F.WORKMAN r 
 
 WORCESTER 
 
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 •%
 
 "L I E> RARY 
 
 OF THE 
 U N IVERSITY 
 or ILLINOIS 
 
 823 
 v. I
 
 THE FOREOATT? TJT^T?
 
 c 
 
 WAYNFLETE. 
 
 BY 
 
 CHRISTABEL R. COLERIDGE, 
 
 AUTHOR OP 
 AMKTHTST," " JACK-O'-LANTHOEN," "AN ENGLISH SQUIRE," ETC, 
 
 "To each man is appointed bis particular dreal; the terror that if he 
 does not fight against it, will cow him even to the loss of his manhood."— 
 RuDYARD Kipling. 
 
 IN TWO VOLUMES. 
 VOL. I. 
 
 EonlJo n : 
 A. D. INNES & CO., 
 
 31 & 32, BEDFORD STREET, STRAND, W.C. 
 1893.
 
 LONDON : 
 
 PKIXTKD' DT '•\VILLTAM CLOWES AND SONS, LUriTED, 
 
 STAMFUKU 6XKEKT ANI> CHAKINO CKUSS. 
 
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 (3- 
 
 CONTENTS OF YOL. I. 
 
 PART I. 
 
 THE LIKENESS. 
 
 Prologue ... 
 
 The Family ... 
 
 The House 
 
 The Inheritance 
 
 Hekeditaky Foe- ... 
 
 Interesting 
 
 Good Comrades 
 
 The Cupboard in the Wall ... 
 
 The Skeleton in the Cupboard 
 
 " Go back, my Lord, across the Moor 
 
 "The One Maid for me" ... 
 
 " Striving for Dear Existence " 
 
 PART ]I. 
 THE DOUBLE. 
 A Big Situation ... 
 
 CuOSfclNG THE FlETE ... 
 
 Ministers of Grace 
 
 Throwing down the Ga.untlet 
 
 The Mother's Book 
 
 "As I went down to the Water-side' 
 
 IS 
 
 2S 
 
 41 
 
 50 
 
 ^'6 
 
 72 
 
 b7 
 
 105 
 
 115 
 
 lliS 
 
 HI 
 
 It; I 
 17;; 
 
 18(J 
 
 200 
 221 
 
 2-12
 
 PART I. 
 THE LIKENESS. 
 
 " We shall see what he will grow to. He is often unwell, 
 very chaotic, his way is through Chaos and the Bottomless and 
 the Pathless, not handy for making out many miles upon." — 
 Carlyle on Tennyson. 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 WAYJSTFLETE 
 
 PROLOGUE. 
 IN 1785. 
 
 " That the character of the inhabitants of any country has 
 much to do in forming a distinct devil for that country no man 
 can doubt." — From " John Tnglesant." 
 
 At ten o'clock at night on the 4th of October, 
 1785, the master of Waynflete Hall sat playing 
 at cards with Mr. Maxwell of Ouseley, his 
 neighbour and his enemy. By the fireside sat 
 Waynflete's brother, the parson of the parish, 
 and over the chimney, in the light of the candles 
 on the card-table, was the picture of bis eldest 
 son and heir. The squire and the vicar were 
 big, powerful men, with fair, bushy brows, and 
 faces that told of rough riding and coarse living,
 
 4 WAYNFLETE. 
 
 hard weather and hard drinking, the only mark 
 of their gentle blood that frank expectation of 
 deference and service which marks a ruling 
 class. The keener, thinner face of their visitor 
 had the opposite look, that of a man accustomed 
 to defer, and perhaps to flatter, for his livelihood. 
 The face of the boy in the picture was fair and 
 delicate, with eyes that seemed pleading and 
 entreating for dear life. 
 
 Outside, all was dark and dreary, a wild 
 autumn wind sweeping over the wide Yorkshire 
 moors, and a noisy river, swelled by recent 
 floods, rushing through the valley in which 
 Waynflete stood. Within, the candles and the 
 fire were reflected in panels of polished oak all 
 round the little octagon-shaped chamber, and 
 showed choice furniture with slender spindle 
 legs and fine inlaying. The common mould 
 candles burnt in heavy silver candlesticks of 
 Corinthian pattern, and the many-times used 
 cards lay on a pattern of thick twining roses 
 worked in finest tent-stitch.
 
 PROLOGUE. 5 
 
 On a little side table was placed a shabby 
 leather case, and a small oak chest with iron 
 hasps and hinges. On another, within easy 
 reach of the card-players, was a plentiful supply 
 of port wine and of spirits. 
 
 Now and again, when the tall clock in the 
 corner struck a quarter or a half -hour, the vicar 
 got up and, opening one of the deep-recessed 
 windows, stared out into the night. Then he 
 flung the casement back again in silence, came 
 back to his chair, and he and his brother filled 
 their glasses full and drank them down. But 
 Mr. Maxwell of Ouseley only set his lips to his. 
 At last eleven strokes, quick, sharp, and loud, 
 rang out from the clock in the corner. The 
 squire flung his cards down, and the parson 
 swore a round oath. 
 
 " Time gets on," said Maxwell of Ouseley. " I 
 hope Mr. Guy's journey has not been unduly 
 delayed. I hope it sincerely." 
 
 "Do you, Mr. Maxwell of Ouseley?" said 
 the squire. "Your hope's very likely to be
 
 6 WAYNFLETE. 
 
 disappointed, for my son Guy never ful- 
 filled anybody's hopes in his life. Not his 
 mother's," 
 
 And the squire looked round at the familiar 
 furniture, dropped his rough hand on the delicate 
 needlework, and looked with his frowning brows 
 at the picture, the token of his dead wife's love 
 for her first-born son. 
 
 " Time yet, time yet," said the parson, and got 
 heavily up once more, and flung the window 
 open. The wind rushed in, wailing and howling, 
 and with it a sound as of a horse galloping on 
 the wet ground. 
 
 "He is coming!" cried Maxwell; but the 
 Waynfletes laughed. 
 
 " No, no, no 1 " cried the squire ; " that horse 
 never draws bridle. He has galloped ever since 
 Guy Waynflete betrayed his friend to King 
 James II., and saved his own dirty skin. Ye'll 
 hear him, Mr. Maxwell, when you sleep under 
 this roof when the wind's up — and luck's down. 
 Maybe ye'll see the traitor's ghost. M}^ son
 
 PROLOGUE. 7 
 
 Guy has seen him — or else he lied, which is like 
 enough. Shut the window, brother Godfrey, 
 and snuff the candles." 
 
 " Will you deal again, sir ? " said Maxwell of 
 Ouseley. 
 
 " No," cried the squire ; " cards won't bring 
 the lad back. Get your book, brother Godfrey, 
 and read us a prayer. Pray, man, pray ! and 
 Mr. Maxwell can join us." 
 
 " With pleasure, sir," said Maxwell of Ouseley, 
 bowing. 
 
 " The prayer-book's in the church, brother," 
 said the parson. 
 
 Then the squire got up and opened a drawer 
 in the little side table, and took out a well-worn 
 book with a red cover. 
 
 "There's the mother's book," he said. ''Read 
 on. We'll fight it out to the last." 
 
 Then the parson of the parish turned his 
 heavy chair round towards the light, and knelt 
 up against the back of it, for his bones were 
 something too stiff to reach the floor.
 
 8 WAYNFLETE, 
 
 " What — what do you want to pray for, 
 brother ? " he said. 
 
 " What ? " cried the squire with an oath, " that 
 my fool of a son may get here before the clock 
 strikes twelve, and save his honour and his 
 house. Can't you find a prayer ? Read the 
 first in the book. The Almighty '11 under- 
 stand it." 
 
 The squire leant his elbows on the card-table 
 and his forehead on his hands. Mr. Maxwell 
 of Ouseley stood up decorously, and held his 
 three-cornered hat before his face. 
 
 And the parson turned to the evening service, 
 and read it straight through sonorously. The 
 words implored pardon and peace, and light 
 in darkness ; but they carried but one prayer 
 up to the throne of Heaven, " Let him come." 
 
 Then the parson began the Litany till he 
 came to the travellers by land and by water, 
 when he rustled over the leaves of his book, 
 and behold there was a mark in the prayer 
 for those at sea, which did not run so ill in a
 
 PROLOGUE. 9 
 
 storm of trouble and distress. " Save, Lord, 
 or else we perish," he said, and the squire 
 groaned and said, " Amen." 
 
 And through the storm and the loud rough 
 voice the clock ticked and struck, quarter, 
 half-hour, and three quarters, till at last, with 
 his rough voice shaking and growing thick, 
 and his dull old heart beating fit to choke him, 
 the parson found himself reading the prayer 
 for " All sorts and conditions of men." 
 
 " Mind, body and estate " 
 
 '' Eh-h ! " groaned the squire. 
 
 " And a happy issue out of all " 
 
 The first note of twelve clanged out, and the 
 parson flung down his book. 
 
 " Lord help us ! " he cried, and Mr. Maxwell 
 of Ouseley took his hat from before his face, 
 and waited till the clock had struck twelve. 
 Then the squire got up from his chair, and 
 took up the oak chest and set it down upon 
 the card- table with a heavy thud. He turned 
 the key in the lock, and took out a bundle of
 
 10 WATNFLETE. 
 
 parchments and laid them down on his dead 
 wife's needlework, among the cards and the 
 wine-glasses, with her prayer-book by their 
 side. 
 
 Then he drew himself straight up, and bowed. 
 " Mr. Maxwell of Ouseley," he said, " these are 
 the terms on which we stand. This house and 
 estate were to pass to you, my attorney-at-law, 
 in repayment of the loans ye've made me, unless 
 my son Guy came back by twelve to-night, 
 ready to sign such other bonds as ye might 
 please, and to marry your girl whom ye'd like 
 to make a lady of quality as well as the heiress 
 of ye re gains and gettings." 
 
 " Yes, Mr. Waynflete, those were the terms, 
 and I regret " 
 
 The squire turned and swore at him, then 
 went on in the same tone as before, " Eut my 
 eldest son Guy, who broke his mother's heart, 
 and was too late for her deathbed, is too late 
 to save his father, and himself I leave him 
 my curse for a coward and a fool. And I leave
 
 PROLOGUE. 11 
 
 it for all that come after him to follow in his 
 steps. And for t'other one, brother Godfrey, 
 you'd better take and put him into the Church, 
 if you can; he's a thickhead, but an honest 
 lad. So there. Attorney Maxwell, take your 
 own, and the luck yeVe earned go with it ! " 
 
 And Mr. Maxwell, still murmuring regrets 
 that he daren't speak aloud, closed his long 
 fingers over the deeds. And the parson, the 
 son of the house, put his handkerchief over 
 his face and wept, while the wind rose higher 
 and wailed louder, till it seemed as if cries 
 and prayers for mercy mingled with the thud 
 of the hoofs of the horse that never drew bridle 
 at any door. 
 
 Then Waynflete of Waynflete Hall took up 
 his dead wife's prayer-book and kissed it, then 
 he wall^ed oyer to the side table, and stood with 
 his back to the other two. " God have mercy 
 on my soul ! " said he, and took something out 
 of the leathern box. And there was a loud 
 noise and a heavy fall, and the old drinking,
 
 12 WAYNFLETK 
 
 gambling, hard-living squire never lived to see 
 whether his unlucky son came home too late. 
 ***** 
 
 But in the gloomy mists of the next morning, 
 while the scared household were watching the 
 body laid out for its last sleep in the room 
 where it had fallen, there staggered into the 
 midst of them the ruined heir, his trim locks 
 wild and wet, his fair face marred and degraded, 
 and his eyes mad with fear. 
 
 " The traitor's ghost — or the devil in his 
 
 shape — stood in my way — I was coming " 
 
 he stuttered in thick, shaking tones. 
 
 " To the devil with your ghost ! You're 
 drunk ! " shouted the old parson, and lifted his 
 hand. 
 
 The boy cowered, stumbled and fell on the 
 threshold. He was indeed too late. 
 
 That was what happened at Waynflete Hall, 
 in October, 1785.
 
 { 13 ) 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 THE FAMILY. 
 
 The splendid sunset of a late August day in the 
 year 1885 was staining the smoky atmosphere 
 which enveloped the manufacturing district of 
 Ingleby with rich and subtle tints. 
 
 Margaret Waynflete sat at an upstairs window 
 of a large square stone house, looking across a 
 garden, filled with brilliant flowers and smoke- 
 dulled shrubs, over lovely undulations of wood 
 and field, and unlovely forms of mill and 
 chimney half veiled in tawny, luminous mist, 
 Beyond, hill behind hill, and moor above moor, 
 in endless succession, were lost in grey-gold 
 smoke and fog. She was an old woman, with a 
 tine strong face of marked outline, and a tall,
 
 14 WAYNFLETE, 
 
 strong frame, dressed handsomely in sober and 
 dignified garments suitable to her years and 
 position. Her face was wrinkled and weather- 
 beaten, with the look that comes of facing hard 
 weather through a long life; but it told of 
 perfect health, of unimpaired strength of mind 
 and body. 
 
 Nevertheless Margaret Waynflete was engaged 
 in the religious duty of " considering her latter 
 end." So probably she would have expressed 
 herself, for she was a person who always en- 
 deavoured to fulfil any duty that she recognized, 
 and such consideration was becoming to a woman 
 of seventy-six. But what she was really con- 
 sidering was her former life, and that, not so 
 much with a view to repenting her sins, or 
 regretting her shortcomings — though if she had 
 such she was truly desirous of repenting and 
 regretting them — as of shaping the future in 
 such a way that her past work should not 
 be undone by those who would come after 
 her.
 
 THE FAMILY. 15 
 
 She had had a life work. She had attempted 
 something and had done it. She had lifted her 
 good old name out of the dust, and had restored 
 her fallen family to its natural station. And 
 she was intensely proud both of her family 
 name, of her own success, and of the means by 
 which the success had been obtained. When 
 she thought of the day when she should be laid 
 in the old churchyard at Waynflete, she desired 
 as much that the business, to which the restored 
 fortunes of the family were owing, should be 
 honourably and skilfully managed, as that the 
 family name should be borne with grace and 
 dignity. 
 
 " We owe the old place to the business," she 
 said once to her two great-nephews ; " and it's a 
 poor thing to forget the bridge that carries you 
 over." 
 
 Sixty years before Margaret Waynflete had 
 been a fine, strong girl, intensely conscious of 
 her good blood, though her father was but a 
 workinor farmer, and she herself had had a
 
 16 WATNFLETE. 
 
 humble education, and spoke with the strongest 
 accent of her native county. The family had 
 fallen so completely that every one but Margaret 
 had forgotten the fact, and it hardly appeared 
 extraordinary, though it might be sad, when her 
 father s death left her with the choice of going 
 to service or of working in the mills with her 
 little brother. 
 
 Margaret put her shawl over her head and 
 went to her work every day ; a fair, rosy girl 
 with abundant flaxen hair, and large, finely cut 
 features. Her beauty attracted the attention 
 of the mill-owner, Thomas Palmer, a man no 
 longer young, of humbler origin, and not much 
 better education than her own, but of rapidly 
 increasing wealth. 
 
 He courted Margaret honourably, and she 
 married him on condition that he would send 
 her little brother Godfrey to school. Years 
 passed, of rising fortune which no children 
 came to inherit. Thomas Palmer's relations 
 were all well established in businesses of their
 
 THE FAMILY. 17 
 
 own, and when he died he left everything he 
 possessed to his wife, and Godfre}^ Waynflete 
 was her natural heir. Already, a little bit of 
 the old Waynflete property, which lay in a 
 moorland valley twenty miles away from 
 Ingleby, had been bought by the wealthy mill- 
 owner, and as time went on, Margaret, in whose 
 hands the mills prospered, recovered it all, and 
 when the house itself came into her possession 
 she took her own name again. Her brother 
 had married well; but he died young, leaving 
 a son who bore the other family name of Guy. 
 He should be the future Waynflete of Waynflete ; 
 but again disappointment came, for Guy was 
 killed by an accident three years after his 
 marriage. His young wife died in giving birth 
 to a second son, and the old great-aunt was 
 left with two babies, Guy and Godfrey, on whom 
 to fiK her long-deferred hopes. 
 
 Sixteen years had passed since that day, 
 during which the business had been the duty, 
 and the family name the romance of her life. 
 
 VOL. I. c
 
 18 WAYNFLETE. 
 
 She loved both now, as people do love the 
 objects of a life's devotion, with an imperious 
 demand that those who came after her should 
 love them also; and now, as she sat in her 
 armchair, and thought of her age, and of pre- 
 paring for death, she was really thinking about 
 the two young lads, whose future fate lay in 
 her power. 
 
 The eldest ought to have Waynflete; but it 
 did not suit with her ideas to make him the 
 squire and his brother the mill-owner, as might 
 have seemed natural. The money that had 
 been made in Ingleby Mills ought not to be 
 diverted from their interests for the support of 
 the Squire of Waynflete. He must be a partner 
 in the business, even if the chief management 
 of it fell to his brother. And the Squire of 
 Waynflete ought to be the eldest son. 
 
 Such was the view of life maintained by this 
 hard-working old lady, who had never known 
 an idle day, nor a doubt as to the value of her 
 day's work.
 
 TEE FAMILY. 19 
 
 But she liked the youngest boy the best, and 
 believed that he was the most likely to follow 
 in her footsteps. Old people do not always 
 regard young ones with blind admiration, and 
 Mrs. Waynflete appraised her great-nephews 
 exactly according to her own measure. She 
 did not know that there were other scales in 
 the universe differently weighted. 
 
 So, as she reviewed her past life, she ques- 
 tioned herself whether all her payments had 
 been fair, whether she had exacted enough, and 
 not too much, work from her subordinates; 
 whether she had spent enough money on im- 
 provements, or too much on buying back the 
 last piece of unprofitable moor that had belonged 
 to the old Wa^Tifletes; whether, on the other 
 hand, she had ever sacrificed honesty to gain, 
 or failed honourably to fulfil an obligation. And 
 in all these respects her conscience was clear. 
 
 And when she thought of the future — she 
 took heaven for granted, as her well-earned 
 portion; but she could picture nothing but
 
 20 WAYNFLETE, 
 
 Guy and Godfrey in her place, and herself 
 somehow cognizant of their actions. Their 
 young voices, through the open window, dis- 
 turbed her meditations, as they came across the 
 lawn together. 
 
 She rapped on the window, and called to 
 them to come up, and in a minute or two, they 
 were in the handsome, heavily furnished draw- 
 ing-room, in which their white tennis-suits 
 hardly looked at home. They were tall lads 
 of eighteen and sixteen, like each other, and 
 like their great-aunt; Godfrey the younger, 
 remarkably so. He was the taller of the two, 
 with high cheek-bones and prominent features, 
 light flaxen hair and large grey eyes, with a 
 certain direct honesty of expression. He was 
 still only a big boy, while his brother was 
 slighter, and of more finished appearance, and 
 more delicate outlines. His eyes were also of a 
 light grey, but they were softened by dark eye- 
 lashes set thickly on the lower lids as well as 
 on the upper, which gave them a wistful, plead-
 
 THE FAMILY, 21 
 
 ing look, quite independent of their owner's 
 intentions, and inconsistent with his slightly 
 critical smile and reticent manner. 
 
 " Did you want us, Auntie Waynflete ? " said 
 Godfrey, in blunt, boyish tones, and using the 
 old-fashioned form of address, in which he had 
 been trained. 
 
 " Yes. I've an invitation for you, which I've 
 a mind you shall accept." 
 
 " Are the Rabys giving a dance ? " asked Guy, 
 who w^as becoming an eligible partner. 
 
 " No ; this is from Constance Palmer. Her 
 husband was your great-uncle's cousin. She 
 wanted to spend some months in bracing air, 
 so I let Waynflete to her. You know the old 
 lease of the house fell in this spring. She 
 asks you two to come there for a visit. You 
 shall go." 
 
 " I should like to see Waynflete," said Guy, 
 with some curiosity, while Godfrey said — 
 
 " Is it only an old lady ? Will there be any 
 other fellows there ? "
 
 22 WATNFLETE. 
 
 " She isn't old, young gentleman. There are 
 some little girls — or young ladies, perhaps you'd 
 call them — that she has brought up. She says 
 the neighbours have called on her." 
 
 " Is Waynflete much of a place ? " asked Guy. 
 " Why have we never seen it ? " 
 
 '' No, Guy," said Mrs. Waynflete. " It's but 
 a poor place, and while the house was let to 
 strangers — as, indeed, a good part of the property 
 is still in the hands of the old tenants — I did not 
 care for you to go there. Now, you can both 
 see what you think of it." 
 
 Guy gave a quick glance at her, while Godfrey 
 said — 
 
 " I don't suppose it's jollier than this." 
 
 "Before you go," said the old lady, sitting 
 up in her chair, "there's something I want to 
 say to you." 
 
 " Yes, auntie," said Godfrey, staring at her, 
 while Guy said, " Yes ? " politely. 
 
 " You both know how Waynflete has been 
 got back for the family. By hard work, and
 
 THE FAMILY, 23 
 
 doing of duty, and courage. When my heart 
 is set on a thing, lads, I don't fear trouble. 
 I don't fear man, and I've no need to fear the 
 devil, since I know I'm in the right. And 
 I never shall fear what folks may sa}^ of any 
 course I choose to follow. I'm an old woman, 
 and I tell you that a single aim always hits 
 the mark." 
 
 As she spoke in her strong voice, and looked 
 at the lads with her strong eyes, Guy felt 
 that the manifesto had a purpose. Godfrey 
 listened quite simply as to an improving 
 remark. 
 
 " You know how, bit by bit, your great-uncle 
 Palmer and I have got Waynflete back. And 
 I've often told you how "tny great-uncle Guy 
 lost it ? " 
 
 "Oh yes, auntie," said Godfrey, cheerfully. 
 "He got screwed, and then made up a cock- 
 and-bull story about the family ghost stopping 
 him at the bridge. Awful bad lot he must 
 have beeu. Then he died, didn't he, and Max-
 
 24 WA YNFLETE. 
 
 well of Ouseley had the place till he went to 
 the bad, and had to sell it ? " 
 
 "Yes, he died delirious, and iny grandfather 
 was turned out to make his way in the world. 
 So you see, 'twas self-indulgence, drinking and 
 gambling that lost the place, and ruined the 
 family." 
 
 " I don't think my namesake deserves all the 
 blame/' said Guy. " His father, as I under- 
 stand the story, got him into a pretty tight 
 place." 
 
 " He had his chance, Guy, and he lost it by 
 his cowardice — if, as some think, he was stopped 
 by highwaymen, or by his vicious habits, if 
 he was drunk. He was a very fine gentleman, 
 I've heard ; played the fiddle, Guy, and wrote 
 verses ; but that was no stand-by in his hour 
 of need." 
 
 "The family ghost, himself," said Guy, in a 
 slow, dry voice, " seems to have been an un- 
 pleasant person to know." 
 
 ''Ay; there was a young Waynflete who>
 
 THE FAMILY. 25 
 
 betrayed his friend in Monmouth's rebellion, 
 to save his own life. He went mad, and shot 
 himself — as the story runs — so ignorant folk 
 say his ghost haunts Waynflete, and think, 
 when the wind blows, they hear his horse 
 galloping." 
 
 " That Guy who was too late was an awful 
 duffer, if he wasn't drunk ! " said Godfrey. " I'd 
 have got over the river, ghost or highwayman, 
 or been killed on the spot." 
 
 " It's not a nice story," said Guy. " I should 
 think Waynflete was haunted by all their 
 ghosts ! " 
 
 " Ghost - stories are very proper for old 
 families," said Mrs. Waynflete ; " but of course 
 no one believes them. There, it's a disgraceful 
 story ; take it as a warning. You'd better get 
 ready for dinner." 
 
 She rose and walked out of the room as she 
 spoke, with a quick, firm step, while Guy 
 laughed rather scornfully. 
 
 " What an anachronism the dear old lady
 
 26 WAYNFLETE, 
 
 is ! " he said. " As if all the world depended 
 on Waynflete ! " 
 
 "I don't know what you mean ! " said Godfrey, 
 angrily. " I think she's an awfully splendid old 
 woman to have stuck to her point all her life 
 and won it. Catch a highwayman stopping 
 me!" 
 
 " My unlucky namesake said it was a ghost." 
 
 " Well, but it wasn't, you know. There aren't 
 any." 
 
 " You're the right heir for Aunt Margaret, 
 Godfrey. She ought to leave you Waynflete." 
 
 " Why; you're the eldest," said Godfrey ; 
 " she says interfering with natural laws is 
 wicked." 
 
 " If primogeniture is a natural law ? " 
 
 " It's the law of England," said Godfrey, as if 
 that settled the point. 
 
 Guy laughed again. 
 
 "Ah, Godfrey/' he said, "you'll always get 
 past the ghosts ! Well, the visit will be rather 
 jolly. I've a great curiosity about Waynflete,
 
 THE FAMILY, 27 
 
 and at least it will be clean. I agree with 
 Ruskin that smoke is sinful." 
 
 "There's a great deal of rot in Ruskin," said 
 Godfrey, " and you ought not to say things are 
 sinful, when they ain't. Plenty of things are."
 
 28 WAYNFLETE. 
 
 CHAPTER 11. 
 
 THE HOUSE. 
 
 Constancy Vyner was sitting at a table, sort- 
 ing and arranging a little pile of manuscripts, 
 neatly clipped together, and written in the 
 distinct upright hand of the modern high-school 
 girl. She was dressed in a plain, girlish frock, 
 well cut and well put on, her thick brown hair 
 hung on her shoulders, and curled over her 
 square low forehead in vigorous waves, as if 
 every hair was full of elastic life. Her hand- 
 some eyes, of a clear shade of hazel, looked out, 
 under straight brown eyebrows, from a brown, 
 rosy face with an air of keen and critical 
 observation ; while the straight nose and firm 
 round chin added to her purposeful look. She
 
 THE HOUSE. 29 
 
 was tall and strongly made for her sixteen years, 
 and the white, well-shaped hands that held the 
 papers looked as if made to carry out the work 
 which the well-shaped head would conceive. 
 The room in which she sat was as old-fashioned 
 as she herself was modern and up to date, with 
 small irregular panels, sloping roof, and tiny 
 casements, through which the evening sun 
 danced in distorted gleams. 
 
 "I think I'm doing well," said Constancy 
 aloud to herself, as if convincing an opponent. 
 " Ten shillings from the Guide of Youth for the 
 best essay on Reading. I'm glad I was so care- 
 ful as to what books I mentioned. One must 
 respect people's prejudices. I have much the 
 best chance for all those acrostics and search 
 questions. The editor of The Children's Friend 
 has asked me for another story. This will do. 
 The little delicate boy must catch cold in a 
 thunderstorm when his sister takes him out 
 without leave. Shall he quite die ? I think 
 not. The district-visitor shall save his life.
 
 30 WAYNFLETE. 
 
 And this story for The Penny Pleasure Giver. 
 There mustn't be any moral in that at all ! 
 Altogether I have got twenty pounds in the 
 last year, and some of the editors write 'Dear 
 Madam,' and don't find out I'm only a little 
 girl ! Something ought to come out of this 
 place. It's beautiful copy ! " she continued, 
 leaning back in her chair and glancing round 
 her, while a certain absorbed receptive look 
 came into her keen eyes, altering her whole 
 expression. 
 
 She jumped up, and swinging herself into the 
 deep high recess of the little casement, pushed 
 it open and looked out. 
 
 Beneath her lay a wild untrimmed garden 
 divide! by a sunk fence from a large paddock 
 sloping towards a narrow valley, with heathery 
 hills beyond. The sky was blue and still, with 
 long streaks of pearly silvery cloud across the 
 hilltops. A flight of rooks came home to a 
 group of tall elm trees beside the house, filling 
 the still air with sound.
 
 THE HOUSE. 31. 
 
 '' It's awfully jolly and heavenly ! " said 
 Constancy, staring at the dazzling clouds with 
 strong, unfaltering eyes. " It'll do for a descrip- 
 tion." 
 
 " What will do for a description ? " said an 
 answering voice, like a softer echo of her own, 
 as another girl, a year or so younger than 
 herself, came in and stood below the window, 
 lifting up a face of almost exactly the same 
 shape, more delicate and perhaps less forcible. 
 
