L I b FIAR.Y 
 
 OF THE 
 
 UNIVERSITY 
 
 or ILLINOIS 
 
 82.5
 
 THE MASTER OE MAETON. 
 
 YOL. I.
 
 THE MASTEE OF MAETON. 
 
 '•To thine own self be true.' 
 
 IN THREE VOLUMES. 
 VOL. I. 
 
 LONDON : 
 HUEST AND BLACKETT, PUBLISHERS, 
 
 SUCCESSOES TO HENRY COLBURN, 
 
 13, GREAT MAELBOEOUGH STEEET. 
 
 1864. 
 
 The right of Translation ia reserved.
 
 LONDON: 
 Si.VILL A.ND KDWARDS, PHINTBES, CHAN DOS STEEET, 
 
 COVENT GARDEN.
 
 
 TO 
 
 E. T., 
 
 WHO TAUGHT ME FIRST TO HAVE FAITH IN MYSELF. 
 
 I §tVxm\t tijis g0oL
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 OF 
 
 THE FIRST YOLUME. 
 
 CHAP. PAGli 
 
 I. JANET BKANDE 1 
 
 II. BALDER, THE SUN-GOD 23 
 
 III. THE DESERTED HALL 42 
 
 IV. ROGER lee's HOME 61 
 
 V. THE MARTON METHODISTS .... 71 
 
 VI. CROSS PURPOSES 83 
 
 VII. THE MADELINE 92 
 
 VIII. THE LAWYER IN LOVE 104 
 
 IX. IN WHICH MR. WIMSLET MAKES UP 
 
 HIS MIND 122 
 
 X. SOUR GRAPES 138 
 
 XI. BY THE RIVER SIDE 156 
 
 XII. THE LONDON EXPRESS 172 
 
 XITI. JANET ! JANET ! 180
 
 Vlll CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAP. PAGE 
 
 XTV. FAINT HEAET 194 
 
 XV. WAITITTG 202 
 
 XVI. A SPARK AMOIN'G THE ASHES . . . 222 
 
 XVII. IN WHICH MISS GALE COMES TO TEA 231 
 
 XVIII. LUNCH IN THE WOODS 241 
 
 XIX. I WILL 260 
 
 XX. PREPARATION 1^1\ 
 
 XXI. DOUBTS 285 
 
 XXII. WAS IT A LIE ? 305
 
 '^^pm^^^pm-^^^^^pps^t^mr^^^ 
 
 THE MASTER OF MAETON. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 JANET BRAND E. 
 
 N old brown-timbered house, large^ 
 low, and rambling, with stacks of 
 tall clustered chimneys and weather- 
 beaten gables shadowed by tangled 
 masses of ivy, which, from the thick gnarled 
 stems seen here and there among the glossy 
 leaves, might be of an age almost coeval with the 
 walls to which it clung. A quaint old place, 
 pleasant^ meditative, as it stood there in the 
 August sunshine, with an air of having seen a 
 good deal of life in its time, human joy and 
 sorrow too, which gave it a peculiar idiosyncrasy 
 
 VOL. I. B
 
 2 THE MASTER OF MARTOX. 
 
 of its own_, such as one often sees in houses which 
 have been for many generations in the occupation 
 of a single family. 
 
 Tradition declared, and I believe in this case 
 it was correct, that the Priory House had for- 
 merly been part of an ancient religious establish- 
 ment, which, being dismantled and partially de- 
 stroyed at the dissolution of the Monasteries, had 
 remained in its dilapidated, condition for more 
 than a century and a half, at the end of which 
 period it fell into the hands of an ancestor of the 
 present occupant. The roof and upper part of 
 the edifice had been broken down, but on the 
 massive stone walls which still remained, its new 
 owner erected the present roomy and substantial 
 abode, which, with its buff-washed walls, its 
 brown-tiled roof, its mullioned windows below 
 and latticed casements above, often caught the 
 eye of the traveller on the high-road between 
 Bedesby and Marton. 
 
 At the time my history begins, there was 
 standing in the large stone porch of this house a 
 little maiden lady who had just given a brisk 
 titillating knock at its oaken door. A cheery-
 
 THE MASTER OF MARTON. 3 
 
 looking person with a trim little figure and a 
 round, good-tempered countenance, set off by 
 clusters of small grey curls, arranged symmetri- 
 cally on each side of her face. Altogether, as 
 she stood there on that sunny afternoon, a plea- 
 sant specimen of that much maligned class, "old 
 maids/' For Miss Milly Gale was an old maid : 
 there was no denying it, and she very wisely 
 did not attempt to evade the fact by any of those 
 transparent little artifices to which maiden ladies 
 of an uncertain age are so apt to resort. 
 : While she stands there, waiting for an answer 
 to her neat little knock — everything about Miss 
 Gale was neat and small — I may as well intro- 
 duce her more fully to my readers, and having 
 done so, we can enter the house in her company. 
 Miss Milly Gale was the youngest of seven 
 portionless daughters of a neighbouring squire, 
 each of whom, as they successively arrived at 
 years of maturity, had been pushed by the force 
 of circumstances out of the parent nest, some 
 into the holy estate of matrimony, others — 
 among whom was our little friend — into various 
 situations as governesses, that being the only way 
 B 2
 
 4 THE MASTER OF MARTON. 
 
 in which young ladies of moderate acquirements, 
 and no means to spealc of, might help to lessen 
 the family expenses without unduly lowering the 
 family dignity. 
 
 Perhaps Miss Milly, being the last of the 
 seven, might have been permitted to remain at 
 home for an indefinite period, had it not chanced 
 that the sister next above her was afflicted by an 
 incurable affection of the spine^ so that, for her, 
 matrimony and teaching being alike out of the 
 question, she was perforce obliged to assume the 
 immunities of the youngest, while Milly obtained 
 a most eligible situation as governess in the 
 family of a worthy and well-to-do country 
 gentleman, who was blessed with an easy- 
 tempered young wife and a large family of small 
 children. 
 
 Being endowed by Nature with a plain face, 
 an active temperament, and a general faculty for 
 making herself useful, together with an inex- 
 haustible fund of kindness and good-humour, 
 Miss Milly had succeeded in retaining her situa- 
 tion, first as governess, and latterly, after the 
 death of the mother, as a sort of chaperon and
 
 THE MASTER OF MARTON. 5 
 
 companion, until, having relinquished her youngest 
 charge into the hands of a husband, she found 
 herself, on the verge of fifty, still Miss Milly 
 Gale^ with a retiring pension from her late 
 master of fifty pounds per annum, which, with a 
 snug little sum of her own saving, invested in the 
 purchase of a Government annuity, brought her 
 in just enough to live upon, as she said herself, 
 in a quiet way — a very quiet way. 
 
 Miss Gale, however, eked out her scanty in- 
 come by letting, during the summer months, her 
 best parlour and bedroom to parties who came 
 out from Bedesby or elsewhere to enjoy the 
 country air in the pretty little village of Marton. 
 And it was on behalf of a gentleman who had 
 just come to lodge, or, as she termed it, " reside" 
 with her, that she was making her present visit 
 to the Priory House. 
 
 A clean middle-aged woman, in a white frilled 
 cap, a blue cotton gown, and large checked apron, 
 opened the door to Miss Gale, and ushered her 
 into a large, low, oak-panelled room, with a bay 
 window at one end, forming a deep recess, in 
 which was seated a young girl, apparently about
 
 6 THE MASTER OE MARTON. 
 
 seventeen years of age. The thick tresses of 
 rippling brown hair, warmed here and there into 
 a rich russet hue by the sunlight which shim- 
 mered over them through the wind-Avaved boughs 
 outside the window, hid her face as she bent it 
 down over the piece of fine work that she held in 
 her hands. She looked up, however, as Miss Gale 
 entered the room, and then you saw a broad 
 •white forehead, a firm fine mouth, and a pair of 
 large dark grey eyes, with long fringing lashes, 
 whose shadowy depths you would fain explore did 
 not a certain imperious light gleaming from under 
 their level lids seem to defy you to continue your 
 intrusive gaze. 
 
 "All alone. Miss Janet ?" said the little maiden 
 lady, coming briskly forward; "I thought you 
 would have been rambling somewhere far away 
 this bright afternoon. And hov/ are your papa 
 and your Annt Mildred ? Is she at home ?'' 
 
 " Papa is quite well, thank you. He is gone 
 to Bedesby to a meeting there, and Aunt Mildred 
 is not at home either," replied the girl. " She 
 has gone dov;n to the Hall to look after that 
 little maid there, I suppose. Old ]\Irs. Grant
 
 THE MASTER OE MARTON. 7 
 
 has been sent for to see a sister who is ill, so she 
 brought the keys here^, and Anut Mildred pro- 
 mised to go down now and then and see how 
 things were going on/^ 
 
 " Dear me V said Miss Gale, in a tone of con- 
 cern. " I am sorry she is out. In fact, I came 
 to ask her to allow the gentleman who has just 
 come to reside with me to see over the Hall. I 
 knew Mrs. Grant was away. She told me her- 
 self she was going, and said your aunt had been 
 kind enough to take charge of things a little 
 until she came back. You see Mr. Maudsley — 
 that is the name of the gentleman-i^only came 
 yesterday ; and really, when he saw the old place 
 — you know we have a very good view of it from 
 my upstairs windows — he seemed so taken with 
 it that I took the liberty of saying that I was 
 sure Miss Brande would be very glad to let him 
 see the inside if he were so disposed.^^ 
 
 " Oh yes," replied Janet ; " but I daresay she 
 will be at home before long if you can wait. She 
 set off before three, and it is past five now." 
 
 "Thank you," said Miss Gale. "And so 
 you are left at home to keep house. AVell, I
 
 » THE MASTER OF MARTON. 
 
 alwaj^s say there is nothing like young people 
 learning to make themselves useful. And busy, 
 too^ I see — markings is it ? What beautiful hand- 
 kerchiefs^ and how nicely you are doing them ! 
 But_, my dear_, if you will excuse my saying it, I 
 am afraid that cambric is trying your eyes, it is 
 so very fine/'' 
 
 " Oh, no,^^ said Janet, impatiently, yet wink- 
 ing away a tear as she spoke. " It is only trying 
 my patience — sucli a waste of time,^^ she con- 
 tinued, looking disconsolately at the pile of snowy 
 cambric lying beside her on the window-seat. 
 " Aunt Mildred has given me this dozen of hand- 
 kerchiefs for a birthday present, and she will have 
 me mark them all with my name in full, Janet 
 Brande — eleven letters, besides the number and 
 the date ; and I could have written them all in 
 ten minutes with marking ink, and they would 
 have looked just as well, only Aunt Mildred would 
 make me stitch them. She says I must learn to 
 do woman^s work properly. ^^ 
 
 "Well, my dear,^^ responded Miss Gale, who 
 was not without certain old- maidenly notions 
 of her own, and had, moreover, a way of
 
 THE MASTER OF MARTON. 9 
 
 dispensing little titbits of minced wisdom among 
 her young friends^ a residuum probably from her 
 governess career^ " and I daresay she is quite 
 right. You know it is so important_, so very im- 
 portant^ especially for young ladies^ to be parti- 
 cular in little things/^ 
 
 " Oh, of course/^ answered Janet ; " but so 
 much of this ^ woman^s work/ as my aunt calls 
 it_, is so useless. What better will any one be 
 for my spending the whole of this beautiful after- 
 noon over these handkerchiefs ? And so pleasant 
 as it might have been, too/^ she continued, with 
 a longing look into the sunny garden from which 
 the perfumed breath of flowers and the rippling 
 whispers of the breeze among the myriad quivering 
 leaves of a clump of grey aspens strayed in at the 
 open window. ^' I meant to have taken a book and 
 gone down to the river-side there under the trees. 
 And my birthday, too," she added, with a sigh. 
 
 " Your birthday ! " exclaimed Miss Gale. 
 " Dear me ! to think that I should have for- 
 gotten it ! But, now I think of it, it was on 
 the 12th of August last year, so, of course, it 
 must be the same now. I remember meeting
 
 10 THE MASTER OF MARTON. 
 
 Mr. Harry Birney coming down this Avay with his 
 gun over his shoulder_, and a brace of birds which 
 he was bringing here^ and he said they were the 
 first fruits of the season. Well;, my dear^, I am 
 sure I wish you many happy returns of the day ; 
 and if I haven^t brought you any little token of my 
 good wishes^ ^^'hy^ you must take the will for the 
 deed. There are some beautiful Queen^s Eyes 
 left in my strawberry bed that would have been 
 just the thing. However^, it is no use remember- 
 ing things when it is too late^, you know. And so 
 you are seventeen^, Miss Janet. Dear me ! only 
 to think of it. Why, you are getting almost a 
 woman, and when I came here to settle down you 
 were a little thing no higher than my shoulder — 
 so fond of play too, and always tearing your 
 frock, I remember; indeed, almost more like a 
 boy than a girl, if you will excuse my saying so, 
 jMiss Janet, though you have grown up such a 
 personable young lady. Indeed," added the little 
 lady, with an admiring glance on the fresh young 
 form before her, " I may say, without flattery, 
 which is a thing I have a decided objection to, a 
 very personable young lady indeed."
 
 THE MASTER OF MARTON. 11 
 
 And slie was right ; for though a critic^ scan- 
 ning the restless^ impetuous young face, might 
 have pronounced it to have hardly a single abso- 
 lutely perfect feature in it, few looked upon it 
 without stealing a second glance to ascertain 
 whence its subtle attraction proceeded. Perhaps 
 this charm lay chiefly in that rare gift of expres- 
 sion v/hicb^ with unconscious eloquence, told so 
 truthfully of the nature within — a nature quick 
 to feel, to resent ; strong to love, to hate, to suffer, 
 and enjoy. You could tell, by just watching the 
 play of her countenance as she spoke, that she 
 had been dowered with that perilous gift, an im- 
 pulsive, passionate heart, which it would take a 
 great deal to fill, to quell, and to discipline, before 
 it could become a source of satisfaction either to 
 its owner or any one else. And yet you could 
 not talk for five minutes to the girl without feel- 
 ing somehow drawn to her, just as on a winter 
 day people find themselves insensibly gathering 
 round the fire which glows and sparkles on the 
 hearth. 
 
 Janet, however, gave little heed to Miss Gale's 
 encomium on her personal appearance. She was
 
 12 THE MASTER OF MARTOX. 
 
 gazing out over the beechen hedge, ^vhich, like a 
 living Avail, shut in the old-fashioned garden, at 
 the level line of the Wold hills, little pearly peeps 
 of which appeared here and there between the 
 trees. 
 
 '' I wdsh I had been born a boy instead of a 
 girl V she exclaimed, pushing back the rippling 
 brown hair from her forehead, while her eyes 
 darkened with excitement ; " I should have had 
 something worth living for then. I should have 
 gone to college; or, at least, if papa could not 
 have afforded that, I might have learned a pro- 
 fession, or gone abroad, perhaps. Harry Birney 
 has just gone to India, and he is only two years 
 older than I am. I should have polished myself 
 bright against something ; anything would be 
 better than to spend my life marking handker- 
 chiefs. I would rather even learn a trade ; it 
 would at least be doing something.-'^ 
 
 " But, Miss Janet,^^ interrupted Miss Gale, 
 "you are not going to spend your life marking 
 handkerchiefs ; you must learn housekeeping, you 
 know. Some of these days, perhaps, you will be 
 having a house of your own to manage. And
 
 THE MASTER OF MARTOX. 13 
 
 young ladies have not to look far for something 
 to do when they get married V' added she^ with a 
 sagacious nod, "which set the little grey curls all 
 in a flutter. 
 
 " Married V exclaimed Janet, turning round 
 somewhat indignantly ; ^' I never mean to marry 
 any one I do not love, never. And there is no 
 one in the whole world that I really care for, 
 besides papa, of course, except Miss Alison Birney, 
 and she is a woman — so I canH marry her.^^ 
 
 Miss Gale opened her eyes rather wider than 
 usual. 
 
 " My dear," she said, " what a very peculiar 
 way of putting things ! But do you know, now, 
 I always fancied " 
 
 Miss Gale^s fancies, however, whatever they 
 were, were destined to remain unrevealed, for 
 Janet went on without noticing her w^ords — 
 
 " Of course, there are a good many people that 
 I like very much ; but then, liking and loving are 
 two very different things. Now I would do 
 anything in the world for Alison Birney. I 
 would mark handkerchiefs for her all day long, if 
 she needed it," said she; this being the most
 
 14 THE MASTER OF IMARTON. 
 
 elaborate form of self-denial that at the moment 
 suggested itself to her^ " even though she never 
 knew it was I who did them; but I should not 
 care to do the same for any one else." 
 
 " Ah ! well, my dear, you will be changing 
 your mind some of these days," said !Miss Gale, 
 with her merry little laugh. Notwithstanding 
 her fifty years^ experience of single blessedness, 
 she still cherished the delusion common to most 
 of her sisterhood, that, spite of its hidden pitfalls 
 and briar-strewn paths, the estate of matrimony 
 was one earnestly to be desired by all who had 
 not yet attained to its honours. 
 
 Miss Gale was one who never disguised her 
 sentiments, whatever they might be. Indeed, if 
 she had made the attempt, I do not think 
 she would have succeeded. She did not try, 
 therefore, to depreciate the fruit w^hicb hung 
 out of her reach by the vain pretence that 
 the grapes w'cre sour; but on all occasions 
 she spoke and acted according to her honest 
 conviction, that though under certain circum- 
 stances — such as her own, for instance — it was 
 all very well to be an old maid, yet it was
 
 THE MASTER OF MARTOX. 15 
 
 without doubt a great deal better to be a young 
 Avife. 
 
 '' But, Miss Janet/' she continued, perceiving 
 that the moody expression did not vanish from 
 the young girl's face, " T think surely you 
 might find plenty to do if you tried/^ 
 
 " I daresay," answered Janet; " but then I have 
 no motive for dohig it. Papa never notices anything 
 I do, he is always so wrapped up in his books and 
 papers. I daresay he would do just as well without 
 me as with me ; and I believe I am nothing but 
 a tease to Aunt Mildred. She is always making 
 me cross by scolding me, and never tells me of 
 anything but the faults in what I do ; and yet I 
 know there is a great deal of good in me, if only 
 it could find its way out. But somehow I feel 
 shut up every way, and it seems to get worse and 
 worse. There does not seem anything worth 
 living for. Just the same thing over and over 
 again, and nobody to care about. I feel just like 
 an engine of ever so many horse-power, and no 
 steam on." 
 
 Poor Janet ! It was an old experience, this of 
 hers, and a very common one — one, perhaps, which
 
 16 THE MASTER OF MARTON. 
 
 most eager, sensitive natures feel more or less at 
 tiraes_, as if the garment of tlie outer life -were too 
 strait and narrow to allow free play to the energies 
 of the spirit within. 
 
 Life has many mysteries, many questions large 
 as itself, which eternity alone will answer; this 
 one, perhaps, not among the least — What becomes 
 of all that latent power which lies stored up in so 
 many natures, waiting only for that electric touch 
 which to some perhaps may never come, to burst 
 forth in irrepressible force, filling all life with 
 light and love? Is it dissipated by the death of 
 the body, or does it, with gathered strength, find 
 scope for action in another life — a life in which 
 no faculty shall lie dead, no power be unused ? 
 
 Janet^s words, however, suggested no metaphy- 
 sical difficulty to her auditor ; though, being of a 
 very literal turn of mind. Miss Gale was some- 
 what puzzled by this figurative mode of expression. 
 However, she gathered enough to make her un- 
 derstand that the young girl was fretting and 
 chafing herself against some grievance or other, 
 the nature of which she could not exactly com- 
 prehend.
 
 THE MASTER OF MARTON. 17 
 
 Miss Gale never could see distress of any kind 
 without making an effort to relieve it. If a 
 ragged child tumbled down on the road before 
 her^ and announced its mishap by a lamentable 
 roar, she was sure to pick it up, examine its 
 grazed hands, and finally still its cries and 
 comfort it by the present of a sugar-plum or 
 two from the store which she always carried about 
 with her to meet such emergencies. All the 
 tenderness in her warm little breast welled forth 
 at sight of the tears which Janet was vainly en- 
 deavouring to force back from her eyes. And 
 yet, though she felt abundantly sorry for the 
 motherless girl, she was quite at a loss for some- 
 thing to say which should just meet her case. 
 She could not comprehend these wild struggles 
 under an invisible yoke, these vague, unsatisfied 
 longings, in the midst of what appeared, to her, 
 very pleasant surroundings. Each day, as it came 
 freighted with its simple duties, cares, and joys, 
 brought with it enough to fill her own busy, 
 bright little life ; but the weary void of a large, 
 half-empty heart was a thing of which Miss 
 Milly Gale had never had experience. 
 
 VOL. I. c
 
 18 THE MASTER OF MARTON. 
 
 Evidently her little sugar-plum consolations 
 were insufficient for poor Janet's need, so instead 
 of offering them. Miss Gale did the only thing 
 which occurred to her, and perhaps the best 
 thing she could have done ; she got up from her 
 seat, and going straight to Janet, pressed a warm 
 kiss on her forehead, saying as she did so — 
 
 '^ My dear, I don't know about your being like a 
 steam-engine, but I am quite sure you will always 
 find people to love you if you will only let them.'' 
 
 Janet did not much relish such salutes in a 
 general way, but there was so much genuine 
 warmth in the little maiden lady's embrace, that 
 it went straight to her heart, and soothed, though 
 it did not still, the excitement of her feelings. 
 
 Neither was she given, girl as she was, to light 
 up her heart for other people to inspect; but just 
 now Miss Gale's cheery voice and kindly face had 
 acted like the brass knob at the end of a con- 
 ductor, when applied to a charged electrical 
 machine. All the vague discontent and impatient 
 longing which had been gathering strength amid 
 the chafing and irritation of her monotonous life, 
 and over which she had been brooding in silence.
 
 THE MASTER OF MARTON. 19 
 
 as the tedious afternoon hours crept by and left 
 her still at her distasteful task, had suddenly 
 found an outlet in speech,, and hence the burst of 
 mingled petulance and distress which had so be- 
 wildered the worthy little lady. 
 
 Perhaps Miss Gale might have proceeded to 
 draw still further on her stock of wisdom and 
 kindliness, in her good-natured attempts at con- 
 solation and encouragement, but at this moment 
 the great oaken door opened and Janet^s aunt 
 made her appearance — a tall, spare woman,, 
 dressed with scrupulous neatness, in handsome, 
 but somewhat old-fashioned attire. She had a 
 keen, darting eye, which seemed engaged in in- 
 cessant inspection of everything within its range, 
 and gave to those in her presence the impression of 
 living continually under a microscope. Yet there 
 was a certain staid dignity in her voice and 
 manner as she came forward to greet her guest, 
 which accorded well with the ancestral look of 
 the quaint oak-panelled room, with its antique fur- 
 niture and faded hangings, and its old family por- 
 traits looking serenely down out of their dim and 
 tarnished frames. 
 
 c 2
 
 20 THE MASTER OF MARTON. 
 
 Perhaps a sLrewd observer glanciug at the 
 blonde^ thin face, with its high, narrow forehead, 
 compressed lips, and somewhat diminutive nose 
 and chin, might conclude that Miss Mildred 
 Brande was not altogether a pleasant person to 
 live with. Fidgety, no doubt, to a distressing 
 degree, if not exactly severe, and certainly more 
 given to criticize sharply what was amiss in the 
 conduct of those around her, than by bland ap- 
 proval of what was right to stimulate them to 
 increased exertions. Evidently she had come 
 into the room now with something on her lips 
 that would not wait for utterance, for no sooner 
 had she shaken hands with Miss Gale than she 
 turned at once towards her niece. 
 
 "Janet," said she, ^Svhere did you leave your 
 gardening-gloves when you had done with them 
 this morning? They are not in the drawer in 
 the hall table. Just where you had been using 
 them, I daresay. Now go and fetch them in 
 directly, and put them in their proper place. 
 How many times am I to reprove you for this 
 carelessness about your things ? And don't stand 
 chattering to Graham either, he has enough to do
 
 THE MASTER OF MARTON. 21 
 
 without wasting his time talking to you. I sup- 
 pose it was that made him so behindhand with 
 his work this morning." 
 
 Janet rose slowly, her heart swelling with vexa- 
 tion. It was not pleasant certainly to be found 
 fault with in company, even before little Miss 
 Gale. 
 
 " How many of those handkerchiefs have you 
 finished marking ?" continued her aunt, as Janet 
 laid down her work somewhat sullenly. " Only 
 three, and you have had the whole of the after- 
 noon to do them. There is a thread wrong in this 
 B," she pursued, after a careful inspection ; " the 
 whole of the letter must come out, and it spoils 
 work so to unpick it. Really, Janet, you would 
 try any one's patience, you would, indeed. You 
 seem as if you could not do a single thing pro- 
 perly, unless some one was looking over your 
 shoulder the whole of the time. If you were but 
 half as fond of anything really useful as you are 
 of your painting and singing that you waste so 
 much time over, how much better it would be !" 
 
 Janet listened in silence to her aunt's reproof, 
 somewhat in doubt as to the inherent utility of
 
 22 THE MASTER OF MARTON. 
 
 line cross-stitcli ; and then, without speaking, 
 went to look for the missing gloves, glad of the 
 excuse to make her escape. 
 
 Her aunt called her back. 
 
 " Janet,^' said she, " go up-stairs when you 
 >come in, and make your hair a little smoother. 
 You have been sitting by that open window until 
 the wind has made it quite untidy. And don^t 
 loiter, for it is nearly six o'clock. Miss Gale will 
 stay and have tea with us, I daresay. Pray do," 
 she continued, turning as she spoke to the little 
 maiden lady, who, though nothing loth to ac- 
 cept the invitation, thought it only becoming to 
 make one or two ineffectual protestations. And 
 under cover of these poor Janet managed at last 
 slip out of the room. 
 
 4-
 
 
 :^-' 
 
 •^•' 
 
 
 'W:' 
 
 ■>lr' 
 
 ■>l:" 
 
 >l:' 
 
 '':^ 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 BALDER, THE SUN-GOD. 
 
 IHERE is Janet?" 
 
 But Janet was nowhere to be 
 found, although Miss Mildred 
 looked into her brother's study, 
 peeped in at the little breakfast- room, into the 
 plant-room, or ^^ conservatory,^^ as some people 
 would have termed it, unlocked the drawing-room 
 door, and looked in there, and finally went up- 
 stairs and called her niece^s name so shrilly, that 
 if she had been anywhere at hand, she must cer- 
 tainly have heard. 
 
 " Miss Janet's gone down to the water-side, 
 ma'am," said Hannah, running out of her kitchen 
 at the sound of her mistress's voice. She heard 
 displeasure in its tones, and hastened, if possible,
 
 24 THE MASTER OF MARTON. 
 
 to screen her favourite from its effects. '' Were 
 you wanting her?'^ 
 
 "Wanting her, yes/' replied Miss Brande, iu 
 a tone of some asperity; "she generally contrives 
 to be out of the way if there is anything for her 
 to do. Go and tell her to come in directly, and 
 get dressed as quickly as she can. I want her 
 to take the keys and go down with this gentle- 
 man to the Hall.^^ 
 
 Hannah hurried off down the long garden, 
 which straggled away at the back of the house as 
 far as the river-side. She found Janet where she 
 had expected, snugly seated in a little rocky recess, 
 close by the water's edge — a quiet, out-of-the- 
 way nook, carpeted with soft, fine grass, and 
 roofed by the grey foliage of an old willow-tree, 
 which, gripping the bank above with its long, 
 bare roots, dropped its branches down till they 
 almost dipped into the smooth, dark tide. 
 
 A great black Newfoundlander was lying 
 stretched at her feet, his coat all dripping and 
 shining in the sun, as though from the effects of 
 a recent bath. He was flapping his big tail on 
 the grass, and looking up wistfully in the face of
 
 THE MASTER OF MARTON. JiO 
 
 his young mistress, who, however, was paying no 
 attention to him just then. She was leaning 
 forward over a little brown book which she held 
 in her hand, and at which she looked from time 
 to time, murmuring to herself in an under-tone, 
 as though she were learning something by heart, 
 
 " I wind about, and in and out, 
 With here a blossom sailing." 
 
 " Miss Janet — Miss Janet !" called Hannah, 
 stooping down over the rocky ledge. 
 
 " Oh, Hannah, is that you ? How you startled 
 me ! What is the matter ? Does my aunt want 
 me ?" 
 
 " Yes, dear ; she's been seeking you ever so 
 long. Come in, quick." 
 
 " Oh, Hannah, I did think I should have got 
 this afternoon to myself. Why, she took Blair's 
 Sermons, and went up to her room directly after 
 dinner ; and she scarcely ever comes down much 
 before tea when she does that." 
 
 " Yes, Miss Janet, but there's been a gentle- 
 man called and disturbed her. Mr. Maudsley 
 his name is; I let him in myself; and your aunt
 
 2Q THE MASTER OF MARTON. 
 
 wants you to take the keys and go down with 
 him to show him the Hall." 
 
 "What, me, Hannah?" said Janet, with a 
 gesture of dismay. *' Oh, dear ! are you sure ? 
 Did she say so herself? It must be that gentle- 
 man Miss Gale came about. And my dress is 
 all w^et, too," she added, gazing down on it dis- 
 consolately; "Eollo splashed it with plunging 
 out of the water." 
 
 " Never mind, dear," said Hannah, in a sooth- 
 ing tone; "you'd have had to have changed it, 
 anyhow; you couldn't walk out with a gentle- 
 man, you know, in that old muslin. But come in 
 quick, there^s a dear; your aunfs vexed enougb 
 as it is." 
 
 "Well, it can't be helped, I suppose." And 
 Janet shut up the little brown book with a sigh ; 
 and springing up the bank like a young fawn, she 
 ran through the garden into the house, and up- 
 stairs to her own room, where she changed her 
 limp muslin dress for another, fresh and clean, 
 smoothed down her disordered hair, and in ten 
 minutes was standing ready for her walk at the 
 door of the oak parlour.
 
 THE MASTER OF MARTON. 27 
 
 But there she stopped, her heart all in a 
 flutter. If only she were safe in her little nook 
 again, instead of having to face this terrible 
 stranger ! But she thought of her aunt^s dis- 
 pleasure, pushed open the door with a sort of 
 shrinking apprehension, and went bravely forward 
 into the room. 
 
 There was her aunt, sitting upright in her 
 high-backed chair, looking, to Janet^s infinite 
 relief, not cross in the least. There was the 
 stranger, standing in the window with his hat 
 in his hand — a tall, tawny-haired man, not at 
 all corresponding to Janet's idea of an artist — 
 more, as she privately thought, like Balder, the 
 Sun-god, whom she had read about in the old 
 Norse legends, only that he was dressed just 
 like an every-day English gentleman. He was 
 looking out into the garden as Janet came in, 
 making some remark about a magnificent copper 
 beech, which cast its broad shadow over the 
 trim greensward. 
 
 Miss Brande turned round as the door 
 opened. 
 
 " Where have you been, Janet ? You have
 
 28 THE MASTER OF MARTON. 
 
 kept Mr. Maudsley waiting more than a quarter 
 of an hour. Are you quite ready now ?" And 
 she gave a keen look of inspection at Janet^s 
 toilette, in which, to tell the truth, there was 
 generally something that needed rectifying. But 
 this time there was nothing that even Miss Mil- 
 dred could find fault with. 
 
 " I did not know I should be wanted for any- 
 thing,^^ said Janet, not very pleasantly. And 
 then her aunt introduced her, and the gentle- 
 man turned and said, in an easy, courteous 
 tone — 
 
 " I am sorry to give the young lady so much 
 trouble.^^ 
 
 And Janet answered eagerly, for she was afraid 
 now he must have thought her little speech rather 
 disagreeable, 
 
 '* Oh, I don^t mind in the least ; I shall be 
 very glad to go." 
 
 And then he looked at her with a smile that 
 brought back the light into her face, and Miss 
 Brande rose, and they went out at the glass door, 
 and down to the garden-gate, and Janet found 
 herself walking along by the stranger^s side in
 
 THE MASTER OF MARTON. 29 
 
 the green lane that led to the plantation, through 
 which was the nearest way to the Hall. 
 
 She walked along by his side with a shy, flut- 
 tering consciousness, that subdued her usual trip- 
 ping step to one of more measured sedateness, 
 better befitting the gravity of the occasion. She 
 hardly knew what to do, or how exactly to behave. 
 She was afraid it would seem rude or stupid not 
 to speak to him at all, and yet she could think of 
 nothing that would do to say ; for Janet was not 
 blest with the ease and self-possession of a young 
 lady accustomed to society. She could not chatter 
 composedly away to people she had never seen 
 before, but felt herself abashed and self-con- 
 strained in the presence of a stranger. Perhaps 
 it was because she was so unused to being in 
 company. She had not even, as most girls have, 
 any companions like herself. There was only 
 Miss Alison Birney, and she was several years 
 older than Janet, who looked up to her with a 
 sort of shy reverence, rather than associated with 
 her as a friend. Even her childhood had been a 
 lonely one. She had had few playfellows, with 
 the exception of RoUo, the great Newfoundlander^
 
 30 THE MASTER OF MARTON. 
 
 whom she would pet and caress as other children 
 do their dolls, and Stub, the donkey, on whose 
 back she used to make long excursions over the 
 scrubby common stretching beside the plantation 
 that bordered the Marton Hall estate. 
 
 Twice in the year, too, Harry Birney, the 
 Rector's nephew, a fair-haired, sunny-faced lad, 
 her chief friend and companion, came home for 
 his holidays. And then what delightful times 
 they used to have, building bridges across the 
 brook that babbled through the Marton Wood, 
 or sailing miniature fleets on the river that ran 
 at the foot of the garden, or sitting up in the 
 boughs of some crooked old oak, Janet listening 
 with all her might, while Harry recounted in his 
 eager way such exploits and adventures among 
 his Eton schoolfellows as made her feel assured 
 that, if not already a hero, he was certainly 
 destined to become one. 
 
 But these pleasant days came to an end. The 
 last time Harry had been to the Kectory before 
 he went to India, her aunt had put her veto on 
 this constant companionship. She had, more- 
 over, forbidden the rides on Stub, and Janet,
 
 THE MASTER OF MARTON. 31 
 
 whose sense of propriety, when once aroused, was 
 very keen, had sorrowfully relinquished the pro- 
 hibited delights, and betaken herself, with perhaps 
 not the best grace in the world, to the long tasks 
 of fine sewing and embroidery which her aunt had 
 substituted for them. ^' For she was growing a 
 great girl now,^^ Miss Mildred said, *' and must 
 begin to apply herself more steadily to what was 
 really useful." 
 
 And over these tasks Janet had sat through 
 long sunny hours, gulping down great choking 
 thoughts of weariness and disappointment. And 
 all the while the young life was growing and 
 stretching within her, and the woman^s nature 
 beginning to heave and swell, and burst through 
 its childish limits, just as the little green germ 
 sprouts and pushes through its narrow prison. 
 And in her breast was a strange tumult that 
 seemed as if it would never settle down again 
 into order, and her old pleasures were somehow 
 losing their brightness, and everything felt rusty, 
 and she wanted something, she knew not what, 
 and felt as if every one was giving over being 
 kind to her. And as the fresh juice of the grape
 
 32 THE MASTER OF MARTON. 
 
 turns thick and sour before it sweetens into 
 wine, so slie grew restless and discontented, and 
 her lips took a sullen pout, and she wished 
 something would come with a great rush and 
 sweep her out of this hateful present into some 
 sunny, warm, unknown future. 
 
 But nothing came. Life at their house was so 
 quiet, so very quiet. Nothing ever happened to 
 ruffle the even surface of that stagnant existence. 
 One day was portioned out just like another, so 
 that Janet could tell a month beforehand what 
 she would be doing at almost any hour of the day, 
 even what they would be having for dinner. 
 People seldom came to call, except Miss Gale or 
 the two Miss Curlews, and now and then the rector 
 of the parish ; but though Janet liked to listen to 
 them well enough, she never ventured to talk to 
 visitors on her own account when her father or 
 aunt were by. 
 
 And so it happened that for the first time in 
 her life she found herself the sole companion of a 
 grown-up gentleman. Except, indeed, Mr. Ellis, 
 her father's solicitor, from Bedesby, who had 
 called once when only Janet was at home, and
 
 THE MASTER OF MARTON. 33 
 
 said he would wait until Mr. Brande came in. 
 But then as soon as he sat down he had seen 
 Janet^s ferns, which she had growing luider a 
 shade, and had begun to ask her about them, and 
 to tell her of one or two kinds she had not got, that 
 were to be met with in the neighbourhood. And 
 Janet had felt so eager and interested that she 
 had quite forgotten to be shy, and the time had 
 passed away so pleasantly that she had felt almost 
 sorry when her aunt came in and took the con- 
 versation into her own hands. 
 
 But this Mr. Maudsley seemed so tall and 
 strong as he walked beside her, crunching the 
 gravel under his feet with such a grand, stately 
 tread, as he strode along with steps to which she 
 vainly tried to accommodate her own. 
 
 Once she stole a shy glance at him. He was 
 walking along with that leisurely ingathering 
 gaze, that easy royalty of mien and gesture, which 
 mark everywhere the born kings of creation, 
 those to whom all sights and sounds of nature 
 bring their never-ceasing tribute of teaching and 
 delight. 
 
 But Janet did not comprehend this. She onl 
 
 VOL. I. D
 
 34 THE MASTER OF MARTON. 
 
 saw in her companion's countenance something 
 which made her feel, she could hardly tell ^vliy, 
 such an iuislgnificant little thing. And she Vvas 
 very glad she had not ventured on something she 
 had been very nearly saying about the beautiful 
 disks of brown and golden lichen which stained 
 the crumbling grey wall that on one side of the 
 lane fenced in the Marton plantation. 
 
 A little farther on was a gate opening on to a 
 path that led by a short cut from the Priory 
 House to the Hall, and through this gate they 
 went, out of the breezy sunshiny lane into the 
 green stillness of the wood. 
 
 And such a pretty wood it was, with its sun- 
 streaked aisles of larches, limes, and beeches, and 
 here and there a slight-stemmed birch tossing its 
 green spray to the wind, while every trembling 
 leaflet glittered with a cool, silvery sheen. And 
 then the warm, hushed air was fragrant always 
 with the spicy odour of the firs, and through the 
 scented silence you might hear, if you listened, 
 the plaintive coo of the wood-pigeon mingling with 
 the muffled hum of insect life, or the rooks' mono- 
 tonous caw, which was as the sound of slumber
 
 THE MASTER OF MARTON. 3S 
 
 itself. And over all there rested the dreamy, 
 golden haze of sunlight filtering through myriads 
 of green leaves. 
 
 Janet always liked going through this wood. 
 When she fastened the rickety gate behind her 
 and turned into it out of the lane, she felt as if 
 she had shut herself up in a little Avorld of her 
 own. It was like passing out of the bustling 
 streets into the shadowed stillness of Bedesby 
 Minster, filling her with a sense of delicious awe. 
 But to-day she only felt this seclusion as 
 shutting her in the more completely with this 
 unsocial stranger. He had not spoken once since 
 they left her aunt at the garden gate, and thougli 
 Janet was too simple-minded to have any notion 
 of pique at her presence being thus uncere- 
 moniously ignored, yet his silence was paralysing 
 all her sense of enjoyment. She could not help 
 wishing, as she stole a glance now and then at his 
 face, and saw that he was not wrapped up in 
 thought as her father usually was, but was evi- 
 dently enjoying the summer beauty of the wood^ 
 with the fresh vivid perception of one who really 
 sees what lies before him, that he would j^st 
 d2
 
 36 THE MASTER OF MARTON. 
 
 say something which should let her share his 
 pleasure. 
 
 She wondered whether he was making up pic- 
 tures in his mind from what he saw, which he 
 meant afterwards to paint. She often did so 
 herself, only when she had her papers and colours 
 before her, nothing ever came that looked any- 
 thing like reality. But then this Mr. Maudsley 
 was a real artist, or he would not have his pic- 
 tures exhibited, as Miss Gale had told them the 
 other day. And then she wondered what part of 
 the Hall it was that he was going to paint, 
 and. whether she should see it when it was 
 done. 
 
 But here the current of her thoughts w^as 
 stayed. They had reached a five-barred gate 
 pretty thickly interlaced with thorns, at one side 
 of which was a narrow stile for the convenience, 
 or inconvenience, as the case might be, of foot- 
 passengers. 
 
 Mr. Maudsley set his foot on one of the rails, 
 and resting his hand on the mossy post, strode 
 easily across. He was w^alking unceremoniously 
 along, leaving his companion to follow at her
 
 THE MASTER OF MARTON. 37 
 
 leisure, when a sudden thought appeared to strike 
 him. He turned hack, and seeing Janet just 
 preparing to mount the stile, held out his hand 
 to help her down ; and then, for the first time, 
 he broke the silence. 
 
 ^' Let me help you over. It is rather a high 
 stile for a lady to cross." 
 
 ^' Oh, no, thank you," said Janet, hastily. 
 She would a great deal rather he bad gone on 
 by himself, instead of coming back to witness her 
 descent. " I have been over it hundreds of times 
 before." 
 
 And she climbed lightly to the topmost rail, 
 steadying herself before her leap by the drooping 
 boughs of an ash that stretched down its long 
 arras over her head. 
 
