LI E) RAR.Y 
 
 OF THE 
 
 U N IVLRSITY 
 
 or ILLI NOI5
 
 3' 
 
 y 
 
 ^
 
 A MASQUERADER 
 
 BY 
 
 ALGERNON GISSING 
 
 AUTHOR OF 
 
 A MOOliLAKD idyl/ 'A VILLAGE HAMPDEN,' ETC. 
 
 IN THREE VOLUMES. 
 
 VOL. L 
 
 LONDON : 
 
 HURST AND BLACKETT, LIMITED, 
 
 13, GREAT ^L\RLBOROUGH STREET. 
 1892. 
 
 A// J\ic/i(s Rcsin'td.
 
 8^3 
 
 v.. 0. 
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 OF 
 
 THE FIRST VOLUME. 
 
 OHAFTER 
 I. 
 
 ^ 
 
 II. 
 III. 
 
 IV. 
 V. 
 -^ VI. 
 ^ VJI. 
 VIII. 
 IX. 
 X. 
 XI. 
 
 'N 
 
 Mountain Wine 
 The Whinstones 
 Margaret 
 Problematical . 
 Past and Present 
 Over the Moor 
 The Flitting . 
 Clerical Diversions 
 Here's to the Lass ! 
 Leaven 
 Visionary 
 
 PAGE 
 1 
 
 87 
 66 
 85 
 102 
 129 
 164 
 202 
 219 
 254 
 278 
 
 ^
 
 A MASQUERADER. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 MOUNTAIN WINE. 
 
 ' This is glorious, Mignonne, — sad, con- 
 templative, sympathetic, and all the rest 
 of it. The spot appeals to me more forcibly 
 tlian any other in the universe. AVhy not 
 settle down here once and for all, and 
 turn philosophers? You often speak of 
 the delights of that kind of thing, but 
 never make an eifort to carry out your 
 theories. Let us begin to-morrow.' 
 
 VOL. I. B
 
 2 A MASQUERADER. 
 
 The young lady was standing by one of 
 the open windows, with a Avide scallop 
 garden-hat shading her features, and she 
 turned to her companion as she spoke. 
 
 ' Here surely is a fitting scene for your 
 vie primitive,^ she continued. ^ Is it far 
 enough removed from all distracting ele- 
 ments of la vie factice ? Is it, ma Mignon- 
 nette?' 
 
 ' Probably,' was the reply. 
 
 ' I will stop all the papers ; counter- 
 mand all superfluous orders ' 
 
 'Especially your own personal ones at 
 Liberty's.' 
 
 ' Certainly, I was thinking of them 
 especial]}^ I will get in a stock of charity 
 remnants ; of works on agriculture ; of 
 farm implements. We will read Thoreau 
 aloud for three hours a day.' 
 
 Mrs. Monk laughed outright.
 
 MOUNTAIN WINE. 5 
 
 * Is it in the way of practical agricul- 
 ture then, Clare, that this spot appeals to 
 you more forcibly than all others ?' she 
 asked, derisively. ' Thoreau, remember, 
 had other soil than peat moss upon which 
 to raise his substance. I fear he would 
 have died of consumption earlier than he 
 actually did if he had selected our Cheviot 
 morasses as a centre for his philosophical 
 experiments. I must say that I myself 
 feel most unpractical under the spell of 
 that Muckle Moss and the Dour Crags : 
 very far certainly from farm implements 
 even of the most primitive nature.' 
 
 ' So do I,' said Clare, regarding more 
 soberly the prospect before her. ' But 1 
 thought they were an essential part of 
 your philosophical retirement. J shan't 
 be sorry if I am mistaken. I prefer the 
 intellectual abstractions, by all means.' 
 
 B 2
 
 4 A MASQUERADER. 
 
 ' You are a flippant child, Clare. You 
 know that I have never thought of a per- 
 manent retirement. Such a course would, 
 in a frivolous nature like mine, defeat 
 wholly the desired end. I am well 
 equipped with the housewifely virtues, am 
 I not? Bah! I only enjoy these scenes 
 because of their not being vulgarized into 
 the background of a " daily life." Fancy 
 me attaclted ! I hate a daily life ; it is the 
 destruction of all artistic perceptions, and 
 1 am so constituted that I can only get 
 enjoyment out of such ideal perceptions. 
 Accept dreams for what they are, my 
 dear, and they may be a joy to you for 
 ever; but try to put them into practical 
 effect, and they very quickly turn them- 
 selves into vanity and vexation of spirit.' 
 
 ' I suppose it is so,' remarked Clare, in 
 a tone of discontent.
 
 MOUNTAIX WINE. 5 
 
 ' Nothing truer. It is flagrantly so in 
 the matter of a pastoral existence. Turn 
 housekeeper and see. Revel in your store- 
 room ; all the delights of preparing those 
 exquisite conserves, of turning and polish- 
 ing the apples, and so forth. Purify your 
 spirit in the dairy. I have heard women 
 use profane language over l)utter-making. 
 Blasphemy, you think. You wouldn't, of 
 course ; but be satisfied with looking on. 
 Only as an unattached observer can you 
 hope to reap the smallest spiritual satis- 
 faction from it. Become involved as an 
 actor in the beautiful simplicities of Ar- 
 cadia, and 3'ou would fly to the slums of 
 Houndsditch as a preferable shelter.' 
 
 ^You get more and more cynical, 
 Mignonne. I cannot share your feelings 
 in all this.' 
 
 ' Of course you can't, dear girl. Chil-
 
 6 A MASQUERADEK. 
 
 dren are blessed with an omnipotent 
 imagination. The artistic soul of things 
 is to them the reality. It is only towards 
 five-and-thirty that seams begin to appear. 
 Xot that they need harass you. In my 
 case, they only make life go the easier; 
 but all are not blessed by the stars as I 
 have been. I have been spared the burden 
 of taking life seriously at any time.' 
 
 ' It is a dreadful admission, aunt.' 
 
 ' It is to you who are by nature 
 sentimental ; but it saves one a great 
 deal of vexation, I can assure you. A 
 moral constitution imposes no end of use- 
 less torment upon its victim. Yet have I 
 a very vicious temperament ?' 
 
 'A little flippancy,' said Clare, in a 
 tone of piquant gravity: ^coupled with 
 an instability of ' 
 
 The young lady burst into ringing
 
 MOUNTAIN WINE. 7 
 
 laughter as a cushion from the couch hit 
 her in the centre of the back. She quickly 
 seized it from the floor and flun^ it at 
 the head of her antagonist, almost at the 
 same instant snatching up a fancy screen 
 to serve as a shield in the combat. But 
 her aunt only replaced the cushion behind 
 her. 
 
 ' Not of aim, you mischief,' she remarked, 
 as she was doing so. ' But let us keep to 
 the point, Clare. If you are wishful to 
 rusticate, I am quite willing to humour 
 you ; provided you will submit to the or- 
 deal for an unbroken period of six months.' 
 'Without papers and library books?' 
 ' No, you may have them for this first 
 trial. But you must submit to the social 
 life of the district. Be at home to visi- 
 tors ; gracious to Mrs. Whinstone ; poetical 
 to the vicar.'
 
 8 A MASQUERADER. 
 
 ' Oh, yes ; there is no great difficulty in 
 all that. 1 rather like poor old Mrs. 
 Whinstone, and the vicar I adore, or 
 rather he adores me. There is nothing 
 terrible before me, I can assure you. But 
 you !' ejaculated Clare, in a tone of real 
 pity, at the same time advancino- towards 
 the couch upon which the elder lady w^as 
 reclining. 'How wall you survive six 
 months of such existence?' 
 
 ' Have no fear for me,' laughed the 
 other, taking the hand which was affec- 
 tionately laid upon her shoulder. ' Be- 
 sides, I don't rigidly bind myself to the 
 condition. It is only you that are bound. 
 When I am jailer, I shall set myself to 
 study the native temperament of these 
 climes.' 
 
 Clare looked into the eyes of Mrs. 
 Monk, perhaps with something more than
 
 MOUNTAIN WINE. 9 
 
 a niere playful earnestness. Certainly the 
 arch gaze became her well ; pose and ex- 
 pression were alike beautiful. 
 
 'There is something',' she said, senten- 
 tiously. ' Even you are not habitually so 
 erratic. No preparation, no sufficient rea- 
 son. Just when you are due at the Salon, 
 too. Ostensibly for a week, and now 
 you calmly plan for half a year. You 
 are not hiding any indisposition from 
 me? Tell nie that at least, ma Mignonne. 
 In that direction you are not entitled to 
 secrets.' 
 
 ' You overrate my heroic qualifications, 
 dear child,' replied the lady, in obvious 
 enjoyment of the other's tender solicitude. 
 ' You know too well that vou iret shame- 
 less notice of my physical infirmities. 
 Surely you have ceased to look for logical 
 explanation of any step of mine ? I
 
 10 A MASQUER ADER. 
 
 wanted to hear a Cheviot curlew, so I 
 
 came.' 
 
 ' Really, aunt ?' 
 
 ' Really, Clare. Do you think I am 
 turning dissembler in my old age ?' 
 
 Clare smiled her satisfaction, and re- 
 turned to the window to look again at 
 the prospect which quite seriously exer- 
 cised some kind of fascination over her. 
 
 It was but the day before that they had 
 reached the Peel, as Mrs. Monk's North- 
 umberland residence was called : a visit to 
 Paris having been, with singular precipi- 
 tancy, overthrown in favour of this north- 
 ward journey. But Mrs. Monk affected 
 a wide measure of Bohemian caprice, and 
 this sufficiently explained the movements 
 in which the imaginative Clare saw good 
 to find matter for more recondite specu- 
 lation.
 
 MOUNTAIN WINE. 11 
 
 Miss Lan/^toft had never known her 
 own parents, this aunt of hers having 
 fulfilled all relationships from the child's 
 earliest recollection. The young lady was 
 now about twenty-one, so that, for some 
 time past, the intercourse between herself 
 and her aunt had developed into an equal 
 companionship, a species of easy famili- 
 arity, having in some respects marked 
 advantages over the closer bond of mother 
 and child. A liberal independence in pe- 
 cuniary affairs, coupled with a system of 
 indulgent discipline on the part of Mrs. 
 Monk, and a healthy physical constitution 
 on the part of the girl, had caused Clare's 
 life hitherto to run in a very smooth and 
 pleasant channel. A less robust tempera- 
 ment might not have developed so satis- 
 factory a result out of a regimen of such 
 unconventional laxity. In Clare's case.
 
 12 A MASQUERADER. 
 
 Iiowever, the informal home-training had 
 undoubtedly added a charm to a person- 
 ality by nature remarkably graceful. Her 
 instincts seemed infallibly refined and 
 womanly, although there was very much 
 about her to horrify the older-fashioned of 
 her sex. 
 
 Mrs. Monk's claim to an artistic tem- 
 perament was not wholly based on pedan- 
 try, even if it had not a foundation of 
 any remarkable depth. At any rate, her 
 esthetic propensities were more than a 
 mere fashionable acquiescence, and it was 
 possibly true, as the lady herself with 
 some regret averred, that if the first 
 twenty years of her life had been differ- 
 ently directed, her artistic instincts need 
 not have been dissipated in mere dilettan- 
 tism. As it was, her habit of thought and 
 attitude to the general world savoured
 
 MOUNTAIN WINE. 1.^ 
 
 more of the professional than the lay ; 
 but, since her attainment to womanhood^ 
 worldly aiHuence, combined with an in- 
 satiable craving for cosmopolitan experi- 
 ences and exceptional opportunities of 
 indulging it, had effectually sapped all 
 that moral energy which is indispensable 
 to the essential toil preliminary to any 
 kind of imaginative productiveness. 
 
 This tendency in the aunt had, of 
 course, exercised considerable influence 
 over Clare's early life and developn:ient, 
 and had been the means of imparting to 
 her a more intellectual form of culture 
 than necessarily results from early mate- 
 rial well-bcino:. The oirl had no claim 
 to a faculty for study of any kind, there- 
 fore she was but little of a scholar; but 
 with anything of an imaginative nature 
 she had always displayed a peculiar affin-
 
 14 A MASQUERADER. 
 
 ity. She was, consequently, in a high 
 degree accomplished, without the remotest 
 suggestion of being overburdened by her 
 gifts. Not one of them had overpowered 
 her : they Avere all subdued to her own 
 sparkling vitality, appropriated by sheer 
 force of the irresistible alchemy of exu- 
 berant animal spirits. It was true that 
 she had in some degree cultivated a cer- 
 tain natural facility she had in handling 
 the pencil, but, beyond a little exceptional 
 boldness in the choice of her subjects, her 
 productions were only such as might have 
 been claimed by hundreds of the cultivated 
 young ladies of our own day. 
 
 To such a temperament a raid from the 
 civilised world into the romantic wilds of 
 the border naturally offered, at all times, 
 peculiar attractions; and the attractions 
 were this morning presented in all the
 
 MOUNTAIN WINE. 15 
 
 glow of a renewed impression, as well as 
 the exhilaratinor sunshine of early June. 
 
 ' Come and hear one, then, aunt,' said 
 Clare, after a moment's silence. 
 
 ' My dear, I heard them through my 
 bed-room window this morning, whilst 
 you, I'll be bound, were fast asleep.' 
 
 'That's very likely. I sha'n't sleep in 
 that west bed-room again. It is ridiculous 
 not to be awakened by the morning sun 
 when you are in the country ! What is 
 the good of coming? You may sleep until 
 mid-day.' 
 
 ' I'll try it, Clare. I am not troubled 
 with oversleep. I am tired with the 
 journey, and shall not go out before 
 lunch.' 
 
 'Then adieu, Mignonne,' said Clare. 
 *I must climb down and see the water. 
 The first glimpse of that mountain wine
 
 16 A MASQUERADER. 
 
 is more exhilarating than all the sparkling 
 vintages of the south.' 
 
 ' Be off, then. You are a born moss- 
 trooper, despite all attempts to civilise 
 you.' 
 
 Therewith, Clare leaped lightly from 
 the open window, and stood upon the 
 gravel terrace outside. For a moment she 
 looked around her, inhaling the fragrant 
 breeze — fragrant not only with, the wide- 
 spread fragrance of the heath, pine, and 
 bog-myrtle from the adjacent moorlands, 
 but also Avith the apricot-breath from a 
 hedge of gorse bordering the parterre just 
 before her, now, in its bloom, a solid 
 mound of blazing gold. 
 
 Invigorated by the draught, the young 
 lady walked briskly to a wicket gateway 
 at the extremity of the gorse, humming 
 some ditty the while, and passed into the
 
 MOUNTAIN WINE. 1 7 
 
 field beyond. This was a sloping piece 
 of pasture-ground, rising to a point im- 
 mediately behind the house, and crowned 
 by the scanty, but picturesque ruins of a 
 border peel or fortress, on account of 
 which the modern residence had received 
 its name. 
 
 The sheep started at Clare's approach, 
 but were quickly convinced of her inno- 
 cent intentions. After the first simul- 
 taneous gaze from the white, upturned 
 faces, one after the other lowered its 
 head and returned fearlessly to its nib- 
 bling. 
 
 The intruder passed on, ascending the 
 green slope before her. In a few minutes 
 she was at the top, standing with one 
 hand upon a ruined wall, to survey the 
 extensive prospect. In her other hand 
 she held a little bunch of yellow, moun- 
 
 VOL. I. c
 
 18 A MASQUERADER. 
 
 tain pansies, which she had picked up on 
 the way. 
 
 She was but little higher than the chim- 
 neys of her aunt's house, which stood just 
 at her feet. Then there was the handful 
 of houses constituting the village of High 
 Feldorn, the last village in the dale ; only 
 leagues of sombre wilds beyond it. Di- 
 rectly opposite to her rose a sweep of 
 moorland with the Dour Crags at the top, 
 — great black blocks of basalt standing out 
 against the sky, like rude, massive fortifi- 
 cations of the old world. The slope of 
 heather lay between two large pine-woods, 
 known respectively as the east and west 
 plantation, their black depths contrasting 
 finely with the cloudless blue space of the 
 present moment. 
 
 Immediately behind Clare the ground 
 was almost precipitous, the grassy slope
 
 MOUNTAIN WINE. 19 
 
 descending abruptly to a noisy, stony 
 river which made a curve round the foot 
 of the castle hill. Large rocks were seen 
 in its bed, and on the far bank a strip of 
 woodland touching the Avater's edge. This 
 bend was Clare's favourite peep, and the 
 ceaseless brawling of the water a sound of 
 which she was very fond. She was never 
 at the Peel many hours before descending 
 to the stream. The spirit of the scene 
 touched some of the deeper chords within 
 her, chords which in her ordinary life but 
 seldom found their note. Here too were 
 sheep, and, like one of them, Clare fear- 
 lessly descended. After a scramble which 
 she enjoyed, but which was not entirely 
 without danger, the river-bank was reach- 
 ed, and the young lady sat upon a block 
 of stone to rest. 
 
 c2
 
 20 A MASQUERADER. 
 
 ' Imprisonment to stay six months 
 here !' she thought, in her youthful en- 
 thusiasm, with her eyes fixed upon the 
 brown sunlit water in which she vaguely 
 saw the trout darting to and fro like 
 livinor shadows. ' I believe I am not so 
 w^orldly as I sometimes think. I am sure 
 I could live here very happily a primitive 
 existence — not alone, perhaps, but with a 
 — a conceivable kind of companion. You 
 shall see, ma tante^ — I shall not tire first.' 
 
 Then with the thought of Mrs. Monk 
 there was a temporary divergence of the 
 mental current; but with, the majestic 
 flight of a heron, which was going to 
 alight at a short distance from where she 
 sat, her mind reverted to the natural 
 objects around her, and she abandoned 
 herself to the pure enjoyment of the 
 enchanting solitude.
 
 ]\rOUXTAIN WINE. 21 
 
 Absolute solitude, as Clare herself ima- 
 gined, and, as a general rule, would un- 
 doubtedly have been the case ; but it 
 chanced that this bend in the river, with 
 its deep pools and shady corners amongst 
 tlie rocks, was an especially favourite 
 resort for trout, and, as Mrs. Monk was 
 known to be an exceptionally lax and 
 good-natured proprietor, an enthusiastic 
 angler would occasionally trespass upon 
 her well-stocked preserves. Such was the 
 case this morning, and, before Clare had 
 been seated for a quarter-of-an-hour, she 
 was disturbed in her meditations by the 
 apparition of such a trespasser upon the 
 opposite side of the water. 
 
 He was well equipped with all necessary 
 appliances, and, when he saw that the 
 young lady's eye had detected him, he 
 plunged straightway into the Avater in his
 
 22 A MA.SQUERADER. 
 
 thigh-deep boots and came out radiant 
 before her. 
 
 As a matter of fact, the gentleman had 
 seen Clare since she first descended to the 
 water, but, as he had been hidden in an 
 alder-bush upon the opposite bank, some 
 yards farther down the river, he had 
 escaped her observation. It was not with 
 any ill-bred intention that he had con- 
 tinued in concealment. He had lingered 
 there — Avatching Clare through his opera- 
 glasses, certainly — in a genuine state of in- 
 decision whether at this moment to accost 
 her or not. We see how he had decided. 
 He had crept some distance under shel- 
 ter of the bushes, and made his appearance 
 as though the occurrence were an accident. 
 
 ' Good-morning, Miss Langtoft,' he be- 
 gan, with the accent and bearinof of a
 
 MOUNTAIN WINE. 23 
 
 gentleman. * I am not superstitious, but 
 you quite startled me. It is delightful to 
 see you here again. I beg you to pardon 
 my intrusion.' 
 
 ' AVe came quite unexpectedly ; only 
 arrived last night. I hope Mrs. Whinstone 
 is well?' 
 
 ' Pretty well for her, thank you. And 
 Mrs. Monk?' 
 
 * Very well, thank you.' 
 
 ' I must ask you to give her my apology 
 for trespassing on her domains, and I hope 
 I may take the liberty of sending the result 
 of ni}' sport for her acceptance.' 
 
 ' She will be only too glad that you 
 have been acting upon her request, Mr. 
 Whinstone. I can also answer for her 
 gladly accepting a share of the spoil. 
 Have you had good sport?'
 
 24 A MASQUERADER. 
 
 ' Fairly good ;' he opened his creel for 
 Clare's inspection. 
 
 ' Oh, very good, I should think. I 
 came down for a more peaceful purpose,' 
 she added, smiling. 
 
 ' Of course ; but you don't go so far as 
 my good mother, do you, to condemn all 
 sport as savage and demoralizing ?' 
 
 * Well, no ; hardly that. I am not a 
 vegetarian, and in the face of that I can- 
 not offer objection to my dinner being 
 procured in, at any rate, a picturesque 
 manner.' 
 
 ^Capital, Miss Langtoft, upon my word!' 
 exclaimed the young gentleman, laughing 
 heartily. ' That is the best argument in 
 our support that I have ever heard stated. 
 But you will forgive my disturbing you,' 
 he continued, preparing to go. ' My 
 mother will hope to have the pleasure of
 
 MOUNTAIN WINE. 25 
 
 seeing soniethiiig of you, I know. Do 
 you stay lon;^?' 
 
 'It is wholly uncertain; but long 
 enough, I hope, to renew my delightful 
 discussions with Mrs. Whinstone.' 
 
 ' I hope so, too. We all wish there were 
 greater attractions in this poor country of 
 ours to keep you longer amongst us.' 
 
 'You underrate your country,' replied 
 Clare. ' It is we that are at fault in not 
 being satisfied with the pure attractions 
 that it oilers. I could live here with 
 pleasure, I'm sure.' 
 
 ' I am so glad you feel that,' exclaimed 
 Whinstone, ingenuously. ' I am awfully 
 fond of the place, and am always glad to 
 get back even from town. But of course 
 you will find intellectual interests in the 
 district which I am incapable of perceiv- 
 ing. The vicar has tried to take me in
 
 26 A MASQUERAPER. 
 
 hand on our fishing-expeditions, but to no 
 purpose, I'm afraid.' 
 
 * He always said you were hopeless,* 
 remarked Clare, laughing. 
 
 'You evidently agree with him,' said 
 the young man, obviously delighted. 
 * Well, I hope we may pursue the discus- 
 sion at some other time. Good-bye.' 
 
 He went on down the river's bank, 
 leaving Clare seated upon her stone, and 
 very soon he was hidden by the bushes» 
 The young lady had never been conscious 
 of any partiality for Mr. Paul Whinstone, 
 he belonging to a type of character for 
 which she could summon up but scant 
 sympathy : nevertheless, she perceived 
 improvement in him this time, and was 
 not aware of positive antipathy. In the 
 face of the actual objects around her he 
 was not long in her mind, and as soon as
 
 MOUNTAIN WINE. 27 
 
 he had disappeared Clare was picking a 
 way along the rocks in the opposite direc- 
 tion, revelling in the natural beauties as 
 joyfully and with as much freedom from 
 the cares of a practical world, as if she 
 had been twenty years younger. Her 
 step would frighten a dipper from its nest, 
 and she would rejoice in the shrill cry of 
 the lonely bird as it flew up the river-bed 
 to a distant stone. Then the plaintive 
 notes of the sandpipers would come to her 
 on the babbling of the water from the 
 shingle beyond the alder-trees. The cool 
 fragrance of the moss, the ferns, and of 
 the general foliage imperceptibly exhilar- 
 ated her. The withered pansies were 
 hidden in her hand amongst larger and 
 later acquisitions. A sprig of broom 
 she would pluck from the bush hanging 
 from a cleft in the rock ; a dainty saxi-
 
 28 A MASQUERADER. 
 
 frage from amongst the moss ; or a stem of 
 the large blue geranium from the rank 
 herbage underneath the trees. Here on 
 this slab of stone, round which the Avater 
 swept in such a deep smooth wave, Clare 
 must needs kneel down and plunge her 
 hand with the flower-stalks into the 
 fascinating current. 
 
 Thus employed, an hour soon passed, 
 and, before Clare had returned to the 
 house, Mrs. Monk had left her couch to 
 take a survey of the garden. This lady 
 felt, no doubt, the peculiar charm of her 
 moorland residence, but was free from the 
 sentimental enthusiasm prominent in her 
 niece. She was very nearly double Clare's 
 age, but succeeded in preserving a remark- 
 ably youthful appearance, having appar- 
 ently so far escaped the usual undesirable 
 attributes of approaching middle age. Her
 
 MOUXTAIN WINE. 2^ 
 
 complexion retained very much of its ori- 
 ginal freshness, whilst her figure, in its 
 mature development, showed no want of 
 graceful proportion and muscular flexi- 
 bility. This, as set off by the perfection 
 of millinery, was especially noticeable, 
 whilst the lady now walked, or rather 
 slowly and silently glided, along the path- 
 way by the gorgeous tulip-border with 
 her eyes apparently on the flowers. 
 
 Not many minutes had she been there 
 w^hen a footstep behind the trees attracted 
 her attention. Supposing it to be that of 
 her own gardener, Mrs. Monk walked in 
 that direction, and, upon emerging from 
 the shrubbery, found that she was mis- 
 taken. 
 
 'Oh, is it you, Hugh?' 
 
 ' Mr. Paul asked me to leave some trout, 
 ma'am, for your acceptance.'
 
 30 A MASQUERADER. 
 
 ' It is very kind of him. Thank you 
 very much. Are they all well at the 
 Hall r 
 
 ' About as usual, ma'am, I think.' 
 
 Hugh was not in the least disconcerted 
 by the lad3^'s critical examination of him. 
 He stood in a natural, unconstrained atti- 
 tude, with the basket of trout in one hand 
 and his plain staif in the other ; offering 
 a fairly handsome, well-tanned counten- 
 ance without fear to her scrutiny. 
 
 ' And your sister well ?' she said, turning 
 away again. 
 
 'Quite well, thank you, ma'am.' 
 
 Mrs. Monk walked on, and Hugh went 
 up to the house. 
 
 A few minutes later, when the young 
 man was returning, the lady again issued 
 from tlie shrubs.
 
 MOUNTAIN WINE. 31 
 
 * I forgot to tell you, Hugh, that we 
 have brought a few books for you, if you 
 will accept them. They are not unpacked 
 yet, though. Perhaps you will call when 
 you are this way again.' 
 
 ' I am very much obliged to you, 
 ma'am,' said Hugh, warmly. ' I hope Miss 
 Langtoft is very well?' 
 
 ' Quite, thank you. Good-bye.' 
 Scarcely had Mrs. Monk turned away, 
 before another voice was heard exclaiming, 
 
 * Why, Luath, is that you, old boy ? Is • 
 your master here ?' 
 
 Clare immediately entered by the front 
 gate, and walked across the grass towards 
 her aunt. 
 
 ' Is that Hugh Winlaw, of the Southern- 
 knowe, aunt ? I thought I recognised the 
 dog outside.'
 
 32 A MASQUER ADER. 
 
 The younoj lady nodded aiFably to the 
 countryman as she caught sight of him 
 departing. 
 
 ' ril bet he's brought some trout from 
 the young squire.' 
 
 'That means you have been flirting with 
 the young squire, mademoiselle. I see. 
 No wonder six months' retirement offers 
 nothing terrible to you.' 
 
 ' Of course not. I thought I had better 
 prepare the way without delay. He is 
 going to teach me all the mysteries of 
 green hackles, March browns, and May 
 flies ; of grouse and pheasant slaughter on 
 the most extensive scale ; of the elemen- 
 tary terms of horse-racing, book-making, 
 and the whole duty of the turf. I must 
 do something in the six months.' 
 
 ' Certainly you could not do better, my 
 dear.'
 
 MOUNTAIN WINE. 33 
 
 ' But why did you dismiss Hugh so 
 summarily? I wanted to see him; he is 
 a fine fellow. I should not be at all above 
 flirting with the squire's tenant as well as 
 with the squire's son.' 
 
 ' I am very sorry to have deprived you 
 of such a pleasure. I'll soon call him 
 back.' 
 
 ' Don't be ridiculous, Mignonne !' cried 
 Clare, laughing, as ]\Irs. Monk actually 
 ran down to the gate. ' Aunt, come back, 
 I tell you !' 
 
 The lady paid no heed. She was now 
 in the road, and saw the young shepherd 
 not more than thirty yards oiF. He had 
 heard the gate, and instinctively turned. 
 Mrs. Monk beckoned him. 
 
 * Miss Langtoft is disappointed at not 
 speaking to you, Hugh.' 
 
 A slight blush unmistakably accom- 
 
 VOL. I. i>
 
 34 A MASQUEKADKR 
 
 pariiecl the smile with which he came 
 back to face them. 
 
 ' Of course I was,' interposed Clare, 
 coming up, mischievously radiant. 'How 
 do you do, Hugh?' 
 
 The young lady had even extended 
 her hand to him, and he took it like a 
 gentleman. She was obviously playful, 
 but there was nothing in the way she 
 carried her joke to hurt even the sensitive 
 pride of a north countryman. There was 
 open respect visible in her countenance, 
 in addition to superabundant good-nature. 
 
 ^ 1 am very well, thank you, Miss Lang- 
 toft.' 
 
 • We shall come picnicing to Southern- 
 knowe very soon, for I want to see my 
 friend Luath do his wonderful work 
 again.' 
 
 ' It will be a pleasure to him and to
 
 MOUNTAIN WINE. 35 
 
 me,' replied Hugh, politely. ' But it will 
 not be at the Southernknowe, miss, for we 
 are leaving there this week,' he added, 
 looking to the ground, with unusual bash- 
 fulness for him. 
 
 ' Leaving Southernknowe !' exclaimed 
 the young lady ; but, with a ready per- 
 ception, she immediately added, in an- 
 other tone, ' what a pity ! But you are 
 not going far away ?' 
 
