E^PVYN 
 
 Brandon Roy
 
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 I.IM ( ) 1
 
 GUY MERVYN 
 
 H IRord 
 
 BY 
 
 BRANDON ROY 
 
 IN THREE VOLUMES 
 VOL. I. 
 
 LONDON 
 S PE N C E K B LAC K ETT 
 35, ST BRIDE STREET, LUDGATE CIRCUS, l I 
 
 iS.m 
 
 [All rights reservfd\
 
 * 
 
 
 
 
 
 GUY MERVYN, 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 
 11 Confound all tutors !" said Sir Guv 
 
 Mervyn, impatiently kicking the stones 
 
 before him, as he strode along the country 
 
 road. "What next, I wonder? I suppose 
 
 -they'll suggest chartering a dancing-master 
 
 ^to put me through my paces, and a parson 
 
 5 to teach me the Catechism! The long and 
 
 ►short of it is, I won't have one; and, it he 
 
 xcomes, by Jupiter, I'll make the place too 
 
 ' hot for him !" 
 
 J^ - 
 
 Sir Guy was thoroughly ruffled, and being 
 
 a young man whose language was at all 
 
 , VOL. I . I
 
 Guy Mervyn. 
 
 times somewhat highly seasoned, he proceeded 
 to solace himself with a few remarks too strong 
 to record, in which he consigned the whole 
 race of tutors to a place even warmer than 
 he threatened to make Mervyn Hall. Then 
 he felt better. His fair young face deared 
 and brightened ; he left off viciously kicking 
 the stones, and whistling to his dog, who 
 had carefully kept at a respectful distance 
 during his master's fit of ill-temper, he threw 
 himself down on a mossy bank by the side 
 of the road, and looking up into the green 
 depths of an old oak overhead, laughed 
 aloud at the unreasonableness of his short- 
 lived anger. 
 
 " Sweet little mother of mine !" he said, 
 and the smile on his handsome mouth was 
 full of tenderness ; " I hope she did not 
 know I w r as vexed. Anyhow, it was not 
 with her. It is always Gertrude, with her 
 confounded interference, who puts her up to 
 plaguing me about my mind and manners.
 
 Guy Mervyn. 
 
 Save a man from his elder sisters, say I ! 
 Never mind, Bidger," as a cold nose was 
 pushed anxiously into his hand ; "I wasn't 
 cross with you, old dog. If they set a 
 dozen white-tied tutors on us, you and I 
 would give them the slip, wouldn't we, 
 Bidger ? And they might scour the country 
 after us till they walked off their reverend 
 legs !" 
 
 Bidger washed his tail in energetic assent, 
 and looked gratefully into his master's face, 
 as though the fault had been his, and he 
 had just been forgiven. The next moment 
 he pricked up his ears at the sound of 
 approaching wheels, and gave a short, sharp 
 bark. 
 
 Sir Guy raised himself on his elbow, just 
 as an open landau, drawn by a magnificent 
 pair of greys, swept round the corner. In 
 it a lady sat alone, leaning listlessly back 
 against the cushions, apparently paying little 
 or no heed to anything around her ; but, at 
 
 i — 2
 
 4 Guy Mervyn. 
 
 another sharp bark from Bidger, she turned 
 her head and glanced at the young man and 
 his doe. 
 
 Involuntarily, Guy sprang to his feet, and 
 stood looking after the carriage, till a turn in 
 the road hid it from sight. Then, with a 
 long, low whistle : 
 
 "Bless us, Bidger!" he said. "What a 
 beauty ! You and I are a highly favoured 
 couple. I bet you a mutton-bone we've 
 seen the Oueen of Sheba !" 
 
 ^Jr *3r 'Sr *ff* 
 
 The Lady Elaine Monk, of The Towers, 
 sat in the drawing-room at Mervyn Hall, 
 paying her first call on its new owners. 
 Mrs. Mervyn sat opposite her, an affable 
 smile on her kind face, but thinking, 
 inwardly, how exceedingly difficult it was to 
 set on with a visitor whose thoughts seemed 
 to be so far away from her present sur- 
 roundings. 
 
 Gertrude, cudgelling her brains for some
 
 Guy Mervyn* 
 
 interesting remark with which to revive the 
 (lagging conversation and attract Lady 
 Elaine's attention to herself, secretly won- 
 dered at her rare loveliness, and noted it 
 with that pang of jealousy which rather 
 pretty girls are apt to feel at sight of queenly 
 beautv. 
 
 Beryl, summoned from the schoolroom, 
 and hurriedly arrayed in her best frock, 
 sighed deeply at intervals, as she sat looking 
 out of the window, wondering what Guy was 
 doing, and heartily wishing stupid people 
 would not call just as she had nearly finished 
 her lessons and was going out to find him. 
 
 At this moment an opportune, ii not 
 entirely desirable, interruption occurred. 
 
 " Yes, we like this place very much,' 1 Mrs. 
 Mervyn was saying; "though it is a great 
 contrast to our Highland home;" when, as 
 if to illustrate the remark, the door burst 
 violently open, and in dashed a rough Scotch 
 collie, making straight lor Beryl, and jumping 
 
 »
 
 Guy Mervyn. 
 
 round her in a high state of excited delight, 
 his quick short bark saying, as plainly as 
 words could speak : " Come out, little 
 mistress ; come out and play." 
 
 u Down, Bidger ; down, sir!" cried Beryl, 
 whose face had brightened at sight of Guy's 
 dog ; " go out, old doggie, at once, and I 
 only wish I could go too. Tell Guy I'm 
 coming soon, and he is to wait." 
 
 Bidger wagged his tail, and dashing out of 
 the French window, bounded across the 
 lawn, and disappeared in the shrubbery. 
 
 " Bidger ?" said Lady Elaine. " What a 
 very uncommon name." 
 
 "Is it not hideous!" cried Gertrude in- 
 dignantly. "He is a nice dog, in spite of 
 his bad manners, so I named him Bijou ; but 
 Guy said a Scotch dog should not have a 
 stupid French name, so — 
 
 5) 
 
 " Guy said a beastly French name," inter- 
 rupted Beryl. 
 
 " So," continued Gertrude, frowning at her
 
 Guy Mervyn* 
 
 sister, " Guy calls him Bidger, which he says 
 is the only sensible way to pronounce Bijou ; 
 but I wish he had taken altogether another 
 name, for he tells everyone that I named 
 him Bidder !" 
 
 " You never could have thought of half 
 such a nice name," began Beryl indignantly, 
 but stopped short at a look from her mother. 
 
 Ladv Elaine seemed nearer smilincr than 
 
 J o 
 
 she had hitherto been during her visit ; but 
 she only said : 
 
 " And is Sir Guy very fond of his dog ?" 
 
 " Very," answered Mrs. Mervyn ; "they 
 are quite inseparable. Whenever you see 
 Bidger, you may be quite sure his master is 
 not far off." 
 
 At that moment Guy emerged from the 
 shrubbery, crossed the lawn, and, only seeing 
 his mother and Beryl sitting near the window, 
 called out in his clear young voice : 
 
 "I say, mother j I've seen such a phiz 
 driving down the road behind a pairol grej
 
 8 Guy Mervyn. 
 
 Bidder and I both thought it could be no less 
 a personage than the Queen of She — 
 
 11 
 
 He stopped short in blank dismay, as he 
 reached the window and saw the other occu- 
 pants of the room ; then — for poor Guy was 
 no courtier- — ■" Jupiter Ammon !" he said, 
 beneath his breath, and vanished even more 
 suddenly than he had appeared. 
 
 An awkward silence in the drawing-room ; 
 then Mrs. Mervyn, ignoring with womanly 
 tact the most awkward part of Guy's perform- 
 ance, apologized to her visitor for his abrupt 
 appearance and departure. 
 
 " I hope you will excuse my boy, Lady 
 Elaine. Having lived all his life in the 
 Highlands, he has yet to learn what is re- 
 quired of him in his new position." 
 
 And then she went on to inquire whether 
 Lady Elaine knew of a good tutor, as she 
 was seeking one to coach Sir Guy for college. 
 
 Meanwhile, Gertrude slipped out into the 
 garden to scold her brother.
 
 Guy Mervyn, 
 
 " Guy, how could you ? It is the worst 
 
 blunder you ever made, which is saying a 
 great deal. A ploughboy would not have 
 been so rude ; and when you saw her you 
 could easily have pretended you meant some- 
 one else." 
 
 " I couldn't/' said honest Guy, "for there 
 she sat as large as life ; and I leave the 
 elegant accomplishment of fibbing to my 
 eldest sister, who does enough for the whole 
 family. But who on earth is she ?" 
 
 " Lady Elaine, from The Towers 1" said 
 Gertrude, smothering her wrath, that she 
 might announce the crushing fact. " And 
 there: we expected to meet all the best society 
 in the county ; and she has called so soon, 
 which was most gratifying to mamma and 
 me; and then you come and insult her, and 
 talk about hex pki -htrphiz % indeed!" 
 
 " 1 am awfully sorry, and I'll go in and tell 
 her so; and I only meant that she was very 
 
 autiful. I'll tell her that, too — women
 
 io Guy Mervyn. 
 
 always like to be admired ; and I'll beg her, 
 on my bended knee, to ask you to The 
 Towers all the same, or I shall never have 
 another day's peace in my life." And Guy 
 turned towards the house. 
 
 " Guy, stop ! You will do nothing of the 
 kind; you would only make matters worse. 
 No doubt mamma is apologizing for you. I 
 dare say she will be quite as friendly to us ; 
 but, of course, she will never notice you after 
 this. And just when she had been saying 
 how much she wished to meet you !" 
 
 Here Miss Gertrude drew on her imagina- 
 tion. 
 
 Poor Guy looked really mortified. 
 
 " I say, Gerty ; she hardly can have heard, 
 and I don't believe she minded." 
 
 " Heard ? Of course she did ! I saw the 
 colour come into her face, though she is too 
 perfect a lady to show in any other way that 
 she felt or resented such rudeness." 
 
 Guy turned away, whistling for Bidger ;
 
 Guy Mervyn. \ \ 
 
 and Gertrude went indoors, flattering herself 
 that for once she had made her brother sorry 
 for his tiresome behaviour. 
 
 But Guy, notwithstanding his boyish 
 roughness and lack of polished manners, 
 
 had in his veins the blood of generations of 
 true English gentlemen, and his idea of 
 aviendc honorable was very different to 
 Gertrude's. 
 
 1 le made his way quickly round to the 
 drive, and seeing the carriage still at the 
 door, bounded down the avenue; and being 
 as fleet of foot as the roval stags of his f ligh- 
 land home, he was soon waiting by the same 
 mossy bank where, not an hour before, he 
 had seen Lady Elaine drive past. His heart 
 1 eat quickly as the greys once more came in 
 sight, and a momentary impulse seized him 
 to jump over the fence into thewood beyond; 
 but he stood his ground, and as the carriage 
 came close upon him, stepped forward and 
 called to the men to stop. Then he saw
 
 1 2 Guy Mervyn. 
 
 with surprise that it was empty. " Her lady- 
 ship " had preferred to walk home, the foot- 
 man said, by the short way through the 
 woods, and had ordered them to return 
 without her. 
 
 For a moment Sir Guy hesitated ; then 
 cleared the fence, and stood in the wood 
 
 ''Find her, Bidger!" he said. " Find her, 
 old do^me J"
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 All things were bright and beautiful, on 
 that summer afternoon, as Lady Elaine 
 walked back to The Towers from Mervvn 
 Hall. The woods rang with songs of birds, 
 but Lady Elaine heard them not. The path 
 she trod was carpeud with moss and bordered 
 with bluebells; but Lady Elaine saw them 
 not. Little peeps of blue sky, flecked with 
 white clouds, shone through the trees, and 
 the sunbeams danced among the bright green 
 leaves, and played upon her as she passed ; 
 but what mattered that the sun shone warm 
 and bright around, when in her heart was no 
 
 sweet sunshine of happiness and love, but 
 
 only ''loom, and cold, cold shadows ?
 
 14 Guy Mervyn, 
 
 Lady Elaine was wrapt in thought on 
 that summer afternoon, so deeply that 
 she started violently as something came 
 crashing through the underwood, and 
 Bidger, jumping out before her, stood 
 right in her path, and uttered a triumphant 
 bark. 
 
 He did not appear at all inclined to let her 
 pass, but looked up anxiously and implor- 
 ingly into her face, with those wonderful dog- 
 eyes which express so infinitely more than 
 many human ones. 
 
 Lady Elaine must have forgotten Mrs. 
 Mervyn's remark about Bidger's appearance 
 being a sure sign of his master's proximity, 
 for, stooping down, she stroked his head, 
 remarking, with a half-smile : 
 
 " Really, Bidger, you are almost as rude as 
 your master !" 
 
 " But nothing like so sorry," said a voice 
 close beside her ; and looking up, Lady 
 Elaine saw, for the third time that afternoon,
 
 Gux Mervyn. 
 
 Sir Guy Mervyn, the new baronet and 
 master of Mervyn Hall. 
 
 He looked very handsome, standing before 
 her, cap in hand, in all the healthy vigour and 
 strength of his youth, hot and (lushed with 
 running and scrambling across the wood ; 
 and there was such a truly penitent expres- 
 sion on his frank boyish face, that Lady Elaine 
 telt a sudden impulse to put her hand into his, 
 and make friends on the spot. However, 
 on second thoughts she merely smiled, and 
 tried to pass on. 
 
 But this was easier thought than done. 
 Having come so far to apologize and obtain 
 forgiveness, Guy was not going back without 
 thoroughly doing the one and receiving the 
 other. Moreover, Lady Elaine could not 
 feign ignorance of his meaning, havin2 
 acknowledged to Bidger that she remem- 
 bered his offence. Guy saw her hesitate, 
 
 and, with his usual impetuosity, plunged 
 headlong into the subject,
 
 1 6 Guy Mervyn. 
 
 " Lady Elaine, I am awfully sorry ! If you 
 don't believe me, just ask Bidger. I've 
 been tearing along like mad to catch you. 
 You must have thought me such a confounded 
 brute, if you believed I meant to be rude to 
 you! Indeed I didn't! You know as you 
 passed by Bidger barked, and you looked 
 at us ; and I had never seen a face so lovely 
 in all my life. That was all I meant to tell 
 my mother. Gertrude says I ought not to 
 have said ■ phiz,' but I always say ' phiz ' 
 when I mean face, though I never will again, 
 if I live to be a hundred. Don't be hard on 
 a fellow, Lady Elaine I" and there was a 
 tender pleading in his voice, and a look in 
 his blue eyes, such as she would not have 
 expected in this rough boy. " Don't be hard 
 on a fellow, just because he admired you a 
 bit too much, and isn't blessed with manners." 
 
 Then Lady Elaine acted on her first 
 impulse. She put her hand straight into his, 
 and said, with her sweetest smile :
 
 Guy Mervyn. \ 
 
 / 
 
 ''Come Sir Guy, this is much ado about 
 nothing ! Say no more about it. ( >f course 
 I knew your remark was not meant for me to 
 hear; and, after all, it was a fortunate one. 
 since it has made us acquainted. Now, as 
 the wood is lonely, and in case someone el 
 waylays me, or sets a bloodhound on my 
 track, suppose you and Bidger give me the 
 benefit of your escort and protection until we 
 reach the open ground." 
 
 " May we?'' said Guy. "May we really. 
 Lady Elaine ?" And then, all his roughness 
 subdued for the moment, the courtlv grace of 
 his ancestors, which was in him by nature, 
 came out all unbidden ; and stooping over 
 th<- hand she had given him in token of 
 forgiveness, he kissed it. 
 
 But the next moment he was the: Highland 
 lad again, as tossing up his cap he said, with 
 a merry laugh : 
 
 •'Won't I crow over Gertrude 1 Do you 
 
 know, Lady Elaine, she was in an awlul funk 
 VOL, I. 2
 
 1 8 Guy Mervyn. 
 
 lest you should never ask her to The 
 owers. 
 
 They walked on together through the 
 wood ; he chatting merrily, she thoroughly 
 amused for once, and preferring his company 
 to her own sad thoughts. At last, in answer 
 to a question from him : 
 
 " Of course I shall ask you to The Towers, 
 Sir Guy," she said, " whenever your mother 
 or sisters are coming ; but " — smiling up at 
 him — " you must not talk slang to my lady 
 visitors, or remark upon their ' phizes ' 
 before them." 
 
 " Oh ! Lady Elaine, that is really unkind, 
 and after you had forgiven me, too ! I shall 
 never hear that word without feeling so 
 awfully ashamed." 
 
 She looked up at him again. There was 
 something to her particularly fascinating about 
 this frank, outspoken young fellow. It was 
 with a feeling of genuine interest in him that 
 she said gently :
 
 Guy Mervyn. 19 
 
 " Sir Guy, what a pity you cannot always 
 be as you are just now." 
 
 "In what way, Lady Elaine ?" 
 
 "Why, a gentleman." 
 
 He started, and coloured. 
 
 " I trust I am always that," he said quickly. 
 
 " Ah ! but what is your definition of a 
 gentleman ?" 
 
 " Never to do a mean action, and never to 
 tell a lie." 
 
 " Yes," she said warmly ; " I am sure you 
 keep to that standard, and it is a noble and 
 true one. But why not also be a gentleman 
 in manners ?" 
 
 Surely this would pique him, she thought, 
 even as she said it, and half wished it unsaid. 
 But his nature was too noble, too free from 
 petty littleness to be piqued by plain speak- 
 ing, and he answered simply : 
 
 " I wish I could be, Lady Elaine. Will 
 you tell me how to set about it ?" 
 
 " Well," she said, smiling, and half in play ; 
 
 2 — 2
 
 20 Guy Mervyn. 
 
 " & et a good tutor, and work hard ; consult 
 your tailor ; have a dancing-master ; leave 
 off using slang and invoking heathen deities 
 when you are in the company of ladies ; learn 
 your catechism, and read your Bible ; then, 
 I am sure you will be a model young man." 
 
 Why did Lady Elaine include reading the 
 Bible, a book she herself very rarely took up, 
 among her list of desirable accomplishments ? 
 In times to come, she sometimes wondered — 
 wondered why. She laughed as she said it, 
 meaning him to see that her whole lecture 
 was more in play than earnest ; but Guy was 
 grave, and when she ceased speaking, he said 
 quietly : 
 
 " I will do them, every one, Lady Elaine." 
 
 " Even the catechism ?" she asked, 
 laughing. 
 
 " Yes, even the catechism." 
 
 What had come to Guy ? Had her sweet 
 gray eyes bewitched him ? W r ho knows ? 
 A word from a wcman has before now
 
 Guy Afervyn. 2 1 
 
 decided the whole course oi a man's life in 
 
 this world, and — God help us — in the next ; 
 has made it either a strong power tor good, 
 or a fearful one for evil. Whatever came to 
 Guv, the fact remains the same : that he 
 entered that wood a merry, reckless, head- 
 strong boy ; he left it a young man, un- 
 changed indeed in manv ways, but with an 
 earnest purpose, and a fixed determination to 
 carry through that purpose to the end. After- 
 wards he always thought that change came 
 over him when Lady Elaine placed her hand 
 in his, in token of forgiveness, and when he, 
 stooping, kissed it. 
 
 They walked on through the wood, and 
 he told her much of his home life ; she 
 listening and drawing him out, but giving 
 him no confidence in return. 
 
 "You know, Lady Elaine, Beryl is my 
 
 :, and always has been. Gertrude I never 
 
 can and never could get on with. She 
 
 always makes me feel inclin- to swear !
 
 22 G?/y Mervyn. 
 
 Don't you think she is awfully prim ? 
 So different to mother and the little one." 
 And so on, and so on, until she seemed 
 to know all about this boy and his 
 thoughts and feelings. And he? he did 
 not even know her full name, or her 
 husband's. 
 
 They reached the park gates of The 
 Towers. 
 
 " Good-bye, Sir Guy ; and don't forget 
 my lecture !" 
 
 " Good-bye, Lady Elaine. You are quite 
 sure you forgive me ?" 
 
 " Of course ; but there was nothing to 
 forgive." And when she was gone, Guy 
 knelt on the ground, and laid his head on 
 his dog's shaggy one. 
 
 " Oh Bidger, Bidger-— — " but only 
 Bidger heard the rest. 
 
 *Ab „M. Ob db 
 
 w ^ ^r ^fr 
 
 " Where can the boy possibly be ? Ger- 
 trude, you should not have made such a fuss
 
 Guy Mervyn, 
 
 
 over that awkward little episode. He thinks 
 we are vexed with him, and is keeping away. 
 
 Mrs. Mervyn was growing anxious. The 
 lamps were lighted ; they had long grown 
 tired of waiting dinner, and still Guy did 
 not come. It was a lovely summer night, 
 and the windows stood wide open. Little 
 Beryl, feeling injured and deserted, sat near 
 them, listening for Guv's return. Suddenly 
 she jumped up, crying : " Mother, he is 
 coming ! I hear him whistling up the 
 avenue !" 
 
 The next minute, in came Bidger; and 
 before Beryl could go to meet him, Guy 
 himself bounded up the steps. 
 
 11 My dear boy, where have you been ?" 
 
 tl Forgive me, mother darling. I've been 
 a long walk in the woods ; first with Lady 
 Elaine, Miss Gertrude, who sends you a 
 message to the effect that you shall certainly 
 come to The Towers, in spite ol your rude 
 
 brother; afterwards away, ever so tar, alone
 
 24 Guy Mervyn. 
 
 with Bidger ; and, oh mother !" and he 
 dropped playfully on one knee before her, 
 " you are please to find me a tutor, and a 
 tailor, and a dancing-master, and a Bible ; 
 for I'm going to mend my ways ; and some 
 day, when I'm good enough, I mean to marry 
 Lady Elaine." 
 
 " Guy ! My dear boy ! Marry Lady 
 
 Elaine ! Why, don't you know " but the 
 
 mother stopped short. She saw by the look 
 in his face that this was not one of his wild 
 jokes ; she saw, shining there, the light of 
 his first young love. 
 
 Not so Gertrude. " What, Guy ? You 
 marry Lady Elaine ?" 
 
 " Yes, miss. Why not ?" 
 
 " For two very excellent reasons. First, 
 she is at least ten years older than you are ! 
 Secondly, she is married already." 
 
 " Married already !" 
 
 Guy rose to his feet, and stood still for one 
 minute ; then burst out laughing.
 
 Guy Mcrvyn, 
 
 - D 
 
 " Married already ! So she is ! Of course; 
 
 come, Bidger !" And together they went out 
 into the starlight. 
 
 Late that night, his mother knelt beside 
 his bed. 
 
 " Oh, mother, mother ! I love her, I love 
 her! Why didn't she tell me? You can't 
 know how I feel !" 
 
 '• I do know, my boy, my darling !" 
 'As one whom his mother comforteth ' — 
 was there ever a truer word ? 
 
 On that same evening, Lady Elaine sat in 
 her boudoir writing: letters. Half-a-dozen 
 uninteresting little notes had been rapidly 
 tossed off, and lay in a pile ready for posting. 
 Then she took some larger paper, and wrote 
 a letter over which she smiled very often, and 
 paused once or twice to consider; toying with 
 some sweet yellow roses on the table beside 
 her. This letter was to her friend, Muriel 
 Drue-, and ran tin;
 
 26 Guy Mervyn. 
 
 " The Towers, 
 
 "June 6th, 18— 
 
 " My dearest Muriel, 
 
 " At last something really interesting 
 has occurred, and agreeably varied the usual 
 dreary routine of my life. I hasten to record 
 it for your edification, though it happened 
 only this afternoon. 
 
 "What say you to having a hound put 
 upon one's track in a lonely forest, and being 
 persistently kept prisoner by the animal 
 until the arrival of his young and hand- 
 some master ! But I must tell you from 
 the beginning. 
 
 " I believe you heard of the death of old 
 Sir Guy Mervyn, owner of Mervyn Hall, the 
 next estate to Mr. Monk's ? He was on 
 bad terms with everyone, particularly his 
 own next-of-kin, as is often the way with 
 crusty old bachelors. They are said to have 
 been not very well off, and residing some- 
 where in the Hiehlands, when news came to
 
 Guy Mervyn, 27 
 
 them one day that these fine estates, Sir 
 Guy's large fortune, and the baronetcy, were 
 theirs at last. The family consists of Mrs. 
 Mervyn. two daughters, and one son, the 
 new baronet. The three former arrived 
 here about a fortnight ago ; young Sir Guy 
 followed them from Scotland the day before 
 yesterday. 
 
 44 This afternoon I went to pay my first 
 call at Mervyn Hall. On the way I chanced 
 to notice, lounging on a bank by the roadside, 
 a not ill-favoured young giant and a fine 
 collie dog. The latter barked at the carriage, 
 and the former stared at me as though I 
 were the first of my sex he had ever beheld. 
 
 " I paid my call, and found them pleasant 
 people enough. Mrs. Mervyn --a sweet, 
 motherly woman, something like my own 
 mother— was not, I could see, at all favour- 
 ably impressed with me. 1 know I did not 
 shine — I never do now — I cannot help it. 1 
 was thinking all the time how these new
 
 28 Guy Mervyn. 
 
 people would soon hear the gossip about The 
 Towers, and then they would pity me, as 
 others do, and call me 'poor thing.' I would 
 sooner be thought heartless, soulless, mind- 
 less, than that anyone should know how I 
 suffer — suffer. No matter! It will be all 
 the same in a hundred years ; and, at least, 
 you understand me, darling. 
 
 " Well, suddenly, just as I am thinking of 
 taking my leave, in comes the identical collie 
 dog I had seen on the bank, and who, by the 
 way, rejoices in the charming name of 
 Bidger, his master's pronunciation of Bijou. 
 He is followed by the young giant, who 
 turns out to be Sir Guy. Crossing the lawn 
 and coming straight up to the window, before 
 anyone can warn him of my presence, he 
 makes a very audible and rather unfortunate 
 remark about having seen me drive past — 
 something about ' such a phiz !' Then, 
 catching sight of me, 'Jupiter Ammon !' he 
 cries, with a most comical expression of
 
 Guy Mertyn. 29 
 
 consternation, and rapidly makes off. Rather 
 an awkward predicament, was it not ? Mrs. 
 Mervyn apologises, and asks me if I know of 
 a tutor for Ik r son. I inwardly think it 
 would take the combined efforts of several 
 tutors to tame this young bear, and presently 
 take my departure, sending on the carriag 
 that I may walk home through the woods 
 and enjoy an hour of solitude. 
 