 Mr. Maudsley did not repeat his offer of as- 
 sistance, but just reached up and took hold of 
 her two hands, while Janet, a little flurried, 
 sprang down to the ground. 
 
 Unluckily, a perverse brier, sticking across the 
 top of the stile, had held fast on its thorny finger 
 a portion of the trimming of her dress, and she 
 only found herself on terra frma to discover
 
 38 THE MASTER OF MAETON. 
 
 that it was dangling in a festoon nearly half a 
 yard in length. 
 
 ^' There now/^ exclaimed she, " I knew I should 
 have managed better by myself/^ And picking 
 two or three of the long thorns from off the 
 brier, she stooped down, and dexterously contrived 
 to fasten up her festoons with the slender spikes 
 into something like tidiness. 
 
 Mr. Maudsley looked down at her as she knelt 
 on the grass over her impromptu repairs, with 
 an amused smile at her ready resources. Janet 
 oaught his glance, and fearful lest she had com- 
 raitted another breach of courtesy, exclaimed as 
 she arose — 
 
 " It was all my fault ; only I have climbed 
 over that stile so often before " 
 
 " Without such an accident as this," said 
 Mr. Maudsley, completing her unfinished sen- 
 tence. " Well, I believe I helped you to tear 
 your dress, but I really don^t think I could have 
 mended it so deftly. I should never have thought 
 of looking for pins where you found them." 
 
 Janet laughed merrily. This little mishap 
 had been quite a relief to her, breaking the spell
 
 THE MASTER OF MARTON. 39 
 
 of silence that had made her so uncomfortable, 
 and setting her at liberty to open out a little on 
 tlie subject in which just then she felt most 
 interested. 
 
 '* Don^t you think this is a very pretty wood V^ 
 she began, when they were fairly on their way 
 again. 
 
 " Very/^ he replied_, '' I have been admiring it 
 as I came along." 
 
 " Ah, I knew you were," said Janet, '' though 
 you did not say anything. I saw it in your 
 face.'^ 
 
 " It seems extensive, too," observed Mr. 
 Maudsley, inwardly amused at Janet's remark. 
 
 ^' Oh, yes, it stretches ever so far. I got lost 
 in it once, quite lost, and had to find my way out 
 again by the sun." 
 
 " And how did you manage that ?" 
 
 '•' Oh, I knew what time it was, and noticed 
 wliich way the shadows of the trees fell ; and 
 then I went straight on towards the west till I 
 got to the open country, and there I found 
 directly where I was. Do you like the country 
 about Marton, Mr. Maudsley ?"
 
 40 THE MASTER OF MAltTOX. 
 
 " It is as beautiful^ perhaps^ as a very level 
 country can be, but a landscape is hardly perfect 
 without hills/' 
 
 " Kh, jes/' sighed Janet ; " it is sadly flat 
 round Marton. Nothing but fields and hedge- 
 rows, and the broad still river flowing so lazily 
 through the meadoAvs. You can get peeps of the 
 blue Wold hills,, though, here and there; and 
 there is just one place against the mill where you 
 can see a bit of the Enderton range, all jagged 
 peaks instead of smooth lines. Marget Lee says 
 they mind her of AUanblae, that is where she 
 was born/^ 
 
 "And who is Marget Lee?'' asked Mr. 
 Maudsley. 
 
 " Her husband is the Marton blacksmith. You 
 will see his forge if you go home through the 
 plantation. I do like to hear her talk Scotch. 
 She says AUanblae is such a pretty place — 
 right among the Highlands — ^ Ilcelans' she calls 
 them. I wonder how it would feel to be on a 
 real mountain," continued Janet, after a pause; 
 " to see the great sweep of country stretching 
 away at your fcct^ and to take deep breaths of the
 
 THE MASTER OF MARTON. 41 
 
 keen clear air. I do long sometimes to get away 
 from these Marton fiats. I feel stifling among 
 them. I think life must be worth so much more 
 among mountains tlian in a dead level coimtry 
 like this. It is '' 
 
 She stopped abruptly. ~Mr. Maudsley was 
 looking down curiously into her face. What had 
 she been saying ? Was he laughing at her, 
 Janet wondered ? 
 
 '' Go on/^ said he, guessing the cause of her 
 sudden silence. '^ Don^t be afraid, I like to hear 
 you talk ; it is like drinking from a running 
 brook /^ 
 
 But Janet did not finish her sentence. She 
 walked along by his side, feeling almost uncom- 
 fortable again, until a sharp bend in the path 
 brought them all at once full in sight of the 
 Hall. 

 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 THE DESERTED HALL. 
 
 HERE is the Hall/' exclaimed 
 Janet^ as the high-peaked gables 
 burst upon their view. 
 
 Mr. Maudsley paused to note 
 the effect, with the keen glad eye of an artist who 
 discovers materials for a picture in the scene 
 before him. 
 
 Marton Hall was a quaint, irregular old 
 place, built of a warm, brown-coloured brick. 
 Apparently it had grown together just as the fancy 
 or convenience of successive owners had suggested. 
 There were stacks of clustered chimneys. Oriel 
 windows and tiny latticed casements, carved 
 gables with elaborate pinnacles surmounted by 
 brazen vanes that glittered in the siiu, and broad
 
 THE MASTER OF MARTON. 43 
 
 eaves casting deep shadows on the lichen-stained 
 walls. 
 
 The greater part of the house seemed to be in 
 tolerable repair, but the remaining portion had 
 evidently been destroyed by fire. The walls were 
 charred and blackened, and the stone mullions of 
 the windows had fallen away, leaving unsightly 
 gaps, through which might be seen the interior of 
 the roofless chambers. 
 
 Many years must have elapsed since the event, 
 for the gable -end was overgrown with ivy, which, 
 like a smile upon a scarred and ghastly face, 
 spread its green, glossy foliage over the ruins. 
 And inside there had sprung up a sturdy young 
 sycamore that was now lifting its head above its 
 prison walls as though to take a peep at the fair 
 world without. 
 
 And over the whole building there rested that 
 indefinable hush, that air of desolateness, that 
 never fails to gather round a place that once has 
 been a home, but from which the sweet spirit of 
 domestic life has departed, leaving it a house 
 only, no longer a home. 
 
 Perhaps Mr. Maudsley was struck by the aspect
 
 44 THE MASTER OF MAKTOX. 
 
 of almost conscious weariness presented by the 
 old house, as it stood there in the mellow haze of 
 the afternoon sunlight; for after regarding it 
 some time in silence, he said at last, as if finish- 
 ing aloud some train of thought — 
 
 ^' It has surely been many years de- 
 serted !" 
 
 " Yes, for nearly five-and-twenty years ; indeed, 
 ever since the fire," answered Janet. "The 
 whole of that left wing w^as destroyed by it. 
 There used to be a splendid dining-room and 
 drawing-room, and over them a great ball-room, 
 with a beautiful conservatory at the end. I 
 believe it was there that the fire broke out. 
 Some of the fliies had been overheated, and the 
 woodwork caught fire. It was not found out 
 until it was too late to save anything. Even 
 the pictures and furniture were destroyed, for 
 the family occupied the other part of the house. 
 That was hardly injured at all by the fire. The 
 wing that was burned had been added after tl^e 
 house was first built ; and they say the walls are 
 nearly three feet thick, so that the fire did not 
 spread any farther."
 
 THE MASTER OF JfARTON. 45 
 
 " And it lias never been restored V" said Mr. 
 Maudsley. 
 
 '* No/^ returned Janet. " It is a pity, 
 though^ for the rooms in the part that is stand- 
 ing are very nice and well furnished. Mrs. 
 Grant — that is the housekeeper — keeps every- 
 thing in beautiful order. But Mr. Holdych never 
 comes to it. I suppose he never could bear to 
 see the place again. ^' 
 
 " Surely no part of the family were burned ?" 
 said Mr. Maudsley, who was beginning to feel 
 somewhat interested in the history of the sor- 
 rowful old house. 
 
 " No, but the terror and shock killed his wife. 
 She died the same night, and so did a little baby 
 that was born in the midst of the tumult. It 
 was a terrible grief to Mr. Holdych, for I 
 suppose they had been married a long time, and 
 this was the first child they had had, and it 
 would have been the heir if it had lived. I 
 think some way he had not been kind to her, and 
 that made him feel the more about it. However, 
 after the funeral, he left the hall, and has never 
 seen it since. The servants all went away, too,
 
 46 THE MASTEll OF MARTON. 
 
 except old Mrs, Grant, the housekeeper, and one 
 maid, and a man who lives at the lodge, and 
 looks alter things in a general way. But he is 
 an old man now, and it would be impossible for 
 him to keep the place in anything like order. It 
 is a sad wilderness,^^ she continued, with a sigh, 
 as she stooped to disentangle her dress from a 
 vagrant brier that had straggled across the weedy 
 walk. 
 
 " Do you know,^' she went on, '' I always fancy 
 this place is like that story of Mariana in the 
 ' Moated Grange ?' When I read that poem, it 
 seemed as if it were just saying out all that this 
 old house and deserted garden had made me feel 
 
 Look here : — 
 
 " ' With blackest moss the flower-pots 
 Were thickly crusted, one and all' " 
 
 Janet bedded her foot as she spoke in the soft 
 and dark cushion of lichen and moss that had 
 spread over even on to the sides of the path. 
 
 " The first time I came here after I had read it 
 I seemed to know the place better than ever I had 
 done before ; to see it more clearly, you know." 
 
 Mr. Maudsley was walking on a little in
 
 THE MASTER OF MARTON. 47 
 
 advance, liis hands folded behind him. He 
 turned here, and looked into the eager young 
 face uplifted to his own. Now that Janet^s 
 shyness had passed away, he found a freshness 
 in her talk that pleased him; something even 
 that in clear, girlish accents, responded to the 
 deeper ring of his manly nature. 
 
 "That is what all true poetry does," he 
 replied. '■'' It shows to us plainly what before we 
 perceived but dimly. We speak falsely when we 
 talk of the creations of genius. A great poet 
 does not create, he only sees more vividly than 
 others what lies around him. He feels intensely 
 that which, to ordinarj' men, is but a vague 
 consciousness." 
 
 Janet made a thoughtful pause. It was some- 
 thhig new to her to be talked to as if she were 
 really a companion, and not merely a child. It 
 felt very pleasant; she liked it more than she 
 could tell. 
 
 ^* And I suppose it is the same with artists," 
 she said, after awhile ; " they see something, and 
 then they make us see it ?" 
 
 '^^ Precisely."
 
 48 THE MASTER OF MARTON. 
 
 '^ And with musicians, too/' she added, a 
 quick flash of pleasure lighting up her eyes. 
 '^ They feel something that is too fine for words ; 
 and so they tell us it in music. I never thought 
 of it before/' 
 
 " I daresay not/' said Mr. Maudsley ; 
 '^ perhaps not many girls would have been 
 struck by it. But you have not got the whole 
 truth yet. People may have a very intense 
 artistic feeling without the poAver of expressing 
 it either in tones, or words, or colours. There 
 must be a kind of fusion between soul and sense 
 for that, such as very few possess to any great 
 extent." 
 
 " I understand," said Janet after another 
 pause, " and that is why we should be so grateful 
 to these great writers and artists. We should 
 be dumb, and blind, and deaf, if it were not 
 for them. Often, when I am reading anything 
 that is very beautiful or true, it seems as if it 
 were just saying out for me something that I had 
 wanted to say myself, but could not find words 
 for. What Pompey, old dog," she exclaimed, 
 stooping down to pat a great taAvny hound, who
 
 THE MASTER OF MARTON. 49 
 
 had come out of his kennel with a tremendous 
 bark at the sound of steps in the courtyard, 
 and then recognising Janet, had walked up, and 
 was snuffing about in a friendly, dog fashion. 
 
 " Isn't he a fine fellow ? He will let you 
 touch him now, though he looks so savage. He 
 always behaves very politely to my friends. 
 Don't you, Pompey ?" she laughed, giving a final 
 caress to the huge brute, who went, clanking his 
 chain, back to his lair. 
 
 She turned to ring at a side door of the halL 
 " I ought to have taken you in at the front 
 entrance, though, Mr. Maudsley. You would 
 have received a better impression than coming in 
 this way," she said, as they entered a long, narrow 
 passage, along which they went through a sort of 
 ante-chamber to the great hall itself — a liall 
 nearly as large as a small house. It was deeply 
 panelled with dark oak ; at one side was a 
 yawning, open fireplace, with iron dogs, a fine 
 carved chimney-piece, and a pair of stag's horns 
 branching out above. Two or three suits of old 
 armour stood in the corners, the empty visors 
 looking grimly at them as they entered the hall. 
 
 VOL. I. E
 
 50 THE MASTER OF MAllTON. 
 
 ^^ I should not like to Ijc here at night/^ said 
 Janet, with a shudder. " I should be fancying 
 the old knights would get into their armour again, 
 and come down off their pedestals and walk about 
 m the moonlight/^ 
 
 "You are superstitious/' said Mr. Maudsley, 
 laughing. 
 
 " No, 1 am not," said Janet ; " only you know 
 the Holdyehes have lived and died and been 
 buried at Marton for more than six centuries. 
 Tills house itself is nearly three hundred years 
 old. One can't help feeling as if somehow their 
 life must have soaked into the walls." 
 
 " So you think they come back now and then-, 
 and revisit their old haunts?" 
 
 ^' You are laughing at me, Mr. Maudsley, I 
 linow; but I remember once papa showing me 
 some animalculse through his microscope in a 
 drop of water. The Volvos? c/lobattir, I think 
 Ibe called them — so beautiful you can't imagine, 
 like globes of living crystal, ail floating so mdsi- 
 cally about." 
 
 *^ I have seen them," said Mr. Maudsley ; 
 *" but what has that to do with spirits ?"
 
 THE MASTER OF MARTON. 51 
 
 " Oh; notliing ; ouly you know I have thought 
 sometimes that perhaps there may be living be- 
 ings around ns just in the same way, only our 
 senses are not fine enough to see them/^ 
 
 There was a tone of hesitation just perceptible 
 in her voice, as if she was venturing on uncertain 
 ground. Mr. Maudsley looked down into her face. 
 
 " You have strange fancies, child/' he said. 
 
 Janet turned away with a shy thrill of glad- 
 ness. He had called her " child/^ this tall, strong- 
 man, who stood like a great rock beside her, she 
 a wild flower at its foot. '' Child !" The word 
 sounded like a half-caress; it fell warmly and 
 pleasantly on her little tired shut-up heart. For 
 in a vague, unconscious way, the girl had been 
 groping for that which sooner or later all women 
 instinctively seek, something to reach up to and to 
 lean against. And perhaps, indeed, this would be 
 but the shortest formula for expressing the deepest 
 and sorest need of all mankind — that inwrought 
 sense of want and weakness, implanted doubtless 
 in our breasts that thus our frail humanity might 
 be drawn for satisfaction and support towards the 
 Infinite itself. 
 
 £2
 
 52 THE MASTER OF MARTON. 
 
 But Janet would not for the world Mr. 
 Maudsley should see the smile she 'could not 
 keep from coming on her face. She busied her- 
 self in unlocking the double doors of the oak 
 dining-room ; and then she led him round it, 
 and through the library and breakfast-room to 
 the little boudoir that had belonged to the beau- 
 tiful Mrs. Holdych. Afterwards she took him 
 up the wide slippery staircase, with its heavily 
 carved balustrades, that she might show him the 
 Oriel chamber. 
 
 " It was in this room that Mrs. Holdych died/' 
 said Janet, in a hushed voice, '^ and nothing has 
 been changed in it since .'^ 
 
 But there was no tinge of romantic interest in 
 the look which Mr. Maudsley cast around the 
 stately old room. AVitli the rapidity of an artist's 
 eye he saw at once that here was the " subject" 
 he had been seeking. He wanted a study for a 
 Tudor bedchamber, as it might have been the 
 night that Madeline kept her vigil in the moon- 
 light. And here it was before him with all its 
 accessories— the dark panelled walls, the massive 
 furniture of carved walnut wood, the oval mirror
 
 THE MASTER OF MARTON. 53 
 
 in its antique frame, the toilette-table with its 
 paraphernalia of quaint crystal and china, the 
 canopied bed which stood forth into the room 
 like a sepulchral monument, receiving on its 
 sombre hangings patches of crimson, amber, and 
 purple light, which fell upon it through the 
 stained glass that filled the Oriel window. 
 
 Janet saw by the artist's face that he was tho- 
 roughly absorbed in what he was doing as he 
 moved about to different parts of the room, try- 
 ing with his keen examining glance from what 
 particular point of view the best effect might be 
 obtained. 
 
 She did not venture therefore to disturb him, 
 but going quietly towards the window, opened one 
 of the casements that she might admit some cool 
 outer air into the close and stifled room. 
 
 She leaned a little out as she did so, to inhale 
 the waft of perfume borne in by the breeze from 
 the tangled masses of honeysuckle and jasmine 
 that covered the outside walls and clasped them- 
 selves among the mullions of the window. She 
 had thrown off her hat, and now as she bent 
 forward in the sunlight, the low golden rays glis-
 
 54 THE MASTER OF MARTON. 
 
 tened through her hair, displaying its rare tint of 
 russet-brown. 
 
 Janet had a finely-moulded head, and the rip- 
 pling masses of hair, which were generally twisted 
 in a loose knot behind, showed its noble outlines 
 to perfection. As she stood thus in the embra- 
 sure of the window, resting with folded arms upon 
 the broad low sill, Mr. Maudsley chanced to 
 glance towards her. And at once his artist eye 
 was arrested by the unconscious ease and elegance 
 of her attitude. 
 
 Surely Fortune had favoured him. Here was 
 his Madeline, waiting for him. His thoughts 
 quitted the Tudor chamber and gathered around 
 the form of the young girl standing there in the 
 tinted light, so different in her shy, impetuous 
 grace from the formed young ladyhood of London 
 ball-rooms, or the blowzy beauty of the village 
 belles whom he had occasionally sketched as 
 '^ studies" for his rustic compositions. 
 
 " Do not move. Miss Brande," he exclaimed, as 
 Janet turned her head. " Just as you are for one 
 moment, if you please. I must sketch you for 
 my Madeline — that is," he added, correcting him«
 
 THE MASTER OF MARTON. 5^ 
 
 self, *^ if you will have the goodness to lend your- 
 self to me for an hour or two some day. Would 
 you dislike sitting for a study T^ for Janet had 
 looked round at his words with a quick, startled 
 flush in her face. 
 
 It was only the flutter of glad surprise. The; 
 eager gladness that came the next moment into> 
 her eye was answer enough in itself, though she 
 could only reply in a broken, fragmentary way. 
 
 "Oh, no; I should be very glad. I should 
 not mind at all. I have wanted so long so very 
 much to see a real artist paint. But are yom 
 sure I should do for you ?" 
 
 Mr. Maudsley smiled at her enthusiasm. 
 
 " Admirably 1 If you could repeat the expres- 
 sion of that attitude, I should have just what 1 
 have been seeking,^' he said, looking at her with 
 a half-amused, half-critical glance that brought 
 the blushes into Janet's cheeks, and caused her 
 to start up, embarrassment and delight struggling 
 together on her face. 
 
 " Do you think you could spare me an hour or 
 two to-morrow ?" he asked. " I should like to 
 get the effect while it is still fresh in my mind."
 
 56 .THE MASTER OF MARTON. 
 
 " Indeed I could/^ was her glad reply, '^ if 
 only. Aunt Mildred will let me. But shall I 
 really be of use to you?^^ she asked again^ with 
 an incredaloas look in her uplifted eyes. 
 
 " Certainly," said he^ laughing away her doubts. 
 "You are precisely what I want. I could hardly 
 have wished for a face and figure better suited to 
 my purpose. But I ought to warn you that it is 
 tedious work sitting for a study." 
 
 " Oh, never mind that. I shall not weary of 
 it; if only Aunt Mildred will let me/' she repeated, 
 and then added, with a touch of hesitation in 
 her tones, '^ Mr. Maudsley, would you mind — 
 would it be too much trouble ? Do you think 
 you could ask her yourself whether I might 
 come ?" 
 
 The artist smiled. He recalled the little col- 
 loquy he had overheard between the aunt and 
 niece, and promised that he would. The young 
 girl would really make an admirable study for his 
 Madeline, and it would be worth taking some 
 little pains to secure her. 
 
 Janet was satisfied. She felt sure her aunt 
 would accede to a request from such a source.
 
 THE MASTER OF MARTON. 57 
 
 though she might possibly refuse it out of mere 
 opposition if made by herself. 
 
 " I am afraid I must go now/^ she exclaimed, 
 as she clasped the fastening of the casement. 
 " There is the half-hour striking. I shall only 
 just have time to get home by tea. I am very 
 sorry, but perhaps you will excuse me.'^ 
 
 "Yes, yes; do not let me detain you,'^ said 
 Mr. Maudsley. And gathering up once more the 
 effect of the quaint old room, the dim tinted light 
 and the graceful figure of the young girl, he 
 turned and went leisurely through the great 
 double doors, and down the slippery staircase, 
 into the half-lighted hall, where were the gaunt 
 occupants that had inspired such eerie fancies 
 into Janet^s mind. 
 
 That same evening, as Janet sat with her aunt, 
 busily netting at a long curtain — for it was too 
 dark to go on any further with the fine marking 
 of her handkerchiefs — Hannah came into the room 
 with a note for her mistress. Bessy, Miss Gale's 
 little maid, had just brought it, she said, with a 
 message that she was to wait for an answer.
 
 58 THE MASTER OF MARTON. 
 
 Janet guessed whom it was from, but she only 
 bent her head more closely over her work while 
 Miss Mildred read the note, took it in to her 
 brother in his study, and finally came back and 
 wrote an answer_, which she gave to Janet to take 
 out to Bessy. 
 
 When she returned, her aunt was sorting out 
 the handkerchiefs which were still unmarked, 
 putting them into a little pile by themselves. 
 
 '' Janet,^' she said, *^ I must have these hand- 
 kerchiefs finished to-morrow. You must set to 
 work at them first thing after breakfast, and get 
 them out of the way; you have been quite long 
 enough over them already. ^^ 
 
 " Very well, aunt,^' replied Janet, inwardly 
 hoping that the morning task was a prelude to 
 the afternoon holiday. She thought it was not 
 unlikely. Her aunt really was speaking almost 
 pleasantly to her. 
 
 " And then in the afternoon you must go down 
 to the Hall again. Mr. Maudsley has just re- 
 quested' me to allow you to sit to him for a 
 picture he is engaged upon. He says, and your 
 papa thinks, too, that it would be a great ad-
 
 THE MASTER OF MAllTON. 59 
 
 vantage to you to see a good painting in process. 
 And now, Janet, as you have the opportunity of 
 improving yourself, I hope you will try to make 
 the most of it ; and I do beg that you will con- 
 duct yourself properly, and not be so rude and 
 perverse as you frequently are. I am sure thiy 
 afternoon I was perfectly ashamed of you; you 
 spoke in such a sullen, disagreeable way; you 
 never seem to have the slightest idea that it is 
 your duty to consider the convenience of any one 
 but yourself ^^ 
 
 Miss Mildred^s voice had acquired considerable 
 asperity as she proceeded with this little ha- 
 rangue. But Janet listened in silence: she kne^^ 
 by experience that to interrupt her aunt in the 
 midst of a lefcture was like pulling the string of 
 a shower-bath, sure to bring down a fresh torrent 
 on her head. Not that she yielded a passive 
 obedience. There was a subtle perception about 
 her, which distinguished between the accidental 
 authority of circumstance and position, and that 
 native influence which a sweet and powerful na- 
 ture will always exercise on those around. None 
 could really control Janet who had not first won
 
 60 THE MASTER OF MARTON. 
 
 their way to the citadel of her heart; and this. 
 Miss Mildred, though a conscientious woman, 
 and anxious in the main to do well by her niece, 
 had never even attempted to do. She was to 
 Janet rather a skirmishing force hanging in her 
 rear, continually harassing her with complaints, 
 irritating her to petty rebellion by superfluous 
 criticism, and then wondering at the long fits of 
 sullen silence which were sure to follow a regular 
 outburst of impatient rebuke. 
 
 But to-night Janet^s hopes for the morrow 
 were as a triple shield against the captious re- 
 marks of her aunt. And she listened to them 
 as we listen to the pelting of rain against the 
 windows, when sitting warm and sheltered by the 
 glowing fire. 
 
 '' To-morrow — to-morrow !" were the words 
 on which her fancy rang its changes, as her 
 fingers flcAV swiftly over her work ; and her aunt, 
 mollified by her industry and silence, privately 
 took a couple of the unmarked handkerchiefs, and 
 laid them to be finished along with the work in 
 her own particular basket.
 
 •>!^ 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 KOGEK lee's home. 
 
 gR. MAUDSLEY lingered for awhile 
 f ill the deserted garden after Janet 
 had left liim_, and then returned 
 home by the plantation^ instead of 
 going round by the road. Consequently he came 
 out just opposite to Roger Lee's forge^ Avhere he 
 saw a sight that made him pause a moment to 
 take in the effect. 
 
 At the further end of the smithy, his face lit 
 up Ijy the red glow of the forge fire, stood the 
 village Vulcan^ a hearty, goodhumoured-looking 
 man, in a blue striped shirt, open to the waist, 
 with the sleeves rolled up to the shoulders, reveal- 
 ing a pair of big brawny arms. He was grasping a 
 huge hammer that he had just brought down with
 
 63 THE MASTER OF MARTON. 
 
 a mighty stroke upon a bar of hot iron that lay 
 on the anvil before him. And standing just 
 within the door was as pretty a young girl as yon 
 would meet Avith in a long summer's day^ with 
 soft blue eyes, and soft golden hair, and a soft, 
 tender ripeness about her altogether, that made 
 you long to take her up and cover her with kisses, 
 as women snatch up a baby to caress. 
 
 This little peach-blossom was Jessie Lee, the 
 blacksmith^s niece. She had gone to call her 
 uncle in to tea. 
 
 " There's the six o'clock bell putting in, uncle,^' 
 slie said; '^^ and tea's very near fit. ArenH you 
 coming in to clean yourself?" 
 
 The smith threw aside the heavy hammer he 
 liad been wielding, and wiped his forehead with 
 his big bare arm. 
 
 " Tea is it, bairn ?" I didn't think it had been 
 HO late. I'd gotten summut o' my mind as had 
 putten thowts o' tea out altogether. Go your 
 ways in, Jessie, an' tell your aunt I'll be in 
 enow." 
 
 Jessie turned from the smithy-door, and went 
 back into the house, while Roger, unbuckling his
 
 THE MASTER OF MARTON. 63 
 
 huge leathern apron, hung it up on a peg against 
 the wall, and followed her into the yard hehind 
 the cottage, where was a pump and a rough towel 
 hanging on a roller behind the back kitchen-door, 
 by the aid of which he proceeded to perform the 
 not unnecessary process of ablution. 
 
 It was a pleasant sight that greeted the eyes 
 of Roger when, having "cleaned himself,^^ and 
 put on his grey house-coat, he made his appear- 
 ance at his cottage- door. A sight, thank God ! 
 such as meets the eye of many a British workman 
 who may be blest with a thrifty wife, a strong 
 right arm, and the power of saying " No" to that 
 second glass of brown ale which has lured on so 
 many an unwary victim to lie down at last in a 
 pauper's grave. 
 
 It was a good-sized room, with a red brick 
 floor, thinly sprinkled with fine yellow sand, 
 and whitewashed walls, on which hung a series of 
 black-framed prints, representing in glowing co- 
 lours the "Parable of the Prodigal Son." The 
 ceiling was low, with sundry bunches of dried 
 herbs and two or three substantial flitches of 
 home- cured bacon hanging from the beams. At
 
 64 THE MASTER OF MAllTON. 
 
 one end \yas a large open fireplace^ ^vhich, this 
 being summer-time^ Avas decorated Avith a pot of 
 fennel and mint, the kettle having been boiled 
 and the cooking performed in a sm&Uer kitchen 
 behind. Opposite to the fireplace was a pon- 
 derous walnut chest of drawers, black and bright, 
 on the top of which were arranged, as on a kind 
 of household altar, the big family Bible, a large 
 leather- backed prayer-book, and a Methodist 
 hymn-book. The best tea-tray was reared up 
 against the wall behind, a couple of pink shells 
 were arranged on each side, and the whole was 
 surmounted by a framed scripture-piece, the glory 
 of Jessie's school career, whereon was depicted in 
 wool-work, a representation of Joseph, as an apple- 
 faced boy with his finger in his eye, being sold 
 by his brethren to a company of black-a-viced 
 Ishmaelites. 
 
 The evening sun came in pleasantly at the 
 wide lattice window, with its curtains of blue- 
 checked linen, and glimmered through a leafy 
 screen of geraniums, fuchsias, and lemon-scented 
 verbenas, upon a chintz-covered couch, whereon 
 sat, sedate and upright, a sleek tortoise-shell cat,
 
 THE MASTER OF MARTOK. 65 
 
 winking demurely, as MargetLee moved backwards 
 and forwards between the two kitchens, arranging 
 the tea-things on a white deal table, which had 
 been drawn up to a snug corner between the 
 couch and the open window. 
 
 Roger Lee's wife was not of English extrac- 
 tion. She had been born and brought up at 
 Allanblae, the little Scottish village whence Mr. 
 Leonard Holdych had brought his beautiful 
 young wife. 
 
 Within a month of her marriage the new- 
 made bride had departed for India, her husband 
 having a Government appointment there. She 
 had taken with her Marget Boyd, who had 
 already been for some years in the service of 
 the family. Marget remained abroad nearly 
 four years, and then returned, bringing with 
 her their only child, Leonard, the present heir to 
 the Marton estate. He was then a delicate child 
 of three years old ; and tlie anxious parentS;, 
 dreading the effects of the climate of India, so 
 fatal to the constitutions of English children, had 
 reluctantly resolved to part with him, trusting 
 that amid the fresh country air, and under the 
 
 VOL. I. V
 
 66 THE MASTER OF MARTON. 
 
 fostering care of his uncle and aunt, he would 
 grow up to reward them for the pain of this 
 early separation. 
 
 Marget remained at the Hall as little 
 Leonardos nurse for nearly a year, when she 
 resigned her charge, now grown a sturdy, high- 
 spirited little fellow, into the hands of a young 
 Scotch governess, and became herself the wife of 
 Roger Lee, the Marton wheelwright and black- 
 smith, who had just set up in business for him- 
 self. 
 
 It was Margefs gift of quietness, her 
 smoothly-braided hair and ever-busy fingers, 
 which had won for her the big hand and warm 
 heart of her husband. He was a sensible man 
 in his way ; and when he had got settled in 
 business, and began to feel himself in want of a 
 wife, had wisely looked about for charms likely 
 to brighten his little fireside, when the pleasures 
 of a stolen kiss, or a moonlight ramble through 
 the green lanes of Marton should have somewhat 
 lost their early glamour. 
 
 Marget, however, though endowed with qua- 
 lities of this durable nature, warranted, like a
 
 THE MASTER OF MARTON. 67 
 
 piece of stout huckaback, to wash and wear well, 
 was by no means destitute of more superficial at- 
 tractions. Her hair, glossy and smooth as when 
 Roger had first come courting her, though now 
 plentifully sprinkled with grey, was folded away 
 beneath a cap of spotless muslin, whose clear 
 crimped border surrounded a face that still re- 
 tained the traces of its early freshness. Her 
 lilac print gown, short enough to reveal the 
 shapely foot and well-turned ancle, of which, even 
 now, the good woman was pardonably proud ; the 
 white kerchief gathered over her shoulders and 
 across her bosom; and the blue- checked apron 
 which completed her costume, all partook of that 
 almost dainty neatness which surrounded her like 
 an atmosphere. Altogether, as she stood by the 
 little deal table filling the brown earthenware 
 tea-pot out of a copper tea-kettle, almost as clean 
 and as bright as itself, Marget Lee, notwith- 
 standing the fifty years that had rolled over her 
 head, presented a sight still comely and pleasant 
 to look upon. 
 
 Apparently, Roger thought so too, for his face 
 broadened into a smile of honest satisfaction as he 
 f2
 
 68 THE MASTER OF MARTON. 
 
 stooped his head beneatli the lintel of the cottage 
 door^ and beheld his wife in the midst of her 
 preparations for his comfort. 
 
 "Marget, my lass/^ said he, snuffing the air- 
 in an inquiring manner; " thee^s gotten summut 
 uncommon good for tea, hasn^t thee?" 
 
 " Griddle cakes — beauties/^ replied Marget, 
 fetching a couple from the top of the stove in 
 the kitchen behind_, where they had been keeping 
 iLOt, and diffusing the agreeable fragrance that had 
 so pleasantly saluted Roger's olfactory nerves. 
 
 '^ But thee hasna wipit thy feet, Roger, an' 
 there's the bass right anent the door." 
 
 '^ Bless the lass ! I clean forgot the bass ; 
 but there's no dust to speak on,'^ replied Roges, 
 apologetically. " An' I'd summut o' my mind, 
 let alone them cakes o' yourn, as the smell on 
 ^em's as good as the taste o' what most folks 
 makes/' he continued, with a nice perception of 
 the most effectual method of conciliation. " Now, 
 Jessie, bring in thy chair." And as the young- 
 girl drew in to her place at the table, Roger 
 spread his hands, and closing his eyes, devoutly 
 repeated his usual formula : — '^ Lord bless these 
 good things to ouruse, and us to thy service. Amen."
 
 THE MASTER OF MARTON. G9 
 
 Notwithstanding the hot girdle-cakes^ however, 
 Roger did not appear to be greatly moved to 
 enter into conversation ; and what little talk 
 there Avas during the meal was mostly carried on 
 between Jessie and her aunt. At last he pushed 
 his saucer and plate into the middle of the 
 table, in token that he had finished his repast; 
 and with a hearty '^ Thank God V rose from the 
 table. 
 
 '' Jessie," said he, " get me my Sunday coat and 
 hat.'^ Then turning to his wife he added, " Fm 
 going down to Reuben LeaPs. I've gotten summut 
 o' my mind as I mun hev a bit o' talk with him 
 about." 
 
 Marget, silent and wise, knew well enough 
 that, in due time, she should learn the secret of 
 her husband's abstraction ; and without attempt- 
 ing to probe it at present, went to a drawer in 
 the old walnut- chest, whence she selected a large 
 blue-spotted cotton neckcloth, which she handed 
 to him to put on. 
 
 Roger took it, adjusting it by the aid of a 
 looking-glass that hung behiiul the door ; then he 
 took his Sunday coat, and having by a series of 
 shakes, twists^ and spasmodic jerks of liis huge
 
 70 THE MASTER OF MAKTON. 
 
 Silioulders and arras succeeded in fairly inducting 
 himself into it^ he placed the hat, which Jessie 
 had been smoothing round and round with her 
 plump little hand, carefully upon his head, and 
 stood erect in the comfortable consciousness of 
 having achieved a toilet worthy of the occasion 
 which had called it forth. 
 
 " Noo, then, Tm off/' said he. '' Ye haven't 
 any message for ^em at the mill, Marget, have 
 ye?" 
 
 '' Pve nane ava," replied his wife, " unless ye 
 tell her that our Jessie heard Miss Alison Birney 
 say that that wee black bantie of theirs was just 
 the bonniest little birdie for a fancy breed that 
 she'd seen for lang. She aye likes to hear her 
 poultry praised, does Mrs. Leaf. But ye needna 
 tell her unless there comes a good chance like o' 
 bringing it in.'' And with this politic injunction 
 to her departing lord, Marget turned about,. 
 and began to clear away the tea-things, put back 
 the chairs into their places, and restore things in 
 the cottage to their normal condition of clean- 
 liness and order.
 
 ® ■> '^ ^ o -i » 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 THE MARTON METHODISTS. 
 
 OGER, having got fairly under 
 weigh, proceeded down the village 
 with his usual leisurely swinging 
 gait, in the direction of Reuben 
 Leaps mill. He found the miller walking up 
 and down the garden by the side of his house, 
 smoking his pipe in a meditative way, while a 
 little blue-eyed grandchild, tugging at his coat-, 
 tails, toddled contentedly along beside him. 
 
 " Bless the bairn !" said Roger as he entered, 
 lifting the child up into his broad bosom, and 
 bestowing a sounding kiss on the little red lips. 
 
 " What, is that you, Mr. Lee?" said the miller, 
 taking his pipe for a moment out of his mouth, 
 while a look of pleased surprise dawned over his
 
 72 THE MASTER OF MARTON. 
 
 face. ^^ An^ liow^s Jessie an^ the missis? Come 
 your ways into the house ; there^s my wife 
 throng preserving, but she^ll be glad to see you 
 all the same." 
 
 "Fm obliged to you/^ said Roger, seating 
 himself on a wooden bench that was fixed beneath 
 an overhanging beech, " but I think Fll just stop 
 here. IVe come to have a bit o' talk wi^ you 
 about summut as I've got on my mind.'^ 
 
 " Ay, ay V rejoined the miller, settling himself 
 slowly down on the seat beside Koger. '' Then 
 we may as well talk it over here, an' have it to 
 werselves. If you're in t' house the women must 
 be putting in their word, an' they're nowt but 
 bother in a general way when you've gotten 
 business on hand. Not as I'm saying owt again 
 ^em ; nobbut you see they will speak afore they 
 think ; an' it puts you out when you've gotten a 
 matter to settle as you have to take your intel- 
 lects to." 
 
 Whether Koger agreed or not with the senti- 
 ments of the miller, he did not openly dissent 
 from them ; but taking off his hat, drew from the 
 crown a huge mass of blue pocket-handkerchief.
 
 THE MASTER OF MARTOX. 76 
 
 ■\vitli Avhich he wiped down liis shining expanse of 
 forehead. 
 
 " It^s been uncommon warm to-day," said lie ; 
 " I've been near swelted with the heat. Noo, 
 did iver onybody see the like?" he exclaimed, as 
 little Sally, who had run off to the house when 
 her grandfather sat down, returned with a foam- 
 ing mug of beer in her little fat hands, which she 
 presented to Roger with an important air. 
 
 " Nanna^s sent some beer," she said, gravely 
 reaching it up. 
 
 " There^s a clever little lass," said Roger, 
 taking the mug out of the child^s hand and 
 quaffing a deep draught. "An^ noo, let^s see if 
 I canH find a peppermint in some o' my pockets. 
 I allays puts some goodies in of a Smiday for t^ 
 bairns at preaching. It helps ^em to put on the 
 time when they begin to get a bit onaisy towards 
 the back end o' V sermon. I often Avonders, poor 
 little things ! hoo they do to sit it out so well, 
 wi^ their little short legs dangling down afore Yun 
 an^ their heads nodding again their mothers^ 
 shoulders. Noo, Sally, see thee here !" 
 
 Roger had found a stray peppermint, which ho
 
 74 THE MASTER OF MAKTON. 
 
 put into the little round mouth open to receive 
 ii^ and then drank off the beer at a draught, 
 finishing up with a resounding smack of satis- 
 faction. 
 
 ^'^Noo, that^s surnmut like/^ said he, as he 
 gave the mug back to the child. '' I allays says 
 there's novvt like a drop o^ good beer when a 
 man^s both dry an' tired, an^ all. It picks me 
 up sooner than owt, it does. Noo, Sally, taV 
 the mug back to your mother, there's a duckie ! 
 — an^ tell her I return her a many thanks,^' he 
 added, as the child slid down from his knee and 
 trotted back towards the house. " An' noo, Mr. 
 Leaf,'^ continued he, " we'll hev a bit o' talk. 
 There's summut as I've had o' my mind this good 
 bit past, an' it's been on more nor common of late. 
 We ought to hev a chapel at Marton." And 
 Roger brought down his hand with a mighty 
 thump upon his knee. " It doesn^t seem right 
 to my mind that we should be putting the Lord 
 off wi' a barn any longer, an' us living in houses^ 
 all fixed up and comfortable werselves. Not as Vm. 
 saying owt again the barn. It's clean an' tight, an' 
 it's served us w^ell a good many year. He's putten
 
 THE MASTER OF MARTOX. 75 
 
 it to a good purpose has Brighouse, having it for 
 t' preaching of a Sunday, when t' farm kitchen 
 got over small. But when alFs said an^ done, to 
 give the Lord the loan of a barn when He ought 
 to have a house of His own, seems to me like 
 eating the victuals werselves and giving Him tlie 
 scrapings !" 
 
 The miller did not speak, and Roger went on. 
 
 " There's a good society now in Marton, an' a 
 good feeling among 'em ; an' there's three or four 
 on 'em as is pretty well oft', an' would be willing 
 to come forrard handsome, nobbut they saw their 
 way clear. An' I'm not saying as Marget an' me 
 would be back'ard when it come to it." 
 
 Boger paused here. Having like a skilful 
 counsel opened his case, he waited now to see 
 at what point it might be open to objections. 
 
 Mr. Leaf was not a man of many words. He 
 was slow and wary. He liked to consider a 
 matter on all sides before committing himself to 
 an opinion upon it. Apparently he was consider- 
 ing this as he sat looking across the garden in a 
 contemplative way, puffing his pipe slowly and at 
 long intervals.
 