 ' Only to Braidstruther.' 
 
 ' Oh, that's right ! Then we'll go up 
 there, won't we, aunt?' said Clare, taking 
 Mrs. Monk's arui to lead her through the 
 gateway. ' Good-bye, Hugh ; give my 
 kind regards to your sister ;' and with a 
 gracious bow, such as a princess might 
 give to a humble retainer, the young lady 
 turned away from the interview. 
 
 'What an abominable shame!' exclaimed 
 
 D 2
 
 36 A MASQUERADER. 
 
 Clare, indignantly. ' Whatever can they 
 be leaving for? He is a good fellow^ 
 Mignonne, isn't he ?' 
 
 'An excellent fellow.' 
 
 ' It is some rascality of the landlord's. 
 But come, aunt,' said Clare, with her 
 usual vivacity, entering the house two 
 steps at a time, ' I hope it is lunch-time^ 
 I am ravenous.'
 
 37 
 
 CHAPTER ir. 
 
 THE WHINSTONES. 
 
 Paul Whinstone just knocked and burst 
 into his mother s room. 
 
 * Mother, Mrs. Monk is here,' he ex- 
 claimed. 'I have just met Miss Langtoft 
 by the river.' 
 
 * Oh !' replied the lady, looking up sud- 
 denly through her spectacles, and keeping 
 her lips slightly apart. ' Really ! I am 
 very glad to hear it.' 
 
 Mrs. Whinstone was accustomed to her 
 son's unceremonious behaviour, so was
 
 38 A MASQUERADER. 
 
 seldom inconvenienced by it. The lady 
 who acted as her companion, equally used 
 to it but never so patiently submitting, 
 generally showed, in an unmistakable 
 manner, her reception of the treatment. 
 But she was a ten years' tried dependent, 
 and herself of somewhat gentle lineage, so 
 that some liberty of demeanour was ex- 
 cusable in her. As the young man came 
 forward she bounced out of her chair with 
 an expressive ' Well, sir !' and swept out 
 of the room. 
 
 ^ She looks remarkably well,' continued 
 Paul, dropping into the chair left vacant 
 by Miss Westleigh, ' and says Mrs. Monk 
 is well. Doesn't know how long they'll 
 stay. You'll call in a day or two, won't 
 you, mother?' 
 
 'As soon as is seemly, Paul. I will
 
 THE WHINSTONES. 39 
 
 take Maro-aret to see them. I should like 
 her to know Miss Lanortoft.' 
 
 ' Hang it, I expect they'll only be here 
 a week or two. AYe never have a chance 
 of getting to know them properly. ^liss 
 Langtoft is a very good sort of girl. 
 Different from the rest, somehow. Wider 
 ideas, I suppose : more intellectual, and 
 that kind of thing. Isn't that it, mother ?* 
 
 ' She has always impressed me very 
 favourably. Yes, I am very pleased tliat 
 they have come just now. Their company 
 will help to accustom your sister to the 
 quietness of this place. I am afraid she 
 will feel it dull for some time.' 
 
 ' Don't fear that. I'll take her in 
 hand.' 
 
 ' Now, Paul, I do wish to speak serious- 
 ly to you about that. You must not get
 
 40 A MASQUERADEU. 
 
 Margaret into any of your wild ways. Do 
 not think that a young lady can do all 
 that you may do. It would be ridiculous 
 and most improper. I want her to have 
 intellectual and womanly interests, and I 
 Avill not have her turned into a jockey, 
 and the cruel creature that you so proudly 
 call a sportsman. Do you hear me, 
 Paul?' 
 
 ' She can take care of herself, mother, 
 don't you fear,' he replied, laughing. ' If 
 she can't, I'll make no attempt to demoral- 
 ize her. She shall be most proper. I am 
 quite sorry for the girl. It's a most awk- 
 ward position for her, and as for the 
 Queen's Counsel, — ' he nodded in a con- 
 temptuous manner, — ' well, it is about the 
 dirtiest trick ever heard of in a family 
 history.' 
 
 ' Hush, boy ! I won't have you speak
 
 THE WHINSTONES. 41 
 
 like that to me/ exclaimed Mrs. Whin- 
 stone, with sudden anger. * It is abomin- 
 ably low, and, if you can't refer to your 
 father in a more becoming way, I forbid 
 you to mention him at all in my 
 presence.' 
 
 * Forgive me, dearest mother,' said Paul, 
 taking and kissing her hand. 'I would 
 cut off my arm rather than hurt you. 
 But it is mostly on your account that 
 1 get so angry about it. I will say no 
 more.' 
 
 There was a momentary trace of emo- 
 tion in the old lady's face, and she was 
 silent. Paul went on, so as to avoid any 
 aAvkward pause, 
 
 'Yes, mother, I hope ]\Iiss Langtoft will 
 be friendly with Margaret, it will be much 
 more pleasant for the girl, for we are 
 beastly short of companions here. But,
 
 42 A MASQUERADER. 
 
 do you know, I believe Mr. Crook is after 
 Miss Clare. Really, if the old parson 
 could get u]3 courage to say so, I believe 
 he is in love with her.' 
 
 ' Don't be ridiculous, Paul,' replied the 
 ladv. forced to smile. ' Poor Mr. Crook I 
 I am afraid his reputation is not very 
 secure in your hands. I thought it was 
 Maisie Winlaw last week that you had 
 allotted to him. If you begin to turn 
 things in that direction, I shall have my 
 suspicions of your motives.' 
 
 'Have no fear of that!' said the young 
 man, with a light laugh. ' I am afraid of 
 the girl, and you don't fall in love with 
 anybody you're afraid of. She's too 
 intellectual for my taste. But I like her 
 very much, it does you good to talk to 
 serious people sometimes.' 
 
 ^ Is Miss Langtoft serious, then ? She
 
 THE WHINSTONES. 4S 
 
 must present a very different aspect to 
 yon, Paul, from what she generally ha& 
 clone to nie. X should have considered her 
 anything but serious.' 
 
 ' Not a dry stick ; I don't mean that. I 
 can't exactly explain it, but you must 
 knov\^ what I mean. The way she puts 
 things, you know. There's more in her 
 conversation, even in her fun, than in that 
 of ordinary girls. Look at her by the side 
 of Florrie Kidland, for instance.' 
 
 ' She is a very intelligent young lady, 
 certainly.' 
 
 'But how long will father stay?' asked 
 Paul, rising from his chair. 
 
 *He will return by the first train in the 
 morning.' 
 
 ' Oh, by Jingo ! short and sweet as- 
 usual. Shall see you at luncheon 
 mother.'
 
 44 A MASQUERADER. 
 
 'I don't think I shall come down 
 to-day.' 
 
 'No? Well, good-bye;' he kissed her 
 on the cheek, and left the room as abruptly 
 as he had entered it. 
 
 ' Of course you will come to me before 
 you go to the station, Paul,' cried the lady 
 after him. 
 
 ' Oh, yes.' 
 
 On the landing the young gentleman 
 took a cigarette from his case, and lit it as 
 he descended the stairs. He went into the 
 dining-room for a glass of claret and 
 lemonade, and whilst drinking it the 
 letter-bag was brought in to him. He took 
 the newspapers and such letters as were 
 for himself, then withdrew to a summer- 
 house in the garden, where he made him- 
 self comfortable for some time ensuing. 
 
 In the meantime, Mrs. Whinstone had
 
 THE WHINSTONES. 45 
 
 removed her spectacles and wiped a tear 
 from her eyelashes. It was a most un- 
 usual occurrence for her to display emotion 
 of this kind in her son's presence, but to- 
 day she felt nervous and excited, and 
 consequently unable to command the 
 customary self-restraint. An explanation 
 lay in the fact that a daughter whom she 
 had not seen since earliest infancy w^as to- 
 day, — twenty years afterwards, — to return 
 and take up her abode in her natural 
 home. 
 
 When Paul had glanced through the 
 columns of the papers which he particular- 
 ly affected, his mind too reverted to this 
 momentous topic. It had been arranged 
 that Mr. Elliott Whinstone should travel 
 with his daughter to Angryburn Station, — 
 that being the nearest point at which the 
 people of High Feldom could touch the
 
 46 A MASQUERADER. 
 
 railway, although a distance of eleven 
 miles from the village ; and there Paul 
 was to be in attendance with the carriage to 
 meet them. This young gentleman would 
 very much have preferred the two hours' 
 drive with his unknown sister alone, for 
 intercourse with the Q.C. (as he always 
 designated his father) was a matter of 
 some difficulty to him, whilst intercourse 
 with young ladies was very much of a 
 pleasure. 
 
 This Mr. Elliott Whinstone was now the 
 representative of an old border family, and 
 possessor of the landed estates appertain- 
 ing to that dignity. Not born in the 
 direct line, and in the earlier part of his 
 life not being even amongst the presump- 
 tive heirs to this property, he had begun 
 his career as a professional man, depending 
 for his advancement in life wholly upon
 
 THE WHINSTONES. 47 
 
 his own forensic ability. This had proved 
 to be considerable, judging by the success 
 which he had been able to command. So 
 completely had his thoughts and ambitions 
 been centred in his professional work, that 
 when at the mature age of forty he was 
 thrown unexpectedly into the position of 
 presumptive successor to his distant rela- 
 tive the squire of High Feldom, Mr. Whin- 
 stone found himself still a bachelor. This 
 casualty, however, apparently decided 
 him, and before the next year was out the 
 gentleman had married. 
 
 Within the limits of their ow^n territory, 
 at any rate, no Whinstone was ever ex- 
 pected to conduct himself, in any of the 
 graver junctures of life, like another mere 
 ordinary mortal. It was not surprising, 
 therefore, that singular behaviour was 
 currently reported to have characterized
 
 48 A MASQUERADER. 
 
 the early years of Mr. Elliott Whinstorie's 
 marriage. By popular gossip it was vouch- 
 ed that his wife had, by some piece of 
 natural mismanagement, had the hardi- 
 hood to present to him by way of heir 
 a puny, wholly inadmissible — girl, when 
 everybody knew that the gentleman him- 
 self, like anybody surely so conversant 
 with legal principles would have done, 
 had naturally counted upon a boy. This 
 practical joke was looked upon by the 
 injured father as little short of a pre- 
 meditated insult on the part of both 
 mother and infant, and, as it was stated, 
 he immediately decided to show both that 
 he could effectually retaliate. With this 
 intention, it was solemnly averred, Mr. 
 Whinstone had forthwith banished the 
 offensive offspring from his home, and 
 forbidden the mother to hold any kind
 
 THE WHINSTONES. 49 
 
 of intercourse with it. How much of 
 truth there was in this unlikely popular 
 story we need not now investigate ; real 
 evidence in the matter was naturally diffi- 
 cult to get at. But the fact was soon to 
 be patent to all that a young lady, of age 
 not inconsistent with the popular theory 
 of her birth, had been admitted into the 
 family circle at Feldom Hall, had assumed 
 the family name of Miss Margaret Whin- 
 stone, and was undoubtedly allowed to 
 pass in all respects as the daughter of the 
 proprietor of the estate. 
 
 What Avas, with certainty, known was 
 that, within the first four years of his 
 marriage, at any rate, Mr. Elliott Whin- 
 stone had been blessed with the coveted 
 son, and had, with that desirable consum- 
 mation, been enabled to throw from his 
 mind again the temporarily distracting 
 
 VOL. 1. E
 
 50 A MASQUERADER. 
 
 considerations of family affairs ; also that, 
 before such son had attained the age of 
 five, Mr. Whinstone had succeeded to the 
 property to the confines of which he 
 had been so unexpectedly brought. This 
 change in his fortunes, however, had 
 worked no revolution in the gentleman 
 himself. He clung to his old life just as 
 when his whole maintenance depended 
 upon it, and a visit to his country-seat 
 was a matter of positive rarity. He was 
 nothing of a sportsman, and had few, if 
 any, of the other inherited tastes natural 
 to a country gentleman : all these had 
 been handed on to his son Paul, who w^as 
 in no way averse from indulging them 
 without the supervision of any paternal 
 eye. He, in reality, was the squire, and 
 he acted it extremely well, not unnatu- 
 rally enjoying the role considerably.
 
 THE WHINSTONES. 51 
 
 AVith Paul's meditation in the summer- 
 house to-day, even he became a little rest- 
 less, and he soon sauntered off into the 
 stable-yard. Here was great sound of 
 splashing water, bucket handles, jingling 
 harness, revolving wheels, accompanied by 
 the professional hiss of the officials. The 
 pleasant fragrance from the stable, the 
 leather, and the wet, shining carriages 
 revived Paul, and he soon felt in a better 
 humour with the world at large. It was 
 clear to him, however, that to-day he was 
 deposed. He was answered in mono- 
 syllables, was jostled if in anybody's way, 
 and could command scant attention at 
 anybody's hands. In the house or out 
 was the same bustling activity on all 
 hands ; the same pre-occupied indifference 
 to all requirements of his. 
 
 It was not surprising, therefore, that
 
 52 A MASQUERADEll. 
 
 his luncheon was, in his own words, flung 
 at his head. That he had foreseen, and 
 was consequently prepared philosophically 
 to accept. After the meal he gladly with- 
 drew to his dressing-room, and was im- 
 mured there for fully two hours. It was- 
 a summons from his mother that brought 
 him forth, and to her room he went. 
 
 Mrs. Whinstone regarded her son with 
 complacent pride as he came in to her. 
 Paul had, upon this occasion, rigged him- 
 self out with a distinct view to effect, (not 
 that, at any time, he was one of the negli- 
 gent in attire,) for he had no intention of 
 being snubbed by his father or sister as a 
 mere provincial sporting bumpkin. He 
 had felt momentary annoyance at his in- 
 ability to make something of his mous- 
 tache, but time alone could mend that for 
 him.
 
 THE WHINSTONES 53 
 
 *0h, that's right, Paul; you are ready. 
 Isn't it time to start?' 
 
 ' Very nearly, I think. Scott will send 
 up word when he's ready. Don't w^orry, 
 there's a dear.' 
 
 * I want you to take these for ]\Iargaret,' 
 continued the lady, nervously, holding 
 forth an exquisite bouquet. ' Just give 
 her them prettily, with my love. Don't 
 carry them on to the platform, you know, 
 but put them on her seat in the carriage, 
 so that when she gets in ' 
 
 ' Oh, all right, mother. I know how to 
 do it, trust me.' 
 
 'And take this shawl, my dear. She 
 will feel the evening air on these hills cool 
 after travelling.' 
 
 'By George, mother, it is a stunner!' 
 exclaimed Paul, holding up the hand- 
 some article to admire it. ' Is that all ?'
 
 54 A MASQUERADER. 
 
 ^ Yes ; but, Paul, listen, my dear boy — 
 do, for my sake, be friendly, cordial with 
 your father.' 
 
 * I will, I promise you. Good-bye.' 
 
 The train was due at Angryburn at 5.40 
 p.m., and, upon this particular eveningy 
 it w^as not more than ten minutes later. 
 For some time Paul Whinstone had been 
 on the platform, talking affably with the 
 disengaged station-master, but not able to 
 throw off altogether a sensation of nerv- 
 ousness at the prospective meeting. He 
 would occasionally glance expectantly 
 along the line — such few yards of it as 
 were visible before it turned sharply round 
 the brae — and try to fancy what topics he 
 could possibly raise in order to keep up an 
 appearance of such cordiality as his mother 
 had enjoined upon him. Nothing would
 
 THE WHINSTONES. 55 
 
 suggest itself, so that he had to be con- 
 tent to trust to the inspiration of the 
 moment. 
 
 The evening was beautiful, the sunshine 
 still unusually warm for such early June, 
 but mellowing to a golden hue, particularly 
 noticeable where it played amongst the 
 fresh green leaves of the couple of ash- 
 trees by the line. The tarred wood about 
 the station and the solitary goods- truck 
 in the siding, with its oilskin cover, ex- 
 haled a perceptible perfume which lingered 
 in the air. There was nothing to disturb 
 the quietude except a blackbird whistling 
 on a tree hard by, and the occasional 
 jingling of the bits and harness of the 
 horses outside. Presently a distant whistle 
 Avas heard, and the station-master stepped 
 aside to pull down a handle presumably 
 communicating with some far-off signal.
 
 5() A MASQUERADEK. 
 
 Steam was audible, the panting engine 
 rounded the corner, and Paul stood ready 
 for the imminent encounter. 
 
 It was not until the three were seated 
 in the carriage, rolling onwards to the 
 hills, that their intercourse had a real 
 commencement. The young lady, with 
 her mother's flowers lying in her lap, sat 
 beside Mr. Whinstone, facing the horses ; 
 Paul opposite, facing them. 
 
 ' You will be tired with your long jour- 
 ney,' remarked Paul, looking into his 
 sister's face frankly, but hesitating to use 
 the Christian name so strange to him as 
 yet. 
 
 ' Oh, no, thank you. We have had a 
 capital journey, haven't we, father? We 
 came in the Pullman car to Newcastle, 
 and 1 have quite enjoyed it.' 
 
 ' But you haven't come in a Pulhnan
 
 THE WHINSTONES. 57 
 
 for the rest of the way, I know,' said Paul, 
 smiling facetiously. 
 
 ' No, Paul, we haven't,' replied his father. 
 *Your carriages are not ^^alatial down 
 here.' 
 
 Mr. "Whinstone habitually spoke like 
 this. He recognized that he was a stranger 
 in these parts. 
 
 ' But this makes up for everything,' 
 cried Margaret, staring eagerly at the 
 mountain scenery all around her. ' Real 
 mountains ! I have never seen any before. 
 Have they names, Paul ?' 
 
 ' Oh, yes, they're all christened. Every 
 one of them.' 
 
 * How charming ! What are those two 
 called that stand up so boldly above all 
 the rest ?' 
 
 ' The Cheviot, the highest to the left : 
 Hedgehope, the other peak.'
 
 58 A MASQUERADER. 
 
 'Really! You must teach me all of 
 them, please.' 
 
 The young lady fairly outstared Paul. 
 The attitude which she had instinctively 
 assumed towards him was noticeable, 
 showing a marked difference from that pre- 
 sented to her father. With Paul she im- 
 mediately fraternized, — had not their rela- 
 tionship been known to them, one would 
 have been tempted to use the other word, 
 flirted. Her sparkling eyes fearlessly 
 gazed into his as she talked to him ; her 
 laughter rippled pleasantly onwards. She, 
 at any rate, evinced no shadow of restraint. 
 Paul quite enjoyed it. He detected what 
 appeared a slight taint of vulgarity, (so 
 different, he at once thought, from Miss 
 Langtoft,) but that, he decided, would 
 rapidly wear off, and he pronounced her ' a 
 rattling girl' forthwith, at once looking
 
 THE WHTNSTONES. 5^ 
 
 forward to vastly improved conditions in 
 the atmosphere of Feldom Hall. 
 
 Mr. Whinstone apparently regarded this 
 frivolity with some impatience, but he by 
 no means appeared the ogre that popular 
 rumour would have led one to expect. He 
 lay back in his seat, hearing and observ- 
 ing all, but speaking little. Distinctly a 
 handsome man ; possibly more so now 
 under the mellowing influence of approach- 
 ing age than in the more vigorous aspect 
 of his manhood. Even now the counte- 
 nance did not reflect placidity or repose of 
 spirit, any more than a marked degree of 
 benevolence. 
 
 ' How grey some of the hill-tops look V 
 Margaret rattled on : it was difficult to her 
 to be silent. ' Just like old men's heads ; 
 and some are deep blue-black. Whatever 
 makes the difl'erence ?'
 
 -60 A MASQUERADEK. 
 
 ' Some are grass ; bent, as we call it ; 
 they are grey in appearance. Some are 
 heather ; they look dark.' 
 
 ' How queer to have no trees on them ! 
 And does nobody live on them at all?' 
 
 ' Oh, yes, sheep and shepherds,' replied 
 
 aul, with amusement. 
 
 ' What wild people they must be ! 
 I shall be afraid to go far from the 
 house.' 
 
 '• You needn't fear them ; they are 
 very good people in their way. A bit 
 of poaching is about the worst of them.' 
 
 • A bit of poaching, Paul ! Are they 
 poachers ? What dreadful creatures ! 
 They shoot the gamekeepers at night, 
 don't they? I have read a lot about 
 poachers in the papers.' 
 
 ' If you are afraid of all the country 
 people that are poachers, you will cer-
 
 THE WHINSTONES. 6t 
 
 tainly have a bad time of it,' laughed 
 Paul. 
 
 ' Have you had much trouble with them 
 lately?' interposed Mr. Whinstone. 
 
 ' Oh, no, nothing exceptional.' 
 
 ' When you are the member, father,^ 
 said Margaret, seriously, ' do get some 
 terrible laws made to frighten them. You 
 will, won't you ? The gamekeepers ought 
 to be able to shoot them at once ; don't 
 you think so, Paul !' 
 
 ' Well, hardly so summary. Some of 
 my best men might be found missing if 
 that was the law.' 
 
 ' I am sure I shall be afraid to live here, 
 then. I shall lie awake at nights and 
 fancy I hear the horrid creatures prowling 
 about the house. It is so very wild, that 
 nobody could hear us if we wanted help.' 
 
 The prospect was such as to impress
 
 62 A MASQUERADER. 
 
 one who hc^d never been far from a popu- 
 lous neighbourhood. The hills were all 
 around them, with wood and such cultiva- 
 tion as was possible on the lower lands 
 alone. As they progressed westwards, the 
 hills seemed to be gathering together more 
 closely, standing shoulder to shoulder like 
 a giant troop determined to contest the 
 passage. The valley was narrowing, and 
 cultivation becoming more scanty. On- 
 wards wound the road, crossing the broad 
 shingly river-bed now, and now surmount- 
 ing a brae only to descend upon the other 
 side. 
 
 ' We have plenty of retainers who will 
 stand by us,' observed Paul. ' But I didn't 
 know, father, that you had any thoughts 
 of becoming a member,' he continued, 
 turning towards this gentleman with some 
 obvious surprise.
 
 THE WIIINSTONES. 63 
 
 ' Oh, yes, he has,' cried Margaret. 
 
 ' Sir Robert Selby has spoken to me 
 about it,' Mr. AVhinstoiie remarked, mi- 
 concernedly. ' He is anxious to resign 
 very soon, and he gave me to understand 
 that my name had been mentioned.' 
 
 ' Of course,' interposed the young lady, 
 fearlessly. ' Do stand, father ; mustn't he, 
 Paul?' 
 
 Paul did not feel the same freedom of 
 speech. His sister's frankness amused 
 him. 
 
 ^ Yes, if I am formally asked, I think I 
 shall do so,' said the father. 
 
 ' Certainly,' assented Paul. ' Stop one 
 moment, Scott.' 
 
 The horses had been for a few minutes 
 walking up a steep incline overarched 
 with trees, now as they reached the top 
 Paul called out to the coachman.
 
 64 A MASQUERADER. 
 
 ' Now, Margaret, look !' he went on, 
 pointing to what lay before them. 'That 
 is your destination.' 
 
 ' Very dramatic !' muttered the elder 
 gentleman, as the two others arose to 
 look. 
 
 ' Oh, charming, enchanting, divine !* 
 cried Margaret, shading her eyes from the 
 rays of the sun, which was just dipping to 
 the summit of the Cold Law. * Is that the 
 Hall?' 
 
 Just before them was an irregular 
 hollow hemmed in by rugged heath-clad 
 hills, with extensive fir-woods on the 
 southern slope, and in the basin, partly 
 hidden by the trees, appeared a few houses, 
 presumably constituting a village. Be- 
 hind the chimneys rose a great green 
 mound with ruined masonry upon its 
 summit. At the entrance to this secluded
 
 THE WHINSTONES. 65 
 
 valley, on the slope above the wide green 
 haugh beside the river, was an ancient 
 mansion, and to this was Margaret's finger 
 directed. Such was High Feldom Hall. 
 
 * Beautiful !' continued the young lady, 
 when the carriage was again proceeding. 
 ' Father, how can you be so indifferent to 
 it?' 
 
 ' I am not indifferent to it. I am think- 
 ing of your laws about the poachers.' 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 66 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 MARGARET. 
 
 Mrs. Whinstone heard the sound of ap- 
 proaching wheels, and went to stand in 
 the open doorway. There was nothing 
 to betray the effort by which she obtained 
 the self-mastery, save an occasional move- 
 ment of the walking-stick upon which she 
 rested. The lady had dismissed her at- 
 tendant, and stood upon the threshold of 
 the mansion alone to receive, with becom- 
 ing dignity, her looked-for visitors. They
 
 MARGARET. 67 
 
 all now saw her, and Paul waved his 
 hand. 
 
 Immediately the carriage stopped, the 
 young gentleman leaped from his seat, 
 and went first to embrace his mother. 
 As he had doubtless intended, his caress 
 served greatly to strengthen her, and he 
 increased the effect by hurriedly whis- 
 pering, 
 
 'It's all right. We are all excellent 
 friends.' 
 
 ' Ho, ^largaret, mind the flowers !' was 
 his exclamation when he turned a^ain, 
 but his warning was too late to be of 
 service. 
 
 In getting from the carriage the bou- 
 quet had fallen, disregarded, from the 
 young lady's lap, and immediately her 
 foot had accidentally crushed them. Paul 
 showed excessive annoyance at the mishap. 
 
 f2
 
 68 A MASQUERADER. 
 
 ' Oh, they are all right,' said Margaret, 
 without lowering her glance to look at 
 them, and she went on to meet her 
 mother 
 
 There was nothing hysterical in the 
 meeting. Margaret, for her part, viewed 
 almost critically the old lady before 
 her, and Mrs. Whinstone offered her em- 
 brace with dignified restraint. As the 
 girl's lips touched her mother's cheek, the 
 latter experienced a chill, and very much 
 of her former nervousness had left her. 
 Outwardly there was nothing at all to 
 betoken the shock, but Margaret herself 
 vaguely suspected that she had failed to 
 make an impression, and so felt resentful 
 and proud. The greeting between husband 
 and wife was strictly formal, and they all 
 went into the house. 
 
 Dinner was naturally the first consider-
 
 MARGARET. 69 
 
 ation. The mother herself took Margaret 
 to the chamber prepared for her, the 
 young lady glancing with open curiosity 
 at everything on the way ; but, strangel}^ 
 as most of their friends would have 
 thought, not so garrulous as she had been 
 even to Mr. Whinstone himself. 
 
 ' We have yet to learn each other's 
 tastes and requirements unfortunately, 
 Margaret,' remarked the mother, as they 
 entered the girl's room, ' but I hope this 
 room may be moderately comfortable until 
 you can get it re-arranged to your own 
 liking.' 
 
 ' We can easily alter anything I don't 
 like,' Margaret replied, looking round the 
 tastefully- furnished apartment. ' I am 
 afraid I am rather particular in some 
 things; but it looks all right, mothei',' 
 she added, immediately. ^ How awfully
 
 70 A MASQUERADER. 
 
 strange to be calling you mother ! Doesn't 
 it seem queer to you for a girl to be call- 
 ing you so ? You are really my mother/ 
 she went on, looking pertly into the old 
 lady's face. ' You are older than I 
 thought you would be, and they tell me 
 you are not strong. Am I at all like 
 what you have imagined me ?' 
 
 ' Not much, my dear,' was the subdued 
 response. 
 
 * How ? Do tell me the difference ?' 
 'You are so much darker than I should 
 
 have expected. I have fancied you taller,. 
 too, than you are.' 
 
 * And nicer and prettier, and what else?^ 
 she said, with her habitual giggle. 
 
 Mrs. Whinstone kept silence. 
 ' You must have been awfully dull here 
 all these years,' said Margaret, again going
 
 MARGARET. 71 
 
 to the window. ' I should think you are 
 glad to have me back.' 
 
 'Yes, my dear, 1 am very glad; but 
 especially for your own sake. I hope, 
 Margaret, that w^e shall soon learn to love 
 each other sincerely ' 
 
 ' And what a nice fellow Paul is ! Such 
 a handsome young fellow. I am so proud 
 of him. Is he engaged yet ?' 
 
 'Xo,' said Mrs. Whinstone, with the 
 first trace of impatience. ' He is not yet 
 twenty -two.' 
 
 ' Plenty are engaged before that. But 
 I suppose I must get dressed.' 
 
 ' Yes, we must not talk too long. I 
 will send the maid to you. I think you 
 Avill like her. Are you sure there is no- 
 thing I can do for you, dear ? Have you 
 got everything at hand that you will 
 want?'
 
 72 A MASQUERADER. 
 
 * Oh, yes, thank you.' 
 
 Mrs. Whinstone rang the bell and with- 
 drew. As she slowly traversed the land- 
 ing there was nothing to betray the 
 verdict of her heart. On the stairs, 
 where she stood to rest for a minute, 
 Paul ran into her. 
 
 ' Cheer up, mother !' he said, in a 
 whisper, laying his hand on her shoulder. 
 'You are disappointed, I know. But she's 
 all right. We'll soon polish her up a bit. 
 She's really better than we might have 
 expected.' 
 
 * Bless you, my dear boy !' replied the 
 mother, wdth repressed emotion. ' Be 
 quick, and come into the drawing-room.' 
 
 Margaret was radiant at the dinner- 
 table. She was, of course, most elabor- 
 ately dressed and bedizened in much
 
 MARGARET. 73 
 
 costly jewellery, which had been presented 
 to her recently by her father. Nobody 
 certainly would have been led to suspect 
 that that evening she was passing through 
 any particularly vital experience. She did 
 not appear weighted with any problems of 
 past, present, or future existence. Her 
 mind was at liberty to embark upon any 
 topic, and indeed she displayed a singular 
 aptitude for miscellaneous conversation of 
 the flimsy kind. 
 
