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 i
 
 IN THE WEST COTJNTEIE 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 NEW AND POPULAE NOVELS 
 
 AT ALL THE LIBRARIES- 
 
 PEAELA. By M. Betham-Edwards, author of ' Kitty,' 
 
 * Doctor Jacob,' 'Bridget,' &c. 3 vols. 
 
 JUNE. By Mrs. Forrester, author of * Viva,' ' Mignon,' 
 
 'My Lord and My Lady,' &c. 3 vols. 
 
 ADEIAN BEIGHT. By Mrs. Caddy, author of ' Artist 
 
 and Amateur,' 'Lares and Penates,' &c. 3 vols. 
 
 SQUIEE LISLE'S BEQUEST. By Anne Beale, author 
 
 of 'Fay Arlington,' 'Idonea,' &c. 3 vols. 
 
 EED EIDING-HOOD. By Fanny E. Millett Notley, 
 
 author of 'Olive Varcoe,' ' Cordelia,' &c. 3 vols. 
 
 HURST & BLACKETT, 13, GREAT MARLBOROUGH STREET.
 
 IN THE WEST COUNTEIE 
 
 BY 
 
 MAY CROMMELIN 
 
 AUTHOR OF 
 
 QUEENIE," " OEANGE LILY," " A JEWEL OF A GIEL,' 
 " MY LOVE, she's BUT A LASSIE," 
 &c., &c. 
 
 IN THREE VOLUMES. 
 VOL. L 
 
 LONDON" : 
 HUEST AND BLACKETT, PUBLISHERS, 
 
 13, GREAT MARLBOROUGH STREET. 
 
 1883. 
 J II rights reserved.
 
 CLAY AND TAYLOR, PRINTERS.
 
 
 
 fV 
 
 ^ 
 
 To THE Earl of Dufferin: 
 
 In grateful rememhrcmce of marnj kirid 
 wor(U of encoarcKjemeiit from the author of ' Letter. ^^ 
 from High Latitudes ' to a younger writer from fJifi 
 same county. 
 
 May Crommelin. 
 
 October, 1883. 
 
 4
 
 IN THE WEST COUNTRIE. 
 
 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 UR home was lovely ! 
 
 I verily believe in all the length and 
 breadth of England you could not find one 
 other, of its own size, to match with the 
 charms of that dearest old place. 
 
 One knows old-world tales of love in a 
 cottage ; which homely nest, of course, is 
 always a bower of bhss, hidden in creepers. 
 Our house was like three or four still more 
 delightful cottages joined into one old Saxon 
 homestead ; each just touching its brother at 
 
 VOL. I. B
 
 2 IN THE WEST COUNTEIE. 
 
 angles, and staring at a different quarter of 
 pleasant earth and sky ; but all bound together 
 in love by the roses that almost smothered the 
 walls, peeped in at the windows, hung from 
 the carved barge-boards, and kissed the old 
 home red or white with blossoms, from spring 
 to autumn. 
 
 Not only roses, but every pleasant plant 
 that creeps on walls ; as many as only 
 Solomon, — or our old gardener, — knew. 
 
 And as to gables ! why, each side of the 
 house seemed to have at least eight of them, 
 some built with timber cross-beams in the 
 masonry, others with wooden carvings every- 
 where, and stone niches for little patron saints ; 
 while all had steep tiled roofs, with corbie- 
 steps, crow-stones, glittering vanes, and the 
 funniest twisted chimneys in the world. 
 Windows here, there, everywhere; big ones
 
 IN THE WEST COUNTRIE. 3 
 
 witli cool embrasures and deep seats, little 
 ones in the most unlikely nooks ; windows 
 latticed, or paned witli bottle-stump glass. 
 But this last was no modern imitation. All 
 was of ancient date at Stoke, excepting — 
 well, perhaps ourselves. 
 
 Stoke was simply the name of our home. 
 (In ignorance, I once used to wonder why 
 there were so many Stokes in England, till 
 told it meant merely 'place'.) Stoke-Bracy 
 used to be its proper designation ; but that 
 was when the former owners lived there. My 
 mother thought Stoke was simpler, and per- 
 haps had fewer associations. 
 
 Indoors, there was a real old dining-hall, 
 dating from Saxon days, with no story betwixt 
 the guests' board and the lofty roof, but a 
 louvre overhead to let out the fumes of smoke 
 and good cheer. The rest of the house was 
 
 B 2
 
 4 IN THE WEST COUNTEIE. 
 
 two-storied only ; which explains why it spread 
 over so much ground. 
 
 In the entrance-saloon, as it might be 
 more properly termed than hall, seeing it 
 had always been a sitting-room, there were 
 four splendid, full-length portraits let into 
 the panelling, by Lely, Kneller, Reynolds, 
 and Lawrence, of ancestors who — were not 
 ours ! 
 
 The fact is, to confess quickly, we were 
 only Browns — Browns of no place, till the 
 last spendthrift old Bracy squire was obliged 
 to sell Stoke. Browns without an e ; Browns 
 in trade ; nothing more ! None of us were 
 even born at Stoke, though Rose was a mere 
 baby when we came. 
 
 My earliest recollections are of living in 
 our grub stage, in a genteel semi-detached 
 villa outside the town where my father made
 
 IN THE WEST COUNTEIE. 5 
 
 his fortune ; of our perambulators being aired 
 in a small provincial Zoo ; and of our mother's 
 cool and haughty remarks, caught up un- 
 awares by our little pitcher-like ears, that ' if 
 her old equals in the county did not choose 
 to call upon her, she for her part did not 
 choose to be called upon by the ladies of the 
 town/ She was perfectly happy, she would 
 observe in her beautifully-trained voice, with- 
 out either society. Por she was a Beaumanoir, 
 daughter of Sir Reginald Beaumanoir, the last 
 baronet of his impoverished family ; and our 
 mother's marriage was supposed to have been 
 a judicious alliance of fortune with family, 
 though attachment had somehow crept in. 
 
 Nevertheless, though so avowedly content, 
 she never rested till my father first bought 
 a county place, and then retired from the 
 greater part of his business.
 
 6 IN THE WEST COUNTPJE. 
 
 What happiness was ours when we first 
 heard the news, that we were henceforth to 
 live among woods and pastures I How we 
 ^ babbled of green fields ' ! Oh, the pictures 
 we surreptitiously drew on our slates when 
 the governess wasn't looking — of ourselves 
 perched on strange animals, beneath which 
 was generally written, ' This is a Pony ' ; 
 of ourselves (recognizable as human by having 
 outstretched hands with five fingers each as 
 long as our bodies) standing five in a row 
 before the ideal dwelling my father had 
 described — which we portrayed as about half 
 the height of the aforesaid five, all windows 
 and chimneys, with a volcano cloud of smoke 
 eddying away in the distance. 
 
 When Ave did see Stoke it surpassed, how- 
 ever, our wildest imaginings. 
 
 Shall I ever forget the close of our long
 
 m THE WEST COUNTRIE. * 7 
 
 journey there ; when, after wearisome, dusty 
 highways, we passed into the shade of the 
 great woods that for three miles round 
 lovingly sheltered this gem of a home from 
 the rough outside world ? The evening breeze 
 again seems to fan my brow as we all sat up, 
 refreshed and full of curiosity, and gazed at 
 the great trees, the bracken coverts, the open 
 down-like patches where the rabbits fed by 
 scores ; getting sudden glimpses as we wound 
 along a wooded height of a charming, mysteri- 
 ous valley below. 
 
 Then — when the house came in sight — we 
 all gave a cry 1 
 
 The sun was sinking, and each window 
 seemed redly illumined to ' meet and greet ' 
 us on our first crossing the threshold of what 
 was thenceforth ' home '. The walls were 
 covered with a drooping mantle of flowers.
 
 8 m THE WEST COUNTEIE. 
 
 Flowers, flowers bloomed everywhere — around 
 the dwelling in exquisitely trim borders, 
 in parterres, in old-fashioned vases round 
 little pebbled courts filling nooks and angles, 
 in the centre whereof small fountains played, 
 or old sun-dials stretched shadow-fingers. 
 And the whole quaint homestead, its flowers, 
 gables, flashing weather-cocks, all seemed 
 to be peeping over the edge of a smoothly- 
 shaven grassy slope, that descended with 
 treacherous suddenness and depth into a bosky 
 valley. There a little lake reflected woods 
 around its further three sides, where beech- 
 branches swept the water, while the swans, as 
 
 ' On still St. Mary's lake,' 
 
 floated, 
 
 'Double, swan and shadow,' 
 
 And in the heart of these woods that trended 
 lake-wards from the high ground whereon we
 
 IN THE WEST COUNTRIE. \) 
 
 stood, were hid baby ravines and gorgelets. 
 Down these trickled little brooklets under 
 the thick foliage overhead, singing only to 
 fairy glens, tall forested with ferns such as 
 human eye or hand had hardly ever seen or 
 disturbed in their damp, cool haunts. 
 
 Next morning a slight incident happened 
 that always associated itself afterwards with 
 my first impressions of Stoke. 
 
 Bob and I had agreed to rise early and 
 explore our new kingdom, w^hile the rest of 
 the dull world was still asleep. Bob came 
 next to me in the family, callow, awkward, 
 and constantly in disgrace with our parents 
 and teachers, but dearest and most delightful 
 of brothers. His head was long ; his straight 
 hair, always ill-cut and ill-parted, w^as just 
 the colour of a canary's wing ; his eyes, 
 though beaming with high spirits, were of
 
 10 IN THE WEST COUNTEIE. 
 
 the weakest light-blue ; his hands and feet 
 were much too big, and his joints loose. 
 Ugly was he — ? 
 
 ' " No matter for that," King Henrye cryd ; 
 " I love him the better therefore." ' 
 
 There was no use in asking Alice, our 
 elder sister, to come too. She loved pranks, 
 but not early rising or hurried dressing, 
 thank you ; besides, she slept near the 
 governess. 
 
 Our eldest brother Beaumanoir was at 
 school. Beau we all called him when our 
 mother was out of earshot. Rose was too 
 much of a baby. 
 
 So we two rose and stole out by ourselves. 
 
 I remember, like yesterday, the dewy fresh- 
 ness of the whole sweet face of earth around 
 us that new morning. How the birds sang 
 their matin praises in all the bushes more
 
 IN THE WEST COUNTRIE. 11 
 
 clearly, and the flowers smelt sweeter, than 
 ever before or after, and the trees seemed 
 taller, and swayed their branches in more 
 stately harmony. 
 
 'Let's come down to that little flower- 
 garden that we found last night,' said Bob 
 as if he was a first discoverer of the spot. 
 
 We agreed, as usual. The garden was a 
 dehghtful spot of primness, though just 
 beyond its stone boundary wall nature re- 
 asserted her easy wilder sway in meadows 
 and woodland. Its little paths were paved 
 carefully in chequers of black and white 
 pebbles ; the box edges were clipped straight 
 and stifl" Hke rows of military vegetation ; 
 yew-trees stood about shaped like chess -pieces 
 among the Queen Anne flower-beds. On the 
 one side peeps could be had through outside 
 shrubbery of the lake, that still lay in shadow,
 
 12 IN THE WEST COUNTKIE. 
 
 but for one bright gleam at the far side, 
 where rays from the east just flashed on it a 
 wakening summons. And, looking upwards 
 behind us a little way, the old house showed 
 its most charming side of all. 
 
