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 SEP 2 9 
 
 99^ 
 
 L161— O-IOQfi
 
 THE SILENCE 
 
 OF 
 
 DEAN MAITLAND
 
 THE SILENCE 
 
 OP 
 
 DEAN MAITLAIsTD 
 
 A NOVEL 
 
 BY 
 
 MAXWELL GRAY 
 ,;5)emt alle 6c^ulb racl;t fid) auf ©rben " 
 
 J 
 
 IN THREE VOLUMES 
 
 VOL. L 
 
 LOJSTDOK 
 KEGAN PAUL, TEENCH & CO., 1, PATEKNOSTER SQUARE 
 
 1886
 
 (The rights of translation and oj reproduction are reserved.)
 
 
 
 PART I. 
 
 *' Not poppy, nor mandragora, 
 Nor all the drowsy syrups of the world, 
 Shall ever medicine thee to that sweet sleep 
 Which thou ow'dst yesterday." 
 
 VOL. J.
 
 THE SILENCE 
 
 OF 
 
 DEAN" MAITLAND. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 The grey afternoon was wearing on to its 
 chill close ; the dark cope of immovable dun 
 cloud overhead seemed to contract and grow 
 closer to the silent world beneath it ; and the 
 steep, chalky hill, leading from the ancient 
 village, with its hoary castle and church, up 
 over the bleak^ barren down, was a weary 
 thing to climb. 
 
 The solitary traveller along that quiet 
 road moved her limbs more slowly, and 
 felt her breath coming more quickly and 
 shortly, as she mounted higher and higher.
 
 4 THE SILENCE OP DEAN MAITLAND. 
 
 and the grey Norman tower lessened and 
 gradually sank out of sight behind her. But 
 she toiled bravely on between the high 
 tangled hedges, draped with great curtains 
 of traveller's joy, now a mass of the silvery 
 seed-feathers which the country children call 
 " old man's beard," and variegated with the 
 deep-purple leaves of dogwood, the crimson 
 of briony and roseberry, the gleaming black 
 of privet, and the gold and orange reds of ivy 
 hangings ; and, though her pace slackened to 
 a mere crawl, she did not pause till she reached 
 the brow of the hill, where the hedges ceased, 
 and the broad white high-road wound over 
 the open down. 
 
 Here, where the enclosed land ended, was 
 a five-barred gate in the wild hedgerow, and 
 here the weary pedestrian, depositing the 
 numerous parcels she carried on the ground 
 at her feet, rested, her arms supported on the 
 topmost bar, and her face and the upper 
 portion of her tall figure traced clearly 
 against the grey gloomy sky. Some linnets 
 fluttered out of the hedge beside her, one or
 
 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 5 
 
 two silent larks sprang np from the turf of 
 the downland sloping away from the gate, 
 and some rooks sailed cawing overhead. All 
 else was still with the weird, dreamy stillness 
 that hangs over the earth on a day of chill 
 east-wind haze. 
 
 There is a brooding expectancy about such 
 a day that works strongly on the imagination, 
 and suggests the dark possibilities of irre- 
 sistible Fate. There is an austere poetry in 
 tlie purply grey, breathless earth and the 
 dark, unchanging sky, and a mute pathos in 
 the quiet hush of weary Nature, thus folding 
 her hands for rest, which has an unutterable 
 charm for some temperaments, and touches 
 far deeper chords than those vibrated by the 
 brilliance and joyous tumult of life and song 
 in the pleasant June-time. There is some- 
 thing of the infinite in the very monotony of 
 the colouring ; the breathless quiet, the vague- 
 ness of outline, and dimness of the all-enfolding 
 mist are full of mystery, and invest the most 
 commonplace objects with romance. 
 
 The sense of infinity was deepened in this
 
 b THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 
 
 case by the vast sweep of the horizon which 
 bounded our pedestrian's gaze. The grey 
 fallows and wan stubble-fields sloped swiftly 
 away from the gate to a bottom of verdant 
 pastures dotted with trees and homesteads ; 
 beyond them were more dim fields, and then 
 a wide belt of forest, principally of firs. To 
 the right, the valley, in which nestled the 
 now unseen tower of Chalkburne, widened 
 out, bounded by gentle hills, till the stream 
 indicating its direction became a river, on 
 the banks of which stood the mist-veiled 
 town of Oldport, the tall tower of whose 
 church rose light, white, and graceful against 
 the iron-grey sky, emulating in the glory of 
 its maiden youth — for it had seen but two 
 lustres — the hoary grandeur of its Norman 
 parent at Chalkburne. Beyond the town, 
 the river rolled on, barge-laden, to the sea, 
 the faint blue line of which was blurred by 
 a maze of masts where the estuary formed a 
 harbour. 
 
 To the left of the tired gazer stretched 
 a wide champaign, rich in woodland, and
 
 THE SILENCE OP DEAN MAITLAND. 7 
 
 bounded in the far distance by two chalky 
 summits, at whose steep bases surged the 
 unseen sea, quiet to-day on the surface, but 
 sullen with the heavy roar of the ground- 
 swell beneath. Here and there, in the breaks 
 of wood and forest on the horizon, Alma's 
 accustomed eyes saw some faint grey touches 
 which in bright summer were tiny bays of 
 sapphire sea. 
 
 Alma Lee herself made a bright point of 
 interest in the afternoon greyness, as she 
 leant wearily, and not ungracefully, on the 
 gate, her face and figure outlined clearly 
 against the dark sky. Her dress was a 
 bright blue, and her scarlet plaid shawl, 
 fastened tightly about her shoulders, revealed 
 and suggested, as only a shawl can, a full, 
 supple form, indicative of youth and health. 
 Her dark, thick hair was crowned by a small 
 velvet hat, adorned with a bright bird's 
 wing ; and her dark eyes and well-formed 
 features, reposeful and indifferent as they were 
 at the moment, suggested latent vehemence 
 and passion. Her hands and feet were large,
 
 8 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 
 
 the former bare, and wrapped in the gay 
 shawl for warmth. 
 
 Alma was not thinking of the mystery and 
 infinite possibility suggested by the grey 
 landscape before her; still less was she dream- 
 ing of the tragic shades Fate was casting 
 even now upon her commonplace path. Un- 
 suspecting and innocent she stood, lost in 
 idle thought, deaf to the steps of approaching 
 doom, and knowing nothing of the lives that 
 were to be so tragically entangled in the 
 mazes of her own. Could she but have had 
 one glimpse of the swift-coming future, with 
 what horror would the simple country girl 
 have started back and struggled against the 
 first suspicion of disaster ! 
 
 The silence was presently broken by four 
 mellow, slowly falling strokes from the grey 
 belfry of Chalkburne ; then all was still 
 again, and Alma began to pick up her 
 parcels. Suddenly she heard the sound of 
 hoofs and wheels, and, dropping her packages, 
 turned once more to the gate, and appeared a 
 very statue of contemplation by the time a
 
 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 9 
 
 dog-cart, drawn by a high-stepping chesnnt, 
 and driven by a spick-and-span groom, fair- 
 haired and well featured, drew up beside her, 
 and the groom sprang lightly to the ground. 
 
 " Come, Alma," he said, approaching the 
 pensive figure, which appeared unconscious 
 of him, " you won't say no now ? You look 
 dog-tired." 
 
 '' I shall say exactly what I please, Mr. 
 Judkins/' she replied. 
 
 " Then say yes, and jump up. Chesnut 
 is going like a bird, and will have you at 
 Swaynestone in no time. Do say yes, do ee 
 now." 
 
 '' Thank you, I intend to walk." 
 
 ^^ Just think what a way it is to walk to 
 Swaynestone, and you so tired." 
 
 " I am not tired." 
 
 " Then, why are you leaning on that there 
 gate ? " 
 
 " I am admiring the view, since you are so 
 very inquisitive." 
 
 " Oh Lord ! the view ! There's a deal 
 more view to be seen from the seat of this
 
 10 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 
 
 here cart, and it's pleasant flying along like a 
 bird. Come now, Alma, let me help you up." 
 
 " Mr. Judkins, will you have the kindness 
 to drive on ? I said in Oldport that I intended 
 to walk. It's very hard a person mayn't do 
 as she pleases without all this worry," replied 
 Alma, impatiently. 
 
 " Wilful woman mun have her way," 
 murmured the young fellow, ruefully. " Well, 
 let me carry them parcels home, at least." 
 
 " I intend to carry them myself, thank 
 you. Good afternoon ; " and Alma turned 
 her back upon the mortified youth, and 
 appeared lost in the charms of landscape. 
 
 " Well, darn it ! if you won't come, you 
 won't ; that's flat ! " the young man exclaimed 
 angrily. ^' This is your nasty pride, Miss 
 Alma ; but, mind you, pride goes before a 
 fall," he added, springing to his perch, and 
 sending the high-stepper flying along the 
 level down-road like the wind, with many 
 expressions of anger and disappointment, and 
 sundry backward glances at Alma, who gazed 
 with unruffled steadiness on the fields.
 
 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 11 
 
 " I wonder," slie mused, " why a person 
 always hates a person who makes love to 
 them ? I liked Charlie Judkins well enough 
 before he took on with this love-nonsense." 
 
 And she did not know that by declining 
 that brief drive she had refused the one 
 chance of escaping all the subsequent tragedy, 
 and that her fate was even now approaching 
 in the growing gloom. 
 
 But what is this fairy music ascending from 
 the direction of Chalkburne, and growing 
 clearer and louder every moment ? Sweet, 
 melodious, drowsily cheery, ring out five 
 tiny merry peals of bells, each peal accurately 
 matched with the other, and consisting of ^ve 
 tones. The music comes tumbling down in 
 sweet confusion, peal upon peal, chime break- 
 ing into chime, in a sort of mirthful strife of 
 melody, through all which a certain irregular 
 rhythm is preserved, which keeps the blending 
 harmonies from degenerating into dissonance. 
 With a sweep and a clash and a mingling of 
 sleepy rapture, the elfin music filled all the 
 quiet hazy air around Alma, and inspired her
 
 12 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 
 
 with vague pleasure as she turned her head 
 listening in the direction of the dulcet sounds, 
 and discerned their origin in the nodding 
 head of a large silk-coated cart-horse looming 
 through the haze. 
 
 He was a handsome, powerful fellow, step- 
 ping firmly up the hill with the happy con- 
 sciousness of doing good service which seems 
 to animate all willing, well-behaved horses, 
 and emerging into full view at the head of 
 four gallant comrades, each nodding and step- 
 ping as cheerily as himself, with a ponderous 
 waggon behind them. Each horse wore his 
 mane in love-locks, combed over his eyes, 
 the hair on the massive neck being tied here 
 and there with bows of bright woollen ribbon. 
 Each tail was carefully plaited at its spring 
 from the powerful haunches for a few inches ; 
 then it was tied with another bright knot, 
 beneath which the remainder of the tail swept 
 in untrammelled abundance almost down to 
 the pasterns, the latter hidden by long 
 fringes coming to the ground. The ponderous 
 harness shone brightly on the broad, shining
 
 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 13 
 
 brown bodies, and, as each horse carried a 
 leading-rein, thickly studded with brass 
 bosses and fastened to the girth, and there 
 was much polished brass about headstall, 
 saddle, and collar, they presented a very 
 glittering appearance. 
 
 But the crowning pride of every horse, and 
 the source of all the music which was then 
 witching the wintry air, was the lofty erection 
 springing on two branching wires from every 
 collar, and towering far above the pricked ears 
 of the proud steeds. These wires bore a long 
 narrow canopy placed at right angles to the 
 horse's length, and concealing beneath a deep 
 fringe of bright scarlet worsted the little peal 
 of nicely graduated bells. Balls of the same 
 bright worsted studded the roof of the little 
 canopy, and finished the gay trappings of 
 the sturdy rustics, who bore these accumulated 
 honours with a sort of meek rapture. 
 
 The waggon these stout fellows drew needed 
 all their bone and sinew to bring it up and 
 down the steep, hilly roads. Its hind-wheels 
 were as high as Alma's head ; their massive
 
 14 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 
 
 felloes, shod with double tires, were a foot 
 broad ; the naves were like moderate-sized 
 casks. High over the great hind wheels arched 
 the waggon's ledge in a grand sweep, descend- 
 ing with a boat-like curve to the smaller front 
 wheels, whence it rose again, ending high 
 over the wheeler's haunches, like the prow of 
 some old ship over the sea. A massive thing 
 of solid timber it was, with blue wheels and 
 red body, slightly toned by weather. On 
 the front, in red letters on a yellow ground, 
 was painted, " Eichard Long, Malbourne, 
 1860." 
 
 Two human beings, who interrupted the 
 fairy music with strange gutturals and wild 
 ejaculations to the steeds, mingled with 
 sharp whip-cracks, accompanied this imposing 
 equipage. One was a tall, straight-limbed 
 man in fustian jacket and trousers, a coat 
 slung hussar-wise from his left shoulder, and 
 a cap worn slightly to one side, with a pink 
 chrysanthemum stuck in it. His sunburnt 
 face was almost the hue of his yellow-brown 
 curls and short beard ; his eyes were blue ;
 
 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 15 
 
 and his strong, laboured gait resembled that 
 of his horses. The other was a beardless lad, 
 his satellite, similarly arrayed, minus the 
 flower. Sparks flew from the road when the 
 iron hoofs and heavy iron boots struck an 
 occasional flint. When the great waggon 
 was fairly landed on the brow of the hill, the 
 horses were brought to by means of sundry 
 strange sounds and violent gestures on the 
 part of the men, and, with creaking and 
 groaning and halloing, the great land-ship 
 came to anchor, the elfin chimes dropped into 
 silence, interrupted by little bursts of melody 
 at every movement of the horses, and the lad 
 seized a great wooden mallet and thrust 
 beneath the hind wheel. The carter leant 
 placidly against the ponderous shaft with his 
 face to Alma, and struck a match to kindle 
 his replenished pipe. 
 
 " Coldish," he observed, glancing with 
 surly indifference towards her. 
 
 " It is cold," returned Alma, drawing her 
 shawl cosily round her graceful shoulders ; 
 while the wheeler, stimulated into curiosity
 
 16 THE SILENCE OP DEAN MAITLAND. 
 
 by his master's voice, turned round to look at 
 Alma, and shook out a little peal of bells, 
 which roused the emulation of his four 
 brothers, who each shook out a little chime 
 on his own account ; while the waggoner 
 glanced slowly round the vast horizon, and, 
 after some contemplation, said in a low, 
 bucolic drawl — 
 
 " Gwine to hrain, I 'lows." 
 
 " It looks like it," replied Alma. " How is 
 your wife, Wilham ? " 
 
 The waggoner again interrogated the 
 horizon for inspiration, and, after some 
 thought, answered with a jerk, " Neuce the 
 same." 
 
 " I hope she will soon be about again," said 
 Alma ; and the leader emphasized her words 
 by shaking a little music from his canopy, 
 and thus stimulated his brothers to do like- 
 wise. " You come home lighter than you set 
 out," she added, looking at the nearly empty 
 waggon, which she had seen pass in the 
 morning filled with straw. 
 
 William turned slowly round and gazed
 
 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 17 
 
 inquiringly at the waggon, as if struck by a 
 new idea, for some moments ; then he said, 
 " Ay." After this he looked thoughtfully 
 at Alma and her parcels for some moments, 
 until his soul again found expression in the 
 words, " Like a lift ? " the vague meaning 
 of which was elucidated by the pointing of 
 his whip towards the waggon. 
 
 Alma assented, and with the waggoner's 
 assistance soon found herself, with all her 
 merchandise, comfortably installed in the 
 great waggon, which was empty save for a 
 few household and farming necessaries from 
 Oldport. Before mounting — a feat, by the 
 way, not unworthy of a gymnast — she stroked 
 the wheel horse's thick silken coat admir- 
 ingly. 
 
 " You do take care of your horses at 
 Malbourne, William," she said. " I heard 
 father say this morning he never saw a better- 
 groomed and handsomer team than yours." 
 
 WilHam went on silently arranging Alma's 
 seat, and stowing her parcels for her ; but a 
 smile dawned at the corners of his moutli, 
 
 VOL. I. c
 
 18 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 
 
 and gradually spread itself over the whole of 
 his face, and his pleasure at length found a 
 vent, when he reached the ground, in a sound- 
 ing thwack of his broad hand on the wheeler's 
 massive flank — a thwack that set the bells 
 a-tremble on the horse's neck, and sent a 
 sympathetic shiver of music through all the 
 emulous brotherhood. 
 
 " Ay," he observed, with a broad smile of 
 admiration along the line of softly swaying 
 tails and gently moving heads, with their 
 nostrils steaming in the cold air ; " he med 
 well say that." 
 
 " Ay," echoed Jem, the satellite, removing 
 the sledge mallet from the wheel and striding 
 to the front, with a reflection of his chief's 
 pleasure in his ruddy face as he glanced 
 affectionately at the team, " that he med." 
 
 It was not Alma's admiration which 
 evoked such satisfaction — she was but a 
 woman, and naturally could not tell a good 
 horse from a donkey ; but her father, Ben 
 Lee, Sir Lionel Swaynestone's coachman, a 
 man who had breathed the air of stables
 
 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 19, 
 
 from his cradle, and who drove the splendid 
 silk-coated, silver-harnessed steeds in the 
 Swaynestone carriages, his opinion was 
 something. With a joyous crack of the 
 whip, and a strange sound from the recesses 
 of his throat, William bid his team " Gee-up ! " 
 
 The mighty hoofs took hold of the road, 
 the great wheels slowly turned, a shower of 
 confused harmony fell in dropping sweetness 
 from the bells, and with creaking and 
 groaning, and nodding heads, and rhythmic 
 blending of paces and music, the waggon 
 lumbered ponderously along the level chalk 
 road which led, unenclosed by hedge or fence, 
 over the open down. 
 
 To ride in a waggon with ease, and at the 
 same time enjoy the surrounding landscape 
 without a constant exercise of gymnastic skill 
 in balancing and counter-balancing the body 
 in response to the heavy swaying and 
 jerking of the unwieldy machine, is difficult ; 
 to sit on the ledge is to be an acrobat ; to lie 
 on the floor is to see nothing but sky, besides 
 having one's members violently wrenched
 
 20 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 
 
 one from the other. Alma, however, was 
 very comfortably placed on a pile of sacks, 
 which served as an arm-chair, deadened the 
 jerking power of the motion, and left her 
 head and shoulders above the ledge, so that 
 she could well see the grey surrounding 
 landscape in the deepening haze. 
 
 She leant back with a feeling of agreeable 
 languor, wrapped her hands in her shawl, 
 and gazed dreamily on the down rising steeply 
 to the left, and forming, where chalk had 
 been quarried in one place, a miniature pre- 
 cipice, crested with overhanging copse, rich 
 in spring with fairy treasures of violets in 
 white sheets over the moss, clusters of 
 primroses and oxlips among the hazel stumps, 
 blue lakes of hyacinth, and waving forests of 
 anemone ; and she gazed on the sloping fields, 
 farmsteads, and bounding forest to the right, 
 lulled by the steady music of the bells, 
 among which she heard from time to time 
 William's satisfied growl of " Ay, he med 
 well say that," and the occasional song of 
 Jem, as he trudged along by the leader —
 
 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 21 
 
 " For to ploTigli, and to sow, and to reap, and to mow, 
 Is the work of the farmer's bu-oy-oy." 
 
 Happy and harmless she looked in her 
 rustic chariot, as they rolled slowly along in 
 the gathering gloom, now over a heathy 
 stretch nearly at the summit of the down, 
 past a lonely, steep-roofed, red-tiled hostelry, 
 with a forge cheerily glowing by its side, 
 whence the anvil-music rose and blended 
 pleasantly with that of the bell-team, and 
 over which hung a sign-board bearing the 
 blacksmith's arms, the hammer, with the 
 couplet inscribed beneath, " By hammer and 
 hand, All arts do stand." 
 
 Downhill now, with the heavy drag cast 
 beneath the wheel by mighty efforts on the 
 part of Jem ; then again on the level road, 
 w^ith the chalk down always rising to the left, 
 and falling away to the right ; past farm- 
 houses, where the cattle stood grouped in the 
 yard and the ducks quacked for their evening 
 meal ; then once more down a hill, steep and 
 difficult, down to the level of a willow-shaded 
 stream by a copse, outside which daffodils
 
 22 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 
 
 rioted all over the sloping lea descending to 
 the brookside in spring ; and then again up 
 and up, with straining and panting and creak- 
 ing, with iron feet pointed into and gripping 
 the steep chalk road, with louder pealing of 
 the fairy chimes, whose rhythm grows irre- 
 gular and fitful, with strange shouts and 
 gestures from the men, with " Whup ! " and 
 " Whoa ! " and '' Hither ! " with many pauses, 
 when the great heads droop, the music stops, 
 and the mallet is brought into requisition. 
 
 Happy and harmless indeed was Alma, the 
 lashes drooping over her rose-leaf cheeks, her 
 fancies roving unfettered. She was hoping 
 to get home betimes, for she had something 
 nice for father's tea among her parcels, and 
 she was thinking of the penny periodical 
 folded up in her basket, and wondering how 
 the heroine was getting on in the story which 
 broke off abruptly at such an interesting 
 moment in the last number. Was the peasant 
 girl, in whom Alma detected a striking like 
 ness to herself, really going to marry the poor 
 young viscount who was so deplorably in
 
 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 23 
 
 love with her ? She could not help furnish- 
 ing the viscount with the form and features 
 of Mr. Ingram Swaynestone, Sir Lionel's 
 eldest son, though the latter was fair, while 
 the viscount happened to be dark. 
 
 Now they are at the summit of the steep 
 hill, and pause to breathe and replenish 
 pipes. On one side is dense coppice ; on the 
 other, Swaynestone Park slopes down in 
 woodland, glade, and park-like meadow to the 
 sea-bounded horizon. Then on again, up hill 
 and down dale, past cottage and farmstead, 
 with the park always sloping away to the 
 sea on the right. Lights glow cheerily now 
 from distant cottage windows, and they can 
 even catch glimpses of lights from the fa9ade 
 of Swaynestone House between the trees occa- 
 sionally, while the merry music peals on in 
 its drowsy rhythm, and little showers of 
 sparks rise at the contact of iron-shod wheel 
 and foot with the flinty road. 
 
 They have just passed the entrance-gates of 
 Swaynestone — lonely gates, unfurnished with 
 a lodge — and the waggon stops with inter-
 
 24 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 
 
 rupted music at some smaller gates on the 
 other side of the road, where the upland still 
 rises, not in bare down, but in rich meadow, to 
 a hanging wood, out of which peeps dimly in 
 the dusk a small white structure, built with a 
 colonnade supporting an architrave, to imitate 
 a G-reek temple — Alma's home. 
 
 " Ay ! he med well say that," repeated the 
 waggoner, still digesting the pleasure of 
 Ben Lee's compliment, and slapping the 
 wheel-horse's vast flank, so that the fairy 
 chime began again, and the smack resounded 
 like an accompaniment to its music. It was 
 fairly dark in the road ; the misty dusk of 
 evening was overshadowed by the thick belt 
 of chestnut, lime, and beech bounding the 
 park by the roadside ; and the large horn 
 lantern was handed to Alma to aid her in 
 gathering her parcels together, and its light 
 fell upon her bright dark eyes, and rosy, 
 dimpled cheeks, making her appear more 
 than ever as if her gaudy dress was but a 
 disguise assumed for a frolic. Her almond- 
 shaped, rather melancholy eyes sparkled as
 
 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 25 
 
 she looked in tlie young carter's stolid face, 
 and thanked him heartily. 
 
 " I have had such a nice ride," she added 
 pleasantly, and the horses one by one 
 dropped a bell-note or two to emphasize her 
 words. 
 
 " You must gie I a toll for this yere ride," 
 returned William, with a look of undisguised, 
 but not rude admiration. 
 
 Alma flushed, and drew back. " How 
 much do you want ? " she asked, taking out 
 her purse, and pretending not to understand. 
 
 " You put that there in your pocket," he 
 replied, offended, " and gie I a kiss." 
 
 " Indeed, I shall do nothing of the kind," 
 retorted Alma. " Let me get down. I'll 
 never ride with you again, if I walk till I 
 drop — that I won't." 
 
 But the waggoner insisted on his toll, and 
 vowed that she should not descend till it was 
 paid ; and poor Alma protested and stormed 
 vainly, whilst Jem leaned up against a horse 
 and laughed, and adjured her to make haste. 
 Alma burst into tears, wrung her hands, and
 
 26 THE SILENCE OF DEAK MAITLAND. 
 
 wished that she had not been so obdurate to 
 poor Charlie Judkins. He would not have 
 been so rude, she knew. Nor, indeed, would 
 "William have been so persistent had she not 
 offended him by her unlucky offer of money, 
 and roused the dogged obstinacy of his class. 
 She darted to the other side of the waggon, 
 but in vain ; William was too quick, and she 
 was just on the point of raising her voice, 
 in the hope that her father might be near, 
 when a light, firm step was heard issuing 
 from the park gates, and a clear and singu- 
 larly musical voice broke into the dispute 
 with a tone of authority. 
 
 '' For shame, William Grove ! " it said. 
 " How can you be so cowardly ? Let the 
 girl go directly. Why, it is Alma Lee, 
 surely ! "
 
 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 27 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 The speaker emerged into the little circle of 
 light cast by the lantern — a slight, well-built, 
 youthful figure of middle height yet com- 
 manding presence, clad in dark grey, with 
 a round, black straw hat and a neat white 
 necktie, the frequent costume of a country 
 curate in those days, when the clerical garb 
 had not reached so high a stage of evolution 
 as at present. His beardless face made him 
 look still younger than he really was ; his 
 features were refined and clearly cut; his hair 
 very dark ; and his eyes, the most striking 
 feature of his face, were of that rare, dazzling 
 light blue which can only be compared to 
 a cloudless, noon sky in June, when the pale, 
 intense blue seems penetrated to overflowing 
 with floods of vivid light.
 
 28 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 
 
 " I waren't doing no harm," returned the 
 waggoner, with a kind of surly respect ; " I 
 gied she a ride, and she med so well gie I 
 a kiss." 
 
 " And you a married man ! " cried the 
 indignant young deacon ; " for shame ! " 
 
 " There ain't no harm in a kiss," growled 
 William, with a sheepish, discomfited look, 
 while he stood aside and suffered the new- 
 comer to help Alma in her descent. 
 
 " There is great harm in insulting a 
 respectable young woman, and taking ad- 
 vantage of her weakness. As for a kiss, it 
 is not a seemly thing between young people 
 who have no claim on each other, though 
 there may be no positive harm in it. You 
 ought to know better, William." 
 
 " There ain't no harm for the likes of we," 
 persisted the waggoner. ^' 'Tain't as though 
 Alma was a lady ; she's only a poor man's 
 daughter." 
 
 " And a poor man's daughter has as much 
 right to men's respect as a duchess," cried 
 the young fellow, with animation. "I wonder
 
 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 29 
 
 you can say sacli a thing, Grove. And 
 you a poor man yourself, with a httle 
 daughter of your own ! How would you 
 like her to be kissed against her will ? " 
 
 William muttered to the effect that " Any- 
 body med kiss she" — which was true enough, 
 as she had seen but three summers yet — and 
 went on twining his whip with a cowed, 
 injured look, while Alma gazed in awed 
 admiration at her handsome young champion, 
 whose kindling eyes seemed to send forth 
 floods of pale-blue light in the gloom. 
 
 " There is something so unmanly in at- 
 tacking a girl's self-respect," continued the 
 eager champion. " I did not think you 
 capable of it, William. A stout fellow like 
 you, a man I always liked. Go home to 
 your wife, and think better of it. I will see 
 you across the meadow myself. Alma, though 
 it is hard that a girl cannot be abroad alone 
 at this hour." 
 
 So saying, the young Bayard possessed 
 himself of sundry of Alma's parcels, and 
 with a pleasant " Good night, Jem," turned
 
 30 THE SILENCE OP DEAN MAITLAND. 
 
 his back on the waggon and opened the gate, 
 through which Alma passed quickly, followed 
 by her protector, while the cumbrous waggon 
 went on its way to the rhythmic jangle of 
 the sweetly clashing bells, and William 
 trudged stolidly on with his accustomed whip- 
 crackings and guttural exclamations, mur- 
 muring from time to time with a mortified 
 air, " There ain't no harm in a kiss ! " And, 
 indeed, he meant no harm, though he took 
 care not to relate the incident to his wife ; it 
 was only his rough tribute to Alma's unac- 
 customed beauty, and signified no more than 
 a gracefully turned allusion in higher circles. 
 " And Mr. Cyril must go a-spiling of she," 
 he added, " as though she didn't look too 
 high already. But pride goes before a fall, 
 as I'ye heerd 'un zay." Ominous repetition 
 of Judkins's words ! 
 
 Alma, in the mean time, murmured her 
 thanks to her chivalrous protector, and 
 stepped up the dewy meadow with a beating 
 breast and a flushing cheek, her ears tingling 
 with the words, " A poor man's daughter has
 
 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 31 
 
 as much right to respect as a duchess," her 
 heart swelling at the memory of the courtesy 
 with which Maitland handed her down from 
 the waggon and carried half her parcels ; she 
 knew that a veritable duchess would not 
 have been treated with more honour. All 
 her life she had known Cyril Maitland. She 
 had sported with him over that very lea, 
 where the tall yellow cowslips nodded in 
 spring, and where they had pelted each other 
 with sweet, heavy cow^slip-balls ; she had 
 kissed and cuffed him many a time, though 
 he was always " Master Cyril " to the coach- 
 man's child ; and, as they grew up, had been 
 inclined to discuss him with a half-respectful, 
 half-familiar disparagement, such as well- 
 known objects receive. Never till that fatal 
 evening had his grace of mind and person 
 and the singular charm of his manner keenly 
 touched her. But when he stood there in 
 the lantern's dim rays, looking so handsome 
 and so animated by the impulsive chivalry 
 with which he defended her, and she heard 
 the musical tones and refined accents of the
 
 32 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 
 
 voice pleading her cause and the cause of 
 her sex and her class, a new spirit came to 
 her — a spirit of sweetness and of terror, 
 which set all her nerves quivering, and 
 opened a new world of wonder and beauty 
 to her entranced gaze. As holy as a young 
 archangel, and as beautiful, he seemed to the 
 simple girl's dazzled thoughts, and she felt" 
 that no harm could ever C(jme to her in that 
 charmed presence, no pain ever touch her. 
 
 All unconscious of the tumult of half- 
 conscious emotion awakening beside him, 
 Cyril Maitland walked on, chatting with 
 pleasant ease on all sorts of homely topics, 
 in no wise surprised at his companion's falter- 
 ing, incoherent replies, which he attributed 
 to the embarrassment from which he had just 
 delivered her. The dulcet clashing of the bells 
 grew fainter, and then rose on a sudden gust 
 of wind just as they reached the door of the 
 strangely built white house, before the square 
 windows of which rose a small colonnade of 
 white pillars. Alma opened the door, and a 
 ruddy glow rushed out upon her, while
 
 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 33 
 
 within a clieerful little home-scene presented 
 itself. A small table, covered with a clean 
 white cloth, touched with rose by the firelight, 
 and spread with tea-things, was drawn up 
 before the glowing hearth, and a warm aroma 
 of tea and toast greeted the tired, hungry 
 gh^l. Before the fire sat a strong, middle- 
 aged man in an undress livery, consisting 
 partly of a sleeved waistcoat, busily engaged 
 in making toast; while a neatly dressed woman 
 moved about the warm parlour, adding a few 
 touches to the table. 
 
 " Just in time, Alma," called out the man, 
 without turning his head. 
 
 " And a pretty time, too," added the 
 woman, who was Alma's stepmother. " Why 
 hadn't you a come along with Charlie Judkins 
 this hour agone ? Gadding about till it's 
 
 dark night Oh, Mr. Cyril, I beg your 
 
 pardon, sir ! " and she dropped a curtsey, 
 while her husband turned, and rose. 
 
 " May I come in ? " asked Cyril, pausing, 
 hat in hand, and smiling his genial smile. 
 " Your tea is very tempting, Mrs. Lee." 
 
 VOL. I. D
 
 34 THE SILENCE OP DEAN MAITLAND. 
 
 '' Come in and welcome, Master Cyril," 
 said tlie coactiman, as Cyril, with the air of 
 an accustomed guest, placed his hat on a 
 side-table adorned with the family Bible, 
 workboxes, and tea-trays, and took the chair 
 Mrs. Lee handed him. 
 
 " Why, I've not had tea with you for an 
 age," continued Cyril, stroking a large tabby 
 cat, which sprang purring upon his knee 
 the moment he was seated ; " and I don't 
 deserve any now, since I come straight from 
 the drawing-room at Swaynestone, where the 
 rites of the teapot were being celebrated. 
 But the ladies there have no idea of tea- 
 making, and I only had two cups, and was 
 tantalized with a vague sketch of a piece of 
 bread and butter." 
 
 ^^Well, you always were a rare one for 
 tea. Master Cyril," returned his hostess. 
 " If I had but known you were coming, I'd 
 'a made some of them hot cakes. But there's 
 jam in plenty, some blackberry as Alma made 
 this fall." 
 
 " Alma came by Long's waggon," he ex-
 
 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 35 
 
 plained, when she had withdrawn to lay 
 aside her hat and shawl ; *' and as I chanced 
 to he at the gate when she got down, I saw 
 her across the meadow." 
 
 " Thank 'ee kindly, Master Cyril. I don't 
 like her to be out alone at nights," said Ben 
 Lee, " though, to be sure, there's only our 
 own people about on the estate." 
 
 Before Alma's mind there arose a vision of 
 the Swaynestone drawing-room as she had 
 seen it once at tea-time when she was sum- 
 moned to speak to the young ladies about 
 some needlework she was doing for them. 
 She saw in imagination the long range of 
 windows with their rich curtains ; the mirrors 
 and couches ; the cabinets filled with rare and 
 costly hric-a-hrac ; the statuettes and pictures ; 
 the painted ceiling of the long, lofty room ; 
 the beautiful chimneypiece of sculptured 
 Parian marble ; the rich glow from the hearth 
 throwing all kinds of warm reflections upon 
 the splendid apartment, and principally upon 
 the little table, laden with silver and price- 
 less china, by the fire ; and the charming
 
 36 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 
 
 group of ladies in their stylish dress and 
 patrician beauty, half seen in the fire-lit 
 dusk. It was a world of splendour to 
 Alma's unaccustomed eyes — a place in which 
 an ordinary mortal could in no wise sit down 
 with any comfort, without, indeed, a some- 
 thing almost amounting to sacrilege ; a world 
 in which the perfume of hot-house flowers 
 took away the bated breath, and in which no 
 footfall dared echo, where voices were low 
 and musical, and manners full of courteous 
 ease ; a world inhabited by beings untouched 
 by common cares, with other thoughts, and 
 softer, more beautifully adorned lives ; a world 
 which Alma entered with a burdensome sense 
 of being out of place, in which she only 
 spoke when spoken to, and where she heard 
 herself discussed as if she were a thing 
 without hearing. 
 
 " What ! is this Lee's daughter ? " Lady 
 Swaynestone had asked, putting up her gold- 
 rimmed glasses, and taking a quiet survey of 
 Alma and her blushes. 
 
 " Surely you remember little Alma Lee,
 
 THE SILENCE OP DEAN MAITLAND. 37 
 
 mother," Ethel Swaynestone replied. " She 
 has shot up, you see, like the rest of us." 
 
 " Ah, to be sure ! How the time goes, 
 Ethel ! How is your mother, Alma ? And 
 she is embroidering Maude's handkerchiefs ? 
 A very nice employment for a young woman. 
 But I don't like her gown ; it is far too 
 smart for a coachman's daughter." 
 
 " Nonsense, mother dear. Why shouldn't 
 she be smart, if she likes ? But if you want 
 really to look nice. Alma, you must not wear 
 violet and pale blue together," said the fair- 
 haired Maude, with a sweet look of interest 
 in Alma's appearance that won her heart, 
 wounded as it was by " her ladyship's " want 
 of consideration. 
 
 Very glad was Alma to retire from that 
 august presence — almost as glad as she had 
 been to enter it. And Mr. Cyril had walked 
 straight from the splendid apartment, from 
 the light of Miss Ethel and Miss Maude's 
 eyes, and the sound of their sweet, cultured 
 voices, with a disparaging remark upon their 
 tea, and chosen Alma's own humble everyday
 
 38 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 
 
 dwelling and homely meal in the narrow 
 rcom in preference. This filled her with a 
 strange, indefinable emotion, half pleasure 
 and half pain. Some instinct told her that 
 he was the same welcomed, admired guest 
 there as here ; that he spoke with the same 
 easy charm to Lady Swaynestone and her 
 daughters and the high-born visitors he 
 chanced to meet there as to her parents and 
 herself. And could her imagination have 
 borne her into Cyril's future, she would have 
 seen him, as he subsequently was, a welcomed 
 frequent guest at royal tables, wdiere his 
 beautiful voice and perfect manner cast the 
 same glamour over the palace atmosphere as 
 over that of the coachman's little dwelling. 
 
 Quickly as Alma returned to the parlour, 
 she yet found time to arrange her rich hair 
 and add a necklace of amber beads, thus 
 imparting a kind of gipsy splendour to her 
 dark face, and other little trifles to her dress ; 
 and very handsome she looked in the fire- 
 light — for the one candle but emphasized the 
 gloom — with that new sparkle in her eyes
 
 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 39 
 
 and flusli on lier cheek. It was Cyril who 
 recommended her to toast the sausages she 
 had brought from Oldport instead of frying 
 them ; he and Lilian had often cooked them 
 so in the schoolroom at home, he said, when 
 Mrs. Lee demurred at trusting to his culinary 
 skill. It was Cyril also who suggested the 
 agreeable addition of cold potatoes warmed 
 up. 
 
 '' Well, Master Cyril, I never thought to 
 see you teach my wife cooking," laughed 
 Ben, paying a practical compliment to his 
 skill. " Hand Master Cyril some tea, Alma ; 
 and do yon taste the sausages, my girl. 
 Why, where's your appetite after tramping 
 all the way into Oldport, and nothing but a 
 bit of bread and cheese since breakfast ? 
 You shan't walk there and back again any 
 more ; that and the shopping is too much. 
 And so you came along part of the way in 
 Long's waggon, when you might have been 
 tooled along by the best horse in our stables, 
 and Judkins fit to cry about it. Now, don't 
 you call that silly, Mr. Cyril ? "
 
 40 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 
 
 "Every one to his taste, Ben. I prefer 
 the dog-cart." 
 
 " And it ain't every day a girl like Alma 
 gets a chance of riding behind such a horse 
 or beside such a young man," added Mrs. 
 Lee, severely. *' But there's people as never 
 knows where their bread's buttered." 
 
 *' There are people," said Alma, with a 
 toss of her graceful head, " as know what 
 they've a mind to do, and do it." 
 
 " And there's headstrong girls as lives to 
 repent," retorted the stepmother. 
 
 " Ay, you was always a wilful one, 
 Alma," said her father ; " but if you don't 
 look out you'll be a old maid, and you won't 
 like that. And a smarter fellow than Charlie 
 Judkins never crossed a horse. No drink 
 with Charlie — goes to church regular, and 
 has a matter of fifty pound in the bank, and 
 jDuts by every week. And Sir Lionel ready 
 to find him a cottage and raise his wages 
 when he marries." 
 
 " Well, let him marry, then," returned 
 Alma, airily; "/don't want to prevent him.
 
 THE SILEXCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 41 
 
 I dare say Mr. Cyril would be kind enough 
 to perform the ceremony, if he wished it." 
 
 " I should have the greatest pleasure, 
 Alma, particularly if he chose a certain 
 friend of mine. For, as your father says, 
 Charlie is a really good fellow, as warm- 
 hearted a man as I know, and deserves a 
 good wife." 
 
 " There are plenty of good wives to be 
 had," returned Alma ; " no doubt Mr. 
 Judkins will soon find one, especially as 
 he has so many friends to put in a word 
 for him." 
 
 ''Ay, and he might have the pick of girls 
 in Malbourne, and five miles round," added 
 Mrs. Lee. 
 