 76 THE MASTER OF MARTON. 
 
 Roger^s eyes twinkled with impatience. He 
 was too thoroughly convinced in his own mind of 
 the merits of his scheme^ and felt that he had 
 urged it too strongly upon his hearer^s mind to 
 be satisfied with anything short of an immediate 
 assent to his proposal. 
 
 He prudently forbore^ however^ to give vent to 
 his feelings. With all his simplicity, Roger pos- 
 sessed a fair amount of the wisdom of the serpent, 
 and knew by experience that to jog the miller's 
 faculties when he was in pursuit of a conclusion, 
 was of about as much use as shaking a watch to 
 make it keep time. 
 
 " It's a thing as Fve thowt on myself/' said 
 the miller, at last. 
 
 It was well for Roger's cause that he had. 
 The worthy man was slightly opinionated, and 
 might not perhaps have received with much 
 favour a proposal that had not had the advantage 
 of originating wath himself. 
 
 '' But there's the land an' there's the money," 
 he added, after another pause. " There's the 
 land an' there's the money. Them's two points 
 as takes a deal of considering."
 
 THE MASTER OF MARTON. 77 
 
 " Why^ bless you V' said Koger^ who was dis- 
 posed to settle the matter in a more summary 
 way^, " the land^s the Lord's^ an' the money's the 
 Lord's : — we're nobbut giving of Him back His 
 own^ if we do let Him have it." 
 
 '' Ay, ay !" retm-ned the miller, drily. " But 
 you see, though He's lent us a bit o' money, He's 
 lent all the land to the Squire, an' mebby he'll 
 be none so keen o' giving of it back again. 
 There's not a bit o' land convenient as I can 
 think on, but what belongs to him." 
 
 " He's near, is t'auld squire," replied Roger, 
 "leastways auld Wimsley is, an' that conies to 
 t' same thing, for he has all t' say now in this 
 here place. But you see I'd been casting it 
 about in my own mind," continued he, with a 
 bright blink in his eye, which showed that some- 
 thing satisfactory was at hand, " an' it come to 
 me all of a sudden, as you may say, like as if it 
 had tummled out o' t' sky, and mebby it had for 
 the matter o' that. You see there's that bit of a 
 cottage as old Polly AVebster used to live in, just 
 over against Wimsley's house. "Well, they've 
 started pulling of it down, an' not afore it wanted
 
 78 THE MASTER OF MARTON. 
 
 it either. If they'd waited much longer^ I reckon^ 
 it would ha' saved them the trouble by coming 
 down of itself/' 
 
 " But that's not big enough for a chapel/' 
 interposed the miller, '^'^not near." 
 
 " No more it is/"' returned Roger ; " but then 
 you see there's that skreed o' ground alongside 
 of it as Mark Thompson has for a potaty garden. 
 Noo, he's a good man is Mark, an' a joined 
 member, an' he'd give it up cheerful, I'll be 
 bound, not to say that he could suit hisself as 
 well or better elsewhere. If that was putten to 
 Polly Webster's place we should just do, an' we 
 could afford to give a good bit more for the lease 
 on it than what they could get for it as it is." 
 
 " You're partly in the right, I daresay," said 
 the miller, thoughtfully — "leastways so far as its 
 being a ^ood spot to build on, being right in the 
 middle o' the village, an' handy for folks at both 
 ends on it ; but I doubt we'd never persuade old 
 Wimsley to let us have it. He's dead-set again 
 the Methodists. He'd never let 'em have a 
 chapel right in his face as you may say." 
 
 "More shame to him, then," retorted Roger.
 
 TPIE MASTER OF MARTON. 79 
 
 " What harm have jMetherdisses ever done him ? 
 They've paid their rent reglar^ haven^t they_, an^ 
 kep' their land tidy^ them as has it ? An^ I 
 should like to know how many Metherdisses in 
 Marton has parish pay, an' how many he's seen 
 coming out o' tlie Duke's Arms or the Cross-Keys 
 wi' more nor they could carry ? He'd count ^em 
 on his fingers,, Pll warrant, or my name's not 
 Koger Lee." 
 
 " That's neither here nor there/' replied the 
 miller. " You may talk to a deaf man as long 
 as you like; you'll nobbut waste your breath 
 when you're done. An' you may just about 
 as well try to make old Wimsley favour the 
 Methodists." 
 
 "We'd ha' been more likely if it had been the 
 Rector/' said Roger; "he's a deal better sperrit 
 towards us nor what old Wimsley has. He is 
 not the man to shut folks out o' heaven because 
 they go there by a different road to what he does 
 hisself." 
 
 "Ay, ay/' said Mr. Leaf, "but Wimsley's 
 cut out o' different stuff altogether. He'll none 
 do us a good turn if he can help it. It isn't in
 
 80 THE MASTER OF MARTON. 
 
 him, an' it can't come out of him/' lie added, 
 decisivel}^ 
 
 ^' I doubt he's a bit set again us/' said Roger, 
 "though why he should be it passes me to tell; 
 but bless the Lord, He has the hearts of all men 
 in His keeping. Mebby, auld Wimsley's may be 
 oppened yet, particklar if he sees as it's to his 
 interest to let us have the land. An' then, if we 
 get him brought round, there's nobbut the 
 money to get, an' that's easy done." 
 
 Notwithstanding this confident assertion, how- 
 ever, Roger looked somewhat dubiously into the 
 miller's face, as though he would seek there some 
 confirmation for his words. 
 
 iVgain the miller madje a pause of considera- 
 tion, while Roger drummed anxiously upon the 
 arm of the seat. 
 
 '^ There's you an' me, Roger," said Mr. Leaf, 
 at last, " an' there's John Brighouse and farmer 
 Doyle. He isn't a member, isn't Doyle, but he 
 comes reg'lar, him an' his family; and there's 
 Wright the grocer. He has a good bisness, an' 
 he's a liberal-sperrited man ; and there's old j\Irs. 
 Partridge — she has a good bit o' money, and
 
 THE MASTER OF MARTON. 81 
 
 none for it after lier^ nobbut I doubt she's none 
 over keen of parting with it/^ 
 ' " An' there's the Bedesby folks/' burst in 
 Roger, '^ an' the Haxby, and the Clay thorp, an' 
 the Strendall. They'll all help, I'll warrant. 
 There's nowt like Metherdisses for giving/' he 
 continued, rubbing his hands. " They're bred 
 an' born tull it, bless 'em ! It coaies nat'ral to 
 'em, an' it's wonderful," he added, after a pause, 
 " hoo tliey seem to prosper on it. I'd a deal to 
 do myself to addle a living when first I took up 
 with them. I'd given a good bit for the goodwill 
 o' the business an' the fixtures an' that ; but, 
 bless the Lord, I started giving, an' there isn't 
 a man in Marton now as I'd change with. But 
 there's your missis coming, Mr. Leaf. It isn't 
 manners exactly for me to be sitting here, an' 
 never going near hand her to say, ' Wow d'ye 
 do ?' An' Reuben an' all," he added, as Mrs 
 Leaf came towards the seat under the l)eech-trcc, 
 followed by her son, a stalwart young fellow over 
 six feet high, who looked as if he could hardly 
 be the son of such a diminutive neat little woman 
 as the miller's wife. 
 
 VOL. I. G
 
 82 THE MASTER OF MAKTON. 
 
 " Wont you take a turn round the garden,, 
 Mr. Lee?'^ said she, when the greetings were 
 over. " The roses is out, Pm sorry to say, but 
 there's a fine show of verbenas an' fuchsias, and 
 some new geraniums as are just in their prime ; 
 an' tliere's the ribbon border as Reuben made 
 this fore-end is beautiful, though I say it myself. 
 Mr. Bean, that's the head gardener at Haxby, 
 was over here last week, an' he says they haven't 
 anything to beat it for its size, not at Sir 
 John's." 
 
 Mrs. Leaf was proud of her garden, and justly, 
 for it was without a rival far and near. Roger, 
 therefore, could not have pleased her better than 
 by the unfeigned admiration which he bestowed 
 upon it, and which lured her on to a graciousncss 
 of demeanour which of late she had been more 
 chary than formerly of displaying to either Roger 
 Le6, his wife, or niece.
 
 CHAP TEE, VI. 
 
 CROSS PURPOSES. 
 
 IRS. LEAF, like Marget, had been in 
 service at the Hall, and like her had 
 married from it. But Mrs. Leaf had 
 made what is technically termed a 
 far better match than Marget. Her face had 
 been her fortune. Indeed she had the reputation 
 of being the prettiest little flirt for ten miles 
 round Marton. Be that as it might, Reuben 
 Leaf, who had just succeeded to his father's mill 
 and business, was so bewitched that, notwith- 
 standing his mother's protestations, nothing would 
 serve but he must bring home the pretty waiting-* 
 maid as his wife. 
 
 She settled down, however, after her marriage^ 
 as often happens in such cases, into a faithful and 
 g2
 
 84 THE MASTER OF MAllTOX. 
 
 affectionate little \vife, directing the energies 
 which before had been, expended on smart aprons 
 and ribbony caps into the management of the 
 most notable household and the best-behaved 
 children in the village. 
 
 But though Mrs. Leaf had always been on very 
 friendly terms with Marget Lee^ she was by no 
 means blind to the difference in their respective 
 positions ; and no sooner, with a woman's instinct, 
 had she detected the first faint signs of a growing 
 fanc}^ on the i)art of her son for the fair- 
 liaired Jessie, than she set herself with all the 
 force of a woman^s will to nip the unwelcome 
 bad before it should have blossomed into open 
 love. 
 
 She was too politic, however, by actual re- 
 sistance to fan into a flame a fancy which, she 
 fondly hoped, would die out if left to itself; still, 
 a coolness which of late Marget had felt rather 
 than perceived, was causing their intercourse to 
 be less frequent and familiar than it had been of 
 old. But as I said, Boger^s unconscious flattery 
 had this evening availed in considerably abating 
 this feeling of reserve ; and Mrs. Leaf walked
 
 THE MASTER OF MARTON. 85 
 
 along by the smithes side in perfect complacency, 
 unmindful for the present of her doubts and 
 apprehensions. 
 
 Mr. Leaf had fallen behind_, and was sauntering 
 composedly along, quietly enjoying his interrupted 
 pipe ; while Reuben lingered among the bloom- 
 bordered alleys, cutting here and there the 
 freshest and choicest of the flowers, wdiich he was 
 arranging with some taste and skill into a small 
 but beautiful bouquet. 
 
 " Mr. Lee," said he at last, coming up to the 
 pair j " do you think your Jessie would like a slip 
 or two of this begonia ? It^s growing out o^ shape 
 rather on this side, an' I've been thinking o' 
 nipping off two or three of the shoots. It's a 
 chancy thing setting 'em at this time o' the 
 year ; but Jessie's allays uncommon lucky with 
 her cuttings, an' it's a pity for 'em to be wasted. 
 There isn't another like it in this country side, 
 forbye what grows in Sir John's greenhouses. 
 It was his head-gardener as gave it me." 
 
 '' I don't see as there's anything amiss with 
 the plant," said JNL'S. Leaf, turning quickly 
 round, and speaking rather more eagerly than
 
 86 THE MASTER OF MARTON. 
 
 was her wont, " Nobody would see as it wasn^t 
 just even if you didn^t tell ^em." 
 
 But it was too late. Already B-euben had 
 pinched off two or three of the straggling shoots, 
 with their drooping clusters of coral bells^ and 
 was putting them among his flowers. 
 
 His mother noticed the bouquet, and at once 
 divined for whom it was intended. 
 
 '^ You haven^t been pulling one o' the blooms 
 off that blood geranium, Reuben ?" said she, in a 
 tone full of concern ; an^ the first time it's 
 flowered." 
 
 '^ DonH take on, mother," answered Reuben, 
 in a soothing voice ; " there's two left on, an' 
 more to come out, an' it's bad for a young plant 
 to spend itself witli over much flowering. Be- 
 sides, Jessie hasn't seen this geranium since it's 
 flowered. It's a long time, Mr. Lee, since she's 
 been here." 
 
 " Oh ! they're for Jessie, are they ?" said his 
 mother, with a little toss of her head; while 
 Roger, whose fine social sense was beginning to 
 warn him of the disturbance in the air, moved 
 towards the gate, saying —
 
 THE MASTER OF MARTON. 87 
 
 *' I muu be going now ; my missis will be 
 wondering what^s gotten me/' 
 
 "I think ni just step down with you/^ said 
 Reuben, who was tying up his flowers with a 
 strip of matting. '^It isn^t late, an' then I can 
 tell Jessie about these here slips/' 
 
 " Nay, you aren't going yet/' said the miller, 
 coming slowl}^ up. 
 
 " Stop and have a bit o' supper with us," said 
 Mrs. Leaf, with the shrewd design of thereby 
 keeping Roger until it should be too late for her 
 son to accompany him home. " There's a 
 beautiful duck we've got as ever was seen. Not 
 as we're given to having ducks for supper in a 
 general way. But, however, I'm glad, seeing as 
 you're here to eat it with us." 
 
 Roger, however, was proof against the tempta- 
 tion of Mrs. Leaf's duck ; and with a twinkle of 
 vexation in her eye, the miller's wife watched him 
 and Reuben, as they crossed the bridge that led 
 over the mill-stream, and turned down the road 
 leading to the village. 
 
 There was a twinge of honest pain, too, in her 
 breast as she looked after her son, and felt that
 
 88 THE MASTER OF MARTON. 
 
 she who so long had reigned supreme in his 
 aflPections, must yield her place now to another. 
 The jealous mother-love was rebelling against 
 that old fiat — " For this cause shall a man leave 
 his father and mother_, and shall cleave unto his 
 wife/' 
 
 For Reuben Avas her youngest and favourite 
 child. He had been born when a long succes- 
 sion of danghters_, most of whom had died in 
 their infancy^ had almost extinguished the hope 
 that she should ever have a son. All the pride 
 and joy of a mother's heart had been centered on 
 this latest born ; and though she had looked 
 forward to his some time bringing home a wife 
 vrorthy of himself, and had even fixed in her own 
 mind who that wife should be, she could not^ 
 without a keen pang of disappointment_, see her- 
 self displaced by a chit of a girl, whose social 
 disadvantages so far outweighed the personal 
 qualifications which even Mrs. Leaf was not 
 prepared to deny that she possessed. 
 
 The twilight had fallen, and a bright fire was 
 gleaming through the lattice window, when Roger
 
 THE MASTER OF MAllTON. 89 
 
 and liis companion readied the cottage door. 
 Marget Avas sitting upright in her elbow- 
 chair, knitting swiftly at a rough grey stocking, 
 her needles the while making a clicking ac- 
 companiment to the light movements of Jessie^ 
 who was busy settins; the little deal table for 
 supper. 
 
 " Jessie, my lass/^ cried Roger^ as he opened 
 the cottage door, '' put down another knife and 
 fork. Here's Reuben Leaf ^11 have a bit o' 
 supper with us.^' 
 
 A quick blush flitted over Jessie's face as she 
 turned away to reach a tumbler from the dresser 
 behind her. It had disappeared^ however, when 
 she came forward to give a quiet greeting to 
 Reuben, who having paid his respects to Marget^ 
 was preparing to make his offering of the 
 flowers. 
 
 The stalwart fellow, who could have felled a 
 bullock with that sinewy right arm of his, shook 
 like an aspen when Jessie's slender fingers touched 
 his own. 
 
 " There's nobbut two or three on ^cm,'^ said 
 he, in a voice all unlike his usnal rii^ging tones;
 
 90 THE MASTER OF MARTON. 
 
 " but I thought you'd like ^em. An' here's a 
 slip or two of that raby begonia. I didn't cut 
 ^em o' purpose, they v.aiited to come off/' he 
 added^ -with that delicate depreciation of his gift 
 which marks a native courtesy of soul. 
 
 Jessie took the flowers wnth just a word or 
 two of thanks. 
 
 '^ I'll lay in the slips in the back garden 
 Avhile to-morrow morning/' said she^ without 
 lifting her eyes to Reuben. " It's over dark to 
 see to set them to-night." 
 
 '^ Sit ye down^ Reuben, sit ye down/^ said 
 Roger. "Why, you're not going yet, an' supper 
 just fit? What have you gotten for us, Marget? 
 Nobbut potaties? Well, they're not to name 
 with your mother's duck, Reuben, to be sure; 
 but there's a warm welcome to kitchen 'em if 
 you'll stop." 
 
 Reuben would have liked nothing better than 
 to have accepted the invitation thus pressed upon 
 him ; indeed, it was partly in the secret hope of 
 receiving it that he had accompanied Roger home; 
 but with that inexplicable shrinking which often 
 causes a deep love to turn from the \c\j thing it
 
 THE MASTER OF MARTON. 91 
 
 longs to obtain^ e\'en when it is just within its 
 reach^ he took up his hat with some excuse about 
 their waiting for him at home, and hardly daring 
 so much as to put his hand again in Jessicas for a 
 farewell greetings left the cottage, and set out on 
 his homeward way. 
 
 f^ ^ e^
 
 .•..■■ ••■ '.'•:• ■•.•••■ *i'-'- y.* ■•.?.••■ *'■'■ '■■'•* 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 THE MADELINE. 
 
 T is a terrible thing, the first waking 
 to a great grief, after the respite of 
 a night of sleep. There are not 
 many who cannot recall the thrill 
 when the vampyre Memory, that had been 
 watching for our first return to consciousness, 
 fastens again upon the aching brain. And just 
 so sweet is it when, as a child w^akes to find its 
 latest toy still grasped in its tiny hand, our 
 earliest thoughts fold themselves around some 
 strange new sense of joy, which all night long we 
 had carried with us through our dreams. 
 
 Janet woke the next morning with the sound 
 as of some one calling her echoing in her ears. 
 She heard it so plainly that she started up in
 
 THE MASTER OF MAKTOX. 93 
 
 bed to listen. But the house was stilly quite 
 still. She could hear, in the twilight hush, tlie 
 deep ticking of the great clock on the staircase, 
 and the feeble twittering of a sleepy bird in the 
 jasmine outside her window. She laid down her 
 head again on the pillow. It must have been a 
 dream, but it was such a pleasant voice. And 
 then there floated back to her the remembrance 
 of the previous day, of her walk through the 
 wood, of that long bright talk with Mr. Maudsle}^ 
 And sounding softly through it all was that one 
 word he had spoken to her, '^ Child, child." 
 
 " He called me ' child/ " said Janet to herself, 
 over and over again, and she nestled down her 
 thoughts upon the word, as a linnet nestles its 
 head beneath its wing. 
 
 There was no need this morning for Miss 
 Mildred to reprove her for want of industry. She 
 stitched away at her marking as though her life 
 depended on her finishing the task in time. And 
 she did it well, too; for though, when her aunt 
 examined it, she gave her no word of commenda- 
 tion, yet she did not find fault, and with Miss 
 Mildred that was equivalent to approval.
 
 94 THE MASTER OF ^lARTON. 
 
 When the time came slie took the keys -and 
 went through tlie wood at the appointed hour to 
 the Ha]]^ and there Mr. Maudsley was waiting 
 for her, leaning on the rusty drawbridge, with his 
 portfolio and colour-box beside him. And all was 
 just as pleasant as she had anticipated. She had 
 been a little afraid, it is true, oi being put into a 
 position, and had doubted whether she should be 
 able to keep still so long -, but it was all quite easy, 
 and not disagreeable at all, when they really set to 
 work, Mr. Maudsley to sketch and she to sit for 
 him. And then it was so nice listening to his 
 talk, for he had been almost everywhere ; up the 
 K-hine, and he knew all about the old towns and 
 castles on its banks ; and he had been in Switzer- 
 land, too, among the mountains, and through all 
 the beautiful scenery in England, that she had so 
 often longed to see. It was almost as good as 
 going to the places herself. 
 
 And he let her talk to him whilst he was 
 painting, and Janet found so many things to say. 
 It seemed as if quite a fountain of thoughts were 
 gushing up all at once within her. She won- 
 dered almost where they all came from. And
 
 THE MASTER OF MAKTON. 95 
 
 then such a great piece of the picture he did in 
 that one afternoon. Nearly the whole of the figure 
 was sketched in before she came away; and so 
 easily, too, he did it, as if he hardly needed to 
 think at all of what he was about. 
 
 And then he said " good-bye^^ to her so kindly, 
 and the next afternoon she was to go again just in 
 the same way. And when she got home her aunt 
 Mildred seemed quite willing to let her do so; 
 she even said what a fortunate thing it was, and 
 that seeing Mr. Maudsley paint would be worth as 
 much to her each afternoon as lessons at half-a- 
 guinea each from the first drawing-master at 
 Bedesby. 
 
 Ah, how pleasant it would be, she thought, as 
 she sat down after tea to write out an abstract of 
 a chapter in " Rollin.'^ Such dry work those 
 abstracts were ! There was nothing to hinder her, 
 nothing at all, from being just as happy as ever 
 she could be. 
 
 The family at the Priory House were very 
 primitive in their ways. At nine o^clock they had 
 supper and prayers, after which Hannah locked and 
 bolted the outer doors, put the bells on the
 
 96 THE MASTER OF MAKTOX. 
 
 shutters — for it "vvas a lone liouse, and Miss 
 Mildred "was timid at the idea of thieves and 
 burglars — and then brought lighted candles into 
 the dining-room^ put out the lamp and set it away 
 on the sideboard, lest Bessie, coming in to open the 
 shutters in the morning, should stumble against it 
 in the dark, and lastly, carried up in the plate- 
 basket to her master's room. The great clock on 
 the landing, which was always kept exactly ten 
 minutes forward, was generally striking ten just 
 about the time that Janet was going upstairs to 
 her own room. She used to think it was a pity 
 to have to leave the warm fireside so long before 
 she was ready to go to sleep, and privately would 
 often steal an hour after all the house was still, to 
 sit poring over the books that to the lonely girl 
 stood in the place of other companions. There was 
 no public library at Marton, and no Mudie to cir- 
 culate its stream of current literature among the 
 inhabitants ; and the books in her father's study 
 were mostly dry scientific treatises, possessing as 
 little flavour for Janet as a dry bone for an 
 epicure. She would have had but little mental 
 pabulum therefore, had it not been for ]Miss Alison
 
 THE MASTER OF MARTON. 97 
 
 Birney, the rector's daughter, and from her Janet 
 procured, from time to time, books better suited ta 
 her taste — works of poetry, biography, and fictioDy 
 magazines and quarterlies, on which the girl fed^ 
 reading them again and again, and storing up long 
 passages in her memory. Often she carried a volume 
 away with her on her rambles over the common or 
 through the wood, for somehow her aunt was pretty 
 sure to find something for her to do if she saw her 
 sitting comfortably over a book in the house. Not 
 that she forbade her reading it by any means, only- 
 she disliked, she said, to have her wasting her time 
 over poetry and nonsense, when she might be 
 more profitably employed. 
 
 So Janet made a deep pocket in her frock, and 
 if it were a story or poetry used to carry her book 
 about with her, and read in it surreptitiously a& 
 opportunity offered. But to-night the little 
 brown volume that she had been so eagerly 
 conning at the river-side the day hefore, when 
 Hannah had interrupted her, lay forgotten in her 
 drawer. 
 
 For all that evening, as she had sat in the dining- 
 room at her work, her thoughts had been rushing 
 
 VOL. I. H
 
 98 THE MASTER OF MARTON. 
 
 hither and thither over her visit to the Hall, and 
 she had been thinking over^ all that the artist had 
 said to her, and how pleased he had seemed to be 
 with his sketch, and how anxious he was for her to 
 continue to sit for him. And then she recalled his 
 pleasant tones and bright kind looks, and how he 
 had treated her with consideration, as though she 
 had been as much of a grown-up young lady as 
 Miss Alison Birney herself, and had really con- 
 versed with her, and listened quite attentively to 
 all that she had had to say. So different, so 
 very different from anything she had ever known 
 before. And he was going to paint quite a large 
 picture, he said, from this sketch; and this pic- 
 ture was to be called " Madeline,^^ and would be 
 exhibited next spring at the Royal Academy. 
 How strange, that all the great people in London 
 would see, by-and-bye, what would be in reality 
 a portrait of herself ! 
 
 And these thoughts, which had half turned her 
 young head, Janet carried up with her to her 
 chamber. They caused her, as soon as she went 
 in, to sit down before the old-fashioned mirror 
 and look in it long and earnestly at herself.
 
 THE MASTER OF MARTON. 99 
 
 She bad looked often before, but carelessly, 
 ivitli no special interest in the face she saw 
 reflected there, mindful only of getting her dress 
 passably tidy, and her thick tresses of hair 
 smoothed down, so that her aunt should not need 
 to lind fault with her about them. But now she 
 looked eagerly, intently, with a fluttering anxiety 
 as to the verdict to be pronounced. Janet did not 
 ask herself the cause of this. Her feeling was 
 too much a part of herself for her to put it aside 
 and examine it. She only felt as if suddenly a 
 door had been flung open in her life, and she 
 were stepping forth into a beautiful dazzling worlc 
 without. Eor even now, though she knew it not, 
 the child-nature was passing away, its close green 
 calyx being torn open, and all her blossoming 
 womanhood was expanding to the sun. 
 
 x\nd so it was that she sat to-ni ght seeking 
 an answer to the question, which she is hardly 
 woman who, at one time or another in her life, 
 has never asked. And as she looked, the old 
 mirror gave back a pleasant answer to these un- 
 spoken quest ionftigs. It told her, what the girl 
 had longed to learn, that she was fair. And as 
 H 2
 
 100 THE MASTER OF MARTON. 
 
 she bent over the imaged face her lips curved into 
 a quiet smile, and she gazed the more intently 
 into the dark liquid eyes that looked through 
 their long fringing lashes into her own, until it 
 seemed almost as if another presence were in the 
 room. For a moment a half thrill ran through 
 her frame, and she turned aside as if to assure 
 herself, by the sight of the familiar objects around 
 her, that she was indeed alone. 
 
 And then she leaned down her face into her 
 two hands, and sweet thoughts folded themselvesr 
 about her, and vague fancies floated in the air. 
 And from these she wove a robe, too bright and 
 gossamery to be worn in such a rough workaday 
 world as this, fit only for the stage on which the 
 girl was enacting her little fairy drama. But the 
 clock on the stairs struck — eleven sharp, ringing 
 notes. The footlights were dashed out. The 
 machinery of her stage fell to pieces, and 
 Janet started up to find herself alone in her 
 chamber, her candle burning very low, almost 
 into the socket, and the old mirror before her 
 with the face looking out of it still. 
 
 She undressed herself hastily, lest she should
 
 THE MASTER OF MARTON. 101 
 
 be left in the dark, and so, stumbling over her 
 toilette, make some noise which might be heard 
 through the silent house and disturb her aunt, 
 who slept in the next room to hers. She brushed 
 out her long hair, repeated her simple prayers, 
 iind then lay down, folding her new-found happi- 
 ness closely in her thoughts, and dreamt that the 
 " Madeline'^ was finished, and that it came out of 
 the frame, clasped its arms around her, and kissed 
 her on the brow. 
 
 After this came many long bright days to 
 Janet, each one happier than those that had 
 gone before. For she went nearly every after- 
 noon, and sometimes in the morning too, to 
 sit to Mr. Maudsley for " Madeline.^^ And in 
 truth the artist was very kind to the girl, as 
 indeed he was to every one in whom he took an 
 interest. There was an affluence of life about 
 him that flowed forth unconsciously, and sunned 
 and warmed all whom lie drew within his in- 
 fluence. And Janet pleased him. He saw the 
 folded beauty in her character, as well as in her 
 countenance, and liked smoothing her out, as he 
 would a crumpled note, and reading the rich
 
 102 THE MASTER OF MARTON. 
 
 promise inscribed thereon. He never spoke ta 
 her about himself, but he encouraged her to tell 
 out to him all her own thoughts and fancies, her 
 wishes and complaints. He talked to her of the 
 books she liked best to read. He made her 
 sensible of the powers which she possessed. He 
 gave a voice to much that had till now been 
 dumb within her. 
 
 And all this, like rain on pastures parched by 
 drought, began to awaken a sense of springing 
 life within her. There was dawning on her the 
 consciousness, so sweet to every one who for the 
 first time feels it, that she — this hitherto un- 
 noticed Janet — possessed within herself that 
 which was pleasant even to one towards whom 
 she looked up herself with such utter reverence. 
 In her, this wayside flower, there was then a drop 
 of honey, sweet even to him. Such a little while 
 before and her life had felt so narrow, so emptj^, 
 and aimless. And now a new beautiful world 
 seemed to be expanding round her, steeped in a 
 haze of rosy light. Innumerable tendrils were 
 springing from her on every side, ready to clasp 
 and twine about this new-found friend, who, like
 
 THE MASTER OF MARTON. 10^ 
 
 a tall forest tree, seemed to lift her into a higher, 
 sunnier air. Everything was changed. She was 
 learning to be happy now. 
 
 And so the year crept on. The harvest was all 
 got in. The village children came home from their 
 rambles with their mouths all stained with purple 
 bramble-juice. The leaves began to grow crisp 
 and bronzed upon the trees, and the tawny gold 
 upon the robin^s breast to deepen to a russet red. 
 And as the fruit mellowed on the orchard 
 boughs, so Janet Brande^s life was ripening into 
 womanhood. 
 
 * 

 
 f0:'M00-i.\W::¥S^^ 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 THE LAAVYER IN LOVE. 
 
 IR. WIMSLEY, the village lawyer, 
 and manager of the Marton estate, 
 was deep in thought; so deep, in- 
 deed, that the spiced ale which was 
 simmering before him in the little saucepan on 
 his parlour fire bubbled up, and was sputtering 
 over with an ominous hiss, before he could arouse 
 himself sufficiently to take off the pan, and pour 
 its contents into the deep tumbler which stood 
 on the table by the side of the smoking Welsh 
 rabbit, which Mrs. Green, his housekeeper, had 
 just brought up for her master's supper. 
 
 Mr. Wimsley was fond of his supper. He 
 Jiked to take it in a leisurely way, enjoying the 
 comfortable consciousness that for the next two
 
 THE MASTER OF MARTON. 105 
 
 hours he might toast his toes by the blazing fire, 
 and spread himself forth to the genial warmth in 
 his deep-cushioned chair, without fear of inter- 
 ruption from the visits of anxious clients or re- 
 fractory tenants. 
 
 To-night, however, he sipped his ale and 
 nibbled at his supper with an air of abstraction 
 that plainly showed he had not laid by the cares 
 of life with the rusty office-coat that he generally 
 wore during business hours. 
 
 The spiced ale grew flat, and the Welsh rab- 
 bit cold and flabby, long before Mrs. Green was 
 summoned to bring in its stead the pipe and 
 tobacco wherewith her master was wont to regale 
 liimself until it was time to betake himself to 
 bed. 
 
 From Mr. Wimsley's appearance, you might 
 conclude at once that he had not been born south 
 of the Tweed. There was a haze, however, rest- 
 ing upon his parental relationships, which he had 
 never seemed particularly anxious to remove, 
 further than by certain vague hints occasionally 
 thrown out, which would lead casual hearers to 
 suppose that he was in some way connected with
 
 106 THE MASTER OF MARTON. 
 
 a family of aristocratic pretensions. Mr. Stiuson, 
 the Marton doctor, used to have a sly laugh at 
 the lawyer sometimes on this point, and when he 
 was in a facetious mood, had been known to ex- 
 press a belief that there was a bar-sinister im- 
 mediately above him on Mr. Wimsley's escutcheon, 
 which it would be neither possible nor prudent to 
 attempt to overleap. 
 
 Mr. Wimsley had been settled in the village 
 for nearly twenty years, and having bad the ma- 
 nagement of the Marton Hall estates during the 
 whole time, was generally supposed to have made 
 a pretty good thing of it. Eight years ago he 
 had married a pretty blue-eyed little wife, with a 
 delicate chest and a fortune of a thousand pounds. 
 Her nervousness and ill-health had been a con- 
 stant source of annoyance to him, from the time 
 of their marriage until little more than a twelve- 
 month after, when she died, as the doctors said, 
 of a decline, but, as her friends more truly con- 
 jectured, of a broken heart. The poor little thing 
 had staked her all, and lost it. What better 
 could she do than die? 
 
 For nearly seven years, therefore, the Marton
 
 THE MASTER OF MAETON. 107 
 
 lawyer had been the cynosure of all the enter- 
 prising widows and elderly yoimg ladies of the 
 village; and being, if not exactly handsome, yet 
 very passable in his appearance, and moreover, as 
 things went in Marton, a tolerably well-to-do 
 man, it was his own fault, doubtless, if he had 
 not again entered into the bonds of Hymen. 
 
 Latterly, however, Mr. "VVimsley, after long 
 consideration^ had decided on selecting some one 
 fitted, by the possession of the charms in which 
 he prided himself on being no mean connoisseur, 
 to be promoted to the post of honour which he 
 had it in his power to bestow. 
 
 And if to personal attractions could be added 
 those of pocket and position, so much the better ; 
 for though he had the business of the estate, yet 
 Marton itself was a peaceable little place, and not 
 given to make quarrels for the sake of lining the 
 lawyer's pockets. 
 
 But the perverse little god, whose sole amuse- 
 ment seems to be to traverse the best-laid plans 
 of mortal man, had winged an arrow with the 
 fair Jessie's charms, and so effectually pierced the 
 lawyer's heart, that henceforth life appeared to
 
 108 THE MASTER OF MAllTON. 
 
 liave one object only — namelv; to obtain posses- 
 sion of the coveted prize. 
 
 Mr. Wimsley was vexed with himself, as it was 
 natural he should be. Not that Jessie was poor, 
 for her uncle was laying by money, and would 
 probably leave her a tidy little fortune. But then 
 her position ! He who might not unreasonably 
 aspire to mate with almost any member of the 
 upper ten of Marton, to lower himself by an alli- 
 ance with a mere dressmaker — a blacksmith's 
 niece ! 
 
 Like most wise men, he took counsel with his 
 pillow ; but after tossing about through several 
 sleepless nights, he only found himself at the point 
 where he began. Moreover, with the keen eye ot 
 jealousy he had discovered that he was not the 
 only admirer of Roger Lee's niece. He had no- 
 ticed the long lingering looks which Sunday after 
 Sunday were cast by lleuben Leaf towards the 
 smith's pew, from his place in the singing-loft. 
 He knew only too well how it was that he always 
 chanced to be coming out of church just when 
 Marget Lee was taking her husband's arm at the 
 door, and how it was that he should have so much
 
 THE MASTER OF MARTON. 109 
 
 to communicate to Roger and his wife, when so 
 many nice-looking girls and smart young fellows 
 were standing about chatting in little groups, any 
 of whom would have been glad for him to have 
 joined them. 
 
 It is true he had noticed also the impatient 
 twinkle in Mrs. Leafs eyes, as she turned back 
 from the churchyard-gate, and saw her son still 
 by Eoger^s side. But then that itself was, like 
 smoke, a sign of danger, showing that fire was 
 not far off. 
 
 And Jessie^ too. It did not follow because she 
 drew up more closely to her aunt, and by a cer- 
 tain shy reserve seemed to discourage these open 
 attentions from the miller's son, that she must 
 therefore be indifferent to him. Mr. Wimsley 
 was not without discernment, and would have felt 
 more safe to have seen her chatting briskly with 
 the young man, than walking so silently along 
 with downcast eyes and flushing face. 
 
 He knocked the ashes out of his pipe, filled it 
 again with fresh tobacco, took a leisurely sip at 
 his little tumbler of whisky toddy, and then re- 
 sumed his meditations. Something must be done.
 
 110 THE MASTER OF MARTON. 
 
 and that without delay, for it was plain that if he 
 stood still in the matter^ his prize would ere 
 long be wholly out of reach. And the bare idea 
 that Reuben might secure it goaded him like a 
 spur in a galled flank. In short, he found him- 
 self in the position of a man who, lest hands other 
 than his own should bear away the object round 
 which his fancy has long been only hovering, is 
 by that very cause irresistibly impelled to seize 
 it for his own. 
 
 To-day, however, tv/o little circumstances had 
 occurred which, by judicious management, he 
 thought might fall out to the furtherance of his 
 plans. In the first place, Roger and the miller 
 had been to his office about the bit of ground for 
 a chapel. Six months ago, their request would 
 have been met by a point-blank refusal ; bait now 
 this little affair with Jessie had complicated the 
 question, and Mr. Wimsley had given them to 
 understand that he would take the matter into 
 consideration, the miller, however, having gone 
 away impressed with the conviction that they 
 should fail in their object, while Roger was as 
 sure that they should certainly succeed.
 
 THE MASTER OF MARTON. Ill 
 
 In the next place, Mr. Leaf, having got the 
 chapel business for the present off his mindj l]ad 
 stayed behind to have some talk about the renewal 
 of his lease, -which would expire next Lady-day, 
 and to negotiate for a small farm of fifty acres 
 which would at the same time be vacant, and 
 which he was anxious to take; for, as he said to 
 Mr. Wimsley, " You see, our Eeuben ^11 be of age 
 fore^end of next year, and I^d been thinking of 
 putting the farm to the milling an^ giving him a 
 share in the business. He'll be looking about 
 him an^ wanting to settle, I reckon, some o' 
 these days_, an' t' mill wont keep two kitchen- 
 fires going of itself. There's a tight little farm 
 away yonder at Haxby as I'd had thoughts o' 
 putting of him into ; but it's over seven mile off, 
 an' his mother's sore at parting with him ; an' 
 somehow the lad seems to be hankering hisself 
 after biding at Marton. There's a limed twig, 
 I'm thinking, somewhere hereabouts." 
 
 The lawyer winced, and in the same moment 
 decided that the fifty-acre lot should not be 
 added to the take of the mill. It would be safer 
 a great deal, he reflected, to have the young man
 
 1]2 THE MASTER OF MAHTON. 
 
 out of the way on the Haxby farm. Accordingly, 
 lie told the miller that he was sorry he had not 
 spoken earlier about the matter, as he had made 
 arrangements now which he did not think could 
 well be altered. He added also that, as a young 
 man must leave home some time, it was a pity to 
 miss a good start in life for the sake of keeping 
 him a year or two longer at his mother^s apron 
 strings. 
 
 As he sat now, smoking his pipe and 
 basking in the warmth of his parlour fire, Mr. 
 "Wimsley was mentally reviewing the proceedings 
 of the day, and was just chuckling over the neat- 
 ness of this last manoeuvre, when he was arrested 
 by a sharp, prolonged peal of his front-door bell. 
 He started bolt upright in his chair and listened 
 intently, while the little maid-of-all-work scuffled 
 through the passage in haste to answer the some- 
 what unusual summons. 
 
 For Mr. Wimsley lived quietly — that is to say, 
 though he went out a good deal himself, he sel- 
 dom entertained company himself at home, so 
 that a ring at the bell at this time of night was 
 a somewhat unusual occurrence. But surely For-
 
 THE MASTER OF MAllTON. 113 
 
 tunc must have been in an affable mood to-night, 
 for when the servant opened the parlour-door to 
 usher in the visitor who had just arrived, Mr. 
 AVimsley saw advancing, flushed and breathless, 
 the very object of his anxious thought. 
 
 She came forward eager and excited, and 
 before the astonished lawyer could frame a word 
 of salutation, was unfolding to him the nature of 
 her errand. 
 
 " Oh, sir, will you please come to our house ? 
 Uncle has had a hurt, and he wants to make 
 his will. Hc^s very bad, sir, or we wouldn't 
 have thought of troubling you to come out this 
 time of night ; and he can't be easy till he's got 
 it off his mind. I'm very sorry, sir, I'm sure ; I 
 ran all the way here," she continued, turning 
 very pale, and speaking now in a gasping, un- 
 certain voice. 
 
 Overcome by fatigue and agitation, the sudden 
 change from the fresh pure air without to the 
 close and heated atmosphere of the little parlour 
 had been too much for her. Her knees trembled 
 under her, and even while she spoke she sank 
 down, half-fainting, on a scat, only howcvor to 
 
 VOL. I. I
 
 114 THE MASTER OF MARTON. 
 
 feel herself in the lawyer's arms. He was placiug^ 
 her in his own easy-cushioned chair, and the 
 next moment, not sorry for the excuse, had 
 untied and taken off her little straw bonnet and 
 brown tweed cloak with as much apparent solici- 
 tude certainly as even such an occasion could 
 possibly require. 
 
 The little blue-eyed wife had been accustomed 
 to faint away on the slightest conceivable ground 
 without eliciting any particular attention from 
 her legal head ; but, then, this was a case alto- 
 gether dijfferent, and Mr. Wimsley felt disposed 
 to make the most of his opportunity. 
 
 Jessie, however, soon recovered herself — much 
 sooner, indeed, than Mr. Wimsley could have 
 wished, and, opening her eyes, met the look bent 
 upon her, full, as she innocently supposed, of 
 s-nxiety and concern. 
 
 " I beg your pardon, sir,'^ she murmured, the 
 colour flushing back into her cheeks. " It was 
 very foolish of me, but I am better now/^ and 
 as she spoke she rose, though still somewhat 
 weak and trembling, as if to convince him that he 
 need no longer feel any uneasiness on her account.
 
 THE MASTEK OF MAKTON. 115 
 
 '^ Sit still, sit still, Miss Lee, pray do," said 
 Mr. Wimsley, pressing her back into the chair. 
 '^You had better keep yourself quiet for awhile, 
 much better. And drink this/^ he continued, get- 
 ting a decanter from the cupboard, and pouring 
 out carefully half-a-glass of wine. " There, take 
 it all ; don^t be afraid. It -will do you good, it 
 will, indeed." 
 