 ' Isn't it a little Paradise, Bob ! ' I ex- 
 claimed, after we had dived down a pleached 
 alley of jessamine and emerged among the 
 yew pawns to gaze round, hard breathing 
 in our haste and full of enchantment. ' How 
 I should love to be queen here ! ' {i, e. be lord 
 over my brethren in this acre and a half.) 
 ' There can't be any other home in the wide 
 world half so deliaihtful as this.' 
 
 'There cannot I' said a strange voice beside 
 us, with a sound more like a sudden sob of 
 pain wrung out unawares than a sigh. 
 
 We both started. 
 
 Close beside us, hidden hitherto by the
 
 IN THE WEST COUNTEIE. 13 
 
 yews, stood a young lad, much older than 
 Bob, older even than Beau. His arms were 
 folded, as if we had surprised him in a medi- 
 tative survey of Stoke and its grounds. One 
 quick, hesitating look at us, one glance all 
 round at house, woods, and valley ; then he 
 darted towards a corner of the ivy- covered 
 garden-wall, and springing up, seized a strong 
 tree-branch that hung just overhead along the 
 wall, and swung himself into invisibility, as 
 far as we were concerned, on the other 
 side. 
 
 ' Stop thief ! ' cried Bob, instantly giving 
 chase. 
 
 ' Stop, Bob 1 ' cried I, instantly full of 
 fears for my valorous brother, but running 
 after him — with a very weak heart and a 
 very great wish to run the other way. 
 
 Bob sprang at the wall, trying likewise, he
 
 14 m THE WEST COUNTRIE. 
 
 too, to vault it, but fell back with injured, 
 bleeding hands, a fringe of cruel glass in the 
 masonry having been hidden by the ivy. No 
 matter ! still gallant, he jumped up at the 
 branches above, but caught no doubt the 
 wrong ones, for one only swung him a Httle 
 upwards, and another fairly broke under his 
 weight. After this second fall, Bob sat still 
 on the ground looking rueful. 
 
 ' Come away, come away,' I urged, in a tone 
 of beseeching comfort ; ^ he's gone long ago.' 
 
 ' If we could only have caught him ! ' sighed 
 my young brother, slowly rising, and not un- 
 derstanding apparently my feminine reasons 
 for leaving the spot. ^ He may have been a 
 poacher, you know, or some sort of a desperate 
 robber.' 
 
 ' Oh, do come back to the house/ I 
 entreated, trembling.
 
 IN THE WEST COUNTEIE. 15 
 
 Bob, however, would only do this after a 
 careful examination of the mysterious visitor's 
 means of disappearance. By standing on 
 inverted flower-pots we discovered that the 
 wall was everywhere protected by a deep dry 
 ditch on the far side, excepting at this one 
 especial spot. And, presently, we marked the 
 very bough the trespasser had used, though it 
 was too high for Bob, jump as he might. 
 
 ' I say ! he must have known his way 
 about most awfully well,' observed Bob, 
 putting his head on one side with a 
 sagaciously mysterious air. 
 
 Then a six-o'clock farm-bell rang to work 
 (for we had been out since five), and the figure 
 of the gardener was seen approaching. 
 
 'Let us go and tell him about it,' I sug- 
 gested. ' You know papa says he is such an 
 honest man.'
 
 16 IN THE WEST COUNTHIE. 
 
 On our father's return from one of his 
 previous visits to prepare Stoke for our 
 arrival, we had heard him praising this man 
 Verity to our mother, as a pattern of rude 
 fidelity. Born and bred in Stoke, and 
 having hardly ever been out of its parish, Joe 
 Verity had since boyhood attached himself so 
 devotedly to the Bracys, that he curtly told 
 my father he could never bear to see a new 
 family there, so he would go ' when the place 
 went.' 
 
 ' Now, you know, that's what I call a fine 
 fellow, so I begged him to remain,' cried my 
 father, in whom staid business traditions had 
 never damped a warm natural enthusiasm. 
 * You don't see too much of that spirit now. 
 I offered to raise the poor fellow's wages, for 
 the Bracys could not afford to give him much, 
 you know. But no ! — no use, till at last
 
 IN THE WEST COUNTEIE. 17 
 
 young Bracy, the grandson, himself advised 
 him to stay on, and that settled the matter. 
 The poor man had some wild notion, it seems, 
 of being able to go with his young master. 
 He'll make us a good servant, that you 
 may depend on,' ended my father. 
 
 ' I hope he will make us a good gardener^ 
 said my mother, in her gentle high-bred voice, 
 never so carried away by feeling as to lose 
 sight of the main object, like my father, 
 although she was a Beaumanoir born, and 
 he only a business Brown. 
 
 Verity was fastening creepers on the wall 
 
 when we went up to him eagerly with our 
 
 story. He listened stohdly enough till we 
 
 described the tree-branch, but at that looked 
 
 round hastily, and made a few steps towards 
 
 the spot. Then he stopped himself, and 
 
 returning to his work, asked us gruffly, v^ith 
 VOL. I.
 
 18 IN THE WEST COUNTRIE. 
 
 an averted head, 'What was he like? was 
 he common-lookmg ? ' 
 
 * No, no,' we cried ; and hastened to 
 describe the strange youth, whose figure now 
 I can hardly recall. 
 
 Joe Verity only nodded, holding some 
 nails and a bunch of list in his mouth. 
 
 ' But was he a robber ? tell us ! was he a 
 thief?' cried Bob, impatient of this unmoved 
 man's manner of receiving our news. 
 
 Verity turned round to us — a squarely- 
 built, self-reliant man, strong in body as 
 in his iron will, with a broad brow in 
 which were two wrinkles furrowed by honest 
 endeavour to do constantly the best that w^as 
 in him. 
 
 ' It was no robber,' he just answered, 
 taking the nails out of his mouth to speak, 
 and then putting them in again, while he
 
 IN THE WEST COUNTHIE. 19 
 
 looked at us with a doubtful expression in 
 his deep-set gray eyes, that we detected. 
 ' He'll not come back again ; so you need 
 trouble your heads no more about him.' 
 
 But the gardener did not then quite un- 
 derstand children's ways, nor our curiosity. 
 We slipped away, grumbling to each other 
 at the romance of our adventure being 
 stifled. 
 
 'Well, we'll tell nurse about it; and papa 
 when we see him at lunch-time,' we mur- 
 mured, sure of fellow-feeling in those quarters. 
 
 Verity looked after us, scratching his head, 
 while the two wrinkles in his forehead deep- 
 ened extraordinarily. 
 
 Then he called out to me : 
 
 * Hi!— little Missy! Miss Brown, I 
 suppose.' 
 
 'Yes,' I said, coming back with a child's 
 
 C 2
 
 20 IN THE WEST COUNTRIE. 
 
 willingness, though thinking him a rude man 
 to go on with his work and call me to 
 come to him. ' But I'm not Miss Brown ; 
 that is my elder sister. I'm only Miss 
 Pleasance.' 
 
 'That's a queer name, anyhow,' remarked 
 Verity, as if loth to say yet why he had called 
 me back. 
 
 ' Well — but what do you want ? ' I now 
 questioned with some dignity, feeling Bob's 
 chin planted on my left shoulder, while his 
 face, I knew, was alive with expectation. 
 
 ' See,' said Verity gravely. ' I've been 
 taking crown counsel, as the lawyers might 
 say ' (and he gave a last enquiring rub at his 
 crisply black head). 'I'm not forbidding 
 you to tell your father or your nurse ; that's 
 right enough, but still — I think him you saw 
 this morning would rather not have it spoke
 
 m THE WEST COUNTPvIE. 21 
 
 about. He had as good a right here as 
 yourselves : ay ! and far better unto — yester- 
 day.' Here the gardener's face softened 
 wonderfully, and he turned slowly to fasten 
 up a rose-branch, continuing : ' If so be as he 
 came early this morning to take a last look 
 at the old place, he didn't think to disturb 
 any of ye; and you, Miss, being older than 
 your brother, have sense enough to know a 
 sore heart shuns gossip.' 
 
 *Was it — the grandson of old Squire 
 Bracy ? ' I asked in an awe-struck whisper. 
 * We won't say a word about it.' 
 
 Our oracle just gave a sort of satisfied nod 
 at us, and replied : ' It might ha' been — or 
 one of the family, . leastwise. I did not see 
 him, mind ye.' 
 
 We went away quite proud of the secret, 
 as of our own future staunchness in keeping
 
 22 IN THE WEST OOUNTRIE. 
 
 it; and that morning was thenceforth en- 
 veloped in a halo of romance to us. 
 
 To our credit be it said, I only told Rose 
 after a year or so ; and Bob only told Beau. 
 When the latter came back from school, he 
 treated the adventure loftily as one of our 
 silly childish marvels, and soon forgot it. 
 For fear of more ridicule, we neither of us 
 ever told Alice, who always laughed at us 
 in an elderly and irritating way.
 
 IN THE WEST COUNTEIE. 23 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 nnHE next event 1 most clearly remember 
 in our family history happened some 
 years later. 
 
 Bob must have been at Harrow a year or 
 two, I think ; and both he and Beau had 
 come home for the Easter holidays. 
 
 It was a chilly, sunny Sunday morning. 
 * Pleasance ! Pleasance ! Are you ready for 
 church ? ' they were calling in the house ; and 
 I can recall so well creeping slowly down the 
 shallow steps of dark-oak stairs, holding 
 heavily by the balusters with a swimming 
 sensation in my head. ' Why, child, what is
 
 24 m THE WEST COUNTRIE. 
 
 the matter with you ? ' asked my mother, who 
 was standing below in a ray of sunshine that 
 came through a latticed window. 
 
 She somehow impressed me that moment 
 as looking so calm, elegant, pretty ; so diflfer- 
 ent in everything from myself. Her dress of 
 that respectably old, if not venerable, date is 
 before my mind's eye now. 
 
 A pink cambric made in three great 
 flounces all round ; her taper waist drawn 
 still tighter by a sash tied in long loops in 
 front ; her sleeves puffed wide at the shoulder, 
 but skin-fitting at the wrists ; her fair hair 
 brought down in shining bands below her 
 ears ; and a tiny gathered bonnet almost fall- 
 ing back off her pretty head. ' Are you ill ? ' 
 she repeated with light marvelling, as if such 
 an occurrence was most unlikely in her family. 
 'I don't know, mother,' replied that miserable
 
 IN THE WEST COUNTRIE. 25 
 
 being Me ; ' but I do feel rather sick. Please, 
 may I stay at home from church ? ' 
 
 ' Sick ! what an expression ! ' said my 
 mother, with a gesture of slight disgust ; but 
 she gave the required permission after critically 
 looking at me. I slipped away into the library 
 because it was least frequented, and, feeling 
 rather ashamed of myself, hid in a window- 
 seat behind the curtains. A door near 
 was open into the morning-room, and my 
 mother's voice reached me, saying con- 
 fidentially 1 * Pleasance is unwell. I don't 
 know how it is, that child is such a 
 goose.' 
 