 " And Charlie won't stand Alma's hoity- 
 toity airs much longer," chimed in her father. 
 " He was terrible angry this afternoon, and 
 talked about stuck-up faggots, he did. And 
 you rising twenty-two, and refused Mr. 
 Ingram's own man. I don't know what 'd 
 be good enough for ye. Alma, I don't, with- 
 out 'twas Mr. Ingram hisself. Ain't she a 
 wilful one, Mr. Cyril ? "
 
 42 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 
 
 " We mustn't be hard upon her, Ben. 
 She has a right to refuse a man if she doesn't 
 care for him. But any girl might think 
 twice b.efore refusing CharHe Judkins," said 
 Cyril, in his gentle, gracious way. " I was 
 to tell you, Mrs. Lee," he added, "that we 
 are running short of eggs at the Rectory, and 
 ask if your fowls were laying enough to 
 spare ? " 
 
 " Ourn have mostly give over laying, but 
 Mrs. Maitland shall have a dozen so soon as 
 Alma can get over to-morrow. Why, you 
 don't bide at the Rectory now, sir ? " 
 
 " No. I have rooms in my own parish at 
 Shotover," he replied ; " but I am always 
 running in and out at home. It is only a 
 mile and a half, you know ; and Shotover is 
 such a tiny parish, it leaves us very idle." 
 
 " That's well for your book-learning, Mr. 
 Cyril. I reckon you have to know a good 
 deal more before you can be priested next 
 Trinity. When are ye coming over to 
 Malbourne to preach to we ? " 
 
 " Oh, not for a long while, Ben. I feel as
 
 THE SILEKCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 43 
 
 if I could never have the assurance to preach 
 to all you grave and reverend seigniors. I 
 don't even preach at Shotover, if I can help 
 it," he repHed, with an air of ingenuous 
 modesty that became him well. 
 
 " You mun get over that, sir," continued 
 Ben ; " you mun think of Timothy. He 
 was to let no man despise his youth, you 
 mind." 
 
 "" Certainly, Ben. But I have only been 
 ordained three months, and I may w^ell hold 
 my tongue till I have learned a little wisdom. 
 Ah, Ben, you can't imagine what a dreadful 
 ordeal it is to preach one's first sermon ! I 
 feel cold water running down my back wdien 
 I think of it. They say my face was whiter 
 than my surplice, and my voice sounded so 
 loud and strange in my ears I thought it 
 must frighten people, instead of which they 
 could scarcelv hear me." 
 
 " Lauk-a-mercy, Mr. Cyril, you'll soon get 
 over that," said Mrs. Lee, in a tone of con- 
 solation. " That's just how I felt the first 
 time I acted parlourmaid, Jane being took
 
 44 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 
 
 ill, and a party to dinner, and I housemaid. 
 You mid 'a seen the glasses knock up agen 
 the decanter when I filled them, the jellies 
 all a-tremble with the palpitations — not to 
 mention the first time I walked into Mal- 
 bourne Church with Lee, and made sure I 
 should a dropped every step I took up the 
 aisle, and all them hoys staring, and your pa 
 beginning ' the wicked man.' But law ! I 
 thinks nothing of it now." 
 
 " You may still hear my teeth chatter in 
 Shotover Church, nevertheless, Mrs. Lee," 
 replied Cyril, softly stroking the cat, which 
 still nestled purring on his knee, and casting 
 an amused glance on Mrs. Lee and on Alma, 
 whose face expressed the most sympathetic 
 interest. '' But, as you say, I shall get over 
 it in time. And, indeed, if the congre- 
 gation consisted of Alma, and Lilian, and 
 Mr. Ingram Swaynestone, and his sisters, 
 I shouldn't mind preaching at Malbourne. 
 Fellow- sinners of my own age are not 
 so appalling." 
 
 " Ay, with a head like yourn, you med be
 
 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 45 
 
 a bishop some day," observed Lee, thougbt- 
 fully. " Whaf s this yere thing they made 
 ye at college ? somat to do with quarrelling ? " 
 
 " A wrangler." 
 
 " Ah ! You may depend upon it, it's a fine 
 thing to be a wrangler. Mr. Ingram, now, 
 they only made he a rustic ; but he was at 
 t'other place — Oxford, they calls it." 
 
 ''He was rusticated," said Cyril, gravely. 
 " That is not so advantageous as being made 
 a wrangler." 
 
 " You see, I was right, after all, motber," 
 Alma interposed ; '' and you always would 
 have it that Mr. Cyril was a mangier. As 
 if they had mangles at Cambridge ! " 
 
 " You'd better be less forward with your 
 tongue, and get on with your vittles, miss. 
 Why, bless the girl, she's eat nothing, and 
 if that ain't the third time she've put sugar 
 into the milk-jug by mistake ! Why, father, 
 whatever's come to her ? " 
 
 Alma blushed prettily, but her confusion 
 almost amounted to distress ; and Cyril, with 
 his ready tact, again drew attention from her.
 
 46 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 
 
 *' You must not imagine," lie said, " that I 
 have to pass my time in strife and dissension 
 because I am a wrangler. Quite the contrary. 
 Thank you for the tea, Mrs. Lee. Grood 
 night, Ben ; " and, placing the cat very 
 gently on the warm hearth, and shaking hands 
 with his hosts, Cyril rose, took his hat, and 
 followed Alma out into the darkness. 
 
 She bore the candle, and by its light guided 
 him to the little wicket at the end of the 
 garden, where, with a curtsey, she bid him 
 good night. 
 
 " Good night, Alma," he returned carelessly, 
 and stepped briskly down the dark meadow, 
 the grass of which was crisped now by frost ; 
 while Alma remained at the wicket, that he 
 might have the benefit of the candle's feeble 
 ray. 
 
 When he was half-way across, he suddenly 
 stopped and turned. 
 
 " Oh, Alma ! " he cried, retracing his steps, 
 when she looked up with startled inquiry in 
 his face, " I quite forgot the very thing I 
 came for." Here he paused, overcome with
 
 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 47 
 
 surprise at the vivid, tense expression of 
 Alma's bright face, and a ray of illumination 
 shot over the something he had observed in 
 the house, the absent manner and the lack of 
 appetite, and accounted for her disparagement 
 of the enamoured Judkins. By these signs 
 he knew that Alma was in love with some 
 other swain. " I quite forgot Miss Lilian's 
 message to you. My sister is getting up a 
 Bible-class for young women, and she wishes 
 you to join. She is to hold it in her room 
 at the Rectory after evensong on Sunday 
 afternoons. Will you come ? " 
 
 " Oh, I don't know, Mr. Cyril ! You see, 
 I should be dark home these winter nights," 
 returned Alma, hesitating and blushing, and 
 looking up at Cyril and down on the frosted 
 grass and up again. 
 
 " Well, you can talk it over with Miss 
 Lilian when you bring the eggs. I think we 
 might get over the difiiculty of getting home 
 in the dark. If that was all, I might see 
 you home myself" 
 
 " Oh, Mr. Cyril ! "
 
 48 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 
 
 There was a quiver and flash and illumina- 
 tion in the words and look of the simple, 
 unconscious girl which shot like electric 
 flame through her interlocutor's frame, and 
 made him speechless. The blue radiance from 
 his eyes mingled for a moment with the dark 
 fire of Alma's, and a strange, unaccustomed 
 tremor, that was not all pain, set his pulses 
 beating as they were not used to beat, and 
 stirred all the currents of his blood. 
 
 " Good night, Alma," he said shortly, and 
 in a voice so unlike his own that the girl 
 stood petrified in pained amazement ; and he 
 turned, and sped swiftly over the crisp grass 
 to the gate, glad to be out of the influence 
 of the solitary candle's dim light. 
 
 He let the gate fall-to with a clash which 
 made it vibrate backwards and forwards for 
 some minutes before it found rest, and strode 
 rapidly over the dark highway beneath the 
 trees. 
 
 " What have I done ? " he muttered, with a 
 beating heart. " Oh, my God ! I meant no 
 harm. What have I done ? "
 
 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 49 
 
 Yet the warm, delicious glow still lingered, 
 paining him, in his breast, and he strode on. 
 with his head bent down, humbled and 
 wretched. His soul was yet spotless as the 
 untrodden snow ; all his hopes and tastes 
 were innocent ; the fierce flame of temptation 
 had never yet cast its scorching glare upon 
 him, hitherto he had deemed himself in- 
 vulnerable. In his trouble, he put his hand 
 instinctively in his pockets, where nestled as 
 usual the rubbed covers of his " Visitations 
 and Prayers for the Sick," and other devo- 
 tional books, and was comforted. He lifted 
 his head, and felt in his breast-pocket for a 
 letter, the pressure of which, though he could 
 not read it beneath that dark dome of solid 
 night, fully restored the serenity to his face. 
 It began, " Dearest Cyril," and ended, " Ever 
 affectionately yours, Marion Everard ; " it 
 alluded to the pains of separation, and the 
 hopes expressed by Cyril of a possible 
 marriage in a year's time. 
 
 They had been engaged a whole year, 
 and the necessity of waiting another year 
 
 VOL. I. E
 
 50 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 
 
 before marriage was tlie tragedy of their 
 young lives. A year seemed an eternity 
 to them, and the life they passed apart 
 from each other no life. A vision of 
 Marion's gentle face brightened the curtain 
 of thick darkness spread before Cyril. He 
 recalled her tones and looks with a rush of 
 sweet affection — all the tender looks she had 
 ever given him, and they were many ; but 
 he could not recall any one look that re- 
 sembled the glance of fervid, unquenchable 
 passion which flashed from Alma's tell-tale 
 eyes in that fatal moment at the gate. Such 
 a look he had beheld in no woman's eyes ; 
 such a look, he feared, in the narrowness of 
 his serene purity, could light no good 
 woman's eyes. 
 
 He was wrong. The flame which burnt 
 in poor, innocent Alma's breast, and which 
 her guileless nature so rashly and uncon- 
 sciously betrayed, descended like a celestial 
 glory upon her life with a purifying and 
 strengthening power, which could have lifted 
 her to unimagined summits of heroism.
 
 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 51 
 
 There are people whose lives are never 
 touched by passion, and who, when they 
 come in contact with it, recognize only its 
 strength, which they dread, and condemn its 
 mysteries as baleful. Such was Cyril in 
 these white young days of his before any 
 shadow fell upon his sunny, safe path. Such 
 was not Cyril in after-days, when the agony 
 of the penitent and the evildoer found a 
 responsive echo in his heart, and made him 
 pitiful and lenient in judging character and 
 discriminating motives. But to-night, in 
 spite of the momentary glow for which he 
 so despised himself, he drew the robe of the 
 Pharisee about his upright soul, and cast a 
 stone of condemnation upon the sufferer as he 
 passed her swiftly by. 
 
 A Iraa remained statue-like, with her solitary 
 light painting a feeble halo on the all-encom- 
 passing gloom, until Cyril's steps had ceased 
 to echo along the lonely highway, and her 
 mother called to her to bring back the candle 
 and shut the door. 
 
 As soon as she had obeyed, she found a
 
 52 THE SILENCE OP DEAN MAITLAND. 
 
 pretext for going to lier room, and there, 
 sitting down on the edge of the bed in the 
 dark, she burst into tears. 
 
 " I am tired, and William Grove frightened 
 me," she said to herself; and a few minutes 
 later she was at needlework in the parlour, 
 singing like any wild bird.
 
 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 53 
 
 CHAPTER IIL 
 
 A WARM glimmer of ruddy light on the thick 
 darkness told Cyril of the approach of the 
 wheelwright's house and shop, and, passing 
 this and descending the hill, he became aware 
 of the rich crimson which marked the lower 
 windows of the Sun Inn, and found himself 
 at the end of the wheelwright's yard, at the 
 meeting of four roads. Opposite the Sun, 
 and coloured by its light, a sign-post reared 
 itself at the corner, oblique, and appearing to 
 gesticulate madly with its outspread arms. 
 This corner turned, all the village sparkled 
 out in a little constellation of cottage case- 
 ments before his gaze ; and there, beyond the 
 brook, which murmured faintly in the stillness, 
 the Rectory windows shone out among masses 
 of foliage, or rather of branches, behind which
 
 54 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 
 
 the grey cliiircli spire lifted itself unseen in the 
 mirk. As soon as Cyril's foot was within 
 the gate, a sudden illumination from the hall 
 door, which simultaneously opened, poured 
 itself upon the drive, and showed him the 
 outline of a woman's young and graceful 
 figure in the porch. 
 
 " Did you hear me coming, Lilian ? " asked 
 he, entering the house. " Your hearing must 
 indeed be acute." 
 
 " Did we hear him, Mark Antony ? " echoed 
 Lilian, addressing a magnificent black cat, 
 with white breast and paws, which had been 
 sitting upon the step at her feet, and gazing 
 with grave expectancy down the drive till 
 Cyril reached the door, when he rose, and 
 respectfully greeted him with elevated tail 
 and gentle mews, interspersed with purring. 
 " You know that puss and I have an extra 
 sense, which tells us when you are coming," 
 she replied lightly, as she passed her arm 
 through his, and led him through the little 
 hall into the drawing-room, on the threshold 
 of which a terrier and a pug sprang out to
 
 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 55 
 
 greet the new-comer with short barks of joy 
 and sudden bounds and various wild expres- 
 sions of delight — an indiscreet behaviour, 
 quietly rebuked by two swift but dignified 
 strokes of Mark Antony's white velvet paw, 
 which sent the heedless animals, with dismal 
 yelps and mortified tails, to a respectful 
 distance. 
 
 A lady lay on a sofa near the fire, and a 
 boy and a girl of some eight and nine years 
 rolled on the hearthrug with some toys. 
 These children, with Cyril and Lilian, who 
 were twins, constituted the sole remainder of 
 Mrs. Maitland's once too numerous family. 
 What with bearing and rearing them all, and 
 the sorrow of losing so many, her strength was 
 now exhausted, and the prime of her life was 
 passed chiefly on that sofa, among its warm 
 rugs. Cyril bent to kiss her, and a look of 
 pride and joy lighted her pale, refined face as 
 she gazed upon him. 
 
 The children sprang upon Cyril, and he, 
 having caressed them, took a seat by Lilian, 
 who was at the writing-table, from which she 
 had risen on his approach.
 
 56 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 
 
 " Will it do ? " he asked, gazing upon some 
 manuscript before her. 
 
 " I think so," she replied. " I have drawn 
 a line through the most ornate passages. But 
 you must really try and adapt yourself to 
 your congregation, Cyril. This goes com- 
 pletely over their heads. Be less elaborate, 
 and speak from your heart, simply and 
 honestly." 
 
 "The discipline which turns out wranglers," 
 observed Cyril, with a dry little smile, " does 
 not train popular rustic preachers." 
 
 " Cyril's sermons again ? " asked Mrs. Mait- 
 land. " Lilian should compose them entirely, 
 I think. And yet I am wrong, for I doubt if 
 either of you could do anything without the 
 other." 
 
 The twins smiled, knowing this to be 
 perfectly true. They were alike, and yet 
 different. Lilian's features were fuller than 
 Cyril's ; her eyes softer and of a grey colour, 
 but they met the gazer with an even more 
 powerful electric thrill than Cyril's light blue 
 orbs ; her hair was many shades lighter than
 
 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 57 
 
 her brother's ; and while Cyril could not 
 appear in any assembly without exciting 
 interest and drawing all eyes to himself, 
 Lilian had a peculiar manner of pervading 
 places without attracting the slightest obser- 
 vation. Gradually one became aware of an in- 
 fluence, and only after a long time discovered 
 the personage from whom it emanated. 
 
 No one ever praised Lilian's beauty, though 
 she possessed all the elements of loveliness. 
 She shared Cyril's musical voice, but lacked its 
 more powerful and penetrating tones. Cyril 
 had beautifully shaped hands, but Lilian's 
 were like two fair spirits, and formed the 
 only striking part of her personality ; they 
 were the first thing the stranger observed in 
 her, and, once observed, they were never for 
 a moment forgotten. The twins had shared 
 everything from their babyhood. The same 
 tutor demanded equal tasks of brother and 
 sister ; and when Cambridge separated them, 
 Lilian still followed the course of her brother's 
 studies, and would doubtless have been a high 
 wrangler, had she been submitted to the same
 
 58 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 
 
 tests as he. The peculiar bond between them 
 was respected and acknowledged even by 
 Mark Antony, who was, as his mistress fre- 
 quently observed, a cat of considerable force 
 of character. Besides Lilian, Cyril was the 
 only human being Mark Antony ever followed 
 or fawned upon, and it was supposed that his 
 very strong affections were entirely bestowed 
 upon the twins. 
 
 To strangers this cat was haughtily in- 
 different; and, if a visitor took such a 
 liberty as to stroke his ebon fur, would 
 rise and walk away with offended majesty. 
 To the family he observed a distant but 
 eminently courteous demeanour ; to the 
 servants he was condescending ; to the 
 children polite, but never familiar, their re- 
 spectful caresses being received with dignified 
 resignation, and never suffered to go beyond 
 a certain point ; his bearing to the dogs was 
 that of a despot. He was a great warrior, 
 and suffered no other cat to intrude so much 
 as a paw on the Rectory grounds ; hence 
 his name.
 
 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 59 
 
 He never left Lilian while slie was in 
 the house, and at certain seasons exacted 
 games of play from her, scorning to play 
 with any one else, save occasionally when he 
 unbent so far as to entangle himself wildly in 
 Winnie's curls, to the great consternation of 
 the dogs. But Cyril might do anything with 
 him, and could never do wrong. In this, 
 Mark Antony differed from his mistress, since 
 Cyril was the only person with whom she 
 ever quarrelled, the two having had many 
 a pitched battle in their childhood, though 
 they always stood up for each other to 
 such an extent that, if one was punished by 
 the deprivation of pudding, the other was 
 permitted to go on half rations with the 
 delinquent, and to give one an orange meant 
 to give each half a one. 
 
 '' Did you tell him that the Everards were 
 here this afternoon ? " Mrs. Maitland added, 
 the personal pronoun being considered suffi- 
 cient indication to Lilian of her brother, 
 while " her " in addressing Cyril was known 
 to mean Lilian.
 
 60 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 
 
 "Were they, indeed? and I away, of 
 course," grumbled Cyril. 
 
 "You may guess Marion's message," laughed 
 Lilian, in a low aside, at which Cyril looked 
 pleased. 
 
 " Well, mother, and the news ? " he added. 
 
 " Henry's long silence is satisfactorily ex- 
 plained." 
 
 " Satisfactorily ? Oh, mother ! and he has 
 been at death's door ! " interrupted Lilian. 
 
 " 111 ? Everard ? I knew there must be 
 something very serious," ejaculated Cyril. 
 ''But he is better?" 
 
 " He is convalescent, dear. He is a noble, 
 unselfish fellow, as I always knew when he 
 was but a tiny boy ! He would not let his 
 friends be written to until he was completely 
 out of danger. There was a child dangerously 
 ill of scarlet fever in some dreadful court in 
 Seven Dials. He was too ill to be moved, and 
 had a bad, drunken mother, and Henry watched 
 him for several nights, relieving guard with 
 a day nurse. By the time the child was out 
 of danger Henry was raving "
 
 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 61 
 
 " Then, why," interrupted Cyril, with 
 agitation, " were we not told ? " 
 
 " He had foreseen his delirium, and for- 
 bidden any communication till he died or 
 recovered. He knew full well that nothing 
 would have kept Marion from him, had she 
 known " 
 
 "" He was right ! " broke in Cyril, in a low, 
 fervid tone. " Thank Heaven that he thought 
 of that ! "- 
 
 " Henry always thinks of everything that 
 may affect the welfare of his friends," added 
 Lilian, whose face v/ore a look of quiet 
 enthusiasm, and whose dark grey eyes were 
 shining with repressed tears. 
 
 " And now ? " added Cyril, with energy. 
 " They will not let Marion go to him now, 
 I hope. The convalescent stage is the most 
 infectious." 
 
 " They will not meet until Henry is per- 
 fectly free from infection. You may trust 
 Henry for that, Cyril." 
 
 " He has been very ill," said Lilian ; " they 
 feared he would be both blind and deaf. It
 
 62 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 
 
 will be months before he can recover, though 
 the infectious stage is already nearly past." 
 
 " Poor old Everard ! that will be a terrible 
 trial for him, with his ambition. Time is so 
 precious to a man who is beginning his 
 career." 
 
 " I suspect he has been working too hard," 
 said Mrs. Maitland, " and the enforced rest 
 to his brain may benefit him more than they 
 think. Admiral Everard is ordered to the 
 Mediterranean with the squadron in a few 
 weeks' time, and, a winter abroad being 
 necessary for Henry, he is to go in the 
 Cressy to Malta, from whence he will after- 
 wards go to other places — Egypt and the 
 Holy Land among them — and Marion is to 
 be his companion." 
 
 "Marion? What ! Marion spend the winter 
 abroad ? Impossible ! She shall not go." 
 
 " You are not married yet, Cyril," said 
 Lilian, laughing. 
 
 " My dear boy, why should Marion not 
 go ? " asked his mother, in surprise. '' She 
 is delighted at the prospect. It is perhaps
 
 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 63 
 
 the only cliance she will have of going 
 abroad for any length of time. Once married, 
 a girl cannot see much of the world, as the 
 admiral says, and a country curate's wife is 
 especially bound to home." 
 
 " And do you suppose, mother, that I shall 
 always be a country curate ? " asked Cyril, 
 with fire. " No, indeed. My wife will have 
 as many opportunities of seeing the world 
 as any one, I trust. But she cannot, she 
 must not leave me all this winter. I simply 
 cannot spare her." 
 
 " And Henry — can he spare her ? " asked 
 Lilian. 
 
 "She is not engaged to Henry. Let 
 Henry get a wife of his own." 
 
 '' My dear Cyril, how absurdly you talk ! " 
 said Mrs. Maitland. " You forget that Henry 
 is an invalid, and will need his sister's care. 
 And you forget, too, that Marion is looking 
 forward with the greatest delight to this un- 
 expected trip." 
 
 " The only lady on board — on board a 
 man-of-war ! "
 
 64 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 
 
 " And awful fun, too," interposed the boy 
 on the rug. '^ I only wish I was ill, and the 
 admiral would take me." 
 
 " Well, Lennie, you would be a more 
 appropriate passenger, certainly. The ad- 
 miral had better take us all, I think. Snip, 
 the terrier, and Snap, the pug, with Mark 
 Antony to catch the mice and keep us in 
 order." 
 
 " But Marion is not going in the Cressy,'' 
 interposed Lilian. " There was some idea of 
 her going at first. It seems, however, that 
 ladies are not supposed to sail with their 
 relations." 
 
 " I was beginning to wonder whether the 
 admiral purposed carrying a regular Noah's 
 ark about with him," grumbled Cyril. " And 
 pray, how does Marion get to Malta, unless 
 in the Cressy ? By balloon ? or does she 
 charter a vessel of her own ? " 
 
 ^'She goes with the Wilmots, overland by 
 Marseilles. Captain Wilmot is joining his 
 regiment at Malta. They stop at Paris and 
 other places, taking it leisurely, and that will
 
 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 65 
 
 be delightful to Marion, who has travelled 
 so little." 
 
 " It seems, then, after all, that Henry will 
 have to do without Marion till he reaches 
 Malta," said Cyril. 
 
 " But he will have his father, and, of 
 course, a proper attendant on board. At 
 Malta he will be thrown on his own resources, 
 and will need a companion. They will take 
 care of each other," Mrs. Maitland replied 
 cheerfully. " They think of coming home 
 by way of Sicily." 
 
 " I shall go to Woodlands to-morrow, and 
 remonstrate with the admiral, if he is there. 
 I shall take the pony-chaise, unless you want 
 it, Lilian." 
 
 " Nonsense, Cyll. You may go to the 
 Woodlands and take the pony, but you will 
 not remonstrate with the admiral, or make 
 yourself in any way obnoxious," said Lilian. 
 " When you come to reflect, you will see 
 what a charming arrangement it is for every- 
 body. The admiral is the more delighted, as 
 he thinks this voyage will make Henry so 
 
 VOL. I. F
 
 66 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 
 
 desperately in love with the navy that he 
 will become a naval surgeon." 
 
 " Hang the admiral ! " observed Cyril, in 
 his softest, most plaintive voice, while a droll 
 little smile curved his lips. "Why doesn't 
 somebody pity me ? Isn't it hard lines, Mark 
 Antony ? " 
 
 Mark Antony responded by a tiny mew. 
 He was sitting on the writing-table between 
 his twin favourites, the picture of feline bliss ; 
 his tail curled round his dainty white paws, 
 his snowy breast tinted by the ruddy fire- 
 light, his eyes lazily closing and unclosing, 
 while he made rhythmic accompaniment to 
 their voices in deep, long-drawn purrs, and 
 expressed a benevolent and condescending 
 interest in the conversation by occasional 
 winks and movements in the direction of 
 brother or sister, as each spoke. He had 
 inspected and thoroughly sniffed Cyril's 
 sermon with an air of approving criticism. ' 
 
 " Mark Antony was most condescending to 
 Marion this afternoon," said Lilian ; " he not 
 only purred affably when she stroked him,
 
 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 67 
 
 but even allowed her to kiss him on the 
 breast." 
 
 Whereupon Cyril bestowed a salute on the 
 same spot, commending the cat's sagacity in 
 thus recognizing Marion as one of the family. 
 Mark Antony drew himself up with gratified 
 pride, and returned his friend's caress by 
 lifting his velvet paw, placing his head on 
 one side with an arch, roguish expression 
 in his sparkling eyes and bristled white 
 whiskers, and chucking Cyril under the chin 
 with the daintiest grace, to the envy and 
 delight of the children, who worshipped this 
 household divinity at a distance ; the jealous 
 disgust of the dogs, who were sleeping with 
 one eye open, after the manner of their tribe, 
 and growled faintly ; and the admiration of 
 the whole family, who knew that this delicate 
 caress was never accorded save to the twins. 
 
 " No one seems to have thought of me in 
 this matter," observed Cyril, stroking the 
 delighted animal. " I shall certainly stand 
 up for my rights. This notion of sacrificing 
 Marion, and sending her half the world over
 
 68 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 
 
 in charge of an invalid brother, is too detest- 
 able. Her sisters should interfere ; they 
 stand in the place of a mother to her." 
 
 " Married sisters have little influence on 
 home affairs, fortunately for Marion's freedom 
 in the choice of a husband," Mrs. Maitland 
 said, laughing. 
 
 "Well, it grows late," said Cyril, rising. 
 " By the way, I did your errands at Lee's. 
 The eggs and the pupil are to arrive to- 
 morrow morning." 
 
 " I am so glad you remembered," replied 
 Lilian ; " I have the greatest desire to gain 
 some influence over Alma Lee. Do you 
 know, Cyril, she is a girl of no common 
 character. No one in the least suspects 
 what that girl is capable of." 
 
 " What, Lill, have you unearthed another 
 genius ? " asked Cyril, carelessly. 
 
 " Oh no ; no genius. But the next time 
 you see her, observe the way in which her 
 eye flashes, and the mobility of her features. 
 Poor Alma ! she is so liable to fall into temp- 
 tation, with her beauty and ignorance, and
 
 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 69 
 
 passionate, undisciplined nature. There are 
 fine elements in her, deep feeling, strong 
 imagination, and capability of self-sacrifice. 
 How she tended that poor little step-sister of 
 hers ! Lucy was fearfully afflicted. Her own 
 mother shrank from her at times ; but Alma, 
 never. Yet she is very wayward, and so 
 spoilt. Her nature is powerful for evil and 
 good. Nothing but strong principle can keep 
 such a nature straight." 
 
 Cyril listened, looking thoughtfully towards 
 the fire, with his hand shading his eyes from 
 its light. 
 
 " My sister is a profound student of human 
 nature, mother," he observed lightly. " She 
 is right in saying that Miss Alma has a will 
 of her own. Let us hope you will succeed in 
 putting a curb on this unbridled nature, 
 Lilian: You are quite right in your analysis 
 of it. But I am not sure that a Bible-class is 
 the panacea you imagine. To move Alma 
 Lee, I think you must appeal to her affec- 
 tions." 
 
 " She is frightfully vain, poor girl ! " inter-
 
 70 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 
 
 posed Mrs. Maitland. " If you could induce 
 her to dress more quietly, Lilian ! " 
 
 " I am not so much afraid of her vanity, 
 mother. As Cyril says, her affections must 
 be got at, and I want to make my Bible-class 
 a means to that end." 
 
 " Just listen to the parish priest ! " laughed 
 Cyril ; " she talks like a book. She is worth 
 ten curates to my father. The time I have 
 wasted, as usual ; it is past seven ! Good 
 night, Lennie. Have you earned the half- 
 crown yet ? No ? Lazy fellow. You will 
 never be able to own a menagerie as you 
 wish, unless you work harder. You may still 
 get the half-crown if you bring me a fable of 
 La Fontaine's, in decent Latin, remember. 
 Winnie has fully earned hers, and here it is, 
 brand-new. Good night, mother. Father 
 will be home at eight, he bid me tell you. 
 Good night, Lilian." And, having been duly 
 taken leave of by the dogs, Cyril left the 
 drawing-room, accompanied to the door by 
 Lilian and Mark Antony, the latter flourish- 
 ing his tail aloft with due ceremony, and
 
 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 71 
 
 remaining seated on tlie step at Lilian's feet, 
 watching till the young man's form was 
 swallowed up in the wintry gloom. 
 
 '* Cyril appears anxious to be married," 
 Mrs. Maitland observed, on Lilian's return to 
 the drawing-room. "It is a very strong 
 attachment, and well placed, fortunately for the 
 dear boy. His anxiety about Marion actually 
 made him forget Henry's peril, and the 
 heroism which brought it upon him. Love 
 is stronger than friendship." 
 
 " Cyril is very impulsive," replied Lilian, 
 *' and, like all impulsive people, is in a 
 desperate hurry about everything. An early 
 marriage is the thing to give balance to such 
 a temperament." 
 
 " Dear child," remonstrated her mother, 
 " I do not think he needs balance. I may be 
 a foolish old woman," she added, smiling, 
 " but I can see no fault in Cyril. Neither 
 can your father. I wish he had wider scope 
 for his fine talents. To cramp a young fellow 
 of his splendid powers and attainments in 
 that narrow country parish seems such a
 
 72 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 
 
 deplorable waste of good material. I see, too, 
 that the bondage chafes him." 
 
 Lilian made no reply, but looked thought- 
 fully at the fire, soothing some inward per- 
 turbation by stroking and restroking Mark 
 Antony, who sat purring with an expression 
 of imbecile rapture on her knee. 
 
 Cyril meanwhile made his way through 
 the foggy darkness of the country roads to 
 his rooms in the tiny village where lay his 
 cure, vexed and cogitating upon every possible 
 means of keeping Marion in England. 
 
 His dinner was ready — a simple chop, but 
 cooked and served in the daintiest perfection, 
 and accompanied by a bottle of claret of a 
 delicate vintage. Some late flowers and a 
 dish of autumn fruit garnished his table, all 
 the appointments of which were elegant and 
 refined. Nothing in the simple little lattice- 
 windowed room could offend the most 
 fastidious taste, though it was rather bare, 
 and its easiest chair would have been full of 
 penance to some people's limbs. Two proof 
 line-engravings, after Eaphael, were its sole
 
 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 73 
 
 adornments, unless we include a great many 
 books, most of which were well bound, and 
 a harmonium. His solitary meal ended, 
 Cyril's landlady brought him some coffee, 
 made as English coffee rarely is, and served 
 in a lovely cup of Sevres, the gift of Marion 
 Everard, and acquainted him with the fact 
 that an old woman had sent three times that 
 day, requesting him to come and read to her, 
 as she was taken worse. 
 
 "I'll go directly," replied Cyril. "Poor old 
 soul ! I'm so sorry I was out when she sent ; " 
 and he started from his seat to get his hat. 
 Then it struck him that he had better drink 
 the coffee while it was hot, and he sat down 
 again, and fell into a reverie, experiencing 
 the delicious physical languor which comes 
 after much air and exercise and the satisfac- 
 tion of a temperate appetite, and which is so 
 favourable to a certain kind of mental occu- 
 pation. He looked wistfully at a volume of 
 St. Augustine, which lay ready to his hand, 
 and then at his watch. "It is too late for 
 Martha Hale to-night," he reflected; "and,
 
 74 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 
 
 after all, what good can I do lier ? Her life 
 has been a combination of a martyr's and a 
 saint's ; she has the Bible at her fingers' ends, 
 and caught me tripping in a quotation twice 
 the other day. Her spiritual knowledge is 
 such as I can only dimly guess at. I can tell 
 her nothing that she does not know five times 
 as well as I. Her daughter reads to her by 
 the hour. She has no sins to confess, no 
 doubts to calm. And it would be a sin to 
 disturb her at this time of night." And he 
 finished the coffee, and was soon lost in St. 
 Augustine's " City of God," which he closed 
 at about the time when Martha Hale's radiant 
 soul took flight from its worn and suffer- 
 ing tenement. Then he slept as youth sleeps, 
 Marion's sweet face flitting through his 
 dreams, and her voice making melody to an 
 accompaniment of sweetly clashing peals of 
 the bell-music from Long's waggon team.
 
 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 75 
 
 CHAPTER lY. 
 
 Rather more than a year after Alma Lee's 
 evening ride in the waggon, a railway 
 carriage containing two travellers was speed- 
 ing southwards through the wintry air, with 
 din and rattle and smoke, in the wake of the 
 red-eyed engine, which panted, groaned, and 
 throbbed as with the agony of some vexed 
 demon. 
 
 The travellers were men in the heyday 
 of youth, and their comfortable rugs, and 
 the array of books and papers with which 
 they were surrounded in the well-padded 
 carriage, marked them as among those 
 fortunate sons of earth who are absolved 
 from the labour of carefully considering 
 sixpences and shillings before converting 
 them into things of convenience or pleasure.
 
 76 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 
 
 An odour as of a recently evanished cigar of 
 fine flavour further emphasized their emanci- 
 pation from the slavery of petty economies, 
 though a practised observer would never for 
 a moment have classed them in the ranks of 
 those gilded youth v^ho are exempted from 
 the curse of labour and at liberty to squander 
 the rich prime of their strength on pleasures 
 and follies as they will. No ; they were 
 evidently two young men of the cultured 
 middle class, bred in comfort, if not luxury, 
 but with their own standing yet to make — a 
 truly happy position for youth of average 
 thews and sinews. 
 
 They sat in opposite corners, with their 
 legs stretched out beneath their warm rugs, 
 one looking backwards at the swiftly receding 
 perspective of trees and fields, villages and 
 farmsteads, flashing and fading on the sight ; 
 the other facing forwards to the yet unseen, 
 but seeing it not, since he was fast asleep. 
 Fast asleep, unconscious and peaceful as any 
 babe on its mother's breast, he was speeding 
 on without fear to a fate which in his wildest
 
 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 77 
 
 dreams he could never have pictured, and 
 which, could it have been shadowed forth 
 ever so dimlj to him, he would have dismissed 
 with laughing scorn as utterly improbable — 
 nay, impossible. Yet the train rushed on 
 with pant and puff and clatter, bearing him 
 nearer and nearer to the hidden terror with 
 every quiet breath he drew in his secure 
 slumbers, while pleasant fancies of the present 
 and warm hopes of the future wove them- 
 selves into fantastic images in his light 
 dreams. His was a well-built, manly form, 
 and his sleeping face, with all its placid calm, 
 was full of latent energy and bright intellect ; 
 a strong, serene face, with firm lips and chin, 
 the face of a man who could do and endure 
 much ; a face expressive of healthy vigour of 
 both mind and body, though it bore traces of 
 fatigue, which the soft touches of sleep were 
 every moment erasing. 
 
 His wakeful companion was a clergyman, a 
 man whose mobile and finely cut features, 
 and eyes full of intense blue light, were 
 expressive of something akin to genius ; a man
 
 78 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 
 
 whose delicately organized nature could be 
 touched, the observer would imagine, only to 
 the finest issues. 
 
 A world of thought and care sat on the 
 young priest's brow, and the look which 
 he bent on the fast-receding fields was so 
 profoundly sad, that it would seem as if 
 happiness could never again smile on him. 
 None of the layman's calm strength and 
 wholesome serenity was his ; such power as 
 his face expressed would come in lightning 
 flashes of brief but keen intensity. All nerve, 
 fire, imagination, and feeling, was this young 
 spirit apparently ; capable of descending to the 
 lowest depths of suffering or rising to the 
 very airiest summits of enthusiasm. It was 
 an eminently beautiful and spiritual young 
 face, and one which never failed to awaken 
 interest, if not love. He looked very worn 
 and fatigued ; but no merciful wing of 
 sleep came to fan the trouble from his brow, 
 while his companion slept so serenely and 
 dreamed so pleasantly. 
 
 In one hand he held a little book with
 
 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 79 
 
 red edges ; but, instead of consulting its pages, 
 his eyes were bent fixedly on the flying 
 wintry landscape, which, nevertheless, they 
 saw not, their gaze of intense abstraction 
 being turned inwards upon some unspeakable 
 sorrow. His face was in the shadow, while 
 some rays of wintry sunlight fell upon the 
 sleeper's face, touched the brown moustache 
 with tints of gold, and finally dazzled the 
 closed eyes to wakefulness. They were very 
 pleasant eyes when opened — honest, hazel 
 eyes, looking directly and kindly upon the 
 world, and suggesting the sunshine of whole- 
 some mirth in their depths ; shrewd eyes, 
 for they had seen many varieties of human 
 beings in the course of six and twenty years, 
 and were not easily deceived. 
 
 " Upon my word," observed the owner of 
 the eyes, " I think I must have forgotten 
 myself for a moment, Cyril." 
 
 At the first sound of his voice all the 
 sadness vanished from the young priest's 
 face ; the mournfully brooding eyes left the 
 landscape, and flashed a gay brilliance upon
 
 80 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 
 
 the face in the sunshine ; the finely moulded 
 lips lost their drooping curve in a smile ; the 
 dejected attitude became one of alert repose ; 
 the whole man was changed. 
 
 " You may have forgotten yourself, old 
 fellow, but it was impossible for any one else 
 to forget you with that dulcet harmony of 
 yours resounding through the brain," he 
 replied. 
 
 " Come, now, that's a libel ; I never snore," 
 returned the other, with a hearty yawn that 
 brought the tears into his eyes ; " and if I did, 
 you might forgive me, since you were not 
 preaching." 
 
 u There are some sermons of mine just over 
 your head, Everard ; who knows but some 
 lulling influence may have emanated from 
 them ? " 
 
 '' ' He jests at scars that never felt a 
 wound.' You scoundrel, you know very well 
 that the sleep of the just is murdered the 
 moment you begin thumping the pulpit- 
 cushion," said Everard, with a banter which 
 veiled an honest enthusiasm for his friend's 
 gifts.
 
 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 81 
 
 " I suppose I ought to say something neat 
 with regard to the elegance with which 
 you take off people's legs and tie up their 
 arteries. But, you see, my ignorance is so 
 total " 
 
 " Exactly. Genius in our profession is 
 known only to the initiated, while in yours 
 it is impossible to hide its light under a 
 bushel. Lucky fellows, you parsons. Not 
 the minutest spark of worth in you escapes 
 observation." 
 
 " You have hit on the weak point in our 
 profession, Henry," said Cyril, dropping his 
 air of banter. " Seriously, it is a very awful 
 thing to be placed as we are in the full light 
 of public observation, all our weaknesses, 
 failings, and errors heightened by its glare, 
 and doing — oh, the smallest of them ! — such 
 worlds and worlds of harm." 
 
 " Stuff, Maitland ! That is where you 
 parsons err. You think too much of your 
 example and influence. You don't suppose, 
 man, that we think you superior to human 
 weaknesses ? Not a bit of it ; we should 
 
 VOL. I. G
 
 82 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 
 
 loathe you, if we did. For goodness sake, 
 Cyril, don't take up with these superfine 
 priestly notions. By the way, why didn't 
 you go to sleep ? You look as if you wanted 
 it badly enough. Have you got some infernal 
 machine secreted under your waistcoat, to 
 wake you with a timely dig in case you 
 succumb to nature's weakness, according to 
 the rule of St. What's-his-name ? " 
 
 " My dear fellow," returned the other, with 
 a pained look, " you mean no harm, but you 
 
 handle certain subjects with a levity " 
 
 " Come now, Cyril, we are not treading on 
 holy ground. Your conscience and feelings 
 are in a state of hyper-sesthesia ; you have 
 been working too hard. I didn't mean that 
 parsons were not expected to practise what 
 they preach a little more precisely than other 
 men, or that any grave lapse on their part is 
 not worse in them than in others. But I 
 object to this morbid self-consciousness and 
 conscience-searching. Surely a clergyman 
 who is honest in his faith ought to be able to 
 lead a Christian's life with sufficient ease to
 
 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 83 
 
 prevent him from torturing himself about the 
 effect of his peccadilloes, which are all taken 
 for granted, on his flock." 
 