 " Rooks — peace — brownish meadows, and blue 
 sky," said Constancy. " Nice description. What 
 have you been doing, Florella ? " 
 
 " Talking to Aunt Constance about the Wayn- 
 fletes, and the place. She says she is glad w^e 
 have come ; the house is gloomy, and she has 
 heard odd noises. Oh, Cosy, do 3^ou think it 
 could be haunted ? " 
 
 " That would be luck ! " said Constancy, jump- 
 ing down. " Oh, I say, even a little noise 
 would do to begin with ! If I could only get 
 a ghost, and the way people behaved with a
 
 32 WA YNFLETE, 
 
 ghost, it would be beautiful ! It would do for 
 the Fenny Pleasure. Now, Flo, remember, you 
 are not to tell auntie I read all those novels 
 at Weymouth. One must have lovers, if one 
 writes a novel, and I never can understand 
 going into raptures about anybody, so I must 
 get it at secondhand. Let us come down to tea 
 — the Waynflete boys will be coming. Perhaps 
 they can tell us about the ghost. I shall in- 
 vestigate it thoroughly, and if ever I am inter- 
 viewed by the Psychical Society, I shall take 
 care to give more lucid answers than most people 
 seem to do." 
 
 Constancy and Florella Vyner were the orphan 
 dauofhters of a man who had never known how 
 to make his considerable talents marketable, or 
 to adapt his style to the Guide of Youth, or 
 to the Penny Pleasure Giver, as self-interest 
 required. He lived and died the vicar of a small 
 town parish, and his two little girls, already 
 motherless and with only a few thousand pounds 
 between them, came under the care of their
 
 TEE HOUSE. 33 
 
 mother's sister, Mrs. John Palmer, who had 
 married one of Mrs. Waynflete's connections. 
 She was a widow, well oif and childless, with 
 a house in London, and she gave all the 
 advantages to Constancy and Florella which 
 she would have bestowed on her own daughters. 
 She was very fond of Florella, and as much so 
 of Constancy as a not very clever aunt was 
 likely to be of a girl who not only thought 
 that she knew better than her elders, but, like 
 Prince Prigio, always did. 
 
 Constancy did not mean to be the mere society 
 young lady into which her aunt expected the 
 shining light of the high - school to develop. 
 She had definite ambitions, and definite powers 
 to enable her to fulfil them. 
 
 " What sort of noises did auntie hear, Flo ? " 
 she asked as she put away her papers. 
 
 " She hasn't heard any. But the servants say 
 there are queer whisperings and rustlings, and 
 the lodge-keeper told them that one of the old 
 Waynflete's ' walks.' Oh ! what's that ? " 
 
 YOL. I. D
 
 34 WAYNFLETE. 
 
 " The ghost," said Constancy, laughing, and 
 emerging from behind the rustling, frevsh calen- 
 dered chintz of the old-fashioned four-post bed. 
 " You hear a little faint rustle all round you, 
 then crack goes a panel ! You listen for foot- 
 steps, and pit-a-pat up the stairs they come. 
 The door slowly opens " 
 
 *' Don't, Cosy ; I don't like it," said Florella, 
 shrinking. 
 
 " Stop a moment, I'll sliow you," cried Con- 
 stancy, opening a door, and running along the 
 narrow polished oak passage beyond it. The 
 younger girl stood still at the head of the dark 
 old staircase, and looked timidly around her. 
 The wind whistled softly round the house, and 
 stirred the neglected creepers outside, so that 
 they creaked on their rusty nails, and tapped 
 with their long arms against the windows. She 
 felt the bygoneness and unusedness of the place, 
 and a feeling of awe stole over her. Suddenly 
 a sound of eerie sobbing and sighing, followed 
 first by a wild, mournful cry and then by a
 
 THE HOUSE, 35 
 
 ringing laugh sounded through the house. The 
 next moment Cosy came running down the 
 passage, laughing still. 
 
 "There! See how easy it is," she said. 
 "That's how ghost-stories are hatched. I can 
 make up a beauty for Waynflete, and study the 
 results. Bless me ! is it ringing the door-bell ? 
 No, that must be the Waynflete boys arriving. 
 Come along, Flo, we'll be ready to receive 
 them." 
 
 Mrs. John Palmer, kind, pretty, and easy- 
 mannered, was a charming hostess, and the two 
 lads had not been many minutes in the long, low 
 drawing-room of the ancestral home that was 
 so strange to them before she had set them quite 
 at their ease. She pointed out to them the 
 quaint old furniture, some of which must have 
 been in Waynflete Hall before it was sold, and 
 praised the old panelling and the low ceiling, 
 with big black beams running across it. Then 
 she encouraged them to talk about themselves, 
 found out that they were both at a great public
 
 36 WAYNFLETE. 
 
 school, but that Guy was just going to Oxford. 
 He was musical, and meant to read for honours, 
 while Godfrey, besides being well up in the 
 school, had done everything in the way of 
 athletics which was possible at sixteen. 
 
 Then she proposed that the girls should show 
 them round the place ; and the four young people 
 went out together, across a lawn cut up by odd- 
 shaped flower-beds, full of old-fashioned flowers, 
 "inconvenient, but unique," as Constancy said, 
 moving towards the paddock, where they dis- 
 covered the possibility of making a tennis- 
 ground. 
 
 The two boys were soon congenially employed 
 in stepping it out, and they all grew intimate 
 over their respective experiences of the game, 
 and of other occupations and amusements. 
 Florella was a kind and cheerful girl, wishful 
 of giving pleasure ; and Constancy, though she 
 watched the two Waynfletes keenly, and 
 '' studied " them as she talked with spirit, was 
 not at all occupied with her own relations to
 
 THE HOUSE, 37 
 
 them ; and, as Godfrey remarked afterwards, 
 "was more like a fellow than a girl, except 
 that she talked about the work her form 
 was doing, which a fellow never wanted 
 to do." 
 
 The four found their way into the old kitchen 
 garden, with lavender and rosemary bushes 
 nearly as tall as themselves, and wildernesses 
 of untrimmed raspberries, which, in that nor- 
 thern country, were still bearing large specimens 
 of red and white berries. Then, through a gate 
 in the old stone wall, they came out into the 
 stables and farm-buildings, picturesque and 
 woefully tumble-down. 
 
 " Shabby old place," said Godfrey, contemp- 
 tuously ; but Guy already knew that the whole 
 scene was fastening itself on his affections. He 
 had never liked any other so much. Constancy 
 watched his soft gazing eyes and satirical little 
 smile as they turned round to the entrance of 
 the farmyard where were a pair of large iron 
 gates with handsome stone gate-posts. Beyond
 
 38 WATNFLETE. 
 
 was the remains of an avenue of elms, leading 
 through rough, sunlit fields. 
 
 "The river is down there/' said Constancy. 
 " I believe this used to be the entrance." And 
 Guy instantly thought of his unhappy name- 
 sake riding up to the gates — too late. A vivid 
 picture presented itself to his eyes. 
 
 " Is that the church ? " asked Godfrey, point- 
 ing to a little grey building low down at one 
 side ; while Guy said, " Let us go and see where 
 our ' rude forefathers sleep.' " 
 
 " Isn't it like a slug ? " said Cosy. 
 
 The comparison was not romantic, but it was 
 apt. The long, low, moss-grown church seemed 
 to cling to the uneven, heaped-up ground. An 
 old woman was cleaning it, and the young people 
 went in. 
 
 The church was dark, damp, and cold, but 
 a flood of yellow sunlight streamed through 
 the open door and fell upon a flat stone at the 
 entrance on which was no name, but only a date, 
 " 1785," and two words—" Too Late."
 
 TEE HOUSE. 39 
 
 " Cruel ! " ejaculated Guy, and caught him- 
 self up. 
 
 " Eh, sir," said the old woman, coming forward 
 with a curtsey ; " there be the last o' t'owd 
 Waynfletes, him as saw some'at and died raving. 
 Here outside's fayther, as shot hisself, and could 
 na lie in t'kirkyard, so's brother, t'vicar, laid 
 un here in t'field and pu'd t'wa' doon, and 
 built 't oop agen, round 's tomb. Here a 
 ligs." 
 
 She led them out among the heaped-up graves, 
 and showed them a round excrescence in the 
 churchyard wall, within which was an old- 
 fashioned oblong tombstone. 
 
 A tall, fair-haired, young man, with a lanky 
 figure and stumbling steps, went before them, 
 as if doing the honours of the dreary neglected 
 place. 
 
 "Yon's soft Jem Outhwaite," said the old 
 woman in a whisper. " He've seen t'owd 
 genleman — /iim as lualks, sir. He seed un 
 when he wor a laddie, and went silly. He
 
 40 WAYNFLETE. 
 
 maks a bit o' brass by fetchin' and cariyin' fer 
 t'seKton and me." 
 
 " Soft " Jem touched his hat and grinned 
 cheerfully. Guy gave him a shilling, and the 
 old woman another, with youthful lordliness 
 but he disliked the sight of these dishonoured 
 graves more than he could have supposed 
 possible, and the poor delighted softy, tying 
 up his shilling in an old spotted handkerchief 
 made a vivid impression on him.
 
 ( 41 ) 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 THE INHERITANCE. 
 
 Constancy made Godfrey tell her all the story 
 of the loss of Waynflete, of the traitor's ghost, 
 and of the Guy who was too late, as they walked 
 home round the paddock, and looked down over 
 Flete Edge to the river Flete at the bottom of 
 the valley. A rough, ill -grown plantation 
 covered the steep descent, while scattered 
 cottages were planted on the equally steep hill 
 opposite to them. Guy studied it with silent 
 interest, while Godfrey compared it unfavour- 
 ably with the Ingleby valley, and scoffed at the 
 legends which he was repeating. 
 
 " Ghosts are all bosh," he said, with decision. 
 
 " Well, there are some odd noises at Wayn-
 
 42 WAYNFLETK 
 
 flete," said Constancy, as they reached the 
 house. " Now, come and see a picture. It must 
 be this wretched Guy who was too late." 
 
 She took them upstairs to the extreme end 
 of the wing of the house next the stables. 
 Here, with windows looking out three ways, 
 was a little octagon room, with polished oak 
 floor, and scanty old-fashioned furniture. Over 
 the chimney was the head of a handsome fair- 
 faced youth, with the last rays of sun falling 
 on his face. 
 
 "I declare, Guy," said Godfrey, "he's un- 
 commonly like you, especially about the eyes." 
 
 "I dare say," said Guy, but the likeness 
 annoyed him. 
 
 " He looks very sad, poor fellow," said Florella, 
 softly ; while Constancy looked from one to the 
 other, and thought, " I've got a lot of ^ study.' " 
 
 Rooms had been assigned to the two boys at 
 the other end of this same wing of the house, 
 opening into each other, as was the way of 
 rooms at Waynflete.
 
 THE INHERITANCE. 43 
 
 Godfrey went to bed, thinking that he did 
 not much like these old legends and old scandals ; 
 and as for ghosts, the idea was too ridiculous f 
 Still, there were certainly an odd variety of 
 nocturnal noises at Waynflete — scratch, tap — 
 rats and mice ? Then a low murmuring and 
 sobbing — the wind ? He stuck his candle in 
 the open window, and the flame hardly stirred. 
 There was an interval of silence, and he got 
 into bed and fell asleep as he ran through in 
 his mind all the causes of mysterious noises — 
 distant trains, coughing sheep, scraping creepers, 
 pecking pigeons, whistling wind, scratching 
 mice, etc., etc. 
 
 He was awakened by a violent clutch on his 
 shoulder, and starting up saw, in the stream 
 of moonlight from the window, his brother, 
 half dressed and deadly pale, who fell on his 
 knees beside him, hiding his face and grasping 
 him so tightly that he was hardly able to 
 move. 
 
 " Guy — I say ! Guy ! Good Lord, what's the
 
 44 WAYNFLETE. 
 
 matter with you ? Ill ? Got the nightmare ? 
 I say — let go — I can't stir ! " 
 
 Guy loosened his hold after a moment or two, 
 but he shook from head to foot, and Godfrey, 
 tumbling out of the bed, pushed him up on to 
 it, and stood staring at him as he lay with 
 hidden face. 
 
 " What the dickens is the matter with you ? 
 I say, Guy ! Can't you speak ? " 
 
 There was no answer, and Godfrey bethinking 
 himself that cold water was supposed to be an 
 appropriate remedy for sudden ailments, plunged 
 his sponge into the water-jug, and soused it on 
 his brother's head. It was so far effectual that 
 Guy began to fetch his breath again, in long 
 sobbing gasps, while Godfrey, to his increased 
 horror, felt that there were tears on the face 
 that was pressed against his hand. 
 
 " Oh, I say, Guy ! I say — what is making you 
 such an awful duffer ? What is the matter with 
 you?" 
 
 Poor Guy shivered and trembled, perhaps not
 
 THE INHERITANCE. 45 
 
 finding Godfrey's method very helpful ; but he 
 came more to himself by degrees, asked for some 
 water to drink, and pulled the coverings round 
 him. 
 
 "Didn't you see — him ? " he whispered at last. 
 
 " See — see what ? Oh, I say ! Guy, you 
 haven't been dreaming of the ghost ? Oh, I say ! 
 how can you be such a duffer ! You're as bad 
 as when you used to climb into my crib, and 
 Auntie Waynflete whipped you, after that 
 nursemaid made the bogie and scared you." 
 
 What difference it might have made to Guy 
 Waynflete if, at that moment of terrible ex- 
 perience he had had some comprehending friend 
 to soothe and sustain him, it is impossible to 
 say; as it was, his boyish pride and self- 
 consciousness began to revive, under his 
 brother's rough dealing; he made an effort to 
 pull himself together, laughed in an odd, 
 startling way, and said — 
 
 " Dreaming ! Y-es, of course I was dreaming. 
 Don't you ever say one word about it."
 
 46 WAYNFLETE, 
 
 " Not I," said Godfrey. " A nice story it 
 would be to get about. Now, am I to go into 
 your room, and sleep with the ghost ? It's 
 getting chilly." 
 
 Guy raised himself on his arm, and stared out 
 into the moonlight. 
 
 " No," he said, " I'll go back myself You'll 
 never hear another word about it." 
 
 He got up, still tremulously, and went away, 
 shutting the door behind him. 
 
 Godfrey was but a boy, with all the callous 
 stupidity of his sixteen years. He thought 
 that the incident had been very odd, and rather 
 disgraceful to Guy's manhood. He was glad 
 it was over, and he tumbled back into bed again, 
 and went to sleep. 
 
 Guy looked much paler than usual the next 
 morning, but confessed to nothing amiss. As 
 he went out with the others to join in trying 
 the new tennis-ground, he saw Florella, standing 
 a little apart from the others, evidently just 
 getting over a tit of crying.
 
 THE INHERITANCE. 47 
 
 " I say — can I help you about anything ? " he 
 said, good naturedly. 
 
 " No," said Florella, turning upon him a pair 
 of translucent eyes, almost as steadfast as 
 Constancy's, and even more candid. "I — I — 
 I've been helping to do something wrong — 
 that's all." 
 
 She ran away before he could speak ; but, 
 surprised as he was, there remained in his mind 
 the feeling that somehow she was a nice little 
 girl. 
 
 Godfrey heard no more of Guy's midnight 
 adventure during the remaining three days 
 of the visit. The time passed pleasantly, and 
 the aged vicar of the parish and one or two 
 of the neighbouring gentlemen called formally 
 on "Mr. Waynflete.'* The recognition pleased 
 Guy, or at least that part of him which was 
 free to care about it. He had very little to 
 say to his aunt when they came back about 
 Waynflete, speaking of it in a satirical, rather 
 contemptuous fashion, which annoyed her very
 
 48 WATNFLETE. 
 
 much ; while Godfrey described it fully, though 
 he staunchly declared that he liked Ingleby 
 best. 
 
 Shortly afterwards Guy had a sharp attack 
 of illness. He had never been quite so strong 
 as his brother, and he did not recover from its 
 effects for some time. Mrs. Waynflete had little 
 patience with any ailment less definite than the 
 measles, and thought him fanciful and self- 
 indulgent. 
 
 She was also much put out by Mrs. John 
 Palmer's complaints of odd and unaccountable 
 noises at Waynflete, which upset her nerves and 
 frightened her servants. But for these, she 
 would have liked to take the house again next 
 summer, as the air suited her, and she was glad 
 to be near her husband's family. As it was, 
 she did not feel able to settle down com- 
 fortably. 
 
 Mrs. Waynflete thought Constance Palmer 
 would have had more sense. She let Waynflete 
 Hall to a working farmer, with directions to
 
 THE INHERITANCE. 49 
 
 look after the house carefully, and keep it 
 dry. 
 
 Nothing more was heard of mysterious noises, 
 and Guy and Godfrey did not see the place 
 again for nearly five years, when the farmer's 
 tenancy had come to an end. 
 
 VOL, T.
 
 50 WATIUFLETK 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 HEREDITARY FOES. 
 
 "Very few people appreciate the feeling of 
 a place. Hardly any one can feel the London 
 atmosphere," said Constancy Vyner, one Sunday 
 afternoon nearly five years after the events last 
 recorded, as she sat drinking tea on a balcony 
 in a square on the London side of Kensington. 
 
 " I shouldn't have thought our atmosphere 
 so ethereal as to be imperceptible to any one," 
 said a young man who formed one of the 
 party. 
 
 " That's a most obvious remark, Mr. Staunton ; 
 but I didn't mean fogs. I don't believe the 
 country ever gives one just such a feel of 
 summer as there is now. Hot air, balcony-
 
 HEREDITARY FOES. 51 
 
 flowers, rustling brown trees, they're drier and 
 more papery than country ones ; sunny dust, 
 dusty sun, and people, pavements, and omni- 
 buses, and undergrounds — and smart fashionable 
 clothes. It's so summery ! Nobody's got the idea 
 exactly," she said. " Of course Dickens has a 
 London feel ; but that's on another level, ghastly 
 and squalid— or best parlour and hot-buttered 
 toast; nor does it quite belong to the swells, 
 though it has fashion and the season in it, 
 too." 
 
 " Your idea is coming ? " said Mr. Staunton, 
 watching her curiously. 
 
 " I've got it ! " said Constancy, sitting up with 
 a broad smile of pleasure. "It's modern — it's 
 democratic. It's life's fulness, roses, straw- 
 berries, sun, summer — got with some trouble, for 
 the many. So there's a little dust. You have 
 the best of everything — music, parties ; but you 
 go by the underground ! " 
 
 When Constancy was present, she always 
 took the stage — or, rather, people gave it to her 

 
 52 WAYNFLETE. 
 
 — she commanded attention. She was now at 
 college, thinking, talking, making friends accord- 
 ing to her wont, and though her literary 
 ambitions were necessarily much in abeyance, 
 she wrote, now and then, an article or short 
 story, which had just the distinction that wins 
 acceptance, and was not quite like every one 
 else's. 
 
 The youngest Miss Staunton was a college 
 friend, and Constancy was intimate with her 
 family, which consisted of two or three sisters, 
 all busy with various forms of self-help and 
 self-expression, and of the brother now present. 
 The whole party lived harmoniously together, 
 on a conjunction of small incomes, on terms 
 of mutual independence, and, as Constancy 
 epigrammatically put it, '' went into society in 
 the underground," and into very good society 
 too, which is no doubt a modern and democratic 
 development. 
 
 "Don't let us collect material for magazine 
 articles," said Violet Staunton ; " but let us
 
 HEREDITARY FOES. 53 
 
 settle about the reading party. Cuthbert has 
 heard of a jolly old-fashioned place on the 
 moors up above Kilston, in Yorkshire, within 
 reach of all kinds of fine scener3\" 
 
 " Rilston ! " interposed Constancy. " We 
 stayed once with Aunt Connie, at a place near 
 there — Waynflete." 
 
 " How odd ! " said Violet. "It was from Mr. 
 Waynflete that Cath heard of the place." 
 
 " Guy AVaynflete is a friend of mine," said 
 Mr. Staunton. "I stayed with him once at 
 Ingleby. We came upon Moorhead in our 
 walks, and I should think it might suit for the 
 preparation of future doable firsts and senior- 
 wranglers." 
 
 " Thank you, Mr. Staunton," said Constancy, 
 frankly rising to the bait. "I dare say you 
 would expect to find us crocheting anti- 
 macassars ! " 
 
 A little more discussion followed as to ways 
 and means, and as to the number of the party, 
 which was to consist of Constancy and her
 
 54 WAYNFLETE, 
 
 sister, of the eldest and youngest Miss Stauntons, 
 and of two other college students. 
 
 "I should like to see Waynflete again," said 
 Constancy ; " it was a lovely old place — haunted, 
 too. The family lost it to a villain called 
 Maxwell, and the old lady who has it now 
 bought it back again." 
 
 " J. never heard anything of the family history 
 from Waynflete," said Cuthbert Staunton, " be- 
 yond the fact that the old place had been 
 recovered. But I believe we are connected 
 with some Yorkshire Maxwells. Do you know 
 any particulars of the ' villain,' Miss Vyner ? " 
 
 " You, descended from the hereditary foe, 
 and friends with Guy Waynflete, without know- 
 ing it ? How splendid ! " said Constancy, sitting 
 upright. " This is the story." 
 
 And with exact memory and considerable 
 force she related the legend of the loss of 
 Waynflete as she had heard it five years ago 
 from Godfrey; putting in a vivid description 
 of the eerie old house, and the still more
 
 HEREDITARY FOES. 55 
 
 eerie picture of the unhappy heir, concluding 
 with — 
 
 " The eldest one was so like the picture. 
 He is in the business now, isn't he? I heard 
 he didn't take a good degree. And Godfrey 
 was such a big hoy." 
 
 " Well, he is a very big boy still," said 
 Cuthbert Staunton, who had listened with 
 much interest. " He is a fine fellow, still at 
 Oxford. Guy is made of rather complex stuff. 
 Perhaps you may see him — he is in London, and 
 I asked him to look in to tell my sisters about 
 this moorland paradise." 
 
 As he spoke there was a movement, and a 
 fair, slight young man came in, whom Cuth- 
 bert greeted cordially, and introduced as Mr. 
 Waynflete. 
 
 The five years had not greatly changed him. 
 He had the same slightly supercilious manner 
 and the same " pretty " wistful eyes, into which, 
 at the sight of Constancy, there came a startled 
 look.
 
 56 WAYNFLETE. 
 
 " I remember Waynflete so well," she said, 
 after the greeting. " Is it as delightful as ever ? " 
 
 " I have never seen it since," said Guy ; " but 
 the lease is out this year, and I believe some 
 of us are to go and inspect it. Moorhead is 
 eight or ten miles off — up on the moors." 
 
 " Will you tell us about it, Mr. Waynflete," 
 said the elder Miss Staunton. " We want to 
 go in August. Is it a place where we are likely 
 to be shot, or glared at by indignant keepers, if 
 we walk about ? We shouldn't like to be a 
 grievance — or to be treated as one." 
 
 " No," said Guy, with a smile. " It's only the 
 fringe of the moor, and there are very few 
 grouse there. I think you'd be tolerated, even 
 if you picked bilberries and had picnics." 
 
 " That's just what we want to do," said Con- 
 stancy, "picnics on improved principles. But 
 we shall each have an etna, we shan't trust to 
 sticks and a gipsy -kettle." 
 
 " I don't know how young ladies amuse 
 themselves when they're not reading," said
 
 HEREDITARY FOES. 57 
 
 Guy. '•' But there's nothing to do at Moorhead. 
 Its two miles from High Hint on, and four from 
 Kirk Hinton, and nine from Rilston — and it 
 mostly rains up there. But Mrs. Shipley's very 
 good at scones and tea-cakes, and the view is 
 first-class of its kind." 
 
 'Then, when it rains, we can put on our 
 mackintoshes, and walk two — or four — miles to 
 buy postage stamps," said Constancy, rising. 
 " Good-bye, Kitty, I must be going. Mind you 
 look up your duties as chaperon and eldest of 
 the party. Mr. Waynflete, I'm sure my aunt 
 wall be delighted to see you if you like to call. 
 We are at home on Tuesdays — 12, Sumner 
 Square. Mr. Staunton, perhaps we shall see 
 you too ? " 
 
 The young men made proper acknowledg- 
 ments, and when Constancy, with no ladies' last 
 words, had taken her departure, Guy stated that 
 he wished to hear the evening service at West- 
 minster, and asked his friend to walk there 
 with him by way of the Thames Embankment.
 
 58 WAYNFhETE. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 INTERESTING. 
 
 CuTHBERT Staunton was a man with a history, 
 and rather a sad one. He had been engaged to 
 be married to a girl who had died within a week 
 of the wedding-day. In the first shock of his 
 trouble, he threw up his appointment, a recorder- 
 ship which had been obtained for him by some 
 legal connections, and went off on an aimless 
 wandering, which greatly exhausted his small 
 means, and put him out of the running for the 
 prizes of life. He quieted down in time, how- 
 ever, his trouble receded into the background, 
 and he came back to the family home, settled 
 down, as his sisters said, into a regular old 
 bachelor, with set little tastes and set little
 
 INTERESTING. 59 
 
 ways, a quiet, contented face, and a very kind 
 heart. He had much cultivation and some 
 literary power, and felt himself more fortunate 
 than he could have hoped in being employed by 
 his University as an Extension lecturer on litera- 
 ture and modern history. In this way he ob- 
 tained interesting occupation, and a sufficient 
 addition to his income for his very moderate 
 wants. 
 
 Now, at two and thirty, no one would have 
 suspected him of having had a " Wanderjahr " 
 in his life ; but perhaps it was from an under- 
 sense of sympathy with a not very lucky 
 person that he had taken to Guy Waynflete ; 
 when he had met him first abroad, and then 
 at Oxford, a year or two before the present 
 occasion. 
 
 For Guy was a person who did not get on 
 well with life, he experienced and caused a great 
 many disappointments. Once or twice at im- 
 portant examinations some sudden illness had 
 come in his way and spoiled his chances. Such,
 
 60 WAYNFLETE. 
 
 at least, was his own account of his ill success, 
 when he was pressed to give one. With other 
 engagements he was apt, his friends said, to fail 
 to come up to the scratch. If he undertook to 
 play cricket, sometimes he did not turn up, and 
 sometimes he played badly. He was musical 
 enough to be a coveted member of various clubs 
 and societies, but his performances could never 
 be calculated on, and were sometimes brilliant 
 and sometimes disappointing. There were times 
 when his friends could make nothing of him, 
 and no one felt really to know him. Cuthbert 
 Staunton did not know much about him, he 
 suspected him of more uncertain health than 
 he chose to confess, and had discovered that the 
 home life was not smooth for him. But he did 
 not want to bring his own past into the present, 
 or to inquire into Guy's. He found him con- 
 genial, in spite of the eight or nine years 
 between them, and did not think that his 
 various shortcomings were due to any discredit- 
 able cause.
 
 INTERESTING. 61 
 
 " You are doing your London ? " he said, as 
 they started. 
 
 " Yes," said Guy, " I've hardly ever been in 
 town. You know we haven't many friends 
 who can be said to be in London society. Most 
 of the Ingleby neighbours come up for three 
 weeks to a good hotel, and do pictures and 
 theatres, and visit each other a little. I am 
 sent up now to ' make my way ' with some of 
 our city business connections." 
 
 " By the way," said Staunton, " what Max- 
 wells were those who seem to have been rather 
 unpleasantly connected with your family his- 
 tory ? My mother was a Yorkshire Maxwell." 
 
 " Was she ? " said Guy. 
 
 He was quite silent for a noticeable moment, 
 then he said, with the little ring in his voice 
 which people called satirical, " This is very 
 interesting. Did your mother come from the 
 Rilston neighbourhood ? When we've settled 
 the fact, we can consider of our future relations 
 to each other."
 
 62 WATNFLETE. 
 
 The Stauntons were not people of pedigree; 
 but Cuthbert produced facts enough to prove 
 that his mother had really belonged to a family 
 which had originally owned a small estate 
 called Ouseley, not far from Rilston. 
 
 " That's the place," said Guy. 
 
 " But as for Waynflete," said Cuthbert, " my 
 forefather must have had to drop it again pretty 
 quickly. I suppose he played cards too often. 
 I never heard of its having been in the family. 
 My grandfather Maxwell was a country doctor, 
 and didn't think family traditions consistent 
 with hard work. I never thought about the 
 matter, till Miss Yyner was so much excited at 
 discovering your hereditary foe." 
 
 "I don't myself care about traditions," said 
 Guy, in a slow, soft, argumentative tone that 
 told of his county. "I don't, you know, un- 
 fortunately share my aunt's profound respect for 
 the house of Waynflete. She is an ancestor 
 worth having, I grant you. I think, if she 
 knew, she'd make a Christian effort to receive
 
 INTERESTING. 63 
 
 you kindly ; but we won't tell her. As for me, 
 I object to feuds and obligations — and — ghosts, 
 and heredity's a hobby that's overridden nowa- 
 days. We won't part for ever." 
 
 He turned his soft eyes round on his friend, 
 with a smile, but Staunton, who had spoken 
 without a serious thought, saw with surprise 
 that he had thought the avowal necessary. 
 
 " Well, my dear boy," he said, " I'm glad you 
 don't say, ' Here's Vauxhall Bridge and there's 
 Vauxhall Bridge Road — take the tram, I take 
 the 'bus. Farewell.' But we must hurry up ; 
 it's getting late." 
 