 Jessie — her heart running over with gratitude 
 for all this kindness and consideration — drank 
 the wine, and then, really feeling quite herself 
 again, took up her bonnet and cloak and began 
 to tie them on. 
 
 "Well, my dear," said the lawyer, seeing that 
 she was preparing to go, ^' and now about this 
 unfortunate affair. Is your uncle very much 
 hurt ?" 
 
 *' I am afraid so, sir," answered Jessie, with a 
 little sob in her voice. " He got a kick from a 
 horse this afternoon, and he hasn't been himself 
 till about an hour ago. Doctor Stinson was out, 
 and we had to send to Bedesby for some one. 
 He says he'll maybe come round with care, but 
 he wont answer for it till he's seen him again." 
 i2
 
 116 THE MASTER OF MARTON. 
 
 " Dear, dear V said Mr. Wimsley, putting as 
 tnuch concern as possible into his tones ; " and 
 he wishes to settle his affairs, then — very proper, 
 very proper/^ 
 
 "Yes, sir, if you would be so kind as to 
 come." 
 
 '^Certainly, my dear, certainly. If you will 
 just wait a minute, I will get what is required, 
 and step down with you at once.^^ 
 
 With these words Mr. Wimsley went out of 
 the room and across the passage, through the 
 green baize door that opened into his office. He 
 returned in a few moments, duly provided with 
 all that the occasion rendered necessary. 
 
 "And now, my dear," said he, when the street- 
 door was closed behind them — how odd it was, 
 Jessie thought, that he should keep calling her 
 " my [dear'-* — " take my arm ; nay, don't be 
 bashful. You will be the better for a little help.^' 
 
 Jessie was hesitating whether or no she should 
 accept the proffered honour. However, Mr. 
 Wimsley settled the question for her by taking 
 the little hand and drawing it snugly within his 
 arm.
 
 THE MASTER OF MARTON. U7 
 
 How delightful it was walking along there 
 ■under the stars, the light footsteps tripping 
 musically beside him, and the round soft arm 
 pressed closely within his own ! Very closely 
 sometimes, though Jessie happened just now to be 
 too anxious about getting home to notice the fur- 
 tive squeeze. It was a new sensation. It was as 
 good as drinking a glass of toddy strong and hot at 
 somebody else^s expense. And Mr. Wimsley drew 
 the little arm still further within liis own, and 
 bestowed upon it what he intended to be a very 
 meaning pressure. 
 
 Jessie, however, received it with perfect uncon- 
 sciousness. They had reached her uncle's house^ 
 and in the open doorway stood her aunt, whose 
 listening ear had caught the sound of footsteps, 
 and who was waiting now until the two should 
 come up. 
 
 " He's much about it,'' said she, in answer to 
 Jessie's eager questioning. And then addressing 
 Mr. Wimsley, who was making such condolences 
 and inquiries as the occasion seemed to demand, 
 she began to thank him for his speedy compliance 
 with her request.
 
 118 THE MASTER OF MARTON. 
 
 " He's been speiring after ye sin^ ever Jessie 
 went, sir/^ said she. And bringing the lawyer into 
 the kitchen, a little in confusion now, but still 
 bright and cheerful, she set him a chair and went 
 upstairs to prepare her husband for his visit. 
 
 The sick man's affairs were soon settled. Mr. 
 Wimsley found to his satisfaction that he was 
 possessed of more than five hundred pounds, the 
 whole of which, at her aunt's death, was to go to 
 Jessie, with the exception of a legacy of fifty 
 pounds for the new chapel which Roger had set 
 his heart on having built. 
 
 . " Mebby," said he, " I'm to be like David, as 
 got together the wood, an' the stones, an' the gold 
 for the temple, nobbut the Lord wouldn't let him 
 big it hissel. He telled him he must leave it to 
 them as corned after him. I doubt I was over 
 much set up with myself, an' forgot that the best 
 we can do is nobbut like bairns' work. The 
 Lord lets us do bits o' things for him just to 
 pleasure us like, but He does the main feck on it 
 hissel." 
 
 Hoger leaned back exhausted, and for awhile 
 only the scratching of the lawyer's pen broke the
 
 THE MASTER OF MARTON. 119 
 
 silence of the sick room. At last the will was 
 made out. Two of the neighbours came in to 
 witness to it, and went away again. Marget 
 began to settle her husband down comfortably 
 after his fatigue, and Mr. Wimsley, begging her 
 not to come down on his account, cautiously de- 
 scended the narrow staircase into the sanded 
 kitchen, where Jessie was standing before the 
 fire stirring something that was simmering in 
 a pan. She lifted it on to the hob, and turned 
 round as the lawyer entered. 
 
 " My dear,^^ said he, seeing her anxious face, 
 " I don't think really that you need distress your- 
 self about your uncle. I was called in to a case 
 precisely similar not very long since, and the party 
 recovered in the course of a week or two. Still, 
 he has certainly been quite right in wishing to 
 settle his affairs. It is always better, decidedly 
 better, to have these little matters properly 
 arranged.'^ 
 
 Jessie's face brightened. Her uncle was not 
 so very ill then after all, and she felt almost as if 
 Mr. Wimsley, by giving her the assurance, had been 
 himself in some way the instrument of his safety.
 
 120 THE MASTER OF MARTON. 
 
 How pretty the little thing looked, thought the^ 
 lawyer to himself, as he watched the glad smile 
 flashing into his face ! 
 
 " Good-bye, my dear/^ said he, in his most en- 
 dearing tones. And taking her hand in both his 
 own, he pressed it with what Jessie felt somehow 
 conscious now was really a significant grasp. 
 
 She did not like it quite, but she could not get 
 her hand away at once, he was holding it so fast.. 
 The only thing she could think of was to repeat 
 her apologies for having brought him out so late, 
 and to thank him again for having done so. 
 
 But her broken speech was cut short in an un- 
 expected way. 
 
 " Nay, nay, if I must be thanked, let me choose 
 my own way.^^ 
 
 And stooping down to the flushed fair face,, 
 the enamoured lawyer stole a sudden, kiss from^ 
 Jessicas rosy lips. 
 
 She started back, shy and amazed. She was- 
 not indignant, there was too much simplicity iu her 
 for that, but she was extremely uncomfortable- 
 She felt herself growing red all over. She neither 
 knew how to speak nor what to do, so em-
 
 THE MASTER OF MARTON. 121 
 
 barrassed had she been by the lawyer's demon- 
 strative salute. There was a creak on the stairs, 
 too. It was her aunt's step. What -would she 
 think to find her thus blushing and disordered, 
 with her hand still imprisoned in Mr. Wimsley's 
 grasp ? 
 
 But her confusion was of short continuance. 
 Mr. Wimsley heard the step too, and when a mo- 
 ment after Marget entered the kitchen, he had 
 disappeared, and Jessie was there alone, just 
 reaching up to fasten the topmost bolt of the out- 
 side door. 
 
 4?
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 IN WHICH MR. WIMSLEY MAKES UP HIS MIND. 
 
 OGER need not have been in such a 
 hurry, after all_, to get his affairs 
 settled, for his illness, as the lawyer 
 had predicted, took a right turn in- 
 stead of a wrong one. In the course of a few days, 
 the doctor allowed him to sit up for an hour or 
 two at a time; then, with some difficulty, he 
 managed to creep down the narrow stairs, and 
 into the kitchen, -where Marget fixed him up 
 with plenty of cushions in the big elbow-chair by 
 the fireside, put the little round table beside him, 
 with the great Bible and hymn-book upon it, 
 and plied him assiduously with the various 
 dainties on which sick people, who are getting 
 well, are privileged to live.
 
 THE MASTER OF MARTON. 123 
 
 Meantime, Mr. Wimsley, having broken the 
 ice by his professional visit at the cottage, had 
 fallen into the habit of '^dropping in'' two or 
 three times a week, ostensibly for the purpose of 
 inquiring after Hoger, and having half an hour's 
 chat with him by the fireside, but in reality for 
 the sake of pressing Jessie's hand in his when he 
 said '' good-bye," and of bestowing soft looks upon 
 her, which he felt sure she was beginning no^y 
 to understand, for how charmingly the little thing 
 coloured up now and then when she met an 
 unusually tender glance ; and with what a pretty, 
 shy quietness she sat, bending over her work, 
 when he went in to have a chat witli her uncle. 
 For the chance, too, of saying that one word to 
 her which he was beginning to be impatient now 
 to utter, and which should enable him bravely 
 and openly to lay claim to divers little favours 
 which he was persuaded, in his own mind, she 
 was only waiting to bestow, until he should have 
 given himself the title to receive them. 
 
 But somehow. Fortune had ceased to be pro- 
 pitious. Whenever he went, Jessie was either 
 out of sight upstairs, or busy in the other
 
 124 THE MASTER OF MARTON. 
 
 kitchen, or she was sitting boxed up behind 
 the table, bending over her work, and hardly 
 looking up once during the whole time he 
 stayed. 
 
 It was tantalizing, certainly ; however, the 
 lawyer consoled, himself by the reflection that 
 this was, in all probability, only the veil Avith 
 which the little innocent thing tried to hide the 
 feelings which doubtless were stirring in her 
 breast on his behalf. He was not quite sure yet 
 about lleuben Leaf, though he had seen his 
 father one day, and had been informed by him 
 that he had decided on putting his son into the 
 farm at Haxby. And he had had some little 
 trouble, too, in persuading himself that he was 
 doing exactly the right thing, in some respects, 
 in this project of marrying Jessie. He was 
 afraid people would be inclined to talk when they 
 found he had chosen Roger Lee^s niece for a 
 wife. Perhaps some of the better class of 
 Marton society might hardly be disposed to 
 call upon her after she had become Mrs. Wimsley. 
 Not even her golden beauty, he was afraid, would 
 be a sutlicient recommendation in the eves of the
 
 THE MASTER OF MARTOX. 125 
 
 well-to-do dowagers who bad occasionally favoured 
 him with a share in their attentions. 
 
 It would not be exactly pleasant, either, to have 
 the blacksmith himself dropping in with his 
 awkwardly cut coat and provincial dialect, just 
 when he had brought in a client to have one of 
 his very small glasses of wine (Mr. Wimsley, on 
 principle, always used the taper glasses in pre- 
 ference to the full-bottomed ones.) But as soon 
 as Jessie was in his own hands, he meant to put 
 a stop to any frequent intercourse with her uncle^s 
 family. If he did her the honour to raise her to 
 a superior position in society, of course the least 
 she could do would be to learn to accommodate 
 herself to it ; and really, setting aside her un- 
 fortunate connexions, the girl herself was every- 
 thing he could desire, for he had looked pretty 
 sharply into her ways during those visits at the cot- 
 tage, and had found her in every respect admirably 
 fitted to answer the various purposes of a wife. 
 
 She could cook to perfection; and Mr. 
 "Wimsley liked good living when it could be com- 
 bined with economy. She was as still as a mouse 
 about the house ; and he agreed with Shakspcare,
 
 126 THE MASTER OF MARTON. 
 
 that quietness is an excellent thing in woman. 
 Just now, perhaps, -while his courting -was going 
 on, a little more playful chatter might be an 
 improvement, but a talking wife, he reflected, 
 would prove a terrible nuisance. And Marget her- 
 self was an admirable housewife, and no doubt 
 she had trained her niece in her own notable ways. 
 
 Her manners, too, were much above her sta- 
 tion, for being a dressmaker, and accustomed to 
 work a good deal at ladies' houses, she had some- 
 how caught quite a superior knack of speech and 
 deportment; indeed, in her simple, quiet dress, 
 she looked almost a lady herself — the little 
 lovely thing, as Avarm and glowing as a ripe 
 peach upon a sunny wall. 
 
 Yes, he had done the right thing ; there could 
 be no doubt about it, taking everything into con- 
 sideration. There was not such a bewitching little 
 creature for a dozen miles round Marton. And now 
 to business. The law^yer had been sitting at his 
 office desk, his hands run through his hair, 
 ruminating on these various particulars. He 
 roused himself now, and looking out some papers, 
 made two or three copies of a note, which at last
 
 THE MASTER OF MARTOX. 127 
 
 he wrote out fairly, folded, and addressed to 
 "Miss Jessie Lee, Marton.''^ 
 
 Then he put his head out of the green- baize 
 door that opened into the house, and called to 
 Mrs. Green, his housekeeper. She came out of 
 her kitchen, at her master's summons, and stood 
 just within the office door, smoothing down her 
 apron, and waiting, with her sharp, cat-like look, 
 for his commands. 
 
 It was something unusual, she was sure. If 
 he wanted anything he generally called Nancy, 
 the maid-of-all-work, or else sent the office-boy 
 for it. Mrs. Green was particular in her ways, 
 and disliked being interrupted when she was busy 
 about her work during the morning. She dis- 
 liked it also when she was sitting down com- 
 fortably to her sewing in an afternoon ; and when 
 tea was over she generally went out on her 
 own account for an hour or two, coming back 
 about eight o'clock to get her master's supper 
 ready. 
 
 And Mr. Wimsley was very careful not to 
 interfere with these little peculiarities; for Mrs. 
 Green was a valuable person, very. She knew
 
 128 THE MASTER OF MARTON. 
 
 all his likes and dislikes, and managed to make 
 him exceedingly comfortable, and in an economical 
 ■vva}^, too ; moreover her wages, considering her 
 capabilities, were extremely moderate. It would 
 l3e a difficult matter to replace her if she happened 
 to get offi3nded ; and if she was not quite so 
 amiable, perhaps, as she might be, and was apt 
 to speak her mind with considerable asperity at 
 times, why, patience was a virtue ; and though 
 Mr. Wimsley would have scorned to own it even 
 to himself, he was secretly not a little in avTe of 
 his housekeeper's tongue. 
 
 And of all this Mrs. Green was quite aware, 
 as her master, in a tone of half-apology, requested 
 her to slip on her bonnet, and take his note 
 ■down to the village. 
 
 " And be sure, Mrs. Green, that you give it 
 into the hands of Miss Lee herself ; and if she is 
 not at home bring it back again. Nancy and 
 Parkes are both of them so careless, it is not 
 safe to trust them with anything, and it would 
 be of consequence if the note were lost." 
 
 Mrs. Green took her master's letter, and said, 
 " Very well, sir," without giving any signs of
 
 THE MASTER OF MARTON. 129 
 
 dissatisfaction. Mr. Wimsley felt relieved. He 
 had been afraid slie might take it ill being sent 
 out in the middle of the afternoon in this way. 
 He took a turn or two up and down his office, 
 and then sat down again and went on with some 
 writing, on which he had been engaged when 
 he had fallen into the train of meditation 
 that had resulted in the letter he had just de- 
 spatched. 
 
 Mrs. Green went upstairs at once, put on her 
 black silk bonnet and shawl, and then sat down 
 on the edge of the bed with the note in her 
 hand to deliberate upon it. She had been afraid 
 of this for some time. It was not for nothing, 
 she had been quite sure, that her master had gone 
 down so often of late to Roger Lee^s house. 
 There was no telling what men would not do 
 when their heads were turned by such a pretty 
 girl as Jessie Lee; for she was pretty — there was 
 no denying it. Mrs. Green knew what was what 
 as well as her master. She had not lived lady's- 
 maid for ten years with some of the best families 
 in Bedesby without seeing a good many young 
 ladies there who were reckoned to be beauties, 
 
 VOL. I. K
 
 130 THE MASTER OF MARTON. 
 
 and Jessie Lee could hold her own with the best 
 of them. 
 
 But Mrs. Green did not like her any the better 
 for that. Beauty was very well for those who 
 had it, but it might prove troublesome sometimes 
 to others. Her pretty face might make her 
 Beuben Leaf's wdfe, and welcome. She could see 
 very well that the young miller had an eye 
 after her; but to have her taking the rule over 
 her J as Mrs. Wimsley, was quite another thing. 
 
 Mrs. Green had an easy place of it, and took 
 her own way in everything pretty much as if she 
 had been actually the mistress in the house. Her 
 master gave her shabby wages, it was true ; but 
 one way with another she managed to make them 
 up to what she would have got elsewhere. There 
 was no harm done, she reasoned with herself, for 
 she took no more than her due, and if people will 
 be mean, why they must expect to be put upon 
 sometimes. True, she flared up now and then, 
 but she did it on purpose, just in order to make 
 her master afraid lest she should throw up her 
 situation. But as to really leaving, that was the 
 last thing she meant to do; and, if she could
 
 THE MASTER OF MARTON. 131 
 
 help itj she would not have a mistress either — 
 least of all a young person to whom she had 
 more than once paid eighteenpence a da}^ to come 
 and work for her, bringing her up her meals from 
 her master's table. 
 
 Mrs. Green felt in considerable perplexity as 
 she sat turning the letter over and over in her 
 hands. She wished she durst open it and find 
 out what there was inside, but it had been too 
 carefully fastened up to make it safe for her to 
 do that. Then she held it up to the light, but 
 not a stroke of the pen shone through the thick 
 blue envelope, — 
 
 " Miss Jessie Lee, 
 
 Marton/' 
 She would be obliged to give it to her, much as 
 she would have liked to keep it back; but that 
 would not be safe either. What was to be done? 
 
 Mrs. Green pursed up her lips and shut her 
 Byes. Then she looked in the glass again, 
 straightened her shawl, settled her bonnet-strings, 
 and sallied forth with the letter in her hand. 
 
 She supposed, as doubtless the reader does, 
 too, that the letter in question contained the 
 k2
 
 132 THE MASTER OF MAKTON. 
 
 avowal of her master^s sentiments towards the 
 object of his choice. What else should he have 
 to write about to her^ and why should he be so 
 particular to have the letter given into her own 
 handj and brought back to him if she were not 
 at home ? There was no answer either. Of course 
 not. Jessie would not be likely to frame an an- 
 swer in a hurry to such a message as the one 
 Mrs. Green was taking to her. In short, every 
 circumstance connected with her errand looked 
 unpleasant and suspicious. 
 
 Yet after all, notwithstanding her acuteress, 
 Mrs. Green was mistaken in her conjectures. 
 Mr. Wimsley knew a great deal better than to 
 make his proposal to Jessie in a letter. And, 
 indeed, that is one of the most foolish things that 
 a sensible man can possibly do, even if he is as 
 sure- of his answer as the lawyer was of his. 
 
 A woman must be very anxious indeed about 
 the matter before she can sit down in cool blood 
 to write a formal acceptance of an offer of mar- 
 riage. It is positively almost as bad as having 
 to put the question herself. She will try it in a 
 dosen dift'erent vvays, and end after all by a re-
 
 THE MASTER OF MARTON. 133 
 
 luctant refusal, not because she really means to 
 say ''No/* but because she cannot for the life of 
 her muster courage to write that open, unblush- 
 ing *' Yes/^ ^ A lover who seriously intends to 
 win the hand of his mistress w^ill beware how 
 he exposes her to such an ordeal. At best it is 
 but a co^vardly way of sparing himself at her 
 expense, and if a woman has any proper spirit 
 about her, she sees that she has been taken ad- 
 vantage of, and resents it accordingly. True, it 
 is a terrible business for a man who feels that 
 everything depends on the cast of a single die, 
 to nerve himself up to the point necessary to do 
 the thing in the legitimate way. But even in 
 this, as in so many other things, " II n^y a que le 
 premier pas qui coute.'' When the plunge is once 
 taken, and the first shock over, it is astonishing 
 how easy the whole affair becomes, and how potent 
 he finds the murmured words when accompanied 
 by the appealing look, the tender tones, the silent 
 beseeching clasp of the passive little hand, which 
 makes it as hard to refuse the petition so elo- 
 quently enforced, as it would have been to grant 
 it if otherwise preferred.
 
 134 THE MASTER OF MARTON. 
 
 The contents of Mr. Wirasley^s letter, then, 
 were of quite a different character from what 
 Mrs. Green supposed. It merely requested Miss 
 Lee to favour him with a call at his office before 
 six o^clock that day, if possible, as he had some- 
 thing of importance to communicate to her. And, 
 by good fortune, the housekeeper had hardly got 
 half way to Roger Lee^s house when she met 
 Jessie coming down the village, tripping along 
 with her little work-bag in her hand. 
 
 She looked most provokingly pretty, as Mrs. 
 Green could not help thinking, in that little 
 brown cloak and straw hat of hers, from beneath 
 which her face shone forth like sunshine in a 
 shady place. 
 
 " Well, to be sure, Miss Lee V^ said the house- 
 keeper, stopping as she came up to her. '' How 
 lucky it is I have met you ! Here^s a note for 
 you from the master. It's something particklar 
 that's in it, for I was to be sure and give it into 
 your own hand ; and if you wasn't in, I was to 
 bring it back again. Though why he couldn't 
 tell it you hisself, it passes me to say. He's down 
 your way pretty often. ]Maybe it's something as
 
 THE MASTER OF MAKTON. 135 
 
 he'd rather Reuben Leaf diduH hear/' she 
 pursued, seeing that Jessie did not seem dis- 
 posed to open the letter in her presence. " I 
 daresay he's at your house most evenings, isn't 
 he ?" 
 
 " Indeed he isn't/' exclaimed Jessie, surprised 
 into an indignant denial of the housekeeper's in- 
 sinuation. ^' He hasn't been down more than 
 two or three times this month past." 
 
 " Well, now, to hear that !" cried the house- 
 keeper, casting up her eyes in well-feigned asto- 
 nishment. '' You do surprise me ! And it's all 
 over the town that you're to be Mrs. Reuben 
 Leaf before another spring's turned, and me say- 
 ing as much to the master this very morning." 
 (Mrs. Green!) '^'^And, indeed, the person that 
 told me said she had it from Jane Robinson, and 
 she's own cousin to George Davis that married 
 Mary Leaf; so if she doesn't know what's going 
 to happen in the family, I don't know who 
 should." 
 
 *' I'm sure it isn't true, not a word of it/' 
 burst out Jessie ; *' and if anybody says anything 
 about it to you again, you can tell them it isn't.
 
 136 THE MASTER OF MARTON. 
 
 He^s never said a single word to me that he 
 mightn't say to any one else in Marton, never !" 
 
 " Well, well, my dear !" said Mrs. Green, 
 nodding her head sagaciously, '' then if he hasn't, 
 it's only because he wants helping a little. 
 Young men often do. Take my word for it, if 
 you play your cards well, you may be Mrs. 
 Eeuben Leaf before this time twelvemonth. And 
 a nice likely young man he is too, so steady and 
 well conducted, and behaves so well to his mother ; 
 and it says a deal for a young man, does that. 
 If he's good to his mother, he'll be good to his 
 wife an' all. I allays says that. So I wish you 
 good luck, Jessie, and a speedy bargain to you 
 both." 
 
 Jessie was impatient to get away. Mrs. 
 Green's conversation was very trying. 
 
 " Good afternoon, Mrs. Green. I wont keep 
 you standing if you are going farther.'^ And 
 then she hurried on, leaving Mrs. Green looking 
 after her, not satisfied yet, but feeling that she 
 had made a happy stroke, and done the best thing 
 that was possible under the circumstances. 
 
 *' Only make the girl think there's a chance of
 
 THE MASTER OF MARTON. 137 
 
 her catching Reuben Leaf, aijd she'll none take 
 up with an old carle like our master. Folks 
 don't eat dry bread when they can get buttered, 
 and no harm neither. You wonH make spring- 
 flowers sort with stubble fields. It would be a 
 pity to marry a nice young girl like that to a man 
 old enough to be her father. An' mean too he 
 is, to say nothing of the bother it would be having 
 her about .'^ 
 
 Mrs. Green was a faithful servant when it 
 served her turn, just as her master did his best 
 by the old squire when it did not interfere in any 
 way with his own interests to do so. Further 
 than that her sense of duty did not compel her 
 to go. She went on as far as the baker's shop, 
 where she bought some crumpets for tea, and then 
 turning about she went back home, wondering all 
 the way what Jessie Lee had thought of the 
 contents of her master's letter. 
 
 4? 
 
 4?
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 SOUR GRAPES. 
 
 EANTIME Jessie walked rapidly on, 
 Mrs. Green's words still ringing in 
 her ears. '' It was all over the 
 village.^' Suppose it should get to 
 Mrs. Leaf's ears — and there was no knowing how 
 gossip might spread — she would think she had 
 been trying to entangle Reuben into marrying 
 her. She was sure she had never done anything 
 to encourage him, and yet she had noticed a good 
 while past that Mrs. Leaf always looked uncom- 
 monly cold and stiff when Reuben had lingered 
 by her side coming out of church. And he, too, 
 she fancied, seemed to dislike his mother seeing 
 them together; nor had he come often lately to 
 her uncle's, as he used to do.
 
 THE MASTER OF MARTON. 139 
 
 It was too bad^ Jessie thought^ that all these 
 things should be thrown against her. Perhaps it 
 would get about next that he had jilted her. 
 What should she do? She felt as if everybody 
 she met had. heard about it. And then she lifted 
 her hand to brush away a tear that was just 
 starting to her eye, and recollected the letter that 
 Mrs. Green had given her. 
 
 She had forgotten it in her agitation, but now 
 she opened aud. read it. What could it be that 
 the lawyer wanted so particularly to tell her, and 
 why could he not have said it some time when he 
 came to the house ? A cruel thought flashed across 
 her mind. Mrs. Leaf had heard these reports 
 about herself and Reuben, and had commissioned 
 Mr. Wimsley to speak to her about them. That 
 must be it ; and he had sent for her to his office, 
 that he might tell her quietly, without her uncle 
 or aunt, or any one, knowing about it. It was 
 very kind of him. lie had been very kind since 
 her uncle's accident, though she had not always 
 liked his showing it so much. She wished she 
 could get somewhere out of sight, and hide away 
 from it all. But there was the letter in her
 
 140 THE MASTER OF MARTON. 
 
 hand. She had better go at once^ and have it 
 over and done with. She should feel easier when 
 the thing was done. 
 
 And then she would not let herself see Reuben 
 again when he came to the house, and she would 
 try and keep out of his way coming out of church. 
 Mrs. Leaf should see she had a spirit of her own; 
 and if the miller did live in a better house than 
 her uncle, and his wife could afford to wear silk 
 gowns for every day, why, that was no reason that 
 other people should not hold up their heads as 
 well as they. 
 
 Spite of her gentle ways, our little Jessie was 
 very sensitive and very proud ; too proud, perhaps, 
 for a village dressmaker. If she had been a lady 
 she would have been considered exclusive. As it 
 was, the Marton people thought she was rather 
 high, and kept herself to herself more than was 
 necessary. Jessie liked to be always nicely 
 dressed. Not smartly, she knew better tlian that. 
 And she was very particular about whom she 
 walked out with, and did not approve of being 
 called ^' Jessie," except by people who knew lier 
 very well indeed. And though she knew quite
 
 THE MASTER OF MARTON. 141 
 
 well — what pretty girl does not? — that she was 
 fair_, and would not have changed her beautiful 
 bloom and golden hair for anything you could 
 have given her, yet she was apt to be offended if 
 any one praised her beauty to her face, and put 
 a silent mark against every one who jested her 
 about being married. 
 
 So as she walked slowly towards the lawyer's 
 office — for she was very determined when she had 
 once made up her mind about a thing — she was 
 trying to weave around her a prickly case of in- 
 difference and independence. And though her 
 heart was beating as if it would leap out of her 
 breast, she knocked bravely at the office door, and 
 followed the boy who opened it for her straight 
 on into his master's little sanctum. There sat 
 Mr. Wimsley at his desk, with his papers spread 
 out before him, looking very cadaverous in the 
 cold green light that came through the closed 
 blinds of his office window. 
 
 He got down from his high stool when Jessie 
 came in, and placed a seat for her just beneath 
 his desk. Then he remounted to his place, fixing 
 himself so as to have a commanding view of her^
 
 142 THE MASTER OF MARTON. 
 
 leaned his elbows on the desk, placed the tips of 
 his four fingers and thumbs roof-wise together, 
 and looked down upon his visitor with a prefatory 
 "Hem !" 
 
 '' You received my note, of course, Miss Lee V 
 
 "Yes, sir,^^ answ^ered Jessie, in a whisper. 
 Her heart was beating faster than ever. Some- 
 how she was not feeling so prickly just now as 
 before she came in. 
 
 " You would naturally feel somewhat surprised 
 at its contents. But the fact is, the nature of 
 the communication referred to required it to be 
 made strictly in private." 
 
 " Yes, sir," murmured Jessie again, thinking 
 of Mrs. Leaf, and twitching nervously at the 
 strings of her hat. 
 
 The lawyer noted these little signs with com- 
 placency. They showed a becoming sense of 
 difiidence in his presence, that would sit well upon 
 his future wife. He had carefully rehearsed 
 during the day the part he intended to perform 
 in the scene before him. He felt that so much 
 might depend upon a suitable impression being 
 made to begin with. Jessie must not suppose that
 
 THE MASTER OF MARTON. 143 
 
 she was to be ardently wooed and hardly won by 
 her admirer. It was entirely owing, he believed, 
 to their heads being filled with this conceit, that 
 women often proved so perverse and difficult to 
 deal with after they were married. He meant, 
 on the contrary, to lay a pre-marital hand firmly 
 on her at the outset. He would make her feel 
 the weight of the obligation that he was about 
 to confer upon her. Afterwards he would re- 
 assure her by various little endearments, which 
 doubtless would be as agreeable to her as to 
 himself. 
 
 It was with considerable satisfaction, therefore, 
 that he perceived the evident agitation of his sub- 
 ject. Altogether the affair was progressing as 
 favourably as he could desire. 
 
 " You are probably aware,^^ he went on, " that 
 I have bestowed considerable attention lately on 
 your conduct and appearance. Indeed, I may 
 say, ever since the time of your uncle's accident. 
 Of course I had a motive in this, and, as the re- 
 sults liave proved npon the whole satisfactory, I 
 sent for you to-day, in order to communicate to 
 you my intentions. In short, Miss Lee, I have
 
 144 THE MASTER OF MARTON. 
 
 decided, notwithstanding your position in society, 
 which is your chief drawback, to select you in 
 preference to the other young ladies of ]\Iarton to 
 be my wife/' 
 
 Jessie gave a great start, partly of relief, partly 
 of astonishraent. It was nothing about Mrs. 
 Leaf, then, after all. But Mr. Wimsley's wife ! 
 What did it all mean ? 
 
 " You are surprised, my dear,'^ said the lawyer, 
 who had now got to the second part of his pro- 
 gramme — " naturally surprised at your unexpected 
 honours; but, indeed, it is this very modesty 
 which to me has been one of your greatest charms. 
 And now we may consider it a settled thing, and 
 I shall take the first opportunity of speaking to 
 your uncle on the subject.'^ 
 
 "With these words, he descended from his stool, 
 and was proceeding to insinuate his arms gently 
 around her waist ; but Jessie started from him. 
 
 " Oh, no, sir ! Indeed, I am sure I never 
 thought about this. I am very sorry, but I 
 couldn^t, indeed I couldn't. I didn't know what 
 it was you were meaning." 
 
 Jessie's refusal was not quite so neatly worded
 
 THE MASTER OF MARTON. 145 
 
 — she was young and inexperienced, and besides 
 had not had the advantage of a previous re- 
 hearsal. 
 
 Mr. Wimsley, thus unexpectedly repulsed, re- 
 garded her in blank amazement. The thing had 
 got wrong somehow. 
 
 '^ Jessie Lee, do you know what you are say- 
 ing? I have offered to marry you — to make you 
 my wife; and an excellent match for you, too — 
 a great deal better than anything else you could 
 have expected. Come, Jessie,^' he added, in a 
 smoother tone, *^ think better of it. You won^t 
 get another such a chance iu a hurry.^^ And he 
 took her little hand persuasively in his own. 
 
 But Jessie pulled it indignantly away. It was 
 certainly ill-considered of the lawyer to say what 
 he did, for she bridled up directly, and answered 
 with a pretty mingling of pride and confusion — 
 
 "Indeed, Sir, I am very much obliged to you 
 for thinking so well of me; but as to being your 
 wife, it is of no use saying anything more about 
 it. I never can, and I never will, and nothing 
 in the world shall make me. And as to making 
 a good match, it is what I don^t care about a bit, 
 
 VOL. I. L
 
 146 THE MASTER OF MARTON. 
 
 for I needn^t be beholden to a husband for a 
 home ; and if I was^ Vd rather starve than sell 
 myself to one I didnH love/' 
 
 There was a dash of temper in Jessie's answer, 
 or she would never have got through it all ; and 
 now she sat glowing and trembling after her little 
 burst of excitement, looking rather defiant, it is 
 true, but sadly too pretty for the lawyer's peace. 
 
 Mr. Wimsley was nonplussed for the moment. 
 No girl in her senses, he thought, would ever let 
 such a chance slip, unless she were in love al- 
 ready. His suspicion fell at once upon the right 
 person. 
 
 "You are hankering after Reuben Leaf, Jessie," 
 he said, assuming an air of fatherly concern ; 
 "that's where it is, and a sad pity, too. Take 
 my word for it, no good ever comes of trying to 
 entangle young men against the wishes of their 
 family.'' 
 
 Mr. Wimsley had touched the galled place, and 
 he saw it, too, for the girl shrank as if in pain at 
 his words, and knotted her fingers nervously to- 
 gether. There was truth in what the lawyer 
 said, though there was cruel falsehood too; yet
 
 THE MASTER OF MARTON. 147 
 
 the two seemed so cunningly entangled, that Jessie 
 writhed helpless])^ in the meshes he had cast 
 around her, unable for the moment to extricate 
 herself. Her power of speech had forsaken her, 
 and she felt that her confusion, her silence, her 
 burning blushes, were so many tell-tales iondly pro- 
 claiming the secret which till now she had hardly 
 acknowledged even to herself. This love, which, 
 while hidden deep within her breast, had been so 
 sweet and precious, made her feel somehow 
 guilty and degraded, now that Mr. Wimsley 
 had dragged it out to view in that little green 
 lighted office. 
 
 Those cold, keen eyes of the lawyer seemed to 
 pierce through and through her poor little heart, 
 reading there all the tender hopes which she had 
 whispered to herself in the silence of her white- 
 curtained chamber; all the emotions of budding, 
 unformed delight, which had thrilled her with 
 such delicious startled joy when she had stolen 
 away by herself to feel over again the pressure of 
 Reuben^s close clasp upon her hand, as he had 
 bidden her good-bye after his visit to the cottage. 
 
 And they did see a good deal. They saw a 
 l2
 
 148 THE MASTER OF MARTON. 
 
 new beauty in the quivering lips and heaving 
 breast; they saw, too, that it was more than 
 doubtful now whether he would ever be able to 
 call it all his own. And though he was inwardly 
 raging at Jessicas disdainful way of rejecting his 
 advances, yet the girl felt instinctively that he 
 was enjoying the confusion with which his words 
 had so evidently overwlielraed her. 
 
 " I feel it right to w^arn you, Jessie,^' he con- 
 tinued, after feasting for awhile in silence upon 
 the sight of her crimsoned cheek. "And al- 
 though you have strangely forgotten yourself, and 
 spoken in a most unbecoming manner for a young 
 person in your position, yet if you make a proper 
 submission, as I have no doubt you will when 
 you have cooled down a little, I shall be quite 
 willing to overlook this unfortunate freak of 
 temper, and re-instate you in my good opinion. 
 But as to Eeuben Leaf, you are only preparing 
 disgrace for yourself by thinking about him ; and 
 I should be very sorry if you were to bring 
 trouble on a respectable man like your uncle. A 
 young man means no good by a girl when he 
 goes courting her on the sly, especially if she is
 
 THE MASTER OF MARTON. 149 
 
 much beneath him^ and as nice-looking as you 
 are, my dear/^ 
 
 The lawyer had edged nearer and nearer to 
 Jessie as he spoke, and was now possessing him- 
 self again of one of her hands. But Jessie, her 
 confusion and embarrassment stung through by 
 his touch, snatched her hand in indignation from 
 him, and sprang to her feet, glowing with anger 
 and wounded pride. 
 
 ** It's false," she cried^ " and you know it is, 
 and it's mean and dastardly in you to say it. 
 Reuben Leaf is a better man than you a hundred 
 and a hundred times over. And he has never 
 dared yet to give me a word or a look that he'd 
 be ashamed for any one to know. And as for 
 trying to entangle him, it's what I should scorn to 
 do, or to disgrace myself either. And you only 
 say it of me because you think other people's 
 hearts are as rotten as your own." 
 
 She looked almost dangerous, the little slight 
 thing, as she stood there, all a-quiver, her blue 
 eyes flashing forth such an angry light. There 
 w^as a force just then radiating from her that 
 completely overpowered the lawyer, making him
 
 150 THE MASTER OF MARTON. 
 
 quite oblivious of her beauty, and anxious only 
 that she should take herself away. 
 
 But Jessie did not wait to enjoy her triumph. 
 She dashed out of the office, leaving the be- 
 wildered lawyer to recover himself at his leisure, 
 and had got out of Marton, and half a mile on the 
 road to Bedesby before she cooled down sufficiently 
 to remember where she was^ and that she had set 
 out originally from home on her way to the 
 doctor's house, to take the measure of a morning 
 dress which she was making for Miss Jemima 
 S tin son. 
 
 By degrees Mr. Wimsley gathered back his 
 faculties after their sudden dispersion by Jessie's 
 outburst of tempestuous disdain. He remounted 
 his high stool, and took the affair into impartial 
 consideration. 
 
 His ears were tingling still with those last 
 words of hers. What a little fury she could be 
 when once she was fairly roused ! Perhaps it was 
 as well that he had got his eyes opened in time. 
 It would have been unpleasant, to say the least, to 
 have found out, when it was too late, that he had 
 got a wife who held such a whip of scorpions in her
 
 THE MASTER OF MARTON. 151 
 
 hand. For there was no denying it, the little 
 thing did get the upper hand of him. He felt 
 himself smarting still from the effects of that 
 stinging cut. Mrs. Green could be acrimonious 
 upon occasion, but when she was at her worst it 
 was never anything like this. 
 
 After all, he reflected, since the grapes loere 
 so sour, it was a good thing he was not obliged to 
 set his teeth on edge with them. Keuben Leaf 
 might if he liked. He had nothing to say against 
 it now. And besides, Jessie was pretty to be sure, 
 and young, but that was all. Now he came to 
 think of it, since he had to choose, he would 
 prefer a wine with a little more body in it. Your 
 sparkling Moselle was very well in its way, but for 
 leisurely enjoyment there was nothing like a glass 
 of good, full-flavoured port. 
 
 The widow Lupton, to whose party he was going 
 to-night, was worth a dozen little shrimps like 
 Jessie. There was hardly more than a handful of 
 one, whereas the other would be a comfortable 
 armful. His thoughts reverted to her as she had 
 appeared on the occasion of the last evening party 
 given at Marton, by Mrs. Stinson, the doctor's
 
 152 THE MASTER OF MARTON. 
 
 wife. At this party Mr. Wimsley had had the 
 pleasure of conducting the widow in to supper, of 
 keeping her plate supplied with an abundance 
 of the choicest dainties on the table, and finally 
 of adjusting her shawl around her capacious person 
 before handing her into the cab that was to 
 convey her to the snug two-story house which she 
 was occupying j»ro tempore, that is, until such time 
 as she should have secured a successor to the late 
 Mr. Lupton. 
 
 Mr. Wimsley turned the matter over, looked at 
 it in every possible direction, and finally concluded 
 to transfer his affections from the impracticable 
 Jessie and fix them on the widow. 
 
 This done, he drew towards him a sheet of paper 
 and wrote a letter to Mr. Leaf, in which he said 
 that he found it would be impossible to accom- 
 modate the Marton Methodists with the piece of 
 ground they were desirous of obtaining for the site 
 of their chapel. Then, office hours being over, he 
 went to refresh himself by a turn in his garden 
 before it should be time to dress for Mrs. Lupton^s 
 party. 
 
 Thither he repaired, on matrimonial thoughts
 
 THE MASTER OF MARTON. 153 
 
 intent^ piinctua'ly at seven, the hour indicated on 
 the scented mauve-coloured note which had con- 
 veyed the invitation. 
 
 The widow's rooms were well filled, well 
 lighted, and prettily decorated. She had suc- 
 ceeded in gathering around her most of the elite 
 of Marton society, with the exception of the fami- 
 lies from the Rectory and the Priory House. 
 There was also a sprinkling of the better class of 
 farmers and tradespeople. And now Mrs. Lupton 
 moved among her guests, scattering her smiles 
 broadcast around her, gracious to all, yet nicely 
 apportioning her favours to their respective posi- 
 tions in the social scale. 
 
 For there was caste in Marton, and it would 
 not do for the widow of a deceased maltster of 
 ample means to associate on terms of equal fami- 
 liarity with Mrs. Leaf, the miller^s wife, and the 
 two Misses Curlew, elderly young ladies of con- 
 dition, who had a brother a clergyman, and whose 
 father had been a barrister. 
 
