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 HATHERCOURT RECTORY. 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 HATHERCOURT RECTORY. 
 
 BY 
 
 MRS. MOLESWOETH 
 
 ("ENNIS GRAHAM") 
 
 AUTHOR OF 
 
 THE CUCKOO CLOCK," "CARROTS,' 
 &c., &c. 
 
 Dans mon cceur il n'y a pas d" amour, 
 Mais a y en aura quelque jour." 
 
 Breton Song. 
 
 IN THREE VOLUIMES. 
 VOL. I. 
 
 LONDON: 
 HURST AND BLACKETT, PUBLISHERS, 
 
 13, GREAT MARLBOROUGH STREET. 
 
 1878. 
 
 All rights reserved.
 
 LONDON : 
 
 P„.«TED BV Dm.C^« MACONAtD, BLENHE™ HOUSE, 
 
 BtENHEM STREET, OXFORD STREET.
 
 ^ 
 
 i^ 
 
 
 HATHERCOURT RECTORY. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 "The haunted aisles, the gathering gloom, 
 By some stray shaft of eve made fair ; 
 The stillness of the neighbouring air, 
 The faded legends of the tomb. 
 
 I loved them all " 
 
 Songs of Ttvo Worlds. 
 
 TJATHEECOUHT CHURCH is not 
 ^-^ beautiful, though the internal evi- 
 dence in favour of its having at one time 
 been so is considerable. It has suffered 
 sorely at the hands of plasterers and white- 
 washers ; yet the utmost efforts of these 
 
 VOL. I. B
 
 2 HATHERCOURT KECTORT. 
 
 misguided people have not altogether suc- 
 ceeded in effacing the traces of a better 
 state of things — there is still grandeur in 
 the sweep of the lofty roof, oak-raftered 
 behind its dingy white covering; still 
 *' meaning and mystery " in the quaintly 
 varying windows ; much satisfaction for 
 the learned in such matters, and indeed 
 for the unlearned too, in the unmistakable 
 beauty of the carved screen, the one object 
 untampered with since the days when it 
 gladdened the eyes of the ancient men who 
 fashioned it, long, long ago. 
 
 A very long '' long ago " that time used 
 to seem to Mary Western when, in the 
 intervals of her attention to the service, 
 she sometimes dreamed of those far-away 
 days. She was not much given to dream- 
 ing, but in Hathercourt Church there were 
 circumstances under which the temptation 
 became irresistible. After a course of
 
 TWOE SISTERS. 3 
 
 years the words of the morning service, 
 especially when read, Sunday after Sun- 
 day, by the same familiar voice with pre- 
 cisely the same intonations, are apt to 
 grow monotonous; and had Mary not 
 occasionally allowed her thoughts to go 
 wool-gathering, the chances are that her 
 brown straw hat would have been seen to 
 nod, and she might have fallen asleep alto- 
 gether. For that part of Sunday morning 
 which preceded their appearance in church 
 was a tiring and trying ordeal to the elder 
 daughters of the Western household. There 
 was the early class at the school, there 
 were " the boys " at home to keep peace 
 among, there were the very little children 
 in the nursery to coax into unwonted quiet, 
 for on Sunday mornings '*papa" really 
 must not be disturbed, and mamma, ''poor 
 mamma," looked to her girls to do their 
 part in helping her. 
 
 b2
 
 4 nATHEECOURT EECTOEY. 
 
 Hatliercourt Rectory offered in every 
 particular a contrast to its neighbour, the 
 church. The one was old, very old, the 
 other comparatively new ; the Rectory was 
 full to overflowing of life and noise and 
 bustle, the church, even when its whole 
 congregation was assembled, seemed empty 
 and bare and strangely silent. 
 
 " It is thinking about all the people 
 that used to be here — the air is too full of 
 their voices for ours to be heard much," 
 Mary said to herself sometimes, and her 
 girlish eyes would see strange scenes, and 
 strange murmurs would sound in her ears. 
 There was the leper window in the chancel, 
 which alone, she had been told, testified 
 to a date not more recent than that of the 
 reign of King John. Mary's glance never 
 fell upon it without a shudder, as in 
 imao^ination — imaorination in this case no 
 doubt falling far short of reality — she saw
 
 TWOE SISTERS. 5 
 
 huddled together the crowd of accursed 
 heinous, old world Pariahs, gazing up with 
 bleared yet longing eyes at the priestly 
 forms about to dispense the mystery to 
 them, doubtless with little meaning but 
 that of a charm. Then there were the 
 tablets on the walls, many of them very 
 old, telling in a few simple words a whole 
 life history, or in some cases that of an 
 entire family, whose members had either 
 died out or left the neighbourhood so long 
 that these chronicles of death were all that 
 remained to tell of their ever having lived. 
 There was one tablet in particular on 
 which Mary, sitting in her own corner of 
 the wide bare pew, had for so many years, 
 Sunday after Sunday, allowed her eyes to 
 rest that it had grown to seem to her a 
 part of her own life. The service would 
 not have been the same to her without it ; 
 her father, she almost fancied, could not have
 
 b UATHERCOURT RECTORY. 
 
 got through his morning's work had the 
 tablet been removed from its place, a little to 
 the left of the reading-desk. Mary knew 
 its burden by heart as well as, or better 
 than, " the creed, the ten commandments, 
 and the Lord's prayer," yet she could no 
 more help reading it afresh every time she 
 came into church than one can help count- 
 ing the tantalising telegraph-wires, as they 
 slowly rise up, up, then down again, from 
 the window of a railway-carriage. 
 
 Of a time far remote from railways and 
 telegraphs told the old tablet in Hathercourt 
 Church. 
 
 "Here lieth," so ran the inscription, 
 headed in the first place by an imposing 
 coat-of-arms, the date 1597, and the 
 initials M.B. — ''Here lieth the bodi of 
 Mawde, the elder sister of the twoe dovgli- 
 ters of Arthur Mayne, late of Southcotte, 
 and the late wife of John Beverley of Hather-
 
 TWOE SISTERS. 7 
 
 court, who departed this worlde the sixt 
 day of November, 1597, whiche John and 
 Mawde had issve five soones and five 
 dovghters, whiche Mawde, the wife of the 
 seid John Beverley, esqvier, and dovghter 
 of the seid Arthur Mayne, esqvier, was 
 37 yeres oolde at the time of her deathe." 
 Mary's meditations on " whiche Mawde " 
 represented various stages in her own 
 history. Long ago, in the days of little 
 girlhood, the era of brown straw hats and 
 tendency to nod, it was not Mawde her- 
 self, so much as the great army of " soones 
 and dovghters " she had left behind, on 
 which her imagination dwelt. They must 
 have been quite tiny things, she calculated, 
 some of these Beverley boys and girls, 
 when their mother died. How they must 
 have missed her ! How, beyond words, 
 terrible would be their plight, that of the 
 nineteenth century Western children, that
 
 8 HATHERCOUUT RECTORY. 
 
 is to say, in sucli a case ! Mary trembled 
 at the mere dream of such a possibility. 
 Poor little Beverley boys and girls ! what 
 had become of them all ? Had they grown 
 up into good men and women, and mar- 
 ried and had children of their own, and 
 died, and in their turn, perhaps, had tab- 
 lets put up about them in far-away 
 churches ? What a great many stories 
 might be told of all that had happened to 
 poor Mawde's children and children's chil- 
 dren since that dreary '' sixt of November" 
 when they were left motherless ! 
 
 But as time passed on, and Mary grew 
 into womanhood, Mawde herself engaged 
 her sympathy. Thirty-seven when she 
 died, that was not so very old. She must 
 have been married young, probably, and 
 had a busy life of it. Was her husband 
 kind and good, and did she love him and 
 look up to him? They could not have
 
 TWOE SISTERS. 9 
 
 been poor, that was one comfort to tliink 
 of ; life, even with the ten '' soones and 
 doYghters," could not have been quite so 
 hard upon John Beverley's wife as, Mary 
 thought with a little sigh, '* mamma " found 
 it sometimes. And then her fancy would 
 wander to the sister dimly alluded to in 
 the inscription, the younger daughter of 
 Arthur Mayne. What was her name, 
 what had become of her, and did she and 
 Mawde love each other very much ? Mary 
 used to wonder, as her glance strayed to 
 her sister at the other corner of the old 
 pew — her own especial sister, for some- 
 how Alexa and Josephine, being much the 
 younger for one thing, never seemed quite 
 as much her sisters as Lilias. How strange 
 and sad that the record of affection should 
 die, and only the bare fact of the old re- 
 lationships exist ! Mary could hardly 
 picture to herself a tablet even three hun-
 
 10 HATHERCOURT KEOTOEY. 
 
 dred years, hence bearing her name, on 
 whicli there should be no mention o£ 
 LiHas too. 
 
 The congregation at Hathercourt Church 
 was never, under the most favourable cir- 
 cumstances, those even of '^weather per- 
 mitting " to the extent of cloudless skies 
 and clean roads, anything but a scanty 
 one. And on rainy days, or very cold 
 days, or very hot days, it was apt to 
 dwindle down to a depressing extent. Of 
 an afternoon it was seldom quite so poor, 
 for, unlike the denizens of the manufac- 
 turing regions, who would consider it very 
 hard lines to have to hurry over their 
 Sunday hot joint for the sake of so-called 
 evening service three or four hours before 
 its time, the agriculturists, employers, and 
 employed of Meadshirc and its neighbour- 
 ing counties, much prefer the half-past 
 two o'clock service to any other. So, as a
 
 TWOE SISTEES. 11 
 
 rule, Mr. Western reserved his new ser- 
 mon for the afternoon, contenting himself 
 with choosing for the morning one of the 
 neatly tacked together manuscripts which 
 for many years had lain in a dusty pile in 
 a corner of his study. Sometimes, when 
 they compared notes on the subject, Lilias 
 and Mary agreed that they preferred the 
 old sermons to the new. 
 
 ** Papa must have been clever when he 
 was young," Mary would observe, thought- 
 fully. 
 
 " He is clever now'' Lilias would rejoin, 
 with some little show of indignation. 
 
 *' Yes — but — I suppose anxieties, and 
 cares, and growing older, cloud it over in 
 a way," was the best solution Mary could 
 arrive at as to why greater things had not 
 come of her father's talents. 
 
 Perhaps the truth was that they were 
 not very remarkable — not so remarkable.
 
 12 HATHEKCOURT RECTORY. 
 
 certainly, as to have forced for themselves 
 a way tlirougli the adverse circumstances 
 of being united to a somewhat easy-going, 
 kindly, and contented nature such as that 
 of the Rector of Hathercourt, whose worldly ' 
 needs had never been pressing enough to 
 force him to great exertion, who loved the 
 place he had lived in for a quarter of a 
 century, and was not hard upon his people, 
 even though they were averse to morning 
 service, and now and then indulged in 
 forty winks, even of an afternoon. 
 
 *' We have got into each other's ways," 
 he would say sometimes, with a mixture 
 of deprecation and self-congratulation, 
 when, even to Hathercourt, echoes of the 
 strange noises beginning to be heard in 
 the ecclesiastical "great world" would find 
 their way. " ^Ye understand each other, 
 and know each other's good points. I 
 don't pretend to go along with all these
 
 TWOE SISTERS. IS 
 
 changes, though I am far from saying no 
 good may come out of them. But they 
 are not in our way — they are not in our 
 way ; and, after all, there is something in 
 letting: well alone. It is somethinor to feel, 
 as I hope to do when I die, that at least I 
 haven't left my people ivorsc men and wo- 
 men than I found them — eh, Polly ?" 
 
 For on his second daughter's face there 
 came sometimes a look her father hardly 
 understood — a look of questioning and 
 consideration, of less readiness to take 
 things just as she found them, than alto- 
 gether tallied with his philosophy. Yet 
 Mary was his favourite child. Lilias dis- 
 agreed with him openly in her sweet-tem- 
 pered way, grumbled with a sunny face at 
 their monotonous and secluded life, and 
 openly avowed her determination to change 
 it for a different one, should she ever get 
 a chance of doing so to advantage.
 
 14 HATHKRCOUKT llECTORY. 
 
 "What ivoidd you do with five old 
 
 maids, papa ?" she would say sometimes. 
 
 *' Just fancy us all in a doleful row — the 
 
 Jive Miss Westerns ! In ten years hence 
 
 even Francie will be grown up, remember." 
 
 *' Ten years may bring — indeed, are sure 
 to bring many changes, Lily dear," her 
 mother would say — " some, perhaps, that 
 it would take half the heart out of us, 
 could we foresee." 
 
 " Mamma is so sensible and reasonable 
 always, I sometimes think she has for- 
 gotten what it was to be a girl," said the 
 elder to the younger sister one October 
 Sunday morning as they were crossing the 
 pretty little bit of enclosed meadow land 
 which was all that separated the church 
 from the Rectory. 
 
 "No," said Mary, "it isn't that; she 
 knows and remembers quite well. It is 
 that she knows too well, I fancy."
 
 TWOE SISTERS. 15 
 
 "How do you mean, Polly? I'm stupid 
 at understanding things, unless people say 
 them plainly. Stay a minute, we are in 
 plenty of time — nobody is coming to 
 church yet, and it is so nice here under 
 the trees." Lilias leant against one of a 
 beautiful cluster of horse-chestnuts grow- 
 ing in the middle of the church paddock, 
 and as she spoke looked up through the 
 already fast baring branches to the cold, 
 grey, blue sky overhead. " Dear me, how 
 very quickly the leaves are falling this 
 year !" she said, " it was that stormy 
 weather in SejDtember that shook them, 
 and, once they begin to fall, Winter seems 
 to come with a rush." 
 
 Mary smiled, and her lips moved as if 
 she was going to speak, but she stopped 
 and said nothing. 
 
 '^ What were you going to say, Mary ?" 
 asked Lilias, whose eyes had idly jour-
 
 16 HATHERCOUBT EECTORY. 
 
 neyed down from the sky to lier sister's 
 face. '* Why did you stop ?" 
 
 " On second thoughts I thought it not 
 worth saying," replied Mary, " but I'll tell 
 you if you like. It was only what you 
 said about the leaves — it made me think 
 that was what mother feels. She knows 
 how fast they fall once they begin, and it 
 makes her afraid for us in a way. She 
 doesn't want to hurry us out into the 
 storms ; we have always been so well 
 sheltered." 
 
 Lilias looked at her sister for a minute 
 without speaking. 
 
 *' How prettily you see things," she said, 
 admiringly. " You think of things that 
 would never come into my head, yet 
 people fancy you are the practical and 
 prosaic one of us all. I believe it is all 
 because you are called Mary." 
 
 "But Mary was just 7iot the practical
 
 TWOE SISTERS. 17 
 
 and prosaic one. You mean Martha.'* 
 
 " No ; no, I don't. Marys now-a-days 
 are practical and prosaic, any way. I 
 don't mean to say that you are, except 
 sometimes, perhaps. I think you must be 
 very like what mamma was at your age, 
 but I fancy you are cleverer and " 
 
 ^^ And what?" 
 
 '' And wiser — at least, in some ways. 
 You would not be satisfied to marry just 
 such a person as my father must have 
 been ; you would want some one more 
 energetic and stronger altogether." 
 
 "Perhaps," said Mary. '' But I do not 
 think we need speculate about that sort of 
 thing for me, Lilias ; there's plenty of time 
 to think what sort of a person I would 
 marry, if ever I do, which very likely I 
 won't." 
 
 *' Don't speak like Mrs. Gamp, and 
 please don't be so sensible, Mary. If you 
 
 VOL. I. c
 
 18 HATHEECOUET RECTORY. 
 
 only would be silly sometimes, you would 
 be perfect — quite perfect," said Lilias. 
 
 Mary smiled. 
 
 '' But indeed/' continued Lilias, " I am 
 not at all sure that it is sensible to look at 
 things as you do. If none of us marry, 
 or do anything for ourselves, it will come 
 to be rather hard upon papa in a few 
 years/' 
 
 '* But why suppose none of us will 
 marry?" said Mary. ''It is unlikely, to 
 say the least, that we shall all be old 
 maids." 
 
 " I don't know that it is," replied Lilias, 
 seriously. '' I am three-and-twenty, re- 
 member, and you not two years younger, 
 and things go on just the same year after 
 year ; we never make a new acquaintance 
 or go anywhere." 
 
 '' Except to the Brocklehurst ball," put 
 in Mary.
 
 TWOE SISTERS. 19 
 
 " Oh, that Brocklehurst ball," said 
 Lilias, laughing. " Many and many a 
 time, when it comes round again, I have 
 been tempted to give up going, just that 
 I might be able to say I had not been, 
 when everyone shakes it at me reproach- 
 fully if ever I grumble. What good is the 
 Brocklehurst ball, Mary ? It is so crowded, 
 and the people come all in great parties ; 
 we never get to know anyone. I suppose 
 our beauty is not of that striking order to 
 shine out through country-made dresses, 
 and crowds of finer people ! I enjoy it, of 
 course — even dancing with Frank Bury is 
 better than not dancing at all." 
 
 " Or with one of Mr. Greville's curates," 
 said Mary, mischievously. 
 
 ' " Don't," said Lilias. '' I cannot bear 
 the subject. I told you some time ago — 
 and I shall always say so — the bane of our 
 life has been curates. Because papa is a 
 
 c2
 
 20 HATHERCOTJET EECTOET. 
 
 poor clergyman, with lots of daugliters, 
 everyone seems to think there can bo, and 
 should be, nothing before ns but curates. 
 It almost makes me dislike papa, to think 
 he ever was one !" 
 
 "Lilias," said Mary, suddenly, " we shall 
 be late. The school-children have gone in, 
 and there are the Smithson girls coming 
 up the lane, and they are always late. Do 
 come !" 
 
 It felt chilly in church that morning. 
 There was a decidedly Autumn " feel " in 
 the air, and the ancient building always 
 seemed ready to meet "Winter, with its 
 gloom and cold, more than half way. With 
 corresponding reluctance to admit warmth 
 and sunshine, it shrank from the genial 
 Spring-time — Summer had to be undeniably 
 Summer before its presence could be re- 
 alised within the aged walls. And this 
 morning the congregation was even un-
 
 TWOE SISTERS. 21 
 
 usually small, which made the bareness 
 and chilliness more obtrusive. 
 
 Mary was busy in a calculation as to 
 how many years would have passed since 
 Mawde Beverley's death "come" the next 
 *' sixt of November," a date fast approach- 
 ing, for it was now late in October, when 
 there fell on her ears a sound — the mere 
 shadow of a sound it seemed at first — 
 which almost made her think she was 
 dreaming. Such a sound had never before 
 been heard in Hathercourt Church on a 
 Sunday morning; the sensation it pro- 
 duced in her, as gradually it grew louder 
 and clearer, and more unmistakable, was 
 so overpowering that she was positively 
 afraid to look up. Had she done so she 
 would have expected to see the whole con- 
 gregation turning to the door in awestruck 
 anticipation of some portentous event. 
 For the sound was that of carriage wheels
 
 22 HATHEECOURT RECTORY. 
 
 — coming nearer, nearer, till at last — yes, 
 there could now be no mistake, they stop- 
 ped at the church gate. Then, after a 
 little pause, came the creaking of the heavy 
 oaken door, opened cautiously — the in- 
 truders evidently expecting themselves to 
 be late comers — and seeming, as is the 
 manner of doors, on that account to make 
 all the more noise. Again a little hesita- 
 tion, then the sound of footsteps, several 
 footsteps, coming along the aisle, the 
 rustle of dresses, a faint, indescribable stir 
 in the air, the result, probably, of the 
 heads of nearly all the congregation present 
 being turned in the direction of the persons 
 approaching. Mary's curiosity overcame 
 her at last. She glanced up, first at 
 Lilias, whose eye she caught for an instant, 
 an instant in which it spoke volumes. 
 
 " You must look at what is coming up 
 the aisle," it said, '* it is worth looking at.
 
 TWOE SISTERS. 23 
 
 See how discreetly I manage to do so — 
 my prayer-book a little to one side. No 
 one would guess I was not attending to 
 the service." 
 
 But from where Mary sat so much 
 diplomacy was hardly called for. Another 
 moment brought the new comers full in 
 her view, as they filed in, one after the 
 other, two ladies, then two gentlemen, to 
 a pew some little way in front. The first 
 lady was middle-aged, if not elderly, well- 
 dressed and rather fat, the second was tall 
 and thin, and seemingly very young, well- 
 dressed too, and — an accidental turn of 
 her head brought the face full in sight — 
 yes, there was no doubt of it, very, vei^ 
 pretty. Pretty with the prettiness that is 
 almost, but not quite, beauty, that might, 
 perhaps, grow to be such in a few years, 
 for just now she could not, thought Mary, 
 be more than sixteen or seventeen — the
 
 24 HATHERCOURT RECTORY. 
 
 rounded cheek and white forehead, on which 
 the dark, soft hair lay so nestlingly, had 
 no lines or suspicions of furrows such as 
 are seldom altogether escaped even at 
 twenty ; the nose, the mouth, the lovely, 
 happy looking eyes, showing bright blue 
 through the long black lashes, all told of 
 the very first Spring-time of life ; the poise 
 of the graceful little head on the shoulders, 
 the flutter of unconcealed interest with 
 which she looked about her, put her ex- 
 treme youth beyond a doubt. 
 
 '' How pretty she is !" thought Mary. 
 " How bright and sweet and happy she 
 looks !" 
 
 And for a moment or two the girl per- 
 sonally so interested her that she forgot to 
 ask herself the question at which Lilias 
 had long ago aimed, " Who can she be?" 
 or rather, '* Who can they be ?" 
 
 For the ^*they" was made up by more
 
 TWOE SISTERS. 25 
 
 interesting objects than the well-dressed, 
 rather fat lady at the top of the pew. The 
 rest of the " they" consisted of two gentle- 
 men, who next fell under Mary's investiga- 
 tion. Neither of them was old, yet one 
 was decidedly older than the other ; both 
 were good-looking, but one was better 
 than good-looking, he was undoubtedly 
 handsome, and his expression was almost 
 as attractive in its way as that of the 
 young girl beside him. Could they be 
 brother and sister ? thought Mary to her- 
 self. There was no striking likeness be- 
 tween them, certainly, but neither was 
 there any decided unlikeness, and she fancied 
 there was something brother and sister- 
 like in the way they sat together, sharing 
 a hymn-book when the time came for the 
 anthem's substitute, Hathercourt Church 
 being supposed to be " a place where 
 they sing," though the way in which the
 
 26 HATHEECOURT EECTORT. 
 
 singing was performed was sometimes a 
 matter of mortification to the Western 
 girls, considering the time and labour 
 they bestowed on the '' choir." It seemed 
 unusually bad to Mary to-day, listening, as 
 she caught herself doing, with *^ other 
 people's ears ;" and once, when she fancied 
 that she detected the ghost of a smile pass 
 between the two young people on whom 
 she was bestowing so much attention, she 
 felt her cheeks grow hot, and she turned 
 her eyes away from them with a little 
 feeling of irritation. 
 
 " I wish strangers would stay away, if 
 they come to criticise," she said to herself. 
 
 Just then for the first time she caught 
 distinct sight of the face of the other 
 gentleman, the elder of the two. It was 
 grave and serious enough to please her, 
 surely ! Too grave and serious by far, 
 she decided. It was like turning from
 
 TWOE SISTERS. 27 
 
 sunshine into gloom to watch his dark, 
 quiet face after the two beside him. He 
 looked older, a great deal older, than his 
 companions. 
 
 *^ Thirty-three or four, at least," was the 
 age with which many credited him, but 
 when she looked at his face again, she 
 doubted the correctness of her opinion. It 
 was more grave than old, after all, and 
 after all, too, there was something rather 
 nice about it. What fun it would be to 
 talk them all over with Lilias afterwards ! 
 
 "What Suddenly a little pause in her 
 
 father's voice startled her wandering 
 thoughts back to the present ; the sermon 
 was just coming to an end, and with con- 
 siderable compunction Mary confessed the 
 truth to herself — she had not heard a word 
 of it ! Certainly these strangers had a 
 great deal to answer for. 
 
 There was a little delay in the coming
 
 2S HATIIERCOURT RECTOflT. 
 
 out of church. The Smithson girls, and 
 old Mrs. Bedell, and even the school-chil- 
 dren and the clerk seemed to be stupefied 
 by the presence of the unexpected visitors; 
 they all hung back and stared at the stran- 
 gers, and at each other, as if they did not 
 know what to do, till at last Lilias Western, 
 waxing impatient, touched her mother with 
 the end of her parasol, and leaning across 
 little Francie and Brooke, whispered some- 
 thing which resulted in the Rector's wife, 
 contrary to the usual order of procedure, 
 leading the way down the aisle, followed 
 by her goodly array of sons and daughters. 
 Thus encouraged, the rest of the congrega- 
 tion followed with a rush, and when Lilias 
 looked back from the door, there was no 
 one to be seen in the church but the two 
 gentlemen and two ladies, gazing about 
 them in dignified desertion. 
 
 '' What a set of boors all the people
 
 TWOE SISTERS. 29 
 
 make themselves look," exclaimed Lilias, 
 almost before tlie Rectory party was out of 
 earshot of the other members of the con- 
 gregation. 
 
 '* Hush, Lilias, some of them will hear 
 you/' said her mother. '' They don't mean 
 to be rude, poor people. You must re- 
 member how unaccustomed they are to 
 strangers." 
 
 "Mamma," interrupted George, the 
 second Western boy, hurrying up — '* mam- 
 ma, who can those people be ? They've 
 come out of church, and they're standing 
 staring about as if they didn't know what 
 to do. Where can they be going to ? 
 Their carriage hasn't come back." 
 
 Lilias's fair face flushed — a very small 
 amount of excitement was enough to deepen 
 the soft pink colour of her cheeks at any 
 time. 
 
 " We should do something, mamma," she
 
 30 HATHEHCOUET RECTOEY. 
 
 said, appealingly. '^ Shouldn't Basil or 
 George run back and ask them if they 
 would like to wait at the Rectory till their 
 carriage comes ? You, Basil, run back, do, 
 and ask them if they wouldn't like to come 
 in and rest a little." (Basil was much the 
 best-looking of '' the boys.") 
 
 "Rest — rubbish!" he said, contemptu- 
 ously. ''Haven't they been resting in 
 church all this time ? I'm not going with 
 such a nonsensical message," and he turned 
 away. 
 
 '' George, you go, as Basil seems afraid 
 ^ of behaving like a gentleman," said Mrs. 
 Western. 
 
 But George, too, hesitated. 
 
 '* I wouldn't mind if it wasn't for those 
 ladies. Mother, they are so awfully grand," 
 he said, beseechingly. 
 
 Lilias's face grew scarlet. 
 
 " I will go myself, then," she exclaimed,
 
 TWOE SISTERS. 31 
 
 and turning quickly, she had gone some 
 way across the grass before the others 
 quite understood her intention. Mrs. 
 Western looked distressed. 
 
 "Lilias excites herself so," she said. 
 
 " I'll run after her, mother," said Mary, 
 quickly, and in another moment she was by 
 her sisters side. Lilias was still flushed, 
 and breathless to boot. 
 
 " Did you ever know such ill-mannered, 
 
 rude " she was beginning, but Mary 
 
 interrupted her. 
 
 " They are just hoys'' she said, philoso- 
 phically. " But, Lilias, you have put 
 yourself quite into a fever. Let me go 
 and speak to these ladies — yes, do, I would 
 rather — it is better for me than for you." 
 
 " But why ?" said Lilias, doubtfully, 
 though visibly relaxing her speed. 
 
 Mary laughed. 
 
 " I can't say exactly, but somehow it's
 
 32 HATHEECOUET RECTORY. 
 
 not dignified for you to go hurrying back 
 in that sort of way, and for me — well, I 
 don't think it matters/' 
 
 Lilias still hesitated. 
 
 '' It isn't that," she said ; " I wouldn't 
 have you do anything I would not do my- 
 self, only — Mary, yoa will laugh at me — I 
 do feel so shabbily dressed." 
 
 Marv did not laugh. She looked at her 
 sister with real sympathy and concern. 
 There are some of the trials of poverty 
 whose stings are even more acutely felt at 
 three-and-twenty than at seventeen, and 
 Mary pitied Lilias where she might have 
 laughed at Alexa. 
 
 ** Let me speak to them, then," she re- 
 peated. *' Do, Lilias ; I will hurry on, and 
 you may follow slow^ly and see how I com- 
 port myself," and Lilias made no further 
 objection. 
 
 "How Lilias under-estimates herself,"
 
 TWOE SISTERS. 33 
 
 she thought. " Who, with eyes in their 
 heads, would think of her dress when they 
 see her face ?" 
 
 She was close to the little group of 
 strangers by this time. They were stand- 
 ing just outside the porch, " staring about 
 them," George had said — rather, it seemed 
 to Mary, examining with some interest the 
 outside appearance of the ancient church. 
 Three of them did not see her approach, 
 the two ladies and the handsome, fair- 
 haired man were at a little distance and 
 looking the other way ; only the elder of 
 the two gentlemen was standing so as to 
 face her, and he appeared sublimely un- 
 conscious of her errand having anything 
 to do with himself or his friends. He 
 moved aside a little as she drew near, evi- 
 dently with the idea that she was going 
 into the church again. Mary's heart beat 
 a little faster ; this was by no means what 
 
 VOL. I. D
 
 34 HATHERCOURT RECTORY. 
 
 she bad bargained for, but there was no 
 retreat possible now. There was Lilias 
 slowly advancing in the background, her 
 grey alpaca skirt trailing behind her on 
 the grass with all the elegance of silk or 
 cashmere — somehow Lilias never looked 
 shabbily dressed ! — her very observant blue 
 eyes doubtless taking in the situation fully. 
 Mary felt that the credit of the family was 
 in her hands ; she must prove herself 
 equal to the occasion. 
 
 '^ I — I beg your pardon — excuse me," 
 she began, but the gentleman did not 
 seem to understand that she was speaking 
 to him ; half mechanically he raised his 
 hat, under the impression that the young 
 woman, or lady, he had scarcely observed 
 which, was about to pass by him into the 
 porch, when again she spoke, and this time 
 more distinctly. *' Excuse me," she said 
 again, "mamma — my mother, I mean —
 
 TWOE SISTERS. 35 
 
 tbinks perhaps the ladies will be tired. 
 Do you think they would like to come 
 over to the Rectory and rest a little ?" 
 
 d2
 
 36 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 WHO — ^WHENCE AXD WHY? 
 
 Joan — ". . . she with the ^i^reen kirtle too. Ah, but 
 
 they are bravely clad !" 
 Isabel — *' And see, sister, he in the crimson doublet. 
 
 Save me, but they are a pretty pair !" 
 Dame Winnifrith — " Fie on ye, damsels ! Call ye 
 
 that a saying of your prayers ? Fie on ye !" 
 
 Old Plmj. 
 