 When they came into the Abbey, Guy looked 
 all round him in a searching, attentive way. 
 He joined in the singing with a voice full and 
 sweet enough to do justice to his Yorkshire 
 blood, and when it was over, and they parted, 
 said, as if it was a thing to be thankfully noted, 
 " I have very much enjoyed it." 
 
 When, on the Tuesday afternoon, the two 
 young men appeared in Mrs. Palmer's handsome
 
 64 WAYNFLETE. 
 
 drawino--room, it was full of other visitors, and 
 their entertainment fell at first to Florella's 
 share. Her figure, as she sat a little apart by 
 a table covered with the usual knickknacks and 
 flowers, had a harmonious and pictorial effect 
 which caught Guy's fancy and remained in his 
 memory. She was still very like Constancy, 
 but with softened tints ; hair and eyes had not 
 the same bright chestnut hue, but were of a 
 dim shady brown; she was paler, and though 
 her young outlines were plump and full, they 
 had an indescribable grace and softness. She 
 had Constancy's straight brows and square 
 forehead ; but the eyes beneath were of another 
 but equally modern type, seeking, longing, as 
 the eyes of Fiametta or of the Blessed Damozel 
 herself, but with this difference : they were 
 happy as if in faith that a good answer waited 
 their questioning. Florella did not talk, or 
 learn, or do, as much as Constancy ; but she 
 knew all about learning and doing, and, in a 
 girlish way, lived in the face of the questions
 
 INTERESTING. 65 
 
 of her time. She had one gift, too, which was 
 likely to bring her much joy, and to this, after 
 a few commonplaces, Cuthbert turned the con- 
 versation. 
 
 " And your painting, Miss Vyner ? Has it 
 been getting on ? " 
 
 "Yes," said Florella, ''I have been having 
 lessons." 
 
 " May we see ? " 
 
 Florella, without any excuses or shyness, took 
 a little portfolio from the table, and showed 
 some sketches of flowers in water-colour. The 
 execution was slight and not perfectly skilful ; 
 but each little drawing had a characteristic 
 suggestiveness which freed it entirely from the 
 inexpressible dulness of most fruit and flower 
 pieces. 
 
 A bunch of growing sweet peas labelled, "A 
 tiptoe for a flight," had the summer breeze 
 blowing through them ; " Pure lilies of eternal 
 peace," had a certain dreamy, unearthly fairness 
 that suggested " airs of heaven," and " A bit of 
 
 ^OL. I. p
 
 66 WAYNFLETE. 
 
 green " was a cheerful, struggling plant of 
 lowering musk, in sooty soil, on a smutty 
 window-sill, with a yellow fog behind it. 
 
 ''Why, that's just how flowers look against 
 smoke," said Guy. "They glare with bright- 
 ness." 
 
 '' Ah, that's what I meant ! " said Florella, 
 pleased. " Do you draw, Mr. Waynflete ? You 
 are fond of pictures ? " 
 
 "I can't draw," said Guy; "but I can 
 wi'ite doivn faces in pen-and-ink outline. I 
 can't make pictures. I don't think I enjoy 
 them," 
 
 " Waynflete likes music," said Cuthbert ; " that 
 iB more in his line." 
 
 '' Tunes often put drawings into my head," 
 ?<,3M. Florella, simply. " The time when I began 
 to do flower pictures was at Waynflete," she 
 added. "Some of the flowers there looked so 
 V70)iderfully old; and age is a very difficult 
 sentiment to convey in a flower ! I never could 
 man 9.ge it."
 
 INTERESTING. Q>7 
 
 As she spoke, there was a movement among 
 the guests, and Mrs. Palmer caught the 
 name. 
 
 " Ah, Way nflete ! " she said. " It was such 
 a delightful old place, and so bracing. I should 
 have liked to stay there very much, but the 
 noises were such a worry. I declare when 
 I sat in that old drawing-room by myself in a 
 summer evening, I used to feel quite creepy. 
 Mr. Waynflete, do tell me if any noises have 
 been heard since ? " 
 
 Some of the company pricked up their ears. 
 There are several aspects under which " ghosts " 
 may be viewed, and there is no question that 
 they are both fashionable and interesting. A 
 haunted house and its owner are not often under 
 notice at once. 
 
 Guy did not speak very quickly, and Con- 
 stancy struck in. 
 
 " Aunt Con," she said, " the situation would 
 be quite spoiled if Mr. Waynflete was willing 
 to talk of his own ghost — or his own noises.
 
 68 WAYNFLETE. 
 
 Of course he will not. It would not be the 
 thing at all." 
 
 "It had not struck me that a ghost was 
 interesting," said Guy, dryly. "As for the 
 noises " 
 
 "Oh/' interposed Florella, decidedly; "the 
 noises were all nonsense." 
 
 *' My dear Flo," said Mrs. Palmer, " they are 
 not pleasant when you can't explain them. 
 They might be burglars or the servants' friends, 
 or anything. But it's a lovely place." 
 
 The conversation now developed into ghost- 
 stories, some of a scientific, others of a romantic 
 type. Mr. Staunton remarking that cock-crow 
 would be nothing to ghosts nowadays, since 
 they were accustomed to the searching light 
 of science. 
 
 Guy stood by the mantelpiece, and fingered 
 a Dresden-china figure in a way that gave 
 Mrs. Palmer a distinct presentiment of its 
 downfall. 
 
 He looked up suddenly, "Did it ever occur
 
 INTERESTING. 69 
 
 to you to wonder," he said, as a lady concluded 
 a rather ghastly story, of a white lady who 
 brushed by people on the staircase, and left a 
 cold chill behind her, " whether contact with 
 us makes the spooks feel hot ? " 
 
 " Ah, Mr. Waynflete," said Mrs. Palmer, as 
 there was a general laugh. " You're very scep- 
 tical, I can see. But you're behind the age." 
 
 She was rather glad to shake hands and say 
 good-bye, as she was anxious to see whether 
 he had damaged the Dresden shepherdess. But 
 it was quite safe, even to the fine edges of its 
 gilt roses. 
 
 " He is a nice-looking fellow, but his fingers 
 should have been rapped when he was little 
 to cure him of fidgeting," she said, when they 
 were alone. " But I shouldn't think old Mrs. 
 Waynflete knew much about children." 
 
 " He didn't like to discuss his ghost," said 
 Constancy ; " that was why he fidgeted. 
 Family ghosts are personal." 
 
 " Cosy," said Florella, as her aunt left the
 
 70 WAYNFLETE. 
 
 room, " I can't bear to think of the tricks we 
 played at Waynflete. We ought to tell. It's 
 far too serious a thing to give a place the name 
 of being haunted." 
 
 " It was a very curious study," said Cosy ; 
 " but, somehow, it did not frighten people 
 nearly as much as we expected. And we did 
 not make nearly all the noises that people 
 fancied they heard." 
 
 "We may have set them fancying," said 
 Florella. " I could have fancied things myself, 
 after you had been whispering and scuttering 
 about those passages. And, remember, I don't 
 feel bound to keep up the idea." 
 
 "It was rather disappointing," said Cosy, 
 reflectively ; " because the boys never took any 
 notice. I don't believe they heard us, the 
 walls are so thick. But there, Flo," she added, 
 laughing, " it was just a bit of fun. And there 
 are times when I feel as if I must — well — 
 kick up a shindy. It's the shape in which 
 I feel the fires of youth."
 
 INTEBESTINO, 7 1 
 
 " That's all very well," said Florella. " You 
 kick up a good many shindies. But I don't 
 like making fun of what I don't understand. 
 
 " I don't see all the new pseudo-science/' 
 returned Constancy. " I think it's all a 
 delusion." 
 
 " I wonder if Guy Waynflete thinks so," said 
 Florella, thoughtfully, as she went to dress.
 
 72 WAYNFLETE. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 GOOD COMRADES. 
 
 Under a great coppei^-beecli on the lawn at 
 Ingleby one hot afternoon, Godfrey Waynflete 
 was enjoying the " summer feeling " on which 
 Constancy Vyner had expatiated in London, 
 and was spending an idle hour in teaching 
 his young Skye terrier to jump over a stick. 
 Rawdon Crawley, a name appropriate to the 
 creature's hairy simplicity, was a long grey 
 object, like a caterpillar, with huge pricked 
 black ears, and an expression which combined 
 guileless innocence and philosophic power. 
 Nevertheless, when he was coaxed, he ran 
 under the stick, and when he was threatened, 
 he sat still and sulked, for the perverseness of 
 his race is fathomless.
 
 OOOB COMRADES. 73 
 
 " You confounded little obstinate beggar," 
 cried Godfrey, shaking the stick at him ; " you'll 
 have to learn who's master." 
 
 Rawdon Crawley wriggled away to some 
 distance, like a snake, then lay with his face 
 on his paws, looking at his owner. 
 
 " Eh, Godfrey, ye're letting that pup get the 
 better of ye ! " 
 
 "He'd die rather than give in," said Godfrey, 
 as his old aunt came across the lawn towards 
 him. 
 
 The last five years had increased Mrs. Wayn- 
 flete's wrinkles, but she was still upright, slim, 
 and vigorous, enjoying the presence of her 
 younger nephew, and, possibly also, the elder 
 one's absence. The expression is rather strong ; 
 but Guy was so uncongenial to her that his 
 presence could not be said to add to her 
 happiness. 
 
 " Eh, well," she said ; " I like a man that can 
 speak up to you, and has got some grit. I've 
 no opinion of limp characters."
 
 74 WAYNFLETE, 
 
 "Things generally settle themselves if a fellow 
 looks them in the face," said Godfrey, cheerfully. 
 
 " Ay, but they don't always settle themselves 
 to our liking. I'd like, maybe, to look myself 
 back into a young woman ; but I'm in my 
 eighty-two, and there's no help for it." 
 
 " Eh, what, auntie ? You're as young as the 
 best of us/' said Godfrey, warmly." 
 
 " Why, I've no cause of complaint. The 
 Lord's given me a long life, and I've kept my 
 health and my faculties through it all. But, 
 all the same, I'm an aged woman, and I might 
 be struck down any day. So I've asked Susan 
 Joshua, my cousin Joshua Palmer's widow, to 
 come here and make her home for a time, and 
 bring Sarah Jane with her. She was poorly 
 left, poor thing ; and then, if I should have a 
 stroke, there'll be some one to look after the 
 maids, and make you lads comfortable." 
 
 Godfrey was much taken aback, but before 
 he could interpose, she went on— 
 
 " And I've another reason for sending for her,
 
 GOOD COMRADES. 75 
 
 Godfrey. I've made up my mind to spend some 
 time at Waynflete before I die. So she can 
 attend to the house here while I'm absent." 
 
 " At Waynflete, auntie ? But it's not in any 
 sort of order. Have you ever seen it ? 
 
 " Once, my lad, once," said the old lad}^ face 
 and voice softening. " I made your good uncle 
 take me there for a honeymoon trip, and I said 
 to him, as we stood on the bridge, and looked 
 up and down the bonnie valley, ' Eh, Mr. 
 Thomas, ye'll be wanting a bit of land, as the 
 money comes in to ye. Ye wedded me with 
 my shawl over my head, but ye might be 
 Waynflete of Waynflete yet, if ye liked to try.' 
 And he said, ' Margaret, if I can give ye your 
 will, my lass, ye shall have it.' So 1 educated 
 myself for this, and I kept his house well, and 
 was as saving as was fitting for him and me. 
 But there, Mr. Thomas never owned but Upper 
 Flete Farm before the Lord took him, and it 
 was a lonesome thing for an old woman like 
 me to set up in a fine house alone ; besides that,
 
 76 WAYNFLETE. 
 
 I had the mill to attend to. But now, it's time 
 I took my place before I die. Guy can go and 
 see what's wanting." 
 
 " Let me go, auntie. Guy does not care about 
 Waynflete," said Godfrey, thoughtlessly. 
 
 " Eh ? " said his aunt. But here a rapturous 
 bark from Rawdon Crawley, who had been 
 penitently licking the blacking off his master's 
 boots, directed attention to Guy's figure at the 
 house door. 
 
 He had had a long, hot journey from London, 
 and now threw himself into a garden-chair, 
 exclaiming with delight at the coolness and 
 shade. 
 
 " So you've seen the Miss Vyners again ? " 
 said Godfrey, referring to a note previously 
 received from his brother. 
 
 " Yes ; they and two of Staunton's sisters 
 are coming down to Moorhead for a reading- 
 part}^ in their vacation." 
 
 " A reading party," said Mrs. Waynflete. 
 " Young ladies ? "
 
 GOOD COMRADES. 77 
 
 " That's all quite correct, auntie," said God- 
 frey. " Girls go to college nowadays, and of 
 course they must read for their exams. They 
 do, generally." 
 
 "Eh, well," said the old lady. "I see no 
 reason against it. I never doubted that a 
 woman's brains were as good as a man's. I 
 could have taken a degree myself, I'll ask 
 Constance Palmer to bring them here before 
 we go to Waynflete. They can pursue their 
 studies afterwards." 
 
 " Waynflete ? " said Guy, with a start. 
 
 "Yes. I've been telling your brother" — 
 here she recapitulated her two proposals. " I'll 
 get you to go over, and see if the place is in 
 order." 
 
 " Oh yes, Aunt Margaret, if you wish ; but 
 I've been some time away from the mill, and 
 there are one or two matters " 
 
 " I hope you've brought back no new-fangled 
 notions from town," interrupted the old lady, 
 sharply.
 
 78 WATNFLETE. 
 
 " Well, I've acquired a few ideas in conversa- 
 tion," said Guy, slowly. " John Cooper, no 
 doubt, will show me the fallacy of them." 
 
 " You'll have to live a long time before you're 
 wiser than John Cooper. Tea ? " as the servant 
 appeared with some for which Guy had asked 
 as he came through the house. " I never take 
 tea between meals myself." 
 
 '* It's new-fangled," said Guy, meekly, " or 
 ivas once." 
 
 " Eh, Godfrey," said Mrs. Waynflete, " there's 
 a plant broken in the ribbon border. That's 
 Crawley, I'll be bound. He needs a whipping." 
 But her tone, as she walked over to the border, 
 had lost all its asperity. Godfrey and his dog 
 were privileged offenders. 
 
 "Going to Waynflete is a jolly idea," said 
 Godfrey ; " but Cousin Susan and Sarah Jane 
 will be confounded bores, if they're to stay here 
 for good." 
 
 " They will so," said Guy. " As for Wayn- 
 flete, it's a great move for my aunt at her age."
 
 GOOD COMRADES. 79 
 
 '' Oh, she's up to anything. I say, do you 
 remember waking me up because you had the 
 nightmare. You ate too many raspberries with 
 those jolly girls in the old fruit-garden. That 
 story would be a fortune to the fellows who 
 go in for spooks. Do you ever see ghosts 
 now ? " 
 
 " If I do, I shall not come to you for protec- 
 tion. You threw too much cold water on that 
 early effort of my subliminal self to rise into 
 consciousness." 
 
 " I say, I don't go in for that jargon. Give 
 me a good square ghost with a sheet and a 
 turnip, not all that psychical rot." 
 
 " If ever you do see a ghost, my boy, it will 
 certainly be a sheet and a turnip, and by George, 
 how it'll frighten you 1 " 
 
 Godfrey was boy enough to rise to this bait ; 
 though he did not like his brother very much 
 nor get on very smoothly with him, his growls 
 were not much more serious than those of 
 Rawdie at the end of a stick. He was too
 
 80 WAYNFLETE. 
 
 prosperous to be discontented with his sur- 
 roundings. 
 
 When Constancy came down with her aunt 
 to the Mill House — Florella had a previous 
 engagement, and did not accept the invitation — 
 she found plenty of contrasts to study, and she 
 studied each with equal zest. 
 
 She was never tired and never bored, she was 
 ready to play tennis from four till eight, and 
 then, after supper, as was customar}^ at Ingleby 
 parties, to dance from nine to twelve. She 
 waltzed with Godfrey as untiringly as if all 
 her brains were in her feet. She made him 
 coach her up in all the ways of grouse shooting, 
 and then she roused him to fury, by wondering 
 how long the barbaric desire to kill something 
 would survive in the English gentleman. She 
 made much of Rawdie, till a certain proverb 
 occurred frequently to the mind of his master. 
 But she also went over the mills with Guy, and 
 learned how to tell good wool from bad, and 
 what w^ere the processes of conversion into
 
 GOOD COMRADES. 81 
 
 broadcloth and tweed. She picked his brains 
 about her own special subjects, or his. She had 
 been writing an article on English musical 
 instruments, she had worked it all up from 
 books, but there was a bit about music itself. 
 
 " What it does for humanity," she said ; " as 
 it does nothing for me, I have to guess it all. 
 You are musical, have I got it right ? I don't 
 have these experiences, you know. There are 
 such a splendid lot of things to do and to 
 think of, I can't tell how people have time for 
 feelings." 
 
 Guy was apparently as willing to discuss 
 music as Godfrey to defend the game laws, 
 and it was impossible to say whether Constancy 
 preferred his languid, satirical courtesy and soft, 
 preoccupied eyes, or Godfrey's overflowing 
 vitality, and look as of a vigorous young 
 Viking, with his exaggeration of the high, 
 marked family features, and of the family fair- 
 ness, so that his old school nickname of 
 "Towhead" was still extremely appropriate, 
 
 VOL. I. Q
 
 82 WAYNFLETE, 
 
 The rosy, round-faced Sarah Jane, who desired 
 to be called Jeanie, and blushed whenever Guy 
 or Godfrey spoke to her, and was always 
 wondering how familiar she ought to be with 
 so-called cousins, looked on in amaze. When 
 Constancy called Godfrey a Philistine, Jeanie 
 tliought that a flippant allusion was being made 
 to Scripture characters, and when she talked of 
 writing an article, as simply as of making a pin- 
 cushion, the allusion appeared as a social faux 
 pas to Jeanie's idea of propriety. If Constancy 
 was so unlucky as to possess an unpopular taste, 
 she had better have said nothing about it. But 
 the young men did not appear to be repelled, 
 and were both of them on most friendly terms 
 with the visitor, while they regulated their 
 conduct to Jeanie with a propriety and skill 
 which any chaperon might have envied. They 
 were aware of a crowded background of Palmer 
 aunts and cousins, and, though they did not 
 think it becoming to make objections to her 
 introduction to the family, they were agreed on
 
 OOOD COMB ABES. 83 
 
 the point of their relations towards her. Jeanie 
 was a good little girl ; but she knew quite well 
 which " cousin's " attention to Constancy meant 
 as she called it, " something particular ; " she 
 knew quite well which of the two was the most 
 interesting to herself. 
 
 But Constancy took the young men much for 
 granted. She was more struck with Mrs. Wayn- 
 flete than with either of them. 
 
 Cousin Susan Joshua — it was the custom in 
 the Palmer family to call the wives by their 
 Christian names attached to those of their 
 husbands — limited her intercourse with "Aunt 
 Waynflete," to receiving her commands; ''Con- 
 stance John," as she submitted to be called with 
 a shrug, to sympathetic and polite commonplaces, 
 Jeanie was far too much afraid of her hostess 
 to say anything but, "Yes, aunt," and "Very 
 well, aunt ; " but Constancy talked and listened 
 by the hour together. Her imagination was 
 caught by the stately, flaxen-haired old woman 
 whose strong personality was impressed on every
 
 84 WAYNFLETE. 
 
 detail of the life around her, whose household 
 must breakfast at eight, and go to bed at ten, 
 go to church on Sunday afternoon, and stay at 
 home on Sunday evening, as by the law of the 
 Medes and Persians. She heard, more than any 
 one else had ever done, of old Margaret's early 
 struggles, of her strong purpose, and of how the 
 only birthright of which she had been actively 
 conscious had been won at last, since of that she 
 was more than worth}^ Constancy noted keenly 
 how impatient she was of any change in the 
 methods of her prime ; she saw plainly how Guy's 
 indifferent manner irritated her, and how God- 
 frey was the kind of youth that pleased her. 
 It was to Constancy's credit that she could 
 bridge over sixty years, and see a point of view 
 so alien to her young modern spirit ; and Mrs. 
 Waynflete was flattered by her preference 
 as age must be by the admiration of brilliant 
 youth. 
 
 Godfrey looked on delighted, and drew quite 
 false conclusions ; for, if Constancy loved Rawdie,
 
 GOOD COMRADES. 85 
 
 and admired Mrs. Waynflete, it was for their 
 own sakes and not for his. 
 
 The hour and the maiden had come for the 
 happy, prosperous youth. The vigorous inspiring 
 companionship filled him with delight, the roses 
 of that summer were redder and its sun warmer 
 than he had ever known. Love came upon him 
 with a rush of joyful hope, and, as was natural 
 to him, his passion became a purpose, which 
 he expected to fulfil. He would work hard for 
 a degree, for she would scout a failure. He 
 
 must win her ; but Guy He was furiously 
 
 jealous when Guy obtained a monograph on the 
 " Music of the Greeks," and presented it to 
 Miss Vyner, though it was given openly in the 
 family circle. Godfrey could not dare to give 
 her a bunch of the dark red dog roses of the 
 north country, which he had heard her admire. 
 
 He was " over head and ears in love," — no other 
 expression could express his condition — and when 
 she went to join her friends at Moorhead, and 
 her aunt tired, as she said in private, of making
 
 86 WAYNFLETE. 
 
 talk for Mrs. Joshua, betook herself to Harrogate, 
 only hopes of speedy meetings modified his 
 despair. 
 
 The girls' reading party must come over both 
 to Ingleby and to Waynflete, and Cousin Susan 
 and Jeanie would both want to see the spinster 
 housekeeping at Moorhead. 
 
 But before these visits took place, the situa- 
 tion, already strained, between Guy and his aunt 
 was intensified in an unexpected manner.
 
 ( 87 ) 
 
 CHAPTER Vir. 
 
 THE CUPBOARD IN THE WALL. 
 
 Guy had really returned from London with a 
 "new-fangled idea," or, rather, with plans for 
 carrying out one long entertained, and with 
 more courage than usual for putting it for- 
 ward. He liked the business, and had no lack 
 of ideas concerning it ; but during the two 
 years that he had been at work in the mill 
 his position there had become more and more 
 difficult. He could not feel himself a nobody, 
 and he knew what ought to be done ; but his 
 aunt had given him no place and no authority ; 
 to use the idiom of his county, " he had no say 
 in the work," and Mrs. Waynflete thouglit so 
 little of his powers or of his character that
 
 88 WATNFLETE. 
 
 she never received his suggestions with favour. 
 She distrusted him, and he knew it, and to 
 a certain extent he knew why. But he was 
 quite sure of his ground now, and as soon as 
 the visitors had departed, he proceeded to 
 unfold his mind. 
 
 He told her, with as much delicacy as he 
 could, but with something of her own tenacity, 
 that in his opinion the two faithful old 
 managers were hardly up to the requirements 
 of the day. He thought that more pains should 
 be taken to follow the changes of fashion, and 
 that besides producing broadcloth and plain 
 tweed, certain classes of fancy goods should be 
 undertaken. This would involve an outlay for 
 machinery suited for weaving patterns, and it 
 might also be necessary to engage an overseer 
 who could superintejid the production of this 
 class of goods ; some extension of the premises 
 might also be required. If his aunt disliked 
 the notion of alterations in the old mills, there 
 was a little mill near which had been worked
 
 THE CUPBOARD IN THE WALL. 89 
 
 in a small and unsuccessful way by a man 
 without sufficient capital to carry it on, who 
 would gladly let it to "Palmer Brothers," as 
 the Ingleby lirm was still called, from Mr. 
 Thomas's father and uncle. Guy adduced facts 
 and figures, and made it plain that he knew 
 what he was talking about ; and, in short, 
 showed more of the old lady's own faculty for 
 business than she had ever given him credit 
 for. 
 
 But one of the principles of Palmer Brothers 
 had always been that it was a risky and 
 unsound way of doing business to follow the 
 changes and chances of fashion. People would 
 always want broadcloth and tweed, but fancy 
 oroods mio^ht lie on hand, and fail to find a 
 market; and, in short, did not suit with Palmer's 
 way of doing business. 
 
 Old Mrs. Waynflete sat in her chair in what 
 was called the library at the Mill House, though 
 it contained very few books. She watched 
 the pale, slight youth before her with the most
 
 90 WAYNFLETE, 
 
 absolute want of respect for his personality, 
 with an innate distrust for his facts and 
 figures, and yet feeling with the first painful 
 pangs of old age that she could not entirely 
 grasp the argument. Guy was talking of con- 
 ditions unknown to her. Surely the day had 
 not come when she and her good old servants 
 were unable to judge what was the best for 
 the business. Surely this lad could not have 
 pointed out to her what she had failed to see 
 for herself. Surely he could not be in the 
 right. 
 
 " Is there any other matter you want to find 
 fault with ? " she said. '' I'd like to hear your 
 true opinion." 
 
 Guy hesitated a little ; but, quiet as he looked, 
 he had the obstinacy of his race, and he could 
 not resist giving his true opinion. 
 
 " Well," he said, " I don't think the mills are 
 as popular with the work-people as they were 
 once. There are modern ways of attending to 
 their health and their comfort, in which we're
 
 THE CUPBOARD IN THE WALL. 91 
 
 deficient. Ventilation, and so on. But a small 
 outlay would set all that to rights. One must 
 move with the times." 
 
 " So you think John Cooper and Jos Howarth 
 are past their work ? " 
 
 " Not exactly. I think Cooper s a good old 
 fellow. Howarth I'm not so sure of." 
 
 " You seem very sure of yourself, Guy. Late 
 hours and days away from business were not 
 the way to make a fortune in my time." 
 
 Guy flushed up. 
 
 " I should do my best," he said ; " and I 
 believe — I am sure — that I am not incapable of 
 carrying out these plans. And one thing more 
 I wish to say, Aunt Waynflete. After Christ- 
 mas, Godfrey will be coming in to the busi- 
 ness. As things are now, there is no scope for 
 both of us. With the scheme I propose, there 
 would be plenty to do — if you allow us to 
 do it." 
 
 "You need not to think that all the ideas 
 come first into your head, my lad. I have
 
 92 WAYNFLETE. 
 
 thought of that. There'll be an agent wanted 
 for Waynflete." 
 
 Now, this was a remark which it was nearly 
 impossible for Guy to answer. He was the 
 natural heir of Waynflete, but Waynflete was 
 in the old lady's own power, and she had never 
 dropped a word as to her intentions regarding 
 it. He could not assume that Waynflete con- 
 cerned him rather than Godfrey; and yet, if 
 it did not, the whole principle of his aunt's life 
 would be falsified. Besides, the idea was most 
 distasteful to him. He said hurriedly and un- 
 wisely — 
 
 " Waynflete is hardly enough of a place to 
 occupy a man's whole time, in any case." 
 
 " Well," said Mrs. Waynflete, " you have said 
 your say, and I'll consider my answer. But 
 I've known the business forty years before you 
 were born, my lad, after all." 
 
 It was the way of the Waynfletes to hide 
 their real selves from each other as carefully 
 as if each one had been plotting treason.
 
 THE CUPBOARD IN THE WALL. 93 
 
 They erected quickset hedges round their hearts 
 and souls, as if to be misunderstood was need- 
 ful to their self-respect. Guy said no more, 
 and withdrew, and he never spoke a word to 
 Godfrey of what had passed between his 
 aunt and himself. 
 
 The next day, just before luncheon, Jeanie 
 was gathering flowers on the lawn, when a door 
 in the wall that led to the mills opened, and 
 Guy dashed in, with so white and wild a look, 
 and a step at once so hurried and so faltering, 
 that she ran up to him, exclaiming — 
 
 " Guy ! Are you ill ? What is the matter ? " 
 Guy looked at her, as she said afterwards, as 
 if he did not see her, and hurried in and upstairs 
 without a word, and as she followed, scared and 
 puzzled, she heard him shut and lock his bed- 
 room door behind him. Turning away in dis- 
 tress and alarm, she met Godfrey strolling along 
 in the sunshine, with Rawdie at his heels, and 
 a book under his arm, a picture of idle holiday 
 enjoyment.
 
 94 WAYNFLETE. 
 
 " Oh," he said, in answer to her appeal, '' Guy 
 is like that if he has a headache. He likes to 
 be let alone ; he never wants anything." 
 
 Jeanie still looked doubtful. 
 
 " People don't generally look so with a head- 
 ache," she said. " Does he often have such bad 
 ones ? " 
 
 " No," said Godfrey ; " only once in a way. 
 He'll be all right in an hour or two. Let him 
 alone." 
 
 Jeanie thought it a very odd headache ; but 
 no more was said, though, from Mrs. Waynflete's 
 face when Guy did not appear at luncheon, it 
 might have been argued that his sudden illness 
 told against his plans. 
 