 " And now comes the strangest part of the 
 story. I have not proceeded far on my way, 
 when suddenly 'Bidger' springs out upon 
 me, placing himself resolutely in my path ; 
 and before I can attempt to pass or avoid the 
 creature, his master stands before me, looking 
 dismally penitent ; and, now that I see him 
 more closely, remarkably handsome, tall and 
 bn ad-shouldered, with a Irank, boyish la 
 and the clearest, truest pair of blue eyes you 
 < ver saw. As I try to pass on, he pours out 
 a most eager apology for his rudeness; 
 
 candid, ingenuous, and withal rather comic
 
 6 
 
 o Guy Mervyn. 
 
 and wholly irresistible. Then, if you will 
 believe it, I make friends with this wild boy 
 of the woods, and we stroll on together. He 
 is delightfully free from any shyness or con- 
 straint, and talks away volubly ; giving me a 
 bright account of his home, his mother, his 
 beloved Highlands, and himself; and reveal- 
 ing to me, quite unconsciously, what a noble, 
 true, loving nature this young baronet pos- 
 sesses. I am really interested, and find 
 myself thawing more and more, till at last I 
 give Sir Guy much good advice, which he 
 promises earnestly to follow, and we part at 
 the park gates the best of friends. I could 
 not ask him to come on to The Towers, not 
 knowing in what mood I might find my lord 
 and master ; and young Sir Guy's chival- 
 rous, impetuous manner warned me not to 
 take him where he might overhear some 
 insulting remark made to me, or see the 
 butt - end of a riding -whip threateningly 
 raised.
 
 Guy Meryyn. 3 1 
 
 "So, you sec, my dear .Muriel, I am 
 thoroughly interested In my young Achilles ; 
 and intend to constitute myself his Mentor, 
 and help him all I can. He is only nineteen, 
 so I can be quite maternal over him, and he 
 promises to be an apt pupil. You would not 
 believe how wonderfully his manner changed 
 and improved as we walked together through 
 the woods. Once or twice he parted the 
 brambles for me, cmite in Sir Walter Raleigh 
 style ; and when I gave him my hand in 
 token of forgiveness, wincing in anticipation 
 of a bear-like squeeze, he bent and kissed it 
 with remarkable grace. 
 
 •• Now. good-bye, dearest. I left Mr. 
 Monk over his wine, and I hear them assist- 
 ing him to his room, whither I must follow. 
 I i d help me ! 
 
 "Oh, Muriel, 1 sometimes wish I were 
 dead ! 
 
 " Always your friend, 
 
 •• hi. AIM
 
 32 Guy Mervyn. 
 
 The answer to this epistle arrived a few 
 days later, and ran as follows : 
 
 "June 7th, 18— 
 
 " My dearest Elaine, 
 
 " Your lone and interesting letter has 
 just arrived, and I hasten to answer it, 
 although I have only time for a mere scribble. 
 I cannot help feeling amused over your very 
 vivid description of the meeting in the woods, 
 and of your taking upon yourself to lecture a 
 young man on his manners and deportment 
 during the first afternoon of your acquaint- 
 ance. I say young man advisedly ; for 
 when in their twentieth year, young men 
 are not generally called boys ; are they, 
 dear ? 
 
 " Seriously, Elaine ; do be careful, or this 
 young Sir Guy will be falling in love with 
 you ! I hope he knows you are married ? 
 Anvone mioht meet you for weeks and 
 
 Jo •> 
 
 remain entirely ignorant of Mr. Monk's
 
 Guy Mervyn. 
 
 existence. You never mention him ; and not 
 much wonder, poor darling ! 
 
 11 Now don't be too sweet with Sir Guy ; 
 for, when you choose, you can throw off your 
 cold, languid manner, and be simply charm- 
 ing ; and if he sees you do this for him only, 
 and no one else, it will be anything but crood 
 for him. Remember you are but seven-and- 
 twenty, and not at all maternal looking. 
 1 >on't be vexed with me for writing so 
 plainly. I know you have his interests really 
 at heart ; but I foresee a danger you very 
 likely would not think of. 
 
 " Do you know. Elaine, you often remind 
 me of two lines of Byron's ? 
 
 But your cold people are beyond all price 
 When once you've broken their confounded ice 
 
 By the way, that last line is rather in your 
 friend's style of languag 
 
 " Dearest, what can I say to comfort you 
 in your sorrows? Words seem so useles 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 34 Guy Mervyn. 
 
 action is so impossible ! How deeply we are 
 both suffering just now, though from such 
 different causes. Surely a brighter day must 
 dawn ere long. Till then, courage ! 
 
 " You can always be sure of the entire love 
 and sympathy of 
 
 " Your friend, 
 
 " Muriel. 
 
 11 P.S. — Could you not recommend C. B. 
 as a tutor for Sir Guy ? I have heard, indi- 
 rectly, that he is seeking such a post. It 
 would be a great comfort to me if he was 
 where you would see him occasionally ; I 
 could let you have his address, and all 
 particulars."
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 'There were giants in the earth in those 
 days,' read the Vicar ; and all the rustics in 
 the free seats with one accord stared at Sir 
 Guy, as though they thought him an interest- 
 ing specimen of the race turned up in church 
 that morning to prove the truth of Scripture. 
 
 Truth to tell, poor Guy felt somewhat out 
 oi place as he sat in the Hall pew, which 
 occupied an unfortunately prominent position 
 in the chancel. 
 
 Religion did not come natural to Guy ; not 
 even that very easily digested form of religi n 
 to be obtained at most country churches ; cut 
 and dried, and served up by the Vicar; with 
 
 a little nasal sauce, the contribution ol the 
 
 "2
 
 36 Guy Mervyn. 
 
 village choir, adding piquancy and flavour to 
 the dish. 
 
 Guy's whole being revolted against two 
 long hours of imprisonment on a glorious 
 summer morning, wedged into a narrow pew, 
 where, as the Irishman said, it was " quite 
 impossible to kneel down, and exceedingly 
 difficult to get up again." Not that Guy had 
 the slightest intention of doing anything of 
 the kind; for, "Why on earth, Gerty," he 
 said, when his sister remonstrated with him 
 for his irreverent behaviour, " should / have 
 to kneel while other people say their prayers? 
 — and confounded long ones they are, too 1 
 
 ■>} 
 
 So it came to pass that most Sunday morn- 
 ings found Guy roaming about the woods 
 and hills with Bidger. And is it rank heresy, 
 or the simple truth, to say that, in thus learn- 
 ing to know and love the beauties of God's 
 glorious universe, his mind and heart were all 
 unconsciously drawn nearer to the great Mind 
 of Omniscient Wisdom, and the great Heart
 
 Guy Mervyn, 
 
 o/ 
 
 of Eternal Love ? And when the time came 
 for him to know it. Guy believed and rest* 
 in his Father's love more simply, perhaps, 
 than he might have done had he oftener 
 gfone through the meaningless form — which 
 the Church service certainly then was to him 
 — of bored acquiescence in other people's 
 devotions. 
 
 Nevertheless, on the Sunday In question, 
 Guy appeared in church, somewhat to the 
 surprise of his mother and sisters. They 
 had been in their seats quite five minutes, 
 when, just before the service commenced, 
 he strode up the aisle, closely followed by 
 Bidger. Many were the admiring '-lances 
 bestowed upon young Sir Guy's handsome 
 face and stalwart figure, as he made his way 
 to the chancel ; awkwardly colliding with the 
 Vicar in his dignified exit from the vestry, 
 and with Ebenezer Bones, the clerk, who, 
 .till more dignified, followed in his wak 
 Unfortunately, they both caught sight ol
 
 $& Guy Mervyn. 
 
 Bidger, and, at a glance from the Vicar, Bones 
 turned, and bustling back up the chancel, 
 made a sudden grab at that quadruped's tail, 
 as he passed into the pew after his master. 
 Now, "Muster Bones' was noted for the 
 energetic zeal with which he discharged his 
 duties ; therefore, although Bidger promptly 
 took refuge under the seat, he was proceeding 
 with his efforts to catch and summarily eject 
 him from " within these 'ere sacred walls," 
 when Sir Guy who had at first thought the 
 old man was trying to give him a hassock, 
 became aware of his hostile intention towards 
 Bidger, and, momentarily forgetting, in his in- 
 dignation, where he was — " Leave him alone, 
 you old codger!" he said, in unfortunately 
 audible tones. " He's as good a Christian as 
 you are, any day !" 
 
 Bones retreated, highly discomfited, to 
 the delight of the giggling choir ; and Lady 
 Elaine, sitting just opposite, bent over her 
 prayer-book to hide an irrepressible smile.
 
 Guy Mervyn, 39 
 
 It was a queer little church ; most little 
 country churches arc queer in sonic things — 
 this one was in man)'. Chief among its 
 
 peculiarities was a selection of texts sten- 
 cilled upon the walls. These had be 
 chosen, folks said, by the Vicar's wife, with 
 the most wonderful appropriateness. For 
 instance, in large letters over the free seats 
 appeared ' Ask, and it shall be given you.' 
 " I should think they do that enough already," 
 thought Guy, as he read it and glanced at the 
 cupants of the pews beneath. On the 
 other hand, those occupying cushioned seats 
 ot their own were exhorted to ' Be clothed 
 with humility ; and so on, throughout the 
 church. The usual amount of cobwebs were 
 to be n in every available nook and cranny; 
 
 and the dust lay thick in the window-sills and 
 on the carved stonework of the pillars. ( ruy 
 tell to wondering why good folks were so per- 
 ! tly content that the place in which the) 
 worshipped God should remain in a condition
 
 40 Guy Mervyn. 
 
 of dust and dirt, such as he would not for 
 a moment have tolerated in his stables. 
 " Surely," he thought, " if the parson really 
 believed that God saw and heard him at his 
 prayers, he would take care that He did not 
 see His house chockfull of filth and cob- 
 webs. But they are all a confounded lot of 
 humbugs, and don't believe half of what they 
 teach other people." 
 
 So thought Sir Guy, jumping to conclu- 
 sions with rather too much common-sense 
 and youthful impetuosity. So might anyone 
 think, who ever thought twice about the 
 matter, or took the trouble to count the cob- 
 webs to be seen thick and plentiful in many 
 of our churches. Certainly, the Vicar's wife 
 might aptly have added to her collection of 
 texts, and stencilled up in the chancel, Prov. 
 xxx. 28, ' The spider taketh hold with her 
 hands.' 
 
 The service was over. Guy stretched
 
 Guy Mervyn. i ' 
 
 himself, and yawning wearily, walked down 
 the aisle, behind his mother, and in the porch 
 went through a series of introductions to all 
 sorts of charming people. He had always 
 been out when they called, much to the disap- 
 pointment of the match-making mothers in the 
 neighbourhood — all most anxious to see this 
 eligible young baronet, who in a year or two 
 would " do so nicely for one of the dear girls." 
 Guy being " out," frequently meant a rapid 
 exit from the window as the visitors came In 
 at the door. He got well scolded for this by 
 his mother and Gertrude afterwards. 
 
 " But really, you know," he said, on one of 
 these occasions, half defiant, half rueful, "you 
 can't expect a fellow to sit for an hour look- 
 ing such an awful fool on a velvet chair, to be 
 simpered at by a lot of silly girls, and spied 
 
 at through tortoiseshell eye-glasses by their 
 
 tat mammas. " 
 
 " Well,Gu) . ; rertrude answered ironically, 
 
 " all 1 can sa) IS, You shouldn't look ' an
 
 42 Guy Mervyu. 
 
 awful fool ;' and as for our friends simpering, 
 they never do anything so ill-bred; and pray 
 don't suppose anyone wants particularly to 
 see you" 
 
 Then Beryl rushed indignantly to the 
 rescue. 
 
 " Guy never looks a fool ; and everybody 
 wants to see Guy ! Yesterday, when old 
 Lady Flamingo called with her three daugh- 
 ters, I was in the drawing-room, and had 
 only just time to slip behind the nearest 
 curtain as Lawford ushered them in. I got 
 out by the window afterwards, when you 
 were showing them the picture opposite. 
 But, before mother came in, you should have 
 heard how those girls went on ! It was all 
 about Guy — l Ma, do you think Sir Guy will 
 appear ?' ' Ma, is my hat straight ?' ' If he 
 doesn't, don't you think you might ask for 
 him ?' ' Should I have time just to take one 
 peep in that glass before they come in ?' 
 1 Does this red velvet chair set me off well, or
 
 Guy Mervyn. 43 
 
 shall I slip on to the sofa ?' ' Are you quite 
 sure he isn't married already — or engaged to 
 some Scotch girl ?' 'If that is his photograph 
 in the plush frame on the what-not, he must 
 be handsome.' ' In a kilt, too ! So pictu- 
 resque.' ' Clementina, your hat is all on 
 one side.' ' Do put it straight for me, Ella, 
 there's a dear !' 'I am sure I should have 
 time for one look at that photo ; I can't 
 see it from where I sit.' And old Lady Fla- 
 mingo was so stout, and so hot. and so out of 
 breath with getting out of her carriage, that 
 she could only lean back on the sofa, fanning 
 herself, and say : ' Be calm, my dears ; smile 
 at him whenever he looks at you, and above 
 all, be natural. 1 I peeped out just in time to 
 Ella -nasty spiteful thing! — put Clemen- 
 tina's hat much more on one side than it 
 was before ; and the other girl was just 
 hustling hack from looking at Guy's picture, 
 when mother came in. As soon as I could 
 t out I rushed and warned Guy ; ami we
 
 44 Guy Mervyn. 
 
 hid in the shrubbery and watched them drive 
 away, looking awfully cross — didn't they, Guy ? 
 — and Guy said the old Flamingo had come 
 out in her drawing-room curtains, because of 
 the pattern, all big leaves and flowers, on that 
 red satin thing she wore ; and we nearly split 
 with laughing at the thought of his marry- 
 ing one of the little Flamingos — didn't we, 
 Guy ?" 
 
 Mrs. Mervyn and Guy had laughed 
 heartily at Beryl's tirade. Gertrude had 
 looked somewhat discomfited, and said re- 
 provingly : 
 
 " Beryl, I wonder you could be so unlady- 
 like as to hide behind a curtain when our 
 visitors came in. Of course they must have 
 seen you. And then to play the spy and 
 eavesdropper, and repeat in this rude way 
 their little remarks, which they would never 
 have made if they had dreamt of anyone 
 being there to overhear them. Really, I " 
 
 " Come along, little one," Guy had said,
 
 Guy Mervyn. 45 
 
 and the two went off together, leaving their 
 
 sister to conclude her lecture at leisure. 
 
 But on this Sunday morning there was no 
 • scape for Guy. He was introduced to a 
 host of charming people. There was Mrs. 
 Fitzpatrick and her four daughters ; Mrs. 
 Archibald Dawson and Miss Dawson ; Mrs. 
 Frere and her niece, Miss Hope ; and, best of 
 all, Lady Flamingo and the " three dear 
 girls.'' They quite obstructed the churchyard 
 path, as they all stood chatting there ; and 
 Lady Elaine had to go through the long 
 grass, and over several mounds in order to 
 pass them. She bowed coldly to those who 
 noticed her, but did not attempt to join the 
 group. Guy saw her, and his lace flushed 
 as he raised his hat ; but she went on with 
 a mere passing bow, and no special look of 
 recognition. Poor Guy! It was scarcely 
 worth the two hours of patient endurance he 
 
 had gone through that morning. The Miss 
 
 Flamingos made a dead set at him, I hey
 
 46 Guy Mervyn. 
 
 caught his eye, and then all smiled together, 
 looking so excessively silly, that Guy smiled 
 too, in spite of himself, and then plunged into 
 some incoherent remark about the weather ; 
 to which the dear girls replied by all smiling 
 again, and saying how very sorry " mamma " 
 and all of them were that Sir Guy was out 
 when they paid a visit to Mervyn Hall the 
 other day ; to which poor Guy — not being 
 sufficiently well versed in the ways of society 
 to know that, whatever the truth might be, 
 the correct thing was to say how exceedingly 
 sorry he was to miss them — only said : 
 " Oh, were you ?" or something equally awk- 
 ward ; and tried hard not to see the expressive 
 pantomime, in which Beryl was informing 
 him that the old Flamingo's eye was upon 
 him ! Just then Bidger pulled at his coat, 
 evidently anxious to attract his attention ; 
 and looking up, Guy saw Lady Elaine, who 
 had paused when she reached the churchyard 
 gate, and stood looking at him. She smiled
 
 Guy Mervyn. 47 
 
 as their eyes met, and in a moment Guy was 
 
 at her side. 
 
 '* Have you your carriage, Lady Elaine, 
 or do you walk back ?" 
 
 " Oh, I walk, as it is fine. Sir Guy. The 
 nearest way lies through the fields.' 
 
 " May I escort you, Lady Elaine ?" 
 
 She smiled. He had so evidently prepared 
 his part of this little dialogue. 
 
 "Only for a little way. Sir Guy. I am 
 afraid I am taking you from your people and 
 — the Miss Flamingos." 
 
 " Han^ the Miss Flam — that is — I mean 
 — aren't they a sill)- lot, Lady Elaine ?" 
 (No doubt of this being spontaneous.) 
 
 " Very silly. I have always thought so, 
 and do not cultivate their acquaintance; but 
 I believe the whole neighbourhood considers 
 them charming. By the way, Sir Guy. why 
 did you not come with Mrs. Mervyn and 
 your sisters to The Towers on Thursday? 
 
 I made sure when they wriv announced I
 
 48 Guy Mervyn. 
 
 should find you with them. Do you know, 
 I was really quite disappointed." 
 
 No answer. Guy's face was red as fire, 
 and he nervously switched the long - grass 
 and dandelions with his cane. 
 
 " We made such friends last Monday in 
 the wood," she went on. " Do you know, as 
 the week went by, and you did not come and 
 see me as you promised, it occurred to me 
 that perhaps, on second thoughts, you had 
 decided after all to be offended with me for 
 lecturing you so mercilessly !" 
 
 Then Guy spoke. 
 
 " Offended, Lady Elaine ? I offended 
 with you ! You can't have thought that. 
 You don't know how I have been trying to 
 follow your advice all the week, though it is 
 precious difficult not to say strong things 
 before ladies ; because it's just ladies who do 
 the sort of things that make a fellow — at 
 least — no, I don't mean that : but you know, 
 my sister Gertrude is confoundedly provoking
 
 Guy Afervyn. 
 
 sometimes ! Don't you think we might make 
 her ail exception ?" 
 
 " And me too ?" 
 
 11 You ? No, Lady Elaine !" 
 
 " Then what do you call the adjective with 
 which you emphasized • provoking ' ?" 
 
 'Oh, hang it!" said poor Guy, looking 
 really mortified. " It's no go ! You know 
 what the Psalmist says, Lady Elaine ; you 
 can't make a leopard change his skin, nor a 
 silk purse out of a sow's ear ; so it is no us- 
 trying.* 1 
 
 Lad)- Elaine laughed outright. How 
 rarely that laugh was heard, so silvery, sweet. 
 and ringing ; surely it might have made 
 music in the dullest house. Then, seeing 
 Guy was really vexed : 
 
 " My dear hoy," she said, laying her hand 
 lightly on his arm; " you take it too much 
 to heart I was more than half In play the 
 whole time ; and, do you know, I like you 
 much better when you are your natural - 
 
 VOL. I. 1
 
 5<d Guy Mervyn. 
 
 — slang and all — than when you assume a 
 manner which is not your own, and take 
 such pains to talk correctly." 
 
 Guy turned slowly, and looked at her. All 
 the vexation died out of his face, and a 
 merry smile shone there, as, putting on a 
 broad Scotch accent : " Ay, but women are 
 kittle cattle !" he said ; " I might as well have 
 listened to the sermon instead of spending 
 the whole time deciding whether 'escort you 
 to your carriage ' sounded better than 'convey 
 you ' there." 
 
 She laughed again, and shook her head at 
 him. 
 
 " I am afraid you did not profit much, Sir 
 Guy, by our respected Vicar's most excellent 
 advice. What was the text ?" 
 
 " I have not a notion. Lady Elaine. I 
 did not come to church to listen to the sermon. 
 I abominate listening to sermons, and never 
 do it, on principle." 
 
 " Then why did you come to church ?"
 
 Guy Mervyn. 51 
 
 duy hesitated one moment, then said 
 quietly, li To see you again." 
 
 Lad)- Elaine gave him a rapid, penetrating 
 
 -lance. Was he like all the rest, after all ? 
 No : this was no pretty speech meant to 
 please her, but evidently the honest truth, 
 told rather against his will, and only because 
 he would not evade her question, and could 
 not truthfully give any other reply. And 
 Lady Elaine was really pleased. Guy had 
 burst like a warm bright sunbeam into her 
 life — her cold sunless life ; and forced her 
 to let him shine on her, and warm her, and 
 take her out ot her usual reserve ; and she 
 luid scared) realized how much she was look- 
 ing 1 forward to meeting him again until his 
 mother and sisters came to The Towers with- 
 out him. So only boyish shyness had kept 
 him away that day ; and he had remembered 
 his friend ol the woods, and come to church 
 solely to see her again. Yes, Lady Elaine 
 was pleased, very pleased. And then she 
 
 1 2 
 
 LIBRARY 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF ILLINOIS
 
 52 Guy Mervyn. 
 
 remembered that never once during the 
 whole service had she met his eyes ; though 
 she looked across at him often, and wondered 
 if he had seen and recognised her ; and she 
 said to herself, as she had said once or twice 
 before, " Slang or no slang, he is every inch a 
 gentleman.' 1 
 
 " But you must come to church, in future, 
 for a better reason than that, Sir Guy. 
 And do leave Bidger at home next time ; 
 for really I found it exceedingly hard to 
 preserve a reverent and becoming demeanour 
 when poor old Bones was attempting to 
 eject him. You know it is not the custom 
 
 in England for do^s to attend divine 
 
 service." 
 
 " They do in Scotland," said Guy. " In a 
 little church near us there are special seats, 
 up in a sort of gallery, where all the dogs sit 
 together in rows. They behave wonderfully 
 well, unless a rat turns up ; when they throw 
 decorum to the dev winds, I mean, and
 
 Guy Mervyn, 33 
 
 have a general scrimmage. Shouldn't vou 
 like to see it ?" 
 
 11 But surely a rat is not very likely to ' turn 
 up ' in church ?" 
 
 ,c So I thought ; and the day I went I 
 took one in my pocket. I sat near the 
 gallery, and let hirn out right in the middle of 
 tiie ' sarmon,' and wasn't there a jolly row !" 
 
 " Sir Guy, I am afraid you are a very bad 
 young man ! Have you no reverence what- 
 ever in your composition ?" 
 
 " I think I have, Lady Elaine, at least, tor 
 some things, and some people ; but I hate 
 cant and hypocrisy ! Xow, do you suppose 
 the parson this morning was thinking in the 
 le 1st ol what he: was reading, half the time J 
 I am certain he was not, or he would have 
 read a bit differently. And all the people 
 took the cue from him, and humdrummed 
 through the whole performance, as some- 
 thing to be got through and done with. I 
 
 don't believe anyone in that whole congr<
 
 45 Guy Mervyn. 
 
 gation was honestly praying, excepting you, 
 and my mother, and that queer old body in 
 the white frilled cap sitting just under the 
 pulpit." 
 
 " You are observant, Sir Guy, but judge 
 rather harshly." 
 
 They walked on together a little way in 
 silence. The poppies were nodding their 
 red heads saucily among the wheat. Lady 
 Elaine picked one in passing and looked deep 
 into its crimson heart. Suddenly a thought 
 struck her, and her fair face seemed to have 
 caught a reflection from the poppy she still 
 held, as turning to Guy she said : 
 
 " Tell me, Sir Guy : why did you think 
 / was really praying in church this morning ?" 
 They had reached the stile near the cow- 
 slip meadow. Guy was helping her over as 
 she asked the question, and she paused on 
 the step and looked down at him, awaiting 
 his reply. He kept her hand in his for 
 a moment, and looked up at her with his
 
 Guy Mervyn, ^^ 
 
 honest blue eyes ; then, with a bright smile, 
 answered simply : 
 
 " Because, Lady Elaine, I believe you to 
 be as good and true as you are sweet and 
 beautiful ; and I believe your prayers would 
 be real, just as all else you do is real, and 
 true, and good." 
 
 11 But, Sir Guy, you are quite mistaken in 
 me. I am not at all religious." 
 
 " Religious ?" said Guy ; " I hope not, 
 Lady Elaine ! I can't abide religious people." 
 
 " But you really think a great deal too well 
 oj me. I often do things which are neither 
 good nor true." 
 
 " I don't believe it," said Guy, squaring 
 his shoulders determinedly, and looking up at 
 her with an enthusiastic sparkle; in his eyi 
 " I don't believe you ever did a wrong thing 
 in your life ; and, what's more, if I ever s 
 you do a thing which I have always thought 
 to be wrong* I shall consider it rig U from 
 that moment."
 
 56 Guy Mervyn. 
 
 She looked at him earnestly. 
 
 " You would have made a o-ood Roman 
 Catholic, Sir Guy." 
 
 " Why, Lady Elaine ?" 
 
 " Never mind ; but you would. I must be 
 careful how I act in your presence. Now 
 help me down, and then not a step further 
 must you come, or you will keep your mother 
 waiting for luncheon. As it is, she will 
 wonder what has become of you." 
 
 " Let me see you just as far as the park 
 gate, Lady Elaine." 
 
 " No, not this morning. I shall get home 
 quite safely ; I have never been waylaid but 
 once, not so very long ago ! Now, if you turn 
 up the lane there, and keep on to the right, 
 you will find it a short cut to Mervyn Hall. 
 Make good haste, and you will be there 
 in ten minutes." 
 
 " All right," said Guy, rather ruefully ; 
 "but may I send Bidger back with you ?' 
 
 " No, thanks ; not even Bidger !" 
 
 >"
 
 ( ruy Mervytt, 57 
 
 " Well, good-bye, Lady Elaine." 
 " Good-bye, Guy." 
 
 Mrs. Mervyn was sitting in the garden, 
 under the lar^e chestnut tree. She looked 
 up as he crossed the lawn. 
 
 ■' Guv darling !" 
 
 11 Yes, mother dear. Am I late ? I won't 
 be a minute." 
 
 11 There is no hurry, Guy. The first gong 
 has only just sounded. I want a word with 
 you, dear boy. before you go in." 
 
 He crossed the lawn, came and leant over 
 the back of her garden chair, and kissed her 
 tenderly. 
 
 " What is it, mother mine . J You look 
 rather bothered." 
 
 " Darling, have you gotten our talk the 
 other night, and what we settled together 
 then T 
 
 Guy flushed. "No, mother, 1 have not. 
 But really, that was all more than hall non-
 
 58 Guy Mervyn. 
 
 sense. I think I got moonstruck that night. 
 Forget it, to please me." 
 
 " Nevertheless, my son, I think we came 
 to a wise conclusion, and one to which you 
 had better keep." 
 
 " Really, no, mother. We are such friends, 
 now ; and she thought it odd the other day, 
 and I should feel such a fool if she met me 
 and asked me again why I kept out of her 
 way. It is all right. There's the gong! 
 I won't be long." And off he went. 
 
 How the birds did sing ; how the sun did 
 shine ; and how glorious and beautiful every- 
 thing looked on that Sunday afternoon. 
 And Guy's pulses throbbed with exultation, 
 and his heart sang also ; and the unconscious 
 burden of its song was this : " She called 
 me Guy, she called me Guy /" 
 
 As Lady Elaine walked slowly home, she 
 said to herself: " Muriel was quite mistaken 
 in her suggestion, and really rather foolish.
 
 Guy Mervyn, 
 
 He is a thorough boy ; honest, simple, and 
 outspoken, without a trace of nonsense about 
 him. And what a noble nature ; manly 
 and true, true to the very core !" 
 