 * I suppose there is no such thing as 
 society in these Avilds ?' she asked her 
 brother, at one point, playfully. 
 
 *0h, but there is. Widespread, cer- 
 tainly; but it makes you think more of 
 your friends if 3'ou have to ride a few 
 miles over the hills to visit them. For- 
 tunately, just now, we have some neigh- 
 bours in the village. People you will
 
 74 A MASQUERADER. 
 
 like, rm sure. Intellectual kind of people, 
 you know, who travel a great deal.' 
 
 'And who may they be?' interposed 
 the father. 
 
 ' Mrs. Monk, who bought the Peel pro- 
 perty. She is here just now with her 
 niece.' 
 
 ' What Monk is it ? Any relation to 
 the Monks of Devonshire ?' 
 
 ^ I believe so,' said Mrs. Whinstone, who 
 was the ' Peerage,' so to speak, of the 
 family. ' I have not asked the exact 
 relationship. They are very seldom 
 here.' 
 
 ' I hope they are not too learned,' 
 remarked Margaret. ' How old is the 
 niece ?' 
 
 ' About your own age, and a delightful 
 girl ; isn't she, mother?' 
 
 ' I think so,' replied the old lady.
 
 MARGAEET. 75 
 
 Margaret looked into Paul's face with a 
 smile of intelligence. 
 
 ' A friend of yours, evidently, sir. I 
 am curious to see her, so as to judge of 
 your taste.' 
 
 But Paul turned aside with a frown, 
 and talked to his father about something 
 else. 
 
 Presently, when Mr. Whinstone and his 
 son were alone, they talked for a short 
 time about the estate, and then about the 
 elder's project of seeking a seat in parlia- 
 ment ; into the latter of which Paul en- 
 tered with unexpected zeal. As the 
 proposed district was that in which they 
 resided, and in which naturally he himself 
 had influence, the prospect of an election 
 opened to the young man a field for ex- 
 tensive entertainment, and he positively
 
 76 A MASQUERADER. 
 
 ur^ed his father to undertake the contest. 
 By means of this subject of agreement, 
 the two seemed to advance to a degree of 
 friendliness not common in the history of 
 their intercourse, and they were in an 
 obvious state of good-humour when they 
 joined the ladies. 
 
 In the drawing-room they found Mar- 
 garet gleefully examining and criticising 
 everything, fluttering about the room like 
 a butterfly in a flower-garden. For every- 
 thing she had some stock epithet of 
 superlative significance. Their presence 
 slightly subdued her, but she continued 
 her survey. The discovery of a French 
 window delighted her, and she got behind 
 the curtain to peer into the twilight. 
 ' What does it open on to, Paul?' 
 ' Only a terrace. No mystery about it.' 
 * What a divine night it is !' cried the
 
 ^lARGARET. 77 
 
 girl from behind the blind and curtain. 
 ' Come and open this, do ! I must peep 
 out ; it is all so quiet.' 
 
 ' Just the time for poachers,' said Paul, 
 facetiously. 
 
 'Oh, how horrid you are!' ejaculated 
 Margaret, jumping out of her hiding-place 
 and tearing the curtain in her haste. 
 
 ' Nonsense — come, ]\rargaret. Get your 
 sister a shawl, please, Paul.' 
 
 Mr. Whinstone had stepped to the 
 window, and now held the casement open. 
 His daughter wrapped the shaAvl about 
 her and stepped out, and he followed her 
 on to the terrace. 
 
 It was an hour since the sun had set, 
 and now, in the deepening twilight, June 
 though it was, the air felt chill and frosty. 
 What breeze there had been was no longer 
 perceptible, not even amidst the sensitive
 
 78 A MASQUERADER. 
 
 branches of the pine-trees. The sky to 
 the north and west was intensely clear, 
 showing in sharpest outline the dark un- 
 dulations of the hills, and any roof or 
 tree which chanced to stand up before it. 
 Only a few strips of dead purple clouds 
 were in the sky where the sun had left 
 them, and in the zenith a star or two had 
 come out. 
 
 Such sound as there was travelled far 
 in the stillness. A restless dog in the 
 village would startle the sheep under the 
 crag two miles away. A cuckoo and a 
 wood-pigeon seemed to answer each other 
 from the farthest extremities of the east 
 and west plantation ; and presently, louder 
 still, a belated heron would utter his 
 harsh, querulous croak as he sailed to his 
 roost in the fir summits. Last and most
 
 MARGARET. 79 
 
 resonant of all, heard literally for miles, 
 came the rhythmic ringing of a horse's 
 hoofs. It rose and would sink again, as it 
 was respectively in the open or beneath 
 the trees ; for a minute it would die away 
 altogether, but only to be heard again as 
 sharply as before. 
 
 Mr. Whinstone and his daughter were 
 listening to the sounds as they walked 
 together outside. Margaret was quite 
 fascinated by the romantic situation, and 
 the coolness of the night air, coupled with 
 the repose of the striking scene, seemed to 
 call forth from the gentleman himself a 
 small concession to geniality. He had 
 lighted a cigar, and Margaret saw him 
 smile as she gave way to a bit of enthu- 
 siastic prattle. 
 
 ' I once thought, Margaret, that there
 
 80 A MASQUEKADER. 
 
 must be some satisfaction in the contem- 
 plation of scenes like this ; but I soon 
 outgrew it.' 
 
 'Then I must try to revive it in you, 
 father. You must come here more fre- 
 quently, and I will give you lessons. Just 
 listen to that horse even yet. I thought 
 we had lost it.' 
 
 ' It was walking up the plantation hill. 
 You wdll hear it for long enough yet. 
 Plainly when it crosses the new bridge by 
 the Haugh, four miles away.' 
 
 ' Really, I should never have thought it 
 possible. And what was that?' she asked, 
 at hearing the loud metallic pipe of a 
 pheasant near at hand. 
 
 ' I really can't tell you. I never spent 
 much time in studies of that kind. Paul 
 must be your instructor in that direction.' 
 
 ' Oh, yes, it will be delightful. 1 shall
 
 MARGARET. 81 
 
 Avaiit to learn everything. It is divine* 
 
 ' You tliink you will like your quarters, 
 
 then? I am glad of it. It is time I 
 
 Well, well, I shall be glad if you get 
 satisfaction out of your life here. I — I — 
 acted rather hastily, you know. But you 
 understand nie now.' 
 
 ' Oh, 3^es, I do,' replied the girl, with 
 marked levity. 'This is reparation enough. 
 If I had always lived here, perhaps I 
 shouldn't have thought so much of it. 
 Don't apologise any more, please.' 
 
 Then followed a momentary silence, and 
 curiousl}', a bat seized that particular in- 
 stant at which to swoop down at the 
 inviting expanse of Mr. Whinstone's shirt- 
 front, and for a second to flutter there. 
 
 The movement startled the girl, and she 
 uttered a little scream. 
 
 ' Whatever was that ?' 
 
 VOL. I. G
 
 82 A MASQUERADEK. 
 
 ^ Pooh, pooh ! It's only a bat, girl ; it 
 won't eat you.' 
 
 ' A bat ! Are there really bats here T 
 
 ' Did you suppose they were all drowned 
 in the flood, then?' 
 
 ' I suppose I did. What horrid things ! 
 Let us go in.' 
 
 ' One minute. You will find worse 
 things in the world to face than bats, I 
 can assure you. But I was going to say,' 
 the gentleman continued, in an altered 
 tone, * that I regret — certain past necessi- 
 ties ' 
 
 *But I say that is all forgotten now,' 
 interposed Margaret. ' Don't you believe 
 me i 
 
 ' Allow me to finish my sentence, please. 
 I venture to hope that the effect of them 
 may in a short time be effaced. That you 
 will pay strict attention to the altered
 
 MARGAKET. 83 
 
 babits of your position, and so forth. You 
 see what I mean ?' 
 
 * Certainly. Upon your next visit I 
 promise that you shall not be ashamed of 
 me.' 
 
 Mr. Whinstone was annoyed by her, but 
 he lit his cigar and kept silence. 
 
 'When shall we see you here again?' 
 ' I cannot say. It will depend upon 
 these political arrangements. I am too 
 busy a man to spend much time here in 
 mere diversion. The country, moreover, 
 never afforded diversion to me.' 
 
 * No, of course, everybody is not the 
 same. When may I come to town ?' 
 
 ' That I can't say,' replied her father, in 
 a purposely decisive tone. 
 
 Silence followed, and again that distant 
 horse was clearly heard. Before either 
 spoke, there was a movement by the win- 
 
 g2
 
 84 A MASQUERADER. 
 
 dow, and Margaret nervously clutclied her 
 father's arm. But it was only Paul, and 
 he came forward to where they were 
 standing. 
 
 ' There is a woman wants to see you^ 
 father,' he said ; ' but I can't make out 
 who she is. Some tram]3 or other un- 
 known to this district. I can't satisfy her. 
 She will see you, the magistrate. Will 
 you see her or not ?' 
 
 ' I have not come here to act the 
 magistrate,' was the reply. ' But yes, I 
 will go,' he added, throwing away his 
 cigar. ' Everybody has a vote in these 
 days.' 
 
 ' In the hall.'
 
 85 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 PROBLE^rATICAL. 
 
 ]\Iks. Monk was in her north-country 
 liouseholcl accounted of eccentric habits : 
 by nobody more distinctly so than by the 
 coachman Dodds. She would require to 
 be driven out at the most remarkable 
 hours, and, to a practical intelligence, 
 with no conceivable motive of a rational 
 kind. There are certain recognised causes, 
 accepted even by coachmen, for duties 
 after sunset, but to what end, social or 
 hygienic, could a lady need a drive at
 
 86 A MASQUER ADER. 
 
 such hour along a bleak and desolate road,, 
 with nothing but a gate on to the open 
 moor at the farther end, and fir and birch- 
 trees all the way? Such, however, had 
 Mrs. Monk demanded upon this first even 
 ing after her arrival at the Peel. At half- 
 past eight her brougham was to be ready 
 for her, and, punctual to the minute, it 
 was at the door. 
 
 Clare was in her own room, but Mrs. 
 Monk immediately appeared, wisely enve- 
 loped in a long fur cloak as necessary 
 protection against the evening chill, and, 
 after repeating her instructions to Dodds, 
 she took her seat in the carriage. 
 
 ' To the Swire Road gateway, Dodds,. 
 and back.' 
 
 ' Varry good, ma'am,' with a salute, and 
 both understood. 
 
 After all, the lady's freaks were taken
 
 PROBLEMATICAL. 87 
 
 in good part, for not only was Mrs. Monk 
 personally a liberal mistress, but the ser- 
 vants were fair-minded enouo^h to recognize 
 the light nature of their services. Out of 
 the last twelve months, they had seen the 
 face of their mistress for barely two. An 
 eccentric service was not grudged to her. 
 
 The carriage drove away, and the lady 
 within leaned back in a corner. One of 
 the windows was open to admit the cool 
 current of air created by the movement of 
 the vehicle, and towards this Mrs. Monk 
 was gazing fixedly. They had not to pass 
 through the village, so that her eye rested 
 only upon tree and hedgerow, the shaded 
 nature of the road excluding the wider pros- 
 pect. For about a mile the road was level, 
 — as nearly so as a hill country will admit, 
 — but then began a short but steep ascent 
 throuofh a fir-wood. The horse was allowed
 
 88 A MASQUERADER. 
 
 to walk, and the sound which had re- 
 echoed through the stillness was no longer 
 audible. About half-way up the hill a 
 head appeared from the carriage window, 
 and was turned this way and that. It did 
 not look like that of Mrs. Monk. 
 
 There was nothing around but the 
 silent depths of the wood, in which a 
 squirrel or a bird made an occasional 
 movement. After this momentary scrutiny, 
 the carriage door was opened, noiselessly. 
 A figure emerged, and the door was closed 
 ao-ain with as little sound. Passins: to the 
 back of the carriage, the apparition seemed 
 to vanish into the obscurity of the wood. 
 The top of the hill was reached, and again 
 the trot of the horse's hoofs resounded far 
 and wide. 
 
 A crackling amongst the twigs and cones 
 with which the undergrowth was sprinkled
 
 PROBLEMATICAL. 89 
 
 Avould startle a silent wood-pigeon in the 
 boughs, and with an eerie flap and rustle 
 it fled to a deeper shelter. A disturbed 
 pheasant would make a thundering noise, 
 belabouring the air with a heavy thud- 
 thud, enough, as it seemed, to arouse all 
 the sentinels of the wood for miles around. 
 It caused the dark ol^ject flitting between 
 the tall pine-trunks to flit more swiftly 
 still. 
 
 The wood was silent again, and on a 
 path traversing an expanse of pasture 
 which lay between its boundary and High 
 Feldom Hall was a solitary woman. She 
 was walking rapidly in the direction of the 
 house, her eyes fixed upon the ground. 
 The twilight was deepening, but when she 
 was near to the buildino: and had raised 
 her face to regard it, she saw two figures 
 upon the terrace on the south side of the
 
 90 A MASQUERADER. 
 
 house. She screened herself behind some 
 bushes, and got near enough to hear their 
 voices ; but the woman was unwilling to 
 linger. She crept rapidly round to the 
 back of the house, and gained an entrance 
 to the kitchen yard. A dog barked, loud 
 and deep, as she knocked, and a man- 
 servant opened the door to her. 
 
 Mr. Whinstone was there, yes, but was 
 not to be troubled by anybody. What 
 did she want at this time of night ? She 
 must see him : he was a magistrate, and 
 obliged to see her. The man paused, then 
 consulted a fellow-servant. 
 
 ' Fetch Mr. Paul,' suggested this one. 
 ' Who is she, and what does she want?' 
 
 ' That's none of your business.' 
 
 'Where do you come from? You don't 
 belong to this countryside.' 
 
 ' All right, I will go round to the
 
 PROBLEMATICAL. 91 
 
 front,' said the woman, as she turned 
 away. 
 
 ' Hold on : go and tell Mr. Paul, John.' 
 
 Paul came, but she declined to consult 
 him. Mr. Elliott AVhinstone, the magis- 
 trate, was the man she required, and 
 nobody smaller could serve her purpose. 
 
 * Come in, then, my good woman, and I 
 will see if he will come to you.' 
 
 The visitor was shown into the lower 
 hall, and Paul went to his father. 
 
 As soon as Mr. Whinstone saw the face 
 of the visitor in the lamplight, he evinced 
 some surprise, then turned aside to a 
 doorway and beckoned her to follow him. 
 They entered the library, and the door 
 closed behind them. 
 
 It was a large, gloomy room, with a 
 lamp burning dimly at one end. There
 
 52 A MASQUERADER. 
 
 •vvas sufficient light to disclose the ranks of 
 books which clothed the greater part of 
 the walls upon all sides and to partially 
 reveal the spectral features of austere 
 ancestors who looked down from any 
 available space amongst them. The gentle- 
 man brought forward a chair, but the 
 visitor declined it. She stood in the centre 
 of the room, and looked at Mr. Whinstone. 
 
 The woman was poorly clad, wrapped up 
 in a dark grey shawl, which she held 
 tightly around her. Nevertheless, she 
 displayed considerable dignity of carriage, 
 and a countenance handsome and refined. 
 The gentleman tried to stand at ease, but 
 did not seem, as one would have expected 
 him to be, exactly master of the situation. 
 As the silence was awkward, he broke it. 
 
 ' I hardly expected to see you here,' he 
 said.
 
 PKOBLEMATICAL. dS^ 
 
 * Probably not ; but I wished to have a 
 few words with you, possibly for the last 
 time. I did not tell you in London why 
 I was willing to cancel our agreement 
 and to restore your daughter to you 
 unconditionally.' 
 
 ' You did not. I should rather like to 
 know.' 
 
 ' You thought, no doubt, that I required 
 her solely in order to injure you ; although 
 did you ever know me condescend to 
 vulgar tactics of any kind? Did you, I 
 say?' 
 
 'Never, hitherto.' 
 
 ' And never will. Be assured of that. 
 I have not lost a certain, what did you 
 call it, intellectual piquancy, — wasn't that 
 it? Mere garments cannot affect this 
 quality. ]\ly downfall did not, at any 
 rate, make me vulgar. I do not love
 
 ^4 A MASQUERADER. 
 
 coarse methods at all. I only required 
 your daughter as a rational compensation 
 to myself for — what is it called? — a 
 ruined life. I thought it possible/ she 
 continued, cynically, ' that I might have 
 tamed her so far as to be a companion to 
 me ; that she might have made some 
 return to me in the form of affection, and 
 have lightened the burden of my life. 
 With this object I claimed her.' 
 
 'And then put her into the hands of 
 others to rear.' 
 
 *Yes, that she might not know the 
 poverty to which I was condemned. I 
 expected in a few years to be in a better 
 position, and then she would have come 
 to me. But, when the time arrived, again 
 I paused.' 
 
 ' With what purpose that time, may I 
 ask V'
 
 PROBLEMATICAL. 95 
 
 ' You may,' was the sharp reply : ' and 
 1 will tell you. Briefly, because her in- 
 herited instincts proved to be ineradicable. 
 She is worthless, and, being so, I was not 
 inclined to burden myself with a commo- 
 dity of that kind. Had she possessed one 
 spark of a cultivated nature, be assured I 
 should have clung irrevocably to my 
 original compact, and you should never 
 have possessed her. Being such as she is, 
 I restore her, as she naturally belongs 
 to you. Thus much I wished you to 
 know.' 
 
 Mr. Whinstone attempted a smile, but 
 it was a poor one. 
 
 ' And now, if you please, let somebody 
 show me out.' 
 
 'Stay!' exclaimed the gentleman, im- 
 pulsively, as she turned towards the door. 
 ' Let me do something for you. Your
 
 96 A MASQUERADER. 
 
 attitude is preposterous. Name your 
 own method. I don't care what it is^ 
 but something I will do. You shall not 
 continue to peregrinate the country like 
 this.' 
 
 * Retro me !' cried the woman, indig- 
 nantly ; but added instantly, ' Yes, you 
 shall do something for me, but not now. 
 Let me out. I have several miles to walk 
 before I rest to-night.' 
 
 He was powerless to move her, so he 
 rang the bell, and the visitor departed. 
 
 When outside she did not take the path 
 by which she had come, but, as it was 
 darker, skirted the house more closely. 
 The voices on the terrace were still audible 
 as she passed behind the bushes, for Paul 
 had stayed there with his sister when Mr. 
 Whinstone withdrew. For a few moments 
 the woman stayed.
 
 PKOBLEMATICAL. 97 
 
 'Isn't this jolly, Paul? Awfully ro- 
 mantic' 
 
 * Oh, yes, it's a grand place in the sum- 
 mer and autumn, and winter too, for a 
 matter of that. It's a bit quiet when 
 nobody's here, but I nearly always have 
 fellows down for fishinor or shootino^. AYe'll 
 have some when the Q.C.'sgone. Mother's 
 awfully good, and will do anything as long- 
 as I don't go to town too often, or to 
 Oxford,' he added, with a laugh. 
 
 'You were at Oxford, were you ?' 
 
 ' I'm there now, you know. I shall 
 have to be a bit more regular now you 
 have come home.' 
 
 ' Oh, don't leave me here alone! I can't 
 bear quiet.' 
 
 'Ko, no. I shall be backwards and 
 forwards, of course. But look here, Mar- 
 garet, you must be attentive to the old 
 
 VOL. I. H
 
 98 A MASQUER ADER. 
 
 lady, do you understand ? It's cursed — 
 beastly lonely for her, and she has natur- 
 ally looked forward to your company a 
 good deal. You'll promise me to be very 
 kind and affectionate to her, now won't 
 you?' 
 
 'Yes, of course I will. Do I seem as if 
 I wished to be anything else?' 
 
 'No, but I want you to be careful in 
 little things. We are young, you know, 
 but she's not; and, what with being an 
 invalid so long, she's got sensitive, and 
 that sort of thing. About those flowers 
 in the carriage. I wish you had made a 
 bit more of them. Taken them to her 
 when you arrived, and thanked her for 
 them, do you see ? She's awfully fond of 
 flowers, and she would very much have 
 preferred you to tread upon her corns ; 
 she would indeed/
 
 PROBLEMATICAL. 99 
 
 * All right/ exclaimed the young lady, 
 with a pout. ' I'll remember.' 
 
 'Now, don't be offended. Just listen to 
 that horse yet. It's coming back, I think.' 
 
 This seemed to arouse the listener, and 
 she turned hastily away, disappearing in 
 a plantation of shrubs amidst which it was 
 impossible to trace her in the dusk. 
 
 The ground sloped a little, and after a 
 short distance there was a stream with a 
 copse beyond. Having leaped the water, 
 the woman plunged into the undergrowth, 
 and, after a rough climb, reached the 
 boundary wall. She looked over to the 
 road which was on the other side and 
 listened. There was no sound now save 
 that trot of a horse's hoofs at a distance. 
 She groped her way along behind the wall, 
 the ground dij)ping again abruptly, and 
 thus rendering the path anything but a 
 
 H 2
 
 100 A MASQUERADER. 
 
 safe one, but her step was sure. At tbe 
 bottom she stood until the horse was upon 
 the road beside her. 
 
 It passed, and almost immediately the 
 trot was changed to a walking pace to 
 ascend the hill. The woman looked over 
 cautiously, and had in an instant scaled 
 the wall. It was Mrs. Monk's carriage 
 that was there before her, and she ran to 
 it. She crept from the back to the left 
 side ; the door was opened noiselessly, and 
 the woman stepped in. 
 
 Mrs. Monk raised the window, and the 
 coachman thought he heard his mistress 
 laudi ; but that was all. In a moment 
 the horse again broke into a trot, and it 
 was not long before the carriage was en- 
 tering the gateway at the Peel. The notes 
 of a piano could be heard through the open 
 window, and somebody singing, but both
 
 PROBLEMATICAL. 1 1 
 
 stopped abruptly, and Clare came out into 
 the dusk to receive her aunt. 
 
 ' Here you are, you churlish wanderer I 
 
 ' " I keep no shades 
 Nor shelters, I, for either owls or rere-mice.'* ' 
 
 'Well done, Clare!' cried Mrs. Monk, 
 laughing gleefully as she alighted. ' You 
 have got that out of the quotation-book 
 for the occasion, I know. Where's it 
 from ? I challenge you. You forgot to 
 look at the reference.' 
 
 Dodds appreciated the joke, for he 
 chuckled to himself as the ladies entered 
 the house.
 
 102 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 PAST AND PRESENT. 
 
 Upon Mr. Whinstone's return to the 
 drawing-room, the visitor was easily ex- 
 plained, and nobody thought anything 
 more about her. The gentleman was not 
 alone with either of his children that 
 night, nor did he seek any interview with 
 them in the morning. Breakfast was early, 
 and soon after nine the dog-cart stood at 
 the door to convey Mr. Whinstone to the 
 distant station. 
 
 The sun was already hot when Paul and
 
 PAST AND PRESENT. 103 
 
 his sister stood on the steps to bid their 
 father farewell, but there was a delicious 
 freshness and fragrance in the atmosphere 
 which exhilarated both of them. There 
 was no obvious distress on the part of 
 anybody at the prospect of separation, and 
 perhaps Mr. Whinstone did not regard 
 with complete satisfaction the airy manner 
 in which his daughter waved him on his 
 journey. At any rate, he looked at her 
 rather critically as he was leaving, and 
 Paul fancied he could read something of 
 the expression upon his father's features. 
 Five minutes after he had left them, he 
 was certainly far enough from the minds 
 of both. 
 
 The morning was spent in a survey of 
 the establishment, and an enjoyable occu- 
 pation they made of it. The young lady 
 was enraptured with everything, and her
 
 104 A MASQUEKADER. 
 
 brother found an unsuspected interest in 
 the familiar surroundings by reason of the 
 fresh element involved in the examination. 
 Under a plea of weariness from the excite- 
 ment of the previous day, Mrs. Whinstone 
 left them again at liberty after their meet- 
 ing at luncheon, and, by way of variety, 
 they resolved to walk down to the village. 
 For this ceremony Margaret made elabor- 
 ate preparation, deeming it necessary, no 
 doubt, to offer an imposing appearance to 
 her dependents upon a first visit. 
 
 'That will do,' commented Paul, with 
 a smile, when the young lady reappeared 
 after a prolonged seclusion. 
 
 ' Don't scoff. You must know that 
 every booby of a villager will be staring 
 their eyes out.' 
 
 * Quite right, quite right. I had no
 
 rAST AND PRESENT. 105 
 
 wish to scoff. I am quite proud of you, 
 T assure you.' 
 
 ' Are you really ? Aren't you awfully 
 disappointed with me, as I know Mrs. 
 Whinstone — mother, I mean— is.' 
 
 ' Don't talk nonsense, Margaret. Mo- 
 ther's no more disappointed than I am. 
 She doesn't want you to be as staid as a 
 nun. I shouldn't care for you if you were, 
 I can tell you. Tiie dear old lady is 
 seldom demonstrative.' 
 
 He made a slifi^ht mental reservation in 
 favour of himself, but he always admitted 
 that upon that subject his mother was 
 distinctly foolish. 
 
 ' I should think not,' observed Miss 
 Whinstone. 
 
 'But when did you first know about 
 coming here?'
 
 106 A MASQUERADER. 
 
 ' Only a month ago. I had suspected 
 something unusual about myself for a 
 long time, but couldn't get to the bottom 
 of it. Oh, how I hated that life with the 
 Simpsons ! They were booksellers, you 
 know,' she said, blushing deeply ; ' and to 
 have called them father and mother 1 
 What a deliverance this is ! If I could 
 only tell you. I knew that I was made 
 for this. I hated the very thought of 
 tradespeople always, and was wretched to 
 think of the degradation I was born to. 
 Wouldn't you ?' 
 
 ' Oh, I don't know. There's no degra- 
 dation if the people are honest, and know 
 their place. Of course I shouldn't care 
 for it now, but if I had been born to it I 
 don't suppose I should have fretted much 
 about it. Were they unkind to you ?' 
 
 ' Bless you, no ! They did all they
 
 PAST AND PRESENT. 107 
 
 could, poor things. But they were dis- 
 senters, too ! I rebelled against that, 
 though, years ago, and I always went to 
 church. I liked to go and fancy, for an 
 hour or two at any rate, that I was re- 
 spectable. Wasn't it strange? It's nature, 
 isn't it?' 
 
 ' Curious, certainly.' 
 
 ' I have cried a whole niorht throuo;h, 
 after I have come from church, because I 
 wasn't somebody else I had seen there. 
 Some doctor's or lawyer's daughter, per- 
 haps. Ha, ha ! Oh, if I had known !' 
 she cried, angrily. 'To think of what I 
 am, and they in those seats ! Isn't it 
 maddening?' 
 
 * Only a lawyer's daughter, after all, 
 Meg,' interposed Paul, slily. 
 
 ' Ha, yes, but slightly different.' 
 
 * Well, I suppose we are all the children
 
 108 A MASQUERADER. 
 
 of Adam,' commented her brother, in truth 
 rather tired of the vein which she had 
 adopted. 
 
 ' Oh, you radical I I should never have 
 thought it of you.' 
 
 * Hush, here's the vicar. You must be 
 extremely proper.' 
 
 'What's his name?' whispered Margaret. 
 
 ' Mr. Crook.' 
 
 ' Not a bad one from his appearance.' 
 
 ' My sister, Mr. Crook,' explained Paul, 
 with a friendly smile. ' Margaret, may I 
 introduce your vicar to you ? Mr. Crook.' 
 
 ' I am most happy to see you, Miss 
 Whinstone, and to Avelcome you to your 
 northern home.' 
 
 The young lady bowed graciously. 
 
 ' The first time you have seen our 
 border fastness, I believe. Oh, yes, it is 
 charming. One sniffs historical associa-
 
 PAST AND PRESENT. 10^ 
 
 tioris in the very atmosphere. Not an 
 acre but has its tale to tell. Tragical, 
 yes, for the most part, but stirring. You 
 Avill be vastly interested, I am sure.' 
 
 ' I shall, Mr. Crook, I'm sure, and I 
 shall look forward to hearing the associa- 
 tions from you. It is all so delightful to 
 me.' 
 
 ' No doubt, no doubt,' replied the 
 clergyman. 
 
 * You will not have seen Mrs. Monk yet, 
 I expect?' interposed Paul. 
 
 'Seen her? How. do you mean? She 
 is not here now.' 
 
 ' Oh, yes, she is. They came the day 
 before yesterday.' 
 
 ' I knew nothing of it, Paul. That's 
 good news,' he added, vivaciously. ' Why, 
 we shall be quite reanimated by our new 
 acquisitions,' he said, looking at Margaret
 
 110 A MASQUERADER. 
 
 good-humouredly. 'I must go and pay 
 my respects at the Peel, and that speed- 
 ily, or they may be oiF again.' 
 
 ' That's the worst of it,' remarked Paul, 
 but at once changed his tone. ' By-the-by, 
 to-morrow I am going to ride over to 
 Braidstruther, Mr. Crook ; would you 
 object to come ?' 
 
 'Enjoy it beyond anything. Two or 
 three? Three ; very good. I'll be ready.' 
 
 ' What a queer little man !' said Mar- 
 garet to her brother, when they were 
 again alone. 
 
 ^ Yes, that is the Reverend Laban 
 Crook, vicar of High Feldom,' replied 
 Paul, ' and a very decent fellow he is, 
 too ; so long as he will keep off the sub- 
 ject of border ballads. They are a craze 
 with him, and they become an awful bore. 
 But he is the best fly-fisher in the king-
 
 PAST AND PRESENT. Ill 
 
 dorn, I believe, and that will excuse a 
 good deal.' 
 