 Mrs. Lupton was a woman who had been a belle 
 in her youth, and even now by candlelight was 
 tolerably effective. Moreover, she knew her own
 
 154 THE MASTER OF MARTON. 
 
 "points/^ and availed herself of them accordingly. 
 Oq this particular occasion the lawyer thought to 
 himself that he had never seen her look so well. 
 Her black net bodice, with its scarlet trimmings, 
 seemed striving in vain to restrain the amplitude 
 that heaved above it. Her cheeks were glowing 
 with a deeper carmine, her eyes with a brighter 
 light than ever. Once the lawyer thought of 
 Jessie, but before this dazzling luminary she 
 paled and faded like a star before the harvest 
 moon. 
 
 Mr. Wimsley became as demonstrative as the 
 nature of the circumstances allowed. The widow 
 saw her advantage, and anew directed the whole 
 artillery of her charms against the heart of her 
 susceptible admirer. The fortress surrendered. 
 There was no mistaking the signs of capitulation. 
 And then the provident dame, who had wisely 
 made provision for possible contingencies, con- 
 ducted her captive, on pretence of admiring her 
 plants, to the little greenhouse which had been 
 dignified by the title of conservatory. 
 
 What took place there it is unnecessary to re- 
 late. Suffice it to say that Mr. Wimsley availed
 
 THE MASTER OF MARTON. 155 
 
 himself of the opportunity thus considerately 
 afforded ; that the widow, being taken by surprise 
 of course, blushed and hesitated, smiled a little 
 and sighed a little. Finally, with a silence more 
 eloquent than words, put her plump white hand 
 into that of the lawyer, and a few minutes after, 
 having a second time achieved her destiny, re- 
 turned triumphant to her guests — her eye a little 
 brighter, her bloom a little deeper than before — 
 Mr. Wimsley^s affianced bride. 
 
 /»» 'P ^ " 1^ 
 
 4?
 
 liiiiWiWiS 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 BY THE RIVERSIDE. 
 
 HAT man is not lightly to be de- 
 spised, who may be seen on a 
 sunny September afternoon, with 
 good health, good prospects, and a 
 good conscience, every thought at rest, no single 
 anxiety tugging at his heart, standing at ease, 
 leaning with folded arms upon a five-barred gate, 
 waiting for a girl as gifted, pretty, and affectionate 
 as was Janet Brande. One who, like her, looks 
 up to him with that shy hero-worship so pleasant 
 to receive, bringing in return for the regard he 
 may be pleased to bestow upon her the sweet rare 
 gift of woman's friendship, unmingled with those 
 stinging drops that make the spicy draught of 
 love so dangerous an indulgence.
 
 THE MASTER OF MARTON. 157 
 
 And this Mr. Mauds! ey was doing, or at least 
 thought he was doing, as he leaned with folded 
 arms on that five-barred gate in Marton wood, 
 waiting for Janet Brande, who was to meet him 
 there at three o'clock ; for he had been the day 
 before to take leave at the Priory House, where 
 both Miss Mildred and her brother had expressed 
 their appreciation of the advantage it had been to 
 Janet to see him paint, and their hope that she 
 would show her sense of his kindness by endea- 
 vouring to profit by his instructions after he was 
 gone. 
 
 And Mr. Maudsley had received their acknow- 
 ledgments in his frank, pleasant way, saying that 
 Miss Janet — he always called her Miss Janet 
 before others — had been of considerable service 
 to himself in so readily taking the trouble to sit 
 for him. Finally, he concluded by requesting 
 that she might accompany him the next day to a 
 place a little distance down the river, where was 
 a sketch which he thought, with a few hints, she 
 might work up into a very pleasing picture ; and 
 Miss Mildred had agreed^ with just a little hesi- 
 tation, perhaps. But_, then, who could refuse a
 
 158 THE MASTER OF MARTON. 
 
 request made with sucli a grand easy air, and yet 
 with such a suave deference to herself, that the 
 maiden aunt really felt she was conferring a 
 favour by granting it ? 
 
 And so it was that he stood here this after- 
 noon, watching the little blue figure which had 
 just appeared in sight. I do not think that it 
 came into his mind, as it had done into Janet^s 
 a hundred times to-day, that this might be the 
 last time he would see her; or, if it did, the 
 thought brought with it no twinge of sorrow. 
 He had felt a genuine pleasure in the society of 
 this brown-haired girl. He liked her fresh, un- 
 studied talk, pouring itself out before him like 
 water sparkling from a mountain spring. He 
 liked her eager, impulsive ways, all the more 
 pleasant, perhaps, because of the little dash of 
 girlish wilfulness sometimes displayed in them. 
 Her perfect gracefulness of form, her wild fawn- 
 like beauty, had satisfied his artist eye. Perhaps, 
 too, girl as she was, her unconscious flattery had 
 not been quite without its charm. It was pleasant 
 to see the dark eyes upraised with such undoubt- 
 ing confidence to his, to read in their liquid
 
 THE MASTER OF MARTON. 159 
 
 depths her child-like reverence for himself. And 
 he had genuine satisfaction, too, in watching her 
 nature unfold beneath his influence, as a flower 
 spreads its petals to the sun ; but that she should 
 repay his interest in the perilous coin of love was 
 a possibility that never crossed his mind. 
 
 He had never said a word to her that might 
 not with perfect propriety have been uttered in 
 the presence of another— never looked with other 
 than an artistes eye upon that fresh fair face, never 
 pressed her hand with that lingering touch that 
 oidy lovers care to use, and yet instinctively, 
 unconsciously, as in a darkened room plants 
 stretch their leaves towards the light, so all the 
 tendrils of her young life were reaching out, 
 clasping and twining themselves around him with 
 all the strength and tenacity of first and girlish 
 love. 
 
 Until his coming, Janet had lived a life of 
 entire seclusion, healthy in many respects, inas- 
 much as her mind retained a perfect purity and 
 innocence of much which, to girls brought up in 
 the midst of society, or herding together as in 
 schools^ rubs off' the first fresh bloom of ripening
 
 160 THE MASTER OF MARTON. 
 
 womanhood; yet, with all this, she lacked that 
 gradual experience of life which only inter- 
 course with others can supply. She had not 
 learned as yet to train or to restrain her- 
 self. She was impulsive and susceptible, and as 
 circumstances swayed her, so she moved. There 
 was much in her which had never met with a 
 response from those among whom she lived — 
 many fair blossoms of sweet womanly emotion, 
 waiting only for the sunlight to expand them ; 
 and now into her quiet twilight life, like a sun 
 rising from the under world, came this inter- 
 course of hers with Mr. Maudsley. The morning 
 clouds were all dispersed. Everything seemed 
 steeped in golden light; all nature spoke to her 
 pleasantly. What wonder that the girl learned 
 to love him who had shed this brightness over 
 her life ! 
 
 Happy Janet ! Loving, yet knowing not that 
 sbe loved ; loving with that fresh girlish love that 
 gives all, knowing not with what it parts, — as 
 the mountain heather flings its perfume on the 
 breeze, — content only to sun itself in the looks 
 that are light and life itself.
 
 THE MASTER OF MARTON. 161 
 
 But now she has come quite close to the gate 
 and stands on the other side, flecked over with 
 the sunlight that dripped upon her through the 
 feathered foliage of the great ash -tree overhead. 
 
 " Oh, Mr. Maudsley, I am so sorry I have 
 kept you waiting, but indeed I could not help it. 
 Aunt Mildred wanted me to tie down some pre- 
 serves. She has been doing her greengages, and 
 I have had to sugar and brandy-paper them, and 
 cover and label them ; such a business it was ! I 
 have come as fast as ever I could. ^' 
 
 " Don't trouble yourself, child," said Mr. 
 Maudsley, leaning still upon the gate and looking 
 kindly into her flushed, eager face; '^ I have not 
 been tired in the least, and I have not wasted 
 my time either. I have got a new idea. Look 
 at the trunk of that beech- tree, how clearly the 
 shadows of those leaves are cast upon the smooth 
 bark ; you might suppose some one had painted 
 them upon it in a neutral tint." 
 
 " Ah, how beautiful !" exclaimed Janet, turning 
 to look at it ; " every little spray so distinctly 
 drawn. This dear old wood, you are always 
 finding something fresh in it. It has been my 
 
 VOL. I. M
 
 162 THE MASTER OF MARTON. 
 
 friend ever since I was quite a little child. You 
 cannot tell^ Mr. Maudsley, how many things it 
 has taught nae — things, you know, that I could 
 not have got out of books/^ 
 
 " I daresay/^ said Mr. Maudsley, with a smile, 
 thinking perhaps, as he watched her glowing 
 countenance, that no books could have taught the 
 girl what she had learned from the sweet com- 
 panionship of Nature. 
 
 And then, seeing that he was waiting to help 
 her over the stile — Janet had ceased long ago 
 being so independent about this little matter — 
 she mounted to the topmost rail, and putting her 
 hands in his, sprang down lightly to his side. 
 They did not take the road past the Hall, but 
 struck across by-and-bye into a path that led 
 through the wood down to the water. There they 
 walked along together, talking as they went, for 
 nearly two miles, until they reached the bend in 
 the river where was the place which Mr. Maudsley 
 wanted Janet to try and sketch. The river was 
 broad here and shallow, with high craggy banks 
 grown over with brushwood and bending trees ; 
 and in a little nook just removed from the water's
 
 THE MASTER OF MARTON. 163 
 
 edge, stood an old tumble-down cottage with 
 whitewashed walls and ragged thatched roof all 
 stained with moss and lichen — ^just a study for an 
 artist, though not all, perhaps, that might be de- 
 sired for a human habitation. 
 
 " Now, I think, if you try,^^ said Mr. Maudsley, 
 " you may make a very pretty little thing of this. 
 It will be far better for you to do something of 
 your own, even if you do not succeed at first, 
 than to spend your time in only copying other 
 pictures.^' 
 
 Then he showed her how to begin the sketch, 
 and from what point it would be best to take it. 
 And after giving her all the hints he could, to 
 which Janet listened very eagerly, as indeed she 
 did to everything which Mr. Maudsley said, they 
 turned and began to retrace their steps towards 
 home. 
 
 It was far on in the afternoon now. The sun- 
 set light was falling upon the water, turning it 
 here and there, as it wound througli the meadows, 
 into a stream of rippling gold, and the shadows 
 of the trees on the outskirts of the wood, which 
 had grown longer and longer as they walked, 
 M 2
 
 164 THE MASTER OF MARTON. 
 
 stretched away till they nearly reached the water's 
 edge. They sauntered slowly on, more silent 
 now than they had been as they went. Janet 
 was beginning to feel how near, how very near, 
 she was now to the last moment after which she 
 should see Mr. Maudsley no more. A hundred 
 unformed thoughts were swelling in the poor, 
 child's heart. She had so much that she wanted 
 still to say to him. If she could but make him 
 understand, without putting it into words, how 
 grateful she was to him, and how great and wise 
 and good he seemed to her, and what a little wee 
 mite she felt herself to be, and how she longed 
 to grow worthy to be his friend, and how sorry 
 and lonely she knew she should be when he was 
 gone. 
 
 And fall of these thoughts, unconsciously she 
 lingered as she walked, till Mr. Maudsley, sup- 
 posing from her flagging steps that she was weary, 
 proposed that they should rest awhile before they 
 proceeded further. 
 
 So they sat down on a knoll under an ash- tree, 
 and Janet looked out over the brown stubble 
 fields on the other side the river, across to the
 
 THE MASTER OF MARTON. 165 
 
 pale blue line of the Wold hills that shut in the 
 horizon, with eyes that could not see very clearly 
 for the unshed tears that dimmed them now. She 
 sat quite still ; she did not like to trust her voice 
 to speak. She felt sure that if she said anything 
 Mr. Maudsley would tell directly how very near 
 crying she was. By-and-bye though, there came 
 unawares a great sobbing sigh, and then Mr. 
 Maudsley, looking down at her, saw the big glisten- 
 ing tear which she could not keep from falling. 
 
 *' My dear child," he said, in a soothing tone, 
 " what is it ? I have tired you. I should not 
 have taken you so far." 
 
 " Oh, no," said Janet. And, almost without 
 knowing what she said, the words came out, " I 
 am so sorry you are going." 
 
 She hid her face in her hands, for the tears 
 were raining down hot and fast. 
 
 Mr. Maudsley did not speak. He had not 
 thought of this. Perhaps he did not exactly 
 know what to say. But he did — the very last 
 thing certainly he should have done, though what 
 I daresay many a man beside himself would have 
 done in his place — he put his arm silently around
 
 166 THE MASTER OF MARTON. 
 
 her and drew her to his side. And Janet let him 
 do it. He had become her law. Somehow, too, it 
 felt quite natm^al that he should. In all her life 
 she remembered no warmer embrace than that of 
 old Hannah, who used to pet and fondle the 
 motherless child until she grew too big for such 
 caresses. Her father's absent kiss, her aunt's 
 formal salute, were so different from this warm, 
 tender clasp, which seemed to tell her she was 
 dear. 
 
 And she had no soiled consciousness that 
 should make her blush at the magic sense which 
 that circling arm conveyed. She surrendered 
 herself to it as to a delicious dream that has 
 fallen into the midst of a distressed and wakeful 
 night, and leaned down her head upon his shoul- 
 der with as little thought of wrong as the snow- 
 drop that bends upon its stalk. Poor child ! she 
 was thirsty for love, longing for it as the parched 
 land longs for the shower. And now she felt it 
 falling on her, flowing around her, covering her 
 with its shining waves. 
 
 She nestled more closely against Mr. Maudsley, 
 with a deep sigh of content, as he drew her nearer
 
 THE MASTER OF MARTON. 167 
 
 to himself. It was so new, so sweet thus to tell 
 out to him all that he had beeu to her. And 
 everything was so still, nothing to disturb this 
 peace that brooded over her. The sunset clouds 
 hung motionless behind the bushy crowns of the 
 willows on the opposite bank of the river. A 
 water-rat came out of his hole, looked about him 
 with his bright black eyes, and then scuttled 
 with a splash into the stream. Now and then a 
 linnet, hidden among the thick foliage of the 
 ash beneath which they sat, shook out over their 
 heads a momentary shower of song. A brown 
 leaf fluttered down upon Janet^s glove; she 
 looked up with a smile as Mr. Maudsley brushed 
 it away, and then took the little hand into his 
 own and pressed an answer back. 
 
 He was no Stoic. He liked to feel the brown 
 head resting so contentedly against him, and to 
 look down upon the dark fringed lashes that lay 
 upon her cheek. And withal there crept into 
 his breast that sweet sense of satisfaction, which 
 few men can resist when their influence is thus 
 unconsciously acknowledged. He wished, it is 
 true, that she had not been so distressed at the
 
 168 THE MASTER OF MARTON. 
 
 thought of parting from him. Yet even this 
 had its pleasant side. He liked to feel that he 
 was soothing her. Poor child ! If he could but 
 convey by this caress as much tender solicitude 
 as would tide her over his departure, and serve 
 to comfort her when he was gone. And with 
 the thought, he stooped his head over the rippling 
 curls and kissed again and again the white low 
 brow that gleamed beneath them. 
 
 It was a momentary impulse. He wa? 
 vexed with himself directly after, for Janet drew 
 herself away with a crimson blush upon her 
 face. 
 
 " I must go home now,^^ she said, hurriedly. 
 '' Aunt Mildred will wonder what has become of 
 me,'' and stooping down, she picked up her hat 
 from the ground, and began with trembling fin- 
 gers to fasten the strings. 
 
 Mr. Maudsley saw her embarrassment, and felt 
 vexed with himself for having caused it. He 
 looked at his watch, to give her time to recover 
 herself. 
 
 " Come, Janet,'' said he, *^ it is later than I 
 thought;" and he drew her hand within his
 
 THE MASTER OF MARTON. 169 
 
 arm. '* I must help you along. Are you rested 
 now r 
 
 " Oh, yes/' said she, in a quick, eager way ; 
 " let us make haste. I must not be late home.'' 
 
 And then, as they mounted the bank, she 
 stole a hurried glance from beneath the shadow 
 of her brown straw hat at her companion's face. 
 There was just the same pleasant smile that she 
 had seen there so often before, the same keen 
 kindness in the bright grey eye. But he did not 
 talk to her again ; and Janet went along by hi? 
 side, feeling half uncomfortable still, until they 
 came again to the gate .that barred the path iu 
 the middle of the wood. 
 
 Mr. Maudsley let go her arm, and crossed the 
 stile ; then he stood on the other side looking at 
 her with a gay smile upon his face. 
 
 "Do you remember the first time I helped 
 you over here ?" he said, as he reached out his 
 bands to her. 
 
 Janet gave him one of her bright glances. 
 He spoke in just his old, easy tone ; his look 
 was no way different from what it had been 
 before. Perhaps, she thought^ he had not noticed
 
 170 THE MASTER OF MARTON. 
 
 her confusion. It had been so foolish of her to 
 behave as she did ; and then, as if a weight had 
 been lifted from her, she put her hands into his, 
 and crossed the stile. 
 
 But he held them still fast in his. 
 
 "I must say good-bye now, child. So I shall 
 not see you again." 
 
 Poor Janet ! The old sobbing sorrow came 
 ■welling up again into her heart at these words of 
 his. But she pressed it bravely back, and looked 
 up brightly in his face. 
 
 " Good-bye," she said, warmly. *' I am glad 
 to have known you. You have made me very 
 happy. I shall be grateful to you as long as I 
 live." 
 
 " You are a dear child," said Mr. Maudsley, in 
 spite of himself. And if he had yielded to hib 
 inclinations he would have followed the words by 
 another kiss on the fair, upturned face. As it 
 was he recollected himself, and only said — 
 
 ** I shall not forget you either as long as I 
 have my Madeline. But I must go now ; so 
 good-bye again. Mind you don't neglect your 
 painting when I am gone."
 
 THE MASTER OF MARTON. 171 
 
 And with a partings smile he let go her hands, 
 and crossing the stile again, turned away down 
 the path leading to the HalL 
 
 Janet stood by the gate watching his receding 
 figure as he went rapidly along under the trees. 
 There was a bend in the road ; he would be out 
 of sight directly. Ah, if he would but turn just 
 once, so that she might see his face again. But 
 he did not; another moment, and the grey boll 
 of an old beech-tree had hid him from her eyes. 
 And then with a strange new want hollowing 
 all her heart, Janet Brande went slowly home. 

 
 ;:?oa 
 
 '?\ M ;^^<M ;^^^ M ;^!^<M y^??^ M ;^:^< !^ 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 THE LONDON EXPRESS, 
 
 iHEN Janet came downstairs the 
 next morning, more heavily and 
 wearily than for some time past 
 had been her wont, she saw her 
 father's driving-gloves and whip lying on the 
 table in the hall. He must be going to take the 
 chaise to Bedesby. All at once a thought flashed 
 across her mind that made her heart flutter 
 quickly, and brought- back the light again into 
 her eyes. If she could but think of something 
 that wanted getting at' Bedesby, and persuade 
 Aunt Mildred to let her go there with her father 1 
 She did go with him sometimes if there was any 
 little shopping to be done, and her aunt was not 
 disposed to take the drive herself.
 
 THE MASTER OF MARTON. 173 
 
 And then Janet had her little plan behind it 
 all. She could make some excuse^ and go by 
 herself to Bedesby station. The London train 
 started at two o^clock^ and she would go to the 
 ladies' waiting-room and get one more glimpse of 
 Mr. Maudsley. She could watch him behind 
 the window-blinds, and he would never know that 
 she was there. 
 
 The foolish child ! And yet who, reading 
 these pages, does not remember deeds or wishes 
 just as foolish, which yet, like this of hers, had 
 on them something of that blush and bloom of 
 early love which is, of all things, the purest and 
 most beautiful in these hearts of ours, which so 
 soon grow soiled and selfish as they learn the 
 wisdom of the world ? 
 
 Janet was planning and considering all breakfast 
 time how she might best make known her request 
 to her aunt; when, to her unspeakable delight, Miss 
 Mildred herself proposed that she should go with 
 her father in the chaise to Bedesby. She wanted 
 some knitting-pins and some crimson wool for a 
 winter shawl which she was about to knit. 
 
 ^* And your papa is sure to make some mistake,"
 
 174 THE MASTER OF MARTON. 
 
 she said, <' if lie gets the things. Gentlemen 
 always are so stupid about such matters; and I 
 cannot spare a whole day to go myself/' ^ 
 
 So Miss Mildred made out a list of other small 
 purchases which Janet was to make; and after 
 breakfast was over, the chaise was brought to the 
 door, and she and her father started. 
 
 It was a meeting of the Philosophical Society 
 which Mr. Brande was going to Bedesby to 
 attend ; rather a long one, too, for when he left 
 Janet at the inn where he put up, he told her he 
 should not be back much before three, and bade 
 her be ready then for starting. Janet had 
 abundance of time before her; she went first 
 into the town, made her purchases, and had 
 the things all laid ready for packing in the 
 chaise long before two o'clock arrived. The station 
 was not more than five minutes' walk from the 
 inn, so that she had not far to go ; and with a 
 beating heart she went quickly down the street, 
 and turned in at the great iron gates that led on 
 to the passengers' platform. 
 
 It wanted nearly twenty minutes to two still. 
 She was glad of that ; Mr. Maudsley would be
 
 THE MASTER OF MARTON. 175 
 
 sure not to have arrived yet^ she thought ; and 
 she would not for worlds he should encounter 
 her. She glanced anxiously around her as she 
 walked down the station, for the waiting-room 
 was quite at the farther end. However, she 
 reached it safely, and slipping quietly in, took 
 her place behind the shadow of the window-blind 
 to watch. 
 
 She had hardly been standing there a moment 
 when she heard a whistle, then there was a cloud 
 of steam, and the express from the north came 
 panting in. Instantly the platform was one 
 scene of bustle and confusion; the passengers 
 were getting out of the carriages, stretching 
 themselves after their long ride, or rushing 
 round in hot haste to the refreshment-rooms to 
 get a cup of coffee or a plate of soup, during the 
 ten minutes that the train was allowed to stay. 
 
 As she was looking on, a lady, closely veiled, 
 and with a large tartan plaid wrapped round her, 
 came hastily into the waiting-room. 
 
 "How long does the train stop here?" she 
 inquired, in a sweet ringing voice, of the woman 
 who was in attendance.
 
 176 THE MASTER OF MARTON. 
 
 "Tea minutes, ma^am/' 
 
 " Ten minutes only ? Can you tell me where 
 I shall get a cup of coffee ? I see no refreshment- 
 rooms anywhere/' 
 
 ({ rpj^g refreshment-rooms are on the other 
 side of the station," replied the woman. " You 
 must go round there, and you will find them.'' 
 
 And she went to the window, and pointed out 
 the way. 
 
 " So far. Ah ! I dare not venture. I would 
 be afraid of missing the train." 
 
 " I could tell them to bring you a cup of coffee 
 here, ma'am, if you like," said the attendant. 
 The lady thanked her. 
 
 " I should be glad if you would," she said, as 
 the woman went out quickly. 
 
 She returned in a moment or two with a 
 waiter, bringing, a cup of coffee on a tray. The 
 lady sat down to take it ; and throwing back her 
 veil, revealed a countenance of almost dazzling 
 beauty, fair and brilliant, with eyes of a blue like 
 that of evening skies before it deepens into night, 
 and a profusion of thick golden hair, somewhat 
 disarranged apparently by her long journey.
 
 THE MASTER OF MARTON. 177 
 
 Janet glanced at her for an instant, and then 
 turned again to the window. Her mind was full 
 just now of one thought only, to catch a parting 
 glimpse of Mr. Maudsley. She watched and 
 waited some minutes longer. The bustle on the 
 platform thickened fast. Porters and passen- 
 gers were hurrying to and fro. Doors were 
 banging, luggage being brought up and rattled 
 into the van, or dragged up to the tops of 
 carriages. At last he came. From far Janet 
 caught sight of the noble form and tawny head. 
 How fast her heart was beating now ! How her 
 eyes shone with excitement; how eagerly they 
 followed that one figure which just now was all 
 the world to her ! 
 
 He stopped opposite a carriage door, when he 
 was still some distance from the window at which 
 Janet was standing. The porter, who was bring- 
 ing his portmanteau after him, thrust it into the 
 carriage. Then Mr. Maudsley got in, and two 
 other passengers after him, and the guard shut 
 and locked the door. The bustle began to 
 subside; the train was nearly ready now to 
 start. 
 
 VOL. I. N
 
 178 THE MASTER OF MARTON. 
 
 " Any one here for London V' cried a guard at 
 the door of the waiting-room. 
 
 The lady started up, and at the same instant 
 the man who had brought in the coffee came back 
 for the cup. 
 
 " Sixpence, ma'am, if you please/' 
 
 " My purse '/' exclaimed the lady in evident 
 dismay, as she felt hastily for it in her pocket, 
 that she might pay the man. " I have surely left 
 it in my travelling-bag in the carriage." 
 
 " Time up !'' cried the guard at the door, and 
 at the same moment a bell rang. 
 
 " Here is sixpence,'' exclaimed Janet, who had 
 her purse luckily close at hand. " Take it, 
 pray," for she saw the lady hesitate. *' You can 
 give it away for me in charity. It will be all 
 right then." 
 
 " Thank you — thank you !" said the lady, 
 eagerly, as she took it with a brilliant smile of 
 thanks ; and paying the man, she drew down the 
 thick veil which completely hid her face, and 
 hurried out of the room to the carriage, at which 
 the guard was standing ready to hand her in. 
 
 The next moment the shrill screech of the
 
 THE MASTER OF MARTON. 179 
 
 whistle was heard, and the long line of carriages 
 which Janet had been so anxiously watching 
 moved out of the station. She strained her eyes 
 as the one in which Mr. Maudsley was, passed 
 the window. Just a glimpse, she caught, no more, 
 and then he was gone — gone ; and she was stand- 
 ing by the window with such a sense of aching 
 want within her, as it seemed just then that 
 no thins- but his return would ever still. 
 
 
 n2
 
 
 ^••.;-^ 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 JANET ! JANET ! 
 
 T would be more than a month after 
 this parting from Mr. Maudsley, 
 that Miss Mildred sent Janet one 
 afternoon on an errand to Marget 
 Lee's cottage. Janet always liked being sent out 
 in an afternoon. She missed then the long task 
 of sewing with which her aunt expected her to 
 employ herself after dinner; and of all kinds of 
 work, plain work was what Janet disliked the 
 most. 
 
 And on this particular afternoon, Janet had 
 such delightful thoughts to occupy her mind as 
 she danced along through the wood, too happy 
 and light-hearted to restrain her steps to any 
 soberer pace. For this morning — could it really
 
 THE MASTER OF MARTON. 181 
 
 be that such a joy was hers? — she had had a 
 letter from Mr. Maudsley; such a dear^ kind 
 letter, telling her that he had finished his 
 " Madeline/^ and now that the picture was in the 
 frame he could almost think he saw her standing 
 there herself. And he had said something that 
 made her feel so glad, so very glad, about the 
 service she had been to him while he was painting 
 it at Marton. It was so sweet to know that she 
 had been of use. All she had seemed so little to 
 offer up to him, and yet out of this little she had 
 been able to give him that which he cared to 
 have. And he had told her so in this letter; 
 and then there was something more about his re- 
 membering the time they had spent together, and 
 about her having made his stay at Marton very 
 pleasant to him; and he inquired how she was 
 going on with her painting, and whether she was 
 likely to be coming soon to London; and he had 
 told her that when she did, she was to be sure to 
 come and see him. 
 
 And this letter, when it had been read all 
 round — for Miss Mildred and her papa saw it as 
 well as herself — Janet had carried all day in the
 
 182 THE MASTER OF MARTON. 
 
 bosom of her frock, taking it out from time to time 
 to read over and over again, until she had made 
 every precious word her own. She was thinking 
 about it all the time that she was going through 
 the wood, and so pleasant was the theme that 
 she quite wondered when she found herself at last 
 at the Lodge gates, and crossing the road to 
 Marget Lee's cottage. 
 
 It was a pretty cottage, this of Marget's, with 
 its long garden, which from spring to autumn 
 was one perpetual blaze of bloom. People always 
 stopped to admire it when they came to the 
 village. Such a cozy little home it looked as it 
 stood in the sunshine this afternoon ! So snug, 
 and trim, and bright, with its low buff-washed 
 walls, that harmonized so pleasantly with the 
 warm brown of the tiled roof, upon which were 
 sprinkled patches of richly tinted lichen, 
 purple, olive, and russet, running up into little 
 mounds of emerald-tinted stone crops, brightened 
 here and there by their tiny flowerets of glossy 
 gold. 
 
 Old Matthew, Roger's father, was sitting on a 
 bench just outside the door. The old man lived
 
 THE MASTER OF MARTON. 183 
 
 in a house of his own, a little way down the vil- 
 lage ; but he often hobbled up with his sticks on 
 a sunny day, to spend an hour or two at his sou*s 
 for a change, amusing himself as old folks do by 
 watching what was going on. He sat now bask- 
 ing in the sun, steadying his palsied hands on a 
 big oaken staff, and leaning his chin upon them, 
 while he looked out with the dim, purposeless 
 gaze of age, over into the road beyond the garden. 
 He rose when he saw Janet coming up the walk, 
 and had just tottered up on to his legs, when the 
 young girl reached the cottage-door. She laid a 
 kindly hand upon his rough frieze coat, and 
 pressed him back into his seat. 
 
 ^'^Nay, nay, Matthew, sit still,'^ she said, rais- 
 ing her voice a little, for the old man was hard 
 of hearing ; " is Mrs. Lee in V 
 
 " Ay,^^ said Matthew, in his quavering treble, 
 *' she^s i' the hoose.'^ 
 
 But Marget's quick ear had caught the sound 
 of Janet's voice. 
 
 " Come here, Miss Janet, an' sit ye down," 
 she said, as she came to the door, her fingers still 
 busily clicking her needles over the ribbed worsted
 
 184 THE MASTER OF MARTON. 
 
 stocking which hung down half a yard in front of 
 her blue checked apron. 
 
 Janet followed her into the cottage, which wore 
 its usual look of afternoon brightness. The 
 polished walnut drawers, the pewter mugs hang- 
 ing on the delf-case, the brass candlesticks on the 
 chimney-piece — all were glittering in. the sun- 
 light. 
 
 '' How bright your kitchen always looks !" 
 said Janet. " I wonder sometimes when you get 
 your cleaning done. There never seem to be any 
 signs of it about." 
 
 " It does na do itse?, Miss Janet," answered 
 Marget ; " but ye see I wasna bred to let the sun 
 see me sleeping ever. Whenever it rises, I aye 
 rise too, and lang afore o' winter mornings ; and 
 when ither folks is rubbing their eyes, Pm rubbing 
 my tables an' chairs. An' then, ye see, I rub 
 wi' a will, too; for I aye like Roger to see a 
 canny ingle neuk when he comes in fra the 
 smithy. It's ill for a man when he comes hame 
 sair dune wi' trachling at his work, an' no a quiet 
 place to sit down in at his ain ingle. It gars him 
 gang where mony a man gangs for peace, an'
 
 THE MASTER OF MARTON. 185 
 
 that's to the public^ though his wife_, puir thing, 
 doesna ken aiblins that she's driven him there 
 herse?." 
 
 " You are right there^ Marge t, I dare say. 
 There is Job Travis, our gardener. Aunt Mil- 
 dred says she is sure it is nothing but his slat- 
 ternly home that is making him so unsteady. He 
 is at the Cross-Keys nearly every night in 
 the week. And such a nice, pretty-looking 
 woman as Lizzie Travis used to be. It is a 
 pity she can't make his home comfortable for 
 him." 
 
 But Marget, in her wise way, never spoke 
 about people and their affairs, unless she had 
 something good to say of them. Perhaps this 
 was the reason that, Scotchwoman as she was, 
 most of her neighbours had a good word for her. 
 
 " Ay, ay. Miss Janet," she said, ignoring the 
 allusion to Job Travis, " a young man may like 
 fine to sit out in the sun, daffin wi' his lass ; 
 but when his pow wears frosty, like our Roger's, 
 he aye seeks a cozy bield wi' his wife; an' if 
 she doesna give him that, she may spare her 
 kisses j he's no wanting them. But when you've.
 
 186 THE MASTER OF MARTON. 
 
 a man o' your ain. Miss Janet, you'll ken what it 
 a' means/' 
 
 Janet coloured up a little. 
 
 *' Is Jessie at home, Marget T' she asked. " I 
 have a message for her from Aunt Mildred.'^ 
 
 " She's gaen owre to the rectory/' answered 
 Marget ; " but she'll be back the noo, if you can 
 bide a wee. But sit ye down here. Miss Janet," 
 she added, shaking up the cushion on the chintz 
 cover. *^ It's mair lightsome by the window, an' 
 you'll see Jessie come down the yew-tree walk. 
 She winna be lang, I'm thinking." 
 
 Janet took the seat with a smile of thanks. 
 
 '^ What a beautiful flower you have here ! I 
 never saw one like it before," said she, admiring 
 a little plant which stood in the window, gemmed 
 over with its thick clusters of coral- like bells. 
 
 '"Deed is it. Miss Janet; it's one our Jessie 
 reared last year fra a cutting that Reuben Leaf 
 gave her. An' that's another, a rarer kind, in 
 that little pot. It's a gey bonnie flower, an' it 
 thrives well wi' her. Aibhns ye'd like a slip of 
 it yersel', Miss Janet ; she'll be proud to give ye
 
 THE MASTER OF MARTON. 187 
 
 '* Indeed I should, Marget, if there is a little 
 one that can be spared." And as she spoke, 
 Janet bent down to look more closely at the 
 flower. 
 
 "Ye mind me o' your mither, Miss Janet," 
 said Marget, pausing in her knitting, and looking 
 over her spectacles at the young girl, upon whose 
 bright falling hair the sunlight was shimmering 
 through the screen of green leaves that filled the 
 cottage window. 
 
 *' Do you remember my mother, Marget ?" said 
 Janet, softly. 
 
 " ^Deed do I, Miss Janet. I mind seeing her 
 at the kirk the first time she went after your 
 father brought her to Marton. How bonnie she 
 lookit as she came up the aisle in her white mar- 
 riage dress, wi^ her saft still een, an^ the smile 
 that seemed aye glinting owre her face. An^ a' 
 the folk streeking their necks to get a sicht o^ the 
 bride. She was a ^ej bonnie leddie, au^ your 
 father thocht a' the warld on her. Mair^s the 
 pity she was taen awa sae sune. You'll no mind 
 her yerseP, Miss Janet. Ye wasna owre twa, three 
 year auld when they laid her i' the kirkyard."
 
 188 THE MASTER OF MARTON. 
 
 " I don^t remember her when she was living/' 
 said Janet, in a hushed, solemn voice ; ^' but I 
 recollect papa taking me to see her as she lay in 
 her coffin, and my wondering that she should be 
 so still." 
 
 '' She didna lie lang afore she dee'd ; but she 
 was aye frail, puir leddie, for a^ she was sic a 
 happy-like creature. An^ sae thochtful ; I mind 
 as if it had been yesterday seeing her come 
 dancing doun the yew-tree walk just like a glint 
 o' sunshine through the green gloom, wi' her 
 hands fu^ o^ spring flowers that sheM pulled for 
 our little Easie on her way through the wood. 
 ^ An^,' says she, ' can you give me a dish, Marget, 
 an' ni pit the flowers in for Easie to lie an' look 
 at.' She had a weakness in the back, had Easie, 
 puir bit lassie, and couldna rin an' jump about the 
 braes like ither bairns, but wad lie on that couch 
 the day lang. I telPt her I hadna ane, barring 
 the parritch-plates an' the kail-dish. Sae, says 
 she, ' Give me a parritch-plate, an' put yon glass 
 tumbler in the middle.' An, Miss Janet, if ye'd 
 seen how bonny them tvva, three wild flowers 
 lookit when she'd dune ! — sae different frae the
 
 THE MASTER OF MARTON. 189 
 
 posies that folk like us make — ^just the flowers 
 a' crushed up iu a bunch,, sae that they havena 
 room to breathe. But this was for a' the warld 
 like a flower-fountain, wi' a wreath o' broad green 
 leaves covering the markings o^ the parritch- 
 plate, an^ blue forget-me-nots hiding in among 
 them. An^ in the tumbler she pat some saft 
 green meadow-grass, wi' lang bending blades, 
 that hung out owre the flowers. An^ her w^ee 
 white bandies lookit so bonnie wi^ the rings a^ 
 sparkling on her fingers as they flittered about in 
 the sunshine." 
 
 " Then you knew her quite well," said 
 Janet, in the veiled voice she had spoken in 
 before. 
 
 " Oh, ay, Miss Janet. She often used to 
 come in here to see my little Easie. She was 
 just as free an^ as pleasant, I could talk with her 
 as if sheM been ane o' the neighbour's wives. An' 
 the bairns outbye wad rin an' touch her goun an' 
 look at the rosebuds owre it. An' yet she'd 
 a way wi' her that you'd ha' kenned, if she'd 
 been dressed in a linsey petticoat and short gown, 
 that she was a leddie. She'd a look in her
 
 190 THE MASTER OF MARTON. 
 
 e'en that garred you keep your distance. They 
 was like your ain, Miss Janet. Only hers was 
 saft e'en wi' a glint o' pride in them, and yours 
 is proud e'en wi' a touch o' saftness in them." 
 
 Janet's face was turned from Marget. The 
 softness had overflowed the pride in her eyes now, 
 and a look of infinite longing and tenderness crept 
 over her countenance as she gazed through the 
 lattice windows of the cottage into the deepening 
 gloom of the yew-tree walk — the walk along 
 which, years ago, this young mother of hers had 
 been wont to come. 
 
 She almost started when a bit of fluttering blue 
 drapery came in sight from behind the black boles 
 of the old trees. It was only Jessie, and pre- 
 sently the young girl had crossed the road, and 
 was standing on the threshold of her aunt's 
 kitchen. She smiled and curtseyed when she saw 
 Janet, and laying down her bag, received the in- 
 structions which MissBrande had sent by her niece. 
 
 '^And my aunt told me to say," continued 
 Janet, " that she should be glad of you for a day 
 or two in the house in about a fortnight's time, if 
 you could come. She is having some things
 
 THE MASTER OF MARTON. 191 
 
 altered for the winter that she could not yery well 
 send out to do/^ 
 
 ^' I am very sorry, ma'am /^ answered Jessie, 
 colouring, "but I am afraid I shall not be at 
 home then. I am giving up the dressmaking, and 
 going into a situation/' 
 
 " Indeed V said Janet, in some surprise ; " I 
 had no idea you were about leaving Marton/' 
 
 " Her uncle and me was baith on us sweir to 
 pairt with her/' interposed Marget, knitting away 
 vigorously at her long grey stocking ; *' but she 
 couldna be easy to bide any longer at Marton, 
 and this seemed to hand out. Sae we just let 
 her have her ain liking." 
 
 " And where are you going, Jessie ?" inquired 
 Janet, who felt as if she must say something, and 
 yet saw that somehow the subject was a sore one 
 to both aunt and niece. 
 
 '* To London, ma'am," replied Jessie. 
 
 " It's to be with the widow of the Laird of 
 Allanblae," said Marget. *' She's gane to live with 
 a nephew in London that's a bachelor, an' she 
 wants some one to read tuU her an' sew for her. 
 No just a maid, ye ken. Miss Janet. Sae when
 
 192 THE MASTER OF MARTON. 
 
 Jessie heard on it, naething wad serve but she wad 
 gang. YoQ see she's frail the noo, is the leddie, 
 an' she hasna ony bairns of her ain to crack tull 
 her when she's her lane." 
 
 " Well, Jessie/' said Janet, rising, " I hope you 
 will be comfortable. But we shall be sorry to lose 
 you from Marton. We shall hear of you sonie- 
 times though, through your aunt." 
 
 '^ Oh, yes, ma'am," said Jessie, with a faint 
 smile. But somehow the words seemed to fail on 
 her lips, and feeling sorry for her, she hardly knew 
 why, Janet took her leave, and crossed over the 
 road again through the Lodge gate on her way 
 home. 
 
 By the time she had passed the Hall and got 
 into the wood, she had forgotten all about Jessie. 
 Her own happy thoughts were thronging round 
 her again. Once she sat Mown by the side of the 
 path on a trunk that had been felled, and taking 
 out her letter, read it again, lingering over each 
 sentence which already she knew by heart. Ah, 
 what a treasure that letter was to Janet ! Then 
 she folded it up and went on her way again. Every 
 now and then as she tripped along under the trees,
 
 THE MASTER OF MAKTON. 193 
 
 she stood quite still for a moment that she might 
 feel her happiness. Surely the air was more trans- 
 parent, the sunshine fell in brighter gold through 
 the wind-stirred trees, lighting up the green depths 
 of the wood. The harebells rang out a sweeter 
 chime from their fairy bells. She could have clasped 
 the very trunks of the grey old beeches, and pressed 
 her lips to their withered boles. If he did but know 
 how glad he had made her. " But some day,^' 
 she thought, " I will tell him all. I will grow 
 worthy to be his friend — I will, I will. I have 
 something to live for now. Ah, I did not think 
 I could have been so glad V^ And Janet kissed 
 the letter that she held in her hand, as though 
 she would tell in this voiceless language what 
 words had not leave to utter. 
 
 And then alone there in the wood, with no eye 
 upon her but that of the little brown squirrel, 
 scrambling hastily up the mossy boughs of the 
 tree beneath which she passed, none to hear her 
 but the startled rabbit tliat scuttled across her 
 path, the girl felt a flush rise to her face and a 
 flutter, that was not fear, trembling at her heart. 
 