 And then Lady Elaine fell to pondering, 
 and pondered deeply upon many things. 
 Is not our standard unconsciously raised 
 when we meet with those who deem us 
 nobler and better than we are ? Do we not 
 long to become what they believe us, rather 
 than let them ever know us as other than 
 they think ? 
 
 Lady Elaine had neither entered into the 
 prayers nor listened to the sermon ; but as 
 she went to her room she felt the better for 
 having been to church that morning.
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 The party at Mervyn Hall were all 
 assembled in the drawing-room, an unusual 
 occurrence at so early an hour in the after- 
 noon, accounted for by a heavy thunder- 
 storm, which had driven Guy and Bidger 
 indoors, and brought Beryl down from the 
 schoolroom, imploring protection from the 
 "horrid lightning." Mrs. Mervyn and Ger- 
 trude were starting for a walk when the 
 storm commenced, and had now taken up 
 some light fancy work to beguile the time, 
 while waiting until it was over. Some 
 people can never be seated in a drawing- 
 room for an instant without immediately 
 producing a crumpled, but interesting
 
 Guy Mervyn. 61 
 
 looking little piece of work from some 
 hidden receptacle, and diligently commencing 
 to operate thereon. The habit is a good 
 one, no doubt, but annoying to those who 
 do not cultivate it, and who are made to 
 appear idle by contrast. 
 
 Guy was putting a new first string to his 
 violin. Beryl sat watching him with great 
 interest, and — doing a sum. 
 
 "Where are you and Gerty going, 
 mother ?" asked Guy presently. 
 
 " To the village, dear — when this storm is 
 over — to pay a few little visits at the 
 cottages." 
 
 " What sort of people are the poor about 
 here ?" 
 
 "Very different to our old Scotch bodies 
 at hom< : but pleasant and respectable 
 enough, most of them." 
 
 11 Any queer characters ?" 
 
 "We have not come upon many al 
 present."
 
 62 Guy Mervyn. 
 
 " Tell Guy about old Mrs. Doles, mother," 
 said Gertrude. 
 
 " Who is she ?" asked Guy. 
 
 Mrs. Mervyn smiled. "Not a very de- 
 lightful specimen, dear. An old woman 
 with a wonderful talent for grumbling - . 
 Gerty went to see her, and came back rather 
 disheartened and quite indignant, declaring 
 that it was impossible to start any topic of 
 conversation which she did not somehow 
 manage to make an occasion for complaint. 
 Next time we were together in the village, 
 w r e called at her cottage. She certainly did 
 grumble quite as much as Gerty had de- 
 scribed ; but I felt sure that I had in reserve 
 one subject which even old Mrs. Doles 
 could not turn into a cause for complaint. I 
 had ascertained that she has a most excellent 
 old husband — steady, kind-hearted, hard- 
 working — in fact, all that can be desired. So 
 towards the end of our visit, with a glance at 
 Gerty, I said: 'Well, Mrs. Doles, you cer-
 
 Guy Mervyn. 63 
 
 tainly seem to have had an unusual amount 
 of trouble, but, though times are hard, and 
 your rheumatics bad, and your pig has 
 turned out rather a failure, and your 
 daughter-in-law certainly has not behaved so 
 well as she might, still, you have one thing 
 for which to be very thankful. I hear God 
 has given you a very good husband.' 'Yes,' 
 said the old woman, ' he might be worse ;' 
 and her face brightened a little, but fell again 
 almost immediately, as she added im- 
 pressively : ' Ah, mum, but I am sure to be 
 a widder soon." 
 
 Guv laughed lon' r and loud. "Poor 
 mother! So Gertv won the wa^er. What a 
 pleasing specimen, to be sure! I'll be 
 bound she is not the old woman I noticed in 
 church on Sunday. 1 
 
 "Oh no, she never goes to church," i'\d 
 Gertrude. "If you ask her to do so, she 
 shakes her head, ami says she will ' be ( arried 
 there, feet f< remost, quite soon enough, God
 
 64 Guy Mervyn. 
 
 A'mighty knows ; but she ain't a-going 
 before her time, not to please nobody ; and 
 as for parson, where's the good of going to 
 hear a man preach about charity and such 
 like, who does nothing for a poor old body, 
 from year's end to year's end, except perhaps 
 a shilling a week, and a bit of tea and sugar, 
 and a flannel petticoat at Christmas — which 
 shrank awful in the washing first time, miss 
 — and a dinner from the Vicarage sometimes 
 {few and far betweens), which is colder when 
 they gets here than parson would like to eat 
 himself, miss !' — and so on till you leave." 
 
 " What an old caution !" said Guy. 
 " When I eive Christmas - boxes to our 
 tenants this year, I shall send her a French 
 halfpenny with a hole in it, and perhaps for 
 once she will be too astonished to grumble !" 
 " But who is your old woman, Guy ?" 
 " She sat just under the pulpit on Sunday, 
 with a white frilled cap on ; a shrivelled old 
 face, like parchment, and the colour of Cad-
 
 ty Mervyn. 
 
 bury's cocoa, but with a sort of happy shine 
 
 about it. The old girl looked to me as 
 though she had found a piece of good news 
 in her Bible, and smiled every time she 
 thought of it." 
 
 "Oh! I know," put in Beryl, "that must 
 have been old ' Many Mussies.' We call 
 her so, because her favourite sentence is : 
 1 But thedenr Lord 'as sent me many, many 
 mussies.' Mercies she means, you know, 
 Guy ; and if ever she speaks of anything 
 which has gone wrong w r ith her, she always 
 says in the same breath: 'but, thank the 
 Lord, I've a many, many mussies to be 
 thankful for ; and the parson he's a dear 
 good man ; not but what 'tis true I don't g 
 much help out of him o' Sundays as my 
 
 I soul needs ; but then 1 have m' Bible 
 and good sight, thank the Lord (eighty-four, 
 come next October, and never no gla 
 have 1 used), and main's the time his hot 
 dinners have kept soul and body together 
 
 VOL. I. 5
 
 66 Gtty Mervyn. 
 
 for me ; ay, my dear, I've many, many 
 mussies.' " 
 
 " Well, she's a cheery old party, at all 
 events," said Guy. 
 
 " What gossips all the people are, mother !" 
 remarked Gertrude presently. " Old Mrs. 
 Cribble hinted all sorts of things to me about 
 Lady Elaine at The Towers." 
 
 " Confound her impudence !" said Guy 
 hotly. " What do you mean ?" 
 
 " Please don't swear when you address me, 
 Guy. Did you hear anything about it, 
 mother ?" 
 
 "Well, yes, dear, something; but I do not 
 think it well to listen to gossip about our 
 neighbours, still less to repeat it." 
 
 " But one can't help hearing when they 
 talk ; and certainly we ought to know if 
 things are not as they should be at The 
 1 owers. 
 
 Guy opened his mouth to retort, but a 
 look from his mother checked him ; and
 
 Guy Mervyn* 67 
 
 bending over his fiddle, he be< r an sen: win 1 '' 
 up the peg in silence. 
 
 u And they say," continued Gertrude after 
 a pause, " that Lady Elaine and Mr. Monk 
 do not eret on well together: that he leads 
 her a most miserable life, and sometimes 
 actually ill-uses her." 
 
 Snap went Guy's violin string. " Oh, 
 Guy dear, what a pity !" cried Beryl. " Why 
 did you give it such a twist ?" 
 
 " Hang it !" said Guy ; then throwing the 
 broken string across to Gertrude : " There, 
 miss! Please to tie up your tattling tongue 
 with that, and don't bring scurrilous village 
 gossip into mv house again !" 
 
 A cautious, deferential cough at the door, 
 and Lawford entered with a note for Mrs. 
 Mervyn. 
 
 u From The Towers, madam. Her lad) 
 ship's footman has just brought it over." 
 
 Mrs. Mervyn broke the seal, and glanced 
 at the content 
 
 5~ ?
 
 68 Guy Mcrvyu. 
 
 " He need not wait. Lawford ; we will 
 send the answer." 
 
 Gertrude had dissolved into indignant 
 tears ; silently, behind a paper, while Law- 
 ford was in the room ; but now openly, and 
 in a gradual crescendo of sobs. Guy still 
 looked hot and angry. Beryl, her face 
 hidden behind her slate, appeared deep in 
 her sums, and was whispering energetically : 
 " Seven times eight are sixty-four, put down 
 six and carry four — nine from five, you can't 
 — nine from fifteen — one, two, three, four, 
 five/' 
 
 Mrs. Mervyn glanced from one to the 
 other ; then read her note again, and laid it 
 down on the table. 
 
 " Beryl, my child, you are not thinking of 
 your sums ; take them back to the school- 
 room, dear ; and as soon as they are finished 
 you may go into the garden." 
 
 Beryl left the room with a sigh. Guy 
 reached across the table, took up Lady
 
 ( ruy Mervyn* 6 - 
 
 Elaine's note, and read it. That was not 
 quite like Guy. 
 
 11 The Towers, 
 
 "Jum r6///, [8 — . 
 
 " Dear Mrs. Mervyn, 
 
 "It will give Mr. Monk and myself 
 great pleasure if you and your daughter and 
 Sir Guy Mervyn will dine with us on the 
 23rd, at 7.45. 
 
 11 Believe me, 
 
 44 Sincerely yours, 
 
 " Elaine Monk." 
 
 Guy laid the note down, and walked over 
 to the window. Gertrudes sobs continued ; 
 but, as his back was turned, she put down 
 her handkerchief, and tried to see what was 
 
 on the paper without leaving her place 
 
 Presently Guy turned, and came back to 
 the table. 
 
 " Gerty," he said, " I am sorry I spoke so
 
 yo Guy Mervyn. 
 
 roughly to you just now ; shake hands, and 
 make it up." 
 
 " Well, I forgive you, Guy," said Gertrude, 
 ignoring his outstretched hand. " I forgive 
 you ; but I shall not be able to forget your 
 cruel words so easily. And I should like 
 to know what it matters to you whether 
 Lady Elaine squabbles with her husband or 
 not ?" 
 
 "That is right, my dear boy," put in Mrs. 
 Mervyn quickly, before Guy had time to 
 answer. " And now, if you please, Gertrude, 
 we will not renew the argument ; but I must 
 just say that I entirely agree with Guy as to 
 it being undesirable either to listen to or 
 repeat village gossip about our neighbours or 
 anyone else. It is generally untrue, and 
 always exaggerated ; and, in such a matter, it 
 is a golden rule to do unto others as we 
 would they should do unto us. Now, Gerty, 
 the sun has been shining brilliantly for the 
 last quarter of an hour, and the air is de-
 
 Guy Afervyn. 
 
 liciously cool after the storm ; let us start at 
 once." 
 
 " And of course you will accept that invita- 
 tion, mother ?" 
 
 " Yes, Guy — for myself and Gerty ; but 
 you know you have asked Mr. Tristram here 
 that evening, to play those duets over with 
 you. 
 
 " Oh, bother Tristram ! He can come any 
 time ; so accept it for me too, mother. And, 
 if you like, I will ride over with the note ; I 
 have nothing special to do this afternoon." 
 
 " No, thanks, dear ; James can go quite 
 well. And if you have nothing special to do 
 this afternoon, I wish you would give a little 
 time to superintending" the laying-out of those 
 new llower-beds. Frost does not keep to our 
 plans if left entirely to himself.' 
 
 So when Bidger awoke from a short alter- 
 noon nap, he found tin- drawing-room de- 
 serted, lie got up slowly, shook himself, 
 and looked around. Guy's violin la\ on the
 
 j2 Guy Mervyu. 
 
 ottoman close by, and near it, on the floor, 
 the broken violin-string, flung indignantly 
 back by Gertrude, and the pink-tinted enve- 
 lope from The Towers. Bidger snuffed first 
 at one and then at the other, with an anxious, 
 pensive expression in his intelligent dog-eyes; 
 perhaps he was wondering how Guy came to 
 break his violin-string. Then, having come 
 to some satisfactory conclusion on this point, 
 he wagged his tail wisely, picked up Lady 
 Elaine's envelope in his mouth, and trotted 
 out of the room. 
 
 Five minutes later the little pink envelope 
 lay in Guy's waistcoat-pocket ; and Bidger 
 bounded about among the flower-beds, in 
 conscious pride at having done a good and 
 clever thing.
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 Sundry strange noises proceeded from Sir 
 Guy's bedroom, on the evening of the 23rd of 
 J une. M uch stamping, and banging, and open- 
 ing and shutting of drawers ; then a short in- 
 terval of perfect silence ; then a muffled " Cou- 
 found it!'" and more stamping and banging. 
 
 Presently up came Gertrude's French maid, 
 and tapped at the door. 
 
 "Pardon, Sair Guy; mais Mademoiselle 
 Gertrude desire vous faire rappeler que sa 
 chambre est situee juste en-dessous 
 
 "\Valk<i-:" yelled Guy. And Eugenie 
 went down again, and informed Gertrude, 
 
 with evident pleasure, that : " Sair Gu) 
 
 tout simplement dit ' warkair.'
 
 74 Guy Mervyn. 
 
 Beryl next appeared upon the scene, and 
 after listening intently at the door for a 
 minute, and making an inspection through 
 the keyhole, knocked energetically. 
 
 "Allez au — ciel !" shouted Guy, who was 
 evidently not in the best of tempers. 
 
 " It's only me, Guy dear. What is the 
 matter ? May I come in ?" 
 
 " Come in, Berry, do. It's this beastly 
 tie !" 
 
 Beryl entered promptly, and realized that 
 she stood on a field of battle ; and a field of 
 battle strewn with slain. White ties, more 
 or less crumpled, lay in every corner, flung 
 away in desperation ; two or three on the 
 bed, and several trampled under foot near the 
 dressing-table. Guy, in dress-clothes and 
 spotless shirt-front, hot, flushed, and ex- 
 hausted, stood amid the havoc, the picture 
 of despair. 
 
 " The beastly things won't tie," he ex- 
 plained. " Either one end sticks up or the
 
 Guy Mervyn. 7^ 
 
 other, or there's no proper middle, or too 
 much of it, or the whole vile thing goes 
 
 I" 
 
 awry ! 
 
 " Poor darling/' said Beryl sympathetically. 
 " But oh, Guy dear, how nice your hair 
 looks ! You have parted it just exactly right, 
 and it is so curl)- and nice. Very few men 
 have real curly hair ; and when they do, it 
 is generally stiff and scrubby like a hearth- 
 brush ; but yours is so soft and wavy." 
 
 This had a decidedly calming - , comforting 
 effect ; and Guy became more composed, 
 which was the very thing Beryl intended. 
 
 '" Well, the parting was a fluke, Berry, 
 he said modestlv ; " it came right first trv, 
 not like those awful ties. I say! It's nearly 
 
 ven. What shall we do ?" 
 
 Berry had been bustling about, collecting 
 all the castaways, and now stood with a large 
 bunch in her hand, and considered. 
 
 •' 1 lave you an)- left, Guy ?" 
 
 ( ill)- dived into the drawer
 
 J 6 Guy Mervyn. 
 
 " Yes, three." 
 
 " Three ! Well, we must not waste those. 
 I'll tell you what, Guy ; I have a bright idea. 
 I'll go and ask Lawford to come up and 
 help. I've often noticed how beautifully he 
 ties his in the evening." 
 
 " No, no I" said Guy ; "I can't go with a 
 tie like a butler s" 
 
 Beryl considered again, and, as if to gain 
 inspiration, commenced counting the spoils 
 she held in her hand. " Thirteen, fourteen, 
 fifteen — I know, Guy ! There is that photo- 
 graph Gerty has of the new curate at Granton. 
 He wears a lovely tie. I will run and borrow 
 the photo from Gerty, and try and copy it !" 
 
 " But I can't go with a tie like a czwates /" 
 objected Guy. 
 
 " Well then, dear, there is nothing for it 
 but for me to try my best ; so sit down on 
 the lowest chair, please, and keep very still, 
 and I'll begin. At least it will be an original 
 tie, for I never did one before."
 
 Guy Mervyn. 
 
 Anxious suspense. Then : 
 
 " Berry, how is it getting on ?" 
 
 "Splendidly." 
 
 " Is it nearly done ? — for my head will 
 come off if I have to hold it much longer in 
 this position !" 
 
 " Very nearly. There, Guy ! Now look ! 
 Isn't it perfect ?" 
 
 " Capital, Berry : you're a brick ! But — 
 don't you think it's just a little full in the 
 middle ?" 
 
 44 Why, that's its chief beaut)-, Guy. I 
 pulled it out like that on purpose. It looks 
 so nice, and so uncommon." 
 
 " Lawford does not do his so," said Guy, 
 still rather doubtful. 
 
 "Oh, but you specially said it must not 
 I)-- a tie like a butler's. No, leave it alone, 
 Guy, you will spoil it ; it can't be improved ; 
 and mind, if Lady Elaine remarks on its 
 
 beauty, you tell her I tied it. Now I shall 
 stop and watch you finish. May I y
 
 7 8 Guy Mervyn. 
 
 " Certainly, little one." 
 
 Berry perched herself on the foot of the 
 bed, and watched his every movement with 
 anxious interest. 
 
 " Guy, do you know, while I was so close 
 to you just now, I could see your moustache 
 coming, quite plainly. I think you'll have a 
 beauty before long." 
 
 " Nonsense," said Guy, laughing. 
 
 " But," continued Beryl seriously ; "I do 
 hope you won't begin to twirl it before it is 
 long enough. Percy Flamingo has a little 
 one, about as long as your eyebrows, which 
 he is forever twirling. I always think it looks 
 as though he was trying to make it grow long 
 before its time." 
 
 " Little jackass !" said Guy. 
 
 " By the way, dear, when you dined at 
 the Flamingos' the other night, how did you 
 manage your tie ?" 
 
 " Oh, I did it myself all right ! It did not 
 matter that night."
 
 Guy Mervyn. 79 
 
 " Then why does it so specially matter to- 
 night ?" 
 
 11 To-night is more important." 
 
 "Why, Guy ?" 
 
 " Now, really, Berry, I can't answer so 
 many questions." 
 
 " I wonder if she will notice it ?" said Beryl 
 half to herself. " If she does, I hope she 
 will guess I tied it for my boy. — I wonder 
 who you will take in, Guy ? Someone nice 
 and pretty, I hope. Are you sure you know 
 what to do ?" 
 
 " I am sure 1 don't," said Guy. 
 
 " Well, I have looked it all out in Gerty's 
 book on etiquette, and in Mrs. Beeton, and 
 1 Enquire Within' ; so I can coach you exactly. 
 Now do stand still and listen, Guy dear ; for 
 I want you to show oil to advantage, and be 
 admired by Lady Elaine and everybody. 
 First, you must be sure to keep your eye on 
 your hostess i in order to see at once when 
 she signs to you who to take in. Do
 
 8o Guy Mervyn. 
 
 you think you shall remember to do that, 
 Guy ?" 
 
 "Well, what next. Berry?" 
 
 " Then, when she says to you : ' Sir Guy 
 Mervyn, will you take in Miss So-and-So ?' 
 you must say ' Most happy/ and walk 
 towards Miss So-and-So. and make a little 
 bow when you get to her. Then you must 
 give her your right arm — don't forget which, 
 Guy (you can remember it by this, the right 
 arm is the right one to give) — lay your left 
 hand gracefully on your heart, and trot her 
 out." 
 
 " Oh, bother !" said Guy, " I shall never 
 ' remember all this." 
 
 " Oh, but you must, dear ! Then, on the 
 way to the dining-room, you must make some 
 f light and pleasing conversation ' to amuse 
 your partner ; but don't do it like the cheese 
 young man." 
 
 " Who was he ?" 
 
 " Why, Guy, don't you know that story ?
 
 Guy Mervyn* 81 
 
 He was a very shy young man, and .ill he 
 could think of to say to the girl he took in 
 was : ' Do you like cheese ?' She said ; No.' 
 But it was some way yet to the dining-room, 
 SO his next venture was : l Does your brother 
 like cheese ?' She said : ' I have no brother.' 
 ' If you had a brother,' said the shy young 
 man, ' do you think he would like cheese ?' 
 Clever, wasn't it ?" 
 
 " Now, look here, Berry," said Guy, laugh- 
 ing ; " I believe you are telling me all these 
 things just to confuse me. But, seriously, are 
 you sure about the arm ?" 
 
 " Quite sure, Guy. The books all differed 
 about everything else, but they all agreed 
 upon that. So don't forget : the right arm, 
 and the other to be left alone! Now you 
 can't make a mistake. And the etiquette 
 book says: 'A neat, timely and approprial 
 rem. irk should be made on taking your 
 partner in ;' so, as it is the middle iA fune, I 
 should think 'Do you skate?' would be 
 
 VOL. I. 6
 
 82 Guy Mervyn. 
 
 just the thing - . Now, Guy dear, you look 
 splendidly handsome — so tall, and quite 
 grown up. Come down to the conservatory, 
 and I will choose you a flower for your button- 
 hole ; and promise me, darling, not to flirt to- 
 night ; for everyone will be falling in love 
 with you, and I shall be so jealous." 
 
 " Nonsense, little woman, you never need 
 be jealous of anyone," and he put his arm 
 lovingly round her shoulders. 
 
 u Well, I am proud of my boy to-night. 
 Look, Guy, a little white rosebud and some 
 maidenhair ; just the thing. Let me put it 
 in. There ! mother is calling in the hall. 
 Good-bye, darling. Slip up to my room when 
 you come back ; I shall stay awake to hear 
 all about it. Oh, Guy ! you do look so nice ; 
 it's all my white tie ! Don't forget the right 
 arm. Good-bye !" 
 
 ■5'- * -5'f # * 
 
 " Mrs. and Miss Mervyn, and Sir Guy 
 Mervyn," announced the old butler at The
 
 iiity Mcnyu. 83 
 
 Towers, in confidential tones ; and Lady 
 Elaine advanced to greet them. She had 
 always seemed beautiful to Guy, but to-night 
 the sight of her dazzled and bewildered him. 
 and made his heart beat quickly. 
 
 Was it possible that this queenly figure, 
 sweeping so gracefully towards them, bidding 
 them welcome with such stately dignity, was 
 the same Lady Elaine whom he had helped 
 over stiles and chatted to about fishing and 
 shooting, and horses, and all his home affairs 
 in such very free and easy style ? Poor boy ! 
 He had never before experienced the trans- 
 forming effect of an evening gown upon a 
 really beautiful woman. Dazzlingly lovely she 
 looked to poor Guy, who already held her 
 fairest among women ; and yet, as she stood 
 for a moment talking with them, he felt there 
 was a change in her manner to-night — he 
 missed the sweet friendliness which had 
 always put him so thoroughly at his ease : 
 
 and a certain restraint and formality in her 
 
 o-
 
 84 Guy Mervyn. 
 
 way of speaking made him understand why 
 Gertrude called her " that stiff Lady Elaine." 
 But Guy said to himself: ''She is not like 
 herself to-night. Something has troubled 
 her ;" and with this thought in his mind, he 
 noticed the weary look in her face, carefully 
 concealed though it was beneath one of cold 
 and rather haughty indifference to all things 
 around her. 
 
 Mrs. Mervyn and Gertrude soon found 
 friends amongst the assembled guests ; but 
 Guy still stood alone and slightly apart, 
 when a voice at his elbow made him start 
 and turn abruptly. 
 
 " Sir Guy Mervyn, I believe ? Our first 
 meeting, Sir Guy. Glad to see you here 
 this evening." 
 
 Guy turned, and found himself face to face 
 with the master of the house, Lady Elaine's 
 husband ; a short thick-set man, well over 
 fifty ; broad-shouldered, dark, and sallow ; 
 his black bushy beard and moustache did not
 
 Guy Mervyn. 85 
 
 hide his full sensual lips ; and, when he 
 smiled, Guy noticed the white pointed teeth, 
 which gave an almost wolfish expression of 
 cruelty to his face. And yet some people 
 might have called Mr. Monk a handsome 
 man, until they chanced to catch that expres- 
 sion, half sensual, half cruel, which to a pure, 
 true soul rendered his face unutterably 
 revolting. Guy, as he looked at him, asked 
 himself wonderingly j " How did she — so good, 
 so sweet, so beautiful — ever come to marry 
 such a man ?" 
 
 A^ain Guv stood alone. Everyone had 
 arrived, and he began to wonder anxiously 
 whom he would have to take in to dinner. 
 He saw Lady Elaine introducing people 
 right and left, and every moment he expected 
 his turn to come. Then he began to re- 
 mem!)' Beryl's instructions, and tried to 
 consider what he would say on the way to 
 the dining-room ; but the one sentence whi h 
 would persistently return to his mind, to the
 
 86 Gzty Mervyn. 
 
 exclusion of every other, was : " Do you like 
 cheese ? Does your brother like cheese ?" 
 Dinner was announced. Mr. Monk led off 
 with Lady Anstruther, portly, proud, and 
 powdered, wife of the county M.P. Other 
 couples followed one by one, and Guy com- 
 pletely lost his head, and vainly tried to re- 
 member which was his right arm. Every 
 instant he expected to hear Lady Elaine call 
 upon him to take in Miss So-and-So ; and 
 the one thing which kept helplessly running 
 through his brain was : " Does your brother 
 like cheese ?" But no ! Everyone seemed 
 pairing off. Was he to take in no one ? 
 The last couple passed out, and he found 
 himself standing alone beside Lady Elaine. 
 Then she turned to him, with the kind smile 
 he had missed at first: "Well, Sir Guy, 
 will you take me in ?" He remembered 
 which was his right arm then, and forgot all 
 about the cheese ! How proud and happy 
 he felt, as her hand rested on his coat-sleeve.
 
 Guy Mervyn. 87 
 
 He did not know she had given him the place 
 of special honour ; he did not think of him- 
 self at all, but only of her; and how, in the 
 midst of this large, grand dinner part)', she 
 had smiled at him as sweetly as among 
 the poppies in Farmer Hurst's wheatfield. 
 And Guy held his young head high, and 
 all his awkward shyness passed entirely 
 away. 
 
 As they went along the hall, and through 
 the long oak corridor : " Do you know, Lady 
 Elaine," he said, " 1 had been dreading the 
 thought of having to take a lady in to-night. 
 I little guessed who it would be." 
 
 She smiled, and leaned a little towards 
 him. 
 
 " I want you to talk for two at dinner, 
 Guy ; for 1 am out of spirits this evening, 
 and my guests must not think me dull. I 
 am so tired." 
 
 *" I thought you looked so," he said gently. 
 " I will do my best, Lady Elaine.
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 Dinner had commenced. Guy, seated at 
 Lady Elaine's left hand, had on his left an 
 old lady, Mrs. Joram by name, who had 
 stayed for some time in Scotland, not far 
 from Guy's old home. They thus found 
 something in common at once, and im- 
 mediately made great friends. The subject 
 above all others over which Guy was most 
 enthusiastic just then was his dearly-loved 
 Highland mountains and glens. He and 
 Mrs. Joram soon found out that they knew 
 and admired many of the same places, and 
 began comparing notes about them ; and he 
 was soon talking away merrily, keeping 
 their end of the table thoroughly amused
 
 Guy Mervyn* 89 
 
 with quaint Scotch stories of queer characters 
 he had known in his old home. Lady Elaine 
 smiled to herself as she noticed how per- 
 fectly natural he was, and how entirely 
 unconscious of the impression he was making, 
 and of the open admiration bestowed upon 
 him by all the ladies at their end of the 
 table. She herself was a little surprised at 
 his turning out so bright and amusing: and 
 full of conversation, until she remembered 
 her request to him, and his quiet " I will do 
 my best." And her heart warmed towards 
 this kind-hearted young fellow, whose fir.-t 
 thought always seemed for others. Lady 
 Elaine was growing very fond of Guy. 
 