 ' Oh, — and what's his wife like ?' 
 
 ' He hasn't got one.' 
 
 ' I don't wonder.' 
 
 ' But they say he is in love.' 
 
 The young lady did not restrain her 
 laughter. 
 
 ' And likely to remain so, I should think. 
 Who is the fortunate lady?' 
 
 ' A shepherd's sister ; Maisie Winlaw, 
 they call her.' 
 
 ' A shepherd's sister, and he a clergy- 
 man !' 
 
 ' But Maisie is not half a bad girl, 1 can 
 tell you. Besides, the Winlaws are not 
 exactly like ordinary shepherds.' 
 
 * I suppose it is all planned out, then, 
 for me to marry the coachman, if he isn't 
 quite an ordinary coachman.'
 
 112 A MASQUEKADER. 
 
 * Subject to your own approval, of course/ 
 replied Paul, solemnly. * But wait until 
 you see Maisie before you blame the 
 parson. Can you ride, Margaret ?' he 
 asked, suddenly. 
 
 * No,' she replied, with a flash of angry 
 vexation. 
 
 * Oh, you'll have to learn. I was only 
 going to say that, if you could, you might 
 have come with us to-morrow. We can't 
 drive a carriage up there. Hugh Winlaw 
 and his sister are coming into a place of 
 ours in a day or two, and I want to see 
 if they've got it ready for him. Poor 
 Huo-h has been unfortunate. He was 
 made for better things than herding.' 
 
 Margaret was not paying much heed to 
 her brother, as they were just then passing 
 by the few houses that constituted the 
 village,* and the young lady was anxious
 
 PAST AND PRESENT. 113 
 
 to observe how many of the cottage in- 
 mates were peeping from behind their 
 curtains. 
 
 ' Do they all know about me ?' she 
 asked, hurriedly, of Paul. 'About the 
 bookseller's, I mean.' 
 
 'Oh, no. There's plenty of gossip, of 
 course, but they don't know anything 
 with certainty.' 
 
 Margaret nodded with satisfaction, and 
 by her gesture gave an utterly annihil- 
 ating blow at the whole world of trade 
 and dissent. There was a little fierceness 
 in her manner which, upon a closer scru- 
 tiny, might have been construed into a 
 doubtful kind of screen for a background 
 of nervousness. Her glance darted to and 
 fro with an uneasy self-consciousness, and 
 her thin lips curled into what was more 
 
 VOL. I. I
 
 114 A MASQUERADER. 
 
 of an insipid sneer than the dignified smile 
 for which it was intended. 
 ' Is this all the place, Paul?' 
 
 * Yes, all of it — church, post-office, 
 school, and inn.' 
 
 'Ha, ha ! What a funny little place ! 
 Butter and bacon at the post-office. Pah! 
 our letters must be all greasy.' 
 
 * We have a separate bag for the Hall,' 
 remarked her brother. 
 
 'Oh, of course, how silly of me ; how 
 very stupid. And whose house is that up 
 there !' 
 
 'That is the Peel, Mrs. Monk's; the 
 lady I have spoken about.' 
 
 ' Oh, yes,' was the reply, accompanied 
 by a significant smile and a glance from 
 the very dark eyes. ' I wonder whether 
 we shall see the young lady about.'
 
 PAST AND PRESENT. 115 
 
 They passed the gateway Avithout any 
 such encounter as she suggested. Mar- 
 garet stared critically at the house and 
 garden, but Paul kept his eyes upon the 
 pine-wood before them. 
 
 ' It's quite a small place,' commented 
 the young lady, more to herself than her 
 companion ' And what's that old ruin up 
 above there ?' 
 
 'That's the Dour Crag; it's a rock, not 
 a ruin.' 
 
 ' Why, you are looking the wrong way,' 
 laughed the girl. ' Here, on this side. 
 That's a ruin, isn't it?' 
 
 ' Oh, yes, that's the old Peel — an old 
 fortress ; we call them Peels in this part 
 of the country.' 
 
 ' Because they peeled people in them, I 
 suppose, ha ! ha !' 
 
 i2
 
 116 A MASQUERADER. 
 
 Margaret seldom exactly laughed. It 
 was an ever-ready giggle with which she 
 was troubled. 
 
 ^ Can t we go up to it ?' 
 
 ' No, of course not,' replied Paul, inv 
 patiently. ' It is in Mrs. Monk's private 
 ground. You can go up when you call 
 upon them.' 
 
 *But not private to Mr. Whinstone, I 
 hope ?' cried a cheer}^ voice from within 
 the enclosure, and immediately a radiant 
 face appeared above the bushes to the 
 slight discomfiture of the two upon the 
 road. ' How do you do ?' w^ent on the 
 lady, laughing. ' Do pardon my bit of 
 eavesdropping. I only heard the last few 
 words.' 
 
 Paul laughed pleasantly too. 
 
 ' I don't think we committed ourselves 
 too much,' said he. ' But what a pleasure
 
 PAST AND PRESENT. 117 
 
 it is to see you here again, Mrs. Monk ! 
 May I introduce my sister to you ?' 
 
 They bowed. 
 
 'Do come in, Miss Whinstone. Neigh- 
 bours are too scarce to allow any to pass 
 our gates. It is too bad of your brother 
 to stand upon so much ceremony. I think 
 we are entitled to a little relaxation down 
 here, don't you ?' 
 
 They returned to the gate and entered. 
 
 'Thank you so much for the fish yester- 
 day, Mr. Paul. It was delicious. Oh, 
 that's right, here's Clare coming. We will 
 all go up together.' 
 
 Miss Lan^toft came from the house to- 
 wards them, and was equally hearty in 
 her reception of the visitors. A very few 
 words seemed to put them all upon a com- 
 fortable footing. Clare was always ready 
 for a scramble up to the Peel, so off they
 
 118 A MASQUERADER. 
 
 went. Mrs. Monk and Paul led the way : 
 the two young ladies followed. 
 
 Paul was generally inclined to be nerv- 
 ous with Mrs. Monk, but her exceptional 
 vivacity to-day put him immediately at 
 his ease. She was obviously gracious by 
 design, for her genial flow of small talk 
 and her ready laughter were a source of 
 constant amusement and surprise to Clare 
 as she thought of her aunt's ordinary 
 mental attitude to young gentlemen of 
 leisure. 
 
 'Oh, was Mr. Whinstone here? I 
 wonder he could tear himself away so 
 soon. The country is so exquisite now.' 
 
 ' He cares little for the country,' said 
 Paul. 
 
 ' No, of course, he is a busy man. But 
 I am sure you take his place admirably. 
 No, I don't mean to flatter you, indeed.
 
 PAST AND PRESENT. 119 
 
 To act the country gentleman well requires 
 an art by no means natural to all who are 
 born to the position.' 
 
 * Thank you, Mrs. Monk. I should have 
 feared you would have thought me one of 
 the most useless of the community.' 
 
 ' You cannot seriously have thought so, 
 Mr. Whinstone. Pray do not think that 
 I require material employment as a 
 criterion of worth. I am not sufficiently 
 democratic for that. I have quite a par- 
 tiality for such as the practical world 
 considers idle, that is if their idle- 
 ness has its purpose and is becomingly 
 sustained.' 
 
 ' I see,' said Paul, laughing. ' I am 
 glad that I fulfil the requirements. I 
 wish I could instil some of your excel- 
 lent theory into our good vicar, Mr. 
 Crook.'
 
 120 A MASQUERADER. 
 
 ' Oh, does he think you very bad ?' 
 *Past all hope, I fear, because I am 
 unable to develop, what he calls, a rational 
 enthusiasm for a ballad and a botanical 
 specimen. Little else counts with him in 
 this world. 
 
 * What ! not the red hackle ?' 
 
 * Oh, yes, but in that I anger him 
 because I prefer the black.' 
 
 ' Well, really, you are too bad. Don't 
 you think so, Clare?' asked the lady of 
 her niece who, with her companion, had 
 just come up to them. 
 
 * I didn't hear the point.' 
 
 ' Mr. Whinstone prefers the black hackle 
 to the red, and in the face of Mr. Crook's 
 opinion, too !' 
 
 * Shocking!' exclaimed Clare, with a 
 proper degree of horror at such flagrant 
 heresy.
 
 PAST AND PRESENT. 121 
 
 'What ever are hackles?' asked Margaret, 
 in perplexity. 
 
 * Oh, you have f^ot to learn all the 
 mysteries of fly-fishing, Miss Whinstone, I 
 see.' 
 
 ' We must get your brother and the 
 vicar to teach us all about it, mustn't 
 -vve?' interposed Clare, looking at Margaret. 
 *I am sure I am as ignorant as you.' 
 
 *That Avill be delightful,' Paul ex- 
 claimed, looking at Miss Langtoft with more 
 than mere polite acquiescence. 
 
 In the course of their few minutes' 
 intercourse, Clare had come to a kindly 
 feeling towards Margaret. She knew the 
 current gossip with regard to the girl's 
 past, and that was enough to prepare the 
 ground for a ready sympathy. As soon as 
 the peculiar disposition of Miss Whin- 
 stone was apparent to her, (and it required
 
 122 A MASQUERADER. 
 
 no effort to read it,) Clare was inspired 
 with an interested pity rather than con- 
 tempt, and was at once actuated by a 
 determination to exercise unlimited for- 
 bearance towards what appeared the other's 
 painful defects. To some this would have 
 been difficult, seeing the attitude which 
 Margaret herself had assumed. This young 
 lady was impressed with the supremacy of 
 her position, and thought that a little 
 arrogant patronage was necessary towards 
 one who inhabited so insignificant a dwell- 
 ing as the Peel. Her behaviour, moreover, 
 was not improved by the background of 
 consciousness as to her own inferiority. 
 Clare's cultivated composure irritated her 
 unspeakably, and, instead of analyzing it 
 for adoption, she resented it with envious 
 disdain. Clare was perfectly aAvare of it 
 all, but it fell from her unheeded.
 
 PAST AND PRESENT. 123 
 
 When they were at the summit of the 
 green knoll, somebody effected an exchange 
 of partners. It was a natural thing to do, 
 and would have called for no sort of com- 
 ment had not Mr. Whinstone appeared to 
 reap such noticeable satisfaction from the 
 rearrangement. Of a sudden he had be- 
 come an enthusiastic historical, or archa30- 
 logical, student, and in five minutes, under 
 the instruction of the vivacious Clare, 
 knew more of the history and structure of 
 the dilapidated Peel than he had been able 
 to gather in all tlie previous twenty-one 
 years of his existence. 
 
 ' There are fascinations about this his- 
 torical reading, after all,' he thought, ' and 
 it is ridiculous to know no more about the 
 hills than the sheep that graze them. I 
 mustn't snub old Crook's dissertations as 
 I have been in the habit of doing.'
 
 124 A MASQUERADER. 
 
 ' I do feel ashamed of myself, Miss 
 Langtoft/ he said, aloud, ' and I think we 
 must make a compact.* 
 
 * By all means,' she said, gaily. ' Of what 
 kind?' 
 
 ' If I am to teach you and Margaret the 
 mysteries of fly-fishing, you ought to teach 
 us the delights of local history ; that's fair. 
 It never appeared interesting to me before, 
 you know.' 
 
 ' I am sure that is a very pretty com- 
 pliment, and I fully appreciate it.' 
 
 ' Will you agree ?' asked Paul, quite 
 radiant. 
 
 ' By all means, if you wish it. It is 
 only fair, as you say. But, fortunately 
 for you, I shall soon weary you.' 
 
 ' That is a matter of opinion.' 
 
 * I have your own and Mr. Crook's word 
 upon it. You admitted it yesterday.'
 
 PAST AND PRESENT. 125 
 
 Paul seemed caught, and perhaps blushed 
 slightly. 
 
 * But 1 spoke of Mr. Crook's methods. 
 He is so terribly prosy.' 
 
 ' Oh, that is too bad. I can't agree with 
 you. Mr. Crook always seems to ine the 
 most imaginative of men. I must de- 
 cline a compliment at the expense of a 
 friend.' 
 
 ' I wouldn't disparage him for the world,' 
 said Paul ; 'but I must state the facts of 
 my experience.' 
 
 ' Why did she so readily defend Mr. 
 Crook?' he wondered; 'were they such 
 intimate friends ?' 
 
 ' He's the dearest little man, of course/ 
 he hastened to continue ; ' nobody knows 
 that better than I do, but he has his 
 crotchets, like the rest of us.' 
 
 ' Yes, indeed, ^yhat man is worth much
 
 126 A MASQUERADER. 
 
 that is without them ? They make half 
 the interest of life.' 
 
 'What are my crotehets, I wonder?' 
 asked Paul, with an ingenuous egoism, 
 half fearing that he had none. 
 
 ' Yours? Oh ! Mr.Whinstone, I believe 
 you think you are free from them, and 
 therefore not — worth much,' she said, with 
 quite girlish laughter. 
 
 ' You really are a thought-reader, Miss 
 Langtoft.' 
 
 ' Safely dispel the thought, or I shall be 
 tempted to enumerate.' 
 
 ' 1 wish you would.' 
 
 'Well, you prefer the black hackle to 
 the red, for one thing. I have heard you 
 say that you prefer to fish down the 
 stream instead of up. Do you want 
 more ?' 
 
 ' Please.'
 
 PAST AND PRESENT. 127 
 
 * You care nothing whatever for a 
 border ballad ; very much for a well-bred 
 horse. You prefer the heath to the pave- 
 ment, — a fox to an equation. Are not 
 these enough to redeem you ?' 
 
 Paul suspected that she was making fun 
 of him, but somehow he enjoyed it. She 
 did put things so nicely, he thought, and 
 even to hear her twit him was delightful ; 
 none the less so because the discovery was 
 a new one. 
 
 ' Yes, I suppose these are crotchets,' he 
 said, with a laugh; 'but they are not 
 generally called so. I am glad they are 
 the worst you can bring against me.' 
 
 ' I didn't say that,' replied Clare. 
 
 Then they reached the gate into the 
 garden by which Mrs. Monk and Margaret 
 were standing. 
 
 ' Now, Mr.Whinstone, you must promise
 
 128 A MASQUERADER. 
 
 me not to stand upon such ceremony 
 again,' said the elder lady. ' Will you ?' 
 
 ' Very gladly, Mrs. Monk, I assure you ; 
 but I hope you will also give me such 
 a promise with regard to our place.' 
 
 ' To be sure we will, since you are kind 
 enough to ask it. Clare will no doubt be 
 glad to take a hand at tennis with you 
 sometimes.' 
 
 ^ And to discourse history whilst doing 
 so,' added that young lady, playfully. 
 
 ' Delightful,' assented Paul, and they all 
 walked on towards the road.
 
 129 
 
 CHAPTER YI. 
 
 OVER THE MOOR. 
 
 It was a warm afternoon, but overclouded, 
 when Mr. Paul Whinstone and the vicar 
 set off for their ride across the moor. The 
 two riders might have afforded a subject 
 for mirth to any waggish stranger that 
 had chanced to see them passing through 
 the village. The aristocratic appearance 
 of the 'young squire,' in irreproachable 
 outfit, seated gracefully upon a fine chest- 
 nut horse; and the diminutive figure of 
 the parson in his plain, clerical jacket and 
 VOL. I. K
 
 130 A MASQUERADEK. 
 
 trousers (the latter pulled a good couple 
 of inches above his boots) seated upon his 
 grey, imperfectly- trimmed pony, did cer- 
 tainly offer a contrast sufficiently striking 
 to excuse a good-natured smile in any 
 beholder. 
 
 Beyond the village the full quietude of 
 the locality was perceptible. The breeze 
 from the hills in the west was noiseless 
 except for its whisper amongst the favour- 
 ed pines. Their horses' hoofs made the 
 loudest noise of all, until a heron barked 
 harshly in the depths of the fir- wood 
 which the riders were approaching, repeat- 
 ing his croak as he sailed in deliberate 
 majesty overhead, with his eye bent upon 
 the river. 
 
 ' Yes, they are delightful, if not alto- 
 gether intelligible neighbours,' remarked 
 Mr. Crook.
 
 OVER THE MOOR. lol 
 
 • 'Why not intelligible?' 
 
 ' I referred especially to the elder lady. 
 I may be abnormally obtuse, but, honestly, 
 I don't understand Mrs. Monk. Miss Clare 
 is charming, wholly delightful. Mrs. Monk 
 is a mystery to me.' 
 
 ' I can't say that I have felt much 
 mystery about her,' replied Paul, think- 
 ing of the lady's open geniality towards 
 him but the previous day. 
 
 ' Possibly not. In many respects I am 
 dense : but I cannot nail this lady. I 
 suppose it is her advanced culture which 
 puts her beyond me. My homely train- 
 ing has not fitted me for the deciphering 
 of such a modern complex civilisation. I 
 €an only pretend to understand the old- 
 fashioned types.' 
 
 *You say you can understand Miss 
 
 k2
 
 132 A MASQUEKADEE. 
 
 Langtoft ; I should hardly call her of the 
 old-fashioned type.' 
 
 ' Oh, yes. She is at heart of the oldest 
 fashion ; not at all complex, Rather sen- 
 timental, in a better sense. That always 
 gives you a hold. I don't believe Mrs. 
 Monk, as a positive personal characteristic^ 
 has one spark of sentiment. Pardon my 
 speaking so freely, Paul ; I should not 
 wish you to repeat a syllable of it.' 
 
 ^ Certainly not ; but it interests me. 
 You know them a good deal better than 
 I do.' 
 
 ' Oh, dear no !' said the clergyman. 
 
 ' Do you really think Miss Langtoft 
 sentimental ?' 
 
 ^ In a good sense, yes, very. She loves 
 an old ballad, for instance, more than I 
 can tell you,' added Mr. Crook, with a sly 
 thrust at his companion, alighting as he
 
 OVER THE MOOR. 133 
 
 spoke to open a gate into the wood. 
 
 They turned through the gateway, and 
 began slowly the ascent beneath the shade 
 of the fir-branches. Mr. Crook was on 
 foot, leading his pony by the bridle. The 
 slope was steep, and what had once been 
 nierel}^ a foot-track for a shepherd and his 
 flock, was now eaten into a zig-zag, pebbly 
 channel, which every rainfall deepened in 
 the peaty, sandy soil. The shallow, spread- 
 ing roots of the fir-trees, with their insecure 
 grip of mother earth, protruded in places 
 from the surface, and were moss-groAvn. 
 A tuft of heather or of wiry, bent grass 
 only found here and there a foothold 
 upon the dark, barren mould, amidst lay- 
 ers of brown cones and needles, lichen- 
 covered twigs, and various kinds of moss 
 and fungi. 
 
 'Yes, possibly; because she views them
 
 134 A MASQUER ADER. 
 
 historically,' said Paul, thinking again of 
 his yesterday's conversation. 
 
 * Exactly. That is the only rational 
 way of viewing them. It is exactly the 
 historical association which makes them 
 precious, and makes this the most glorious 
 district in the whole of Great Britain. 
 Life without such romantic associations, 
 would be intolerable. That is why emi- 
 gration to one of my temperament would 
 mean either death or lunacy. It is simply 
 the reflective versus the practical. What 
 does Wordsworth say ? 
 
 ' ' And what for this frail ■world were all 
 
 That mortals do or suffer, 
 Did no responsive harp, no pen 
 
 Memorial tribute offer ? 
 Yea, what were mighty nature's self ? 
 
 Her features, could they win us, 
 Unhelped by the poetic voice 
 
 That hourly speaks within up ?" 
 
 This is exactly what Miss Langtoft feels.'
 
 OVER THE MOOR. 135 
 
 * Do you really think so ?' said Paul, 
 looking seriously at his horse's ears. ' Yes, 
 I suppose it is.' 
 
 ' I am convinced it is, sir. To nobody 
 does the poetic voice speak more clearly.' 
 
 Such vein struck rather deeper than 
 Paul was in the habit of sounding, and 
 apparently afforded matter for reflection, 
 for he did not speak again until they 
 reached the gate at the top of the wood. 
 
 ' How long will they stay here, ^Ir. 
 Crook ?' he then abruptly exclaimed. 
 
 ' My dear fellow, what do I know of the 
 matter ? It was from you that I heard of 
 the ladies being here, so you see I have 
 no private source of information as to 
 their movements. 
 
 As the parson was fastening the gate, 
 Paul threw at him a quick glance of scru- 
 tiny, and then turned onwards with a
 
 136 A MASQUERADER. 
 
 smile. No, no : the thought was too 
 ludicrous. Excellent little man as he 
 ■was, still he was over forty after all, 
 and betrayed very little, certainly, of the 
 lady's-man in his appearance. Paul burst 
 into a hearty laugh at the passing fancy. 
 
 'Don't those crags make an excellent 
 face?' he said, pointing to the rocks at 
 the summit before them to explain Lis 
 hilarity. 
 
 It took some time for Mr. Crook to 
 perceive it, if indeed he was able to at 
 last. 
 
 They still ascended, but were now upon 
 open ground — an expanse of dark green 
 heather, variegated by the lighter patches 
 of bracken and damp moss. After pass- 
 ing the great boulders at the summit, all 
 signs even of a limited cultivation had 
 vanished, and the hill prospect opened
 
 OVER THE MOOR. 137 
 
 out before them. Just in front, hemmed 
 in upon all sides by grey rock and heather, 
 lay the gloomy tarn known as the Dour 
 Lough ; a wild, desolate spot, appropri- 
 ately the subject of much eerie tradition 
 in the neighbourhood. The clergyman's 
 eyes visibly sparkled as they rested upon 
 the rufHed surface of the dark water where 
 lay vividly reflected the sky and the rocks 
 around. From this he glanced beyond at 
 the far-stretching moorland, simply an un- 
 varied sweep of barren heath, noting at 
 some distance a lonely house with a clump 
 of trees beside it, the only trace of the 
 presence of man in the whole of this som- 
 bre waste. The sun was screened by the 
 unbroken cloud ridges, but some strong 
 vertical rays were thrown upon the far- 
 thest ridge against the grey, w^estern 
 horizon.
 
 138 A MASQUERADER. 
 
 * See, Paul,' said the vicar, pointing to- 
 wards it, ' see how the Scots are hauling 
 down the sun.' 
 
 Paul smiled, but offered no remark. 
 
 Not a sound was to be heard ; the very 
 birds appeared to shun the terrible lone- 
 liness of this place, until a hidden grouse 
 grumbled from the heather beyond the 
 pool: ' Come-out, c'me-out, c'm-out, m'out, 
 m'out, m'out !' 
 
 Soon after passing the lough they struck 
 a more discernible track of sand and stones, 
 and here Paul broke into a canter, being 
 followed by the clergyman at a more 
 sober trot. When not far from the soli- 
 tary house already referred to, Paul slack- 
 ened his pace so that his companion might 
 come up to him. 
 
 * Gruesome work out here all weathers^
 
 OVER THE MOOR. ISQ* 
 
 Paul, despite associations historical or 
 otherwise.' 
 
 Paul laughed aloud. 
 
 ' It must indeed be so if you admit it.' 
 
 * It amazes me that a fellow of Winlaw's 
 energy can endure it.' 
 
 'And me, too. But he is a singular 
 fellow,' said Paul. ' He says he likes the 
 freedom, but suggest emigration and he 
 appears insulted.' 
 
 ' Yes, I know. On that point I am at 
 one with him.' 
 
 'It is well that all are not. Now I 
 thought he would be insulted by an offer 
 of this place, but at the merest hint he 
 snapt it up and begged me to give it him. 
 Who is that standing in the doorway ?' 
 
 ' I see nobody.' 
 
 ' Not now. It was a woman, I think.
 
 140 A MASQUERADER. 
 
 She went in when she saw us. Maisie, I 
 suppose, come over to inspect.' 
 
 They were soon at the house. Up the 
 front stood a ladder, and door and win- 
 dows were open. From within came 
 sounds of workmen ; and the smell of paint, 
 as well as the splashes of whitewash on 
 the window-panes, gave sufficient indica- 
 tions of what was going on there. Both 
 dismounted, and, after fastening their 
 horses to the branches of an elder-tree, 
 they went in. 
 
 Paul began to examine the repairs 
 which were being effected, and to enter 
 into a conversation with the men about 
 them. The clergyman strolled away to 
 examine the locality from his own less 
 practical point of view. There was no- 
 thing in the architectural structure or age 
 of the building to engage his attention, so
 
 OVEli THE MOOR. 141 
 
 that Mr. Crook soon found himself among^ 
 the few stunted trees which sheltered the 
 house on the north-west, examining the 
 scant herbage which grew beneath, and at 
 times the bark of the trees themselves, Avith 
 an ardour only possible to a j)rofessed 
 naturalist. From this, unconsciously, he 
 crept onwards, descending the brae into 
 the crease down which the burn ran to 
 join a larger stream below. His eyes were 
 fixed upon the ground about him, and 
 occasionally he stooped to pluck a sprig 
 or a leaf which excited his attention. 
 Thus absorbed, he reached the bottom of 
 the brae, around which the water made a 
 sharp turn. Here he stopped and glanced 
 about him before retracing his steps. 
 
 Entirely to his surprise, on the bank 
 immediately before him sat a woman, ap- 
 parently engaged in deepest meditation.
 
 142 A MASQUERADER. 
 
 Her face was awa}^ from him, and rested 
 upon one hand heavily, and, as the clergy- 
 man's step had been noiseless, his approach 
 had not disturbed her. For a second or 
 two he hesitated in nervous indecision, 
 and such pause immediately betrayed him. 
 With that remarkable instinct by w^hich 
 we are able to feel a human presence with- 
 out any conscious assistance from the ear, 
 the girl turned sharply round and looked 
 angrily at the intruder. Mr. Crook then 
 advanced a step or two nearer. 
 
 ' Pardon me, Miss Winlaw,' exclaimed 
 the little man, seriously, ' I had not the 
 slightest suspicion of your being here.' 
 
 ' It is not kind to follow me like this, 
 Mr. Crook, when you knew^ I didna want 
 to see you,' said the other, with a sudden 
 change of colour. 
 
 ' I trust you do not fully recognise the
 
 OVER THE MOOR. 143 
 
 meaninor of your words. Indeed I had no 
 knowledge of your presence here. I came 
 solely to look for flowers. I am extremely 
 distressed that I disturbed you, and will 
 go at once.' 
 
 The clergyman displayed an unexpected 
 attitude, having regard to the girl's ap- 
 parent social position. There was no 
 kindly patronage on his part, no suspicion 
 of humility on hers. 
 
 ' I thought you had come purposely,' 
 said Maisie, apologetically, intending thus 
 indirectly to recall him. ' And I wished 
 to be alone. Did Mr. Whinstone see me?' 
 
 ' I think he did, and he would no doubt 
 suppose you to be in the house.' 
 
 The girl's face showed traces of past 
 emotion, although ill-humour was the 
 prevailing expression of it now. 
 
 ' If I had come purposely to seek you.
 
 144 A MASQUER ADER. 
 
 would it have been unkind ?' said the 
 clergyman, seeing that the young woman 
 remained silent. ' Would it not have 
 been a duty of my position ?' 
 
 ' No, not to me,' was the ready reply. 
 'You know that sympathy is useless to 
 me, and annoys me.' 
 
 ' Can 1 then do nothing at all to — to 
 gladden you ?' 
 
 The girl looked up at him hurriedly — 
 a searching glance which the little man 
 received unmoved. 
 
 'Not yet, Mr. Crook, thank you; I 
 shall get used to it. You must know,' 
 she continued, more mildly, ' how I feel 
 it. All my life I have been at the South- 
 ernknpwe ; so was my father, and my 
 father's father. Thank God none of them 
 can see it. This place is strange to me, 
 and — and not our own.'
 
 OVER THE MOOR. 145 
 
 * Bat, Maisie,' said the vicar, with kindly 
 earnestness, ' you would at some time 
 have left the Southernknowe ; you would 
 have married ' 
 
 ' I should never have left it,' she as- 
 serted, vehemently — ' never!' 
 
 ' Hugh could never have lived there 
 always.' 
 
 *His father did.' 
 
 ' Yes, he did, but — but T am only 
 troubling you. Cheer up !' he added, 
 lightly. ' I have known what trouble is 
 — but you dislike sympathy. Good-bye,' 
 he said, looking into her face with a 
 peculiar smile. 
 
 Maisie lowered her eyes as she shook 
 hands with him. 
 
 ' Good-bye, Mr. Crook.' 
 
 ' I shall see you more cheerful yet,' 
 said the clergyman, as he turned away. 
 
 VOL. I. L
 
 146 A MASQUEIIADER. 
 
 Paul was outside the house with one 
 of the men when Mr. Crook reached it. 
 
 ' Has Hugh been over to-day ?' 
 
 ^No, sir. His sister has but just this 
 minute gone.' 
 
 ' Oh, has she been ? Did she walk over 
 the moor ?' 
 
 'And wouldn't think much of it, I'll be 
 bound,' interposed the vicar, smiling. 
 
 ' I dinna think she would, sir,' said the 
 man. 
 
 ' She didn't suggest anything, Laidler ?' 
 
 ' No, sir : thought it looked varry weel.* 
 
 * Stay and finish to-night.' 
 
 * Varry good, sir.' 
 
 'You make an excellent squire, Paul,' 
 said Mr. Crook, as they were again riding 
 homewards. 
 
 ' I am glad you think so. But I shall 
 not always be my own agent, you know.
 
 OVER THE MOOR. 147 
 
 I am so in this case, because I am particu- 
 larly fond of Hugh.' 
 
 ^ Curious that Miss Maisie should de- 
 camp in that way,' remarked the clergy- 
 man, determined to broach the matter 
 which he knew they were both thinking 
 about. *I should hardly have thought 
 that she was nervous.' 
 