 She put on her bonnet, and took her way 
 down to the mill with a step that was still 
 firm, though slower than of old, and asked for 
 John Cooper. She was no unusual visitor, and 
 had never let her hold of the business drop ; 
 and as she sat down in the little office, and 
 cast her still keen blue eyes round her, it was
 
 THE CUPBOARD IN THE WALL. 95 
 
 more than ever difficult to believe, more than 
 ever distasteful to feel, that her day was almost 
 done. The two old men who had long managed 
 the business, though some years younger than 
 herself, now seemed like contemporaries. She 
 had worked under their fathers in her girl- 
 hood, she had seen them rise in office under her 
 husband, she had now worked with them for 
 many years, and with them she felt at one. 
 
 Partly from this, and partly, perhaps, from 
 the incautiousness of old age, before many 
 minutes had passed, she had made John Cooper 
 aware, both of Guy's plans and of his strictures. 
 It was so natural to discuss the crude ideas of 
 the youth with her experienced old friend. 
 
 John Cooper was very much taken by sur- 
 prise. The reticent and cautious Guy had 
 never betrayed how carefully he had been 
 " takin' notes." Had this lad really put his 
 finger on the weak places ? John Cooper was 
 much too careful to commit himself to a direct 
 contradiction.
 
 96 WAYNFLETE. 
 
 " Well, Mrs. Waynflete," he said ; " Mr. Guy 
 is young, and young folks like to have some- 
 thing to show for their opinions. But, there's 
 been many new fashions since you and I began 
 to work the business. The old master never 
 held with following the fashion." 
 
 " You can be making changes every year if 
 you do." 
 
 " So you can do, Mrs. Waynflete ; so you can. 
 Eh, but I've seen changes." 
 
 " Mr. Guy has a notion of business, too," said 
 the old lady. 
 
 "Did ye see Mr. Guy when he came home, 
 ma'am ? " said John Cooper, suddenly. 
 
 " No ; he had a bit of headache, and went to 
 his room. Young men aren't as tough as they 
 used to be." 
 
 There was a silence. The old man watched 
 the lady over the writing-table between them. 
 He, too, was a vigorous old grey -head, with a 
 hard mouth and keen eyes wrinkled up close. 
 The little room was full of bills and letters and
 
 TEE CUPBOARD IN THE WALL. 97 
 
 safes. A stray ray of afternoon sun shot 
 through the small-paned window, and showed 
 the dusty air and the dusty floor, and the well- 
 arranged contents of the dusty shelves. 
 
 John Cooper crossed the little room, and 
 stood in the streak of sunshine. It shone upon 
 his well-known grey hair, on his shrewd, 
 weather-beaten face, and glittered on a small 
 key left in a little oak cupboard in the wall. 
 John Cooper opened the cupboard, and the sun 
 shot in and sparkled with sudden brilliant 
 reflections on something inside. 
 
 " Eh, what have you there ? " said Mrs. 
 Waynflete. 
 
 John Cooper took out a tall brandy -bottle, 
 nearly empty, and a glass still containing some 
 drops of spirit, and set them on the table. 
 
 " Mr. Guy left the key by mistake," he 
 said. 
 
 " John Cooper ! What do you mean ? " 
 
 No asseveration could have added to the 
 abrupt force of the intonation, as Mrs. Wayn- 
 
 VOL. I. H
 
 98 WAYNFLETE. 
 
 flete sat upright, grasping the arms of her 
 wooden chair, and looking straight at the 
 manager. 
 
 " Mr. Guy keeps that cupboard close locked. 
 But to-day he left it swinging open, when he 
 went home — with a headache." 
 
 "Did ye see him go ? " 
 
 " I came in at the door here, Mrs. Waynflete, 
 and Mr. Guy staggered past me, and never saw 
 me. He went stumbling out and up the lane. 
 Hurrying and reeling as he went — as once and 
 aorain I've seen him before." 
 
 Mrs. Waynflete's brown old face grew a shade 
 paler, she still held by the arms of the chair, 
 as she rapidly weighed what had been said. 
 
 It seemed to her that the fact of the young 
 mans possessing a bottle of spirits was as 
 nothing compared with the secrecy with which 
 he had concealed it. Nor would he be the first 
 in the house of Waynflete to fall a victim to 
 such a temptation. 
 
 On the one hand, Mrs. Waynflete had seen
 
 THE CUPBOARD IN THE WALL. 99 
 
 it in her father, and feared it for her brother ; 
 on the other, there was nothing in Guy's look 
 or ways to suggest it, save the occasional 
 attacks of illness, as to which he was always 
 mysterious and secretive. 
 
 " Lock up the cupboard," she said, " and give 
 me the key. And yell not say a word of this 
 matter." 
 
 " Nay, not to Joshua Hov/arth, nor to young 
 Jos, nor to my own John Henry. It's no 
 matter for talking of" 
 
 Mrs. Waynflete put the key in her pocket, 
 rose, and standing at her full height, said — 
 
 "Good day to you," and walked away with 
 firm, unfaltering step, across the paved entrance, 
 up the bit of lane that led to the garden wall. 
 She went in through the gate and across the 
 garden, and upstairs to Guy's room, at which 
 she knocked sharply. 
 
 " Guy, I wish to come in." 
 
 The door was unfastened, and Guy stood 
 there in great surprise.
 
 100 WAYNFLETE. 
 
 "Aunt Margaret!" he said. "What is it? 
 I am much better. I am coming down for some 
 tea." 
 
 Mrs. Waynflete put him aside with her hand, 
 entered the room, and shut the door. 
 
 It was a large, comfortable room, with a 
 bookcase and a good supply of books, a writing- 
 table, a sofa and an armchair, besides the little 
 iron bed in the corner, and it was brilliantly 
 light, for there was not a curtain or a hanging 
 of any sort in the room. Such was Guy's taste. 
 He looked pale still, but quite himself, and 
 there was nothing peculiar in his manner, as 
 he repeated — 
 
 " What is it, Aunt Margaret ? " 
 
 " This," said his aunt, as she sat down in 
 the armchair, and held out the key. 
 
 " What is it that you mean ? " said Guy, 
 with a sudden look of being on his guard, and 
 much in the tone of her own question to John 
 Cooper. 
 
 "You left your cupboard open, Guy, and
 
 THE CUPBOAliD IN THE WALL. 101 
 
 John Cooper, very properly, locked it up, and 
 gave me the key. What should a lad of your 
 age do with a bottle of brandy ? " 
 
 "Confound John Cooper's meddling imperti- 
 nence ! " said Guy, passionately. " It is nothing 
 to him or to any one what I choose to keep 
 there." 
 
 "That depends upon the use you make 
 of it." 
 
 " Has John Cooper been setting it about that 
 I've been drinking ? " said Guy, with an 
 angry laugh. " Is that — is that what it looks 
 like ? " 
 
 He caught himself up with a start, and 
 turning away to the window, stood staring out 
 of it, while his aunt said — 
 
 " It's a matter I'll have cleared up, Guy, 
 before I answer all your questions of this 
 morning. I've known many young fellows take 
 a drop too much in company. That wasn't 
 thought so much of when I was young. But 
 it's different nowadays ; and what that bottle of
 
 102 WATNFLETE. 
 
 brandy means, if it means anything at all, is a 
 very different matter again." 
 
 Whether Guy was struggling with temper or 
 embarrassment, or whether he really did not 
 know what to say, he was silent for some time. 
 At last he turned round, and said ungraciously — 
 
 " On my word and honour, I don't drink. I 
 have never been drunk in my life — yet." 
 
 " Then what does this mean ? " still holding 
 out the key. 
 
 " Sometimes— very seldom — I get faint or 
 dizzy — with a headache — I hate a fuss, and 
 I can set myself right with a little brandy." 
 
 There was something in the extreme reluc- 
 tance with which the answer was given that 
 justified suspicion. 
 
 "You ought to see a doctor, if that is so," 
 said Mrs. Waynflete, with much reason ; " and 
 when I hear what he saj^s, I'll think of what 
 you say." 
 
 " As you please, Aunt Margaret," said Guy. 
 " If my word is not to be taken, I don't
 
 THE CUPBOABD IN TEE WALL. 103 
 
 care in the least to be cleared by another 
 person's." 
 
 " You ought to care how your character stands 
 in my eyes/' said Mrs. Waynflete. " Take back 
 your key. I shall judge for myself." 
 
 She looked keenly at the young man standing 
 in the sunlight. It was obvious that now, at 
 any rate, he was fully master of himself, and 
 Mrs. Waynflete had lived too much with men, 
 and knew their ways too well, not to perceive 
 that there was nothing in his look to substantiate 
 the charge against him. 
 
 Suddenly he looked round at her, in a 
 curious, furtive v/ay — a look v/hich he with- 
 drew at once as she met it, but which startled 
 her. She had caught the glance of fear and 
 suspicion. 
 
 "Time will show," she said, as she left the 
 room. "But I'll have it all made clear to me, 
 before I trust matters in your hands." 
 
 When left alone, Guy hastily locked his door 
 again, then flung himself down on the sofa,
 
 J 04 WAYNFLETE. 
 
 ''Oh, I am a fool, a fool ! " he cried to himself. 
 '' God knows what will become of me ! " 
 
 He turned his face downwards with a o-esture 
 of despair. There was no one to help him, and 
 he could not help himself.
 
 ( 105 ) 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 THE SKELETON IN THE CUPBOARD. 
 
 After a few moments Guy recalled himself from 
 bis despair, and, turning his face to the light of 
 the open window, began, with what courage he 
 might, to consider the situation. A shameful 
 charge had been brought against him, and an 
 untrue one, and yet the truth was so in- 
 expressibly galling to him that he could hardly 
 bring himself to contradict the falsehood. 
 
 Drinking, especially in secret, was a degrading 
 vice ; but, however sinful, it was natural, being 
 shared by thousands of poor miserable fellows. 
 But the secret curse of Guy's life was, he 
 thought, peculiar to himself, alien from and 
 repugnant to happier folk. It was worse than
 
 106 WAYNFLETE, 
 
 wicked, it was abnormal. He himself would 
 have pitied, but he would not have liked, 
 certainly not have respected, another man 
 
 who Even to himself he would not think 
 
 the fact in quotable words. That he could and 
 did bear his hard fate in secret was all that 
 preserved for him a shadow of self-respect. 
 
 A crisis had now, however, come, and his 
 instinctive decisions must be reconsidered. He 
 got up, and, unlocking his desk, took from its 
 most secret corner a little pen-and-ink drawing, 
 and, laying it on the table, sat down, and leaning 
 on his elbows, looked it full in the face. For it 
 was a face " written down," as he had phrased 
 it to Florella Vyner, — a face almost identical 
 with his own, and with the picture of his un- 
 happy namesake, but neither framed by the 
 close-cut hair of the present day nor by the 
 powdered peruke of the Guy who was too late, 
 but set in wild, fair locks that hung loosely 
 round it, while, through the misery of the large, 
 mournful eyes, there was a look of malice, fitting
 
 TEE SKELETON IN THE CUPBOARD. 107 
 
 the Guy Waynflete who had betrayed his friend, 
 and whose apparition had, by tradition, caused 
 the second Guy to die disgraced and ruined. 
 The present Guy sat and gazed at it, till the 
 likeness grew in his own face, and he tried to 
 force his trembling lips into the contemptuous 
 smile which he felt himself to deserve. Once, 
 as he believed, he had seen this fatal face with 
 his bodily eyes, and since then the fear of it, 
 the sense of its unseen presence, the influence 
 of it, was enough to shake his manhood and 
 shatter his nerves, was altogether irresistible to 
 him. He never knew when he might wake from 
 sleep with this awful dread upon him. Never 
 had he been able to stand up against it. 
 
 The code of the British schoolboy, backed 
 by the reserve of proud and canny Yorkshire, 
 is not calculated to deal with an abnormal strain 
 on a delicate nervous system. 
 
 When Guy first "saw the ghost," if it may 
 be so phrased, at Waynflete, he had felt its 
 effect upon him simply as a disgrace ; and.
 
 108 WATNFLETE. 
 
 though he knew somewhat better now, his 
 instincts had never allowed him to treat it 
 otherwise. A reasonable man might have con- 
 sulted a doctor^ and found out how to deal 
 with his own nerves ; but down below all Guy's 
 opinions on the subject, all the explanations 
 which he gave himself, there was an awful 
 conviction of the personality and reality of 
 this thing, which seemed half his double and 
 half his evil genius ; and what could any doctor 
 do for that ? — while he entertained the most 
 utter disbelief in the genuineness of all modern 
 scientific inquiries into such matters. What ! 
 analyze this frightful thing for other people's 
 benefit ? — have his experiences printed ? — be re- 
 garded as a person possessing an enviable 
 faculty denied to others ? No ; no one who 
 knew what "seeing a ghost" was like could 
 undergo such torture ! They were all humbugs. 
 While, as for religious help or consolation, Guy 
 feared spiritual impressions or spiritual efforts ; 
 and whether his trouble was the work of his
 
 THE SKELETON IN TEE CUPBOARD. 109 
 
 own fancy, a possession of the devil, or a reve- 
 lation from the unseen, it put him in a different 
 relation to all supernatural questions to that of 
 his fellows. He kept altogether apart from the 
 subject, never joined in religious discussions, 
 nor let himself speculate on religious questions. 
 He feared, also, all his finer impulses ; they 
 touched on the terrible and tender point. 
 
 As he was liable to nervous headaches on 
 other occasions than when the fear of a spiritual 
 presence overwhelmed him, he usually attributed 
 all disturbance that he could not conceal to 
 such a cause. Nobody troubled about a head- 
 ache. Fainting or palpitations might lead to 
 questions, and be supposed to be dangerous. 
 Of course all this was crude and young and 
 foolish in the extreme ; but it was instinctive 
 to a nature, one part of which was so antago- 
 nistic to the other. It never could have con- 
 tinued if he had belonged to people of ordinary 
 insight or experience ; but the spiritual terrors, 
 to which he was subject, were very uncertain
 
 liO WAYNFLETE. 
 
 in their recurrence, and, in fact, were usually 
 apt to come upon him at some crisis which 
 excited his nerves ; and, in his ordinary life at 
 college, he had suffered less from them than 
 at home, when, certainly, his grand-aunt and 
 his brother were not likely to suspect them. 
 
 But what was he to do now ? If he told, 
 if he could so far oppose his instincts, his aunt 
 would think him a liar, like the other Guy — or 
 mad ? That last might be. It was a view of 
 the matter which had not escaped him. As 
 for drinking, well, he might be driven to that 
 before the end. There were times when the 
 brandy was tempting. That was another an- 
 cestral ghost that might be more dreadful than 
 the first. 
 
 But he could not confute the charge, and, 
 besides — here a much simpler part of the 
 Waynflete nature came into play — he was not 
 going to notice such confounded insolence on 
 Cooper's part, or such suspicious mistrust on 
 that of his great-aunt.
 
 THE SKELETON IN THE CUPBOARD. Ill 
 
 He locked up the picture, and then, perceiving 
 that it was still only five o'clock, and that the 
 mill had not yet " loosed," he took up his hat 
 and went down there, walking in upon the 
 astonished John Cooper, with as cool a manner 
 as if nothing had passed. 
 
 " Step into my room, will you ? " he said. 
 " There are two or three letters that I left this 
 morning." 
 
 Then, as the old manager took up and turned 
 over the letters indicated, not knowing what 
 to say, and feeling his statements to Mrs. Wayn- 
 flete considerably invalidated by the young 
 gentleman's look and manner, Guy deliberately 
 unlocked the cupboard, took out the brandy- 
 bottle, and held it up to the light. 
 
 " Nearly empty," he said, in his soft, mocking 
 voice. " Here, Joe Cass," to the office boy, 
 "just run down to the Lion, and ask for a 
 bottle of the best French brandy — for me. 
 Bring it back with you." 
 
 " Lord ! sir ! " exclaimed Cooper, as the boy
 
 112 WA7NFLETE. 
 
 departed staring ; '* if you do want brandy, 
 you'd a deal better bring it down from the 
 house yourself, than send the boy on such 
 errands ! " 
 
 " Perhaps Mrs. Waynflete wouldn't give it to 
 me; and you see, I like to have it, to 'put 
 to my lips, when I feel so dispoged.' Take half 
 a glass of the remains of this ? No ? Then 
 I will. Now, as to that colonial contract " 
 
 Guy poured out the remainder of the brandy 
 and drank it off. He felt revived by it, and 
 went on with the details of the colonial contract 
 with the most accurate clearness, till the boy 
 came back, when he took the bottle, locked it 
 up, put the key in his pocket, and gave Joe 
 the old bottle to throw away, 
 
 " Well, Mr. Guy," said Cooper, desperately ; 
 " I ask your pardon if I mistook your condition ; 
 but I'd as soon see my own son with a locked- 
 up brandy-bottle as you — at your age. Eh, my 
 lad, it's a grand mistake ye're making." 
 
 " I shan't let the business go to the dogs in
 
 TEE SKELETON IN TEE CUPBOARD. 113 
 
 consequence, if I've ever a hand in it," said Guy, 
 but with more softness ; ** but just make up 
 
 your mind that I don't care a " Here Guy 
 
 used an expression which appeared to Cooper 
 almost as bad a breach of business propriety as 
 the brandy, and added with much bathos, "I 
 don't care a brass farthing what any one 
 thinks." 
 
 This act of schoolboy defiance was the refuge 
 of Guy's manhood, which had not learned a 
 better mode of self-assertion. His soft eyes had 
 a somewhat evil look as he watched his routed 
 enemy, and then went back to the house, where 
 he was unusually lively at dinner, and through 
 the evening. 
 
 But either the brandy or the excitement 
 revenged itself next day with a real headache, 
 so violent that he could not lift up his head, 
 and which left him pale and languid and with- 
 out spirits for any more defiance of consequences. 
 Moreover, Mrs. Waynflete decreed that he was 
 to go with her to Waynflete. 
 
 VOL. r. r
 
 114 WAYNFLETE. 
 
 Guy resented the proposal as an act of mis- 
 trust, and dreaded it from the bottom of his 
 soul. He resisted it, and offended his aunt 
 more bitterly than he had ever done before, 
 since he could only put forward indifference to 
 and contempt of Waynflete and its interests. 
 
 And after all, Howarth, the second managrer, 
 had a violent attack of gout, and Guy's presence 
 at Ingleby could hardly be dispensed with. So 
 he remained, in semi-disgrace, with Cousin 
 Susan Joshua to keep house for him. Jeanie 
 went up to Waynflete with the rest of the 
 party. 
 
 He had got no answer to his proposals, and 
 no definite authority for the mill. Neverthe- 
 less, he made his presence felt there, and people 
 began to feel that he was master.
 
 ( 115 ) 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 "GO BACK, MY LORD, ACROSS THE MOOR." 
 
 " Cousin Susan," said Guy, a few days after he 
 had been left behind at Ingleby, "I promised 
 Miss Vyner that she and her friends should see 
 the mills. If it suits you, I should like to ride 
 over to Moorhead, and ask them to come down 
 next Thursday, and have luncheon here. Then 
 I would take them round." 
 
 " Yes, my dear Guy ; yes, certainly. I think 
 it would be most proper, under the circum- 
 stances ; and with my being here, there can be 
 no objection. I'm glad you've given me the 
 hint, my dear Guy." 
 
 Guy thought his very straightforward request 
 had been something more than a hint. He had
 
 116 WAYNFLETE. 
 
 made it partly because he was extremely dull, 
 and wanted a little variety, and partly because 
 he did not choose to acquiesce in the idea that 
 he was out of favour. Most of Guy's actions at 
 this time were marked by a certain note of 
 defiance. 
 
 He set off on a fresh breezy afternoon, when 
 great clouds flung great shadows over the open 
 moor, and the dark green of the bilberry and 
 the pui*ple of the heather were in full glory of 
 contrast. He rode slowly uphill, over wide 
 roads with low grey walls on either side, behind 
 which grew oats and turnips, past strong-looking 
 stone villages, all white and grey and wind 
 swept, till the land grew poorer and more open, 
 and turf, mixed with furze and heather, began 
 to appear, and at length he turned over the top, 
 and came out upon the great rolling moors, here 
 clear and sunny, there veiled in the smoke and 
 fog of distant centres of human life. 
 
 As he drew near the end of his ride, he saw 
 a figure sitting on some rough ground by the
 
 ''GO BACK, MY LORD r' 117 
 
 roadside, and looking up and away at a broken 
 hillock of rock and heather, which, owing to the 
 falling away of the ground behind, was relieved 
 against the sky. 
 
 By the pose of her head and the lines of her 
 figure he at once recognized Florella Vyner, and 
 as he came near she saw him, and rising, 
 answered his greeting with a smile as he dis- 
 mounted beside her. 
 
 "I have ridden over," said Guy, "with a 
 message from Mrs. Joshua Palmer, to ask if 
 your sister still cares to show Ingleby Mills to 
 her friends. My aunt and my brother are at 
 Waynflete, but I have been left behind. And I 
 hope, too, that Moorhead is satisfactory ? " 
 
 " Oh yes," said Florella, " we are delighted 
 with it. It suits us quite. The others are all 
 very near by. Would you like to take your 
 horse to the farm, and then come and join us ? 
 You will see them a few steps further on." 
 
 " There's Bill Shipley," said Guy, looking up 
 the road. '' I'll ask him to take Stella."
 
 118 WAYNFLETE. 
 
 He came back after giving his horse to the 
 boy, with a brighter and sweeter look on his 
 face than it often wore. " May I look first at 
 the drawing ? What have you found out about 
 the moor flowers ? " 
 
 "Oh, they are so difficult — look at those 
 harebells on the top of the road, swinging about 
 in the wind — blue against blue. It is such 
 heavenly colour. But I can't paint them ! I 
 haven't begun to try. I'm seeing them ! " 
 
 "I see," said Guy. "Yes, the sky seems to 
 show through. But what do they say ? Your 
 pictures all say something. Are they moor 
 spirits ? " 
 
 "Well," she said, "I don't think I quite 
 know. But what I want to say is 'living 
 blue,' — you know the hymn ? — 
 
 ' Sweet fields beyond the swelling flood 
 All dressed in living green.* 
 
 That gives one such a feeling of spring." 
 
 '* Yes," said Guy, " things growing. And 
 ' living blue ' ? "
 
 ''00 BACK, MY LOBDr' 119 
 
 " Well," said Florella, looking up at the hare- 
 bells, "I think it must mean thoughts — spirit, 
 soul, growing and springing, perhaps. They are 
 so very ethereal ! " 
 
 Florella had much of Constancy's self-posses- 
 sion. In her it showed in a calm simplicity 
 of manner, absolutely without effort or con- 
 straint. Guy forgot himself also, for him a rare 
 pleasure. 
 
 " I see," he said, " I hope you'll get them 
 done." 
 
 "But they shine so," she said; "one can't 
 make them glisten. And the heather is very 
 difficult, too. But that I have tried." 
 
 She showed her sketch-book, containingr more 
 flower studies and a few landscapes. 
 
 "I should like to sketch," said Guy, as he 
 looked, and made a few comments. 
 
 " But you could, I think, because you can see. 
 And it is very interesting. It is impossible to 
 think of anything in the world but the thing 
 you are drawing. That is all I have. My
 
 120 WAYNFLETE. 
 
 sister and all of them are just behind the hare- 
 bell rock — shall we come ? " 
 
 Guy followed, and in a few minutes they 
 were looking down on a cheery group gathered 
 in a hollow of the ground — five skirts and hats 
 among the heather. One or two little puffs of 
 steam showed where the sophisticated " Etnas " 
 were boiling the w^ater, and in the midst 
 Constancy, in a red blouse and brown cap, was 
 evidently concluding an argument. 
 
 " Very likely we might like it as well as they 
 did, if we had the same opportunities." 
 
 " Cosy I you're a traitor. As if we want 
 young men to come and interrupt us, like those 
 dreadful girls in " 
 
 "Mr. Waynflete," said Florella, descending 
 upon the party. 
 
 Violet Staunton, who was the last speaker, 
 sank into the heather with a gasp, and a 
 sensation ran through the party. Constancy 
 stood up and held out her hand. 
 
 " Mr. Waynflete, we are abusing Miss Austen s
 
 "00 BACK, MY LORDr' 121 
 
 heroines for liking visitors. But, you know, we 
 promised to give you some tea." 
 
 Guy coloured and smiled. He felt a little 
 shy, but much as if he had stepped into a fairy- 
 ring. Away from his own people and his 
 perplexities, he was like another person, bright 
 and gay, and was soon giving his invitation, 
 and asking if Cuthbert Staunton had made his 
 holiday plans, or if he could come to Ingleby 
 for a bit, while he helped to hand round the 
 tea and the tea-cakes, for the merits of which 
 he had vouched in London. Thus, at his ease, 
 he had a gentle, friendly manner and a pleasant 
 face, as he dealt with the eccentricities of an 
 "Etna" which refused to boil. Florella felt as 
 if her short, childish intercourse with him had 
 been longer and more recent. 
 
 "There!" he said, in a low, half-shy voice, 
 as he glanced at Constancy, "I'm sure Mr. 
 Elton could not have made himself more 
 useful." 
 
 "It is humiliating," said Constancy; "but
 
 122 WA7NFLETE, 
 
 that ' Etna ' beat us ! Would it if we had the 
 franchise ? " 
 
 Constancy did most of the talking. Florella 
 sat silent and looked, as she mostly did, happy. 
 The other girls thought that Cosy need not 
 have made it so evident that she was amused 
 by the intruding visitor. Presently a trap was 
 seen comino^ alono; the rouo^h, narrow road. One 
 man only was in it, and as the sound of the 
 wheels attracted his attention, Guy looked up 
 and said, in a tone of surprise — 
 
 ''That's Godfrey!" 
 
 Another moment or two, and they saw the 
 dog-cart stop at the farm; the driver dis- 
 mounted, picked a long and hairy object off 
 the seat beside him, together with a large 
 basket, and came over the heather with long 
 striding steps. In a minute Godfrey and 
 Rawdon Crawley appeared at the top of the 
 hollow. 
 
 "My aunt has sent me," he began, but at 
 sight of Guy a cloud fell upon his handsome,
 
 "(?0 BACK, MY LOBDr' 123 
 
 joyous face, his air of happy expectation faded 
 entirely, and he paused in his speech. Con- 
 stancy again came to the rescue. She intro- 
 duced him all round, remarked with cool 
 amusement on the odd chance that had sent 
 both brothers to see them at once, and as 
 Godfrey refused her tea, offered it to Rawdie, 
 who had greeted first her and then Guy with 
 simple cordiality. Guy fell silent, and watched 
 his brother with slightly lifted brows, as if a 
 new idea had struck him. He was quite cool, 
 and not at all put out. 
 
 " Has Aunt Margaret asked the ladies to 
 Waynflete?" he said. 
 
 " Yes, on Tuesday. She thought the Miss 
 Vyners would like to see it again." 
 
 " Immensely," said Constancy. '' She promised 
 me to ask us." 
 
 Guy, still looking slightly amused, got up and 
 said that he had the longer ride, and must get 
 back, and would expect to see them all on 
 Thursday at Ingleby.
 
 124 WAYNFLETE. 
 
 "Tell my aunt I'll come over to Waynflete 
 on Tuesday by the first train in the morning," 
 he said as he made his farewells, and went to 
 get his horse. 
 
 Godfrey was desperate. He hated all the 
 other ladies who surrounded Cosy. He hated 
 Guy, who had, he thought, come with the same 
 object as himself He could hardly bring him- 
 self to refer to the basket which he had filled 
 that morning with all the fruits and flowers 
 which he had thought Constancy might recollect 
 seeing at Waynflete. When he did bring it 
 forward, he muttered, that his aunt had sent it, 
 which was not true. 
 
 Cosy dived into it. 
 
 " White raspberries ! " she exclaimed. *^ Now, 
 didn't they grow just by the gate into the 
 stables ? I hope that lovely garden is as untidy 
 as ever." 
 
 "It's worse, I think," said Godfrey, more 
 amiably ; " but there are plenty of raspberries 
 ready for you to pick."
 
 "QO BACK, MY LORD r' 125 
 
 " Delightful ! " said Cosy, and Godfrey's brows 
 smoothed till he looked as friendly as Rawdie. 
 
 Presently they all walked back to the house 
 together, and Constancy showed him the long, 
 low sitting-room, full of their books and writing- 
 materials. She took his visit to herself, and 
 entertained him in the most cheerful fashion. 
 But she expressed great pleasure at Guy's 
 invitation to Ingleby, and finally sent Godfrey 
 away when his cart was ready, with a perplexed 
 and appealing look in his grey eyes, and a 
 puzzled wrinkle on his brows, even while she 
 lifted Rawdie into the cart and kissed his nose 
 tenderly, telling him to look out for her on 
 Tuesday morning at Waynfiete. 
 