 And Guy, whenever he looked at her, 
 thought of four lines in oik; of his favourite 
 
 o 
 
 •' 1 l'i bn >w is like the snaw-drift, 
 Her neck is like the swan ; 
 1 [< i face it is the fairest 
 
 That e'er the sun shone on."
 
 - 
 
 
 
 ; 
 : - ._* " 

 
 Ms- i 
 
 z. - ~-1- _. 
 
 - - . - - - " . 
 
 ------ 
 
 - - ' ~ - - - 
 
 ^pen " - - - - - ssd m ] 
 
 z .. - .. t t . - : - 
 
 11:2. 7! "7;. —1.5.1 t — ~ V"t5~ - 
 
 i^i . 
 
 - - - 
 
 in 5 :.'- 
 
 . _ " .. : - re: 
 
 
 ;■-..-. 
 
 
 r.;n r:: : _ 
 
 ':-
 
 92 Guy Mervyn. 
 
 undoubted talents, so perfectly natural and 
 so charmingly frank. Were you not amused 
 when silly little Grace Liston chaffed him for 
 drinking nothing but water, and wanted to 
 know if he was a total abstainer on principle ; 
 and he quietly answered : 'Not at all. I 
 shall take wine when I come to need it ; at 
 present I find I thrive very well on pure 
 water.' By the way, Elaine, between our- 
 selves, I wish we could have brought him 
 out with us, and not left him there." 
 
 Lady Elaine sighed, and presently crossed 
 the room and took a vacant chair beside 
 Guy's mother. 
 
 " Have you heard from Cyril Branscome, 
 Mrs. Mervyn ?" 
 
 "Yes, Lady Elaine; we received an 
 answer from him last week — a nice straight- 
 forward letter. And this morning came 
 replies from his referees in answer to my 
 letters of inquiry." 
 
 " Satisfactory, I hope ?"
 
 Guy Mcrvyn. 9 
 
 -> 
 
 " Entirely so. I must say I consider him 
 somewhat young for the post ; but my son is 
 greatly taken with his letter, and will not hear 
 of having anyone else." 
 
 " He must be about six-and-twenty," said 
 Lady Elaine. " He took orders two years 
 ago. When does he come to you ?" 
 
 " Next week, most probably. I am much 
 obliged to you for having recommended him 
 to us." 
 
 There was a coldness about Mrs. Mervyn's 
 manner which chilled Lady Elaine ; more 
 especially as she divined the cause, and fore- 
 saw that she would soon lose these new 
 friends, just as she had lost nearly all she 
 would have cared to know. After a lew 
 passing remarks, she rose and moved away. 
 
 The door opened, and Guy came in alone. 
 His face was flushed, and his hand trembled 
 violently, as he closed the door behind him. 
 
 He was gr 1 with acclamation by those 
 
 win 1 noticed his entrance.
 
 94 Guy Mervyn. 
 
 " Why, Sir Guy, you honour and flatter us 
 greatly !" 
 
 " Oh, but," said little Grace Liston, "wine 
 has no attractions for Sir Guy ; and perhaps 
 there was no pure water to be had !" 
 
 He found himself seated near Mrs. Joram. 
 
 " Now for the end of our story," she said, 
 leaning towards him. " What did Mac do 
 when he found it was ail a joke ?" 
 
 Lady Elaine came up to them. 
 
 " Sir Guy," she said quietly, " will you 
 come through to the conservatory with me ? I 
 want to show you the white azalea we were 
 talking of." 
 
 " Not just now," he answered, without 
 looking up ; "I am in the midst of telling 
 Mrs. Joram a story." 
 
 " When you have finished, then !" she said 
 gently, in no way resenting his seeming 
 rudeness. 
 
 " Go at once, Sir Guy," said Mrs. Joram. 
 " Our story will keep."
 
 (iuy Mcrryn. 95 
 
 So he rose, and followed Lady Elaine 
 
 The conservatory at The Towers was only 
 separated from the drawing-room by gla 
 doors and a heavy crimson curtain. To- 
 night it was brilliantly lighted. They passed 
 along in silence through glorious masses of 
 bloom--beneath arches of passion-flower and 
 purple clematis. The air was heavy with 
 fragrance ; the whole place seemed to Guy 
 like fairyland. 
 
 At the furthest end of the conservatory 
 s:ood the azalea. 
 
 Lady Elaine stopped before it, trembling 
 with suppressed emotion. 
 
 ■■(iu\-, what has happened? Tell me. 
 What did they say ? M 
 
 His brow darkened. 
 
 " I cannot tell you, Lady Elaine.' 1 
 
 " But I wish to h<ar. Is it too bad to 
 
 repeat to me . 
 
 " Anything bad would be too bad to repe it 
 to you" he said.
 
 96 Guy Mervyn. 
 
 " Was it because of low talk that you left 
 the room ?" 
 
 " No," he muttered. " I might have sat 
 through that, for once, beastly though it 
 was ! 
 
 " Then what else ?" 
 
 " Don't ask me," he cried passionately, 
 " for I will not tell you, Lady Elaine !" 
 
 " Then I will tell you," she said, with 
 forced calmness. "It was when you heard 
 my name brought in by my own husband, 
 and mixed up with vile talk and low 
 slander." 
 
 He turned away his head. 
 
 " I knew it, Guy, the moment you came 
 in. But tell me, quick ; what did you do 
 then ?" 
 
 11 I don't know. I think I lost my head. 
 I said something hot and strong — but what, 
 I can't remember — and then came away." 
 
 " Oh, Guy !" she said ; and then an uncon- 
 trollable sob of shame and pain broke her
 
 Guy Mervyn. 97 
 
 voice, and for a moment she turned from 
 him. 
 
 Then, as she saw how the righteous anger 
 and indignation was burning in his young 
 heart, u Guy," she said, " there is one thing I 
 wish you to know. He would not have done 
 
 it unless Perhaps you would not think 
 
 it, but all this evening he has been the worse 
 for — for — you understand? Whatever he 
 may be to me in private, he is courteous to 
 
 his guests, unless Oh, Guy ! So now 
 
 even you know something of the sorrow, the 
 misery, the curse, of my sad life.' 1 
 
 Her lips quivered ; then, laying her hand 
 on his arm : 
 
 " Do you pity and despise me for it, 
 Guy ?" 
 
 "Despise you for it?" he cried. " No, 
 Lady Elaine I" Then, with his eyes shining, 
 he said gently : u Next only to my mother, 
 
 I honour you, and hold you highest ol all 
 
 living women." And he bent and pr< 
 
 VOL. I. 7
 
 98 Guy Mervyn. 
 
 his lips to her hand. But, as he raised his 
 head, he saw brown sinewy fingers close 
 round her soft white arm, and starting up — 
 there stood Mr. Monk beside them. 
 
 " And so, my lady." he said, with his 
 wolfish smile, " and so your last tame pet is 
 young Sir Simon Pure !" and he gripped her 
 arm with cruel force. 
 
 She gave one little gasping cry, but did 
 not answer. 
 
 The hot blood flew to Guv's face. 
 
 " You brute !" he cried. %i Were it 
 not for her presence, and that this is 
 your own house, by heaven, I'd knock you 
 down !" 
 
 Mr. Monk quietly took the fan out of 
 Lady Elaine's hand, and, with another smile, 
 deliberately struck the young man across the 
 cheek with it. 
 
 Guy staggered back and turned ashy 
 white ; then, with an oath, sprang forward, 
 and raised his arm. But in an instant Lady
 
 Guy Mervynn 9 1 
 
 Elaine's cold trembling fingers clung round 
 his clenched hand. 
 
 " Go" she cried, " for my sake !" but in 
 the quivering tones of one who scarce dares 
 hope to be obeyed. 
 
 And, without another word, Guy turned 
 and went.
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 As one in a dream, Guy made his way out 
 of the conservatory. Past the cool splashing 
 fountain, under the passion-flower arches, on 
 he went, half blinded with rage, half stunned 
 with shame ; at first only helplessly repeating 
 to himself : " For her sake, for her sake !" 
 
 But when he reached the velvet curtain 
 he paused, and strove to regain his com- 
 posure before entering the crowded drawing- 
 room. All was silent behind him. No doubt 
 Lady Elaine and — and that beast would go 
 out some other way. Guy leaned his 
 burning forehead against a cold marble pillar 
 and tried to think. 
 
 So he had been struck ; he — Guy
 
 Guy Mervyn. 101 
 
 Mervyn ; struck in the face by a man he 
 had only known two hours, in Lady Elaine 1 
 presence, and with Lady Elaine's fan. It 
 was not a violent blow, and could scarcely 
 have marked his cheek ; but that only 
 served to make the insult greater and 
 more intensely humiliating ; and when he 
 remembered the sneer which accompanied 
 the blow, Guy ground his teeth with fury. 
 The Mervyns were ever a proud race, and 
 this last young baronet was as proud as any. 
 And then — oh ! crowning shame of all ! — he 
 had not returned it ; he had not taught the 
 blackguard to think twice another time before 
 he struck a Mervyn ; but had meekly turned 
 away like a — like a — coward 
 
 "No!" said a voice, deep down in his 
 heart; 'Mike a true lover; like Lancelot, 
 bravest of knights, who was ever 'love-loyal 
 to the least wish of his Queen.' Where was 
 the shame of doing what she asked, and 
 asked with tears ?" And as Guy thought ol
 
 io2 Guy Mervyn. 
 
 those trembling fingers laid on his, and of 
 the look of thankful surprise in her face as 
 he turned away, his anger melted and he 
 grew calm, and was almost gflad at having 
 had this opportunity of showing her what he 
 would do for her sweet sake. 
 
 Ay — he loved her. He was almost 
 startled himself to-night at the vehement 
 passionate love he knew was in his heart for 
 Lady Elaine. It had grown tenfold since 
 the terrible knowledge had come to him of 
 what a sad, loveless life hers was. Why 
 should he not love her, since the one man 
 who owned the exclusive right to love and 
 worship her cared nothing for her, but 
 treated her as he had just seen, and dared 
 
 to talk of her as " Oh ! confound the 
 
 brute !" said Guv ; and unable longer to bear 
 his own thoughts, he raised the curtain, and 
 went into the drawing-room. 
 
 His mother saw him enter, and beckoned 
 him to her, where she sat, a little apart.
 
 Guy Mervyn. 103 
 
 ''Where have you been all this time, 
 Guy ?" 
 
 " In the conservatory, mother.'' 
 
 " I thought you went there with Lady 
 Elaine ?" 
 
 • Yes. She asked me to <^o and see a 
 new white azalea ; but Mr. Monk soon joined 
 us, and I returned alone. I waited about 
 in the cool near the entrance by myself for a 
 little while ; this room is so hot." 
 
 " Guy, what is the matter with your cheek ? 
 Have you knocked it ?" 
 
 " Only a slight blow, mother; nothing to 
 hurt and with a smile, light and careless, 
 he joined a group of acquaintances stand- 
 
 ing by. 
 
 Guv had never befor ^one so near 
 deceiving his mother. 
 
 Looking up the next moment, he saw 
 Lady Elaine enter through an ante-room. 
 She looked perfectly calm and collect*- 1, 
 showing no signs of agitation beyond a
 
 104 Guy Mervyn. 
 
 certain nervous way of clasping her fan 
 tightly with both hands. 
 
 " Mr. Monk has gone down to the billiard- 
 room," she said, " and will be glad to see 
 any gentlemen there who wish for a game." 
 
 The invitation was very generally ac- 
 cepted, at least by the men staying in the 
 house ; but Guy heard one or two near him 
 say something about " rather queer manners." 
 Then there was a general move to go and 
 see the conservatory ; and Guy went also, 
 and soon found himself standing with the 
 rest before the very same azalea. He was 
 behind, in the shadow ; but, suddenly looking 
 up, his eyes met Lady Elaine's. One long 
 look passed between them. Then Lady 
 Elaine picked one of the white flowers, and 
 placed it with the rose she wore at her 
 breast ; and turning to him said carelessly : 
 " Would you like one, Sir Guy ?" and 
 picked and gave him one. And Guy threw 
 away Berry's little rose, and put the white
 
 Guy Mcrvyn. 105 
 
 azalea in his button-hole instead ; and his 
 heart glowed with joy and pride at the 
 thought that he and she had a private under- 
 standing about those flowers, known only to 
 themselves. 
 
 But afterwards his conscience smote him 
 as he remembered the pleasure with which 
 Berry had chosen the rose for him and 
 placed it in his coat ; so he went back 
 privately and found her little rose again, and 
 
 put it in his pocket. 
 
 * # * * # 
 
 All was over, and the Mervyns were 
 driving swiftly back to Mervyn Hall. 
 
 They had been amongst the first to take 
 their departure. Gertrude had most of the 
 conversation to herself on the way home, and 
 commented volubly upon every little incident 
 of the evening. 
 
 " And just fancy," she said at length, " Guy 
 taking in Lady Elaine ; and so man)' other 
 gentlemen there who must have expected to
 
 io6 Guy Mervyn. 
 
 do so! Why, there was an M.P., and many 
 others much more important than Guy. I 
 was surprised! However, I suppose a 
 baronet takes precedence, even over members 
 of Parliament. I will look in my etiquette 
 book when we get home. Still I think it 
 was very odd of Lady Elaine ; for you know, 
 Guy, you are little more than a boy yet, after 
 all. Oh, you need not laugh and wink at 
 mamma ! Others beside myself thought it 
 not quite the thing. I heard Mrs. Algernon 
 Biscoe remark to Miss Pringle, when you 
 went off to the conservatory : ' How Lady 
 Elaine does flirt with that young baronet.' 1 
 
 "Gertrude/' said Mrs. Mervyn sharply, 
 " I must again request you not to repeat all 
 the foolish remarks you hear made.' 5 
 
 " But, mamma " 
 
 " Be silent, Gertrude." 
 
 Gerty sighed — a sigh expressive of sur- 
 prise, pity, and reproof ; then murmured 
 gently :
 
 Guy Mervyn. 107 
 
 " Dear mamma, what can have so put you 
 out ?" 
 
 " Come, Gerty, no cheek !" said Guy, 
 speaking for the first time. " And you need 
 not speculate any more as to why I had the 
 honour of taking in Lady Elaine. It was 
 for a very simple reason, which you will not 
 find in your etiquette book, but which I have 
 no objection to your knowing. Lady Elaine 
 was feeling very tired to-night, and not 
 inclined for much talking ; so she went in 
 with me in preference to anyone more im- 
 portant. That is the long and short of the 
 matter." 
 
 "Indeed!" said Gertrude, "and she 
 actually told you so ! How very confidential 
 and intimate you and Lady Elaine have 
 become ! And perhaps she asked you to 
 talk for two ? "' 
 
 " Just so," said Guy. 
 
 '• Well, I must say you did it very well. 
 There seemed perpetual amusement .it your
 
 ioS Guy Mervyn. 
 
 end of the table, and nearly all the laughter 
 appeared to be over your stories ; and, from 
 the little I overheard, they did not seem 
 quite so vulgar as usual." 
 
 " Qualified praise, Miss Gerty ! Well, 
 never mind. I dare say, next time we dine 
 at The Towers, I shall take in the Vicar's 
 plainest daughter, for whom you so decidedly 
 booked me this afternoon." 
 
 " We shall never dine there again," said 
 Mrs. Mervyn, "and never should have done 
 so, had I known what sort of people they 
 were. I do not suppose you noticed it, Guy, 
 but Mr. Monk took considerably more than 
 was good for him at dinner ; and afterwards 
 several ot his friends were in the same con- 
 dition. I shall never think of dining there 
 again, or allowing either of you to do so." 
 
 "Well, I always said " remarked Gerty, 
 
 but just then the footman threw open the 
 brougham door, Guy sprang out, and lost the 
 conclusion of Gerty's remark.
 
 Guy Mervyn, 109 
 
 " Good - night, my dear boy. Go up 
 quietly, or you will wake Beryl. Do you 
 hear, Gerty ? Don't talk as you pass Berry's 
 room, and make haste to bed ; it is half-past 
 eleven." 
 
 Guy detained his sister for a moment at 
 the foot of the stairs. 
 
 " Gerty," he said, as he gave her her 
 candlestick ; " don't go into mother's room 
 to talk, or bother her any more to-night. I 
 can see something has troubled her." 
 
 " And I can see what /" said Gerty signifi- 
 cantly. " Guy, you are beginning early ! 
 But 1 must say I felt a little proud of 
 you to-night. You really looked very nice, 
 and were much less awkward than I ex- 
 pected." 
 
 " Thanks." 
 
 " Oh, and by the way, Guy, talking of 
 looking nice, did you happen to overhear any 
 remarks made about me ?" 
 
 " Well, yes, I did. After dinner I heard
 
 iio Guy Mervyu. 
 
 -^ 
 
 the great M.P., who sat opposite you, remark 
 to the gentleman who took you in : ' What a 
 wonderful 
 
 " Well ? Go on. What a wonderful 
 what ?" 
 
 " I really don't think I ought to tell you, 
 Gerty." 
 
 " Oh, do, Guy dear ; and I will tell you all 
 sorts of nice things Mrs.. Joram said about 
 you." 
 
 "Well, the great M.P. said to the gentle- 
 man who took you in — 
 
 11 
 
 " Go on, Guy ; you told me that before — 
 and why are you backing into the library ? 
 What did he say ?" 
 
 " ( What a wonderful appetite that Miss 
 Mervvn has oot !' 
 
 Gerty made a dash at him : but only hurt 
 her nails on the library door as he double- 
 locked it on the inside. 
 
 But presently, hearing a sound strongly 
 resembling mortified weeping, his conscience
 
 Guy Mervyn. i i i 
 
 smote him, and he came out — only to receive 
 a sharp box on the ear. 
 
 " Never mind, Gerty," he said. " Look 
 what lots of grease you are spilling ' I only 
 wanted to score off you a little." 
 
 " Guy, it was brutal ! But did he, really ? 
 — oh, oh I" 
 
 " No, he really didn't ! What he really- 
 said, was : 'A very pretty girl you had by you, 
 Broughton !' And your friend said : ' Yes, 
 charming". Should like to know her better.' 
 
 ''Are you sure that was it, Guy ?" 
 
 " Quite sure. Now come on, Gerty ; I 
 hear mother whispering loudly over the 
 banisters. Make haste up. Good -night." 
 
 "Good-night, you wretch!" 
 
 Five minutes later, when all was quiet, 
 Guy opened his door and stole noiselessly 
 out, minus his boots and the azalea, and with 
 the little faded white rose back in his button- 
 hole. He crept along the passage until he 
 reached a room, the door ol which stood
 
 112 Guy Mervyn. 
 
 slightly ajar. He pushed it open, and 
 groped his way in. 
 
 " Guy darling, is that you ?" 
 
 " Yes, little one. So you really stopped 
 awake ?" 
 
 " Of course I did, Guy ! But what an 
 age you have been ! Come and sit on my 
 bed. For goodness' sake don't knock up 
 against anything, or make a noise ! That's 
 right. Now tell me all about it. Did you 
 look nice all the evening ? Did Lady Elaine 
 think so ? How was she dressed ? Did you 
 have ices — lemon, strawberry, or vanilla ? 
 Oh, and who did you take in ? Make haste, 
 Guy ; tell me everything /" 
 
 " Well, to begin with your last question, I 
 took in Lady Elaine." 
 
 "Oh, Guy!" Berry gave a shriek of 
 delight, and frantically muffled it under 
 the bedclothes ; then came up gasping : 
 " Oh, my own dear boy, how splendid ! 
 And after Gerty snubbing me for saying
 
 Guy Mervyn* i i 
 
 j 
 
 perhaps you would take Mrs. Biscoe, and 
 putting you down for that second Drawler 
 girl ! Oh, how lovely ! Why, Guy, it was 
 the place of honour ! If only I had been 
 there to see! I really begin to like Lady 
 Elaine, for knowing that my boy is better 
 than everyone else. And did you remember 
 which arm, Guy ? And did you tread on 
 her tail ?" 
 
 " No. I trod on no one's tail, except 
 Gerty's in getting into the carriage ; and I 
 caught it for that. And I remembered 
 everything you told me — especially that 
 beastly story about the cheese. I could 
 think of nothing else to say, until I knew I 
 was to take in Lady Elaine." 
 
 " And did you ask her if she liked 
 cheese ?" 
 
 " Xo, I didn't." 
 
 " What did you say to her ?" 
 
 "Oh, I don't remember. All sorts of 
 things." 
 
 VOL. I. - s
 
 1 1 4 Guy Mervyn. 
 
 " Will you manage to remember by to- 
 morrow, and tell me then ?" 
 
 " Perhaps. I'll see." 
 
 11 And did she admire your tie, Guy ?" 
 
 " I dare say ; but she didn't mention it, and 
 I forgot to tell her you tied it." 
 
 " And did she look pretty, Guy ?" 
 
 " Lovely! I never saw anyone so exqui- 
 sitely lovely before." 
 
 Guy laid his head on the pillow with a sigh. 
 A soft little hand came up and stroked his 
 cheek. 
 
 " And was she nice to you, darling ?" 
 
 " Very." 
 
 " Not stiff and cold ? You know, I have 
 never seen her anything but rather stiff and 
 cold." 
 
 " And I have never seen her either stiff or 
 cold," said Guy. " No, she was just as kind 
 as she always is." 
 
 " And Mr. Monk ? What is he like ?" 
 
 Guy sprang up.
 
 Guy Mervyn. i r 
 
 " Berry, he's a brute /" 
 
 " A brute, Guy ! Why ?" 
 
 Guy sat down again, and was silent. 
 
 V What did he do T 
 
 11 I can't tell you, little one. But never 
 talk to me about Mr. Monk, especially before 
 the others." 
 
 "Guy," — with a little quiver in her voice 
 — " shall you keep anything back from me ? I 
 always know all your secrets, don't I, Guy ?" 
 
 " Yes, pet. But one or two things happened 
 to-night which are not my secrets, but con- 
 cern someone else. I ought not to repeat 
 them, ought I ?" 
 
 Beryl's idea of honour was a high one ; so, 
 after a little struggle, she answered ; 
 
 " No, dear ; all right. And have you 
 still got my rose, Guy ? Oh yes. I feel 
 it in your coat. I am so glad it did not 
 drop out on the way. I ought to have 
 pinned it ; but I only thought of that 
 alter you were gone ; and I ran a long way 
 
 8— a
 
 1 1 6 Guy Mervyn. 
 
 down the drive with a pin ; but I could not 
 make James hear." 
 
 A streak of light appeared on the ceiling, 
 and a step came slowly down the corridor. 
 
 " Oh, Guy," whispered Beryl, " here comes 
 mamma ! I shall catch it." 
 
 But Guy could just distinguish the large 
 wardrobe, standing on the other side of the 
 room. Quick as thought, he sprang in, and 
 hid behind some dark cloaks. 
 
 Mrs. Mervyn entered, candle in hand, on 
 her arm the plush mantle she had been wear- 
 ing. She advanced to the bedside, and shad- 
 ing the light, looked at Beryl closely. But 
 her breathing came heavy and regular ; 
 evidently she was sound asleep. She turned 
 her head uneasily as the light fell on her face, 
 and muttered : " Eight times nine are sixty- 
 six." Mrs. Mervyn laid her cool hand lightly 
 on Berry's forehead. " Her face is rather 
 flushed," she said to herself. " I must not 
 let her overwork, dear child." Then, turn-
 
 Guy Mervyn, i i 7 
 
 ing to the wardrobe, she opened it, hung up 
 her cloak — nearly touching Guy's hand as she 
 did so — closed it again, and was leaving the 
 room, when apparently an idea occurred to 
 her. Turning back, she locked the w r ardrobe, 
 took out the key, put it in her dressing-gown 
 pocket ; then, with a parting look at Berry, 
 left the room, and disappeared dow r n the 
 passage. An instant after, her door closed, 
 and all was darkness. 
 
 A muffled ''Jupiter Ammon ! here's a 
 pretty go !" came from the wardrobe. 
 
 Beryl sprang out of bed, seized the handle, 
 tugged and pulled, but all to no purpose. 
 
 "Guy, Guy ! what shall we do? Mother 
 
 has not only locked it, but taken away the 
 
 key!" 
 
 " What awful luck !" groaned Guy. "But, 
 
 I say, Berry, you must let me out quick some- 
 how. You womenkind wear such outlandish 
 garments. I've gut my head in an old fur 
 thing, which smells — ugh ! — like the monkey-
 
 1 1 8 Gtiy Mervyn. 
 
 house at the Zoo. I say, make haste, I'm 
 choking !" 
 
 " But, Guy darling, what can I do ?" said 
 Berry in an agonized whisper. " There is 
 no other key. Pull the fur cloak down, but 
 gently, for its mother's best." 
 
 A wrench in the wardrobe. Then a sigh 
 of relief from Guy. 
 
 " Do you feel better, dear ?" 
 
 "Yes, better. But I can't stop here all 
 night. What on earth made mother take 
 the key ?" 
 
 " Oh, I know ! I wanted that plush thing 
 of hers for dressing up, and she said we 
 should spoil it." 
 
 A dejected silence, both inside and outside 
 the wardrobe. Then a sudden exclamation 
 from Beryl. 
 
 " I know, Guy ; wait a moment, while I 
 run and see if mother is in bed. Yes, all is 
 quiet, and her light is out. Now I think I 
 can get the key."
 
 Guy Mervyn. ng 
 
 11 But, Berry, you can't slip in ; she always 
 locks her door." 
 
 " I know. Now, Guy, scratch the panels of 
 the wardrobe." 
 
 " What on earth is the good of that ?" 
 
 11 You'll see ; do it." 
 
 Guy obediently and patiently scratched for 
 about a minute ; then he heard Beryl jump 
 up, run down the passage, and knock briskly 
 at their mother's door. 
 
 " Who's there ?" 
 
 " It's me, mother. There is such an odd 
 scratching noise croinof on in the bi< r wardrobe 
 in my room ; and I can't open it. You have 
 the ke\. I know there is something in it." 
 
 " Nonsense, darling. 1 was there ten 
 minutes ago. You have been dreaming." 
 
 " Xo, mother ; I'm certain I heard a 
 scratching." 
 
 u Well, if so, it is only a poor little harm- 
 less mouse. Run back to bed, darling." 
 
 " Won't a mouse nibble your cloaks ?"
 
 1 20 Guy Mervyn. 
 
 A pause ; then Mrs. Mervyn struck a 
 light, got up, found the key, and opened the 
 door. 
 
 " I am sure it is only your fancy, Beryl ; 
 however, I will come and see." 
 
 " Oh, don't trouble to come, mother," said 
 Berry anxiously. " Give me the key ; I can 
 look." 
 