 ' Nervous ! Not she. It's pride. She's 
 prouder than a duchess. She hates us, I 
 know, for giving Hugh a shepherd's place. 
 But what else could he do ? He told me 
 that he had lost money every year at 
 Southernknowe since his father died. 
 Only his honesty prevents him going on 
 to bankruptcy.' 
 
 ' But why can't he get on ?' 
 
 ' My dear fellow, you know that well 
 enough,' said Paul, laughing. ' Not hum- 
 drum enough, to put it mildly.' 
 
 l2
 
 148 A MASQUERADER. 
 
 ' H'm ! — won't go on to bankruptcy^ 
 you say ?' 
 
 'No. He says he can now pay every 
 penny he owes ; but next year he couldn't. 
 So he stops immediately.' 
 
 ' Ha ! Remarkable sensibility for these 
 days.' 
 
 ' I think so. I believe his sister resents 
 the sacrifice of an independent position, 
 and certainly detests the household that 
 has offered the service.' 
 
 ' Not unnatural, I suppose,' commented 
 the vicar. ' You think, then, that mere 
 antipathy led her to avoid us?' 
 
 *Such is my supposition. She used to 
 be rather noticeably polite, but, since 
 Hugh's acceptance of this place, upon my 
 word she has been barely civil.' 
 
 ^H'm— ha!'
 
 OVER THE MOOR. 149 
 
 Therewith both horses were urged to a 
 trot. 
 
 Mr. Crook saw no reason to mention 
 what he had seen by the burn, for it did 
 not affect the soundness of Paul's sup- 
 position, and it did not suggest itself to 
 the clergyman as a matter for mere idle 
 conversation. He himself pondered its 
 various aspects on his homeward journey. 
 
 They kept to the cart-track all the way ; 
 a road more circuitous, but which made the 
 descent into the valley of High Feldom 
 by a more gradual incline ; avoiding the 
 rugged ground in the neighbourhood of the 
 Dour Lough by skirting the outer extrem- 
 ity of the fir-wood. This road also would 
 bring them down very near to Mr. Crook's 
 vicarage, which was pitched at some dis- 
 tance from the viUage, and a call at which
 
 150 A MA.SQUERADER. 
 
 he had stated to be necessary in the face 
 of an invitation he had accepted from Paul 
 to dinner in the evening. 
 
 When they reached this point, they 
 separated, and the clergyman went up to 
 his own house. In the absence of his one 
 youthful factotum he rode round to the 
 yard and stabled his steed himself. 
 
 Mr. Crook had no wife or child to greet 
 him, so that there was an impressive 
 silence, if not gloom, about the house as 
 he entered it. Doubtless, it was unnoticed 
 by himself, for his features, which were 
 ordinarily so vivacious, now bore a peculiar 
 expression, which betokened thought, but 
 which very greatly resembled fierceness. 
 He crossed over the hall to his study and 
 shut himself in. 
 
 He took from a drawer in a bureau what 
 seemed to be a large sheet of drawing
 
 OVER THE MOOR. 151 
 
 paper, and proceeded to pin it to a board 
 which stood upon an easel in one corner of 
 the room. When spread out there, a face 
 in chalk was seen upon the paper, and this 
 the gentleman fixedly regarded. Present- 
 ly he touched it here and there, adding a 
 line or a bit of shading, and then drawing 
 back, head aside, in the most approved 
 manner. Occasionally he stared vacantly 
 into the space of the room, as though his 
 model was there visible before him, and 
 then returned eagerly to his paper. 
 
 Perhaps for half-an-hour he was thus 
 engaged, when a singularly youthful smile 
 began to dispel the former unwonted fierce- 
 ness, and he sat 'down in a chair to regard 
 placidly the result of his handiwork. 
 
 At this moment there was an attractive- 
 ness about the little man's demeanour, 
 which mere physical deficiencies in no way
 
 152 A MASQUERADER. 
 
 impaired. He was not a youn^ man, but 
 how far on either side of forty could not 
 have been easily determined. The clear 
 eyes, and rather thin, firmly-set lips gave 
 a vivacity of expression, indicating the hey- 
 day of intellectual activity with not a little 
 of the optimistic outlook of youth; whilst 
 creases in the forehead, positive wrinkles 
 about the eyes, and ridges between the 
 cheeks and nostrils betrayed unmistak- 
 able maturity of days. The upper lip was 
 shaven, and the beard scant, inclining 
 naturally to a peak. The hair, too, was 
 thin upon the forehead, but abundant at 
 the sides where it curled upwards over the 
 ears. 
 
 As the smile was beginning to fade, and 
 to be replaced by an eager gaze, — a gaze of 
 anxious, doubtful enquiry which brought 
 out too prominently all the oldest attri-
 
 OVER THE MOOR. 153 
 
 butes of the features, — the vicar jumped 
 from his chair with a ' Bah !' and went to 
 unpin the drawing. The tissue paper was 
 again laid over it, and the whole replaced 
 in the drawer. Then he withdrew to dress 
 for dinner.
 
 154 
 
 CHAPTER Vir. 
 
 THE FLITTING. 
 
 There was wind enough up above, whist- 
 ling in the stunted thorn-trees which were 
 exposed there, and making white partings 
 in the long fleeces of the mountain sheep 
 grazing near the summit; but in the bottom 
 of the defile the air was still. There only 
 the constant brawling of the burn disturbed 
 the mountain quietude, with the occasional 
 voice of a restless sheep or of ashy moorland 
 bird. The day had been stormy, but now 
 in the afternoon the heavy clouds were
 
 THE FLITTING. 155 
 
 breaking in the zenith and showing fringes 
 of a tawny lining behind the sullen grey. 
 The season was a late one, hence, June 
 though it was, plenty of snow lingered in 
 the sunless chasms and recesses of the 
 hills. 
 
 In the shelter of this secluded valley^ 
 standing upon a suitable foothold just 
 above the bed of the stream, was a shep- 
 herd's house. It was a well-built structure 
 of moorland stone, darkened by long ex- 
 posure to varied elements, but rendered 
 conspicuous by its roof of red tiles. The 
 piece of ground before it, sloping to the 
 burn, had been cultivated as a flower- 
 garden, but was wild and disorderly now ; 
 whilst behind was a larger patch, similarly 
 untidy, containing a few hardy spring 
 vegetables with currant bushes round the 
 walls. A long low stack of peat, re-
 
 156 A MASQUER ADER. 
 
 seinblin^ a pile of blackened bricks, lay 
 at right angles to one end of the house, 
 and beyond it the remains of a rick of dry 
 brown bracken thatched with rushes, in the 
 bed of which a collie dog lay comfortably 
 snoozing. In the near corner of a green 
 croft adjoining, reclaimed from and stretch- 
 ing half-way up the steep slope of grey 
 bent, were a few farm implements, such as 
 a turnip-cutter, a couple of heavy carts 
 with customary gear, and some other 
 smaller things, arranged apparently with a 
 view to ' lots ' rather than to any appro- 
 priate use in the work of the homestead. 
 
 Even in such a situation, a human 
 dwelling admits of degrees in the dreari- 
 ness of its appearance, and to-day the aspect 
 of Southernknowe Avas unusually forlorn. 
 But for the dog and the streak of smoke 
 from a chimney, with the accompanying
 
 THE FLITTING. 157 
 
 incense-like fragrance of burning peat 
 "which pervaded the valley, there might 
 have been some preliminary doubt as to 
 the place being still inhabited. Presently, 
 such doubt Avas effectually dispelled, for 
 the door opened, and, as a young woman 
 appeared with a bucket in her hand, the 
 sound of uproarious voices was audible 
 through the doorway. The girl walked 
 down to the stream, and, leaning with one 
 hand upon the overhanging branch of 
 alder, plunged her pail into the water and 
 returned with her burden to the house. 
 The dog, taking advantage of the open 
 doorway, had entered before her, and again 
 it was closed, and the voices hushed. 
 
 Hushed only from without : inside the 
 noise proceeded undiminished. As the 
 young woman passed through to a small 
 kitchen at the back, one of the men who
 
 ]58 A MASQUER ADER. 
 
 were at the table turned round, and, 
 without speaking, dipped a jug into her 
 bucket. He glanced significantly into the 
 girl's face before taking his seat, but she 
 passed on without perceptible response. 
 
 ' Well, here's success to ye again, 
 Hughie,' exclaimed one voice over the 
 rest, as the speaker raised his tumbler for 
 a draught ; ' but damn me if there's any 
 chance for the shepherds i' this country- 
 wide in these days.' 
 
 * That's ower true, Sandie,' said another. 
 * It's little better nor slavery. I wish I'd 
 served my time to something that I could 
 ha' gone to wi' my coat on. It's they that 
 make the money.' 
 
 ' Of course it is, man. But ye'll no mend 
 it so lang as ye've got kings and lords and 
 a' thae cattle among ye,' interposed an
 
 THE FLITTING. 159 
 
 elderly man, who had hitherto been for the 
 most part silent. ' Ye can ken that nicely 
 frae langsyne affairs. "What answer gat 
 the Jews when they demanded a king, 
 eh?' 
 
 ' I ken naething about the Jews/ replied 
 the original speaker, impatiently ; ' but 
 ye'se right eneugh, Isaac, i' your argu- 
 ments about thae lords. They divide the 
 haill country-side amongst 'em till there's 
 ne'er an acre for a poor man, and what 
 rightly belangs to the poor they'll rob 
 'em of it. Ye'll mind 'em taking the 
 Gowanburn Common frae us T 
 
 ' Ay, ay, clean robbery a'thegither. 
 Whunstane got a good hantle o' that an' 
 a', and just look you what he had a'ready. 
 His mairch begins at the Blakehope Mains 
 and runs a' the way down to the head of
 
 160 A MASQUEKADER. 
 
 Rede water, and God only kens how far he 
 gangs i' the tither airt. Like a kingdom 
 o' itself, ye ken !' 
 
 'It is, Isaac ; it is.' 
 
 ' It canna last, I tell ye; it canna last,' 
 asserted the elder, with dogmatic emphasis. 
 
 'What says the prophet now?' asked 
 the young man who sat at the head of the 
 table, and who as he spoke turned towards 
 Isaac from a discussion with two others on 
 the opposite side. His face was flushed 
 with animation, and an ironical smile 
 seemed to play about his features. All 
 his companions at once sat back in their 
 chairs silent, and their faces brightened at 
 the prospect of amusement. 
 
 * I say what is no that easily gainsaid, 
 Hughie, my man,' replied Isaac, with dig- 
 nified composure. ' Thae reiving lairds 
 wha hae caused ye to displenish this stead
 
 THE FLITTING. 161 
 
 o' Southernknowe and tak service wi' 'etn 
 as a herd, maun cease their reiving. The 
 warld's ower auld for a continuance of the 
 like o' that. Gie every man his ain again, 
 that's what I say.' 
 
 ' Your ain is what you can get, in this 
 world, Isaac/ suggested Hugh, jocularly. 
 
 'In the deil's warld, sure enough; but 
 anither yane cometh,' Isaac responded, 
 more fervently than the company had 
 expected. 'It canna be lang the noo. 
 Something is to befal the muckle beast and 
 his image. You may live to see the pour- 
 ing out o' the first vial, my lads. My 
 sartie ! It wad astonish ye, I'se warr'nd,' 
 continued the enthusiast, aroused from 
 his usual reticence by the good cheer 
 of which he had been a partaker; 'it 
 would astonish ye, nae doubt, to see the 
 angel come the morrow's morn in a char- 
 
 VOL. I. M
 
 162 A MASQUERADER. 
 
 ryot on the clouds and blow the trumpet 
 with a tarr'ble sound. How many would 
 be ready ?' 
 
 ' It'll no come in our time,' replied 
 Hugh, with his calm smile, unmoved by 
 the energy and eager gaze of his friend. 
 
 ' I winna say it, man ; I winna say it,' 
 exclaimed the old man, shaking his head, 
 earnestly. 
 
 The young woman in the inner room, 
 interested by the turn in the conversation, 
 came and stood in the doorway to listen. 
 She fixed her eyes upon him whom they 
 called the prophet, disregarding all the 
 rest. 
 
 ' How do ye come at it, Isaac ?' inter- 
 posed another speaker. 
 
 ' Come at it ! Out of the prophecies, 
 o' course. The word o' the Lord was 
 ^' Precept upon precept, precept upon
 
 THE FLITTING. 163 
 
 precept ; line upon line, line upon line ; 
 here a little and there a little." To show 
 the meaning of this verse and to under- 
 stand it, we have to class up the prophets 
 and Revelation o' the New Testament 
 which open, as it were with keys, this 
 tarr'ble mystery. When the curses fell 
 upon Jerusalem, Nebuchadnezzar, king of 
 Babylon, came and carried away Jehoiakim, 
 king of Judah, into Babylon. This is the 
 beginning of the curses and the mystery.' 
 
 Shrieks of laughter greeted this un- 
 timely disclosure of such abstruse mys- 
 teries. But the young man they called 
 Hugh, apparently of some pre-eminence 
 amongst them, raised his voice imme- 
 diately above the noise, and in an angry 
 tone commanded silence. 
 
 ' Haud your din !' he shouted. ' Dinna 
 heed 'em, Isaac; dinna heed 'em.' 
 
 M 2
 
 164 A MASQUERADER. 
 
 'Heed 'em, hinny?' said the old man^ 
 with a calm, disdainful smile. ' Like the 
 crackling o' thorns under the pot.' 
 
 Therewith he took his glass up from the 
 bench in the fire-place and raised it to hia 
 lips. Hugh at the moment kicked his 
 companions under the table, and shook 
 his head at them deprecatingly. 
 
 ' I canna get hold of it,' he then said^ 
 turning towards Isaac in a conciliatory 
 manner. ' What for should they be so 
 obscurely revealed ?' 
 
 ^ Why, man, the Israelites were darken- 
 ed because of their disobedience. It w\i& 
 no to be revealed to them, ye ken. But, 
 look you, the understanding of the subject 
 of thae prophecies is just like the ABC. 
 That would appear difficult enough when 
 you first came to it. And yet nobody has 
 hit it,' he proceeded, smiling complacently.
 
 THE FLITTING. 165 
 
 * Even Baxter is clean out of it entire- 
 ly a'the^ither. It's a' i' the numbers, 
 Hugliie ; it's a' i' the numbers.' 
 
 It was obviously with difficulty that 
 even Hugh kept his countenance. 
 
 'The number o' the beast is six hu'nclrecl 
 sixty and six, ye ken. These are pro- 
 phetic years. The number of the beast, 
 or the number of his name, is the number 
 of a man. The man or image was made 
 up twenty-one years before Christ. His 
 name was Death until six hundred and 
 thirty-seven years after Christ, when the 
 fause prophet, or twa-hornit beast, or 
 priest, set him up to be worshipped ; 
 that was the beginning o' the second 
 period.' 
 
 Again self-control became impossible, 
 and all joined in an uproarious outburst of 
 laughter.
 
 166 A MASQUERAPER. 
 
 ' And ye think the end is at hand, 
 Isaac ?' cried somebody, derisively. 
 
 ' I canna doubt on 't. If you would 
 but o;ie your minds to the study of thae 
 things, ye'd ken it nicely an' a'.' 
 
 ' And wad the study o' that gowk's tale 
 help us to get back wor ain, Isaac, frae the 
 reiving landlords T 
 
 ' Aiblins it might, man.' 
 
 '- I'll no believe that anyhow. They'll 
 need mair nor preaching afore they slacken 
 their neives, I can tell ye.' 
 
 ' What for should they slacken them?' 
 interposed Hugh, rather fiercely. 
 
 ' Ye've best cause to ken that, I should 
 think,' replied the discontented one, with 
 a grin. 
 
 ' I've no cause at all. It's no through 
 them that I have to sell up my pickle
 
 THE FLITTING. 167 
 
 stock. If I canna pay my debts without, 
 who's to blame but mysel'?' 
 
 * What's your biggest debt?' 
 
 ' Rent, of course.' 
 
 ' 0' course,' was raised in derisive 
 chorus, the inference being obvious to 
 all. 
 
 'And would you have another man's 
 land and pay nothing for the use of it ?' 
 cried Hugh. 
 
 ' Of course we would.' 
 
 ' Then what the devil do you talk about 
 reiving for ?' shouted Hugh, scornfully. 
 ' Ye're the reivers, if that's your doctrine. 
 The land belongs to them as much as 
 your watches belong to you. What would 
 you say to Squire Whinstone if he came to 
 one of you and demanded your watch 
 because he hadn't got one and wanted to 
 wear it?'
 
 168 A MASQUERADER. 
 
 ' Knock him down, daur say,' interposed 
 a humorous one. 
 
 ' But there's a difference,' cried another, 
 more soberly. 
 
 ' There's no difference at all,' replied 
 Hugh. ' Who's keeping you out of the 
 land? There's plenty of land for you, if 
 you want to buy it. If you want it, make 
 money and buy it ; if you don't, don't talk 
 any damned nonsense about being kept 
 out of it. The world's in your own hands, 
 I tell ye. Many a man with a worse start 
 than any of you has owned his thousand 
 acres afore he'd done ; but he didna set to 
 work like a pickpocket, and then swear that 
 a' the world was robbing him.' 
 
 The company was too hilarious for 
 logical arguments, so that only laughter 
 greeted this sally. 
 
 ' Go ahead, Hughie !' cried one. ' Ye'll
 
 THE FLITTING. 169 
 
 be a squire yourseV one day, I'se warrant 
 ye.' 
 
 ' I'll never be a squire,' retorted the 
 leader ; ' but I'll never curse other folk for 
 what I ken to be my own fault.' 
 
 Isaac had relapsed into silence, but his 
 eyes were fixed upon his young friend 
 with obvious interest. The young woman 
 too had watched him from the inner door- 
 way where she stood, and, now that there 
 was a pause, she said, 
 
 'It is five o'clock, Hugh;' and again 
 disappeared. 
 
 ' Ay, ay, lass, it's time to move,' he ex- 
 claimed, rising from his chair ; ' but the 
 carts are no here, are they?' 
 
 ' Is Whinstone gaun to send his carts the 
 night?' 
 
 ' Ay, certainly.' 
 
 ' Then come awa' and hae the louping,'
 
 170 A MASQUER ADER. 
 
 cried one. ' Ye took the bet, Hughie, ye 
 
 carina- 
 
 ' Hand awa', man ! Do ye think I'll no 
 keep it ? Come along, Isaac, and be the 
 judge for us.' 
 
 There was a scuffling of feet and thrust- 
 ing back of chairs on the stone floor as the 
 men rose to go out. Six of them trooped 
 from the open doorway, and, talking loud- 
 ly, made their way down to the burn 
 side. 
 
 It was brighter now, and the sun smote 
 the upper half of one side of the pass^ 
 giving to the grey herbage a golden hue, 
 which intensified the shade in the bed of 
 the valley. The voice of the cuckoo was 
 clearly audible, and the long resonant 
 whistle of the curlew came from the higher 
 lands like the cry of a wailing spirit ; but 
 the confusion of human voices which re-
 
 THE FLITTING. 171 
 
 echoed through the stillness broke the 
 solemnity of the situation. The men were 
 taking their way up the side of the stream, 
 in amongst the alder and birch-trees which 
 grew by the margin, to the spot fixed 
 upon for the athletic contest. It was not 
 more than fifty yards from the house, at 
 a point where great rocks hemmed in the 
 angry water, now swollen and discoloured 
 by the recent rain. It tumbled through 
 the cleft, — a straight, natural wall on each 
 side from fifteen to twenty feet high, with 
 tufts of fern, heather, or whortleberry in 
 any crevice that would hold them. From 
 the face of one side also, about two feet 
 from the top, grew a young mountain ash- 
 tree, which overhung the chasm, turning 
 upwards to the light with a main stem of 
 the thickness of a wrist. Just over this 
 were the six men now standing, and
 
 172 A MASQUERADER. 
 
 the one who had offered the challenge was 
 pointing out with volubility the feat 
 which was to decide their relative prowess. 
 Shortly, it consisted in a leap into the 
 open space before them in order to clutch, 
 as if it were a trapeze, the rowan bough re- 
 ferred to, and then with a swing to alight 
 upon a small space of shingle below under 
 the rock on the opposite side of the 
 water. 
 
 The challenge was again formally ac- 
 cepted, a crown being the amount of for- 
 feit by such one as should fail to acquit 
 himself to the satisfaction of Isaac Out- 
 chester. A coin was tossed, and as Hugh 
 won he elected to be the first to take the 
 leap. He flung off his hat, coat, and 
 waistcoat, and stood by the edge to take 
 his plunge. The other five stood round 
 expectant, when there was a temporary
 
 THE FLITTING." 173 
 
 interruption owing to the arrival of an 
 unexpected addition to their number. 
 
 Y\''hen the house was silent and the 
 men's voices could be heard growing 
 fainter out-of-doors, the young Avoman, who 
 had been busy within, emerged from her 
 seclusion. The room was redolent of 
 spirits and tobacco, and upon the table, 
 scattered in confusion, lay the remains 
 of a rude feast. The girl stood with her 
 hand upon the high back of an old settle 
 to regard for a moment the spectacle 
 before her. Her face was noticeably 
 comely, but at this instant it was over- 
 clouded by an angry frown. She was tall 
 and well-made, inclining perhaps to a too 
 obvious muscularity to satisfy the require- 
 ments of ideal womanly grace, but display- 
 ing a rude majesty, nevertheless, which
 
 174 A MASQUERADER. 
 
 imparted a natural dignity to her un- 
 polished surroundings. 
 
 As she stepped forward to sweep the 
 indications of the revelry from the table, 
 there was another movement in the room, 
 and turning quickly round she faced a 
 man who was sitting in one corner of the 
 settle. He gave a smile in return for her 
 angry glance, but did not attempt to 
 break the silence. 
 
 ^What are you here for?' she said, 
 wrathfuUy. ' What for did you no go 
 along with the others?' 
 
 ' I didna care to go.' 
 
 ' Too drunk to go, I suppose you mean,' 
 replied the maiden, in scorn. 
 
 ' I am no drunk, Maisie, you canna say 
 it of me. Ye never saw me drunk.' 
 
 'Not at your own expense, certainly; 
 but I'll warrant you've been drunk times
 
 THE FLITTING. 175 
 
 enough when others have had to pay for 
 the liquor.' 
 
 The girl went with her hands full to 
 the inner room, and presently returned. 
 
 ' What are ye angry about, my lass ?' 
 said the youth, in a tone meant to be 
 soothing. ' Do you no like leaving the 
 Southernknowe ?' 
 
 ' What for should I like the place ? It 
 has no brouc^ht me so much o;ood.' 
 
 ' That's ower true, I doubt. But look 
 here, Maisie, dinna be so spicy, for I 
 stayed behind to speak a word or two wi' 
 you, and it's ill talking to a fractious 
 woman.' 
 
 He had risen from his seat as he spoke, 
 and stepped towards the girl, who was by 
 the table. 
 
 'I don't want you to speak to me,' she 
 said, ill-humouredly.
 
 176 A MASQUERADER. 
 
 ' Now do, my dear lassie/ replied the 
 youth, touching her arm in an attempt to 
 take her hand. 
 
 ' Don't make a fool of yourself,' was the 
 still angry rejoinder, but uttered in an 
 undertone. 'Look there !' 
 
 The man looked, and, upon seeing a 
 young gentleman enter the doorway, he 
 stepped back and felt sheepish. 
 
 ' Pray excuse me. Miss Winlaw,' said 
 Paul Whinstone, with a smile. ' Is Hugh 
 anywhere about ?' 
 
 The girl informed him of her brother's 
 whereabouts, with but small pretence at 
 graciousness, and, with an expression of 
 thanks, the visitor withdrew. 
 
 ' Go with him,' muttered Maisie to her 
 original companion. ' I dinna want you 
 here.' 
 
 ' Not I. What's he come interferino:
 
 THE FLITTING. 177 
 
 about? Auld Isaac's right,' he continued, 
 in a tone of displeasure; 'they're no 
 better than a set of thieves.' 
 
 The young woman went about her occu- 
 pations in silence, not noticing the man's 
 presence, and paying little heed to his 
 muttered discontent against rich people in 
 general. He continued standing, watching 
 Maisie's movements, or rather the moving 
 girl herself, with the closest interest. 
 When she was takino- the last thino^s from 
 the table, he again approached her, and 
 laid one hand upon her broad shoulder. 
 She stopped, leaning forward with both 
 hands on the table, and turned her face 
 round towards him. • 
 
 'Well?' she said. 
 
 The man displayed no obvious signs 
 of cultivation in his general demea- 
 nour, but in his movements towards the 
 
 VOL. I. N
 
 178 A MASQUERADER. 
 
 girl there was a natural tenderness which 
 bespoke at least some civilizing depth of 
 genuine feeling. 
 
 ' Do you no care for me at all, Maisie ?' 
 
 ' I don't know that I do.' 
 
 ' Will you at least tell me, then, if you 
 care for anybody else more ?' 
 
 ' I don't know that I do.' 
 
 He let his hand glide down her arm, so 
 as to take her hand. She seemed neither 
 to assent nor dissent, but stood simply 
 passive, only moving her face to turn it 
 away from him. 
 
 ' Do tell me, my bonnie lass, if that's 
 quite true,' he said, earnestly. 
 
 ' I will when you tell me what right 
 you have to ask me sic a question.' 
 
 " Right enough ; for I love you mair 
 than anybody else can do. Doesna that
 
 THE FLITTING. 179 
 
 give me the rif^ht to ask how I stand wi' 
 you?' 
 
 ' How you stand wi' me, yes ; and I hae 
 told you.' 
 
 Then she took her hand from him, and 
 went again to the little back room, saying 
 as she did so, 
 
 ' I hear the carts outby, man.' 
 
 The youth took up his hat and went to 
 look. Maisie was right, the first cart was 
 just crossing the ford by the ash-tree at 
 a short distance below the house. 
 
 ' Go and tell Hugh,' cried the girl, from 
 inside. * We shall no get away to-night.' 
 
 The man did as he was bidden, and set 
 off up the burn. 
 
 AYhen Hugh was about to leap, he 
 turned and saw close beside him the visi- 
 
 n2
 
 180 A MASQUERADER. 
 
 tor whom Maisie had directed, with such 
 marked displeasure, to the spot. Mr, 
 Whinstone, clad in his mouse-coloured 
 ridiug-breeches and gaiters, and blue serge 
 jacket, offered a striking contrast to the 
 company which he had come amongst. 
 He nodded aifably to all, and received a 
 civil greeting in return. 
 
 ^ What's going on, Hugh ?' he said, peer- 
 ing into the chasm before him. 
 
 The fact was briefly explained to him. 
 
 ' I'll give you half-a-sovereign if jou can 
 do it,' he then said, witli a proper sports- 
 manlike relish of the situation. 
 
 Hugh smiled, and went again to the 
 brink. He leapt, and clutched the bough 
 easily, which swayed with the weight and 
 caused the leaves to rustle ; then, with the 
 swing which the impetus of his leap had 
 given him, he left the tree and alighted
 
 THE FLITTING. 18l 
 
 gracefully upon the patch of shingle below, 
 touching a sprig of broom which grew 
 from the rock before him, in order to save 
 himself from falling backwards. 
 
 Shouts of course greeted the accomplish- 
 ment, and Hugh scrambled along the rocky 
 marorin to cross the stream lower down. 
 When lie rejoined his companions, there 
 was vociferous congratulation, and the 
 young gentleman who had offered the 
 extra prize immediately produced his cash. 
 
 * Will ye give me one, sir ?' asked the 
 original challenger of the contest, who now 
 stood ready to take his turn at the trial. 
 
 ' Certainly, if you do it as well.' 
 
 All again watched whilst this one took 
 the leap. He leant forward, and had 
 safely clutched the tree ; but apparently, 
 from having thrown himself with too much 
 force, his feet swung forwards, altogether
 
 182 A MASQUERADER. 
 
 beyond his control. His ^rip, howevery 
 was certain, and, if he had but waited for 
 a second swing, all would have been well. 
 Instead of doing so, the man leapt when 
 his body had begun the backward swing, 
 and he was thus unable to make any kind 
 of calculation. The consequences were 
 slight enough, as regarded his personal 
 safety, if not his personal pride. He 
 dropped about a foot short of the piece of 
 appointed shingle, and stood for a second 
 up to his knees in the eddying foam. The 
 derisive laughter was audible to him above 
 the roaring of the water, and he returned 
 to the throng in a very crestfallen plight. 
 
 ' It was a good jump,' cried Paul, loud- 
 ly, above the bantering laughter and 
 remarks, 'and it's all very well for you 
 fellows to jeer at him when you're not 
 willing to make a try at it at all.'
 
 THE FLITTING. 183 
 
 * Are ye yoursel', sir?' cried one of the 
 assembly. 
 
 ' Hano^ it, that I am/ was the immediate 
 reply. 
 
 ' No, no, sir,' interposed Hugh, with 
 decision. 
 
 But Whinstone disregarded the opposi- 
 tion, and had already divested himself of 
 his coat and waistcoat. 
 
 * Mind nothing falls out of the pockets, 
 Hugh,' he said, as he handed the things 
 to youns Winlaw, and forthwith he ad- 
 vanced to the edge of the rock. His 
 action was received with uproarious ap- 
 probation. 
 
 The fellow looked agile enough, and 
 there was no reason in the world why he 
 should not acquit himself as well even as 
 Hugh himself. He paused a few seconds 
 on the brink, as if calculating the dis-
 
 184 A MASQUERAPER. 
 
 tances to allow for; then, with a graceful 
 plunge, almost a dive it seemed, lie had 
 taken it amidst the breathless gaze of the 
 spectators. 
 