 " There are no peccadilloes for us," returned 
 Cyril, with a deep sigh. " But now, Henry, 
 let me speak out my anxiety about you as a 
 friend merely, not as a priest. Many things 
 you have said lately have grieved me 
 deeply " 
 
 " Oh, I know ! Because I don't believe in 
 the devil, I am in a parlous state. You 
 priests have a great tenderness for that absurd 
 old devil of yours. Beg his pardon ; I will 
 speak more respectfully of him in future. 
 Drive on." 
 
 " Your profession," pursued Maitland, with 
 a look of shocked forbearance, " is a noble 
 one ; nay, in some respects it is more noble 
 than the priesthood itself, though lacking the 
 special stamp of sanctity which that bears. It 
 is more noble because it involves so much more 
 self-sacrifice. But it is one beset with special 
 and awful dangers. Your minds are so con- 
 stantly set upon the material, that it is no
 
 84 THE SILENCE OP DEAN MAITLAND. 
 
 wonder if you are tempted to lose sight of the 
 spiritual." 
 
 " That I admit," returned Everard. 
 " You risk your souls that you may heal 
 our bodies, and the Italian proverb, ' Where 
 there are three doctors there are two atheists,' 
 is daily verified." 
 
 " Granted. But I am not one of the 
 atheists, happily for me." 
 
 " Not yet ; but I tremble for you, Henry. 
 That light tone grows upon you. And you 
 reason every day more and more from the 
 point of view of the man of science. You 
 learn more and more to distrust everything 
 that cannot be proved by the evidence of the 
 
 senses " 
 
 " Of reason." 
 
 ^' It amounts to the same thing. Will you 
 promise to pray against this, Henry ? " asked 
 Cyril, with intense supplication. 
 
 "My friend," returned the other, with a 
 slight shake of his body, like that a dog gives 
 in issuing from the water, " you accused me 
 just now of treating sacred things with levity.
 
 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 85 
 
 Now your words jar upon my sense of rever- 
 ence, which is strangely different in a priest 
 and a layman. You are accustomed, you see. 
 to handle religious topics freely. I am not. 
 And as I have no words to express them in, 
 I would rather leave them alone." 
 
 Cyril heaved a profound sigh, and was 
 silent for some seconds, while Everard kindled 
 a second cigar. 
 
 ''You think I have taken a liberty, Harry?" 
 he asked, after a while. 
 
 " Not in the least. Feeling as you do, you 
 would have been wrong to be silent. You 
 have but done your duty, old friend. Cheer 
 up. Oh, do keep a fellow company in a 
 cigar ! It is holiday-time." 
 
 Cyril's sensitive face brightened. It was 
 evident that he was extremely anxious about 
 the effect his words would have on his friend's 
 estimation of him. But he resolutely declined 
 the cigar — a self-denial which fretted his 
 friend as being quite a new feature in his 
 character. 
 
 "You are very much changed, Maitland,
 
 86 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLANB. 
 
 during the past year/' he said, looking keenly 
 at him. 
 
 " I am indeed," he replied, with a heavy 
 sigh ; and he turned the subject by pointing 
 out the towers of a grey cathedral in the 
 distance. " It is always a pleasant friend to 
 meet on one's way home," he said ; and the 
 two joined in admiring the massive pile, till 
 their passage through a chalk cutting hid it 
 from their sight for a time, and then the 
 train slackened, the shouts of porters were 
 heard, the cathedral appeared once more, and 
 they glided under the roofs of the smoky 
 station, amid a confused din of bell-ringing, 
 door-banging, hurrying steps and wheels, and 
 all the turmoil attending a brief pause on a 
 main line. 
 
 '' Belminster always had a great fascination 
 for me," observed the doctor, looking across 
 the sea of smoke-wreathed roofs to the vast 
 towers of the cathedral. " Surely that serenely 
 majestic person in gaiters is the bishop him- 
 self. The expression ' Church dignitary ' is 
 so fit. Who ever heard of a medical dignitary,
 
 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 87 
 
 or a legal dignitary ? Good gracious me, 
 Maitland, what an awful thing it must be to 
 be a bishop's son ! Fancy asking that urbane 
 and dignified cleric to pass the wine ! I 
 should faint if called upon to feel a spiritual 
 lordship's pulse. 
 
 Cyril smiled as the unconscious bishop 
 made a stately and solitary progress past their 
 carriage, recognizing the young clergyman 
 as he passed. 
 
 "He is very kind and fatherly," he observed, 
 as the train moved on. " I wish I were still 
 in his diocese. Yes, I have a great regard 
 for Belminster. I was ordained there." 
 
 " May you walk in the gaiters of that good 
 old gentleman, Cyril, some score of years 
 hence, and make the splendid old arches of 
 the minster ring with jouv eloquence ! I shall 
 settle near you — as parish doctor, mind — 
 though I invent heaven knows how many 
 diseases, as I hope to do, and Europe rings 
 with my discoveries. No fashionable physician 
 business for me." 
 
 *'A bishop," observed the young priest.
 
 88 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 
 
 thoughtfully, "has an immense scope for 
 action." 
 
 " Here is a man," said Everard, appealing 
 to the windows and sides of the carriage, 
 " who is too honest to say, ' Nolo episcopari.' 
 Let us make much of this man ! Let us — 
 hem ! — marry him to our sister." 
 
 '' This day two months," added Maitland, 
 " the wedding will take place." 
 
 " By the way, the young minx suggested 
 that I should read Tennyson's ' St. Simeon 
 Stylites ' at the next Penny Readings. The 
 suggestion is, I suppose, intended for a pro- 
 found joke. Rather a weak poem. Lunacy 
 requires the master-mind of a Shakespeare to 
 handle it without repulsiveness." 
 
 "I am not sure that it was lunacy," said 
 Cyril. 
 
 " Not lunacy to stand on a pillar for thirty 
 years ? My good fellow, when I consider the 
 doings of the Stylites and the recluses of the 
 Theba'id, I sometimes wonder if there was 
 any sanity in the world in those days." 
 
 " There was, at least, method in their mad-
 
 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 89 
 
 ness, Everard. Consider the power their 
 austerities gained them over the minds of 
 ordinary men." 
 
 " Of course ; many an authentic maniac has 
 been honoured with almost divine honours in 
 certain stages of society. The lust of power 
 is a curious thing. For my part, I would 
 rather be a nonentity than stand on a pillar 
 to gain influence." 
 
 " But consider what they wanted influence 
 for. To bring souls to God." 
 
 " So they persuaded themselves, no doubt. 
 Of all things I loathe asceticism. Not so 
 much for the spiritual ambition and pride 
 that attend it, as because it is in reality 
 only the other side of profligacy, or, in 
 other words, an ascetic is a rake turned 
 monk." 
 
 " Can a rake do better than turn monk ? " 
 
 " In my judgment, he can. He can repent, 
 turn away from his wickedness, and lead a 
 rational human life." 
 
 " Nay. He has made himself unworthy of 
 those common human enjoyments in which
 
 90 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 
 
 innocent men may indulge. Nothing but a 
 life of penance can atone " 
 
 " Nothing can atone," interrupted Everard. 
 " I am a Protestant, Cyril — a rabid Pro- 
 testant, as you observed the other day. None 
 of your popish penances for me. What's the 
 matter ? " 
 
 ^' Nothing," replied Cyril, whose features 
 quivered with pain, as he pressed his hand 
 to his side. " At least, only a ' stitch ' I am 
 subject to. Myself, I long for more austerity 
 in the Christian life of to-day. A few 
 eremites of the Thebai'd type on Salisbury 
 Plain " 
 
 " I tell you what, Cyril : you must learn to 
 moderate your transports in that parish of 
 yours, or you will soon be in a hospital or a 
 lunatic asylum. Subject to a stitch at four 
 and twenty ! It won't do. The devil fly away 
 with your eremites ! There are legends of 
 some of those same Thebaid lunatics, who, 
 after passing years and years in every species 
 of austerity, suddenly burst their unnatural 
 trammels in one unguarded moment, fled to
 
 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 91 
 
 the city, and plunged into a very vortex of 
 iniquity. Extremes meet, and Nature is a 
 stern avenger." 
 
 The spasm again flitted across Cyril's face, 
 unnoticed by his friend, for Cyril turned to 
 the window as he pressed his side. Beneath 
 his clothes he wore a little golden cross, 
 studded with tiny spikes, which, on pressure, 
 pierced the flesh. 
 
 " The exception rather proves the rule," 
 he said, smiling, as he turned his face again 
 towards his friend. " The ascetics have in 
 all ages of the world been the salt of the 
 earth. A mere protest against sensuality is 
 something. And people need the discipline 
 of pain." 
 
 " If I were to invent a purgatory, Cyril, it 
 would be one of happiness. Joy is the true 
 educator and refiner, not pain. Nothing 
 exists, or can exist, without joy, which is 
 both the originator and sustainer of life in 
 the organic world, and therefore, by analogy, 
 in the spiritual. You and I are here to-day 
 as the result of long ages of physical and
 
 92 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 
 
 moral well-being enjoyed through an infinite 
 chain of ancestors. Without continued phy- 
 sical, mental, and moral enjoyment through- 
 out our own individual lives, you and I 
 would never have attained to our present 
 physical, mental, and moral stature — such as 
 it is. Good heavens, Cyril ! think of the 
 stunted, stifled natures we have been seeing 
 daily in those dens of East-End vice and 
 misery, and contrast them with the men who 
 were our companions at Cambridge ! " 
 
 " I grant a certain necessary basis of 
 physical well-being," rejoined Cyril, wearily ; 
 " but I trust the day will dawn when you 
 too will rejoice in the discipline of sorrow. 
 It may even now be knocking at your doors ; 
 for you are too happy, Harry, for a sinful 
 man " 
 
 " I am most perfectly happy, and trust to 
 remain so, my gruesome prophet," said 
 Everard, with a cheery laugh. " I have 
 youth, health, a clear conscience, a profession 
 I love, and good prospects in it, and — 
 and " Here a curious smile, and some-
 
 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 93 
 
 thing distantly resembling a blush, irradiated 
 the doctor's face. " In short, I should be an 
 ungrateful miscreant if I were not perfectly 
 happy. Though, to be sure," he added, " I 
 am not going to be married to one of the 
 dearest girls on earth this day two months. 
 Why, what is this? Oldport already, as I 
 am a living man ! " He was on his feet in a 
 moment, eagerly scanning the faces on the 
 platform, while Cyril collected the various 
 impedimenta. " She is not there," he mut- 
 tered, in a tone of disappointment, as he 
 appropriated his own share of the plunder. 
 
 " Oh no ! " returned Cyril, in a composed 
 manner ; " she had no intention of coming:. 
 Lilian would come alone ; the phaeton only 
 holds three, and Marion, of course, would not 
 drive in alone." 
 
 Everard smiled at the different significance 
 of the word " she " in his own and his friend's 
 vocabulary : to the latter it meant Marion ; 
 to himself, Lilian. 
 
 " Perhaps she is here, after all," he con- 
 tinued, " waiting outside with the pony."
 
 94 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 
 
 '' Go and see," said Cyril ; " time and 
 patience, meanwhile, may result in the pro- 
 duction of a porter, which event I will abide." 
 
 Everard eagerly strode along the little 
 platform, thronged with labourers and market- 
 women bearing baskets of the singularly 
 aggressive nature affected by market-women — 
 baskets constructed apparently for the express 
 purpose of damaging passengers' ribs, and 
 finding out their tenderest spots. He threaded 
 his way eagerly through these perils, occa- 
 sionally removing a stolid and motionless 
 human obstacle by the simple process of 
 23lacing his hands on its shoulders and 
 wheeling it aside, till he issued on the top 
 of the hill outside the station. The river 
 flowed peacefully by its wharves at the foot 
 of the hill ; the little town rose on its banks, 
 and clustered lovingly round the base of the 
 tall white tower, whose weathercock burned 
 golden in the clear wintry sky ; and the grey 
 downs laid their arms protectingly round this, 
 their child. 
 
 But Everard did not look at this scene ; he
 
 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 95 
 
 scanned only the lines of flys and omnibuses, 
 each manned by a gesticulating, whip-waving 
 driver, in search of the well-known pony from 
 Malbourne, with the face he loved behind 
 it. But there was no i3ony and no Lilian, 
 and he returned disconsolate to Cyril, who, 
 in the mean time, had succeeded in gaining 
 the attention of one of the two distracted 
 porters. 
 
 " Perhaps," observed Cyril, tranquilly, " I 
 forgot to write. Who knows ? Well, we 
 must have a fly." 
 
 " By the sword of my grandfather," cried 
 Ev^erard, "I will not go in one of those 
 confounded flys. Let us walk. The weather 
 is made for it. A country walk will drive 
 ascetic megrims out of your brain." 
 " And the portmanteaus ? " 
 '' Left till called for. We can carry our 
 own bags. Now, look here," he added, as 
 Cyril demurred, " I am not going to mortify 
 my flesh by riding in a cushioned fly behind 
 two horses, with my luggage carried for me. 
 I shall walk across country, bag on shoulder ;
 
 96 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 
 
 and if that is too comfortable for your 
 reverence, you can get some dried peas at the 
 first grocer s we come to." 
 
 Cyril laughed and consented. Everard 
 gave the man silver to buy peas to put in his 
 boots, to his great mystification, and the two 
 young men set off down the hill, deafened by 
 the importunities of flymen, and crossed the 
 bridge over the dark, sluggish river, and 
 admired the artistic pyramids of casks on the 
 brewers' wharves, and rejoiced at hearing the 
 familiar Hampshire drawl in the streets ; for 
 it was market-day, and many a rustic lounged, 
 stolid, with open mouth, before the gay shop- 
 windows decked for Christmas. 
 
 Presently a more musical sound made their 
 ears tingle with pleasant home-thoughts — the 
 sweet, melodious confusion of waggon-bells, 
 clashing rhythmically along the street, and 
 they soon recognized Long's fine team of 
 horses, each proudly shaking the music from 
 his crest, and responding to the guttural 
 commands of William Grove, who strode 
 along with an expressionless face and a sprig
 
 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 97 
 
 of mistletoe in his cap, cracking his whip, a'nd 
 accompanied by his satellite Jem, who bore 
 holly in his hat. A faint gleam, distantly 
 resembling a smile, spread over William's 
 face at the greeting of the two young men, 
 and he even went so far as to issue the 
 strange monosyllable which brought his team 
 to a standstill at their request, while the 
 more youthful and impassioned Jem expanded 
 into a distinct grin, and replied that his 
 health was " middling." 
 
 " Well, and how are all the Malbourne 
 folk ? and are any of our people in Oldport 
 to-day. Grove ? " 
 
 " I ain't zeed none as I knows on," he 
 replied, after profound consideration. 
 
 " Any of the Malbourne folk * gone up the 
 steps ' to-day ? " asked Everard, looking in 
 the direction of the town hall, which was 
 closed, with its clock glittering in the sun- 
 shine. 
 
 " Ah ! 'tain't often we goos up steps," re- 
 turned William, who knew well that the 
 steps referred to were those conducting the 
 
 YOL. I. H
 
 98 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 
 
 malefactor before the magistrates at the town 
 hall, and which were numerous and un- 
 pleasant to climb with a burdened conscience. 
 '•' We never knows, though/' he added, in an 
 unusual burst of moralizing, " who med be 
 the next." 
 
 " I hope it won't be you, William," returned 
 Everard ; " if it is, it won't be for robbing 
 those fine horses of their corn. Why, they 
 look as fit as filberts," he added, patting the 
 leader. 
 
 " It wun't be you neither, doctor," growled 
 William, affectionately ; " for all they zes as 
 how you done for Jem Martin, a-cutting of 
 him open and a-zewing of him up so many 
 times, and pretty nigh pisened Mam Lee." 
 
 " Do they say that ? " laughed Everard. 
 "And this is fame, as Mr. Crummies observed, 
 Cyril. Well, look here, William! you take 
 these bags of ours, if you think the waggon 
 can stand it, and fetch our portmanteaus from 
 the station. Jem can run up the hill for 
 them." 
 
 " Our luggage, William," explained Cyril,
 
 THE SILENCE OF "DEAN MAITLAND. 99 
 
 "if it won't put you out of your way. We 
 are going home on foot, and didn't know how 
 on earth to get our things out till we met 
 you." 
 
 After deep cogitation, and some assistance 
 from the quicker intelligence of Jem, the 
 nature of the service he was required to 
 render at last dawned upon William Grove's 
 intellect, which was apparently situated at a 
 long distance from the material world, and 
 he consented with gruff heartiness, and, 
 waking all the five little peals of music with 
 one motion of his whip, started off in the 
 direction of the station. 
 
 " A happy New Year to you ! " the two 
 friends cried together at parting. 
 
 "And beware of going up the steps," 
 added Everard. " Upon my word, Cyril, I 
 should like to explore the recesses of that 
 fellow's moral consciousness. He is ap- 
 parently up to the level of the most advanced 
 thinkers of the day. He evidently looks 
 upon crime as a misfortune dependent upon 
 quite extrinsic circumstances."
 
 100 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 
 
 " They all do," returned Cyril. " It is the 
 part of Christianity to convince the world of 
 sin." 
 
 " Who shall say how far a man's will 
 consents to his acts ? " added Everard, 
 musingly. " I hope some day to be able to 
 give myself to the study of mental disease, 
 and more accurately trace the connection 
 between that and crime." 
 
 " Let us forget both this one day," said 
 Cyril, whose spirits had undergone a wonder- 
 ful change in the last half-hour, and were 
 now gay even to boyishness. 
 
 Everard fell readily into his humour, and, 
 chatting and laughing, the friends soon 
 passed the streets of the little town and its 
 miniature suburbs, and gained the pretty 
 village of Chalkburne, the Norman tower of 
 which showed in the sunlight fresh and 
 unworn by its eight centuries of storm, and 
 greeted the travellers with the music of its 
 chiming hour as they walked through the 
 linden-girdled churchyard, rejoicing in their 
 youth and the live wintry air.
 
 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 101 
 
 Cyril had the gift of conversation, which 
 Everard somewhat lacked, and the talk was 
 brilliant and sparkled with his ready wit 
 and quick repartee, in which the doctor 
 was continually worsted, greatly to his own 
 good-humoured content. His love for Cyril 
 and his admiration for his gifts were bound- 
 less. The two friends had passed all their 
 school-time together, Everard riding daily to 
 Malbourne to study with Cyril's tutor, Mr. 
 Maitland's curate ; and in those young days 
 the hero-worship began, the elder boy, whose 
 mental powers were slower, if more solid, 
 admiring, protecting, and helping the bright- 
 eyed, clever child who shared his studies and 
 so often distanced him. They met again at 
 Cambridge, where the senior was only one 
 year ahead of his two-years junior, and there 
 Everard found fresh cause to admire his 
 brilliant and successful friend, who gathered 
 friends and admirers innumerable about him, 
 and won laurels, both literary and social. 
 
 And now family ties promised to unite 
 them more closely, and Everard was glad —
 
 102 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 
 
 far more glad than Maitland, whose affection 
 for his friend, though warm, had not the 
 slightest element of hero-worship, but was, 
 on the contrary, flavoured with a good spice 
 of condescension. With all his imagination 
 and quick sympathy, Cyril did not see that 
 Henry possessed those solid and patient 
 mental gifts which readily master the facts 
 of physical science, and, above all, had the 
 peculiar faculty which may be called scientific 
 imagination, — that he was, in short, one of 
 those chosen few who make new epochs in 
 the history of scientific research. Cyril 
 looked upon his enthusiasm for his profession 
 as praiseworthy, but inexplicable. It seemed 
 to him that Henry crawled upon the earth, 
 while he soared in the vast of heaven's blue. 
 Such was the bond which united the two 
 hard-working young men who walked along 
 the chalky road that bracing afternoon at the 
 end of December, to pass a week's well-earned 
 holiday under the friendly roof of Malbourne 
 Rectory.
 
 THE SILENCE OF DEx^N MAITLAND. 103 
 
 CHAPTER Y. 
 
 The afternoon sun was shining peacefully 
 upon the thatched roofs of Malbourne, on the 
 dark grey spire of its tree-girdled church, 
 and on the south-west front of Malbourne 
 Rectory. At one of the sun-lighted windows 
 sat Lilian Maitland, busily writing, her face 
 directed to the prospect without, which she 
 occasionally looked upon in her thoughtful 
 pauses. 
 
 The lawn sloped quickly from the windows 
 to a road which was concealed by trees, 
 and beyond which rose the park-like grounds 
 of Northover House in such a manner as 
 to appear but a continuation of the Rectory 
 grounds. Somewhere down in the hollow 
 by the road there danced and murmured 
 the bright little stream which gave its name
 
 104 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 
 
 to Malboiirne, and which Lilian knew was 
 sparkling gaily now in the sunshine, as it 
 washed the drooping hart's-tongue waving 
 from its mossy bank. Beyond the cluster 
 of village roofs on the right spread a 
 range of flat, windy fields to the unseen 
 sea. Behind the Eectory, and on the left 
 of Lilian's window, rose the bleak chalk 
 downs, strong barriers against the wild salt 
 winds which swept over those regions, summer 
 and winter, from the sea. 
 
 Mark Antony, the cat, sat demurely on 
 the table by the blotting-book, thoughtfully 
 scanning the sunny landscape, and pretend- 
 ing not to see the pert little robin on the 
 lawn, while he occasionally appealed to 
 Lilian's sympathies by rubbing his velvet 
 head against her cheek, or giving her a 
 dainty little bite, which he had copied from 
 his human friends, under the impression 
 that it was a kiss. In a low chair, between 
 the table and the fire, sat a very pretty, 
 slender girl, toying with a piece of fancy 
 work, but really intent upon trying to win
 
 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 105 
 
 a glance or responsive purr from Mark 
 Antony, who regarded all her efforts with 
 haughty indifference, and continued to evolve 
 his philosophy of the visible universe un- 
 moved. 
 
 " He is so tantalizing ! " she cried, throw- 
 ing away her work with a pretty pettish 
 gesture. " If he would only once show some 
 deference to me, I should not care. Puss, 
 puss, I say ! Come to me at once, sir ! " 
 
 " He thoroughly understands the secret of 
 his own supremacy, Marion," replied Lilian, 
 coming to the end of her writing, and softly 
 stroking the animal's snow-white breast. 
 " He knows as well as you do that you would 
 think nothing of his caresses if he lavished 
 them unasked." 
 
 " Selfish, hateful animal ! " 
 
 " He is not selfish," replied Lilian ; " he is 
 a profound student of human nature. He 
 has discovered that the deepest joy a human 
 being can taste is to love disinterestedly. 
 He therefore offers mankind this enjoyment 
 by permitting them to adore him at a
 
 106 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 
 
 distance. Dogs afford a far lower enjoyment 
 — that of being loved." 
 
 ^' Dogs are right," said Marion, her brown 
 eyes softening in a wistful gaze ; " the 
 happiest thing is to be loved. I should die 
 if people didn't love me. I almost hated 
 Cyril when I thought, in that dreadful time 
 last spring, that he didn't care for me." 
 
 "It is delicious to be loved," rejoined 
 Lilian, '* but to love is best. How happy 
 Henry is in his affection for you ! You are 
 the dearest thing in the world to him, and 
 yet I think you care little comparatively for 
 him ; you even prefer your brother Leslie, 
 who is always too busy with sport and 
 gaieties to write to you." 
 
 " Well, it is different," replied Marion. 
 " Henry is so full of learning that he seems 
 older than Leslie, who is the darling of his 
 regiment and so full of life. And then, 
 Henry is not engaged. I am sure he has 
 never cared for any girl, and will die an old 
 bachelor. Of course, he cares much more for 
 me than I can for him. And he is so devoted 
 to Cyril."
 
 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 107 
 
 *^ I think," said Lilian, pressing her cheek 
 against her pet's glossy fur, " that neither of 
 you know the real worth of Henry." 
 
 " Oh, he is the best old fellow in the world, 
 but not clever and handsome like Cyril, and 
 without the dash of Leslie. By the way, I 
 suppose those bad boys will be here to- 
 night." 
 
 "• No doubt they will turn up some time, 
 unless something serious detains them, in 
 which case they will telegraph. Cyll has 
 promised to preach to-morrow. Are you 
 quite sure, Marion, that he did not mention 
 his train ? He always likes me to meet him 
 at Oldport." 
 
 " He said he would write later to name the 
 train. I suppose he forgot." 
 
 " He does forget now, Marion, as he never 
 used to. He is killing himself in that 
 dreadful parish. Oh, I shall be so thankful 
 wdien you are married ! There will be a 
 perfect holiday, to begin with, and then you 
 will keep him within reasonable bounds." 
 
 Marion laughed. " He will have to take
 
 108 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 
 
 care of me as well as the parish," she said. 
 " But what is this ? " 
 
 " This " proved to be merely Eliza, the 
 parlour-maid, who entered with her usual 
 unmoved countenance. 
 
 " It is only Stevens, Miss Lilian," she said. 
 " And could you please step down to the 
 forge at once ? " 
 
 " The forge ! " exclaimed Marion, with 
 wide eyes of astonishment. 
 
 " What is the matter there, Eliza ? " asked 
 Lilian, tranquilly. 
 
 '' Only Hotspur, Mr. Ingram's horse, miss. 
 They've been trying this hour to get him 
 shod. Straun says he wouldn't touch him 
 for a hundred pounds." 
 
 " But what has the parish clerk to do with 
 shoeing horses ? " exclaimed the bewildered 
 Marion. 
 
 " Or the parson's daughter ? " added 
 Lilian, laughing. " Why, nothing is done 
 in the village without Stevens, Marion. He 
 and G-randfer together are the oracles of 
 Malbourne. No, you shall not come with
 
 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 109 
 
 me ; you would be frightened to death. Gro 
 and see if mother wants anything. She will 
 be waking now." 
 
 " Oh, I say, Lilian ! " cried a little voice, as 
 Lennie burst in, rosy and excited, " do come 
 along. Such larks ! Hotspur has kicked a 
 cart to atoms, and now he is letting fly in all 
 directions, and is killing Judkins, and there's 
 Stevens stamping at the back door, and the 
 whole village with its hair on end." 
 
 " Hyberbole is Lennie's favourite figure," 
 commented Lilian, going out into the hall, 
 and taking her hat and jacket. " Run on, 
 Lennie, and say I am just coming. Matter ? 
 Oh, my dearest Marion, nothing ! Only that 
 Ingram Swaynestone spoils his horses' 
 tempers, and then is surprised that his 
 servants can't manage them." 
 
 In another minute Lilian had passed with 
 quick, light step and erect carriage down the 
 drive, and along the village high-road, 
 bordered with its little gardens, in which 
 one or two belated autumn flowers still made 
 a brave show against the wintry rigour. She
 
 110 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 
 
 went quickly, but without hurry, and found 
 time on the way to give some directions about 
 the church to the clerk, a lean, rugged figure, 
 stooping slightly beneath the fardel of some 
 fifty winters, and crowned with a shock of 
 grizzled red hair, who walked and talked 
 excitedly at her side. 
 
 Soon she saw the forge, from the black 
 heart of which streamed a ruddy glow, look- 
 ing lurid in contrast with the sunshine, and 
 round which was grouped a dense little 
 crowd of women and children, with a few 
 men. Straun, the smith, a burly, grimy, 
 bare-armed figure in a leathern apron, stood 
 in an attitude of defiant despair, one strong 
 hand grasping his great hammer, which he 
 had flung on the anvil, and calling silently 
 on Heaven to witness that he was ready 
 to shoe Christian horses, however rampant, but 
 not demons, hippogriffs, or any such uncanny 
 monsters. Near him, looking rather pale, 
 but resolute, as became one superior to the 
 weaker emotions, an old, bent, withered man, 
 with shrewd grey eyes and pursed-up mouth,
 
 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. Ill 
 
 stood leaning forward on a stout oaken stick, 
 and shook his head as one who despaired of 
 finding virtue in these degenerate days in 
 either man or beast. 
 
 " And I zays, as I zed afore," he repeated, 
 emphasizing his words with the stick, which 
 he dug into the ground with all the force of 
 his two withered hands, " zend for Miss 
 Lihan — zend for she ! " 
 
 " Lard love 'ee, Grranfer," observed a stout 
 fellow in a smock-frock, who stood inside the 
 forge in attendance on a couple of massive, 
 glossy-coated cart-horses, who were cosily 
 munching some hay dropped before them, and 
 contemplating the proceedings lazily with 
 their great soft winking eyes, " where 's the 
 use of a gal ? " — a proposition received by 
 Granfer and the assembled village with silent 
 scorn. 
 
 The centre of the excited little crowd, 
 which occasionally burst asunder and flew 
 outwards with a wild mingling of women's 
 and children's shrieks — for the men skurried 
 off with a silent celerity that was all the more
 
 112 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 
 
 effectual — was a beautiful chesnut horse, 
 not standing, according to the comfortable 
 and decent wont of horses, on four firmly 
 planted feet, but outraging people's belief in 
 the stability of natural laws by rearing him- 
 self wildly and insecurely on his two hind 
 legs, and dangling from his mouth in mid- 
 air a miserable white-faced biped in sleeved 
 waistcoat and gaiters, whose cap had fallen 
 off, and whose damp hair streamed as wildly 
 as Hotspur's own waving mane and quiver- 
 ing tail. Tired of this folly, with his ears 
 laid back, his nostrils wide and red, and his 
 eyes showing nothing but the whites. Hot- 
 spur would suddenly drop his victim to his 
 native earth, and, plunging forwards on his 
 other end, as if intent on turning a summer- 
 set, would throw his hind hoofs up towards 
 the sky in a manner most alarming to those 
 who enjoyed a near view of the proceedings ; 
 and then, wearying of this, he would dance 
 round on all four legs at once in a manner 
 utterly bewildering to contemplate. 
 
 " Why, Hotspur," cried Lilian, in her clear,
 
 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 113 
 
 mellow voice, as she stepped quickly through 
 the crowd just as Hotspur dropped the un- 
 fortunate groom to the ground, and prepared 
 to turn himself the other way up, ^' what is 
 this, old fellow ? " and she caught the rein 
 from the groom's hand, pushing the latter 
 gently away, and laid her slender, strong 
 white hand firmly upon the quivering neck 
 of the maddened, plunging horse. " Fie, 
 Hotspur, fie ! " 
 
 No one had observed Lilian's approach, and 
 when she appeared, as if dropped from the 
 skies in the groom's place, a sudden quiet 
 pervaded every human face and limb, the 
 crowd fell back, and all looked on, save the 
 sceptic with the cart-horses, with an air of 
 tranquil expectancy ; while Lilian, without a 
 trace of anxiety or agitation, talked in 
 caressing, reproving tones to the ill-conducted 
 steed, whose limbs had quivered into some 
 approach to quiet at the first touch of the 
 slender, spirit-like hand on his neck. 
 
 But even Lihan's magic touch could not 
 expel the demon of passion at once from the 
 
 VOL. I. I
 
 114 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 
 
 maddened creature. He still reared and 
 j^lunged and danced, in a manner that led 
 the spectators to give him plenty of room 
 for his evolutions ; but he became gradually 
 quieter, until he stood as Providence intended 
 horses to stand, on all four feet at once, and 
 only betrayed the internal workings of his 
 outraged feelings by the quivering of his 
 limbs and body, the workings of his ears and 
 eyes, and the redness of his wide nostrils, 
 while Lilian's musical voice never ceased its 
 low monologue of soothing and reproach, and 
 her hand never left stroking and patting his 
 shining neck and shoulders. At Hotspur's 
 first backward rear, indeed, her hand left him 
 perforce, and she only avoided being hoisted 
 in mid-air like the luckless groom, by giving 
 him ^ long rein and stepping quickly back 
 out of the way of his formidable fore-feet. 
 
 This was an ugly moment, and a woman 
 in the crowd uttered an exclamation of dis- 
 may and turned pale at the sight of the 
 girl beneath the rearing horse, though no 
 one else betrayed the least emotion, not even
 
 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 115 
 
 the sceptic in the smock-frock, whose mouth 
 was too widely opened in astonishment to 
 leave room for his features to express any 
 other feeling ; but Hotspur, finding that 
 Lilian did not balk him of his dance on his 
 hind legs, soon desisted from that uncomfort- 
 able performance, and yielded, as his betters 
 frequently did, gradually to the soothing 
 charm of her voice and touch, until he became, 
 figuratively speaking, clothed and in his 
 right mind. She found fault with Hotspur's 
 bit, and pointed out the undue tightness of 
 his girths to Judkins, whose cheeks had now 
 resumed their native ruddy hue ; and when 
 these defects were remedied, she led the horse 
 a little way along the road and back again, 
 and fed him with sugar and other dainties, 
 till Hotspur's heart waxed so glad within him 
 that he consented to stand like a lamb, while 
 Straun, not without some misgiving in his 
 bluff face, and a muttered reference to his 
 wife and his seven children, fitted his new 
 shoes on to his restive feet with what speed 
 and dexterity he could muster.
 
 116 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 
 
 "And I zed/' observed Granfer, again 
 striking his oaken staff emphatically on the 
 ground, and looking round on the assembled 
 village as if for applause, " zed I, ' Zend for 
 Miss Lilian — zend for she ' ! " 
 
 The crowd, in the mean time, had been 
 augmented by the arrival of two other 
 spectators, who were unobserved in the 
 absorbing interest evoked by Hotspur and 
 his conqueror. One was a tall, finely built 
 man, somewhat past middle life, on a good, 
 well-bred bay horse, which he rode and 
 handled with perfect horsemanship. He 
 stopped, in the first instance, to avoid riding 
 over the village population ; and in the 
 second, to witness the curious little drama 
 enacted in the wintry sunshine. He was soon 
 joined by a grey-haired clergyman, of vener- 
 able aspect and refined features, who looked 
 on with quiet interest. 
 
 " Upon my word, Maitland," said the 
 equestrian, addressing the latter, " this is a 
 new revelation of your daughter's powers. 
 I was already aware that she soothed the
 
 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAKD. 117 
 
 troubles and quieted tlie consciences of the 
 whole village, but I did not know that she 
 undertook the blacksmith's labours as well." 
 
 " My daughter," replied Mr. Maitland, 
 tranquilly, "has received a very singular 
 gift from the Almighty. She can subdue 
 any animal, tame or w^ild, by some mysterious 
 virtue of touch, voice, or glance — perhaps of 
 all three. Not a very lofty gift, perhaps. Sir 
 Lionel, but one which is often very useful in 
 a homely way." 
 
 " But surely, Maitland, you cannot approve 
 of Lilian's rendering such dangerous services 
 as these. Are you not afraid for her ? " 
 
 " No ; I have every confidence in her 
 powers. And I do not like to make her 
 nervous by suggesting danger. Perhaps one 
 secret of her influence is her absolute fearless- 
 ness. "Watch the expression of her eye. 
 No ; I like my child to render whatever 
 service she is capable of to her fellow- 
 creatures. Parents often err, I think, by in- 
 terfering unnecessarily with their children's 
 actions. Well, Lilian, and what was the
 
 118 THE SILENCE OP DEAN MAITLAND. 
 
 matter ? " he asked, as the crowd, perceiving 
 them, fell back respectfully, with curtsies and 
 cap-touchings. Judkins, receiving his four- 
 footed charge from Lilian's hand, prepared to 
 mount and ride away, not without warning 
 from Lilian, and strict injunctions to eschew 
 whipping and other irritations, and to quiet 
 Hotspur's nerves by a good canter on the 
 turf. 
 
 " Only a horse with a spoilt temper, father," 
 she replied. " How do you do. Sir Lionel ? 
 Tell Mr. Swaynestone that I mean to scold 
 him roundly about Hotspur. He is far too 
 hot himself to be able to indulge in chesnnt 
 horses. And, indeed, I am not sure that he 
 ought to have any horse at all." 
 
 '' All this," said Sir Lionel, who had dis- 
 mounted and taken off his hat with graceful, 
 old-fashioned courtesy, " I will faithfully do, 
 though surely one word from yourself would 
 have more effect than volumes I could say. 
 Do your spells work only on the lower 
 creation, Lilian ? " 
 
 "I suppose so," returned Lilian, turning
 
 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 119 
 
 homewards in the reddening sunbeams, accom- 
 panied by the two gentlemen and the horse, 
 which latter she patted to his great satisfac- 
 tion. "- My spells consist chiefly of sympathy 
 and affection, and these are perfect with 
 innocent animals and children, but only 
 partial with sinful men." 
 
 " Ben Lee will never forgive you for in- 
 ducing me to drive without bearing-reins," said 
 Sir Lionel. '' I wish you could have seen 
 the sight, Maitland. Lee ignominiously de- 
 throned, your daughter and myself on the 
 box, Lilian handling the ribbons, and driving 
 me up and down before the house without 
 bearing-reins. Lee never drives out now 
 without preparing for his last moment, poor 
 fellow. I hope you will not help poachers, 
 Lilian. I hear you can surround yourself 
 with fifty pheasants at any moment in our 
 w^oods." 
 
 " If I were to hurt anything, I think my 
 power would be gone ; and even if I did not 
 love a thing I should have no power, for I 
 have no influence on reptiles."
 
 120 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 
 
 " And does Cyril, who is so like you, share 
 your power ? " 
 
 " As a child he did," interposed Mr. 
 Maitland. " You remember the bull that 
 killed Lee's father, Sir Lionel ? Imagine my 
 feelings on seeing the twins, then about six 
 years old, stroking him, and trying to reach 
 by jumping up to his terrific horns ! Still, 
 Cyril has an unusual influence over animals, 
 though it becomes fainter. He has more 
 power with human beings than his sister." 
 
 "Yet Lilian stopped that fellow who was 
 beating his wife to death." 
 
 " And the whole village looking on and 
 not lifting a finger — the cowards ! " Lilian 
 flashed out. " He fell down in sheer fright 
 when I rushed at him. Come in, Sir Lionel, 
 and have some tea," she added, as they 
 reached the gates. 
 
 But Sir Lionel refused the tea, having still 
 some distance to ride before dark. 
 
 " I am in Lady Swaynestone's service 
 to-night," he said, *' and she bid me ask you 
 to come and counsel her about some dis-
 
 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 121 
 
 tribution of coals or what not, when you have 
 a spare moment. I wish you could also 
 exorcise the demon of extravagance from that 
 boy Ingram." 
 
 " She nearly scolds the poor fellow to 
 death as it is," said Mr. Maitland. '* We are 
 expecting Henry Everard to-night." 
 
 " So I hear. A promising fellow, Sir 
 Andrew Smithson tells me. He was both 
 clever and kind in his treatment of Lee's 
 wife last spring. As a lad, I thought him 
 rather dull. However, we all pin our faith 
 on Dr. Everard now at Swaynestone." 
 
 And bidding them farewell. Sir Lionel 
 sprang like any youth to his saddle, and rode 
 away at a canter, looking like a very prince, 
 as his tall and gracefully erect figure dis- 
 appeared among the trees in the dusk. 
 
 The group at the forge, meantime, rightly 
 judged that so much heat, toil, and anxiety 
 required the alleviation of moisture, and 
 Straun, casting his hammer aside, proclaimed 
 his intention of adjourning for solace to 
 the Sun, which stood at the corner by the
 
 122 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 
 
 cross-roads, a few paces further down tlie 
 road. 
 
 " Come on, Stevens," lie said, " and toss 
 me who'll treat Grranfer." 
 
 The guardian of the cart-horses thought it 
 a pity not to follow so good an example ; so 
 also did Hale, the wheelwright, who lived at 
 the opposite corner ; and Wax, who chanced 
 to be the schoolmaster, and Baines, the tailor, 
 whose monotonous indoor occupation, though 
 varied with pig-jobbing and gardening, re- 
 quired frequent solace of this nature. Hale's 
 brother Tom, a soldier resting from war's 
 alarms in his native village in a very 
 undress uniform, consisting of no belt, a 
 tunic unbuttoned all the way down and 
 displaying a large expanse of striped shirt, 
 trousers tucked up round the ankles, a short 
 pipe, and a muffin-cap perilously askew, con- 
 sidered it a breach of manners unbecoming a 
 soldier and a gentleman to permit these 
 worthy men to drink without his assistance ; 
 and similar feelings animated his brother 
 Jim, a sailor, bearing the legend, " H.M.S.
 
 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 123 
 
 Bellerophon,'' on his cap. So the brave 
 fellows, accommodating their pace to that of 
 Granfer, which was more dignified than 
 swift, turned in as one man beneath the low 
 doorway of the Sun, and grouped themselves 
 about the cosy, sanded bar, where the fire- 
 light was beginning to look cheerily ruddy 
 in the fading afternoon. 
 