 " No, dear ; I prefer looking myself. I 
 have just put away my opera-cloak, and if it 
 should be a mouse " 
 
 " Well," thought Guy, " we're about 
 cotched." And he began to consider whether 
 he should say " Boh !" and jump out with a 
 flourish, or stand well back, and wait to be 
 discovered. Fortunately he decided on the 
 latter course. 
 
 They entered, Mrs. Mervyn carrying the 
 light. She turned the key, and very cautiously 
 opened the wardrobe ; then, as nothing came 
 out with a rush, she threw the door wide 
 open, and, holding the candle up high, began
 
 Guy Mervyn. 1 2 1 
 
 to feel about among the cloaks ; but, quick as 
 thought, a little puff of wind came from 
 behind them, and out went the candle. 
 Beryl executed a silent hornpipe in the dark 
 for joy. 
 
 " How tiresome !" said Mrs. Mervyn. 
 " Are there any matches here ?" 
 
 " No, mother ; you know you told Eugenie 
 to take away mine to-night." 
 
 " Well, I will fetch some ; you would not 
 know where to find them. I shall not be a 
 minute." 
 
 " Now, Guy, My !" 
 
 And Guy fled ; and as he reached his own 
 room he heard Berry say : " It's no good 
 looking any more, mother ; for what was 
 there came out in the dark, and rushed past 
 me, and down the passage." Nevertheless, 
 they hunted for the mouse, but did not find 
 it. 
 
 And some- time afterwards Guy told his 
 mother the whole story ; and she could not
 
 1 2 2 Guy Mervyn. 
 
 help laughing over it, though she called them 
 both " very naughty children." 
 
 That night, the last thing Guy looked at 
 was the white azalea ; and, after putting out 
 his candle, he kissed the stalk where her 
 fingers had touched it, and whispered : " Oh, 
 Lady Elaine, my darling ! my love ! what 
 would I not do for your sweet sake ?" 
 
 And almost at the same time Lady Elaine, 
 standing before her dressing-table, her beau- 
 tiful hair falling over her shoulders, was 
 thinking of Guy. For her eyes had fallen on 
 her fan, as it lay upon the table. And she 
 stood long, wrapt in thought ; then took it 
 up, and, saying to herself: " It shall never be 
 used again," put it away at the bottom of 
 her dressing-case, and with it the white 
 azalea she had worn that night. 
 
 And there, long years after, Guy saw them 
 both.
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 " Berry." 
 
 " Yes, Guy ?" 
 
 "Put an extra lump of sugar in my cup ; I 
 feel abominably out of sorts this morning - , 
 and in a vile temper." 
 
 " Nonsense, darling ! your temper is never 
 vile. Of course you feel tired and headachy 
 from being up so late last night ; but, oh, 
 Guy" — in an impressive whisper — u \{ you feel 
 out of sorts and cross, what must Gerty be 
 this morning ? Aren't you glad she is break- 
 fasting upstairs ?" 
 
 " Rather I" 
 
 Only Guy and Beryl had appeared in the 
 breakfast-room at eight o'clock, their usual
 
 124 Guy Menyn. 
 
 breakfast hour. Mrs. Mervyn and Gertrude 
 both sent down word that they were over- 
 fatigued, and would take theirs upstairs. 
 Beryl, looking bright and fresh as if she had 
 gone to sleep the night before at nine o'clock 
 as usual, took her mother's place behind the 
 urn, highly delighted at presiding there, and 
 at the lovely prospect of a tete-a-tete break- 
 fast with Guy. 
 
 But Guy was moody and out of sorts. He 
 leaned his elbows on the table and his chin 
 upon his hands, and looked vacantly and 
 dejectedly before him. 
 
 Berry eyed him sharply once or twice with 
 a pang at her loving little heart. 
 
 " Something happened last night w T hich 
 has troubled and upset him," she said to her- 
 self; " the secret he couldn't tell me. I am 
 sure it is entirely over that horrid Lady 
 Elaine ! How dare she make my Guy un- 
 happy, and tell him things he can't tell me ! 
 Well," with a wise little shake of her head,
 
 Guy Mervyri, 1 25 
 
 " I always knew I should have great anxiety 
 when Guy fell in love ; but I never expected 
 such a complication as this." 
 
 However, Berry chatted away merrily all 
 breakfast time, and rejoiced to see that, 
 unlike most love-sick youths of whom she 
 had read, Guy's appetite was certainly unim- 
 paired. Surely, if he were very far gone, he 
 could not have £ot through two such hu^e 
 helpings of game pie, besides the fried sole 
 and stewed kidneys ! 
 
 "He will soon get over it," she thought ; 
 "and I shan't have to murder Mr. Monk, 
 and be hanged on Guy's wedding-day, as I 
 dreamt last night." Then, aloud: "Guy 
 dear, after you were gone yesterday I spent 
 all the evening practising that hor — I mean 
 that difficult— accompaniment to the Ave 
 Maria, and you can't think how beautifully I 
 play it now. My right hand will run away a 
 little still; but the left always manages to 
 catch up to it in two or three bars ; and,
 
 126 Guy Mervyn. 
 
 otherwise, I do play it so nicely — quite as 
 well as Gerty. Shall we go to the music- 
 room and try it together ? I am sure half an 
 hour with your fiddle would do you good ; 
 and Miss Hope does not arrive till ten, thank 
 goodness ! J have my ' Cornwell ' to learn- 
 but that I never know, so it won't make any 
 difference whether I spend five minutes over 
 it, or an hour — and those awful German 
 verbs ; but, you know, Guy, you said all 
 Germans wanted hanging for talking such a 
 language, and that it was great bosh to learn 
 geography from books- — the only true way 
 was to go and see the countries ; so I can tell 
 Miss Hope that. She always thinks so much 
 of your opinion. Shall we go ?" 
 
 " All right," said Guy. 
 
 What Berry called " the music-room " was a 
 large, uncarpeted billiard-room, where Guy 
 kept his guns, fishing-rods, and musical 
 instruments. Of the latter there was a large 
 and varied assortment — from a piano to a
 
 Guy Mervyn, 1 27 
 
 penny tin whistle; but first, and most import- 
 ant, were his violins. He had three of these. 
 In a place of honour, over the mantelpiece, 
 hung" the first he ever possessed, a toy one, 
 which his mother had bought for half a crown 
 and given him on his ninth birthday ; and 
 upon which he had taught himself to play so 
 well, that a year or two later a friend made 
 him a present of a real violin — a real good 
 one — worth a whole half-sovereign ! For 
 years this was his only fiddle; but almost his 
 first act, when he found himself with plenty 
 of money at his disposal, had been to buy, for 
 forty guineas, the beautiful violin which was 
 now his £reat delight. 
 
 Its clear pure tones rang out fervently, 
 this morning, in Gounod's wonderful Ave 
 Maria, contrasting curiously with Beryl's 
 very energetic, but rather jerky, accompani- 
 ment, and penetrated to Mrs. Mervyn's ears 
 as she came downstairs. She crossed the 
 hall and looked into the music-room. The}-
 
 128 Guy Mervyn. 
 
 both ceased playing, and came forward to 
 greet her. 
 
 " I want to speak to you before you go out, 
 my dear boy. Will you come to my boudoir 
 presently ?" 
 
 " At once, mother dear, if you like," he 
 answered brightly. Beryl's remedy had 
 acted on his spirits like magic. He put 
 away his violin, and, still humming the air 
 they had been playing, followed Mrs. Mervyn 
 to her sitting-room. 
 
 " Shut the door, please, dear ; and now, 
 sit down. I want to talk about something 
 rather special." 
 
 Guy seated himself on the arm of an easy 
 chair, and looked expectant. Mrs. Mervyn 
 took up a sock she was knitting, and com- 
 menced counting the stitches. Evidently 
 she found it difficult, now the moment had 
 come, to broach this special subject. 
 
 Guy grew restive. He loved the sight of 
 his mother's sweet, gentle face at all times ;
 
 Guy Mervyn. 1 20 
 
 but he certainly did not care to know how 
 many of those little red silk stitches each 
 needle contained. 
 
 11 Is it about the new flower-beds, mother ? 
 If so, I have a splendid idea for the centre." 
 
 " No, Guy ; it is about what occurred last 
 night/' Mrs. Mervyn laid down her work 
 and looked at him ; then said, very decidedly : 
 " Guy, we must have nothing more to do 
 with those people." 
 
 Guy's face changed, but he only said 
 quietly : 
 
 11 What people, mother ?" 
 
 '• Mr. and Mrs. Monk." 
 
 "Mrs. Monk?" 
 
 a You know perfectly well who I mean, 
 Guy. Mr, Monk and Lady Elaine. Now, 
 as you know. 1 quite disregarded the village 
 gossip about them, feeling sure we should 
 soon lind out whether or no they were 
 desirable acquaintances. We had an oppor- 
 tunity ot doing so last night ; and, as said 
 
 VOL. I. 9
 
 130 Guy Mervyu. 
 
 on the wav home, I consider them most 
 undesirable, and I hope, my son, you will see 
 with me the necessity of discontinuing all 
 further intimacy at The Towers." 
 
 Guy rose, came and stood opposite his 
 mother, and leaned his arm on the mantel- 
 piece. Then he said slowly : 
 
 "It seems to me, mother, that you are 
 making rather a mistake. All your expres- 
 sions of disapproval are in the plural. They 
 should be in the singular ; then I could 
 thoroughly agree with them. In fact, I 
 would go further, and say that I consider 
 Mr. Monk a confounded blackguard, unfit 
 for any decent society ; and I, for one, have 
 no wish ever to meet him again. But of 
 course we are not going to cut Lady Elaine 
 for Mr. Monk's ill-doings, or let his conduct 
 make the slightest difference to our friendship 
 with her." 
 
 " Now t , Guy, this is absurd ! My dear 
 boy, in society you cannot draw the line like
 
 Guy Mervyn, 131 
 
 this between a husband and wife. Either we 
 visit at a house, or we do not ; and, even if 
 Lady Elaine were all that is delightful and 
 desirable " 
 
 "If, mother!" cried Guy hotly. ''Why 
 do you say iff Pray, what have you against 
 Lady Llaine ?" 
 
 " Guy ! is that the way to speak to your 
 mother ?"' 
 
 " I beg your pardon, mother," he said 
 more quietly ; " but I think it is not quite 
 just to imply anything against her." 
 
 " Well, Guy, if you wish to know, I did 
 not at all like the way Lady Elaine beh ived 
 with you last night. You are young, and, 
 1 am glad to say, unused to the ways of 
 ►ciety and worldly women ; but her manner 
 was commented upon by several, who con- 
 sidered, as well they might, that Lad) 
 Elaine flirted with you/' 
 
 "What a lie!" cried Guy passionately. 
 
 Mother, how can you listen to prating old 
 
 2
 
 132 Guy Mervyn. 
 
 scandal-mongers like Miss Pringle and Mrs. 
 Biscoe ? They are furious with Lady Elaine 
 because she snubs them a bit ; and a good 
 thing too, vulgar old women ! She flirt with 
 me ! How can you say so. mother ?" 
 
 " Guy, answer me this one question. Did 
 Lady Elaine take you into the conservatory 
 really only to show you the white azalea ?" 
 
 Guy had never lied to his mother. He 
 did not do so now. He bit his lip, and was 
 silent for a minute ; then said : 
 
 " She wished to talk to me. mother. 
 Where was the harm of that ?" 
 
 A lonQf silence between them. Then the 
 mother spoke. 
 
 " Guy, my own dear boy, will you listen 
 quietly to what I have ro say ? Do not pain 
 me, darling, by being angry and speaking 
 strongly, as you have done. It is not like 
 my Guy to do so to his mother. You know 
 what passed between us about Lady Elaine, 
 when first you met her. No — I will not
 
 Guy Mrriyu. i 3$ 
 
 allude to it beyond just saying that the 
 knowledge of the strong feeling she had 
 called forth in your heart, before you knew 
 much about her, made me the more anxious, 
 when I saw how rapidly your intimacy with 
 her was growing, in spite of our agreement 
 that night, that you had better see as little 
 ot her as possible for the present. But, 
 dear boy, last night showed me clearly the 
 danger you are in. Lady Elaine, cold and 
 impassive as she is to most people, is very 
 fascinating and attractive in her manner to 
 you. This is only because she has taken a 
 passing fancy to you ; her life, perhaps, is not 
 a very happy one, and you amuse her with 
 your bright manner and high spirits. But, 
 darling, this must not go on. Cannot you 
 trust your mother to know what is best lor 
 you ? Guy, I have never known you break a 
 promise iruul<- to me. I want you to make 
 oik- now, which will save you from much 
 sorrow and future regret 1 know ii you
 
 134 Guy Mervyn. 
 
 make it you will keep it. Promise me, 
 darling, that for the future you will avoid 
 Lady Elaine Monk, merely bow to her if 
 you meet, and not speak to her, or renew 
 your intimacy with her. Now is the time 
 to break it off; and after last nieht it will 
 not surprise her." 
 
 " I cannot promise that, mother," Guy 
 said — gently, but firmly. 
 
 " Guy, you are no longer a boy, nor are 
 you so much under my control as when you 
 were younger. But, because you are now a 
 young man, do you intend to disobey your 
 mother, and disregard her wishes ?" 
 
 " No, mother," he said earnestly. " If 
 growing up means that, I shall be a boy at 
 fifty !" 
 
 " Then promise me, darling." 
 
 He dropped on one knee beside her and 
 took her hand in both his bie ones. 
 
 " Mother, believe me, you are unjust to 
 Lady Elaine. You do not know her as I
 
 Guy Mervyn. 135 
 
 do; or — far from thus cutting her because 
 of his conduct — you would love her, and 
 loner to comfort her and brighten her sad life. 
 
 o o 
 
 I )o be kind and nice to her, and ask h< r 
 here, and get to know her well. I know 
 .she likes you, already ; and it is such a 
 shame to cut her, just because she has had 
 the ill-luck to marry a brute." 
 
 He spoke in earnest pleading tones, 
 looking into her face with those wheedling 
 blue eyes, which she had never known how 
 to resist. But the mother's heart, generally 
 so tender to everyone, was hardened through 
 fear for her darling's welfare. 
 
 " No, Guy,'' she said, (i I could never like 
 her. She has done you harm already." 
 
 " But 1 cannot cut her, mother. Suppose 
 I meet her out of doors, and she speaks to 
 me, and I h i\ ;iven \<>u this promise, 
 what should I do ?" 
 
 "Well, Guy, we will modify it. Will 
 you promise me that you will not seek out
 
 136 Guy Mervyn. 
 
 Lady Elaine, but that, as far as possible, 
 you will avoid her ?" 
 
 " Mother, I cannot make these promises." 
 
 " Guy," and his mother's tone was full of 
 pain, " this shows me that you still feel far 
 more strongly for Lady Elaine than is right. 
 Even your mother's earnest wishes are dis- 
 regarded and set aside, that you may con- 
 tinue to meet one whom you have only 
 known for a few short weeks, and of whom 
 your mother, who has had your undivided love 
 and obedience for all these years, strongly 
 disapproves. Is your feeling for thismarried 
 woman stronger than your love for your 
 mother, Guy ?" 
 
 He saw her tears, and heard the ring of 
 bitter pain in her voice. 
 
 i( I promise, mother," he said, and left the 
 room.
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 It was a lovely summer afternoon, about 
 a week after the dinner - party at The 
 Towers. 
 
 Lady Elaine had thought the day too hot 
 for any exertion, and had spent it lying back 
 in a lame wicker orarden-chair, on the lawn, 
 beneath the shade of a huge cedar, reading 
 the last new novel from Mudie's. But alter 
 awhile she grew weary of reading, and lay 
 back dreamily watching the sunbeams as 
 they peeped through the dark boughs over- 
 head and danced across her white dress and 
 over her hands, making her diamond rings 
 flash and sparkle. She lay so still and 
 motionless, that the little rabbits came out
 
 138 Guy Mervyn. 
 
 and gambolled about quite close to her, and 
 then threw up their silly little heels and 
 vanished when by chance they became aware 
 of her presence. And Lady Elaine, as she 
 watched them, fell to thinking how good it 
 must be to be able to run away so quickly 
 from anything one feared and dreaded ; and 
 in her heart she envied those little playful 
 rabbits. And the sparrows hopped about 
 overhead, pecking up the insects on the 
 boughs, and chirping joyously to one another ; 
 and Lady Elaine thought how good it must 
 be to be able to choose one's own mate and 
 make a happy little nest together, high up in 
 some quiet corner, where no one could come 
 prying and peeping and interfering. And 
 then her thoughts wandered far back into 
 the past, to a time when her wishes had been 
 thwarted, her heart's choice set aside, her 
 young life blighted, by the imperious selfish 
 will of another. 
 
 " Tea is in the drawing-room, my lady."
 
 Guy Mcrvyn. 139 
 
 "You can bring it out here, James." 
 
 Then she roused herself, and went on 
 with her book, drinking her tea as she read ; 
 and presently a soft breeze began to stir and 
 whisper in the trees ; the heat was no longer 
 so intensely overpowering ; and Lady Elaine 
 took up her white parasol, and strolled across 
 the lawn, and through the park, and out into 
 the shady lane leading to the woods. 
 
 The nearest way to reach them was across 
 Farmer Hurst's wheatfield ; but when she 
 came in sight of this it was still such a blaze 
 of heat and light, that Lady Elaine almost 
 doubted whether the shade and coolness of 
 the woods beyond would sufficiently repay 
 her for crossing it. While she hesitated 
 whether to go on or to return, she saw Guy 
 Mervyil standing in the lane, resting one 
 arm on the stile and looking over the field. 
 I !<• wore a light tweet i suit, and carried a lou- 
 fishing-rod. 
 
 " At last 1 have caught him ! ' thought
 
 140 Guy Mervyn. 
 
 Lady Elaine, with a pleased smile ; and she 
 quickened her pace. But almost at the 
 same moment, Guy, without turning his 
 head in her direction, vaulted over the 
 stile, and walked rapidly across the field. 
 He had gained the wood, and was out of 
 sight by the time she reached the stile. 
 
 " I am certain he knew I was coming, and 
 wished to avoid me," thought Lady Elaine ; 
 but she felt neither hurt nor offended. It 
 was not her way to be offended with those 
 she liked. " He thinks it will be painful to 
 me to meet him, after what happened on that 
 dreadful evening," she thought ; " but how 
 tiresome ! I wish I had called to him to 
 wait." 
 
 A cloud of dust in the lane, and Bidger, 
 hot and panting, dashed past her, and bounded 
 over the stile in pursuit of his master. 
 
 " Bidger !" cried Lady Elaine. 
 
 He stopped and looked back at her. 
 
 " Come here, Bidger."
 
 Guy Mervy)i. 141 
 
 He trotted back, wagging his tail, and 
 looked up into her face ; then half started off 
 again, with a short excited bark, as if to show 
 her that his time was precious and must not 
 be wasted. 
 
 " Wait one minute, Bidger." And taking 
 a note-book from her pocket, she tore out a 
 leaf and wrote upon it : " / want to speak to 
 you, Sir Guy. 11 lit you come back for a jao 
 minutes ? — E. MT " Here, Bidger, take that 
 to your master," she said. And the intelligent 
 animal put his forepaws up on the stile, and 
 gently took the leaf out of her hand with his 
 teeth. Then bounded across the held, up 
 into the woods, and was out of sight in a 
 moment. 
 
 Lady Elaine walked leisurely along be- 
 tween the wh<at. stopping every now and 
 then to gather some poppies and blur corn- 
 flowers. When she readied the Other side, 
 Guy stood by the stile, waiting to help her 
 over.
 
 142 Guy Mervyn. 
 
 " My messenger lost no time," she said, 
 smiling, as she put her hand into his. 
 
 " You could not have chosen a better," 
 Guy answered ; and they strolled up into the 
 woods together. 
 
 " Were you in a hurry to get home, Sir 
 Guy, or can you spare a little while to enliven 
 my solitude ?" 
 
 " No hurry at all. Lady Elaine. We do 
 not dine until eight, on these long evenings ; 
 sometimes later. Even Beryl was in a state 
 of collapse to-day from the heat ; so I have 
 been out alone, fishing." 
 
 " And I have been alone all day also. 
 What a pity I did not know where you were 
 fishing ; I could have come and watched you. 
 By the way, Guy, how did you know I was 
 coming down the lane just now, when you 
 jumped over the stile and made off so 
 rapidly ?" 
 
 Guy flushed. 
 
 " I heard your step," he said ; then,
 
 Guy Mervyn* 143 
 
 looking at her earnestly : " but, indeed, Lady 
 Elaine, it was not that I did not wish to meet 
 you/' 
 
 " I know that, Guy. Now here is my 
 favourite seat ; shall we rest awhile and get 
 cool ?" 
 
 They had just entered the wood, and Lady 
 Elaine stopped before a soft mossy bank 
 which sloped gently up to the trunk of a huge 
 beech- tree. Behind it. the bracken fern 
 grew thick and high ; to the left, the path 
 went on into the wood ; to the right, it turned 
 abruptly down the rather steep way they had 
 climbed from the cornfield. Opposite, was a 
 lovely peep through the trees : the little 
 village church, with its white spire and ivy 
 covered walls ; the picturesque thatched 
 cottages nestling round it in the valley ; and 
 far away in the distance, across the river and 
 over the meadows, the white chalk hills rising 
 high and clear against the blue sky. 
 
 " I love this little nook," said Lad)- Elaine,
 
 144 Guy Mervyn. 
 
 seating herself, and leaning back against the 
 trunk of the beech-tree. " I sometimes spend 
 hours here. What could be more perfect 
 than that view before us ? and how exquisitely 
 framed by those hazel trees. Guy, you don't 
 half admire it !" 
 
 Guy was looking at her, not at the view. 
 
 " Indeed I do," he said gravely, turning 
 to look at it for the first time. 
 
 " Sit down and enjoy it, then," said Lady 
 Elaine ; and he threw himself down beside her, 
 with a sigh of content. Surely this was not 
 breaking his promise, for she had asked him, 
 and how could he refuse ? 
 
 Then they talked on about the view, and 
 the trees, and the chalk hills, and the walks, 
 and where was the best fishing ; and anything 
 and everything but the one subject upper- 
 most in both their minds. And as they 
 talked, Lady Elaine began absently, with her 
 left hand, picking up all the little bits of sticks 
 and leaves and twigs from the moss between
 
 Guy Mervyn* 145 
 
 them, and put them in a heap together. And 
 Guy watched her do it ; and noticed how very 
 white her hand was, and how blue the veins 
 looked, and how loose her wedding-ring 
 seemed to be. And when all the space 
 between them was cleared, he playfully took 
 a handful from the other side, and dropped 
 them there ; but she, without noticing, picked 
 all those up, and put them with the rest. 
 And then Guy took a little bit of stick, and 
 put it into her hand and looked up at her, 
 smiling. 
 
 " What is it ?" she asked. And then they 
 both laughed. 
 
 " Did I really make that little heap ? Do 
 you know I often do those sort of things 
 quite unconsciously, while 1 am talking or 
 thinking. Sometimes in writing a letter, if 
 come to a standstill for want of something 
 to sav, I lind afterwards that I have torn a 
 piece oi paper into a thousand little pieces, 
 and made a tiny Mont Blanc on my table." 
 
 VOL. f. 10
 
 146 Guy Mervyn. 
 
 " Do you often write letters ?" he asked. 
 
 " Not often ; and then never long ones, 
 excepting to one special friend. But, do you 
 know, Guy, I very nearly wrote to you the 
 other day ; only then I made sure I should 
 see you again long before now." 
 
 "What about ?" he asked, in a low voice. 
 
 " About — what happened the other night. 
 Oh, Guy !" and she turned her beautiful eyes 
 to him, full of trouble ; "I have wanted so 
 to tell you, ever since, how I felt about it. 
 It was so terrible, so disgraceful! And you 
 behaved so nobly. I wanted to thank 
 
 you 
 
 " Don't !" he said huskily ; " I did not 
 mind at all, so far as it only concerned me. 
 And you gave me the flower. I knew what 
 you meant." 
 
 " But it was such a shameful insult. It 
 must have cost you so much to let it pass 
 unpunished. I scarcely dared hope you 
 would, w r hen 1 asked it : afterwards I
 
 Guy Mervyn. 147 
 
 wondered what could have made you give up 
 revenge, simply at my request." 
 
 He opened his lips to answer ; then 
 checked himself, and looked away over the 
 cornfields, to the distant hills. 
 
 " Guy, I shall never use that fan again." 
 
 They were silent for a few minutes, then 
 Guy's hand stole along the moss, and took 
 hold of Lady Elaine's. She did not with- 
 draw it, or even seem conscious that he held 
 it. But Guy — ah, Guy, was not your mother 
 right ? His heart beat wildly, as his fingers 
 closed, with a strong firm clasp, over that 
 soft, unresisting hand. " It is worth a 
 blow," he thought to himself, " ay, fifty 
 blows, to sit wiih her like this for as many 
 seconds." 
 
 " So you know something of my sorrows ?" 
 Lad\- Elaine said presently, with a sad smile. 
 " I dnaded your hearing or finding out ; but 
 somehow now you do know, it seems to com- 
 fort me a little, for you are so sympathetic 
 
 10 — 2
 
 148 Gtty Mervyn. 
 
 and kind, Guy. Some people — indeed, most 
 people — cut me promptly when they find out 
 what I have to bear. Rather hard, is it 
 not ? I knew you would not do that ; and 
 yet I feared your knowing. I should not 
 have asked you or your mother to dine with 
 us the other night for that very reason, but 
 Mr. Monk insisted. That is always the way 
 — new friends come, go, and I see them no 
 more." She sighed deeply, and added, half 
 to herself : " And I, who so sorely need help 
 and friendship !" 
 
 Surely she must feel the tightening clasp 
 of those strong brown finders, she must hear 
 the quiver of suppressed emotion in that 
 clear young voice, as he says, low and 
 earnestly : 
 
 " Dear Lady Elaine, I am an awful duffer 
 at expressing what I mean, and I can't put 
 into words what I have felt ever since that 
 night, but indeed there is nothing I would 
 not do for you."
 
 Guy Mervyn. 1 49 
 
 " You have proved that," she said with a 
 smile. " You are very good to me, Guy. 
 How quickly we have grown to be friends ! 
 It seems only the other day that Bidger 
 bounced out upon me in this very wood." 
 
 "Just six weeks ago yesterday," Guy 
 said. 
 
 " When does Mr. Branscome arrive ?" 
 
 11 Next Monday, most likely." 
 
 " I hope you will like him." 
 
 •• 1 hope he will like me !" 
 
 Lad)- Elaine laughed. 
 
 " Not much fear about that, Master Guy ! 
 And shall you work hard with him ?" 
 
 " I don't know, " Guy said, rather ruefully. 
 "Sitting poked upover books on these glorious 
 days won't suit me. My mother suggests that 
 he and I should travel together this summer. 
 That would be rather jolly in some ways, but 
 — I don't want to leave here." 
 