 Ah, Janet ! Janet ! 
 
 VOL. I. o
 
 i' :. ^' 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 FAINT HEART. 
 
 HEN the news reached the mill that 
 Jessie Lee was going to London to 
 a situation, Mr. Leaf wondered 
 what ever could possess the girl to 
 leave a good home like her uncle's and take her 
 chance out at place. Mrs. Leaf gave a complacent 
 little smile at the prospect of having her thus 
 safely out of the way. And Keuben, in trouble 
 and perplexity, resolved within himself that come 
 what might, he would, if possible, get his love de- 
 clared, and learn from her own lips whether he 
 might hope that it was returned or no. 
 
 But though Reuben had made up his mind as 
 to the course he would pursue, his courage failed 
 him each time that he attempted to put his reso-
 
 THE MASTER OF MARTON. 195 
 
 lution into practice. Twice he went to the cot- 
 tage with the fixed resolve to ask Jessie to be his 
 wife, and twice he came away no nearer to his end 
 than ever he had been. Nay, it seemed as if he 
 were even further from it, for certainly Jessie was 
 far cooler to him now than she used to be, and, 
 as he fancied, tried rather to avoid him than 
 otherwise. 
 
 And as Jessie grew more distant towards him, 
 which it must be owned she did, so Reuben grew 
 more timorous in the presence of his divinity. 
 There was nothing in reality so very extraordinary 
 in Jessie. She was a very lovely and very love- 
 able young girl, but if Reuben had looked nar- 
 rowly around the circle of rustic belles with whom 
 he was acquainted, he might have found one or 
 two, almost, if not quite, as charming as Jessie, 
 with whom, nevertheless, he could laugh and joke 
 quite easily ; whose waists he had clasped often in 
 the country dances, without that strange tremor 
 that thrilled him through if Jessie's little fingers 
 did but touch his own. 
 
 It is often thus with a strong man's love. 
 Your slight sensitive lover reaches out a fearless 
 o 2
 
 196 THE MASTER OF MARTON. 
 
 hand, and grasps an unresisting prize. It is the 
 young Hercules who quails and trembles before 
 the one little form, the thought of whom sends the 
 blood with such a torrent through his veins. 
 
 And so it was that Reuben put off his declara- 
 tion, day after day, until at last it could be post- 
 poned no longer. Jessie was going on the 
 morrow. He must tell her all, cost him what it 
 might. He must, he would ; and armed with 
 fresh determination, he set off to Roger Lee^s 
 house after the mill was shut, resolved that before 
 he returned, he would, if possible, win from Jessie 
 the promise to be his. 
 
 But when Reuben reached the cottage, his heart 
 sank within him more than ever. There was 
 Jessie to be sure, looking a little sadder, perhaps, 
 and quieter than usual, but in Marget^s bright, 
 sanded kitchen there was also quite a circle of 
 company sitting around the fir&. Mrs. Grant 
 from the Hall, old Michael Bray, and the lady's- 
 maid from the Rectory, who had all stepped in, 
 like himself, to have a parting word with Jessie. 
 
 Reuben felt awkward and confused. How 
 could he say what he wanted with all these people
 
 THE MASTER OF MARTON. 197 
 
 sitting by ? If he had found it almost impossible 
 even when he had been alone with her^ as he had 
 for a few minutes the last time he came, it was 
 tenfold more impracticable now. The young man 
 chafed and raged in secret as he drew in his chair 
 among the rest, and joined in the talk that was 
 going on. He felt just then as if they were all 
 banded together in a conspiracy against him. He 
 would have given anything for one five minutes 
 alone with Jessie. But there she sat at work in 
 her corner behind the table, hardly so much as 
 once lifting her eyes to him. 
 
 And the evening wore on so fast. Mrs. Grant 
 got up to go, and the lady's-maid with her, and 
 after awhile old Michael tottered oflP on his rheu- 
 matic legs. The big clock in the corner struck 
 nine. Marget rolled up her knitting and skewered 
 it together with the empty needle. Roger drew 
 towards him the big leather Bible, from which 
 night and morning he read a few verses out of the 
 Psalms or Gospels before offering up his simple 
 prayer for daily mercies or nightly rest. Jessie 
 alone went swiftly on with the net cap-quilling 
 she was making. The filmy rufile lengthened fast
 
 198 THE MASTER OF MARTON. 
 
 beneath her busy fingers. There would be a good 
 many yards ready for her aunt to use, when she 
 herself was no longer at home to do it for her. 
 There was no help for it. Reuben saw now that 
 he must go. But, indeed, if he stayed any longer, 
 it would still be of no avail. He could not say 
 anything to Jessie of what lay so heavily upon his 
 heart, while her uncle and aunt were sitting there. 
 He gulped down the choking sense of disap- 
 pointment^ and^ rising desperately, shook hands 
 with Roger and Marget; and then Jessie, too, 
 rose and laid down her quilli-^g. He would hold 
 her hand once more in his, he was resolved ; but, 
 poor fellow, he could not quite control his voice 
 to say good-bye or wish her a pleasant journey 
 on the morrow. He only looked in her face as 
 she spoke to him, and, looking, saw an unshed 
 tear that glistened in her eye. Perhaps she was 
 thinking sorrowfully of her departure ; perhaps — 
 but, ah ! that could not be the cause ; if it were, 
 she would hardly go away and leave him thus, 
 without one word to bid him hope. For he felt 
 sure she knew he loved her. Fool that he had 
 been not to have told her all !
 
 THE MASTER OF MARTON. 199 
 
 He did not know how tightly he was wringing 
 the little hand he held, or whether he spoke to 
 her at all as he left the house ; but a moment 
 after he found himself outside the cottage-door, 
 standing in the dark, alone. It was all over ; 
 the last chance lost. He started off swiftly down 
 the village. He must fight off by action this 
 sickening sense of disappointment that was swell- 
 ing at his heart. He hardly knew where he was 
 treading until he found himself nearly at the end 
 of the village; then for a moment he stopped, 
 and leaned against the posts of a gate by which 
 he was standing, A wave of passionate regret 
 was sweeping wildly over him, plunging him 
 helplessly beneath its mighty flood. He lifted 
 his head, gasping, bewildered, half-suffocated. 
 He could not give her up. He felt strong 
 enough for anything just now. He would go 
 back to the cottage, go boldly in and tell his 
 love in presence of them all. He could but 
 fail, and anything was better than this terrible 
 uncertainty. 
 
 He turned at the thought and retraced his 
 steps, swiftly at first, then more slowly and
 
 200 THE MASTER OF MARTON. 
 
 irresolutely. He nearer! the little bend in the 
 road against the plantation-gate ; another moment 
 and he would be at the cottage. He stood still 
 for an instant, nerving himself for the effort. 
 Five minutes more and it would all be over_, and 
 his fate decided. If Jessie was his, he would 
 know it ; if not . He went desperately for- 
 ward. His hand was on the latch of the white 
 wicket-gate ; and then he saw by the faint star- 
 light that the cottage-windows were barred up, 
 only from the little lattice casement above the 
 door a light was feebly glimmering. It was 
 Jessie^s room ; he knew that by the box of 
 mignonette that was outside it. It was too late, 
 then ; it was too late. He might go home now ; 
 he had lost her, and there was no other woman 
 in the whole world worth winning. 
 
 Poor Reuben ! If he could but have known 
 that at that moment Jessie was sitting on the 
 edge of her little white bed, weeping as if her 
 heart would break, thinking, not of her morrow^s 
 journey, with the new, untried life to which it 
 was to introduce her, not of the pleasant little 
 home which she was leaving for that of a stranger,
 
 THE MASTER OF MARTON. 201 
 
 not of her uncle and aunt even, clearly as she 
 loved them_, but moaning, as she swayed herself 
 to and fro — 
 
 " Oh, Reuben, Reuben, if you loved me, why 
 did you let me go V 
 
 But he knew nothing of this ; he saw only the 
 dim outline of the cottage, with the vine clam- 
 bering over the gable, and round the little win- 
 dow that shone out a warm spot in the gloom. 
 With a bitter sense of loss, all the harder to bear 
 because he felt that but for himself it need not, 
 perhaps, have been, he turned away. There was 
 nothing left to care for : that one little hand had 
 rifled his heart, and left it desolate and empty. 
 And yet it was even then ready to give him all 
 again, ay, and a thousand-fold beside. 
 
 If only he had known ! But so it is : we 
 wander as if blindfold through this life of ours, 
 and the chance that from all eternity has been 
 journeying towards us, meets us, almost touches 
 us. It needs only that we put out our hands to 
 grasp it j yet we pass it by unknowing, and the 
 next moment it is lost to us for ever.
 
 •i'r/-;» ■•.•/•i'!V-i*'-.?..-'*i-! ■/•;•■■.•.•'•;■:/•;•■•.?..■■ "i;'!'^ #_.•■«>••;. 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 WAITING. 
 
 UT after this first letter of Mr. 
 Maudsley^s, which had made her 
 so happy, Janet never got another. 
 She had written an answer to it, 
 not at all such as she would have wished to write; 
 for Miss Mildred had examined it and altered it, 
 and made her put out a great many things that 
 she had said ; so that when it was fairly finished, 
 Janet felt that it was very different indeed from 
 what she would like to send. And to this letter 
 no answer ever came. Janet expected one for a 
 long time; then she almost gave over hoping. 
 The Marton woods grew brown and leafless; the 
 December blast shivered oft' the last red leaf from 
 the great beech-tree in front of the Priory House.
 
 THE MASTER OF MARTON. 203 
 
 The winter crept wearily by, but still no news ot 
 Mr. Maudsley ever reached Marton; none, at 
 least, that came to Janet^s ears, though she be- 
 ' lieved they heard of him now and then at the 
 Rectory. But though she longed above all things 
 to learn something of him, she could never bring 
 herself to make any inquiry, and neither the 
 Canon nor Alison ever chanced to mention his 
 name in her presence. But Janet seldom saw 
 Mrs. Birney now. The season had been unusu- 
 ally severe, so that even after the Canon came 
 home from his winter^s residence at Bedesby, 
 Alison had been kept almost constantly indoors, 
 and Janet was always too shy to go much to the 
 Rectory without receiving an express invitation. 
 
 Perhaps if the Rector^s daughter had known 
 what a resource these visits were to the lonely girl, 
 she would have sent for her more frequently. As 
 it was, Janet was asked from time to time to meet 
 other young ladies of Marton; and not caring 
 much to make herself agreeable to them, and dis- 
 appointed at not getting a quiet talk alone with 
 Alison, or the opportunity of a rummage over the 
 shelves of the Canon^s library, she was generally
 
 204 THE MASTER OF MARTON. 
 
 SO dull and constrained, that Alison began to 
 fancy she did not care to come. 
 
 And at home she grew listless and despondent. 
 There was not much outward change in her, ex- 
 cept that she was quieter than she used to be, 
 and sat longer and more patiently over her work, 
 which in her aunt's eyes was an improvement, 
 and Miss Mildred did not notice anything else. 
 But then she could not look within, and read all 
 the sad thoughts that were sickening the poor 
 little heart, as Janet sat bending over her sewing. 
 
 Yet all the time the girl was pining in the 
 midst of her little round of tasteless pleasures 
 and irksome occupations, of unsatisfying com- 
 panionships and chilled and cramped affections. 
 She was wanting something to appease the rest- 
 less craving for excitement which alternated with 
 her moods of hopeless apathy. And of all this 
 Miss Mildred knew nothing. How should she? 
 If she had, she would perhaps have lectured her 
 niece on the folly of giving way to such fancies, 
 and sent her out twice a-day, instead of once, to 
 take a walk. 
 
 She did notice, though, that Janet was spend-
 
 THE MASTER OF MARTON. 205 
 
 ing more time than she ought over her music — 
 not steady practising, which Miss Mildred would 
 not have so much objected to, but singing over 
 and over again by herself, vehement, passionate 
 songs, or else little dreary ditties, that she de- 
 clared at last were as bad as a crying child in 
 the house. 
 
 *^ Really, Janet/' she said, coming severely into 
 the drawing- room one evening after Janet had 
 slipped away as usual in the twilight to solace 
 herself after this melancholy fashion, " I cannot 
 have you crooning continually over those old 
 things; you make every one as doleful as your- 
 self. If you want to practise, do it properly, 
 and play your pieces regularly through ; and do 
 try to put a little more energy into what you do. 
 You are always in one extreme or other, either 
 so wild that you quite shake one's nerves, or else 
 as dull as a November day." 
 
 Janet received her aunt's reproof in silence. 
 She waited till she had gone back to the dining- 
 room, and then went upstairs to her own room, 
 and fastening the door, sat down to have a good 
 cry by herself. She felt sore all over ; she could
 
 206 THE MASTER OF MARTON. 
 
 not bear any one to touch her^ even by a word, 
 and her aunt^s words were so sharp^ they cut into 
 her like a knife. 
 
 She hardly knew why she felt so miserable, 
 but she knew she was so. Everything about 
 her seemed stupid and uninteresting. Her old 
 pleasures had lost their charm ; the things that 
 once made up her life seemed to have fallen from 
 her and left her stripped and desolate. People 
 did not care about her as they used to do. Even 
 Alison Birney was not so kind as once she was. 
 Worst of all, that little fire of hope that she had 
 tended so long in secret, had died out at last into 
 cold grey ashes. She had fed it as long as she 
 had anything left that she could heap on to keep 
 up the flame, and now that the last faint spark 
 had flickered out, her little world seemed all dark 
 and chill. What had she done that she should 
 not be happy, like other people ? She shivered 
 in the cold silent chamber, and put her little 
 starved hands into the bosom of her frock to 
 warm them. And all the while she felt the slow 
 drip, drip of tears falling iu her heart and from 
 her eyes.
 
 THE MASTER OF MARTON. 207 
 
 Then she heard a knock at the front door, and 
 Bessie running through the hall to open it. It 
 would be her father, most hkely, come home from 
 Bedesby. He had gone there in the morning to 
 a meeting of the Philosophical Society. 
 
 She lifted her head and looked round the 
 room. She had been sitting there for more than 
 half an hour, and it was geting late now. The 
 twilight came greyly in through the little dia- 
 mond panes of the lattice window. The shadows 
 were creeping out of the corners of the room, 
 and from behind the cumbrous oaken wardrobe 
 and the heavy old-fashioned chairs, whose worm- 
 eaten carvings had been gathering their blackness 
 for well-nigh two hundred years ; for the furni- 
 ture in this room had all been made soon after 
 the building of the Priory House, when the 
 Brandes, though even then an aucient, were not 
 yet a decayed family. 
 
 Everything looked cold and dismal ; yet Janet 
 felt that somehow she would rather have it so. 
 Why should things be pleasant without, when all 
 was or dreary within ? The girPs sorrows were 
 more than half imaginary. Yet she hugged them
 
 208 THE MASTER OF MARTON. 
 
 the closer for that, cherishing them half-jealously, 
 as the young often do in their first heartaches, be- 
 fore they have felt the iron that enters into the 
 soul, the branding grief that leaves its scar even 
 when the wound is healed. 
 
 She leaned her wet face down again into her 
 two hands. Oh, how she wished she could go to 
 sleep, and never wake up again ! What was the 
 use of people living, unless they were happy? 
 And she did not think she should ever be happy 
 again. There was nothing to make her so. If 
 she could but go away somewhere, a long way 
 off, where there was no one who knew her, or 
 who would speak crossly to her when she was sad 
 — where there would be nothing to remind her 
 of the happy days that would never come back 
 again, or of the dreary life she was leading now ; 
 no dull al)stracts of Rollin and Hume, no tire- 
 some tasks of sewing or darning, no sitting still 
 all the evening in the dining-room when Miss 
 Gale or the Miss Curlews came to tea ! 
 
 Just then she heard her aunt^s voice calling 
 to her from the foot of the stairs. She started 
 up—
 
 THE MASTER OF MARTON. 209 
 
 "Yes, aunt, T am coming directly.'' 
 
 She bathed her face hastily with cold water, 
 rubbed it all in a glow, that the signs of tears 
 might not be seen, and then ran downstairs and 
 into the dining-room. 
 
 Coming out of the dim chamber, the bright 
 light dazzled her for an instant. Then she saw 
 that her aunt was not there, only her father 
 standing over the fire, and a stranger with him, 
 whom Janet did not remember to have seen 
 before. 
 
 She stood for an instant, uncertain whether to 
 go forward or to beat an immediate retreat. But 
 the gentleman had turned round. 
 
 " Is this your daughter, Mr. Brande ?" he said, 
 putting out his hand to her. 
 
 Mr. Brande had forgotten to introduce her; 
 he never did think of such things. He repaired 
 his omission now. 
 
 '^ Janet, this is Professor Elston, the gentleman 
 who wrote the ' Geology of Palestine.' You 
 said once you would like to see an author." 
 
 " And this is the young lady who was kind 
 enough to prepare such very neat and careful 
 
 VOL. I. p
 
 210 THE MASTER OF MARTON. 
 
 drawings for the book from my rough sketches. 
 I am very glad to be able to offer you my thanks 
 in person." 
 
 Janet answered with a shy look into his face. 
 She was never ready at speaking to strangers, 
 and felt a little awed by the presence of one of 
 whom she had always heard her father speak with 
 such respect as ranking among the most eminent 
 geologists of the day. Besides, she had not left all 
 her gloomy thoughts behind her in her room ; 
 and she began to be conscious now of her red eyes, 
 which she was afraid the gentleman might notice. 
 
 Happily, Bessie knocked at the door, and put 
 an end to her embarrassment by saying Miss 
 Mildred was inquiring for her. Janet went out, 
 and found her aunt in the kitchen, looking anxi- 
 ously at the contents of the larder, which Bessie 
 had just brought out for inspection. 
 
 She looked up sharply when Janet entered. 
 
 "Why did you not come at once when you 
 were called, Janet? Twice I had to send for 
 you before you came. Bessie, go into the gar- 
 den, and bring in some parsley to garnish this 
 duck. It is a mercy, I am sure, I had them
 
 THE MASTER OF MARTON. 211 
 
 both cooked this mornings and this one set away 
 to be cold. So thoughtless of your papa to bring 
 people in to stay in this way, without saying a 
 word about it beforehand ! And of all times in 
 the year, too, just the very day that Hannah has 
 gone out for a holiday; and Bessie is just like a 
 post about anything that she is not accustomed 
 to. Here is the key of the linen-press, Janet; 
 go and fetch down one of the small tablecloths, 
 the snowdrop pattern, and tray-cover and table- 
 napkins to match ; and take some matches and 
 light the fire in the fawn bedroom. I had the 
 bed in that room aired last week, so it will have 
 to be used. And don^t come away, now, and 
 leave it to go out ; just wait and see that it burns 
 up; and bring down a pair of fine sheets and 
 pillowcases to air.^' 
 
 Janet went upstairs and unlocked the great 
 linen press that stood on the landing, filled with 
 fine damask drapery, white as snow and sweet 
 with the scent of lavender and rue, that had been 
 accumulating there for generations past, as one 
 bride after another had entered the family of the 
 Brandes and added to the store. She chose out 
 p2
 
 212 THE MASTER OF MARTON. 
 
 what her aunt wanted and took them downstairs. 
 Then she ran back and went into the fawn bed- 
 room to light the fire. 
 
 It was the room her mother had died in, and 
 was one that was rarely used. Janet would not 
 have owned it to any one, but to her the awful- 
 ness of death seemed still to linger about the 
 chamber. She never liked to go into it after 
 dusk if she could help it. If she did, she always 
 saw in fancy the quiet cold face, as she remem- 
 bered it so long ago, when her father had taken 
 her in to see the young mother lying in her death 
 sleep, and had lifted the white covering and 
 showed to her the pale still countenance that lay 
 beneath. It was the first and only remembrance 
 Janet had of her mother, so that this room was 
 the only one in the house in any way associated 
 with her memory ; and now she went into it half- 
 shrinking, feeling that dim undefinable terror 
 which it is so hard to explain and so impossible 
 to resist. 
 
 But her aunt's orders were law. She struck 
 three or four matches aud put them hurriedly to 
 the shavings in the grate. In a moment the
 
 THE MASTER OF MARTON. 213 
 
 pinewood chips had caught and the flame was 
 hreaking out, hissing and sputtering through the 
 coals. It was sure to burn now; and with a 
 deep breath of relief she ran out of the room, and 
 downstairs to her aunt, who had just finished 
 giving directions to Bessie about supper, and 
 now went back to the dining-room, telling Janet 
 to follow her. 
 
 Her father and the Professor were talking 
 eagerly together. Janet took her work and sat 
 down quietly by the lamp. The little bustle that 
 had just passed over had shaken her thoughts 
 loose from their hold on her own half-fretful 
 fancies, and by-and-bye she found herself listening 
 with interest to the conversation that was going 
 on. It was about some discoveries that had re- 
 cently been made in the Lias at some little 
 distance from Bedesby, and of the numerous 
 species of extinct animals that had been brought 
 to light and identified by the skill of several 
 eminent scientific men. For a moment Janet 
 felt drawn out of herself. She had read about 
 these things, for her father had trained her 
 in science, as Miss Mildred had exercised her
 
 214 THE MASTER OF MARTON. 
 
 in fine needlework and " MangnalFs Ques- 
 tions/' But it was a different thing listening 
 to the vivid descriptions of Professor Elston, 
 which from time to time he illustrated by little 
 etchings in his pocket-book of the various un- 
 couth creatures of which he was speaking. 
 
 It was so strange to see the dry bones of the 
 valley of death come together as the thought of a 
 man breathed the spirit of significance into the 
 scattered fragments. She almost fancied she could 
 see the shadowy monsters rise from their stony 
 beds and pass in long procession through the dim 
 distant ages. She felt quite sorry when the 
 great clock on the landing struck ten, and her 
 aunt made her a sign to take her candle and go 
 upstairs to bed. 
 
 But the next morning, when she awoke, the 
 shadow had crept down again. She was not 
 caring for anything now. There was another 
 long weary day to begin, and slowly, listlessly 
 she rose and began to dress. 
 
 She drew aside the curtain and looked out of 
 the window. Everything was wrapped in a thick 
 white mist, that hid even the tall beech Ledge at
 
 THE MASTER OF MARTON. 215 
 
 the bottom of the garden. The creepers round 
 the casement were all dripping with the heavy 
 moisture, and little pools of wet were standing 
 in the hollows on the sill. Janet felt vexed. She 
 had meant to go into the wood this morning and 
 gather some roots of the hart^s-tongue fern that 
 she had discovered the other day in a sheltered 
 nook. Now everything would be wet and sodden 
 with this mist. 
 
 It was a little thing, but it made her peevish 
 and dissatisfied, just as a twig dropped into a 
 vessel of nearly freezing water will stiffen it into 
 ice. Everything was against her, even the 
 weather; and she went downstairs feeling as 
 if she had a right to be moody and im- 
 patient. 
 
 RoUo was lying asleep at the foot of the stairs, 
 his head curled comfortably round upon his paws. 
 She pushed him with her foot, and called to him 
 pettishly to get out of the way. He started up 
 and followed her into the dining-room, where he 
 stood with his tail between his legs, looking up 
 in his dumb wondering way into the girPs face, 
 with that expression of puzzled sorrow which
 
 216 THE MASTER OF MARTON. 
 
 we often see in the eyes of an animal that has 
 been unjustly treated by one it loves. 
 
 Janet was moved by a sudden feeling of self- 
 reproach. She stooped down and took the dog^s 
 head in her arms, and laid her cheek against his 
 shaggy coat, as if in his faithfulness she had 
 found something to rest herself upon when 
 everything else seemed shifting and uncer- 
 tain. 
 
 Rollo wagged his big tail with recovered 
 pleasure. Poor fellow ! he could not ask the 
 cause of these unaccountable changes in the 
 conduct of his young mistress ; but with the sure 
 instinct that often puts human discernment to the 
 blush, he felt that she was in distress, and in his 
 dumb, dog-like way, he tendered her the sym- 
 pathy which was all he had to give. 
 
 Just then the postman passed. Janet started 
 up and flew to the door. There was always in 
 her mind the unacknowledged hope that there 
 might be something come for her. It never had 
 come ; and morning after morning she had shut 
 the door on Dennis Wray, with the ache wearing 
 itself still deeper into her heart as she turned
 
 THE MASTER OF MARTON. 217 
 
 over his budget and saw nothing there for her — 
 nothing, at least, that she cared to see. 
 
 This morning Dennis brought only a news- 
 paper. She took it carelessly; she never 
 cared much for a newspaper coming. But the 
 next moment she caught sight of the well- 
 remembered characters. It was for her, from 
 him. Then he had not forgotten her. He thought 
 of her still. She went back into the dining-room, 
 Rollo trotting after her, and knelt down, trembling 
 with delight, upon the rug before the fire. 
 
 Her mood had melted away in this glad burst 
 of happiness. It was as if the cold grey mist 
 without had suddenly been dispersed, and the 
 earth lay all at once all warm and glowing 
 beneath the noonday sun. She pressed the cover 
 on which his hand had traced her name, close and 
 closer to her lips. They were not so very far 
 apart — only those few hours between them, for 
 even yesterday he must have thought of her, 
 written with his own hand this name of hers. 
 She never thought of opening out the paper ; 
 enough for her thus to revel in the sense of her 
 new-found joy.
 
 218 THE MASTER OF MARTON. 
 
 '^ What did the postman bring, Janet ?" 
 
 She started up as if surprised in something 
 wrong; and hastily drew the cover from the 
 paper. 
 
 " Only a newspaper, aunt Mildred, for me/^ 
 
 *' A newspaper for you ? Who can have sent 
 it?" 
 
 '^Mr. Maudsley;" replied Janet, in that veiled,, 
 hushed voice, which to a fiue ear always betrays 
 how much lies beneath the spoken name. 
 
 But Miss Mildred was not gifted with a sen- 
 sitive ear. She took the paper from her niece's 
 hands — it was yesterday's Times — and began 
 curiously to search down the columns. 
 
 "This is it," she exclaimed, pouncing on a 
 paragraph in a long notice of the pictures in 
 the Academy : '^ Madeline/' E. A. Maudsley. 
 " Heally, how highly it speaks of it, too," she 
 added, reading it half aloud, while Janet eagerly 
 looked over her shoulder, "graceful conception, 
 and almost faultless treatment of the subject." 
 " It certainly promised to be a very fine picture 
 when he was here. If we could afford it, Janet, 
 I should very much like your papa to buy that
 
 THE MASTER OF MARTON. 219 
 
 picture. It was an excellent likeness of you ; 
 though perhaps the expression was not quite the 
 thing." 
 
 Miss Mildred was proud of her niece. She 
 felt as if somehow the pains she had taken with 
 her in fine needlework and embroidery, the mul- 
 titudinous reproofs which she had administered to 
 her from childhood, had been the means of 
 bringing about this gratifying result ; for it was 
 gratifying to know that Janet had been the 
 original of a picture to which the Times itself 
 had condescended an approving nod. 
 
 It would not do, though, to fill the girPs head 
 with nonsense and conceit, so Miss Mildred 
 prudently forbore further comment; and when 
 Mr. Brande entered the room with the Pro- 
 fessor, she sat down to make breakfast as quietly 
 as if the Royal Academy had been Dr. Lane\s 
 school in Bedesby, intending to tell her brother 
 about it when Janet should be out of the way. 
 
 Meantime, Janet had hidden the precious cover 
 safe in the bosom of her frock ; and now sat 
 down to table shut up in a little dream-world of 
 her own. This time the Professor's talk fell un-
 
 220 THE MASTER OF MARTON. 
 
 heeded on her ears ; she could hear nothing but 
 the chimes of hope, and joy, and love, which rang 
 on unceasingly within her breast. He thought 
 of her still; only yesterday he had written her 
 name ; it was she, his Madeline, who had brought 
 him fame. And on this scanty crumb of joy 
 the foolish child fed her fancy, and was satisfied. 
 
 It was long past nine before breakfast was 
 over. Mr. Brande let the coffee grow cold in his 
 cup while he and the Professor discussed to- 
 gether the organic remains in the Lias. Miss 
 Mildred, who did not feel much interested in 
 these huge pre-adamite monsters, fidgeted a 
 little ; but Janet sat quiet. It was all one to 
 her; she held her happiness now within herself. 
 At last her father rose from table, and carried oflF 
 his guest to the study; and Miss Mildred bade 
 Janet get dressed and go to Marton, to Mrs. 
 Leafs, to inquire if she could let her have a 
 couple of fine fowls immediately, for Professor 
 Elston was to stay dinner, and afterwards Mr. 
 Brande was going to drive him in the little 
 pony chaise to the station at Bedesby. 
 
 '*And tell her to let them be nice ones,
 
 THE MASTER OF MARTON. 221 
 
 Janet ; and if she has none to spare just now, go 
 on to Mrs. Brighouse's. She is sure to have 
 plenty, only I should prefer Mrs. Leafs, if she 
 has them ; her poultry is so well fed, having the 
 meal from the mill. And wrap yourself up well, 
 Janet, for this mist makes it damp rather, and 
 be sure you tell her to send them on directly." 

 
 ■ • -^^feC- •><>^f<^- •>^feC- '>^^^* -^^feC- •>^fe^' V 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 A SPARK AMONG THE ASHES. 
 
 LAD of the errand, Janet set off 
 immediately. It was better a great 
 deal than having to help her aunt 
 about the house; and besides^ she 
 could think over all this new happiness quietly 
 during her walk. She went by the high road ; 
 it was cleaner than through the wood, though a 
 little farther round. The sunlight was break- 
 ing through the mist, giving promise of a splendid 
 day by-and-bye, when the fog should have lifted 
 itself away. Janet walked briskly on, enjoying 
 the sober English landscape, with its hedgerows 
 and fields, its grey sky, and breeze-stirred trees. 
 Here and there was a group of cattle lying on the 
 wet grass, peacefully chewing the cud, or a pair
 
 THE MASTER OF MARTON. 223 
 
 of plough -horses, yoked together, toiling patiently 
 along their furrow, with the heavy-faced labourer 
 plodding behind. By the time she reached the 
 mill the mist had cleared quite away, and the 
 sunlight was falling thick on the green fields and 
 blossoming orchards, and old brown house ; 
 broken, too, into a thousand sparkles of glancing 
 light as it fell on the spray cast up by the great 
 mill-wheel, which was turning heavily round 
 within its dark, damp shed, as the swift current 
 of the Lyme rushed with a roaring sound 
 beneath it. 
 
 Janet went round to the house door. She 
 found Mrs. Leaf in her kitchen in the neatest 
 and nattiest of morning gowns, busy over a huge 
 batch of cheesecakes, which she was preparing in 
 readiness for the next day. 
 
 For Reuben was coming of age, and Mrs. 
 Leaf was going to entertain a great family 
 gathering in honour of the event. The large 
 bright houseplace was filled with the fragrant 
 odour of fresh -baked pastry, which was ranged 
 on dishes on the great dresser, that it might cool 
 before being set away into the larder : cakes. 
 
 {
 
 324 THE MASTER OF MARTON. 
 
 pasties, puffs, open tarts and covered tarts, 
 altogether such an array of good things as only 
 a very important occasion indeed could have 
 rendered necessary. 
 
 But this was an important occasion, and Mrs. 
 Leaf intended to do justice to it. Moreover, she 
 was bent on making a more than usual impres- 
 sion, for among her guests was to be a certain 
 Miss Margery Bradshaw, the only child of one 
 of the wealthiest farmers in the district, to- 
 gether with her mother; and though Mrs. Leaf 
 had said nothing about it as yet, even to her 
 husband, it was this young lady whom she des- 
 tined, in her secret thoughts, to be the wife of 
 Reuben. She was good-looking and good- 
 tempered, and was none of your idle, fine-lady, 
 boarding-school misses, good for nothing but to 
 play the piano, and spend their husband's money 
 on fine clothes and pleasuring. Miss Margery's 
 mother had brought up her daughter in good, 
 old-fashioned, notable ways ; and Mrs. Leaf saw 
 no reason why, now that Reuben was settled for 
 himself, and ought to be looking out for a wife, 
 she should not secure Miss Margery and her
 
 THE MASTER OE MARTON. 225 
 
 good portion for him. He seemed to have 
 got over his fancj^ for Jessie Lee, she thought. 
 He had not said anything about her lately ; and 
 now that she was safely disposed of, Mrs. Leaf 
 saw nothing to stand in the way of her plans. 
 
 Though she was so busy just now, she dusted 
 the flour off her hands and apron, and came 
 forward with a smiling greeting as Janet showed 
 herself at the kitchen door, which was standing 
 wide open, and commanded a view of the great 
 paved yard before the mill. 
 
 She would have taken her into the front 
 parlour, but Janet begged to stay where she 
 was ; and then she said she should not be afraid 
 of sitting awhile to rest herself. So Mrs. Leaf, 
 after a little persuasion, went on rolling out her 
 paste and lining her tins, having first sent out a 
 message to a servant to catch and kill a couple 
 of her finest fowls, and send them on directly 
 to the Priory House. 
 
 Janet always liked that mill kitchen, with its 
 big oaken rafters, from which hung at least a 
 dozen smoked hams and sides of bacon ; its warm 
 fireside seats, its walls hung over with brightly 
 
 VOL. I. Q
 
 226 THE MASTER OF MARTON. 
 
 polished tins, dish-covers, paste-cutters, jelly- 
 moulds, turnspits, a huge brass warming-pan, and 
 store of whips and guns, — its well- filled delf-case, 
 its snowy dresser, its old-fashioned painted clock, 
 and its aspect of homely ease and plenty. But 
 to-day she thought it looked pleasanter than ever 
 as she sat in Mrs. Leaf^s large arm-chair, hearing 
 the list of expected guests, and ofii'ering her con- 
 gratulations on the coming event. 
 
 Before she went away, Mrs. Leaf made her 
 drink her son^s health in a glass of cowslip wine, 
 and taste the great cake, which she cut very 
 dexterously, taking a piece out from beneath, so 
 that it might make its appearance on the table 
 the next day apparently whole. 
 
 And then Janet set ofi" home, her thoughts 
 dancing joyously within her as she went lightly 
 along, drinking in deep draughts of the fresh 
 pure air, and feeling as if everything were laugh- 
 ing around her. 
 
 She went down the village and through the 
 wood this time, for the sun was shining lustily 
 now, and the day turning out almost hot. 
 Sunlight, sunlight everywhere — trembling in the
 
 THE MASTER OF MARTON. 227 
 
 deep-blue waving air, sleeping soft-pillowed on 
 the snow-white clouds, dancing among the young 
 buds on the wind-stirred boughs, flashing from 
 myriads of glittering grass-blades, filling the cups 
 of the cowslips and primroses with golden light ! 
 Oh, how beautiful it was, and how happy she 
 felt ! Sometimes she went on swiftly through 
 the chequered light and shadow of the woodland 
 walks. Then she stood still for a moment that 
 she might feel and enjoy her happiness, all nature 
 seeming but an inarticulate reply to her joyous 
 thoughts, telling out mutely her own great glad- 
 ness. What a little thing had brought it all, 
 and yet since morning everything seemed to have 
 been made anew. ^ 
 
 She lingered so long that it was nearly noon 
 when she got home again, and in consequence 
 incurred a severe chiding from her aunt, who had 
 been waiting for her to assist in various little 
 arrangements for the table, which she was far too 
 particular to entrust to the inexperienced hands 
 of Bessie, especially when company was to be 
 present; and Hannah, who usually undertook 
 them, had not yet returned from her holiday. 
 q2
 
 228 THE MASTER OF MARTON. 
 
 It was like changing a robe of gossamer for a 
 linsey gown. However, Janet submitted with 
 the best grace she could,, prepared all the little 
 et-ceteras for the table, brought in fresh flowers 
 and green leaves for the dessert, and then 
 had just time to run upstairs and dress for 
 dinner. 
 
 When all was over and her father and the 
 Professor fairly oflP for Bedesby, and she had 
 helped her aunt to put away the things that were 
 not in general use, Janet stole away to her own 
 room, intent on a project that during her walk 
 had come into her mind. 
 
 She must write to Mr. Maudsley and thank 
 him for sending the paper, and tell him how glad 
 — ^how very glad — she was about his " Madeline." 
 She need not say anything about it to her aunt, 
 yet it made her heart beat quite quick to think 
 of what she was going to do. What a dear 
 delight to put herself thus into communication 
 with him again ! She thought she might venture. 
 There could be no harm in it, and she would say 
 as little as she possibly could. 
 
 All the afternoon she wrote, one letter after
 
 THE MASTER OF MARTON. 2.29 
 
 another. At last she got one that almost satis- 
 fied her. She folded it up^ then opened it out, 
 and read it over again and again. She wondered 
 so how he would feel when he read it — whether 
 he would b^ as glad as she had been to get the 
 paper. No, he could hardly be that; but she 
 knew he would be pleased to have it. Perhaps he 
 would send her an ansvver in return, and her 
 heart fluttered fast at the thought. Should she 
 have to let her aunt see it? She felt sure he 
 would say something which she would rather no 
 one saw but herself. Then she folded up the 
 little sheet of white paper and put it tenderly, as 
 if it had been a living thing, within the envelope. 
 The next eyes that beheld it would be his own. 
 She sealed it up daintily with a tiny seal her aunt 
 had once given her for a birthday present, a 
 griffin's head, the crest of the Brandes. He 
 would know, as soon as he saw it, that it came 
 from her. She held it a long time in her closed 
 hands, she laid her hot cheek upon it, she pressed 
 her lips upon it. She had a vague idea that 
 somehow she could thus convey to him that 
 unformed longing to which she could give no
 
 230 THE MASTER OF MARTON. 
 
 name as yet, that was making her tremble with 
 excitement. He would surely feel how much 
 more that little note contained than the few 
 simple words which were all she had allowed 
 herself to write. 
 
 At last she put it carefully into her desk, and 
 turned the key upon it. She must go to Marton 
 to-morrow, and post it with her own hands-. 
 Then she smoothed down her hair and went 
 downstairs to tea. 
 
 ^
 
 :■■•'':'>■■■ "«.•■...-■.•:• ••■ ■•.•'.....•.:• •■• •;■.••.. 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 IN WHICH MISS GALE C031ES TO TEA. 
 
 HE found little Miss Gale in the 
 room with her aunt. She was going 
 to stay tea apparently, for she had 
 her bonnet off and was sitting com- 
 fortably by the fire, netting away at a blue silk 
 purse. 
 
 Miss Mildred often had Miss Gale to tea. 
 She said it was as good as a newspaper having 
 her, for she always knew everything that was 
 going on in Marton^ and had such an amusing 
 way of relating it too^ that she was really quite 
 an agreeable companion. Besides her entertain- 
 ing qualities, she always knew of any special 
 wants among the Marton poor, and where a little 
 help would be well bestowed. Her own means
 
 232 THE MASTER OF MARTON. 
 
 were very small, but she made up the deficiency 
 by the kindness of her heart ; and going about, 
 as she did, contrived to do a great amount of 
 good on what many would have considered a 
 sufficient excuse for doing nothing at all. 
 
 Just now she had a little orphan lad on hand, 
 whom she was trying to get into the Bedesby 
 Bluecoat school. She had been asking Miss 
 Mildred for the promise of her brother's vote. 
 She had got a good many already, she said, and 
 one among the rest that really seemed quite pro- 
 vidential. It was from a lady who had just 
 taken her rooms for a month, while her own 
 house at Bedesby was being papered and painted. 
 And then the little maiden lady began to enlarge 
 to Miss Mildred upon the subject of her new 
 lodger. 
 
 ^^ It makes me very busy, as you may suppose, 
 Miss Brande, being the first I have had this 
 season ; although, it is true, the lady has a maid 
 of her own, who does a good deal of the waiting 
 on her. Indeed, it was through the maid that I 
 learned so much about her, for she told Sally, 
 and Sally is always very fond of chattering when
 
 THE MASTER OF MARTON. 233 
 
 I am busy in the kitchen. But^ however, I am 
 sure this morning she taught me a lesson on 
 charity without knowing, I daresay, what she 
 was doing. For you see, Mrs. Clyde is not a 
 pleasant-looking person, by any means; indeed, 
 she would almost give you the impression of 
 having been brought up on chamomile tea. And 
 she has her letters directed ' Gale^s Lodgings/ 
 which you know isnH quite the thing, seeing I am 
 not exactly like a common lodging-house keeper. 
 But really, when I had heard all, I felt quite to 
 warm towards her, poor thing ! It seems she 
 had a husband who was very well connected — 
 indeed, I believe he was first cousin to a baronet 
 — but, however, he was very poor and very gay, 
 as young men of family often are, and just 
 married her for her money .^^ 
 
 ^^ Poor thing !" said Miss Mildred ; " I always 
 say myself it^s a hard matter for a woman who 
 has a fortune to know whether she is loved or 
 not, before she is married. If she has nothing, 
 why, she may be pretty sure she is taken for 
 herself alone ; but if she has money, it is hard to 
 tell which it is that is wanted."
 