 ' My dear, you ought to think your 
 
 " Every goose a swan, 
 And every lass a queen," ' 
 
 laughingly remonstrated my father in his 
 clearest and cheeriest of strong voices coming
 
 26 IN THE WEST COUNTHIE. 
 
 from a little body. ' Can any of us help 
 feeling out of sorts at times ? ' 
 
 ' Well, somehow, if there is any infection 
 going she is sure to catch it,' repeated my 
 mother with accusation still in her tone. 
 ' Certainly, neither she nor Bob are Beau- 
 manoirs in that or anything else.' 
 
 ' Well, my dear, they are good Browns, 
 and take after my family in names and 
 natures, so I must see after this sick gosling,' 
 returned my father, good-humouredly as ever ; 
 and then I heard his voice calling me, 
 evidently full of solicitude. 
 
 Slipping out by the other door, I found 
 him standing below the stairs just where my 
 mother had been. Trim, tidy, he was a 
 very little man, who always seemed trying 
 to stand on his heels with his chest much 
 expanded in order to look bigger. He had
 
 IN THE WEST COUNTRIE. 27 
 
 the ruddiest English face, and the largest 
 loving heart in the world. No ; he certainly 
 was not handsome, but there never was, or 
 will be, his like to me again. 
 
 After receiving his caresses, and advice 
 to go out and have some fresh air, I watched 
 them all packing into the long family wag- 
 gonette. 
 
 There was Beau, our pride, our Etonian, 
 carefully smoothing his tall hat with a fine- 
 airs expression on his handsome young face. 
 There was Alice, laughing at my woebegone 
 looks, as usual ; always laughing, always 
 lovely ! 
 
 Certainly, it was very odd that she and 
 Beaumanoir should have been given by our 
 mother her family's names while in their 
 cradles, and that they dutifully followed her 
 familv's characteristics.
 
 28 m THE WEST COUNTKIE. 
 
 My name, I afterwards learnt, had been 
 a matter of slight dispute, since it was most 
 pre-eminently a Brown one. ' There always 
 had been a Pleasance in his family,' my father, 
 however, firmly insisted though so easy-going, 
 ' and he wished there always might be.' 
 
 It must have cost my mother a little effort 
 to repress a slight curl of her lip at the idea 
 of the Brown family having ' always ' existed, 
 or indeed having any clear reason to give for 
 their being (except on the plea that trade 
 is a human vrant), till the best of them 
 wsis united to a Beaumanoir. But, to do 
 her justice, she never snubbed my father on 
 this point ; never even tried to assert author- 
 ity over him openly like so many wives. 
 Still she managed to get her own way with 
 him in almost everything, for he adored 
 her. She always made him and all of us
 
 IN THE WEST COUNTRIE. 29 
 
 feel that she had condescended greatly in her 
 marriage, — but she had loved him, deep down 
 in her heart, we could be sure, though he 
 was a Brown, and though she Avas so grace- 
 fully indifferent and superior in her ways. 
 Rose, our youngest, nodded at me from the 
 carriage, like a sympathetic China mandarin. 
 She was also said by our mother to show 
 Beaumanoir promise, and was expected to 
 be a beauty — though this was less certain. 
 
 But, why did Bob stand with his head 
 drooped on one side ; and why did he limp 
 back dismally to the house as they drove off? 
 
 What could be ? 
 
 * Come along ; let us go off for a ramble 
 somewhere,' exclaimed that young man 
 cheerfully, bursting into my retreat. 
 
 ' Why, Bob, what kept 2/ou from church ? ' 
 Bob screwed up his features deprecatingly.
 
 30 m THE WEST COUNTRIE. 
 
 and dropped his lip ; which made him look 
 very ugly, as I promptly told him. 
 
 * My toe is all smashed. I got it caught in 
 a gate yesterday when Beau was riding the 
 colt, and I fought them both for fun.' 
 
 ' Oh, Bob ! — you came in here not a bit 
 lame.' 
 
 Staying away from church, without being 
 really ill, was rare indeed with us. 
 
 ' But it is really sore though,' assured 
 Bob, Avith a quizzical screw of pain to all his 
 features, that were as flexible as those of any 
 clown. 'Besides, you would have been all 
 alone, poor old girl. Come ! — I'll bobble 
 with a stick as far as the lake, and we'll 
 search for wild-ducks' nests along the edge.' 
 
 He soon persuaded me, though I felt very 
 unwell; and down by the lake we hunted 
 through reed-beds and rushes. The only
 
 IN THE WEST COUNTEIE. 31 
 
 thing that kept Bob from pulling off his boots 
 and stockings to wade, Avas, I believe, that his 
 toe was hetter than it should be. 
 
 At last, we tried up a little back water 
 all fringed with alders and willows. Sud- 
 denly there was a startling whirr and rush of 
 wings from under our very noses, and with 
 a great ' Quack — quack,' disturbing the 
 Sunday quiet of the woods, out flew a mallard 
 and his mate from the rushes. ' Hooroo ! ' 
 cried Bob, and plunged along the bank 
 through boughs and brambles joyfully. 
 ^ Here's the nest just below me, — and eggs ! 
 I can see them ! It's down there close by the 
 water.' 
 
 See the eggs, yes ! but he could not reach 
 them. 
 
 .We did not mean to rob the poor wild 
 duck, but who could resist inspection of such
 
 32 IN THE WEST COUNTIIIE. 
 
 a nest ? So Bob crept down to the edge 
 cautiously, and then — there being little foot- 
 hold — caught firmly by an alder branch above 
 him with both hands. He, 
 
 ' Thought it was a trusty tree, 
 But syne it bowed and then it brak.' — 
 
 Even so ! — • 
 
 A crack — a souse ! — and down went poor 
 Bob into the oozy stream, still clinging as 
 he went to that faithless branch. To my 
 eternal shame, be it recorded, as he rose all 
 streaming and spluttering, I laughed till my 
 sides so ached that, being weak, I had to sit 
 down and hold by another alder. How 
 ridiculously one does laugh while still in 
 short frocks ! But the first thing Bob did 
 was, to stand up in the muddy water and 
 laugh too. To end the matter, Ave retreated 
 homewards, hoping devoutly to reach unseen
 
 IN THE WEST COUNTRIE. 33 
 
 the cottagre of our former nurse who had now 
 
 o 
 
 been taken to wife by Joe Verity. But as 
 ill-luck would have it, back came the church- 
 party and caught us — Bob watering the 
 carriage-drive as he went from all his gar- 
 ments, and every lank hair of his head. 
 
 That afternoon I grew worse, and the old 
 doctor was sent for ; ' black dose ' being 
 whispered by my sinking heart, and read in 
 my brothers' and sisters' pitying looks. But 
 w^hen our village medicine-man left, tov/ards 
 evening, my good father — finding Master Bob 
 alone outside the porch, looking dejected 
 under my mother's silent scorn of the exist- 
 ence of such a goose — put his hand on bis 
 shoulder, saying kindly : 
 
 ' Look here, old fellow ! That toe of yours 
 was rather shammed this morning. Come — 
 you know T don't like you boys to miss 
 
 VOL. I. D
 
 34 IN THE WEST COUNTKIE. 
 
 church. Still, considerhig the lesson you got, 
 we'll say no more about it.' 
 
 Bob looked and felt desperately contrite ; 
 but then seeing my father smile, thought he 
 might as well smile too. 
 
 ' What about Pleasance ? ' he asked with 
 interest ; * how is she ? ' 
 
 * Oh, she's not at all badly,' said father 
 with an intentionally cheerful air. ' It doesn't 
 signify, they say, only she's got the measles.' 
 
 ' NO,' said Bob, awestruck. ' How many 
 of them ? ' 
 
 Poor Bob soon might ask the same ques- 
 tion about himself, for, faithful to me in all 
 things, he was ill too by morning. And then 
 with a whistle from Beau at the news, and a 
 shiver of Alice's pretty shoulders, and a 
 frightened laugh from Rosie, my mother 
 announced further, that these uninfected ones
 
 IN THE WEST COUNTRIE. 35 
 
 were straight to be hurried off on a visit to 
 our grand-aunt, Miss Beaumanoir, who lived 
 ten miles away in a tumbledown dower-house 
 styled by its owner The Barn. 
 
 D 2
 
 36 IN THE WEST COUNTRIE. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 /^UR grand-aunt, it may here be remarked, 
 was an oddity. ' In fact,' as Joe Verity 
 thus once delivered himself, ' she's the greatest 
 cur'osity, out of being bottled in spirits in 
 a museum, ever / saw ; but ye could never 
 mistake her for anything but a lady once she 
 came to speak to ye.' 
 
 This last was quite true ; but, as may be 
 shown later, at a distance foolish persons 
 might be forgiven for erring. 
 
 From our childhood, in our distant town- 
 house, we had been taught to venerate this 
 relative ; the last remaining representative of
 
 m THE WEST COUNTHIE. 37 
 
 the Beaumanoirs, as our mother carefully 
 instructed us. Indeed, it was chiefly because 
 our Aunt Bee lived in the dower-house of 
 her ancestors, and , that Stoke was in the 
 former shire of the Beaumanoir family 
 (although their property had been on the 
 other side of the country), that my mother 
 was bent on moving to our new home. 
 
 We children were wildly eager to see 
 this Beaumanoir grand-aunt of whom we 
 were so proud; and of whom my mother 
 was fond of telhng us a rather romantic 
 story. 
 
 Miss Beaumanoir had been passionately 
 devoted to her only brother, Sir Reginald, 
 our maternal grandfather. When he was so 
 embarrassed with money difficulties that the 
 estate was in danger of being sold, she had 
 placed her own fortune, twenty thousand
 
 38 IN THE WEST COUNTRIE. 
 
 pounds, in his hands — given it generously, 
 utterly. In return, her brother had settled an 
 old dower-house and demesne on her — the 
 Barn where she still lived. But her sacrifice 
 was in vain. A fire broke out in this very 
 dower-house where they were then staying to- 
 gether — Sir Reginald, who was ill, died next 
 day of exposure. The money, being in notes, 
 had no doubt perished in the flames, for no 
 trace of it was ever found. And the Beau- 
 manoir estate went to the hammer. 
 
 Before coming to Stoke we pictured her 
 vividly to each other as a snowy-haired but 
 beautiful old lady, who would look 'just 
 stepped out of a picture ' ; always dressed in 
 black velvet, and with a sad sweet face, as be- 
 fitted the last of her name. Then she would 
 have an erect carriage ; and perhaps carry a 
 snuffbox, or a big fan, or a mysterious minia-
 
 m THE WEST COUNTEIE. 39 
 
 ture concealed round her neck. Opinions 
 on these latter points were divided. 
 
 The first time we beheld the real presence 
 of our grand-aunt, however, was on this 
 wise. 
 
 We were all assembled for breakfast one 
 morning, at half-past nine o'clock, and 
 prayers in the hall had just been ended, 
 when a ring was heard at the entrance- 
 door. 
 
 ' Who can be there at this hour ? ' said 
 my mother. 
 
 * It's a beggar-woman, I think,' announced 
 Beau, glancing at the window. 
 
 ' Tell them to send her away immediately. 
 Coming to the front door ! — what will these 
 tramps do next, I wonder ? ' 
 
 Beau disliked leaving his plate ; but Bob 
 had tumbled at once off his chair, lustily
 
 40 m THE WEST COUNTRIE. 
 
 shouting as he half-opened the door, ' Mamma 
 says you're to send away that beg ' 
 
 The last syllable died on his lips as he 
 was smartly pushed aside by a strange little 
 figure of a woman, who was answering to 
 an expostulating footman, 'Don't mind me, 
 my good man : I'll announce myself; — I'm 
 Miss Beaumanoir.' 
 