 "Well, I am rather interested in Mr. 
 Branscom 1 le docs not know me, nor I
 
 150 Guy Mervyn. 
 
 him ; but I have heard a ^ood deal of him 
 from a mutual friend. You say he is coming 
 on Monday ? Try and let me know on 
 Tuesday how you like him, and what you 
 think of him, and whether he seems bright 
 and cheerful and all you expect. I should 
 like to write and tell my friend, who 
 would be greatly interested in hearing all 
 about him. But how and where shall we 
 meet ? You have become such a Will-o'-the- 
 wisp lately, and only appear to vanish out of 
 sight again ! I will bring my book out here 
 on Tuesday evening about this time ; so you 
 will know where to find me ; and, if you can, 
 do come and give me an account of your 
 new tutor." 
 
 " I will come," Guy said. 
 
 Down in the valley the church clock struck 
 seven. 
 
 Lady Elaine started. " How the time has 
 flown I" she exclaimed. " I must g-o home. 
 Look at the pink glow on the chalk hills from
 
 Guy Mervyn. 151 
 
 the reflected sunset ; and what a cool, de- 
 licious breeze. Do you know, Guy, I feel 
 better than when I came out ; though much 
 of our talk has been of a rather dismal char- 
 acter, and," she added, smiling, "just a little 
 sentimental ! I had spent the whole day- 
 alone ; and ones thoughts — mine, at least — 
 are not cheerful companions." 
 
 She rose — and they left the wood together.
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 " We have all been voting morning service a 
 mistake on such a sweltering hot day ! What 
 is your opinion, Mrs. Joram ?" 
 
 "Well, Sir Guy, the heat may be an im- 
 pediment to our devotions, but should not 
 prevent them, I think." 
 
 The Mervyns, on their way to church, had 
 overtaken and joined Mrs. Joram. Guy 
 walked beside her. They had met once 
 or twice since the dinner-party at The 
 Towers, and taken a strong mutual liking 
 to one another. 
 
 " It won't hinder mine," said Guy with fer- 
 vour, and a merry twinkle in his eyes. " The 
 fact is, Mrs. Joram, I am afraid I have none
 
 Guy Mervyn. 153 
 
 to hinder. Hot or cold, I am not of a very 
 devout turn of mind." 
 
 " Ah ! but you should not talk lightly of 
 the Church and her holy services," replied 
 Mrs. Joram gravely. "Young and old, we 
 are all glad, sometimes, to turn for help to her 
 priests and their sacred ministrations." 
 
 " Yes," said Guy seriously, "three times." 
 
 " Three times ?" Mrs. Joram looked puzzled. 
 " Why three times ?" 
 
 11 Don't you know the story of the Irish 
 priest who wished to impress on his congre- 
 gation that it was their duty to support him 
 rather more liberally ; and at the clo.^e ot his 
 sermon, summing up the great obligations 
 under which they lay, he said impressively: 
 'Why, I've christened ye, and married ye, 
 and buried ye r 
 
 Mrs. Joram could not help laughing, but 
 she shook her head at him all the same. 
 
 "You are a sad reprobate, Sir Guy, and 
 
 utterly unfit to be patron of the living! It
 
 154 G u y Mervyn. 
 
 it ever becomes vacant, do let me have a voice 
 in the nomination." 
 
 " Ah !" said Guv, laughing. " You would 
 choose a man who would come out in green 
 satin, with a gold cross on his back, and be 
 quite tip-top ' high ' in every way. Well, I 
 should not mind it for a change ; at least, we 
 should get things done rather more decently 
 and in order, and a clean sweep made of the 
 cobwebs and Bones's sepulchral drawl, and 
 that awful choir a bit improved. Have you 
 noticed the special place in this new Te 
 Deum where they go so distractingly flat ? 
 I always feel inclined to shy all the books in 
 our pew at their heads, one after the other." 
 " Poor things, they do their best !" 
 " It's a very poor best, then," said Guy. 
 " However, thank goodness, they will all be 
 too hot to sing to-day. And the organ- 
 blower will want more prodding up than 
 ever. You know, he always goes to sleep 
 
 between whiles ; and the organist leans over
 
 Guy Mcrvyn. \ ^-^ 
 
 and orives him a dig in the ribs with a chant- 
 book, a minute or so before he is wanted ; 
 whereupon lie starts up with a snort, and 
 commences blowing violently to make up for 
 lost time. Mind you watch !" 
 
 11 Sir Guy ! I really shall not walk to church 
 with you another day. And if you only come 
 to look out for all the ludicrous things in 
 our poor little service, you might just as 
 well stay away, for all the good it will do 
 you." 
 
 " No, no, Mrs. Joram," said Guy peni- 
 tently. " Now, don't look angry with me ! 
 I will keep my eye on you, during the whole 
 service this morning, and then I am sure to 
 feel good and reverential.' 1 
 
 44 You are quite incorrigible !" said the; old 
 lady, tapping his arm with her prayer-book. 
 "Why, here is Lady Elaine! Let us join 
 her. Well, Elaine, so the heat has not kept 
 you away to-day? I have just been lecturing 
 Sir Guy, hei
 
 156 Guy Mervyn. 
 
 " Really ! What is his offence ?" asked 
 Lady Elaine, looking at him with that special 
 indulgent smile he had learnt to watch for 
 now. 
 
 " Talking very irreverently about — 
 
 3> 
 
 " Now, Mrs. Joram, don't tell tales. I 
 only ventured to remark that church is a 
 mistake on such a hot day, Lady Elaine.'' 
 
 " Well, I must say I agree with you, Sir 
 Guy." 
 
 " I will tell you what I would do," said Guy, 
 "if I were the Vicar. I would have the service 
 out in the open air, in some nice cool, shady 
 place — say, in the woods, or under the big 
 trees in the park. At least, people could keep 
 awake there." 
 
 " Not at all a bad idea," said Lady 
 Elaine. 
 
 ''What a curious service it would be if 
 you took it, Sir Guy," remarked Mrs. Joram. 
 " What sort of sermon would you preach, I 
 wonder ?"
 
 Guy Mervyn. 157 
 
 " I should not preach a sermon at all," 
 said Guy. " When that time came, I should 
 vacate the pulpit, and stand up old ' Many 
 Mussies ' for the people to look at. Her face 
 is better than a sermon any day." 
 
 "Guy!"' panted Beryl, coming up, hot and 
 out of breath, "mother wants you. She is 
 some way behind.' 1 
 
 Guv, raising his hat, turned back with his 
 little sister. The two ladies walked on 
 together. 
 
 " The more I see of that young man, the 
 better I like him," said old Mrs. Joram 
 decidedly. 
 
 " Yes, he is a nice boy," said Lady Elaine. 
 
 The service was nearly over. It certainly 
 had been as close and oppressive as Guy had 
 foretold, though all the windows and the 
 large door stood wide open. The first hymn 
 chanced to be " By cool Siloam's shady rill," 
 and as they rose to sing it, Guy glanced at
 
 i 58 Guy Mervyn. 
 
 Mrs. Joram with such a comical raising of 
 his eyebrows as quite upset that lady's 
 gravity. 
 
 But somehow, all through the service that 
 morning, Guy could scarcely take his eyes 
 off Lady Elaine. She sat exactly opposite 
 him, and the people who usually occupied the 
 intervening pews were absent ; so from his 
 corner of the back chancel pew he looked 
 straight across to where she leaned rather 
 wearily back in hers. " What a study she 
 would make for a Madonna," thought Guy ; 
 " or the picture of some holy saint. I wonder 
 whether Raphael ever had such a lovely 
 model." The sunbeams, streaming through 
 the transept window, lit up her golden hair, 
 till it shone like a glory round her fair sweet 
 face. How white and delicate she looked, 
 leaning her head against the dark oak panel 
 her eyes half closed, like a tired child. Guy 
 felt a strange pang at his heart as he v/atched 
 her. The instinct of true manhood stirred
 
 Guy Mervyn, i 
 
 within his breast, and awoke to sudden life. 
 A mighty yearning arose within him to have 
 the right to put his arm around her and bid 
 her lean on him ; to stand evermore between 
 her and all that was evil, hard, and bitter in 
 this cruel world ; to shield her from all 
 sorrow; to guard her from all pain; to shelter 
 her within his strong young love ior ever- 
 more. But close upon this newborn longing 
 followed the sickenine-- thought : these rights 
 art- all another's, and he — tramples up< »n 
 her ! ( ruy clenched his bk r strong hands 
 convulsively. Th< re was something so 
 I athetic about that lovely head, laid wearily 
 back against the hard, dark panel ; the. sad 
 droop ot those sweet lips; the quivering <>i 
 those white <-y<-lids. Guy could hardly bear 
 it. But then, poor boy! he loved her, and he 
 had never loved bef< re Surely, he thought, 
 if his mother would only look a the 
 
 now, she would feel differently 
 towards Lady Elain . He glanced at her,
 
 160 Guy Mervyn. 
 
 but she appeared intent upon the sermon, 
 which made him rather unreasonably im- 
 patient. 
 
 So it came to pass that whenever Lady 
 Elaine looked up that morning, she caught 
 Guy's blue eyes fixed upon her with a curious 
 half-wistful expression in them. He looked 
 away instantly, but very soon she would be 
 conscious again of that earnest, steady gaze. 
 
 " Tiresome boy I" she thought ; " what 
 does he mean by staring me out of counten- 
 ance like this ! I shall scold him on Tuesday." 
 
 But afterwards she remembered the look 
 in his eyes, and wondered she had not under- 
 stood it. 
 
 Mrs. Mervyn took an unusually long time 
 at the end of the service in collecting and 
 putting away her books ; and then, taking 
 Guy's arm, she walked very leisurely down 
 the aisle ; so they were almost the last to 
 leave the church, and everyone else had gone 
 on before. Guy understood his mother's
 
 Guy Mervyn, 161 
 
 object perfectly well, and he silently chafed 
 at it. 
 
 In the churchyard they found Bidger. 
 Guy had not allowed him in church since 
 that first Sunday, but he was generally 
 waiting for them when they came out. 
 
 Guy gave a rapid glance up the lane 
 leading to The Towers, and just caught 
 jht of Lady Elaine's white parasol, as she 
 turned the corner and passed out of sight. 
 
 Poor Guy felt savage, not exactly with his 
 mother, but with things in general. 
 
 Their way home lay in another direction, 
 and they were just turning away, when Beryl, 
 who had followed Guy's glance, exclaimed : 
 
 ,f What is that black thing. King in the 
 middle ot the lane ?" 
 
 " It looks like a book," said Guy ; " some- 
 one must have dropped it. It is too hot to 
 
 go and see, lbrc, Bidger] Fetch it, sir!" 
 
 Bidger looked round and hesitated; but 
 
 soon as he saw what Guy meant, dashed 
 VOL. I. I I
 
 1 62 Guy Mervyn. 
 
 off up the lane. He stopped and sniffed at 
 it carefully ; then gave a joyous bark, picked 
 it up, and bounded after them. Beryl tried 
 to take it from him as he passed, but he 
 swerved to one side, and, dexterously avoid- 
 ing her, brought it straight to his master. It 
 was a small pocket Bible, bound in dark blue 
 morocco stamped in gold with two initials, 
 4< E.M." Guy opened it. On the fly-leaf was 
 written in her own handwriting "Elaine" and 
 underneath, a date. 
 
 " It is Lady Elaine's," he said ; " she must 
 just have dropped it." And he closed it, and 
 put it in his pocket. 
 
 " You had better give it to the clerk or the 
 pew-opener, Guy," suggested Mrs. Mervyn. 
 
 " I think not, mother," he answered 
 quietly. "As we have found it, it will be 
 more civil to return it to Lady Elaine our- 
 selves. I will give it her when next we 
 meet, or send it up to The Towers." 
 
 No more was said on the subject, and they
 
 Guy Mervyn. \6^ 
 
 j 
 
 walked on, Guy feeling considerably le 
 savage. It was very nice to have Lady 
 Elaine's little Bible lying safely in his breast- 
 pocket ; and on Tuesday he could give it 
 her. 
 
 Tuesday ! What a confounded long time 
 it is from Sunday to Tuesday ! 
 
 i .
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 It was barely half-past five on Tuesday 
 afternoon when Guy walked rapidly through 
 the woods to the trysting-place appointed by 
 Lady Elaine. " It is early," he said to him- 
 self, glancing at his watch, without stopping ; 
 " she will not be there yet awhile ; but it 
 would have been hopeless ever to get away, 
 if I had not given mother and Gerty the slip 
 while they were in the garden." 
 
 To his surprise, however, as he came in 
 sight of the old beech-tree, Lady Elaine was 
 there, seated in her favourite place, bending 
 intently over a book in her lap. 
 
 She looked up with a smile as he stopped 
 before her.
 
 Guy Mcrvyn. 165 
 
 11 I did not expect you so soon, Guy. I 
 have been here most of the afternoon, and 
 the time has flown ; for I am deep in such a 
 charming book, by a new author, ' True 
 Heart's-ease ;' have you read it ?" 
 
 " No,'' said Guy, throwing himself down 
 on the moss at her feet. " But don't stop 
 for me, if you are in the middle, Lad}' Elaine. 
 I came off early because Gerty had a hundred 
 and one things she wanted me to do this 
 evening, and I knew if I waited I should 
 never escape. Please don't shut the book. 
 I am quite happy here ; and I know how 
 horrid it is to have to leave your hero in a 
 hole." 
 
 11 Oh, no one is in a hole just now. They 
 are all particularly happy. I [owever, I will 
 just finish my chapter." 
 
 She bent over the page again, and they 
 were silent. Guy, leaning on his elbow, 
 
 looked away over the cornfield, with astran 
 feeling at his heart ; passing sweet, yet very
 
 1 66 Guy JMervyn. 
 
 sad and bitter. Ah ! if he could always lie 
 at her feet like this ; if he and she could stay 
 for ever in this fairy-land — they two alone, 
 and no one else beside ! But what right has 
 he to be here ? What right has he to love 
 her ? What would she think if she could see 
 into his heart, and know — all ? 
 
 A lark suddenly shot up from the field 
 below them, and rose on the wings of its 
 joyous song, high, high into the deep blue 
 overhead. Its little body seemed driven 
 upwards by the force of that ecstatic, bound- 
 less, overwhelming rush of song. A thrush 
 in the beech-tree above them, stirred by the 
 sudden burst of praise from the lark, trilled 
 out its own low, thrilling love-notes. A 
 cuckoo answered from a distant tree, replied 
 to by another, so far away in the wood that 
 it sounded like a distant echo of the first. 
 The sheep-bells tinkled down in the valley, 
 and the church clock struck six. 
 
 11 Guy, what are you thinking about ?"
 
 Guy Mervyn. 167 
 
 He started violently. Lady Elaine had 
 finished her chapter, closed her hook 
 without arousing him from his reverie, and 
 sat watching him. 
 
 " You don't look quite like yourself this 
 evening. Is anything the matter ?" 
 
 " No," he said, with rather a forced laugh ; 
 "I'm all right." 
 
 " Well, now for the news. Has Mr. 
 r>ranscome arrived ? ' 
 
 " Yes, Lady Elaine ; and, do you know, 
 I think I shall like him awfully. He is a 
 very good-looking fellow, rather too pale and 
 thin, but with such a clever intellectual lace. 
 He is reserved, and seemed nervous, even 
 with me, at first ; but when he felt more at 
 home, and I drew him a bit, he came out 
 well, and seems to have plenty in him.' 
 
 " I )oes he look delicate .' 
 
 " Yes, very. He is tall — nearly my height 
 
 but stoops a great deal. He has a queer 
 habit ol sighing every now and then, quite
 
 1 68 Guy Mervyn. 
 
 unconsciously ; and he looks to me as though 
 he had passed through some great trouble, 
 and has not yet quite got over it." 
 
 " Ah !" murmured Lady Elaine, half aloud. 
 
 " He is awfully nice in manner ; and not in 
 the least cock-a-hoop or stuck-up about all 
 he knows, though mother heard that he came 
 out wonderfully high at college. I can see 
 he likes my little Berry, for he smiles at her 
 fun, though he is not much given to smiling. 
 Gerty has made sheep's-eyes at him, poor 
 man, ever since he entered the house ; but 
 he appears entirely unconscious of the fact. 
 He is a little short-sighted, so perhaps he 
 does not see it ; rather a good thing, too ; for 
 you know, Gerty is a very pretty girl, and 
 goodness knows, I don't want him falling in 
 love, and going spooning about after her all 
 over the house." 
 
 (i I don't think you will find him very 
 susceptible," said Lady Elaine ; " and, Guy, 
 I think you are right about his having had a
 
 Guy Mervyn. 169 
 
 trouble lately. Perhaps when he knows y 
 better he will tell you about it. If he do- 
 and you can do so without breach of faith, I 
 wish you would tell me. I have a special 
 reason for being interested in Cyril Brans- 
 come." 
 
 "Certainly I will," said Guy. "And no 
 doubt you will soon see him, Lady Elaine. 
 If we meet you when we are together, shall 
 I introduce him ?" 
 
 "■ Do, please ; but don't repeat to him 
 anything I have said, or tell him that I 
 know his friend." 
 
 " All right," said Guy ; then added : " He 
 does not look at all clerical, except for a white 
 tie ; and I believe we shall hit it off wonder- 
 fully well together." 
 
 " I am very glad," said Lady Elaine ; then 
 added, smiling : " What a minute description 
 you have* given me of him. Do you alwa\ 
 observe every little detail about people ?" 
 
 "Oh no!" he answered ; "but, you know,
 
 170 Guy Mervyn. 
 
 you said you wished to hear all about him ; 
 so I made a point of noticing everything." 
 
 " I hope I shall remember it to tell my 
 friend — and his," she said. 
 
 " Lady Elaine," said Guy presently, " I 
 have something of yours in my possession, 
 and I fully meant to bring it back to you this 
 evening ; but, coming away in such a hurry, 
 I entirely forgot it." 
 
 " What is it ?" she asked. 
 
 •'A little pocket Bible, which you dropped 
 in the lane on Sunday. We found it, and I 
 have it at home." 
 
 " Oh, thank you !" she said. " I really had 
 not missed it, though that is rather a favourite 
 one of mine. I gave it to myself last year, 
 as a birthday present ! I remember it was 
 the only present I had, for no one else 
 remembered the day." 
 
 " Then is the 8th of October your birth- 
 day ?" 
 
 i: Yes. I suppose you saw the date on the
 
 Guy Mervyn, 171 
 
 fly-leaf. Ah. but talking of Sunday, Master 
 Guy, reminds me that I have a scolding in 
 store for you !" 
 
 He looked up at her inquiringly. 
 
 11 What did you mean by staring me so 
 hopelessly out of countenance during the 
 whole of the morning service ?" 
 
 Guy crimsoned to the very roots of his 
 hair. 
 
 '* I — really — I am awfully sorry, Lady 
 Elaine! — I didn't for a moment think — 
 well — think you saw !" 
 
 " Of course I saw ! But you have not 
 answered my question : Why did you do it ?" 
 
 Guy, looking, not at her, but straight 
 before him, answered : 
 
 " Because I was thanking about you." 
 
 'And what were you thinking? Come, 
 make a lull confession, and perhaps 1 will 
 forgive youA 
 
 i le turned, and looked at her with a 
 strange smile.
 
 17 2 Guy Mervyn. 
 
 " Perhaps you would never forgive me if I 
 did that/' he said in a low tone. 
 
 " We shall see. Were they such very 
 uncomplimentary thoughts ?" 
 
 Guy was silent for a minute, and did not 
 answer. All that was noble and good in his 
 nature was fighting hard against passion and 
 impulse. The odds were pretty even ; one 
 straw either way might turn the scale. 
 
 "Well, I was thinking," he said presently, 
 speaking in slow, measured tones, as if care- 
 fully choosing his words ; " I was thinking 
 what a study for a Madonna you would make, 
 and how like the pictures of the saints 
 you looked, with your golden hair for a 
 glory." 
 
 " You silly boy !" she said, laughing. " I 
 must bring- a screen to church with me next 
 Sunday." 
 
 But Guy did not laugh. He turned his 
 head, and looked away through the hazel 
 trees. She could see his profile ; and it
 
 Guy Mervyu. 173 
 
 seemed to her, fur a moment, that his lips 
 were quivering. 
 
 " Guy," she said, in a low, gentle voice; 
 " I am sure you are not yoursell to-day. 
 You are unhappy, or not well, or sonic- 
 thing is the matter. Do tell me what it is, 
 dear boy. How often I have told you my 
 troubles, and you have given me your sym- 
 pathy ! Now tell me yours." 
 
 She leaned towards him, and almost with- 
 out being conscious of what she did, stroked 
 his wavy hair gently as she spoke. How 
 the touch of her ringers thrilled his every 
 nerve. Guy sprang to his feet. Involun- 
 tarily Lady Elaine rose also, looking half per- 
 plexed, half vexed. 
 
 " I think I must have offended you in some 
 way, Sir Guy, but quite unintentionally ; 
 and how, 1 do nut know." 
 
 Then Guy turned with a sudden desperate 
 cry, and caught her in his arms, and, before 
 
 she- could prevent it, kissed her passionately
 
 174 Gtiy Mervyn. 
 
 on the lips ; then dashed through the tall 
 bracken fern, and left her standing there 
 alone. 
 
 S3? ''£' 7& 7& '5F 
 
 Lady Elaine stood where he left her, as 
 one half stunned. She listened mechanically 
 while the thrush, who had just begun to sing 
 when they rose, finished his song. She 
 leaned against the trunk of the old beech, and 
 watched the long shadows cast by the trees, 
 reaching almost to the cornfields ; she 
 watched the wheat swaying gently in the 
 evening breeze ; then, thinking " It is late," 
 she stooped to pick up her book and her hat, 
 which lay at her feet ; but, as she did so, the 
 full realization of what Guy had done burst 
 upon her ; and, overcome with shame and 
 anger, she sank down on the moss, and hid 
 her face in her hands. 
 
 When she raised her head at last, Guy 
 was kneeling at her leet. 
 
 " Oh, Lady Elaine !" he cried ; " forgive
 
 Guy Mervyu. i 75 
 
 me ! for God's sake, forgive me ! I was mad 
 — mad — or I should never have done it !" 
 
 " I wish you would go away !" she said 
 tremulously. " Is it not enough to have so 
 insulted me, without coming back to talk 
 about it ?" 
 
 " Insulted you !" he cried passionately. 
 " Oh ! Lady Elaine, you don't understand ! 
 I love you! I love you ! I suppose all this 
 time you have looked upon me as a boy ; but 
 I have been learning to love and worship 
 you madly, hopelessly, with a love which 
 can never change or die !" 
 
 She gazed at him aghast. 
 
 " Guy ! what do you mean ? You must 
 not say all this to me. I did not know —I 
 never dreamt of such a thing. I had grown 
 so fond of you ; you seemed so young and 
 boyish ; you burst like a gleam of sunshine 
 into my cheerless life ; I just enjoyed your 
 brightness, and gave you my friendship in 
 return, and thought of nothing else Hut I
 
 1 76 Guy Mervyn. 
 
 ought to have thought. Alas ! that it should 
 have come to this ! Guy, bid me good-bye, 
 and go. We must not meet again." 
 
 But he, still kneeling at her feet, seized her 
 hands in his, and looked eagerly into her 
 face. 
 
 "And why?" he said. "Why, Lady 
 Elaine ? Where is the harm of my loving 
 you, sweet ? The man who may do so, who 
 ought to do so, whose right it is, who comes 
 between us — confound him ! — cares nothing 
 for you, but makes your life wretched. 
 While I — oh, my darling !" his voice grew 
 tremulous with passionate tenderness ; " I 
 would gladly give all my hopes in this world 
 and the next for one kiss of your sweet lips, 
 one touch of your dear hand. Let me love 
 you — let me worship you — let me be with you 
 like this sometimes ; for I love you — I love 
 you ! 
 
 Then Lady Elaine rose, and turned from 
 him in bitter scorn and anger.
 
 Guy Mervyn, 1 77 
 
 u How dare you, Guy Mervyn! How 
 
 dare you speak thus to me ! What caus 
 have I ever given you to suppose such things 
 
 may be said to me D I thought you noble, 
 true-hearted, chivalrous. I see I was cruelly 
 mistaken. For the future we meet no more, 
 if I can prevent it. Good-bye !" 
 
 With an exceeding bitter cry, Guy flung 
 himself down on the moss at her feet, and 
 lay there quite still, his face hidden on his 
 arm. 
 
 Lady Elaine lingered, looked at him, and 
 hesitated. She really loved him, poor boy, 
 with a genuine affection. Perhaps the very 
 consciousness of this had made her speak 
 more harshly. It went to her heart to s 
 him lying there, his proud younL;' head so 
 low. his whole attitude betokening such 
 hopeless misery. How could she leave him 
 thus ? She came slowly back, and laid her 
 hand on his shoulder. 
 
 "Guy," she said, " I forgive you. I am 
 
 VOL. I. I 2
 
 i/8 Guy Mervyu. 
 
 also greatly to blame. I am so much older 
 than yon, and should have been more care- 
 ful. You must forgive me also. And some 
 day, when we have both forgotten — as well 
 as forgiven — perhaps we may meet and be 
 friends again." 
 
 He raised his head ; the look of reckless 
 despair in his eyes haunted her for weeks. 
 
 " I shall never forget !" he said. 
 
 So she turned away sadly, and left him 
 lying there ; and slowly, with drooping head, 
 she crossed the field, between the waving 
 corn. And, faint in the distance, she heard 
 behind her the low sweet notes of the thrush, 
 still singing in the old beech-tree ; and in 
 her heart his voice — in tones of passionate 
 tenderness — crying : " I love you ! Oh, I 
 love you, sweet !" But she left them both 
 behind ; and slowly, with drooping head, 
 passed on to her loveless home.
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 Berry was broken-hearted. She lay curled 
 up on the floor In Guy's room — her face 
 hidden against the side of his bed — sobbing 
 her poor little heart out, and would not be 
 comforted. 
 
 The room was in considerable confusion, 
 the lloor strewn with litter, odd gloves, boots, 
 fishing tackle, bits of paper. All was sug- 
 gestive of recent packing and bustle : but 
 now the room was deserted the owner of 
 the rubbish was gone — and nothing remained 
 but the one little desolate figure crouching 
 down beside the bed. 
 
 Gertrude came in. and —with really kind 
 intentions —tried to rouse her. 
 
 12— 2
 
 i8o Guy Mervyn. 
 
 " Come, Beryl dear ; don't stay up here all 
 by yourself. What are you crying about ? 
 Of course, we shall all miss Guy ; p but if we 
 really love him, we must think first of his 
 good, and not of ourselves. Think how 
 delightful for him to go abroad, and with 
 that dear nice Mr. Branscome, too. I am 
 sure / should like to go abroad with Mr. 
 Branscome. Certainly, it was a little annoy- 
 ing of Guy to be so very sudden in his resolve 
 to go, and in such an unnecessary hurry to 
 be off; but then we must remember Guy 
 is always rather erratic in his proceedings. 
 What did you say ? You wish I would 
 leave you alone ! Oh, certainly, Beryl ; 
 but 1 am rather surprised at you. When 
 I w r as your age I had far more self-control." 
 "Hang your self-control!" said Berry's 
 angry little voice, from among the bed-clothes; 
 then, as Gertrude's footsteps died away, her 
 sobs broke out afresh. " Oh, Guy, my Guy ! 
 What shall I do ?"
 