 " And I zaid," added Granfer, striking the 
 sanded floor dogmatically with his stick, 
 " ' Zend for Miss Lilian — zend fur she.' " 
 
 " Ay, Granfer," growled the smith, " it's all 
 very well for Miss Lilian. She ain't got a wife 
 and seven children, and her bread to git." 
 
 " I zes, zes I," interposed the sceptic in the 
 smock-frock, who had taken a pull at his 
 tankard, and was removing the foam from 
 his lips by the simple application of the back 
 of his hand, " ' Where's the use of a gal ? ' 
 I've a zin it, and I believes it. I shouldn't 
 a believed it if I hadn't a zin it."- 
 
 " You never believes nothink," observed 
 Jim. " Ah ! if you'd a sin what I've a sin 
 aboord the Bellyruffian "
 
 124 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 
 
 "Or if he'd a sin they there snake- 
 charmers in India, what he won't believe in," 
 added the soldier. 
 
 " Ah ! " broke in the clerk, " you put Miss 
 Lilian aboord tlie Bellyruffian^ or take her 
 out to Injy and let her charm snakes, and 
 I'll war'nt she'll do it. That ar buoy Dick, 
 whatever she done to he, nobody knows. 
 A bad 'un he wer, wouldn't do nothing he 
 hadn't a mind to. You med bate 'un till 
 you couldn't stand. Wax have broke sticks 
 about his back, and covered 'un with weals, 
 but catch he gwine to school if he'd a mind 
 to miche. I ses to Miss Lilian, I ses, ' I've 
 a bate that ar buoy black and blue/ I ses, 
 ' and I've a kep 'un without vittles this two 
 days, and he wun't do nothun he an't a 
 mind to.' And she ups and ses, ' Stevens,' 
 she ses, ' I should like to bate you,' she ses ; 
 ' I should like to bate you green and yaller,' 
 she ses. ' Lard love 'ee, Miss Lilian, what- 
 ever would ye bate I for ? ' I ses, ses I. 
 ' Because you are a fool, Stevens,' she ses, 
 ' and you are ruining that buoy, and turning
 
 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 125 
 
 him into a animal,' slie ses. And she took 
 'un up Rectory, and kep' 'un there a day, and 
 sent 'un home as good as gold. And she 
 made me promise I wouldn't bate 'un no more 
 for two good weeks, and I ain't bate 'un 
 zince, and he'll do what he's told now 
 without the stick. ' I should like to bate 
 you green and yaller, Stevens,' she ses. And 
 she'd a done it, she would, green and yaller 
 — ah ! that she would, mates." 
 
 " I don't deny," said Baines, the tailor, 
 whose profession rendered him morbid, revolu- 
 tionary, and inclined to distrust the utility 
 of existing institutions, " but what Miss 
 Lilian may have her uses." 
 
 " Ah, Baines," interrupted the soldier, 
 " you ain't such a fool as you looks, after all." 
 
 Before the stupefied Baines, who was 
 accustomed to have his remarks received 
 with reverence, could reply to this insult, 
 public feeling was suddenly outraged by the 
 following observation from the smock-frocked 
 sceptic, the want of wisdom in whom was 
 accounted for by his having only recently
 
 126 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 
 
 come to Malbourne from a village at least 
 ten miles off that centre of intelligence. 
 
 " But what shall us do when Miss Lilian 
 gets married ? " 
 
 " Married ! " shouted the clerk. " And 
 who ses she's a-gwine to marry ? " 
 
 " She med marry ; then agen she medn't," 
 replied this foolish person, unabashed by the 
 dark glances bent upon him. 
 
 " Miss Lilian," observed Granfer, who had 
 been indulgently listening while he despatched 
 his beer, and thus affording weaker wits the 
 opportunity of exercising themselves during 
 his forbearance, "ain't agwine to marry 
 nobody ; " and, thrusting his staff forwards 
 and resting his two hands upon it, Granfer 
 looked round the assembly with austere 
 menace in his shrewd grey eyes. 
 
 Nobody dared reply to this, and silence 
 prevailed, broken only by the sound of good 
 liquor disappearing down men's throats, and 
 a weak, half-audible murmur from the smock- 
 frock about girls being girls, whether gentle 
 or simple.
 
 THE SILENCE OP DEAN M AIT LAND. 127 
 
 " I zes to my missus, vive year agone last 
 Middlemas, zes I," continued Granfer, who 
 chanced to be the grandsire of the indignant 
 clerk, " ' Miss Lilian ain't one o' your 
 marrying zart ; ' " and again Granfer looked 
 round the assembly as if challenging them 
 to deny the undeniable, and was met by an 
 assenting murmur of '' All's ! " 
 
 "Miss Lilian," pursued Granfer, with an 
 air of inspiration, " is turned vour and 
 twenty. Your and twenty year old come 
 last May is they twins. Well I minds the 
 night they was barned. The last time as 
 ever I druv a 'oss. A vrosty night 'twas, 
 and nipped all the archards miles round, and 
 there warn't no vruit that year. Ah ! 
 Yarmer Long he'd a lost dree and dirty 
 yowes lambing-time that year. Well I minds 
 it. I druv pony-chaise into Oldport, and 
 vetched out t' doctor. And I zes to my missus, 
 I zes, when I come home, ' Master's got twins ! ' 
 Ay, that's what I zed, zure enough. And 
 my missus she zes, zes she, ' Lard love 'ee, 
 Granfer,' she zes, * you don't zay zo ! ' she
 
 128 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 
 
 zes ; " and again Granfer paused and looked 
 round to perceive the effect of his eloquence. 
 
 " Ay," said the landlord, feeling that 
 courtesy now obliged him to entertain the 
 intellects as well as the bodies of his guests, 
 " twins is zummat when it comes to that. 
 Twins is bad enough for poor volk, but when 
 it comes to ladies and they, Lard 'a massey ! " 
 
 " Ah ! " murmured Granfer, shaking his 
 head with profound wisdom, and at the same 
 time regretfully contemplating the vacuum 
 in his beer-pot, '' them twins done for Mrs. 
 Maitland. She ain't ben the zame 'ooman 
 zince, never zimmed to perk up agen arter 
 that. Yine children they was, too, as ever 
 you'd wish to zee, and brought up on Yarmer 
 Long's Alderney cow, kep' special vor 'um, 
 as I used to vetch the milk marnin' and 
 evenin'. I did, zure enough." 
 
 Here Tom, the soldier, who, in virtue of 
 his red coat, was bound to be susceptible to 
 feminine charms, opined that Miss Lilian was 
 still " a smartish-looking gal ; " and Jim, the 
 sailor, added that he didn't see why she
 
 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 129 
 
 shouldn't pick up some smart lad yet, for 
 his heart was warm, and he could not bear to 
 consign an unoffending girl to the chills of 
 single blessedness. There was Lieutenant 
 Everard, of the Bellerophon, a frequent visitor 
 at the Rectory, for example — as smart an 
 officer as Jim had ever seen, he added. 
 
 " Ah, goo on wi' ye ! " cried Grranfer, 
 greatly refreshed by the polite replenishment 
 of his pot at Tom's expense. '' Miss Lilian's 
 as pretty a maid as Tom'll zee in a day's 
 march. But she wun't marry nobody. Yur 
 why ? zes I. Cause she wun't ha'e the common 
 zart, and the upper crust they wun't ha'e 
 she." 
 
 " Watever's come over Judkins now ? " 
 asked Hale, the wheelwright, musingly. 
 " He'd had a drop too much 's afternoon, and 
 he was a latherin' into Hotspur like mad 
 coming down shoot.* He hadn't ought to 
 treat a boss like that." 
 
 " A man med well drink," said the tailor, 
 " afore trusting hisself to a animal like that 
 
 * A short steep hill on the highway. 
 VOL I. K
 
 130 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 
 
 there. Steady as Charlie Judkins was, poor 
 chap ! What these ^ere rich men 'a got to 
 answer for ! " 
 
 " I never zeen a 'oss rampageouser," replied 
 the smith ; " but I never zeen a 'oss Miss 
 Lilian couldn't quiet, or a ass either." 
 
 " Your missus 'ull be sending for her one 
 day, then," said Jim ; and the whole assembly 
 broke into a loud guffaw, after which 
 Granfer very impressively related the history 
 of the hunted fox, which appeared one day 
 with his paws on the window-sill of Lilian's 
 sitting-room, followed by the pack in full 
 cry, and the whole field at no great distance. 
 He told how Lilian quickly opened the 
 window, Reynard leapt in, and she as quickly 
 shut it ; and how the huntsman, on finding 
 the hounds at check round the Rectory 
 window, looked in, and was greatly shocked 
 to see poor Reynard's pointed nose and 
 glittering eyes peering out from among the 
 skirts of a young lady sitting quietly at 
 work, and tranquilly surveying the baffled 
 hounds baying outside>
 
 THE SILENCE OF DEAN Mx^ITLAND. 131 
 
 Lilian refused to deliver up her fugitive, 
 holding parley with the master of the hounds 
 through the closed and latched window, until 
 the latter had withdrawn his pack ; and it 
 was not until the premises had been cleared 
 a good half-hour of every vestige of hound, 
 horse, and man, that she unbolted door or 
 window, and suffered her weary, panting 
 prisoner to depart, which he did with evident 
 regret and thankfulness for hospitality— a 
 hospitality poorly requited by him, since he 
 managed to snatch a chick from the poultry- 
 yard in effecting his escape. 
 
 But no one seemed to think there was any- 
 thing unusual in Lilian's power over living 
 creatures ; it was simply what one expected 
 of Miss Lilian, just as one expected church 
 bells to ring and cocks to crow. Nor had 
 any one thanked her for assisting so effectively 
 at the shoeing of Hotspur. 
 
 Then followed a long history of animals 
 healed by Lilian, and in particular of a dog 
 of Ingram Swaynestone's, which the latter 
 was going to shoot, when she begged its life,
 
 132 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 
 
 and nursed it into health. Also of the 
 racers Ingram had at a trainer's, and the 
 money he lost by them ; of the ' oaks and 
 beeches at Swaynestone, which had to expiate 
 these losses ; and of the young fellow's pro- 
 bable descent to beggary through the paths 
 of pleasure. 
 
 " He's a vine young veller/' observed 
 Granfer, at the close of his second pot ; " a 
 wild 'un zurely. His vather was a wild 'un, 
 too ; 'tis the blood and the high veeding. So 
 was his grandfather. I minds things as Sir 
 Lionel did would make 'ee all stare. Men is 
 just the zame as 'osses — veed 'em up, and they 
 vlings. The well-bred 'uns is vive times 
 skittisher than t'others. Wuld Sir Lionel, he 
 was the wildest of all — druv his stags into 
 Oldport vou.r-in-hand, he did, and killed dree 
 or vour volks in the streets. Ah ! times isn't 
 what they was," sighed Granfer, regretfully 
 draining his pot. 
 
 By this time it was dark night. The Sun 
 windows threw a warm glow over the road ; 
 the stars sparkled keenly above the thatched
 
 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 133 
 
 roof of the little hostel ; and the smell of 
 wood-smoke, mingled with the appetizing 
 odour of fried pork, red herrings, and onion 
 soup, rising all over the village, warned the 
 topers that the hour of supper was ap- 
 proaching, and they would have dispersed, 
 however unwillingly, but for the chimes of 
 waggon-bells along the road, which beguiled 
 them into waiting while William Grrove 
 deposited his parcels at the Sun, took the one 
 glass offered by the host, and recounted the 
 news from Oldport.
 
 134 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 
 
 CHAPTER YI. 
 
 On looking back in after-life to that brisk 
 winter's walk, both Everard and Maitland 
 held it as one of their sunniest memories. 
 Every step seemed to put a fresh lustre in 
 Cyril's eyes, and add to the wine-like sparkle 
 of his conversation. In proportion as his 
 spirits fell at one time, they rose at another 
 by virtue of his sensitive, emotional tempera- 
 ment ; while Henry's steady, sunny cheerful- 
 ness went on deepening more slowly, but 
 perhaps more surely, and at last bubbled 
 over. Presently they passed a woman toiling 
 np a hill with a baby and a basket, of both 
 which burdens Everard relieved her, to her 
 unbounded surprise, coolly handing the basket 
 to Cyril, and himself bearing the baby, which 
 he tossed till it crowed with ecstasy. Having
 
 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 135 
 
 left tliese trifles at a roadside cottage, with a 
 shilling to requite the woman for the loan 
 of her infant, they reached Swaynestone 
 Park, and met Ben Lee, who was crossing 
 the road on his way from his cottage to the 
 stables. 
 
 Everard greeted him with a cordiality 
 to which Lee replied gruffly, and with an 
 evident intention of hurrying on. 
 
 "Oh, come, Lee," said Everard, '• you are 
 not so busy as all that ! How are they all up 
 at the Temple ? Alma's roses in full bloom, 
 I hope ? And my patient, Mrs. Lee, has she 
 quite got over the accident ? I shall be 
 looking in very soon." 
 
 " You may save yourself the trouble. Dr. 
 Everard," returned Lee, in a surly manner ; 
 ''thank 'ee kindly all the same. But I want 
 no more gentlefolk up at my house. I've 
 had enough of they. Grood afternoon, Mr. 
 Cyril; glad to see you home, sir;" and, 
 touching his hat, he passed quickly on, 
 leaving Everard in a state of stupefaction in 
 the middle of the road.
 
 136 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 
 
 "What the deuce is the matter with 
 Lee ? " he exclaimed. " Surely he can't be 
 drunk, Cyril ! " 
 
 All the light had faded from Cyril's 
 radiant face. The moment he caught sight 
 of the coachman, he made the old movement 
 of pressing his hand to his side in a spasm of 
 pain, and he seemed almost as impatient of 
 delay as Lee himself. 
 
 " I never heard of his drinking," he replied 
 evasively. " Perhaps things have gone 
 wrong with him. Look here, Henry ! let us 
 cut the high-road, and get hom.e across 
 country ; we shall save half a mile, and find 
 the ladies at tea.'^ 
 
 " What sense can you get out of a fellow 
 in love ? " returned Everard, leading the way 
 over the stile. " For him mankind dwindles 
 down to a slim puss of a girl, with dimples 
 and a pair of brown eyes. Go on, man ! 
 ' Gather ye rosebuds while ye may ; ' " and, 
 lilting out the gay old ballad with all the 
 strength of his honest lungs, Everard resumed 
 his light-hearted manner, and did not observe
 
 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 137 
 
 that Cyril's gaiety had become forced and 
 spasmodic. 
 
 A ruddy glow above the wooded crests of 
 Northover was all that remained of day when 
 they entered the Rectory grounds by the 
 churchyard path, and found Lilian, with the 
 cat gravely coiled at her feet at the hall door, 
 darkly outlined against the faint, crimson 
 light of the hall stove. 
 
 " Your instinct is infallible, Lilian," said 
 Cyril, embracing her ; " for you were not 
 even sure that I was coming to-night. Dear 
 Lilian, it is nice to see you again ! " 
 
 "I am glad not to be wholly eclipsed by 
 the new star," she replied, laughing, yet 
 scanning his face with some anxiety, while 
 she continued to hold his hand. Then she 
 turned to Henry, over whose spirits an un- 
 accountable damp had descended, and offered 
 him her hand ; while Cyril stooped to stroke 
 Mark Antony, who was triumphantly rubbing 
 himself round and round his legs with loud 
 purrs and exultant tail. ^' I ana so glad you 
 have brought him, Henry," she said ; adding.
 
 138 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. ^ 
 
 in a lower voice, "He is looking horribly 
 ill." 
 
 By this time Mr. Maitland, the children, 
 the dogs, and all the servants were in the 
 hall, greeting Cyril with such enthusiasm 
 that Henry remained for some moments un- 
 noticed by Lilian's side. 
 
 " You all seem extremely glad to see Cyril^' 
 he observed to her, with rueful emphasis. 
 
 " Dear Henry, I know we are horribly rude 
 to our guests when we have Cyril to spoil," 
 she replied, laying her hand gently on his 
 arm. 
 
 He took the hand in his and pressed it 
 warmly to his side, and felt that the rainbow 
 radiance had suddenly returned to his uni- 
 verse. But the bright moment was very 
 brief, for it was now his turn to be welcomed, 
 and by the time he was free to go into the 
 drawing-room, Lilian was not to be seen." 
 
 " But where is Marion ? " asked Cyril, 
 looking round the drawing-room, after he 
 had duly saluted his mother, who was, as 
 usual, on her couch.
 
 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 139 
 
 " I think you will find her in my room," 
 replied Lilian, as indifferently as if she had 
 not specially arranged for the lovers to meet 
 there. " We dine punctually at half-past 
 seven. No, Henry, you foolish fellow, you 
 are to stay here," she added, as Cyril left 
 the room, and Henry attempted to follow 
 him. 
 
 " A brother, I suppose, is of no account in 
 these daj^s," grumbled Everard, seating him- 
 self by Mrs. Maitland's couch with a con- 
 tented air, nevertheless. " All this courtship 
 is sickening to me, Mrs. Maitland. As for 
 that hopeful son of yours, not one word of 
 sense have I got out of him this day, or do 
 I expect to get for the next two months. 
 Thank goodness, it must come to an end 
 then, and they will settle down to a life's 
 squabbling like sane people." 
 
 " Ah, young people ! young people ! " said 
 Mr. Maitland, looking very happy about it. 
 "We must not be hard upon them, Henry. 
 We all go mad once — Lennie will turn that 
 back into Latin for you, eh ? — But we con-
 
 140 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 
 
 sider Cyril and Marion a very sensible young 
 couple, don't we, Nellie ? " 
 
 " I think," replied Mrs. Maitland, laughing, 
 " that we consider everything that Cyril does 
 sensible. When his biography is written, it 
 will be said that his family did, to a certain 
 extent, appreciate him." 
 
 Whereupon the conversation turned upon 
 Cyril and his doings and his prospects, and 
 their anxiety about him, and suddenly the 
 thought struck chill to Everard's marrow — 
 What would happen, in case of Cyril's failure, 
 death, or other misadventure, to the innocent 
 family circle of which he was the central 
 hope ? 
 
 The curtains were drawn snugly against 
 the frosty cold without. Eliza, all smiles 
 and fresh cap-ribbons, brought a lamp and 
 tea ; and Everard wondered if heaven could 
 possibly be an improvement on the present. 
 No one ever made or poured out tea like 
 Lilian, he thought ; no tea ever had so divine 
 an effect on the nervous system as hers. For 
 weeks he had dreamed of sitting thus by the
 
 THE SILEXCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 141 
 
 drawing-room fire, his whole being pervaded 
 by the dehcious fact of her presence, and 
 now he found the reality sweeter than the 
 dream. 
 
 Not for weeks only, but for years after- 
 wards, did the memory of that fireside scene 
 shine warmly on the darkness of his life. 
 The lamplight was so soft that the fire, on 
 which Lennie had thrown some fir-cones, 
 disputed for mastery with it, and added to 
 the cheery radiance of the pretty drawing- 
 room. On one side of the fire, Mrs. Maitland, 
 still beautiful, though faded, and exquisitely 
 dressed, lay on her couch amidst becomingly 
 arranged furs and shawls ; Henry sat by her 
 on a low seat, and rendered her various 
 little filial attentions ; Mr. Maitland sat facing 
 the fire, with its light playing on his silvery 
 hair and clean-cut features, the prototype 
 of Cyril's. 
 
 On the other side of the hearth sat Lilian, 
 with the tea-table at her side ; Winnie was 
 on a stool at her feet, her head pressed to 
 her sister's knee, on which reposed, in care-
 
 142 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 
 
 less majesty, Mark Antony, gracefully toying 
 with the golden curls tossed in pretty negli- 
 gence within reach of his paws. The warm 
 rug before the fire was occupied by the terrier 
 and the pug, the children's tea-cups, and the 
 recumbent full-length of Lennie, who sprang 
 to his feet from time to time to pass people's 
 cups. 
 
 Lilian spoke little. She and Henry did 
 not address each other once; but his eye 
 never lost the picture on the opposite side 
 of the fire, which reminded him of Raphael's 
 Virgin of the Cardellino. It was not that 
 Lilian's intelligent face in the least resembled 
 that harmless, faultlessly featured Madonna's, 
 though her deep grey eyes were bent down 
 much in the same way on the child-face and 
 sportive animal on her knee as the Virgin's 
 in the picture. It was the look of divine, 
 innocent, ineffable content that she wore. 
 And yet Everard did not appear to be looking 
 at this charming picture, though Lilian knew 
 that he saw it, and was equally conscious of 
 the picture he made, his broad shoulders and
 
 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 143 
 
 athletic limbs affording a fine contrast to her 
 mother's fragile, faded grace. 
 
 " And what are your plans, Henry ? " asked 
 Mr. Maitland at last, when Cyril's affairs had 
 been discussed over and over again. 
 
 " I think of buying a good practice near 
 Southampton, and settling down as a country 
 doctor," he replied. " I have enough property 
 to make me fairly independent, and shall be 
 able to carry on my scientific pursuits with- 
 out fear of starvation." 
 
 " And the next step, I suppose, will be to 
 take a wife ? " 
 
 '' The very next step," replied Everard, 
 looking thoughtfully into the glowing heart 
 of the fire. 
 
 Lilian bent her head a little, and caught 
 away a curl at which Mark Antony was 
 snatching. " If no one is going to have any 
 more tea, pussie shall have the rest of the 
 cream," she said. 
 
 Cyril, in the mean time, quickly found his 
 way to the well-known room called Lilian's, 
 where Marion was sitting, in the dusk, alone.
 
 144 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 
 
 but acutely conscious of the liglit, swift steps 
 along the corridor which bore her expected 
 lover to her side. They met in silence, each 
 young heart being too full for speech ; and it 
 was not until Cyril had released Marion from 
 his embrace, and placed her in a chair by the 
 fireside, that he said, kneeling on the rug 
 near her, 
 
 " Am I indeed quite forgiven, Marion ? '' 
 
 "You foolish fellow! How many times 
 have I written that word ? " she replied, 
 laughing. 
 
 " Written, yes ; but I want to hear it from 
 your own lips — I want to be quite sure," he 
 continued, with unabated earnestness, the 
 blue fire of his eyes bent upon her soft 
 brown gaze, while he held both her hands 
 pressed against his breast. 
 
 " Dear Cyril, you make too much of what 
 is better forgotten," she said. "We quarrelled 
 long ago and made it up long ago, though 
 we have not met since." 
 
 ^' Forgotten ? Oh, Marion, do you think 
 I can ever forget? And though you for-
 
 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 145 
 
 give me, do you think I can ever forgive 
 myself ? " 
 
 " Certainly. Don't lovers always quarrel ; 
 and are they not better friends afterwards? 
 And don't you mean to forgive poor me ? 
 I have forgiven us both ; though, indeed, 
 those few months were very dreadful." 
 
 " Dreadful ! They were more than dread- 
 ful to me. Oh, Marion, if you knew, if you 
 only dreamed, how unworthy I am, you who 
 are so white, so stainless ! You can never 
 guess. Sometimes I wonder that I ever dare 
 hope to call you mine, so black am I in 
 comparison with you." 
 
 " Cyril, this is lover's talk — exaggeration. 
 It makes me feel ashamed," she replied, soft 
 blushes stealing over her gentle face in the 
 firelight ; "it makes me remember that I 
 am but a weak, foolish girl, and greatly need 
 the guidance of a strong, good man like 
 you." 
 
 " Good ! God help me ! " he exclaimed, 
 turning his face from the modest glance that 
 seemed to scorch his very soul. " Marion, 
 
 VOL. I. L
 
 146 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 
 
 I am not good ; there is no weaker man than 
 I on God's earth, and without you I think I 
 should be utterly lost. Do you know — no, 
 you never can know — what it is to be able to 
 love a good woman ; to feel the vile n ess die 
 out of one at the very thought of her ; to be 
 strengthened and purified by the very atmo- 
 sphere she breathes ; — to feel at the thought 
 of losing her — Marion, dear Marion, I think 
 sometimes if you knew the darkness that was 
 upon my soul during those wretched months 
 when we were parted, I fear — oh, I fear 
 that you would cast me off with loathing 
 and scorn " 
 
 Marion smiled a gentle smile, only dimly 
 seeing the passionate agony in Cyril's 
 shadowed face. " I know that I could never 
 scorn you,'' she interrupted, with tender 
 emphasis. 
 
 Cyril bent his head over her hands in 
 silence for a few seconds ; and then, looking 
 up again, said, in a more collected manner, 
 " Marion, will you take me, worthless as I 
 am, and bear with me and cleave to me
 
 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 147 
 
 through good and evil report, and help me, 
 in spite of the past, to be a better man ? " 
 
 " Dear," she replied gently, " I have taken 
 you for better and for worse. I don't expect 
 you to be faultless, though I do admire and 
 honour you above all men. I should be 
 sorry if you were faultless, because, you 
 know, I am not faultless myself; I am not 
 like Lilian, even. We shall help each other 
 to be wiser and better, I hope." 
 
 Cyril had averted his face from the inno- 
 cent, loving gaze he could not endure, but 
 he turned once more and looked into Marion's 
 charming face, which was radiant in a sudden 
 burst of firelight, while his own remained in 
 darker shadow than ever. " Promise once 
 more," he said, in low, impassioned tones, 
 " that you will never leave me." 
 
 Marion suffered herself to glide into the 
 embrace before her, and repeated the promise, 
 half laughing to herself at the foolish import- 
 ance assigned to trifles by lovers, and half 
 believing in the intensity of the oft-repeated 
 assurances, and was very happy until a
 
 148 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND: 
 
 discreet clatter of silver and cliina was heard 
 outside, followed by a knock at the door, and, 
 after an interval, the entrance of Eliza, who 
 was edified to find Marion at one end of the 
 room, adjusting some china on a bracket, and 
 Cyril at the other, gazing out of the window 
 with great interest at the frosty stars. 
 
 When the candles were lighted, the cur- 
 tains drawn, and the tea poured out, all 
 traces of his passionate agitation had left 
 Cyril's beautiful, severely cut features, and 
 he sat by Marion's side, tea-cup in hand, quiet 
 and content, the very picture of the ideal 
 curate of commonplace just dropped in to tea. 
 
 Marion now saw him clearly, and was 
 distressed at his wan and worn appearance, 
 and also at a certain look he never had before 
 the fatal winter she passed in the Mediter- 
 ranean with her brother. Since then she 
 had met him face to face but once, on the 
 day when he came to ask forgiveness and 
 renew the engagement, and then, naturally, 
 he did not look like his old self. Was it 
 only toil which had robbed Cyril of the bloom
 
 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 149 
 
 of his you til ? she wondered ; and she sighed. 
 " It was time yoii had a hohdaj, I think," 
 she said softly. " You must not be such an 
 ascetic any more ; you do not belong to a 
 celibate priesthood, remember." 
 
 " This is not exactly the cell of an an- 
 chorite," replied Cyril, with the smile which 
 won so many hearts, as he rested his head 
 comfortably on the back of his low chair, 
 nnd gazed upon Marion's slender grace. 
 '' Mayn't I have another lump of sugar, 
 Marion ? Lilian and I have expended much 
 thought on the decoration of this room." 
 
 " And taste," said Marion, looking round 
 upon the pictures and bric-a-brac and various 
 evidences of cultured taste, though it is not 
 to be supposed that the two lovers were there 
 to discuss nothing but the decoration of 
 Lilian's room. 
 
 Cyril had spoken hotly of his dislike to 
 Marion's Mediterranean tour ; and Marion's 
 pride had been touched till she reminded him 
 that she was entirely her own mistress, and 
 might probably continue so to the end of the
 
 150 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 
 
 chapter. Then ensued a quarrel, only half 
 serious on either side, a quarrel that a word 
 or a look would have righted in a moment. 
 But, unfortunately, Marion had to join her 
 friends, the Wilmots, sooner than she antici- 
 pated, and thus hurried off before she could 
 say good-bye to Cyril and make things 
 straight with one little smile. 
 
 The game of quarrelling, when carried on 
 between two young, ardent lovers, is a very 
 pretty diversion, but cannot possibly be 
 played at a distance, as these two found to 
 their cost. Deprived of the fairy artillery 
 of glances, sighs, voices, and gestures, and 
 confined to the heavy ordnance of letters, 
 they could not bring things to a happy 
 conclusion. Letters were first hot, then cold, 
 then rare, then non-existent, until one day 
 Cyril wrote, after long silence, to ask Marion 
 how long she meant to play with his affec- 
 tions. Marion replied that if Cyril con- 
 sidered their engagement as a mere pastime, 
 the sooner it was broken off the better. 
 Cyril wrote back to release her from an
 
 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 151 
 
 engagement wliich he said he perceived had 
 become distasteful to her. 
 
 This was in March. At Whitsuntide, 
 Everard spent some time at Malbourne, 
 whence Cyril went to Belminster for ordi- 
 nation at Trinity. He thought Cyril un- 
 happy, and after the ordination he asked 
 him, subsequently to some conversation 
 with Lilian on the subject, if he still cared 
 for Marion, to which Cyril replied in the 
 affirmative. Then Henry told him that 
 Marion was pining and showing tendencies 
 to consumption. She was the kind of woman, 
 he said, whose health is perfect in happiness, 
 but who breaks down the moment that elixir 
 of life is denied. He thought that she loved 
 Cyril still. 
 
 Thus emboldened, Cyril owned himself in 
 the wrong, and sued for a return to favour. 
 He could, however, only afford one brief 
 interview with Marion, since he had with 
 some difficulty freed himself from the curacy 
 at Shotover, which had given him a title to 
 deacon's orders, and got himself placed on a
 
 152 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAXD. 
 
 mission staff in the East of London, where 
 he led a semi-monastic life in a house with 
 his fellow-curates, and enjoyed to the full the 
 hard labour for which he had clamoured so 
 eagerly while at Shotover. 
 
 The situation was eminently unfavourable to 
 courtship, while it seemed to render marriage 
 absolutely impracticable. Cyril, however, 
 found a means of reconciling duty with in- 
 clination, and easily convinced his rector that 
 his labours would be equally valuable if he 
 had a home of his own within easy reach of 
 the scene of his toils, and thus they were to 
 be married in the spring. The narrow means 
 which so frequently darken the horizon of 
 curates' love-dreams had no place in this 
 romance, since both Cyril and Marion had 
 wherewithal to keep the wolf from the door. 
 
 But they are together at last, and the dark 
 days which divided them are to be forgotten. 
 
 " When I hear the word ' misery,' I think 
 of last spring," said Marion, laughing. 
 
 Cyril's face clouded, and he turned away 
 and gazed at the fire. '' Never think of it ! "
 
 THE SILEXCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 153 
 
 he exclaimed, suddenly turning a bright, 
 animated gaze upon Marion. " I shall drive 
 it from your memory, dear, by every act and 
 thought of my life." 
 
 Dinner, the hour so fondly welcomed by 
 mortals in general, came all too soon for 
 ihese ; and, indeed, it was not till the others 
 had taken their places at the table that 
 Marion made her appearance, flushed and 
 charming, and met her brother for the first 
 time since his arrival in the house. 
 
 " This is an improvement," he said, holding 
 her at arm's length to look at her, '' on the 
 mealy-faced girl I saw three months ago. 
 Pray, miss, where do you get your rouge ? " 
 
 " Manufactured on the estate, Henry," 
 replied Mr. Maitland. " Native Malbourne 
 rouge. Let us hope Cyril may acquire some 
 of it." 
 
 " It comes off easily," said Everard, gravely, 
 while Cyril became absorbed in Mark Antony, 
 who sat on a stool at Lilian's side at the 
 head of the table, with his chin on a level 
 with the cloth, and who was so enchanted
 
 154 THE SILENCE OF DEAX MAITLAXD. 
 
 to find himself with a twin on each side of 
 him, that his deep mellifluous purrs threatened 
 to drown the conversation. 
 
 " You will be glad to hear that Granfer is 
 still alive and well, and wiser than ever, 
 Henry," said Mrs. Maitland, who was sitting 
 on his right, having, as usual, resigned the 
 head of the table to Lilian. 
 
 '• I congratulate Malbourne, Mrs. Maitland. 
 It could never go on without Grranfer's 
 advice. And the discontented Baines has 
 not yet blown you all up ? And friend 
 Wax still wields the ferule in defiance of 
 Lilian ? " 
 
 " But not in church," said Lilian. 
 
 '' Because Lilian steals the cane if he 
 brings it," added Marion. 
 
 " And is anybody engaged, or born, or 
 dead ? " continued Everard, gaily. " By the 
 way, what has happened to Ben Lee ? It 
 struck me that he had been drinking this 
 afternoon. And our friend Alma, how is 
 she ? " 
 
 There was a dead silence for a second or
 
 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 155 
 
 two, and Everard's eager gaze of inquiry 
 met no response from the eyes bent resolutely 
 on the plates. 
 
 " Let me send you some more beef, Henry," 
 said Mr. Maitland, looking up from his joint 
 with sudden briskness. " Come, where is 
 your boasted appetite ? Yes, bring Dr. 
 Everard's plate, Eliza." 
 
 " But Alma ? Oh, I hope there is nothing 
 wrong with her ? " continued Everard, look- 
 ing round with a dismayed gaze, while Mrs. 
 Maitland laid her hand warningly on his 
 sleeve. " Oh, Lilian, Alma is not dead ? " 
 
 " Worse," replied Lilian, in a low voice — 
 "• far worse." 
 
 There were tears, he saw, trembling upon 
 her eyelashes ; and if ever tears resembled 
 pearls, then, he thought, did those precious 
 drops, and if ever mortal woman was dear, 
 then was Lilian. He saw it all now on the 
 instant, and he remembered how much Lilian 
 had done for Alma, and how at Whitsuntide 
 she had spoken of her and cared about her 
 absence from the Sacrament, and so dismayed
 
 156 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 
 
 was he by this catastrophe that, having none 
 of the ready resources and fine tact which, 
 ensure social success, he simply, like the 
 honest, clumsy fellow he was, dropped his 
 knife and fork, and gazed horror-struck 
 before him. Fortunately, at that moment 
 Lennie, who was stretched on the hearthrug, 
 intent upon " Ivanhoe," bethought himself of 
 an important event, and took advantage of 
 the silence to proclaim it. 
 
 " I say, Henry," he exclaimed, " what do 
 you think ? I'm going into trousers to- 
 morrow." 
 
 " Why, it was all over Oldport," said Cyril. 
 " Bills in every window. * Oh yes ! oh. yes ! 
 oh yes ! Know all by these presents that 
 Lennie Maitland goes into trousers to- 
 morrow.' " 
 
 " Oh, won't I smack you by-and-by ! " 
 observed Lennie, tranquilly returning to the 
 gests of Brian de Bois-Guilbert. 
 
 " I think, Cyril, you scarcely appreciate 
 the honour your brother intends you," said 
 Mr. Maitland. " He dons these virile gar-
 
 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 157 
 
 ments for the purpose of liearing your sermon. 
 He evidently holds trousers to be conducive 
 to a pious frame of mind, or at least to a cer- 
 tain mental receptivity ; eh, Lennie, lad ? " 
 
 " The unfortunate tailor's life has been a 
 burden to him in the fear that the suit would 
 not be ready in time,'' said Mrs. Maitland. 
 
 " In time to hear Oywil pweach," added 
 Marion, laughing. 
 
 " How many times have they been tried 
 on, Lennie ? '' asked Lilian. 
 
 " Never you mind their rubbish," said 
 Everard ; "■ ask Miss Mawion how often she 
 calls me Henwy ? " 
 
 " And Cywil will line the pockets with 
 silver for you," added Cyril, who was looking 
 very happy, having, as Eliza observed with 
 satisfaction, his hand locked in Marion's under 
 the tablecloth. 
 
 No sooner had the ladies withdrawn, than 
 Everard burst out, " And who is the 
 scoundrel ? " 
 
 " Softly, softly, Henry ! beware of rash 
 judgments," returned Mr. Maitland, whose
 
 158 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 
 
 face took a grieved look. " Nothing is known, 
 which is hateful to me because of the great 
 wave of scandal and the dreadful scorching 
 of tongues which arises about the matter. 
 Lee, I know not why, assumes that it is a 
 gentleman ; and public opinion, and, I fear I 
 must add, his reputation, point to Ingram 
 Swaynestone. Sir Lionel has spoken to him, 
 but he absolutely denies it ; and, indeed " 
 
 "In short," broke in Cyril, who was ex- 
 tremely busy with some walnuts on his plate, 
 " the less said about these miserable scandals 
 the better." 
 
 " True, quite true," said his father, with a 
 heavy sigh. 
 
 "- But Alma ! the little girl we used to 
 play with at the Temple, with Lilian, and 
 often Ingram, and the girl Swaynestones ! " 
 cried Henry. " I cannot believe any wrong 
 of her. She has been wronged — of that I am 
 sure." 
 
 " Truly, I had never dreamed of such 
 trouble for Alma, poor child ! " said Mr. Mait- 
 land. " Elsewhere in the parish, of course,
 
 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 159 
 
 one dreads such things, knowing their temp- 
 tations. It is a heavy grief for me, Henry, 
 as you may imagine." 
 
 " And for Lihan," added Everard. " Yes, 
 I know how you love your spiritual children, 
 sir, and can imagine your distress. And poor 
 Lee, he was so proud of her. He is sullen, I 
 see ; a sure sign of grief. Oh, I hope he is 
 not unkind to her ! " 
 
 '' The stepmother is hard, and has a sharp 
 tongue ! She forgets what poor Alma did 
 for her child. Altogether, it is a sad, sad 
 history. The Temple, I suppose, holds more 
 unhappiness than any house in the county." 
 
 " Oh, really, my dear father," exclaimed 
 Cyril, who seemed pained beyond endurance, 
 " you must not take it so to heart ! She is 
 not the first " 
 
 " By Jove, Maitland ! " interrupted Everard, 
 ^' you are the last man from whom I should 
 expect an echo of Mephistopheles. He never 
 said anything more diabolical than that — ' Sie 
 ist die Erste nicht.' " 
 
 Cyril coloured so hotly that he exhibited
 
 160 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MATTLAND. 
 
 the plieiiomenon of a black blush, while Mr. 
 Maitland hastened to say that Cyril was 
 in a different position from Faust, who had 
 wrought the wrong. " And then," he added, 
 " Cyril is doubtless weary of sin and sorrow, 
 of which, in his parish, he must have far more 
 than we in our simple rustic home have any 
 idea of, busy as Satan undoubtedly is every- 
 where." 
 
 " Quite so," returned Cyril, wearily. " My 
 words sounded unfortunately, Everard ; but, 
 as my father suggests, when one has break- 
 fasted and lunched for weeks upon peccant 
 parishioner, one does not enjoy the same 
 dish at dinner." 
 
 Everard's rejoinder was prevented by the 
 intrusion of a sunny head at the door, and 
 the clear voice of Winnie was heard crying, 
 ' Do make haste ! Me and Lennie want to 
 Know what is in that basket, and Lilian won't 
 let us." Whereupon Cyril sprang up and 
 chased the delighted child through the hall 
 and into the drawing-room, where she took 
 refuge, screaming, in Lilian's dress.
 
 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 161 
 
 The basket whicli so stimulated the 
 children's curiosity was well known to 
 contain the young men's Christmas gifts to 
 the ftiraily, and was forthwith uncovered 
 amid a scene of joyous turbulence, and had 
 its contents distributed. 
 
 The task of collecting the parcels in the 
 basket and conveying them to the drawing- 
 room had been performed by Eliza with thrills 
 of delicious agony, for it was almost beyond 
 human nature not to take at least one peep 
 at a packet containing the very ribbon she 
 longed for, and at another revealing glimpses 
 of a perfect love of a shawl, which proved 
 to be destined for cook. However, she ap- 
 peared with a perfectly demure countenance 
 when fetched by Lennie, with the other 
 maids, to receive her presents. By that time 
 Mr. Maitland had become lost to all earthly 
 cares, in an arm-chair, with an old battered 
 volume Everard had picked up at a book- 
 stall in Paris for him ; Winnie was wonderino- 
 if some fairy had informed Henry that a fisli- 
 ing-rod of her very own had been her soul's 
 
 VOL. I. M
 
 162 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 
 
 unattainable star for months ; and Lennie 
 was dancing round the room with an illus- 
 trated " Don Quixote " clasped in his arms. 
 