 Our venerated grand-aunt ! Every knife 
 and fork was dropped as we all gazed, 
 petrified. She certainly was a grotesque 
 sight. 
 
 Standing at the door an instant as if to 
 survey us all, we saw a dried little Avoman, 
 who, like the Wandering Jew, might be 
 imagined almost any age, her skin was so 
 like parchment — while yet her eyes had a life 
 and sharpness, and her small person an air 
 of activity, quite micanny to behold. As to
 
 IN THE WEST COUNTRIE. 41 
 
 her garments, they seemed all to be from 
 a pawnshop, and none of them matching. 
 A black straw bonnet adorned with artificial 
 flowers was slipping off her head ; a green 
 veil ; a blue parasol ; an old black bombazeen 
 dress, very short, below which appeared 
 mysteriously the flounce of another thin 
 black material trailing on the ground ; while 
 a tippet of the same transparent texture airily 
 draped her shoulders, and was edged with 
 narrow white crochet lace, through which 
 meandered a penny red silk ribbon, giving 
 colour to the outline. Such was Miss 
 Beaumanoir's dress. She also wore bright 
 violet gloves, so cheap that they seemed 
 inclined to split at every seam, and the 
 solitary button of each was tugged to burst- 
 ing ; notwithstanding which their owner was 
 jauntily flourishing a little black bag.
 
 42 IN THE WEST COUNTRIE. 
 
 My mother, who had only seen her aunt 
 years ago, was inwardly horror-stricken, as 
 we guessed, but to do her justice recovered 
 bravely. ' Dear Aunt Bee — how do you do ? 
 What a surprise ! — but I am so delighted,' she 
 gasped, advancing with much bravery to kiss 
 her relation's cheek. 
 
 ' And so this is you, Ada ; I remember 
 you as a httle girl — yes ; you're just what I 
 expected,' our grand-aunt coolly vouchsafed, 
 taking our graceful mother by both hands 
 and absolutely examining her at arms'-length. 
 Then turning to father she added: 'But is 
 this your goodman? I wanted to see him 
 especially. I've heard about you — oh, God 
 bless you, I know by your face you and I will 
 get on together,' — whereupon Aunt Bee threw 
 her arms about his neck and gave him as 
 his share an embrace with such gusto that, for
 
 IN THE WEST COUNTRIE. 43 
 
 the first time in our lives, we saw our father 
 almost foolish and speechless ; though Miss 
 Beaumanoir kept kindly clapping his shoulder 
 to enable him to recover. 
 
 ' How late you fine people are ! ' she went 
 on. 'Why, I had my breakfast before six, 
 and w^as off. Still, I think I'll join you all 
 now, for I feel rather peckish.' (Peckish — 
 a word mother had strictly forbidden the 
 boys to utter in her presence, as vulgar.) 
 
 We each thought how she must be wishing 
 to lift her white hands in horror; but we 
 hardly dared look up. 
 
 * Oh, do sit down ! But how did you 
 come ; we heard no carriage ? ' faintly asked 
 mother. 
 
 ' Carriage, my dear ! I walked on my own 
 two feet. Why, it's only ten miles here from 
 the Barn; and, if I'd driven, you'd have had
 
 44 m THE WEST COUNTKIE. 
 
 to give stable-room to my old pony longer 
 than you'd care perhaps/ 
 
 * Not at all. As long as ever you liked, 
 and the longer the better/ cried father, 
 gallantly. 'But I hope that means you 
 intend to stay yourself with us, anyhow.' 
 
 'Exactly so. Oh, you and I will get on 
 together like a house on fire, I see,' replied 
 Miss Bee, nodding at him with highly 
 pleased becks and smiles. ' Yes, I've come 
 to stay two or three days.' 
 
 ' That's right,' heartily went on father. 
 ' And where's your luggage ? It's to follow, 
 of course ; or can I send for it anywhere ? * 
 
 ' Luggage ! Here's all my luggage — this 
 little hand-bag. Why, I've gone to Russia 
 and back with just this. What more do you 
 want ? — a tooth-brush and a hair-brush and 
 a night — '
 
 IN TPE WEST COUNTEIE. 45 
 
 ' But your dresses ! ' absolutely ejaculated 
 my mother, cutting short with real dismay her 
 aunt's list of travelling necessaries. 
 
 ' My dresses ! ' I am sorry to relate it : but 
 our grand-aunt hterally jumped up and down 
 on the floor while displaying her bombazeen 
 with both hands. ' They re all on me, my 
 dears. This is my day-gown, as you see ; 
 and here's my dinner one underneath ' ( lifting 
 the top skirt to show the thin mystery 
 below) ; ' and I just slipped my Sunday silk 
 under that again, for fear you might happen 
 to have a garden party or something smart ' 
 (picking up the dinner-skirt to reveal a third 
 layer of garments, the last one being so far 
 from smart, and a yard deep in dust after 
 sweeping the Queen's highway for ten miles, 
 that we young ones forgot our manners, and 
 fairly screamed with laughter).
 
 46 IN THE WEST COUNTPJE. 
 
 ' Oh, you brats ! — they're all laughing at me. 
 I can tell you my gown was good enough for 
 the Duchess of Westshire where I was staying 
 last week, so it may just do for you.' 
 
 We all knew Aunt Bee visited the finest 
 of folk on the most intimate of terms, so were 
 every one respectably silent. 
 
 ' However,' she added, contemplating the 
 undermost skirt again — ' I own, it is dusty, 
 but no matter. I'll just take a run round 
 some of the meadows with you boys, and that 
 will clean it. I don't like girls half as well 
 — never did ; and Miss Brown there is too fine 
 for me, I'm afraid. She's the very picture 
 of yourself, Ada, my dear. And this next 
 little witch with the mouse-coloured hair ' 
 (meaning me) ' looks as if she used her big 
 eyes more than her tongue ; you're a 
 chrysalis still, child ; no one could say how
 
 IN THE WEST COUNTHIE. 47 
 
 you'll turn out. There's an ugly division 
 and a handsome division in the family, I see ; 
 I always belonged to the uglies myself, but I 
 like looking at the beauties.' 
 
 From which last words, it will be seen our 
 grand-aunt Bee had already descried we were 
 a mixed family of swans and geese. My 
 mother, Alice, and Beau, of course, were all 
 swans ; father, poor Bob, and myself belonged 
 hopelessly to the mean class. Little Rose 
 was the only doubtful member of the family ; 
 since she joined to most exquisite colouring 
 the funniest little turn-up nose in the world, 
 with an upper lip so short and impudent it 
 always showed her snowy little teeth. 
 
 As to myself, I felt ill-proportioned in mind 
 and body ; with more of limb and hair than 
 I could dispose of gracefully, but too little 
 colour and self-confidence. I was shy, brooding,
 
 48 m THE WEST COUNTRIE. 
 
 witli vague ambitions of soul beginning to 
 stir, yet only common-place gifts to justify 
 them, — groioing, in fact, and unformed. My 
 only comfort was, that my father always 
 called me his ' ugly duckling/
 
 m THE WEST COUNTEIE. 49 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 T WAS very ill, indeed, that time. My 
 mother nursed me herself with the most 
 painstaking care, and I well remember my 
 great surprise at waking up once to find her 
 crying over me. It seemed, in her, such an 
 impossibility. 
 
 Yet as soon as I began to recover, she 
 became again as composed, almost cool in her 
 manner, as ever ; so that I lay in respectful 
 quiet and monotonous semi-darkness till my 
 father would appear like a sunbeam always 
 flickering between our two sick-rooms, bring- 
 ing with him a fresh breeze of outside, as it 
 
 VOL. I. E
 
 50 IN THE WEST COUNTRIE. 
 
 were — cheery words, little items of news from 
 the garden, or farmyard, or woods, and easy 
 laughter. 
 
 One day when Bob and I had both met 
 down-stairs for the first time, curiously com- 
 paring our white faces and respective green 
 goggles, our parents entered with that pleased 
 possessive air which means unmistakably 
 good news. 
 
 ' Here, invaUds 1 here's good luck for you,' 
 cried father, flourishing a letter; 'my old 
 friend, Mrs. Gladman, invites you both down 
 to Dartmoor for change of air. I declare I 
 wish I was going too ; it would make me feel 
 a boy again.' 
 
 We piped for joy, in still weak dehght. 
 'There is nobody I like so much as Mrs. 
 Gladman,' I exclaimed, with enthusiasm. 
 
 'Except Jack Gladman,' corrected Bob
 
 IN THE WEST COUNTEIE. 5i 
 
 with equal ardour. Jack was Mrs. Glad- 
 man's only son, and she was a widow. 
 
 Our mother looked at us rather critically 
 during this outburst of ecstasy. Mrs. Glad- 
 man was the only one among her husband's 
 old friends whom she ever welcomed to our 
 home. My father considered Mrs. Gladman 
 to have the chief place among his old friends ; 
 my mother gave her perhaps the lowest place 
 among her friends ; and yet, almost against 
 her will, respected, and felt attached to, that 
 good soul and warmest of hearts. 
 
 It was a lovely spring evening when we 
 first saw Dartmoor's rampart of hills rising 
 before us, moated by the valleys at its base. 
 Perhaps it was from having been cooped in 
 darkened rooms so long ; perhaps from fatigue 
 of a long drive through Devonshire lanes, 
 that hid all view entirely except for a sudden 
 
 E 2 
 
 LIBRARY 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF ILLINOIS
 
 52 m THE WEST COUNTRIE. 
 
 tantalising peep through occasional gates — 
 but, certainly, when we at last mounted a long 
 hill and then descending the further side 
 looked down into a small valley, seeing great 
 oak-woods clothing the hill-sides, and a trout 
 stream brawling out of a rocky little gorge to 
 wind through cowslip meadows, whilst mid- 
 most tall trees clustered round a brown mass 
 of homely, half-seen buildings, — we seemed 
 entering a moorland Paradise. 
 
 ' That's Wheatfield Farm yonder, and Mrs. 
 Gladman hur be coming to the gate,' announced 
 our driver, pointing with the butt of his whip. 
 
 But we had guessed it already. 
 
 That delightful, long, old farmhouse could 
 belong to none other than she ; with its trim 
 garden in front, and narrow paved walks. Its 
 red-tiled or thatched roofs overhung to the 
 left the fresh green lane down which we
 
 IN THE WEST COUNTRIE. 53 
 
 came. To right, the great farm orchard 
 stretched all pink and white up the hill on 
 the other side, till it was folded in by the 
 noble oak-woods that crowned the high 
 ground on this side of the valley. Yes ! these 
 delightful possessions rightly belonged to 
 that best of women. Besides, there was she 
 herself standing at the wooden gate, with a 
 broad smile of welcome on her broad kindly 
 face ; with the selfsame brown hair worn so 
 thick and low on her forehead, we had some- 
 times irreverently declared it looked just like 
 a beautiful wig. 
 