 Guy Mervyn. 1 8 1 
 
 The door was pushed gently open ; some- 
 thing entered noiselessly, and a cold nose 
 touched Beryl's cheek. " Oh, Bidger, 
 Bidder !" she cried, and turned and threw 
 her arms round him, hiding her face in his 
 shaggy coat. 
 
 What a wonderful comfort there is in silent 
 sympathy ! Beryl found it so now. Bidger 
 could not, fortunately, mar his sympathy by 
 any ill-chosen words or unwise remarks, and 
 Berry soon began to feel better. She sat up, 
 and pushing back her tumbled hair, took the 
 dogs head in both her hands, and looked 
 into his eyes. 
 
 " Bidger dear," she said ; u 1 really believe 
 you have been crying too ; and well you may, 
 poor doggie; for he has left you behind — 
 gone without you for the first time. Now, 
 Bidger dear, you can't talk, not being human, 
 nor supernatural, like Balaam's ass ; not that 
 1 wish you ever to be like. Balaam's ass, for 
 when he did speak, he had nothing pleasant to
 
 1 82 Gtiy Mervyn. 
 
 say, and had much better have held his tongue. 
 But, as I was saying, you can't talk ; but I 
 know you can feel, and think, and understand. 
 Now, is it not perfectly brutal of Gerty to 
 come and talk to me as she did just now ? 
 Of course she does not feel Guy's going 
 abroad. She is not his little one, like I am ; 
 nor his doggie, like you, dear ; so she goes on 
 talking like a guide-book about the ' advant- 
 ages,' and the 'scenery,' and the ' beneficial 
 results,' and so on ; and never sees that Glo- 
 rias gone away wretched and miserable over 
 something. That is the hard part of it all. 
 If Guy had gone off happily, to enjoy him- 
 self, it would be different; but, oh, Bidger ! 
 he was in dreadful trouble. I sat outside his 
 door last night in the dark for a long time, 
 and I heard him walking up and down the 
 room ; and, when he put his candle out at 
 last, he was tossing and turning about in bed ; 
 so I slipped in, and went to him, and his head 
 was so hot. He seemed half asleep and hall
 
 Guy Mervyn. 183 
 
 awake, and I said : ' Guv darling, what is 
 
 the matter ?' And he said : ' Oh. Berry, it's 
 all up. She hates me now!' And I said: 
 * No, darling ; I am sure she doesn't.' And 
 he said : ' Yes ; for I kissed her ; she will 
 never forgive me.' And I said : ' Lady 
 Elaine?' And he said : 'Yes.' And then he 
 seemed to wake quite up, and would not tell 
 me anything more, but sent me back to bed. 
 But this morning before he went away, he 
 said to me : ' Little one, your sharp eyes have 
 seen that 1 am in trouble, and perhaps you 
 half guess what it is about. You must not 
 mind my not telling you ; only remember it 
 is all mv own fault ; no one else is to blame 
 And promise me, Berry, that if ever you meet 
 Lady Elaine you will be kind, and sweet, 
 and nice to her. So I had to promise, Bidger, 
 to be kind, and sweet, and nice to that horrid 
 Lady Elaine, who his driven ourGu) awa) ! 
 Fancv his leaving you and me, who hai 
 loved him all our lives, just because >>t her i
 
 184 Guy Mervyn. 
 
 Bidger ! I'll tell you a secret. I hate Lady 
 Elaine! and I know you do, too, dear ; but, 
 all the same, if we meet her we must be kind, 
 and sweet, and nice ; only we'll take care not 
 to meet her, won't we, old doggie ? So Guy 
 really kissed her ! I wonder at his taste. I 
 would sooner kiss the marble statue down in 
 the hall. But she ought to have been proud 
 and delighted to be kissed by our Guy ; 
 and have hoped he would do it again ! 
 Oh, Bidger, Bidger ! he must have got to 
 London by now. What shall we do without 
 him ?" 
 
 Bidger sighed sympathetically, and his 
 eloquent eyes spoke volumes in reply to 
 Beryl's tearful question. 
 
 " Beryl," said Gertrude, looking in, " Mrs. 
 J oram has called, and is very anxious 
 to s^.e you. If you are sufficiently 
 recovered, mother wishes you to come 
 down." 
 
 " Mrs. Joram ?" cried Berry. " Oh yes !
 
 Guy Afervyn. 1S5 
 
 Come along, Bidger. we will go and see her ; 
 she is fond of our Guy." 
 
 -:;■ ■::■ * ■::■ -::- 
 
 About a week alter that eventful talk with 
 Guy in the woods, the mid-day post brought 
 to Lady Elaine a small package, bearing the 
 London postmark, and directed in a bold, 
 rather boyish hand. Somehow she knew 
 instinctively from whom it came, and whose 
 was the round, clear writing, even before she 
 turned it over and saw the Mervyn arms on 
 the seals. She opened it, and drew from the 
 silver paper, in which it was wrapped, her 
 little pocket Bible. " So he has returned it," 
 she said to herself; "but why should he 
 have gone to London, and sent it from 
 there ?" And then she noticed that the 
 book, though exactly similar to her own in 
 size and binding, with her initials stamped 
 on the cover precisely in the same way, 
 looked newer than hers. One or two little 
 dents and scratches which she remembered
 
 1 86 Guy Mervyn. 
 
 were not to be seen. She opened it, and 
 turned to the fly-leaf ; it was blank. She 
 laid it down with a sad smile. " Poor boy !" 
 she said ; " he has kept mine, and exactly 
 matched it in London. I wonder if he 
 thought I should not notice ? Well, he is 
 welcome to have it, I am sure ; poor Guy !" 
 She sat for awhile lost in thought ; then 
 carefully examined the papers in which it 
 was wrapped ; but not a line, not a word 
 could she find. Then she took up the book 
 and listlessly turned over the pages. " I 
 wish he had put my name in it," she thought. 
 Suddenly something caught her eye — a text 
 underlined in pencil. Lady Elaine read it ; 
 then put down the book, and with heightened 
 colour walked to the window, and looked out 
 into the garden. The text Guy had marked 
 was this: " Many waters cannot qttencli love, 
 neitJier can the floods drown it!' 
 
 " Mrs. Joram, my lady."
 
 Guy Mervyn. [87 
 
 Ladv Elaine came forward to erri 
 her. 
 
 Mrs. J oram seemed rather excite- 1 and 
 disturbed in her mind about something. 
 After a few commonplace remarks, she said, 
 rather suddenly : 
 
 " And so, Elaine, we have lost our young 
 Squire !" 
 
 Lady Elaine looked surprised, and turned 
 to her inquiringly. 
 
 "What! you have not heard? Ah! I 
 remember you said you had not been out at 
 all these last few days. Well, Sir Guy has 
 suddenly gone abroad with this new Mr. 
 Branscome ; and, from all accounts, is likely 
 to stay there some time." 
 
 11 Indeed ?" said Lady Elaine. " I had not 
 heard of it." 
 
 •"1 wonder he did not bid you good-bye 
 before he went, 1 ' said Mrs. Joram. "I 
 thought you and he seemed particular 
 friends."
 
 1 88 Guy Mervyn. 
 
 "I saw him last Tuesday," remarked Lady 
 Elaine. 
 
 "Oh, really! Well, he was off on the 
 Friday. He looked in on Thursday after- 
 noon and said good-bye to me ; because he 
 had settled to come to tea at Rookwood that 
 evening, and bring his little sister, and he 
 came to explain why he could not do so, and 
 to take leave of me. I could not understand 
 what had come to him ; he seemed perfectly 
 broken down — all his fun and high spirits 
 gone ; in fact, Elaine, I should have said that 
 that young man had been crossed in love, if 
 there were any likely young lady about." 
 
 " Indeed ?" said Lady Elaine. 
 
 Mrs. Joram glanced at her sharply. 
 
 "He went to London on Friday, and 
 crossed to Paris yesterday ; and most likely 
 they are going to Switzerland in a day or 
 two. But Guy left all these arrangements to 
 Mr. Branscome and his mother ; provided he 
 got away, he did not seem to care where he
 
 Guy Mervyn. 1X9 
 
 went. He said to me: 'I want change, 
 Mrs. Joram, that is all.' I could sec he was 
 
 dreadfullv afraid of m\' thinking; he had am 
 other reason for leaving home ; but a frank, 
 open face like his can never deceive one. 
 Most likely the Mervyns arc- all to go out 
 and join him in a few months ; and they 
 expect to spend the winter in the South." 
 
 11 Indeed ?" said Lady Elaine. 
 
 Little Mrs. Joram tapped her foot im- 
 patiently on the carpet ; then asked sharply : 
 
 " Elaine, what has happened to upset that 
 bov and break his heart, and send him 
 suddenly off abroad like this ?" 
 
 Lady Elaine turned to Mrs. Joram with 
 an expression of quiet surprise in her beauti- 
 ful eyes, and a slight raising of her eyebrows. 
 
 "Really. Mrs. Joram," she said, slowly, "if 
 
 you have any reason to think Sir Guy made 
 a confidante of me, and that I know more 
 his reasons for going abroad than you do, 
 
 you must also know that I should not be
 
 190 Guy Mervyu. 
 
 likely to divulge them without his per- 
 mission." 
 
 " Hum 1" said Mrs. Joram. "Well, I only 
 hope he has not been played with by a 
 woman, and lost faith in our sex. His is 
 one of those simple, honest, loving, trustful 
 natures which only become worldly - wise 
 through much bitter experience of the ways 
 of the world. I don't know when I have so 
 quickly grown fond of anyone before, or felt 
 anything so much as his going away like 
 this." 
 
 The next time Mrs. Joram called, ' her 
 ladyship ' was ' not at home.'
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 " Cyril." 
 "Well?" 
 
 " You won't ever try to guess who she is ?" 
 
 " Of course not, old fellow. You can trust 
 me, can't you ?" 
 
 " Trust you ? I should think so ! And I 
 believe you are what Berry calls a terminus.'' 
 
 " What is that ?" 
 
 " Well, if you tell Gertrude, for instance, 
 anything in confidence, she promptly tells 
 it in strict confidence to somebody else, 
 who repeats it to half-a-dozen other people ; 
 and so your unfortunate secret goes branch- 
 ing off in all directions. This Berry calls 
 being a junction. But anything I tell
 
 192 Guy Mervyn. 
 
 Berry, or she tells me, we never let out ; 
 so she calls that being a terminus, because 
 the secret sfoes no further." 
 
 Cyril laughed. " I fear most people are 
 junctions," he said ; " but on my honour, I 
 am a terminus." 
 
 The two young men were drifting slowly 
 along in a boat on the Lake of Geneva. 
 Guy lay back, lazily dabbling one hand in the 
 water ; not looking at his companion, but far 
 away to the distant snow mountains. Cyril 
 Branscome, resting on his oars, made no 
 pretence of rowing, but just kept the oars in 
 the water, and guided the little boat as it 
 floated along in the current. His deep-set eyes 
 were fixed on Guy with earnest interest ; 
 his usually pale face was slightly flushed. 
 They had been drifting thus for more than 
 an hour, and Cyril knew at last the reason 
 of their sudden departure from Mervyn 
 Hall. Guy had told him everything ; 
 his infatuation, his folly, his shame and
 
 Guy Mervyn, [g 
 
 ) 
 
 misery ; and the desperate heartache, from 
 which he had tried to escape. And Cyril 
 understood now much that had hitherto 
 puzzled him about his friend. His was 
 one of those fine sensitive natures which 
 not only feel sympathy, but understand how 
 to make their sympathy felt ; and he had 
 done Guy L;ood, and helped him already to 
 take a more hopeful view of life. Guy haci 
 told him all — all but her name. That he 
 could never tell, even to his dearest friend. 
 
 It was a soft September afternoon, quite 
 early in the month. All was peaceful and 
 quiet ; no sound broke the stillness, save the 
 occasional plash oi Cyrils oars. They 
 floated past old Chillon. 
 
 " It's awfully deep here," said Guy, leaning 
 
 over the side of the boat, and looking into 
 
 the depths beneath ; u fifty fathoms, and 
 more. I say, Branscome, wouldn't it be 
 jolly to go in head first, and sink quietly 
 down to the bottom !" 
 
 •i . i.
 
 194 G u y Mervyn. 
 
 " Nonsense, Guy ; sit up, will you ? You're 
 tipping the boat half over ; and I have no 
 wish to go there with you !" 
 
 " Really ?" said Guy, with a peculiar 
 smile. " You sometimes look, old fellow, 
 as if a little journey of that kind would 
 just suit you." 
 
 Cyril made no answer, but bent to 
 the oars and pulled on steadily for a few 
 minutes. Guy lay back again, letting the 
 water run through his ringers, and list- 
 lessly humming to himself : 
 
 " ' Her brow is like the snawdrift, 
 Her neck is like the swan, 
 Her face it is the fairest 
 That e'er ' 
 
 "Oh, hang it! Branscome, can't you 
 talk ?" 
 
 Cyril smiled quietly. " To tell a fellow to 
 talk, is the way to put out of his head every 
 single thought he has there. But, apropos 
 of the snowdrift, just look at the old Dent
 
 Guy Mcrvyn. 195 
 
 tlu Midi. Did you ever see such glorious 
 colouring ?" 
 
 Guy looked up to where the seven snowy 
 
 aks rose majestic. They had caught the 
 reflection of the setting sun, and were tinted 
 a delicate pink. It was a lovely sight, and 
 they watched in silence while the first Hush 
 deepened into rosy red. 
 
 Suddenly a dull pain came at Guy's heart. 
 The boat, the lake, the vineyards, the moun- 
 tains, all vanished. He was looking; through 
 some ha/els at a distant view ; he could 
 almost ieel the touch of a soft hand resting 
 in his, and hear a sweet voice saying : 
 1 Look, Guy, at the pink glow on the chalk 
 hills from the reilected sunset.' Oh ! why, 
 why did <\< rything he saw thus serve in 
 some way to remind him of Lady Elaine ? 
 
 ■'Turn the boat, Cyril," he said, "and 
 let us go hack to Vevey." 
 
 *• Not just yet," objected Cyril. ' Why. 
 this is the most perfect time of the whole 
 
 13 2
 
 196 Guy Mervyn. 
 
 .X 
 
 day, and we have nothing whatever to do 
 at Vevey. Suppose we land over there 
 by those trees ; it looks a jolly place, and 
 we can make the boat fast to the bank." 
 
 " All right," said Guy, " anything you 
 like." 
 
 " Now this is what I call perfection," 
 remarked Cyril cheerfully. " To lie at full 
 length on a mossy bank, with fine trees 
 overhead, a lovely sunset view before you, 
 and the best fellow in the world to talk 
 to!" 
 
 "And I hate lying on mossy banks!" 
 grumbled Guy, throwing stones into the 
 water; "and I abominate sunset views ; and 
 as for the latter part of your remark, I con- 
 clude you are going to talk to yourself!" 
 
 " Now don't be a bear, Guy ; for I have 
 something special to say to you." 
 
 "Well? Say on." 
 
 " Come and sit down here, and leave that 
 poor wretched duck alone. You have hit it
 
 Guy Mervyn. 197 
 
 twice. Do you think Swiss ducks have no 
 feel in os ?" 
 
 Guy laughed, but came and sat down on 
 the bank ; and then sighed, and began 
 picking all the little stones and twigs off the 
 moss near him. and making a little heap of 
 them. 
 
 "They say," began Cyril, "that the way 
 to lose a friend is to lend him money. You 
 lose your money, and you lose your friend." 
 
 Guy looked up inquiringly. "Well?" he 
 said, " what of that ?" 
 
 41 But suppose," continued Cyril, "that at 
 the same time as you lent your friend ten 
 pounds, he also lent you ten pounds ?" 
 
 " Well, then you would be quits," said 
 Guy, laughing, "and there would be no feiir 
 of losing your money. But what are you 
 driving at ?" 
 
 -'Look here Mervyn," began Cyril 
 earnestly, raising himself on his elbow as he 
 
 spoke. " Between two fellows like our-
 
 198 Guy Mervyn. 
 
 selves, I believe one-sided confidences to be 
 a mistake. You have trusted me this after- 
 noon with yours ; but some day you may 
 begin to wish you had not done so ; you may 
 fear lest I should betray it ; and that would 
 be the ruin of our friendship. But suppose I 
 give you my confidence in return ; and tell 
 you a harder, ay, and a more bitter story 
 than yours, and one which has never passed 
 my lips to any other man ; why, then, as you 
 say, we shall be quits, and each mutually 
 trust the other." 
 
 All Guy's listless nonchalance of manner 
 disappeared in a moment, as he leaned across, 
 and held out his hand to his friend. 
 
 " A bargain, old fellow !" he said ; " and yet 
 I don't altogether like your reason. I should 
 never lightly distrust, when once I have 
 trusted. Tell me nothing which would cause 
 you pain in the telling, unless you honestly 
 wish it yourself." 
 
 " I have long wished it," said Cyril ; " and
 
 Guy Mervyn. 199 
 
 somehow — I know not why — memories of 
 the past, and of one I knew in the past, 
 have been incessantly forcing themselves 
 upon my mind the whole day. Perhaps 
 if I tell you now, they will haunt me no 
 longer." 
 
 He paused and looked away. Into Guy's 
 mind came the recollection of Lady Elaine's 
 words : 'He has had a great trouble ; and 
 perhaps when he knows you better he will 
 tell you about it.' 
 
 " Before I went to Cambridge," began 
 Cyril, speaking slowly and quietly, without 
 looking at Guy, " I lived for some time with 
 a clergyman, as one of his pupils. He was 
 a clever, ambitious man. Those of us who 
 cared to work got on well under him. 1 
 read hard, and was his favourite pupil ; not 
 that he cared much for any of us, for he was 
 hard, selfish, and self-absorbed. He had 
 one daughter." 
 
 Cyril paused, and a deep tiush rose slowly
 
 200 Guy Mervyn. 
 
 on his pale face, and as slowly passed away ; 
 leaving him paler than before. 
 
 " I cannot describe her to you, Guy, 
 beyond just the plain facts that she was small, 
 and dark, and slight ; and, in my eyes, 
 loveliest among women. It was not so 
 much any special beauty of features ; perhaps 
 some, who judged only by those, might even 
 have called her plain. It was the wonderful 
 sweetness of soul in her face — the tender 
 gentle spirit looking out from those brown 
 eyes — which so strongly attracted me. 
 Would to God," he cried with sudden enerov. 
 "oh, would to God I had never seen 
 
 her ! Well, Guy, it was not a sudden 
 
 affair with me. this falling in love. I did not 
 do it, like you, in a day. But we were much 
 together, she and I. We had many tastes 
 in common. She w r as clever, very clever ; 
 though she rarely allowed anyone to be aware 
 of the fact, or see how much she knew. I 
 remember once, however, when we were
 
 Guy Mervyn. 201 
 
 talking alone together, I used a Greek 
 quotation, then apologized and was about to 
 translate it, when she, smiling, capped it 
 with another. I soon found that she had 
 read, or was reading, many of the books I 
 was then studying myself. She made me 
 promise not to tell the other fellows ; but 
 smiled shyly, and said she did not mind un- 
 knowing. Guy, when you begin to have 
 little secrets or private understandings with 
 a woman — when she singles you out as being 
 rather different to the other fellows, look out, 
 for from that moment you are in danger." 
 
 11 I know it," said Guy sadly. 
 
 "Well, her sweet, shy sympathy was a 
 great help and encouragement to me ; and 
 after four or five hours of hard reading. I 
 used to count on a stroll in the garden with 
 her before lunch. And she would ask me 
 what my work had been during the morning; 
 and sometimes, if she was intending to read 
 in the afternoon, we used to settle to read
 
 202 Guy Mervyn. 
 
 the same thing, and compare notes about it 
 afterwards. And so my chains grew and 
 grew, until at last I had to own to myself 
 that I loved this girl with a love such as a 
 man can only feel once in a lifetime. I 
 loved her better than my life. I would have 
 laid down a hundred lives for her ; and, fool 
 that I was ! I thought that she loved me. I 
 did not know then, as I do now, that a 
 woman will look as though she loves you, and 
 sigh as though she loves you, and blush as 
 though she loves you — ay — and even talk as 
 though she loves you — yet all the while 
 mean nothing, absolutely nothing, by it. It 
 was sport to her, but death to me !" 
 
 " Perhaps she did love you," said Guy 
 quietly. 
 
 Cyril laughed a bitter laugh. 
 
 " Not she !" he said. " You will see when 
 I tell you all. Guy, I was your age then ; I 
 am six years older now. Believe me, I know 
 women. They are all alike ; they play with
 
 Guy Mervyn. 20 
 
 a man's heart as a cat plays with a mouse. 
 It is interesting and amusing to them to have 
 someone near who watches, with hungry eyes, 
 their every movement ; who treasures up their 
 every word ; whom they can make sad or glad 
 at will, by a smile or a glance. They like to 
 be loved ; ah — yes, they like to be passion- 
 ately, madly loved ; they like to have a man's 
 whole heart and soul in their keeping ; but 
 you must not expect their love in return, 
 especially if any difficulties are in the way. 
 Oh no ! They never quite meant that. And 
 if at last, weary of giving and waiting, you 
 ask for more, then — in return for all your 
 love, for your wrecked life and your ruined 
 soul — you will get a ' Good-bye,' and 'Yours 
 sincerely,' and you may go your ways. Ay, 
 I know them I Never trust a woman. They 
 will lead you a Will-o'-the-wisp dance for 
 awhile, and land you in a bog at last !" 
 
 He flung himself back exhausted, and 
 threw his arm over his face.
 
 2C4 Guy Mervyn. 
 
 Guy was silent for a time, then said 
 quietly : 
 
 "It may be so with some of them, Cyril ; 
 but the one I love is good and true. I would 
 trust her with my life." 
 
 " So / thought once," said Cyril, more 
 calmly ; " but listen, and hear the end. I 
 told you we were much together. Well, 
 her mother knew of our friendship, and en- 
 couraged it. She was kind enough to be 
 fond of me. Her father, always engrossed 
 with his pupils or his books, noticed nothing. 
 She was her mother's constant companion ; 
 in fact, one of the traits I especially admired 
 in her character was her unselfish devotion 
 to both her parents, and her tender, thought- 
 ful little ways with them. Such a daughter, 
 I used to think, would surely make a good 
 wife; for I was fool enough, and presump- 
 tuous enough, to hope to have her for my 
 
 • r 11 
 
 wite. 
 
 ''Presumptuous?" said Guy. "Why, my
 
 Guy Mi rvyn. 20- 
 
 dear fellow, with your talents you are a 
 £ood match for any girl." 
 
 " They did not think so," said Cyril, " .is 
 you will see. She and her mother used to 
 spend a great deal of their time in a pretty 
 little boudoir upstairs. How well I remem- 
 ber that room ! In summer she kept it 
 fragrant with flowers; and in winter it used 
 to look so cosy, with the crimson curtains 
 drawn, a bright log-fire blazing on the hearth, 
 making strange lights and shadows every- 
 where ; for it was one of my darl — one of 
 her fancies to have tea by the firelight on 
 winter evenings, and she would not have the 
 lamp in until afterwards. Sometimes, as we 
 rose: from the luncheon-table, and she passed 
 out of the room first, with her mother. 1 
 would see her '-lance at me as though she 
 had something Special to say ; and then, as I 
 
 lingered and managed to cross the hall la 
 
 she would stop halt-way up the stairs, and 
 
 leaning over the banisters, with a smil
 
 2o6 Guy Mervyn. 
 
 whisper : ' Cyril ' (I had asked her to call me 
 so, and she did when we were alone), 'mother 
 hopes you will come up to tea with us this 
 evening.' And I used to look up and 
 answer : ' Indeed I will, and you know how 
 gladly !' and try to reach her hand through 
 the rails. And she, laughing and blushing, 
 would run up, just out of reach, and then 
 turning, hold up her finger, and say : ' Go 
 to your lessons at once, like a good boy.' 
 And I would answer : ' How can I go while 
 you are standing there ?' And then, with 
 another laugh, she would run lightly up the 
 stairs, just pausing at the top to look back 
 and shake her head at me, and disappear 
 into her mother's room. Guy — I worshipped 
 her, and she knew 7 it ! Then, when five 
 o'clock came at last, and I slipped up to the 
 boudoir, my darling would be sitting on the 
 ruo-. the firelieht shining on her hair and li^ht- 
 ing up her face, showing the sw r eet look of 
 welcome she turned on me. Or she would
 
 Guy Mervyn. 207 
 
 be on the floor near the sofa, her head resting 
 in her mother's lap; and they would not move 
 
 when I came in, except to make room for m<- 
 near them. She always liked sitting on the 
 
 Hour. 1 remarked it to her once, and she 
 looked up with a bright smile, and said : 
 
 " ' He that is down need fear no kill. 
 He that is low no pride.' " 
 
 She was very fond of old George Herbert. 
 Then she would make tea, and insist on 
 handing me mine, and not letting me get up 
 for it ; saying it was her place to do the 
 waiting; and we would laugh and quarrel 
 over this, until between us we spilled some 
 of the tea; and then her mother would 
 smilingly scold us both. And afterwards we 
 used to sit in the firelight, and talk over our 
 favourite authors, and my aftemo >n's work ; 
 and she would, half shyly, suggest thoughts 
 and meanings in certain passages which had 
 not occurred tome. Then, as the room grew 
 
 darker, and the lire burned low and red, I
 
 2oS Guy Mervyn. 
 
 used to venture to take her little hand in 
 mine. At first she got up, as if half frightened, 
 and moved nearer to her mother ; but there 
 came an evening when she let me have it, 
 only her voice trembled a little when next 
 she spoke ; and her little hand lay in mine 
 for the rest of that happy hour. 
 
 " But why/' cried Cyril, breaking off almost 
 angrily, " why do I tell you all this ? Why 
 do I still remember every look she gave me, 
 every word she spoke ? I was being befooled, 
 yes, befooled the whole time ! Guy, you must 
 be sick of my sentimental twaddle. Let me 
 hurry on and tell you the end — the bitter 
 end. 
 
 " The time came for me to leave, and go 
 to Cambridge. Just before I went, I saw 
 her alone and told her, what she knew already, 
 that I loved her, passionately, deeply, and 
 as I could never love another ; that hence- 
 forward I should live and work for her, and 
 for her alone. Did she love me enough to
 
 Guy Afervyn. 209 
 
 reward me, some day, when the time came 
 that I could ask it ? She seemed much over- 
 come and trembled violently, but she let me 
 put my arm round her; and more — she hid 
 her face on my shoulder. She whispered 
 something in answer to my eager questions. 
 ab >ut not feeling it right to make any definite 
 promises without her father's knowledge. 
 Did she love me at all ? She raised her 
 eyes, wet with tears but bright with love, to 
 mine. * Surely, you know that I love you, 
 Cvril ?' She let me kiss her lips, and I left 
 that house as certain that she was mine as if 
 my golden wedding-ring were on her finger. 
 With this sweet hope, making heaven's 
 music in my heart, I worked on hard at 
 college for three years. Sometimes we met 
 in the vacations, but were never alone. She 
 looked more lovely to me each time I saw 
 her, and nothing in her manner ever led me 
 
 to suppose that she had chai I her mind 
 since her answer to my question. I tl ight 
 vol. 1. 1 »
 
 2io Guy Mervyn. 
 
 the look of joy in her face when we met 
 must mean love at her heart. Once or twice 
 she wrote to me ; precious little letters, 
 evidently seen by others, but full of hidden 
 meaning, which we alone could understand. 
 
