before he ex- 
 plained himself. 
 
 "It certainly shows no one can do without 
 her. Well, it was one desperately cold night in 
 January. We had had a rare snow-storm that 
 day, and our field, and even the garden walks, 
 were a foot deep in snow. I was just enjoying 
 a first sweet sleep — it was not long past mid- 
 night — when something hard thrown up to my
 
 266 Wooed and Married. 
 
 window roused me; and as this was repeated 
 again and again, I had a vague idea — being only- 
 half awake — that some school-boy was indulging 
 in a practical jest, and throwing snow-balls at 
 my window, and in some wrath I thrust my 
 head out and asked who was there. 
 
 " You must know, Miss Elliott, my window 
 looks over the outer wall and towards the road, 
 and what with the intense whiteness and the 
 faint glimmer of starlight, I could just see a 
 stooping figure under the wall, evidently prepar- 
 ing a fresh missile for the disturbance of my 
 slumbers. 
 
 " ' Who are you ?^ I shouted out in my 
 gruffest tones, for a man does not like to be 
 woke out of a first sleep. 
 
 (c c j^jjj Tabby — Gammer Jebbs' girl,^ came 
 up in shrill tones. 
 
 " ' And what do you want. Gammer Jebbs' 
 girl T I demanded still more wrathfully. 
 
 '' ^ I want t' mistress,^ was the undaunted re- 
 sponse. ' I shied up at t^ wiader, but I didn^t 
 know it was yourn, maister. Grannie wants i' 
 mistress particular.^ 
 
 " ' Any one sick, Tabby V I asked, rather 
 more gently; for it was not a new thing for 
 Honor now and then to be roused for the sake 
 of a dying child, and I knew Gammer Jebbs was 
 rather a favourite with the Duchess. ' Grand- 
 mother is not ill, is she T 
 
 " ' Grannie^s purely, maister, but i' coo is 
 mighty bad ; and grannie, she says, " Tabby,^' 
 she says, ^^ just put on thy hood, lass, and run t'
 
 The Village Peacemaker. 267 
 
 mistress. If we do nauglit till daybreak the 
 poor beast will die. She gave me plenty of good 
 stuff last year that cured feyther's rheumatiz — 
 so maybe she will think of somethin^ for Daisy." 
 So please will mistress come and see grannie^s 
 coo V Rather a cool request, was it not ?" 
 
 " Did you wake your sister, after all ?" 
 
 " Honor was awake^ and was enjoying the fun 
 immensely ; but not being a veterinary surgeon, 
 of course she knew nothing of ^ t^ coo.^ I had 
 to go myself." 
 
 " What, through the snow, and in the middle 
 of the night ?" 
 
 '^ Would you have had me leave the poor beast 
 to die ? You would not do for a farmer's wife, 
 Miss Elliott. I spent a good two hours in the 
 shed, and never felt happier than when the poor 
 thing got up on its legs again ; it is hard to see 
 these dumb creatures suffer." 
 
 " There is your sister," returned Dym, running 
 forward to meet her ; but Kiddle-a-wink was be- 
 before her, and was jumping and barking round 
 her like a mad thing. Miss Nethecote took him 
 up and caressed him as she talked. 
 
 " Whither away, Duchess ?" 
 
 " Down to Woodside, with Miss Elliott." 
 
 "Perhaps Miss Elliott would prefer a quiet 
 luncheon here," suggested Humphrey. 
 
 " Miss Elliott has had sufficient luxury at 
 Ingleside; she must make herself useful, and 
 help me carve for the children. Come, Miss 
 Elliott, you shall have your choice, a tete-a-tete 
 meal with Humphrey, or a noisy luncheon with
 
 268 - Wooed and Married. 
 
 half a dozen riotous children^ and an overtasked 
 maid-of-all-work to wait on you T' 
 
 " Your picture is not inviting, but I will cer- 
 tainly go with you/' replied Dym, who felt truly 
 that she was allowed no choice in the matter; 
 but how she did long for a quiet day at the cot- 
 tage and another cosy talk with Honor ! 
 
 ^^ My sister is determiDcd to make you a 
 martyr as well as herself. No one understands 
 her infatuation for Mrs. Grey, not even her hus- 
 band, poor man ! Duchess \" 
 
 ^^Well, Humphrey." 
 
 '^ I have put in some fine juicy plums and 
 pears to go with your new-laid eggs — I suppose 
 you have not forgotten your usual posy T^ 
 
 "As though I should forget it when flowers 
 are Esther's chief pleasures ! Keep Kiddle-a- 
 wink, please, Humphrey; he makes such riot 
 with the children.'' 
 
 '^ Ay, ay," replied Humphrey ; but he stood 
 idle a long time in the doorway, watching his 
 sister and Miss Elliott disappear down the road, 
 before he turned in at the gate with a sigh. 
 
 END OF VOL. I. 
 
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