 234 THE MASTER OF MARTON. 
 
 " Very true, Miss Brande. Well, this Mr. 
 Clyde ran through everything, except an annuity 
 — a very handsome one, I suppose — that had 
 been settled on her for life ; aud then he treated 
 her shamefully, and at last he killed himself with 
 drinking and left her a widow, with this one son. 
 And now, poor thing, she is going to lose him ! 
 He has got an appointment in India, and is to. 
 sail in October. I fancy, from what Sally said, 
 that he has been rather a trouble to her too. It 
 seems she had brought him up very strictly — 
 very ; and young men are often all the worse for 
 that when they get old enough to have a will of 
 their own. He studied for a barrister, but he 
 has never followed his profession. However, I 
 suppose this Indian appointment is an excellent 
 thing. Some friends of his father^s, I believe, 
 interested themselves a good deal in getting it, 
 so it is to be hoped he will settle down, now that 
 he has got it.^' 
 
 And then Miss Gale hopped off to an account 
 of the great doings which were to be next day at 
 the mill, and then to the news that Harry Birney 
 was coming home in the autumn, at which piece
 
 THE MASTER OF MARTON. 235 
 
 of news Janet^s eyes sparkled as she looked up 
 from her work — a fact which Miss Gale noted 
 and put by without comment. And after that 
 she went off to something else^ till at last Janet 
 grew tired of listening, and wdshed she dare go 
 away to her own room and be quiet. 
 
 But, by-and-bye. Miss Gale called back her 
 attention. 
 
 " And now. Miss Janet, I have got a piece of 
 news for you, about an old friend of yours. Come 
 now, guess what it is about V 
 
 But Janet was not clever at guessing, so Miss 
 Gale was obliged to help her out. 
 
 " Well, then, it is about Mr. Maudsley, who 
 painted your picture, you know." 
 
 Janet tried to speak as quietly as she could, but 
 her heart gave a great leap at the sound of his 
 name. 
 
 " It is about his ^ Madeline.' Yes, we had a 
 paper this morning." 
 
 ^' No, no, it is more important than that,'' 
 laughed Miss Gale ; '' and I know it is correct, for 
 I had it from Miss Alison Birney herself, and she 
 said it was no secret, or she would not have told
 
 236 THE MASTER OF MARTON. 
 
 it to me. He is to be married this summer to 
 a young lady from Cambridge. I suppose she is 
 a wonder for beauty, as indeed she ought to be, 
 marrying an artist ; though she can^t be so very 
 young, for he has been engaged to her a good 
 many years. It seems she had an old father who 
 had been bedridden for years, and she would not 
 leave him even to be married. However, he 
 died last winter, and the wedding is to be in 
 June.^' 
 
 It was a scrap of gossip, nothing more, but Miss 
 Gale's random shaft had lodged deep in a quivering 
 heart. Janet did not ?peak or look. She felt for 
 the moment a sickening, swooning feeling. Every- 
 thing seemed to turn black, to whirl around her. 
 Yet she went on mechanically with her work. 
 No one must know what an almost unbearable 
 pang it was under which she was writhing. 
 Happily Miss Gale went chatting on without 
 observing Janet's silence. When the little lady 
 was fairly launched on the stream of talk, she 
 generally sailed smoothly away, without troubling 
 herself about responses from her auditors. Just 
 then too, she had come to a part of her netting
 
 THE MASTER OF MARTON. 237 
 
 that required particular attention^ so that Janet's 
 sudden paleness passed unseen. 
 
 When she looked up again, Janet was sitting 
 just as before, working swiftly away, with nothing 
 to tell of that sharp stroke which seemed suddenly 
 to have severed her whole life into two distinct 
 portions. The Past, which lay dead behind her, 
 and one long, dark, unending Now. 
 
 It was all she could do to keep back the cry 
 that would have been such a relief, and to press 
 down the tears that were starting to her eyes. It 
 was not for long, though. After awhile Miss 
 Gale folded up her netting, and said she must be 
 thinking of going home. It was a good walk to 
 her house, and she did not like going through the 
 wood after dark. So she had a glass of wine and 
 went away, and afterwards they had supper and 
 prayers, and Janet was free to go away upstairs 
 to her own room, and shut herself up with her 
 grief. 
 
 She set down her candle on the dressing-table 
 and threw herself across her bed, and then the 
 storm burst over her. 
 
 She lay there long after all the house was still.
 
 238 THE MASTER OF IMARTON. 
 
 drenched in tears, drifting along like a bruised 
 and broken wreck over that ocean of tempestuous 
 thought. She did not cry out or moan. She 
 had no words for her woe. Her love had been 
 like sunlight, brightening all it fell upon. Now 
 it was quenched out, and all around was darkness. 
 She had never put it into definite shape. This 
 girlish love of hers for the artist had been just a . 
 vague dream of being with him, of following him 
 wherever he might be, of serving him, tending 
 him, offering up her little being on the altar of 
 her love. She had thought as a child, but she 
 had felt, alas ! as a woman. And now those 
 words of Miss Gale's had revealed her to herself. 
 She saw what this blind devotion unconsciously 
 had been, what it was that, without knowing, 
 she had given him, and giving, now had lost. 
 
 ^' He had been engaged to her many years.'' 
 She could not help a little pang of bitterness en- 
 tering her mind, which, nevertheless, poor child, 
 she drove jealously away as soon as it appeared, 
 as she thought of that afternoon by the riverside, 
 of the kind words he had spoken, the kisses he 
 had pressed upon her face, the clasp which in its
 
 THE MASTER OF MARTON. 239 
 
 tenderness had seemed to say that the pain of 
 parting had not been all her own. So then it 
 had been all a dream, very beautiful^ very real 
 while it lasted — but a dream^ nothing more. That 
 measureless love of hers had been to him no home 
 in which he might dwell at ease; only as a little 
 wayside resting-place,, pleasant^ perhaps, for him 
 to turn aside and refresh himself at, but no more 
 than that. It never had been more ; it never 
 could be more. He had seen through the half- 
 open door the ruddy gleam of the fire upon the 
 hearth, and coming in had sat down and warmed 
 himself beside it. Then he had gone again on his 
 way towards that far-off home where sat one waiting 
 for him. Poor Janet ! She held the thought of 
 him still warm and close within her heart. She 
 could not help that, but to hold his hand again in 
 hers save for a brief space, a passing greeting, 
 was not hers to know. She flung it wildly, help- 
 lessly, from her starved, trembling fingers, as she 
 felt herself alone — her life dark and empty for all 
 time to come, nothing now which she cared to 
 rise up and meet. 
 
 My poor Janet ! If I could but press the little
 
 240 THE MASTER OF MARTON. 
 
 tired form in my arms, and whisper that the world 
 was not all unkind ! But here, as everywhere, the 
 great unb ridged gulf that separates all human 
 spirits one from the other, gapes between us. We 
 must leave her to herself to struggle as best she 
 may out of that deepest of all solitudes, the soli- 
 tude of a first great grief. It will do no good to 
 watch the poor child shuddering over her yet 
 untasted misery. She has to drink it. We all 
 have, sooner or later, in our lives. Afterwards 
 we find that the bitter draught has infused a 
 stronger life into our souls. The heart that has 
 been stretched and strained well-nigh to bursting, 
 grows larger by-and-bye. The good God empties 
 it of its suffering, and then we find that He has all 
 the time only been expanding it, that so when He 
 shall fill it with joy it may hold the more, and 
 hold it the more securely. 
 
 ^
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 LUNCH IN THE WOODS. 
 
 T was about a fortniglit after Miss 
 Gale^s visit, that Alison Birney called 
 one morning to invite Janet to join 
 a little party that she had planned 
 for the next day. They were to have lunch in the 
 wood; and then go on the river in a boat, which 
 Mr. Clyde, who was to be of their number, had 
 brought down with him from Bedesby. Besides 
 him, there would be two cousins of her own who 
 were staying at the rectory, and Mr. Meade, the 
 new curate, who, as the kind-hearted Alison 
 thought, seemed rather a stranger yet among the 
 Marton people, and would be the better for a little 
 friendly attention. 
 
 Janet promised to go; she could not resist 
 
 VOL. I. K
 
 242 THE MASTER OF MARTON. 
 
 Alison's gentle persistence. Besides, secretly, 
 she was glad of the prospect of having a row upon 
 the river. Mr. Mandsley had taken her ouce, 
 and shown her how to handle an oar; and she 
 wanted to feel again the soft, gliding motion of 
 the boat, and to hear the cool plash of the oars 
 in the water, and watch the sunlight glancing 
 from the spray, and try to fancy it all over once 
 again. 
 
 "When Alison rose to go, she hesitated a mo- 
 ment^ then smoothed down Janet's brown hair 
 with a soft, caressing gesture, and kissed her on 
 the forehead. She did not often do this, but 
 somehow she fancied Janet had seemed out of 
 spirits lately. There was something wrong with 
 her, though what she could not tell. She felt 
 sorry for her, shut up in that lonely old house, 
 and went away thinking she would see more of 
 her in future, and try to brighten up her life a 
 little. 
 
 When the next day came, Janet, if she could, 
 would willingly have stayed at home. She did 
 not care much just now about going, and there 
 would be all these strangers there too. However,
 
 THE MASTER OF MARTON. 243 
 
 she had made her promise to Alison, so^ of course, 
 she coukl not break it. And yet when she was 
 fairly started, and had got out of the mossy lane 
 into the green sunlit wood, she felt herself spring- 
 ing up again like grass that has been trodden on. 
 The fresh air did her good, like a medicine. It 
 braced her up to something that was almost en- 
 joyment of the spring beauty around her. The 
 young nature was elastic, and though it had bent 
 beneath the blow that had struck her girlish 
 hopes to the ground, it would not so easily be 
 broken. 
 
 Most men, and most women too, have, like 
 Janet, to go through a first love, which yet is but 
 seldom their last. For a love so to compass the 
 whole life — to penetrate and control every power 
 that, if it be wrenched up by the roots, hope shall 
 be torn up with it, so that henceforth life is a 
 thing that may be patiently borne, cheerfully 
 made the best of, perhaps, but never again en- 
 joyed, no fresh shoots springing up from the old 
 stock — for all this to be, love must be very deep 
 and strong, not on one side only, but on both ; 
 and in first love this is comparatively seldom the 
 r2
 
 244 THE MASTER OF MARTON. 
 
 case. It plays its part in our life ; it reveals us 
 to ourselves, shows to us the heights and depths 
 of our nature, makes us conscious of what we are 
 capable ; but it rarely exhausts the whole capacity 
 of loving, of enjoying, or of suffering. In woman 
 it is often rather a hero-worship than a love. As 
 mountains draw the lightning out of the sky, so 
 does the object of this early devotion draw to 
 itself all that electric vapour of emotion, ideality, 
 and passion, which is slumbering in the heaven 
 of a young girl's soul. 
 
 And such, though she knew it not, had been 
 Janet's love for Mr. Maudsley. He was to her 
 the type of all that existed unconsciously in her 
 imagination. He was great enough for her to 
 fall down before ; wise enough for her to feel her 
 little being lost in his unbounded attainments; 
 good and gentle enough for her to bask in the 
 sunshine of his presence. Above all, he had 
 somehow made her feel that her society was plea- 
 sant to him. Her life was no longer poor, for 
 she could give him that which eveu he could 
 value. And to give, only to give, is always the 
 strongest impulse of a young girl's heart. It is
 
 THE MASTER OF MARTON. 245 
 
 not till afterwards she learns to think more of 
 also receiving love. 
 
 Yet Janet's love, though for the time it had 
 filled her whole being, was not one to grow with 
 her growth; it lacked the one element of en- 
 durance, the certainty of its being returned. It 
 folded her round completely now; but by-and- 
 bye, as her nature expanded, it would become all 
 too strait ; it would fall away as the sheath falls 
 from the leaf when the calyx is torn open that the 
 full glory of the flower may be put forth. And now 
 that the first bitterness was past, and she knew 
 assuredly that her love was hers alone, she was 
 beginning to feel more quiet than ever during 
 that long season of suspense. But it was the 
 quietness of a stagnant pool. Her mind was for 
 the time in a sort of stupor : she was moved this 
 way and that, by people and things around her, 
 but all force of her own seemed for the time to 
 have been exhausted by the first violence of her 
 grief. 
 
 The church clock was striking twelve just as 
 she got through the wood into the village. She 
 hastened on to the Rectory, and found them all
 
 248 THE MASTER OF MARTON. 
 
 just ready to start. The Canon was going to 
 lunch with them, though he had declined the 
 expedition on the river; and Alison had already- 
 sent forward some rugs and the hamper of pro- 
 visions to the place where they were to halt. 
 
 Before they set off, she introduced Janet to 
 the two cousins, Mr. Garsides, a young barrister 
 just returned from his first circuit, still and grave 
 as a mountain-tarn, though with a dash of humour 
 gleaming far down in his eye; and Cicely, his 
 sister, a slight, merry girl, bright and sparkling 
 as a moorland rill — the very one to give life and 
 animation to a picnic party. There was the 
 young curate, too, whom Janet knew already, a 
 sensitive, shy young man; and lastly, Mr. Clyde, 
 whom she had seen yesterday for the first time 
 at church, where more than once, looking up, she 
 had met the gaze of his dark eyes resting on her 
 face. 
 
 They all went on in a group across the village, 
 and through the lodge gates ; then gradually they 
 feir into smaller knots. Mr. Clyde gave Janet 
 his arm, and led her on a little in advance of the 
 rest. They hardly spoke as they went along.
 
 THE MASTER OF MARTON. 247 
 
 Janet had nothii]g to say; or if she hacl_, she did 
 not care to say it ; and her companion was almost 
 as quiet as herself. The others came laughing 
 and talking behind them. The merry little cousin 
 had possessed herself of the Canon, and was danc- 
 ing gaily along like a tiny pleasure-sloop along- 
 side a seventy-four-gun ship. The barrister was 
 lingering by the side of Alison, who, in her quiet, 
 kind way, was trying to make the shy young 
 curate feel himself at ease. 
 
 No one who knew Alison Birney ever thought 
 of calling her amiable or self-forgetting. These 
 fair qualities, which in most women are but as 
 the embroidery of character, seemed in her to 
 form its very essence and texture. There was 
 about her that aroma of sweet womanly gracious- 
 ness, tempered with a gentle reticence and repose, 
 which emanates only from a pure and lofty life. 
 No wonder that wherever she went happiness 
 seemed to spring up beneath her steps, as it did 
 novr, judging from the bright faces of her com- 
 panions, and the gay voices that were ringing 
 around her. 
 
 At last they reached the place where they were
 
 248 THE MASTER OF MARTON. 
 
 to lunch. Mr. Clyde still kept Janet's arm 
 within his own, and moved a little apart, while 
 the others merrily unpacked and set out the pro- 
 visions. When all was arranged, he chose a place 
 for her, a grassy knoll, where she could lean back 
 against the smooth trunk of a great beech-tree. 
 Then he spread a rug for her to sit upon, pro- 
 vided her with all she wanted, and stretching 
 himself at her feet, so as partly to separate her 
 from the rest, began to talk to her in a steady 
 under-tone, to which Janet could not choose but 
 listen. There was a sort of still strength in his 
 ways, which made her feel like a little child before 
 him. 
 
 He was telling her of the vineyards and olive- 
 yards of Spain, whence he had just returned 
 from a tour, of its stately palaces and churches, 
 of the swarthy beauty of its peasant girls, and the 
 dusty splendour of its mouldering Alhambra. 
 
 And Janet, sitting there in the sun-flecked 
 shade, heard him as in a dream, his voice sound- 
 ing between herself and the merry chatter of the 
 rest of the party. Now and then Alison looked 
 across, satisfied to see that she seemed interested
 
 THE MASTER OF MAKTON. 2 49 
 
 at last ; but she did not interrupt their conversa- 
 tion. So Janet sat all the time, leaning against 
 her beech -tree, just listening, seldom speaking 
 herself, and Mr. Clyde's presence, like a wall, 
 shutting her in with him. 
 
 When luncheon was over, the Canon rose and 
 went off home by himself. He came round first 
 though to Janet, and took both her hands in his 
 as he said good-bye. 
 
 '^ You don't come up to the rectory so often as 
 you used, Janet. Are you growing tired of us, eh?" 
 
 Janet looked up with a protesting smile. 
 
 " And you are getting paler than you used to 
 be. It won't do at all. Alison must look after 
 you a little." 
 
 And then he went away, and Mr. Clyde took 
 possession of her again, until Alison proposed 
 that they should go clown to the boat. It was 
 some little distance to it, across the wood. They 
 had to push through a long winding-path, tangled 
 over with brushwood, briers, and creepers. This 
 brought them out by-and-bye upon a strip of 
 grassy land that ran along between the wood and 
 the river. There was a cave here where the
 
 2^0 THE MASTER OF MARTON. 
 
 boat was moored, but no proper landing-place; 
 and Alison and her cousin, when they reached 
 the brink, looked doubtfully, as well they might, 
 at the steep bank down which they would have 
 to scramble. 
 
 But Mr. Clyde was already in the boat and 
 helping Alison down. She half slipped on the 
 smooth, wiry grass, and the boat rocked sus- 
 piciously as he made a hasty movement to assist 
 her, and drew her safe in. Janet looked alarmed. 
 
 ^^ You need not be afraid,^^ he said, reaching 
 out his hand as if to bid her follow. 
 
 She came to the edge of the bank, and then, 
 without another word, he lifted her down as if she 
 had been a child. When she was fairly in, he 
 turned round to find her a seat, leaving the 
 others to manage for themselves. 
 
 " Can you steer T^ he asked. 
 
 Janet nodded an answer, and he led her to the 
 further end of the boat, putting the strings into 
 her hands ; and then, placing Alison before her, 
 he took an oar, laid the other one for the barrister 
 behind him, and sat down in front of them. In a 
 few moments they had pulled out into the middle
 
 THE MASTER OF MARTON. 251 
 
 of the river, and were going steadily down the 
 stream. 
 
 Alison was a little tired and glad to be still for 
 awhile, and Janet shut her eyes, and leaning back 
 abandoned herself to the dreamy delicious sensa- 
 tion produced by the gliding motion of the boat. 
 It was like being gently rocked to sleep, and the 
 measured plash of the oars in the water sounded 
 like a lullaby in her listening ears. She wished 
 it were possible to have remembered being lulled 
 to sleep upon her mother's breast. She thought 
 it must have felt just like this, only that then there 
 would be no dull heartache to soothe away. She 
 heard the merry low laugh of Cicely among her 
 companions at the other end of the boat, but it 
 was too far off to interfere with the quiet; and 
 neither Mr. Clyde nor Alison seemed disposed to 
 talk, except that now and then Alison made some 
 chance remark, to which Mr. Clyde responded, 
 and then again both were silent. 
 
 At last they reached the point where they were 
 to turn. There was an awkward bar in the river 
 which could only be passed when the water was 
 high. The two oarsmen began to paddle the boat
 
 252 THE MASTER OF MARTON. 
 
 round, Janet had to attend to her steering now, 
 and was rousing herself back to waking life, when 
 suddenlj^ the barrister made a false stroke. He 
 tilted backward on his seat, and in the effort to 
 recover himself was dragged by his oar half over 
 the side of the slender boat, which, overbalanced 
 by his weight, gave a terrible lurch. Alison 
 turned pale, and Cicely screamed out and started 
 towards her brother. 
 
 "Sit still, all of you,'' shouted Mr. Clyde, who 
 saw that the addition of Cicely's weight would be 
 almost certain to capsize the boat, and send them 
 all into the water together. He reached round, 
 grasped the arm of the unlucky barrister, and with 
 a single effort dragged him back into his place. 
 But as he turned again, Janet noticed a sharp 
 wince of pain cross his face. He took the oar 
 into his left hand, and made two or three uneven 
 strokes. Alison's quick eye saw that there was 
 something wrong. 
 
 " You have hurt yourself," she exclaimed. 
 
 " It is nothing," he replied ; " I have strained 
 my wrist, I believe. But it has happened unfor- 
 tunately. I shall not be able to pull back very
 
 THE MASTER OF MARTON. 353 
 
 well with this left hand. Mr. Meade, can you 
 take an oar T' 
 
 The curate blushed like a girl as he confessed 
 his inability. 
 
 " Then I must do my best/^ he replied, turning 
 round again and addressing himself to his task, 
 but he made the attempt with such evident diffi- 
 culty that Alison seemed quite pained, and Janet 
 after hesitating awhile, ventured at last to proffer 
 her services. 
 
 Mr. Clyde looked a little dubious. 
 
 " Are you sure you can row V' said he, resting 
 on his oar. " It is hard work.^^ 
 
 " I know what it is. I have rowed before,^' 
 she answered ; and satisfied by her assurance, he 
 rose, and handing her cautiously to his seat with 
 his left hand, sat down himself in her place at the 
 helm. 
 
 Janet took the oar and began to row, almost as 
 easily as if she had been accustomed to the exer- 
 cise. It was pleasant to her. She enjoyed the 
 rhythmic motion, the exhilaration of cleaving her 
 way along through the gleaming tide, the cool 
 play of the breeze, which at every bend in the
 
 254 THE MASTER OF MAPwTON. 
 
 river fanned her flushing face. They went gliding 
 on between the high grassy banks, with their 
 fringe of grey willows above, and tall flags and 
 reeds beneath, past little argosies of water-lilies 
 floating among their dark green leaves, by shel- 
 tered nooks so thickly strewn with hyacinths and 
 forget-me-nots, that you might suppose a patch of 
 blue sky had dropped down here and there to- 
 earth. And all the time Janet felt upon her that 
 dark, watchful eye, which already, she knew not 
 how, was beginning to exert a sort of fascination 
 over her. Again and again something drew her 
 to glance up, and always she found it fixed upon 
 herself. She could not understand it ; she did 
 not feel uneasy or annoyed, but it was as if he 
 were taking all her own power of will away from 
 her. It was a relief when, by-and-bye, Alison 
 began to talk, and he turned aside and steered the 
 boat towards a cluster of water-lilies which she 
 was admiring. 
 
 The young barrister stayed his oar, and reaching 
 carefully over, managed to bring up three or four 
 of the stately blossoms. 
 
 " Do you know,^^ said Janet, as he laid his
 
 THE MASTER OF MARTON. 255 
 
 prize at his cousin's feet, " I always fancy these 
 water-lilies are just like Alison. There is such a 
 snowy dignity about them, and they are so pure 
 and fair, and not common flowers at all/' 
 
 Alison laughed. 
 
 "I must try to deserve such a compliment," 
 she said, as she laid away her lilies for safety 
 under a ledge in the boat. " But Janet, are you 
 not getting tired with that hard work ?" 
 
 " Oh no, not at all,'' she answered, eagerly. 
 " I like it ; and it is quite easy now that I have 
 got used to it." 
 
 And then Cicely began to chatter across to 
 them from the other end of the boat ; and the 
 stream of talk flowed gaily on, until at length 
 they arrived at the landing-place again. They 
 managed to scramble safely ashore, fastened the 
 boat to its moorings, and then struck across to 
 the road that ran through the centre of the 
 wood. 
 
 Here they were to part. Alison and her cousins 
 were going home to dinner, the young curate to 
 his lodgings, and Janet, after bidding them good- 
 bye, turned to shake hands also with Mr. Clvde.
 
 256 THE MASTER OF MARTON. 
 
 " Ah I your strained wrist," she exclaimed. 
 " I had forgotten it. I must just say good-bye, 
 then." 
 
 '^ If you will allow me, I will walk through the 
 wood with you/' he said. " I must see Mr. 
 Brande. Is he at home ?" 
 
 " Oh, yes," said Janet ; " he is very seldom 
 away. But I did not know you knew him." 
 
 " I am glad you are not going by yourself," 
 said Alison, who had been trying in vain to 
 induce Janet to return with them to the rectory. 
 " It was so careless in me not to make you quite 
 understand that we expected you to dinner as 
 well." And then with another farewell pressure of 
 her hand they separated, and Janet turned home- 
 wards, accompanied by Mr. Clyde. They walked 
 on for some little time silently, down the long 
 vista of overarching trees. At last Janet looked 
 up timidly. 
 
 '* Does your wrist pain you ?" she inquired. 
 
 ^' No," he answered abruptly, as if half an- 
 noyed by her question. And then, after a mo- 
 ment's pause, he asked her suddenly if she had 
 been in London during the spring.
 
 THE MASTER OF MARTON. 257 
 
 Janet started ; it was as if he had been reading 
 her thoughts^ which just then were wandering away 
 to where the " Madeline" hung upon the walls of 
 the Academy. She had been wishing it were 
 possible for her to steal in unseen, and take one 
 long look at the pictured form. It was all she 
 cared for, but she should like to see it once, to hear 
 the praises of the people, to share the artistes fame 
 although herself unknown, and to bring back to 
 her memory that moment in the Tudor chamber, 
 when the idea had first flashed across his mind. 
 She was learning already to think quietly some- 
 times of those hours that to her had seemed to be 
 as the beginning of life, to think of them as of a 
 time with which the present had no connexion. 
 The past few weeks had put them at an immea- 
 surable distance from her. Her very hopeless- 
 ness had brought her rest. 
 
 Mr. Clyde^s sudden question broke in upon her 
 musings. She answered " No," in some confusion. 
 
 ^* I thought you might have felt some curiosity 
 to see Maudsley's ^ Madeline.^ It is an excellent 
 likeness, but you are paler now than you were then." 
 
 Janet was not pale now. He was looking 
 
 VOL. I. a
 
 258 THE MASTER OF MARTON. 
 
 down at her, and she turned her face towards him 
 all crimsoned with the sudden excitement. He 
 went on without seeming to notice her. 
 
 " You would like to see it, would you not ? 
 You ought, you know, since you inspired the 
 artist with his idea. He told me himself that he 
 was indebted to you for the success of his picture.^' 
 
 Janet tried to force herself to quietness. 
 
 " I am afraid I shall not,^^ she said. " We 
 never go from home, and London is so far away.^' 
 
 He knew Mr. Maudsley, then ! They had been 
 talking about her. What did he say ? What 
 was he doing ? She longed to know, but did not 
 dare to ask. 
 
 '* I shall hope to show it you before very loiig,'^ 
 said Mr. Clyde. *' The picture is mine, but at 
 present, of course, it must remain where it is. I 
 could not resist the temptation to possess myself 
 of it, nor to come down here and see the original. 
 Maudsley told me where you were to be found, 
 and gave me a letter of introduction to Mr. 
 Brande. It is rather odd that my mother should 
 chance to be here just at the time," he added, 
 after a pause ; and then he turned from the sub-
 
 THE MASTER OF MARTON. 259 
 
 ject, and began to talk about indifferent things, till 
 they arrived at the gate which opened out of the 
 lane into the garden of the Priory House. 
 
 Miss Mildred was there, tying up her pinks. 
 So was Mr. Brande, who was walking up and 
 down with his hands behind him, beneath the 
 high beech hedge that enclosed the garden. 
 
 Janet introduced her companion. She dared 
 not trust herself to say, " a friend of Mr. 
 Maudsley^s.^' But Mr. Clyde supplied her omis- 
 sion, and presented the artistes letter. There was 
 a stately courtesy about Mr. Brande, absent as he 
 was, which suited well with his tall spare figure 
 and noble countenance. He received his guest 
 with a quiet cordiality, and conducted him to the 
 house, followed by Janet and her aunt. 
 
 Mr. Clyde, however, did not stay very long. 
 He had obtained his introduction to the family at 
 the Priory House, and that was sufficient for the pre- 
 sent. He sat for a few moments only, conversing 
 with Mr. Brande, and then took his leave, promising 
 to repeat his visit on the following day and bring 
 with him his mother, who he was sure would be 
 glad to make the acquaintance of Miss Brande. 
 s 2
 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 I WILL. 
 
 E did come the next day, and Mrs. 
 Clyde with him. She was a tall, 
 severe-looking woman, in a limp 
 black dress. Dark-complexioned, 
 like her son, but without that glow of conscious 
 ease and strength that redeemed his countenance 
 from the harshness which characterized her own. 
 She was soon deep in conversation with Miss 
 Mildred, talking in a dull rasping voice that 
 grated unpleasantly on Janet's ears, as she sat a 
 little apart in her favourite seat just within the 
 Oriel window. The two elder ladies presently 
 discovered that they had both been to the same 
 school in Bedesby, and had, moreover, one or two 
 mutual acquaintances in the city. Miss Mildred
 
 THE MASTER OF MARTON. 261 
 
 found, too, that her visitor held views exactly 
 coinciding with her own on her pet subject, the 
 management of charity schools, and the proportion 
 which ought to be observed between the amount 
 of needlework, reading, and writing to be taught 
 in them. Both agreed also in lamenting the 
 deterioration of female servants in the present day, 
 and the difficulty of obtaining now any that were 
 good for anything. 
 
 " Such notions, too, as they have in their 
 heads \" said Miss Mildred. " Why, even our 
 maid Bessie actually has her letters addressed 
 * Miss Jones,' and only the other day I caught 
 her in Janet's room leaning on her broom and 
 reading the ^ Lady of the Lake/ instead of getting 
 on with her work.'' 
 
 Mrs. Clyde shook her head and expressed her 
 opinion that, if things went on much further, we 
 should by-and-bye be unable to obtain servants 
 of any kind. Their heads were being filled so 
 full of such nonsense as history, geography, 
 and grammar, which were being taught to 
 the girls in these new Government schools, that 
 she said she expected they would soon be quite
 
 262 THE MASTER OF MARTON. 
 
 above such a menial occupation as domestic 
 service. 
 
 Altogether, though, like little Miss Gale, Miss 
 Mildred had not been prepossessed in favour of 
 her visitor at first, yet she parted from her quite 
 delighted to have met with a person who on these 
 important points could sympathize so entirely 
 with herself. 
 
 And all the time Mr. Clyde had been keeping 
 Janet by his side, talking to her in a low vibrat- 
 ing voice, that seemed almost to touch her; it 
 wound about her so, making her feel that she 
 must listen to him, whether she cared or no for 
 what he was saying to her, and when he went 
 away, leaving her with that strange sense of being 
 released from something that was holding her, 
 which she had felt the day before when he gave 
 over watching her, and began to talk to Alison in 
 the boat. 
 
 He came almost every day after this, once or 
 twice with his mother, but generally alone, offering 
 no excuse for his frequent visits, never staying 
 very long at a time, but always before he went 
 devoting himself for a time exclusively to Janet,
 
 THE MASTER OF MARTON. 263 
 
 drawing her irresistibly within the circle of his 
 influence, as a leaf is swept within the current of 
 an eddy in a stream. And there was little now 
 in her to oppose to the power he was thus exerting 
 over her. All that once had given, strength and 
 energy to her nature, bracing it to vigour and 
 activity, had been withdrawn. She was feeling 
 limp and spiritless throughout, and swayed help- 
 lessly hither and thither just as any passing breeze 
 might move her. 
 
 By-and-bye, when her drooping forces should 
 have recovered their tone, and the young life 
 within her have again asserted its supremacy, it 
 would be difiierent ; but just now, before this new 
 influence, she bent like a reed before the wind. 
 
 Hannah, from her kitchen, marked what was 
 going on, and shook her head. Somehow she 
 mistrusted that dark-faced stranger. There was 
 a dangerous light in those dusky eyes that boded 
 no good, she feared, to her young mistress. 
 
 " He don^t come here for nothing,^^ she thought 
 to herself, as she sat one morning outside the 
 door shelling peas, and saw over the hedge Mr. 
 Clyde going down to the garden-gate, and Janet
 
 264 THE MASTER OF MARTON. 
 
 walking slowly, with bowed head, beside hira. 
 '* He's after Miss Janet, as sure as peas is green, 
 an' he'll bring her trouble too, the dear, nobbut 
 he gets a hold of her, for all he's so well-spoken 
 an' has such a grand like way wi' him. It's ill 
 trusting men with faces like yon o' his. You 
 might as well wed a linnet to a hawk, as trust a 
 young lady like Miss Janet, bless her, with one o' 
 them. He'll pleasure with her a bit maybe, an' 
 then break her heart, an' look as smooth after it 
 all as yon pool down at Dead Man's Dyke, where, 
 they say, there was the bones of a murdered man 
 found at the bottom one summer's day." 
 
 But Hannah might shake her head. Mr. 
 Clyde came all the same, and whether the old 
 servant was right in her bodings or not. Miss 
 Mildred, for her part, thought he was one of the 
 most agreeable young men she had met with for 
 a long time. So courteous and attentive, without 
 seeming fussy or forward in the least, and always 
 listened too with such deference to any remarks 
 she might make, so different from some she could 
 mention. And Miss Mildred pursed her lips a 
 little, drew up her head and lamented, as she often
 
 THE MASTER OF MARTON. 265 
 
 did^ the degeneracy of the young people of the 
 present day. 
 
 Janet was sitting up in her own room one warm 
 still afternoon, stitching away at a rent in her 
 dress, which she was hoping to darn up so neatly 
 that her aunt would not discover it had been torn, 
 or reprove her for the carelessness which had 
 caused the accident. This heedlessness about her 
 clothes was an old fault of Janet's, one which she 
 had not outgrown, any more than Miss Mildred 
 had outgrown her habit of scolding the girl, as 
 though she had been still a child, when such 
 accidents occurred. 
 
 She was working busily away when she heard 
 through the open window the sound of steps 
 coming up the walk from the gate. She peeped 
 out cautiously from behind the curtain, and saw 
 the figures of the two Misses Curlew. They were 
 coming to call upon her aunt, and they always 
 stayed such a time, too. She would be sure to 
 be called down to sit with them, and then her 
 aunt would find out about her frock, and very 
 likely say something to her about it before them. 
 
 All this flashed through her mind in an in-
 
 266 THE MASTER OF MAKTON. 
 
 stant, and then she snatched up her hat, which 
 was lying on a chair, ran swiftly downstairs, out 
 at the garden-door, and by the time that a peal 
 of the bell announced the arrival of visitors, she 
 was half-way down the beech-tree walk, on her 
 way to her little retreat by the river-side, where 
 she hoped to remain undiscovered until the com- 
 pany had departed. 
 
 She went quite close to the waterside, and sit- 
 ting on a rocky ledge, gathered her dress closely 
 around her, and bent down over the dark gleaming 
 river that lay like a polished mirror at her feet. 
 She could see reflected in it the great ash 
 trees that stretched their branches overhead, 
 leaving hardly a single space in the thick leafage 
 through which a gleam of sunshine could force its 
 way. And there in the green shadow, framed 
 round by the arching foliage, she saw her own 
 figure, the eyes meeting and answering her stead- 
 fast gaze, as if some one else like and yet unlike 
 herself, were holding communion with her. 
 
 For long she sat thus, her arms resting on the 
 twisted root of a tree that had writhed itself down 
 towards the water. A sort of fascination held her
 
 THE MASTER OF MARTON. 267 
 
 gazing on the mirrored countenance ; a dim feeling 
 of companionship breathed towards her from that 
 pictured form, a sense of pitying sympathy- 
 soothing her^ she hardly knew why. Presently 
 she roused herself with an impatient gesture, and 
 pushed back from her forehead the heavy masses 
 of russet hair, which in this shadowy covert had 
 gathered a deeper tone. And as she did so, a 
 weary, longing look came eddying up into her 
 eyes, and flowed quietly, slowly, over her face. 
 
 She remembered that last year she had sat thus 
 one day with Mr. Maudsley, on this same rocky 
 ledge, reading over to him Schiller's " Song of the 
 Bell," trying to catch from him, as he repeated 
 the lines, the rhythm and ring of the German 
 words; and then how he had laid the book out of 
 her hand, and twining one of the long brown 
 tresses round and round his finger, had told out 
 to her the grand meaning that underlay the poet's 
 words. She remembered how pleasant it had been 
 listening to him, and then how, stealing a wistful 
 glance at him as he sat there, the happy glow had 
 died away at sight of his far-off face ; how she 
 knew that his thoughts were not with her, the
 
 268 THE MASTER OF MARTON. 
 
 little girl by his side, that they had slipped away 
 from her feeble companionship, and were moving 
 on with steady majestic march in a region where 
 she could no longer follow him. 
 
 She was startled by hearing footsteps on the 
 bank above her head. How provoking ! she 
 could not be quiet even here. She started to 
 her feet, and immediately a voice, which she re-- 
 cognised as that of Mr. Clyde, called to her. 
 
 " Stay where you are, I am coming to you.^^ 
 
 The next moment he had leaped down, and 
 was standing by her side. 
 
 " You have got a quiet hiding-place here,^^ he 
 said. " I should not have found you out, if 
 Kollo had not betrayed your whereabouts. What 
 were you doing? You are quite in a flutter; 
 your hand is trembling in mine like a frightened 
 bird." 
 
 He had taken her hand in his, and was hold- 
 ing it all the time, looking down straight into 
 her face with that steady, burning gaze, that 
 always seemed to Janet to draw all her strength 
 away. She did not answer; she was trembling 
 before him as the leaves in a wood tremble before
 
 THE MASTER OF MARTON. 269 
 
 the wind. Neither did he speak again for awhile, 
 and Janet felt the silence falling strangely around 
 her. At last he broke it. He was holding her 
 still with that controlling gaze. 
 
 "^ You know what it is I want.'^ 
 
 His voice was a little lower,, a little deeper and 
 nearer to her than usual. That was all; but 
 there was no mistaking what he meant. Janet 
 understood him well, although she neither spoke 
 nor moved, only trembled more visibly, and 
 flushed a deeper colour. 
 
 She was feeling as if her whole past life had 
 drifted from her, and left behind it nothing but 
 this strong, dark presence in which she was 
 standing. If he chose to take her, she was his. 
 All power to resist his will had passed away be- 
 neath that long unwavering look. He had con- 
 quered, and he knew it. 
 
 " It is to be, then, Janet,^^ he said. " Speak ; 
 for I am going back to your father now, to teU 
 him you have promised. Will you have me V^ 
 
 And then Janet answered, in a faint, uncertain 
 voice, which yet to her seemed to ring through 
 all the listening air. One little word ; but when
 
 270 THE MASTER OF MARTON. 
 
 it was spoken, she had cut the last cable which 
 held her safely in the quiet haven of home. Her 
 little craft was floating out — whither? — with that 
 dark steersman at the helm. 
 
 He said nothing to her after that, only laid 
 his two hands heavily upon her shoulders, and 
 stooping down his bearded face, he kissed her on 
 the brow. 
 
 She was his now. Scarcely a month ago he 
 had fallen in love with the pictured face on the 
 walls of the Academy; and now the iron Avill 
 which had never failed him yet had won for him 
 the original. 
 
 The next moment he was gone, and Janet was 
 standing by herself, wondering at what had come 
 to pass. She could have thought it all a dream, 
 but that she felt still the touch of his lips upon 
 her forehead. It meant that before many months 
 were past she was to be this Brian Clyde^s wife. 
 
 His wife — his wife ! She looked around : there 
 was the sheltered nook beneath the ash, the river 
 glancing by, the waves of green wheat on the 
 other side of the bank, that seemed to be still 
 rising and falling before the wind. There was
 
 THE MASTER OF MARTON. 271 
 
 the dappled sky beiidiDg over all. Everything 
 just as it had been ten minutes before ; and yet 
 this strange change had fallen into her life. 
 
 She felt as if she were just dipping her foot 
 into some broad, dark-flowing stream^ and knew 
 not whether she should be able to ford it safely, 
 or be borne resistlessly along the torrent. But 
 she could not gather her thoughts together suffi- 
 ciently to realize what had happened. She sat 
 down again, and gazed vacantly on the unceasing 
 flow of the current that was gliding past. It 
 seemed to her, in its living motion, like a com- 
 panion ever saying something in a language which 
 she could not comprehend. Yet it soothed her 
 with its murmuring voice, and lulled her into a 
 mood, that, if not forgetfulness, was at least in- 
 difi'erence. It was as if her whole life were flow- 
 ing on with the steady tide- — as if nothing could 
 ever have power again to lash it into storm. 
 There was no longer anything that she should 
 care to lose, nothing that she should rejoice to 
 have. Whatever came to her now Avas all as one, 
 and being Brian Clyde's wife would be only as a 
 ripple on the stream.
 
 K 
 
 ■•:'•" 
 
 '■•:'•" 
 
 ■"'•' 
 
 
 >y 
 
 w 
 
 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 PREPARATION, 
 
 HIS was in June, and in August 
 they were to be married. That 
 had been arranged as soon as the 
 engagement was made. Miss Mil- 
 dred could have wished it to have been a little 
 later. There would be hardly time, she was 
 afraid, to prepare a fitting trousseau. Besides, 
 now that Janet was really on the eve of such an 
 important event — not merely passing through the 
 gate of marriage out of girlhood into womanhood, 
 but leaving her own land as well as her father^s 
 house — the heart of the staid old aunt folded 
 more closely than before around her motherless 
 niece. Hitherto she had regarded her chiefly as 
 something that required to be lectured and scolded
 
 THE MASTER OF MARTON. 273 
 
 up to her own standard of female perfection — a 
 troublesome charge, who needed looking after on 
 every side, lest she should break away from the 
 straight path of propriety in which she expected 
 her to walk. But now she looked at her with 
 softened eyes. Already the dignity of the future 
 bride was gathering round the girl. Miss Mil- 
 dred ceased to scold, and began to counsel. She 
 felt that the topstone was being put upon the 
 edifice which she had laboured so assiduously to 
 erect; and her great anxiety now was, to furnish 
 her with such store of maxims as should serve 
 for direction when she herself could be no longer 
 at hand to advise. 
 