 SHE had stopped just in front of liim. 
 This time her voice could not fail to 
 attract his attention, and with a slight 
 start — for his thoughts had been busied 
 with matters far away from the present — 
 he turned a little and looked at her. This 
 was what he saw : a girl with a face still
 
 V/HO — WHENCE AND WHY? / 37 
 
 slightly tanned by last Summer's sun — or 
 was the brown tinge, growing rosier on 
 the cheeks, her normal complexion ? after- 
 wards he thought of it, and could not 
 decide — very bright, very wavy chestnut- 
 coloured hair, ruffled a little about the 
 temples, and growing low on the forehead ; 
 pleasant, hearty eyes, looking up at him 
 with somethins: of embarrassment, but 
 more of amusement, eyes of no particular 
 colour, but good, nice eyes all the same — 
 a girl whom it is difficult to describe, but 
 whose face, nevertheless, once learnt, could 
 not easily be forgotten. There was some- 
 thing about it which softened the serious- 
 ness of the man looking at her ; his own 
 face relaxed, and when he spoke it was 
 with a smile, which, beginning in the 
 grave dark eyes before it journeyed down 
 to the mouth, so transformed the whole 
 face that Mary mentally improved upon
 
 38 HATHERCOUHT EECTORY. 
 
 lier former dictum ; there was certainly 
 something not '* rather " only, but *'very 
 nice " about the elder of the strangers 
 '' when he smiled." Mary had yet to learn 
 the rarity of these pleasant gleams of sun- 
 shine. 
 
 " I beg your pardon," he said — for, not- 
 withstanding that Mary's alpaca was several 
 degrees shabbier than her sister's, and 
 that her little white bonnet was of the 
 plainest " home-make," he felt not an in- 
 stant's doubt as to her being that which 
 even in the narrowest conventional sense 
 is termed "a lady" — "I am so sorry. I 
 had no idea you were speaking to me. I 
 shall tell my aunt and sister what you say ; 
 it is very kind of your — I beg your pardon 
 again. I did not quite catch what you 
 said." 
 
 He had been on the point of turning to 
 speak to his companions, but stopped for
 
 WHO — WHENCE AND WHY? 39 
 
 a moment, looking at Mary inquiringly as 
 he did so. 
 
 " My message was from my mother, 
 Mrs. Western — I should have explained," 
 Mary replied. '' I am — my father is the 
 clergyman ; we live at the Rectory oppo- 
 site." 
 
 She bent her head in the direction of 
 her home. The stranger's brow cleared. 
 
 " Of course," he said, " I understand. 
 Thank you very mucb. " Alys," he called, 
 hastening a step or two in the direction of 
 the two ladies — " Alys, tell your aunt that 
 this young lady has come to ask if you 
 would like to wait at the Rectory till the 
 carriage comes." 
 
 The girl caught the sound of her own 
 name in a moment ; she had quick ears. 
 
 '* How kind of you — how very kind of 
 you !" she exclaimed, running up to where 
 Mary still stood. " Laurence, please ask
 
 40 HATHERCOUET EECTOET. 
 
 aunt to say yes. I loould like to go across 
 to the Rectory." She was close beside the 
 gentleman now. " Laurence," she con- 
 tinued, giving him a little pull to make 
 him listen to what she went on to say in a 
 whisper, " I want to see those girls, the 
 clergyman's daughters ; I noticed them 
 coming out of church. One is so pretty. 
 Ah yes, there she is !" as she descried 
 Lilias standing a little way off. "■ Is that 
 your sister?" she went on, turning again 
 to Mary. '' Do you think she would mind 
 if I went to speak to her ? I do so want 
 to see her quite close — she is so very, very 
 pretty." 
 
 The gentleman looked annoyed. 
 
 " Alys," he was beginning, "you really 
 
 should " But at this juncture up came 
 
 the fair-haired man and the elderly lady, 
 and from another direction Lilias, her 
 curiosity overpowering her misgivings,
 
 WHO — WHENCE AND WHY? 41 
 
 moved slowly towards the group. Mary's 
 position was growing a little uncomforta- 
 ble ; she was glad to take refuge by her 
 sister's side. Again Mrs. Western's mes- 
 sage of hospitality was repeated, this time 
 to the elderly lady, whose name Mary thus 
 discovered to be Winstanley ; she, too, 
 was profuse in her expression of thanks. 
 
 *' So very kind of you," she said to 
 Lilias, w^ho, feeling extremely conscious of 
 her 'grey alpaca, replied by a bow of extra 
 dignity. 
 
 '' I really do not know what we had best 
 do," continued Miss Winstanley ; " the 
 carriage should have been back by this 
 time." 
 
 '' If you and Alys like to wait at the 
 Rectory, Cheviott and I can walk on to 
 see if it is coming," said the fair-haired 
 young man, speaking for the first time. 
 
 At the sound of his voice Lilias looked
 
 42 HATHERCOURT EECTORY. 
 
 up, and an expression of surprise crossed 
 her face. 
 
 '^ Captain Beverley !" she exclaimed, im- 
 pulsively, instantly, however, appearing to 
 regret the avowal of recognition, for she 
 grew scarlet and glanced at Mary in real 
 distress. " I am sure he will not know me 
 again," she was thinking. " What a hor- 
 rid, stupid thing of me to have done ! — a 
 man I only met once in my life, and that 
 at a ball nearly two years ago ! "What iviU 
 he think of me ?" 
 
 Mary felt perplexed. She could not 
 understand her sister's embarrassment, 
 and was therefore unable to help her. 
 But the awkwardness lasted for a moment 
 only. With a flush of evident gratifica- 
 tion. Captain Beverley stepped forward. 
 
 " Miss West !" he said, eagerly. " I was 
 almost sure it was you, but I scarcely 
 hoped you would remember me. I had no
 
 WHO — WHENCE AXD WHI? 43 
 
 idea you lived at Hatliercourt. Is it jour 
 home ?" 
 
 ''Yes," replied Lilias, thougli still with 
 a shade of constraint in her manner, " my 
 father — our father," turning to Mary with 
 a pretty sisterly air, '' Mr. Western, is the 
 rector." 
 
 " Dear me, how curious I did not know 
 it," said Captain Beverley. "Cheviott," he 
 continued, turning to his companion, " you 
 remember our meeting Miss West — West- 
 ern, I mean — at the ball at Brocklehurst 
 the year before last?" 
 
 Mr. Cheviott bowed, somewhat stiffly, it 
 seemed to Mary. 
 
 " I fear you are mistaken, Arthur," he 
 said, '' I do not think I ever had the hon- 
 our of being introduced to Miss Western." 
 
 ''Arthur " looked annoyed, and as if he 
 hardly knew what to do ; Lilias's face 
 flushed again, and Miss Winstanley began
 
 44 HATHERCOURT RECTORY. 
 
 talking to Mr. Clioviott in a hurried, fussy 
 manner, with so palpably evident an anx- 
 iety to set everyone at ease that she only 
 succeeded in making them all more un- 
 comfortable. Mary, animated by a sudden 
 consciousness of antagonism to Mr. Che- 
 viott, came quietly to the rescue. 
 
 "I think, Lilias," she said to her sister, 
 speaking distinctly, so that they all heard 
 her, " I think mamma will be wondering 
 why we are so long. If these ladies. Miss 
 Winstanley and Miss " 
 
 " Cheviott," put in Captain Beverley, 
 hastily. 
 
 *'Miss Cheviott, do not think it worth 
 while to rest at the Rectory, perhaps we 
 had better not interrupt them any longer. 
 Of course," she went on, turning to Miss 
 "Winstanley wdth a smile that showed she 
 meant what she said, " if your carriage 
 does not come soon, and we can do any-
 
 "WHO — WHENCE AND WHY? 45 
 
 tiling to help jou, we shall be very glad. 
 One of the boys can go to the village to 
 see about it, if you like ; we have no car- 
 riage, otherwise I am sure " 
 
 '' Thank you, thank you," interrupted 
 Miss Win Stanley, nervously glancing at 
 her silent nephew, and, without his per^ 
 mission, not daring to commit herself to 
 anything but generalities, "you are, really, 
 so very kind, but I think the carriage is 
 sure to come soon. Don't you think so, 
 Laurence ?" 
 
 " It's here now," exclaimed Alys Cheviott, 
 in a disappointed tone ; " and Laurence," 
 she added, in a lower tone, but not low 
 enough to prevent Mary's hearing the 
 words, "you are very, very cross." 
 
 Mary was quite inclined to agree with 
 her, but, looking up at the moment, she 
 caught a smile on Mr. Cheviott's face as 
 he made some little answer to his sister^
 
 46 HATHERCOURT RECTORY. 
 
 a smile wliich so altered his expression 
 that she felt puzzled. " I don't like him," 
 she said to herself, ''he is haughty and 
 disagreeable, but still I fancy he could be 
 nice if he liked." 
 
 Another minute or two and the strangers 
 were driven away — with smiles and thanks 
 from pretty Alys and her aunt, and bows 
 of equal deference, but differing in cordiality, 
 from the two gentlemen. Lilias and Mary 
 walked slowly homewards across the grass, 
 Lilias unusually silent. 
 
 '' Well, Lilias," said the younger sister, 
 after waitiug a little to see if Lilias was 
 not going to speak, " well, we have had 
 quite an adventure for once." 
 
 ''Yes," said Lilias, absently, '* quite an 
 adventure. But, oh, Mary," she went on, 
 with a sudden change of voice, ''don't 
 speak of it ; 1 am w disgusted with my- 
 self."
 
 WHO WHENCE AND WHY? 47 
 
 ^^What for?" said Mary. "I didn't 
 understand. Was it about recognising 
 that gentleman, Captain Beverley, you 
 called liim, I tliink ? And some one 
 called liim Arthur — how curious !" she 
 added to herself. 
 
 "Yes," said Lilias, ''it is about that. I 
 met him two years ago, and danced with 
 him twice, I think. I thought he was very 
 nice-looking and danced well, but, of course^ 
 that was all I thought about him. I think 
 I must have told you about him at the 
 time ; it was the year you did not go to 
 the ball — Brooke was ill, don't you re- 
 member, with the measles, and you were 
 nursing him because you had had it — but 
 I had nearly forgotten him, and then see- 
 ing him so unexpectedly again his name 
 came into my head and I said it ! It must 
 have looked as if I had never seen a gentle- 
 man before to have remembered him so
 
 48 HATHEriCOURT llECTORY. 
 
 distinctly — oli, I am so asliamed of myself !" 
 '* I don't think you need to be. I think 
 it was perfectly natural," said Mary. 
 
 '* Oh, yes, in one way, I know it was. 
 I am not really ashamed of myself, I did 
 nothing wrong. It is what those people 
 must have thought of me," said Lihas. 
 
 " I wish you would not care what 
 people think of you," answered Mary. 
 " What does it matter ? We shall, pro- 
 bably, never see any of them again. How 
 pretty the girl was ! By-the-by, Captain 
 Beverley's name is Arthur, he may be a 
 descendant of ' Mawde ' in the tablet, 
 Lilias. Her name was Beverley, and her 
 father's ' Arthur.' Very likely one of her 
 sons would be called after her father. I 
 wonder if that has anything to do w4th 
 their coming here," she went on, growing 
 more interested in Captain Beverley than 
 she had hitherto appeared.
 
 TVHO — WHENCE AND WHY? 49 
 
 " How do you mean ?" asked Lilias. 
 
 '* Why, supposing lie is a great grand- 
 son, a great, great, great grandson — oh, 
 more than that — there has been time for 
 six or seven generations — supposing he is 
 a descendant of Mawde's, he may have 
 something to do with this neighbour- 
 hood, and that may have brought him 
 here." 
 
 '^ We should have heard of him before 
 this," objected Lihas. " Papa knows every 
 landowner of any consequence in the coun- 
 try by name, and I never heard of anyone 
 called Beverley." 
 
 " Here is papa," said Mary, looking 
 back just as Mr. Western emerged from 
 the church, where he had been detained 
 later than usual by some little official dis- 
 cussion, '' let us wait for him and ask him. 
 Papa," she continued, as her father came 
 up to them, " do you know that one of those 
 
 VOL. I. E
 
 50 HATHERCOURT RECTORY. 
 
 gentlemen who came to cliurcli is called 
 Beverley ?" 
 
 '* And Mary is making up quite a romance 
 about his being descended from the old 
 woman on the tablet," said Lilias, laughing, 
 but yet not without interest. " There are 
 no people of the name hereabouts now ?" 
 
 "Beverley," repeated Mr. Western, '* how 
 do you know that is his name ?" 
 
 The girls explained. 
 
 '* No, there are no gentlepeople of that 
 name hereabouts now-a-days," said Mr. 
 Western. " The old Hathercourt Bever- 
 leys have quite died out, except, by-the-by, 
 — I was told the other day that old John 
 Birley, who died at Hathercourt Edge last 
 year, was a lineal descendant of theirs." 
 
 " That rough old farmer !" exclaimed 
 Mary, her thoughts flying back to "Mawde." 
 
 *' Yes, you remember him ? It was Gre- 
 ville, I think, that was telling me about it.
 
 WHO — WHENCE A^^) WHY? 51 
 
 The name ' Birley' he said was only a cor- 
 ruption of Beverley. The old man was 
 very proud of his descent. He left the 
 farm and what money he had saved to a 
 Mr. Beverley, whom he believed to be of 
 the same family — no one in this neighbour- 
 hood. By-the-by, that may be the young 
 man you are telling me about, Mary, which 
 was he — the fair or the dark one ?" 
 
 " The fair one," replied Mary, *' the other 
 was a Mr. Cheviott." 
 
 "Cheviott — ah, indeed," said Mr. West- 
 ern, with a tone of faintly discernible satis- 
 faction. '' I fancy that must be Mr. Chev- 
 iott of Eomary. You remember Romary, 
 girls, that beautiful old place near With- 
 enden. "We went there picnicking once, 
 several years ago." 
 
 " Yes, I remember," said Lilias, " but I 
 thought the people living there were called 
 Eomary, not Cheviott." 
 
 E 2 
 
 S'^OfUAiHO.
 
 52 HATHEECOUET EECTOEY. 
 
 " Well, tliis Mr. Cheviott was a nephew 
 or grandson — all tlie male Romarys had 
 died out, I suppose," said Mr. Western. 
 
 They were at the Rectory door by this 
 time. An unmistakable odour of roast 
 mutton greeted them as it opened. 
 
 "It must be dinner-time," said Lilias, 
 going in. ''Dear me," she added to her- 
 self, as she slowly made her way upstairs 
 to the plainly furnished but neat little 
 bedroom that she shared with her sister, 
 " dear me, how nice it would be to be rich, 
 and have nice pretty luncheons instead of 
 these terrible early dinners so hot and fussy, 
 and all the children crowding round the 
 table ! Dear me " 
 
 But she took off her bonnet and shawl 
 and went down with a cheerful face to 
 help in the distribution of the roast mutton, 
 bright and merry and very fair to look upon, 
 as was her wont.
 
 WnO — WHENCE AND WHY? 53 
 
 Mary had waited a moment at tlie liall 
 door with, her father. They stood looking 
 out at the Autumn landscape ; there came 
 a sudden gleam of sunshine through the 
 trees, lighting up the grass with a yellow 
 radiance, and lingering gently on the many 
 coloured stones of the venerable church. 
 
 '' It's a nice old place, after all, child, is 
 it not ?" said Mr. Western. 
 
 " Yes, indeed, father," replied the girl. 
 
 *' I, for my part, am very content to 
 think that I shall spend my life here, and 
 rest peacefully over there in the shadow of 
 my old church, when the time comes," 
 continued the Bector ; " but for you 
 young people I suppose it's different some- 
 how," and he sighed a little. 
 
 *' How do you mean, father dear ?" said 
 Mary, softly, and she came closer to him, 
 and slid her hand into his arm. " What 
 makes you speak that way to-day ?"
 
 54 HATHERCOUET KECTORT. 
 
 " I don't exactly know, my dear," lie re- 
 plied. ''Possibly the sight of those stran- 
 gers in church set me considering things. 
 I should like you girls to have a few more 
 — well, advantages I suppose they are in 
 a sense, after all — I should like to see 
 Lilias and you as nicely dressed as that 
 pretty girl this morning, eh, Mary ?" 
 
 '* Dear father !" said Mary, affectionately. 
 **But we're very happy, papa. I am, at 
 least, and Lilias tries to be, any way. But 
 I daresay it's harder for her than for me — 
 she might get so very much admiration, and 
 all that sort of thing, you know." 
 
 Mr. Western smiled — there luere people 
 in the world, he thought to himself, who 
 would see something to admire in the eager 
 face beside him too ; but he said nothing, 
 and just then the dinner-bell rang, and a 
 hurry of approaching footsteps told that ta 
 some at least of the Rectory party it was
 
 WHO — WHENCE AND WHY? 55 
 
 not an unwelcome sound. Mary fled up- 
 stairs, her father followed the hungry flock 
 into the dining-room. And the Sunday 
 meal that day was considerably enlivened 
 by discussions about the mysterious stran- 
 gers. Who were they ? — whence had they 
 come, and wherefore? — and, ''Will they 
 come again next Sunday ?" said little 
 Frances, a question which her eldest sister 
 very summarily answered in the negative. 
 
 '' They have given you all something to 
 talk about, children, any way," said Mrs. 
 Western. 
 
 "Yes," said Basil, who, on the strength 
 of having left school three months ago, 
 considered himself a man of the world, 
 " it's ridiculous how people get excited 
 about nothing at all, when they live such 
 shut-up lives. I bet you the whole neigh- 
 bourhood's full of it. All the old women 
 will be discussing these unfortunate people
 
 6 HATHEHCOURT EECTOllY. 
 
 over their tea-tables at this very moment. 
 ''Not over their tea^ Basil," said little 
 Brooke. ''They don't have tea till four 
 o'clock."
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 THE COLOUR OF THE SPECTACLES. 
 
 "Mais, ilfaut bien le recomiaitre, tout est relatif 
 en ce moiide, et les choses nous affectent toujours dans 
 la mesure de I'education que nous avons reQue et du 
 milieu social ou nous avons ete eleves." 
 
 Enault. 
 
 'V /[ ES. WESTERN'S views of life differed 
 "*-■- considerably from those of her hus- 
 band — she had quite another stand-point. 
 She was not ambitious, nothing in her ex- 
 perience had ever tended to make her so, 
 and though by nature she was far less 
 " easy-going " than the Rector, yet her 
 thoughts concerning the future of her chil- 
 dren were not by any means so harassing
 
 58 HATHERCOURT RECTORY. 
 
 and dissatisfied as his. Had she seen 
 anything to worry about, she ivould have 
 worried about it, but she did not see that 
 there was. Her boys and girls were in- 
 finitely better off, better cared for, better 
 educated than she had been, and happier 
 far than she ever remembered herself be- 
 fore her marriage, and she saw no reason 
 why, if they turned out good and sensible, 
 as they mostly promised to do, they should 
 not all get on fairly well in life, without 
 feeling that their start in the great race 
 had been weighted with undue disad- 
 vantages. 
 
 Yet the Rector's wife was not a peculiarly 
 reasonable woman ; circumstances mainly 
 had made her appear so, or rather, per- 
 haps, had never called forth the latent 
 unreasonableness which we are told, by 
 authority we dare not question, is a part 
 of every feminine character. When she
 
 THE COLOUR OF THE SPECTACLES. 59 
 
 married Mr. Western, she was only a 
 governess in a family where she was not 
 unkindly treated, but where no special 
 thought was bestowed upon her. She was 
 not discontented, however ; for the kind- 
 ness she received she was sincerely grate- 
 ful, and considered herself, on the whole, 
 a fortunate girl. She was not remarkably 
 pretty, but pleasing and gentle, and with 
 a certain sedateness of air and manner not 
 without a charm of its own. People spoke 
 of her, when they did speak of her, which 
 was not often, as *' a very sensible girl ;" 
 in point of fact, she was more than sensi- 
 ble ; she had both intellect and originality, 
 neither of which was ever fully developed 
 — in one sense, indeed, hardly developed 
 at all. For her youth had been a depress- 
 ing one ; from her earliest years she had 
 been familiar with poverty and privation, 
 and she only was not altogether crushed
 
 60 HATHEECOURT RECTORY. 
 
 by tliem because personally she had bad 
 experience of nothing else. 
 
 Her father had been one of the several 
 younger sons of a rich and well-born man. 
 But neither the riches nor the good birtli 
 had helped him on in life. He quarrelled 
 with his parents by refusing to enter the 
 profession designed for him ; he made bad 
 worse by a hasty and imprudent marriage ; 
 he hopelessly widened the breach by choos- 
 ing to resent on his own people his young 
 wife's speedy death, and declining to accept 
 any help in the bringing up of his mother- 
 less little daughter. And then his old 
 parents died, and the brothers and sisters, 
 married and scattered, and absorbed in 
 their individual interests, learned to for- 
 get, or to remember but with a sore re- 
 proach worse than forgetting, this hot- 
 headed, ungrateful '' Basil," who had not 
 condoned by success in his self-sought
 
 THE COLOUll OF THE SPECTACLES. 61 
 
 career the follies of his youth. And before 
 many more years had passed, poor Basil 
 Brooke died himself, nursed, and comforted, 
 and sorrowed for by but one little solitary 
 being, his thirteen-years-old Margaret, for 
 whom at the last he had managed to scrape 
 together a tiny sum that left her not ab- 
 solutely destitute, but was enough to pay 
 for her schooling till, at eighteen, she 
 went out into the world on her own small 
 account as one of the vast army of half- 
 educated girls who call themselves gover- 
 nesses. 
 
 But if Margaret Brooke's pupils obtain- 
 ed no very great amount of so-called 
 *' book-learning" from their young teacher, 
 at least they learnt no harm, and indirectly 
 no small amount of good. For she herself 
 was good — good, and true, and healthy- 
 minded, perfectly free from self- conscious- 
 ness, or morbid repining after what had
 
 62 HATHERCOURT RECTORY. 
 
 not fallen to her lot. Once in her gover- 
 ness life she came across some members 
 of her dead father's family. Being really 
 gentlefolks, though self-absorbed and nar- 
 row-minded, it did not occur to them to 
 ignore their poor relations. They even 
 vrent out of their way to show her some 
 little kindness, which the girl accepted 
 pleasantly and without bitterness ; for, 
 young as she was at the time of her 
 father's death, she had yet been able to 
 discern that the family estrangement had 
 been mainly, if not altogether, of his own 
 causing. So the rich Brookes spoke fa- 
 vourably of poor Margaret, and though it 
 was taken for granted among them that 
 the fact of her existence was a mistake, 
 she was, on the whole, regarded with ap- 
 proval as doing her part towards making 
 the best of an unfortunate business. And 
 when, two or three years later, Margaret,
 
 THE COLOUR OF THE SPECTACLES. 63 
 
 to lier own inexpressible astonishment, 
 found herself actually fallen in love with 
 by the most charming and unexceptionable 
 of young curates, a curate too with every 
 prospect of before long becoming a rector, 
 and when this prospect was ere long ful- 
 filled, and Margaret, in consequence, be- 
 came Mrs. Western, her Brooke cousins 
 approved of her still more highly, to the 
 extent even of sending her a teapot, cream- 
 jug, and sugar-basin of the best electro 
 plate as a wedding present. 
 
 But all that was now nearly a quarter 
 of a century ago — the generation of 
 Brookes who had seen Margaret in her 
 youth, who had some of them been con- 
 temporaries of her father, had mostly died 
 out — they were not a long-lived race — and 
 the old relationship had grown to seem 
 more of a legend than a fact. A legend, 
 however, which, little as the young West-
 
 64 HATHEECOUKT EECTOEY. 
 
 erns knew of the far-off cousins who now 
 represented their mother s people, was not 
 likely to be allowed by them to sink into 
 oblivion. They were too well bred and 
 right-minded to be ashamed of their mo- 
 ther's position when their father wooed 
 and won her, but, nevertheless, half un- 
 consciously to themselves, perhaps, the 
 knowledge of this fact made it all the more 
 agreeable to be able to say to each other, 
 with dignity and satisfaction, " Though 
 mamma was poor when she was a girl, her 
 family was quite as good, if not, indeed, 
 better than papa's." 
 
 And '* papa " himself was the first 
 always, on the rare occasions when such 
 subjects came under discussion, to remind 
 his girls and boys of the fact, but Mrs. 
 "Western herself thought little about it. 
 She lived in the present, even her lookings 
 forward to the future were but a sort of
 
 THE COLOUR OF THE SPECTACLES. 65 
 
 transference of her own life and experi- 
 ences to otliers. She hoped that her 
 daughters, if thej married at all, would 
 marry as happily as she had done, and be- 
 yond this she was not ambitious for them, 
 and conscientiously tried to check Lilias's 
 good-tempered discontent and murmurings 
 at the monotony of their life by platitudes, 
 in which she herself so entirely believed 
 that they sometimes carried with them a 
 certain weight. 
 
 Mrs. Western was less interested than 
 the rest of the Rectory party in the mys- 
 terious strangers who had so disturbed the 
 Hathercourt devotions this Sunday morn- 
 ing. She did not like strangers ; she had 
 a vague fear of them — not from shyness, 
 but from a sort of apprehensiveness which 
 her early life, probably, had caused to be- 
 come chronic with her. "When Lilias snub- 
 bed little Frances's inquiry as to whether 
 
 VOL. I. F
 
 66 HATHERCOURT RECTORY. 
 
 these ladies and gentlemen would come to 
 dmrch again next Sunday, in her heart 
 the mother hoped the elder sister's " no, 
 of course not," would be justified by the 
 event, and, secretly, she chafed at the 
 talk that went on round the table, talk 
 in which even Mr. Western was interested, 
 as she could see. 
 
 *'You remember Eomary, Margaret?" 
 lie said, across the table, " that splendid 
 place near Withenden ?" 
 
 ''Yes, I remember it," replied Mrs. 
 Western, " but I don't like splendid 
 places," she added, with a little smile. 
 
 *' Nor splendid people ?" said Lilias, half 
 mischievously. '* Isn't mother funny — odd 
 I mean, in some ways — difficult to under- 
 stand ?" she said afterwards to Mary, '' she 
 seems so afraid of our ever going the least 
 out of the jog-trot, stupid way."
 
 THE COLOUR OF THE siPECTACLES. 67 
 
 '' She is over-anxious, perhaps, " said 
 Mary. 
 
 " No, I don't think it is that exactly," 
 said LiHas. '' T think papa is the more 
 anxious of the two. I sometimes wish 
 mamma were a httle more, not anxious 
 exactly — I don't know what to call it — a 
 little more worldly, perhaps." 
 
 Mary laughed. 
 
 " You would have liked her to invite 
 those fine people to luncheon last Sunday, 
 and then, perhaps, they would have taken 
 a fancy to us, and invited us to go to see 
 them ?" she said, inquiringly. 
 
 " Nonsense, Mary ! Do leave off talk- 
 ing about those people. I am tired to 
 death of hearing about them," replied 
 Lilias, impatiently. '* Invite them to 
 luncheon — to roast mutton and rice pud- 
 ding, and a dozen children round the 
 
 f2
 
 68 HATHEECOURT EECTOEY. 
 
 table ! — Mary, I wish you wouldn't say 
 such silly things." 
 
 " You are difiScult to please, Lilias. 
 Only the other day you told me, if I would 
 be silly sometimes, I should be almost j)er- 
 fect," said Mary, drily. 
 
 And then Lilias kissed her, and called 
 herself '* cross," and there was peace again. 
 But somehow, after this, the subject of the 
 strangers was scarcely alluded to. 
 
 And "next Sunday" came and went, 
 and if Mary descried some little attempt 
 at extra self-adornment on Lilias's part, 
 she was wise enough not to take notice of 
 it ; and if Mr. Western preached his new 
 sermon in the morning instead of the 
 afternoon, I question if anyone discovered 
 the fact. For, with these possible excep- 
 tions, the day was not a marked one in 
 any way, and with a little sigh, and a 
 smile too at her own folly, Lilias decided,
 
 THE COLOUR OF THE SPECTA.CLES, 69 
 
 as she fell asleep, that as yet there was 
 little prospect of a turning-point in her 
 life being at hand. 
 
 The week that followed this uneventful 
 Sunday was a date to be remembered, and 
 that had been tremulously anticipated by 
 one heart, at least, among those of the 
 E;ectory party. It was to see the eldest 
 son started on his career in life, and calm 
 enough though she kept herself to outward 
 appearance, to the mother this parting 
 was a painful crisis. Her "boy Basil" 
 was leaving her for ever, for " boy " she 
 could not expect him to return. He was 
 going up to town for a few months in the 
 first place, having been lucky enough to 
 obtain a junior clerkship in a great mer- 
 cantile firm, with a prospect — the few 
 months over — of being transferred to the 
 branch house abroad, where his chances of 
 success, said the authorities, '^ if he be-
 
 70 HATHERCOURT RECTORY. 
 
 haved himself," were pretty certain in the 
 long run, though not, in the meantime, 
 bewilderingly brilliant. He was a good 
 sort of boy in his way, and family affection 
 among the Westerns was fairly and steadily 
 developed ; but nevertheless, with the ex- 
 ception of his mother, none of the house- 
 hold lost a night's rest on account of his 
 approaching departure, and Lilias openly 
 avowed her conviction that Basil was 
 greatly to be envied, and that it would be 
 far pleasanter for him to pay home-visits 
 now and then, when he knew something 
 of the world, and could make himself en- 
 tertaining, than to have a great hulking 
 hobbledehoy always hanging about, and 
 getting into mischief. Mary, too, agreed 
 that '* it was a very good thing for Basil," 
 and nobody cried when he said good-bye 
 except poor Francie, whose seven years 
 were innocent of philosophy or common
 
 THE COLOUR OF THE SPECTACLES. 71 
 
 sense, and who only realised tliat her big 
 brother was going " far, far away." 
 
 But still, when he was fairly gone, there 
 fell over them all a certain depression — a 
 sort of blank and flatness, which everyone 
 was conscious of, though no one would 
 own it to another. It was a dull after- 
 noon, too, threatening to rain, if not ac- 
 tually doing so, and, to suit Basil's conve- 
 nience, they had had dinner at half-past 
 twelve, a whole hour earlier than usual, so 
 that by four o'clock Lilias declared she 
 felt ready to go to bed. 
 
 ''You are suffering from suppressed 
 excitement, after all, I suspect," said 
 Mary, looking up from Alexa's German 
 translation, which she was correcting. 
 " There is a sort of excitement in think- 
 ing poor Basil is really started, though we 
 are glad of it." 
 
 ** I am not excited ; I wish I were," said
 
 72 HATHERCOUET RECTORY. 
 
 Lilias, listlessly. '' I am only idle and 
 stupid !" 
 
 "Get something to do then," replied Mary. 
 ''There, I have finished the schoolroom 
 affairs for to-day. I wonder if mamma has 
 anything she would like us to do — I can't 
 ask her ; she is up in her own room, and I 
 don't like to disturb her yet. It is too 
 dull to go out. Supposing we practise 
 that duet, Lilias ?" 
 
 ** Supposing in the first place we make 
 this room tidy," said Lilias, looking round 
 her reflectively. " Supposing now, Mary 
 — just supposing anyone were to come to 
 call, what would they think of this 
 room .'' 
 
 " They wouldn't think ill of the poor 
 room," answered Mary, laughing, and set- 
 ting to work energetically as she spoke, 
 to *' tidy up;" "they would probably re- 
 serve their thoughts for the careless peo-
 
 THE COLOUR OF THE SPECTACLES. 73 
 
 pie 'who lived in it. There now, that looks 
 better ; let us poke up the fire a little, and 
 draw the sofa near it for poor mother 
 when she comes down, and I'll tell you 
 what — I've got a thought, Lilias. Sup- 
 posing we make the children have tea by 
 themselves in the dining-room for once, 
 and we have it in here for mother on a 
 little table ?" 
 