 And, a little further down, was Jack 
 Gladman ; riding up the lane to meet us on 
 his white pony, in a wide straw hat, rough 
 tweed suit, and gaiters. He was very little 
 older than Beau, who somewhat despised his 
 clodhopper upbringing ; yet here, on his own
 
 54 IN THE WEST COUNTKIE. 
 
 ground, he looked quite a youug squire and 
 a man already. Any further observations 
 were stifled in Mrs. Gladman's large embrace, 
 as she took us both lirst literally to her 
 heart and then led us in to her hearth. To 
 us, Wheatfield Parm seemed then a most 
 delectable abode, with no troublesome carpets 
 and fine furniture, but clean dark floors that 
 we could romp over, — sweetness, if economy, 
 everywhere. It was a very old house, and 
 had been in the possession of the Gladman 
 family for generations. Once it had been 
 thought quite a handsome gentleman's dwell- 
 ing, before city luxury spread into the 
 country; but it had stood still like its farm- 
 loving owners, and now was surpassed by far 
 newer houses, whose more pretentious families 
 looked down on the Gladmans. Still as it 
 was later improved, and may thus be here-
 
 IN THE WEST COUNT RIE. 55 
 
 after described, I will only say that we then 
 found it a home of early rising, plain food, 
 plenty, and health. 
 
 What a happy idle life we led in that old 
 Devonshire farmhouse ! We scampered into 
 the moor for miles on ponies ; and climbed all 
 the tors near and far ; seeing always fresh 
 ranges of hill beyond hill overstepping each 
 other, all viewed by us as so many fortresses 
 of nature to be stormed by our eager selves 
 and takf^n. 
 
 Or else Bob would follow for the livelong 
 day close on Jack Gladman's heels, watching 
 the latter oversee his farm-men from six in 
 the fresh morning till six again at restful eve. 
 Or Jack would be breaking in his young colts, 
 himself delighting in the risk and trouble. 
 Or he might have to be whole afternoons in the 
 oak-woods, seeing about barking the trees.
 
 56 IN THE WEST COUNTRIE. 
 
 Meanwhile, I was being initiated in dairy 
 mysteries by Mrs. Gladman ; and soon knew 
 how to make butter Devonshire fashion, and 
 scald cream, to my own satisfaction — and, 
 at worst, her amusement as well as mine. 
 
 However real all this work must have been 
 to the widow with a large farm and household 
 to manage, and Jack too young to take the 
 full cares of life on his own shoulders, to us 
 it was like playing at being in Arcadia. It 
 seemed such a sweet, simple life ; a pastoral 
 idyll. As such, it might almost have faded 
 from my memory by now, like a pleasant 
 dream, but for one acquaintance — whose ap- 
 pearance in the narrow circle of my then 
 young life deserves recalling. 
 
 ' There is to be an otter-hunt up the river 
 to-morrow. Pole is bringing over his hounds, 
 mother. And, I say, can you get up a
 
 IN THE WEST COUNTEIE. 57 
 
 breakfast in time for any of the fellows ? ' 
 cried Jack Gladman one evening, bursting hot 
 and breathless into the parlour, where Mrs. 
 Gladman was darning some very old and 
 fine table-linen with her own fingers, since 
 none of the maids would have taken such 
 pride and pains in the task. 
 
 ' Why, we just must, dear,' replied his 
 mother, lifting her placid face with such a 
 willing smile and air of fond motherly pride 
 in her boy, that no wonder he came to her 
 for help and advice on every occasion. 
 
 ' That's right. You're the most useful woman 
 in the world,' exclaimed Jack, catching her 
 round the waist and giving her a resounding 
 kiss, which embrace made Bob and me some- 
 how feel uncomfortable, yet admiring. Why 
 could we never treat our mother in a familiar 
 way ! ' And I say, old Fulke will come in
 
 58 IN THE WEST COUNTRIE. 
 
 for it, too — isn't that luck. He's just come 
 down by Exeter way for a week's holiday ; got 
 a Hft in William Collins's spring-cart. Dear 
 old Fulke ! ain't I just glad he's come down/ 
 
 ' Did you not tell him to come and see me 
 this evening, foolish boy ? ' 
 
 ' I did — and he said at first, of course, he 
 was coming; but then he thought this first 
 evening he would not leave his poor mother. 
 .... I told him that Pleasance and Bob 
 were here,' went on Jack with a constrained 
 look at us, 'and, you see, he doesn't much 
 care to meet strangers.' 
 
 'Ah, yes — I can understand that. Poor 
 Eulke ! ' 
 
 Mother and son exchanged a meaning 
 look ; which, as I was staring in their direc- 
 tion, I saw, and naturally wondered at. 
 What had we done, or this Mr. Fulke done,
 
 IN THE WEST COUNTRIE. 59 
 
 that he should dislike the sight of fellow 
 human beings ; especially such harmless ones 
 as Bob and myself? Oh, no doubt he was 
 a misanthrope ; on which I disliked him, 
 beforehand, for disliking us. 
 
 ' Who is Mr. Pulke ? ' I asked. And Mrs. 
 Gladman answered, rather hesitatingly : 
 
 ' He's a great friend of ours, my dear, and 
 he's a clerk in a bank.' A bank clerk, and 
 come in Collins the grocer's spring-cart ! I 
 did not think much of this friend. 
 
 ' Now, Pleasance,' cried Jack, laying a 
 heavy hand boisterously on either of my 
 shoulders, ^ are you game to be up by six, 
 and down at Chagford bridge ; or are you too 
 fine a young lady ? The hounds will most 
 likely go up Holy Street to Gidleigh Park ; 
 and then we may be off upon the moor : or 
 heaven knows where ! '
 
 60 IN THE WEST COUNTRIE. 
 
 ' Oh, I'll go. It will be glorious ! But, 
 Jack, do take away those great hands of 
 yours. I'ln not fine, and I never was, but 
 1 don't like to be teased/ was my answer; 
 half-ecstatic, half-exasperated ; trying to 
 wriggle away from the expected, endearing 
 horse-play to which Jack in good-fellowship 
 loved to treat me. 
 
 ' Yes, Jack ; you really should not tease 
 Pleasance so ; she Vv^ill soon be quite a young 
 lady,' added his mother, who always protected 
 me. ' You always remind me of a mastiff dog 
 gambolling round a grey kitten. A great big 
 fellow like you should be more gentle.' 
 
 Why she said a grey kitten more than a 
 white or any other she did not add ; probably 
 as less pretty, I surmised resignedly. But 
 there was no doubt when looking at Mrs. 
 Gladman's honest eyes beaming upon her boy,
 
 m THE WEST COUNTRIE. 61 
 
 that, to her, he was as big as any Saul and as 
 fair of face as a David. Nevertheless, in sober 
 truth he had now stopped growing at five feet 
 eleven ; had the healthiest dumpling visage 
 in which any young Englishman could show 
 red and white ; twinkling eyes ; a common- 
 place nose ; white teeth ; and the downy 
 dawn of what would no doubt become respect- 
 able mutton-chop whiskers, like his father's 
 before him, in due course of time.
 
 62 IN THE WEST COUNTKIE. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 Ven. ' My friend Piscator, you have kept time witli 
 my thoughts, for the sun is just rising, and I 
 myself just now come to this place, and the 
 dogs have just now put down an otter. Look down 
 at the bottom of the hill there in that meadow, 
 checquered with waterlilies and ladysmocks : 
 there you may see what work they make : look ! 
 look ! you may see all busy. Men and dogs, dogs 
 and men, all busy.' — Izaak Walton's Compleat 
 Angler. 
 
 "OOB and I hardly slept that night, we were 
 
 so fearful of being late for the otter hunt. 
 
 Before four in the grey morning, I heard a 
 
 tapping at my door, and springing out of bed 
 
 in terror — though it seemed as if I had only 
 
 just fallen asleep — let in a head and an
 
 IN THE WEST COUNTKIE. 63 
 
 owlish face, in which concern and sleep were 
 mingling. 
 
 ' I'm sme/ said Bob, ' theyve forgotten to 
 call us ! ' 
 
 It seemed his watch had been over wound ; 
 or else had stopped of pure malice ; which it 
 often did, he ruefully explained, for by day 
 it required being shaken pretty often to keep 
 it going. 
 
 In spite of fears, however, when Jack 
 brought his dog-cart to the gate we were ready. 
 We had gulped down breakfast in the kitchen, 
 where Mrs. Gladman, herself as neatly dressed 
 and unfluriied as if the hour was quite usual, 
 w^as up, helping her mainstay, Mary Munch, 
 to frizzle bacon and boil coffee. 
 
 Aw^ay we sped in the grey twilight. 
 
 ' I hope we're not late. Luckily there's a 
 long hill to go down,' said young Gladman,
 
 64 IN THE WEST COUNTRIE. 
 
 lightly touching up his mare with the whip ; 
 and downhill we spun at a pace that made me 
 giddy looking ahead, and that none but a 
 Devonshire-bred animal would take as a 
 matter of course. 
 
 Through a sleeping village, down a narrow 
 lane. ' There they are/ cried Jack, pointing 
 to a group gathered on the bridge over the 
 brown Teign. ' There is my friend Fulke ; 
 and that's Pole, the master, just going to put 
 his hounds into the water. We're in the nick 
 of time.' 
 
 ' Hooroo ! ' jubileed Bob lustily ; brandish- 
 ing a long leaping-pole behind us, to the 
 danger of our heads, as we drew up. 
 
 ^ Be quiet, you March hare/ called out 
 Jack ; and several of the men, to my surprise, 
 laughed out, and hailed Bob with 'Hollo, 
 young Brown ! ' and called him ' March hare,'
 
 IN THE WEST COUNTEIE. 65 
 
 too. It was my home name for him, picked 
 up by John, and now evidently widespread. 
 How Bob had akeady got to know them, since 
 coming to Wheatfield, was a mystery. But 
 there never was such a boy for making friends ! 
 
 There was no time to ask him, for already 
 the horn had sounded and the hounds taken 
 eagerly to the water, swimming and wading 
 up the clear broAvn stream that ran between 
 the dewy meadows, all gold-spangled with 
 marsh marigolds. 
 
 There seemed about twelve or fourteen 
 gentlemen in the hunt, for they wore the 
 same costume as Jack : navy-blue knicker- 
 bocker suits, red or blue stockings, and 
 striped caps. Most of them carried leap- 
 ing-poles, as did two large-waisted, laugh- 
 ing cousins of Jack's among the several girls 
 
 of the party. Of course, there was the 
 VOL. I. E
 
 66 IN THE WEST COUNTRIE. 
 
 usual following of truant urchins and idlers 
 attracted from their farm or village Avork — 
 hut these indeed were few and of small 
 account. 
 
 * Are you going to look after us, Jack ? ' 
 called out his cousins in healthy, large 
 voices. 
 
 ' Not I ! You are much better able to take 
 care of yourselves. Keep close behind me, 
 Pleasance/ was the only answer they got ; 
 as, vaulting a stile, Jack went up the first 
 meadow at a sling-trot, just looking back 
 Avith one satisfied eye, occasionally, to make 
 sure I Avas at his heels. 
 
 Some fcAv of the more ardent men and 
 l)oys had taken to the Avater, and Avere splash- 
 ing at a rattling pace up-stream ; among them 
 Bob, who hardly set foot on dry ground that 
 day. We had gone across all the meadows
 
 IN THE WEST COUNTEIE. Q7 
 
 without pausing to take breath. Over walls, 
 through gaps, I scrambled, almost always 
 without accepting, Jack's help, so that he soon 
 scarcely seemed to think it necessary to heed 
 me. My cheeks w^ere glowing ; my hair, that 
 had been tidily coiled up that morning to 
 keep it out of my way, was flying in a veil 
 behind ; and I hardly knew how I felt except 
 that it was delicious to run, yet grateful to 
 stop just a few seconds ! — when we found our- 
 selves somehow among Avoods, and that the 
 hounds were at fault, while two sharp little 
 terriers were being sent up a suspicious 
 covered drain, to ask if the otter which we 
 had found but not seen might be there. 
 