 " At last my time at college was ended. 
 The summit of my ambition was reached. I 
 only cared for the honours because I had 
 worked for them and won them for her sake. 
 But honours did not bring me a fortune ; so 
 even then I did not speak. Before long, I 
 was ordained and easily got a good curacy, 
 not far from her home. The stipend from 
 this, and what I had already of my own, 
 made a comfortable, though not large income. 
 Then I knew I might venture to claim my 
 darling, and have my longed-for reward. I 
 wrote to her father, telling him of my love 
 for his daughter, and that I wished to win 
 her for my wife. I explained to him my 
 exact circumstances ; and also said that, 
 though I had loved her for years, I had not
 
 Guy Mcrryn. 
 
 2 I 1 
 
 wished to speak to him. or ask a definite 
 promise from her, until I had gained a 
 sufficient income to enable me to marry and 
 keep a wife: in comfort. Much more I wrote, 
 not necessary to repeat ; and ended by saying 
 that I would call that evening, as I longed to 
 see her, and could not wait for an answer by 
 post. I went, lull ot the brightest hopes 
 
 • 
 
 I was received by her father, in his study. 
 He coldly and haughtily told me that he 
 could not for a moment entertain my proposal. 
 He looked far higher for his daughter than a 
 curat< \ with an income of only — so much — a 
 year. He should not consider such a 
 marriage in any way likely to secure her 
 happiness. She had several other suitors ; 
 Mr. , mentioning a very wealthy man in 
 
 the neighbourhood, had only yesterday asked 
 his permission to woo her. lb- had a sincere 
 regard for me, and believed me to bea young 
 man of considerable talent and ability ; but 
 he certainly looked upon my request as great 
 
 1. 1 2
 
 212 Guy Mervyn. 
 
 presumption, and no more must be said on 
 the subject. I heard him out, in respectful 
 silence ; saying to myself : ' The course of 
 true love,' etc. ; and though I saw breakers 
 ahead, I felt sure of my darling, and knew 
 she would not flinch. When he ceased, I 
 quietly suggested that he might find her 
 happiness involved in this matter, as well as 
 my own. ' How dare you, sir !' he cried ; 
 ' how dare you imply that my daughter cares 
 for you !' 'I do not imply it, sir,' 1 
 answered quietly ; ' I am sure of it.' The 
 old man was furious, and spoke in a way I 
 could not have tolerated had he not been her 
 father. Then he showed me the door. 
 Before I go, sir,' I said, ' I think it only 
 right to tell you that, though I addressed you 
 first, as a matter of form, I will take my 
 answer from none but your daughter herself ; 
 and if she will have me. I will marry her in 
 spite of all opposition.' ' Indeed ! And 
 may I ask how you will obtain an interview
 
 Guy Mervyn, 2 13 
 
 with her ?' ' I shall find a way, sir.' 
 1 Very well,' he said, ' you shall see her 
 now ; and take your answer from my 
 daughter herself, in my presence/ And he 
 left the room. 
 
 11 So the moment had come ; but I was 
 confident my darling would stand the test. 
 In a very short time he returned, and she 
 was with him. We had not met for several 
 months, and at sight of her, forgetful of all 
 else, I sprang forward ; but something in 
 her face checked me, and sent a deathly 
 chill through my heart. My hands iell to 
 my sides. I felt powerless to speak or 
 move. 'My child,' said her lather, 'this 
 young man desires to marry you. I have 
 refused his proposal, to save you the pain of 
 doing so ; but he will take his answer Irom 
 none but yourself, and inlorms me that he 
 will contrive to see you, and marry you, 
 
 whether 1 give my consent or no.' A dead 
 
 silence in the room, broken only by the loud
 
 2 1 4 Guy Mervyn. 
 
 ticking of the clock. Then she turned to 
 me. Her face was rather pale, but she did 
 not seem much agitated. She spoke quite 
 calmly and collectedly. ' I cannot accept 
 your offer, Mr. Branscome ; and I do not 
 wish you to try to see me, or press it 
 further.' And so I got my answer ; 
 the answer for which I had worked and 
 waited years. Well, Guy," he said, with 
 a harsh bitter laugh ; " am I not right ? 
 Not one of them can be trusted. As Eve 
 was to Adam, so has woman ever been 
 to man — his ruin and his curse !" 
 
 "Cyril," cried Guy, "do you mean to 
 say that is all ? You heard no more from 
 her ? You must have somehow misunder- 
 stood her. True love could not change 
 like that ; and she said she loved you." 
 
 " Said she loved me ! Yes, they will say 
 anything !" 
 
 " Don't you think her father may have 
 forced her to refuse you ?"
 
 Guy JMcrvyn. 2 1 5 
 
 11 If that had been the case, could she not 
 have written and told me so ? Could she 
 not have given me some hint by voice or 
 manner? No, Guy; the bitter, bitter truth 
 was very plain. The rich suitor gained the 
 day ; the faithful lover of years might go to 
 the wall, or the devil — damned for not pos- 
 sessing the golden key to a woman's heart." 
 
 " Is she married ?" asked Guy. 
 
 " I dare say. But I have never seen or 
 heard of her, from that day to this. I saw 
 her father's death in the papers about thn e 
 months ago. Requiescat in pace/ Of 
 course, I threw up the curacy ; and I was ill 
 for about three months, and, I believe, nearly 
 lost both life and reason. After that I went 
 as travelling tutor to several families ; but 
 
 it was horrid work, and I soon sickened of 
 it, and then — we met" — he looked at Guy 
 with his old kind smile, "and 1 can thank 
 God that a true, red friend has come at 
 
 last into my lonely life."
 
 .m6 Guy Mervyn. 
 
 Guy grasped his hand warmly. 
 
 "Cyril," he said, "dear old fellow, you 
 know what I feel for you about all this ; but 
 I must say, in spite of appearances, I think 
 you should have trusted her. If I loved a 
 girl, and had once heard from her own lips 
 that she loved me, I should love her still, 
 and trust her still, through everything." 
 
 " Then I can only say you would be an 
 even greater fool than I am ; for I only love 
 her still. Trust her again ? no, never ! 
 Hullo ! it is very near upon dinner-time ; 
 we must row hard all the way back to 
 Vevey." 
 
 " Cyril," said Guy, as they got into the yr 
 boat, "this is a queer world ! Do you think 
 there is another, where all things right them- 
 selves, and happiness comes to everyone at 
 last ?" 
 
 11 1 don't know," said Cyril. " From all 
 accounts, most people will get into worse hot 
 water in the next. Pull away !"
 
 Guy Mervyn, 217 
 
 Notwithstanding all their exertions, the 
 two young men came in late to table d'hote. 
 There had been several new arrivals at the 
 hotel that day, and when they entered the 
 dining-room, the long table seemed already 
 over-full. However, a waiter found them their 
 places, with repeated assurances that dinner 
 had only just commenced. They were soon 
 seated, and Guys neighbour, a talkative little 
 American lady, with whom they had become 
 slightly acquainted, engaged him in animated 
 conversation. Divided between his excessive 
 hunger, spasmodic attempts to get on with 
 his dinner, and his desire to be polite to his 
 lair neighbour, who pressed him with endless 
 questions, Guy had no time to notice any- 
 thing else going on ; but presently a good- 
 natured Frenchman on the other side:, seeing 
 Guy's dilemma, heroically < ngaged the little 
 American lady in conversation, and drew the 
 battery from Guy to himself. Thus relieved, 
 ( iuy finished his soup, and turned to Cyril ;
 
 2i8 Guy Mervyn. 
 
 but the remark he was about to make died 
 on his lips at sight of his friend. Cyril was 
 as white as the tablecloth, and evidently 
 struggling vainly for composure ; his soup 
 was before him, almost untouched. 
 
 ' ; My dear fellow," said Guy in a low 
 voice, " what is the matter ? Are you ill ?" 
 
 " It is nothing," Cyril answered ; but in a 
 few minutes, muttering something about 
 being over-tired with rowing, he rose and 
 left the room. 
 
 Guy was perplexed and rather disturbed ; 
 but, as Cyril evidently did not wish him to 
 follow, he contented himself with calling a 
 waiter, and giving orders for Mr. Branscome's 
 dinner to be taken to his room. 
 
 A little later, looking up suddenly, Guy 
 surprised a pair of very sweet eyes fixed 
 anxiously and earnestly upon his face ; they 
 belonged to a young lady seated exactly 
 opposite. " I am positive I have seen that 
 face before." thought Guy to himself; "though
 
 Guy Mervyn. 219 
 
 when or where I cannot remember." As 
 soon as an opportunity occurred for doing so 
 unobserved, he took a - r ood look at her. 
 She was quite young, not more than three or 
 four and twenty, with a sweet gentleness of 
 manner, and a most winning expression. A 
 look of exceeding sadness was on her face, 
 but Guy concluded this might be accounted 
 for by the deep mourning she wore. A lady 
 sat next her, in widow's weeds — mother and 
 daughter, no doubt. " Where on earth have 
 I seen her ?" thought Guy; and the question 
 perplexed him much. She also appeared 
 interested in him, for he was conscious that 
 her eyes continually sought his face, with an 
 anxious, questioning expression. At last, 
 determined to solve the mystery, he looked 
 up, and, meeting her gaze, leaned across the 
 table, and said, with a smile 
 
 11 I believe we have met l><-t'>re ?" 
 
 " I think not," she answered quietly, but 
 
 with a suddenly heightened colour.
 
 2 20 Guy Mervyn. 
 
 " I beg your pardon," said Guy, greatly 
 confused. 
 
 And then it suddenly dawned upon him 
 where he had seen that face! In a plush 
 photograph frame on Lady Elaine's table in 
 the drawing-room at The Towers ; and 
 almost at the same instant the whole truth 
 flashed into his mind, and he knew that 
 opposite to him — her sweet sad eyes full of 
 bitter trouble — sat Cyrils love. 
 
 He left the table, and went to seek his 
 friend. Cyril was in their sitting-room, 
 standing near the window, his forehead 
 pressed against the cold glass. 
 
 Guy went up to him and laid his hand on 
 his shoulder. Cyril turned and opened his 
 lips as if to speak, but the words refused to 
 be uttered. 
 
 " I know," said Guy ; " poor old fellow ! 
 Now, look here, take my advice : go down 
 and have it out with her ; I could swear, by 
 the look of her, that she loves you still.
 
 Guy Mervyn. 22 1 
 
 Everyone will turn out on to the terrace- this 
 glorious night. Go to her. Cyril — go !" 
 
 u Never!" he said, clenching his hands. 
 "Never! I would sooner die! Remember 
 her words : % I do not wish you (0 try to see 
 ))n\ or press it further? No, Guy. God 
 knows. I love her still, with the love which 
 has been my undoing ; but trust her again. I 
 never could ' and marry her, I would not, 
 even if she wished it ! Thank goodness, to- 
 morrow at sunrise we are oft to Ormont- 
 1 )essus |" 
 
 •• Ah !" thought Guy to himself, " he does 
 not love her as I love Lady Elaine; for I 
 would love her and trust her still, even though 
 I saw my death-warrant signed by her own 
 sweet hand."
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 Guy sat at the table in his little room at the 
 Pension du Moulin. 
 
 His hair was ruffled, and standing on end. 
 His coat was off. He looked exceedingly 
 hot and exhausted ; his whole appearance 
 suggestive of having been engaged in some 
 desperate encounter. 
 
 Guy had been writing letters ! 
 
 Now, Guy very rarely wrote letters ; but 
 when he did so, he set to work in good 
 earnest. His plan was to allow all his cor- 
 respondence to accumulate, and then one 
 morning, nerving himself to the task, pay 
 off all his debts at one fell swoop. 
 
 On this particular morning his labour was
 
 Guy Mervyn. 
 
 - -o 
 
 just ended. Four letters lay on the table 
 before him : one to his mother, one to Ger 
 tr tide, one to Beryl, and one toMrs.Joram. He 
 had received a most affectionate epistle from 
 okl Mrs. Joram a few days before, begging 
 him to write and tell her how he was enjoying 
 himself, and all about his travels, and the 
 places he had visited. This letter he had felt 
 obliged to answer without loss of time, and 
 consequently brought himself up to the 
 scratch this morning, and did his duty to his 
 home people into the bargain. 
 
 There lay the four letters, all stamped, 
 directed, and ready for posting ; and Guy 
 gave a great sigh of relief and satisfaction 
 as he looked at them. They were each 
 written in a remarkably different style, and 
 their contents varied considerably. 
 
 The one to his mother was almost entirely 
 upon domestic matters, in re-ply to the main 
 tenderly solicitous maternal injunctions he 
 had received from her. A page and a half
 
 224 Guy Mervyn. 
 
 went to prove that a fellow really could not 
 be expected to wear flannel next his skin in 
 this roasting weather, or at any time, for the 
 matter of that ; and it really would be no 
 good her sending out the promised parcel of 
 under-garments ; she had much better give 
 them, instead, to old " Many Mussies," with 
 his love. He never did sit in a boat by 
 moonlight, because before that time came 
 they had generally gone in to dinner ; but 
 should such a climax ever be reached, he 
 would promise faithfully not to take cold, 
 " So don't be anxious about me, mother 
 darling ; and for goodness' sake don't send 
 the things ; for if they arrive I shall feel bound 
 to wear them, and Cyril will have a bad time 
 of it. Then as to the stockings, I really can't 
 
 eo ferreting about after an old Swiss woman 
 to mend them. It is so much less trouble to 
 wear them until they are all one big hole, 
 and then shie them away. After your letter 
 came, Cyril said we ought to try the plan ;
 
 Guy J firry;/. 225 
 
 and he spotted an old woman living in a 
 chalet not far from here, who looked as though 
 darning came natural to her; so he went and 
 called upon her, with one of my most respect- 
 able pairs — it was only quite out at the toes, 
 and a little gone at the heel. Cyril is not 
 great at French, but I coached him up, and 
 he was to say, ■ Madame, ayez 1'obliofeance 
 de raccommoder ces rrous.' He came back 
 declaring it was all right, and the old girl 
 was quite delighted to do it. But, after- 
 wards, it turned out that Cyril did not make 
 the ' raccommoder' part clear; and she thought 
 they were a present, and when we went for 
 them they were on ' le mari,' and my best 
 pair too, worse luck ! So you see, mother 
 dear, your little plan does not work. There- 
 fore, please send out two or three dozen new 
 oncb, instead ot the other things, and I shall 
 
 be really grateful." 
 
 Mrs, J oram's letter was the greatest diffi- 
 culty of all, lor she wanted an account «>t 
 
 VOL. I. 15
 
 226 Guy Mervyn. 
 
 what he had been doing, and descriptions of 
 the places he had been to ; and Guy was 
 not great at descriptions. However, a 
 brilliant idea occurred to him. He had 
 resort to the guide-book, and copied half a 
 page, here and there, into his letter ; which 
 consequently read something like this : " We 
 had a very jolly stay near the lake of Geneva; 
 awfully hot though, most of the time. This 
 is the largest of the Swiss lakes, having an 
 area of 578 square kilometres, or 223 square 
 miles. Its general form is that of a crescent, 
 the northern shore bein^ almost the arc of a 
 circle, with a radius of 2\\ miles. Its maxi- 
 mum breadth between Morges and Amphion 
 is 8i miles. Cyril Branscome and I rowed 
 across it one day, and got perfectly stewed. 
 We had to stop and bathe three times on the 
 way back ! The bottom is remarkably free from 
 inequalities ; almost all traces of rocks, erratic 
 blocks, or moraines having been covered over 
 by a regular bed of extremely fine argillo-
 
 Guy Mervyn, 227 
 
 calcareous mud. This sounds rather as 
 though I had been there ! However, I have 
 not quite — only very nearly; for one day, when 
 we were out fishing', we managed, somehow, 
 to upset the boat, and had to swim ashore. 
 The worst of it was, the fish we had caught 
 did not swim there with us, but preferred 
 £oin£ off in another direction." 
 
 On the whole, when it was finished, Guy 
 was rather pleased with this letter. " The old 
 girl will not scent the guide-book, and she 
 will marvel at the beauty of my composition 
 and the extent of my information — though 
 goodness knows what ' anjillo - calcareous 
 mud ' is. for I don't !" 
 
 ' The old girl,' however, did ' scent the 
 guide-book/ and was highly amused at Sir 
 Guy's way of writing her a long and interest- 
 ing account of his travels. 
 
 But the letter to Beryl was his most spon- 
 taneous and unlaboured production, and the 
 
 one he wrote with the most pleasure. And
 
 228 Guy Mervyn. 
 
 words cannot describe the rapture with which 
 Beryl received it, and read and re-read it, 
 until she knew every word by heart. 
 
 " Pension du Moulin, 
 " Aux Diablerets, 
 
 " Ormont-Dessus. 
 
 "My dearest Berry, 
 
 " ' Aux Diablerets ' isn't swearing, 
 though you might think so, but is really the 
 name of this awfully jolly place ; so next time 
 Eugenie puts you in a rage, you can say : 
 1 Allez aux Diablerets,' which will sound 
 strong, and be a comfort, and yet mean 
 nothing more than ' Go to Jericho.' 
 
 u I wish you were here, little woman ; first 
 because I miss you awfully, and have lots of 
 things to tell you ; and next, because you 
 would so enjoy this place. It is ripping! 
 Out and out the best we have been to yet ; 
 and though we have already stayed here 
 nearly a fortnight, we are not in the least 
 tired of it. The Pension du Moulin is such
 
 Guy Mervyn* 229 
 
 a cosy little place, much more amusing and 
 homely than the big hotels. Madame Du 
 Bui's, our landlady, is a regular old Swiss 
 woman — wears wooden sabots, short blue 
 petticoats, and a white cap ; all of which are 
 most becoming. She has a sweet old face, 
 something like our friend ' Many Mussies/ 
 and a fine share of quaint humour about her. 
 I sometimes get a lot of fun by going into the 
 1 cuisine. 1 and drawing her a bit. We are 
 great favourites of hers, and she is always 
 making special good things for us, and takes 
 quite motherly care of us in every way. We 
 have reallv been working hard since we have 
 been here, for we did not do much before. 
 We take our books, and our lunch, and sit 
 out of doors reading most of the daw I 
 think the only way to make: work tolerable 
 is to do it in the open air. Cyril is an 
 awfully good fellow. I know you will like 
 him, Berry, when you know him better, lb- 
 is just like a brother to me. Now don t be
 
 230 Gtcy M'ervyn. 
 
 jealous, little one ; of course no one can ever, 
 or could ever, take your place. I want you 
 more every day. We shall soon be together 
 again now, if mother really means to come 
 out next month. Will you tell her I want to 
 know whether she has settled to winter at 
 Cannes, or whether it is to be Biarritz ? A 
 lady staying here told me last night, at 
 dinner, of a very jolly villa, just about the 
 size we want, to be had at Cannes, for the 
 winter. If mother will make up her mind, 
 and let me know at once, I will write about 
 it, and send her all particulars as soon as 
 I receive them. Now don't forget this 
 message. I meant to put it into my letter to 
 mother, but of course I forgot, and have stuck 
 it up now. 
 
 " I say, Berry — I have a lovely plan ; but 
 don't mention it, or even hint about it, or 
 mother may say ' No,' when I am not there 
 to wheedle her into saying 4 Yes.' You know 
 it would not suit me to stay and moon about
 
 Guy Mervyn, 231 
 
 all the winter at Cannes. I mean to travel a 
 good bit with Branscome, and see Italy and 
 
 Spain, and lots of jolly places. Now I intend 
 to ask mother to let us take you too ! So 
 there is something tor you to think about, 
 little one ! Fancy you and me travelling 
 about all over the place together ! Won't 
 we have rare fun ! You shall have late 
 dinner every day, and go to bed when you 
 like, and do just what you like. So don't 
 you breathe a syllable about it to anyone; 
 and I will settle it all with mother in October. 
 I low is my dear old Bidger ? I olten wish 
 I had him here now. lie sure you bring him 
 when you come. 
 
 " I must stop writing, for Cyril is yelling 
 at me from the garden to make haste and 
 come out. We are going ever so far up the 
 Creux de Champ this morning — such a 
 4 inning place. I wish you were coming 
 with us, dear. 
 
 ■■ Berry — -when you write next, I want you
 
 232 Gtty Mervyn. 
 
 to tell me all about everybody, and how they 
 are : Mrs. Joram, and Miss Pringle, and 
 Mrs. Biscoe, and Lady Elaine, and the 
 whole lot. I want to know if they are quite 
 well ; and if they look happy ; and whether 
 you have met them lately — when, where, and 
 how ? and whether they said anything- about 
 me, or sent me any message. Dorit forget. 
 Berry ; and write very soon — directly this 
 reaches you. 
 
 u I hope you get on well all round at 
 home. Give my love to Miss Hope, and 
 tell her I am sure she grows sweeter 
 each day ; that may help to hasten the 
 happy time when she shall cease to be 
 sour ! 
 
 " Good-bye, my little one. 
 
 " Always your loving ' boy,' 
 
 " Guy." 
 
 Three or four days later, on calling at the 
 queer little post-office at Ormont-Dessus,
 
 Guy Afervyn. 2 y 
 
 Guv received a letter, directed to him in 
 Beryl's round, childish handwriting. He 
 opened it eagerly, and as he walked leisurely 
 back across the fields to Le Moulin, read as 
 follows : 
 
 " Mervyn Hall. 
 
 11 My own darling Guy, 
 
 " I cannot tell you how awfully de- 
 lighted I was to get your letter this morning ; 
 three whole sheets, all for me ! And Gerty's 
 was scarceh one, which made it al! the more 
 delightful ! She asked to see mine, but of 
 course I said, No, it was private ; and then 
 she did what you call ' kicking up a regular 
 shine'; and said if there was anything in your 
 letter which I could not let her and mother 
 see, it must be of an l undesirable and 
 objectionable character.' But mother said : 
 
 'Nonsense, my dear Gertrude,' and told her 
 to let me enjoy my letter in peace, and keep 
 it to myself if I liked; upon which Gerty be
 
 234 Guy Mervyn. 
 
 a retreat, murmuring something about 'ridicu- 
 lous child,' but I was too happy to mind. 
 Oh, Guy, how splendid your plan is ! Will 
 mother ever consent ? It would be too 
 lovely ! Fancy going travelling with my 
 own boy, and nobody to find fault, or talk 
 about my manners and deportment ! Do 
 you think people will take us for a young 
 married couple ? No, I am afraid my stupid 
 frocks are still too short for that, though 
 mother let me have an extra three inches to 
 my last ; but they don't look grown-up yet. 
 Guy, I shall dream of nothing else night and 
 day till we go. Oh ! I do hope mother will 
 agree. Mother is going to write to you 
 about plans to-morrow. 
 
 " Now I must answer your questions. 
 Lady Elaine is quite well, but does not look 
 very happy. Guy — don't be angry, darling, 
 you know you made me promise that if I met 
 her I would be kind, and sweet, and nice to 
 her ; and I couldn't feel nice to her, for all
 
 Guy Mervyn. 235 
 
 sorts of reasons, and so I made up my mind 
 never to meet her ; and if I saw her coming, 
 
 I used to run like the wind, in another 
 direction, and Bidger after me : because we 
 wouldn't break our promise to you, and yet 
 we felt we couldn't be kind, and sweet, and 
 nice to Lady Elaine. But three days ago, 
 Guy, I was out in the woods with Bidger. 
 We had been tearing about for ever so loner, 
 and I felt very hot and tired, and we came to 
 that old beech-tree, near the way down to 
 the cornfields ; and I lay down under it, just 
 t rest for a minute, and somehow went last 
 asleep. And when I woke — oh ! Guy — 
 there was Lady Elaine sitting close by me. 
 I sat up, and — please don't he angry, darling, 
 I tried to bolt. But she put her hand on 
 mine, and said : ' Won't you Stay and talk 
 to me a little while, Beryl ?' She looked so 
 sad, and so lovely, and I thought ot my 
 promise to you; so I said, 'All right,' and I 
 tried X.0 say it kindly, and sweetly, and nicc]y.
 
 236 Gtty Mervyn. 
 
 but I am afraid I didn't succeed. And then 
 she said : ' We have not met often, and you 
 don't know much about me, but I have 
 heard a great deal about Guy's little Berry.' 
 And then she asked me all sorts of things 
 about you : where you were, and whether you 
 liked travelling, and whether you wrote bright 
 happy letters home ; and I told her all I 
 could ; but she didn't send you any message, 
 only she seemed very much interested, and 
 very pleased. And, do you know, she told 
 me that Bidger only runs away from her 
 when he is with me, and that he has been 
 once or twice to see her at The Towers, and 
 often comes and sits by her in the wood. 
 Just think how he has been deceiving me all 
 this time ! I never should have believed it 
 of Bidger. So now, Guy, I think I have 
 told you everything. That is the only time 
 I have met her. Of course I have seen her 
 at church, and I noticed that she always uses 
 that same little Bible that she dropped and
 
 Guy Mervyn. 237 
 
 we found ; so 1 suppose you gave it back to 
 her before you went away. 
 
 11 That is all, darling ; and please don't be 
 vexed with me. I can't help knowing things 
 which I know I'm not supposed to know ; 
 and I cant help hating people who make my 
 boy unhappy ; but I'll try to be kind, and 
 sweet, and nice, all the same, for your sake. 
 
 11 Gerty has been very good to me, on the 
 whole, since you have been away. But, do 
 you know, that horrid little Percy Flamingo 
 is awfully in love with her, and I think she 
 rather likes it. I wish you were here to see 
 after them. 
 
 " I gave Miss Hope your love, and she 
 kept blushing and smiling to hersell all the 
 rest of the morning. 1 am sure she fully 
 expects to be the future Lady Mervyn. You 
 know, Guy dear, you do tlirt most dreadfully, 
 with all sorts of people. It gives me a great 
 deal of anxiety sometimes, lor I don't know 
 where it will end. Now 1 must say good-
 
 238 Guy Mervyn. 
 
 bye. This has taken me the whole after- 
 noon to write. Mother let me have a half- 
 holiday on purpose. 
 
 " Give my love to Mr. Branscome. Of 
 course I like him, if you do. (Gerty always 
 calls him ' that dear man !') 
 
 " Many, many kisses, my own dear Guy, 
 from your loving little 
 
 " Berry." 
 
 Guy folded this long carefully-written 
 epistle, which had taken Berry many hours of 
 labour in the writing; happy hours, though, 
 to her loving little heart. He folded it, and 
 put it away in his breast-pocket. Then he 
 stood for a long while watching the mountain 
 torrent, which rushes past Le Moulin ; and 
 as he crossed the bridge, and went on towards 
 the house, this was all he said : " So she 
 uses it." 
 
 END OF VOL. I. 
 
 BILLING AND SONS, PRINTERS, GUILDFORD.
 
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