 '*Yes, do," said Lilias, heartily; "it 
 would be quite a treat for her." 
 
 " And I know the children will be 
 good," said Mary; " they understand that 
 mother is dull about Basil's going. We 
 are to have a light supper at eight, 
 you know, as papa will be back by then, 
 so we can have tea earlier than usual." 
 
 " If there is any meal I dislike more 
 than an early dinner," said Lilias, as she 
 stood on the hearthrug surveying the 
 room, which, thanks to her own and her
 
 74 HATHERCOURT RECTORY. 
 
 sister's efforts, now looked neat and com- 
 fortable, "it is 'a light supper.' The 
 room doesn't look so bad now, Mary ; 
 somebody may come to call if he or she 
 likes." 
 
 It was really a pretty room; it was 
 prettily shaped, and the look-out upon the 
 old church through a long, rather narrow 
 window at one end, evidently purposely 
 designed, was striking and picturesque. 
 Pretty and graceful, too, was the wide low 
 bow-window at the other end, with a cush- 
 ioned seat running all round, and in 
 Summer a pleasant view of the best kept 
 bit of the Rectory garden. Even now in 
 late Autumn there was a bright, fresh look 
 about the room, notwithstanding the ex- 
 treme simplicity of the furniture and its 
 unmistakable evidences of age ; and when 
 Mary had stirred up the fire into a brisk 
 little blaze, and with her own hands
 
 THE COLOUR OF THE SPECTACLES. 75 
 
 arranged the tea-things on a small table 
 beside the sofa, she felt very fairly satisfied 
 with the aspect of the whole. 
 
 "Won't mamma be pleased, Lilias, when 
 she comes down ?" she exclaimed. " I have 
 made the tea ; it's all ready. Will you go 
 upstairs and ask her to come down, or 
 shall I?" 
 
 " You deserve to go ; it was your idea," 
 Lilias was beginning, when an unexpected 
 sound made her suddenly stop short, 
 "Mary," she exclaimed, "that's the front 
 door bell ! What a bother — just as we 
 have got all so comfortable for mamma! 
 It must be old Miss Bury — nobody else 
 would come to call on such a day ; it seems 
 like a judgment upon me for joking about 
 visitors." 
 
 " We can't help it," said Mary. " I only 
 hope Ann will hear the bell and answer it 
 quickly. She is sometimes so slow, and
 
 76 nATHEKCOURT EECTOEY. 
 
 Miss Bury doesn't like to be kept wait- 
 ing." 
 
 " Tliere slie is," exclaimed Lilias, as the 
 sound of feet crossinor the hall was heard. 
 "Who can it be, Mary? It doesn't seem 
 like Miss Bury's voice." 
 
 " Some one for papa, perhaps," replied 
 Mary ; but almost as she spoke the door 
 was thrown open, and Ann, muttering 
 something too indistinct to be understood, 
 ushered a gentleman into the quickly 
 gathering darkness of the room. 
 
 He came in quietly, evidently not ex- 
 pecting to find anyone in the room, for in 
 fact he believed himself to be entering Mr. 
 "Western's study, there to await the result 
 of Ann's inquiries as to the hour at which 
 her master was expected home. Never- 
 theless, in one respect he had the advantage 
 of the two girls, for the hall whence he 
 emerged was even darker than the draw-
 
 THE COLOUR OF THE SPECTACLES. 11 
 
 ing-room, T\'liereas the sisters, standing 
 tooretlier on the hearth-rugr in the full 
 light of the newlj-stirred fire, were by 
 him at once and easily recognised. 
 
 **I am afraid I am disturbing you — I 
 must really apologise," he began, his face, 
 had they been able to see it, lighting up 
 with pleasure as he spoke. *' I only asked 
 for Mr. "Western, and I am sorry — " he 
 hesitated. 
 
 "Papa is out," said Mary, though quite 
 in the dark physically and mentally as to 
 whom she was addressino; • ''but if it is 
 anything we can tell him — " she turned 
 to her sister, surprised at her silence, but 
 her appeal was disregarded — ''if it is any- 
 thing we can tell him — or — or would you 
 like to see mamma ? "Won't you sit down, 
 and I will get a light ?" she went on, without 
 giving him time to answer. 
 
 " Thank you," said the gentleman, com-
 
 78 HATHERCOURT RECTORY. 
 
 ing forward a little; ''but I am really 
 asliamed — " lie was repeating, with in- 
 creased hesitation, when Mary again inter- 
 rupted him. 
 
 " It is Captain Beverley," she exclaimed. 
 " 1 had not the least idea who you were, 
 for I did not recognise your voice. Lilias," 
 she continued, turning to her sister, this 
 time so pointedly that Miss Western was 
 obliged to come to her assistance, "you 
 generally recognise voices more quickly 
 than I do — did you not know it was Cap- 
 tain Beverley ?" 
 
 '* You give me credit for greater acute- 
 ness than I possess, Mary," said Lilias, 
 calmly, bowing with dignified ease to the 
 intruder; ''it is not easy to recognise a 
 voice one has not heard more than once or 
 twice. But if you will come nearer the 
 fire. Captain Beverley, we shall feel less 
 mystified ; and, Mary, do ring for lights."
 
 THE COLOUR OF THE SPECTACLES. 79 
 
 The calmness, and the dignifcj, and the 
 ease were all lost upon the young man, 
 and Lilias, had she been able to read his 
 thoughts, would have been saved a good 
 deal of constraint. He was only thinking 
 how very pretty, how beautiful she was — 
 this tall, fair, lily-like girl, as she stood in 
 the firelight, her face and bright hair 
 thrown into strong relief by the dusk of 
 the rest of the room ; and had she allowed 
 herself simply at once to acknowledge her 
 recognition, he would have been conscious 
 of nothing but honest gratification. As it 
 was, he really did feel awkward and un- 
 comfortable ; it seemed to him he had in- 
 truded without proper justification, and 
 somehow this disaorreeable sensation was 
 increased by all he saw about him. It was 
 not in the least what he had expected ; the 
 pretty, graceful-looking room, whose de- 
 ficiences the friendly gloom concealed, and
 
 80 HATHEKCOURT EECTORY. 
 
 whose best points were shown to advantage 
 bj the flickering, dancing light, the little 
 tea-table so neatly set out, and the two 
 girls themselves — the one with the bear- 
 ing of a princess, and the other with a sort 
 of straightforward unconsciousness with all 
 the '^manners" ever taught, or talked 
 about — it was not in the least what he had 
 expected, and he felt that he had been 
 guilty of gross presumj^tion in thus mak- 
 ing his way into Mrs. "Western's drawing- 
 room. Once he had seen Lilias before, 
 and admired her more than he had ever 
 admired anyone in his life, and when he 
 had suddenly decided that, for the local in- 
 formation he was in quest of, there was no 
 one to whom he could so fitly aj)ply as to 
 the Rector of Hathercourt, he had been 
 conscious in the very bottom of his heart 
 that, if he went over to see Mr. Western, 
 there would be a chance of seeino* his
 
 THE COLOUR OF THE SPECTACLES. 81 
 
 daughter too. But he had not fancied he 
 would see her in this sort of way — so he 
 felt all his former ideas confused and un- 
 settled. 
 
 Still it was very pleasant to find himself 
 in the Rectory drawing-room ; the out- 
 side chill and dreariness made the cheer- 
 ful indoors all the more attractive, and, 
 though feeling by no means sure that he 
 had any business to be where he was, he 
 had not the strength of mind to tear him- 
 self away, to get up from his low chair by 
 the fire and the jorospect of a cup of tea, 
 and, with a proper amount of apology for 
 his intrusion, to leave a message with the 
 girls for their father and set off on his 
 solitary, uncomfortable walk back again to 
 Hathercourt Edge. So he sat still, and by 
 thus doing, little though he knew it, passed 
 the Eubicon. 
 
 Mary had disappeared, to return in a 
 
 VOL. I. G
 
 82 HATHERCOURT RECTORY. 
 
 minute with a lighted lamp which she 
 placed on a little table, her way of obeying 
 her sister's injunction to " ring for lights.'* 
 Then she stopped for a moment, hesitating, 
 and Captain Beverley half rose from his 
 chair. 
 
 " Shall I tell mamma tea is ready, 
 Lilias ?" she said, " and that Captain 
 Beverley is here ?" 
 
 "Yes, please do," replied her sister, 
 graciously. *' My mother is not very well 
 to-day," she continued, turning to the 
 young man, and almost for the first time 
 directly addressing him, " at least, she has 
 been rather upset by my brother's going 
 away, but I have no doubt she will come 
 down, if you would like to see her." 
 
 *' Thank you," said Captain Beverley, 
 growing uncomfortable again, and yet feel- 
 ing increasingly reluctant to take his de- 
 parture. " I should be very sorry to dis-
 
 THE COLOUR OF THE SPECTACLES. 83 
 
 turb Mrs. Western, but if she is coining 
 down in any case," he glanced at the tea 
 table, " perhaps — I should like to explain 
 to her what I wanted to see Mr. Western 
 about. I should like you to understand 
 that I did not mean to come forcing my 
 way here without a proper reason," was 
 the real thought in his mind, and somehow 
 Lilias instinctively half divined it, and her 
 dignity abated a little. 
 
 "Mary, please go and ask mamma to 
 come down, if she can," she said to her 
 sister, and Mary went off on her errand. 
 
 '' I have been leading a very lonely life 
 the last few days," said Captain Beverley, 
 when he found that Miss Western w^as in 
 no hurry to start a subject of conversation. 
 
 "Indeed," said Lilias. 
 
 "Yes," he continued, " very lonely and 
 not particularly comfortable, as you can 
 fancy, when I tell you where my present 
 
 g2
 
 84 HATHEKCOaRT RECTORY. 
 
 quarters are. I am living in the farm- 
 house at Hatbercourt Edge, witli an old 
 woman to ' do for me,' and sbe does ' do 
 for me ' I can assure you," be added, witb 
 a hearty boyish laugh. 
 
 In spite of her grand resolutions, Lilias 
 could not help laughing too. 
 
 ** I know that old woman, I think," she 
 said ; " we often see her when we pass 
 that way. She was old John Birley's 
 housekeeper, wasn't she ? — at least, she 
 * did for him.' I do pity you, but I won- 
 der you stay there." 
 
 "Needs must," replied Captain Beverley, 
 " and there is good in everything, they say. 
 My uncomfortable life makes me appre- 
 ciate civilization doubly when I return to 
 it. You don't know what a treat it is to 
 find myself in this cheery room, and how 
 much I shall enjoy " he stopped short. 
 
 " What ?" said Lilias.
 
 THE COLOUR OF THE SPECTACLES. 85 
 
 " A cup of good tea, if you ^dll give it 
 me, I was going to say, only it suddenly 
 struck me it was a very impertinent sug- 
 gestion to be made by a stranger who has 
 no business to be in your drawing-room at 
 all, Miss Western. The fact of the matter 
 is, I find it difficult to recollect I am a 
 stranger, for ever since I met you that 
 evening two years ago, I have remembered 
 you so distinctly that I could fancy I have 
 seen you often since. It was your first 
 ball, was it not?" 
 
 *' No," said Lilias, "I had been at two 
 before." 
 
 ^' Ah, well," he replied, '' that's much 
 the same thing," — little understanding 
 that to poor Lilias a ball counted for a 
 year, and that therefore, having made her 
 debut at Brocklehurst at nineteen, she al- 
 ready numbered twenty-one Summers, or 
 Winters, when he first met her. " It's
 
 86 HATHERCOUUT EECTOEY. 
 
 mucli tlie same thing," he "went on, without 
 giving her time for the explanation which 
 her honesty was on the point of volunteer- 
 ing ; ** it has always seemed like my first 
 ball to me, for I had only returned from 
 India the week before, and I wasn't much 
 in the way of balls there." 
 
 " Yes, I remember your speaking of 
 India," said Lilias, " but I think you said 
 you were going back there again, did you 
 not ?'* 
 
 " I did think so then," he replied, '' but 
 things have changed. I sold out a few 
 months ago, otherwise I should not be here 
 now. And an unexpected piece of good 
 luck befell me just then. You may have 
 heard of old John Birley's strange will?" 
 
 Before Lilias could reply, the door 
 opened, and Mrs. "Western and Mary made 
 their appearance.
 
 87 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 A CUP OF TEA. 
 
 "I have no ambition to see a goodlier man." 
 
 Tempest. 
 
 *' T AM so very mucli obliged to 3^011 for 
 -■- seeing me. I am afraid it is very 
 inconvenient and uncomfortable for you — 
 in fact, as I have been telling your daugh- 
 ters, I am altogether ashamed of myself," 
 was the apology with which Captain Bever- 
 ley met Mrs. Western. 
 
 " But you need not be so, I assure you," 
 she answered, quietly, as she sat down on 
 the sofa by the fire. " I have been a 
 clergyman's wife too many years not to be
 
 83 HATHEKCOURT HECTOEY. 
 
 quite accustomed to act as my liusband's 
 deputy when lie is out of the way ; . and 
 Mary — my daughter, I mean," she added, 
 glancing towards the girls, " tells me you 
 wanted particularly to see Mr. Western. 
 Is it anything in which I can do instead 
 of him, or will you leave a message ? I 
 fear he will not be home till late." 
 
 Notwithstanding the perfect courtesy of 
 this speech, there was something in it 
 which made Captain Beverley regret again 
 what he had done. He grew hot when he 
 remembered that not two minutes ago he 
 had been making interest with the beauti- 
 ful Miss Western for a cup of tea, and 
 now her mother made him feel that he was 
 expected to give his message and take his 
 departure — the sooner the better. 
 
 " How completely Cheviott has been 
 mistaken about these people !" he thought 
 to himself; but though Mary, who was
 
 A CUP OF TEA. 89 
 
 standing nearest liim, could not read this 
 reflection, slie perceived the quick change 
 of expression in his open, good-tempered 
 face, and she felt sorry — sorry for him, 
 and a little tiny bit vexed with her mother. 
 
 " Mamma," she broke in, before Mrs. 
 Western had time to say any more, " you 
 must really have tea at once ; it will be 
 getting cold. Shall I pour it out, Lilias, 
 or will you ?" 
 
 '* I will, thank you," said Lilias, not 
 quite sure if she appreciated her sister's 
 tactics, but seating herself before the 
 tea-table as she spoke. " Mother, dear, 
 stay where you are, do," seeing that 
 Mrs. Western was getting up from her 
 seat. 
 
 " I was only looking to see if there were 
 cups enough, my dear. Captain Beverley, 
 you will have a cup of tea?" said Mrs. 
 Western, her natural instinct of hospitality
 
 90 nATHEKCOURT RECTORY. 
 
 asserting itself in defiance of her dislike 
 to strangers. 
 
 "" Thank you," he replied, gratefully ; " I 
 really cannot resist the chance of a cup of 
 good tea. My old woman has been giving 
 me such a horrible decoction. What do 
 peojDle do to tea to make it taste so fear- 
 ful, I wonder ?" he continued, seriously. 
 " It seems the simplest thing in the world 
 just to pour hot water over a spoonful or 
 two, and let it stand for a few minutes." 
 
 The girls laughed, and Mrs. Western 
 smiled. 
 
 *'It is evident you are a bachelor, Cap- 
 tain Beverley," she said. " There is no- 
 thing that depends more on Iww it is made 
 than tea. For instance, hot water is not 
 necessarily boiling water as it should be, 
 and the ' standing a few minutes ' should 
 not mean brewing by the fire for half an 
 hour or more."
 
 A CUP OF TEA. 91 
 
 '' I see," said Captain Beverle}'. " I 
 wonder if it would be any nse trying to 
 teacli old Mrs. Bowker how to make tea 
 properl}' ?" 
 
 '' Mrs. Bowker!" repeated Mrs. Western 
 in surprise. 
 
 Lilias laughed again at the bewilder- 
 ment in her mother's face. 
 
 " How prettil}/ she laughs," thought 
 Captain Beverley, '^1 wish Laurence could 
 see her. He declares not one woman in a 
 hundred can laugh becomingly." 
 
 '* Captain Beverley is staying at old Mrs. 
 Bowker s, mamma," she explained — *' at 
 least, at John Birley's farm." 
 
 " Or, to be perfectly correct," said Cap- 
 tain Beverley, '' old Mrs. Bowker is stay- 
 ing with me, though I am quite sure she 
 does not see the arrangement in that light 
 at all. I was just telling Miss Western," 
 he continued, turning to the mother, "that
 
 92 HATHERCOURT RECTORY. 
 
 Hathercourt Edge — that is to say the old 
 farm-house and, what is of more import- 
 ance, a considerable amount of land — has 
 just become my property ; the last owner, 
 John Birley, left it to me as the oldest 
 lineal descendant of the name — of the 
 Beverleys of Hathercourt. He had no near 
 relations, and had always been proud of his 
 own descent from the Beverleys ; he came 
 straight down from a John Beverley who 
 owned all the land about here early in the 
 seventeenth century, I believe, but whose 
 eldest son sold a lot of it, so that in pro- 
 cess of time they came to be only 
 farmers." 
 
 " That John Beverley must have been 
 'Mawde's' husband, Lilias," said Mary. 
 
 Captain Beverley looked up with interest. 
 
 "Do you mean the ' Mawde ' about whom 
 there is a tablet in the church here ?" he 
 said.
 
 A CUP OF TEA. 93 
 
 '' Yes," replied Mary. '' Mawcle ]\Iayne, 
 who married John Beverley of Hather- 
 court." 
 
 '* Ah ! yes, that's the same Mawde," said 
 Captain Beverley. " She is our common 
 ancestress — poor old John Birley's and 
 mine, I mean. I come from another of 
 her sons, who left these parts and married 
 an heiress, I believe, but his descendants 
 have had nothing to do with this place 
 from that time to this. Isn't it strange 
 that Hathercourt, a part of it, at least, 
 should come back to me after all these 
 generations ?" 
 
 ^' It is very nice, I think," said Mary. 
 " I should be so proud of it, if I were 
 you." 
 
 Her eyes sparkled, and her face brighten- 
 ed up eagerly. For the first time it struck 
 Captain Beverley that there was something 
 very *' taking " about the second Miss-
 
 94 HATHERCOURT RECTORY. 
 
 Western. But his glance did not rest on 
 Iter ; it travelled on to wliere Lilias sat be- 
 hind the tea-tray, with a half-unconscious 
 appeal to her for sympathy in what he was 
 telling. Lilias, looking up, smiled. 
 
 "Yes," she said, softly, "it is very 
 strange." 
 
 '' Then," began Mrs. Western, with some 
 little hesitation, " are you, may I ask, Cap- 
 tain Beverley, going to live altogether at 
 Hathercourt Edge ? You can hardly do 
 so, though, in the house, as it is at present. 
 It is barely habitable, is it ?" 
 
 '' Very barely," replied the young man. 
 *' You never saw such a place. But I must 
 not grumble ; poor old John kept the land 
 up to the mark, though he spent nothing 
 on the house. I don't mean to settle 
 here " (Mrs. Western breathed a sigh of 
 relief), " I have another place which is let 
 just now, but will soon be free again, and
 
 A CUP OF TEA. 95 
 
 my cousin advises me to live tliere and 
 farm it myself. All I mean to do here is 
 to build a good farm-house, and establish 
 some trusty man as bailiff, and then I can 
 easily run down now and then — I am often 
 at Romary — and see how things are going 
 on. And this brings me to what I wanted 
 to see Mr. Western about. I want to ask 
 his opinion of a young man here who has 
 been recommended to me for my situation." 
 
 ''Mr. Western will be very glad to tell 
 you all he can, I am sure," said the Rector s 
 wife. '' I daresay he will be able to walk 
 over to Hathercourt Edge to-morrow to 
 see you, for about such a matter it would 
 be better for you to speak to himself." 
 
 '' Thank you," said Captain Beverley. 
 "But I couldn't think of giving Mr. 
 Western so much trouble. I can easily 
 come over again, and if he is out it doesn't 
 matter — it is only a pleasant walk — and —
 
 96 HATHERCOURT RECTOKY. 
 
 and if I am not a great trouble, I shall be 
 only too grateful to have some one to 
 speak to, for I am dreadfully tired of the 
 old farm-house, and I must be here alone 
 another fortnight. By then my cousins 
 will be back at Romary, and I can take up 
 my quarters there. You know Eomary, 
 of course ?" 
 
 "No," said Lilias, to whom the question 
 seemed to be addressed, her colour rising a 
 little; *'at least, I have only been there 
 once." 
 
 "It is some miles from here, and we 
 have no carriage," said Mrs. AYestern, 
 simply. " Old Mrs. Romary called on me 
 when we first came here, but I never saw 
 any more of them. "\Ye know very few of 
 our neighbours, Captain Beverley, for we 
 are not rich, and we live very quietly." 
 
 Mary looked up at her mother admiring- 
 ly. Lilias glanced at Captain Beverley.
 
 A CUP OF TEA. 97 
 
 His colour, too, had deepened a little. 
 
 " Then I must thank you all the more 
 for being so kind to me," he said, im- 
 pulsively. ''And, Mrs. Western, if, as I 
 shall really be your very nearest neigh- 
 bour, you will let me be to some extent 
 an exception to the rule, I shall thank you 
 still more," he added, with a sort of boyish 
 heartiness which it was difficult to resist. 
 
 He had got up to go, and stood looking 
 down at his hostess as he spoke with such 
 a kindly expression in his honest blue eyes, 
 and — he was so undeniably handsome and 
 gentlemanlike that Mrs. Western's cold 
 manner thawed. 
 
 " The thanks will, I think, be due from 
 us to you if you come to see us now and 
 then when you are in the neighbourhood ; 
 that is to say, at Hathercourt Edge. 
 Romary is too far off for us to consider 
 its inhabitants neighbours," she replied. 
 
 VOL. I. H
 
 98 IIATHERCOURT RECTORY. 
 
 "And I don't quite understand, but 
 Eomary is not your home, is it ?" 
 
 "Oh, dear, no," he rephed, evidently a 
 little surprised at the question. " E-omary 
 belongs now to my cousin, Mr. Cheviott. 
 It has been his ever since his uncle's 
 death, but he has only lately come to live 
 there. He was my guardian, and the best 
 and wisest friend I have ever known, 
 though not more than ten years older than 
 myself," he added, warmly. 
 
 " And that young lady — we thought her 
 so pretty," said Lilias — "she is Miss 
 Cheviott, then, I suppose ?" 
 
 "Yes, she is his sister. I am glad you 
 think her pretty. She is a dear little 
 thing," he replied, looking pleased and 
 gratified. "But I am really detaining you 
 too long. Will you be so kind as to tell 
 Mr. Western that I shall hope to see him 
 in a day or two. Good-bye, and thank you
 
 A CUP OF TEA. 99 
 
 very much," lie said, as lie shook hands 
 with Mrs. "Western and her daughters, 
 Lilias last. 
 
 "For a cup of tea?" she said, laughing. 
 
 " Yes, Miss Western, for a cup of tea," 
 he repeated. 
 
 " I like him," said Mary, when the door 
 had closed on their visitor ; '' he is honest, 
 and unaffected, and kindly." 
 
 *' He is very boyish," said Lilias ; '' some- 
 how he seems more boyish than when I 
 saw him two years ago." 
 
 "When you saw him two years ago?" 
 repeated Mrs. Western. " I did not know 
 you had ever seen him before." 
 
 '^ Yes, mamma. I met him at my second 
 Brocklehurst ball. Mary remembers my 
 mentioning him," replied Lilias, meekly 
 enough. " I did not know where he had 
 come from, or whom he was staying with, 
 or anything about him, and indeed I had 
 
 h2
 
 100 HATHERCOURT RECTORY. 
 
 forgotten all about him till the other day 
 when he came to church." 
 
 *• He is a pleasant-looking young man,"" 
 said Mrs. Western. 
 
 " Pleasant-looking, mother !" exclaimed 
 Mary. " I call him very handsome." 
 
 Lilias smiled, but her mother looked 
 grave. 
 
 " Well, well," she said, *' I daresay he is 
 handsome ; but in my opinion, my dears, 
 there is great truth in the old say- 
 ing, ' handsome is that handsome does,^ 
 and we do not know anything at all about 
 this Captain Beverley's doings, remember." 
 
 "At least we know nothing *?mhand- 
 some' about them," said Mary, who seemed 
 in an unusually argumentative mood. 
 
 '* Oh, dear, no. I have no reason to say 
 anything against him. I know nothing 
 whatever about him," said Mrs. "Wes- 
 tern, calmly ; " but I do not like mak-
 
 A CUP OF TEA. 101 
 
 iug acquaintance too quickly with young 
 men. One cannot be too careful. And 
 you know, my dears, I have always said if 
 ever you do marry I hope and trust it will 
 be some one quite in your own sphere." 
 
 "Mamma!" exclaimed Lilias, growing 
 scarlet, and with a touch of indignation in 
 her tone, " why should you allude to such 
 a thing ? Just because a gentleman hap- 
 pens to have called to see papa on busi- 
 ness — as if we could not have spoken two 
 words to him without thinking if we should 
 like to marry him." 
 
 " You need not fire up so, Lilias," re- 
 plied her mother. "You very often speak 
 about marrying, or not marrying, and I 
 have heard you maintain it was gross 
 affectation of girls to pretend they never 
 thought about their future lives." 
 
 " Yes," said Lilias, " I know I have said 
 so, and I think so, but still there is a dif-
 
 102 HATHERCOURT RECTORY. 
 
 ference between tliat and Well, never 
 
 mind. But, mother," slie went on, with 
 returning playfulness, *' I must warn you 
 of one thing. If by * our own sphere ' you 
 mean curates, then the sooner, as far as I 
 am concerned, I can get out of my own 
 sphere the better." 
 
 Mrs. Western did not laugh. 
 
 '^ Lilias," she began, gravely, but the 
 rest of her remonstrance was lost, for at 
 that moment the drawing-room door 
 opened softly, and a pair of bright eyes, 
 surmounted by a shag of fair hair, peeped 
 in, cautiously at first, then, their owner 
 gathering courage, the door opened more 
 widely, and a tall thin girl, in a brown 
 stuff skirt and scarlet flannel bodice, made 
 her appearance. 
 
 " Josey, w^hat do you want ? Don t you 
 know it is very rude to come peeping in 
 like that ? How did you know we were
 
 A CUP OF TEA. 108 
 
 alone ?" said Mary, somewhat peremptorily. 
 
 " Then he's gone ? — I thought he was," 
 answered Josephine, composedly. '^ All 
 right, Alexa, you can come in," she turned 
 to call back to some one behind her, and, 
 thus encouraged, a fourth Miss Western — 
 the third as to age, in point of fact — fol- 
 lowed Josephine into the room. 
 
 " Is mamma better ? I have really done 
 my best, Mary, to keep them all quiet," 
 she began, plaintively, '' but George and 
 Josey do so squabble. They wanted to 
 find out who was calling, and I could 
 hardly prevent them coming to peep in at 
 the door. Yes, Josey, you needn't make 
 faces at me like that. It's quite true — 
 you know it is." 
 
 " I didn't say it wasn't," said Josey, 
 '' but there are more ways than one of 
 telling the truth. Somebody else was just 
 as inquisitive as ' George and Josey/ but
 
 104 HATHERCOURT RECTORY. 
 
 she was far too ladylike to do sucli a thing 
 as peep. Slie would let other people peep 
 for her — that is her way of doing things 
 she shouldn't," the last words uttered with 
 withering contempt. 
 
 Alexa was a pretty, frightened-looking 
 little creature of sixteen. She had soft, 
 wistful-looking dark eyes, which filled with 
 tears on the smallest provocation. 
 
 ''Mamma," she exclaimed, " it isn't true ! 
 I only said I would like " 
 
 ** I do not want to hear any more about 
 it, Alexa," interrupted Mrs. AYestern with 
 decision. " I do think you and Josephine 
 might have some little consideration for 
 me to-day, instead of quarrelling in this 
 way." 
 
 The culprits looked ashamed of them- 
 selves ; but in two minutes Josephine's 
 irrepressible spirits had risen again. 
 
 ** You might tell me if it really was
 
 A CUP OF TEA. 105 
 
 Captain Beverley," slie said to her elder 
 sisters. "What did he come for? — why 
 did he stay such a time ?" 
 
 '' Don't answer her, Mary," said Lilias, 
 hastily. " Josephine, I can't understand 
 how you can be so unladylike." 
 
 *' Come upstairs with me, Josey," whis- 
 pered Mary, who saw the storm-clouds 
 gathering again on her young sister's 
 handsome face. " Do remember that 
 mamma is tired and dull to-night, and we 
 should all try to comfort her. I will read 
 aloud to you all for half an hour, if you 
 like, and leave mother and Lilias in 
 peace." 
 
 But Lilias's spirits seemed to have re- 
 ceived a check. She remained unusually 
 quiet and depressed all the evening, and 
 Mary felt puzzled. 
 
 " She cannot really have taken to heart 
 what mother said," she thought to herself.
 
 106 HATHERCOUKT RECTORY. 
 
 " Mamma has often said things of that 
 sort without Lilias minding." 
 
 And when bed-time came, and she was 
 alone with her sister, she set to work to 
 find out what was wrong. 
 
 "What has made you so dull this even- 
 ing, Lilias ?" she asked, gently. 
 
 ''Nothing, or rather, perhaps, I should 
 say everything," replied Lilias. ^' Mary,'* 
 she went on ; she was sitting in front of 
 the looking-glass, her beautiful fair hair 
 loosened and falling about her shoulders, 
 and as she spoke she put her hands up to 
 her face, and leaning with her elbows on 
 the table gazed into the mirror before her 
 — ''Mary, don't think me conceited for 
 what I am going to say — I wouldn't say 
 it to anyone but you. Do you know, I 
 think I wish I wasn't pretty." 
 
 "Why?" said Mary, without, however, 
 testifying any great astonishment.
 
 A CUP OF TEA. 107 
 
 "If I could tell you exactly why, I 
 should understand myself better than I 
 do," she replied. " I fancy somehow being 
 pretty has helped to put me out of conceit 
 of my life ; and, after all, what a poor 
 stupid thing it is ! A very few years more, 
 and I shall be quite 'passee — indeed, I see 
 signs of it coming already. I want to be 
 good, and sensible, and sober, and content- 
 ed like you, Mary, and I can't manage it. 
 Oh, it does make me so angry when 
 mamma talks that way — about our own 
 sphere and all that !" 
 
 " You shouldn't be angry at it, it does 
 not really make aay difference," said Mary, 
 philosophically ; " poor mamma thinks it is 
 for our good." 
 
 " But it isn't only that ; it is everything, 
 Mary, people talk great nonsense about 
 poverty not necessarily lowering one ; it 
 does lower us — that, I think, is the reason
 
 108 HATHERCOURT RECTORY. 
 
 "why I dislike mamma's saying those tilings 
 so. There is truth in them. We are 
 rapidly becoming unfit for anything but a 
 low sphere, and it is all poverty. Did you 
 ever see anything more disgraceful than 
 the younger girls' manners sometimes? — 
 Alexa's silly babyishness, and Josephine's 
 vulgar noisiness? They should both be 
 sent to a good school, or have a proper 
 governess." 
 
 "Yes," said Mary, looking distressed, 
 " I know they should." 
 