 Curiously enough, he had made the 
 very same initial mistake as his predeces- 
 sor, but with different result. 
 
 *Take a second swing, sir,' bawled Hugh, 
 seeing immediately the predicament ; ' take 
 a second swing.' 
 
 Whether Whinstone heard him or not 
 he acted upon the suggestion, and kept a 
 firm grip of the bough until he had 
 swuno^ once ao^ain backwards. He had 
 commenced the return, and was looking 
 eagerly below him to judge the right 
 moment for the drop, when an unex- 
 pected casualty befel him. He must have 
 been exactly at the perpendicular, at the 
 very point at which he must let go, w^hen
 
 THE FLITTING. 185 
 
 a slight crackling was audible, and Hugh 
 exclaimed, with terrible emphasis, 
 ' By G — , the tree has given !' 
 The rootlets had been wrenched from 
 their crevice, and the main stem had* 
 given way. It was not severed, for, at 
 the first crack, Paul had let go his hold, 
 and, unable to control his movements, 
 had tumbled on his back into the foaming 
 stream. 
 
 Fortunately, he fell into the midst of 
 the current, where the water was deep 
 and free from rocks ; but the force of it 
 w^as such that, in a few seconds, he must 
 inevitably be hurled against the boulder 
 which parted the water in mid-stream, 
 Hugh had instantly seen this, and was in 
 readiness at the spot. Many a sheep had 
 he saved in his lifetime from precisely the 
 same predicament.
 
 186 A MASQUERADER. 
 
 Leaninor forward, with a stout walking- 
 stick to aid him, he had spanned, in a 
 prodigious stride, the current which swept 
 between the two rocks. The figure came 
 rolling up to him, the white shirt con- 
 spicuous amongst the foaming water, and 
 with one stroke Hugh had got it firmly 
 against the rock with the head thrust up- 
 wards from the current. Seizing one arm 
 he raised it, so as to get a good grip 
 beneath the shoulders, and with putting 
 forth all his strength he flung the body 
 into the arms of somebody nearest to the 
 bank. 
 
 In greatest excitement all flocked down 
 the burn. One held Paul's feet, whilst 
 Winlaw himself supported him by the 
 shoulders, and then at a run he was 
 borne to the house.
 
 THE FLITTING. 187 
 
 The young woman, having already 
 heard the stampede, stared in amazement 
 as they entered the doorway, and laid 
 their burden on the floor. But, at a 
 movement from her brother, she was in- 
 stantly at Paul's head, and Hugh himself 
 was up to turn every onlooker out of 
 doors. 
 
 'He's all right,' he shouted; 'he'll be 
 round in a minute.' 
 
 Huo^h seemed learned in the methods 
 of resuscitation. A pillow was placed 
 beneath Whinstone's chest, and Hugh^ 
 kneeling by him, drew his tongue forward 
 between the lips. Maisie stood silently 
 over them, with one hand resting upon 
 the table and her eyes fixed upon the 
 motionless figure. Very soon breath was 
 audiblv drawn.
 
 188 A MASQUERADEE. 
 
 ^ A drop of warm brandy-and-water, 
 Maisie lass,' remarked Hugh, composedly. 
 ' He's none the worse.' 
 
 Whinstone moved apparently at the 
 sound of the voice. 
 
 'Do you feel better, sir?' 
 
 But there was no reply. 
 
 Presently a deep sigh was drawn, and 
 Paul tried to look about him. There 
 stood the young woman at the corner of 
 the table, with a tumbler in her hand, and 
 upon her his eyes rested. There was a 
 long, silent scrutiny of her features, as if 
 to gather his scattered senses, and then 
 
 Paul exclaimed 
 
 What the deuce- 
 
 But his sentence was left unfinished. 
 His eyes were turned to Hugh's face, and 
 that appeared to give him the clue he was 
 in need of.
 
 THE FLITTING. 18^ 
 
 ' That cursed tree failed me, Hno-h.' 
 
 ' That Avas it, sir. You took it too far 
 out. I forgot to mention it. But never 
 heed. Lie quiet for a few minutes.' 
 
 ' I suppose I did.' 
 
 ' Have a drop of brandy, sir, and you'll 
 be none the worse,' said Hugh, taking the 
 glass from his sister's hand. 
 
 ' Thank you. I'm sorry to give you 
 such a lot of trouble.' 
 
 This remark was really addressed to 
 Maisie, but she withdrew without making 
 any reply. 
 
 When Paul was clad in such garments 
 as the shepherd could lend him, at the 
 young gentleman's own request the gene- 
 ral company was admitted, and then about 
 half-an-hour was spent in animated if inco- 
 herent conversation. Paul naturally was
 
 190 A MASQUERADER. 
 
 the object of extreme interest, and all eyes 
 were fixed upon him so long as the con- 
 versation continued. His head rested 
 upon his hand, and there was an unusu- 
 ally subdued look about him, but that 
 soon began to wear off. The whole aifair 
 was taken by him with unlimited good- 
 humour, and he joked with them readily 
 about it. 
 
 ' I have hindered you, Hugh,' he said 
 at last. ' I only came to see if there was 
 anything we could do, and little thought 
 of your giving me a ducking for my pains. 
 Do tell me if there is.' 
 
 ' There is nothing, thank you, sir. The 
 carts have come, so we've but to pack our 
 wee bit furniture and away to Braid- 
 struther. It won't take us more than a 
 couple of hours, so we shall be there soon 
 after eight.'
 
 THE FLITTING. 191 
 
 At these sounds of movement, Huofh's 
 sister again appeared in the room, and 
 towards her Paul immediately turned. 
 
 * I hope you'll like the place, Miss Win- 
 law,' he said, 'and I am sure you'll excuse 
 my unfortunate interruption. Do accept 
 my heartiest thanks for your kindness.' 
 
 He held out his hand to her as he 
 finished. She took it and looked up at 
 him. 
 
 ' Thank you, sir,' was all she said. 
 
 There was a o^eneral adieu, more geni- 
 ally responded to than upon his arrival, 
 and Paul went to mount his horse, which 
 was fastened outside. All watched him 
 descend the burn until he reached the 
 ford ; then, as the alder-trees fringing the 
 water hid horse and rider from their view, 
 they turned again into the house. 
 
 Hugh was busy inside collecting the
 
 192 A MASQUERADER 
 
 furniture, and, as his companions trooped 
 in to him, he bade all lay hands to the 
 work or else take their departure. All 
 were ready enough to give their as- 
 sistance, and very speedily chairs and 
 tables, pots and pans, were removed from 
 their appropriate seclusion in the house 
 to be ruthlessly exposed to the cold glare 
 of the open sky. The work did not inter- 
 fere with conversation ; so that, whilst 
 hands were busy, tongues were equally, 
 or more so. It was observable that the 
 voices of Hugh Winlaw and his sister were 
 but seldom heard ; when they did speak 
 it was only to give some necessary in- 
 structions to their assistants or to each 
 other. 
 
 Mr. Paul Whinstone was well enough 
 known in the district, although this was the 
 first direct personal intercourse that most of
 
 THE FLITTING. 193 
 
 the present assembly had had with him. 
 It was natural, therefore, that the young 
 gentleman should form the main topic of 
 conversation under present circumstances. 
 There were individual conclusions to com- 
 pare, preconceived notions to dispel, after 
 the interesting presentment they had all 
 just had of him. Some cynically discount- 
 ed his assumed geniality ; some accepted 
 it as indicative of something better than 
 they had expected to find in him ; but all 
 agreed that he had shown himself no fool 
 in undertaking the adventure which had 
 ended so unfortunately for himself. 
 
 Maisie Winlaw's lover hovered again 
 about her, but was able to command very 
 scant recognition at her hands. For what- 
 ever reason, she was in worse humour 
 than when he had tackled her before; but 
 when left alone unpleasant thought, rather 
 
 VOL. I. o
 
 194 A MASQUERADEK. 
 
 than positive ill-temper, seemed to be the 
 expression of her featnres. She set dog- 
 gedly to her work, seeking and encourag- 
 ing intercourse with nobody, plainly if 
 silently asking merely to be let alone. 
 
 For about an hour were they all engaged 
 inthis occupation, and then the whole of 
 Hugh's household possessions lay securely 
 packed in the two carts. Twice did the 
 young man himself, and twice did his sister, 
 separately, go throughout the house to see 
 if anything had been left, each time re- 
 turning empty-handed. The girl went 
 last, and, as she passed through the empty 
 rooms upstairs, her brother was standing 
 upon the threshold below, ostensibly 
 listening to the remarks of his garrulous 
 companions, but in his soul following the 
 footsteps of his sister above, as they re- 
 echoed through the hollow, dismantled
 
 THE FLITTING. 195 
 
 dwelling. When he heard her step upon 
 the stairs, he called out, 
 
 ' Are you ready, Maisie lass ?' 
 
 * Yes, Hughie,' she replied, using, as her 
 brother noticed, for the first time for many 
 months, his old boyish appellation. 
 
 * Will you ride ? There's plenty of room.' 
 ' No, I will walk.' 
 
 * Go ahead then, James,' cried Hugh to 
 the carter, and immediately the heavy 
 rumbling of the wheels broke the awful 
 stillness of the secluded valley. 
 
 ' Good luck to you, my lad,' came in 
 chorus from his companions, as they all 
 stood to watch the young shepherd depart 
 on his hillward journey. 
 
 * The same to all of you,' he cried, as he 
 turned away with old Isaac who was to 
 accompany him as far as their road lay 
 in common. 
 
 o2
 
 196 A MASQUERADER. 
 
 And so the procession began. Maisie 
 was in advance, some little way behind the 
 carts, she preferring to walk alone. Hugh, 
 with his dog at his heels, and Isaac brought 
 up the rear at about the same distance 
 behind the girl. The cart-track lay up the 
 valley, ascending presently the bare slope 
 by a gradual slant until it reached the top 
 where it struck over the open moor. 
 
 The incessant brawling of the water was 
 ever audible, but that sound only intensi- 
 fied the stillness of the locality. The 
 creaking and the rumbling of the carts 
 resounded from end to end of the defile^ 
 seeming scarcely fainter to the clump of 
 youths who stood watching its progress 
 from the empty house, now that it was 
 nearing the summit, than it had done when 
 close beside them. 
 
 One of the men gazed with peculiar
 
 THE FLITTING. 197 
 
 eagerness as the figures emerged upon the 
 patch of sunlight, near the top of the ridge. 
 The carts were nearing the summit ; now 
 standing in clearest outline against the 
 sky, the horses' manes visibly ruffled 
 by the wind ; and now had disappeared 
 beyond. The young woman, in her turn, 
 advanced, her moving shadow clearly per- 
 ceptible on the bald hill-side, she too against 
 the sky for a moment, and then gone. 
 Despite this particular watcher's vigorous 
 waving of his handkerchief, she had given 
 no backward glance. Hugh and Isaac 
 were better mannered ; as they neared the 
 sunnnit they turned and stood. A vocifer- 
 ous halloo rose to them from their friends 
 below, and with a responsive flourish of their 
 sticks they too advanced and disappeared. 
 ' You'll never get that lass, George,' re- 
 marked one who had observed the lover's
 
 198 A MASQUERADER. 
 
 movements and disappointment. ' So- 
 dinna think it.' 
 
 The man made no reply, but turned 
 with the rest to take the path down the 
 valley. 
 
 When that enclosing ridge was sur- 
 mounted, the prospect was a wide one. 
 Hill upon hill, in all their barren solemnity, 
 stretched upon all sides as far as the eye 
 could reach, the whole scene aglow now in 
 the clear evening sunlight. The wind had 
 sunk considerably, but it Avas cool and 
 brisk enough still at this altitude. The 
 orb of flaming gold was sinking towards 
 the north-west, having just emerged from 
 behind a long, narrow bar of deep blue 
 cloud which spanned the whole of the 
 western sky. Between it and the hills-
 
 THE FLITTING. 199 
 
 below was a sea of golden light, showing 
 hill-tops as islands in its midst, but only 
 vaguely distinguishable in the dazzling 
 glow. Up above was a glorious broken 
 sky, — the compact horizontal slips of 
 shuttle-shaped clouds, which stretched 
 like many-coloured wreaths of sand upon 
 a smooth, cold ocean, were overlapped by 
 the lower rack of grey, the loose fringes of 
 which were suffused with the golden sun- 
 light right upwards across the zenith. 
 
 When Isaac left him, Hugh still walked 
 on behind alone. Unlike his sister, though, 
 whose eyes were seldom moved from the 
 ground before her, he looked intelligently 
 about him, receiving apparently some 
 definite impression from the sombre sur- 
 roundings, if one not wholly of joyful ex- 
 hilaration. He watched, with obvious
 
 200 A MASQUERADER. 
 
 interest, the curlews which flew around 
 them, seeming actually to relish their 
 doleful cry of alarm, so persistently reiter- 
 ated, a sound which to his sister gave but 
 audible and appropriate expression to the 
 silent weight brooding over her own spirits. 
 The bent had now given place to a Avide 
 expanse of dull, green heather, amidst 
 which were visible bare black patches from 
 which all signs of vegetation had recently 
 been burnt. A crag or a cairn could be 
 seen on some of the hill-tops, here and 
 there a circular wall shelter for the sheep, 
 and on some distant slope a fir ^^lantation ; 
 but for the rest nothing but bald undula- 
 tions, dotted in places with sheep, display- 
 ing no vestige of cultivation or other sign 
 of the presence of man. 
 
 For nearly two hours were they travers- 
 ing this wilderness, until at last, in the
 
 THE FLITTING. 201 
 
 twilight, they reached a dark, solitary 
 house, standing apparently in the open 
 moor, with a clump of fir-trees at one end ; 
 and here they stopped.
 
 202 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 CLERICAL DIVERSIONS. 
 
 Mr. Crook was not long in carrying out 
 his threat of paying his respects to his 
 friends at the Peel. He was received with 
 favour, spent a pleasant half-hour's chat 
 with the ladies, and withdrew in exuberant 
 spirits. 
 
 Nor was Mrs. Monk more slow in re- 
 turning the compliment. Scarcity of 
 neighbours permitted a considerable re- 
 laxation of such strict etiquette as is found 
 necessary amongst a more busy and popu-
 
 CLERICAL DIVERSIONS. 203 
 
 lous community. When the ladies invaded 
 his quiet parsonage, Mr. Crook very easily 
 inveigled them into a cup of afternoon 
 tea. The clergyman was in highest feather, 
 and, whilst he conversed vivaciously with 
 his visitors, he was seldom still. If for a 
 moment he was so, of course he stood 
 facino^ them from the hearth -ruo\ 
 
 There had been a pause, during whicli 
 Clare's replacing her tea-cup in its saucer, 
 within the house, and the piping of tom- 
 tits, coupled with the restful mutterings 
 of poultry out of doors, were the only 
 sounds. 
 
 ' Life goes smoothly with you here, 
 Mr. Crook,' observed Clare, looking idly 
 towards the open window. 
 
 ' As in the golden age,' replied the vicar, 
 smiling. ' But it suits me. I never had 
 the aggressive temperament, Miss Lang-
 
 204 A MASQUERADER. 
 
 toft. I endeavour not completely to fossi- 
 lise, though. I get my Times by post a 
 day and a half late ; by Mrs. Whinstone's 
 kindness I see the principal reviews and 
 magazines ; twice a year I spend a fort- 
 night in London ; I attend the Royal 
 Agricultural Show w^henever it is held to 
 the north of Derby ; occasionally visit 
 Newcastle. For the rest, I am mostly to 
 be found within the boundaries of my 
 own parish. An ignoble acquiescence, I 
 fear Mrs. Monk thinks,' he concluded, with 
 a laugh, as he turned towards that lady. 
 
 ' Indeed, by no means,' exclaimed she. 
 ' Rather a happy and enviable survival, 
 Mr. Crook. Your spirit of complacency 
 belongs to a former time, and I assure you 
 I envy it with all my heart.' 
 
 ' You speak as if within your own 
 boundaries you were idle,' said Clare.
 
 CLERICAL DIVERSIONS. 205 
 
 ' The less said of that the better, Miss 
 Langtoft,' he replied, with a shrug. 
 
 ' I think not, but I must not flatter you. 
 But I shall want to talk more about it if 
 we stay here for any length of time.' 
 
 'You will stay with us some time, Mrs. 
 Monk ?' asked the clergyman, eagerly. 
 
 ' In all probability.' 
 
 ' Ha, now, that is kind ! Have no fear 
 of winter on this side Christmas. Autumn 
 is very kind to us, no doubt to make up 
 for her shabby sister sprin^j. The moor- 
 lands in an October or November wind are 
 not to be surpassed, that is, for expression 
 of their own peculiar spirit. Certain days 
 of March and April, when the curlew first 
 comes up to us, but of course in many 
 main characteristics spring and autumn 
 ai'e very similar.' 
 
 'You will have to entertain us, Mr.
 
 206 A MASQUEKADER. 
 
 Crook, if you persuade us to stay. Mr. 
 Wliinstone promises to instruct us in some 
 of the local practical accomplishments, you 
 must undertake the poetical.' 
 
 'You know too well that my poor ser- 
 Tices are at instant command. Can we 
 not devise a play extempore, so to speak ? 
 Some rational means of mutual entertain- 
 ment. I have little doubt of it. Mrs. 
 Whinstone would be overjoyed at such a 
 project.' 
 
 ' Certainly we might,' assented Clare. 
 ^ But I was just then thinking of some of 
 your more personal methods. I want to 
 study the moorland spirit — some of the 
 constituent causes, I mean, which go to 
 make up its peculiar effect. Analyse the 
 cry of the curlew, for instance ; fathom the 
 dark waters of the lough ; learn the mes- 
 sage of the wind from the fells.'
 
 CLERICAL DIVERSIONS. 207 
 
 ' I shall be but a diffident guide to you, 
 Miss Langtoft,' observed the little man, 
 modestly. 
 
 ' I am sure you ought not to be. I 
 have not forgotten your delightful port- 
 folios.' 
 
 ' You are very much too indulgent. 
 The slightest development of the faculty 
 of draughtsmanship, I do assure you. I 
 practise it purely for trivial purposes. I 
 like thus to preserve any little scene or 
 incident which takes my fancy, just for my 
 own idle amusement. But I will adnnt I 
 have taken a little trouble over the birds 
 this spring. They may give you some 
 amusement. Excuse me.' 
 
 Mr. Crook withdrew, and returned with 
 a small portfolio in his hand. He took a 
 chair and planted himself by the side of 
 the younger lady.
 
 208 A MASQUERADER. 
 
 ' I have felt some dissatisfaction with 
 the ordinary scientific treatment of birds/ 
 began the vicar, as he untied the silk 
 strings of the case upon his knees. ' Isn't 
 it Thoreau that likens nature to Medusa's 
 head in its effect upon the scientific be- 
 holder ? It seems to me very apt. I 
 advocate education through the sentiment 
 rather than through the cold material. 
 With this idea — (don't think I claim any 
 originality for it, of course,) with this idea 
 I have tried to treat pictorially some of 
 our moorland birds, just for the use of the 
 children in our village school here.' 
 
 Now that Mr. Crook had got fairly 
 mounted, it was difficult to say when he 
 would draw in the rein. His features were 
 set in an enthusiastic earnestness. 
 
 ' Delightful !' exclaimed Clare. 
 
 * It must have occurred to you, Mrs.
 
 CLERICAL DIVERSIONS. 209 
 
 Monk, to note the remarkable adaptation 
 of birds to their natural surroundings. 
 Evolution, Darwinism, you think? Yes, 
 but for the moment I speak entirely in, 
 let us call it, a spiritual sense. I mean, 
 the birds' spiritual harmony with the 
 spirit of their habitat. They always appear 
 to me the audible expression of that 
 spirit. Hear a curlew or a plover on the 
 moorland, a snipe or a bittern in the 
 marshes, or a sea-gull on the cliffs. You 
 need not see the bird. You feel instinc- 
 tively that its voice is the voice of the 
 locality. I have tried to illustrate some- 
 thing of this in such modest media as I 
 have at my command. Naturally I have 
 made but little as yet of my efforts.' 
 
 As Mr. Crook spoke, he had taken the 
 first of his sketches from the portfolio, and 
 now held it up for their inspection. It 
 
 VOL. I. p
 
 210 A MASQUER ADER. 
 
 was a water-colour drawing, not claiming 
 to be of genius, but at least of extremely 
 conscientious workmanship, and in the 
 lower corner was scribbled, ' Wild Duck.' 
 
 It was a representation of the Dour 
 Lough, with its gloomy surroundings and 
 sullen face, and from the rushy marshland, 
 which encroached upon the water at one 
 end, a bird was in the act of emerging, 
 two others were in rapid flight before it. 
 The sombre impression of the wild duck's 
 haunt was undoubtedly well interpreted, 
 with no little artistic insight, and Clare 
 looked fixedly at the drawing. Mrs. Monk, 
 in looking towards it, had cast a glance 
 at the open portfolio, and for some reason 
 her eyes lingered there. The clergyman 
 perceived it, and looked down also; in- 
 stantly his colour altered, and he showed 
 a momentary confusion. It was all so
 
 CLERICAL DIVERSIONS. 2il 
 
 momentary that Clare, who still regarded 
 the first picture, did not perceive it. Mr. 
 Crook looked at the elder lady with a 
 smile, and said, 
 
 'We will look at that directly.' 
 Clare disregarded the remark, and en- 
 tered into a criticism of the sketch she 
 had been examining. The vicar paid polite 
 attention to her, but showed less enthusi- 
 asm in his subject. To the young lady 
 he appeared nervous, and she naturally 
 attributed it to a modest disposition, al- 
 though she had not detected such sensi- 
 tiveness in him before. Mrs. Monk seemed 
 quite ignorant of the effect her innocent 
 glance had occasioned. 
 
 ' I had no idea that this next scrap was 
 here at all,' said Mr. Crook, turning again 
 to the portfolio ; ' but, as Mrs. Monk ob- 
 served it, we will look at it. It is un- 
 
 i> 2
 
 212 A MASQUEKADER. 
 
 finished, and too crude for examination. 
 But the subject is a good one/ 
 
 ' Oh, a rare bird !' exclaimed Clare, 
 facetiously. ' Why, I know it, surely.' 
 
 ' Do you ? It was begun for a portrait 
 of a girl living in the hills here, a sister of 
 a young shepherd called Winlaw ' 
 
 ' Of course, it is Maisie Winlaw. How 
 very good !' 
 
 ' You know her, Miss Langtoft ?' 
 
 ' Oh, yes, and her brother Hugh. We 
 discovered them by chance once when we 
 were exploring the hills. But I hear they 
 have left the Southernknowe?' 
 
 ' Yes, it is rather a sad affair for them, 
 I fear. They were evidently attached to 
 the place, but it seems Hugh couldn't 
 make it answer.' 
 
 ' You certainly ought to finish this pic- 
 ture, Mr. Crook,' interposed Mrs. Monk,
 
 CLERICAL DIVERSIONS. 213 
 
 who held the chalk sketch of Maisie in her 
 hand. ' It is a striking face.' 
 
 ' So I thought, Mrs. Monk ; quite a 
 striking face. I ought to finish it.' 
 
 Mr. Crook thought it unnecessary to 
 refer to another coj^y of this face which 
 lay in a drawer, and which was practically 
 finished, of which, in fact, this was but a 
 rough study. 
 
 * I want to go up to see them at Braid- 
 struther,' continued Clare, innocently, 
 'and I thought, Mr. Crook, that we might 
 make a pleasant little fishing-expedition 
 up the burn to do so. Say you and I and 
 Mr. Whinstone and his sister. I could 
 take my first lessons in the management of 
 the black hackle ' 
 
 ' My dear Miss Langtoft, the red ! Do 
 not you be a heretic upon this point. The 
 black is of very little use.'
 
 214 A MASQUERADER. 
 
 Clare laughed, and professed an en- 
 tire freedom from prejudice upon the 
 subject. 
 
 * But, yes, it would be delightful,' con- 
 tinued the vicar. ' Have you counted 
 the cost of a scramble up one of our 
 burns ?' 
 
 * Oh, yes. I can climb about like a 
 goat. I enjoy it immensely. Do name 
 a day, and we must submit it to Mr. 
 Whinstone.' 
 
 ' I suspect he has company to-day, for 
 he broke an engagement with me thi& 
 morning. Let me see — next Tuesday, I 
 think, would do. Is that convenient to 
 you ?' 
 
 ' To me all days are alike. And who- 
 ever first sees our friends from the Hall 
 will settle it with them T
 
 CLERICAL DIVERSIONS. 215 
 
 ' Exactly.' 
 
 After this interruption, they reverted to 
 the topic which had originally occupied 
 them. The vicar entered with zest into 
 the discussion of the haunts and habits of 
 the various birds in which he was especi- 
 ally interested, and he found a sympathetic 
 listener in Clare. 
 
 Nevertheless, Mr. Crook felt it an in- 
 finite relief to him when the portfolio was 
 closed aojain and the ladies were rising: to 
 depart. The movement aroused him to 
 his normal degree of vivacity, and he 
 ushered his visitors into the garden with 
 the utmost politeness, detaining them 
 there to examine some of his flower- 
 beds. 
 
 Here, too, were traces of a characteristic 
 originalit}^ certain parts being devoted
 
 216 A MASQUERADER. 
 
 exclusively to wild flowers, one bed indeed 
 being restricted to the family of thistles 
 alone. 
 
 * Yes, my thistles still flourish,' he re- 
 marked, with noticeable complacency. * It 
 contains a specimen of every British 
 carduus ; but it is too early yet to pass 
 judgment upon it from an aesthetic point 
 of view. If I have the pleasure of show- 
 ing it you in early autumn, about Sep- 
 tember, you will, I think, acknowledge it 
 a sight worth beholding. The Marianus 
 there, with the glazy milk-streaked leaves, 
 will be four to five feet high. — an exqui- 
 site thing. I got it from Bamburgh. 
 That one? Singular, isn't it? Like 
 some fierce agricultural implement, or 
 barbed chariot-wheel. That will be little 
 less in size, but scarcely so comely. It is 
 the woolly-headed thistle. I made a special
 
 CLERICAL DIVERSIONS. 217 
 
 expedition to Bredon Hill in Worcester- 
 shire for it.' 
 
 Thus he chattered on, as he invariably 
 did when mounted upon one of his numer- 
 ous hobbies. At the sound of horses trot- 
 tin oj upon the road by his orateway, he 
 turned to see who was passing, as did also 
 the ladies. 
 
 ' Ha, there he is, the rogue !' 
 
 Paul Whinstone it was and two other 
 gentlemen with him, returning apparently 
 from their afternoon ride. There was a 
 mutual recognition and an interchange of 
 dumb civilities, and the horsemen passed 
 on. 
 
 * Will not appreciate a ballad, ^liss 
 Langtoft, although born one of them, as 
 you may say.' 
 
 ' He told me you considered him hope- 
 less,' laughed Clare.
 
 218 A MASQUERADER. 
 
 ' Did he really ? Well he might. Then 
 Tuesday, weather permitting. Good-bye, 
 good-bye.' 
 
 Then the clergyman withdrew to the 
 privacy of his study.
 
 219 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 HERE S TO THE LASS ! 
 
 The horsemen were but just disappearing 
 at the corner where the fir-wood began. 
 Before the last one was hidden by the 
 trees, Clare saw him turn in his saddle to 
 survey the road behind him, and then he 
 too was gone. 
 
 Even if Paul Whinstone had been guilty 
 of any such absurdity as introspection, he 
 could not readily have discovered why that 
 glimpse of the company in the vicarage
 
 220 A MASQUERADER, 
 
 garden should have acted as a check upon 
 his spirits. That it had done so was 
 obvious not only to himself but to his 
 companions also. Up to that point he had 
 been especially hilarious : suddenly he had 
 become silent and grave. 
 
 'I say, Paul, what's up?' said one of 
 them. ' Secrets, Selby, as I live. The man 
 is as good as doomed.' 
 
 ' So I perceive,' remarked the other. 
 ^ Anything romantic, old fellow, eh ?' 
 
 ' What the deuce are you talking about ?' 
 asked Paul, savagely. ' I have got too 
 old for charades. Talk plain English.' 
 
 ' Come, come, old man ! Don't be bash- 
 ful. I thought you were never so im- 
 pregnable as you've made out. No need 
 to blush, Paul. I know what it is: just 
 safely pulled oiF my third. But don't go 
 too far, though, that's my advice.'
 
 here's to the lass ! 221 
 
 'What does the fellow mean, Selby ?' 
 
 'If it's a suitable match, my dear Paul, 
 I've not the slightest objection,' replied 
 Selby. ' It's as effectual as vaccination 
 any day. But you are a day or two too 
 late for romance. If there's anything of 
 that sort, you know, well — really — I must 
 take counsel's opinion upon it.' 
 
 ' You are the most confounded pair of 
 fools,' remarked Whinstone, irately. * Can't 
 I be civil to a lady without coming in for 
 all this humbug? They were only my 
 neighbours at the Peel. Which one do 
 you place at my disposal, aunt or niece ?' 
 
 ' Shouldn't think of interfering so far^ 
 my dear boy.' 
 
 ' From the Peel, — oh, ha, an uncom- 
 monly fine widow : what's her name ? 
 Mrs. ' 
 
 '—Monk.'
 
 *222 A MASQUERADER. 
 
 ' That's it, Mrs. Monk. I met them in 
 lown at the Rushmeres'.' 
 
 * Did you, though ?' asked Paul. 
 
 ' I did, sir. Looked at the niece for 
 myself, — in confidence, — a deuced nice 
 girl, but just a wee beet too learned for 
 my taste. I'll pass her, though, for you, 
 Paul.' 
 