 "Constancy," cried Violet, ''you abominable 
 girl ! You behaved worse than any of the 
 Miss Bennets, or Emma Woodhouse either. 
 I'm sure those young men must have thought 
 you were delighted to see them." 
 
 "Well, I didn't mind them. I could not 
 summon the daughters of the plough and bind
 
 126 WAYNFLETE. 
 
 them in chains, could I ? You are all so narrow 
 minded." 
 
 " Narrow minded ? " 
 
 " Yes; you should take everything as it comes. 
 The Miss Bennets couldn't exist without morn- 
 ino- callers ; but if we can't stand half an hour 
 of them, we make them of equal importance. 
 And besides, you know, they represent a side 
 of life which exists. We must ignore nothing." 
 
 "It's a most contemptible side," said Violet. 
 " And besides, if Cuthbert knows, he will laugh 
 at us. I do want him to see we mean business." 
 
 " I mean business," said Cosy ; " if by business 
 you mean reading; but I like to study life 
 all round." 
 
 " Yes," said the elder Miss Staunton, "just as 
 you like to study opinions all round, and con- 
 sider smiling, views which, if they were true, 
 would send one out into a moral and spiritual 
 wilderness. You see the force of nothing." 
 
 "If so, there must be an awfully stupid piece 
 in me," said Constancy, as if rather struck.
 
 ''00 BACK, MY LORDr' 127 
 
 " But, after all, you know, whatever is true, the 
 world has got along somehow hitherto, and I 
 suppose it will continue to do so ; so why- 
 worry ? " 
 
 "Look here," said Florella, ''if we quarrel 
 over the young men, we shall be more like the 
 Miss Bennets than ever. We belong, you 
 know, a little to the Waynfletes through Aunt 
 Connie, and we knew them long ago. I am 
 going back to my harebells. Violet, will you 
 come f 
 
 A great many young women aspired to the 
 friendship of Constancy Vyner, and courted 
 her, as girls do court each other. Florella's 
 friends did not make her of so much importance ; 
 but they told her all their troubles.
 
 128 WAYNFLETE. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 " THE ONE MAID FOR ME." 
 
 When old Margaret Wayiiflete drove up to the 
 door of Waynflete Hall in the Rilston fly — for 
 the old stables were not calculated for the 
 accommodation of valuable horses — she never 
 thought of herself in a picturesque light, nor 
 felt, as Godfrey and even Jeanie in a measure 
 did, for her, that this was the moment for 
 which she had lived. 
 
 But she looked round her with the most 
 lively curiosity. When she sat down in the 
 low, crowded, old-fashioned drawing-room, she 
 did not admire it, nor feel comfortable as she 
 drank her cup of tea and looked about her. 
 She scolded Godfrey and Jeanie for expressing
 
 ''TEE ONE MAID FOR ME:' 129 
 
 anxiety as to the effect upon her of the 
 unwonted journey ; for she felt quite strong 
 and vigorous, even while she repeated to 
 herself that it was right for her to see 
 Waynflete before she died. And see it she did, 
 for she inspected the old house from attic to 
 cellar. She went over the gardens and out- 
 buildings, she Vad herself driven up and down 
 the steep sides of the Flete Valley and through 
 the shabby village, she attended service in the 
 picturesque old church, where a newly arrived 
 young vicar, himself aghast at the condition 
 of his church and parish, only struck her as 
 an unpleasing contrast to the old rector of 
 Ingleby. She liked none of it very much. 
 She was an old woman, and she could not take 
 to new surroundings. Ingleby was home. 
 Waynflete was for the next generation. All 
 the neighbourhood called upon her, and paid 
 attention to her and her nephew. 
 
 Godfrey was well aware that his position, as 
 apparent master of the house, was an awkward 
 
 VOL. I. K
 
 130 WAYNFLETE. 
 
 one. He would also have preferred Jeanie's 
 absence ; the new neighbourhood would draw 
 conclusions, which his downright old aunt 
 would never have anticipated. He meant, when 
 the visit of the Moorhead party was safely over, 
 to write to Guy and to offer to change places 
 with him ; but, when he found him at Moor- 
 head before him, inviting Constancy to Ingleby, 
 and proposing to come to Waynflete to meet 
 her, all other thoughts were swallowed up in 
 angry jealousy. All places were the same to 
 him where she was not, and he could only 
 think of keeping his chance of seeing her some 
 time without Guy's interference. Guy appeared 
 early on the appointed Tuesday. He could only, 
 he said, stay one night, as Staunton was coming 
 to him on the next day. 
 
 " As you kindly allowed me to ask him, Aunt 
 Margaret," he said, punctiliously. 
 
 " I've no objection to Mr. Staunton, you can 
 bring him over," said Mrs. Waynflete. But 
 whatever her own feelings as to the new home
 
 "TEE ONE MAID FOR ME:' 131 
 
 were, she watched keenly for Guy's impressions 
 of it. 
 
 He said no word to gratify her; but in that 
 perfect summer day, he, in his turn, noted every 
 detail. 
 
 The old house, with the deep and varied 
 tinting of its lichen-covered tiles and bushy 
 creepers, seemed to him, as he stood in the 
 garden, and looked at it intently, to be full of 
 character and individuality. 
 
 In his secret heart, he thought, as he had 
 thought before, that the place had a charm 
 altogether its own. How he should like its 
 quaintness and its beauty if it ever was his 
 
 own, and if Nay, how he did like it now, 
 
 and how oddly he felt himself to be a son 
 of its soil — to be, somehow, akin to it. Guy 
 was in all ways sensitive and impressionable, 
 open to the influences that surrounded him, to 
 every change of scene and atmosphere. He 
 wandered round the flower-beds, and looked 
 for the quaint " old " flowers of which Florella
 
 132 WAYNFLETE. 
 
 had spoken. Could he find any to show her ? 
 Yes ; there were columbines of odd, dull, artistic 
 tints, roses of sorts unheeded by the horti- 
 culturist, and sundry blossoms, somewhat be- 
 lated in the keen northern air, of which the 
 ignorant Guy knew nothing. 
 
 As he looked, Rawdon Crawley began to 
 bark; the sound of wheels was heard, and a 
 waggonette, full of straw hats and bright 
 dresses, drove up the rough ill-kept road that 
 led to the house. Guy, half smiling, held a 
 little back, as he saw his brother press forward 
 eagerly ; he was amused at the idea of Godfrey 
 in love, not having ceased to regard him as a 
 schoolboy. He was not in love himself; but 
 even for him, as he came forward, it was 
 Constancy who held the stage, looking hand- 
 some and happy, a concentration of life. 
 
 " I am perfectly convinced," she said, looking 
 round, after the greetings were over, " that this 
 place breathes out a story. It quite talks with 
 characteristicness ! "
 
 ''TEE ONE MAID FOB MEr 133 
 
 " I should like to think that you had to do 
 with the story of it," said Godfrey, feeling his 
 ears hot with the sense of self-committal. 
 
 Constancy looked at him, and at tha^t moment 
 there entered into her a particularly charming 
 and engaging little demon, who recommended 
 himself to her in a form which disguised his 
 old and well-known features, and made him 
 come out quite new. Godfrey was betraying 
 himself in every word and look ; but to Con- 
 stancy, whose even pulses had never yet beat 
 quicker for any emotion whatever, his boyish 
 passion did not present itself in a serious light. 
 She might study this side of life a little, it 
 would be amusing and instructive. It has 
 been amusing, ever since Cleopatra angled for 
 fishes. 
 
 The result of her study was that Godfrey 
 spent a day of chequered but tumultuous bliss, 
 and that the story of the old house mingled 
 itself inextricably with her own. 
 
 For Guy the hours passed so pleasantly that
 
 134 WAYNFLETE. 
 
 he forgot his dread of the coming night. Not 
 being in any way conscious, he asked Florella 
 to come and look for subjects among the flowers, 
 quite easily. And she came, remembering them 
 much better than he did, looking for old 
 favourites, and showing him which she had 
 formerly tried to paint. 
 
 " I cannot do the harebells," she said. '' I have 
 drawn them; but the colour and the light is 
 altogether impossible, and I have had to come 
 down to a little bunch in the rock — quite 
 earthly — but they just recall the others. 
 Perhaps some day, when I have practised a 
 great deal, I may be able to paint the heavenly 
 ones." 
 
 " You made me see them," said Guy. 
 
 " That's something, isn't it ? " she said. " But 
 that's why drawing is so good. It teaches one 
 to see." 
 
 There was plenty of general chatter, and the 
 whole party strolled about, ate fruit, and picked 
 flowers together.
 
 *'TEE ONE MAID FOR ME." 135 
 
 A tall fair young man was rather feebly- 
 sweeping the garden path. He touched his 
 cap as the party passed him, and said, in a 
 cracked, but cordial voice, " There's rasps down 
 yonder, sir, for t'yoong leddies." 
 
 Guy recognized him, with a start of distaste, 
 as the "soft" lad he had seen in the church- 
 yard. 
 
 " Thank you, Jem," said Godfrey, " well look 
 for them. This way, isn't it, Jeanie ? " 
 
 Jeanie was very shy, and very much afraid 
 of these " clever girls ; " she secretly disliked the 
 thought of them. But it was pleasing to find 
 how open they were to raspberries and Morella 
 cherries, and, in the afternoon she felt a pride 
 in showing them over the house, and pointing 
 out the pictures and other curiosities. 
 
 Guy avoided this part of the entertainment, 
 on the excuse of making arrangements about 
 the time of return, and as he came back from 
 interviewing the driver of the waggonette, he 
 found that Florella was in the garden, sketching
 
 136 WATNFLETE. 
 
 a bit of snap-dragon on the top of the low wall 
 that divided it from the fruit garden. Guy 
 made for her pretty blue dress, which reminded 
 him of her blue harebells. 
 
 "Do you like the flowers better than the 
 house ? " he said. 
 
 '' I did not much want to go over the house/ 
 she answered ; " and if you please, Mr. Waynflete, 
 I think I should like to tell you why." 
 
 " Why, have you any reason ? " said Guy, 
 startled. 
 
 " Yes," she answered. '' Of course it is a very 
 silly thing, and my sister never thought of it but 
 as the merest joke ; but I have always felt it 
 was more wrong than we knew. When we 
 were here, we used to hide and make odd noises, 
 to see whether we could make people think it 
 was the ghost." 
 
 " What ? " exclaimed Guy. " What did you 
 do ? " 
 
 " Why — nothing very much," said Florella, 
 " after all. But we rustled about when we
 
 ''TEE ONE MAID FOR ME:' 137 
 
 thought the maids would hear us, and stamped 
 along the passages to make footsteps, and hid 
 when any one was coming, and Constancy 
 pretended to sob and cry, and then we watched 
 to see how people would take it ; we never 
 dressed up, you know, it was only noises. Of 
 course there was a notion that there were noises, 
 or no one would have noticed/' 
 
 " And didn't — did no one find you out ? " 
 " No. I don't think that really we frightened 
 any one very much. Of course, I always knew 
 it was naughty, and that Aunt Connie would 
 be angry if she knew. But, as we went on 
 doing it, I got to have a feeling of what it would 
 have been like if it had been true ; perhaps I 
 frightened myself, for we didn't make all the 
 noises that we heard. And I don't know, Cosy 
 did it quite simply ; but I got to feel as if there 
 was something profane in playing tricks with 
 things one could not understand, and it has 
 always been on my conscience. So, as you were 
 here when we did it, and as you belong to the
 
 138 WAYNFLETE. 
 
 place, I thought I would confess, for really I 
 have always felt it more wrong than many 
 things I've been punished for." 
 
 ''Why do you think that?" said Guy, 
 quickly. 
 
 " Why, I suppose taking false and silly views 
 of great subjects is one of the chief things that 
 prevent people from being really good. Then 
 you can't see." 
 
 "If you don't mind," said Guy, "will you 
 come with me and look at that picture ? " 
 
 He could hardly tell what prompted the 
 request; but he felt that he could better 
 bear the sight of the picture with her than 
 alone. 
 
 Florella agreed, though a little surprised, and 
 they followed the rest of the party into the 
 house and upstairs. They heard their voices as 
 they made the round, but the little octagon room 
 was empty. 
 
 " Look at him," said Guy, " and tell me jwst 
 what you see in his face. Yes," as she glanced
 
 "TEE ONE MAID FOR MEV 139 
 
 at him, " I know 'he is like me. Bufc if you 
 were drawing that face — like a flower — what 
 should you try to show ? " 
 
 " He looks very unhappy," said Florella. " He 
 wanted some one to help him." 
 
 " He had no one. He was a victim to himself 
 or his fate. Don't you think he looks rather a 
 despicable fellow ? " 
 
 " No ; but he looks as if he did so need to be 
 helped. Yes ; he does look like a person who 
 might fail in a desperate crisis." 
 
 '' As he did," said Guy. " A man with that 
 face must, you know. Isn't that what you 
 see?" 
 
 "I suppose," said Florella, suddenly and 
 simply, "that if he had really realized the 
 presence of God, he could have borne — even 
 the ghost." 
 
 " Why ? " said Guy, abruptly. 
 
 " It would be a spiritual power, great enough 
 to conquer the spiritual fear," she answered. 
 
 " I wish I could have masses said for his soul,"
 
 140 WATNFLETE. 
 
 said Guy. "If we were Roman Catholics, I'd 
 ask you to pray for him." 
 
 " Well, I will/' she answered. *' He is living, 
 somewhere, and I am sure it is right to pray for 
 him." 
 
 "Thank you," said Guy, earnestly. 
 
 There was a call, and they hurried away to 
 join the others. They had forgotten both them- 
 selves and each other. It was only afterwards 
 that Florella realized that she had said unusual 
 things, or Guy that he had heard them. But 
 strange to each other they never could be again. 
 
 Constancy and Godfrey had thought of each 
 other, and of the effect they were producing on 
 each other, all day long. Nevertheless, they 
 p^trted as " Strangers yet,"
 
 ( i^i ) 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 "STRIVING FOR DEAR EXISTENCE." 
 
 In the soft interrupted stillness of the summer 
 night Godfrey Waynflete leant out of his 
 window, and lived over again the hours of the 
 day. The country stillness was constantly 
 broken by the whirr of a bat, the twitter of a 
 disturbed sparrow, or by the homely sounds of 
 cattle and poultry in the farm and fields close 
 by. But Godfrey neither heard nor heeded. 
 He was deaf to the sounds within the house, 
 the occasional strain and creak of the old boards 
 and panels, the patter of rats and mice, which 
 constantly disturbed the slumbers of Rawdie, 
 who slept on a mat in his master's room. His 
 blood was all on fire; sleep was impossible to
 
 142 WAYNFLETE. 
 
 him. He could think of nothing but that in 
 two days he would meet Constancy again at 
 Ingleby. It did not seem possible to Godfrey 
 that so intense a desire should fail to work its 
 own fulfilment. No one and nothing should 
 stand in the way of this demand of his spirit 
 for the thing it craved. The whole world was 
 widened, transformed, glorified. Constancy — 
 Cosy. How the name suited her! The memo- 
 ries of that old boyish visit started into life, 
 till the old house seemed to thrill with her 
 presence. 
 
 " Talk of haunting," thought Godfrey, laugh- 
 ing to himself Constancy was the presence 
 that filled Waynflete through and through. 
 There was no room there for any ghosts ! 
 Then suddenly, without warning, there fell 
 upon him a doubt, a fear, a presentiment of 
 disappointment, a change of spirit so complete 
 that it was almost as if a sudden change of 
 atmosphere had swept through the room, and 
 chilled him. A moment before his joy had had
 
 "STRIVING FOB BEAU EXISTENCE.*" 143 
 
 hardly a misgiving, now he suddenly felt utterly 
 without hope. 
 
 He started upright, and pulled the casement 
 to, for the night-air felt all at once chilly. He 
 shook himself together, and began to pull off his 
 coat, when Rawdie sat up in the moonlight; and 
 began to howl as if he thought his last hour had 
 come. 
 
 " Confound you, Rawdie, hold your tongue ! " 
 cried Godfrey, himself reviving, when the door 
 leading into the next room opened, and Guy 
 stood there, fully dressed. 
 
 "What the deuce is the matter w^ith Rawdie ?" 
 he said, sharply. 
 
 "It's the moon, I suppose," said Godfre3^ 
 pulling vainly at the curtain. " He's got the 
 nightmare this time, instead of you ! I never 
 knew him howl at the moon before. Here 
 Rawdie, Rawdie ! Hold your noise ! Shut 
 up ! " 
 
 Rawdie jumped into his master's arms, his 
 howls subsiding into whines and whimpers.
 
 144 WAYNFLETE. 
 
 Guy stood leaning against the door, watching 
 them. He set his teeth hard, as, in the broad 
 white streak of moonlight, the Presence which 
 he feared took, as it seemed to him, visible 
 shape. It was not now a face flashing into his 
 own, but a shadowy figure, with averted head, 
 moving across the room, as if in hurried, 
 timorous flight. Guy's pulses stood still, but 
 this time his nerves held their own. He waited, 
 and the flgure, the impression, passed him 
 quickly by, through the doorway, into the room 
 he had just left. Guy shut the door suddenly 
 upon Godfrey and Rawdie, and stood with his 
 back against it — looking. Then the figure 
 turned the never-to-be-forgotten face full upon 
 him, and it was to him as if his own eyes looked 
 back on him, with malicious scorn of himself; 
 as if this scared and hunted creature were an 
 aspect of himself. He crouched and cowered 
 against the wall, and gazed back at the spectre, 
 but he felt that the sight, if sight it were, was 
 as nothing to the inward experience of the soul
 
 "STBIVING FOR DEAR EXISTENCE." 145 
 
 of which it was the expression, the despair, the 
 degradation of irresistible fear. 
 
 Whether it was a second or an hour before 
 the moonlight had gone from the room, and 
 with it the impression, Guy could not tell ; but 
 he knew at once when it was gone, and 
 stumbling towards the bed, threw himself down 
 on it. 
 
 There was a candle burning, but the room 
 swam and darkened before his eyes, he was 
 deadly faint, and as the life came back to him 
 a little, the panic which was wont to come upon 
 him, overwhelmed him, and he trembled and 
 hid his face. It passed sooner than usual, much 
 sooner than usual self-command came back, 
 though the throbbing of his heart forced him 
 to be quite still, and took all his strength away. 
 As the power of thought slowly came back to 
 him, the memory of Florella's words came back 
 also. The Presence of the Divine Spirit 1 
 Could that become real to the soul ? 
 
 Guy knew what one spiritual experience was, 
 
 VOL. I. L
 
 14G WAYNFLETE. 
 
 and he did not deceive himself into thinking 
 that he had ever known this other. If the door 
 of his soul was open to the unseen, no such 
 messenger had ever sought entrance ; indeed, he 
 had done his best to bar the way. 
 
 But now, over his bewildered spirit there 
 swept another vision, new and fair, the vision 
 of a human sympathy that might make the 
 weak strong. If this wise girl could know — 
 could see ? Before the hope of her helpfulness, 
 his foolish pride would give way. He could 
 nerve himself to confession. The next moment 
 he knew that to lay his burden on the innocent 
 soul of another, to seek a love which must 
 suffer in his suffering, would be of all cowardly 
 methods of escape the most contemptible. He 
 must try to think more clearly. He managed 
 to stand up, and to find the brandy, which, with 
 most pitiful foresight, he had brought with him. 
 lie had drunk it before he suddenly felt how 
 significant was the eagerness with which he 
 took it. It was another terror, indeed, and he
 
 ''STRIVING FOR DEAR EXISTENCE:' 147 
 
 threw himself down again on the bed and lay 
 half dozing, till with the daylight and the 
 singing of the birds, he started awake, with his 
 nerves all ajar, and without energy enough to 
 undress and go to bed properly. 
 
 He managed, however, to make his appearance 
 downstairs, where Rawdie's cheerful bark re- 
 called the poor little dog's terror of the night 
 before. Guy picked him up, and looked into 
 his cairn-gorm coloured eyes, but no change had 
 come into them. Godfrey, too, was eating his 
 breakfast, and making Jeanie talk about Con- 
 stancy. 
 
 Guy played with his tea-cup, and made critical 
 remarks on the young ladies, till the trap that 
 he had ordered to take him to the station 
 appeared, when he cut short his farewells, and 
 went off hastily, without giving his aunt time 
 to say that she wished him to come back again 
 shortly. 
 
 As he grew calmer with the increasing 
 distance, he took a resolution, which was
 
 148 WAYNFLETE. 
 
 the first beginning of a struggle against his 
 fate. 
 
 Cuthbert Staunton arrived in due time, in a 
 holiday humour, and having plenty of conversa- 
 tion, he occupied Mrs. Palmer's attention until 
 the hour came for the two young men to wish 
 her good night, and betake themselves to a 
 room devoted to the use of Guy and Godfrey, 
 where they could talk and smoke at their 
 leisure. 
 
 "Yours is a charming climate," said the 
 visitor, "where any one may light a fire in 
 August with a clear conscience. Short of 
 southern moonlight, etc., there is nothing so 
 delightful." 
 
 " Sit down in front of it," said Guy ; " we're 
 generally glad of one here, and it looks cheer- 
 ful. Now, I'm expecting you to put me up 
 to all the newest lights — one gets rusty down 
 here. About the spooks, for instance, the Miss 
 Vyners were talking of in London. I want to 
 examine into them a bit. Did you ever come
 
 ''bTBIVINO FOR DEAR EXISTENCE:' 149 
 
 across a fellow who had seen one — by any 
 chance ? " 
 
 " No/' said Staunton. " I should like to 
 come across a first-hand one, very much." 
 
 * Well, here's your chance, then. I have — 
 twice." 
 
 " Seen a man who has seen one ? " 
 
 " No, better than that, seen the genuine 
 article, myself. I — I want to know how to 
 manage him. It seems the correct thing, now- 
 adays, to entertain ghosts and imps of all 
 kinds." 
 
 " I don't know any, personally," said Cuth- 
 bert, purposely echoing Guy's bantering tone, 
 though he noticed the matches he struck in 
 vain, and the suppressed excitement of his 
 manner. "But I should like to hear your ex- 
 periences very much." 
 
 " He paid me a visit last night," said Guy. 
 " And what is he like ? " 
 
 Guy left off trying to light his pipe, and 
 leant back in a corner of the big chair in which
 
 150 WAYNFLETE, 
 
 he was lounging. The plunge was made. He 
 was shaken to pieces with the effort, but he 
 still endeavoured to maintain a tone of in- 
 difference. 
 
 " I think I'll have to tell you a little family 
 history," he said ; " if it won't bore you." 
 
 " Not at all. Tell me just as you can — as 
 you like." 
 
 " Well, but you know, I believe, about the 
 old traitor who drank himself to death from 
 remorse, and naturally, haunted his descend- 
 ants. Some of them drank, and, in fact, there 
 was always an inclination to an occasional 
 good-for-nought. Well, then came the Guy 
 who was too late — my namesake — so, by the 
 way, was the traitor — that story you know, 
 too. I don't believe my father, or grandfather, 
 were quite all my aunt could have wished. 
 They died young, j^ou know; but I'm not 
 aware that they ever saw the ghost. But, five 
 years ago, when we went to Waynflete, to see 
 Mrs. John Palmer, I did."
 
 "STRIVING FOR DEAR EXISTENCE." 151 
 
 " You saw the ghost of your ancestor ? " 
 
 " Well ! I had seen Guy's picture ; I was full 
 of it, and full of seeing the place for the first 
 time, and the face flashed upon me just like 
 the picture. The picture's like me, you know; 
 absurdly so. I saw him — plain as I see you. 
 Well, that once wouldn't have mattered, it 
 would only have been a queer thing. But " 
 
 " But that was not the only time ? " said 
 Cubhbert. 
 
 " I never saw him again till last night, but — 
 I — feel him. I wake up half mad with fear. 
 I have dreamed of him. I don't know what 
 it is, the fit seizes me, and when I've scourged 
 the folly out of me, I faint, or my heart gets 
 bad. I haven't quite been able to hide that; 
 but no one knows why. No one knows that 
 I am afraid of my own shadow ! " 
 
 " Gently, my dear boy," said Staunton, 
 kindly. " Keep quiet for a minute. It's hard 
 work telling me ; makes your heart beat now, 
 doesn't it ? "
 
 152 WAYNFLETE. 
 
 " Let me get through it. These fits have 
 come and knocked me up, over and over — 
 muffed my exam. — for my degree — made a fool 
 of me, times out of number. But, last night — 
 he was there — the whole of him, myself in that 
 queer old dress, as one might look when one's 
 chance was over, and one wanted others to 
 share one's disgrace. I saw him ; but, oh, my 
 God, Cuthbert ! It's not the seeing ; but no 
 other Presence is ever so real — so close ! So, 
 I'm catching at a rope. He'll have me ; I 
 shall have to follow him — but — I'm trying to 
 fight." 
 
 Guy had dropped all his pretence at indif- 
 ference ; he spoke in short, stifled whispers, his 
 eyes dilated with fear. 
 
 Cuthbert laid his hand on the fingers that 
 were clutching the arm of the chair, and 
 said gently, "I am very glad you have told 
 me. You'll feel better soon. It is very bad 
 for you to suffer without any help." 
 
 Guy clung to the warm, human clasp, it was
 
 *' STRIVING FOR DEAR EXISTENCE:' 153 
 
 unexpectedly comforting. Then he whispered, 
 " I don't drink, you know, yet. But he'll drive 
 me to it. He's ruining my life ! " 
 
 Cuthbert did not speak for some moments. 
 Then he said, " Of course, there is more than 
 one view to be taken of these things." 
 
 " Oh yes, I might be mad — or lying." 
 
 "Well, I don't feel driven to those con- 
 clusions. Do you mind being questioned a 
 little ? " 
 
 "No; I think I should like it. I've felt so 
 much alone." 
 
 " Yes. You feel more afraid of the terror 
 that seizes on you unexpectedly, than of the — 
 thing itself ? " 
 
 " Yes," said Guy, hesitating ; " at least, I 
 mind feeling he is there, more than seeing him. 
 That's a detail." 
 
 " Try to tell me what you mean by feeling." 
 
 " I can't. It's another sense." 
 
 " And do you feel nothing else with this 
 sense ? "
 
 154 WATNFLETE. 
 
 " No," said Guy, decidedly. " Nothing. And, 
 many things that I could like " 
 
 "Yes. Try and tell me. I think I shall 
 understand." 
 
 "Yes; oh, you're so kind. I've always felt 
 he never would come where you were. Some 
 people fret me, even in the next room. But, 
 music now — that might lift one away from 
 him, but he stops it; he always stops what I 
 care most for. I could bear it, but my body 
 won't ; that betrays me." 
 
 "Yes, that wants careful looking to. Now, 
 my boy, try and tell me what your own view 
 of the matter is. What you think most likely 
 to be true about it." 
 
 Guy looked up with pitiful puzzled eyes. 
 
 " Ask me more questions," he said. 
 
 " Ever read up the subject ? " 
 
 " No, I began ; but I daren't " 
 
 "You feel sure it is something besides your 
 own nerves ? " ^ 
 
 " Yes."
 
 "STRIVING FOR DEAR EXISTENCE:' 155 
 
 "Something or somebody outside your- 
 self?" 
 
 "Outside myself? I don't know that." 
 
 Guy suddenly caught Cuthbert's hand again 
 and pressed it hard against his forehead, as if 
 to steady his brain. Then he spoke more 
 clearly. 
 
 " I don't know if what comes over me is my 
 ancestor himself, or the fiend that tempted him, 
 or my own worst self. As for the vision, I'm 
 not so much afraid of that." 
 
 " Then what you want is to be able to resist 
 this influence ? " 
 
 " Yes, before it ruins me, body and soul." 
 
 " Well, you must let me think it over. 
 Depend upon it, I'll not leave you alone 
 to fight the battle. Now, you'll sleep to- 
 night ? " 
 
 " Oh yes, I am not frightened now," said Guy, 
 simply. 
 
 " Well then, we'll go to bed, and talk it over 
 again to-morrow. But you must come up to
 
 156 WAYNFLETE, 
 
 town with me and see a doctor, you need 
 only tell him that your nerves have had a 
 shock. But I wouldn't avoid the general 
 subject. Such experiences are not altogether 
 exceptional." 
 
 "Nervous affections, in fact," said Guy, 
 dryly. 
 
 " Well, sometimes, you know. Anyway, 
 there are safer remedies than brandy, if your 
 heart gives you trouble. And mind, come to 
 me at any time, or send for me. Bring it into 
 the light of day." 
 
 Guy felt soothed by the kindness, and he 
 knew that the advice was good. But, all the 
 same, he knew that it was Florella who had 
 touched the heart of his trouble. 
 
 " You're awfully kind," he said, gratefully. 
 
 "I know the look of trouble," answered 
 Cuthbert; "and fate hasn't left me many 
 anxieties. I'm quite free to worry about 
 you." 
 