 " I can't bear shamming and keeping up 
 appearances," continued Lilias, "it is not 
 that I want, that would be worse than 
 anything, but I do feel so depressed about 
 things sometimes, Mary. It is a sore feel- 
 ing to be, in one sense, ashamed of one s 
 home. I hope Captain Beverley will not 
 come again." 
 
 " He is almost sure to do so," said Mary.
 
 A CUP OF TEA. 109 
 
 " I wisli you would not feel things quite 
 as you do, Lilias ; I can sympathise 'with 
 you to a certain extent, but, after all, there 
 is nothing to be really ashamed of. And 
 if Captain Beverley, or anyone, judges us 
 by these trifling outside things, then I 
 don't think their reg^ard is worth con- 
 sidering." 
 
 *' But it is just by these things that 
 people are judged, and that is where the 
 real sting of poverty like ours lies," per- 
 sisted Lilias. 
 
 And Mary, who sympathised with her 
 more than she thought it wise to own to, 
 allowed that there was a great deal of 
 truth in what she said. ''But must it not 
 be harder on papa and mamma than on 
 us?" she suggested. 
 
 "I don't know," said Lilias, "not in the 
 same way, I fancy. Papa feels it more 
 than mamma, I sometimes think, only he
 
 110 HATHERCOURT RECTORY. 
 
 is naturally so easy-going. And poor 
 mamma, even if she does feel it, she would 
 not show it. She is so unselfish ; and how 
 hard she works for us all ! I don't think 
 she could work so hard if she felt as de- 
 pressed as I do sometimes — especially 
 about the younger ones." 
 
 " But you do work hard also, Lilias," 
 said Mary, " and you are nearly always 
 cheerful. You are unselfish too. Oh! 
 Lilias, I should so like to see you very, 
 very happy !"
 
 Ill 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 IX THE BALXER WOODS. 
 
 ^' And so at length, with the fading year, 
 There comes a tender time once more, 
 
 And the year clings more fondly to life and light, 
 Now that its labour is over and done. 
 And the woods grow glorious with purple and red, 
 As bright as the flowers of Spring.'' 
 
 Sonrjs of Two Worlds. 
 
 rpHE next morning was dull and rainy. 
 -*- It was dull enough at Hathercourt 
 Eectory, but far w^orse at Hathercourt 
 Edge, and even Arthur Beverley's unfailing 
 good spirits felt the influence of the out- 
 side dreariness. 
 
 " I wish I hadn't o-one over to the
 
 112 HATHEKCOURT RECTORY. 
 
 Rectory yesterday," he said to himself, '' it 
 would have been something to do to-day. 
 I can't go again till to-morrow, at soonest, 
 and it is so horribly dull here. I wonder 
 what those girls do with themselves on 
 such a day as this. Their life must be 
 very monotonous, though they look happy 
 enough. I can't understand why Lau- 
 rence doesn't like them. I wonder if that 
 old fool is going to give me any breakfast ?" 
 He turned from the window to look at 
 the table; it was covered with a very 
 crumpled and coarse cloth, the forks and 
 spoons, &c., were of the homeliest descrip- 
 tion, there was nothing in the shape of 
 eatables but the half of a stale loaf, and 
 an uninviting-looking lump of evidently 
 salt butter, on a cracked plate. Captain 
 Beverley eyed it all rather disconsolately. 
 Then he went to the door — he had to 
 stoop to avoid knocking his head on the
 
 IX THE BALXEE WOODS. 113 
 
 lintel — and called down the narrow, red- 
 tiled passage leading to the kitchen, 
 
 "Mrs. Bowker, I say. Aren't you going 
 to give me any breakfast this morning ?" 
 
 No Mrs. Bowker appeared in answer to 
 his summons, but out of the depths of the 
 kitchen a voice replied, 
 
 ^Tm a-bringin' it, sir," 
 
 " And what is it ? Bacon ?'^ 
 
 *' No, sir — heggs," was the reply. 
 
 " Heggs," he repeated, as he turned back 
 again into the parlour, ''of course. I 
 might have known, by this time, if it 
 wasn't bacon it would be ' heggs.' I de- 
 clare, if I were that Mrs. Western, and she 
 I, I wouldn't be so inhospitable. She 
 might have asked me to go to breakfast, or 
 luncheon, or something. I am sure those 
 nice girls would if they could. Ah ! well, 
 here come the heggs, and letters too! 
 What's going to happen, Mrs. Bowker? 
 
 VOL. I. I
 
 114 HATHERCOURT RECTORY. 
 
 The postman's not above half an hour late 
 this morning !" 
 
 " Maybe he walks fast to get out of the 
 wet," Mrs. Bowker suggested, composedly, 
 as she left the room. 
 
 There were tbree letters, two manifestly 
 uninteresting, and Captain Beverley tossed 
 them aside. The third had the postmark 
 " Paris." It was from Mr. Cheviott, and 
 his cousin opened and read it eagerly. It 
 was rather a long letter, once or twice 
 he smiled, and once, when he came to a 
 passage close to the end, a slight frown 
 contracted his good-humoured face. 
 
 ** Laurence takes up such unreasonable 
 prejudices," he said to himself, with some 
 irritation. " What can he know about 
 it?" 
 
 This wa^ the passage that annoyed him: 
 *^I hardly think the man you mention 
 would be experienced enough for your sit-
 
 IN THE BALNER WOODS. 115 
 
 nation — in any case I would not, if I were 
 you, consult tlie Hatliercourt clergyman 
 about him, for by all accounts he is far 
 from a practical person as to such matters, 
 and I rather fancy there is nothing supe- 
 rior about the Rectory family. They are 
 desperately poor, for one thing, but, of 
 course, you will not need to make friends 
 with them :' it is not as if Hathercourt 
 were to be your head-quarters." 
 
 Captain Beverley ate his breakfast and 
 pondered over his letter. Then he got up 
 and went to the window, and looked out 
 at the rain. 
 
 "It is very annoying of Cheviott to have 
 taken up this prejudice against Owen," he 
 thought. ''I believe he is the very man 
 for me, and, at any rate, it is necessary to 
 hear all I can about him. And as for 
 what Cheviott says about the Westerns I 
 think nothing of it whatever, and he him- 
 
 I 2
 
 116 HATHEECOUET EECTOEY. 
 
 self would be the first to own he had been 
 mistaken, if he saw the sort of people 
 they really are. I can understand their 
 not being popular, well enough ; they are 
 proud and won't stand being patronised/' 
 
 His meditations ended in his deciding 
 to walk over again to Hathercourt that 
 very afternoon — it would not do to put off 
 hearing about Owen and settling the mat- 
 ter, and this he could easily explain to Mr. 
 Western, as an excuse for troubling him 
 about it. And, having arrived at this de- 
 cision, things in general began to look con- 
 siderably less gloomy — he got out the 
 plans for the new farm-house, and examin- 
 ed them critically, rolling them neatly up 
 again, when the idea struck him that it 
 would be well to take them with him to 
 the Rectory, in the afternoon. 
 
 *' Mr. Western may like to see them," 
 he thought, "and, as he is the clergyman
 
 IN THE BALXER WOODS. 117 
 
 of the parish, it will gratify him to be 
 consulted." 
 
 Then he answered Mr. Cheviott's letter, 
 saying nothing about his visit to Hather- 
 court, and merely mentioning that he was 
 making further inquiries about the man 
 Owen, ending with a description of Mrs. 
 Bowker for Alys's benefit, and a hearty 
 wish that they were all back at Romary. 
 
 This important task accomplished he 
 looked at his watch and saw that it was 
 eleven o'clock, so he sauntered out for a 
 stroll round the farm and a talk with his 
 head man. The rain was ceasing, and 
 there was no sort of reason why he should 
 not walk over to the Eectory in the after- 
 noon ; besides, to-morrow would be Satur- 
 day, a day on which clergymen, proverbially, 
 dislike to be interrupted. So, having de- 
 spatched a couple of rather tough mutton 
 chops, which was all Mrs. Bowker conde-
 
 118 HATHEKCOURT RECTORY. 
 
 scended to allow him in the way of luncheon, 
 by half-past two o'clock Captain Beverley 
 found himself more than ready for his 
 second expedition to Hathercourt. It was 
 really too early to call however, but the 
 day had grown pleasant out of doors, and 
 inside the old farm-house he felt it impos- 
 sible to kill any more time. A " happy 
 thought " occurred to him — why not go 
 round by the Balner woods ? It was a 
 long walk and he might probably lose his 
 way, but if he did he could but try to find 
 it again — anything was better than hang- 
 ing about Hathercourt Edge doing nothing. 
 It was November now, but who that has 
 really lived in the country — lived in it " all 
 the year round," and learnt every change 
 in the seasons, every look of the sky, 
 all the subtle combinations of air, and 
 light, and colour, and scent which give to 
 out-door life its indescribable variety
 
 IN THE BALNEE WOODS. 119 
 
 and unflagging interest, who of sucli initi- 
 ated ones does not know how marvellously 
 delicious November can sometimes be ? 
 How tender the clear, thin, yellow tone of 
 the struggling sunbeams, the half frosty 
 streaks of red on the pale blue-green sky, 
 the haze of approaching Winter over all ! 
 How soft, and subdued, and tired the 
 world seems — all the bustle over, ready to 
 fall asleep, but first to whisper gently 
 good night ! And to feel November to per- 
 fection, for, after all, this shy autumnal 
 charm is not so much a matter of sight, as 
 of every sense combined, sound and scent 
 and sight together, lapsing into one vague 
 consciousness of harmony and repose — the 
 place of places is a wood. A wood where 
 the light, faint at the best, comes quiver- 
 ing and brokenly through the not yet 
 altogether unclothed branches, where the 
 fragrance of the rich leafy soil mingles
 
 120 HATHERCOURT EECTORY. 
 
 with that of the breezes from the not far 
 distant sea, where the dear rabbits scud 
 about in the most unexpected places, and 
 the squirrels are up aloft making arrange- 
 ments for the Winter — oh ! a wood in late 
 Autumn has a strange glamour of its own, 
 that comes over me, in spirit, even as I 
 write of it, far, far away from country 
 sights and sounds, further away still from 
 the long-ago days of youth and leisure, 
 and friends to wander with, in the Novem- 
 bers that then were never gloomy. 
 
 Arthur Beverley was by no means senti- 
 mental — he whistled cheerily as he went 
 along, and thought more of the probable 
 amount of shooting in the Balner woods 
 than of the beauty around him, yet he was 
 not insensible to it. 
 
 " How jolly it seems after the rain," he 
 said to himself. ''After all, there's no- 
 where like England, fogs and all — it's fresh,
 
 IN THE RALNEE WOODS. 121 
 
 and wholesome, and invigorating, even in 
 murky weather, like what we've had lately," 
 and he stood still and looked round him 
 approvingly. 
 
 Suddenly a sound, a faint sound only, 
 caught his ear. He listened. It came 
 ao^ain. This time he distinoruished it to 
 be that of cheerful voices approaching him, 
 then a merry laugh, a little exclamation, 
 and the laugh again. Arthur Beverley's 
 face lighted up with interest ; he felt sure 
 he knew that laugh. He hastened on and, 
 after a few moments' quick walking, a little 
 turn in the path brought him in sight of a 
 group of figures just in front of him ; they 
 were the Western girls, the Western girls 
 in great force, for, besides the two he knew 
 already, there were the younger ones, 
 Alexa and Josephine, and little Francie. 
 And the laugh had been Lilias's — he was 
 not mistaken.
 
 122 HATHERCOURT UECTORT. 
 
 She was standing with her back towards 
 him, and so was Mary, but the tiny girl 
 beside them drew their attention to his 
 approach. 
 
 ''A gentleman, sister," she exclaimed, 
 pulling ]\Iiss Western s skirt. And Lilias, 
 turning round, met his hearty look of 
 pleasure. 
 
 ^' I thought it was you/' he said, as he 
 shook hands, '^ I heard you laugh." 
 
 " How do you know it ivas my laugh ?" 
 said Ijilias, smiling. 
 
 " I recognised it," he said, quietly. 
 
 And Mary glanced up at him brightly. 
 " Yes," she said, '' it was Lilias. She was 
 laughing at Alexa, who screamed because 
 a rabbit ran across the path. That's 
 not like a country girl, is it. Captain 
 Beverley ?" 
 
 " Alexa screams if a butterfly settles on 
 her," said Josephine, disdainfully, trying
 
 IX THE BALNER WOODS. 123 
 
 to balance herself on the Hooked handle of 
 her umbrella, which she was holding up- 
 side-down for the purpose. 
 
 Captain Beverley glanced at her and at 
 Alexa with good-humoured curiosity. 
 Alexa looked pretty and frightened, but 
 Josey, her long thin legs emerging from a 
 shabby waterproof, her " touzled" fair hair 
 tumbling out from under a still shabbier 
 hat, was rather a remarkable object. 
 
 " These are your younger sisters, I sup- 
 pose ?" he said, turning to Lilias. 
 
 '' Yes," she answered, rather shortly ; 
 " we all came out for a ramble as soon as 
 the rain cleared off. It is so miserable to 
 be shut up in the house all day." 
 
 ** Just what I have been feeling," he 
 replied. '' Not that I mind the rain, but 
 still one can't exactly set off for a walk in 
 it unless one has something to do or some- 
 where to go. It is very lucky for me that
 
 124 HATHEHCOURT RECTORY. 
 
 I met you ; I was just making up my mind 
 to losing my way." 
 
 " I daresay we can direct you," said 
 Lilias, ''but we are not going your way. 
 We are going home ; it must be about 
 half-past three now, and we have been out 
 ever since dinner-time. Mar}^, don't you 
 think we should be going home ? — it is a 
 good walk from here, you know. You can 
 direct Captain Beverley to Hathercourt 
 Edgfe better than I, I think." 
 
 '' But I don't want to be directed 
 to Hathercourt Edge," said Captain 
 Beverley, with a very slight touch of 
 annoyance in his tone. " I have just 
 come from there. Of course, if you 
 won't let me walk with you, I must sub- 
 mit ; but I ivas bound for Hathercourt 
 Rectory. I am very anxious to see Mr. 
 Western, and thought I might again take 
 my chance of finding him at home. That
 
 IN THE BALNER WOODS. 125 
 
 is to saj, if lie will not tliink me very 
 troublesome." 
 
 " Of course he will not," answered Mary, 
 heartily ; '' he was very sorry to have 
 missed you ^^esterday, and I know he will 
 be at home all this afternoon. Which 
 way shall we go back, Lilias — by the 
 Southmoor road, or all the way through 
 the wood ?" 
 
 " By the wood decidedly, 1 should say," 
 answered Captain Beverley. " Miss Wes- 
 tern," he went on, quickly, "you have got 
 such a bramble on your skirt — there, now, 
 I have got him — step forward, please — yes, 
 that's it." 
 
 By this manoeuvre he had managed to 
 get Lilias and himself a little in front of 
 the others, and he maintained his ground 
 by walking on beside her. Francie was 
 at her other side, so the arrangement into 
 threes seemed to come about quite natu-
 
 126 HATHERCOUET RECTORY. 
 
 rally, Mary following with Alexa and Jose- 
 phine. By degrees Lilias lost the shght 
 constraint which her manner had shown 
 at first, and became her usual happy, win- 
 ning self. The sound of her voice, and 
 now and then of her lauo-h, was enousfh to 
 make Mary happy too, and well content to 
 keep behind at a reasonable distance, so 
 that Lilias should not be annoyed by the 
 exhibition before a stranger of Alexa's 
 foolish shyness or Josey's uncalled-for 
 remarks. 
 
 The sun came out more brightly, and 
 gleamed and quivered down the wood 
 alleys before them. AYhat did they talk 
 of, those two, as they walked on quietly, 
 little Francie beside them, trotting along, 
 lost in her own pretty baby dreams of 
 fairies and brownies, and the like, with 
 which her small head was filled, all uncon- 
 scious of the old, old drama beginning
 
 IN THE BALNER WOODS. 127 
 
 once more to be re-enacted in the old, old 
 way that is ever new ? What did they 
 talk of ? Could they have told, or did it 
 matter ? All about everythings and no- 
 things, no doubt, so called " small talk," 
 which yet seemed full of interest, nothing 
 very wise or weighty — so much, at least, 
 is certain — but certain too that the walk 
 through the Balner woods that sweet 
 November afternoon was neither weari- 
 some nor long to Lilias Western and the 
 new owner of the old Edge farm. 
 
 The sunshine had tempted Mr. Western 
 out too. He was walking about the gar- 
 den when his five daughters, escorted by 
 Captain Beverle}^, reached the Rectory. A 
 momentary expression of surprise crossed 
 his face as he came forward to meet them, 
 at first sight of the stranger, but it was 
 succeeded by a look of gratification and 
 pleasure, which quickly set the young
 
 128 HATHEECOUET EECTOET. 
 
 man's mind quite at rest, and left him na 
 doubt of being welcome. 
 
 *' I was quite intending to walk over to 
 Hathercourt Edge to see jou, to thank you 
 for the friendly visit yesterday, which I 
 was sorry to have missed," said the Rector, 
 with a slight touch of old-fashioned for- 
 mality, not unbecoming to his tall, thin, re- 
 fined-looking figure and gentle face, as he 
 shook hands with Captain Beverley, '' and 
 now I see I must thank you also for taking 
 care of my girls." 
 
 " We don't need to be taken care of 
 that way, papa," said Josephine, " we were 
 only in the Balner woods, and Captain 
 Beverley was coming here, anyhow." 
 
 " He only tookened care of Lily and 
 me," said Francie, importantly, but the 
 observation was a happy one. It was im- 
 possible not to laugh at it, and Josey's 
 abruptness passed unrebuked.
 
 IX THE BALNER WOODS. 129 
 
 " I certainly deserve no tlianks," said 
 Captain Beverley. ^'My visit yesterday 
 was a selfisli one, and as for to-day — why, 
 all my thanks are due to you, Francie ! 
 I should have been lost in the woods, and 
 perhaps eaten up by Red Riding-hood's 
 wolf if I had not met you, and been shown 
 the way here." 
 
 " But that wolf was killed lono^ aofo, 
 Lily says," said Francie, staring up with 
 great bewilderment in her blue eyes. " It 
 couldn't have eatened you up when it was 
 killed itself." 
 
 " Indeed. I am very glad to hear it," 
 replied Captain Beverley, gravely, "then I 
 needn't be afraid of coming through the 
 Balner woods ; it is a good thing to know 
 that. It is a much pleasanter walk than 
 by the road," he went on, turning again to 
 Mr. Western. '*I really Avas on my way 
 here when I met your daughters. I am 
 
 VOL. I. K
 
 130 HATHERCOURT RECTORY. 
 
 afraid you will think mo very trouble- 
 some." 
 
 His manner was certainly boyish, but 
 not in the least awkward. That Mr. West- 
 ern was '' taken " with him was quickly 
 evident. 
 
 *' Indeed, no," he said, heartily. '' Liv- 
 ing here so completely out of the world, 
 as you see, it is very seldom we have the 
 pleasure of showing even the little hospit- 
 ality we have in our power. But, such as 
 it is, I hope you will accept it. Lilias, 
 Mary," he continued, turning to his 
 daughters, the younger ones having by 
 this time disappeared, "tell your mother 
 that Captain Beverley is here." 
 
 '' I will," said Mary, hastening away 
 with a great excitement in her thoughts, 
 " I do believe papa is going to ask him to 
 stay to tea. What will mamma say ?" and 
 not knowing whether she was pleased or
 
 IN THE EALXER WOODS. 131 
 
 distressed, slie liurried in to break the 
 momentous tidings to her mother, and to 
 consult the cook. 
 
 Lilias was following her, but her father 
 called her back. 
 
 '' You need not both go, my dears," he 
 said, with sudden remembrance of un- 
 written letters awaiting him in his study, 
 which must be seen to before four o'clock 
 post-time. '' Perhaps Captain Beverley 
 would like to have a look at the church 
 again, if you will take him to see it. I 
 will follow you in a few minutes, but I have 
 a letter or two I must finish, which I was 
 fororettino^." 
 
 ^^ Pray don't let me interrupt you," ex- 
 claimed Captain Beverley, with anxiety 
 almost disproportionate to the occasion. 
 " I should very much like to look at the 
 church, for there are some tablets there I 
 want to examine. And if Miss Western 
 
 k2
 
 132 IIATHERCOURT RECTORY. 
 
 will explain tbem a little, T shall be very 
 much obliged." 
 
 Lilias hesitated. "Mary understands 
 them better than I do," she began, but her 
 father interrupted her. 
 
 " I will send her after you, if you go on, 
 and I will finish my letters as quickly as I 
 can, and then, Captain Beverley, I shall be 
 at your service. Mrs. Western tells me 
 you want to hear about Joseph Owen* 
 You will stay and — I can't say dine with 
 us — we are very uncivilized, you see ; we 
 have a mongrel meal at six !" 
 
 He spoke with a slight nervousness, 
 which made Lilias's cheek ^row hot. 
 " Poor dear father !" she ejaculated, men- 
 tally. But the guest seemed blissfully un- 
 conscious of his host's hesitation. 
 
 " You are very kind indeed," he said, 
 eagerly. " I should very much like to stay, 
 if I shall not be a trouble. It is so wretch-
 
 IN THE HALNEK WOODS. 133 
 
 edly dull and uncomfortable at the Edge, 
 I don't think I could have stood it much 
 longer, unless — if you had not taken pity 
 on me," he added, laughingly, as Lilias 
 led the way across the grass to the old 
 church. 
 
 Mary joined them there in a few minutes, 
 and while Captain Beverley was examining 
 the old coat-of-arms on the tablet in 
 memory of his ancestress, she found time 
 to whisper to her sister, 
 
 ^' Mamma knows that papa has asked 
 him to stay to tea. I don't think she minds 
 much." 
 
 " But what will there be for tea ?" said 
 Lilias, in consternation. 
 
 " Oh ! that will be all right," repHed 
 Mary, re-assuringly. 
 
 And, somewhat to Lilias's surprise, her 
 mother showed herself far more amiably 
 disposed to Captain Beverley, on further
 
 134 HATHEKCOURT RECTORY. 
 
 acquaintance, than might have been an- 
 ticipated. 
 
 ** Though, indeed," said Marj, when, at 
 night, they were talking over, in their own 
 room, the pleasant evening they had had, 
 "it would be difficult not to feel amiably 
 disposed to him I He is so unaffected and 
 hearty, and yet not by any means a goose. 
 He liked talking to papa about sensible 
 things, I could see." 
 
 '' He talked sensibly to me too," said 
 Lilias, drily, "though, of course, I cannot 
 answer for what he may have said to you.'^ 
 
 "Lilias!" exclaimed Mary, " don't be so 
 silly. You know " 
 
 '' What do I know ?" 
 
 " That I am not the sort of girl likely to 
 have anything but sensible things said 
 to me, especially when you are there." 
 
 Lilias laughed merrily. " Really, Mary, 
 you are very complimentary. You trust to
 
 IN THE BALXEE WOODS. 135 
 
 me to absorb all the nonsense, and leave 
 the sense for you ! I think I shall keep 
 out of the Tvay, if Captain Beverley comes 
 here as^ain." 
 
 " Then he wouldn't come any more," 
 said Mary. " Lily, Tm sleepy, say good 
 night, please." 
 
 " Good night, though I am not sleepy at 
 all," said Lilias, cheerfully. 
 
 What had become of all her low spirits ? 
 thought Mary, with a little bewilderment. 
 Lilias was not usually so changeable. The 
 evening had certainly been a very pleasant 
 one ; even the younger girls had somehow 
 shown to advantage ; and Captain Beverley 
 had not merely ignored, he had seemed 
 perfectly unconscious of the homeliness of 
 their way of living — the crowded tea-table, 
 the little, countrified waiting-maid, the 
 absence of the hundred and one small 
 luxuries which to him could not but be
 
 136 HATHERCOURT RECTORY. 
 
 matters of course. And his unconscious- 
 ness had re-acted favourably on his enter- 
 tainers ; Mr. Western lost his nervousness, 
 Mrs. Western her gentle coldness, and 
 everyone seemed at ease and happy. Any 
 stranger glancing in would have thought 
 them all old friends, instead of new ac- 
 quaintances, of the handsome young man 
 who was the life and soul of the party. 
 
 "Mary," said Lilias again, just as Mary 
 was falling asleep, '' Captain Beverley will 
 be at the Brocklehurst ball this year. He 
 is to be staying at Romary." 
 
 " I thought you said you were never 
 going again," said Mary, who had her wits 
 about her, sleepy though she was. 
 
 " But you would not like to go without 
 me, I know," replied Lilias, meekly. " Oh, 
 Mary, I do wish we could have new dresses 
 for once !" 
 
 Mary did not consider this observation
 
 IN THE BALNEE WOODS. 137 
 
 worth waking up to answer. But lier 
 dreams were a strange medley — Captain 
 Beverley dancing at a ball with his great 
 great grandmother Mawde, dressed all in 
 scarlet, as if she were Red Riding-hood, but 
 with a face like Lilias's. And what Lilias's 
 dreams were, who can say ? 
 
 But the Brocklehurst ball was three 
 weeks off as yet, and there was no lack of 
 opportunities of discussing it with Captain 
 Beverley. 
 
 Surely ISTovember this year must have 
 been an exceptionally fine one, for there 
 seemed few days on which Arthur Beverley 
 did not find his way through the woods, or 
 by the road, to the Rectory, with some 
 excuse in the shape of further plans to be 
 shown to Mr. "Western, or a book to lend 
 to the girls or their mother, or without 
 any, save the sight of his own bright face, 
 and an eager proposal that they should all
 
 13S HATHERCOUET RECTOEY. 
 
 set off on a long ramble somewliere or 
 other, instead of wasting one of the few 
 fine days of late Autumn, moping in the 
 house. And by degrees it came to be a 
 matter of course that, if the owner of 
 Hathercourt Edge chose to drop in at any 
 or every meal, he should be welcome, and 
 that if he stayed away he should be missed, 
 and Mrs. Western s fears and vague appre- 
 hensions gradually softened, now that this 
 terrible wolf had actually taken up his 
 quarters in the midst of her flock without, 
 so far, any of them being the worse ! 
 
 " He seems like a sort of elder brother 
 among them all," she said to her husband. 
 '* I w^sh Basil had been at home — contact 
 with such a man would have done him 
 good." 
 
 Mr. Western agreed with her, for he, too, 
 had greatly " taken " to the young stranger. 
 It was pleasant to him to find that he had
 
 IN THE BALNER WOODS. 139 
 
 not altogether fallen out of the ways of 
 his class, that cares, and small means, and 
 living out of the world had not crusted 
 over his former self past recognition. 
 Arthur Beverley had not been at college, 
 but he, as well as his host, had been an 
 Eton boy, and poor George, to whom the 
 name of Eton was that of a forbidden Para- 
 dise, listened with delight to the many 
 reminiscences in common of his father and 
 his guest, notwithstanding the quarter of 
 a century which divided their experiences. 
 So everybody in his or her own way felt 
 pleased with Captain Beverley, and his 
 coming seemed to have brought new life 
 and sunshine into the Eectory. Lilias 
 alone spoke little of him, and Mary some- 
 times lay awake at night " thinking."
 
 140 
 
 CHAPTER YI. 
 
 MARRYING OR GIVING IN MARRIAGE. 
 
 *' If there's no meaning in it," said the king, '* that 
 saves a world of trouble, as we needn't try to find any. 
 And yet I don't know." 
 
 Alice in Wonderland. 
 
 NOVEMBER was not bright every- 
 where, however. In Paris every- 
 thing, out of doors, that is to say, was 
 looking extremely dull, and Alys Cheviott 
 many times, during the four weeks her 
 brother had arranged to stay there, 
 "wished herself at home again at Romary. 
 For Paris, though people who have only 
 visited it in Spring or Summer (when the 
 sunshine, and the heat, and the crowds,
 
 MARRYING OR GIVING IN MARRIAGE. 141 
 
 and the holiday aspect of everything are 
 almost overwhelming), can hardly perhaps 
 realise the fact, can be exceedingly dull, 
 and hotel life at all times requires bright 
 weather, and plenty of outside interests, 
 to make it endurable. Alys did not care 
 particularly about balls or parties ; she 
 was too youDg to have acquired much taste 
 for such amusements, though young enough 
 to enjoy heartily the two or three recep- 
 tions at which Mr. Cheviott allowed her to 
 *' assist." But it was the day time she 
 found so long and dreary. She wanted to 
 go out, to shop and to look about her, and 
 to take long walks in the Bois de Bou- 
 logne in the morning, and drives with her 
 brother in the afternoon, and every day 
 the weather put all expeditions of the kind 
 out of the question. It rained incessantly^ 
 or, at least, as she complained piteously^ 
 *'when it didn't rain it did worse — it looked
 
 142 HATHERCOURT RECTORY. 
 
 SO black and gloomy that no one had 
 the heart to do anything." Alys had been 
 in Paris several times before, she had seen 
 all the orthodox lions, and had not, there- 
 fore, the interest and excitement of the 
 perfect novelty of her surroundings to sup- 
 port her, and as day after day passed, with 
 no improvement to speak of, she began 
 sorely to regret having teased her brother 
 into allowing her to accompany him on this 
 visit, in his case necessitated by the busi- 
 ness arrangements of a friend. 
 
 '' ril never come with you again, Lau- 
 rence, anywhere, when it has anything to do 
 with business," she declared. 
 
 ^^Who is 'it'?" inquired Mr. Cheviott, 
 calmly. 
 
 " Laurence, you are not to tease me. I 
 am too worried to stand it, I am, really," 
 she replied. 
 
 '''It' again! Alys, you are growing
 
 MARRYING OR GIVING IN MARRIAGE. 143 
 
 incorrigible. I really think my best plan 
 would be to send you to a good school for 
 a year or two — the sort of place where 
 * young ladies of neglected education' are 
 taken in hand." 
 
 He spoke so seriously that for a quarter 
 of a second Alys wondered if he could be 
 in earnest. She turned sharply round 
 from the window against which she had 
 been pressing her pretty face in a sort of 
 affectation of babyish discontent, staring 
 out at the leaden sky, and the ^vet street, 
 and the dreary-looking gardens in the dis- 
 tance. 
 
 " Laurence !" she exclaimed. But Lau- 
 rence's next remark undeceived her. 
 
 " You should not flatten your face 
 against the window-pane. You will spoil 
 the shape of your nose, and you have 
 made it look so red," he observed, 
 gravely. '' Would you care to live, Alys,
 
 144 HATHERCOURT RECTORY. 
 
 do you think, if you had a red nose ?" 
 
 Alys gently stroked the ill-treated mem- 
 ber as she answered, thoughtfully, 
 
 " I hardly think I should. Laurence, 
 do you know there have been times when 
 I have been afraid they might run in the 
 family." 
 
 ''What?" asked Laurence, philosophi- 
 cally. 
 
 " Red noses," answered Alys, calmly. 
 " Aunt Winstanley has one, you know. 
 She says it is neuralgia, but 1 feel sure it 
 is indigestion." 
 
 Laurence looked up at her with a smile, 
 which broke into a laugh as he observed 
 the preternatural gravity of her expres- 
 sion. 
 
 *' Come and sit down and have some 
 breakfast, vou absurd child." he said. He 
 was already seated at the table. 
 