 ' Thank you. But look here, Alan, don't 
 l3e too free with any lady's name here. 
 You are not in town, remember, and this 
 particular kind of fooling may be damned 
 unpleasant in a wilderness of this sort. 
 Honour bright, I know next to nothing 
 about them. Unknown neighbours who 
 have bought a bit of property ; they are 
 very seldom here. I don't even know who 
 Mrs. Monk is.' 
 
 ' Devonshire, I believe. A colonel, or
 
 here's to the lass ! 223 
 
 something of the sort. Gibraltar way, I 
 understood. Died years ago.' 
 
 ' Thank you, I am at least so much the 
 wiser.' 
 
 Here Paul broke the conversation by an 
 alteration in his pace, and took care that 
 it was not resumed before their arrival at 
 the Hall. 
 
 As a matter of fact, it was not resumed 
 until the orentlemen were tof^ether over 
 their wine, after Mrs. Whinstone and her 
 daughter had left the dinner- table. They 
 talked politics for a short time, the news 
 having been received that day that Mr. 
 Elliott Whinstone, Q.C., had been definite- 
 ly selected as the candidate for the pro- 
 spective vacancy in the Cheviot division 
 of Northumberland. As these three young 
 gentlemen would be an important element
 
 224 A MASQUERADER. 
 
 in the practical promotion of the cause, 
 they naturally found much interest in its 
 discussion. It was Mr. Alan Kidland who 
 changed the subject. 
 
 He took a decanter and poured himself 
 out a ^lass of sherry, then raised it 
 daintily by the stem until it was on a level 
 with his eye. Then he looked towards 
 Paul. This gentleman, who was in a 
 better humour than before dinner, readily 
 complied, and he and Selby filled. They 
 all rose, and drank the unexpressed toast 
 in silence. 
 
 As Paul quaffed the wine, Clare's face — 
 beautiful certainly— appeared vividly be- 
 fore him ; and at that moment, for the 
 first time, he was conscious that the fea- 
 tures had impressed themselves upon him 
 in more than a mere neighbourly fashion. 
 The eyes of both of his companions.
 
 here's to the lass ! 225 
 
 were fixed upon him, and he blushed as 
 deeply at his thought as Clare herself 
 might have done had she known it. His 
 two friends burst into merry laughter, 
 and threw themselves back into their 
 chairs. 
 
 * It won't do, my dear Paul,' said Kid- 
 land, ' you are in for it, so prepare. 
 Look up a bit of history and geography, 
 and you'll pull through. Capital prac- 
 tice to read your newspaper with an 
 atlas. I did it for my second, honour 
 bright, and was ploughed at last. I 
 couldn't keep her. Quotation-book and 
 illuminated cards — which Flossie did for 
 me — all no good. She saw through it, I 
 believe, somehow. May you fare better, 
 my boy.' 
 
 ' You two fellows have got an infernal 
 plot on hand,' said Paul, too radiant to 
 
 VOL. I. Q
 
 226 A MASQUERADE!?. 
 
 sustain any serious appearance of dis- 
 pleasure. ' I'll kick you out to-morrow, if 
 you keep up this game, so I tell you.' 
 
 ' But yours was a hard case, Alan — 
 deuced hard, I called it,' remarked Selby. 
 ' Burmah, wasn't it?' 
 
 ' I thought it a hard case,' said the in- 
 jured one; ^ but I was not altogether 
 v/ithout prejudice, you know. It was 
 Burmah, Walter. Some row or other 
 going on there at the time. First time I 
 ever spoke without preparation. Hadn't 
 looked the hole up. Took it for certain 
 that such an infernal place was in Africa, 
 wouldn't you ? She went as pale as my 
 shirt-front, Paul ; upon my word she did. 
 Was never even civil to me again. Bear 
 it in mind, old man, and profit by the 
 experience.' 
 
 ' Thank you, Alan, I will,' said Paul,
 
 here's to the lass ! 227 
 
 rising, ' and, if you fellows have done, 
 we'll go into the drawing-room.' 
 
 . Good manners forbade any hesitation, 
 and they both followed Paul from the 
 table. 
 
 Walter Selby was a favourite of Mrs. 
 Whinstone's, and he at once took a seat 
 by the old lady's side. Paul and Kidland 
 went over to Margaret, who was sitting on 
 a couch with a large book in her lap. 
 
 'Family Bible, Miss Whinstone? Oh, 
 l3eg pardon, I'm awfully short-sighted. 
 I've studied a good deal, you know.' 
 
 It had not taken many hours for this 
 young gentleman and Margaret to strike 
 up an acquaintance of a mutually edifying 
 description. At the first glimpse of bim, 
 the young lady had perceived Mr. Kid- 
 land to be her very beau -ideal of a gallant ; 
 
 q2
 
 228 A MASQUERADER. 
 
 such as she had contemplated for years 
 with many tears of the most bitter anguish 
 — nobody could say how many. She was 
 ahnost beyond herself at the realization of 
 her most frantic dreams ; and had — yes^ 
 almost this very first day — already per- 
 ceived that nothing less than Mrs. Kidland 
 was her appointed destiny. Oh, to think 
 of it ! To lie on a couch in that won- 
 derful Kidland Castle, of which Paul had 
 given her such a picture in speaking of 
 his friend, and there to bask literally from 
 morning to night, year in, year out, in the 
 warmth and radiance of such ravishing wit. 
 Now at once she threw upon him the 
 whole lustre of her very dark eyes, spark- 
 ling with glee ; orbs which, as she had not 
 been slow to discern, did possess rare 
 powers of fascination over this prospective 
 squire. Margaret did not know how many
 
 here's to the lass ! 229 
 
 other orbs had j^revioiisly exercised a very 
 similar power over him ; it seemed only 
 natural that fate should have kept him un- 
 impressed all these years for her own par- 
 ticular conquest now. No other suppo- 
 sition could, for a moment, have occurred 
 to her. Mr. Kidland did undoubtedly pay her 
 quite marked attention ; but, then, he was 
 of a romantic temperament, and the young 
 lady's past history was sufficient to inspire 
 him with exceptional interest. He had 
 remarked confidentially to his friend, her 
 brother, upon the deuced infallibility of 
 birth, as exemplified in Margaret's aston- 
 ishing power of adaptation to such a novel 
 position. Her aptitude in this respect had 
 certainly been remarkable. 
 
 'I should never have thought it, Mr. 
 Kidland,' she had replied, making at once 
 a place for him beside her.
 
 230 A MASQUERADER. 
 
 * Not ? Oh, come, come ! Why, I am-^ 
 considered the best scholar on the border ;. 
 you might say the only one. I have tried 
 to keep Paul here to his books ; promised 
 to read with him for one hour a day — six 
 to seven a.m. ; but no use, no use. I hope 
 you will help me. His ignorance is ap- 
 palling. You will have found out that 
 already, no doubt ?' 
 
 *I have, indeed. But I like him all 
 the better for it. I can't bear learned 
 people ' 
 
 Mr. Kidland drew himself up gravely^ 
 with his hand raised to his chin. 
 
 ' Oh, I beg your pardon. Except you, 
 of course,' laughed Margaret, gleefully. 
 ' But you keep your knowledge hidden so 
 beautifully, you know. Doesn't he, Paul ?' 
 
 ' Most beautifully,' replied her brother. 
 ' Like a bird hides its teeth.'
 
 HERE S TO THE LASS ! 231 
 
 'Teeth!' said Margaret, incre(lulousl3\ 
 ' Have birds teeth, Mr. Kidland ?' 
 
 ' My dear Miss Whinstone ! Can you 
 possibly — you are joking now? Not seen 
 a bird's teeth ! Really ?' 
 
 ' Well, I don't Let me sec — 
 
 no ' 
 
 ' There's a treat in store for you, then. 
 Wait until you come over to the Castle, 
 that's all. You can see, and feel them, 
 too, there, if you like. Fact. I ought to 
 know,' he said, holding up the first finger 
 of his right hand for the young lady to 
 examine. 
 
 She leaned her head down towards it 
 with tender interest. 
 
 'That mark! Really? From a bird's 
 teeth?' 
 
 'It is ; honour bright !' 
 
 ^largaret looked from one face to the
 
 232 A MASQUERADER. 
 
 other. Paul leaned forward and whis- 
 pered to her. 
 
 'Oh, you horrid tease!' cried she. ^ It 
 is a parrot.* 
 
 Therewith Paul got up laughing, and 
 walked over to his mother. After speak- 
 ing to her, he left the room. 
 
 * You must come and see our parrot. 
 Miss Whinstone,' the gentleman continued. 
 * It is a prodigy — or a progeny of learning, 
 as Mrs. Malaprop says. Can say the alpha- 
 bet quicker than you or I — honour bright.' 
 
 ' Who is Mrs. Mai ' 
 
 ' Malaprop ? Oh, a woman in a play. 
 Don't you know it ? " The Rivals." It's 
 running at the Vaudeville now. It's an 
 old play, I believe. I don't generally care 
 for these classics, as they call them ; but, 
 upon my word, this one is funny, really 
 funny in parts. Best scene is where a
 
 here's to the lass ! 233 
 
 fellow is going to fight a duel — ha, ha! — 
 and he turns funk — coward, you know. 
 Ha. ha! It is really awfully funny, it is 
 indeed !' 
 
 * It must be,' said Margaret. ^ But I 
 should like to see your parrot awfully — ' 
 
 From the hall young Whinstone stepped 
 again to the dining-room, and there got a 
 tumbler of seltzer-water. Then he went 
 and changed his shoes, and got a hat and 
 light overcoat. He left the house by a 
 side-door, and set off briskly along the 
 path to the village. 
 
 All was intensely still in the twilight. 
 Paul could hear the rattle of a field- 
 cricket somewhere far away, and a restless 
 peese-weep raised its plaintive cry from the 
 green haugh beside the river, but other 
 sound there was none. Little grey moths
 
 234 A MASQUEEADER. 
 
 flitted about his path amongst the grass^ 
 and a bat or a may-bee would sweep past 
 him as he walked, but he did not notice 
 them. He glanced at the young moon, 
 which was already sinking to the hill-topSy 
 and at the thin thread of Avhite mist which 
 circled the foot of the black fir plantation, 
 but they only impressed upon him the 
 chilly state of the atmosphere, and led him 
 to turn up the collar of his coat and button 
 it close. 
 
 Through the village he went, then by 
 the gateway of the Peel, at which he 
 looked with furtive interest, but which he 
 passed with accelerated pace. It did not 
 give a turn to his thoughts, for in that 
 neighbourhood had they been pitched ever 
 since his escape from the drawing-room. 
 The glimpse of the afternoon had unsettled 
 him, why, he now fully recognised — had
 
 heke's to the lass ! 235 
 
 recognised since drinking that unexpressed 
 toast. 
 
 At the vicarage he turned in, and went 
 up to the door and rang. To his surprise, 
 and equally to his annoyance, Mr. Crook 
 was from home. He had set off to Braid- 
 struther at about five, and might be back 
 at any moment. Would Mr. Whinstone 
 come in and wait? He "would^ and 
 entered. 
 
 Being upon an intimate footing with the 
 vicar, Paul was taken into the gentleman's 
 study, where a little bit of fire had been 
 kept in. A lamp was alight in the room, 
 displaying the cosy interior, and, without 
 any restraint, the young man flung him- 
 self into the clergyman's easy-chair. When 
 alone, he took up some drawings which 
 were on the table to help him to pass the 
 time, feeling no hesitation in doing so,
 
 236 A MASQUERADER. 
 
 «ince Mr. Crook never displayed any in 
 showing him the products of his pencil. 
 He laid them on his knee and leisurely 
 examined the first of them which was ex- 
 posed. It did not greatly interest him, so 
 he passed on to the next ; thus it was with 
 two or three which were lightly scanned, 
 and then replaced upon the table. 
 
 Presently he came to a pause, and 
 looked with increased interest at a sheet 
 of paper which he held in his hand. Fully 
 for a minute he regarded it, then held it 
 
 out at arm's lenf^th to do so more dream- 
 ed 
 
 ily, his eyes betraying a sense of spiritual 
 gratification such as might be felt in the 
 contemplation of a pleasant prospect. 
 
 * Capital!' he muttered at last; 'just 
 as she looked at me when I came round. 
 Beautiful . . .' 
 
 Whether Paul mentally transformed the
 
 here's TO THE LASS ! 237 
 
 features before him to others which had so 
 recently been haunting him; or whether 
 the tender glow of which he had become 
 conscious communicated its radiance to 
 the whole sisterhood of woman, could not 
 be easily determined. Certain it is, though, 
 that, as he passed this audible verdict 
 upon the picture, it was drawn more 
 closely towards him, and, leaning his face 
 forward to the paper, with his own lips 
 he lightly touched those which were so 
 vividly portrayed there. 
 
 Scarcely had he done so, when there 
 was a sound of the pony's step outside to 
 announce the arrival of the clergyman. 
 Despite the presumable innocence of his^ 
 intention, Paul started like a thief sur- 
 prised, and hurriedly put the drawings 
 together again in their place upon the- 
 table. AMien the vicar entered, his visitor
 
 238 A MASQUERADER 
 
 was twirling his thumbs with absolute 
 composure. 
 
 ' Ha, my dear Paul, I am rejoiced to 
 see you,' cried Mr. Crook, with unfeigned 
 heartiness. ' But, man, I did not ask you 
 to dinner,' he added, with a humorous 
 glance at Paul's attire. 
 
 * No, but it was such an exquisite even- 
 ing that I slipped away to bring my apolo- 
 gies for disappointing you this morning. 
 I am so sorry. Selby and Kidhmd came 
 quite unexpectedly.' 
 
 'Why, Paul, you know me well enough, 
 surely. Not another word about it. It is 
 a grand night. I have been to Braid- 
 struther.' 
 
 * You have ! Are they getting settled ?' 
 'Tolerably, I think. But you never 
 
 told me of your ducking. Ha, ha ! how 
 I should like to have seen it.'
 
 here's to the lass ! 239 
 
 ' Oh, I thought nothing about it.' 
 
 ' At any rate, it made your peace with 
 Miss Maisie, I think. She went so far as 
 lo say that you had been very kind to 
 them. Coming from her, I think this 
 settles your theory of antipathy— eh ?' 
 
 'Hardly. You are a clergyman and a 
 known friend of mine.' 
 
 ' Oh, well, no matter. Hugh came down 
 with me. He is going to the Peel for 
 some books or something that Mrs. Monk 
 has got for him. She is really very good, 
 — but that reminds me. You didn't see 
 them this afternoon ?' 
 
 ' Certainly I did, ' replied Paul, smil- 
 ing to disguise the slightest increase of 
 colour. 
 
 ' They told you, then ?' 
 
 ' Oh, I've not seen them to speak to. I 
 -saw them here as I passed.'
 
 240 A MASQUERADER. 
 
 * Then I've got a commission from Miss 
 Langtoft. She wants you to iish the 
 Braidstruther burn with her next Tues- 
 day.' 
 
 Paul flushed deeper, and betrayed some 
 general confusion. 
 
 ' How do you mean ?' 
 
 *0h, don't be alarmed!' exclaimed the 
 vicar, laughing heartily. ' I didn't know 
 you were bashful. The fact is, Miss Lang- 
 toft wants us to make up a kind of fishing 
 picnic, do you see? You and your sister, 
 me and she. Yes, on foot. She pooh- 
 poohs the idea of the walk being too much 
 for her. But how about Margaret ?' 
 
 ' Have no fear for her ; she can outwalk 
 me. Yes, it would be very delightful. I 
 should enjoy it immensely.' 
 
 * Come, then, that will do.' 
 
 Paul immediately grew enthusiastic over
 
 here's to the lass ! 241 
 
 the project, and the two proceeded to 
 discuss it in more detail. 
 
 In such conversation time drew on, but 
 the visitor was loth to depart. The sole 
 object of his visit had been to indulge 
 some such thoughts as these, and the fates 
 had indeed been kinder to him than he had 
 had any reason to anticipate. All his soul 
 was now warmed to a tender enthusiasm, 
 and he thought with reluctance of the cold 
 night outside, and Avith a positive shudder 
 of the chilling atmosphere at the other 
 end of his walk. But, however unpleas- 
 ant, he knew^ it Avas inevitable, and that 
 go at last be must. 
 
 As a preliminary movement, he rose 
 lazily from his chair, and stood Avith his 
 back to the fire and his hands clasped 
 behind his head. The vicar had for some 
 minutes regarded him with interest, appar- 
 
 VOL. I. R
 
 242 A MASQUEIIADER. 
 
 ently not without suspicion of his humour. 
 
 'Yes, it will be very jolly,' said Paul, 
 apparently in soliloquy, with his eyes 
 towards the ceilinf^, as though beholding 
 there a clear picture of the scenes to be 
 gone through. ' We shall end up at 
 Braidsfruther, of course.' 
 
 ' Certainly.' 
 
 'Yes ; but I must go. Confound those 
 fellows ! By-the-b}', Mr. Crook — er — 
 Selby wants to read one of your beloved 
 ballads, and for the life of me I can't find 
 the "Border Minstrelsy." Will you let 
 me take the first volume ?' 
 
 ' With all the pleasure in the world,' ex- 
 claimed the vicar, turning towards the 
 shelves. 'There you are. But hadn't you 
 better take the three? Oh, yes, just as 
 w^ell ; they are no weight — no inconveni- 
 ence at all.'
 
 here's to the lass ! 243 
 
 With the acquisition of the volumes, 
 Paul seemed more capable of resolution. 
 A little nervous uncertainty which had 
 hitherto played about him was finally 
 removed, and he could face more calmly 
 this compulsory departure. 
 
 The fir-wood was darker and more quiet 
 than ever as Whinstone passed by it, and 
 he had to own to a distinct sensation of 
 relief when he was in the open road be- 
 yond. The moon had gone, but still a 
 strong light overspread the sky from the 
 north-west, as it does through the greater 
 part of a summer night. Despite this, 
 there was a singular obscurity amongst 
 the objects on the earth. Outline, where 
 such stood against the sky, was clearest 
 cut ; but lower detail was annihilated. 
 
 When the wood was reached, Paul per- 
 
 r2
 
 244 A MASQUERADER. 
 
 ceived a strong spark of light peering at 
 him from the gloom upon the left. Had 
 he not been familiar with the locality, he 
 could hardly have decided whether it came 
 from a lantern close at hand or from a 
 window a mile or two distant. As it was, 
 he suspected that it issued from some point 
 about the Peel, and consequently it be- 
 came a light of exceptional interest to him. 
 Not exactly in itself did it arouse his 
 curiosity, but merely on account of its 
 being the only distinguishable detail of 
 that highly interesting locality. No mys- 
 tery was suggested by a light issuing from 
 a house which was inhabited. 
 
 When he reached the hedge by the gate- 
 way he distinctly saw that it came from 
 the open doorway. For a moment he stood 
 back in the dusk. The house was not far 
 from the road, so that he could easily dis-
 
 here's to the lass ! 245 
 
 tinguish human figures in the rays, that is 
 as human figures and not as individuals. 
 A peal of laughter rang clear in the sur- 
 rounding silence, and, although Paul had 
 just taken a step in continuation of his 
 journey, this brought him quickl}^ to a 
 pause, and made his frame tingle to the 
 very tips of his hair. He shrank again 
 into the obscurity by the hedge and looked 
 through. He could hear some footsteps, 
 but the figures were no longer visible. 
 
 'Then we shall come on Tuesday, Hugh, 
 unless you hear to the contrary. It will 
 depend upon Mr. AVhinstone.' 
 
 Paul started at the nearness of the 
 sound, and would immediately have fled 
 but that the divine accents had bewitched 
 and paralysed him. For the second, he 
 could not flee. Hugh had made some 
 reply which was too insignificant to be
 
 246 A MASQUERADEE. 
 
 audible to the listener. A movement of 
 the gate, however, by which he yva.s stand- 
 ing quickly broke the spell, and he ran 
 away under the hedge, back towards the 
 iir-wood from which he had come. He ran 
 for about a hundred yards before ventur- 
 ing to pause ; then he changed his pace to 
 a walk, and came out into the middle of 
 the road. Therewith he began to retrace 
 his steps more leisurely. 
 
 The footsteps of another were now audi- 
 ble on the road before him, and Paul bit 
 his lip with savage disappointment. Evi- 
 dently he had outrun his design, and his 
 little device had cruelly failed him. There 
 were but a few yards left between them, 
 each being able to discern an approaching 
 figure, although not to recognise the indi- 
 vidual, when both suddenly stopped.
 
 HERE S TO THE LASS ! 247 
 
 ' Hugh, Hugh !' rang clearly through the 
 darkness. 
 
 It was like the cry of a particularly 
 musical spirit, flitting perhaps in the ob- 
 scure depths of the wood just behind them, 
 and announcing to the silent world around 
 the name too deeply graven on its heart. 
 Never owl cried with such vital resonance, 
 and no rational listener could have mis- 
 taken it for the dismal whoop of that ' un- 
 fortunate and fatal bird.' It was rather 
 like a sudden ray of sunlight cleaving the 
 sullen gloom of this sunless hour. Paul 
 it pierced to a point of painful ecstacy. 
 How it aff'ected Hugh my cunning sayeth 
 not. 
 
 The young shepherd had instantly turn- 
 ed, and was hastening again to the gate. 
 He had not reached it when a light-clad 
 figure met him.
 
 248 A MASQUERADER. 
 
 * This I forgot, for Maisie, with my affec- 
 tionate regards,' said Clare, as she placed 
 a parcel in his hand. ' Good-bye.' 
 
 ' Thank you, Miss Langtoft. Good-night.' 
 
 'And, Hugh, I beg you will not allow 
 your sister to be put about. You under- 
 stand. You do not live in the midst of 
 conveniences. We shall be delighted to 
 accept your hospitality, I am sure you 
 know, but shall not expect you to provide 
 for an army. I wanted to say this to you. 
 You understand?' she said, with a kindly 
 laugh. ' We shall bring a horse laden with 
 provender.' 
 
 Hugh laughed too. 
 
 ' You are always very kind, miss,' he 
 replied, with a ring of sincerity. ' We 
 shall not misunderstand.' 
 
 ' Good-night, Hugh,' exclaimed another 
 figure, passing by.
 
 here's to the lass ! 249 
 
 ' Who — I know that voice,' said Clare. 
 ^ Why, the very man we wanted !' she 
 added, -with laughter, as Paul stopped and 
 came up to them. 
 
 ' Miss Lano-toft !' he said, in feiojned 
 
 a JO 
 
 astonishment. 
 
 ' The same. You didn't expect to see 
 me here, I know. Xor I you.' 
 
 ' I have just been to the vicarage.' 
 
 ' You know of our plans, then. Do they 
 meet with your approval ?' 
 
 ' Entirely.' 
 
 ' Then that is settled, Hugh. I really 
 must not stand here any longer. Good- 
 night.' 
 
 Hugh departed, and Paul walked on by 
 the side of Clare. 
 
 The young lady was perfectly well aware 
 of her companion's thoughts about the 
 unconventionality of her behaviour, and
 
 250 A MASQUER ADEE. 
 
 was secretly very much, amused at tbem. 
 She knew that the orthodox patron at 
 home would hardly have escorted the pas- 
 toral dependent so far as the front gate, as 
 her aunt and herself had just done, nor 
 yet would have cried after him so fami- 
 liarly over some forgotten trumpery as she 
 had taken upon herself to do. Necessarily, 
 there were more recognised methods of 
 doing these things. Neither Clare nor 
 Mrs. Monk affected the slightest contempt 
 for such methods, for there was very little 
 that was democratic about them ; but in 
 their own behaviour it must be admitted 
 they paid very little regard to polite ob- 
 servances, at least in their intercourse with 
 inferiors. This was especially noticeable 
 when they were at the Peel, and was no 
 doubt the result of a not over-positive 
 attitude in them to the life with which
 
 here's to the lass ! 251 
 
 they came in contact there. They ^vent 
 to it as imaginative strangers, and every- 
 thing was consequently idealised to their 
 view, with a consequent idealisation of 
 their own behaviour. 
 
 Such unconstrained attitude was so na- 
 tural to Clare that no thought about it 
 would have occurred to her but for this 
 encounter with a more orthodox neigh- 
 bour. She had suddenly recognised how 
 it must have appeared to him, hence the 
 momentary consciousness. 
 
 ' I hope you appreciate your new shep- 
 herd, Mr. Whinstone,' said Clare, directly 
 they were alone. 
 
 'I hope I do, Miss Langtoft. He is a 
 good fellow.' 
 
 ' A particularly good fellow, my aunt 
 thinks. More intelligent than most men 
 in his position.'
 
 252 A MASQUERADER. 
 
 'I — I suppose so,' replied Paul, with 
 some hesitation. 'He seems to read a 
 good deal.' 
 
 ' Has he spoken much to you about his 
 reading ?' 
 
 'Why, no. The truth is, I think he 
 hardly considers me intelligent enough for 
 such confidences. Ha, ha !' 
 
 ' You are too modest, Mr. Whinstone.' 
 They now stood by the gate. ' Good- 
 night. I do hope you don't feel drawn 
 into this Tuesday's expedition perforce.' 
 
 ' Oh, Miss Langtoft. I assure you it 
 will be the greatest delight to me.' 
 
 There was no insincerity in his tone. 
 
 ' I accept that, certainly. Good-night.' 
 
 They parted. Paul was aware of the 
 momentary delight of touching her hand, 
 but for the rest he felt in a state of posi- 
 tive depression. So fragmentary ; so abora-
 
 here's TO THE LASS ! 253^ 
 
 inably unsatisfactory ; altogether as cold 
 as the night. But what had he expected? 
 •But Tuesday— Tuesday !' he muttered^ 
 as he hurried forward on his way.
 
 254 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 LEAVEN. 
 
 To anybody less inured to the character- 
 istics of a moorland country, the walk 
 which Lay before Hugh Winlaw after he 
 had left the precincts of the mountain 
 Tillage — and therewith the limits even of 
 the narrow^est civilisation — might have of- 
 fered something short of positive attrac- 
 tions. There w^ould seem something un- 
 pleasantly impressive in the fact of man 
 and his world being practically behind 
 one, leao;ues of silent waste alone before,
 
 LEAVEN. 255 
 
 -with not so mucli as a rustling bough to 
 break the stillness of the universe, or a 
 ray from the moon to dispel the awful 
 obscurity of the horizon. 
 
 But this traveller, not by nature un- 
 imaginative, at present received no kind 
 of suggestion from his sombre surround- 
 ings. Neither sound nor light was he in 
 need of, for he was not conscious of their 
 absence. Indeed, within himself he har- 
 boured both, and the mere material in- 
 trusion of either might at this moment 
 have been rather irksome than otherwise. 
 
 Hugh had, as we know, been to the 
 Peel, and his visit to the place had made 
 a considerable impression upon him ; more 
 considerable, indeed, than had been the 
 accumulated result of all his previous in- 
 tercourse with that household. He had 
 long since been ' discovered ' by Mrs.
 
 256 A MASQUEEADER. 
 
 Monk, and that original lady had found 
 something in the young shepherd to excite 
 her peculiar interest, and to call forth an 
 undisguised display of her partiality and 
 favour. The form which it had hitherto 
 principally assumed was that of a kindly 
 ministering to a certain intellectual ten- 
 dency in Hugh, which his position might 
 otherwise have rendered rather difficult 
 of indulgence. She would bring down 
 books for him w^henever she came to High 
 Feldom, and had more than once sent him 
 some by post, when her absence from the 
 Peel was unusually prolonged. Thus it 
 came that even a letter or two had been 
 exchanged between them ; and this, how- 
 ever trivial the subject-matter of the 
 communication, always adds a tinge to 
 the complexion of an intercourse. 
 
 Notwithstanding all this, it was with a
 
 LEAVEN. 257 
 
 feelinf? of considerable nervousness that 
 Hugh presented himself at the Peel upon 
 this particular occasion. This was scarcely 
 lessened by the queenly appearance of the 
 lady of the house, although she did her 
 utmost, as she always did, to neutralise by 
 her natural manner the artificial stateli- 
 ness of her belongings. She took her 
 visitor into a little nondescript room of 
 liers, which may have been intended for 
 an unconventional boudoir, but which had 
 very much the appearance of a polite 
 curiosity-shop. There were busts and 
 statuettes scattered about in singular con- 
 fusion ; an easel in one corner ; a guitar 
 and a harp in another; a human skull in 
 a third. The walls were clothed with 
 paintings of various descriptions, all of 
 which upon examination would have been 
 found to be the work of masters in their 
 VOL. I. s
 
 258 A MASQUERADER. 
 
 art. It was with difficulty, certainly, that 
 Hugh succeeded in checking all display 
 of curiosity. 
 
 * Yes, take that black chair, Hugh. 
 Charles the Martyr is said to have sat in 
 it before you. But you are loyal, I hope, 
 and will fully appreciate the privilege.' 
 
 ' The most sacred things cannot escape 
 base uses, ma'am, in these days,' replied 
 Hugh, with a significant smile, as he 
 became seated. 
 
 ' As a general assertion, I will accept it, 
 but not in this particular application. 
 Like the — why, yes, why not ? — like the 
 devil,' said the lady, emphatically, 'avoid 
 a too great modesty, Hugh. Remember 
 the world inevitably accepts you at your 
 own estimate — that is, if your estimate err 
 on the side of moderation. Only vociferate 
 loudly enough that you are a great man,
 
 LEAVEN. 259 
 
 and in due time, I assure you, your claims 
 will be unhesitatingly admitted.' 
 
 ' But the hills are deaf to the loudest 
 vociferation,' returned Hugh. 
 