 Guy's eloquent eyes softened. The fellow-
 
 "STRIVING FOR DEAR EXISTENCE.'' 1 57 
 
 feeling was better than the reasoning. But as 
 he got up to go to bed, he said in his usual 
 self-contained voice, "You know, Rawdie saw 
 him too, and had palpitations."
 
 PART II. 
 THE DOUBLE. 
 
 *' Where He stands, the Arch-Fear in a visible Form, 
 Yet the strong man must go." 
 
 Robert Browning.
 
 ( 101 ) 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 A BIG SITUATION. 
 
 Florella Vyner lay awake in the cool misty 
 light of a moorland morning, and thought, not 
 for the first time, of her conversation with Guy 
 Waynflete. She had the power of intense and 
 steady contemplation, that was the faculty that 
 enabled her to "see," and when she woke to 
 the sense of the unusualness of what had 
 passed, she felt quite certain that the circum- 
 stances were also unusual enough to justify 
 the words which she had spoken. They had 
 surprised herself; and now, on the day when 
 she would see Guy again she divined that he 
 had been speaking of himself It was he who 
 suffered spiritual fear, he whose soul was in 
 
 VOL. I. M
 
 162 WAYNFLETE, 
 
 danger, and needed prayers to help it. A sense 
 of awe came upon her. Guy believed that she 
 saw ; but she felt herself to have been hitherto 
 blind. She had entered into a spiritual con- 
 flict, and, suddenly, she knew that it was a 
 real one. "Pray for his soul." What a tre- 
 mendous thing she had promised ! And oh ! 
 how tremendous must be the Power whom she 
 had invoked. 
 
 There came upon Florella a moment when 
 "this earth we hold by seemed not earth," a 
 moment when she did indeed " see." 
 
 Her sister's voice startled her. 
 
 "It's not going to be a fine day. Never 
 mind, wet mist is characteristic of Ingleby." 
 
 Constancy was sitting up in bed. Her 
 abundant hair fell over her shoulders in thick 
 vigorous waves, her hands were clasped round 
 her knees. 
 
 " Cosy," said Florella, with sisterly straight- 
 forwardness, " I hope you're going to behave 
 better than you did at Waynflete."
 
 A BIG SITUATION, 163 
 
 " I haven't done any harm," said Cosy, with 
 entire good humour. "Why should you all 
 grumble ? I haven't read an hour the less, nor 
 given up a discussion, nor got a bit tired of 
 being here. But I won't be only one sort of 
 girl. People who have brains can manage a 
 situation." 
 
 "I should have thought their brains ought 
 to tell them when a situation was too big for 
 them to manage." 
 
 " Really, Flo ! You do say extremely 
 clever things sometimes. Yes, so they ought. 
 But this isn't a bio- situation, thoucvh 
 Godfrey Waynflete is a very big young 
 man." 
 
 " No, it isn't," said Florella, beginning to get 
 up. "You're simply flirting, and talking fine 
 about it. But, I don't think Godfrey Waynflete 
 is flirting, and you may find that the situation 
 grows." 
 
 " Well ! I'll see if I can grow up to it," said 
 Constancy. "But you know, in these days a
 
 164 WAYNFLETE. 
 
 girl like me is much more likely to flirt too 
 little than too much." 
 
 Godfrey appeared at the carriage door as 
 they drove up to the Mill House, full of hearty 
 greetings, big, bright and boyish as ever, but 
 with a certain glow in face and manner which 
 was unmistakable as Constancy sprang out, 
 and lifting Rawdie, kissed him between his 
 eyes. 
 
 Guy stood behind, looking on with repressed 
 amusement, for he had not yet perceived that 
 it was a " big situation." He acted host, and 
 showman to the mill. He was pale, but so 
 self-contained and like himself that Cuthbert 
 could have thought the agitated confidence of 
 the night before had been a dream. But 
 Florella felt quite sure of her surmise regard- 
 ing him, though he said no word to recall it 
 to her. 
 
 Constancy had no intention but of spending 
 another pleasant day in studying the "other 
 side of life," and in teasing her companions ;
 
 A BIG SITUATION. 165 
 
 but she did not know with whom she had to 
 deal. If Godfrey had been either old enough 
 to understand her, or timid enough to hesitate 
 and lose his chance, she might have appeared 
 to " manage the situation." But he began the 
 day with a definite purpose, and laid his plans 
 to suit it. The wet weather was much against 
 him, as he could not offer himself to her, either 
 when walking round the mill-, or when sitting 
 in the drawing-room, with Cousin Susan acting 
 hostess. He did not, however, mean to be 
 bafiied, and while the whole party were listen- 
 ing to Guy's explanation of the looms, as well 
 as the noise they made permitted, he said to 
 her, with decision — 
 
 "I want you to come and see this," and as 
 she complied, he led her quickly out of 
 the long, many- windowed room, where the 
 hands were working, into another where the 
 great bales of wool were stored ready for 
 use. 
 
 The windows were wide open, with the wet
 
 166 WAYNFLETE. 
 
 air blowing through, there was a strong smell 
 of oily wool ; but Godfrey, with a soft, persistent 
 step, led her round the piled-up bales, into a 
 little open space between them. The window 
 looked across miles of misty, smoky country, 
 and the ceaseless roar of the machinery was 
 softened by distance, so that they could hear 
 themselves speak. 
 
 " I don't see anything to look at here," said 
 Constancy, "and I want to understand how 
 the weaving is done." 
 
 " There is nothing to see," said Godfrey. " I 
 brought you here on purpose to tell you some- 
 thing. I — I love you. I mean to work with 
 all there is of me to be worthy of you. I've 
 only that one object in life, and I shall never 
 have another. I — I've thought you liked me 
 a little. You do — Constancy, don't you ? You 
 will, won't you ? You know that I care for 
 nothing else in the world but you." 
 
 He came close to her, taking her hands 
 and looking down at her, with eyes to which
 
 A BIG SITUATION, 1G7 
 
 his eagerness lent a sort of fierce determina- 
 tion. 
 
 Constancy's heart gave a great throb as the 
 blood rushed to her face, but startled as she 
 was, she held her own. 
 
 " Now you are spoiling everything that is 
 so extremely pleasant. You know quite well 
 I never thought of anything of that sort. We 
 have had such a very good time. Now, don't 
 say any more. I never meant " 
 
 " You must have meant it at Waynflete ; you 
 meant me to believe it." 
 
 " Now, you are making a great deal too 
 much of things. Why, you know, I have my 
 work at college " 
 
 "If you care a bit for me, what does that 
 matter ? " 
 
 Godfrey's face darkened, and filled with pas- 
 sionate desire. 
 
 " You don't care for me ? " he said, hoarsely. 
 
 " Well, no," she said, " not in that way. I'm 
 not sentimental ; and you — we — are much too
 
 168 WAYNFLETE. 
 
 young to think of such nonsense. Let us find 
 the others." 
 
 Godfrey stood in her path for a moment. 
 He was smarting, not only under her refusal, 
 but under her deliberate ignoring of his depth 
 of feeling. 
 
 " I am young," he said, " young enough to 
 wait, and I will make you care. The love I 
 offer you is worth a great deal more than 
 you pretend to think. I'll — I'll make you see 
 that yet. Allow me — to show you the way 
 back to the others." 
 
 He stood aside and pointed the way, forcing 
 his manner into rigid politeness, but his face 
 white, and his eyes fixing hers. His whole 
 nature rose against defeat, though, as he fell 
 behind her, he felt so miserable that, boy as 
 he was, his throat ached, and unshed tears 
 stung his eyelids. 
 
 Constancy felt strange thrills. 
 
 She dashed into the midst of the others, 
 as they came out, and breathlessly remarked
 
 A BIG SITUATION". 169 
 
 on the beauty of the bridge they were crossing, 
 " So picturesque," she said. 
 
 " If the stream was clean/' said Guy. 
 
 " Well, you often call a dirty child pic- 
 turesque; why not a dirty river, with a tree 
 and a barn, or whatever it is ? I think it's 
 beautiful." 
 
 " Beauty that is marred," said Guy. 
 
 " Then it has more human interest," said 
 Constancy. " It is another aspect of what I 
 said about the summeriness of London." 
 
 She dashed into the discussion, and talked 
 brilliantly, rousing both Guy and Cuthbert 
 Staunton to talk too, while Godfrey hung behind, 
 angered more than ever. He was obliged 
 occasionally to speak, and even to hand tea-cups 
 and open doors for the ladies. Such is the 
 power of civilization. As she talked and smiled 
 and managed, into her complex mind there 
 flashed new ideas, and new knowledge. She 
 had learned ever so much by that queer little 
 interview. All kinds of new " mind stuff " had
 
 170 WAYNFLETE. 
 
 come into her head. She had conceived her pari 
 of the scene very badly — but certainly — it was 
 an experience, and as they drove home through 
 the rainy mist, the experience translated itself 
 into all sorts of forms. Godfrey had held the 
 door of the waggonette for her; had given 
 her her wraps, had offered all politeness, but 
 he had neither spoken to her, nor touched her 
 hand. 
 
 " Yes," she thought, as she laid her head on 
 her pillow, " I can't be sorry for any ex- 
 perience. It's quite different from reading 
 about it." 
 
 Then suddenly, as she lay in the darkness, she 
 not only knew, but felt; something new and 
 strange did indeed sweep over her, an over- 
 whelming might he. Her spirit fell before it, 
 and she hid her face, and cried. 
 
 " Cosy, did you find the situation bigger than 
 you expected ? " said Florella. 
 
 Constancy was silent till she could trust her 
 voice, then said, abruptly —
 
 J BIG SITUATION. I7l 
 
 " Yes ; I wasn't skilful. Never mind, I'll 
 manage better another time. I think it was 
 inevitable — really." 
 
 " And you don't " 
 
 " Don't reciprocate ? No ! It would upset 
 all my ideas to marry before I'm twenty-five. 
 And oh — you know, Flo, the Waynfletes are a 
 fine type, and so on ; but, dear me, one belongs 
 to another century, another world, another 
 universe. I don't know where the dividing 
 line is exactly ; but there's a mighty deep one 
 somewhere." 
 
 " Perhaps he'll cross it — now." 
 
 "He did beat the record for the wide jump 
 at his college ! " said Cosy. " But he's just like 
 his great-aunt. How could one marry a person 
 who thinks it signifies so dreadfully ivhat one 
 thinks about everything. It's not that such 
 as we think differently; but we don't think 
 it matters much what we think, and they 
 do." 
 
 " Poor Godfrey Waynflete ! " said Florella.
 
 172 WAYNFLETE, 
 
 " He certainly thinks it matters what you think 
 about him." 
 
 " Good night," said Cosy, ending the con- 
 versation.
 
 ( 173 ) 
 
 CHAPTER 11. 
 
 CROSSING THE FLETE. 
 
 Almost before the waggonette had driven away 
 from the door, Godfrey turned, round to his 
 brother. 
 
 " I shall catch the last train," he said. 
 
 " The last train ! Now ? How do you mean 
 to get from Kirk Hinton ? " 
 
 " I can walk." 
 
 " In this weather ? You'll reduce Rawdie to 
 a mass of pulp." 
 
 " He can stop with you. Good night," said 
 Godfrey, ramming on his hat, and marching off 
 through the driving rain, while Guy shrugged 
 his shoulders, and detained Rawdie. 
 
 " Ha, ha ! you poor little beggar, you're
 
 174 WAYNFLETE. 
 
 nowhere," he said. "You'll have to put up 
 with me." 
 
 Kirk Hinton w^as a little station on the 
 branch line which connected Rilston with the 
 junction for Ingleby. It was four miles from 
 Moorhead, and six from Waynflete, and as it 
 contained no sort of conveyance, it was necessary 
 for travellers to make arrangements beforehand 
 if they desired to be carried to their destina- 
 tion. 
 
 Godfrey had ordered a trap to meet him on the 
 next morning ; but now there was nothing for 
 it but to walk up hill and down dale through 
 the pouring rain, and chew the cud of his bitter 
 thoughts as he went. 
 
 The field path to Waynflete was of the 
 roughest, and led over rain washed stony tracks, 
 through copse- wood and thicket, down to the 
 bottom of Flete Dale, where the Flete beck was 
 crossed by a rough wooden bridge near which 
 was the Dragon, the little old public-house 
 which had been there from time immemorial.
 
 CROSSING THE FLETE. 175 
 
 On the other side of the river a steep ascent led 
 up to Flete Edge, beyond which lay the Hall. 
 The road from Kirk Hinton took a much more 
 gradual route, and crossed the Flete by another 
 bridge at the end of the old avenue at the back 
 of the house. 
 
 Godfrey was way-wise; but he had never 
 taken the walk before, and he was confused by 
 the storm and the darkness, and by his own 
 miserable thoughts. 
 
 He had not given up his point. No ; he was 
 not defeated. He would neither avoid Constancy 
 nor cease to recommend himself to her. He 
 Avould meet her on every possible opportunity ; 
 he would not give way an inch. He would 
 succeed unless — other fellows — ? There were 
 other fellows, of course. There was Guy. 
 
 Godfrey stumbled through a great clump of 
 brambles and bushes, over a low wall and down 
 a rough field to the riverside, where he dimly 
 saw the bridge in the uncertain light. He felt 
 chilled and miserable ; his resolute hope failed
 
 176 WAYNFLETE. 
 
 him. There was Guy. She always liked Guy, 
 and he always roused himself to talk and laugh 
 with her. Godfrey's angry spirit exaggerated 
 these memories of friendly intercourse. His 
 heart sank lower and lower. He paused on the 
 bridge, and listened to the dreary roar of the 
 wind through the wide plantations, and to 
 the swirling rush of the stream beneath him. 
 He could not see anything distinctly, but driving 
 mist and swaying trees; but he came up out 
 of the gloomy hollow as much convinced of his 
 brother's imaginary rivalry as if the fiend, or 
 the spirit, who had stood in the path of his 
 unlucky ancestor, and so wrecked the fortunes 
 of succeeding generations, had whispered the 
 deluding suggestion into his ear. 
 
 How he reached the house he hardly knew, 
 and then he w^ondered how he could account to 
 his aunt for his sudden return. 
 
 Mrs. Waynflete, however, kept no count of 
 his movements ; she took no notice till the first 
 train the next morning brought over the Ingleby
 
 CBOSSING TEE FLETE. 177 
 
 stable-boy with Raw die, Godfrey's bag, and a 
 note from Guy, in which he stated that he 
 would not be able to come to Waynflete at 
 present, as he was going on "a little outing" 
 with Staunton. Godfrey felt certain that the 
 little outing was to Moorhead, and when he 
 read as a conclusion, " Cheer up, old boy ; there's 
 worse luck in the world than yours," he felt as 
 if Guy was mocking his trouble. 
 
 Mrs. Waynflete was angry at the message. 
 She thought Guy neglectful and indifl*erent to 
 the place she loved so well. In those days, 
 when the novelty of her surroundings destroyed 
 her sense of accustomed comfort, she thought 
 much. She was too good a woman of business 
 to have left the future unprovided for, and she 
 had long ago made a will in which the Wayn- 
 flete property, together with certain investments, 
 and half the share in the profits of Palmer 
 Brothers was left to Guy, while the other half 
 share made a fair younger son's portion for 
 Godfrey. 
 
 VOL. I. N
 
 178 WAYNFLETE. 
 
 But now, how could she trust Guy, either 
 with the property or with the business ? Was 
 he not too likely to ruin both ? Could she rely 
 on him to carry on the work she had so bravely 
 begun ? She distrusted him deeply, and he did 
 nothing to remove her distrust. She had always 
 kept her will in her own hands ; it would be 
 easy to destroy it. But then, if anything hap- 
 pened to her, everything would be in confusion. 
 An idea occurred to her, which in its simplicity 
 and independence attracted her strongly. She 
 would have another will made, in which God- 
 frey's name was substituted for that of Guy, 
 and then she would keep both at hand. At 
 any moment it would be easy to destroy one 
 of them, much easier than to alter it, or to draw 
 out a new one in a hurry, and she would put 
 Guy to certain tests, and judge him accord- 
 ingly. She would drive into Rilston and see 
 the solicitor there this very afternoon, for it 
 struck her that she did not wish to explain 
 the workings of her mind to the old family
 
 CBOSSING TEE FLETE. 179 
 
 man of business who had made the will now 
 in force. 
 
 At luncheon- time she was unusually silent, 
 while Jeanie questioned Godfrey as to the events 
 of the day before, and at last remarked, as she 
 cut up her peach, " How funny it is that Guy 
 should be such friends with Mr. Staunton ! " 
 
 "Why?" said Mrs. Waynflete, abruptly. "Mr. 
 Staunton seems a very well-conducted young 
 man." 
 
 " Oh yes, aunt ; but don't you know that he 
 is descended from the wicked old Maxwell who 
 ruined the Waynfletes. Constancy Vyner told 
 us all about it. She said it was so interesting — 
 to be friends with your hereditary foe." 
 
 " What's that ? " said the old lady. " I ought 
 to have been told, Godfrey ; it's a very singular 
 fancy on the part of your brother." 
 
 "Oh, I dare say Guy has very good reasons 
 for the friendship," said Godfrey, sulkily. 
 
 Mrs. Waynflete made no reply. She released 
 Jeanie from the duty of accompanying her on
 
 180 WATNFLETE. 
 
 her afternoon drive, and before she started, she 
 wrote a note to Guy. 
 
 She drove into Rilston, gave her directions 
 to the solicitor, and arranged to have the new 
 will made out, and brought for her signature 
 on the next day. Then she went back, and, 
 dismissing her carriage at the bridge, prepared 
 to inspect the needful repairs that were being 
 made in the farm buildings and stables. 
 
 Godfrey, hanging listlessly about, saw her 
 tall, upright figure, walking steadily over the 
 bridge, and then, whether she caught her foot 
 in a stone, or lost her balance, suddenly she 
 tripped and fell. 
 
 With a shout of dismay he rushed towards 
 her. 
 
 " Auntie ! Auntie Waynflete ! Are you 
 hurt ? " 
 
 " No, my dear, no ; gently, don't be in such 
 a hurry," she said imperatively, having already 
 got up on her hands and knees. 
 
 Godfrey put his strong young arms round her,
 
 CROSSING THE FLETE. 181 
 
 and lifted lier on to her feet, holding her care- 
 fully, and entreating her to tell him if she was 
 hurt; while she told him sharply not to make 
 a fuss about nothing, even though, to her own 
 great vexation, she was so tremulous as to be 
 obliged to lean on his arm, and let him lead 
 her back to the house. 
 
 " No," she said. " No, I don't want to lie 
 down, and I don't want a glass of brandy and 
 water, and I don't w^ant the doctor. I want 
 to sit down in my chair, and see if my bones 
 are in their right places." 
 
 Jeanie now appeared, fussing about, and 
 very anxious to do the right thing, but the 
 old lady would not even have her bonnet taken 
 off, and hunted the two young people out of 
 sight, asking them if they thought she had had 
 a stroke, just as they were whispering to each 
 other that, at any rate, it was nothing of that 
 sort. They peeped at her from behind the 
 creepers through the open window, and din- 
 cussed whether they ought to send for the
 
 182 WAYNFLETE. 
 
 doctor. But, as Godfrey said, he didn't know 
 if there was a doctor to send for, such a person 
 having rarely been seen within the walls of 
 the Mill House; and, besides, to act for Aunt 
 Waynflete was a new departure which neither 
 dared undertake. 
 
 In the mean time, old Margaret, to her own 
 great annoyance, found herself shedding tears. 
 She was more shaken than she had guessed. 
 She dried them rapidly, and then walked 
 cautiously round the room, to see whether she 
 was really herself and unhurt. 
 
 "The Lord be praised, there's no harm 
 done ! " she said. " But I've had a warning ; 
 and, please God, I'll take it, and prepare 
 for my latter end. I'm an old woman, and 
 should mind my steps, and not be mooning 
 over the future or the past, when I should 
 be picking my way. If my nephew Guy, 
 like others before him, is but poor stuff, 
 Godfrey's a different sort. I'll keep my eyes 
 open."
 
 CROSSING THE FLETE. 183 
 
 She appeared to be none the worse for her 
 accident in the anxious if inexperienced eyes 
 of Godfrey and Jeanie, who scarcely dared to 
 ask her how she felt. 
 
 The new will was brought to her, and was 
 duly signed and witnessed. She locked it away 
 with the former one, and with other business 
 papers, in a table-drawer in her bedroom. She 
 was prepared now for any emergency ; but, in 
 her heart, she was far from satisfied, and, in 
 the solitude of the thoughts of age, she weighed 
 the two young men against each other with 
 a sincere desire to judge them aright. All the 
 settled convictions, and all the saddest expe- 
 riences of her life, told against Guy. All her 
 affection, all her inclination, swayed towards 
 Godfrey. And yet, angry as she was with 
 her elder nephew, the tones of his voice, the 
 set of his mouth when he had spoken his mind 
 to her, recurred to her keen judgment, and she 
 doubted still. 
 
 On the day after the signing of the new
 
 184 WAYNFLETE. 
 
 will, she received the following answer to her 
 note to Guy. 
 
 " Mill House, Ingleby, 
 
 " September 16. 
 
 "Dear Aunt Margaret, 
 
 "I shall not, of course, invite my 
 friend to stay in your house again, now that 
 I art! aware of your sentiments on the subject ; 
 but I will avail myself of your permission to 
 leave matters as they stand for the present, as 
 I should be unwilling to involve myself in so 
 ludicrous an explanation. Family feuds appear 
 to me entirely out of date. I fear I shall not 
 be able to come over to Waynflete at present, 
 as I cannot leave Staunton, and you probably 
 will not care to see him there. 
 
 " Your affectionate nephew, 
 
 "Guy Waynflete." 
 
 This judicious and conciliatory epistle was 
 put o.way by Mrs. Waynflete, with the two wills 
 in her table-drawer.
 
 CBOSSING THE FLETE. 185 
 
 It appeared to her that Guy, with a frivolity 
 not new in her experience, scorned the senti- 
 ments and the convictions which had ruled 
 her life.
 
 186 WAYNFLETE. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 MINISTERS OF GRACE. 
 
 CuTHBERT Staunton took Guy up to London 
 to the house in Kensington to be inspected 
 by a well-known doctor, who was also a 
 personal friend of his own. 
 
 Guy despatched his petulant little note to 
 his aunt before he started, and, perhaps, it 
 was edged by his own discomfort, for he could 
 hardly endure to be the subject of discussion 
 and inquiry, and, the immediate effect of the 
 night at Waynflete having passed off, held 
 himself with difficulty to his resolution. 
 
 "You may trust me to tell him nothing 
 against your wish," said Staunton, beforehand. 
 
 " I don't think you could tell him much,"
 
 MINISTERS OF GRACE. 187 
 
 said Guy, oddly. " But," he added, " I wish 
 to tell him that I am afraid of the brandy." 
 
 The man of science, when told that he 
 suffered from palpitations and exhaustion after 
 any "nervous strain," the expression substi- 
 tuted by Cuthbert for Guy's straightforward 
 "when I am frightened," and also of this 
 means of remedy, made due examination of 
 him, and asked various questions, eliciting that 
 he was easily tired, and that his heart did 
 throb sometimes after over-fatigue or over- 
 hurry, "but not to signify at all, that didn't 
 matter." 
 
 And could he foretell when periods of nervous 
 excitement were likely to occur, so as to avoid 
 them ? 
 
 "No," said Guy; and then he added, while 
 his lips grew a little white, "I want to be 
 told how to deal with the eflfects of it so 
 that the remedy mayn't be worse than the 
 thing itself No one can help me as to the 
 cause."
 
 188 WATNFLETE. 
 
 " Ah ! " said the doctor, thoughtfully. Then 
 he gave various directions as to avoiding 
 fatigue, worry, or excitement. A winter abroad 
 would be good, change of scene and occupation. 
 There was no serious mischief at work at 
 present ; but there was need of great care 
 and consideration. And with a gravity show- 
 ing that he understood one part of the matter, 
 severe restrictions were laid on the use of 
 brandy and everything analogous to it, and 
 other prescriptions substituted. " Mr. Wayn- 
 flete mustn't be alarmed about himself; care 
 for a year or two would make all the diflference. 
 He would grow stronger, and the nervous strain 
 would lessen in proportion." 
 
 Guy looked back at him, but said nothing ; 
 and as he took leave, Cuthbert remained for a 
 minute or two. 
 
 "That young fellow is a good deal out of 
 health," said the doctor. " Hasn't he a mother 
 or any one to look after him ? " 
 
 " Not a soul capable, except me," said Staun-
 
 MINISTEES OF GRACE, 189 
 
 ton. "I'm going to do it as well as I can, 
 and he will let me." 
 
 " Well, remember this : whether he can avoid 
 nervous shocks or no, he must not have them. 
 And he can't be too much afraid of the 
 brandy. Get him out of whatever oppresses 
 him. It's the only plan. The heart is weak, 
 and the brain — excitable." 
 
 " Should you like a spell abroad ? " said 
 Staunton, as they sat at luncheon at his 
 club. 
 
 " I could not go," said Guy. " That would 
 mean giving up having any concern with the 
 business. And I haven't enough money." 
 
 "But if Mrs. Waynflete knew that it was 
 a matter of health — You must really let your 
 friends know that you have to be careful." 
 
 It was a new idea to Guy that the effects 
 of his attacks were of importance in them- 
 selves, and naturally an unwelcome one. He 
 looked rather obstinate, and went on eating 
 his salad. After a minute or two, he said —
 
 190 WATNFLETE. 
 
 " I will do what I come to think is right. 
 No one else can quite know." 
 
 "No; but don't you see, my dear boy, that 
 whatever strengthens your constitution alto- 
 gether will help you to — to — contend with 
 your trouble — and make it less likely to 
 attack you ? " 
 
 "Yes," said Guy, slowly. "What other 
 people say does help one to think." 
 
 "Well, there's no hurry to decide," said 
 Cuthbert. "You still think you would like 
 to go down to-night ? Certainl}^ there isn't 
 much on at present here. What shall we do 
 this afternoon ? " 
 
 A friend of Staunton's here turned up and 
 pressed on their acceptance some tickets for 
 a morning performance of Hamlet, in which he 
 was interested. 
 
 "Should you like to go, Guy?" said Cuth- 
 bert; "there would be plenty of time to dine 
 afterwards, and get our train." 
 
 Guy thought that he would like it, and io
 
 MINISTERS OF GRACE. 191 
 
 was not till they were sitting in the stalls 
 that it struck his friend that Hamlet was 
 not calculated to divert his mind from the 
 subject that engrossed it. Still, it must be 
 familiar to him. 
 
 But Cuthbert failed to realise that, though 
 Guy believed himself to have "read Shake- 
 speare," it is possible for a country-bred youth, 
 brought up in an unliterary and non-play- 
 going family, to bring an extremely fresh 
 interest to bear on our great dramatist, and 
 though Guy was not quite in the condition 
 of the lady who, in the middle of the murder 
 scene in Macbeth, observed tearfully to her 
 friend, " Oh dear, I am afraid this cannot end 
 well ! " he was but dimly prepared for what he 
 was going to see. He gave an odd little laugh 
 as the ghost crossed the stage, but watched 
 intently and quietly. 
 
 " What do you think of it ? " said Cuthbert, 
 in a pause. " He's not so bad, is he ? " 
 
 "He says some very remarkable things," said
 
 192 WA7NFLETE. 
 
 Guy, seriously. " Things that seem true ; but 
 I never thought of them. Don't you suppose 
 the ghost was there, watching for him to act, 
 often though he couldn't see him ? " 
 
 "Well, really," said Cuthbert; "I do think 
 you have made a new remark on Hamlet. I 
 never heard that suggestion. We can go, you 
 know, if you're bored, any time." 
 
 "No," said Guy; "I like it." 
 
 Guy had the faculty of calling up distinct 
 mental pictures. It was the method by which 
 he thought, and the moving scene stamped 
 itself, as plays sometimes will, both on his eyes 
 and on his memory. When they came out into 
 the daylight he felt bewildered as if the world 
 outside was the unreal one. 
 
 "The ghost didn't do much good," he said; 
 while Cuthbert, wishing he had had more fore- 
 thought, talked lightly and critically about the 
 acting, concerning which Guy was not critical 
 at all. 
 
 When they set off on their night journey.
 
 MINISTERS OF GRACE. 193 
 
 Guy grew quiet, and presently fell asleep. He 
 looked tired, and the heavy eyelashes and the 
 wistfulness, which, in sleep, his mouth seemed 
 to share, made him seem younger than usual, 
 and more in need of help. Suddenly he moved 
 and started, while a look of shrinking terror 
 came into his face. Cuthbert roused him, and 
 he opened his eyes and caught his breath. 
 
 " Dreaming of the play ? " said Cuthbert, 
 lightly. 
 