 Alys walked slowly across the room,
 
 MARRYING OR GIVING IX MARRIAGE. 145 
 
 and took her place opposite him. She 
 looked blooming enough, notwithstanding 
 all the trials she had had to endure. As 
 the Western girls had pronounced her, 
 such she was, very, very pretty — as pretty 
 a girl as one could wish to see. Her soft 
 dark hair grew low, but not too low, on 
 the white, well-shaped forehead ; her fea- 
 tures were all good, and gave promise of 
 maturing into even greater beauty than 
 that of eighteen ; her blue eyes could look 
 up tenderly as well as brightly from under 
 their long black eyelashes, for their colour 
 was not of the cold steel-like shade that is 
 often the peculiarity of blue eyes in such 
 juxtaposition. But the tenderness was 
 more a matter of the future than the pre- 
 sent, for hitherto there had been little in 
 her life to call forth the deeper tones of 
 her character ; she was happy, trustful, 
 and winning, full of life and vigour; in- 
 
 VOL. I. L
 
 146 HATHERCOURT RECTORY. 
 
 capable of a mean thoiigbt or action 
 herself, incapable of suspecting such in 
 others. 
 
 Mr. Cheviott looked at her critically as 
 she sat opposite him. 
 
 " Alys," he said at last, *' I am afraid I 
 have not brought you up well." 
 
 *' What makes you think so all of a sud- 
 den, Laurence ?" 
 
 " I am afraid you are spoilt. You are 
 such a baby." 
 
 Alys's eyes flashed a little. 
 
 " Are you in earnest, Laurence ?" 
 
 ''A little, not quite." 
 
 " I think you have got into the habit of 
 thinking other people babies, and it's a 
 very bad habit. You like them to do just 
 exactly what you tell them, and yet you 
 laugh at them for being babies. You think 
 Arthur is a baby, too." 
 
 *' There are babies and babies," Mr.
 
 MAKRYING OR GIVING IN MARRIAGE. 147 
 
 Cheviott replied. " Some do credit to 
 those who bring tliem up, and some 
 don't." 
 
 " Well, he does, whether I do or not," 
 said Alys, "he is as kind, and good, and 
 nice, and sensible as he can be. And do 
 you know what I think, Laurence ? If 
 there are different kinds of babies, there 
 are different ways of being spoilt, and 1 
 sometimes think you are spoilt ! I do," she 
 continued, shaking her head solemnly. 
 '^Arthur spoils you, and Aunt of course 
 does. I believe 1 am the only person that 
 does not." 
 
 " And how do you manage to steer clear 
 of so fatal an error ?" 
 
 " You are not nice, indeed you are ex- 
 tremely disagreeable when you speak like 
 that," said Alys, '' but still I think I will 
 tell you. I don't spoil you, because I don't 
 think you quite perfect, as everybody else 
 
 l2
 
 148 HATHERCOURT RECTORY. 
 
 does," and slie glanced up at him defiantly. 
 Mr. Cheviott laughed. He was just go- 
 in sr to answer, when there came an inter- 
 ruption in the shape of his man-servant. 
 
 " Letters !" exclaimed Alys, " I do hope 
 there are some for me ; they will give me 
 something to do. Are there any for me, 
 Laurence ?" 
 
 " Yes, two, and only one for me." 
 
 " From Aunt and from Arthur," said 
 
 Alys. " I will read Aunt's first, there is 
 
 never anything in hers. She just tells me 
 
 over again what I told her, and makes 
 
 little comments upon it. Yes, ' so sorry, 
 
 dearest Alys, that the weather in Paris 
 
 has so spoilt the pleasure of your visit, and 
 
 that, during the last week, you have 
 
 scarcely been able to get out, except in a 
 
 close carriage, for a miserable attempt at 
 
 shopping. And so you enjoyed Madame 
 
 de Briancourt's ball, on the whole, very
 
 MARRYING OR GIVING IN MARRIAGE. 149 
 
 much, and your pink and white gre- 
 nadine looked lovely, and Clotilde did your 
 hair the new way.' Did you ever hear 
 anything so absurd, Laurence ? It is like 
 reading all I have written over again, in a 
 looking-glass, only then the letters would 
 be all the wrong way, wouldn't they ?" 
 
 But Mr. Cheviott did not answer, and 
 Alys, looking up, saw that he had not 
 heard her ; he was busily reading his own 
 letter, and its contents did not seem to be 
 satisfactory, for a frown had gathered on 
 his brow, and, as he turned the first page, 
 a half smothered exclamation of annoyance 
 escaped him. 
 
 ''What is the matter, Laurence?" said 
 Alys. "You don't seem any better pleas- 
 ed with your letter than I am with mine ?" 
 
 "How do you mean? What does he 
 say to you ?" inquired her brother, quickly. 
 
 " Who ? Oh, Arthur, you mean. I
 
 150 HATHERCOURT RECTORY. 
 
 haven't opened Lis yet. I was saying how 
 stupid Aunt's letters are. So yours is 
 from Arthur, too, is it ?" said Alys, prick- 
 ing up her ears, " what's the matter ? Is 
 he going to be married ? I do wish he 
 were." 
 
 " Alys !" exclaimed Mr. Cheviott, with 
 real annoyance in his tone, ''do be careful 
 what you say. You are too old to talk so 
 foolishly. It is unbecoming and unlady- 
 like." 
 
 '' Why ? What do you mean ?" said Alys, 
 opening wide her blue eyes in astonish- 
 ment. '' Why shouldn't I talk of Arthur's 
 being married ? I have noticed before 
 that you seem quite indignant at the 
 thought of such a thing, and I don't think 
 you have any right to dictate to him. It's 
 just what I was saying, he has spoilt you 
 by giving in so, and the more inches he
 
 MARRYING OR GIVING IN MARRIAGE. 151 
 
 gives you the more ells you want to take." 
 '^1 have spoilt you, Alys, by allowing 
 you to speak to me as you do. It is most 
 unjustifiable ; and the way you express 
 yourself is worse than unladylike, it is 
 vulgar and coarse.'' 
 
 He got up and left the room. 'Neyev in 
 all her life had Alys been so reproved 
 before, and by him of all people, her dear, 
 dear Laurence — her father and mother and 
 brother in one, as she often called him. 
 She could not bear it ; she threw aside the 
 unlucky letters which in some way or other 
 she felt to have been the cause of her dis- 
 tress, and burst into tears. She cried 
 away quietly for some time, till it occurred 
 to her to wonder more definitely in what 
 way she had really displeased her brother, 
 and the more she thought it over the more 
 convinced she became that Arthur's letter
 
 152 HATHERCOURT RECTORY. 
 
 had been the primary cause of his annoy- 
 ance, and her own remarks nothing worse 
 than ill-timed and unwise. 
 
 '' For I very often say much more im- 
 pertinent things, and he only laughs," she 
 reflected. 
 
 There was some comfort in this. She 
 dried her eyes, and resolved to try to 
 make peace on the first opportunity. 
 '' Laurence is very seldom angry or un- 
 reasonable," she thought ; " but, of course, 
 as I was saying just now, he is not perfect 
 But I am sure he does not really think me 
 * coarse and unladylike.' What horrible 
 words !" And the tears came back ao^ain. 
 
 Just then her glance fell on Captain 
 Beverley's unopened letter. '' I wonder if 
 I shall find out, from what he says to me, 
 how he has managed to vex Laurence so," 
 she thought to herself, tearing open the 
 letter, and quickly running through its
 
 MARRYING OR GIVING IN MARRIAGE. 153 
 
 contents. It was a pleasant, cousinly let- 
 ter, amusing and hearty, but with nothing 
 that would, to Alys, have distinguished it 
 from others she had, from time to time, 
 received from Arthur, had not her eyes 
 been sharpened by her brother's strange 
 annoyance. Instinctively she hit upon the 
 cause of offence ; two or three times, in the 
 course of the letter, allusion was made to 
 the "Western family, to their ''kindness 
 and hospitality," their general "likeable- 
 ness," and a far less quick-witted person 
 than Miss Cheviott would have been at no 
 loss to discern Captain Beverley's growing 
 intimacy with the Eectory household, and 
 to suspect the existence of some especial 
 attraction, though possibly as yet unsus- 
 pected by the young man himself. 
 
 " I am sure it is about the Westerns that 
 Laurence is annoyed," said Alys to her- 
 self. ''I have noticed that he does not
 
 154 HATHERCOURT RECTORY. 
 
 like them, and he is afraid of Arthur fall- 
 ing in love with one of them. But why 
 shouldn't he ? I can't understand Laurence 
 sometimes. I am sure if ever he marries 
 it will be to please himself, and nobody 
 else. What is the good of a man's being 
 rich if he can't do that ? And Arthur is 
 rich enough ! Yes, the more I think of it 
 the more sure I am that it was something 
 about the Westerns that made Laurence 
 angry." 
 
 She was not long left in doubt. The 
 door opened and Mr. Cheviott made his 
 appearance again. He looked grave and 
 preoccupied, but as calm as usual. When, 
 however, his glance fell on Alys's flushed 
 cheeks and tearful eyes, his expression 
 grew troubled. He came behind her chair 
 and, putting his hand on her head, turned 
 her face gently towards him. 
 
 " Do you think me very harsh, Alys ?"
 
 MARRYING OR GIVING IN MARRIAGE. 155' 
 
 he said, kindly. *' I did not mean to be 
 so, but I was annoyed, and, besides that, I 
 cannot bear that habit of joking about 
 marrying, and so on, especially the sort of 
 way girls do so now-a-days. It is very 
 offensive." 
 
 ''But I wasn't joking, Laurence. I had 
 no thought of it," replied Alys. ''I will 
 never speak about anything of the kind at 
 all, if you dislike it ; but truly you mis- 
 understood me. I don't think what I said 
 would have annoyed you if you had not 
 been vexed about something else." 
 
 '' Perhaps not," said Mr. Cheviott, kind- 
 ly. " Well, dear, I am sorry for making 
 you cry, but you will forgive me, won't 
 
 you?" 
 
 Alys smiled up through the remains of 
 her tears. 
 
 *' Of course," she replied. *^ You know 
 you could make me think it all my owa
 
 156 nATHERCOURT RECTORY. 
 
 fault, if you liked, Laurence. And I un- 
 derstand what you mean about disliking 
 joking about marrying, and so on, but in- 
 deed I was quite in earnest. I should 
 very much like Arthur to marry, and I 
 cannot imagine wliy you should so dislike 
 the idea of it." 
 
 She glanced at her brother questioningly 
 as she spoke — her curiosity strengthening 
 as her courage revived — but his expression 
 baffled her. 
 
 " Why do you so much wish Arthur to 
 marry?" he inquired. "You have never 
 seemed to dislike him, Alys." 
 
 *' Dislike him !" she repeated, innocently. 
 *' Dislike Arthur ! Of course not. I like 
 him more than I can tell ; indeed, I think 
 I love him next best to you of everybody 
 in the world. How could I dislike him ? 
 And if I did, how could that possibly have 
 anything to do with my wishing him to
 
 MARKYING OR GIVING IN MARRIAGE. 157 
 
 marry ? "Why, I want you to marry, but I 
 have given it up in despair." 
 
 Mr. Cheviott looked slightly self-con- 
 scious at his sister's cross-questioning, but 
 turned it off as lightly as he could. 
 
 '' You mio-ht want to o'et rid of him," he 
 said, carelessly. " Of course, if he were 
 married, we should not see so much of him. 
 Why do you want him to marry ?" 
 
 *' Just because it would be nice, that is 
 to say, if his ivife were nice, and I don't 
 think Arthur would marry anyone that 
 wasn't/' said Alys. "She would be in a 
 sort of way like a sister to me, you know, 
 Laurence." 
 
 '* Those dreams are seldom realized," 
 observed Mr. Cheviott, cynically. " As 
 nature did not give you a sister, I would 
 advise you to be content with what she did 
 give you, even though it is only a very 
 cross old brother. But what has put all
 
 158 HATHERCOURT RECTORY. 
 
 this of Arthur's marrying into your head 
 just now, Alys ? Has he been taking you 
 into his confidence about any nonsense — 
 falling in love, or that kind of thing, I 
 mean?" And he eyed Arthur's letter sus- 
 piciously. 
 
 " Oh ! dear no. Read his letter for your- 
 self, and you will see there is nothing of 
 the kind," replied Alys. But she watched 
 her brother s face rather curiously, as she 
 added, '' He seems to like the family at 
 Hathercourt Eectory very much — those 
 pretty girls, you know, that we saw that 
 Sunday. He says they have been very 
 civil to him." 
 
 "Very probably," said Mr. Cheviott, 
 drily, as he took up the letter. " Pretty 
 girls, do you call them, Alys ? One was 
 handsome, but the other wasn't." 
 
 *'I liked them both," persisted Alys. 
 ^' One was beautiful, and the other had a
 
 MARRYING OR GIVING IN MARRIAGE. 159 
 
 sort of noble, good look in her face, better 
 than beauty." 
 
 " What a physiognomist you are becom- 
 ing, child !" said her brother, from the 
 depths of Arthur's letter. He read it 
 quickly, and threw it aside ; then he went 
 to the window, and stood looking out for a 
 minute or two without speaking. " Alys," 
 he said at last, so suddenly that Alys 
 started, ^'you said just now that it was 
 very dull here ; so it is, I daresay, for no 
 doubt the weather is horrible. You would 
 not mind, I suppose, if I arranged to go 
 home rather sooner than I intended ?" 
 
 '' Oh, no, I wouldn't mind at all," replied 
 Alys, looking extremely surprised ; '' but, 
 Laurence, I thought you couldn't possibly 
 get your business finished sooner than you 
 said." 
 
 *' I think I might manage it," he said. 
 " Indeed, I fancy I am needed on the
 
 160 HATHERCODRT RECTORY. 
 
 other side of the water quite as much as 
 here. I may have to come back again 
 before long, but that's easily done. I'm 
 going out now, Alys, but I shall be in by 
 one, and if it's at all fine this afternoon, 
 Tve might pay the calls we owe, especially 
 if we are leaving sooner. I can tell you 
 certainly what I fix by luncheon-time." 
 
 "Yery well," replied Alys. ''I shall 
 not be sorry to go home, and for one thing, 
 Laurence, I should like to be at home in 
 time for the Brocklehurst ball." 
 
 ** What a reason !" exclaimed Laurence, 
 as he left the room. " Now that you have 
 reminded me of it, it is almost enough to 
 tempt me to stay away to escape it." 
 
 At luncheon-time he returned, telling 
 her that he had fixed to leave in two days. 
 
 "And just out of contradiction," said 
 Alys, " I believe it is going to be bright 
 and fine ;" for a gleam of positive sun-
 
 MARRYING OR GIVING IN MARRIAGE. 161 
 
 sbine, as she spoke, made its way into the 
 room. 
 
 '' All the better for our calls," said Lau- 
 rence. 
 
 The gleam strengthened into steady 
 brightness, and when Alys found herself, 
 wrapped in the most becoming of attires, 
 velvet and furs, seated beside her brother 
 in a very luxurious carriage, behind two 
 very respectable horses, the young lady 
 began to feel that it might have been very 
 possible to enjoy herself, if only the fine 
 weather had been quicker of coming. Tt 
 was a lifctle — just the very least little bit 
 in the world — provoking that now, just as 
 it had come, Laurence should make up his 
 mind that they must go. 
 
 She looked at him doubtfully as the 
 thought crossed her mind. The sun- 
 shine did not seem to have any exhilarat- 
 ing effect upon him ; he looked dull and 
 
 VOL. I. M
 
 162 HATHERCOURT RECTORY. 
 
 more careworn than since they had been 
 in Paris. 
 
 " Laurence," she said, hesitatingly, " I 
 suppose you have quite made up your mind 
 to leave on Friday?" 
 
 ''Quite," he said, gently. ''Are you 
 beofinniiior to resrret it?'^ 
 
 " A little ; it is nice when it is fine, isn't 
 it ? Paris forgets the rain so quickly." 
 
 " Paris forgets all disagreeable experi- 
 ences far too quickly." 
 
 Alys gave a little shiver. 
 
 " Oh, please don't put revolutions, and 
 barricades, and guillotines in my head, 
 Laurence," she said, beseechingly. " Even 
 the names of the streets are associated 
 with them, if one begins thinking of such 
 things. One must do at Eome as the 
 Romans do, so let me be thoughtless in 
 Paris." 
 
 " Still, on the whole, you prefer Eng-
 
 MARKYING OR GIVING IN MARRIAGE. 163 
 
 land ? You would not like to marry a 
 Frencliman, would you, Alys?" 
 
 "' Of course not," replied Alys, ''and of 
 all things I would not like to be married 
 in the French way, hardly knowing any- 
 thing about the man I was to marry. 
 Ermengarde de Tarannes, Laurence, that 
 pretty girl whom we saw at the Embassy, 
 is to be married to a Marquis something 
 or other, Mrs. Brabazon told me, whom 
 she has really only seen three times, for he 
 is now in Italy, and will only return the 
 week before the marriage. Fancy how 
 horrible !" 
 
 Mr. Cheviott smiled. 
 
 " You are a regular little John Bull, 
 child," he said ; " still I understand your 
 feeling. There is something to be said, 
 however, in favour of the French way of 
 arranging such things, where the parents 
 or guardians of a girl are sensible people, 
 
 m2
 
 164 HATHERCOURT RECTORY. 
 
 tliat is to say. Perhaps a union of both 
 ways would be perfection." 
 
 " How do you mean ?" asked Alys. 
 
 " Supposing a case where a girl had 
 known a man nearly all her life, and had 
 got to care for him unconsciously almost, 
 and that at the same time he was the very 
 man of all others whom, for every reason, 
 her parents, or who ever stood in their 
 place, wished her to marry, would not such 
 a case be pretty near perfection ?" 
 
 '' Rather too perfect," said Alys. " The 
 chances are that the hero would spoil it all 
 by not wanting to marry her.'' 
 
 Mr. Cheviott looked annoyed. 
 
 " Don t be flippant, Alys," he said ; " of 
 course that part of it I was taking for 
 granted." 
 
 "I didn't mean to be flippant," said 
 Alys, penitently ; " I never want to vex 
 you, Laurence. I'd do anything to please
 
 MARRYING OR GIVING IN MARRIAGE. 165 
 
 you. I'm not sure that I would not even 
 marry to please you, if you want to try an 
 experiment of the French way." 
 
 She looked up in her brother's face with 
 a smile, and he could not help returning 
 it. 
 
 " If you promise never to marry to dis- 
 please me, I shall be satisfied," he answer- 
 ed. '' But, after all, it's a difficult question. 
 I have known some English marriages 
 turn out quite — ah, surely more miserable 
 than ever a French one could." 
 
 " But what has put marrying so much 
 into your head to-day ? This morning you 
 were distressing yourself about Arthur's 
 prospects, and now you are worrying your- 
 self about mine ?" 
 
 " Not worrying myself. It is only 
 natural I should think about your future 
 sometimes. And if your memory is not 
 very capricious, Alys, I think it will tell
 
 166 HATHERCOURT RECTORY. 
 
 you that it was yourself, not I, who first 
 began talking about marriage this morn- 
 ing, when Arthur's letters came. Do you 
 remember ?" 
 
 " Yes ; but still " 
 
 ''Here we are at Madame de Brian- 
 court's," interrupted Mr. Cheviott. 
 
 ** Madame " was at home, and the 
 brother and sister made their way across 
 the spacious entrance, along a corridor, 
 then through a suite of rooms, hardly so 
 beautiful by daylight as when Alys had 
 last seen them on the evening of a grand 
 reception, to a small boudoir at the very 
 end of all. As she passed along, Alys's 
 thoughts continued in the same direction. 
 
 " But still," she repeated to herself, '^ I 
 don't understand Laurence. I am sure he 
 has got something in his head — about 
 Arthur — or about me ; still loerhaps it is 
 not that ; he may have been annoyed about
 
 MARRYING OR GIVING IN MARRIAGE. 167 
 
 something quite different, and Arthur's 
 letter may not have anything to do with 
 our going away in such a hurry. Any 
 way, I can leave it to Laurence ; I am not 
 going to bother my head about it, for 
 there may be nothing in it, after all." 
 
 And, two minutes afterwards, her head 
 was full of other things, for there was 
 what, to Alys's eyes, looked quite a crowd 
 of gaily dressed ladies and gentlemen 
 when the door at the end of the long suite 
 was thrown open, and the brother and 
 sister found themselves, for the moment, 
 the observed of all observers.
 
 168 
 
 CHAPTER YIL 
 
 THIS VERT LITTLE WORLD. 
 
 Alonzo — "Wliat is this maid with whom thou wast 
 
 at play? 
 Your eld'st acquaintance cannot be three hours. 
 
 Tempest. 
 
 "F10R tlie beautiful Miss Cheviott, little 
 -^ though she had been seen in Paris, 
 had been seen enough to make a consider- 
 able sensation, especially as rumour, in this 
 case with somewhat more foundation than 
 usual, added the epithet lieritiere to the 
 rest of Alys's charms. Parisian papas 
 and mammas sighed at the perversity of 
 the British customs, which forbade their 
 entering the lists on behalf of their eligible
 
 THIS VERY LITTLE WOELD. 169 
 
 Adolplies and Gustaves, and the represen- 
 tatives of the English upper ten thousand, 
 then in Paris, would have been very ready to 
 make great friends with the brother and 
 sister. But their advances were hardly 
 reciprocated ; Alys's inexperience failed to 
 appreciate them, and Mr. Cheviott's some- 
 what *' stand-off" manner was not encour- 
 aging. Ill-natured people made fun of 
 him for " mounting guard over his sister," 
 more amiably inclined observers pronounc- 
 ed such brotherly devotion to be really 
 touching, but one and all fell short of at- 
 taining to anything like intimacy with the 
 owner of Romary or the reputed heiress. 
 
 So some amount of curiosity, added to 
 the interest inspired by the two Cheviotts 
 and the buzz of conversation in Madame 
 de Briancourt's boudoir, perceptibly sub- 
 sided for a minute or two on their first ap- 
 pearing. Alys, in her simplicity, hardly
 
 170 HATHERCOURT RECTORY. 
 
 observed this, or, if she did so, was not 
 struck by it as anything unusual, but Mr. 
 Cheviott noticed and was a little annoyed 
 by it. 
 
 *'I would not have called here this 
 afternoon, if I had known we should find 
 Madame de Briancourt ' at home ' in such 
 force," he said to an English lady of his ac- 
 quaintance after paying his respects to his 
 hostess. 
 
 " Ah, you have not been long enough in 
 Paris to be quite au fait of everything," 
 said Mrs. Brabazon, good-naturedly. 
 *' There is always a great crowd here on 
 Thursdays. But why should you object 
 to it ? It is all the more amusing." 
 
 ^' I am not fond of crowds, and, as for 
 my sister, she is quite unaccustomed to 
 anything of the kind. She is hardly * out/ " 
 he added, with a smile. 
 
 Mrs. Brabazon smiled too. " I can quite
 
 THIS VEEY LITTLE WORLD. 171 
 
 believe it," she replied, '' and I can, too, 
 prophesy very certainly that, in her pre- 
 sent character as your sister, she will not 
 be * out ' long'' 
 
 She looked up at Mr. Cheviott expect- 
 ing to see that the inferred compliment 
 had pleased him. But, to her surprise, 
 far from testifying any gratification the 
 expression of his face seemed rather to tell 
 of annoyance, and, being a good-natured 
 woman, Mrs. Brabazon felt sorry, and be- 
 gan wondering what there could have been 
 in her harmless little speech so evidently 
 to '^ rub him the wrong way." Alys, sit- 
 ting at a little distance talking to a young 
 lady to whom Madame de Briancourt had 
 introduced her, happened at this moment 
 to look round and caught sight of her bro- 
 ther's face. 
 
 " Laurence is vexed at something," she 
 thought, and, moving her chair a little so
 
 172 HATHERCOURT RECTORY. 
 
 as to bring herself witliin speaking dis- 
 tance of her brother and Mrs. Brabazon, 
 she tried to think how she could give a 
 turn to the conversation which so evident- 
 ly was not to Mr. Cheviott's taste. The 
 '* turn " came from another direction. A 
 tall, thin boy of sixteen, or thereabouts, a 
 boy with a somewhat anxious and almost 
 girlishly sweet expression of face, came 
 softly and half timidly across the room in 
 Mrs. Brabazon's direction. 
 
 "Aunt," he said, hesitatingly, ''I think 
 it is getting rather late — that is to say, if 
 you are still thinking of a drive." 
 
 " I was just thinking so myself, An- 
 selm. Just you find out, my dear boy, if 
 the carriage has come ; it was to follow us 
 here, you know, and I shall be ready in a 
 moment." 
 
 The boy turned away to do as she asked. 
 
 '* That is my other nephew — Anselm
 
 THIS VEEY LITTLE WOELD. 17S 
 
 Brooke," she explained to Mr. Cheviott. 
 '' Basil you know?" 
 
 " Oh, yes," said Alys's brother, with evi- 
 dent interest. "How is he, poor fellow? 
 I was jnst going to ask you. Better, I 
 hope?" 
 
 Mrs. Brabazon shook her head, and the 
 tears filled her eyes. 
 
 '' There will be no real ' better ' for him, 
 I feel sure," she said, sadly. " Yet my 
 brother will not believe it, or, rather, per- 
 sists in saying he does not. I can under- 
 stand it ; I remember how obstinately in- 
 credulous I was when Colonel Brabazon's 
 illness became hopeless. But it is sad, is 
 it not ? You remember what a fine young 
 fellow Basil was only last year ?" 
 
 " Yes," said Mr. Cheviott, kindly. " It 
 is very sad." 
 
 "And poor Anselm, it is really piteous 
 to see his devotion to Basil. He has al-
 
 174 HATHERCOURT RECTORY. 
 
 ways looked up to bim as to a sort of 
 superior being, and, indeed, Basil has been 
 treated as such by us all. Anselm has 
 always been so delicate and backward — a 
 frail staff to lean upon, but my mind mis- 
 gives me that before long his father will 
 have no other ?" 
 
 '* Do the doctors think as you do ?" 
 
 " They do not say so, but I feel sure 
 they think so." 
 
 " 1 should like to see Basil again before 
 I leave. May I call, do you think ?" 
 
 " By all means ; it would please him 
 very much. Are you going straight home 
 when you leave Paris — to Meadshire, I 
 mean, for that is ^ home ' now to you, I 
 suppose ?" 
 
 "Yes," replied Mr. Cheviott, "we go 
 straight to Romary. You must come and 
 see us there some time or other, Mrs. Bra- 
 bazon."
 
 THIS YEHr LITTLE WORLD. 1 75 
 
 " Thank you," she said, witli a sigh, "I 
 must make no plans just now. Mj time 
 belongs entirely to my brother and the 
 boys. But talking of Meadshire reminds 
 me — is it anywhere near "Withenden that 
 you live ?" 
 
 *' Very near — within a mile or two." 
 
 '' Have you ever heard of a place called 
 Hathercourt near there ?" inquired Mrs. 
 Brabazon, with interest. " You don't hap- 
 pen to know anything of the clergyman of 
 Hathercourt, or, rather, of his family ? 
 West, I think, is the name." 
 
 ^'Western," interrupted Alys close by. 
 " Oh, yes, they are such pretty girls. I 
 am sure they are nice." 
 
 *' How can you possibly judge, Alys?'' 
 said her brother, coldly. ^'You only saw 
 them once in your life, and just for a mere 
 instant." 
 
 But Alys's eager, flushed face, and
 
 176 nATHEECOURT RECTORY. 
 
 Tvarmlj-expressed admiration of the West- 
 ern sisters, had absorbed Mrs. Brabazon's 
 attention ; she hardly heard what Mr. Che- 
 viott said, or, if she did, she gave [no heed 
 to it. 
 
 ** So you know them, then, Miss Che- 
 viott?" she said, cordially, smiling at Alys 
 as she spoke. " Do tell me all you know 
 about them. ' Girls,' you say — are they 
 all girls, then — no sons ?" 
 
 " Oh, yes," said Alys, " I think there are 
 sons — indeed, I feel sure there are. But 
 it was the girls I noticed ; one was sa 
 pretty." 
 
 The eagerness died out of her voice, for 
 the expression of her brother's face told 
 her that again she had managed to dis- 
 please him. 
 
 " How unlucky I am to-day," she said 
 to herself, and the change in her man- 
 ner was so complete that Mr. Cheviott
 
 THIS VEEY LITTLE WORLD. 177 
 
 was afraid Mrs. Brabazon would notice it. 
 
 " It is a case of ' all kinds ' in the Western 
 household," he said, with a slight laugh. 
 *' Alys and I only saw them once in church 
 — there seemed to be girls and boys of 
 every size, down to little mites — a regular 
 poor parson's family." 
 
 '' But what sort of people are they ?'* 
 asked Mrs. Brabazon. " Being such near 
 neighbours, you must hear something about 
 them." 
 
 " They are not such very near neighbours 
 of ours. Withenden is the nearest railway 
 station to Hathercourt, and we are only 
 three miles from Withenden, but Hather- 
 court again is four miles the other way. 
 Of course I take some interest in Hather- 
 court now, on Arthur Beverley's account. 
 You heard of his romantic legacy ?" 
 
 '* Oh ! yes," said Mrs. Brabazon. " He 
 wrote all about it to Basil. But I wish 
 
 VOL. I. N
 
 178 HATHERCOURT RECTORY. 
 
 you would tell me anything you do 
 know or have heard about these West- 
 erns. 
 
 ** Which is very little. They are not in 
 any sort of society." 
 
 " How could they be, if they are so very 
 
 Mr. Cheviott slightly shrugged his 
 shoulders. 
 
 *' I did not say they could be," he an- 
 swered, with a smile. " I was only, at 
 your bidding, telling the very little I 
 know about them. They are not in any 
 society, not only because they are very 
 poor, but because people know nothing 
 about them. The father is not a man who 
 has distinguished himself in any way, and 
 I believe he married beneath him — a poor 
 governess, or something of that kind — so 
 what can you expect ?" 
 
 Mrs. Brabazon gave a curious smile.
 
 THIS VERT LITTLE WORLD. 179 
 
 '' Oil ! indeed," she said, drily. " So the 
 on dit of Meadshire is that the Rector, or 
 Yicar — which is he ? — of Hathercourt mar- 
 ried beneath him. Thank you ; I am glad 
 to know it. Here comes Anselm, I must 
 go! You said these Western girls were 
 pretty, did you not, Miss Cheviott?" she 
 went on, turning to Alys. '* Their beauty 
 must be of the dairy-maid order, I sup- 
 pose ?" 
 
 Alys felt that her brothers eyes were 
 fixed upon her, but she answered sturdily 
 nevertheless. 
 
 *' On the contrary, they are particularly 
 refined-looking girls. The eldest one especi- 
 ally has the sort of look that — that " 
 
 she hesitated. 
 
 " That a princess of the blood royal 
 might have," suggested Mrs. Brabazon, 
 laughingly. 
 
 Alys smiled, and so, to her relief, did her 
 
 n2
 
 180 HATHERCOURT RECTORY. 
 
 brother. Then Mrs. Brabazon and the 
 boy Anselm took their departure, and not 
 long after, Madame de Briancourt having 
 overwhelmed them with her pretty regrets 
 and desolations at their leaving Paris so 
 abruptly, the brother and sister bade their 
 hostess farewell, and drove off again on 
 their round of calls. 
 