 We had paused in Holy Street glen ; and 
 how lovely it was ! The river twisted and 
 hurried foaming round the grey rocks in its 
 bed, while the rising sun played on it through 
 
 F 2
 
 68 . IN THE WEST COUNTRIE. 
 
 the tall trees overhead, and the opposite oak- 
 wood was knee-deep in masses of blue-bells 
 shading away into violet. We sat down to 
 rest and breathe a moment on some of the 
 many-lichened, mossy boulders around, the 
 supposed traces of the Druids' holy way that 
 still gives its name to the glen. Then came a 
 fresh sound of the horn ; on and on again ; 
 still down by the river's edge, through copses 
 that snipped our faces, stumbling among 
 rocks, out into young wheat-fields, into fresh 
 difficulties, jumping, climbing, and racing at a 
 pace to which that of the meadows had been 
 mere amusement. 
 
 Now we were at Lee Bridge, the meeting 
 of the waters, where the North Teign came 
 down from Gidleigh. But we took the South 
 stream on the left ; and here we met trees, 
 ferny coverts, rocks, and obstacles that piled
 
 IN THE WEST COUNTPJE. 69 
 
 and tangled themselves in our patli ever more 
 and more. Undaunted, still we scrambled 
 upwards and onwards. 
 
 Some now lagged behind, seeing no more 
 of that day's run. Our numbers were visibly 
 smaller as we streamed in twos or threes 
 through the bushes. Most were more silent 
 of laugh and chaff, and settled to earnest work 
 now ; all but Bob, who, streaming with water 
 from his cap down (for he had fallen head 
 foremost several times), seemed to have jokes 
 and laughter to the end. For me, my heart 
 was beating so hard it seemed ready to burst ; 
 slight mists came before my eyes ; yet, while 
 Bob ran on, so would I. 
 
 A horrible wall suddenly seemed to rise in 
 the wood before us. Young Gladman and 
 most of the men splashed at once up to their 
 knees in the river which met it, so got past,
 
 70 IN THE WEST COUNTEIE. 
 
 l)ut my courage failed at sight of the deep 
 water. Oh ! why had Jack forsaken me ? 
 The last of all, with sore fingers, I somehow 
 clambered to the top of the wall, and beheld a 
 tall stranger waiting below. 
 
 ' Jump ! ' he cried, stretching up his arms, 
 into which I jumped, and was carefully set 
 on my feet. ' Take breath now — ' he ejacu- 
 lated ; but on a determined shake of my head 
 he caught my hand and ran a few yards ; 
 drao-o-ino; me. Then there was a sudden 
 check. The otter had been headed, and the 
 hounds Avere foiled. 
 
 A rest ! Oh, how sweet was rest ! My 
 craven heart almost wished they might never 
 find that scent again. 
 
 The woods were in their freshest beauty 
 around us, but little had we recked of 
 that. I looked round to thank the unknown ;
 
 IN THE WEST COUNTPJE. 71 
 
 but he had vanished in the group of otter- 
 hunters. 
 
 A whimper or two, the horn sounds as 
 gaily as ever, and they are back again ; but 
 more slowly. 
 
 This time I was aware of a pair of strong 
 arms hoisting me up to that hated wall, and 
 the same voice as before ordered — ' Stay 
 there.' Foolish pride urged self-dependence ; 
 so calling back, ' No, thank you ! I don't 
 want help,' I jumped unaided, fell, and bruis- 
 ing my foot on a stone, hobbled on with 
 sobbing breath, never looking behind nie. 
 Past the meeting rivers, and up the other 
 Teign ; over more level ground ; through more 
 woods ; past exquisite bits of river scenery, 
 titanic boulders flung in the bed of the 
 stream ; into a wooded rocky gorge . . . 
 down again a bit, up again ! . . .
 
 72 IN THE WEST COUNTEIE. 
 
 At last we got to an almost impossible part. 
 My foot was so painful, that, seeing some of 
 the men spring across stream on what seemed 
 easy stepping-stones, I followed. One spring 
 to a round stone wet wdth spray, then with 
 slipping feet to another and another, and 
 then T found myself on a giant flat boulder 
 exactly amid-stream, and just where the 
 water was deepest. 
 
 Luckless Pleasance ! I had mistaken the 
 stones and was left, hindmost of all, and 
 utterly helpless. 
 
 The shouts of the hunt came each second 
 fainter down the gorge ; no sound answered 
 my calls upon Jack and Bob. In a few 
 minutes I was alone. 
 
 Now this may not seem at first hearing so 
 bad. Nevertheless, on looking down, the dark 
 pool on the further side might be six foot
 
 IN THE WEST COUNTEIE. 73 
 
 deep, as I fearfully judged — having some 
 experience — and I could not swim. There 
 had been a spate very lately, and the water 
 rushed so eagerly, like a brown, living thing 
 round those treacherous stepping-stones, that 
 they misliked me more and more. Besides 
 — from my rock I could not jump back to 
 them ! 
 
 No matter, Bob would miss me, and surely 
 Jack. Till then I would nurse my wounded 
 foot ; be at rest — a glad rest, drawing my 
 breath still hard — and look around me ; the 
 scene was so exquisite. 
 
 What if I never saw the tip of the tail 
 of that poor otter we had been so cruelly 
 chasing ? My enthusiasm had vanished ; the 
 sun had risen so high among the trees, it 
 seemed to me the hour must be getting quite 
 late, though it was barely nine o'clock ; and, to
 
 74 IN THE WEST COUNTRIE. 
 
 confess the truth, besides utter fatigue there 
 was a curious feeling creeping over me that 
 might mean hunger. 
 
 With my browu hair falling like a veil 
 about me, and the sunlight striking down 
 upon my red petticoat and fawn-coloured short 
 skirt and jacket, I began to dream of myself 
 as an Undine, with the sentimentalism of 
 my age. An Undine in strong, laced-up boots, 
 and a cricketing-cap lent me by Jack crown- 
 ing my ' wealth of tresses.' But I clasped my 
 hands round my knees and unconsciously 
 glowered around quite appropriately ; wishing 
 for the help that neither woods nor stones 
 could give. 
 
 On either side, the trees rose in a green 
 wall, clothing the sides of the gorge. There 
 was only a narrow space left for the revivifying 
 blue sunlight to pierce between, and sparkle
 
 IN THE WEST COUNTRIE. 75 
 
 on the clear brown water that hurried and 
 twisted and foamed Uke an element of life 
 round the white boulders piled in chaos in the 
 narrow bed of the stream. Here midmost I 
 was perched, glad as any midge to feel the 
 sun — a single human speck in that solitude. 
 Here and there in the clear shallows I could 
 see the gravel shining like rare pebbles. The 
 woods around just bursting into leaf were like 
 a brown network all flecked, spangled, and, 
 as it were, dropping with green. 
 
 And still I was alone. The birds were 
 trilling up the gorge in scattered song; and 
 oh ! if on the bank now what skirtfuls 
 I could have picked of red- campion, deli- 
 cate lady's -smocks, and dearest yellow prim- 
 roses , there were beds of trembling wood 
 anemones, too, and white satin star-flowers 
 in profusion.
 
 7& IN THE WEST COUNTKIE. 
 
 ' Spring, the sweet spring, is the year's pleasant king; 
 Then blooms each thing, then niaids dance in a ring.' 
 
 Flash ! flash ! there jumped the trout in 
 the water, showing their silver sides. A 
 wagtail seemed to laugh at me, flirting its 
 saucy tail, as verily it might, for here sat 
 Undine still, and yet there was no knight ! 
 
 Suddenly a human voice called, ' What is 
 the matter ? ' and there was a man in the 
 correct otter-hunt costume standing on the 
 bank ; a gentleman most certainly, if not a 
 knight. 
 
 Then, seeing what was the matter, without 
 more ado he jumped into the water, which 
 soon reached above his knees.
 
 IX THE WEST COUNTRIE. 11 
 
 CHAPTER VL 
 
 ' We twa hae paicUit i' the burn.' 
 
 T WAS last left still seated a prisoner on 
 my great rock of unfeeling granite in 
 the middle of the Teign. But my unknown 
 deliverer was wading towards me. 
 
 He seemed a man of few words ; for all he 
 said in answer to my shamefaced explanations 
 as to how I came in such plight, was to bid 
 me hold tightly round his neck. Then taking 
 me up by one arm, he steadied himself by his 
 leaping-pole. But noticing me wince as he 
 placed me safe on the bank, he asked with a 
 different tone of interest :
 
 78 IX THE WEST COUNTPJE. 
 
 ' Are you hurt, too ? I was afraid of that, 
 wheu you would jump down that big wall 
 by yourself.' 
 
 ' So it Avas you ? ' I exclaimed with eager 
 recognition ; ' I thought it was, at every step 
 you took in the water, but I was not sure/ 
 
 ' Yes ; it was I that gave you a hand, if that 
 is what you mean ? ' he said, more drijlij (to 
 make a mild joke !) than the dripping state of 
 his nether person seemed to me to warrant. 
 ' I thought you had hurt yourself ; and that 
 was how I came to notice that you were not 
 with us when we got out on the moor there,' 
 and he nodded up the ravine. 
 
 ' But did you come back on purpose to look 
 for me ? How kind of you to stop in the 
 middle of the hunt ! ' I exclaimed shyly, but in 
 a voice overflowino; w^ith o-ratitude, whilst I 
 looked even more thanks. And now^ that I
 
 IN THE WEST COUNTRIE. 79 
 
 had really courage to look at him, he was 
 really a very handsome man, — old, quite old, 
 and not a boy like Jack. 
 
 ' Kind to prefer helping a snfFering hnman 
 being to making a poor otter snfFer ! " he said 
 with a short laugh, that raised a short brown 
 moustache showing even better teeth than 
 Jack's. 
 
 ' But my brother — a boy in the Avater — 
 Bob — did he not think of me ? ' I shyly asked 
 with injured sisterly feeling ; while secretly 
 trying to give my loose hair and little red and 
 blue cap a more prim and comme-il-faut 
 appearance. 
 
 ' If you mean a fair young fellow that Jack 
 Gladman and the others called the March 
 hare, he seemed so perfectly mad after the 
 otter you ought to forgive him,' said my new 
 friend, smihng as if despite himself. ' I am
 
 80 IN THE WEST COUNTRIE. 
 
 an older hand at it ; but Jack might have 
 looked after you himself rather more. His 
 mother will scold him for it, I should think.' 
 
 ' What ! do you know Mrs. Glad man 
 too?' (joyfully). 
 
 ' Kno2v her ! She and Wheatfield Farm 
 and Jack are among my oldest and dearest 
 friends and memories ; I should rather think 
 I do know her — well. But we are wasting 
 time, and how are you to get back to her ? 
 I had better carry you to the nearest cottage ; 
 and then we'll see what's next best.' 
 