 Mr. Brande, too, would fain have kept his 
 daughter by his side. True, he had never made 
 of her either a pet or a companion ; yet, now that 
 she was about to be taken from him, perhaps 
 never to return, he discovered how closely she was 
 bound up with his life. She was young, almost 
 too young, he thought, to be a wife ; yet it was, 
 perhaps, better, on the whole, that he should see 
 her safely settled now, than have to leave her at 
 his death to battle through the world alone. Her 
 
 VOL. I. T
 
 274 THE MASTER OF MARTON. 
 
 husband would be strong enough to shield her 
 from the ills of life. He had good connexions, 
 good prospects, and had certainly, Mr. Brande 
 considered, acted in the whole affair as honourably 
 as a man could. He had obtained his consent 
 before saying anything to her; and though Janet 
 would have her mother^s fortune when she came 
 of age, yet he had been willing that the greater 
 portion of it should be settled on herself 
 
 Of his past hfe Mr. Brande knew little. He 
 was not a man skilled in discerning character. 
 Mr. Clyde was quiet and gentlemanly in his bear- 
 ing, irreproachable in all his ways — all, at least, 
 that came under the eyes of Mr. Brande, who 
 was a man of a singularly guileless and unsus- 
 picious nature; and for the rest, why, the sins 
 of men are not, like those of women, blazoned 
 on their foreheads ; and in his intercourse at the 
 Priory House, Mr. Clyde had never by any chance 
 word or hint revealed anything in his previous 
 history from which its simple-minded inhabitants 
 might need to shrink. 
 
 So it was settled that the marriage was to be 
 at the end of August, which would leave time
 
 THE MASTER OF MARTON. 275 
 
 sufficient for the wedding-tour, and allow Janet 
 afterwards to pay a farewell visit for a day or two 
 at her old home, before proceeding with her hus- 
 band to the port whence they were to embark for 
 India. 
 
 Miss Mildred set busily to work. A bridal 
 outfit, and for India, too, was no ordinary under- 
 taking; and although Mrs. Clyde suggested that 
 many things would be better purchased ready- 
 made, and even offered her own assistance in 
 selecting them from the Bedesby warehouses, yet 
 enough remained in the way of preparations to 
 render the intervening months a period of anxious 
 and unremitting occupation. 
 
 But to Miss Mildred the affair was altogether 
 one of absorbing interest. She scrutinized the 
 texture and quality of the rich silks brought out 
 for her approval by the Bedesby shopmen, held 
 them carefully to the light and tested the softness 
 and thickness of the fabric with that sage ex- 
 perienced air which ladies on these occasions are 
 accustomed to assume. She turned over pile after 
 pile of filmy lace and transparent cambric, chose 
 the finest and most delicate muslins and em- 
 t2
 
 276 THE MASTER OF MARTON. 
 
 broidery, and gathered together, regardless of ex- 
 pense, all those multitudinous accessories of the 
 toilette, without which no modern bride is consi- 
 dered to be properly prepared for the dignity she 
 is about to assume. 
 
 More than once she sorted over the whole con- 
 tents of the great linen press on the landing, 
 selecting therefrom the finest damask drapery that 
 it contained. Dozens and dozens of every article 
 that was needed for household use. For it was 
 fifty years since a bride had gone from the Priory 
 House, and there was store in that great chest to 
 serve for generations yet to come. She held long 
 consultations, too, with Mrs. Clyde, whose house 
 at Bedesby being longer on hand than was at first 
 expected, remained at Marton till the beginning 
 of July, and who, stern-featured as she was, un- 
 bent to take into consideration the various details 
 of the trousseau, and looked on with a certain 
 grim satisfaction at the rapidly advancing pre- 
 parations. 
 
 Eor Mrs. Clyde was at last nearing the accom- 
 plishment of the long-cherished wish of her heart. 
 She was about to see her son married, and to just
 
 THE MASTER OF MARTON. 277 
 
 such a girl as she should have chosen for him 
 herself. For no one could be quieter, Mrs. Clyde 
 thought, or less given apparently to the pomps 
 and vanities of the world of fashion, than this 
 Miss Brande, whom her son had chosen, and who 
 had been so carefully trained by such an exem- 
 plary person as Miss Mildred Brande. 
 
 Brian Clyde had been a stubborn, self-willed 
 boy, almost ungovernable in his temper, and re- 
 senting bitterly during his youth the iron hand of 
 authority laid upon him by his mother. For Mrs. 
 Clyde had never tried the force of love. A stern 
 restraint was the only means that presented itself 
 to her of holding back her son from the evil 
 courses which had hurried his father to the 
 grave. 
 
 But as Brian grew older, and his nature 
 hardened into manhood, his will had gained the 
 mastery over hers. Coolly and quietly he set her 
 at defiance, and stung the mother^s heart, which 
 lay deep hidden beneath its wrappings of harsh- 
 ness and severity, by hardly caring to hide from 
 her those stains in his life which, indeed, by 
 young men of the world are often not considered
 
 278 THE MASTER OF MARTON. 
 
 a reproach. Her only hope had been, that when 
 he married, his wife would win him from his 
 doubtful ways. He would settle down, she 
 thought, when he had a home of his own, and, 
 under proper influence there, become all that she 
 could wish. But until he could maintain a wife 
 it was useless to think of his marrying one, and 
 though his tastes were expensive and severely 
 taxed her means, he had never yet tied himself 
 down to the restraints of a profession. 
 
 At last this Indian appointment had turned up, 
 and her hopes rose high, for he had said, as he 
 sat over his coffee by the drawing-room fire on one 
 of those rare evenings, which, when at Bedesby, 
 he had spent at home, that he was thinking of 
 looking out for a handsome girl to take over with 
 him, for life would be so awfully slow in India. 
 " And one with a ' tocher,' too,'' he added, 
 ''for my father has limited me to a wife that 
 can keep herself. It is a pity when people 
 can't be reasonable in their pleasures. They may 
 enjoy life surely if they have any sense, without 
 either killing themselves or robbing those who 
 come after them."
 
 THE MASTER OF MARTON. 279 
 
 Mrs. Clyde said nothing in return. She had 
 learned, poor woman, to keep silence before her 
 sou, and only waited in anxious suspense to see 
 whom he would choose to be his wife. If only 
 it were not some giddy extravagant girl, who would 
 be more likely to get wrong herself than to lead 
 him right. 
 
 But with Janet Brande she was even more tlian 
 satisfied. Such a quiet, docile girl, so steady and 
 well conducted. Of a good family, too, and if 
 her fortune was not large, still not quite penniless. 
 Very attractive also ; and though beauty in itself 
 was no recommendation to Mrs. Clyde, indeed 
 rather the reverse, she knew well that therein 
 would lie the source of Janet's influence with her 
 son. 
 
 No wonder, then, if inwardly she exulted that 
 his choice had fallen on one so suited in every 
 respect to be his wife. Whether the young girl 
 herself had been equally fortunate was a question 
 with which Mrs. Clyde had no concern. Woman 
 was intended to minister to man, and if now and 
 then a victim was sacrificed in the service, why 
 others had suffered before, and the risk was
 
 280 THE MASTER OF MARTON. 
 
 common to all. Janet, like the rest, must take 
 her chance, and if her innocence and beauty- 
 availed for the reformation of her husband, the 
 benefit would be her own. At all events Mrs. 
 Clyde did not see that it was her place to deter 
 the girl from the step she was taking, or to frus- 
 trate her own long-cherished plans by revealing to 
 her before marriage what it was to be hoped she 
 ^ould never discover after. 
 
 The person who seemed to be least inter- 
 ested in all that was going on was Janet herself. 
 She made her choice, when it was necessary to do 
 so, among the various articles of millinery, lace, 
 and jewellery, silks and muslins, that were sub- 
 mitted to her for selection. She stood passively 
 while bonnets, dresses, and mantles were being 
 tried on and passed in review before the critical 
 eye of her aunt. She sat unweariedly stitching 
 away at the multitudinous articles of feminine 
 attire which Miss Mildred prepared and put into 
 her hands to make. Her future life, when she 
 thought of it at all, seemed bounded by a definite 
 horizon — her wedding-day. Beyond that, all was 
 blank. She hardly realized that anything would
 
 THE MASTER OF MARTON. 281 
 
 succeed the time when these preparations should 
 be completed, and the irrevocable words pro- 
 nounced which should make her the wife of Brian 
 Clyde. 
 
 Yet each day was narrowing the space that 
 separated her from it, each day retreat, even if 
 she wished it, was becoming more and more im- 
 possible, and each day while he remained at 
 Marton, came Mr. Clyde to the Priory House, 
 subduing her by that all-constraining presence, 
 or making her feel as if her will was lost 
 in his beneath that long controlling gaze which 
 at rare intervals he bent upon her. 
 
 At rare intervals. Mr. Clyde did not burden 
 her with love, for which he saw that she had no 
 return. The girl's heart lay like an open page 
 before him. It was not the first he had studied. 
 He read there in characters not to be mistaken — 
 the story of a previous love. He saw that it was 
 only the reaction caused by some broken or dis- 
 appointed faith that had drained her for the time 
 of all energy and will, and led her to yield with- 
 out resistance to the overmastering force which 
 his stronger nature had put upon her own. By-
 
 282 THE MASTER OF MARTON. 
 
 and-bye, he had no doubt, strength would return 
 — the young life within her begin to assert itself 
 again. Women got over these things; he had 
 mangled some hearts himself, and seen them cured; 
 but in the meantime she would have become his 
 own, beyond all power of release. She would 
 struggle, perhaps, in her prison. It would be all 
 in vain ; she would only bruise herself against the 
 bars. 
 
 And yet he would rather that she loved him, 
 too. There was something in the girl that im- 
 pelled him irresistibly to long to reach down to 
 the soul which looked out so meekly and unhope- 
 fully from those dark, liquid eyes of hers. Yes, 
 he would bind her, and firmly, too ; he must do 
 that, but her fetters should be soft. 
 
 There are few men so case-hardened by a course 
 of selfish sin as to be wholly proof against the 
 good influences which from time to time stream 
 in upon them from without. Brian Clyde was 
 not. The fires of passion had burnt fiercely and 
 long within his breast ; but there was one green 
 spot remaining still, and when Janet^s face had 
 first looked down upon him from the canvas, it
 
 THE MASTER OF MARTON. 283 
 
 was its undimmed purity, as well as its rare 
 unconscious grace, that had won him to desire, 
 not her beauty only, but her love, to be for him 
 a quiet resting-place when the toil and anxiety of 
 his India life should have begun. There were 
 dim feelings within him which hitherto he had 
 found none to share, in those hours when every 
 human being longs to lay some part of the weight 
 of his own nature on the heart of another. There 
 was strength in that young girl^s innocence. He 
 could lean upon it without fear. There was a 
 strange fascination in her guileless loveliness, and 
 so with that soiled hand of his he had reached 
 forth and drawn her to himself. 
 
 Who are we, that we should harshly judge 
 another because the outer garment of his life may 
 be stained more blackly than our own? This 
 man had received at his birth, as a mingled in- 
 heritance, his father's stormy passions, his mo- 
 ther's stubborn will, both grafted on a stock so 
 replete with vital force, that only the sternest 
 self-restraint could have repressed their growth. 
 Perhaps he had striven, and been overcome; 
 perhaps he had yielded without resistance.
 
 284 THE MASTER OF MARTON. 
 
 One thing is certain — the victory had not been 
 his. 
 
 Let those who have been less strongly tried 
 thank God with trembling, not with pride, that 
 life has been made an easier task to them. 
 
 4
 
 M'y^- y:>Myi y-^M^':^.y:(W':^.y-^M 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 DOUBTS. 
 
 UGUST had come, with its yellow 
 corn-fields and its purple moors — 
 its sultry days and dewy nights. 
 The leaves in the garden of the 
 Priory House began to rustle crisply in the 
 breeze, and the palm-like fronds of the great 
 horse-chestnut by the gate to look a little bronzed 
 amid the fresher foliage of the limes and beeches 
 by its side. The thirty-first was to be the wed- 
 ding-day, and Miss Mildred was straining every 
 nerve that the preparations might be completed, 
 as far as possible, at least a week beforehand, so 
 as to afford a little quiet time before the excite- 
 ment of the great event began. 
 
 Alison Birney was to have been the chief
 
 286 THE MASTER OF MARTON. 
 
 bridesmaid ; but for the last month she had been 
 in the south, watching by the sick-bed of an 
 invalid aunt, who required her constant care. She 
 was sorry to disappoint Janet, and had even pro- 
 posed to make the journey from Torquay the 
 previous day, and return as soon as the ceremony 
 should be over. This, however. Miss Mildred 
 would by no means suffer her to do ; and as 
 Janet had no other intimate friends of her own, 
 it was arranged that Alison^s place should be 
 supplied by two young ladies, nieces of Mrs. 
 Clyde's, who were then on a visit to their aunt. 
 
 But a more serious obstacle than this inter- 
 vened, which for a time threatened even to post- 
 pone the marriage altogether. This was the ill- 
 ness of Mr. Brande himself, who for a day or two 
 seemed to be almost at the point of death. He 
 had driven over to Bedesby one morning with 
 his sister in the little pony-carriage through a 
 heavy rain, and sitting all day in his damp clothes 
 in the great lecture-hall, where a meeting of the 
 Archseological Society was being held, had re- 
 ceived a chill, which ended in a dangerous attack 
 of rheumatic gout. Happily, however, the vio-
 
 THE MASTER OF MARTON. 287 
 
 lence of the disorder abated under the skilful 
 treatment of the physician from Bedesby, who 
 had been summoned to attend him, so that all 
 fears for his safety were removed ; though a week 
 only before the time fixed for the wedding he 
 still remained in a somewhat critical condition. 
 
 Mr. Clyde usually rode over once a week, 
 rarely oftener, to the Priory House. He watched 
 warily each passing mood of feeling on the part 
 of his intended bride, and wisely judged that his 
 safest policy at present would be to keep aloof as 
 much as practicable, until she should be more 
 securely his own. The time was nearing rapidly 
 now, yet still there was the possibility that the 
 prize might escape from his hands ; and lately he 
 fancied he had perceived slight symptoms of a 
 change in her manner. There was more inde- 
 pendence, more fitfulness, and less apathy. The 
 last time he had been was the very day that Mr. 
 Brande had takeu his unfortunate journey to 
 Bedesby ; Janet was alone, and while he stayed 
 she had seemed impatient instead of subdued ; 
 had talked more, moved restlessly about, and evi- 
 dently tried to avoid being near him. He saw
 
 288 THE MASTER OF MARTON. 
 
 that she was agitated and uneasy in his presence. 
 Perhaps she was waking up to all that was about 
 to happen, and now that the scales of indifference 
 were falling from her eyes, and her marriage was 
 close at hand, she might shrink from abandoning 
 herself completely to his control. He resolved 
 not to repeat his visit sooner than was absolutely 
 necessary; and it was therefore not until a day 
 or two after Mr. Brande had been pronounced in 
 a fair way of recovery that he appeared again at 
 the Priory House. 
 
 He was accompanied by his mother. Miss 
 Mildred had apprised them of her brother's 
 illness; and Mrs. Clyde came prepared with a 
 project which she intended to introduce, if Miss 
 Mildred proposed, as she probably would, that in 
 consequence of the unexpected turn things had 
 taken, Janet's marriage should be postponed for 
 a short time. 
 
 She was right in her conjecture. Miss Mildred 
 had naturally been desirous that, as all arrange- 
 ments were completed, the wedding should take 
 place as originally intended. Still slie felt 
 uneasy respecting her brother. He was in a
 
 THE MASTER OF MARTON. 289 
 
 very precarious condition^ and it was absolutely 
 necessary that he should be kept perfectly free 
 from excitement. Even if the unfavourable 
 symptoms did not return, the doctor had said 
 it would be some weeks at least before he would 
 be well enough to move about; and being an 
 elderly man, and not robust, several months 
 would, in all probability, elapse before he re- 
 covered entirely from the effects of the attack, 
 which, in his case, had been one of unusual 
 severity. 
 
 In this critical state the excitement of his 
 daughter's marriage might prove decidedly in- 
 jurious ; and Miss Mildred, after carefully weigh- 
 ing the matter, had decided to urge upon Mr. 
 Clyde the expediency of deferring the event 
 until nearer the time of his embarkation. But 
 this he steadily resisted. He had powerful 
 motives, though he kept them to himself, for de- 
 siring that Janet should be his wife as speedily as 
 possible. And then Mrs. Clyde, who was equally 
 anxious with her son that no delay should occur, 
 brought forward her proposal : it was that the 
 wedding should take place at her house at 
 
 VOL. I. U
 
 290 THE MASTER OF MARTON. 
 
 Bedesby. There were many advantages^ under 
 the circumstances^ in such an arrangement, which 
 she did not fail to present to Miss Mildred in the 
 strongest point of view. She urged the case. 
 Miss Mildred considered, hesitated, and finally was 
 persuaded to agree. True, she had reckoned all 
 along on having Janet married from the Priory 
 House, with all the little festivities which should 
 give importance to the event. But this, she v/as 
 aware, could not be done, nor the wedding 
 guests suitably entertained, without involving 
 considerable commotion in the house. If her 
 brother should suffer in consequence, she should 
 never cease to reproach herself; so, not without 
 many regrets, she relinquished her cherished 
 schemes, and consented that the management of 
 the final arrangements, and the trouble of con- 
 ducting the wedding, should be transferred to the 
 hands of Mrs. Clyde. 
 
 While this conference was going on in the 
 dining-room of the Priory House, Janet, who 
 had started not long before the arrival of Mr. 
 Clyde and his mother, was on her way 
 through the wood to Marlon Rectory. Mr.
 
 THE MASTER OF MARTON. 291 
 
 Clyde had not been mistaken in the conclusions 
 he had drawn from Janet's altered manner. She 
 had for some weeks been slowly awakening to a 
 sense of the true nature of her position ; and the 
 sudden and alarming illness of her father had 
 still further shaken her out of the state of listless 
 apathy in which so long she had been plunged. 
 During those three days, when the shadow of 
 death had seemed resting over the house, and 
 she had watched in terror and suspense by the 
 bedside of her father, she had been learning to 
 see more clearly around her. The presence of a 
 near and tangible grief had shown her how un- 
 real, for the most part, had been the web of 
 fancied misery which, in pettish wilfulness, she 
 had woven about herself, shutting out thereby 
 God's sunlight from her soul. Now, as light 
 broke in upon her, she felt dismayed at the toils 
 in which she had entangled herself. What was 
 it she had done ? She had promised to marry 
 this Brian Clyde. And then, with fear and 
 trembling, she put the question to her heart, 
 which, if a woman needs to ask at all, already it 
 is answered : Did she love this man, who, next 
 u 2
 
 292 THE MASTER OF MARTON. 
 
 week, if her father's life was spared, would make 
 her his wife ? 
 
 Did she love him ? And through every fibre 
 of her womanhood she felt the shivering whisper 
 run — No. Yet she would have to promise to take 
 him as her own, to take him until death — until 
 death. That was a long word. She must look 
 down the tedious years and see him still beside her.. 
 She would be no longer her own, but his, with no 
 power to release herself. And yet he had never 
 made a single pulse thrill with a warmer beat of 
 emotion as she felt her hand in his. She had bent 
 beneath his influence, but it was as the flower 
 bends before the wind, not as it opens its petals to 
 the sun. Yet what could she do? She felt 
 hedged about on every side — there seemed no way 
 of escape. This day week would be their wedding- 
 day. She longed to grasp and stay the hand of 
 Time that was dragging the days so relentlessly 
 over her head. Why had she not thought of it all 
 until it was too late ? Should she confess all to 
 Mr. Clyde the next time he came, tell him she 
 found she could not love him with the love a wife 
 should bring to her husband, and ask him even
 
 THE MASTER OF MARTON. 293 
 
 now to free her from her engagenient ? But dare 
 she do it — she who always felt herself in his pre- 
 sence swaying hither and thither as he moved her, 
 just as the water weeds waved to and fro in the 
 current of the Lyme? Could she, weak and 
 helpless, stand upright and stem the tide ? Be- 
 sides, in her inmost heart she knew it would be 
 useless. He would not be made to swerve from 
 his purpose by such a confession as that. It had 
 not been to gain her affections only that he had 
 drawn her thus mightily to himself. And then, 
 through all the tracks of thought this question 
 pursued her — " Shall I give myself for nought ?" 
 
 She looked up ; her father was sleeping quietly, 
 her aunt just coming on tiptoe into the room 
 with a little plate of jelly in her hand, ready for 
 him when he should awake. She whispered to 
 Janet that she would take her place and bade her, 
 as the day was fine, go down to the village and 
 take back to the rectory a review which Dr. 
 Birney had lent her father just before his illness. 
 
 Miss Mildred devised this little errand chiefly 
 for the sake of giving Janet a walk. She had 
 confined herself too closely in her father's room,
 
 294 THE MASTER OF MARTON. 
 
 she thouglit, and now that he was really recovering, 
 there was no longer any occasion for her to shut 
 herself up day after day, hardly stirring from his 
 side. 
 
 Janet made no objection. She got the book 
 and set out, still pondering over the thoughts 
 which had been busying her mind as she sat in 
 her father's room. She longed for counsel, yet 
 knew not where to turn to seek it. She would 
 never have dreamt of confiding her uneasiness to 
 her aunt, and Alison Birney, to whom she might 
 have told it all, was away. She thought of the 
 Canon. He was always good and kind to her. 
 Could she venture tp trust her perplexities with 
 him ? He would understand her, she knew, if 
 she could but find courage to tell him all. He 
 would know what she ought to do, and whether it 
 would be possible for her, now that the time was 
 so near at hand, to break through all these en- 
 tanglements, and let Mr. Clyde go away to India 
 without her. How safe she should feel when once 
 he was out of the country ; and with that thought 
 she went more lightly along, hardly noticing the 
 summer beauty of the wood or the broad wooded
 
 THE MASTER OF MARTON. 295 
 
 sweep of the park, until, passing through the lodge 
 gate she came out close by the rectory garden. 
 
 The Canon was at home in the library, the 
 maid said. 
 
 " Do not call him away then, I will go to him," 
 ^aid Janet, as she crossed the hall after the girl. 
 The library, though in reality the Canon's study, 
 was by no means the sanctum sanctorum usually 
 implied by the name. " Master's study," in most 
 cases, is a retreat which even the housemaid her- 
 self is hardly privileged to invade. I knew an 
 excellent man once, by no means a domestic 
 tyrant either, who would not suffer even his wife 
 to enter without first knocking at the door to re- 
 quest admission. But the Canon's library was 
 the inner home of the rectory household. It was 
 Alison's constant resort, — she used to sit there half 
 the day when her father was at home, and Janet, 
 when she went to the rectory, generally made her 
 way there, and had had many a long talk with 
 her in the deep window seat, while the Canon sat 
 at his table writing, hardly conscious of their 
 presence. 
 
 Figure to yourself a tall, grand old man, with
 
 296 THE MASTER OF MARTON. 
 
 a high arched forehead, crag-like head fringed with 
 spare grey locks, an eye keen yet kindly, a face 
 full of charity and repose, and a large, stooping 
 figure clad in a faded crimson dressing-gown, and 
 you see Canon Birriey, as Janet saw him when 
 Penelope opened the library door, and ushered her 
 into his presence. 
 
 He was busy writing, three or four letters lying . 
 ready directed before him, the table littered over 
 with a miscellaneous collection of books, pam- 
 phlets, manuscripts, and loose sheets of paper, 
 piled up in apparently promiscuous disorder, 
 though no doubt the Canon himself could have 
 laid his hands in the dark on each separate article 
 as easily as he could on the pockets of his study 
 coat. He looked up over his glasses as Janet 
 entered the room; then seeing who it was, laid 
 down his pen and rose up to greet her. 
 
 " Come here, child, and let me look at you,'' 
 he said, holding out his hands to her. " Do you 
 know how long it is since you were here ? Not 
 once since Alison went away, and she has been 
 gone nearly a month. You are getting inde- 
 pendent of your old friends^ hey V^
 
 THE MASTER OF MARTON. 297 
 
 *^ No, indeed/' answered Janet^ " but we have 
 been so busy, and I was afraid if I came bere you 
 might be engaged, and this week papa has been 
 so ill. He is better now, though. Dr. Browne 
 said to-day that he kept improving. Aunt 
 Mildred has sent your book back. She said it 
 would be some time before papa would be able 
 to go on with it, and you might want it yourself. 
 Shall I put it away ?" she added, for Janet knew 
 quite well the place of all the new books in the 
 Canon^s library. 
 
 " Do ; and reach down that folio with the 
 lettered back/' answered the Canon. " Not that 
 — the one next to it. And now, look here/' he 
 continued, opening out carefully a folded plate; 
 ^' you have never seen this before. I only got it 
 the other week." 
 
 Janet uttered a little cry of delight. 
 
 " It is the great east window of the cathedral. 
 How beautifully it is tinted ! I can tell now 
 what the pictures in the different compartments 
 mean. I never could puzzle them out myself. 
 Some one said once that it was the history of the 
 world from the time of the Creation, but it just
 
 298 THE MASTER OF MARTON. 
 
 seemed to me like a splendid confusion, as if a 
 rainbow had been chopped up and sprinkled all 
 over it/' 
 
 " Well, now you can study it at your leisure," 
 said the Canon, " if you are not in a hurry to go 
 away. I shall be obliged to finish this letter ; it 
 has to go, with these others, by the Indian mail, 
 and it closes to-day. Can you wait awhile? — I 
 shall not be long. The book is too big to carry 
 about, or you should take it home with you. 
 You will find the windows down the nave too — 
 the Crucifixion of Peter, and Christopher among 
 the waves, and the rest.'' 
 
 Janet drew a chair to the table, and began to 
 examine the plates with eager attention. She had 
 so often wanted to know what those old windows 
 were meant to represent, whether some of them 
 really had a story of their own to tell or not. But 
 by-and-bye her thoughts flowed back into their 
 old channel. She was wondering how she should 
 manage to tell the Canon what she wanted to say. 
 It had seemed so much easier when she was 
 walking through the wood than it did now, when 
 she was sitting: beside him.
 
 THE MASTER OF MARTON, 299 
 
 Just then the Canon looked up. He had 
 finished his letter, and was folding it in the 
 envelope. He saw the doubtful, anxious look on 
 Janet^s face. There was something behind it all, 
 he felt sure. Perhaps this coming marriage was 
 weighing heavily on her mind. It was a serious 
 thing, he thought, for so young a girl to leave her 
 own country and her father's house, and enter on 
 such a new and untried life, with one so recently 
 a perfect stranger. 
 
 " What is it, Janet T^ he inquired. . " Are you 
 so sorry to leave us all that you are looking so 
 grave V 
 
 " Oh no,'' said Janet. " It is not that, at 
 Jeast not exactly ] only I have been thinking so 
 much lately. Papa has been so ill, and it came 
 into my mind then." She paused; it was so 
 hard to find words to say what she wanted. They 
 all seemed to melt on her lips. 
 
 " But, my dear child !" said the Canon, not 
 comprehending her meaning, " you need not 
 make yourself uneasy about him, now that he is 
 recovering. Your aunt Mildred will take good 
 Care of him. Besides, we must not have you
 
 300 THE MASTER OF MARTON. 
 
 leave us such a downcast face as this to remember 
 you by/' 
 
 There was something in the Canon's voice just 
 then, beyond his words, that made Janet feel as 
 if she could trust him now with everything. He 
 was thinking for the moment of a time long ago, 
 of a little bright-haired child, whom he had seen 
 lifted up to kiss the pale wan lips of the young 
 mother who lay a- dying. His own daughter too 
 was motherless, and that had always caused him 
 to feel for Janet an interest even above that 
 which her own winning ways had inspired. But 
 the last words were hardly out of his mouth 
 when there rang through all the house a sudden 
 peal of the front-door bell — a vigorous, decisive 
 summons, as if some one of consequence were 
 waiting for admittance, some one who would not 
 brook delay. 
 
 Janet started up. " I must go,'' she exclaimed ; 
 " I am wasting your time sadly. There is some 
 one coming ; I heard a carriage driving up.'' 
 
 " Nay, nay, child ! " returned the Canon, 
 ^^ don't be so easily frightened away. Perhaps it 
 was a false alarm; and besides, you are not
 
 THE MASTER OF MARTON. 301 
 
 keeping me from anything of importance now. 
 Saturday is always a rest-day with me.'' 
 
 Janet sat down again. She wanted to tell 
 him all;, and yet it had been with a hidden sense 
 of relief that she had heard the ring which had 
 put off her avowal. The next moment there was 
 a tap at the library door, followed by Penelope's 
 face, looking somewhat more important than 
 usual. 
 
 *' You are wanted, sir, please. It's the Dean ; 
 he is waiting in the drawing-room.'' 
 
 The Canon nodded. " I am coming directly, 
 Penelope. Good-bye, then, Janet; I shall see 
 you again in a day or two." 
 
 Janet looked up in his face. She was not 
 afraid now, in the least. Oh, for one five minutes 
 more ! — but it was too late. He was leading her 
 across the hall ; there was the Dean's carriage 
 waiting on the gravelled sweep before the door, 
 the harness glittering in the sun, the footman in 
 his sober livery standing beside the horses. She 
 had gone down the steps and seen the Canon turn 
 back from the door. Her visit was over, her 
 doubt unresolved, everything just as it was before.
 
 302 THE MASTER OF MARTON. 
 
 Why had she been so foolish ? Why did she 
 hesitate when he would have listened so kindly to 
 her? And now it was too late. She could have 
 cried with vexation and disappointment, only that 
 would not bring back her lost opportunity. It 
 must all go on now. She could not help herself, 
 and with a sort of desperation she hurried on 
 again past the Hall and through the wood, - 
 feeling as if at every step she were crushing down 
 happiness and peace beneath her feet. 
 
 "There^s Mr. Clyde in the dining-room, Miss 
 Janet, and Mrs. Clyde too. They came just after 
 you went out.^' 
 
 '^ I am going upstairs, Hannah. I can^t come 
 down. Don't say I am come home." And Janet 
 ran softly up to her own room and threw herself 
 down on the window- seat with a sort of sickening 
 apprehension at her heart. She dare not have 
 gone to Mr. Clyde just then. She felt almost 
 as if she had been guilty and deceitful. She was 
 sure if she went to him he would know at once 
 all she had been thinking of. And yet as she 
 sat there, listening nervously for every sound be- 
 low stairs, again and again the thought went
 
 THE MASTER OF MARTON. 303 
 
 through her mind — Which would be the greater 
 wrong, to marry him, feeling as she did, or to 
 break her promise to him ? It was so hard, she 
 thought, to know what was right, harder even 
 than to do it. 
 
 She had not been many minutes when her 
 aunt came to fetch her down. Mr. Clyde had 
 seen her from the dining-room window coming 
 in at the gate. She would be obliged now to go. 
 
 Slowly she rose and followed her aunt out of 
 the room. There was nothing, however, to alarm 
 her; everything seemed much as usual. Mrs. 
 Clyde came forward to greet her, and then Mr. 
 Clyde drew her aside into the recess of the win- 
 dow and began to talk to her in that \o^v ringing 
 tone that always vibrated through her whole 
 frame, making her feel for the time, whether she 
 would or no, in a sort of subtle unison with 
 himself. 
 
 It was nothing very particular that he said — 
 about some place in the Highlands that they 
 were going to visit, and some Tartan ornaments 
 that he had brought her. Yet as he stood hold- 
 ing her hand in that firm velvet clasp, the old
 
 ^04 THE MASTER OF MARTON. 
 
 sense of being controlled returned to her at once. 
 She almost wondered at her boldness in having 
 even thought of breaking away from him. 
 
 Mrs. Clyde was not long before she rose to go. 
 She told Janet of the new arrangement that had 
 been made^ and that they all thought, as things 
 were, it would be better on the whole. 
 
 Janet made no objection. She was feeling - 
 helpless, almost careless, as to what might happen. 
 Since the thing had to be, it made little diffe- 
 rence how or where. All places were alike to 
 her. 
 
 As Miss Mildred and his mother passed out 
 into the hall, Mr. Clyde drew Janet back for a 
 moment, and stooping down, he kissed her on 
 the forehead. He had done so once before, only 
 once, when he had made her promise to be his 
 wife ; and now it seemed as though a second 
 time he were sealing her to be his own. 
 
 " Good-bye, Janet," he said ; and then in a 
 lowered tone he added, " another week, and this 
 Madeline will be mine."
 
 »;:•:•■•-. •/'•;: ■;i•^.•y•";^ '.^l* ■■.•.•■•;•;.-;• ■•.•!.•■•;•: /^^^ 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 WAS IT A LIE i 
 
 T was the last day of August. The 
 sun rose quietly from behind a grey 
 bank of vapour, which by-and-bye_, 
 as the morning broke, fell all away 
 and left him shining bravely over the world. He 
 looked into the dining-room at the Priory House, 
 which was wearing now an unwonted aspect of 
 trim desertion. He peeped through the half- 
 closed blinds into the room above, and there he 
 saw Mr. Brande, sitting propped up with pillows 
 in his bed, and Hannah moving noiselessly about 
 in her clean print gown and chequered apron, 
 attending to his wants. He looked into another 
 sick room far away, where was Canon Birney, 
 with reverent hand closing the eyes of what a 
 moment before had been his sister, while Alison 
 
 VOL. I. X
 
 806 THE MASTER OF MARTON. 
 
 stood weeping by his side. It shone merrily in 
 through the patched window of a bare garret in 
 one of the back lanes of London, burnishing the 
 golden hair of a wan-faced woman, beautiful, 
 young, and poor, who was stitching, as if for life, 
 at a gown of glistening silk. He saw with his 
 broad eve the golden corn-fields round Marton- 
 in-Bedesby, and the tanned reapers sitting under 
 the shadow of the tall stooks, getting their morn- 
 ing " drinking" out of big wooden bottles. He 
 peeped through the chinks of the shutters into 
 the closed rooms of the deserted Hall, turning 
 the motes that danced in his beams into shafts 
 of dazzling light. 
 
 He looked, too, into the little dark vestry of 
 the Belfry church at Bedesby, and there he saw 
 Janet Brande, almost hidden in a cloud of float- 
 ing lace, writing for the last time her old name 
 in the church register, " Janet Brande.^' She 
 was Brian Clyde's wife now ; and Brian Clyde 
 himself stood there, dark and strong and still, 
 and the two bridesmaids, with white gloves and 
 bouquets, their voluminous draperies billowing 
 behind them over a great oaken chest with 
 brazen clasps, that stood in the corner of the
 
 THE MASTER OF MARTON. 307 
 
 vestry. Miss Brande vA^as there too, trying hard 
 to keep an unmoved countenance, and Mrs. Clyde 
 the elder, and the clergyman, a fassy little man 
 in elaborate canonicals, newly come into the 
 living, who had frisked through the service as 
 though it were a pleasant pastime, in which him- 
 self, the bride, and bridegroom were performing 
 their respective parts before an admiring audi- 
 ence.- There were also several friends of the 
 family who had been present at the ceremony, 
 and who privately thought it was a good thing 
 that Brian Clyde had got " settled" at last. 
 
 When the last name had been written in the 
 big heavy book that lay on the vestry table, they 
 all filed out. The little clergyman took off his 
 surplice and hung it up on a peg inside the door 
 of the vestry cupboard; the old clerk was paid, 
 looking furtively afterwards to see how much he 
 had got. The bridal party stepped into their car- 
 riages, stared at by a host of dirty children and 
 idle women who had assembled to witness their 
 exit, and drove to the tali house with the steps 
 in the Abbey Close, where Mrs. Clyde resided. 
 And then the wedding guests ate the wedding 
 breakfast, and afterwards Janet went upstairs and
 
 308 THE MASTER OF MARTON. 
 
 put on her travelling dress, and said all her 
 farewells without crying once, which, as the 
 youngest bridesmaid thought, rather spoiled the 
 effect of the whole. And then she and her 
 husband got into Mrs. Clyde^s brougham, which 
 drove them through the crooked old streets to the 
 Bedesby station. The Edinburgh train was just 
 about starting. A porter, who was looking 
 sharply round for late passengers, came forward, 
 seized their luggage, and pushed it into the 
 van. Another hurried them into a carriage, and 
 slammed to the door with a tremendous bang. 
 The shrill whistle of the engine smote the air, 
 and with a mighty lurch they were speeding away, 
 — Janet and her husband, side by side, rushing on 
 through the country, together and alone. 
 
 Neither of them seemed disposed to talk. The 
 carriage into which they had got happened to be 
 an unusually noisy one; the incessant jar would 
 alone have rendered conversation difficult. Mr. 
 Clyde took off his hat and slung it up under the 
 roof; he put on his travelling cap, reached his 
 arm over the padded cushion between them, and 
 taking Janet^s hand firmly in his own, leaned 
 back in the corner of the carriage, as though
 
 THE MASTER OF MARTON. 309 
 
 he had settled himself down for a five hours' 
 ride. 
 
 There was no reverence^ no tenderness in his 
 action. Perhaps he knew that Janet had none 
 for him^ and would not show her what she was 
 not likely to return. It just conveyed to her a 
 sense of his possession in her — a right which none 
 now might dare to dispute — which nothing in the 
 whole world might set aside. 
 
 And all that he meant it to imply Janet un- 
 derstood. As they sat there_, whirling on past 
 corn-fields and meadows, grey villages, and quiet 
 homesteads, the full extent of all to which she 
 had condemned herself dawned slowly on her. 
 The dull waking stupor in which she had gone 
 through the day was wearing away, and a strange 
 despairing sense of utter weariness of life began 
 to take its place. For a few moments something 
 within her seemed to say, Was there no gate, 
 not out of life alone, but out of existence itself, 
 through which she might pass, and so escape from 
 this too dreary endurance of the burden of being ? 
 
 Her head was aching violently. She put up 
 her hand to her forehead with a gesture of restless 
 pain. Her husband noticed it.
 
 310 THE MASTER OF MARTON. 
 
 " Your head aches," he said. '' You have over- 
 done yourself with the excitement of the day. 
 Why don't you take things more quietly V 
 
 There was nothing in the words, but somehow 
 there was something in the tone, by which Janet 
 felt herself repelled. She leaned back in her 
 corner and hid her face against the cushion of 
 the carriage. If only he would let her alone, 
 and not speak to her just now. 
 
 But he was not going to let her alone. He 
 drew her to him, and held the throbbing head 
 down upon his breast. 
 
 " Lie still, little bird,'' he said, in a quiet, 
 half-mocking tone ; " you are fast caged now." 
 
 For Janet was shrinking back from him, with 
 an involuntary effort to draw herself away. But 
 her feeble force was like the lapsing of the sum- 
 mer wave upon the rock. No need to resist 
 him now. That brown head had found its lawful 
 resting-place at last. 
 
 Yet Janet's heart quailed within her as she 
 felt her husband's arm around her. Her hus- 
 band ! Merciful Heaven ! was it, then, a lie that 
 she had spoken that morning, as she stood by his 
 side in that gloomy old church, and heard as in
 
 THE MASTER OF MARTON. 311 
 
 a dream the little clergyman pattering out the 
 service in her unlistening ears ? 
 
 Alas, it was ! And now too late she recog- 
 nised the wrong. Stunned for the time by the 
 blow that had fallen on her, crushing to the 
 ground her girlish hopes, she had suffered herself 
 to be drawn into that sin against her womanhood, 
 so common, alas ! that it has almost ceased, in 
 this Christian England of ours, to be regarded as 
 a sin — a marriage unsanctified by love. Dulled 
 and deadened by her grief, she had bound herself 
 over with a sort of numbed indifference to the 
 consequences of her act, in a lifelong subjection 
 to one who had never commanded the allegiance 
 of her soul. 
 
 Bitterer tears none shed than the woman, who, 
 roused to consciousness by the galling of her 
 chain, wakes up to the knowledge that in her 
 marriage- bond love is absent, honour an empty 
 word, and that the vow of obedience, which these 
 should have transmuted into a free and glorious 
 service, does but bind her to a servitude more to 
 be dreaded sometimes than death itself. 
 
 Such tears, forced unwillingly from her burn- 
 ing eyes, Janet shed now, as she realized, with
 
 312 THE MASTER OF MARTON. 
 
 bitter pangs of self-reproach, how unspeakably 
 more wretched might be a marriage without re- 
 verence, than even a life without love. 
 
 Yet let us not judge her too severely. She 
 had wronged herself, but she had not deceived 
 her husband also. She had erred grievously, it 
 is true ; yet her sin had been light compared 
 with that of many a young lady in modern so- 
 ciety, whose one aim being to "settle herself in 
 life," unblushingly barters her maidenhood for an 
 '^ establishment," and, so that her price be sure, 
 cares not who may be the purchaser. 
 
 Janet had not erred thus ; she had but suffered 
 herself, knowingly, to be overborne by the per- 
 sistence of an unrequited passion. Yet, even in 
 that, she had wandered from the safe path of 
 rectitude into one where at every step she must 
 feel her feet sore wounded by the thorns. We 
 may pity, we may excuse, but we cannot justify 
 her. We can but watch her, as she painfully 
 pursues her way, trusting that even through this 
 suffering, self-inflicted though it be, she may rise 
 at length to a nobler, happier, and truer life. 
 
 END OF A^OL. I.