 It was pleasant to see Cyril making his 
 gifts. Each was offered with a suitable word, 
 tender or droll, according to the recipient, 
 and with a grace that an emperor might have 
 envied, though a carping observer would 
 have detected that the gifts themselves had 
 been purchased as nearly as possible at the 
 same shop. As for Everard, he made his 
 offerings with a sneaking air, and seemed 
 glad to get them off his hands. He threw 
 the " Don Quixote " at Lennie, with " Here, 
 you scamp ! " and placed the invalid reading- 
 stand by Mrs. Maitland, with an awkward, 
 " I don't know if this thing will be any good 
 to you." 
 
 " Why, Henry, who told you that father's 
 life has been a burden to him for months for 
 want of that old edition ? " asked Lilian. 
 
 ''' He is a wizard ; he should be burnt," 
 laughed Cyril, reflecting inwardly that while 
 his gifts cost money, Everard's cost time
 
 THE SILENCE OP DEAN MAITLAND. 163 
 
 and thought and infinite trouble in hunting 
 out. 
 
 " But ain't Lilian to have anything ? " in- 
 quired the ingenuous Lennie ; for Lilian and 
 Cyril never gave each other presents — they 
 had things so much in common, and Everard 
 appeared to have forgotten her. 
 
 Lilian appealed, as usual, to Mark Antony 
 for sympathy, and Everard grew very hot, 
 while Cyril absorbed himself in fitting the 
 bracelet he had given to Marion upon her 
 slender arm. Then Lilian looked up. 
 
 '' It was horrid of you to forget me, Henry," 
 she said. 
 
 " I didn't forget you," stammered Everard ; 
 " but the thing was so trifling I hadn't the 
 
 courage • It's only a photograph of the 
 
 picture which inspired Browning's ^ Guardian 
 Angel.' Here it is, if you think it worth 
 having. You said you would give anything 
 to see Gruercino's picture at Fano." 
 
 " Oh, Henry, how very kind and thoughtful 
 of you ! " exclaimed Lilian, her face trans- 
 figured with pleasure. " But I thought there 
 was no photograph ? "
 
 16i TKE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 
 
 " Well, no ; but young Stobart was doing 
 Italy in the autumn, and I got him to go to 
 Fano with his camera. It wasn't far out of 
 his way," he replied, in a tone of apology. 
 
 Lennie's solicitude being relieved, he and 
 the others were absorbed each after his own 
 fashion ; no one observed these two. Lilian 
 looked up at Henry, who had thrown himself 
 into a low chair by her side, so that their 
 faces were on a level. Her eyes were dewy 
 and bright ; they gazed straight into his for a 
 minute, and then fell. " You had it done for 
 me," she murmured. 
 
 It was the crowning moment of Everard's 
 happy night. He bent over the spirit-like 
 hand resting on the cat; and unseen pressed 
 his lips to it. He knew that Lilian loved 
 him, and knew that he loved her. He said 
 nothing more ; it was enough bliss for one 
 day.
 
 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 165 
 
 CHAPTER YII. 
 
 Before going to rest that night, Mr. Mait- 
 land led Everard to his study, and there 
 subjected him to a searching cross-examina- 
 tion on the subject of Cyril's care-worn and 
 unhealthy appearance, which Everard referred 
 to his overzeal in his labours, and the exces- 
 sive austerities which he practised. 
 
 "It would be all very well for him to 
 mortify his flesh if he had too much of it to 
 balance his spirit," Everard observed ; " but, 
 as a matter of fact, he has too little." 
 
 " Cyril is sensitive," his father replied ; 
 " his nerves are too tensely strung, like those 
 of all extremely refined and poetic natures. 
 "We thought, Lilian and I, that it was the 
 estrangement from Marion which was preying 
 on him. It was that which caused him to
 
 166 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 
 
 leave Sliotover, and plunge into this terrific 
 London work — that and, of course, higher 
 motives." 
 
 " Cyril, though healthy, is delicate, '^ replied 
 Everard. " He ought never to fast ; he cannot 
 bear it, especially when working. His brain 
 will give way under such discipHne. Observe 
 him to-morrow when he preaches. There is 
 too much nervous excitement.'' 
 
 The next morning Cyril did not appear till 
 the end of breakfast, and then took nothing 
 but a cup of coffee. 
 
 *' Eeally, Cyril, I did think Sunday at least 
 was a feast-day ! " cried Everard, pausing in 
 his own manful assault on a well-piled plate 
 of beef. 
 
 " But Cyril is to celebrate to-day ; he must 
 fast,'' Lilian explained ; and then Everard 
 observed that Mr. Maitland's breakfast con- 
 sisted of nothing, and groaned within himself, 
 and asked his friends if they considered it 
 decorous for clergymen to faint in the midst 
 of public worship. 
 
 " "When a man has to work, he should feed
 
 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 1G7 
 
 himself into proper condition," he said to un- 
 heeding ears. 
 
 After breakfast, the Maitland family re- 
 paired in a body to the Sunday school, and 
 Everard went out to smoke a pipe alone, and, 
 the frost being keen, he wore an overcoat, 
 finding one of his own in the hall. He had 
 some difficulty in putting it on, and could not 
 by. any means induce it to meet across the 
 chest. This gave him great satisfaction. 
 " It cannot be that my Sunday-go-to-meeting 
 clothes take up so much room," he mused. 
 '' No ; I am increasing in girth round the 
 chest. Who could imagine that one night's 
 happiness and country air would produce such 
 an effect ? A new scientific fact." 
 
 It was pleasant on the lawn in the frosty 
 Sunday stillness. The sunbeams danced on 
 the evergreens and smiled on the Shotover 
 parklands ; a robin sang its cheerfully 
 pathetic song ; and a flock of rooks uttered 
 their breezy caws in the pale blue above his 
 head. Everard smoked with profound en- 
 joyment ; he thought of last night's enchant-
 
 168 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 
 
 ment, and the promise lie had just extracted 
 from Lilian to sit with him in the Eectory 
 pew instead of with the school -children. His 
 hands were thrust for warmth into his coat- 
 pockets, and in one of them he felt the square 
 outline of a letter, which he drew out, won- 
 dering — since his habits were neat and 
 methodical, as became a student of natural 
 science — how he came to leave a letter there. 
 The letter, however, had no envelope and 
 no address. He opened it, and found, in the 
 half-formed, clear writing of an unlearned 
 person, probably some patiejit in humble life, 
 the following : — 
 
 " No, I will never, never marry you. 
 What good could that do me, now you do not 
 love me no more — me that loved you better 
 than Heaven and her own poor soul ? Would 
 I like to see you miserable, and spoil your 
 prospex ? To marry the likes of me would 
 ruin you, and how could that make me 
 happy ? Marry her ; it is better for you. I 
 have done wrong for love of you, and God
 
 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 169 
 
 will punish me. But you are sorry, and will 
 be forgiven. Farewell for ever. 
 
 " Your broken-hearted 
 
 The gracious light of the wintry morning 
 seemed to fade out of the pale pure sky ; 
 there was no more delight in the robin's 
 song ; the bright crystals of the hoar-frost 
 sparkled in vain for Everard. " Why, why 
 are there such things ? " he murmured. 
 '' Why was Cyril's echo of Mephistopheles 
 so much more poignant in its cynicism 
 because of its truth ? " 
 
 The weak suffering, the strong going scot- 
 free ; Alcestis plunging, love-radiant, into the 
 darkness of Hades, while Admetus rejoices in 
 the light of heaven ; women trusting, and 
 men deceiving — what a world ! All the con- 
 fused misery of the painful insoluble riddle of 
 earth seemed to awake and trouble the clear 
 happiness of Everard's soul at the story told 
 in the poor little scrap of paper, the more 
 pathetic for its bad spelling and artless
 
 170 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 
 
 grammar. And liow came sucli an epistle 
 in liis pocket ? Doubtless some friend had 
 borrowed bis coat; some beedless rackety 
 medical student, perchance, and flavoured it 
 with tobacco and correspondence. " Sie ist 
 die Erste nicht," the rooks seemed to say in 
 their pleasant, fresh morning caws. 
 
 But now the bells came chiming slowly on 
 the clear air, those dear, drowsy three strokes 
 which awoke in his heart so many echoes of 
 home and boyhood and sweet innocent life 
 beneath the beloved roof where Lilian dwelt ; 
 bells calling people to come and pray, to 
 think of God and heaven, and forsake all the 
 sin and sorrow of the troubled earth — calling 
 people to hear how even such black things as 
 the letter told of might be made white again 
 like snow ; to hear the kind fatherly counsels 
 of such as Mr. Maitland or Cyril. And his 
 heart swelled when he thought that Cyril 
 had devoted his stainless youth, his bright 
 promise, and his splendid gifts to a calling 
 which, however vainly, tried to stem the tide 
 of all this mad, sad evil, and lift men out of
 
 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 171 
 
 the mire of earth's misery. How beautiful 
 to have Cyril's faith, and the power of thus 
 consecrating himself! How poor in com- 
 parison his own career, devoted merely to 
 the healing of men's bodies, to the satisfac- 
 tion of noble desire for knowledge, and the 
 widening the horizon of men's thoughts ! 
 
 Like all thinkers, and especially those 
 whose thoughts dwell much on the study of 
 natural facts, Everard had many doubts, and 
 often feared that the Christianity so dear to 
 him through instinct, training, and associa- 
 tion, might be, after all, but a fairy dream. 
 But the atmosphere of Malbourne, and more 
 especially the influence of Mr. Maitland's 
 genuine and practical piety, together with 
 Cyril's bright enthusiasm, quenched these 
 doubts as nothing else could ; and now the 
 village bells fell like balm on his troubled 
 soul, and he responded with cheery good 
 temper to Lennie, who came bounding over 
 the lawn in the proud consciousness of 
 trousers, crying, " Come along, Henry, and 
 look at Lilian's donkey."
 
 172 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 
 
 He thrust the paper in his pocket, and, 
 taking the little fellow's hand, trotted off 
 with him towards Winnie, who was ap- 
 proaching them at headlong pace, with 
 curls streaming in the wind, and soon seized 
 his other hand, and led him to the meadow, 
 where he beheld one of the sorriest beasts he 
 had ever set eyes on, cropping the frosty 
 grass, and winking lazily in the sun. 
 
 "What can Lilian do with such a creature ?'' 
 he asked. 
 
 " Oh, she makes it happy, like all her 
 things," replied Lennie. " Won't you stare 
 when you see her three-legged cat, and the 
 fox with the broken leg she has in the stable ! " 
 
 '' She likes hurt things," commented Winnie, 
 while Lennie related how Lilian met this 
 donkey one day in the road leading over the 
 downs. It was harnessed to a cart laden 
 with vegetables, and had fallen between the 
 shafts, where its owner, a brutal, bad fellow, 
 well known in Malbourne, was furiously be- 
 labouring it. 
 
 " Didn't he stare when Lilian caught him
 
 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 173 
 
 by the collar and pulled him off the donkey ! " 
 said Lennie. " Then he fell all of a tremble, 
 and Lilian told him he would be sent to 
 prison or fined. And he said he was too 
 poor to buy another donkey, and couldn't 
 help this one growing old and weak. So 
 Lilian gave him ten shillings for it." 
 
 " Dear Lilian ! " Everard said to himself, as 
 he looked at the wretched beast, with its stiff 
 limbs and body scarred by old sores and 
 stripes. " Which do you love best, Winnie, 
 Lilian or Cyril ? " 
 
 " Cyril," replied both children, unhesi- 
 tatingly, but could give no reason for their 
 preference, until Lennie, after long cogitation, 
 said, " He does make a fellow laugh so." 
 
 Everard smiled, and thought of Words- 
 worth's boy with his weathercock. The day 
 was warmer now, and bidding Lennie run 
 indoors with his great coat, he set off to 
 church with the children. 
 
 It was a matter of time for a person of 
 any consideration to get through Malbourne 
 Churchyard, for there, grouped upon either
 
 174 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 
 
 side the porch, lounged a little crowd of 
 Malbourne worthies, solemnly passing the 
 churchgoers in review, and headed, of course, 
 by G-ranfer in a clean white smock-frock, 
 and with his hale old many-coloured visage 
 and veined hands looking purplish in the 
 frosty air. Tom Hale was there, making a 
 bright centre to the cool-toned picture in his 
 red tunic and spotless, well-brushed clothes ; 
 while Jim, with open breast and sailor garb, 
 lent a bit of picturesque that not even the 
 Sunday coats of Baines's manufacture could 
 quite subdue. 
 
 Lennie held up his head, and felt that his 
 trousers were making a deep impression ; 
 while Everard stopped and wished a good 
 morning to them all, smock-frocks, Sunday 
 coats, and uniforms, and received a little 
 dignified patronage from Granfer, who had 
 always regarded him with some disparage- 
 ment, as being neither a Swaynestone nor a 
 Maitland, but a mere appendage to the latter 
 family, a circumstance which helped to render 
 Granfer the deho:ht of Everard's life.
 
 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 175 
 
 The present moment did not find Granfer 
 conversational, his mental powers being- 
 concentrated on observing the animated 
 scene before him. There v^as Farmer Long, 
 with his wife and daughters in their warm 
 scarlets and purples, to scrutinize as they 
 strolled along the road and over the church- 
 yard path ; then the more distant farmers, 
 who drove up to the lych-gate in old-fashioned 
 gigs, and, having dropped their families, 
 hastened to the Sun to put up the strong, 
 coarse-limbed horses ; then came the Garretts 
 from Northover, new people, whom Mal- 
 bourne regarded, with a mixture of scorn 
 and envy, as mere mushroom pretenders. 
 They came on foot, their own gates being 
 but a stone's-throw from the church, a hand- 
 some family of sons and daughters, coeval 
 with the Maitlands. To them Granfer's 
 salutation was almost infinitesimal in its 
 elaborate graduation. Then, blending with 
 the drowsy chime of the three bells, arose the 
 clatter of hoofs and the roll of wheels, and 
 the Swaynestone laudau, with its splendid
 
 176 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 
 
 high-stepping horses, swept easily up to the 
 gate, the silver-mounted harness, the silken 
 coats of the steeds, the panels, and the re- 
 volving wheel-spokes flashing in the sun. 
 G-ranfer did not know it, but perhaps he 
 dimly felt that the splendour of this appari- 
 tion somehow enlarged and beautified the 
 dim, narrow horizon of his life. 
 
 Ben Lee's very livery, not to speak of his 
 skilful and effective driving, contributed 
 vaguely to Granfer's importance ; as also did 
 the courteous elegance and finely built form 
 of Sir Lionel, and the manner in which, the 
 footman having retired at a look, he handed 
 out Lady Swaynestone and his daughter 
 Ethel, in their velvets and furs. But Granfer 
 was distressed to see that Ben Lee no longer 
 drove up with his former dash, and turned 
 his shining steeds in the direction of the Sun 
 with no more consequence than if he had 
 been driving a mere brewer's dray. " Ah, 
 Ben ain't the man he was ! " he muttered, 
 after having helped Sir Lionel and his 
 family with the sunshine of his approbation 
 into church.
 
 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 177 
 
 Then came the tripping, whispering pro- 
 cession of school-children, led by the rector, 
 followed by Wax, who was involved in the 
 double misery of new Sunday broadcloth and 
 the absence of his cane, without which emblem 
 of authority he was ever a lost man ; and last 
 of all came Cyril, who found time for a word 
 and a smile for each of the group, and left 
 them all exhilarated by his passing presence 
 as if by a draught of wine. Then the bells 
 ceased, the loungers entered the church, and 
 Granfer himself, the sunshine warming his 
 wintry white hair, walked slowly with the 
 aid of his stout oak staff up the centre aisle 
 to his allotted place. 
 
 He was already seated, and Cyril's musical 
 voice had given a deeper pathos to the 
 sentence, " Hide thy face from my sins," 
 when Ingram Swaynestone and his sister 
 Maude entered, rosy and fresh from their long 
 brisk walk in the frosty morning. Ingram 
 Swaynestone was tall and fair and strongly 
 built, the typical young Englishman, who 
 belongs to no class and only one country, 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 178 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 
 
 physically perfect, good-tempered, and well- 
 spoken, with a perfect digestion and a 
 nervous system nndistraiight by intellectual 
 burdens and riddles of the painful earth. 
 His appearance with his pretty, fair-haired 
 sister caused a tiny stir, almost imperceptible, 
 like a summer breath through ripe corn, 
 amongst the fairer portion of the congrega- 
 tion, with whom he was extremely popular, 
 not only on account of his good looks and 
 known appreciation of feminine charms, but 
 also because of a faint delicious aroma of 
 wickedness that hung about his name. 
 
 The devotions of several undoubtedly pious 
 young maidens were more than once inter- 
 rupted for the purpose of looking to see if he 
 Avas looking, which he certainly was at every- 
 one of them in turn, when opportunity per- 
 mitted ; while Cyril's beautiful voice rang 
 through the church, and Everard and Lilian, 
 who had always loved and admired the simple 
 majesty of the Liturgy, felt that they had 
 never before known its real beauty. 
 
 When he read of the Massacre of the
 
 TPIE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 179 
 
 Innocents, one or two women cried. The 
 tone in which he read that Rachel was 
 weeping for her children and would not be 
 comforted, poignantly reminded them that 
 they could never be comforted for their lost 
 little ones buried outside in the sunny 
 churchyard. Henry, and Lilian, and Marion, 
 and the children all gazed up with admiring 
 affection at the beautiful young priest stand- 
 ins: white-robed outside the chancel at the 
 eagle lectern, Henry thinking that the music 
 of Cyril's voice alone surpassed any chanted 
 cathedral service. 
 
 Often in after-years did Henry and Lilian 
 think of that sweet Sunday morning with 
 refreshment : the solemn beauty of the old 
 church, with its heavy Norman arches ; the 
 sunshine stealing in, mellow and soft, through 
 the south windows and tingeing the snowy 
 frock of Grranfer, who sat just below the 
 chancel, and leant forward on his staff in an 
 attitude of rapt attention ; the innocent looks 
 of the choir-boys, amongst whom was Dicky 
 Stevens, fourth in descent from Granfer, and
 
 180 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 
 
 whom Lilian had delivered from the tyranny 
 of the rod ; and Mr. Maitland's reverend 
 aspect, as he bent his silvered head and 
 listened to Cyril's pure voice. 
 
 But the moment which lingered in his 
 heart's memory till his dying day was 
 that in which he knelt with Marion and 
 Lilian and the villagers at the altar, and 
 received the holy symbols from Cyril's own 
 consecrated hands. He never forgot Cyril's 
 pale, saint-like features and white-stoled 
 form, the crimson from a martyr's robe in the 
 south chancel window staining in a long bar 
 the priest's breast and hands and the very 
 chalice he held. 
 
 " I was so glad," Lilian said, when they 
 were walking home together, Marion having 
 stopped to speak to some one, "to see you 
 there, Henry, because Cyril is often troubled 
 about your daring speculations." 
 , " Your father never fails to still my doubts, 
 Lilian," he replied. " There is that in his 
 plain, unpretending sermons, which carries 
 conviction straight into one's heart. Ser-
 
 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 181 
 
 mons, as a rule, simply bore me ; but Mr. 
 
 Maitland's Well, you know, he always 
 
 was my beau ideal of a parish priest." 
 
 Lilian's face kindled. " You are the only 
 person who really appreciates my father," 
 she replied. " Even Cyril does not quite 
 know what gifts he has buried in this tiny 
 rustic place, and willingly and consciously 
 buried." 
 
 " I honour his intellect, but still more his 
 heart, which speaks not only in his studiously 
 plain sermons, but even more in his life. 
 Cyril could take no better model." 
 
 " True ; yet we all think Cyril destined to 
 something higher," replied Lilian. 
 
 " By the way, Henry," said Cyril at 
 luncheon, '' I took your overcoat by mistake 
 this morning. I hope it didn't put you out 
 much ; my things are all too small for you." 
 
 " That fellow is always appropriating my 
 property, and I am too big to retaliate," 
 growled Everard, who had forgotten all 
 about the tight overcoat of the morning. 
 
 '' Oh, I say, Cywil," broke in Lennie,
 
 182 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 
 
 ^' wasn't Ingwam Swaynestone in a wage 
 with you for not pweaching this morning ! 
 He came to church on purpose, and he does 
 hate going to church in the winter, he says, 
 because the cold nips the girls' noses and 
 makes them look so ugly." 
 
 " He doesn't mean that nonsense, Lennie," 
 said Mr. Maitland, laughing gently. " He 
 pays his rector a fine compliment, to say the 
 least of it," he added. 
 
 Cyril, who was by no means making up 
 for his morning fast, looked as if he thought 
 Ingram was more likely to be interested in 
 the colour of girls' noses than the quality of 
 any sermons. Then he learnt how Ingram 
 had called with offers of guns and horses to 
 Everard and himself, and had been at play 
 with Winnie, who was now in dire disgrace 
 and condemned to go without pudding, in 
 consequence of having made Ingram's nose 
 bleed. 
 
 " Oh, really, mother ! " he exclaimed, 
 stroking the bright curls brushing his arms, 
 " isn't that rather hard ? Winnie did not
 
 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 183 
 
 mean it ; it miglit have been her nose. Do 
 jou think Ingram will go without pudding, 
 Win ? Let her off, mother. I never saw a 
 little girl behave better in church." 
 
 Whereupon Winnie was respited, after 
 many comments from her elders on her rough 
 ways and romping habits and constant 
 breakages, which, it appeared, were a source 
 of perennial disgrace to the little girl. 
 
 Cyril had very tender ways with children, 
 and was almost as sorry for hurt things as 
 Lilian. That very afternoon a child stumbled 
 and fell on the way to church, and Everard 
 saw him slip aside in his long cassock, and 
 pick up the howling, dust-covered urchin 
 with some merry, tender observation, wipe 
 away the tears and blood with his own 
 spotless handkerchief before Wax had time 
 to bring out a denunciation on the brat's 
 heedlessness, and comfort him finally with 
 pence, though the parson's bell had rung, 
 and Mrs. Wax had come to the end of her 
 voluntary on the harmonium, and begun 
 over again in despair.
 
 18i THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 
 
 The morning congregation had received 
 some additions, to wit, those lazy Sabbatarians 
 who kept their day of rest so literally as to 
 get up too late to go to church in the 
 morning, those mothers too fatigued by 
 performing the family toilettes to perform 
 their own, and those who cooked the Sunday 
 dinners and minded the babies, the majority 
 of which latter accompanied their parents to 
 afternoon service. It was pleasant, too, to 
 observe that Ingram Swaynestone's piety had 
 conquered his pain at the eclipse of feminine 
 beauty, and that he helped to swell the little 
 crowd. 
 
 When Cyril ascended the pulpit, he looked 
 round the dim church with an anxious, 
 searching gaze, and Lilian observed that his 
 eye rested with apprehension on the Lees' 
 pew, and he appeared relieved when he saw 
 Mrs. Lee standing there alone. Then he 
 glanced in the direction of the Swaynestone 
 servants' pew, where Ben Lee sat, glum and 
 downcast, and Judkins, with a haggard look, 
 held his hymn-book before his face. They
 
 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 185 
 
 were singing " Hark, the herald angels," 
 Job Stubbs and Dickie Stevens bringing out 
 the treble with a will, and the basses bearing 
 their parts manfully. 
 
 Cyril distinguished all the voices — those of 
 Lilian and Everard, Marion and the children, 
 Sir Lionel and his daughters, the Rectory 
 maids, the smock-frocks, Tom and Jim Hale, 
 Baines, the tailor, who was only an occasional 
 church-goer, and loved to air his bass occa- 
 sionally in orthodox ears — he heard even 
 Granfer's own tremulous quaver, which had 
 been a tenor of local celebrity, and a crowd 
 of young memories rushed over him. He 
 clutched the edge of the pulpit, regardless of 
 the holly-wreath which encircled it, and 
 pricked his fingers, and, when the last notes 
 of " Herald angels " died away in the final 
 quaver of an old woman half a bar behind, 
 was silent for a few moments. 
 
 At last he recovered himself, and gave out 
 his text — '' Keep innocency, and take heed to 
 the thing that is right, for that shall bring a 
 man peace at the last."
 
 186 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 
 
 He felt them all gazing up at him — Lennie 
 and Winnie, with their innocent eyes and 
 mouths wide open to hear " Cywil pweach ; " 
 his mother, who seldom ventured to church ; 
 Farmer Long and his family ; the well-known 
 villagers ; Granfer, with his head on one 
 side, like an old bird, the better to hear him ; 
 Ben Lee — yes, Ben Lee was looking ; his 
 father in the chancel was looking also. 
 
 Cyril turned pale ; Marion caught her 
 breath, but was soon quieted by the clear, 
 pure notes of the young preacher's voice. 
 He could not but pause, he said, before that 
 congregation, and question himself deeply 
 and sternly before he presumed to address 
 them. They had seen him grow up among 
 them. Many were his elders, had held him 
 in their arms, chidden the faults of his boy- 
 hood, taught him, cared for him ; many had 
 been his playmates and companions, known 
 his weaknesses, shared, perchance, in his 
 escapades. How should he speak to them ? 
 
 Everard disapproved of these personal re- 
 marks ; and yet, when he heard the silver
 
 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 187 
 
 tones of Cyril's voice, his easy flowing 
 sentences, and tlie delicacy of his allusions, 
 he could not hut he charmed. The fact was, 
 as he reflected, that Cyril could do what no 
 other man might, and still charm. His very 
 faults and weaknesses were, in a manner, 
 endearing. 
 
 He felt it, nevertheless, a great privilege, 
 he continued, to be placed there, and he 
 asked of their patience to hear him, for the 
 sake of his office. Then, referring to his 
 manuscript, he briefly touched upon the story 
 of the martyred innocents and its lessons ; 
 and not till then did the profound snore 
 of William Grove and other accustomed 
 sleepers arise. Every creature had kept 
 awake during the unaccustomed prologue, 
 and, indeed, many of the habitual sleepers 
 were still awake, considering it only fair to 
 Mr. Cyril. Then the preacher spoke of the 
 beauty of innocence, and his manner, hitherto 
 so quiet, changed, and became more and more 
 impassioned, till some of the sleepers woke 
 and gazed about them with dazed wonder,
 
 188 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 
 
 as the tones of that clarion voice besought 
 them all to keep innocency, that pearl beyond 
 all price, that one costly treasure without 
 which there was no light in the summer 
 sun, nor any joy in youth and spring-time. 
 Then he painted the tortures of a guilty 
 conscience, the agony beyond all agonies, 
 with such power and passion, and such a 
 richness of poetic diction and picturesque 
 imagery, that many a man trembled, some 
 women sobbed, and poor Ben Lee uttered a 
 stifled groan. 
 
 Everard grew uncomfortable. He began 
 to fear some unseemly hysteric excitement 
 in the little congregation, and was distressed 
 to find Marion and Mrs. Maitland crying 
 without reserve. Lilian's eyes were moist, 
 but she did not cry ; she was pale with a 
 reflection of Cyril's white passion. Mr. 
 Maitland covered his face with his surplice. 
 He too was uneasy, and more affected than 
 he liked to acknowledge to himself; yet he 
 hoped that Alma's betrayer might be present 
 and have his heart touched. The dusk was
 
 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 189 
 
 falling fast in the dim, deep-sliadowed build- 
 ing ; two or three sparks of light glowed 
 among the white robes of the choir, and up 
 among the dark arches Cyril's face showed 
 haggard and agonized in the little isle of 
 light made by the two pale tapers on each 
 side of him in the darkness. 
 
 Long did the little congregation remember 
 that scene : the hush of attention, broken 
 only by an occasional sob from some woman — 
 for most of the sleepers were awake now, 
 and dimly conscious of the unaccustomed 
 passion breaking the drowsy air around 
 them — the great growing shadows in the 
 fast-darkening church ; the mass of awe- 
 struck faces pale in the grey gloom ; the 
 rosy gleams of the scattered tapers on the 
 choristers' surplices ; and up above them, from 
 the heart of the mysterious darkness, the 
 one beautiful, impassioned face in the lonely 
 radiance, and the mighty musical voice peal- 
 ing forth the unutterable anguish of sin ; and 
 the light which subsequent events threw 
 upon it only rendered it the more impressive.
 
 190 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 
 
 " It is true, indeed," said the preacher, 
 suddenly easing the intolerable tension of his 
 passion, and speaking in calmer tones, " that 
 what a holy writer has called ' the princely 
 heart of innocence,' may be regained after 
 long anguish of penitence and prayer, but 
 the consequences of sin roll on in ever-grow- 
 ing echoes, terrible with the thunder of 
 everlasting doom ; the contrite heart is utterly 
 broken, and the life for ever saddened and 
 marred. Innocence once lost, my brethren, 
 the old careless joy of youth never returns. 
 thou, whosoever thou be, man, woman, 
 or even child ; thou who hast once stained 
 thy soul with deadly sin, ' not poppy, nor 
 mandragora, nor all the drowsy syrups of the 
 world, shall ever medicine thee to that sweet 
 sleep which thou ow'dst yesterday.' 
 
 *' Yet despair not, beloved brethren," he 
 added, with flute-like softness, for his voice 
 had again risen in agonized intensity ; " there 
 is forgiveness and healing for all. But oh ! 
 keep innocency, keep innocency ; guard and 
 treasure that inestimable, irrecoverable pos-
 
 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MATTLAND. 191 
 
 session, that pure perennial source of joyous 
 days and peaceful nights, and take heed, take 
 watchful heed, of the thing that is right. Keep 
 innocency, little children, sitting here in the 
 holy church this evening, beneath the eyes 
 of those who love and guard you — you whose 
 souls are yet fresh with the dew of baptism, 
 keep, oh, keep your innocency ! Keep it, 
 youths and children, who wear the chorister's 
 white robe ! Keep innocency, young men 
 and maidens, full of heart and hope ; keep 
 this one pearl, I pray you, for there is no 
 joy without it ! And you, men and women 
 of mature years, strong to labour and bowed 
 with cares and toils innumerable — you who, 
 in the hurry of life's hot noon, have scarce 
 time to think of heaven, with its white robes 
 and peace, yet see that you keep innocency 
 through all ! And you, standing amid the 
 long golden lights of life's evening, aged 
 men and women who wear the honoured 
 crown of white hairs, watch still, and see that 
 you guard your priceless treasure even to 
 the last. Keep innocency, I conjure you.
 
 192 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 
 
 for that shall bring a man peace at the last ! 
 Peace, peace," he repeated, with a yearning 
 intensity that culminated in a deep, hard 
 sob, " peace ! " 
 
 He paused, and there was dense silence for 
 some seconds, and Everard saw that the blue 
 brilliance of his eyes was blurred with tears ; 
 while Sir Lionel and Ingram experienced a 
 sense of profound relief in the hope that the 
 too-exciting sermon was at an end. The 
 congregation rose joyously to their feet, 
 eased of a strain that was becoming intoler- 
 able. 
 
 When Cyril had left the pulpit, his father 
 pronounced the benediction on the kneeling 
 crowd in his calm, sweet tones, so restful 
 after the storm and passion of the young 
 preacher's richly compassed voice. But the 
 blessing did not reach Cyril's distracted soul. 
 Taking advantage of the shadows when he 
 reached liis place in the chancel, he glided 
 swiftly behind the pillars, like some hurt 
 spirit fleeing from the benison that would 
 heal it, till he reached the vestry, where he
 
 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 193 
 
 threw liimself in a chair behind a screen, and 
 covered his face. When Mr. Maitland in due 
 time followed the choir thither, he did not at 
 first observe the silent, ghostly figure in the 
 shadow ; and then becoming aware of him, 
 he left him to himself till the choristers were 
 gone, thinking that he was praying. But on 
 approaching nearer, he was startled to hear 
 strong sobs issue from the veiled figure. 
 
 " My dear boy," he remonstrated, " this 
 will never do. Too much excitement is un- 
 wholesome both for priest and people. Come, 
 master yourself, dear lad. You are unwell ; 
 this fasting is not wise. Henry was right." 
 
 " Oh, father," sobbed Cyril, " it is not the 
 fasting! Oh, shut the door, and let us be 
 alone, and let me tell you all — all ! " 
 
 " Come, come," said the gentle old man ; 
 " calm yourself, and tell me whatever you 
 lilvC later. At present we are both worn out, 
 and need change of thought. You have a 
 great gift, dear fellow, and I trust your 
 words have struck home to at least one 
 conscience " 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 194 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 
 
 " They have — oh, they have, indeed ! " 
 repeated Cyril, with increasing agitation ; 
 
 " and that miserable conscience Oh, 
 
 father, father ! how can I tell you ? " 
 
 ''Hush! hush! This is hysteria, as 
 Everard predicted. Say no more ; I insist 
 upon your silence. Eemember where we 
 are! Drink this water. Stay! I will call 
 Henry ; " and Mr. Maitland went quickly into 
 the church, where Everard was yet lingering 
 with Lilian, who always had various errands 
 connected with the parish to transact in the 
 porch, and beckoned him to the vestry. 
 
 Cyril did not resist his father's will any 
 more, but sank back with a moan, half of 
 anguish, half of relief, and listened meekly to 
 the rough kindliness of Everard and the 
 £:entle remonstrances of his father. 
 
 " This is a pretty scene, Mr. Maitland," 
 observed Everard, on entering the vestry. 
 ■ " 111 ? Of course he is ill, after exciting 
 himself on an empty stomach ! The end of 
 such goings-on as these, my friend, is Bedlam. 
 Take this brandy, and then go quietly home
 
 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 195 
 
 and get a good sleep, and let us have no more 
 of this nonsense, for goodness sake." 
 
 So Cyril did as they bid him, and held his 
 peace. Had he but acted on his heart's 
 impulse, and spoken out then as he wished, 
 he would have produced sorrow and dismay 
 indeed, but the long, lingering tragedy which 
 was to involve so many lives would have 
 been for ever averted. 
 
 Once, perhaps, in each crisis of our lives, 
 our guardian angel stands before us with his 
 hands full of golden opportunity, which, if 
 we grasp, it is well with us ; but woe to us 
 if we turn our backs sullenly on our gentle 
 visitor, and scorn his celestial gift ! Never 
 again is the gracious treasure offered, and the 
 favourable moment returns no more.
 
 lOG THE SILEN'CE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 
 
 CHAPTER YIII. 
 
 ** Ay, you med all mark my words ! " said 
 Granfer, looking solemnly round from under 
 the shadow of his bushy grey eyebrows. 
 " I've a zaid it, and I'll zay it agen — ay, that 
 I 'ool, let they go agen it as may ! You med 
 all mark my words, I zay. Queen Yictoree'll 
 make he a bishop avore she's done wi' 'un." 
 
 " Ay," chorused the listening group, who 
 were standing around the village oracle in 
 the churchyard, looking phantom-like in the 
 pale blending of sunset and moonrise ; and 
 then there was a thoughtful pause, during 
 which Granfer's shrewd grey eyes scrutinized 
 each face with an air of challenge. 
 
 " Ter'ble vine praiching zure-ly," observed 
 Hale, the wheelwright. 
 
 " Yine ! you med well zay that," rejoined
 
 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 197 
 
 Granfer, sternly. " I tell 'ee all, there never 
 was praiching that vine in all Malbourne 
 lands avore ! Ay, I've a zaid it, and I'll zay 
 it agen ! " 
 
 '• Made me sweat, 'ee did," observed Straun, 
 the blacksmith, whose Sunday appearance 
 was a caricature on his burly working-day 
 2)resentment ; for broadcloth of Baines's rough 
 fashioning now hid the magnificent muscular 
 arms and bare neck ; a tall hat, too small in 
 the head, replaced the careless, smoke-browned 
 cap of every day ; and the washing and 
 shaving to which his face had been subjected 
 gave it an almost unnatural pallor. 
 
 " Ye nied well sweat, Jarge Straun, when 
 you thinks on yer zins," reflected Granfer, 
 piously. 
 
 " 'Twas ter'ble vine ; but darned if I 
 knows what 'twas all about ! " said William 
 Grove, scratching his curly head with some 
 perplexity. 
 
 " Ah ! Mr. Cyril, he have a dale too much 
 larning for the likes o' you, Willum," re- 
 turned Granfer, graciously condescending to
 
 198 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 
 
 William's weaker intellect ; " let he alone 
 for that. Why, Lard love 'ee, Willum, / 
 couldn't make out more'n a quarter on't 
 mezelf; that I couldn't, I tell 'ee ! A vast 
 o' larning in that lad's head." 
 
 " Ay, and soine on it was poetry ; I yerd 
 the jingle of it," said sailor Jim. 
 
 " Master, now," continued Granfer, settling 
 himself more comfortably against a tombstone, 
 and leaning forward on his stick — " Lard 'a 
 massey, any vool med unnerstand he ! He 
 spakes in his discoorses jest as though he 
 was a zitting in front of vire atop of a 
 cricket, and a zaying, ' Well, Granfer, and 
 how be the taaties a-coming up ? ' or, ' Granfer, 
 think o' yer zins avore you blames other 
 volk.' Ay, that's how he spakes, bless 'un ! 
 He don't know no better, he don't. Can't 
 spake no grander than the Lard have give 
 'un grace to." 
 
 "Master's a good man," said Straun, 
 defiantly. " He've a done his duty by we 
 this thirty year." 
 
 " Ay, he's well enough, master is," con-
 
 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 199 
 
 tinued G-ranfer, in a tolerant manner ; "I 
 never had no vault to vind wi' he, bless 'un ! 
 A vine vamily he've had, too ! He've a done 
 so well as he could ; but a never was no 
 praicber to spake on, I tell 'ee." 
 
 " Ter'ble pretty what Mr. Cyril said about 
 preaching to them as knowed him a boy," 
 said Tom Hale. " Them esskypades, now," 
 he added fondly, as he caressed his moustache 
 and struck one of his martial attitudes. 
 
 '* What's a esskypade, Granfer ? " inquired 
 a smock-frock. 
 
 "A esskypade," returned Granfer, slowly 
 and thoughtfully — " a esskypade, zo to zay, 
 is, in a way o' spaking, what you med call a 
 zet-to — a zart of a scrimmage like ; " and he 
 fixed his glittering eye fiercely, yet half 
 doubtfully, on Tom Hale's face, as much as 
 to challenge him to deny it. 
 
 " Just so," responded Tom. '' I said to 
 meself, I said, ' Mr. Cyril is thinking of the 
 set-to we had together in father's yard that 
 Saturday afternoon ; that's what he means 
 by his esskypades.' "
 
 200 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 
 
 ' " Ay, and you licked him well," added Jim, 
 eagerly ; " that was summat like a fight, Tom." 
 . " Master Cyril had to be carried home, and 
 kep' his bed for a week ; and Tom, he couldn't 
 see out of his eyes next day," commented 
 the elder Hale, with pride in his brother's 
 prowess. 
 
 " Ay, you dreshed 'un, zure enough, Tom," 
 commented Granfer, graciously. 
 
 *'He took a deal of licking, and hit out 
 like a man," said the modest warrior, who 
 loved Cyril with the profound affection in- 
 spired only by a vanquished foe. 
 
 Tom had fought sterner battles since. He 
 had been through the Indian Mutiny cam- 
 paign, and known the grim realities of 
 Lucknow ; but his heart still glowed, as he 
 saw before him, in his mind's eye, the 
 prostrate form of Cyril on the grass among 
 the timber of the wheelwright's yard — poor, 
 vanquished Cyril, slighter, though older, than 
 himself, with his little shirt torn and blood- 
 stained — and heard the applause of his com- 
 rades gathered to watch the fray.
 
 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 201 
 
 " Well, I minds n, a little lad, chivying 
 Granfer's wuld sow round meadow," struck 
 in Stevens, who had now completed all his 
 duties in the church and locked the door, 
 the great key of which he carried in his 
 hand. 
 
 " A vine, peart buoy as ever I zee," re- 
 flected Granfer, " and wanted zo much stick 
 as any on 'em. I've a smacked 'un mezelf," 
 added Granfer, with great dignity and im- 
 portance ; '' ay, and I smacked 'un well, I 
 did ! " repeated Granfer, with relish. 
 
 " You was allays a good 'un to smack, 
 Granfer," observed his grandson, the clerk, 
 with tender reminiscences of Granfer *s opera- 
 tion on his own person. 
 
 " Whatever I done, I went through wi' 't," 
 returned the old man, complacently digesting 
 this tribute to his prowess. " Ay, I've a 
 smacked 'un mezelf, and I smacked 'un w ell, 
 I did," he repeated, with ever-growing im- 
 portance. 
 
 " Come along home ! " said Stevens, who 
 was waiting to lock the lych-gate. " You
 
 202 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 
 
 bain't old enough to bide in churchyard for 
 good, Granfer." 
 