 " No," said Guy. He leant back in his corner, 
 and seemed slowly to master himself, for 
 presently he gave a little smile, and said, " I'm 
 all right, thank you." 
 
 Cuthbert thought that he could see exactly 
 what the sort of thing was now, and how it 
 came about. Presently Guy began to talk 
 about Hamlet, asking many well-worn questions, 
 and a few more unexpected ones. Cuthbert, 
 who had been working up all the criticisms for 
 a set of lectures, felt as he answered him rather 
 like an orthodox, but personally inexperienced 
 
 VOL. I. o
 
 194 WAYNFLETE. 
 
 professor of religion in the presence of an 
 earnest young inquirer. 
 
 After a little while, Guy said reflectively, " It 
 is odd that he found it so hard to obey the 
 ghost, rather than to resist him. I don't much 
 think Shakespeare ever felt one himself" 
 
 This tone of calm consideration of the 
 psychological truth of Hamlet nearly made 
 Cuthbert laugh, even while he was thinking 
 of how to manage the young visionary beside 
 him. It was years since his easy life had been 
 invaded by so much anxiety for any one, years 
 since he had had so lively an interest. 
 
 Guy fished out the right volume of "Shake- 
 speare" from among the books that played 
 propriety in a glass bookcase in the dining- 
 room at Ingleby, when he had finished his 
 supper at two o'clock in the morning, and took 
 it upstairs with him. 
 
 On the next afternoon, perhaps happily to 
 change the current of his thoughts, they were 
 engaged to Mrs. Raby's garden party at Kirkton
 
 MINISTERS OF GRACE. 195 
 
 Hall, a big house between Ingleby and Kirk 
 Hinton, and the source of much of the gaiety 
 of the neighbourhood. On arriving, after the 
 long drive, they beheld Godfrey's flaxen head 
 towering above the other tennis players as he 
 prepared to play a match with Miss Raby, who 
 was the champion lady-player of the district, 
 against her brother and Constancy Vyner, who 
 turned to Guy with a cordial and friendly 
 greeting. She looked fresh and bright, and 
 quite at her ease in Godfrey's presence. Indeed, 
 she had told her sister that she came on 
 purpose to show that she could "manage the 
 situation." She had written Godfrey, instead 
 of Geoffrey of Monmouth, three times in her 
 Modern History notes that morning, and she 
 spent much time in telling herself that she 
 could never return his feelings. 
 
 And now, with boy and girl defiance, and 
 yet with instincts old as the earth on which 
 they stood, the one thing for which each of the 
 pair longed was to conquer the other.
 
 196 WATNFLETE. 
 
 The play in that notable set was discussed 
 by tennis-lovers for all the rest of the season, 
 and the players never heeded the darkening of 
 the sky, and the increasing weight of the air. 
 Cosy's hand was as steady and her aim as 
 direct as if no inner consciousness existed, 
 she put into her skilled play every atom of 
 force that she possessed. As for Godfrey, he 
 was as mad as a Berserker, and he looked 
 like one. 
 
 The game, owing to the equality of the 
 players, was very long, and it by-and-by 
 became evident to Florella that Miss Raby was 
 getting tired, and was no longer playing at her 
 best. 
 
 They were playing the last game of the set. 
 " Thirty all " was called as, without a moment's 
 warning, down fell a torrent of thunder, rain, 
 and hail, enough to stop the most ardent players. 
 Yet half a dozen more strokes — Miss Raby 
 stepped back, exclaimed, " Oh, what a pity ; we 
 must declare the match drawn," and fled to the 
 
 i
 
 MINISTEBS OF GRACE, 197 
 
 house, while Mr. Raby snatched up and held 
 over her a lovely and useless white lace 
 parasol. 
 
 Constancy and Godfrey stood opposite each 
 other for a moment in the drenching rain, both 
 at once exclaiming, " Too bad ! " 
 
 Then she laughed and scudded off* with lifted 
 skirt, while Godfrey felt a sense of baffled anger 
 which even defeat would not have brought to 
 him. 
 
 Then he had to walk rationally back to the 
 house, and change his things, for the notes of 
 a waltz suddenly sprang up. A big hall with 
 a polished floor was cleared for dancing, fruit 
 and ice were being handed round, and nobody 
 cared very much for the thunderstorm. 
 
 Guy, looked out for the harebell blue gown, 
 which he always associated with Florella. It 
 did not occur to him that she had very few 
 smart frocks at Moorhead. He asked her to 
 dance, and it was not till they had spun two 
 or three times round the dark polished floor that
 
 198 WATNFLETE, 
 
 his heart began to throb and flutter, and that 
 it struck him that this was probably the sort 
 of " exertion " forbidden to him. He felt miser- 
 able, and wished, not for the first time, that he 
 had never spoken of his troubles. It was more 
 endurable, locked up as it ^were in the cup- 
 board in the wall, than now when it mixed itself 
 up with his ordinary life. But the slight dis- 
 comfort could not signify, the chief thing was 
 to conceal it. He would go on dancing, and 
 presently get some champagne. Florella, how- 
 ever, stopped of her own accord in the deep 
 recess of a window. 
 
 " I'm not a very good dancer," she said, in 
 her composed way. " You know I haven't been 
 out very much yet." 
 
 "Don't you care for it?" said Guy, rather 
 breathlessly. 
 
 " I like it a little," she said ; " and it is lovely 
 to watch, especially on a dark floor — crumb- 
 cloths have no beauty." 
 
 The light was streaming in under the storm-
 
 MINISTERS OF GRACE. 199 
 
 clouds through the narrow windows in dull 
 yellowish rays, the flying figures passed in and 
 out of the shadow, against a background of 
 polislied oak. 
 
 " I suppose/' said Guy, " that you like paint- 
 ino: better than dancinor ? " 
 
 " Oh, well," said Florella, in a tone that 
 showed her to be Cosy's sister; "to say that 
 is either a truism or a very priggish remark. 
 You might as well ask if one liked strawberry 
 ice best or poetry. But I like looking on best 
 of all — feeling pictures." 
 
 " Do tell me what you mean ? " said Guy, 
 eagerly. 
 
 Florella was always impelled to talk, or, 
 perhaps more truly, to think by Guy. She 
 was drifting again into talk that belonged only 
 to him, and that she would not have held with 
 any one else. 
 
 "I don't quite know what else to say," she 
 answered. "It is not exactly seeing things or 
 noticing them. It is feeling the picture in them.
 
 200 WAYNFLETE. 
 
 This dance has a picture in it. Often I don't 
 feel so about things that are very beautiful." 
 
 " Did you ever see Hamlet ? " said Guy, 
 apparently with an abrupt change of subject. 
 
 "Oh yes, more than once. Have you seen 
 the new Hamlet ? " 
 
 "I saw it yesterday. I wish you'd tell me 
 the meaning — what you see inside that." 
 
 " Oh," said Florella, laughing. " That's what 
 many people have tried to see." 
 
 " I have read it all through to-day," said Guy, 
 naively. " What puzzles me is how, as the 
 ghost was real, Hamlet had any doubt about 
 him." 
 
 "Why, you see he thought that it might be 
 an evil spirit taking his father's shape." 
 
 "But if he had really felt it, he must have 
 known whether it was good or evil. Seeing a 
 ghost isn't like seeing a person outside you. 
 Didn't you know that the other day when you 
 spoke of the only thing that could have helped — 
 Guy Waynflete ? "
 
 MINISTERS OF GRACE. 201 
 
 She flushed a deep crimson. There was 
 something overwhelming to her in the con- 
 versation, and she could hardly speak. "That 
 came into my mind," she said. " I never 
 thought of it before." 
 
 " But you believe it ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 The rain was ceasing, and the dusty, misty 
 light grew clearer and more radiant. The waltz 
 finished in a glow of sunshine. Somehow the 
 ghost and his own condition went right out of 
 Guy's head. He took Florella to eat peaches, 
 and began to talk to her in a more ordinary 
 way, while the strain of their previous inter- 
 course lifted itself from her spirit. They felt 
 quite intimate and at home with each other, so 
 much so that Guy explained why he did not 
 ask her to waltz again, quite simply and without 
 effort, admitting that he had been told to be 
 careful. It seemed quite natural to tell her 
 what he had been unwilling to own to him- 
 self
 
 202 WATNFLETE. 
 
 He had hardly ever felt so happy, and when 
 he was at ease, there was something sweet and 
 bright in his face and manner which had a 
 great charm. 
 
 Constancy, who paid him a gratifying amount 
 of attention, told herself many times that he 
 was much more agreeable than his brother. 
 Certainly Godfrey looked neither sweet nor 
 bright. He danced with Jeanie because there 
 was no occasion to make conversation for her, 
 and glowered at Constancy, and when Guy, 
 certainly in rather an off-hand way, told him 
 of his visit to London, and of the doctor's 
 opinion, he only looked savage, and said — 
 
 "You don't seem as if there was much the 
 matter with you to-day;" an answer which 
 Cuthbert thought brutal, but which did not 
 strike Guy as at all singular. 
 
 Godfrey had intended to say much to Guy 
 about the advisability of coming to Waynflete, 
 and taking his place as the elder brother, but 
 he was unable to express it amiably, so his
 
 MINISTEBS OF GRACE. 203 
 
 honourable scruples took the form of re- 
 marking — 
 
 " I can't think why you're such a fool as to 
 annoy Aunt Waynflete by having Staunton 
 with you. You ought to come over, and of 
 course she doesn't want to see him." 
 
 " I am not going to make myself absurd," 
 said Guy, coldly. "What do I care who 
 Staunton's great-grandfather was ? He has 
 been very kind to me." 
 
 "There's a great deal in bad blood," said 
 Godfrey, obstinately. "It's sure to come out. 
 He'll come across you somehow." 
 
 " There's not much to choose between our 
 great-grandfathers," said Guy. " I'd just as 
 soon have his as ours." 
 
 The agreeable little discussion was interrupted, 
 and Guy only laughed as Godfrey was called 
 away. 
 
 But it might have been a different person 
 who said suddenly to Staunton, as they drove 
 back to Ingleby in the moonlight —
 
 204 WAYNFLETE. 
 
 "Cuthbert, the doctor thought I should get 
 well, if I do take care, didn't he ? " 
 
 "Oh yes, certainly. But you mustn't play 
 tricks with yourself." 
 
 "Well," said Guy, seriously and cheerfully, 
 " I mean to try ; and, somehow, I think there's 
 a chance for me, altogether." 
 
 Guy slept that night without dream or 
 disturbance ; but for Florella there was no sleep 
 for a long time. A whole rush of thoughts 
 filled her mind ; of ghosts and demons, black 
 spirits and white, bad and good angels. She 
 did not feel " creepy," or in any way personally 
 concerned, but she mentally realised, or, as she 
 called it, " saw " all sorts of eerie situations. 
 Guy Waynflete — she did not try in her thoughts 
 to separate the generations — seemed to have 
 been pursued by an evil power. Was there no 
 good angel to help him ? 
 
 Florella saw — as she saw the thought in her 
 pictures — the radiant image, all light and wings 
 and glory, the instinctive presentment of a
 
 MINISTERS OF OR ACE. 205 
 
 heavenly being which was her spiritual and 
 artistic inheritance. Perhaps, in the light of 
 that fair fancy, she fell asleep; but suddenly 
 there was no outward vision any more, but a 
 great awe and a passionate yearning within. A 
 voice seemed to cry from the depths, "Oh, 
 helping is so hard — so hard ! There is no 
 angelness left. It takes it all. My wings can't 
 be smooth and tidy ! " Florella woke right up 
 in the morning sunshine. The vision was over, 
 but she did not forget it.
 
 206 WAYNFLETE. 
 
 CHAPTEK IV. 
 
 THROWING DOWN THE GAUNTLET. 
 
 Shortly after this day at the Rabys, Mrs. 
 Joshua Palmer went up to Waynflete ostensibly 
 because she thought that she could be of some 
 use to Aunt Waynflete in getting comfortably 
 settled in there, and in finally arranging her 
 household if, as seemed likely, she remained 
 there for the winter, but really moved by some- 
 thing in her daughter's letters which excited 
 her anxiety. It would not do at all to have 
 "anything" between Godfrey and Jeanie, at 
 their age. By-and-by, if anything really came 
 of the fancy, things might be different. 
 
 Guy and his friend were therefore left alone 
 at Ingleby, and two or three weeks passed
 
 THROWING DOWN THE GAUNTLET, 207 
 
 without much outward event, but of much in- 
 ward importance. 
 
 Guy, whether wisely or unwisely, plunged 
 into the study of such experiences as his own, 
 and their possible explanations. He had no 
 difficulty in these days in finding material, and 
 he brought to bear on the subject an amount of 
 acute intelligence and reasoning power for which 
 Staunton had hardly given him credit. He 
 puzzled him a good deal by his ridicule of some 
 recorded stories, and his keen interest in others. 
 He mastered the point of the various theories, 
 stating and criticizing them with much force, 
 and the discussions were certainly so far good 
 for him that he lost some of his sense of unique 
 and shameful experience. But Cuthbert saw 
 that he tested everything by an incommunicable 
 and inexplicable sense, and he never uttered 
 any definite conviction as regarded himself. He 
 had no " nervous attacks " as Cuthbert called 
 them ; but whether the terrible night at Wayn- 
 flete had done him permanent harm, or whether
 
 208 WAYNFLETE. 
 
 the strain was more continuous than appeared, 
 he was certainly far from strong, and suffered 
 from any extra exertion, so that the need of 
 care was evident enough. 
 
 " I believe I was a fool to set you upon all 
 this reading," said Cuthbert, one day. *' You'll 
 wear yourself out with it when I have to leave 
 you." 
 
 " It would be very difficult to be alone," said 
 Guy, thoughtfully. 
 
 " It's out of the question. You're not fit for 
 the mill or for the hard winter here. You ought 
 to have a sea- voyage, or something of that sort. 
 Or, at any rate, come and stay on the south 
 coast somewhere where I could make my head- 
 quarters while I'm lecturing, and see you now 
 and then." 
 
 "There are a great many things I can't 
 quite tell you," said Guy, after a pause, "and 
 they don't only concern myself. It's all right 
 about the reading, but I've got something 
 to do to-day. It's quite simple, only rather
 
 THROWING DOWN THE GAUNTLET. 209 
 
 hard. And I know ' he ' doesn't want me to 
 do it." 
 
 Guy had said nothing so personal since his 
 first confession, and, as he got up languidly, and 
 prepared to return to the mill for his afternoon 
 work, giving his friend an odd, half-smiling 
 look, as he moved away, Cuthbert felt an un- 
 comfortable thrill. 
 
 It startled him to feel that Guy's conviction 
 lay absolutely untouched by all his recent study. 
 There was something inscrutable behind the 
 pathetic eyes, and what was it ? Was the boy 
 " mad north-north west " ? or would he at last 
 compel belief in the incredible ? Horatio, Cuth- 
 bert thought, had a great advantage in having 
 actually seen the ghost that haunted Hamlet. 
 Then he remembered making some remark to" 
 Guy on the " objective " character of this famous 
 apparition, and Guy had answered, " But they 
 only saw it, as you see a house or a tree. 
 I don't suppose it made much difference to 
 them." 
 
 VOL. I. P
 
 210 WAYNFLETE. 
 
 Guy betook himself to the mill, and called 
 John Cooper into the room where the bottle of 
 brandy was still locked up in the cupboard in 
 the wall. He had often been as conscious of 
 its presence there, as he could have been of that 
 of the ghost ; every morning he thought about 
 it more and more persistently, and every evening 
 when he went away he knew that the day's 
 victory had left him with less strength for the 
 morrow's conflict. 
 
 Now, when he went up to the cupboard, 
 and turned the key in the lock, and, with 
 his keen ears heard the old manager's step 
 crossing the court — it was to him as if another 
 hand pushed the lock back — and another than 
 himself suggested a different reason for the 
 summons. But he stood still, leaning against 
 the wall, till the old man came into the 
 room. 
 
 Then he put up his hand, and let the door 
 swing open. 
 
 *' John Cooper," he said, '' take that out, and
 
 THROWING DOWN THE GAUNTLET, 211 
 
 take it away with you. I'll own you had right 
 on your side. But you shouldn't have cackled 
 about it to Mrs. Waynflete." 
 
 " Well now," said Cooper, in a rougher echo 
 of the young man's slow, musical voice, " I've 
 thought of that myself. I'm glad you've come 
 to a better mind about it, Mr. Guy, for I'd not 
 be willing to see the old missus disappointed in 
 your future." 
 
 "She don't expect much," said Guy. "Now 
 then," after Cooper had taken the brandy- 
 bottle out of the cupboard, and set it beside 
 a file of bills. " Now that you see I'm not 
 going to send the business and myself to 
 the dogs, shut the door, I've something to 
 say." 
 
 John Cooper obeyed, and Guy sat down by- 
 the table. 
 
 "Now then," he repeated, "we are going to 
 the dogs, and you know it. Let's look it in 
 the face." 
 
 "Eh, Mr. Guy, trade's fluctuating. "We'll
 
 212 WATNFLETE, 
 
 pull round without letting th' owd lady know 
 there's aught wrong." 
 
 " Look here," said Guy, opening a paper, " d'ye 
 think I've no brains in my head ? Look at the 
 number of orders for this year, and last year, 
 and ten years back. Look at the receipts. 
 What's the use of spending money on setting 
 all those out-of-date old looms in order ? Where's 
 the sense of manufacturing the sort of goods 
 people don't want, instead of what they do ? Is 
 that the way these mills were run sixty years 
 ago, when old Mr. Thomas managed the busi- 
 ness ? " 
 
 " He got the new looms, sir." 
 
 " Exactly so ; and wouldn't he have seen long 
 ago that they were worn out. Look here, John, 
 we'll have to pull up, and put our shoulders to 
 the wheel, or we'll have Palmer Brothers down 
 among the failures before many months are 
 over." 
 
 "Eh, Mr. Guy, for the Lord's sake don't say 
 so. Don't mention such a thing. 'Tis those
 
 THROWING DOWN TEE GAUNTLET. 213 
 
 new mills over Rilston way — and the price of 
 coals — and trade being bad ever since tlie 
 
 Government Eb, my lad, just think of 
 
 your old auntie, seeing all her life work 
 undone, and having to sell the property she's 
 so proud over." 
 
 Here Guy started slightly, as the old man's 
 voice choked. 
 
 " But we're not going to fail," he said. 
 " We're going to fight it out and pull through ; 
 that is, if you back me up." 
 
 John Cooper stared at him incredulously. 
 Besides his natural surprise that this "laddie" 
 was old enough to have a say in the matter, 
 and besides his not unjustifiable suspicions of 
 him, Guy's delicate outlines and look of ill- 
 health — in fact, his whole air — was so un- 
 like that of the powerful old woman who 
 had so long held the reins, that the iden- 
 tical form of the lines into which his lips 
 set, was unperceived, and the sudden, keen 
 glance that came through the silky black
 
 214 WAYNFLETE, 
 
 lashes, from the usually absent eyes, was 
 startliDg. 
 
 " You know well enough, sir," said Cooper 
 shakily, " that there's nought I wouldn't do for 
 the old lady and the business. She's been a 
 grand character all her days, and if there's a 
 curse on the Waynfletes, she set her teeth 
 against it when she was but a slip of a lass, 
 with rosy cheeks and eyes that could look the 
 sun down." 
 
 *' Ay ? " said Guy. " What d'ye mean by a 
 curse on the Waynfletes ? " 
 
 "Well, sir, of course it's only a manner of 
 speech ; but there were plenty to say that Mar- 
 g'ret Waynflete'd bring Palmers her own ill 
 luck. Now, I say, Marg'ret never brought ill 
 luck to any man; and Mr. Thomas had the 
 best of good fortune when he took her with 
 her shawl over her head and without a penn}'. 
 Bad luck'll never overtake her now in her 
 old age." 
 
 "It will, unless we set our teeth aerainst it
 
 THROWING DOWN TEE GAUNTLET. 215 
 
 pretty hard. I'm going to light. Now, look 
 here, it all depends on what money or credit 
 can be produced now. In a fev\^ months it 
 will be too late. I'm going to make my aunt 
 attend to what I have to say ; and, if I can, get 
 her to trust me. For she'll have to trust me 
 with all she has, and make me the master, or 
 down we shall go. And what you've got to do, 
 is to tell her honestly, from the bottom of your 
 soul, that you trust me, and know I've got her 
 own grit in me. So now, I give you my solemn 
 word of honour that I'll never touch a drop of 
 strong drink till ' Palmer Brothers ' is itself 
 again, and Waynflete safe ; and, if I fail, may 
 I become part of the curse myself. So here 
 goes ! " 
 
 He took up the brandy-bottle, and threw it 
 out of the window, down into the shallow, 
 dark-dyed stream below. They heard it crack 
 against the stony bottom. 
 
 " Now then," said Guy, " will you back me 
 up?"
 
 216 WAYNFLETE. 
 
 " Lord, Mr. Guy ! That was unnecessary 
 behaviour," said the bewildered Cooper ; '' and 
 very strong language to use. But I'll go along 
 with you. You've brought me to look the 
 Lord's will in the face — which isn't easy at 
 seventy-eight — for there's not a matter of four 
 years between me and the missus. But I'll 
 serve you faithful, Mr. Guy ; and if the 
 Almighty means us to fail " 
 
 " But He don't," said Guy. " It's quite 
 another sort of person that means it. Now 
 sit down, and we'll talk business." 
 
 As Guy marshalled his figures and his facts, 
 asked penetrating questions, and prepared the 
 statement to which Mrs. Waynflete must at 
 all costs be made to hearken. Cooper, who 
 had a hard enough head of his own, silently 
 gave in and yielded his whole allegiance. 
 Only when the interview was over, he said, 
 |jleadingly — 
 
 " You'll be gentle, Mr. Guy ? For it don't 
 come easy to old folks to turn their minds
 
 THROWING DOWN THE GAUNTLET. 217 
 
 upside down. It is easy for a young lad like 
 you to act." 
 
 " Think so ? " said Guy, with a queer, sad 
 look. " Well, I'll do what I can." 
 
 He was much more tired than was good for 
 him, as he came in to the study, in the rapidly 
 increasing darkness of the autumn afternoon. 
 Cuthbert was not there, and all his sense of 
 courage and energy failed him ; for, the more 
 resolutely a nervous strain is encountered, the 
 less power of resistance is left. He grew 
 drowsy in the dusk, then roused up suddenly 
 to the agony of panic-fear, to the intolerable 
 sense of his enemy within him. He might 
 cover eyes and ears, but it entered by no such 
 avenues — anything to drown — to bury it. 
 There was whisky in the cupboard. He stag- 
 gered to his feet, and the next moment Cuth- 
 bert's hand was on his shoulder. 
 
 " Steady, my boy, steady. What is it ? Lie 
 down again. I am here ; you'll be better in a 
 minute."
 
 218 WAYNFLETE. 
 
 Guy clung to the hand of flesh and blood as 
 if he had been drowning. He hid his face, not 
 hearing one word that Cuthbert said. He was 
 not merely suffering terror, but struggling, 
 fighting to free himself, to escape, to separate 
 himself from the influence that seemed to be 
 upon him, resisting and opposing it with all 
 his strength. '' Oh, help^help ! " he gasped. 
 
 " Yes — yes, my dear boy. Lie still. It will 
 pass off" directly." 
 
 And very soon, in two or three minutes, as 
 Cuthbert counted time, the agony seemed to 
 cease, and Guy dropped back, deadly faint, 
 but with closed eyes and smooth brow^ 
 
 Cuthbert brought him, as soon as he let go 
 his desperate hold, some of the remedy provided 
 by the doctor, and tended him with a care and 
 kindness altogether new to him. 
 
 " It's much better with you here," said Guy, 
 presently, as if half-surprised. 
 
 " Of course it is. You were so tired ; no 
 wonder a bad dream upset you."
 
 THROWING DOWN THE GAUNTLET, 219 
 
 Guy lifted his heavy eyes for a moment, and 
 looked at him. 
 
 " A very bad dream," he said drily. " It's 
 over now." 
 
 " Tell me what it was ? " 
 
 " He came, that's all. No, I can't tell you. 
 You don't understand ; but you help." 
 
 Cuthbert did not think him fit for an argu- 
 ment, and sat by him in silence. He felt that 
 the sight of Guy's agony had tried his own 
 nerves somewhat. It was an odd turn of fate, 
 he thought, that brought a quiet, everyday 
 person like himself, to whom no great heights 
 or depths, either of character or of fortune, 
 were likely to come, who held steady, un- 
 exciting opinions, and expected no revela- 
 tions about anything, to be guide, philo- 
 sopher, and friend, to this strange being, for 
 whom the balance swung with such frightful 
 oscillations. 
 
 Guy was very quiet all the evening, sub- 
 mitting with a little surprise to his friend's
 
 220 WAYNFLETE. 
 
 precautions, but evidently finding it comfortable 
 to have done with concealment. 
 
 Only, the last thing of all, he looked at 
 Cuthbert with his mocking smile on his lip — 
 " What a ' softy ' I should be," he said, " if this 
 was whjat you think it ! "
 
 ( 221 ) 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 THE MOTHER S BOOK. 
 
 Some few days before the stay at Moorhead 
 came to an end, Kitty Staunton received a 
 letter, which surprised her greatly, as it came 
 from a person of whose existence she had never 
 previously heard. It was signed ''Catherine 
 Maxwell," and began, " My dear young cousin," 
 and stated that the writer had heard from her 
 old friend Mrs. Raby that the Miss Stauntons 
 were staying at Moorhead, and that, as she 
 believed them to be her cousin George Maxwell's 
 grandchildren, it would give her great pleasure 
 to make their acquaintance; would they come 
 over and spend the day with her at her little 
 cottage at Ousel well, bringing with them any
 
 222 WAYNFLETE. 
 
 of their young friends who cared for the 
 drive ? 
 
 Kitty and Violet being curious and interested, 
 and Florella being inclined for the expedition, 
 the three set off one fine brisk moroing over the 
 moors on the opposite side to Kirk Hinton, and 
 came to a little cold, fresh village, high up on 
 the side of a narrow valley. Here in a cold, 
 fresh little house, with latched doors painted 
 with thin white paint, and deeply recessed 
 windows looking into a little garden full of 
 hardy plants, now turning brown and yellow 
 with the autumn frosts, they found an apple- 
 cheeked old lady dressed in a shot-silk gown of 
 so old a style that it w^as just about to come 
 again into fashion. She spoke with so strong a 
 northern accent that the London girls caught 
 what she said with difiiculty; but she made 
 them most heartily welcome, gave them some 
 very thin and long-legged fowls for dinner, 
 followed up by curds and red -currant jelly. 
 Then she showed them sundry curiosities, which
 
 THE MOTHER'S BOOK. 223 
 
 they knew how to admire. There was a filigree 
 basket, like to the one which Rosamond of the 
 Purple Vase made for her cousin s birthday, and 
 for which she was so unmercifully snubbed by 
 the common sense of her unfeeling parents. 
 There were engravings in oval frames, bits of 
 Leeds china, an old spinning-wheel, and finall}', 
 a quaintly shaped card-table, which on being 
 opened, displayed, instead of green cloth, an 
 exquisitely worked pattern of faded roses in the 
 very finest tent stitch. 
 
 "And that, cousin love," she said, "was in 
 Waynflete Hall when it belonged to my great- 
 grandfather Maxwell." 
 
 " Really 1 " said Kitty, with much interest. 
 " Our brother Cuthbert is staying with Mr. Guy 
 Waynflete at Ingleby now. It was through him 
 that we came to Moorhead." 
 
 Miss Maxwell looked quite awestruck. 
 
 "Well, well," she said, "young people's ways 
 are different. I should never have made myself 
 known to Mrs. Waynflete, nor should I think
 
 224 WAYNFLETE. 
 
 of calling at Waynflete, even if I visited at that 
 distance. Not that I keep up old grudges, 
 my love, but there's a delicacy in such 
 matters." 
 
 " Cuthbert knew Mr. Waynflete a long time 
 before they knew about any former connection. 
 I don't think it troubles them, they are great 
 friends." 
 
 "Ah!" said Miss Maxwell. ''Guy, too, I 
 hope " 
 
 "Cousin Catherine," said Violet, boldly; "I 
 am sure you can tell us delightful old stories 
 of the two families. Do ! Tell us about the 
 ghost and the Guy Waynflete who never got 
 back in time. Have we got a ghost as well as 
 the Waynfletes ? " 
 
 " Oh no, love," said Miss Maxwell, " our 
 family was never of that kind ; and indeed, 
 when there's so much drinking and dissipation 
 as there was among the Waynfletes, there's no 
 need of ghosts to bring ruin. And I'm sure 
 your brother will always remember, that it was
 
 THE MOTHERS BOOK. 225 
 
 all in the way of business my great grandfather 
 obtained the place." 
 
 " And how did he lose it again ? " asked 
 Violet. 
 