 " Laurence Cheviott is evidently preju- 
 diced against these Westerns. I wonder 
 why, for I think him a reasonable sort of 
 man, on the whole," said Mrs. Brabazon to 
 herself. *' Can it be possible that he has 
 fallen in love with this very magnificent 
 Miss Western, whom his sister admires so 
 much, and that she has snubbed him? 
 That I can quite believe he would find it 
 hard to forgive. But, oh ! no, that is 
 quite impossible. I remember he said he 
 had only seen them once. I think I shall 
 get Basil, poor fellow, to write to Arthur
 
 THIS VEEY LITTLE WORLD. 181 
 
 Beverley ; lie may know sometliiiig of them. 
 I would like to see them, and it would be 
 a satisfaction to Basil too." 
 
 ''What possible reason can Mrs. Braba- 
 zon have for wanting to know anything 
 about those Westerns ? I am afraid she 
 is something of a busy-body after all. 
 Surely Arthur cannot have been writing 
 anything about them to Basil Brooke ? 
 Oh, no, it can't be that, for if he had 
 written anything of consequence, it would 
 have been confidentially, and he would 
 hardly be likely to trouble Brooke about 
 anything of that kind now/' thought Mr. 
 Cheviott, when he found himself in the 
 carriage again beside his sister, driving 
 rapidly away from Madame de Brian - 
 court's. 
 
 Alys noticed his abstraction. 
 
 " What are you thinking of, Laurence?" 
 
 '' Only what a very little world this is !"
 
 182 HATHERCOURT RECTORY. 
 
 '* I know/' exclaimed Alys, not sorry to 
 draw the conversation round to a point 
 where her mind was not at rest, " you are 
 thinking how strange it was that we should 
 twice in one day hear Hathercourt Rectory 
 spoken of — at least, not twice spoken of, 
 but I mean mentioned, in Arthur's letter, 
 and again by Mrs. Brabazon. Laurence, 
 were you vexed with what I said of the 
 Westerns ? Did it seem like contradicting 
 
 you?" 
 
 " Oh, no, you could not help saying 
 what you thought — nor could I," he added, 
 after a little pause. 
 
 " I did think those girls so pretty, 
 especially the eldest one, and not only 
 pretty, but something more — good and 
 nice." 
 
 " I don't see how they can be superior, 
 however, considering their disadvantages,'* 
 said Mr. Cheviott, musingly. ''I don't
 
 THIS VERY LITTLE WORLD. 183 
 
 agree with you in admiring the elder one 
 more than the other. There was some- 
 thing not common-place about that 
 younger girl," and a curious feeling shot 
 across his mind as he recalled the young 
 face with the kindly honest eyes and half 
 shy smile that had met his glance that 
 Sunday morning in the porch of the old 
 church — a feeling almost of disloyalty in 
 the words and tones with which he had re- 
 plied to Mrs. Brabazon's inquiries — a ridicu- 
 lous feeling altogether to have in connec- 
 tion with a girl he had only seen once in 
 his life, and that for not more than five 
 minutes. But the vision of Mary West- 
 ern's face had imprinted itself on his 
 memory, and refused to be effaced. 
 
 Alys fancied that the prejudice she had 
 suspected was passing away ; it could not 
 have been very deep after all. She deter- 
 timed to take a bold step, and one that
 
 184 HATHERCOURT RECTORY. 
 
 she had been meditating for some time. 
 
 "Laurence," she said, ''when we go 
 back to Romary I wish you would let me 
 know those girls. I can't tell you why I 
 have taken such a fancy to them, but I 
 have. You could soon judge by seeing a 
 little more of them if they are nice girls, 
 and I am sure you would find they are. I 
 have never had many companions, and it 
 is dull sometimes — rather dull, I mean." 
 
 She looked up in his face appealingly. 
 It w-as very grave. 
 
 *^ Surely," he was saying to himself, 
 " the Fates are dead against me. What 
 can have put it into the child's head to 
 want to set up a romantic friendship with 
 these Westerns ? Can Arthur have to do 
 with it? Can he possibly have written 
 anything to Alys besides what I saw ?'* 
 
 ''You are vexed with me, Laurence," 
 she said, deprecatingly, as he did not
 
 THIS VERY LITTLE WORLD. 185 
 
 speak. Then lie looked at her and felt 
 ashamed of his suspicions, and his tone 
 was gentle when he answered, 
 
 '' No, I am not vexed with you, but a 
 little disappointed, perhaps, at your asking 
 anything so foolish. Just reflect, dear, 
 what can you know of those girls to make 
 you wish to choose them for friends " 
 
 '' They have such nice faces." 
 
 ''And what I know of the family is not 
 to their advantage," pursued Mr. Cheviott, 
 without noticing the interruption. " None 
 of the Withenden people speak cordially 
 of them, or indeed seem to know anything 
 about them." 
 
 " And you call that to their disadvantage, 
 Laurence!" exclaimed Alys — ''you who 
 have so often said what a set of snobs the 
 Withenden people are. Of course it is 
 very easy to see why the Westerns are 
 disliked ; they won't be patronised by the
 
 186 HATHERCOURT RECTORY. 
 
 county people, and they are too refined for 
 the Withenden set, and so they keep to 
 themselves, and the girls' beauty makes 
 everybody jealous of them." 
 
 She looked up in her brother's face 
 triumphantly, feeling that she had the best 
 of it, and so, too, in his heart felt Mr. 
 Cheviott. But he could not afford to own 
 himself vanquished, and took refuge in 
 being aggrieved. 
 
 "Very well, Alys," he said, coldly, ''I 
 cannot argue with you ; you will be of age 
 in three years, and then you can choose 
 your own friends, but while you are under 
 my guardianship, I can but direct you to 
 the best of my judgment, however you 
 may dislike it." 
 
 Alys's eyes filled with tears. 
 
 " Oh, Laurence, don t speak to me like 
 that ; I am so unlucky to-day. I did not
 
 THIS VERY LITTLE WORLD. 187 
 
 — indeed I did not mean to vex you ; I 
 should never want to go against your 
 wishes — never, not if I live to be a hun- 
 dred instead of twenty-one. Laurence, do 
 forgive me !" 
 
 And Laurence smiled, and '' forgave," 
 though wishing she were convinced as well 
 as submissive, for somewhere, down in the 
 secret recesses of his consciousness, there 
 lurked a misgiving which shrank from 
 boldly facing daylight as to whether his 
 arguments had altogether succeeded in 
 convincing himself. 
 
 '* 1 am very sorry to hear of Basil 
 Brooke's being so ill," he said, by way of 
 changing the conversation. 
 
 ^' Is that one of Mrs. Brabazon's 
 nephews ?" 
 
 " Yes, the elder ; they have come to 
 Paris to try some new doctor, but it is no
 
 1S8 HATHERCOURT RECTORY. 
 
 use. I thouglit SO when he first got ill ; 
 and now what his aunt says shows it is 
 true. Poor fellow !" 
 
 *' Have you known him long ? I don't 
 think I ever heard you speak of him be- 
 fore," said Alys. 
 
 " He was more a friend of Arthur's than 
 mine; they were in the same regiment. 
 But here we are at Mrs. Feston's." 
 
 On the whole, Alys enjoyed these few 
 last days in Paris much more than the 
 weeks which had preceded them. She was 
 touched by her brother's evident anxiety 
 that she should do so. Never had she 
 known him more indulgent and consider- 
 ate, but yet he was less cheerful than 
 usual — at times unmistakably anxious and 
 uneasy. There came no more letters from 
 Captain Beverley, but Alys was not sorry. 
 
 " It was something in that letter of 
 Arthur's that annoyed Laurence so the
 
 THIS VERY LITTLE WORLD. 189 
 
 other day," she thought to herself; ''and 
 fond as I am of Arthur, I couldn't let him 
 or anyone come between Laurence and 
 me." 
 
 And she was not quite sure if she felt 
 pleased or the reverse when her brother 
 told her that, in all probability, Captain 
 Beverley would be their guest almost as 
 soon as they reached Romary. 
 
 "You haven't written to tell him when 
 we are going home, have you, Alys ?" 
 
 Alys looked up from her letter to Miss 
 Winstanley in surprise at the inquiry. 
 
 '* I ?" she said ; " oh, dear, no. I leave 
 all that to you, of course. I have not an- 
 swered Arthur's letter at all ; there seems 
 to have been so much to do this last day or 
 two." 
 
 Her brother seemed pleased, and yet not 
 pleased. 
 
 " It is just as well. I don't think I
 
 190 HATHERCOURT RECTORY. 
 
 shall tell liim either. We'll take him by- 
 surprise — drive over to see him in his 
 bachelor quarters at the farmhouse the 
 day after we get home, eh ?" 
 
 " Oh, yes, do," exclaimed Alys, eagerly. 
 *' We'll say we have come to luncheon ! 
 What fun it will be ; for Arthur has about 
 as much notion of housekeeping as the 
 man in the moon, and he will look so fool- 
 ish if he has to tell us he has nothing in 
 the house but eggs !" 
 
 " You don't suppose he has been living 
 on nothing but eggs all this time, do you?' 
 
 " He may have had a chop now and then 
 for a change," observed Alys ; " but from 
 what he said in his letter, I don't fancy he 
 has had to depend much on himself. He 
 seems to have been a great deal with his 
 friends at the Rectory." 
 
 There was intention in the allusion. 
 Alys stole a look at her brother's face to
 
 THIS VERY LITTLE WORLD. 191 
 
 see if the effect was what^ she half-antici- 
 pated. Yes ; the amusement had all died 
 out of his expression, to be replaced by 
 annoyance and anxiety. Alys's conscience 
 smote her for trying experiments at the 
 cost of her brother's equanimity. 
 
 '* Poor Laurence !" she reflected. " I 
 wish he would not worry himself so much 
 about other people's affairs. Arthur is 
 quite able to take care of himself. But 
 evidently it is about him and the Westerns 
 that Laurence is in such a state of mind. 
 I really do wonder why he should care so 
 much." 
 
 And the next morning the Cheviotts left 
 Paris.
 
 192 
 
 CHAPTER y III. 
 
 PLANS. 
 
 " Se'l sol mi splende, non euro la luna." 
 
 Italian proverl. 
 
 *' 11 TAN proposes, but the weather inter- 
 ^^ poses," is a travesty of the well- 
 known old saying, which few people would 
 dispute the truth of. Directly the delay 
 in the Cheviotts' return home was trace- 
 able to other agencies, but indirectly the 
 weather was at the bottom of it after all. 
 The journey to London was accomplished 
 without let or hindrance by the way ; the 
 let and the hindrance met the brother and 
 sister on their arrival at Miss Winstanley's
 
 PLANS. 193 
 
 house, wliere they were to spend the night, 
 in the shape of a letter for one thing, and 
 of a bad sore throat of their hostess's for 
 another. And all that was wrong was the 
 fault of the weather ! Miss Winstanley had 
 caught cold through getting her feet wet 
 the Sunday before, when the morning had 
 promised well and turned out a base 
 deceiver by noon ; and the letter was from 
 the housekeeper at Romary, written in 
 abject distress at the prospect of her 
 master and mistress's return home sooner 
 than she had expected them. More than 
 distress, indeed ; the letter closed in abso- 
 lute entreaty that they would not come for 
 ten days or so. It was ^'a terrible upset 
 with the pipes," she wrote, that was the 
 cause of her difficulty — an upset caused 
 by a complete overhauling of these mys- 
 terious modern inventions of household 
 torture, the necessity for which had been 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 194 HATHEBCOUET RECTORY. 
 
 revealed by some days of unusually heavy 
 rains, by which " the pipes " had been 
 tested and found wanting, and the Withen- 
 den plumbers being no exception to their 
 class, long celebrated as the most civil and 
 procrastinating of '* workpeople," had al- 
 ready exceeded by several days the date at 
 which the business was to have been con- 
 cluded. 
 
 *' Pipes is things as can't be hurried," 
 wrote Mrs. Golding, pathetically, "" and, as 
 everybody knows, it's easy getting work- 
 people into a house to getting them out 
 again ; but what with the pipes and the 
 men, the house is in that state I cannot 
 take upon myself to say what my feelings 
 would be for you and Miss Alys to see it." 
 
 Now Mrs. Golding was an excellent ser- 
 vant ; she had been Alys's nurse, and 
 though her grammar was far from irre- 
 proachable, and her general appearance
 
 pi^VNS. 195 
 
 not more than respectable and old-fashion- 
 ed, she was thoroughly well qualified for 
 the somewhat onerous post to which, on 
 her master s accession to Romary, he had 
 at once promoted her. But she had two 
 faults — she had feelings, and she had 
 nerves. 
 
 The letter came at breakfast-time. Alys 
 and her brother were by themselves, Miss 
 Winstanley's sore throat preventing her 
 coming down as early as usual. Mr. Che- 
 viott read it, and tossed it across the table 
 to his sister. 
 
 '^ So provoking !" he exclaimed. 
 
 " Yes," said Alys, " it is tiresome just 
 when you were so particularly anxious to 
 go home. But I see no help for it ; when 
 nurse takes to her ^ feelings,' what can we 
 do ? No doubt the house is in a terrible 
 mess, and if we persisted in going down 
 at once, I really believe she would have a 
 
 o2
 
 196 HATHERCOURT RECTORY. 
 
 fit. If we Tvait a few days, as she sug- 
 gests, you may trust lier to have every- 
 thing ready for us ; and indeed, Laurence, 
 I was thinking just before nurse's letter 
 came that it seemed hardly kind of me to 
 go away when aunt is ill and all alone. 
 She will be able to come with us to Ro- 
 mary in a week, she says, if we can wait 
 till then." 
 
 Mr. Cheviott did not at once answer. 
 
 ** It is unlucky," he said at last; *' but, 
 as far as I am concerned, I must not put 
 off going home, and Mrs. Golding's feelings 
 must just make the best of it. But you 
 had better stay here a week or so, Alys, I 
 see that, so you can tell my aunt so." 
 
 *' Thank you," said Alys ; " but I wish 
 you could stay too." 
 
 But " No, it is really impossible," was 
 her brother's reply, and soon after he went 
 out.
 
 PLANS. 197 
 
 Alys did not see him again till abont an 
 hour before dinner-time. 
 
 '* Is my aunt up yet?" he inquired, as he 
 came in, and even in the tone with which 
 he uttered the two or three words she 
 could perceive a cheerfulness which had 
 not been his in the morning. 
 
 *'No," she replied, "but she says she 
 will come into the drawing-room after din- 
 ner. She is much better." 
 
 " Ah, well, then, if I am not to see her 
 till after dinner, you must tell her from 
 me that I have taken the liberty of inviting 
 a friend to dinner in her name. Fancy, 
 Alys, almost the first person I ran against 
 this morning was Arthur. He only came 
 up to town yesterday for a few days to 
 settle something about this new farmhouse 
 that his head's running upon — so lucky we 
 met !" 
 
 "Yes, very. I shall be so glad to see
 
 198 HATHERCOUET EECTORY. 
 
 him," said Alys, heartily. "But what a 
 pity, Laurence, that you have to go just 
 as he has come. It would have been so 
 nice for all of us to go home together." 
 
 Mr. Cheviott hesitated. 
 
 " I am not, after allj perfectly certain 
 that I shall go down to Romary quite so 
 soon as 1 said. Part — in fact, the chief 
 part — of my business was with Arthur, 
 and if he stays in town a few days too, we 
 may all go down to E-omary together, as 
 you wish." 
 
 ** That's very nice of you, Laurence. I 
 really think my training is beginning to 
 do you good. Aunt, of course, will be 
 delighted to see Arthur, but I will go and 
 tell her about it now." 
 
 She was leaving the room when her 
 brother called her back. " Remember," 
 he said, *' I haven't promised^'' but Alys 
 laughed and shook her head, and ran off.
 
 PLANS. 199 
 
 " I can manage Arthur," slie thought, 
 *'if it depends on him. But I am sure 
 there is something Laurence has not told 
 me that has annoyed him lately, though he 
 looks happier to-night — I wonder what it 
 is all about." 
 
 Captain Beverley was a great favourite 
 with Miss "Winstanley, whose affection 
 for her nephew — her half-brother's son — 
 Laurence Cheviott, was considerably tem- 
 pered with awe. But with Arthur she 
 always felt at ease. 
 
 " It is not that I mind being laughed at, 
 now and then," she would confide to Alys, 
 pathetically, ''but with Laurence I really 
 never feel sure if he is laughing at me or not. 
 Of course he is never wanting in real re- 
 spect, and he is the best of nephews in 
 every way, but I can't deny that I am 
 frightened of him, and, however you laugh 
 at me, my dear, you can't laugh me out of
 
 200 HATHERCOURT RECTORY. 
 
 it. I always have been afraid of Laurence, 
 ever since he was a baby, I believe. He 
 had such a dreadfully superior sort of way 
 of looking at one, and saying ' What for 
 does you do that ?' " 
 
 *'What a dreadful baby he must have 
 been ! I always tell him he was never 
 snubbed as much as would have been for 
 his good," Alys would reply, upon which 
 her aunt would observe, with a sigh, that 
 it was "far too late in the day to think of 
 anything of the kind now.'^ 
 
 Her spirits rose greatly when she heard 
 that Arthur was coming to dinner. 
 
 **I really think I feel well enough to 
 dine with you, after all," she said to Alys. 
 " It would certainly seem more hospitable, 
 as Arthur is coming, and I don't like to 
 get the character of exaggerating my ail- 
 ments," and Alys agreed with her that if 
 she were *' well wrapped-up," the exertion
 
 PLANS. 201 
 
 of going down two flights of stairs to the 
 dining-room was not likely to do her any 
 harm. 
 
 *' But you know, aunt, you mustn't eat 
 too much at dinner," said Alys, gravely, 
 " for if you feed a cold you'll have to starve 
 a fever. A little soup and a spoonful of 
 jelly — anything more might be very danger- 
 ous." 
 
 *' Naughty girl, you are laughing at me 
 now," remonstrated poor Miss Winstanley, 
 but Alys assured her solemnly that she 
 was " quite, quite in earnest." 
 
 And the parlie carree was a very cheer- 
 ful one. Laurence seemed more light 
 of heart than he had been for some time ; 
 Arthur, whose state of spirits was, to give 
 him his due, seldom such as to cause his 
 friends much anxiety, was even gayer and 
 merrier than usual, almost feverishly so, 
 it seemed to Alys once or twice, and yet
 
 202 HATHERCOURT RECTORY. 
 
 again, when slie caught his eyes fixed upon 
 her with a sort of appealing anxiety in 
 their expression that she never remember- 
 ed to have seen in them before, she could 
 have fancied, were such a fancy possible 
 in connection with so light-hearted and 
 thoughtless a being, that he, in his turn, 
 had something on his mind. Could the 
 mantle of Laurence's recent anxiety have 
 fallen upon him ? she asked herself. It 
 seemed so strange to associate anxiety of 
 any kind with Arthur that she tried to 
 dismiss the idea, and told herself that she 
 must have grown morbid from being so 
 much alone with Laurence, and fancying 
 he was vexed or annoyed whenever he 
 looked dull. 
 
 " Then it is all nicely settled about our 
 staying in town, and going down to 
 Eomary together. It all depends on you, 
 Arthur."
 
 PLANS. 203 
 
 Captain Beverley looked surprised. 
 
 " On me /" be exclaimed, " how do you 
 mean ? I thought it all depended on Miss 
 Winstanley's sore throat." 
 
 *' Oh! no. Laurence's staying has nothing 
 to do with aunt. He said he had business 
 with you, but that you could settle it in 
 town as well as at Romary, if you could 
 stay — and so you will stay, won't you ? It 
 would be so much nicer to go down all 
 together." 
 
 Captain Beverley looked increasingly 
 mystified. 
 
 " I don't understand " he was be- 
 ginning, but Mr. Cheviott, whose attention 
 had been caught by the sound of his own 
 name, interrupted him. 
 
 " It is Alys herself who does not under- 
 stand," he said, good-humouredly, but not 
 without a little constraint. " If you had 
 been still at that delightful farm-house of
 
 204 HATHERCOURT RECTORY. 
 
 yours, Arthur, I would liave joined you 
 there, and talked over these improvements. 
 But that can wait, I daresay, and if you 
 care to go into the financial part of it, we 
 can do that in town as well. You are not 
 in a hurrj to go back to your new quarters, 
 are you ? You will wait and go back with 
 us to Romary, as Alys wishes, won't you ?" 
 
 Captain Beverley looked a little sur- 
 prised, and a little disconcerted. He was 
 not prepared for his cousin's sudden inter- 
 est in his improvements at Hathercourt, 
 and hardly understood it, for hitherto Mr. 
 Cheviott had looked somewhat coldly on 
 the schemes Arthur was full of, and he was 
 still less prepared to be cross-questioned as 
 to his length of stay in town, which in his 
 own mind he had decided was to be a very 
 short one. 
 
 ** Thank you," he said, with a little hesi- 
 tation. " I should like to eo over the
 
 PLANS. 205 
 
 plaDS for the Edge with you very much. 
 But as to my staying in town another week, 
 I really can't say. I only ran up for a 
 couple of days, and there are lots of things 
 waiting for me to settle about at Hather- 
 court." 
 
 " You are becoming quite a man of 
 business, I see," and Alys fancied that 
 Arthur winced a little. 
 
 She felt sorry that she had said anything 
 about their plans till she could have seen 
 Arthur alone, for somehow she had man- 
 aged to cause an uncomfortable feeling — 
 the cheerfulness of the little party seemed 
 to have flown ; Laurence grew silent and 
 abstracted; Alys tried nervously to hit 
 upon a safe subject of conversation. For- 
 tune favoured her. 
 
 '*By-the-by, Arthur," she said, sudden- 
 ly, "have you heard anything about the 
 Brocklehurst ball? When it is to be, I
 
 206 HATHEKPOURT EECTOEY. 
 
 mean. Some one said something about its 
 being earlier than usual, and I shall be 
 rather glad, for it will be less likely to inter- 
 fere with other things than when it is so 
 near Christmas time." 
 
 Captain Beverley looked up in surprise. 
 
 " It is to be in a fortnight — in less than 
 a fortnight, indeed, on the fourth, and to- 
 day is the twenty-third," he replied. " Did 
 you not know ? I supposed you had made 
 all your arrangements.'* 
 
 *' Oh ! I am so sorry !" exclaimed Alys. 
 '* I had all sorts of plans in my head, and 
 now it will be too late." 
 
 " What will be too late ? What are you 
 talking about?" said Mr. Cheviott; and 
 when Alys explained, he looked rather 
 ashamed of himself. 
 
 "I should have told you, Alys, but I 
 completely forgot about it. I found a 
 letter here last night when we arrived,
 
 PLANS. 207 
 
 askinp; iis to go to Cleavelands on tlie 
 twenty-second, and go to Brockleliurst with 
 the party from there. You would like that, 
 wouldn't you ?" 
 
 But Alys's face did not brighten up as he 
 expected. 
 
 "I thought you liked the Cleaves so 
 much," he said. 
 
 *' Yes, I do. I like young Mrs. Cleave 
 Yevj much. It isn't that. It is only that 
 I had set my heart on going from Romary, 
 and asking nice people to go with us." 
 
 '* So we might have done, but for this 
 visit to Paris," said Mr. Cheviott. '' But 
 it can't be helped. There will be more 
 balls in the neighbourhood before the 
 Winter is over.'* 
 
 " Arthur," said Alys, suddenly, but in a 
 low voice, when, later in the evening, she 
 had got Captain Beverley to herself in a 
 corner of the drawing-room — " Arthur, do
 
 208 HATHERCOURT RECTORY. 
 
 you know what I had set my heart on for 
 the Brocklehnrst ball ?" 
 
 ''What sort of dress, do you mean?" 
 said her cousin. '' Xo, I certainly do not 
 know, and I am perfectly sure I couldn't 
 possibly guess. So you had better tell 
 me. 
 
 " I don't mean a dress" said Alys, con- 
 temptuously, '^ T meant apian,'' 
 
 Captain Beverley did not at once answer, 
 
 *' A j;/a?2, I say, Arthur, don't you 
 hear?" repeatedAlys, impatiently. 
 
 *' I beg your pardon," exclaimed Arthur, 
 rallying his attention. '' A plan to show 
 me, did you say ? For my new farm-house ? 
 It is very good of you to trouble about it." 
 
 " Oh! Arthur, how provoking you are ! 
 What is the matter with you ?" exclaimed 
 Alys. " Of course it wasn't that sort of 
 plan I was talking of. It was a plan of 
 mine — one that I had made in my head,
 
 PLANS. 2C9 
 
 don't you understand ? It was about tlie 
 Brockleliurst ball. I wanted to coax Lau- 
 rence into letting me call on tlie Westerns, 
 Arthur, the Westerns at Hathercourt, you 
 know, and then I would have got him to 
 let me ask them — the girls, of course, I 
 mean — to come to stay at Romary for two 
 or three days, and go to the ball with us. 
 Wouldn't it have been nice, Arthur? It 
 would have been a treat for them, as the 
 children say. They are such pretty, nice 
 girls, and I am sure they don't have many 
 ' treats.' " 
 
 She looked up in Arthur's face with 
 eager, sparkling eyes, and this time she 
 had no need to recall his attention. His 
 eyes were sparkling too, his colour rose, 
 his voice even seemed, to her, to shake a 
 little with suppressed excitement, as he re- 
 plied to her. 
 
 " Alys, you are the best and nicest girl 
 
 VOL. I. p
 
 210 HATHERCOURT RECTORY. 
 
 in the world. It was just like you, you 
 dear, good child, to think of such a thing, 
 and I thank you — I always shall thank you 
 for it with all my heart. I felt sure," he 
 went on, more quietly — " I felt sure I 
 should find I might count upon you, and 
 now I know it. I have a great deal to tell 
 you, Alys, and I " 
 
 But at this moment Mr. Cheviott's voice 
 was heard. 
 
 *' Alys," he was saying, " are you not 
 going to play a little ? What mischief are 
 Arthur and you concocting over there ?" 
 
 He came towards them as he spoke. 
 Captain Beverley had laid his hand on 
 Alys's in his eagerness, his face was flushed, 
 his whole manner and air might easily have 
 been mistaken for those of an accepted or 
 would-be lover, and the start with which he 
 threw himself back on his own chair, as 
 his cousin approached, increased the ap-
 
 PLANS. 211 
 
 parent awkwardness of the situation. But 
 Alys, though her cheeks were rosier, her 
 eyes brighter than their wont, answered 
 quietly, and without confusion, 
 
 " "We are not concocting mischief, Lau- 
 rence," she said; ''we are too wise and 
 sensible for anything of the kind, as you 
 might know by this time. We'll have 
 another talk about our plans to-morrow, 
 Arthur. Come and sing something now 
 to please aunt, as she made an effort to 
 do you honour by coming down to dinner." 
 
 And the tete-a-tete between the cousins 
 was not renewed that evening, nor, as 
 Alys had proposed, "to-morrow," for 
 Arthur did not make his appearance at 
 Miss "Winstanley's the next day at all. 
 Mr. Cheviott saw him, and went with him 
 to the architect's, and brought back word 
 that he was over head and ears in model 
 pigstyes and shippons. 
 
 p2
 
 212 HATHERCOURT RECTORY. 
 
 " And in farmliouses too," he said. " I 
 think it very foohsh of him to lay out 
 money on doing much to the house itself. 
 It is quite good enough as it is for the 
 sort of bailiff he should get." 
 
 ^' Oh, then, he does not intend to live 
 at Hathercourt Edge himself," remarked 
 Miss Winstanley. 
 
 Mr. Cheviott turned upon her rather 
 sharply. 
 
 " Live there himself !" he exclaimed — 
 *' of course not. Wliat could have put 
 such an idea in your head, my dear aunt ? 
 At the most, all the income he can possi- 
 bly hope to make out of Hathercourt will 
 be within three hundred a year, and he 
 has quite three thousand a year indepen- 
 dent of that; he could have no possible 
 motive for settling at Hathercourt." 
 
 ** But is there not some condition at- 
 tached to Arthur's fortune ?" said Miss
 
 PLANS. 213 
 
 "Winstanlej, vaguely. " I remember some- 
 thing about it, and he said the other day 
 that he would not be of age for two years." 
 
 " No ; by his father's will he is not to 
 be considered of age till he is twenty- 
 seven." 
 
 *' Then I should say it would be a very 
 good thing for him to settle down at 
 Hathercourt for two years and learn farm- 
 ing before he has to manage Lydon for 
 himself," said Alys. 
 
 " Nonsense, Alys," said her brother, 
 severely. " What can you possibly know 
 about anything of the kind ?" 
 
 But Alys did not appear snubbed. 
 
 " I rather suspect Arthur has some plan 
 of the kind in his head, whether Laurence 
 thinks it nonsense or not," she remarked 
 to her aunt, when they were by themselves 
 in the drawing-room. " By-the-by, aunt, 
 what did you mean about there being some
 
 214 HATHERCOUET RECTOEY. 
 
 sort of condition attached to Arthur's get- 
 ting his property ? I never heard of it." 
 
 " Oh, I don't know, my dear. I daresay 
 I have got hold of the wrong end of the 
 story — I very often do," said Miss Win- 
 stanley, nervously, for something in Mr. 
 Cheviott's manner had made her suspect 
 she was trenching on forbidden ground. 
 '' And besides, if you have never been told 
 anything about it, it shows that, if there is 
 anything to hear, Laurence did not wish 
 you to hear it." 
 
 " Laurence forgets sometimes that I am 
 no longer a child," retorted Alys, drawing 
 herself up. " However, it doesn't matter. 
 If Arthur looks upon me as a sister, it is 
 best I should hear all about his affairs from 
 himself. But, Aunt Fanny," she con- 
 tinued, in a softer tone, " was there not 
 something unhappy about Arthur's parents? 
 Laurence has alluded to it sometimes before
 
 PLANS. • 215 
 
 me, and I have often wondered what it 
 was." 
 
 '' It was just everything," replied Miss 
 Winstanley, sadly, *' the marriage was a 
 most foolish one. They were utterly un- 
 suited to each other, and it was just misery 
 from beginning to end." 
 
 ''Was Arthur's mother not a lady?" 
 asked Alys. 
 
 " Oh, yes ; you could not have called her 
 unladylike," replied Miss Winstanley. '' It 
 was not that — she married Mr. Beverley 
 without any affection for him, entirely for 
 the sake of his position. She was older 
 than he, and her people were very poor, 
 and scheming, I suppose, and he was in- 
 fatuated." 
 
 " And then he found out what a mis- 
 take he had made ?" 
 
 " Oh, it was most miserable. And Ed- 
 ward, Arthur s father, you know, was no
 
 216 HATHERCOURT RECTORY. 
 
 one to make the best of sucli a state of 
 things. He was always so hot-headed and 
 impulsive, and he had offended all his 
 friends by his marriage. Your mother, 
 Alys, poor dear, was the only one who 
 stood by him. And he was grateful to 
 her ; yes, he certainly was." 
 
 " But she died," said Alys. " How sad 
 it all sounds !" 
 
 '' Yes, she died, but Edward did not long 
 survive her. He was never a strong man, 
 and he was utterly disappointed and 
 broken down. The last time I saw him, 
 Alys, was with you in his arms — a tiny 
 trot you were — and Arthur playing about. 
 Poor Edward was trying to see some like- 
 ness to your mother in you, and he was 
 impressing upon Arthur that he must take 
 care of you, and be very good to you al- 
 ways." 
 