 " Ah ! I bain't a-gwine underground this 
 ten year yet," returned Granfer, shaking his 
 head, and slowly rising from his tombstone 
 in the blue moonlight, his breath showing 
 smokelike on the keen air, and his wrinkled 
 hands numbed doubly by age and the winter 
 night. " I baint a-gwine yet," he muttered 
 to himself; while the group broke up in slow, 
 rustic fashion, and they all trudged off, Tom 
 leading the way, erect and martial, airily 
 swinging his little cane, and stepping with a 
 firm, even stride ; Jim rolling along with a 
 wide, swaying gait, as if there were an 
 earthquake, and the churchyard ground were 
 heaving and surging around him ; the rustics 
 tramping heavily after, with a stolid, forceful 
 step, as if the ground beneath them were a 
 stubborn enemy, to be mastered only by con- 
 tinued blows ; and soon the grey church 
 stood silent and deserted in the frostv moon- 
 light, till the clock in the belfry pealed out 
 five mellow strokes above the quiet, unheeding 
 dead.
 
 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 203 
 
 At that hour Ben Lee was on the point of 
 leaving his stables and going home to tea. 
 Judkins and he were kindling their pipes at 
 the harness-room fire, each with a face of 
 sullen gloom. 
 
 '^ It wasn't so much what he said," observed 
 Judkins ; " 'twas how he said it made them 
 all cry. He seemed kind of heart-broken 
 about it, as though somebody belonging to 
 him, some friend like, had done wrong." 
 
 " Do you think he was thinking of my 
 poor girl ? " asked Ben, quickly ; and Judkins 
 nodded assent. 
 
 " He always had a kind heart, had Mr. 
 Cyril, and he thought a deal of Alma," con- 
 tinued Lee ; " lent her good books and that." 
 
 "There was one in the church as wasn't 
 upset, and looked as quiet as a whetstone all 
 through — that damned doctor ! " said the 
 young man, fiercely. 
 
 " Dr. Everard ? You don't think, 
 Charles ? " 
 
 " Haven't T seen him walking in the wood 
 with her ? " he interrupted, with impreca-
 
 204 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 
 
 tions. " Why did he come sneaking into 
 your house, doctoring your wife last spring, 
 day after day without fail, and always some- 
 think to say to Alma afterwards in another 
 room ? Answer me that, Ben Lee ! " 
 
 The man was half stunned. " I'd break 
 every bone in his cursed body," he burst out, 
 purple with passion, " if I thought that ! 
 And the good he done my wife, too, and I 
 that blind ! " 
 
 " Blind you were, Ben Lee, and blind was 
 everybody else. But I watched. I've seen 
 them shake hands at the gate, and she giving 
 of him flowers, damn him ! I've seen them 
 in the wood there, standing together, and he 
 showing of her things through that glass of 
 his that makes things bigger than they ought 
 to be. Wait till I catch him, Ben, that's all ! 
 And he sitting through that sermon, and 
 everybody crying, and even Mr. Ingram 
 blowing his nose ; he sitting as scornful and 
 cold as any devil. There's no conscience in 
 the likes of him ! " 
 
 " Charles," cried Ben, suddenly clutching
 
 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 205 
 
 the yoimg man's arm with a grip that 
 brought the blood to his face, " I'll kill 
 him ! " 
 
 Ben was purple, and quivering from head 
 to foot, and Judkins's passionate anger sank 
 within him at the sight. 
 
 " Hush, Ben, hush ! " he said ; " don't you 
 do nothing rash. Killing's murder, Ben. 
 And that will do her no good. No, no ; I'll 
 thrash him, and you shall thrash him, and he 
 shall be brought to book, sure enough ; that's 
 only justice." 
 
 Poor Ben dashed away his pipe, covered 
 his face with his coat -cuff, and broke out 
 ciying. 
 
 " Lord ha' mercy ! " cried the young groom, 
 crying himself. ''You do take on, Ben. 
 Come, come, cheer up, man. Better days'll 
 come, and you may see her married and 
 happy yet. Come on home, Ben, come." 
 
 And he drew him out into the solemn quiet 
 of the winter moonlight, and took him across 
 the park and the meadow, and wished him 
 good night at the door of his sorrowful home.
 
 206 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 
 
 " And mind you, Ben, don't you be hard on 
 lier," he said at parting. 
 
 " If Ben comes across him," he muttered to 
 himself, as he strolled moodily up and down 
 the high-road, whence he could see the 
 Temple white in the moonlight, with its one 
 window faintly aglow, ^' he'll do for him. 
 Ben's hot, and he'll do for him, as sure as 
 eggs is eggs." Then he vowed to himself 
 that he would wreak his own revenge first, 
 and, if possible, save Ben from yielding 
 to his passionate nature. " I'll track him 
 down like a hound ! " he muttered, striking 
 fiercely at the frosted hedgerow with the 
 light whip he carried. 
 
 Everard, in the mean time, was serenely 
 happy in the drawing-room at Malbourne, 
 unconscious that he had an enemy in the 
 world, much less that men were scheming 
 against his honour and his life. Nay, he did 
 not even dream that he had so much as a 
 detractor ; he loved his fellows, and was at 
 peace with mankind. 
 
 The family were gathered in the drawing-
 
 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 207 
 
 room in pleasant Sunday idleness, save Mr. 
 Maitland, who was visiting a sick parishioner. 
 Cyril and Marion were side by side on a 
 remote sofa, dreamily happy in each other's 
 presence ; Henry had mounted his microscope 
 within reach of Mrs. Maitland, and was dis- 
 playing its wonders in calm happiness for 
 her and Lilian. Mark Antony, after careful 
 and minute inspection of every detail of the 
 strange apparatus, had decided that it was 
 harmless, though frivolous, and expressed this 
 decision by deep contented purrs and an 
 adjournment to Cyril's knee, where he saw a 
 prospect of long continuation and peace ; and 
 Lennie and Winnie occupied the hearthrug, 
 and divided their attention between the dogs 
 and the microscope. 
 
 When Lilian bent over the tube, with 
 the strong light of the lamp touching her 
 animated face, and her dress rustling agaiust 
 him, Henry thought he had never been so 
 happy in his life. Now and again some 
 little unexpected incident, some glance or 
 tone, revealed to him the delicious truth
 
 208 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 
 
 that they loved each other. No one else 
 suspected that any change had come over 
 the fraternal relations of a lifetime ; they 
 possessed this young happiness as a secret, 
 sacred treasure, and feared the moment when 
 it must be revealed to the world. Everard 
 was loth to part even with the sweet anguish 
 of doubt which crossed his heaven from time 
 to time ; it was so delightful to watch and 
 question every word and glance and gesture 
 of Lilian's, and play upon them a perpetual 
 daisy game — " She loves me, she loves me 
 not, she loves me." Some deep instinct told 
 him that never in all his life would he again 
 taste such happiness as this blessed dawn of love 
 yielded him. As for Lilian, her manner took 
 a little shyness occasionally in the strange fear 
 which is the shadow of unspeakable joy. 
 
 Soon the domestic quiet was broken, but 
 not troubled, by the irruption of Stanley and 
 Lyster Grarrett, the two sons of Northover, 
 who liked to lounge away a Sunday evening 
 at the Eectory, and there was much discussion 
 of the entertainment to be given the next
 
 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 209 
 
 night to the villagers ; and then the Garrett 
 girls were brought across the park to assist 
 in the little parliament, and kept to share 
 the informal supper which was a Sunday 
 feature at Malbourne. 
 
 During supper a note arrived from Swayne- 
 stone, bidding Everard come to luncheon next 
 day to meet the great Professor Hamlyn, 
 who had seen some paper of Everard's in a 
 scientific journal, and expressed a wish to see 
 the writer. This was a great pleasure to 
 Everard, and a little responsive light in 
 Lilian's face told him that she realized what 
 making this man's acquaintance meant to 
 him. 
 
 "The luncheon was a great success," 
 Everard observed, on his return to the Rectory 
 in the afternoon next day. " The great man 
 was most gracious ; he did me the honour of 
 contradicting me nine times. Sir Lionel, in 
 his gentle way, was a little horrified at his 
 lion's roar, but saw that I was specially 
 honoured in being selected for the royal 
 beast's refection." 
 
 VOL. I. p
 
 210 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 
 
 He went on to tell how the great writer, 
 who lived in the neighbourhood, and was 
 entertaining the professor, had been present, 
 and had been less overbearing in manner 
 and milder in language than usual. His hair 
 had, however, evidently not been brushed. 
 He was questioning Sir Lionel about Cyril's 
 sermon, in which he was interested, since 
 he had a slight acquaintance with the 
 Maitlands, and had already detected CyriFs 
 bright parts. He heard of the sermon 
 through his brother, who had been taking a 
 country stroll the previous afternoon, and had 
 sauntered unnoticed into the church, just at 
 the beginning of the sermon, and returned 
 home with the intelligence that a young 
 genius had arisen in the neighbourhood, with 
 a voice, manner, and power unequalled in his 
 experience. 
 
 Ingram Swaynestone, who had accompanied 
 Everard back to Malbourne, wondered that 
 Cyril should stare abstractedly at the fire 
 during this recital, as if it had no interest 
 for him, and made some remark to him ex-
 
 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 211 
 
 pressive of his own personal appreciation of 
 the sermon. 
 
 " My good fellow," returned Cyril, facing 
 about, and speaking in his eas}^ genial 
 fashion, " do you suppose that I don't know 
 that I have the ' gift of the gab,' as Everard 
 calls it ? I don't know that one need be proud 
 of it, any more than of having one's nose 
 placed in the middle of one's face, instead of 
 all askew, as befalls some people ; and yet 
 the devil is quite active enough in per- 
 suading me to be vain of it without my 
 friends' assistance." 
 
 " It strikes me, Cyril," broke in Everard, 
 " that you and the devil are on very confi- 
 dential terms. I should have thought an 
 innocent young parson like you the very last 
 person the arch-enemy would select to hob- 
 and-nob with." 
 
 "As if the Premier were to hold confidential 
 chats with the late Nana Sahib," added In- 
 gram, laughing. 
 
 Cyril flushed hotly, and then said, with a 
 quietly dignified air, of which he was master
 
 212 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 
 
 when lie wished to rebuke gently, " You are 
 light-hearted, Henry ; your spirits run away 
 with you." 
 
 Upon which Everard could not resist re- 
 torting, with unabashed gravity, " I trust 
 that yours will not run away with you, Cyril, 
 since they are of such a questionable com- 
 plexion." 
 
 " Come, you idle people," broke in Lilian ; 
 " it is time to go to the schoolroom. Are 
 you going to be a waiter, Ingram ? There is 
 no compulsion, remember. Henry and the 
 two Garretts are enlisted. Keppel Everard 
 is our Ganymede; Marion and I are Hebes. 
 In plain English, we serve the tea, and Keppel 
 the beer." 
 
 " Since all the posts are filled, I will engage 
 myself as general slavey," said the good- 
 tempered Ingram, rising and following Lilian 
 to the schoolroom, where a substantial meal 
 was spread, and Mr. Maitland, with his curate, 
 Mr. Marvyn, was already receiving his 
 humble guests, who, unlike the guests of 
 more fashionable entertainments, liked to
 
 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 213 
 
 arrive before instead of after the appointed 
 hour, and in this case came long before all 
 the candles were lighted, so that they de- 
 pended chiefly on firelight for illumination. 
 
 Soon, however, the tables were full, men, 
 women, and children sitting before a 
 bounteous supply of roast beef and potatoes, 
 while the air became oppressive with the 
 scent of crushed evergreens an'd steaming 
 food. Mr. Maitland and his curate had one 
 table ; Cyril and the Eev. George Everard 
 presided at another ; and the children's special 
 board rejoiced in Lennie and Winnie as host 
 and hostess. 
 
 Profound gravity prevailed, broken only 
 by an occasional feminine titter or childish 
 laugh, though it was evident, from the ex- 
 pression of Granfer's face when he came to 
 the end of his first plate of beef, that he 
 contemplated making a remark^ probably of a 
 jocular nature. All the mirth of the feast 
 seemed to be concentrated in the faces of the 
 Hebes and Ganymedes, who flew about the 
 room with the greatest enjoyment, and took
 
 214 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 
 
 care that neither plate nor cup was empty. 
 The two most assiduous waiters w^ere Ingram 
 Swaynestone and Everard, both of whom 
 appeared to have the gift of ubiquity, and 
 carved with a recklessness and rapidity that 
 astonished all beholders. It was not until 
 the pudding was finished, and grace had been 
 sung by the choir, that some symptoms of 
 mirth and enjoyment began to break out 
 among the rustic revellers, and Mr. Maitland 
 laughed with his usual heartiness at Granfer's 
 annual joke, a fine antique one, with the 
 mellowness of fifty years upon it. 
 
 It was pleasant, while the tables were being 
 cleared, and the people were grouped about 
 the room, to see Cyril move among his old 
 friends, saying to each exactly the right 
 thing, in the manner exactly fitted to charm 
 each ; going up to Tom Hale, and laying 
 his hand affectionately on his stalwart, red- 
 coated shoulder, and calling the pleased flush 
 into his face by the manner in which he 
 alluded to old times, especially the immortal 
 battle.
 
 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 215 
 
 " I should be sorry to figlit you now, 
 Tom," he added ; "or Jim either. It is well 
 that my calling makes me a man of peace, 
 while yours make you men of war." 
 
 " Yes, Mr. Cyril, it is all very well to be 
 strong," replied Tom ; " but what's that to a 
 head-piece like yours ? " 
 
 " They would rather have a smile from 
 Cyril than a whole dinner from the rest of 
 us," Everard observed to Lilian, as he paused 
 a moment in his toilsome occupation of re- 
 arranging the room. " Just look at George," 
 he added, pointing to his reverend brother, 
 who was standing disconsolate and dejected 
 in the ^[uietest corner he could find ; " he is 
 afraid that people are enjoying themselves. 
 He would give his head to be allowed to 
 improve the occasion." 
 
 " He implored my father to substitute 
 hymns and clerical addresses for our frivolous 
 little entertainment," replied Lilian. " He 
 asked him how he would answer for having 
 let slip such a precious opportunity of preach- 
 ing the Gospel."
 
 216 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 
 
 " Such a gospel- — 
 
 " ' The dismal news I tell, 
 
 How our friends are all embarking 
 For the fiery port of hell.' 
 
 Poor old G-eorge! What a dreary phantas- 
 magoria life must seem to him ! " 
 
 " Happily, he doesn't really believe his 
 creed. He asked Granfer just now if he knew 
 that he was standing on the brink of the 
 grave. Granfer replied, ' Ay, I've ben a- 
 standing there this ninety year and more, and 
 I hain't, zo to zay, tired on't yet.' " 
 
 Everard went up to his brother, and 
 accosted him. " I hope " there is nothing 
 wrong, George," he said ; " you look as if 
 something had disagreed with you." 
 
 " Thank you, Henry," he replied, " my 
 health is, under Providence, excellent ; but I 
 grieve for the souls of these poor creatures. 
 I have ascertained for a fact that Maitland 
 has caused beer and tobacco to be placed in a 
 class-room for the men. Why, oh, why will 
 he not lead them to the only true source of 
 comfort ? "
 
 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 217 
 
 The diners were now joined by otlier guests 
 of a higher grade: Farmer Long and his 
 family ; other farmers ; a fresh contingent of 
 Garretts ; and last, though not by any means 
 least, Sir Lionel Swaynestone and his two 
 pretty daughters. 
 
 Thereupon the choir, assisted by amateurs, 
 struck up, " My love is like a red, red rose," 
 and the concert began. Wax executed a solo 
 on the clarionet of such fearful difficulty 
 that Everard trembled lest he should break 
 a blood-vessel; and everybody, including 
 Mrs. AYax, who coursed frantically after his 
 rapid runs and 'flourishes on the piano, 
 breathed an inward thanksgiving when he 
 had finished. A piano duet between Miss 
 Swaynestone and Miss Garrett followed, and 
 was not the less tumultuously applauded 
 because the superior swiftness of Miss 
 Garrett's fiugers landed her at^ the finish 
 two bars ahead of Mi^s Swaynestone, who 
 played on to the end with unruffled compo- 
 sure. Nobody had taken the slightest notice 
 of any of these performances, save Wax's,
 
 218 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 
 
 which alarmed the nervous ; but now a 
 change took place. Cyril led Lilian on to 
 the platform, and Marion's piano prelude 
 was drowned by the sound of heavy feet 
 plunging in from the smoking-room, and 
 everybody listened attentively for what was 
 a really delicate entertainment for the ear — 
 a vocal duet between the twins. Even Sir 
 Lionel left his stately calm to encore the 
 simple melody, while Granfer did serious 
 damage to the school floor with his stick. It 
 was not that the brother and sister sang: with 
 unusual skill, or that their voices were re- 
 markably good, taken apart ; the charm lay 
 in the peculiar sweetness of tone resulting 
 from the exact blending of the two. 
 
 Ingram Swaynestone grumbled in a good- 
 tempered way at having to read after this 
 performance, and though he read a bit of 
 Dickens with great spirit and humour, Everard 
 observed that the audience only listened and 
 applauded as a matter of duty. Ethel Swayne- 
 stone was an accomplished singer, but her 
 voice failed to please the rustic ear ; /while the
 
 THE SILEXCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 219 
 
 choir glees and other amateur music were 
 received as a matter of course. But when 
 Cyril once more stood on the platform, and 
 began in his rich, pure voice, " There was a 
 sound of revelry by night," Everard was 
 startled at the sudden hush of attention that 
 fell on the audience, and surprised at the 
 richness of harmony in the well-kuown 
 stanzas. When Cyril repeated the line, " But 
 hush ! hark ! a deep sound strikes like a rising 
 knell ! " the rustics started and looked over 
 their shoulders in dismay, and one susceptible 
 matron uttered a faint shriek. '' Did ye not 
 hear it ? " continued the reciter, in such thrill- 
 ing tones that Mrs. Stevens, meeting the 
 light of Cyril's blue eyes, took the question 
 personally, and replied wildly in the nega- 
 tive, to the general consternation. Having 
 brought this to a conclusion in such a manner 
 that his unlettered audience actually saw the 
 ball-room scene, " the cheeks all pale," the 
 '' tremblings of distress," and actually heard 
 the sounds of approaching doom break in 
 upon the brilliant revelry, and witnessed the
 
 220 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 
 
 hurried departure of the troops to the terrible 
 field destined to be fertilized with " red rain," 
 Cyril paused, to let the tumultuous encores 
 subside ; and, at last, when silence ensued, 
 began with a plaintive sweetness, chat was in 
 strong contrast to the dramatic force and fire 
 of the " Eve of Waterloo "— 
 
 '"I remember, I remember, 
 The house where I was born. 
 The little window where the sun 
 Came peeping in at morn. 
 He never came a wink too soon, 
 Or brought too long a day ; 
 But now ' " 
 
 Here Cyril paused, with a deep sigh. 
 
 " ' I often wish the night 
 Had borne my breath away.' " 
 
 To Everard's intense surprise, he not only 
 saw tears all round him, but found a sensation 
 of intense sorrow and longing for the past 
 stealing over himself, while the pathos of 
 Cyril's voice seemed to break his heart. He 
 saw, as they all saw, Malbourne Rectory, and 
 Cyril, a boy once more — gentle, happy, and
 
 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 221 
 
 full of sweet, innocent fancies ; and when the 
 latter went on, in his quiet voice, so full of 
 melodious heart-break — 
 
 " ' And where my brother set 
 Tiie laburniTin on his birthday : 
 That tree is living yet,' " 
 
 something rushed up into Everard's throat 
 and half choked him. He knew that Cyril 
 was thinking of a rose-tree he had planted 
 on a far-off birthday. 
 
 " ' But now 'tis little joy,' " 
 
 said Cyril, with a voice full of tears — 
 
 " ' To know I'm farther oif from heaven 
 Than when I was a boy.' " 
 
 There was no applause to this ; complete 
 and tearful silence reigned when he finished 
 and stepped quietly down among his friends, 
 where Sir Lionel gently rebuked him for 
 playing so cruelly on their feelings, and 
 added; " As I said to Ingram yesterday, 
 such a voice and manner would sway the 
 House ; " and every one was relieved when 
 the choir struck up, " All among the Barley."
 
 222 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 
 
 Lilian was among the few who did not 
 give way to tears during the recital of Hood's 
 patlietic little poem, though Everard, who 
 hovered near her all the evening, observed 
 that her large, soft grey eyes were dewy 
 wet, as was their wont when she was moved, 
 and her face reflected all the changes on her 
 brother's. It was not easy to get very close 
 to Lilian, because she was fenced in, as it 
 were, by a little ring of children, who clung 
 to her skirts, and laid their cheeks against her 
 beautiful, slender hands, and were perfectly 
 happy with the privilege of touching her. 
 
 '' I do not think," she said, while returning 
 to the Rectory through the frosty moonlight 
 with Everard, " that Cyril is farther off from 
 heaven than when he was a boy. Lideed, it 
 seems to me that one must grow nearer to it 
 with every day of life, unless one deliberately 
 turns from it." 
 
 " You are speaking from your own experi- 
 ence," replied Henry. " Men are different. 
 To go through early manhood is to be drawn 
 over a morass of temptation, into which, with
 
 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 223 
 
 the best intentions, most men sink occa- 
 sionally." 
 
 "Not men like Cyril, Henry. He is so 
 slightly weighted with flesh that he would 
 skim dry- footed over the most quaking quag- 
 mire. I know every thought in Cyril's 
 heart." 
 
 Everard was half inclined to endorse this 
 opinion of Cyril. He recognized in his 
 friend's character a certain feminine element, 
 that ewig weibliche which Goethe pronounces 
 the saving ingredient in human nature. The 
 protecting tenderness with which he loved 
 the bright, gentle boy, two years his junior 
 and less robust than himself, still lived in his 
 deep affection for the pious and intellectual 
 young priest. Cyril's feelings were sacred to 
 him as a woman's ; he feared to sully their 
 delicate bloom by harsh allusions to the bare 
 facts of life. He was one of the twins, both 
 of whom were objects of his lifelong tender- 
 ness. And Cyril had his moods, like a woman 
 — a peculiarity not without fascination for 
 Everard's more thoroughly masculine mind.
 
 224 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 
 
 A soft mood was on Cyril that night. He 
 knocked at Everard's door after every one 
 had retired for the night, and drew a chair to 
 his side by the fire, before which the doctor 
 was smoking, and, investing hiraself in one 
 of Everard's coats, lighted a pipe of his own. 
 
 " The coolness with which the fellow takes 
 my coats ! " growled Everard. 
 
 '^ It is no matter if your coats smell of 
 tobacco," replied Cyril, tranquilly ; " I smoke 
 so seldom that I have no smoking-coats. To- 
 night I am restless." 
 
 " Why so pale and wan, fond lover ? " 
 langhed Everard. " Because Marion is gone 
 back to Woodlands for two days, I suppose." 
 
 " You may laugh, Henry, but I feel more 
 than lost without her. I am helpless, 
 separated from the best influence of my life." 
 
 " You are a slave to your feelings ; learn 
 to master them." 
 
 "It is true," replied Cyril. ^' You are the 
 best and wisest friend ever man had. I never 
 regretted doing anything you advised. I 
 shall always be grateful to you for making
 
 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 225 
 
 me read up for mathematical honours. I 
 needed that discipline to steady me. I have 
 never valued you as you deserve ; only now 
 and again it flashes upon me that what I take 
 for granted is of superior worth. How selfish 
 I was about letting Marion join you in the 
 Mediterranean ! You little dream how I 
 suffered for that. Well, without you, Marion 
 and I would have been parted for ever." 
 
 " Without Lilian." • 
 
 " You and Lilian together. How selfish 
 and weak I was ! and the harm that came 
 from it ! " 
 
 " Oh, come ! It's all right now ; a for- 
 gotten story. 
 
 " There are things that can never be for- 
 gotten," sighed Cyril, with the pathetic 
 intonation that had broken people's hearts in 
 the evening. " To give way to a sin, only 
 one sin, is like letting a little water through a 
 d^^ke. A child may begin it, but once begun, 
 the terrible consequences sweep endlessly on, 
 a very flood of iniquity. I suppose there is 
 nothing which has the power of multiplying 
 
 VOL. I. Q
 
 226 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 
 
 itself like sin. One hideous consequence 
 begets a hundred more hideous," continued 
 Cyril, staring moodily at the fire, while his 
 pipe lay extinct and neglected by his side. 
 
 " I see no pulpit, your reverence," said 
 Everard, who was puffing away with quiet 
 enjoyment. 
 
 Cyril turned with one of his sudden changes, 
 and flashed a mirthful glance of his strange 
 blue eyes on his friend, and, replenishing his 
 pipe from the tobacco which Keppel had 
 brought for Everard on his return from his 
 last voyage, broke into a strain of gay affec- 
 tionate chat, full of a thousand reminiscences 
 of the school-days they passed together under 
 Mr. Marvyn's care in the quiet village. 
 
 " What a fellow you were ! " exclaimed 
 Cyril, with enthusiasm, after recalling a 
 certain story of a Sevres vase ; and, though 
 Everard only grunted, he looked at the 
 graceful, animated figure before him with an 
 affectionate adoration that made him feel it 
 would be a pleasure to die for such a man. 
 " I was afraid when I smashed the vase,"
 
 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 227 
 
 continued Cyril, " and but for you should 
 have hidden it. I never shall forget seeing 
 you walk up to Lady Swaynestone and tell 
 her that we had run up against the vase and 
 broken it. I felt such a sneak ; I had done 
 it, and you took the blame on yourself, and 
 got the punishment. She said no word, but 
 delivered you such a box on the ear as made 
 mine tingle, and sent you staggering across 
 the room. Then her anger found words, and 
 you bore it all." 
 
 " I never knew a ruder or more ill-bred 
 woman," said Everard. 
 
 " I suppose you got over the box on the 
 ear in an hour or two," continued Cyril ; 
 '•' but I did not. I was miserable for days, 
 hating myself, and yet too frightened to tell 
 the truth." 
 
 Everard here produced a yawn of cavernous 
 intensity, and dropped his pipe in sheer 
 drowsiness ; but Maitland seemed more alert 
 than ever, and rose in his restlessness and 
 looked out of the window on the dark vault 
 of shimmering stars.
 
 228 THE SILEN'CE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 
 
 " The night wanes," he said ; " one day 
 more, and the weary old year will be done — 
 only one day." 
 
 " Ungrateful fellow ! " said Everard, stretch- 
 ing himself till he seemed gigantic ; " such 
 a good old year. I shall be sorry to say 
 good-bye to him, for my part." 
 
 Cyril dropped the curtain and turned to 
 the fire, his features all alight. " Let us look 
 forward," he said, " to the rosy future. 
 Welcome to sixty-three, Harry ; it is full of 
 promise for us both ! Good night, dear lad, 
 and Grod bless you ! " 
 
 And, with a warm hand-clasp, he took his 
 leave, but turned again, lingering, irresolute ; 
 and then, with another warm hand-clasp and 
 blessing, left his drowsy friend to his slumbers, 
 ju'fet as the church clock was striking three.
 
 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 229 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 The last day of tlie year dawned briglit and 
 cloudless, a very prince and pearl of winter 
 days, and Everard's heart bounded within him 
 as he looked out on the ruddy morning, and 
 felt it a joy merely to live. 
 
 " I shall long remember sixty-two," he 
 thought ; "it has been a good year, and to- 
 day will crown and complete the whole. To- 
 day I will make sure of my fate." 
 
 The wine of life never before had the 
 sparkle and effervescence of that morning ; it 
 was almost too much for a sober mind. Had 
 Everard been superstitious, or even introspec- 
 tive, he would have presaged disaster at hand. 
 Instead of which, he rejoiced in his youth, 
 and felt as if his body were turned to air, as
 
 230 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MATTLAND. 
 
 he sprang down the staircase and into the 
 sunny breakfast-room. 
 
 Mr. Maitland was late that morning, and 
 Cyril read the simple household prayers. 
 Everard loved this sweet custom of family 
 prayer, remiss as he' often was in assisting 
 personally at it ; it seemed so fit and har- 
 monious for that holy incense to ascend from 
 the altar of the innocent country home, and 
 to-day it acquired a sort of pathos from the 
 youth and grace of the reader. The scene 
 lived long in his mind, irradiated by a sweet 
 light of peace and holiness : the kneeling 
 children and Lilian, the sunshine touching 
 their hair ; the bowed heads of the maids ; the 
 dignified bearing of the reader ; the music 
 of his voice — a voice soft now, and soothing 
 as the murmur of the brook beneath the 
 trees, with none of the tragic tones they 
 knew so well. Just as Cyril was about to 
 pronounce the closing benediction, Mr. Malt- 
 land, thinking the prayers done, entered, and, 
 seeing how they were employed, dropped on 
 his knees in time to receive the lad's blessing.
 
 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 231 
 
 The siglit of that grey head, bent thus before 
 the young priest's benison, touched Everard 
 profoundly, and he felt humbled to think of 
 his own world-stained soul by the side of 
 these spotless creatures — priests and women 
 and children. 
 
 " Lead us not into temptation," said Cyril's 
 pure, rich voice, chorused by the innocent 
 trebles and Everard's own faltering bass. 
 
 What temptation could possibly befall those 
 guileless beings that day ? What harsh dis- 
 sonance could ever mar the music of those 
 tuneful lives ? he wondered. And he was 
 glad that his own faltering petition had gone 
 up to Heaven with those of hearts so pure, 
 though even he could scarcely fall into 
 temptation in that sweet spot, he thought. 
 
 Cyril announced his intention of walking 
 into Oldport that bright morning, and Lilian, 
 of course, was to go part of the way with 
 him. Everard had been asked to shoot over 
 some of the Swaynestone covers, and rather 
 surprised Cyril, who knew that his friend 
 liked sport, by saying that he had declined
 
 232 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 
 
 the shooting-party, and wanted to join the 
 pedestrians. 
 
 " You had far better shoot, Henry," he 
 said ; *' a mere walk is a stupid thing for 
 }ou. You have had no amusement whatever 
 since you have been here." 
 
 " To-morrow we plunge into a vortex of 
 dissipation," said Everard. " Will you give 
 me the first dance, Lilian ? By the way, I 
 suppose his reverence has given up these 
 frivolities." 
 
 " Oh, I shall dance at Woodlands to- 
 morrow," replied Cyril. "Just two square 
 dances with Marion, and then, I suppose, 
 farewell to such delights." 
 
 " I cannot say that I like to see a clergy- 
 man dancing," observed his father, " though 
 I danced myself till I was forty, and should 
 enjoy a turn with the young people even now." 
 
 " Then, let us have a quiet carpet-dance 
 while the boys are here," said Lilian; "just the 
 Swaynestones and Garretts and Marion, and 
 father shall dance with each of us in turn." 
 
 " Oh yes!" cried Everard; and Cyril chimed
 
 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 233 
 
 in with great animation, " Just one more 
 fling for me ; " and Mr. Maitland went off 
 laughing, and saying he had nothing to do 
 with it — they must ask their mother, and 
 Lennie and Winnie jumped for joy, and an- 
 nounced that they should not go to bed 
 before their elders, and the little fete was 
 regarded as a pleasant certainty. 
 
 Cyril kept them waiting some minutes 
 after the appointed time for starting. He had 
 important letters to write, he said ; and when 
 at last he appeared, his face was full of care 
 and perplexity. In the mean time, Lilian and 
 Everard were very happy on the sunny lawn 
 together, visiting the invalid donkey and 
 other animals, and wandering about their old 
 playground, past the spot where the twins 
 used to play at Robinson Crusoe, and where 
 Everard helped them build a hut, and re- 
 calling a thousand pleasant memories of their 
 childish labours and sports. There was hoar- 
 frost on the delicate branches of the leafless 
 trees, and the sunshine was broken into a 
 thousand jewel-like radiances by the little
 
 234 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 
 
 sharp facets of the ice-crystals. There was an 
 unwonted sparkle also in Lilian's eyes, and 
 a deeper glow on her cheeks than usual. The 
 air was like wine. 
 
 • The blacksmith was clinking merrily at his 
 glowing forge as they passed along the road, 
 and his blithe music carried far in the still 
 air. Granfer was sunning himself outside, 
 according to custom, ready for a chat with 
 anybody, and commanding from his position 
 a view of all the approaches to the village. 
 Hale, the wheelwright, was there, getting 
 some ironwork done, and turned with Granfer 
 to look after the trio. 
 
 " -Ay," observed the latter, shaking his 
 head wisely, " a viner pair than they twins 
 o' ourn you never see, John Hale, so well 
 matched they be as Sir Lionel's bays." 
 
 " A pretty pair," replied the wheelwright ; 
 " but give me the doctor. There's muscle 
 and build ! " 
 
 " Ay," echoed Straun, between the rhythmic 
 hammer-strokes ; "a man like he's a credit 
 to his vittles."
 
 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 235 
 
 The young doctor's appearance certainly 
 justified tliis observation, and his walk and 
 bearing fully set off the robust manliness of 
 his athletic frame, which was further en- 
 hanced by contrast with Cyril's slender grace. 
 The friends were of similar height, but 
 Henry's shoulders were higher, and made 
 him look taller ; his chest and back were far 
 broader than Cyril's, and his well-balanced 
 limbs were hard with muscle. The suit of 
 grey which he wore gave him breadth, and 
 displayed his form more fully than did Cyril's 
 black broadcloth of severe clerical cut, which 
 had, moreover, the well-known effect of 
 lessening the outlines of the figure. The 
 delicate glow which the sparkling air had 
 called into Cyril's worn cheek was very 
 different from the firm hue of health in 
 Henry's honest face ; and the fearless, frank 
 gaze of his bright brown eyes, and the light 
 brown moustache, looking golden in the sun- 
 shine, gave him an older look than Cyril's 
 clean-shaven features wore. 
 
 Hale observed to Granfer that whoever
 
 236 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 
 
 attacked the doctor on a dark night would 
 find him an ugly customer, which Grranfer 
 admitted, adding that Cyril's strength all went 
 to brain-power, in which he was supreme. 
 Lilian also observed Henry's athletic appear- 
 ance in contrast with her brother's slight 
 build, and then she remembered how the 
 friends but the day before had been playing 
 with the children in the hall, and the fragile- 
 looking Cyril had given his muscular friend 
 a blow so clean and straight and well-planted 
 that the doctor had gone down like a ninepin 
 before it, to the great amusement of the 
 children and satisfaction of Everard. 
 
 Farmer Long was driving into Oldport in 
 his gig, and there beside him sat Mr. Marvyn, 
 charmed to see his three pupils together. 
 " I shall not see you again, Henry," he said 
 regretfully, " unless you stay over Sunday. 
 I only came back for the entertainment 
 yesterday. I have a parson's week to finish. 
 Cyril I shall see again." And so they parted 
 with regret, since Everard was greatly 
 attached to his old tutor, who had encouraged
 
 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 237 
 
 and developed his taste for natural science, 
 and upheld him in his choice of a profession. 
 " And I wanted to tell old Marvyn about my 
 germ theory," Everard said, as the gig dis- 
 appeared. 
 
 " You will be able to tell the whole world 
 soon," replied Lilian, to whom the theory 
 had been confided and explained that very 
 morning. 
 
 " Not yet," said Everard ; " it takes years 
 of patient study and experiment to verify a 
 scientific theory." 
 
 " Old Hal always was a patient fellow," 
 Cyril observed. " Do you remember the rows 
 about his dissections in his bedroom, Lill ? " 
 
 Lilian replied that she remembered the 
 odours, and they all laughed over the old 
 schoolroom jokes and catastrophes, and were 
 very happy as they climbed the hillside by 
 a field-path, leaving the road below them. 
 Afterwards Everard remembered the rare and 
 affectionate expression, " Old Hal." And now 
 in the bright sunshine he was pleased to see 
 Cyril so like his old self, careless, cordial.
 
 238 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 
 
 and light-hearted, all the asceticism and sad- 
 ness put away ; ambition, toil, and care com- 
 pletely forgotten. He knew that Cyril loved 
 Marion truly, and would be happy with her, 
 and yet it struck him that morning that his 
 strong, half-instinctive affection for his twin 
 sister touched a yet deeper chord in his 
 nature. Now that Marion was away, there 
 was a greater ease about the twins ; each 
 seemed to develop the other's thoughts in 
 some mysterious manner. They laughed to 
 each other, and walked hand-in-hand like 
 children, seeing everything through each 
 other's eyes — the still, sunny winter fields 
 and brown woods stretching away to the sea, 
 the flocks of weird white sea-gulls, the occa- 
 sional rabbit or pheasant starting up before 
 them, the larks, silent now, fluttering over 
 the grassy furrows^ the bright berries in 
 copse and hedgerow, the sheep peacefully 
 munching the mangolds a solitary shepherd 
 was cutting for them in a lonely field. They 
 called each other Cyll and Lill, abbreviations 
 none else ever used ; they contradicted each
 
 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 239 
 
 other as they never dreamed of contradicting 
 anybody else. 
 
 Everard walked along, sometimes by their 
 side, sometimes behind them, as the nature 
 of the path obliged, and listened to them 
 and loved them. The twins were never so 
 delicious to him as when tog:ether in his 
 familiar presence, of which they seemed to 
 make no account. So long as those two 
 could meet together thus, an immortal child- 
 hood would be theirs, he thought ; age could 
 never rob the beautiful bond between them 
 of its bloom. Presently they quarrelled. 
 Lilian sat on a felled tree in the woods 
 through which they were passing ; Cyril 
 leant up against a tree ; and Everard looked 
 on with amusement, and loved them all the 
 more in their childishness. 
 
 " Oh, you babes in the wood ! " he cried 
 at last ; whereupon Cyril flashed upon him 
 one of his droll glances, and laughed. 
 
 " Come, Lill," he said, " I forgive you this 
 time." 
 
 Absolute harmony and utter unconscious-
 
 240 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 
 
 ness of past anger was established between 
 tbem on the instant, and Everard was 
 amused to hear them plunge straightway 
 into a grave discussion upon the limits of 
 free-will. 
 
 They were now high on the crest of the 
 hill, and could see the lovely stretches of 
 down sweeping away to the unseen sea on 
 one side, while on the other the Swaynestone 
 lands sloped down with wood and park and 
 farmstead till they merged in the horizon, 
 which was broken here and there by tiny 
 blue bays of inland sea on the north. 
 
 There was no sound ; all the song-birds, 
 even the robin, were hushed by the frost, and 
 the whole landscape lay silent before them, 
 folded in the awful purity of winter sunshine. 
 The shadows in the hills and woods were blue, 
 and distant objects looked immensely far in 
 the violet haze of the winter morning. Here 
 they paused, deep in their argument, and 
 looked down over the tranquil woods and 
 saw the white front of Swaynestone House 
 gleaming in the sun.
 
 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 241 
 
 Down in a low-lying fallow field there 
 were some black specks motionless in the 
 furrows ; suddenly they rose in a black cloud 
 of wings, and there were a hundred silver 
 flashes against the belt of coppice bordering 
 the field. Higher still the cloud rose, and 
 swift gleams of black and silver flashed in 
 rhythmic sequence against the pure blue of 
 the sky, and the weird wail of the plover 
 was heard faintly, as the flock floated in a 
 dazzle of white bodies and black wings over 
 the coppice till they reached another field, 
 into the furrows of which they dropped 
 motionless. While Everard and Lilian were 
 watching the plovers, they did not observe 
 that Oyril plunged into the wood behind 
 them and put his hand into the hollow of a 
 tree. 
 
 "" I was looking for a squirrel's nest," he 
 said, strolling back again. ''Listen; I will 
 imitate a chaffinch." 
 
 It was a trick they used to practice when 
 parted from each other in the woods, and 
 they looked down over the roof of the 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 242 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 
 
 Temple, which lay among the trees below 
 them, and thought of their old rambles for 
 nuts and blackberries, when little Alma 
 would often join them and tell them where 
 to find heavy-laden boughs and brambles. 
 Suddenly from among the trees rose the call 
 of another chaffinch, exactly corresponding to 
 Cyril's. 
 
 " Some children at play," said Cyril, care- 
 lessly ; " Lennie and Winnie, perhaps. They 
 were going to Swaynestone to slide. I must 
 get on, Everard ; I have a lot to do in 
 Oldport." 
 
 " ' Jog on, jog on, tlie footpath way. 
 And merrily hent the stile-a : 
 A merry heart goes all the day. 
 Your sad tires in a mile-a,' " 
 
 Everard sang out in his deep voice, as the 
 
 trio continued their walk at a mended pace. 
 