 "My dear, through business misfortunes," 
 said Miss Maxwell, with dignity. " And 
 Ouseley, which is only a few miles up the 
 valley, was sold in my father's time. But I've 
 been thinking, there are no Ouseley Max- 
 wells left but me. And I have a few old 
 letters which perhaps your brother ought to 
 have." 
 
 "I'm sure Cuthbert would be delighted to 
 come and s^e them and you/' said Kitty. 
 
 " Oh no, Cousin Catherine," interposed Violet ; 
 " do let us see them. We can tell Cuth, or give ' 
 them to him ; but old family letters, especially 
 about Waynflete and the ghosts, would be quite 
 too awfully jolly." 
 
 Miss Maxwell looked at the bloominer srirl 
 with her outspoken voice and her straight- 
 looking eyes, her sailor hat, and her boyish 
 
 VOL. I. Q
 
 226 WAYNFLETE. 
 
 jacket, as if she had never thought of any one 
 like her before ; she sighed and looked solemn, 
 but pulled out the drawer of the card-table, 
 and took therefrom, with great mystery, two 
 or three yellow-looking letters, an old Prayer- 
 book, and a very dirty pack of cards, and on 
 one of these she pointed out a dark stain. " My 
 loves," she whispered ; " this was stained on 
 that fatal night with Squire Waynflete's life 
 blood." 
 
 Yiolet became suddenly serious, and Florella 
 could hardly help crying out in protest against 
 touching these things which seemed to her full 
 of a living trouble. 
 
 Miss Maxwell opened the Prayer-book which 
 was bound in red morocco, most delicately 
 tooled and gilt. On the title-page was written 
 "Margaret Waynflete" and the dates of the 
 births of her two sons. " Guy Waynflete, born 
 June 19th, 1760," and then "My Pretty Baby;" 
 then " Godfrey Waynflete, 1764," and then in the 
 same pointed, careful hand —
 
 THE MOTHER'S BOOK. 227 
 
 "The angel of the Lord encampeth round 
 about them that fear Him." 
 
 Florella could not speak a word, and when 
 the book was handed to her to look at, she 
 laid her hand on it with a soft, reverent 
 touch. 
 
 Then Miss Maxwell with some ceremony 
 opened the two papers, and begged Kitty to 
 read them aloud. 
 
 The first was in the hand of this long dead 
 Margaret Waynflete, and was evidently the 
 brief commencement of a journal or diary. 
 
 Feb. lOthy 1785. — My son Guy has gone to 
 London. 
 
 Feb. 12th. — We have killed another little Pig. 
 
 Feb. ISth. — Attorney Maxwell is more Obliging 
 than I like to See. 
 
 Feb. 14ith. — My Brother Godfrey did begin 
 by Mistake the Funeral Service instead of the 
 Marriage, for an honest couple. This Comes 
 of Carousing. Alas ! 
 
 March 25th. — My Chittyprat Hen has a Fine
 
 228 WATNFLETE. 
 
 Brood. There be no letter from my son Guy, 
 which angers his Father. My poor Boy. He 
 is better even in Town than Here. Does God 
 indeed permit the Spirit of His wicked 
 Ancestor to Trouble Him ? Alas ! there is 
 Wickedness Enough Alive. 
 
 Ajpril 15th. — The Pain at my Heart is great, 
 I have nigh Swooned with it. N.B. — To distil 
 lavender and drop Into it Cloves, for a Cordial. 
 Death would be No evil, but for my two Sons, 
 but this House would be no Home. 
 
 Here the brief record suddenly stopped, only 
 lower down on the page were faintly and 
 unsteadily written the words, " My dear son." 
 
 " There ^uas the ghost then, you see," said 
 Violet, in awestruck tones. " Oh, go on, Kitty . 
 It is interesting." 
 
 "There's no more," said Kitty. "The other 
 paper is quite different." 
 
 This was dated October 10th, 1785, and 
 began — 
 
 "I, George Maxwell, Attornej^-at-law, feel it
 
 TEE MOTHER'S BOOK, 229 
 
 incumbent upon me for the Establishment of 
 my Character as an Honest Man, to state in 
 writing what passed after the Shocking and 
 Lamentable Suicide of Guy Waynflete, Esquire, 
 of Waynflete Hall, which Property is legally 
 mine by the Terms of the Bond between Us. 
 Since there be not wanting envious Persons to 
 say that I Took advantage of young Mr. Wayn- 
 flete's Illness, which Prevented his Return at 
 the Given Date. When he Arrived in the Early 
 Morning, he was Undoubtedly in liquor, which 
 was his Custom, therefore His Statement that 
 the Spirit of his Ancestor, Guy Waynflete, Who 
 Betrayed his Friend, and the Father of his 
 Future wife, and so Disgraced his Family at 
 the Time of the Lamentable Rebellion of the 
 Duke of Monmouth, stood in his Path, and 
 Prevented Him from Crossing the River Flete, 
 hath no Credit with Reasonable Men. There 
 be Some that say Highwaymen are Plentiful, 
 but Lies, in the mouth of this Young Gentleman, 
 are more Plentiful still. At the sight of His
 
 230 WAYNFLETE. 
 
 Father's Corpse he fell into a swoon and 
 Awoke Raving, in which Condition he Died 
 This Morning. The Lad Godfrey is but a 
 Loutish Youth, but I am Willing to Assist 
 Parson Godfrey to put Him to some Honest 
 Calling. I do not Hold with Country super- 
 stitions, and I shall Instruct my Wife and 
 Daughters that the Gallopping of the Horse 
 Round the House be nothing but the Wind in 
 the Plantations." 
 
 " Well ! " said Violet, with calm emphasis, 
 " whatever the Waynfletes were, our ancestor 
 was a beast, and I hope the Stauntons were 
 more respectable." 
 
 Florella sat quite still. She knew the sound 
 that was called the gallopping of a horse, and 
 had once or twice been taken in by it, as a 
 child at Waynflete, and she felt as sure as if 
 she had herself experienced it, that whatever 
 the evil was, inward or outward, which had 
 defeated this unhappy Guy Waynflete a hundred 
 years ago, it was alive and at work still. And
 
 THE MOTHERS BOOK. 231 
 
 she knew, too, that she had ranged herself on 
 the other side, and entered into definite conflict 
 with it. 
 
 The result of this visit was that a post-card 
 from his sistei summoned Cuthbert Staunton up 
 to Moorhead on the day after Guy's interview 
 with John Cooper. 
 
 He was shown his old cousin's treasures, which 
 she had entrusted to Kitty for the purpose, as 
 soon as he arrived, and studied them with a 
 grave face, and with a far deeper interest than 
 his sisters guessed. 
 
 " I think," he said, " that these things ought 
 to be given back to the Waynfletes. I shall go 
 and see this old lady, and see what her view is." 
 
 " Oh yes," exclaimed Florella, suddenly, " Mr. 
 Staunton, I am sure they ought to have them." 
 
 "In any case," said Cuthbert, "I will take 
 them and let Waynflete see them. And I say, 
 I think you had better drop joking about the 
 ghost. It was a great tragedy, and they might 
 not like it."
 
 232 WAYNFLETE. 
 
 "Well, but it's all nonsense, and dead and 
 done for," said Violet. 
 
 " It happened," said Cuthbert. 
 
 He looked so serious, that Constancy's keen 
 eyes noticed him with inquiry, and Florella, oh, 
 how much she wondered what he knew. 
 
 They all walked out together to see the 
 departing purple of the autumn moor, now 
 fading into russet, and as they went down the 
 road, a boy trotted up on a pony, and put a 
 telegram into Cuthbert's hand. 
 
 "From Guy Waynflete, Ingleby Station. My 
 aunt has sent for me. I must go, excuse me. 
 Make yourself comfortable. Will telegraph when 
 to expect me back, but not to-day." 
 
 Cuthbert uttered a dismayed exclamation 
 which frightened the girls, and obliged him to 
 read the telegram aloud. 
 
 " Why, how very polite, and how very ex- 
 travagant to telegraph up here ! You would 
 have heard when you got back. He must have 
 paid five shillings for it ! " said Kitty.
 
 THE MOTHERS BOOK, 233 
 
 " He is rather punctilious," answered Cuthbert. 
 " But I hope nothing is wrong. He is not well, 
 and I am sorry he has had to go off in this way. 
 He meant to go to-morrow." 
 
 The words expressed Cuthbert's anxiety very 
 inadequately ; he fell silent, and Violet said — 
 
 " Well, he'll have a more comfortable journey 
 than the old Guy, and there won't be quite so 
 iiuich depending on his getting there by a 
 particular moment." 
 
 "I told you to let all that subject drop, Vi," 
 said Cuthbert, sharply. 
 
 When the visitor was gone, Florella walked 
 aside, and, in the late afternoon, she went away 
 by herself over the withering heather to the 
 rock where she had shown Guy the harebells. 
 
 There was no blue now, either in flowers or 
 sky ; the wind was driving a heavy, smoky 
 mist before it, and the air was, as Dante calls 
 it, " brown." 
 
 Could it be possible that Guy had meant her 
 to know what he was doing ?
 
 234 WATNFLETE, 
 
 She knew, she saw, that the old story was 
 not " dead and done for " ! There came upon 
 her an awful, formless dread that Guy would 
 never reach Waynflete '' safe." She stood quite 
 still, with her eyes wide open, and one hand 
 holding by the jagged rock beside her. Her 
 soul was alive within her, and wrestled with 
 the angel — whether of light or of darkness, she 
 did not know. She held Guy's soul with hers 
 as with her hand she might have held his, 
 giving him all her strength, and her spirit 
 stretched and strained as the muscles might 
 have done in a struggle for dear life. There 
 were at first no words within her. It was a 
 shapeless foe; but gradually as she pitted all 
 the force of her soul against it, there came into 
 her the sense, not only of fear and peril, but 
 of evil — images, thoughts, words, flashed into 
 her innocent soul. Hitherto she had had no 
 consciousness of prayer, only of struggle, but 
 now she cried out to the Presence that was 
 with him and her to reinforce her strength.
 
 THE MOTHERS BOOK. 235 
 
 And happily, blessedly, that Presence within 
 her was not without form and void, she dropped 
 on her knees, sobbing out over and over again 
 the prayers of her earliest childhood. For the 
 form that was within her was that of the Son 
 of God. 
 
 When Florella came back to the outer world, 
 and felt the wet mist on her face, and the wind 
 blowing through her hair, and pulled at the 
 damp heather with her hand, there was scarcely 
 any daylight left. She could hardly recall at 
 first what had passed within her, nothing re- 
 mained clear, but a picture in her mind of the 
 Flete beck, and of the woody hollow through 
 which it ran, such a picture as she '' saw " when 
 she was going to make a sketch. She felt silly 
 and confused, as if she did not quite know 
 where she was, and as if she had worked her- 
 self up into an agony that had no cause or 
 meaning. 
 
 Then she thought of Guy Waynflete, and she 
 knew that the unconscious child-heart, with
 
 236 WAYNFLETE. 
 
 which she had entered that valley, had gone 
 for ever, and that, whatever else she had given 
 him in that mysterious hour, her love had gone 
 out to him beyond recall. Interest, helpfulness, 
 sympathy ? These he had in a manner a^ked 
 for, and in giving them, she had given how 
 much more ? She had flung herself out of 
 herself to help him, and behold, she had come 
 back to herself, with yearnings and longings 
 and hopes and fears, that seemed full of selfish 
 passion. The poor angel had fallen out of the 
 sky! 
 
 The wet wind stung her hot cheeks with its 
 cold blast. Suddenly she moved, and climbing 
 up the rock, peered anxiously into the bunch of 
 withered harebells, which had once stood up so 
 brave and blue in the heavenly blue around 
 them. There was — yes, there was one little 
 living bud at the tip of a withering stem. 
 Florella did not pick it or take it to herself 
 She was going away to-morrow ; she would 
 never know if it came into flower. Perhaps
 
 THE MOTHER'S BOOK. 237 
 
 she would never know how Guy had reached 
 Waynflete. 
 
 She kissed the little bud, and then pulled her 
 cloak straight and went home to supper, shutting 
 up the new burden tight in her breast. 
 
 Constancy, meanwhile, was sitting comfortably 
 by the fire, when there was a crack of wheels 
 on the wet gravel, a deep voice outside, an 
 opening door, and Godfrey Waynflete's tall 
 figure and flaxen head in the doorway. 
 
 " Why, this is a surprise ! " exclaimed Cosy. 
 " Then there is nothing amiss at Waynflete, 
 though your brother was sent for." 
 
 " Then Guy has been here ? I knew it " 
 
 " Not at all. But Mr. Staunton has, and your 
 brother telegraphed to him to say that Mrs. 
 Waynflete wanted him, and he had to go over." 
 
 " Guy had to go to Waynflete ? My aunt 
 sent for him ? " 
 
 "So it appeared. Did you come here to look 
 for him — so late ? " 
 
 Godfrey stood still, confused and unable to
 
 238 WAYNFLETE. 
 
 put two and two together so as to see what had 
 taken place. He had posted some letters for 
 his aunt yesterday, in his careless preoccupation, 
 half an hour too late, and to-day he had had a 
 telegram from Guy. 
 
 " Constancy ! " he cried, " I see, think, feel, 
 no one but you. I was determined that Guy 
 should not spoil my one chance of a last word 
 with you." 
 
 "But what made you suppose your brother 
 was here ? " interrupted Constancy. 
 
 " He sent a telegram about a trap — at Kirk 
 Hinton. I tore it up. I wasn't going to let 
 him interfere with my last word with you. He 
 might get a trap for himself." 
 
 " And you didn't send it ? Then you had 
 better go after him as quick as you can; Mrs. 
 Waynflete wanted him, and I wouldn't have 
 her disappointed for the world. Is she ill, dear 
 old lady ? Why did you come away ? And 
 oh, if I was your brother, wouldn't I give it 
 you when you got home again ! "
 
 THE MOTHER'S BOOK. 239 
 
 Cosy stood up by the mantelpiece. Her 
 eyes glittered mischievously. She enjoyed see- 
 ing Godfrey out of countenance. 
 
 But Godfrey, after the first moment of sur- 
 prise, felt nothing but that he was with her 
 and alone. He came close up to her, and stood 
 towering over her. 
 
 "Constancy, I'd do a good deal more than 
 that to buy this five minutes. Won't you give 
 me a little hope ? You'll never have another 
 fellow give himself, heart and soul and body, to 
 you as I do. I love you." 
 
 " And I love fifty other things and other 
 people. I haven't got a bit of feeling for you ! " 
 cried Cosy, desperately. " Why, I'm making a 
 story out of you as you stand there before me. 
 Is that caring anything about you ? " 
 
 "I don't know, and I don't care. I only 
 know that I want you. Give me a chance. 
 Without you I shall never come to good." 
 
 " I don't think you will," said Constancy, 
 suddenly and keenly. "I have said no, and
 
 240 WAYNFLETE. 
 
 there's an end of it. You seem to have played 
 a very mean sort of trick on your brother, and 
 you can't expect to get any good out of it. 
 You certainly won't from me." 
 
 " Constancy " 
 
 " If you were a little older and wiser, you 
 would know what an impossible sort of way 
 you have behaved in. But I suppose you must 
 be excused, because you are a boy, and know 
 no better." 
 
 He turned white with anger. 
 
 ** I don't know if I love you, or hate you," 
 he said. "But you shall never say that to 
 me again." 
 
 He was gone in a moment, leaving Constancy 
 stirred, upset, and frightened, so strong was the 
 contest between his boyish and foolish be- 
 haviour, and the impression of strength and 
 passion made upon her by himself She was 
 quite sure that she hated him. 
 
 Godfrey sprang into his dog- cart, and drove 
 down the rough, stony hillside, at a break-neck
 
 TEE MOTHERS BOOK. 241 
 
 pace. He was mad with anger at Constancy 
 and at himself, while stings of conscience and 
 vague alarm pierced the tumult of wrath, and 
 added to its heat. He thought neither of ghost 
 nor ancestor, as he drove madly along the stony 
 lanes that led through the valley of the Flete ; 
 but he pressed on, as though driven by furies, 
 fear of what he might find gradually forcing 
 itself upon him, till, as he reached the bridge, 
 and looked towards the house, he saw that the 
 windows of the octagon room were full of 
 light. In sudden alarm, he dashed on up the 
 old avenue to the stable door. 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 242 WAYNFLEIE, 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 " As I went down to the water-side, 
 None but my foe to be my guide, 
 None but my foe to be my guide." 
 
 Mrs. Waynflete said nothing about the effects 
 of her fall on the bridge, but she did not quite 
 recover from the shock of it ; and, accidental 
 as it had been, she knew quite well that it 
 would not have happened if her tread had been 
 as steady and her sight as clear as had been 
 the case six months before. She had one or 
 two other little slips and escapes, and she said 
 to herself that they were " warnings." 
 
 People often know their own condition much 
 better than is supposed, or, than others do, and 
 Mrs. Waynflete knew as well as any doctor 
 could have told her that her hour was coming.
 
 31Y FOE FOR GUIDE. 243 
 
 She was very glad that no one else appeared to 
 suspect the fact. She did not like sympathy, 
 and even yet she did not feel herself to require 
 support. But she thought much within her- 
 self. Those two wills lay heavy on her mind, 
 and so did Guy's criticisms on the management 
 of the mills. She hated to acknowledge as 
 much; but she was really too clever and too 
 experienced a woman not to know that there 
 was more than a possibility of his being right. 
 She had known too much of the books and ac- 
 counts in past days not to know that of late 
 she had not known them so well. Moreover, 
 her first distaste to Waynflete continued. She 
 did not get accustomed to the bed that she had 
 to sleep in, nor to the chair she had to sit on. 
 She scorned the young vicar, Mr. Clifton. She 
 even felt that she would have liked to have a 
 talk with old Mr. Whitman of Ingleby, and 
 perhaps let him read her a chapter, though she 
 never had consulted him in her life on any 
 matter, spiritual or temporal. And on one
 
 244 WAYNFLETE. 
 
 point, in these autumn days, spent in this un- 
 familiar ancestral home, she changed her mind. 
 She had always meant to be buried at Wayn- 
 flete, though she had never chosen to live 
 there; but, now, she resolved that she would 
 lie by her husband's side, in Ingleby church- 
 yard. All her life had been spent at Ingleby; 
 she had been born there, in the poor farmhouse 
 which she had so despised. "The lads," the 
 male heirs, her brother's descendants, might 
 make their graves among the old Waynfletes 
 if they liked. As she had dimly felt at first, 
 the object of a life's labour is not so dear as 
 the labour itself; and whenever the charms of 
 Waynflete were discussed, Margaret felt that 
 she was an Ingleby woman. She was as con- 
 stant to the facts of her life as she had been 
 to the idea that had dominated it. 
 
 Under the influence of these feelings, she 
 one day sat down, and wrote to Guy a note in 
 which she told more of the truth than she had 
 admitted to those living in the house with her.
 
 MT FOE FOB GUIDE. 245 
 
 " Waynflete Hall. 
 
 "My dear Guy, 
 
 " I took your remarks as to the 
 management of the business very much amiss, 
 as it has always been my way to follow my 
 own judgment, not finding that of other people 
 any improvement on it. But I perceive that it 
 is your right to have your say, and I wish to 
 hear it. I am an old woman, and I shall not 
 have my hand on things much longer. I feel 
 my time is coming, and I would not wish to 
 leave injustice behind me. So I desire that you 
 come over here at once without delay, and put 
 *before me what you have got to say, and satisfy 
 my mind on the points that lie between us. 
 Besides, my dear, I wish to have you both here 
 with me. 
 
 " Your loving aunt, 
 
 " Margaeet Waynflete." 
 
 When Guy received this letter by the second 
 post, on the day that Staunton went to Moor- 
 head, the last sentence more than all the rest
 
 246 WAYNFLETE. 
 
 made him feel that he must start at once for 
 Waynflete ; manifestly the note had been delayed, 
 or he would have got it in the morning. As it 
 was, he could not reach Kirk Hinton till four 
 o'clock. 
 
 He was touched and a good deal alarmed, 
 not so much at the summons as at the inclina- 
 tion to listen to him, and hurriedly putting 
 his papers together, set off, and at Ingleby 
 station sent a telegram to Godfrey, since 
 his old aunt disliked receiving them, saying 
 briefly — 
 
 "Bend trap without fail to "ineet the four 
 train at Kirk Hinton!' 
 
 And then, moved partly by a desire to explain 
 himself to Cuthbert, and partly by a sudden 
 strange impulse to tell Florella what he was 
 doing, he despatched the other to Moorhead. 
 Spite of this impulse, he thought little of his 
 dread of Waynflete, as he pursued his journey 
 by train, and waited at the junction for that 
 which was to take him to Kirk Hinton. He
 
 MY FOE FOR GUIDE. 247 
 
 was very full of what he had to say to his 
 aunt, and much moved at the tone of her 
 summons. 
 
 As the train stopped at Kirk Hinton, the 
 station-master hurried up. 
 
 " Mr. Waynflete ! Have you had a telegram 
 from Waynflete Hall ? " 
 
 " No ; what's the matter ? " 
 
 " We despatched one, sir, an hour ago, to say 
 that Mrs. Waynflete had had an accident this 
 morning. Here's a copy, sir." 
 
 " A telegram ? What was it ? " 
 
 " Aunt Waynflete has had a had fall. Come. 
 From Mrs. Palmer to Guy Waynflete." 
 
 Guy stood still for a moment, and caught his 
 breath. 
 
 " They expect me," he said. " Is the trap 
 here?" 
 
 " No, sir ; nothing's here. We sent on your 
 telegram this morning. The lad that brought 
 this one said he gave it to Mr. Godfrey." 
 
 " I must go on," said Guy. '* Send my things
 
 248 WAYNFLETE. 
 
 as soon as you can. I suppose the field way is 
 the quickest ? " 
 
 ''Yes, sir, by a matter of two miles. The 
 evening's very soft — we'll be having a wet 
 night. Good evening,, sir. Keep on by the 
 stiles. And I hope ye'U not get there too 
 late." 
 
 The words struck on Guy's ears, as he hurried 
 down the hill in the dismal light of the October 
 afternoon. When Godfrey, also troubled in 
 spirit, had been forced to take this rough and 
 dreary walk, its discomforts had added to his 
 sense of anger and injury, but Guy hardly 
 heeded them, though he knew that the six miles 
 up and down the sharp edges of Flete Dale 
 was almost more than he could manage with- 
 out breaking down, especially as the sudden 
 summons and alarming news had been a bad 
 preparation for extra exertion. 
 
 " Too late ! " If he did not reach his old aunt 
 in time to satisfy her, if not about his view of 
 the business, at least about himself, it would be
 
 MY FOE FOE GUIDE. 249 
 
 a bitter hour for him indeed. If it was possible 
 — if he could be satisfactory ? Thoughts, 
 hitherto latent, rose up so strong and full 
 within him that he felt as if he had received 
 a sudden increase of reasoning power, in spite 
 of the fatigue against which he could hardly 
 struggle. 
 
 There was his bad health to begin with. 
 How could he ever satisfy any one, any more 
 than that Guy Waj^nflete whose face, whose 
 constitution, and doubtless whose soul he in- 
 herited? That Guy w^ho drank? Who ever 
 overcame that impulse, which seemed no more 
 moral or immoral than the palpitation of his 
 heart? 
 
 Probably, after all, the cynical common-sense 
 view of that Guy's miserable failure was the 
 true one. The Dragon, the little public-house 
 which must be passed close by the river might 
 account for it better than highwayman or ghost. 
 Perhaps he, too, had been tired and ill, and had 
 stopped there to get strength to go on — and had
 
 250 WAYNFLETE. 
 
 not gone on in time. And the Dragon was 
 there still in the same place. The turn to 
 it must still be passed on the way to the 
 bridge. 
 
 And as for the ghost ? Was that, too, an 
 hereditary affection of the nerves, a monomania ; 
 in fact, just that dislocation of the brain which 
 made both him and his ancestor irresponsible 
 for their actions, a sign that showed that they 
 were not free agents, that the dreadful and 
 degrading fate that had overtaken his namesake 
 was equally inevitable for himself? Yes. The 
 Being that haunted him and controlled him was 
 nothing but Himself, and his "objectivity" only 
 the chimera of an abnormal brain. He looked, 
 and behold there was nothing, no voice, nor any 
 to answer. 
 
 This awful conviction was more terrible to 
 Guy than any haunting ancestral spirit, than 
 any tempting fiend. It was possible to fight 
 with " principalities and powers, rulers of dark- 
 ness;" but to wait helpless for the inevitable
 
 MY FOE FOB GUIDE. 251 
 
 outcome of his Self, to see drunkenness, 
 degradation and madness unroll before him — 
 to know, not that he would lose his soul, but 
 that he had no soul to lose; no foe to fight 
 with — no friend to help. 
 
 For, if this dreadful sense of an evil presence 
 within him which grew and darkened as he 
 came down the rough field to the river's side, 
 was only a bogie of his imagination, then no 
 heavenly presence could be real either, if the 
 only spiritual experience that he had ever, as 
 he called it, " felt," was a delusion, he could not 
 believe that any other could be real. 
 
 But, in the horror of these thoughts, he 
 passed the turn that would have led him to 
 the respite and relief of the Dragon public, and 
 never knew the moment when he did so. He 
 came to the river-side. The water was deep 
 enough here for drowning, for making an end 
 both of the past and of the future, a fit end 
 for the fool who lived in dread of his own 
 fancy, and feared — himself. Well, he was not
 
 252 WAYNFLETE. 
 
 frightened now, only desperate, which was a 
 worse thing. 
 
 What was this, that mingled with, that 
 almost lightened his formless horror ? It was 
 the old familiar panic that he knew so well ; 
 the physical terror that was wont to seize upon 
 him unawares. It did not surprise him that 
 there, on the centre of the crazy bridge, stood, 
 visible to his eye, the " counterfeit present- 
 ment" of the terror that he felt within, the 
 ghostly image of his ancestor and of himself 
 He sank down on his knees, he could not stand, 
 or he must have turned and fled. The form 
 was shadowy, but the awful, hopeless, evil eyes 
 were clear as if they looked close into his own, 
 much clearer, as he knew, than mortal eyes 
 could have been, so far off, in so dim a light. 
 He and his Double looked at each other. Guy 
 was perfectly conscious, wide awake, alive all 
 through. He fell forward on the grass, and hid 
 his face, but the companion Presence was not 
 to be so shut out. "Feeling," as he had
 
 MY FOE FOR GUIDE. 253 
 
 said, was worse than seeing. He looked up 
 again. 
 
 " Will he come here, if I don't go there ? " 
 
 And, suddenly, he knew that he had a 
 choice. Through his agony of nerve and be- 
 wilderment of brain this conviction shot like 
 an arrow. 
 
 " I shall fall, or he'll drown me. I can never 
 pass him ; but / can try." 
 
 He staggered up on to his feet. His soul 
 was set on edge by the jarring contact of this 
 thing of evil, to draw near, instead of to fly, 
 was more than flesh and blood could bear. He 
 broke into a wild, mad fit of laughter — laughter 
 that echoed, till he did not know which laughed, 
 himself or his Double. They seemed to mock 
 and to defy each other. 
 
 " Myself or my devil ! " shouted the living 
 Guy. " If you kill me, or damn me, you shall 
 not stop me ! Here or there — within or with- 
 out. Come with me if you choose, I'll not be 
 too late ! "
 
 254 WA7NFLETL. 
 
 He staggered forward, his head swam, his 
 eyes grew dizzy, his Double swayed before him, 
 he knew not which was plank and which 
 whirling, rushing water. Then, in the murky, 
 swinging mist, there was a sense of something 
 still and blue, and, for an instant, Florella's 
 face. 
 
 He sprang at it, and knew no more, till he 
 found himself lying on the stones, half in and 
 half out of the shallow water. The bridge was 
 behind him, and, as he looked fearfully round, 
 the haunting figure still before. Yes, before 
 him on the hillside. It had come ivith him, 
 while the angel face that had saved him was 
 gone. 
 
 He came to himself, as usual, with the sense 
 of deathlike fainting and sinking, which he 
 knew too well. It was almost dark, he had 
 no idea of the time, or whether he had been 
 moments or hours in crossing the bridge. He 
 had no longer any thoughts, hardly any fears. 
 No words of prayer had come through to him
 
 MY FOE FOB GUIDE. 2dd 
 
 in the awful conflict; but now, as he tried to 
 move and lift himself up, he instinctively 
 murmured, over and over, like a lost child, 
 '' Oh God, help me to get up the hill." 
 
 END OF VOL. I. 
 
 lonpon: printed nr william clowes ano sons, LiMrrKD. 
 
 STAMFORD STREET AND CHARING CROrS.
 
 , xo
 
 UNIVERSITY OF ILLINOI9-URBANA 
 
 3 0112 041680783