 Against this I protested, and did walk 
 bravely a few yards, hurting myself at every 
 step, till my protector suddenly said in a kind 
 scolding voice : 
 
 ' Now, don't be such a silly child ; ' and so 
 caught me up and bore me through the trees 
 to a cottage near, whether I would or no.
 
 m THE WEST COUNTRIE. 81 
 
 Secretly I would, for the pain had been 
 sharp. Besides, evidently there was no use 
 remonstrating with a man who used so few 
 words and always had his own way. One 
 felt he would be master; it was in his face 
 and in his voice, or so I thought, being still 
 almost a child in my ideas. If I was right it 
 was woman's instinct, for he had not a 
 frowning brow, or stern deep-set eyes, or a 
 lip that betrayed unfaltering resolution, or 
 anything especially determined in his appear- 
 ance ; and Bob said afterwards, on being 
 privately told my opinion, that it was all 
 bosh ! and he — my deliverer — was the most 
 good-natured fellow in the world, though very 
 likely he wouldn't stand nonsense. 
 
 Anyway, at the cottage he made me unlace 
 
 my boot myself, as from modesty I strictly 
 
 forbade his doing so. And then he borrowed 
 VOL. I. G
 
 82 IN THE WEST COUNTRIE. 
 
 a rough big pony fresh from the harrow, its 
 head being still adorned with blinkers and 
 rope-reins. 
 
 * Now, can you lend me something by way 
 of a saddle for the young lady ? ' went on the 
 voice of my friend outside. Meanwhile I sat 
 in the cottage kitchen on a settle, and alter- 
 nately marvelled at my new acquaintance, and 
 at the queer German scriptural prints on the 
 walls. Some Autolycus must have found 
 them good pedlar's ware, for every cottage 
 parlour round the country-side was hideous 
 with them. 
 
 ' Oh, my dear crature — ' answered the 
 cottage goodwife in easy Devonshire tones, 
 without seeming to disturb herself in the 
 least, ' what would us do with a saddle ? 
 Hur'll have to sit on hur ' (this last meaning 
 the mare) ' barebacked just/
 
 IN THE WEST COUNTRIE. 83 
 
 ' Come now, look here ; I've unharnessed 
 the pony myself, and you've had no trouble, 
 so get me a clean sack like a good soul, — do 
 now.' 
 
 ' Bless us, a sack ! Johnny, Jemmy, Susan, 
 where is the potato sack to, anyway ? ' 
 
 'Don't trouble yourselves. Tve got one ; ' 
 and returning for me, my friend in need 
 coolly routed out a new sack from behind the 
 meal-barrel. He first put it, and then myself 
 triumphantly atop of the vulgar steed ; seized 
 the reins himself. So — walking close beside 
 me lest I should slip — along the lanes we 
 jogged back to Wheatfield Earm, a strange 
 pair. In after days the memory of our 
 homeward conversation all faded away. Only 
 I knew that, short as my companion's re- 
 marks were, they were so full of kindly pity 
 and purpose that soon I found myself, to my 
 
 G 2
 
 84 m THE WEST COUNTIUE. 
 
 own surprise, talking to him as if he had been 
 an old friend of the family, or some elder 
 cousin, of whom I was not in the least 
 afraid. 
 
 It was a long way back ; and once or twice 
 I checked myself, ashamed of my ease and 
 familiarity. But then my friend had been so 
 kind all morning, and was taking such good 
 care of me on the pony. Besides, he knew 
 the Gladmans well, so that he must be 
 * nice.' And not daring to ask his name, I 
 began to spin all sorts of romantic surmises 
 about him in my brain, till it was indeed a 
 tangle. 
 
 Coming round the bend of the lane, we 
 saw Mrs. Gladman busy tidying her garden 
 under the encircling shade of a straw hat 
 the size of a cart-wheel ; and Mary Munch — 
 her stout, wholesome cook, dairy -woman, and
 
 IN THE WEST COUNTEIE. 85 
 
 goodness knows wliat not besides ! — absolutely 
 standing idle, with a sun-bonnet tilted over 
 her eyes, and her bare arms akimbo. 
 
 'Why, yonder's Missy and Mr. Fulke,' 
 she called out loudly. 'Whatever has hap- 
 pened to hur ? ' 
 
 'What! Mr. Pulke !— I am so glad to 
 have you back again among us. But . . . 
 Pleasance, child, is anything the matter?' 
 cried Mrs. Gladman in her turn, hurrying 
 to open the white gate for us. Then, as 
 we both explained my light accident, she 
 caressed me, and said, reassured, ' Well, 
 I am glad you were with Mr. Pulke, at 
 all events. You could not be in better 
 hands.' 
 
 They had put me down on a garden 
 seat carefully, and only as the name was 
 repeated did it flash through my mind with
 
 86 IN THE WEST OOUNTRIE. 
 
 bitter disappointment that my good-looking 
 stranger was — only the bank clerk. 
 
 ' Stay and have some brexfass now, Mr. 
 Fulke/ urged Mary Munch familiarly, as I 
 slowly recovered from my mental shock ; ' I 
 was looking up the lane for Master Jack and 
 the rest, thinking you'd all be as hungry 
 as hunters sure-ly.' 
 
 'And she can do nothing, she is so dis- 
 tressed at her grand breakfast being in there 
 uneaten,' laughed Mrs. Gladman. 
 
 ' Can't — thank you. My poor mother, 
 you know,' lowering his voice. 'This is 
 just the time she would like me to help 
 her outside, to sit in the garden.' 
 
 ' Ah, well ! but then you will come this 
 evening to tea, at least ? ' 
 
 To which last the visitor nodded thanks 
 and went off, lifting his hat to me before I
 
 IN THE WEST COUNTEIE. 87 
 
 could summon any fit form of words in which 
 to express my gratitude to him. 
 
 By-and-by, after my foot had been dressed 
 with Hly-leaves, and I was settled comfortably 
 on the wooden window-seat in the parlour, 
 having had some of Mary Munch's ' fine 
 brexfass/ Mrs. Gladman said, with a cordial 
 smile, as if sure of my ready sympathy : 
 
 * Come now, let us talk about Mr. 
 Fulke. Don't you think him very hand- 
 some, Pleasance ? He always reminds me 
 of a young sun-god.' 
 
 1 secretly smiled in my imagined superi- 
 ority; for my good old friend had a still 
 romantic heart within her stout body, as I had 
 discovered. 
 
 ' Well ; I can't say that I exactly thought 
 him a Baldur the Beautiful, though I am 
 sure he is a — very nice young man,' I
 
 88 m THE WEST COUNTRIE. 
 
 flippantly answered, tossing my head that 
 was humble enough at home as the family 
 goose, hut here, being cockered by unusual 
 caresses. Jack's big boyish devotion, and his 
 mother's fond admiration, had become quite 
 impudent. 
 
 What a conceited young hussy my dear 
 motherly hostess must have thought me ! 
 But perhaps she knew the tiresome airs of 
 little bread-and-butter misses, which seem a 
 general phase of their existence, since she 
 always bore mine with an angel's patience. 
 Looking at her, by-and-by, I saw by her 
 silence she was hurt. She had left the 
 sunny garden and her pleasant morning's work 
 outside to sit in the dull brown parlour with 
 a lame chit of a girl, and in return was almost 
 snubbed about her favourite Mr. Fulke. 
 
 Peeling something of this, in secret
 
 IN THE WEST COUNTRIE. 89 
 
 penitence, I hazarded the remark — 'Isn't it 
 rather a pity, as Mr, Fnlke is so pleasant, that 
 he should be only a bank clerk ? ' My idea 
 of banks was hitherto that of our small 
 county town one, between the baker's and the 
 haberdasher's shops. 
 
 Mrs. Gladman stopped knitting Jack's 
 heather hose, and stared at me in amazement. 
 
 ' Bless my heart, child ! Why, the bank he 
 is in is one of the oldest in Endand or 
 anyioliere ; and requires the highest interest to 
 get into. Then he may become a junior 
 partner, and think what a fortune he would 
 retire upon some day. I only wish my boy 
 had such a chance ! . . But there, — it is not 
 given to every one to have such a strong, self- 
 denying nature, and give up all the field- 
 sports and pleasant society that a young man 
 is so fond of. Perhaps Jack will be happier
 
 90 IN THE WEST COUNTEIE. 
 
 on his little patrimony, like his fathers before 
 him, though nowadays it is no such great 
 inheritance/ 
 
 Knowing that the Gladmans' estate, though 
 retaining its old-fashioned name of farm, 
 ranked respectably among those of the first 
 squires around, whilst the family themselves 
 were acknowledged to be of older origin than 
 most — I was doubly surprised in turn. 
 
 ' And has Mr. Fulke been accustomed then 
 to field-sports and good society?' I pursued, 
 still half-incredulous ; pulling the mantle of 
 my mother's manner about me, and my voice 
 betraying the fact. 
 
 'Don't make a mistake, Pleasance. He 
 is certainly reduced to poverty, through no 
 fault of his ; but he can boast of a far older 
 and better family than either you or I.' 
 * ' Then is it not a pity he did not choose
 
 IN THE WEST COUNTRIE. 91 
 
 one of the professions instead ? ' said the fool- 
 ish spirit possessing my childish mind, as I 
 miconsciously mimicked my mother. 'The 
 army or the Church.' 
 
 ' Your father was not the worse man for 
 being in trade, I think,' returned Mrs. Glad- 
 man, with such dry significance that the 
 ashamed blood rushed to my cheeks, and 
 quick salt tears to my eyes. 
 
 Of course our father was always perfect, as 
 every one knew. But now he had become 
 quite a country gentleman ; and though he 
 was ready enough to talk of his past life, our 
 mother deftly turned the subject often — or 
 would intimate to us young ones afterwards, 
 with a flattering praise we lovingly accepted — 
 that he had been a briUiant exception among 
 his fellow- workers ; but that she would not 
 wilUngly see a son of hers go back to the
 
 92 m THE WEST COUNTRIE. 
 
 class from whicli her husband had raised him- 
 self by his distinguished abilities. 
 
 Knowing this, as an old family friend, Mrs. 
 Gladman laid her hand tenderly on my arm. 
 
 ' Perhaps you were arguing for argument's 
 sake, dear ; young people sometimes do.' 
 
 Demonstrations of affection were supposed 
 ridiculous in our family ; save always those 
 of my father. But his were all of a most 
 unsentimental nature, such as catching us 
 girls and scrubbing our softer faces with 
 his rough whiskers, alternately with kisses. 
 Nevertheless, I stole out my hand to stroke 
 that of my excellent friend, v\^hich completed 
 our restored good understanding. 
 
 Then she told me a good deal about Mr. 
 Fulke. How that he had a mother living in 
 a pretty cottage half a mile off, up at the 
 glen's mouth — one which I had admired at a
 
 IN THE WEST COUNTRIE. 93 
 
 distance. This poor lady was slowly dying of 
 a painful illness that had darkened her latter 
 life, and made even her son's companionship 
 at times a burden to them both. Yet .his 
 devotion to her, whenever he could get a few 
 spare days, was beautiful ; and he denied him- 
 self in all things for her sake. ' I have known 
 him walk out here from Exeter, and be ill, 
 footsore, and dusty — ^just for that reason, not 
 that he would ever say so ! ' exclaimed Mrs. 
 Gladman, ending her panegyric. (I felt so 
 glad now the poor man had had that lift 
 yesterday in the grocer's cart.) 
 