 After another mile through hanging woods 
 
 of beech and sycamore, they descended a hill 
 
 and climbed another crested with coppice, 
 
 through which they passed, brushing the 
 
 heavy hoar-frost from the dead leaves and 
 
 twigs as they went, and pausing for Lilian
 
 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 243 
 
 to sliow them tlie haunt of a little wren in 
 a bank. The tiny bird, attracted by some 
 crumbs sprinkled on her muff, came cautiously 
 out, climbed up her arm, pecked its dainty 
 meal, and suffered itself to be raised on the 
 muff to the level of her face, in which it 
 gazed confidingly, even venturing to peck at 
 a little stray fluff of a curl which stole over 
 her neck. Everard and Maitland stood apart 
 and watched this pleasant comedy. 
 
 " You had the same power over animals as 
 Lilian," Everard observed to Cyril. " What 
 is its secret, I wonder ? " 
 
 " There are three moral factors," replied 
 Cyril : " perfect self-control, that warm and 
 intelligent affection which we call sympathy, 
 and innocence. Lilian is the most guileless 
 human being on the face of this earth. There 
 must also be some physical attraction, I sus- 
 pect — some mesmeric or electric power, of 
 which we know little." 
 
 " But surely you possess the three moral 
 factors ; how is it you have lost your power ? 
 Lilian was saying only last night that the
 
 244 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 
 
 good draw nearer heaven with increasing 
 years, and you, whose life has been not 
 merely stainless, but austere " 
 
 " Henry," interrupted Cyril, in his most 
 pathetic voice, " I am a man ! " 
 
 Lilian had replaced her tiny friend at its 
 house-door, and now joined the young men, 
 who went on their way, Everard struck and 
 startled by the heart-broken accent Cyril laid 
 on the word man, and wondering if the 
 morbid tone he had of late detected in the 
 young priest's mind did not almost verge on 
 insanity. 
 
 At the end of the coppice through which 
 they were passing was a stile standing on 
 a steep bank, which led by rough steps down 
 into the high-road, and here they parted, the 
 twins once more falling into discord, each 
 offering Henry as a companion to the other, 
 and declining to selfishly appropriate him, 
 until he laughingly suggested that he was 
 no mere chattel, but a being endowed with 
 will ; also that his will decided to take the 
 homeward path with Lilian — a decision which
 
 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 245 
 
 evidently satisfied Cyril, who sprang down 
 the steep bank, and turned, on reaching the 
 road, to the stile — over which the other two 
 leaned — with a laughing face, and lifted his 
 hat in his own graceful manner. They gazed 
 after the light, well-carried figure for a 
 moment or two, little imagining how all the 
 light died out of the bright young face when 
 it turned from them, what a weight of trouble 
 lined the clear brow and drew down the 
 corners of the delicate mouth, and added ten 
 years, at least, to his apparent age, and then 
 they began to retrace their steps through the 
 wood. 
 
 " It is like old times," Lilian observed. 
 " Cyril and I are growing old and wise, 
 Henry ; we are seldom like that now. We 
 seem to grow apart, which we must expect." 
 
 " ' The old order changeth, giving place to 
 new,' "quoted Everard. "The new may be 
 better, but one does not like to part with 
 the old," he added falteringly, after a pause. 
 
 " The old — was good," replied Lilian, 
 rather absently ; and the perfect self-command
 
 246 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 
 
 of which her brother had spoken suddenly 
 deserted her, with the consciousness that the 
 story of her life and love was approaching a 
 crisis, and the two walked on in silence. 
 
 Everard's bright spirits seemed to have 
 flown onwards in the wake of Cyril, his heart 
 sank down like a thing of lead, and a dread- 
 ful vision of all his sins and shortcomings, 
 his weaknesses and failings, rose ghastly and 
 oppressive before him. Henry Everard ap- 
 peared to him as the merest rag of a man — 
 the most complete failure that ever issued 
 from the workshops of nature and education. 
 He stole a glance at Lilian, walking with her 
 light step and airy carriage by his side ; a 
 sweet picture of sinless womanhood, her 
 cheek flushed with purest rose by exercise, 
 her eyes cast down contrary to their wont, 
 her hair touched into golden tints by the 
 sunlight, and the outline of her form traced 
 clearly against a background of frosted hazel 
 boughs, and his spirit died within him. 
 AVhat had he to offer her ? How could he 
 ever dare? And yet Lilian turned
 
 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 247 
 
 under the stress of his ardent gaze, and met 
 his eyes for one swift moment ; then her looks 
 resumed their commerce with the mossy, 
 frost- veined path, and a rich rush of crimson 
 flooded her face. 
 
 ^' LiHan," began Henry, breathlessly, " we 
 have been great friends all our lives." 
 
 ^' Yes," replied Lilian, regaining her natural 
 mental poise ; " Cyril and I always appro- 
 priate each other's goods." 
 
 '^ Supposing Cyril out of the question." he 
 added hastily, " would you not care for — 
 value my friendship ? In short, am I not 
 your own personal friend ? Don't you care 
 a little for me for my own sake, Lilian ? " 
 
 " Indeed I do, dear Henry," she replied, 
 a little tremulously. " There is no friend for 
 whom I — whom I value more highly. That 
 is — yes, we are real friends." 
 
 " You were always dear to me, very dear — 
 as dear as Marion herself," continued Henry ; 
 "but you have become the dearest of all 
 since I scarcely know when — the very dearest 
 human being on earth. Oh, Lilian, the truth
 
 248 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 
 
 is that I love you with all my heart ! I have 
 loved you long ; I cannot tell when I began." 
 " That is not the important question," 
 returned Lilian, with a little smile dawning 
 about her lips and eyes. "The question is, 
 how long do you mean to go on ? " 
 
 The same quaint, half-humorous, half- 
 pathetic expression which so often lighted 
 Cyril's pale blue eyes now gleamed from 
 Lilian's gray orbs, moistened with the sweet 
 dew which so frequently enhanced their lustre, 
 and even in that passionate moment Henry 
 observed this, and thought how closely his 
 love and his friendship were bound together, 
 and realized that Cyril was dearer than ever 
 lo him now that Lilian was his. 
 
 The answer to Lilian's playful earnest was 
 the old immemorial assertion of lovers, re- 
 peated with endless delightful iteration, long 
 drawn out w^th Heaven knows how much 
 unnecessary sweetness. The old unvarying 
 song the birds sing every spring, with a fresh 
 charm that never cloys, though the white- 
 headed man heard it in his childhood, and in
 
 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 249 
 
 the days when he too swelled the many- voiced 
 marriage hymn which ascends perpetually 
 from the youth and strength of earth ; the 
 old eternal song which is yet the freshest 
 sound that ever falls on the ear of youth, and 
 fills it with a sweet bewildered surprise ;* the 
 theme which changed Eden from a prison to 
 a home ; — this delicious melody was sung over 
 again in the wintry woods that day, when all 
 the birds were hushed by the frost, and the 
 earth lay still in its winter trance. 
 
 The singing of this pleasant duet took a 
 long time, and the low midwinter sun passed 
 its meridian and travelled some distance on 
 its westward way, while they strolled slowly 
 on with many pauses, slowly enough to chill 
 blood not warmed by the current of vital 
 flame which young Love sends through the 
 veins, until they reached the spot above the 
 Temple, where they watched the plovers' 
 flight in the morning. They paused there. 
 
 At that moment a delicate music floated up 
 from the valley, the well-known, cheery 
 chiming of the waggon-bells. Nearer and
 
 250 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 
 
 nearer the golden harmony swelled, stronger 
 and stronger the fairy peals waxed, as the 
 team approached on its way along the high- 
 road to Oldport, till the soft chimes came 
 tumbling in the full power of their sweet 
 turbulence upon the clear, still air. 
 
 " Those are our wedding-bells," said 
 Everard, as they passed on and let the 
 melodious clashing die away behind them in 
 the distance. ^' It is a good omen,"
 
 THE SILEKCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 251 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 The irony of fate will often have it so that 
 when life gains its culminating point of 
 happiness, it is but one degree from the 
 darkest hour of overthrow ; just as the blossom 
 has reached its sweetest bloom, the blighting 
 frost comes, and all is over. When Everard 
 and Lilian exchanged the promise whose 
 sweetness was to live through so many dark 
 and lonely years, they little dreamed that any 
 peril was near them in the silent wood. They 
 saw no crouching figure trembling behind 
 the hazel bushes ; they did not guess that 
 any eye, save those of the wild creatures of 
 the wood, witnessed their betrothal ; and 
 they went on their way rejoicing, making 
 plans for the happy future they were to 
 spend side by side.
 
 252 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 
 
 When Ben Lee went home to dinner that 
 day, the young groom, Judkins, accompanied 
 him, as he often did now, finding a strange 
 solace to his own grief in that of the troubled 
 father, and pleased that the old man turned 
 to him for consolation. He usually left Lee 
 at the door, but on this occasion Mrs. Lee 
 came out and beckoned him in. 
 
 " She's gone to meet him," she said ex- 
 citedly. "• She made believe to go and gather 
 a bit of brushwood in the garden, and she's 
 off up the hill to the wood. He must have 
 passed an hour ago, and there was the 
 whistle of a chaffinch for signal. I heard her 
 whistle back, the deceitful faggot, though 
 she thought I was safe out of the way, and 
 she's been watching for an opportunity ever 
 since. Straight up the hill she went, Lee, 
 not twenty minutes gone." 
 
 While Mrs. Lee was speaking, the two men 
 had followed her through the house, and now 
 stood in the back garden, whence they could 
 see the whole slope of the hill, with its 
 woody crest traced clear against the blue
 
 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 253 
 
 midday sky. Beneath this crest the trees 
 had been cleared in a straight, broad strip 
 about the breadth of the little garden. 
 
 " Look here, Ben ! " cried Judkins, seizing 
 the arm of Lee, who was striding rapidly 
 through the garden, and was about to ascend 
 the treeless slope ; " don't you do nothing 
 rash, now." 
 
 Lee's face was purple, and he shook the 
 younger man off with a muttered oath, when 
 the latter once more caught him by the arm, 
 and pointed upwards, with a cry. 
 
 " I knew it ; I always knew it. The damned 
 scoundrel ! " 
 
 Just within the shadow of the wood, which 
 partly screened them, were two figures, the 
 inner and less seen, that of a woman in dark 
 winter clothing ; the outer, that of a man in 
 a suit of grey. The light hazel twigs im- 
 pinged but slightly on the latter figure, so 
 that its outline was distinctly seen, and the 
 face itself was even visible sideways for a 
 moment. The female figure, on the contrary, 
 with the face hidden in the other's arm, and
 
 254 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAliTD. 
 
 its dark outlines less striking by their colour, 
 could only be guessed at. The vision lasted 
 but a moment ; the figures moved on over 
 the woodland path. The hazels were denser 
 there, and the path turned into the wood, so 
 that the pair were gradually hidden, and soon 
 completely vanished from sight. 
 
 " I'm witness, mind," Judkins muttered, 
 while Lee groaned aloud. '• You and me saw 
 him go through the village this morning in 
 those grey clothes and that hat." 
 
 So saying, the young man turned and 
 went rapidly back, avoiding the garden, and 
 plunging into the shadow of the trees which 
 bordered it on either side, while Lee toiled 
 up the hill. He had not gone far before 
 Alma appeared at the spot where the hazels 
 grew thin, and issued from the wood. She 
 started slightly when she saw her father, but 
 soon regained her composure, and advanced 
 towards him. 
 
 " What were you doing in the wood ? " he 
 asked harshly. 
 
 " I only went up for a little fresh air this 
 fine day," she replied gently.
 
 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 255 
 
 " Went up to hear the birds sing, perhaps," 
 lie continued, with savage sarcasm. 
 
 " There are no birds singing now," said 
 Alma, sadly. " Even the robin is silent in 
 the frost." 
 
 " Ay, and the chaffinch. Who were you 
 speaking to a minute ago ? " 
 
 " Nobody," she replied, looking surprised. 
 
 " That's a damned lie. Alma ! " 
 
 " I have spoken to no human being but 
 you and mother this week past," said Alma, 
 in a tone of weary apathy. 
 
 They had reached the garden now, and 
 Alma went in, scarcely hearing the impreca- 
 tion that burst from her maddened father's 
 lips. 
 
 Lee remained behind her ; then re-ascended 
 the hill and picked up a little scrap of paper 
 he had seen Alma tear in halves and drop 
 when she thought herself unobserved. He 
 pieced it together, and read, written in a 
 disguised, backward-slanting hand, " At dusk 
 to-night. The old spot. Important." 
 
 " Oh, Alma ! " he cried ; " my pretty
 
 256 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 
 
 Alma ! my only child ! " Then he turned 
 back, his brow darkening as he went, till 
 the momentary tenderness was quite effaced, 
 and he muttered fiercely beneath his breath, 
 " I'll kill him ! I'll kill him ! " 
 
 It was late when the unconscious lovers 
 reached home. The bell was ringing for 
 luncheon, and Mark Antony wa& sitting on 
 the doorstep, looking very cross at his 
 mistress's delay ; for he was a cat of regular 
 habits, and particularly disliked waiting for 
 meals. He received Lilian rather distantly, 
 accepted Henry's caress with haughty dis- 
 dain, and then boxed Snip's ears for barking 
 inopportunely. 
 
 " Oh, I say, Henry ! " cried Lennie, who 
 was bounding into the dining-room with 
 fresh-brushed hair and clean collar, " ain't 
 you in a mess ? " 
 
 Henry had slipped on a damp bank by a 
 stream, in trying to gather some ivy coloured 
 crimson and gold for Lilian, and a great 
 brown-and-green stain showed strikingly on 
 the knee of his grey suit. In two bounds
 
 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 257 
 
 he was in his room, and in three seconds 
 out of the stained suit and into another, 
 consisting of a black coat and lower garments 
 of the same tone of grey as those discarded. 
 The grey suit was folded neatly and placed 
 on a chair ; and he appeared at the table in 
 less than five minutes in that perfect neatness 
 and cleanliness which so especially distinguish 
 the English gentleman. 
 
 No one observed his change of dress, though 
 everybody had noticed the morning's grey suit. 
 It was rather light in colour for the season, 
 according to the fashion of that day, and had 
 commended itself to Everard from the sense 
 of cleanliness that light colours always 
 afforded him. Lilian, indeed, observed that 
 the grey coat was replaced by a black one, 
 and, in speculating afterwards on the subject, 
 she came to the conclusion that the black 
 had probably been assumed for indoor wear, 
 as being cooler than the thick frieze. 
 
 Marion appeared at luncheon, having 
 dropped in on her way to Oldport, where 
 she had errands in connection with the New 
 
 VOL. I. S
 
 258 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 
 
 Year's ball at Woodlands. She made a 
 charming little face of disappointment at the 
 non-appearance of Cyril ; but the disappoint- 
 ment by no means spoilt her appetite, and 
 she kept them all alive by her sprightly 
 conversation and playful, endearing ways. 
 She petted Mr. Maitland in a most enchant- 
 ing manner ; teased the children and the 
 cat ; was impertinent to Lilian when gently 
 rebuked for these misdemeanours ; snubbed 
 her brother, according to her usual custom ; 
 and was very tender in the little cares she 
 lavished on Mrs. Maitland. Her vivacity, 
 and the bright, warm-coloured style of her 
 beauty, and the aerial lightness of her form 
 made a good foil to Lilian's repose and gentle 
 dignity, the quieter tones of her colouring, 
 and the more majestic development of her 
 figure. 
 
 Everard regarded his sister as a charming 
 wayward child, loved her little rebellious 
 ways, and put up contentedly with all her 
 naughtiness. He was six years her senior, 
 and had been the youngest of the family till
 
 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 259 
 
 her birth, which cost their mother her life ; 
 and then the orphan baby became the object 
 of his tenderest care, and he soothed away 
 his own sorrowful sense of orphanhood by 
 hovering over the tiny sister's slumbers, and 
 amusing her waking moments by all kinds 
 of childish devices. It was partly for the 
 baby's sake that he was never sent to school ; 
 partly also in obedience to the request of his 
 dead mother, who judged, from her experience 
 of the elder boys, that the benefits of public 
 schools were overbalanced by their contamina- 
 tions and temptations. All his life he had 
 been Marion's devoted slave, and, like other 
 despots, she received his devotion with a 
 satisfaction not unmingled with contempt. 
 
 " What on earth is Cyril doing in Oldport 
 all day ? " Marion asked. " What business 
 can he possibly have ? " 
 
 " Upon my word, I cannot imagine," 
 replied Mr. Maitland, who had not considered 
 the subject before. 
 
 And Marion's question set Everard think- 
 ing. Cyril was not likely to make many
 
 260 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 
 
 purchases in the little country town ; his 
 affairs were in the hands of London lawyers ; 
 he could not want money ; he had no friends 
 there; in short, it was very odd that he 
 should spend the day in a little market town 
 on business that could not be postponed, and 
 so miss the partly expected' visit of Marion. 
 
 Marion, however, carried Mr. Maitland off 
 with her after luncheon, on his remembering 
 that he had certain commissions to execute, 
 and Lilian drove to Swaynestone to pay her 
 long-promised call on Lady Swaynestone, 
 and advise her about her charities according 
 to her request. She had a thousand things 
 to do, and was much troubled that she could 
 not visit a certain Widow Dove, who lived 
 in a lonely cottage on the down, that after- 
 noon, and carry her a little present of money. 
 So Henry, finding that he could not be 
 allowed to accompany Lilian to Lady Swayne- 
 stone'sj since the ladies wished to discuss 
 business, offered to be Lilian's almoner, 
 and was eagerly accepted. 
 
 He saw Lilian and the children off in the
 
 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 261 
 
 pony-carriage, and tlien betook himself to 
 writing some letters in the room called 
 Lilian's ; and, having done this, he re- 
 membered that Lilian had lamented having 
 no time to frame and hang the photograph 
 of Gruercino's picture, and did this for her, 
 the frame having been already furnished by 
 the village carpenter. 
 
 In the mean time, at about three o'clock, 
 Cyril appeared in the drawing-room, where 
 Mrs. Maitland was lying on her couch. He 
 had finished his business, got some luncheon 
 at Oldport, and been picked up just out of 
 the town by Farmer Long, who drove him 
 home in his gig, he said. Then, after ten 
 minutes' chat with his mother, he went to his 
 room, teUing her that he wished to get a 
 sermon ready for the next Sunday, when he 
 was to be at work again, and requesting that 
 he might not be disturbed till dinner. 
 
 All this Mrs. Maitland told Everard, when 
 he looked into the drawing-room a few 
 minutes later. 
 
 " I begged him to put off his sermon-
 
 262 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 
 
 writing till another day," she said, " for he 
 looked woefully haggard and weary ; but I 
 could not persuade him. He says he feels so 
 burdened until he has got his Sunday's 
 sermons off his mind. Just like his father. 
 He always does his sermons on Monday, if 
 he can, and feels a free man for the rest of 
 the week." 
 
 " It is rather odd," Everard observed, 
 '' that Cyril should spend so much time in 
 writing his sermons ; for he is supposed to 
 be an extempore preacher." 
 
 " Last Sunday's sermon was certainly 
 extempore," his mother replied ; " he had 
 some manuscript, but scarcely referred to it 
 more than once. I wonder if I am a very 
 foolish old woman, Henry, for thinking that 
 Cyril has a really singular gift in preaching ? 
 His voice appears to me to be something 
 quite out of the common. And I have heard 
 John Bright's oratory, and Gladstone's, and 
 D'Israeli's, the best preachers in our own 
 Church, and those brilliant Roman Catholics 
 who attracted such crowds to Notre Dame."
 
 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 263 
 
 " I think, Mrs. Maitland," replied Everard, 
 who was rather distraught in his manner, 
 since he was nerving himself to introduce the 
 topic of his engagement, " that Cyril will be 
 reckoned the greatest preacher in the Church 
 of England." 
 
 Then some people called, and Everard 
 made his escape as soon as he decently could, 
 and at about a quarter to four he started on 
 his walk to Widow Dove's with a light heart. 
 His road was, as far as the wood above the 
 Temple, the same as that he had pursued so 
 happily with Lilian an hour or two before, 
 and it filled him with unspeakable rapture to 
 recall the delightful incidents in his morning 
 walk as he went, so that he was dreamy and 
 unobservant, and scarcely spoke to the people 
 he met on his solitary ramble, a thing very 
 unusual with him. 
 
 The sun was declining redly and with 
 great pomp of cloud scenery in the west — a 
 glorious ending, he thought, of the happiest 
 of happy years ; and that was the only clue 
 he had to the time of his starting, when
 
 264 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 
 
 referring in memory to this fatal walk, since 
 he omitted, in his dreamy abstraction, to look 
 at his watch, though he was naturally so 
 precise in his habits, and had such a keen 
 sense of the passage of time. 
 
 When he reached Widow Dove's lonely 
 dwelling, he found it cold and dark, the 
 door shut, and no smoke issuing from the 
 chimney ; the widow and her daughter were 
 evidently gone away for a day or two. He 
 felt a sort of eerie shiver at the darkness and 
 gloom of the solitary homestead, though he 
 little dreamt that his fate or the fate of 
 those he loved could be influenced by a 
 circumstance so trifling as the emptiness of a 
 secluded cottage. 
 
 Then he turned his face homewards in 
 the gathering dusk, choosing another way 
 from that by which he came, by that strange 
 fatality which pursues doomed men, and 
 strode gaily and swiftly along over the open 
 down, every dimple and hollow of which 
 were familiar to him from boyhood. Some 
 stars were out now, sparkling keenly in the
 
 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 265 
 
 clear, frosty sky, in which the moon had not 
 yet risen. Over hedge and ditch, and through 
 copses, and round plantations Everard sped 
 blithely, until he approached the high-road 
 leading to Malbourne. Here his pace slack- 
 ened, and he listened carefully for the sound 
 of Long's waggon-bells, which he thought 
 would carry far in the frosty stillness. 
 
 But there was no repetition of the fairy 
 peals which rang so blithely in the morning, 
 and he got as far as the wheelwright's 
 corner without having heard them. Grove, 
 the waggoner, was to bring him a parcel 
 from Oldport, a little parcel that he feared 
 might be forgotten if he did not intercept it. 
 Here he met Grranfer, toiling slowly along 
 on his way to spend the evening at Hale's, 
 whose wife was one of his numerous de- 
 scendants. Had Granfer heard the team go 
 by ? he asked. 
 
 " No, I ain't a yeard 'em since this 
 marning, zo to zay ; not as I knows on, 
 Dr. Everard," Granfer replied, with his usual 
 circumlocution. " I 'lows I yeared 'em's
 
 266 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 
 
 marning, zure enougli. They was a-gwine 
 into Oldport, as I hreckons, as you med zay 
 zumwheres about noon or thereabouts. No, 
 I 'lows I ain't a-yeared nor a bell zince that 
 there ; not as I knows on, I ain't." 
 
 After some further conversation, Everard 
 strolled slowly on in the direction of Long's 
 farm, full of anxiety about his precious packet, 
 which he knew would fade. Near Long's he 
 heard that the team had returned some time 
 before, and his packet had been sent to the 
 Eectory. 
 
 Striking across the fields, he returned in 
 the deepening night, without going through 
 the village, and, meeting with a little delay 
 in consequence of an old gap having been 
 recently stopped in a fence — a good stiff 
 bullfinch — he gained the Rectory at about 
 six o'clock, thus missing, to his disgust^ the 
 charmed hour of tea. There, when he entered, 
 was the precious little box on the hall table, 
 and he caught it up, and was going to un- 
 fasten it in his room, when Winnie waylaid 
 him at the foot of the stairs, eager for a romp,
 
 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 267 
 
 which romp resulted in Winnie, while being- 
 tossed high in air, throwing back her head 
 and striking him a tremendous blow in the 
 eye with it, so that he set her hastily down 
 with an exclamation of pain, and put his hand 
 to his face. 
 
 " You've done it now, Winnie ; blinded 
 me," he said. 
 
 " Oh, Henry, I am so sorry ! " sobbed 
 Winnie. " And they won't let me go to 
 Long's tea-party to-morrow ; it was only on 
 Sunday I made Ingram Swaynestone's nose 
 bleed." 
 
 " Never mind, darling/' said Everard, kiss- 
 ing and soothing her ; " it was not your fault 
 at all." 
 
 Then he promised to let no one know 
 of his black eye, and to do his best to cure 
 it ; to which intent he procured raw meat 
 from the kitchen, and went to his room, 
 taking Winnie with him to help him unpack 
 the parcel, which contained some choice 
 white flowers. These he bid the child take 
 to her sister at once, while he shut himself
 
 268 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 
 
 up, and tried to subdue the rising inflamma- 
 tion in the bruised eye to the best of his 
 ability. 
 
 He was anxious to avoid such an ornament 
 as a black eye on his own account, as well 
 as the child's, since a black eye does not 
 improve a man's appearance at a ball, nor 
 is it in keeping with popular ideas of a newly 
 accepted lover. So he doctored himself till 
 it was time to get ready for dinner, and then, 
 seeing the grey suit lie on the chair as he 
 had placed it in the morning, he sponged the 
 green stain away from it. Scarcely had he 
 done this when he saw other stains, some still 
 wet, and, procuring some fresh water, sponged 
 these also. The water was red when he 
 finished. 
 
 " Blood," he thought, being well used to 
 such stains. ''Did I cut myself anywhere, I 
 wonder ? " 
 
 He did not, however, waste much thought 
 on this trivial incident, but sponged the 
 garments clean in his tidy way, and left the 
 crimsoned water in the basin, where it subse-
 
 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 269 
 
 quently gave Martha, the housemaid, what 
 she described as a turn. Then he made his 
 appearance in the drawing-room, carefully 
 avoiding the lights, and gave rather a lame 
 account of himself since his return from the 
 fruitless errand to Widow Dove's. He was 
 rewarded for his labour on Lilian's behalf, by 
 the sweetest smile in the world, and was 
 enchanted to observe at dinner that Lilian 
 wore one of the white roses from his bouquet 
 in her dress. 
 
 Cyril did not appear at dinner; he sent 
 word that one of his bad headaches had come 
 on, and begged that he might be undisturbed 
 for the night. 
 
 " Poor dear Cyril ! " said Lilian ; " it is so 
 hard for a man to have headaches. His are 
 like mine ; nothing but quiet heals them." 
 
 " Their very headaches are twins," Mr. 
 Maitland observed. " Why, Henry," he 
 added, " what have you done to your eye ? 
 You appear to have been in the wars, man." 
 
 Winnie, who was standing by the fire, 
 here threw an imploring glance at Henry,
 
 270 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 
 
 and completely scattered what few talents he 
 had ever possessed for dissimulation. 
 
 " I — I — I knocked my head against some- 
 thing in the dark," he stammered ; '' I — it 
 was purely accidental." 
 
 " What a nasty blow ! " said Lilian, ob- 
 serving it ; " you will have a black eye. What 
 a pity ! Ah, sir ! perhaps that accounts for 
 your rudeness to me this evening." 
 
 "My rudeness, Lilian? What can you 
 mean ? " asked Henry. 
 
 " Yes, your incivility to me, and also to 
 Mark Antony, who was actually doing you 
 the honour of running to meet you — the 
 haughty Mark himself Think of that ! " 
 
 " I can only apologize to both with the 
 deepest humility," he replied, stroking the 
 petted animal, who was dining with his usual 
 urbane condescension at Lilian's side ; " but 
 indeed I am quite innocent, having seen 
 neither you nor puss since you started for 
 Swaynestone." 
 
 Then Lilian told how at tea-time, on pass- 
 ing from the back regions towards the
 
 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 271 
 
 drawing-room, accompanied by her usual 
 body-guard, Mark Antony, she had seen Henry 
 run across the back hall towards the staircase ; 
 had called to him about Widow Dove's com- 
 mission ; while the cat, with a mew of delight, 
 had bounded after him. He had rushed on, 
 however, in the dusk, a grey, ghost-like figure, 
 and flitted up the stairs to his room, followed 
 by Mark, whom he expelled ignominiously, 
 shutting the door after him. 
 
 " You must be under some delusion," 
 replied Henry, utterly confounded. " I saw 
 no cat when I came in." 
 
 " It was growing very dark," Lilian said, 
 *' and Martha was late in lighting the hall- 
 lamp to-night, for which, indeed, I afterwards 
 rebuked her." 
 
 " The lamps were lighted " Henry 
 
 began, and then stopped at the sight of 
 Winnie, who was gesticulating in an agonized 
 manner behind her mother's chair. " This 
 sounds extremely ghost-like," he added ; " I 
 hope it bodes me no misfortune. It must 
 have been my wraith, Lilian."
 
 272 TEE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 
 
 " It sounds rather eerie, certainly," inter- 
 posed Mr. Maitland. '' Lilian dear, I hope 
 you are not going to take to seeing people's 
 wraiths. It gives me the most fearful jumps 
 to think of" 
 
 " I am creeping from head to foot," added 
 Mrs. Maitland, laughing ; " and on the last 
 night of the year, too. Dr. Everard, what 
 prescriptions have you for young ladies who 
 take to ghost-seeing ? " 
 
 "I am going to ask you for another cutlet, 
 sir. My appetite will convince you that I, at 
 least, am no illusion, but a substantial reality," 
 said Henry, instead of replying. 
 
 " There never was any deception about 
 you, Harry lad," returned Mr. Maitland, 
 cordially ; " you were always real." 
 
 The evening which ensued ought to have 
 been very happy, but somehow it was not. 
 A vague uneasiness was in the air ; Cyril's 
 absence created a void in the family party, 
 and the children, who were permitted to stay 
 up for the New Year, grew tired, and conse- 
 quently tiresome. Mr. Maitland, when he
 
 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 273 
 
 recovered from his after-dinner nap, which 
 was unusually long, read them one of Dickens's 
 Christmas tales, and although it was pleasant 
 to Henry to sit by Lilian and watch her 
 beautiful white hands at their busy task of 
 embroidering some silken flowers, he was not 
 sorry when, the servants having been as- 
 sembled in the drawing-room, a pleasant 
 clinking of glasses was heard, and, the usual 
 ceremonies of toasting and hand-shaking gone 
 through, the bells began drowsily chiming the 
 Old Year out from the belfry hard by. 
 
 They all went into the hall then, Mr. 
 Maitland opened the door wide to let the New 
 Year in, and Lilian and Henry, hand-in-hand, 
 gazed trustfully out into the starry sky to 
 meet it, their hearts full of the sweetest hopes. 
 
 When Henry went to his room soon after, 
 he could not refrain from opening Cyril's 
 door, which adjoined his own, and just looking 
 in, thinking he might be asleep. He pushed 
 the door very softly, and introduced his head. 
 Only a faint light was burning from one 
 candle, and by this dim ray he saw Cyril 
 
 VOL. I. T
 
 274 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 
 
 kneeling half-dressed before a picture of the 
 Crucifixion. His face was hidden in his 
 hands, and he was sobbing in a low, sup- 
 pressed way. 
 
 Henry shut the door softly, and stealthily 
 withdrew, vexed at his own intrusion. 
 " That is not the way to cure the head- 
 ache," he mused, half awed at the manner 
 in which the young priest received the New 
 Year. Yet who could venture to say that 
 watching and fasting and tearful contrition 
 were not eminently fitting, in one set apart 
 for holy functions, at such a season ? "I 
 wonder," Everard continued to speculate, 
 " what infinitesimal peccadilloes the poor 
 lad is mourning with all that expenditure of 
 nervous energy ? " Then he thought of his 
 own weaknesses and shortcomings, and felt 
 pitchy black in contrast with a soul so white.
 
 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 275 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 The wheelwright's house stood just on the 
 crest of the steep little hill which carries the 
 pilgrim down into the village of Malbourne 
 with a rapid acceleration of pace, and which 
 ends where the four roads meet. The Sun 
 Inn stands at one corner, facing the incoming 
 pilgrim cheerfully on its left ; and opposite 
 this tidy hostelry stands a sign-post ap- 
 parently waving four gaunt arms distractedly, 
 and seeming to bid the wayfarer pause 
 beneath the thatched roof of the little inn, 
 whether his journey's end lie onwards over 
 the high-road, or oblige him to turn aside 
 through the village by church and Rectory. 
 
 On the traveller's right, facing him, is a 
 cottage, and facing that is the wheelwright's 
 yard, full of timber and waggons half built or
 
 276 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 
 
 broken. The wlieelwriglit's dwelling, stand- 
 ing above the grassy yard, commands a fine 
 view of the village nestled under the down 
 and the sweeping parklands of Northover on 
 one side, and on the other looks over an un- 
 dulating landscape to the sea. It is a cheery 
 little house, pleasantly shaded by a couple of 
 shapely lindens in front, and close to the 
 high-road, upon which its front windows and 
 deep-timbered porch give. 
 
 On New Year's Eve the wheelwright's 
 windows were all lighted up, and there was 
 even a lantern at the little front wicket, 
 which gazed out like a friendly eye, as if to 
 bid people enter and make merry within, and 
 threw a yellow fan- shaped radiance on the 
 steep road without. The porch door was 
 open, and disclosed a passage lighted by a 
 candle in a tin sconce adorned with holly. 
 On one side, an open door revealed the chill 
 dignities of the best parlour, which not even 
 a blazing fire and abundance of holly-berries 
 could quite warm. 
 
 On a haircloth sofa in this state apartment
 
 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 277 
 
 sat Mrs. Hale, of Malbourne Mill, and Mrs. 
 Wax, the schoolmaster's wife, both exceed- 
 ingly upright, and both holding a handker- 
 chief of Gargantuan dimensions over the 
 hands they crossed in their laps. Opposite, 
 in a horsehair arm-chair, sat an elderly lady 
 in a plum-coloured silk gown, gold chain, 
 and a splendid cap, also very upright, and 
 also holding a Gargantuan handkerchief. 
 This was Mrs. Cave, the wife of a small 
 farmer in the neighbourhood. 
 
 Each lady's face wore a resigned expression, 
 mingled with the calm exultation natural to 
 people who know themselves to be the most 
 aristocratic persons in a social gathering. 
 Each realized that Wiirde hat JBiirde, and felt 
 herself equal to the occasion ; each paused, 
 before making or replying to an observation, 
 to consider the most genteel subjects of 
 conversation and the most genteel language 
 in which to clothe them. 
 
 " Remorkably fine weather for the time of 
 year, ladies," observed Mrs. Hale, soothing 
 her soul by the pleasant rustle her shot-silk
 
 278 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 
 
 gown made when she smoothed it, and 
 regretting that her gold chain was not so 
 new-fashioned as Mrs. Cave's ; while, on the 
 other hand, she experienced a delicious 
 comfort in meditating on the superiority of 
 iier brooch, which was a large flat pebble in 
 a gold frame. 
 
 " Indeed, mem, it is most seasonable, 
 though trying for delicate chestes," returned 
 Mrs. Cave, with her finest company smile, 
 after which a pause of three minutes ensued. 
 
 " Some say the frost is on the breek," con- 
 tinued Mrs. Hale, wondering if it would be 
 genteel to ask Mrs. Cave how much her cap 
 cost. She had an agonized suspicion that it 
 would not. 
 
 After five minutes, Mrs. Wax, whose com- 
 parative youth and lower rank occasioned 
 her some diffidence, took up her parable in 
 the following genteel manner : — " Her lady- 
 ship was observing this marning " 
 
 But what her ladyship was observing was 
 never revealed to man, since at that moment, 
 "Widow Hale, the host's mother, came burst-
 
 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 279 
 
 ing' in, stout, healthy, and red-faced, her cap 
 slightly awry, and called out in her hearty, 
 wholesome voice — 
 
 " Well, now, my dears, and how are you 
 getting on ? I'm that harled up with so 
 many about, I ain't had a minute to ast after 
 ye all. Mary Ann, my dear, give me a kiss 
 do, and a hearty welcome to you all, and a 
 kiss all round, and do make yourselves at 
 home. Now, is the tea to your liking ? 
 This best teapot aia't much at drawing. I 
 ain't much of a one for best things myself; 
 well enough for looking at, and just to say 
 you've got them, but give me work-a-day 
 things for comfort. There ain't above half 
 the company come yet, and Mary Ann upset 
 about the pies for supper. Do just as y(Hi 
 would at home, and you will please me. If 
 there ain't dear old Grranfer coming in, bless 
 his heart ! Come in, Granfer, and kindly 
 welcome." 
 
 And so saying, the kind soul bustled out, 
 and relieved Granfer of his hat, while her 
 daughter-in-law, the actual hostess, came to
 
 280 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 
 
 do the honours of the best parlour, bringing 
 in three more female guests of distinction, 
 who were much awed by the appalling 
 gentility of the three already assembled, and 
 a little inclined to regret their own social 
 importance. 
 
 Granfer and the widow, in the mean time, 
 entered the great kitchen, a long, low, white- 
 washed room, with heavy beams across the 
 ceiling, a stone floor, and a wide hearth with 
 a wood fire burning between dogs upon it. 
 The ceiling and walls wore their everyday 
 decoration of hams, guns, a spit, various 
 cooking utensils, a tiny bookshelf, and a 
 large dresser, well garnished with crockery 
 and pewters, together with their festal 
 Christmas adorning of holly, fir, and mistle- 
 toe, and a round dozen of tin sconces bearing 
 tallow candles. There was an oaken settle 
 on one side the chimney corner, into the 
 cosiest nook of which Granfer deposited his 
 bent form with a sigh of content, and gazed 
 round upon the assembled guests with 
 benevolence.
 
 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 281 
 
 On a long table on trestles at one end of 
 the room was spread a solid meal, consisting 
 of a huge ham, own brother to those depend- 
 ing in rich brown abundance from the ceiling ; 
 a south-country, skim-milk cheese, finely 
 marbled with greenish blue veins, and re- 
 sembling Stilton in reduced circumstances ; a 
 great yellow and brown mass of roast beef; a 
 huge pie ; several big brown blocks of plum- 
 cake ; and some vast loaves of white home- 
 baked bread and pats of fresh butter. The 
 forks were of steel, and black-handled like the 
 knives ; and the spoons, of which there was a 
 dearth, were pewter. A deficiency of tea- 
 cups suggested to Corporal Tom Hale the 
 agreeable expedient of sharing one between 
 a lady and a gentleman, which was hailed 
 with applause by his naval brother, and 
 immediately acted upon. 
 
 For those guests who looked upon tea as 
 an enervating beverage, there was ample 
 provision in the shape of various brown and 
 yellow jugs filled with ale from the cask Tom 
 and Jim had procured for the occasion ; and
 
 282 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 
 
 it was generally iinderstood that liquor of a 
 still more comforting nature was held in 
 reserve to stimulate conviviality at a later 
 hour. The blacksmith, Straun, the clerk, 
 Stevens, with their wives and families, were 
 there ; also Baines, the discontented tailor, 
 and the husbands of the best-parlour ladies. 
 
 The wheelwright's wife, a comely woman 
 of thirty, and his sister, a blooming damsel 
 some ten years younger, ran to and fro with 
 flushed faces among the guests, while the 
 widow made herself ubiquitous. 
 
 The uniforms of Tom and Jim, with those 
 of three or four artillerymen from the neigh- 
 bouring forts, and the red coats of a couple 
 of linesmen, together with the bright ribbons 
 of the women, lent colour and variety to the 
 monotony of black coats and smock-frocks, 
 and upon the whole the wheelwright's 
 kitchen presented as cheery and animated a 
 sight as one would wish to see on a New 
 Year's Eve. Nor was a town element want- 
 ing in the rustic gathering ; for just as tea 
 was in full swing, and little Dickie Stevens — ■
 
 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 283 
 
 whose tea lay in the future, after the serving 
 of his elders — was supplying the place of a 
 band by playing hymn-tunes on his con- 
 certina, a taxed-cart drove up, and deposited 
 two chilled mortals from Oldport, Mr. and 
 Mrs. Wells, greengrocers, and related, by 
 some inextricable family complications known 
 only in that remote south-country district, 
 more or less to nearly all the company. 
 
 Tea being finished, pipes were produced, 
 also ale, and there was wild work in a dimly 
 lighted quarter of the kitchen, where the 
 Hale brothers had cunningly arranged un- 
 expected mistletoe, and whence smothered 
 shrieks of laughter and sounds as of ears 
 being vigorously boxed issued every now and 
 then. 
 