 '' And so he has been — always,'' replied
 
 PLANS. 217 
 
 Alys. " Next to Laurence, aunt, I do not 
 think there is anyone in the world I care 
 for more than for Arthur. I would do 
 anything for him, anything, just as I would 
 for Laurence." 
 
 '' What are you saying about me, eh, 
 Alys ?" said Mr. Cheviott, catching her 
 last words as he entered the room. 
 
 '' No harm," said Alys. " "We have not 
 been speaking about you at all till just this 
 minute. I was asking Aunt Fanny about 
 Arthur's father and mother, and why they 
 did not get on happily together." 
 
 An expression of surprise and some an- 
 noyance crossed Mr. Cheviott's face. 
 
 " It is not a pleasant subject," he said, 
 coldly. 
 
 ^'I daresay not," said Alys, fearlessly, 
 ''but one must come across unpleasant 
 subjects sometimes in life. And, I think, 
 Laurence, you forget, now and then, that
 
 218 HATHERCOURT RECTORY. 
 
 I am no longer a child. All the same you 
 needn't look daggers at poor aunt. She 
 hasn't told me anything, hardly — and it is 
 natural I should wish to hear ; for what- 
 ever concerns Arthur must interest me." 
 
 Mr. Cheviott's brow relaxed. 
 
 *' I did not mean ' to look daggers,' as 
 you say, at Aunt Fanny or you either. Of 
 course it is natural, and some day I shall, 
 probably, tell you more about it," he said, 
 kindly. "It's a queer thing," he added, 
 ■with apparent irrelevance, almost as if 
 speaking to himself, " that people who 
 make mistakes in life are punished more 
 severely than actually unprincipled people 
 — I have written to Mrs. Cleave, accepting 
 her invitation," he continued, with a sud- 
 den change of tone. '* Don't you want 
 some new dresses, Alys? You had not 
 much opportunity for shopping in Paris, 
 after all, you know."
 
 PLANS. 219 
 
 " But I made the best use of what I 
 had. I am very well stocked for the 
 present. If I remember anything I want 
 111 get Arthur to go shopping with me 
 to-morrow." 
 
 To-morrow came and went, and no 
 Arthur made his appearance. Nor was 
 anything seen of him the next day, or the 
 day after that either. Ifc was not till the 
 Tuesday following that he called again, 
 two days only before that fixed for their 
 journey home. 
 
 "We thought you had gone back to 
 Hathercourt without waiting for us," said 
 Mr. Cheviott, eyeing his cousin somewhat 
 curiously as he spoke. But Alys, whom 
 Arthur's absence had hurt and disappointed 
 more than she would have cared to confess, 
 said nothing ; only she, too, looked at him, 
 and so looking, it seemed to her that his 
 colour changed a little, and forthwith her
 
 220 HATHEECOURT EECTORY. 
 
 indignation melted away, to be replaced 
 by anxiety and concern. And these feel- 
 ings were not decreased by his manner of 
 excusing himself. 
 
 '* I was afraid yon would be thinking me 
 very rude," he said, with a sort of nervous 
 deprecation new to him, '' but I have really 
 been very busy." 
 
 ''Then I don't think being very busy 
 can agree with you," remarked Mr. Cheviott, 
 ''you look thoroughly done up." 
 
 ''Have you been ill, Arthur?" said Alys, 
 kindly. 
 
 Arthur started. "Ill; oh, dear, no," 
 he exclaimed ; '' never was better in my 
 life ;" but he smiled at Alys in his old way 
 as he spoke, and seemed grateful for her 
 cordiality. 
 
 But Alys was not satisfied about him. 
 She determined to have " a good talk " 
 with him, and did her best to make an
 
 PLANS. 221 
 
 opportunity for it; but somehow the 
 opportunity never came. Neither that 
 day nor the next, nor the day on which 
 they all travelled down to Withenden 
 together, could she succeed in executing 
 her intention. And at last it suddenly 
 dawned upon her that Arthur was pur- 
 posely avoiding ever being alone with her, 
 and, hurt and perplexed, she determined 
 to take his hint, and interfere no more in 
 his affairs. Girl-like, she went at once to 
 the extreme, till, in his turn, Captain 
 Beverley was wounded by the marked 
 change in her behaviour. 
 
 ''What have I done to offend you, 
 Alys ?" he asked, one or two mornings 
 after their arrival at Romary, when Miss 
 Cheviott and he happened to be by them- 
 selves in the breakfast-room before the 
 others had made their appearance. 
 
 "Nothing," said Alys, "3^ou have done
 
 222 HATHERCOUET RECTORY. 
 
 nothing, only you seem to have changed to 
 me, Arthur. I used to think you looked 
 upon me quite as a sister, and now when I 
 see you have something on your mind, 
 something you should be glad to consult a 
 sister about — and you did tell me a little, 
 you know, Arthur, that evening in town — 
 you repel my sympathy, and tell me, your 
 sister^ Arthur, nothing." 
 
 She looked at him reproachfully, but 
 his answer was scarcely what she had 
 expected. 
 
 ''How I wish you were my sister, Alys," 
 was all he said. 
 
 All, perhaps, that he had time to say, 
 for just then Mr. Cheviott's step was 
 heard in the hall. 
 
 " That would not make it any better," 
 said Alys, with a sigh, in a low voice ; " if 
 I were your sister I could not care for you 
 more, and you don't care for me now."
 
 PLANS. 223 
 
 " It isn't that," said Arthur, hastily. " I 
 do care for you just the same as ever, Alys, 
 but " 
 
 He stopped abruptly as his cousin came 
 in.
 
 224 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 " WHAT MADE THE BALL SO FINE ?" 
 
 " But come ; our dance, I pray : 
 
 She dances featly." 
 
 A Winter's Tale. 
 
 rpHE ball at Brockleliurst was this year 
 ■*- anticipated with more than ordinary 
 interest. It was to be an unusually good 
 one, said the local authorities ; all the 
 '*best" houses in the neighbourhood were 
 to be filled for it ; the regiment at the 
 nearest garrison town was a deservedly 
 popular one, and at least three recognized 
 beauties were expected to be present.
 
 "what made the ball so fine ?" 225 
 
 All these facts were discussed with eager- 
 ness by the young people round about 
 Brocklehurst, to whom a ball of any kind 
 was an eyent, to whom this special ball 
 was the event of the year. And in few 
 family circles was it more talked about 
 than in the isolated Rectory at Hather- 
 court, by few girls was it looked forward 
 to with more anticipation of enjoyment 
 than by the Western sisters. Yet it was 
 not the first, nor the second, nor, in the 
 case of Lilias, the third Brocklehurst ball 
 even, at which they had '' assisted," and 
 only a few weeks previous Miss Western 
 had been seriously talking of declining for 
 the future to take part in the great annual 
 festivity. And here she was now, the week 
 before, as interested in the question of the 
 pretty fresh dresses, which, by an extra 
 turn or two of the screw of economy, the 
 mother had managed to provide for her 
 
 VOL. I. Q
 
 226 HATHERCOURT EEOTORT. 
 
 girls, as if slie were again a debutante of 
 seventeen ; and, more wonderful still, the 
 excitement had proved infectious, for Mary, 
 sober-minded Mary, was full of it too. 
 She could think of little else than what 
 Lilias was to wear, how Lilias was to look 
 — but for Lilias, the consideration of what 
 Mary was to wear, how Mary was to look, 
 would have been very summarily dismissed. 
 It is not easy, even with the most un- 
 selfish and " managing " of mothers, with 
 the most — theoretically, at least, indulgent 
 of fathers, with two pair of fairly clever 
 hands, and two or three numbers of the 
 latest fashion books, it is not easy, out of 
 Tvhat a girl like Alys Cheviott would have 
 thought a not extravagant price for a 
 garden-hat, or a new parasol, to devise for 
 oneself a ball-dress, in which to appear 
 with credit to oneself and one's belongings, 
 on such an occasion as a Brocklehurst ball.
 
 " WHAT MADE THE EALL SO FINE ?" 227 
 
 And at first the difl&culties had appeared 
 so insuperable that Mary had proposed 
 that the whole of the funds should be ap- 
 propriated to the purchase of a dress for 
 Lilias only. 
 
 "You could get one really handsome 
 dress — handsome of its kind, that is to say 
 — for what will only provide two barely 
 wearable ones," she said, appealingly, " and, 
 Lilias, you should be nicely dressed for 
 once." 
 
 " And you ?" said Lilias, aghast. 
 
 Mary blushed, and stumbled over a pro- 
 posal that she should wear some mythical 
 attire which '' really might be made to look 
 decent," out of the remains of the tarletanes 
 which had already done good duty on two, 
 if not three previous occasions, " or," she 
 added, still more timidly, ''if you don't 
 think I could go in that, Lilias, I don't see 
 why I should go at all this time. You 
 
 q2
 
 228 HATHERCOURT RECTORY. 
 
 know my pleasure, even selfishly speaking, 
 would be far greater if you alone were to 
 go, comfortably, than if we both went, feeling 
 half ashamed of our clothes ! It would 
 spoil the enjoyment — there is no use deny- 
 ing it, however weak-minded it sounds to 
 say so." 
 
 " Of course it would," said Lilias, 
 promptly. '' I am not at all ashamed of 
 saying so. But I don't despair yet, Mary 
 — only listen to me. I will not go with- 
 out you — do you hear, child ? — I wont go 
 without you, and we shall be dressed 
 exactly alike. Your dress must be pre- 
 cisely and exactly the same as mine, or I 
 won't go. There, now you know my de- 
 cision, and you know that you'll have to 
 give in." 
 
 She sat do^vn as she spoke on the side 
 of the bed in her room, on which was 
 displayed such modest finery as was in
 
 ''what made the ball so pine ?" 229 
 
 their possession, and in presence of which 
 the weighty discussion was taking place — 
 she sat down on the side of the little bed, 
 and looked Mary resolutely in the face. 
 
 "Mary," she repeated, ''you know you 
 will have to give in." 
 
 And Mary gave in on the spot. 
 
 That had been three weeks ago. Now 
 it was within two or three days of the 
 ball. How they had managed it, I cannot 
 tell ; what good fairy had helped them, I 
 cannot say — none, I suspect, but their 
 own light hearts and youthful energy, and 
 love for each other — but Lilias's prophecy 
 had proved correct. The two dresses were 
 ready, simple, but not shabby, perfectly 
 suited to their wearers. " A dress," thought 
 Lilias, '' which must make everyone see 
 how really pretty Mary is." " A dress," 
 thought Mary, "which Captain Beverley 
 need not be afraid of his grand friends
 
 230 HATHERCOURT RECTORY. 
 
 criticisinpr, if, as they must, tliey notice 
 him dancing with Lilias." 
 
 They were in the midst of their ad- 
 miration of the successful achievement, 
 when there came an interruption — a noisy 
 knock at the door, and Josey's noisy 
 voice. 
 
 " Lilias ! Mary ! let me in !" she exclaim- 
 ed. *' Mamma says you are to come down 
 at once. Captain Beverley's here ; he has 
 come back from London, and has walked 
 over all the way from Romary. Come 
 quick !" 
 
 Mary turned to Lilias. Lilias had grown 
 scarlet. 
 
 " I don't know that I shall go down," 
 she said. " I must put away all these 
 things, and I wanted you to help me to 
 fold these dresses, Mary. But mother will 
 be vexed if one of us does not go. Josey, 
 send Alexa up to help me — tell mother
 
 " WHAT MADE THE D.VLL SO HNE ?" 231 
 
 Mary is just coming, but tliat I am very 
 busy." 
 
 " I'll tell Captain Beverley so," said 
 Josephine, maliciously. 
 
 Mary said nothing, but set to work at 
 folding the dresses, and Lilias assisting 
 her, they were all carefully disposed of 
 before Alexa made her appearance. 
 
 ''Xow, Lilias, be sensible, and come 
 down with me," said the younger sister. 
 " He has walked all the way from Romary, 
 you hear, and I think it's very nice of him. 
 He hardly expected to be able to see us 
 again before the ball, and it looks like 
 affectation not to give him a cordial recep- 
 tion." 
 
 But still LiHas hesitated. 
 
 '' It isn't affectation," she said at last, 
 " but — Mary," she went on, suddenly 
 breaking off her sentence, " I think it is 
 horrid to talk of such things before there
 
 232 HATHERCOURT RECTORY. 
 
 is actually anything to talk of, but to you 
 I don't mind. I cannot understand Cap- 
 tain Beverley quite ; that is why I said I 
 was not sure that I should go down. I 
 don't understand why — why he has never 
 yet said anything definite. He has been 
 on the verge of it a dozen times at least, 
 and then he has seemed to hesitate." 
 
 Mary looked at her sister anxiously. 
 
 " Perhaps he is not sure of you,'' she 
 said. *'You know, Lilias, what a way 
 you have of turning things into jest very 
 often." 
 
 Lilias shook her head. "No," she 
 said, *' it isn't that. He knows J' she 
 hesitated, and again her fair face grew 
 rosy, '* he knows I like him. No, it is as if 
 there were some difficulty on his side — his 
 friends perhaps." 
 
 " It can't be that," said Mary, decidedly. 
 " He has no parents, no very near friends.
 
 ''what made the ball so fine ?" 233 
 
 He must be free to act for himself, Lilias. 
 I think too highly of him to doubt it, for 
 it has been all so entirely his own doing — 
 from the very first — and if he were in any 
 way not free, it would have been shameful ;" 
 her face darkened, and a look came into 
 her eyes which told that Mary Western 
 would not be one to stand by silently and 
 see another wronged, whatever powers of 
 endurance she might have on her own ac- 
 count. But it cleared off again quickly, 
 and she smiled at her sister re-assuringly. 
 
 *' I am fanciful where you are concerned, 
 Lilias," she said. " There is no reason for 
 misgiving, I feel sure. I think Captain 
 Beverley is good and true, and it will all 
 be right. Come downstairs now — mother 
 ■will not like our leaving her so long alone." 
 
 Lilias made no further objection, and 
 they went down together to the drawing- 
 room, where it would be difficult to say
 
 234 HATHEECOUET EECTOEY. 
 
 Tvliicli of the two, Mrs. Western or Captain 
 Beverley, was the more eagerly expecting 
 them. 
 
 It was only three or four days since the 
 young man had been at the Rectory, for 
 the period of his mysterious absence from 
 Miss Winstanley's house had really, little 
 as the Cheviotts suspected it, been spent 
 at Hathercourt. But during those three 
 or four days he had been to town and back 
 again, and now he had left the Edge and 
 taken up his quarters at Romary. A great 
 deal seemed to have happened in these 
 few days, and, in her secret heart, Lilias 
 AYestern had looked forward to them as to 
 a sort of crisis. 
 
 " He will, probably, have been talking 
 over things with his cousin, Mr. Cheviott," 
 she said to herself, ''and, naturally, he 
 wished to have some points settled before 
 speaking to papa or me."
 
 "what made the ball so fixe ?" 235 
 
 And it was, therefore, with a sort of ex- 
 pectancy, half hope, half timidity, that 
 added an indefinable charm to her whole 
 bearing and expression, that Lilias met 
 her all but declared lover this afternoon. 
 He felt that she was more attractive than 
 ever, *' she grows lovelier every time I see 
 her," he said to himself, with a sigh, and 
 then tried to forget that he had anything 
 to sigh about, and gave himself up to the 
 pleasure of being again beside her — to the 
 consciousness that his presence was not 
 distasteful to her, and smothered all mis- 
 givings with a vague, boyish confidence 
 that, somehow or other, things would all 
 come right in the end. 
 
 There could be no doubt about it — he 
 was more devoted than ever — what nine- 
 teenth century preux chevalier could give 
 greater proof of his devotion than a ten 
 miles' walk on a dull December day, for
 
 236 HATHERCOURT RECTORY. 
 
 the sake of an hour s enjoyment of his lady- 
 love's company, and a cup of tea from her 
 fair hands ? Yet when their guest rose to 
 go — he had arranged, he told them, for a 
 dog-cart from Romary to meet him at the 
 Edge Farm — Lilias was conscious of a chill 
 of disappointment. True, he had not been 
 alone with her, but had he sought any op- 
 portunity of being so ? And Mr. Western 
 was at home, sitting reading, as usual, 
 in his study ; nothing could have been 
 more easily managed than an interview 
 with him, had Captain Beverley wished it. 
 But a word or two that passed, as he was 
 saying good-bye, again put her but half 
 acknowledged misgivings to flight. 
 
 " Then when shall I see you again ?" he 
 said, as he held her hand in his for an in- 
 stant, unobserved in the little bustle of 
 taking leave. 
 
 Lilias glanced round hastily ; her mother
 
 ''what made the ball so fine ?" 237 
 
 and Mary were hardly within hearing. 
 
 '' I really cannot say," she replied, some- 
 what coldly, drawing her hand away as she 
 spoke. " I suppose Mary and I will go to 
 the ball on Thursday, with Mrs. Greville, 
 but " 
 
 " Suppose," repeated Captain Beverley, 
 hastily interrupting her. " Are not you 
 sure of going ? I should not have promised 
 to go, had I not thought you were certain 
 to be there." 
 
 ''Are you going to the ball from Ro- 
 mary?" asked Mary, coming up to where 
 they were standing, before Lilias had time 
 to reply. 
 
 " I don't know exactly," replied Captain 
 Beverley. " I am not sure what I shall 
 do." 
 
 Mary looked up in surprise, and Lilias saw 
 the look. 
 
 " Mary and I will have a very long drive,"
 
 238 HATHERCOURT RECTORY. 
 
 she said. '' You know we are going with 
 Mrs. Greville from Uxley." 
 
 Captain Beverley's face cleared. 
 
 "I shall get there somehow," he said, 
 brightly, " and you must not forget the 
 dances you have promised me, Miss West- 
 ern." And then he said good-bye again, 
 and really took his departure. Lilias's 
 good spirits did not desert her through the 
 evening, and Mary was glad to see it, and 
 tried to banish the misgivings that had 
 been left in her own mind by her con- 
 versation with her sister. But she did not 
 succeed in doing so quite effectually. 
 
 '^ I wonder," she said to herself — " I 
 wonder why Captain Beverley did not order 
 the dog-cart to come here to meet him. 
 And I wonder, too, why he says so little 
 about the Cheviotts. Under the circum- 
 stances, it would be only natural that we 
 should know something of them — he has
 
 "what 3IADE THE BALL SO FINE ?" 239 
 
 SO often said Miss Clieviott was just like a 
 sister to him." 
 
 "Miss Cheviott is to be at tlie ball, I 
 suppose/' she said to Lilias the next day. 
 " Does she count as one of the three beau- 
 ties we heard about, do you think ?" 
 
 "I suppose so," said Lilias, rather shortly. 
 
 "Did Captain Beverley not say anything 
 about her going?" persisted Mary. 
 
 Lilias turned round sharply. 
 
 " You heard all he said," she exclaimed. 
 " He was speaking to you quite as much as 
 to me. I don't think he mentioned the 
 Cheviotts at all, aud I don't care to hear 
 about them. It is not as if they were 
 Captain Beverley's brother and sister." 
 
 " I didn't mean to vex you, Lilias," said 
 Mary, and then the subject dropped. 
 
 Mrs. Greville was a very good sort of 
 person to be a chaperon. She was her 
 husband's second wife, a good many years
 
 240 HATHERCOURT RECTORY. 
 
 his junior, and she had no daughters of 
 her own. She was pretty well off, but 
 owing to Mr. Greville's delicate health, her 
 allowance of amusement was, even for a 
 clergyman's wife, moderate in the extreme, 
 and she had very little occupation of any 
 kind; there were no poor people in the 
 very well-to-do parish of Uxley, and her two 
 boys were at school. She liked chaperon- 
 ing the Western girls, Lilias especially, as 
 her beauty was sure of receiving attention, 
 and both she and Mary were quickly grate- 
 ful for a little kindness, unexactiug, and 
 ready to be pleased. So, all things con- 
 sidered, she looked forward to the Brockle- 
 hurst ball with scarcely less eagerness than 
 the sisters themselves. 
 
 " I am so pleased that you have got 
 such pretty dresses this year," said Mrs. 
 Greville, when she and her charges found 
 themselves fairly launched on the eventful
 
 " WHAT :\[ADE THE BALL SO FINE ?" 241 
 
 evening. She liad chartered the roomiest 
 of the "Withenden flys, as much less 
 damaging to their attire during a seven 
 miles' drive than her own little pill-box, in 
 which, carefully wrapped up in innumer- 
 able mujfflers and overcoats, Mr. Greville 
 followed meekly behind. " Yes, I am par- 
 ticularly pleased you have got such pretty 
 dresses, for I quite think it is going to be 
 a very brilliant ball. You have heard 
 that there are to be three beauties — noted 
 beauties, have you not P There's young 
 Mrs. Heron-"Wyvern, the bride, you know ; 
 she is of Spanish origin ; her father was a 
 General Monte something or other, and 
 they say she is lovely ; and Sir Thomas 
 Fforde's niece. Miss — oh, I always forget 
 names, but she is very pretty — handsome, 
 rather — she is not so very young; and then 
 there is Miss Cheviott of Romary. I have 
 not seen her since she was quite a little 
 VOL. I. R
 
 242 HATHERCOURT RECTORY. 
 
 girl, but she was pretty then, even." 
 
 " Are the Cheviotts at Romary now ?" 
 asked Mary, when she got a chance of 
 speaking. 
 
 " Oh, yes, I believe so, and very much 
 liked, I hear," replied Mrs. Greville. 
 *' There was an impression that Mr. Che- 
 viott was stiff and ' stuck up,' but I believe 
 it's not at all the case when you know him. 
 I hear Romary is likely to be one of the 
 pleasantest houses in the county. I dare- 
 say Miss Oheviott will be making some 
 grand match before long, though I have 
 heard " 
 
 But just at this moment the sudden 
 rattle of the wheels upon the unmistakable 
 cobble stones of Brocklehurst High Street 
 distracted Mrs. Greville's attention. 
 
 " Here we are, I declare !" she exclaim- 
 ed. '' How quickly we seem to have come ! 
 I do hope the brougham is close behind,
 
 " WHAT MADE THE BALL SO FINE ?" 243 
 
 for Mr. Greville has all the tickets ;" and, 
 in the bustle that ensued, what she had 
 heard as to Miss Cheviott's prospects or 
 intentions was never revealed. 
 
 They were very early. Mrs. Greville 
 liked to be early, " to see all the people 
 come in." Hitherto, on such occasions, 
 this weakness of her friend's had been a 
 sore trial to Lilias, but this year, for rea- 
 sons of her own, she had made no objec- 
 tion to it, and had not, as formerly, ex- 
 hausted her energies in search of some 
 cleverly-laid scheme for making Mrs. Gre- 
 ville late in spite of herself. And if Lilias 
 was content, it never occurred to Mary to 
 be anything else ; so they all sat down 
 together, ''in a nice corner out of the 
 draught," and Hstened to the discordant 
 preliminaries of the band, and watched the 
 gradual filling of the bare, chilly rooms, 
 two hearts among the four caring for 
 
 r2
 
 244 HATHERCOURT RECTORY. 
 
 little but the confidently looked-for ap- 
 proach of a tall, manly figure, with a bright 
 fair face, to claim his partner for the first 
 two dances. 
 
 But time wore on ; the first quadrille 
 was a thing of the past, and still Lilias 
 and Mary sat decorously beside their cha- 
 peron, each thinking to herself that ^' surely 
 the Romary party was very late." But 
 when the second dance, a waltz, had also 
 come to an end, Lilias's air changed ; a 
 proud flush of colour overspread her 
 cheeks, and when Frank Bury, a TVithen- 
 den curate of rather unclerical tastes, but 
 decided in his admiration for Miss West- 
 ern, begged for " the honour of the third 
 dance," she accepted at once — so much 
 more amiably, and with such much sweeter 
 smiles than usual, that the poor young 
 man grew crimson with astonishment and 
 delight. Mary longed, yet dared not, to
 
 " WHAT MADE THE BALL SO FINE ?" 245 
 
 interfere ; there was '' a look " in Lilias's 
 face as she walked away on Frank Bury's 
 arm that made Mary's heart burn with 
 anxiety for the possible issues of this 
 evening. 
 
 '' Oh," said she, to herself, ''if he ^ere 
 to come just now and think she would not 
 wait for him !" 
 
 And she sat still in fear and trembling, 
 longing for, yet dreading Captain Beverley's 
 appearance. 
 
 The dance was not half over when there 
 came a little bustle at the principal doorway. 
 Those nearest it stood back, and even 
 through the music one discerned a slight 
 hush of expectancy. Some new-comers 
 were at hand ; new-comers too of evident 
 importance. Mrs. Greville's ears and eyes 
 were equally wide awake. 
 
 '' The Cleavelands party," she whispered 
 to Mary, " and T hear all the three beauties
 
 246 HATHERCOURT RECTORY. 
 
 come with them ! The Heron- Wyverns 
 are staying there, and so are the Ffords, 
 and the Cheviotts. It looks as if it had 
 been arranged on purpose to make a sensa- 
 tion." 
 
 Mary would have cared little but for 
 one thought. " Then there has been no 
 party at Romary ?" she asked. 
 
 "I suppose not — evidently not, for see, 
 there is Mr. Cheviott coming into the room 
 with Sir Thomas's niece on his arm — what 
 a handsome couple I but he has a forbid- 
 ding expression. Then that must be the 
 bride, I suppose — oh, yes, look, Mary, she is 
 going to dance with her husband, young 
 Heron-Wyvern — he has reddish hair — and 
 now, I wonder what has become of the 
 third beauty. Miss Cheviott." 
 
 But at this moment, an acquaintance of 
 Mrs. Greville's happening to take the 
 vacant seat on her other side, her atten-
 
 " WHAT MADE THE BALL SO FINE ?" 247 
 
 tion was distracted, and Mary's eyes w^ere 
 left free to roam in search of one familiar 
 figure. Her heart was beating fast with 
 excitement and anxiety, her sight surely 
 was growing confused, for could that be 
 he ? Over on the other side, through a 
 bewilderment of faces, she espied the one 
 she was in search of, gazing about in quest 
 of Lilias, or disconsolately observing her 
 defalcation. Ah no, Captain Beverley's 
 face was bent to meet the upturned glance 
 of a beautiful woman on his arm — she was 
 smiling up at him; he, down upon her, 
 "just," thought Mary, with a thrill of some- 
 thing very nearly approaching agony, ^'just 
 as I have seen him look at Lilias hundreds 
 of times." Never had he appeared to 
 greater advantage, never had his fair, 
 handsome face looked brighter or more at- 
 tractive — and the lady — yes, in another 
 instant, Mary was sure of it, recognised
 
 24S HATHERCOURT EECTORY. 
 
 fully the sliglit, graceful figure, the pecu- 
 liar '' set" of the haughty little head, and 
 the glance of the pretty violet eyes. Yes, 
 they were nearer her now, the young lady 
 was his cousin, the beautiful Miss Cheviott ! 
 In another instant his arm was round her 
 waist, they were dancing together. And 
 Mary, for the first time in her life, felt as 
 if it might be possible to hate good-natured 
 Mrs. Greville, when, a succession of lady- 
 like nudges having compelled her atten- 
 tion, her chaperon whispered, triumphant- 
 ly, *' Look, Mary, quick, child, or you won't 
 see them — there is Miss Cheviott, isn't she 
 lovely? And she is dancing with her 
 cousin, Captain Beverley. And Mr. Knox 
 tells me — he has just heard it on the best 
 authority — they are engaged to each other." 
 '' You forget that I know Captain 
 Beverley," Mary could not help rejoining, 
 coldly ; '' he has called at the Rectory
 
 ''what made the ball so fixe ?" 249 
 
 several times when he has been staying at 
 the Edge Farm." 
 
 " Ah, yes, to be sure. I wish he would 
 come and ask you to dance," said Mrs. 
 Greville, carelessly. 
 
 But Mary felt as if " the dancing had all 
 gone out of her." Her mental tremors 
 now took a new form — dread of her sister s 
 return, and, more in cowardice than be- 
 cause she had the slightest wish to move, 
 she accepted Mr. Greville's offer of a con- 
 voy across the room " for a change ; Mr. 
 Knox will look after my wife till your 
 sister comes back," he said, good-naturedly. 
 
 " Across the room," Mary met with an 
 unexpected invitation to '' join the dance." 
 The major of the 210th was an old friend 
 of Mr. Greville's, and being a quiet, retiring 
 man, the number of his acquaintances at 
 Brocklehurst was not large. He did not 
 care much about dancing, but after chatting
 
 250 HATHERCOURT RECTORY. 
 
 to Mr. Greville for a minute or two, he 
 discovered that the girl on his friend's arm 
 had a nice face and an undoubtedly beauti- 
 ful pair of eyes, and, before Mary knew 
 what she was about, she was dancing with 
 Major Throckmorton, and engaged to him 
 for the quadrille to follow. Between the 
 dances her partner proposed that they 
 should walk up and down the long corridor 
 into which the ball-room opened, and Mary, 
 caring little — so completely were her 
 thoughts absorbed with Lilias — where she 
 went, absently agreed. Major Throck- 
 morton was so shy himself that he natur- 
 ally attributed to the same cause the 
 peculiarity of the young lady's manner, 
 and liked her none the less on account of 
 it. But before the quadrille had reached 
 the end of its first figure, his theory had 
 received a shock. For suddenly his part- 
 ner's whole manner changed. She smiled,
 
 " WHAT MADE THE BALL SO FIXE ?" 251 
 
 and talked, and laughed, and seemed 
 interested ; where before he had only suc- 
 ceeded in extracting the most indistinct 
 of monosyllables, she now answered with 
 intelligence and perfect self-possession, 
 hazarding observations of her own in a 
 way which proved her to be by no means 
 the timid, ill-assured country maiden he 
 had imagined her. 
 
 " What a curiously changeable girl !" he 
 said to himself. '* Five minutes ago I did 
 not feel sure that she took in the sense of 
 a word I said to her, and now she is as 
 composed and rational as possible, and 
 evidently a well-educated girl. What 
 queer creatures women are !" 
 
 His glance ran down the lines of faces 
 opposite them. Among them one arrested 
 his attention. "What a beautiful girl," 
 he exclaimed ; " the most beautiful in 
 the room, in my opinion. Do you hap-
 
 252 HATHERCOURT RECTORY. 
 
 pen to know who she is, Miss Western ?" 
 
 Mary's eyes followed willingly in the 
 direction he pointed out — whither, indeed, 
 they had already been frequently wander- 
 ing — and her whole face lighted up with 
 a happy smile. 
 
 '^ Do you think her the most beautiful 
 girl in the room ?" she said. " I am so 
 glad, for she is my sister. Do you know 
 the gentleman she is dancing with ?" 
 
 Major Throckmorton glanced at Lilias's 
 partner. '' No," he said, **I don't think I 
 do. I know so few people here. He is a 
 good-looking fellow, and," he hesitated, 
 and glanced again in Miss Western's 
 direction, then added, with a kindly smile, 
 ''it is evident he would agree with my 
 opinion as to who is the most beautiful 
 girl in the room." 
 