 '- Are they ? Then shout over the hills. 
 Put your hollowed hands to your mouth, 
 and give a doAvnright good Homeric 
 shout.' 
 
 ' I should like to.' 
 
 ^ You would?' said Mrs. Monk, looking 
 at him inquiringly. 
 
 ' Certainly I should, ma'am.' 
 The lady turned away to get a little 
 pile of books which had been lying on a 
 chair, then she placed them on the table. 
 
 ' How old are you ?' she asked, curtly, 
 looking again at her visitor. 
 ' Twenty-four, ma'am.' 
 ' Twenty-four ! Bless me, you are only 
 a boy. You mean to say you were only 
 
 s 2
 
 260 A MASQUERADEK. 
 
 twenty when I first saw you. I thought 
 you were at least iive or six years older. 
 Well, now, Hugh,' Mrs. Monk continued, 
 more kindly, as she sat down, ' you have 
 been unfortunate. Do you care to speak 
 about this subject ?' 
 
 ' If you wish it, ma'am,' replied Winlaw,. 
 reddening slightly. 
 
 ' I do wish it. Why did you never let 
 me know about your difficulties ?' 
 
 *I have not been in difficulties, ma'am. 
 Certainly I should not have felt the right 
 to speak to you about them if I had.' 
 
 'Well, then, please to feel the right at 
 once, and don't lose the feeling again if — 
 if you have the slightest regard for me. 
 But not been in difficulties ? How else 
 would you describe your position ?' 
 
 •You mean difficulties about money, 
 ma'am ?'
 
 LEAVEN. 261 
 
 * Certainly I do. The word has no 
 other meaning in the world at present.' 
 
 ' I have had no difficulties of this sort.' 
 Mrs. Monk regarded him with increas- 
 ing astonishment, wholly misunderstanding 
 his attitude. 
 
 * My dear Hugh,' she began, in a softer 
 tone, ' you may trust me. I do not ask 
 you this out of vulgar curiosity.' 
 
 ' My dear lady, I couldna think it,' he 
 exclaimed, impetuously, blushing deeply 
 as he did so. 
 
 She raised her finger with a smile, as if 
 to quell his rising spirit. 
 
 ' You have left your farm of Southern- 
 knowe, to which you must be attached, 
 and which has been held by your family 
 for so many years, and yet you are not in 
 difficulties?' 
 
 * I am not,' asserted Hugh, with more
 
 262 A MASQUERADEK. 
 
 resolute dignity than he had yet displayed. 
 ' Difficulties means difficulties in paying^ 
 one's debts, and I have not the slightest 
 difficulty in paying every farthing that I 
 owe, and still having money in the bank.' 
 
 'Then certainly I am under a great 
 delusion,' replied Mrs. Monk, hardly dis- 
 guising her astonishment. ' In delicacy 
 I have no right to ask you more. Do 
 forgive my ridiculous misapprehension.' 
 
 Hugh had been conscious of an increas- 
 ing glow of chivalrous enthusiasm as he 
 talked with this refined and beautiful lady, 
 but he had hitherto effectually restrained 
 himself from any betrayal of the sensa- 
 tion. There was now to be some evidence 
 of it in tone and feature. 
 
 ^But I hope that I may tell you more,. 
 Mrs. Monk,' he began, looking with un-
 
 LEAVEN. 263 
 
 abashed earnestness into the face before 
 him. 
 
 The laclj merely nodded and smiled. 
 
 ' More than five years ago my father 
 died ; my mother has been dead for years. 
 At nineteen I was left with that large hill- 
 farm on my hands, and not much money, 
 and still less wit, to carry it on with. The 
 end of it all cannot surprise you. Sheep- 
 farming is like other business, and cannot 
 be carried on by thinking of other things. 
 I have never made it pay. If I must tell 
 the truth, I have never tried to make it 
 pay. Money won't last for ever at this 
 rate, so that I have to give the place up. 
 That is the short history of it, ma'am.' 
 
 There was a touch of impetuosity in 
 his utterance which ]\Irs. Monk noted. 
 
 * Terse and to the point, Hugh,' replied
 
 264 A MASQUERADEH. 
 
 she, with a smile. ' You didn't care whe- 
 ther you gave it up or not, then ?' 
 
 ' On one side I did, and on another I didn't. 
 I should have liked weel enough to keep 
 on with the place if I could have done so 
 without making money from it.' 
 
 ' I see,' said the lady, returning his ex- 
 pression of amusement. *Then you think 
 your new position, with an absence of the 
 chief responsibility, will suit you better?' 
 
 * Perhaps it may do, ma'am.' 
 
 ' You are evidently doubtful about it. 
 You mean that you don't know of any- 
 thing to suit you better?' 
 
 ' I am afraid that's it.' 
 
 ' Is there anything you would like 
 better if you could get it ?' 
 
 ' I don't know that there is, ma'am. I 
 am a fool at all kinds of business.'
 
 LEAVEN. 265 
 
 ^ Do you write poetry?' asked the lady, 
 with interest. 
 
 ' Xo, no, ma'am,' replied Hugh, laugh- 
 ing. ' Never a verse.' 
 
 'You say business can't be carried on 
 by thinking of other things. What other 
 things ?' 
 
 ' Oh, hundreds of things that I cannot 
 just think of, ma'am,' said Hugh, with a 
 smile. ' Things that I read about in the 
 papers, or in my books. Anything that's 
 o:oino^ on in the world there at the back of 
 old Simonside ' 
 
 ' Beyond the reach of your shout ?' 
 * Ay, ay,' said Hugh, with a head-shake. 
 'Far beyond it, ma'am, more's the pity.' 
 
 ' But not beyond the reach of your step, 
 Hugh. How many have trudged thither 
 from these Border hills with infinitely less
 
 266 A MASQUERADER. 
 
 to recommend them than you, and have 
 taken possession of that world beyond 
 there by sheer force of muscle.' 
 
 Hugh's colour deepened ap^ain. 
 
 ' They have, ma'am,' he replied, warmly, 
 ' but not Avith less to recommend them. 
 They could do something, and knew that 
 they could do something, and went to do 
 it. If I went, I could do nothing, although 
 I was longing to be active, and I should 
 go mad because of it. T should go mad 
 and kill myself, most likely.' 
 
 * I will not believe it,' cried Mrs. Monk, 
 with a corresponding vehemence. ' If you 
 fling a very puppy into the torrent he will 
 strike out and swim. And you ! Bah ! 
 nonsense ! You are morbid from long 
 solitude.' 
 
 ' It is true what I say, ma'am,' replied 
 Hugh, looking with unflinching resolution
 
 LEAVEN. 267 
 
 into the lady's face. ' When I Avas last 
 through to Newcastle, I felt it. My arm 
 trembled to take part there, but I knew 
 that I could no more do it than a 
 baby.' 
 
 'I see it,' said his companion, with more 
 complacency. ' You mean that you did 
 not know what to do. You saw the ex- 
 hilarating tableau, and you longed to take 
 every part in it at once. You are too 
 receptive, Hugh ; too comprehensive. You 
 must discriminate. You must find out 
 where to begin, that is all that's wanting.' 
 
 He regarded her without speaking. 
 
 ' It is as I have long suspected,' Mrs. 
 Monk went on. ' Your attitude is more 
 intellectual than practical. But you must 
 remember that it is only by accomplish- 
 ment of some kind that we are measured. 
 I may feel assured that I have all the soul
 
 ^68 A MASQUER ADER. 
 
 and intellect of Shakspeare, but if I can't 
 give them expression I may as well, or 
 much better, be a coal-heaver. You must 
 compel yourself, Hugh, to some kind of 
 definite accomplishment, and not waste 
 another day in idle contemplation. Have 
 you any new theory to propound anent 
 the breed of sheep ?' 
 
 She was so serious that Hugh looked at 
 her, quite puzzled. 
 
 ' No, ma'am, T haven't,' he replied, 
 gravely. 
 
 ' I thought not. Then can you draw a 
 sheep on paper ?' 
 
 ' I don't think I can — not to know it 
 for a sheep when it was drawn.' 
 
 ' That also is quite possible. If you 
 could, you would most probably know it 
 by this time. Then can you write out 
 the history of a sheep from its cradle in
 
 LEAVEN. 269" 
 
 the fold to — to— bah! to the shambles, I 
 suppose ?' 
 
 ' I think I can,' replied Hugh, with 
 increasing confidence. 
 
 ' That, too, I thinlc most probable. Try 
 it, at any rate, without delay, and, if j^ou 
 are agreeable, let me see the result. Will 
 you?' 
 
 ' Certainly, ma'am.' 
 
 ' Well, that is something. Do it seri- 
 ously, Hugh. I am not joking, I assure 
 you. It is trivial, but never mind. We 
 will have a more abstruse topic next time. 
 Now, here are the few books I have 
 brought you. Carlyle's " Past and Pre- 
 sent ;" two or three more of Richard Jef- 
 feries', as you liked the other one so much; 
 " Jane Eyre," that's a novel, I don't think 
 you have read it ? — and the " Golden 
 Treasury," a collection of all our best
 
 270 A MASQUERADER. 
 
 lyrics. Don't thank me, please. Oh, yes, 
 and Miss Langtoft added this one, Mor- 
 ley's " English Literature," a useful refer- 
 ence-book. These will give you food for 
 the contemplative side for a short time. 
 But now I have another point, Hugh. Of 
 course you are a politician ; of tory pro- 
 pensities, they tell me. Well, that is all 
 the better. I don't know whether Mr. 
 Paul has told you that, in all probability, 
 Tiis father is going to stand as a candidate 
 here shortly. Now, this will give you a 
 good opportunity. Plunge into it. Really 
 study the main questions that are before 
 the people, and form your own intelligent 
 opinion about them ; for the sake of pre- 
 sent convenience, though, strictly through 
 the conservative spectacles. You must 
 take part in all the electioneering activity;
 
 LEAVEN. 271 
 
 it will do you a vast deal of good. I be- 
 lieve you can do it well. You do yourself, 
 don't you ?' 
 
 ' I shall not be sorry to try, ma'am.' 
 
 ' Of course not. That is the right atti- 
 tude. The mere practical shake-up will be 
 invaluable to you, to say nothing of the 
 extension of your experience of life. You 
 are man of the world enough to know that, 
 at these election times, there is a mar- 
 vellous slackening of the social bond. You 
 can command intercourse of quite a reason- 
 able kind with persons whom it would be 
 difficult to encounter so intimately at any 
 other time. Make the most of this. Keep 
 your eyes open and your wits alive. You 
 understand me?' 
 
 ' I do, ma'am.' 
 
 Mrs. Monk seemed to throw off much
 
 272 A MASQUERADEE. 
 
 of her ordinary cold and cynical exterior 
 during this exhortation, and to enter with 
 some subjective zeal into the matter she 
 was discussing. 
 
 ^ Paul Whinstone is your good friend. 
 I shall speak to him. Now above all, my 
 dear Hugh, do throw off all unnecessary 
 modesty. I can trust your instinct. It 
 cannot lead you beyond the bounds of 
 gentility. Simply be natural ; just what 
 you feel impelled to be in all respects and 
 in all situations. I do not know why I 
 should not whisper to you that, in pure, 
 natural ability you will be inferior to but 
 two or three, equal to several, and superior 
 to the vast majority of the gentlefolk with 
 whom you may be brought into contact 
 over this affair. You will not mistake me. 
 I am not a radical or a communist, as you
 
 LEAVEN. 273 
 
 well know,' said the lady, looking about 
 her. ' I could not live in a world from 
 which the grades of society were absent ; 
 to nobody are the refinements of an ad- 
 vanced civilization more necessary than to 
 me ; therefore you may depend upon what 
 I tell you in this respect. In these refine- 
 ments you could hardly ever overtake us, 
 if you should ever have the means to 
 attempt such a thing; but your innate 
 gentility is all-sufi[icient, and, if you look 
 to it, will never betray you in whatever 
 position you may find yourself. Never- 
 theless, for worldly experience and polish, 
 keep your eyes open.' 
 
 Hugh's features had, early in the har- 
 angue, become fixed, betraying intense 
 interest, with perhaps a suspicion of sur- 
 prise ; and his eyes were never moved 
 
 VOL. I. T
 
 274 A MASQUERADER. 
 
 from the face of the lady. As she ceased 
 his ejes> fell, but no word escaped him. 
 Mrs. Monk rose from her chair. 
 
 ' There now, Hugh,' she said, with a 
 light, pleasant laugh, *I have lectured you 
 quite enough for one night. Let us go 
 into the dining-room for a few minutes.' 
 
 The lady led the way, and Hugh fol- 
 lowed her in silence. 
 
 The young man had but small appetite 
 for a repast, but out of politeness he had 
 to partake of something. Just as he was 
 finishing, a light step was heard in the 
 hall, and the door of the dining-room was 
 opened. 
 
 ' Oh, it is a glorious night,' said Clare, 
 gaily. ' I quite envy you your walk, 
 Hugh.'
 
 LEAVEN. 275. 
 
 ' You had better go with him,' remarked 
 Mrs. Monk. ' Maisie will no doubt accom- 
 modate you.' 
 
 ^ I should like to, but I won't trouble 
 her without notice. She will have quite 
 enough of us on Tuesday.' 
 
 Clare proceeded to lay her scheme before 
 Winlaw, when she found that the vicar 
 had forestalled her, and, moreover, that 
 Hugh Avas visibly gratified by the sugges- 
 tion. The shepherd regarded the young 
 lady with the same complacent reverence 
 that he displayed towards her elder, but 
 with perhaps a more pronounced tinge of 
 bashfulness. There was an attractive 
 manliness, nevertheless, in his bearing 
 which overrode all suspicion of gaucherie. 
 To a delicate perception his refined diffi- 
 dence might have enhanced the manliness 
 
 T 2
 
 276 A MASQUERADER. 
 
 of his aspect, as it obviously arose from a 
 chivalrous recognition of the abstract 
 divinity of high womanhood, rather than 
 from any mere common tiijudity before 
 one socially his superior. Clare's gracioua 
 glance seemed to discern the quality of the 
 homage and to accept it. 
 
 ' And you are getting settled in your 
 new home ?' she said, when the other 
 matter had been disposed of. 
 
 ' Quite, thank you, Miss Langtoft.' 
 ' Oh, it must be grand out there !' con- 
 tinued the young lady. ' You face only 
 the essential facts of life, as Thoreau calls 
 them. Terribly impressive. I have set 
 my mind upon seeing the sun rise from 
 the threshold of such a house some day. 
 What do you say, aunt? Would you 
 come there for a night, if Miss Winlaw 
 would have us ?'
 
 LEAVEN. 277 
 
 ^ Certainly I would, child.' 
 
 'Oh, capital! Then it is settled. I 
 wish we could have Wordsworth with us 
 to celebrate it in a sonnet.'
 
 278 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 VISIONARY. 
 
 Every detail of this interview was pre- 
 sented afresh to Hugh's vision as he 
 trudged homewards through the darkness. 
 It affected him more now at first as a 
 general tonic, rather as a glowing picture 
 of remarkably exhilarating influence, than 
 as one of any definite practical suggestion. 
 It stood in a strong light which dazzled 
 him by its brilliance, causing the whole 
 Avorld to be transfigured to his gaze. No 
 longer was such world a congeries of more
 
 VISIONARY. 279 
 
 or less sordid elements, struggle and strife 
 and wretchedness ; it was a world of light, 
 —an illimitable field for deeds, vague 
 enough certainly, but of a high and 
 glorious tendency. 
 
 Never before had this chord been so 
 definitely struck within him. The note 
 was now vibrating through the whole of 
 his being, throwing him into a state of 
 ecstasy in which he was assailed by a 
 sense of unlimited and irresistible strength 
 which he longed to put in action. The 
 world seemed small to him,— the whole 
 compass of it, indeed, beneath the sole of 
 but one of his feet ; his step upon it of 
 remarkable elasticity and vigour. As he 
 advanced in such transcendent mood, the 
 light in his sister's window appeared to 
 him, and this brought his vision to a 
 more definite focus.
 
 280 A MASQUERADER. 
 
 When he reached the house, Maisie 
 was seated sewing by the fire ; his own 
 homely supper being spread out for hiin 
 on the table. The intercourse between 
 these two had never been of a sentimental 
 kind; since Hugh's resolution to abandon 
 the Southernknowe, it had been positively 
 cool. Nevertheless, at bottom there was 
 a solid stratum of affection, and both were 
 verv well aware of the fact. As Hugh 
 entered, his sister looked up at liim, and 
 seemed to discern something unusual in 
 his countenance. She continued to look 
 at him for a few seconds before she spoke ; 
 but then she made no reference to the 
 subject of her thoughts. 
 
 ' Are there any amongst them that I 
 can read, Hugh ?' 
 
 He was eagerly untying the bundle of 
 books at the table.
 
 . VISIONARY. 281 
 
 ' Ay, my lass, you shall see them in a 
 minute.* 
 
 The volumes were arranged side by side 
 with the backs upwards, and the young 
 man raised himself to his full height to 
 regard them ; then he took them up be- 
 tween his two hands and laid them in his 
 sister's lap. She leaned forward to read 
 the titles, and her brother paced to and 
 fro in the room. His dog, which had at 
 once taken its natural place by the fender, 
 did not understand the movements, and 
 looked inquiringly from time to time at 
 the face of his master before definitely 
 settling down to a snooze. 
 
 Hugh paced the floor in silence, and 
 Maisie examined the books. To one not 
 accustomed to the situation, the place 
 would have appeared appallingly still. Ex- 
 cept for the young man's footsteps, the
 
 282 A MASQUERADER. 
 
 rustling of a page occasionally in the girl's 
 fingers, the ticking of the clock, and the 
 modest ring of a live coal falling against 
 the fender from time to time, there was no 
 sound at all for several miles around. But 
 yes, if the window had been opened and 
 the head thrust into the darkness without, 
 one other sound w^ould have been audible, 
 the only truly natural one of the number, 
 that incessant lullaby of the never-resting 
 water. 
 
 From the far end of the room Hugh, in 
 contemplation, gazed at his sister as she 
 handled the volumes, and she, aware of 
 the cessation of his step, turned her eyes 
 in his direction. In a second or two she 
 removed them again. 
 
 ' Maisie,' said the young man from 
 where he was standing, 'just tell me ex- 
 actly w^hat you think of me?'
 
 VISIONARY. 288 
 
 The girl blushed deeply, and played with 
 the cover of one of the books. The re- 
 mark may possibly have touched too nearly 
 some thoughts at that moment engaging 
 her ; but that was not all. Never in his 
 life before had Hugh addressed to her 
 words of personal import, whether with 
 regard to himself or her. For this turn, 
 therefore, she had been wholly unprepared. 
 
 Seeing the effect of his words, he came 
 and sat upon the table not far from her. 
 At the other end of it lay the supper pre- 
 pared for him, his disregard of which was 
 another symptom of his peculiar condition. 
 The dog, as if fully conscious of the strange 
 nature of the situation, rose slowly from 
 his place and laid his nose against the 
 knee of his master with the plainest possi- 
 ble entreaty not to be left out of the ap- 
 proaching confidences if such were to be
 
 "284 A MASQUERADER. 
 
 ihe nature of the proceedings. In return, 
 Hugh played with Kis long, silken ear 
 with so remarkable a condescension that 
 Luath was encouraged to squat himself 
 down on his haunches and raise one paw 
 after the other most solemnly to his 
 patron's thigh. The man's fixity of gaze, 
 though, was more than the bashful animal 
 had asked, and he wrinkled his forehead 
 and turned his eyes to and fro, and winked 
 most pathetically to escape the searching 
 scrutiny to which he was subjected. 
 
 A minute must have passed, and still 
 Maisie had volunteered no reply. 
 
 'You are quite right in what you think, 
 my lass, so dinna fear to tell it.' 
 
 ' I think nothing bad, Hugh,' said the 
 girl, with her eyes still lowered. 
 
 Her attitude was the more striking 
 because there was nothing of the nervous
 
 VISIONARY. 285 
 
 maiden about her in every-day discourse. 
 . ' Maisie!' 
 
 The eyes of dog and master were fixed 
 upon her, and she blushed again. Hugh 
 laughed. 
 • ' I think you have not done Avhat you 
 
 might have done ' 
 
 * And, what if I had been kind to you, 
 I should have done; that's it, isn't it, 
 
 lassie ?' 
 
 *No, indeed, it isn't!' asserted she. 
 ' You have never been unkind to me, and 
 you know it. You have been unkindest 
 to yourself. Do you think this is your 
 place in the world, to be tending another 
 man's sheep. Do you, Hughie ?' 
 
 She looked up at him now with her face 
 just a little flushed; his was the lowered 
 
 glance. 
 
 ' No, Maisie, I dinna think it ; and, to
 
 286 A MASQUERADER. 
 
 go a wee farther, I dinna think it's my 
 place to be tending sheep at all. To some 
 men it has been a helpful calling, but not 
 to me. My mind is no vigorous enough 
 to live upon itself, nor quite weak enough 
 to live upon the herding, so I ha' fallen 
 between the two stools into the slouo;h 
 of idleness beneath 'em. But, look you, 
 Maisie, I'm kicking in my sleep, and dare- 
 say I'll waken up presently. That place 
 has gone like a millstone frae my neck, 
 and very much of the worst of me has 
 gone with it. It has, Luath, my lad,' he 
 exclaimed, energetically, with a pinch of 
 the ear which made the dog wince. 'Will 
 ye hae a wee bit patience wi' me, doggie, 
 and see what'll come at the hinder end ? 
 Will ye, noo ?' 
 
 The vernacular and the energetic tone
 
 VISIONARY. 287 
 
 aroused the dog, and he perked up his 
 head, with ears slightly raised, on the 
 alert for a more intelligible direction. 
 'Then haud awa, man, and kiss your 
 
 mistress.' 
 
 The instruction was new^ to him; he 
 looked up wistfully, head bent more reso- 
 lutely aside, quivering to understand the 
 words of his master. 
 
 ' Off, noo ! Kiss your Maisie, I tell ye !' 
 ^Yith a little impetuous w^hine, the dog 
 flung his paws into the young woman's 
 lap, on the top of the books w^hich were 
 lying there, and thrust his nose into her 
 face. Maisie caught his head in the hollow 
 of her two hands, laughing, and imprinted 
 a loud kiss upon the smooth open brow. 
 
 ' Ay, ay, doggie, we'll hae no doubt of 
 the future, wall we ?'
 
 288 A MASQUEKADER. 
 
 Therewith Hugh sat down to devour his 
 supper. 
 
 After he had finished, it was already 
 exceptionally late for them to be up. 
 During his meal they had talked of the 
 proposed visit of their aristocratic neigh- 
 bours, and of the necessary household 
 details connected with it, and now Maisie 
 was ready to retire. Perhaps she wished 
 to escape all risk of further confidences ; 
 the experience was a novel one, and was 
 probably deemed sufficient as a prelimi- 
 nary instalment. Maisie, like all rational 
 women, was constitutionally conservative 
 to excess, and her brother's hints would 
 doubtless require leisurely examination. 
 Anything more definite might have too 
 uncomfortably overwhelmed her. 
 
 With her candle alight, she came to- 
 wards him where he was sitting. Of late
 
 VISIONARY. 289 
 
 years it had not been a regular custom, 
 but her action caused no surprise to Hugh 
 to-nio^ht. 
 
 * Good-night, Hughie,' she said, leaning 
 forward to kiss him. 
 
 ' Good-night, Maisie,' he replied, press- 
 ing his hand perceptibly upon her shoul- 
 der. ' I shall sit up rather late, so you 
 will know what it is if you hear me.' 
 
 For some time after Hugh had been left 
 alone he sat, without material occupation, 
 gazing into the fire. He felt more com- 
 fortable for the few words he had ex- 
 changed with his sister; for, despite a 
 leaven of youthful resentment and pride, 
 he had for long enough been tantalised by 
 a half-conscious suspicion that what he 
 instinctively knew to be her feeling about 
 him was based upon sound reason alone. 
 
 VOL. I. XJ
 
 290 A MASQUERADER. 
 
 The deliverance from such ignoble sub- 
 mission to petty insincerity was gratifying 
 to his generous spirit, and Hugh now en- 
 joyed the exhilaration of soul consequent 
 upon such plenary confession. In his 
 exaltation he was enabled to regard more 
 honestly the whole of his past behaviour. 
 Foolish it had been, undoubtedly ; as we 
 adjudge most dissipation when it has 
 served its turn, — but there was a remark- 
 able freedom from the taint of depravity 
 in his antics. At the bottom of all his 
 imaginative riotousness there had ever 
 been a strain of puritan sensibility, suffi- 
 cient to render the baser forms of sensu- 
 ality at all times an impossibility to him. 
 
 After thus idly watching the flitting 
 scenes Avhich followed one another so 
 rapidly through the embers, Hugh rose 
 from his chair, and, gathering the new
 
 VISIONARY. 291 
 
 books together, went with them into an- 
 other room. In a moment he came back 
 for the lamp. 
 
 This fresh apartment was a well-fur- 
 nished parlour, and, judging by the books 
 which were in it, served the purpose also 
 of a study upon such occasions as its occu- 
 pier felt disposed so to regard it. But 
 there was nothing settled about him to- 
 night. He began by glancing through all 
 the books recently acquired as he stood 
 beside the table ; an occupation which he 
 soon found inspire him with more definite 
 sensations than at any time before. The 
 volumes became spiritualised. Each one 
 seemed to strike a new string of some 
 deep-sounding lyre, giving in turn some 
 key-note to the infinite music of man's 
 universe. For long spaces he would stand, 
 with one foot raised to the seat of a chair, 
 
 u2
 
 292 A MASQUERADER. 
 
 and his eyes bent over a j^age which obvi- 
 ously he was not reading. Then he would 
 arouse himself, fling the book on to the 
 table, and take up another. Last of all 
 he seized the fat book, with black cover 
 and red edges, w^hich Miss Langtoft had 
 added to the number. It was Morley's 
 ' Sketch of English Literature.' 
 
 Hugh gazed for some time at the fly- 
 leaf, upon w^hich his name had been writ- 
 ten by the giver; then he turned onwards 
 page by page, the sound of his finger in 
 the paper being the only one in the whole 
 house audible at the moment. Presently 
 the man's hand was stayed, and he was in- 
 tently reading. He had alighted upon the 
 picturest^ue death-bed scene of the Vener- 
 able Bede — a name he had heard casually 
 when on an expedition to Tyneside, but 
 now to be suddenly invested with a mar-
 
 VISIONARY. 293 
 
 yellous personality. The stupendous spec- 
 tacle to-day of the northern home of the 
 Cyclops was recalled by the suggestion, 
 but, as he read, was as rapidly dispelled. 
 The contrast smote him with an appalling 
 significance, a.d. 735 .... a.d. 1884. 
 What lay between? History assumed a 
 new aspect in his eyes. 
 
 He went to a cupboard in which were 
 several books, and brought a volume forth. 
 It was Green's ' Short History,' a volume 
 which, now as he opened it, caused him to 
 mutter with vexation. He turned up the 
 incident which was interesting him, and 
 re-read it as presented to him there. He 
 saw clearly the whole of that picture in 
 the silent monastery of Jarrow: the in- 
 vincible old scholar holding death at arm's 
 length that he might put the finishing 
 words to his task ; the weeping group of
 
 ^94 A MASQUERADER. 
 
 students around him. 'There is still a 
 chapter wanting, and it is hard for thee 
 to question thyself any longer.' ' It is 
 easily done, take thy pen and write quick- 
 ly.' And thus it wore on to evening. 
 ' There is yet one sentence unwritten, dear 
 master.' ^ Write it quickly,' bade the 
 djdng man. ' It is finished now.' ' You 
 speak truth,' said the master; ' all is fin- 
 ished now.' And so, to the swell of the 
 solemn chaunt, the old hero passed quietly 
 awa}^ 
 
 The shepherd's eyes had become misty 
 as he closed the volume, and he began 
 again to pace the room. Visions of what 
 life had been to men such as this one 
 crowded quite oppressively upon him. In- 
 stead of mere dried specimens labelled and 
 disposed of, a vast host of living men rose 
 from between the sides of those books
 
 VISIONARY. 295 
 
 lying near him, with every hand of them 
 upon some form of labour. Their impor- 
 tunity distressed him, and he was urged 
 from the narrow limits of his chamber to 
 the freer expanse of starlight without. 
 
 The cool, night air fanned him as he 
 paced to and fro before the doorway, but 
 it failed to restore him to composure. 
 Through the terrible silence of the moor- 
 lands, and above the ceaseless ripple of 
 the burn, came the distant rumble of an 
 active world — a world in which he, this 
 listener, was nothing, in which he had 
 voluntarily consented to be nothing. Ap- 
 parently from the mere nervous necessity 
 of action, he groped on the ground for a 
 stone, and, when he found it, he flung it 
 with all his strength far into the dark 
 expanse of heather. He distinctly heard 
 it alight with a thud at a distance, and, at
 
 296 A MASQUERADER. 
 
 the next instant, a hoarse, unearthly grum- 
 ble broke the stillness of the universe. He 
 threw another stone, which dropped as 
 before, and then there was the noise of 
 hurried flight, simultaneously with a more 
 definite gufl*aw. 
 
 * Come-out, come-out, c'm-out, c'm-out, 
 m'-out, m'-out ' 
 
 Hugh laughed as it died away, and con- 
 tinued his pacing ; and he was pacing still 
 when the grey dawn crept upwards from 
 the sea, and displayed a desolate and silent 
 world around. 
 
 END OF THE FIRST VOLUME. 
 
 Printed hy Duncan Macdonald, Blenheim House, London, W. 
 
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