 The odd part about the mistletoe business 
 was the extreme gullibility of the ladies, 
 who were by far too guileless to profit by 
 the experience of others in that dangerous 
 region, and suffered themselves to be decoyed 
 thither on the flimsiest pretexts, and betrayed 
 the utmost surprise and indignation at the
 
 284 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 
 
 kissing which invariably ensued. As for 
 Tom and Jim, they went to work with a 
 business-like determination to kiss every girl 
 in the room, and several respectable matrons 
 into the bargain. It was about this time 
 that the artillery sergeant and the wheel- 
 wright's pretty sister Patty vanished, and 
 were subsequently discovered at the front 
 door, enjoying the soft December breeze and 
 studying astronomy, a study which produced 
 the happiest subsequent results, and set the 
 Malbourne bells chiming in the spring of the 
 coming year. 
 
 So large and successful a party had not 
 been held in Malbourne for many a year, the 
 predominance of the military element greatly 
 contributing to its success ; for the sons of 
 Mars excelled not only in the art of pleasing 
 the fairer sex, which has in all ages been 
 considered their special function, but possessed 
 many other accomplishments of social value. 
 A very pretty bit of fencing was exhibited 
 between a red and a blue coat, and Corporal 
 Tom snuffed candles with a pistol, amid
 
 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 285 
 
 shrieks of terrified delight from the women. 
 One soldier sang a comic, another a senti- 
 mental, song ; and when little Dick Stevens 
 was perched on a table, and warbled out, 
 *' Rosalie, the Prairie Flower," and ''Wait for 
 the Waggon," to the accompaniment of Wax's 
 clarionet and Baines's violin, the kitchen 
 ceiling trembled and threatened to drop its 
 quivering hams and hollies at the powerful 
 chorus furnished by these stalwart warriors, 
 and the gentility of the best parlour was 
 finally melted by it to such a deliquescence 
 as to mingle freely with the vulgar currents 
 circulating in the kitchen. 
 
 Indeed, village talent was quite in the shade 
 during the first part of the evening, and the 
 discreet Corporal Tom observed such deprecia- 
 tion on the faces of the village genuises that 
 he resolved to put off asking for the recitation 
 with which he knew a certain warrior to be 
 primed until a later hour, and created a 
 diversion by proposing a game of Turn the 
 Trencher, which absorbed the children and 
 younger people at one end of the room, and
 
 286 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 
 
 left the circle of elders round the chimney 
 free to converse or visit the best parlour, 
 where fruit and sherry wine were laid out, as 
 they pleased. 
 
 " I seen young Mr. Maitland in Oldport 
 to-day," observed the town greengrocer's 
 lady, one of the fireside circle, by way of 
 furnishing the town news to her rustic 
 friends. 
 
 " Now, did you, Mrs. Wells ? " returned 
 her host. " Ah ! so you zeen he ? " 
 
 " Yes, Mr. Hale ; I seen him go into the 
 bank opposite, and stay there — oh ! I should 
 think a good hour," continued Mrs. Wells, 
 adjusting her cap-ribbons with a complacent 
 sense of their splendour. " He's grown more 
 personable than ever ; but he do look ill, 
 poor young gentleman, to be sure — that 
 white and thin ! " 
 
 " That's living in Lunnun," said Hale ; 
 ** Lunnun takes it out of a man. I never 
 held with going to Lunnun myself. Never 
 knowed any good come of it." 
 
 " Ah, you don't know every think, Jacob
 
 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 287 
 
 Hale ! " said Granfer, benevolently. " 'Tain't, 
 zo to zay, nateral to a man as gives hisself 
 entirely to wheels. You doos your best, but 
 more zense can't come out of ye than the 
 Almighty have a put in. Na-a. You don't 
 know everythink, Jacob Hale, I zays." 
 
 The profundity of this remark produced a 
 deep impression, particularly upon the wheel- 
 wright, who appeared to think he had re- 
 ceived a great compliment from Grranfer, and 
 rekindled his pipe at the burning gorse on 
 the hearth with a beatified air. 
 
 " Zeems as though zummat had been 
 a-taking of it out of Mr. Cyril," observed the 
 blacksmith, thoughtfully. 
 
 " 'Tain't, zo to zay, Lunnon, Jarge Straun," 
 replied Grranfer, solemnly. '' No, Jarge 
 Straun ; 'tain't Lunnon, as you med zay. 
 I zes to Bill Stevens 's marning, I zays, 
 ' Bill,' I zays, zays I, ' brains is the matter wi' 
 Mr. Cyril,' I zays, ' that's what's the matter 
 wi' he ; '" and Grranfer's keen grey eyes took 
 a survey of all the listening, stolid faces, and 
 he experienced a keen sense of enjoyment, as
 
 288 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 
 
 he leant forwards, his hands crossed on his 
 staff, and felt that he was getting into regular 
 conversational swing. " Ay, that's what I 
 zed, zure enough," he added. 
 
 " Brains ! " repeated Straun, thoughtfully. 
 '' I never yeared of nobody dying of brains, 
 as I knows on." 
 
 " You ain't a yeered every think, Jarge 
 Straun," returned Granfer, severely. " Ay, 
 you med mark my words, it all hruns to 
 brains wi' Mr. Cyril ; there ain't, as you med 
 zay, nothing left to hrun to vlesh and vat, 
 whatever he med put inzide of hisself. 
 Mankind is like the vlower o' the vield : 
 where it all hruns to vlower, there ain't, zo 
 to zay, zo much leaf as you med swear by ; 
 then, agen, I tell 'ee, where it all runs to 
 leaf, you can't expect no vlower to speak on. 
 Look at broccoli ! " 
 
 Here Granfer, being fairly launched, struck 
 out from personal to general observations, 
 and thence, at the prompting of his grandson, 
 to the hoary regions of history. 
 
 " Ay, I minds Boney, to be zure — well I
 
 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 2S9 
 
 minds be ; " and he related tlie oft-told tale 
 of the frequent scares the inhabitants of those 
 coasts received, sometimes by authentic 
 rumours of Bonaparte's appearance at sea, 
 sometimes by the accidental or mistaken 
 kindling of the beacons on every prominent 
 headland and on the downs, where a watch 
 was kept day and night for the appearance 
 of the dreaded foe. 
 
 He told how the wealthy farmers sent their 
 silver and other valuables, sometimes in- 
 cluding even their women and children 
 under the latter head, inland for safety — 
 most of them, apparently, having first con- 
 sulted Granfer on the subject — in conse- 
 quence of Bonaparte's rumoured descents on 
 that fated coast ; also of the rousing of the 
 volunteers at the dead of night on one of 
 these occasions — of their march to the sea- 
 shore, and their all getting lost on the way, 
 and arriving next morning on a scene of 
 profound peace. Then came the great 
 smuggler story, and the tragic history of the 
 loss of the ship Halifax, the crew and 
 
 VOL. I. U
 
 290 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 
 
 passengers of which lay burled in the wind- 
 swept churchyard near the fatal shore which 
 wrecked them. Five young women were 
 among those washed ashore and subsequently 
 buried, and their appearance, as G-ranfer saw 
 them, lying pale and beautiful side by side 
 awaiting burial, was the climax of this story ; 
 after delivering it he usually paused and 
 looked round for some moments with working 
 lips to enjoy the silence of the interested 
 listeners. 
 
 Having thus got his audience, which con- 
 sisted mainly of village seniors, well in hand, 
 Grranfer began, to the accompaniment of the 
 young people's continuous laughter, somewhat 
 softened by distance, to play upon their love 
 of the marvellous and the horrible, and pro- 
 duced some delightful creeps by his eerie 
 tales ; and finally landed himself in his re- 
 nowned narrative of his midnight adventure 
 upon Down End, a bleak, storm-stricken 
 eminence, where the last man gibbeted in 
 these parts, a truculent villain, with a most 
 romantic history, then swung in chains.
 
 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 291 
 
 Granfer had been belated on a moonless, 
 cloudy night, had wandered far in the cutting- 
 wind, and had begun to guess that he had at 
 last done with the downs, and reached the well- 
 known Down End — an unpleasant spot for a 
 midnight stroll, since, besides the unwelcome 
 presence of the murderer on his gibbet, an 
 extensive chalk quarry there supplied an 
 array of little precipices high enough to cost 
 any one slipping over the edge his life. 
 
 Granfer had arrived at a vague mass loom- 
 ing through the darkness, a dim something, 
 which he conjectured to be the sign-post, an 
 erection which shared the same eminence 
 with the gibbet at many yards distance from 
 it, and was about to strike a light with the 
 flint and steel in his pocket to a weird 
 accompaniment of shrieks and moans and 
 unholy riot of clankings and hissings, which 
 might be only the voices of the midnight 
 storm, but, on the other hand, might he what 
 Granfer wisely left to his hearers' imagina- 
 tions, when " all on a zuddent there comes a 
 girt bang on the shoulders of me, vlint and
 
 292 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 
 
 steel vlies out of my hands, and down I goos, 
 vlat as a vlounder on my vaace, wi' zummat 
 atop o' me," the old man was saying, his 
 wrinkled face and keen eyes lighted by the 
 blazing gorse fire and his own imagination, 
 while Straun and Hale, and the other worthies, 
 with open mouths, staring eyes, and dropped 
 pipes, and the women, with various contor- 
 tions of visage and extensive clasping of 
 shivering hands, gazed with tense, strained 
 attention upon the withered, eager counte- 
 nance, when the door burst open, and William 
 Grove, supported by Corporal Tom, staggered 
 into the kitchen, white-faced and trembling, 
 and fell into a chair placed for him in the 
 centre of the room, clapping his hands con- 
 vulsively upon his knees, and exclaiming at 
 intervals, " Lard ! Lard 'a massey ! " 
 and the sudden apparition, coming thus upon 
 strained nerves and excited imaginations, 
 produced a most alarming effect. 
 
 The women screamed and clung to one 
 another ; the men uttered ejaculations ; the 
 game of Turn the Trencher broke up in dis-
 
 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MATTLAND 293 
 
 may, and the players came clustering round the 
 distracted Grrove ; while the services of the 
 military were called into requisition to soothe 
 the terrors and agitations of the prettiest girls, 
 the gallant sergeant finding it necessary to 
 place his arm round the blooming form of 
 Miss Patty Hale for the distressed damsel's 
 support. 
 
 " Lard 'a massey ! Willum Grove," ex- 
 claimed Granfer at last, with impatience, " if 
 you ain't got nothink better to zay than Lard 
 'a massey, you med zo well bide quiet, I tell 
 'ee. Lard love 'ee, Willum, you never had 
 no zense to speak on, but you be clane dunch 
 now. Ay, Willum be clane dunch^'' he added ; 
 while the astute Tom, who said that William 
 had come flying in at the porch door (where 
 the gallant corporal had been helping pretty 
 Miss Cave to admire the moon), and could be 
 prevailed upon to make no other observation 
 than that so scornfully censured by Granfer, 
 assisted the waggoner's faculties by a timely 
 draught of ale. After disposing of this, and 
 drying his mouth with the back of his hand,
 
 294 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 
 
 William recovered slightly and found his 
 tongue. 
 
 '' Lard 'a massey on us all ! " he cried ; 
 " they bin an' done for poor Ben Lee." 
 
 " Done for him ! " cried a chorus of voices 
 in various tones of horror and dismay. 
 
 " Done var en, zure enough ! " repeated 
 William, rocking himself backward and for- 
 ward, in a strange contrast to his usual 
 stolidity. ^' We bin an' vound the body ! " 
 
 It was even so. Ben Lee left his home at 
 dinner-time, and had not returned. At tea- 
 time, Mrs. Lee was returning in the dusk 
 from an errand to Malbourne, and met a 
 hurrying figure clad in grey, as she came 
 through the fields beneath the wood, which 
 was on the crest of the hill above the Temple. 
 She found only Alma in the house, and after 
 waiting with more discontent than disquiet, 
 she concluded that work had delayed her 
 husband, and finally took her tea and seated 
 herself at her needlework by the fire. 
 
 At half-past seven Sir Lionel and Lady 
 Swaynestone, with their daughter, were
 
 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 295 
 
 dressed for a dinner-party and awaiting the 
 arrival of the carriage, which had been 
 ordered at that hour. But no carriage 
 appeared, and a message to the stables 
 elicited the news that the coachman had not 
 been there since the afternoon, when Ingram 
 Swaynestone chanced to have seen him near 
 his home. A messenger to the Temple re- 
 turned with the tidings that he had not 
 been home ; and then Judkins asked for an 
 audience with Sir Lionel, which resulted in 
 a search-party being sent forth to find the 
 missing man, whose habits were regular and 
 punctual. 
 
 William Grove, who chanced to be on some 
 errand to Swaynestone for his master before 
 going to the wheelwright's party, assisted 
 in the search, and was with Judkins when 
 Lee was discovered quite dead in the wood 
 above his home. There were no signs of 
 any struggle on the hard frozen path, from 
 whence his body had evidently been dragged 
 into the fern and brush, whither it was traced 
 by the marks on the rime-covered moss and
 
 296 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 
 
 the disorder of the ferns and brambles. A 
 slight wound on the face, which had bled, 
 but could not have killed him, was the only 
 sign of violence at first seen. 
 
 The lights were not extinguished at Swayne- 
 stone House till nearly dawn. Sir Lionel, 
 who was a magistrate, set to work at once 
 to investigate the fatal affair, the police were 
 immediately informed, and every member 
 of the Swaynestone household was closely 
 questioned, as well as Mrs. Lee. Poor 
 Alma could not be subjected to much inter- 
 rogation, and was not in a position to throw 
 any light upon the tragedy. Death was not 
 the only visitor at the Temple ; a new life, 
 scarcely less tragic than the death, began 
 there on that fatal night, and the New Year 
 rose upon sorrow and dismay in hall and 
 cottage. 
 
 It took long to extract what he knew of 
 the affair from William Grove, but this was 
 at length accomplished, amid varied comment 
 and ejaculation. Granfer said no further 
 word until the whole truth had been elicited,
 
 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 297 
 
 and tlien upon the first favourable pause lie 
 looked round with an air of great solemnity, 
 and took up his parable thus : " You med 
 all mark my words. Zomebody'll hae to 
 swing for this yere. Ay, I've said it, and 
 I'll zay it agen : zomebody'll hae to swing."
 
 298 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 Next to the divine sweetness of youthful 
 love, nothing so completely charms and en- 
 thrals us as the rapid development of new 
 ideas and the swift inrush of fresh knowledge 
 in the spring-time of life. How the world 
 widens to the eager student, what vast and 
 endless horizons open out to his gaze, as he 
 acquires fresh knowledge ! What a sense of 
 power his thoughts give him as they draw 
 together from the vagueness of scattered 
 speculations, and take definite shape before 
 him ! Love unlocks the gate of a yet undis- 
 covered world of emotion, which has its 
 higher and lower circles, its purgatory and 
 paradise, and its endless possibilities beyond ; 
 knowledge and ripening thought rend the 
 obscuring veils from the illimitable universe.
 
 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 299 
 
 The enthusiastic delight of fresh discovery 
 is in both cases the very elixir of life ; nay, 
 it is life itself. 
 
 On the last day of the year, Everard dis- 
 covered the new world of love ; and on New 
 Year's morning, under the stimulus of a 
 fresh happiness, a theory, after which he had 
 long been groping with many a vague sur- 
 mise and hazardous hypothesis, interrupted 
 by hopeless gaps in evidence, suddenly re- 
 vealed itself complete and flawless before him. 
 It came like an electric shock, with such a 
 happy flash of inspiration that he was obliged 
 to pause in his dressing to take in the results 
 of the unconscious cerebration which his 
 studies and speculations had set up, while 
 tears of joy rushed to his eyes. Clear and 
 distinct as it was to his own mind, he knew 
 that years of patient labour and minute 
 scientific investigation must pass before he 
 could present it to other minds, but he knew 
 also that, once verified, it would make an 
 epoch in the study of physiology. 
 
 Such a superabundance of happiness as
 
 300 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MATTLAND. 
 
 Everard's might well excite the malignity of 
 envious gods, and would have prompted an 
 ancient Greek to throw away some precious 
 thing in all haste. But being a Christian 
 Englishman, Everard did not follow the 
 example of Poly crates ; nay, had he been a 
 G-reek of old days, he would never have 
 imputed envy or malignity to the strong im- 
 mortals. Strength was to him a guarantee 
 of goodness, because his own strength made 
 him noble and kind ; it made him also pitiful 
 to the malice and spite of weak things. 
 
 Full of this new rapture, his eyes hazy 
 with abstraction, as the eyes of dreamers are 
 hazy with dreams, Everard went forth to 
 meet the New Year's new joy like one borne 
 upon clouds, and reached the breakfast-room 
 just at the end of prayers. Mr. Maitland 
 according to custom, was dismissing the 
 maids with a kind good morning and New 
 Year's wish, when Eliza, whose face was 
 stained with tears, paused with a spasmodic, 
 " Oh, please, sir ! " 
 
 " You are discomposed, Eliza," said Mr.
 
 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 301 
 
 Maitland, gently, while he looked round and 
 observed similar perturbation on the faces of 
 the other maids. '' Nothing wrong, I hope ? " 
 
 " Poor Ben Lee ! " sobbed Eliza, resorting 
 to her handkerchief. 
 
 " He was found dead, sir," added Martha, 
 the housemaid, her grief, which was sincere, 
 tempered by a certain delight in the tragically 
 impressive. 
 
 " It was Stevens brought the news," added 
 the cook, who was also not impervious to 
 the pleasure of communicating disastrous 
 intelligence. 
 
 " Found dead ! My good girls ! In 
 Heaven's name, where ? when ? Oh, surely 
 not ! Where is Stevens ? " cried Mr. Mait- 
 land, as much agitated as the heart of woman 
 could desire. '' Oh, those poor Lees ! What 
 trouble ! what trouble ! " 
 
 " It was last night, sir," continued Eliza, 
 much refreshed by her master's perturbation, 
 and by the copious tears with which she had 
 accompanied the broken narrative. " Sir 
 Lionel had lanterns sent out for him."
 
 302 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 
 
 " He did not die in his bed, then ? " the 
 deep voice of Everard. broke in. 
 
 " He was hid away in the wood," replied 
 Martha ; " and they do say " 
 
 " I must go to the Temple at once," inter- 
 rupted Mr. Maitland, starting off to get his 
 hat, with an injunction to the women not to 
 talk over the tragedy, which he might as 
 well have addressed to the wind. 
 
 Lilian with great difficulty succeeded in 
 keeping him back until she had made him 
 drink some coffee and take a little food, when 
 he started off at railroad speed, bidding her 
 tell the clerk there would be no service that 
 morning. Then Henry and Lilian and the 
 two children sat down to a melancholy break- 
 fast, and the discussion of the tragedy, of 
 which they gathered from the servants as 
 much as William Grove had communicated 
 on the previous night, together with a fine 
 growth of conjecture and exaggeration. 
 
 " Poor Alma ! " sighed Lilian, when her 
 father was gone. " Oh, Henry ! what do you 
 think of it ? "
 
 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 303 
 
 " I am afraid it looks rather dark," returned 
 Henrj, not observing the entrance of Eliza 
 with a hot dish. " Lee's behaviour, when 
 last I saw him, was most unaccountable. His 
 trouble evidently preyed on his mind, poor 
 fellow." 
 
 " Oh, Henry ! what do you mean ? 
 Not " 
 
 " An unhinged mind quickly turns to 
 suicide," replied Henry, suddenly checking 
 himself as he became aware of the wide gaze 
 of Winnie's eyes immediately opposite him. 
 
 Five minutes after, the whole of Malbourne 
 knew that Dr. Everard had received the 
 intelligence with little surprise, and at once 
 ascribed it to suicide. 
 
 Cyril had started for Woodlands before 
 breakfast, leaving a charming note of New 
 Year's wishes for everybody, and saying that 
 it was incumbent on him to go to Woodlands 
 at once, to apologize for his incivility in not 
 meeting Marion on the previous day. 
 
 " What a devoted lover ! " Mr. Maitland 
 had observed, on hearing the note read.
 
 304 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 
 
 *' Well, man has but one spring-time, though 
 the birds renew their youth every year." 
 
 " I think, papa," said Winnie, in one of 
 those sudden visitations of acuteness which 
 befall little girls occasionally, " that Cyril is 
 not so devoted to loving as to being loved." 
 
 And Lilian knew that the child had hit on 
 her brother's weak point. 
 
 After breakfast, Everard accompanied 
 Lilian and the children on a visit to the 
 invalid donkey and other dumb dependents. 
 It was pleasant to see Lilian in the poultry- 
 yard. When she entered the yard she gave 
 a little coo, and a flock of pigeons, preening 
 themselves aloft on gable and roof in the sun- 
 shine, came fluttering down, a rustling cloud 
 of white wings, and settled upon her till she 
 seemed a parody on Lot's wife, a pillar of 
 birds instead of salt, while the more adven- 
 turous fowls sprang up and pecked the grain 
 from her basket and her hands, till she 
 scattered pigeons, fowls, and all, with a light 
 " Hish ! " and wave of her arms. 
 
 Everard, the children, and the two dogs
 
 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 305 
 
 stood apart to watch this little scene, Everard 
 smoking tranquilly, and delighting in the 
 picture of Lilian involved in her cloud of 
 dove-like wings. During this progress he 
 told her eagerly of the theory which had been 
 born in his brain that morning, and they both 
 discussed it, Lilian being sufficiently grounded 
 in science to comprehend something of the 
 importance of the subject, and having, more- 
 over, the receptive intellect which readily 
 admits half-grasped notions. 
 
 "We shall have to work hard for this," 
 Everard said, knowing that Lilian would 
 willingly take her share of the toil. 
 
 "It will be well worth hard work," she 
 replied joyously ; " but I have other work 
 now, so I must go in. No ; I have not told 
 mother," she added, in reply to a whispered 
 question from Henry ; "I would rather it 
 came from you." 
 
 " And I have had no opportunity as yet." 
 he said. "So I have to skate with these 
 scamps, have I ? Yery well ; but join us as 
 soon as you can, Lilian." 
 
 VOL. I. X
 
 306 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 
 
 "And mind you bring some cake," added 
 Lennie, who was notlaing if not practical; 
 and the children, hanging one on each of 
 Everard's hands, danced joyously off into 
 Northover Park, where they were to skate 
 on a piece of water a quarter of a mile off. 
 
 Just as they entered the gate by the lodge, 
 Lyster Garrett was leaving it. He looked at 
 Henry with some surprise, and received his 
 greeting very stiffly. 
 
 " Oh, do come and skate, Lyster ! " cried 
 Lennie ; " then you can help me, and Winnie 
 can have Henry to herself." 
 
 " I am going to Swaynestone," Garrett 
 said. " This is a sad business of Lee's. Foul 
 play, I fear ; " and he looked searchingly at 
 Everard. 
 
 "Foul play?" returned Everard. "Non- 
 sense ! Why, I suppose poor Lee never had 
 an enemy in his life." 
 
 " He had one," said Garrett, with marked 
 emphasis. "I should strongly recommend 
 that person to make himself scarce." 
 
 " Lee was not a man to make enemies, poor
 
 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 307 
 
 fellow," replied Everard. " It will all come 
 out at the inquest, no doubt. Mr. Maitland 
 is gone to the Temple to comfort the poor 
 widow." 
 
 And they passed on, Everard wondering 
 what on earth was the matter with young 
 Garrett, who was studying for the Bar, and 
 was rather inclined to look upon human 
 existence as raw material to be worked up in 
 courts of justice. 
 
 " The world doesn't look much older than 
 it did yesterday, Henry," observed Winnie, 
 thoughtfully ; " yet it's sixty-three, and 
 yesterday it was only sixty-two." 
 
 Henry did not reply, but looked reflectively 
 at the frozen landscape and clouded sky, 
 whence the sun had been shining half an 
 hour before. There was a vague misgiving 
 within him ; Garrett's hints flung a shroud of 
 dark conjecture over the Lee tragedy, which 
 he had forgotten for the moment. The world 
 did look older to him, and it seemed a whole 
 year since yesterday. But the pond was soon 
 reached, and the children's skates and his own
 
 308 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 
 
 had to be fitted on at the expense of freezing 
 fingers and stagnant blood, which a few turns 
 in the biting air set right again. Then the 
 Garrett ladies appeared, and there was quite 
 a little party on the ice, and the children 
 having by this time learnt to go alone, Henry 
 indulged himself in some artistic skating, and 
 the world grew young again, aud he did not 
 observe that Miss Garrett and her sister 
 declined all his offers of assistance, and avoided 
 him as much as the small extent of the little 
 lake would permit. 
 
 " I am not sure that I shall marry Ingram 
 Swaynestone, after all," Winnie observed to 
 Lilian, when she arrived with the promised 
 cake in an hour's time. " I think pw'aps I 
 shall have Henwy when I gwow up." 
 
 " There was nobody in the world like 
 Ingram yesterday," Lilian laughed ; "so I 
 suppose your skating instructions have been 
 more successful than his, Henry." 
 
 " This is rather a dismal New Year s 
 morning," Lilian said to Henry, who was 
 busily engaged in fitting on her skates.
 
 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 309 
 
 "Those poor Lees haunt me, and the servants 
 say there are such dreadful surmises about 
 Ben's death. I wish Cyril were here. I 
 wonder what he is doing ? " 
 
 Cyril at that moment was in the library at 
 Woodlands, comfortably seated in a deep arm- 
 chair by a blazing fire. The laity of the male 
 kind were shooting ; Marion, and her sister, 
 Mrs. Whiteford, were busily employed with 
 the other ladies in decorations and arrange- 
 ments for the impending ball. Cyril had 
 taken refuge in the library with a book that 
 he was utterly unable to read, and was sorry 
 to find that George Everard had followed his 
 example. 
 
 The Rev. George had assumed that atti- 
 tude on the hearthrug which means con- 
 versation, and the disposition of his coat-tails 
 was such as forebodes a long discourse, as 
 Cyril observed with inward groans. Cyril's 
 face was strained and haggard ; his mind was 
 in the tense, over-wrought condition which 
 craves solitude and repose ; and he racked his 
 brains for some pretext to escape from his
 
 310 THE SILEKCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 
 
 brother-clergyman, who had the advantage of 
 being his senior by many years, and whose 
 theology was of a kind to fill Cyril with 
 despair, since George belonged to the straitest 
 sect of the Evangelicals. 
 
 Mr. Everard began by commenting upon his 
 young brother's worn appearance, and accusing 
 him of fasting. 
 
 "I fasted," replied Cyril, '* because I was 
 too unwell to eat. And if I received the New 
 Year with watching and prayer, you will 
 surely allow that I might have done worse." 
 
 " Truly. I could wish many to follow your 
 example, Maitland ; but not to the injury of 
 this fleshly tabernacle, as I fear you have 
 done. Such misdirected zeal amounts to 
 excess, and that will-worship against which 
 we are cautioned. You played a very poor 
 part at breakfast, I observed." 
 
 Cyril smiled, for he had observed, on his 
 part, George Everard's vigorous onslaught 
 upon his father's well-spread breakfast-table, 
 and he replied that his lack of appetite was 
 due to his own folly in taking a long walk
 
 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 311 
 
 fasting after a day of headache. " Indeed, 
 I am thoroughly knocked up," he added 
 wearily. 
 
 " My dear young friend," continued George, 
 solemnly, " I have become deeply interested 
 in you. I perceive that you are a very 
 precious vessel." 
 
 In spite of his weariness, and the strange 
 hunted look that made him appear to start 
 at every sound, as if expecting evil tidings, 
 Cyril's face kindled and gained an added 
 charm at these words. Appreciation was 
 the very breath of life to him, and he felt 
 that he had hitherto thought too slightingly 
 of Greorge, who perhaps, after all, could not 
 help being evangelical, and consequently 
 rather slangy in his religious conversation. 
 He made a graceful allusion to their impend- 
 ing relationship, thanked George for his good 
 opinion, and expressed a hope that they 
 might know more of each other before long. 
 
 " I have wrestled in prayer for you," con- 
 tinued the elder priest. " I shall continue to 
 wrestle, that you may come to know the
 
 312 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 
 
 truth, and that you may have strength to 
 resist the seductions of the Scarlet Woman. 
 I observe great powers in you — singular 
 powers ; powers that may effect much in the 
 vineyard, if you only devote them to your 
 Master's service ; powers which, unsanctified, 
 will lead you into great temptations." 
 
 " I am in for it," thought Cyril, who dis- 
 liked listening to other people's sermons as 
 much as doctors object to taking their own 
 prescriptions ; " he is wound up for at least 
 six heads." But his face wore the most 
 winning expression of interest and the defer- 
 ence due to one so much older in the ministry 
 than himself, while he replied modestly that 
 he was aware that some talents had been 
 vouchsafed him, and did not intend to hide 
 them in a napkin, but that he thought per- 
 haps his dear brother rated him too highly 
 in the kindness of his heart. 
 
 At which Everard smiled paternally, and 
 proceeded to speak of Cyril's gifts — his agree- 
 able manner and power of winning hearts, 
 his eloquence, his intellectual polish, and his
 
 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 313 
 
 musical and flexible voice, and pointed out 
 to him the peculiar power these would give 
 him in his ministerial capacity. 
 
 " Not that these mere carnal gifts are 
 anything in themselves," he continued ; " they 
 are but nets to catch men. The nets are not 
 necessary, but it pleases the Lord to work by 
 means, and those to whom much is given will 
 have much to answer for. In short, you have 
 very singular opportunities of doing good 
 work in the vineyard. I am thankful that 
 you have been moved to enter the ministry. 
 You might have had a more brilliant career 
 in a worldly calling. But what you have 
 undertaken is worth any sacrifice. And no 
 man, having once put his hand to the plough, 
 may dare to look back." 
 
 George Everard was not destitute of the 
 human weakness that leads us to believe in 
 the value of our own good advice, but he 
 would have been rather startled if he could 
 have known the powerful effect his words 
 had upon his susceptible and impulsive 
 listener's mind.
 
 314 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 
 
 " I have put my hand to the plough," said 
 Cyril, taking away the hands in which he 
 had buried his haggard face during this 
 exordium, and speaking in those deep, strong 
 chest-notes which so stirred the fibre of his 
 listeners' hearts ; "I will never turn back. 
 I call you to witness, George Everard, in the 
 face of high Heaven, that I will never turn 
 back, and that I will make any and every 
 sacrifice for the sake of this my high calling 
 and vocation." 
 
 Cyril rose from his seat as he spoke, and 
 raised one hand with an impressive gesture. 
 All the languor and dejection vanished from 
 his face and form ; a dazzle of pale blue fire 
 came from his eyes ; his every feature kindled; 
 his whole being expressed an intensity of 
 feeling that almost frightened Everard, who 
 felt something like a child playing with 
 matches and suddenly kindling a wood-pile. 
 He could only ejaculate faintly, " My dear 
 young friend ! " while Cyril paced the room 
 with firm strides and loftily erect head, a 
 thing of grace and spirit-like beauty, and at
 
 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 315 
 
 last paused in front of George with snch a 
 glance of fire as seemed to pierce through 
 and through the soul of the elder man, and 
 offered him his hand, saying, " Do you bear 
 me witness ? " 
 
 " I do indeed," faltered the other, over- 
 come by the sight of an emotion beyond his 
 conception, accustomed though he was to a 
 purely sentimental form of rehgion ; and he 
 pressed Cyril's fevered hand in his own cool 
 one, uttering some words of prayer and 
 blessing, thinking that possibly one of the 
 sudden conversions he so constantly preached 
 about, and so rarely discovered any traces of 
 in actual life, had taken place. 
 
 " Your words," said Cyril, quietly, after a 
 time, " were like a spark to a train of gun- 
 powder. They came at a moment of internal 
 wrestling, and helped me to a decision." 
 
 George Everard replied that he was blest 
 in being the unworthy instrument of speak- 
 ing a word in season, and proceeded to ad- 
 monish his convert at length ; while Cyril, 
 with all the fire quenched in his look and
 
 316 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 
 
 bearing, sat drooping and haggard beneath 
 the cold, unimpassioned gaze of his counsellor, 
 busied with his own thoughts, and occa- 
 sionally smiling a little inward smile as the 
 well-worn phrases and various allusions to 
 the Scarlet Woman fell on his wearied ear. 
 
 "In conclusion, dear Cyril," George said 
 at length, " I must bid you beware of 
 women." 
 
 Cyril started and flushed, but Everard 
 smiled and continued — 
 
 " Do not mistake me. You have hitherto 
 had no temptation from that source ; the 
 monastic discipline of your life at St. Chad's, 
 however mistaken, has at least that ad- 
 vantage. But, my dear brother, you will 
 find the weaker vessels a stumbling-block 
 and a constant thorn in the flesh of the 
 Christian pastor. Our sisters have a fatal 
 habit of mixing personal with religious feel- 
 ing." 
 
 Here he sighed deeply, and Cyril suddenly 
 remembered a legend to the effect that the 
 Rev. George, in his curate days, possessed
 
 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 317 
 
 a large cupboard full of unworn slippers 
 worked by the faithful sisters of his flock. 
 " Thinking that they love the manna fur- 
 nished them by the faithful shepherd, they 
 too often, and perhaps unconsciously, cherish 
 a tenderness for the shepherd himself, and 
 this leads to much that does not conduce to 
 edifying. Such feelings are indeed harmless ; 
 but, though all things are lawful unto me, 
 all things are not expedient, especially," he 
 added, with unguarded confidence, " when 
 
 one's wife is inclined to be jeal Well, 
 
 you know, a young pastor should be prepared. 
 And let no man be too sure of himself. 
 Our poor sisters constantly want spiritual 
 advice ; let them seek it of an aged pastor. 
 I would counsel you, whose manners and 
 appearance are so strikingly calculated to 
 impress weaker vessels with admiration, to 
 confine your personal ministrations to men 
 and elder sisters. You will be run after as 
 a popular preacher, and women will be a 
 snare to you, as tending to bring discredit 
 on your calling, and giving occasion to the
 
 318 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 
 
 enemy to blaspheme. The Christian pastor 
 must not only abstain from all evil, but from 
 all appearance of evil — nay, the remotest sus- 
 picion of it. Our light has to shine strongly 
 before men." 
 
 "I feel that most keenly," replied Cyril, 
 roused to interest. " I feel that the lightest 
 imputation upon us is absolutely fatal to our 
 influence ; that v^^e are bound to a far stricter 
 life than others. By the v^ay, Everard, a 
 very difficult case of conscience was submitted 
 to our rector some years ago. There v^as a 
 man doing good work in a parish consisting 
 mainly of cultured and wealthy people, a 
 man who had great personal influence. That 
 man in early youth had done a wrong, 
 which he bitterly repented, to atone for 
 which he would have given years of his life 
 — perhaps even life itself. A girl " — Cyril 
 paused, and a thick, sobbing sigh caught his 
 breath and impeded his utterance — " a girl 
 had been, alas ! led astray. She died by her 
 own hand. Years after, when the penitent 
 was in the height of his usefulness, a man
 
 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 319 
 
 who had loved this girl found him out, and 
 attempted to avenge the unhappy girl's death 
 by killing him. He attacked him in a lonely 
 spot, on a ledge of narrow cliff." Cyril 
 paused again, and moistened his parched lips, 
 passing his handkerchief over his damp, chill 
 forehead at the same time. " There was a 
 struggle for life — no violence on the priest's 
 part ; only the instinctive struggle for self- 
 preservation — and the would-be assassin was 
 hurled over the cliff to his death." Cyril 
 paused once more, and caught his breath 
 chokingly. '' No suspicion was aroused ; the 
 verdict was accidental death. The clergy- 
 man gave no evidence. He went on his 
 usual way, and no one ever guessed that his 
 hand — the hand which gave the sacred 
 elements ! — had sent a fellow-creature to his 
 grave. The question which concerned our 
 rector was, whether the unintentional homicide 
 ought to have volunteered his evidence, and 
 confessed his involuntary share in the poor 
 creature's death. You see/' continued Cyril, 
 suddenly lifting his face to his listener, " he
 
 320 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 
 
 must have brouglit up the old scandal if 
 he had done so, and that, coupled with the 
 mystery about the death, would have utterly 
 ruined his career as a Christian pastor." 
 
 " True," replied George, thoughtfully 
 studying the intricacies of the Turkey carpet. 
 " How did your rector obtain possession of 
 these facts ? " 
 
 " The poor fellow confided in him — came to 
 him for advice in his trouble." 
 
 " And what was the advice ? " 
 
 " It was never given. Agitation of mind 
 brought on severe illness, which proved fatal. 
 The rector found it difficult to arrive at any 
 decision. What do you think ? " 
 
 " Truly, my dear young friend, the case is 
 perplexing. Had the question been referred 
 to me, I should certainly have made it a 
 matter of earnest prayer. As a mere abstract 
 question, I feel inclined to favour the erring 
 pastor's course of action. A revelation of 
 the truth would doubtless have given great 
 occasion to the enemy to blaspheme." 
 
 Cyril heaved a sigh of relief. " Yery
 
 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MATTLAND. 321 
 
 true," he replied, sinking back into tlie 
 depths of his easy-chair, whence he quickly 
 started in nervous tremor as the door suddenly 
 opened, and glanced apprehensively round, 
 to see nothing more terrible than the bright 
 face and light figure of Marion. 
 
 " Oh ! here you are, you bad boys, looking 
 as grave as two owls," she said, in her light, 
 delicate treble. " Gleorge, your wife wants 
 you in the drawing-room at once." 
 
 The obedient husband rose immediately, 
 but paused lingeringly at the door. ^' We 
 will discuss the matter further," he said. 
 " Cyril and I have been having the most 
 interesting conversation, Marion. I have 
 passed a refreshing morning with him. We 
 have more in common than I supposed." 
 
 And with an indulgent tap of his young 
 sister's cheek, George vanished, and left the 
 lovers alone, Marion charmed to find such 
 harmony established between the two eccle- 
 siastics, who bid fair at one time to differ as 
 only those of the same creed under slightly 
 varying aspects can differ. 
 
 YOL. I. T
 
 322 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 
 
 " Isn't it provoking, Cyril ? " she cried. 
 " Here is a telegram from Leslie, to say he 
 cannot spare time to come to-night, and 
 his regiment does not embark till the third. 
 If any one wants to wish him good-bye, 
 they can run over to Portsmouth to-morrow. 
 I dare say, indeed ! The other officers are 
 coming ; but we shall be short of men, I fear." 
 
 " Is that all ? " returned Cyril , with a 
 sigh of relief; for he had turned pale and 
 shuddered at the sight of the telegram. 
 " Well, dearest, let us run over with your 
 father and Keppel to-morrow, and wish them 
 all good-bye at once. I rather envy the 
 admiral going on the Mediterranean station 
 at this murky season." 
 
 "You poor boy! " exclaimed Marion, placing 
 her hand upon his burning brow ; " you look 
 as if you needed some kind of a change. I 
 am afraid your head is still aching." 
 
 " It is maddening," returned Cyril, detain- 
 ing the caressing hand. " To tell the truth, 
 I am very unwell. I ought not to have 
 walked this morning."
 
 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 323 
 
 " Indeed you ought not. I saw that you 
 were quite lame from fatigue." 
 
 " And who is to blame for my walk ? " 
 returned Cyril, with forced gaiety ; " who 
 but Miss Everard ? I suppose I caught cold 
 in Long's gig yesterday afternoon. I had no 
 overcoat, meaning to walk. I feel as if I 
 had been beaten all over." 
 
 " Poor dear ! " said Marion, tenderly. 
 " And you actually have a little bruise here 
 over the temple," she added, touching the 
 place, which was tender even to her velvet 
 touch. 
 
 " Oh, that's nothing ! " Cyril replied 
 hastily ; but he rose and approached a small 
 mirror, into which he gazed apprehensively. 
 " Ah yes, I dressed in a hurry, and hit 
 myself Avith a hair-brush. And this," lie 
 added, pointing to a strip of plaster on his 
 chin, " I did in shaving." 
 
 " What can we do for you ? " asked Marion. 
 " I was going to ask you to carry some 
 plants from the conservatory, but you must 
 not."
 
 324 THE SILENCE OF DEAN MAITLAND. 
 
 *' Come and sit by me, dear," Cyril replied, 
 in his gracefully autocratic manner; "there 
 is no anodyne like your presence." 
 
 So the lovers remained hand-in-hand by 
 the library fire a good hour, Marion's bright 
 eyes and caressing tones worshipping Cyril, 
 who appreciated nothing so much as incense. 
 
 George Everard, in the mean time, was 
 telling his wife what unexpected graces he 
 had discovered .in his future brother-in-law. 
 " A very precious soul," he said. " He only 
 needs Christian influence." 
 
 Mrs. , Everard knew well that, according 
 to the usage of her husband's tribe, the word 
 Christian was not applicable to either of the 
 Maitlands. •% 
 
 END OP VOL. I. 
 
 PRINTED BY WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS, LIMITED, LONDON AND BECCLES,