 Mary smiled too, and blushed a little, 
 and decided that her partner was one of
 
 "what made the ball so fine ?" 253 
 
 the pleasantest men she had ever met. 
 And poor Major Throckmorton thought 
 how pretty she looked when she blushed, 
 and said to himself that before long, very 
 probably, some other fellow would be ap- 
 propriating her, as her beautiful sister evi- 
 dently was already appropriated, and he 
 sighed to think that, notwithstanding his 
 eighteen years' service, such good luck had 
 never yet come in his way I For it was a 
 case of "uncommonly little besides his 
 pay," and beautiful girls were not for such 
 as he.
 
 :54 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 THROWING DOWN THE GAUNTLET. 
 
 " The marvel dies, and leaves me fool'd and trick'd, 
 And only wondering wherefore play'd upon : 
 And doubtful whether I and mine be scorn'd." 
 
 Gareth and Lynette. 
 
 11 T AJOR THROCKMORTON took Mary 
 -^'-^ back to Mrs. Greville, and after en- 
 gaging her for another dance, later in the 
 evening, strolled away again, considerably 
 to her satisfaction, for she was now as 
 anxious to see Lilias, and hear the explana- 
 tion of Captain Beverley's inconsistent 
 behaviour, as she had before been to avoid 
 her.
 
 theowinCt down the gauntlet 2-j5 
 
 " Have you seen Lilias ?" she asked Mrs. 
 Greville, eagerly, for no Lilias was as yet 
 at the rendezvous. '' She was near us in 
 that last quadrille, but then, somehow, I 
 lost sight of her in the crowd." 
 
 "She is very content, wherever she is, I 
 can assure you," said Mrs. Greville, sig- 
 nificantly. " I don't fancy either you or I 
 will see much more of her for the rest of 
 the evening. It is as clear as daylight," 
 she went on. " Why didn't you tell me, 
 Mary?" 
 
 "Tell you what, dear Mrs. Greville?" 
 said Mary, opening her eyes, and rather 
 taken aback. 
 
 " Of course you know. Don't pretend 
 you do not," said Mrs. Greville, good- 
 humouredly. " Of course I mean about 
 Captain Beverley's unmistakable admira- 
 tion for Lilias. No one could have doubted 
 it who saw the way he came up after that
 
 256 HATIIERCOURT RECTORY. 
 
 dance with Frank Bury. She looked cold 
 and haughty enough at first, but he whis- 
 pered something that put it all right, I 
 could see. And only fancy Mr. Knox tell- 
 ing me he was engaged to Miss Cheviott !" 
 
 ''But," said Mary, hesitatingly, and 
 blushing a little as she spoke, '' Lilias isn't 
 — there is nothing settled; they are not 
 engaged.'" 
 
 '' Oh ! I daresay not publicly, at present, 
 but of course such attention as he is paying 
 her to-night will soon make it public. I 
 am so delighted — such a capital thing it 
 will be for you all — I cannot tell you how 
 pleased. — But, hush ! here they come," said 
 Mrs. Greville, stopping abruptly. 
 
 And Mary, looking round, saw Lilias 
 close at hand, and what a Lilias ! Sun- 
 shine seemed to be playing about her, so 
 bright and sweet and happy did she look — 
 flushed not merely with her own inner
 
 THEOWING DOWN THE GAUNTLET. 257 
 
 consciousness of happiness, but with an 
 innocent sense of triumph that her lover 
 had been tested, and not found wanting ; 
 that in the eyes of all the assembled 
 " somebodies " of Meadshire he was eager 
 to do her homage ; she felt that she had 
 reason to be proud of him ! 
 
 He only stayed to shake hands with 
 Mary, and then hurried off, with a parting 
 reminder to Lilias of her promise for the 
 next dance but one. For the very next 
 she was already engaged to a brother in 
 arms of Major Throckmorton, and there 
 was little time for any conversation be- 
 tween the sisters. Only Lilias whispered 
 it was " all right." *' He " had explained 
 why he was so late, and she was engaged 
 to him for two more dances. Mary might 
 feel quite happy about her. But was 
 Mary enjoying herself too ? she inquired, 
 anxiously, as her partner appeared to carry 
 
 VOL. I. s
 
 258 HATHERCOURT RECTORY. 
 
 her off. And in the sight of that radiant 
 young face Mary could indeed with all 
 honesty reply that she was. She would 
 have thought and believed it the most 
 charming ball in the world, even if she 
 had spent the whole evening on the bench 
 in the corner of the room beside Mrs. 
 Greville ; and this would have been far 
 more amusing than having to dance with 
 Mr. Bury, which she was now obliged to 
 do. For the poor young man's high 
 spirits had suddenly deserted him ; he was 
 extremely depressed, not to say cross, and 
 Mary, knowing the cause of the change, 
 -:jould not but find it in her heart to pity 
 him, though her relief was great when her 
 penance was over. She danced next with 
 Frank's elder brother, an occasional visitor 
 only to the Brocklehurst part of the world, 
 and a fairly amusing partner, and as Lilias 
 and Captain Beverley were their vis-a-vis,
 
 THROWING DOWN THE GAUNTLET. 259 
 
 Mary enjoyed the quadrille exceedingly. 
 A little further down the room a set, 
 composed entirely of the Cleavelands party, 
 attracted her attention. There stood the 
 *' three beauties " in close proximity. Mary 
 glanced at them again and again, and once 
 or twice it seemed to her that she and her 
 sister were the objects of attention to 
 some members of the party. That Miss 
 Cheviott gazed admiringly at Lilias, and 
 made some remark about her to her part- 
 ner, Mary felt sure, and thought it not 
 surprising ; but, besides this, she two or 
 three times caught Mr. Cheviott's observ- 
 ant eyes fixed on her sister and herself 
 with a curious expression, which half an- 
 noyed her. And once, in turning sudden- 
 ly, she fancied that Captain Beverley, too, 
 noticed this peculiar expression with which 
 his cousin was regarding them, and, Mary 
 felt by instinct, resented it. 
 
 s2
 
 260 HATHERCOURT RECTORY. 
 
 " You sliould by riglits be dancing over 
 there, should you not r" a sudden impulse 
 urged her to say to her sister's partner, 
 when one of the figures in the dance 
 brought them for an instant into juxta- 
 position. 
 
 *' Over where ?" he asked, the next time 
 they met. 
 
 Mary bent her head slightly in the 
 direction of the Cleavelands '' set," but she 
 had not time to see how Captain Beverley 
 liked her explanation. His answer was 
 reserved for the next round. It was quite 
 ready. 
 
 " What could have put such an idea into 
 your head?" he said, not without a touch 
 of haughtiness in his tone. " I am per- 
 fectly free to dance where and with whom 
 I choose." 
 
 Mary smiled, but in her heart she felt 
 a sliofht uneasiness. The bloom seemed
 
 THROV/IXG DOWN THE GAUNTLET. 261 
 
 by this little incident to have been rubbed 
 off her satisfaction. 
 
 " It will be disagreeable for Lilias/' she 
 said to herself, '' if his friends are in any 
 way prejudiced against her. She is so 
 proud, too ; she would never go out of her 
 way to win them." 
 
 Thus thought Mary when she again 
 found herself in her corner by Mrs. Gre- 
 ville. Her dances, so far as she knew, 
 were over for the evening, but Lilias had 
 not yet returned to her dia])erons wing. 
 Mrs. Greville was beginning to wonder 
 what o'clock it was. 
 
 " Not that I am in the least tired," she 
 said. " As long as Lilias is enjoying her- 
 self I am quite pleased to stay, and you, 
 too, my dear. Are you not going to dance 
 any more ?" 
 
 " I think not," Mary was replying when 
 a voice behind her made her start.
 
 262 HATHERCOURT RECTORY. 
 
 " Miss Western," it said, " if you are not 
 engaged for this dance, may I have the 
 honour of it ?" 
 
 The voice was not altogether unfamiliar, 
 when had she heard it before ? It 
 was not an unpleasing voice, though its 
 tone was cold and very formal. Mary 
 looked up ; there, before her, stood Mr. 
 Cheviott. 
 
 In utter amazement, Mary partially lost 
 her head. She rose mechanically, and, mur- 
 muring something in the shape of an as- 
 sent, took Mr. Cheviott's arm, and had 
 passed some little way down the room be- 
 fore she quite realised what she was doing. 
 Then it all flashed upon her ; the extreme 
 oddness of the whole proceeding, and she 
 grew confused and uneasy in trying to 
 think how otherwise she should have done. 
 Mr. Cheviott had never been introduced to 
 her ! Those two or three words in the
 
 THEOWING DOWN THE GAUNTLET. 263 
 
 churcli porcli two months ago were all tliat 
 had ever passed between them. Yet his 
 manner had been perfectly, even formally 
 respectful, and the glow of indignation that 
 had mounted to Mary's cheeks at the mere 
 notion of anything but respect being shown 
 to her father's daughter, faded as quickly 
 away. One glance at Mr. Cheviott's grave, 
 preoccupied face was enough completely 
 to dispel it, and she, thereupon, solved the 
 enigma in another manner. It was all on 
 Lilias's account ! Mr. Cheviott, doubtless 
 in his cousin's confidence, wished, naturally 
 enough, to know something of her rela- 
 tions, and had, with almost unconscious 
 disregard of conventionality, chosen this way 
 of making friends. On second thoughts, 
 Mary quite decided that she liked him all 
 the better for it, and congratulated herself 
 that her instincts had been in the right, 
 that she had not, with misplaced prudery,
 
 264 HATHERCOURT RECTORY. 
 
 cMlled and repelled his first overtures of 
 kindliness and interest. 
 
 It was a round dance, but Mr. Cheviott 
 marclied on down tlie room as if perfectly 
 oblivious that dancing of any kind was in 
 question. Suddenly he stopped. 
 
 '' Do you like balls ? " he asked, ab- 
 ruptly. 
 
 " I don't dislike them," answered Mary, 
 quietly. 
 
 Mr. Cheviott, in spite of himself, smiled, 
 and Mary, looking up, was again struck, 
 as she had been the first time she saw him, 
 by the effect of a smile on his somewhat 
 sombre countenance. 
 
 " That is, and isn't, an answer to my 
 question," he said. '' Perhaps I should 
 have worded it differently, and said, ^ do 
 you like dancing ?' " 
 
 " Sometimes," said Mary, quietly still. 
 
 Mr. Cheviott smiled aeain.
 
 THEOWING DOWN THE GAUNTLET. 265 
 
 " One thing, I see, you do not like," he 
 said, " and that is, being catechised. I 
 asked you if you liked dancing because, I 
 fear, I do not dance well, and if you were 
 fanatica on the subject I should be afraid 
 of displeasing you. However, suppose we 
 try?" 
 
 He did not dance badly, but with a 
 certain indifference which Mary found pro- 
 voking. This, and a suspicion of patronis- 
 ing in his last words, inspirited her to take 
 a different tone. 
 
 *'I do not think you dance ill," she said, 
 when they stopped, ''but anyone could tell 
 that you do not care about it." 
 
 '' How ?" he said, if truth be told, ever 
 so slightly nettled — for what man likes to 
 be '' damned with faint praise," by a girl 
 in her teens, whoever she may be ? 
 
 ''Oh! I can't tell you. It would be 
 quite different if you liked it. There is
 
 266 HATHERCOURT RECTORY. 
 
 no verve in your dancing," she replied. 
 
 She could see he was annoyed, and some- 
 how she was not sorry for it. He took 
 refuge again in a patronising tone. 
 
 " Do you speak French ?" he inquired^ 
 with a slight air of surprise. 
 
 *'Do you speak Italian?" she retorted. 
 
 "Why do you ask?" he said, coolly. 
 '' Are you offended by my inferring a possi- 
 bility of your not speaking French ?" 
 
 "No," she replied; "but I thought it 
 an uncalled-for question. You used an 
 Italian word just now for the same reason, 
 probably, that I used a French one — that 
 we could not find an English word to ex- 
 press our meaning equally well " 
 
 " The only reason," interrupted Mr. 
 Cheviott, eagerly, " that can ever excuse 
 one's doing so." 
 
 ''But," continued Mary, "you did not 
 give me the credit of this good reason, as
 
 THROWING DOWN THE GAUJ^TLET. 267 
 
 I did you. I did not suppose you used an 
 Italian word for the sake of showing off 
 that you knew Italian." 
 
 ''And I said nothing to lead you to sup- 
 pose that I thought you were wanting 
 to show off your French," retorted Mr. 
 Cheviott, laughing a little, in spite of him- 
 self, and yet manifestly annoyed. '* I was 
 only — a little — surprised, perhaps." 
 
 " Why ?" asked Mary. '' Is it so un- 
 usual, now-a-days, to find people who have 
 learnt French ?" 
 
 '* Oh ! dear, no, of course not ; but I 
 understood you had been brought up very 
 quietly, and had always lived in the 
 country, and all that sort of thing. I don't 
 want to offend you, but very probably you 
 would be more offended if I did not answer 
 you plainly." 
 
 *'Very probably," said Mary, smiling. 
 " But don't you see that just because we
 
 268 HATHERCOURT RECTORY. 
 
 have lived so quietly, as you say, we have 
 had the more time for 'lessons/ And 
 there were grave reasons why, in our case, 
 we should learn all we could — practical 
 reasons, I mean." 
 
 Mr. Cheviott did not at once reply ; he 
 seemed as if reflecting over what she had 
 said. 
 
 " I wonder what he is thinking about," 
 thought Mary. '' He must know we are 
 poor. We have made no secret of it to 
 Captain Beverley." 
 
 '' Shall we try again ?" said Mr. Cheviott, 
 suddenly. '' If I do my best, there is no 
 saying but that, in time, I may catch a 
 little of your vervej Miss Western." 
 
 '' You think I have a superabundance of 
 it," said Mary, good-humouredly ; and, 
 ^' Yes," she added, when they stopped again, 
 " that is better, decidedly." 
 
 But again the look of pre-occupation
 
 THROWING DOWN THE GAUNTLET. 269 
 
 had come over Mr. Cheviott's face ; he did 
 not seem elated by her praise. 
 
 "Your sister likes dancing too, I sup- 
 pose ?" he said, after a little pause. 
 
 "Yes," replied Mary, " she is very fond 
 of it, and she dances very well." 
 
 " I daresay she does," said Mr. Cheviott, 
 "but she is too tall to dance with most 
 men. I see," he added, slowly, as if he had 
 some little diificulty in going on with what 
 he had to say — " I see she has been danc- 
 ing a good deal with my cousin, Captain 
 Beverley. He dances very well, in fact, 
 better than he does anything else, I was 
 going to say." 
 
 Something in the words and tone roused 
 Mary's ire. 
 
 " I don't see that dancing well need 
 prevent a man's doing other things well 
 too," she observed, coldly. 
 
 Mr. Cheviott raised his eyebrows ; he
 
 270 HATHERCOURT RECTORY. 
 
 was quite his usual self again now, cool 
 and collected, and satisfied that he was 
 going to have the best of it. 
 
 "I quite agree with you," he replied, 
 drily. 
 
 *' Then," said Mary, getting more angry, 
 '^ why should you praise Captain Beverley's 
 dancing in that sort of way, as if you were 
 dfz^praising everything else he does ? I 
 think he has it in him to do many things 
 well — more, probably, than have as yet 
 come in his way." 
 
 '•' I daresay you are quite right," said 
 Mr. Cheviott. 
 
 " For a man," pursued Mary, somewhat 
 mollified, " he is still very young." 
 
 " Peculiarly so," said Mr. Cheviott ; " he 
 is very young for his actual years. You 
 must have seen a good deal of him, Miss 
 Western, to judge him so correctly." 
 
 " I have said very little about him,"
 
 THEOWING DOWN THE GAUNTLET. 271 
 
 said Mary, bluntly, looking up in her com- 
 panion's face witli a questioning expres- 
 sion in her eyes, before which Mr. Cheviott 
 quailed a little — yet what pretty, gentle 
 brown eyes they were ! — " but I have seen 
 s good deal of him," she went on, frankly. 
 " He has been a great deal with us lately, 
 while he was staying at the Edge Farm, 
 you know." 
 
 Almost as she pronounced the words, 
 she became conscious of the annoyance 
 they were causing her companion, and she 
 felt that her worst misgivings were real- 
 ised. " Why did I dance with him ?" was 
 the first form in which her hot indignation 
 expressed itself in her thoughts. 
 
 " Yes," replied Mr. Cheviott, coldly, '' I 
 heard that Mr. and Mrs. Western had 
 been very hospitable to my cousin, and no 
 doubt he is very grateful to them. He is 
 an extremely sociable person — cannot bear
 
 272 HATHERnoURT EECTOEr. 
 
 being alone. As you have seen so much 
 of him, Miss Western, I daresay you have 
 discovered that he is very impulsive and 
 impressionable, very ready to amuse him- 
 self, without the least thought of the after- 
 consequences." 
 
 Mary remained perfectly silent. 
 
 ''You agree with me?" said Mr. Che- 
 viott. " I am very glad of it, for I see 
 you will not misunderstand me. There 
 are some kinds of knowledge not so easily 
 acquired as French," he added, with an 
 attempt at carrying off what he had been 
 saying lightly, '' but I see your good sense 
 stands you in lieu of what is commonly 
 called knowledge of the world, and — and, 
 for your sister s sake especially, I am very 
 glad indeed that you have so much per- 
 ception." 
 
 He did not look at Mary as he spoke, 
 but now she suddenly turned towards him,
 
 THEOWING DOWN THE GAUIsTLET. 273 
 
 and he was obliged to face her. Every 
 ray of their usually pretty colour had faded 
 out of her cheeks ; she looked so very pale 
 that for an instant he thought she was 
 going to faint, and a quick rush of pity 
 for the poor child momentarily obliterated 
 all other considerations. But Mary saw 
 the softening expression that came over 
 his face, and smiled slightly, but bitterly. 
 And then Mr. Cheviott saw that her pale- 
 ness w^as not that of timidity or ordinary 
 agitation, but of intense, wrathful indig- 
 nation, and he thereupon hardened his 
 heart. 
 
 "Why," said Mary, after a little pause, 
 and her voice, though low, was distinct 
 and clear — '' why, may I ask, do you say 
 that it is especially on my sister s account 
 that you are glad to find that I possess 
 what you so kindly call so much power of 
 perception V 
 
 VOL. I. T
 
 274 HATHER COURT RECTORY. 
 
 Her words, to herself even, sounded 
 stilted and almost absurd, but, had. she 
 tried to speak easily and naturally, she felt 
 that in some way she would have broken 
 down. And Mr. Cheviott did not notice 
 the stiltedness of her tone and speech ; 
 cool as he looked he was feeling intensely 
 uncomfortable, and little inclined to see 
 any humorous side to the situation. 
 
 "I would rather not say why," he re- 
 plied, ''and, besides, it is unnecessary. 
 You would, afterwards, regret asking me 
 to say more than I have done." 
 
 '' But, having said so much, supposing I 
 insist on your saying more," said Mary, 
 unwisely. " Supposing I tell my father, 
 and that he asks you to explain why you 
 have spoken to me this way — supposing — " 
 she stopped, for her voice failed her. 
 Anger inclines some women to tears more 
 readily than grief.
 
 THROWING DOWN THE GAUNTLET. 275 
 
 Mr. Cheviott smiled ; it was, in reality, 
 a nervous, uneasy smile, but Mary thought 
 it insultinp' and insufferable. 
 
 " Miss "Western," he said, '' you are 
 really exciting yourself about nothing at 
 all. I do not think that any reasonable 
 person would see cause of offence in the 
 two or three remarks I have made about 
 my cousin, and, fortunate as he is in pos- 
 sessing so eager an advocate as yourself, it 
 is impossible you can know him as well 
 as I do. But I think we have discussed 
 him quite sufficiently, and, in mij opinion 
 at least, the less said the better." 
 
 He looked at her with a sort of veiled 
 inquiry. Mary stood perfectly silent. It 
 was true ; she had been very foolish, very 
 undignified to have expressed herself as 
 vehemently as she had done ; she had no 
 right to resent Mr. Cheviott's hinted warn- 
 ings, for Arthur Beverley had not commit- 
 
 T 2
 
 276 HATHERCOURT RECTORY. 
 
 ted himself in sucli a way as to give her 
 any. '' Oh," she thought, " if I could but 
 look up in his face and say, ' Your cousin 
 is engaged to my sister, and I decline to 
 hear anything you have to say about him ; 
 your opinion has not, and never Trill be 
 asked,' oh, how different it all would be ! 
 How different it loillhe when it is all settled, 
 and no one can interfere!" But in the 
 meantime ; yes, certainly, the less said the 
 better. 
 
 She felt that she trusted Captain Bever- 
 ley, even now, already she felt that Mr. 
 Cheviott's opinion was of no real conse- 
 quence, and she could afford to despise it, 
 much as, for Lilias's sake she regretted 
 that the connection was not likely to find 
 favour in the eyes of Arthur's proud re- 
 lations. 
 
 *' But that will not ideally matter," she 
 repeated to herself, and, fortified with this
 
 THROWING DOWN THE GAUNTLET. 277 
 
 reflection, slie turned quietly to reply to 
 Mr. Cheviott's last speecli. 
 
 "Yes," she said, " I was very foolisli to 
 take up your remarks about your cousin 
 so hotly. For, though I have known him 
 such a short time, I think, in some ways, 
 I already know him far better than you 
 do. And now I shall be obliged if you 
 will take me back to my friends." 
 
 She looked up in Mr. Cheviott's face 
 with fearless eyes, and no trace of agita- 
 tion, but a somewhat deeper colour than 
 usual in her cheeks, and the shadow of a 
 quiver on her lips. But Mr. Cheviott read 
 her rightly ; the gauntlet of defiance was 
 thrown down, and her resolution staggered 
 him. 
 
 " Can they be already really engaged ?" he 
 said to himself. " I could almost find it 
 in my heart to wish they were, to get rid 
 of all this! How unbearable it is — how
 
 278 HATHERCOURT RECTORY. 
 
 horribly I am, and must be, misunder- 
 stood, even by this girl !" 
 
 And as he escorted Mary across the 
 room, and, with a formal bow, deposited 
 her in her old corner beside Mrs. Greville, 
 he made no effort to hide his gloom and 
 annoyance. For the moment a species of 
 recklessness seemed to have taken posses- 
 sion of him ; he felt as if he cared little 
 what was said or thought of him. 
 
 "Even Alys," he thought to himself, 
 *' when, or if, she comes to hear of my at- 
 tempt at interference, will find no words 
 hard enough for me. Why can't a man 
 start clear in life, I wonder, without being 
 weighted with the follies of those before 
 him?" 
 
 Mrs. Greville was all excitement and 
 curiosity. 
 
 **My goodness, Mary," she exclaimed, 
 '* wonders will never cease! Lilias's con-
 
 THROWING DOWN THE GAUNTLET. 279 
 
 quest is nothincr to yours. Mr. Cheviott 
 of Romary himself ! You are very cunning, 
 you nauglity cliild; you never even told 
 me you knew him." 
 
 "I hardly do know him. I would not 
 have danced with him if he had not asked 
 me so suddenly that I had not presence of 
 mind enough to refuse," explained Mary. 
 
 " And why should you have refused ? 
 Of course, as I say, you have made a con- 
 quest. Why should you be ashamed of 
 it ?" said Mrs. Greville. 
 
 " It is not that, it is nothiug of the kind, 
 I assure you, Mrs. Greville," said Mary, 
 deeply annoyed. '' Dear Mrs. Greville," 
 she went on, beseechingly, "I do beg you 
 not to say any more about it. There is 
 Lilias coming, please don't say anything 
 about it." 
 
 Mrs. Greville saw she was in earnest, and 
 gave in. "But you are the strangest girl
 
 280 HATHERCOURT RECTORY. 
 
 I ever came across," slie added, with a tone 
 of good-natured annoyance. 
 
 Then Lilias came up, on Captain Bever- 
 ley's arm, and Mrs. Greville's attention was 
 distracted. 
 
 " I am not going to dance any more," 
 she said, smiling. '^ I am quite ready to 
 go home now, Mrs. Greville, if you like, 
 and poor Mary looks tired to death." 
 
 '' And poor Mrs. Greville must betireder 
 still, as Francie says," said Mary, trying to 
 laugh, and look as usual. '' Yes, I think 
 we should be going." 
 
 '^Good night, Captain Beverley," said 
 Lilias, disengaging her hand from his arm. 
 
 But he would not allow it. 
 
 '' You will let me see you to your car- 
 riage," he said, in a low voice. " You 
 have no other gentleman with you." And 
 Lilias made no further objection. 
 
 And Mary, as they crossed the room,
 
 THROWING DOWN THE GAUNTLET. 281 
 
 thus escorted, said to herself that she 
 hoped Mr. Cheviott's eyes were edified by 
 the spectacle. Yet she was conscious of a 
 sudden tremor w^hen, close to the door, 
 hemmed in for a moment or two by the 
 stream of departing guests, which had al- 
 ready begun to flow, they came upon the 
 object of her thoughts. He was standing 
 looking the other way, with a lady on his 
 arm, and as she approached them nearly, 
 Mary saw that the lady was his sister. 
 She happened to turn at this moment, and 
 her glance fell on the advancing group. 
 Instantly a smile lit up her beautiful face, 
 a smile, there could be no manner of doubt, 
 of hearty, pleased recognition. Mary hap- 
 pened to be the nearest to her, and Miss 
 Cheviott leaned slightly forward. 
 
 "How do you do, Miss "Western?" she 
 said, brightly. " I have been seeing you 
 and your sister in the distance all the
 
 282 HATHERCOURT RECTORY. 
 
 evening, but never near enough to speak 
 to you. Have you enjoyed tlie ball ? I 
 think it has been such a nice one." 
 
 Mary murmured something in the way 
 of answer, but her words were all but in- 
 audible. The grateful glance of her brown 
 eyes, however, was not lost upon Alys. 
 
 ^' What nice good eyes that second Miss 
 Western has !" she observed to her brother, 
 when they were out of hearing. *' But 
 she does not look as well as she did ; she 
 was quite pale, and her eyes had a trou- 
 bled look." 
 
 "What did you speak to her for?" said 
 Mr. Cheviott, gruffly, ''there was no reason 
 for it, and — 3'ou cannot have forgotten 
 ■what I said about the Westerns, Alys ?" 
 
 ''Forgotten; no. Of course I remem- 
 ber your saying I was not to call on 
 them and make friends with them, but as 
 for not speaking to them when Ave were
 
 THEOWING DOWN THE GAUNTLET. 283 
 
 jammed up close together in a doorway — 
 no, I certainly liad forgotten that you 
 wished me to be unkind and uncivil, 
 Laurence," replied Alys, with considerable 
 indignation. 
 
 And Mr. Cheviott thought it wisest to 
 hold his peace. His sister was evidently 
 in ignorance of the apparently glaring in- 
 consistency of which he himself had been 
 guilty in not only speaking to, but actually 
 dancing with the younger Miss "Western, 
 and devoutly he hoped that in this desira- 
 ble iofnorance she miofht remain. But 
 
 CD O 
 
 there was no saying how she might come 
 to hear of it, and, therefore, the less said 
 on the disputed subject the better. 
 
 There was silence for some time in the 
 fly containing Mrs. Greville and her two 
 young friends, as it wended its slow way 
 back to Hathercourt. Mrs. Greville was 
 tired, and a little anxious about the effects
 
 284 HATHERCOURT RECTORY. 
 
 of tlic cold nigLt air on her liusband ; 
 Lilias was absorbed in a content whicli 
 asked not for words; Mary — poor Mary, 
 was suffering from a strange complication 
 of discomfort. Indignation, mortification, 
 fear, hope, defiance, and intense anxiety 
 chased each other round her brain. It 
 was a relief when Lilias spoke. 
 
 " We are very selfish, dear Mrs. Gre- 
 ville," she said, suddenly — " at least, I am ; 
 Mary is never selfish. I have never 
 thanked you for taking us to-night and 
 being so kind ; I have enjoyed it so much, 
 and I do thank you so sincerely." 
 
 Notwithstanding the heartiness and cor- 
 diality, there was an indefinable something 
 in the tones of the pretty voice which elfect- 
 ually stifled any expression of curiosity on 
 Mrs. Greville's part. Whether or not 
 Lilias had anything to tell, there and then 
 it was evident she had no intention of
 
 THROWIXG DOWN THE GAUNTLET. 285 
 
 telling it, so Mrs. Greville just answered, 
 kindly, 
 
 " I am very glad you have had a pleas- 
 ant evening. It is always a pleasure to 
 me to take you." 
 
 And in a few minutes more the fly 
 stopped at the Eectory gate. 
 
 There was no one sitting up for them. 
 That had been a proviso of Lilias's, and, in 
 spite of Alexa's entreaties and " mother's " 
 misgivings, Lilias had carried the day. 
 
 " "We are sure to come home sleepy, and 
 cross, and dilapidated-looking after a seven 
 miles' drive. Do all go to bed comfortably 
 and wait to hear our adventures till the 
 morning," she said ; and Mary, as they let 
 themselves quietly in with a latch-key, felt 
 what a comfort it was that there was no 
 anxious questioning eyes to meet. 
 
 Since Basil's departure, Mary had taken 
 possession of his little room, leaving Lilias
 
 286 HATHERCOURT RECTORY. 
 
 sole mistress of what bad formerly been 
 their joint quarters. But to-night she 
 lingered long beside her sister, making 
 one excuse after another for not leaving 
 her room. 
 
 '' But Mary, dear, you must really go to 
 bed now," said Lilias, at last ; " don't trou- 
 ble about putting away anything till the 
 morning." 
 
 " Yes," agreed Mary, "I'm going now. 
 Good night, Lilias. You said you had 
 enjoyed the ball very much — I'm so glad 
 you did. But, Lilias," she added, wist- 
 fully, '' I wish you would tell me — you 
 don't mind my asking, do you ? — is — is 
 anything settled — explained, I mean ?" 
 
 Lilias's cheeks flushed. 
 
 '* It is all right," she said, hastily — '' I 
 am sure it is all rio-ht. There is nothing: 
 to explain ; I trust him thoroughly, and —
 
 THROWING DOWN THE GAUNTLET. 287 
 
 and I don't mind its not being what you 
 call ' settled' just yet. It is nico keeping 
 it just to ourselves." 
 
 '* Only," said Mary, with some reluct- 
 ance, " it isrit being kept to yourselves. 
 Everyone must have noticed him to-night, 
 and that was why I was so anxious to hear 
 if it was all understood and settled." 
 
 '' Then don't be anxious any more," said 
 Lilias, re-assuringly, as she kissed her — 
 ^' 1 am not ; I could not be happier than I 
 am. But I understand your feeling — I 
 would have it for you, I daresay. Just 
 set your mind at rest ; you may ask me 
 about it again — let me see — yes, this time 
 to-morrow, if you like, and I think I shall 
 be able to satisfy you." 
 
 " ' In to-day already walks to-morrow,' " 
 said Mary, laughing, "il/y ^spirit' is ' strid- 
 ing on before the event,' any way, and the
 
 288 HATUERCOURT RECTORY. 
 
 best tiling I can do is to let you go to 
 sleep. Kiss me again, Lilias ; it's to-mor- 
 row already, you know." 
 
 '' I wisli Lilias hadn't said tliat about 
 this time to-morrow," slie thought to her- 
 self. '' I wish she were not so confident, 
 and yet how can she be less so if she trusts 
 him ? How could I hear to see her trust 
 broken ?" 
 
 END OF THE FIRST VOLUME. 
 
 LOi.'JDON : PRINTED BY DUNCAN MACDONALD, BLENHEIM HOUSE. 
 
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