 After this, that evening I received Mr. 
 Eulke so graciously when he came before tea, 
 that he sat down beside me with quite an air 
 of good comradeship. 
 
 * Ah ! I can see by your manner that poor 
 foot is better, Miss Pleasance. It was pain-
 
 94 IN THE WEST COUNTRIE. 
 
 ino; vou when T left the farm this morninor. 
 I saw that ; for you could not speak to 
 me.' 
 
 He looked at me so honestly with kindly 
 pity, that my heart was full of shame, re- 
 membering why I would not thank him then ; 
 and I looked down. 
 
 'Tell me,' he went on, 'have I not got 
 your name right, — Pleasance ? It struck me 
 this morning as so quaint and pretty.' 
 
 ' I am glad you like it,' I murmured, 
 feeling pleased, for at home my mother 
 sighed secretly, I knew, over the Brown 
 cognomen. 
 
 ' Yes ; and it just suits her,' said Mrs. 
 Gladman, patting my shoulder, as she ap- 
 proached to call us to tea. 
 
 Then Jack insisted on carrvins^ me. He 
 quite bothered me with his sorrow and
 
 IN THE WEST COUNTEIE. 95 
 
 contrition ; but he did not lift me nearly so 
 comfortably as my previous bearer. 
 
 Tea was a noble meal at the farm ; very 
 different from our former schoolroom milk 
 and water diet. Mrs. Gladman gloried in 
 her snowy table-linen and the brightness 
 of her silver tea and coffee service. Then 
 there was always such a great round of 
 pressed beef for Jack and Bob to whet 
 their appetites on ; and the home-made bread 
 was so excellent ; the butter and cream sur- 
 passing all I have ever tasted since ; besides 
 the great fresh currant-cakes and home-made 
 gooseberry jam that Bob and I devoured 
 nightly between us. 
 
 At this excellent repast our new guest 
 laughingly described how I had distinguished 
 myself that morning in the otter-hunt. 
 
 'I saw a young Atalanta come flying past
 
 96 IN THE WEST COUNTPJE. 
 
 me, Mrs. Gladman, taking every fence like 
 a bird.' 
 
 * Jack's cousins ran better than I did, 
 for they kept up all day,' I interposed, 
 in the interests of justice, though highly 
 flattered. 
 
 *What? Emmy and Bessie — oh, they 
 have got such big feet, no wonder they can 
 cover the ground,' scoffed Jack ; * but,' 
 looking at me with silly partiality, like 
 the dear booby he was, ' how your tiny little 
 ones can fly along at such a pace is a 
 wonder ! ' 
 
 'And a nice sort of goose she was to go 
 and stick on a rock in a hop-o'-my-thumb 
 river like that,' put in brother Bob, stufBiig 
 his mouth full. He considered the sort of 
 adukition going on very hurtful to a sisterly 
 nature, so felt bound to counteract it.
 
 IN THE WEST COUNTRIE. 97 
 
 Mrs. Gladraan also thinking the convers- 
 ation too personal for me, turned it. 
 
 * Well, Bob, how would you like to give up 
 thoughts of the army and live in Devonshire 
 with us ? ' 
 
 ' Wouldn't I just ? ' said the youth. ' Only 
 my mother says, I must be a soldier. So long 
 as there is peace I'll like it jolly well, I dare- 
 say ; but I do not see the fun of being shot.' 
 
 *You are more honest than brave then/ 
 said the stranger with an amused laugh. 
 
 ' Oh, I'm just like lots of other fellows. 
 (Some more jam, please.) There's an old 
 pensioner with a wooden leg in the village 
 near our place. Stoke — ^he's called Jerry Plant, 
 — and he told me when the bullets were flying 
 round him he'd have liked to run but for 
 shame's sake, and the men round wouldn't 
 have let him get away. " Eight you are, 
 
 VOL. I. H
 
 98 IN THE WEST COUNTRIE. 
 
 Jerry/' said I, " and I know I'd have liked 
 to race you." ^ 
 
 ' And is old Jerry alive still ? ' asked Mr. 
 Fulke with roused interest. ' I mean does he 
 still adorn your home, Stoke ? ' 
 
 'Oh, he's all alive. But he's not at 
 Stoke itself. That's our own place, and 
 the best one in England, too,' quoth Bob 
 easily. 
 
 ' It is the dearest old home in the world ! ' 
 I warmly added, both of us rushing into 
 our favourite subject, till I noticed that Mrs. 
 Gladman was troubled ; and remembered we 
 might be recalling to the guest how his 
 family had lost their estate. 
 
 ' Pray don't stop them. It does me good 
 to listen to such warm affection for their 
 home,' he said, in an undertone to Mrs. 
 Gladman.
 
 IN THE WEST COUNTRIE. 99 
 
 However, Jack turned the talk, blundering 
 in d propos of nothing. ' Well, if I was in 
 any man's shoes, I'd as soon as any one else 
 be you, Fulke. Still ; though I'll never have 
 a fortune, nor make one on the Farm, perhaps 
 for a stupid chap like me I'm as happy as 
 I am/ 
 
 His older friend smiled kindly on the 
 honest young fellow, and quoted — 
 
 ' Happy the man whose wish and care 
 
 A few imtei'ndl acres bound, 
 Content to breathe his native air 
 In his own ground.' 
 
 That evening, and the following ones, 
 what merry times we had with Jack and his 
 friend at casino, commerce, and such good old 
 games; whilst Mrs. Gladman laughed at us, 
 sewing placidly under the lamp. But our 
 days were soon made even more pleasant by 
 
 H 2
 
 100 IN THE WEST COUNTRIE. 
 
 Mr. Fulke, who had promised to give Bob 
 lessons in fishing — himself being the most 
 accomplished angler far or near, as we learnt. 
 So, my foot being soon better, I must needs 
 go with them too. 
 
 What merry forenoons down the glen 
 were those we spent ! lunching under the 
 birches and rowans, and then rambling 
 homewards lazily while Mr. Fulke fished 
 upon his way. Bob carried the basket with 
 admiring eyes, and I was laden with great 
 sprays of hawthorn-blossom. It was the 
 time w^hen 
 
 ' The palm and May make country-houses gay ; ' 
 Lambs frisk and play, the shepherds pipe all day, 
 And we hear aye birds tune this merry lay, — 
 Cuckoo, jug-jug, pu-we, tu-witta-woo.* 
 
 Jack, meanwhile, used to pity himself for 
 having to attend some large spring fairs, which
 
 IN THE WEST COUNTEIE. 101 
 
 lie vowed were dull instead of our society, for 
 he loved Mr. Fulke dearly : but Bob abso- 
 lutely worshipped him like a devoted dog. 
 
 Then Mr. Fulke went away. And although 
 he had used to say so few words, his large 
 presence seemed to have brought a sunlight 
 of soul into the old brown parlour, we were 
 so dull without him. But then we likewise 
 said good-bye ; and once more saw Stoke 
 woods welcoming us. 
 
 Of course, after our parents' caresses and 
 remarks on our improved condition were done, 
 our brethren boisterously demanded full par- 
 ^M^ ticulars of our visit to Arcadia. Bob, there- 
 by upon, burst into blaring praise of our new 
 friend, whose virtues he could have trumpeted 
 ^J) for hours unwearied ; but, I, without quite 
 knowing why, had become shy of doing the 
 same now I was home again.
 
 102 IN THE WEST COUNTRIE. 
 
 Mj mother, listening, asked me how- 
 ever some details as to Bob's last hero ; and 
 then lifting her eyebrows ever so slightly 
 with languid gentleness of manner pro- 
 nounced — 
 
 ' One of Mrs. Gladman's proteges, I see. 
 Good soul ! she is always taking up people 
 who have come down in the world. He can't 
 be anything very much ; so I hope you were 
 not too intimate with him, young as you are.' 
 
 Too intimate ? My heart sank, remember- 
 ing how freely Bob and I had babbled to 
 that bank clerk, till he must have known 
 about Stoke and its charms and our pursuits 
 almost as well as ourselves. And he had 
 always drawn us out more and more — unless 
 we came near revealing too much of home 
 life; then, I remembered, he had always 
 checked our impulsive tongues.
 
 IN THE WEST COUNTRIE. 103 
 
 In time I did forget Mr. Eulke ; yet, till 
 I had grown up and grown out of those 
 pleasant memories, he remained my ideal of 
 a good son, fisherman, clerk, and loyal 
 gentleman.
 
 104 IN THE WEST COUNTRIE. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 TT7E have all grown nmcli, much older, 
 since last I described our happy visit 
 to Dartmoor in our golden age. 
 
 And now a great family event is agitating 
 our circle. Alice is engaged to be married, 
 to one of the matrimonial big prizes of last 
 season — the rich Sir Dudley Digges. 
 
 It is after a London season — my first 
 season, which seemed to me all hurry, racket, 
 some dehghts and perhaps more disappoint- 
 ment ; and in which nobody fell in love with 
 me, nor I with anybody so far as I knew ; 
 though secretly longing to have met two or
 
 IN THE WEST COUNTRIE. 105 
 
 three once-seen partners again — after all this 
 we were once more at dear Stoke, to prepare 
 for Alice's wedding. 
 
 Sir Dudley was expected to arrive in the 
 afternoon, and there was to be a great family 
 gathering to meet him. 
 
 Beau had foregone some last days at Cowes 
 to be present. Having set the seal of his ap- 
 proval upon AHce's union, to my mother's great 
 delight ; for she looked on her first-born as an 
 oracle of the world of fashion. He was now 
 a ' young man about town ; ' not knowing what 
 work he should do, in spite of my father's re- 
 commendations, nor much wishing to discover 
 any ; rather fine — but still very kind to us all. 
 Bob had come gaily from his crammers, dry 
 with knowledge, he said, and thirsting for fun. 
 Rose, who had been left in the country with 
 her governess, was wild to see a wedding.
 
 lOG IN THE WEST COUNTHIE. 
 
 These two last were noAV plying me with 
 questions, as to how it all happened ? which I 
 was unsuccessfully trying to parry. For the 
 truth w^as that I had felt a certain fastidious 
 regret about ' losing ' my sister, and to Sir 
 Dudley too, which Alice herself had promptly 
 laughed me into suppressing. 
 
 It was before five o'clock tea-time ; and we 
 happened to have the dear old drawing-room 
 to ourselves. Stoke was like Adam and Eve's 
 bower that summer. Flowers, flowers were 
 everywhere, from those beautifully painted on 
 the brown-panelled walls to the rarest of 
 orchids massed in the dehcate china jars or 
 fairy-like ideas in Venetian glass which our 
 mother's exquisite taste had disposed around. 
 She had delightfully modernized this old- 
 fashioned room. The colours were all of 
 the richest but subdued shades. Generations
 
 m THE WEST COUNTEIE. 107 
 
 (of former owners) had amassed with lovmg 
 pride the beautiful objects around ; Venetian 
 chandehers, Eastern hangings, old miniatures, 
 matchless ivory and ebony furniture, stiff and 
 fragile ; but for comfort — oh ! the deepest and 
 most delicious of modern lounges to ' do 
 nothing ' in. And roses — roses everywhere — 
 peeped in ; framing the long glass windows set 
 wide open, and giving vistas of fresh flowers 
 glowing all round the smooth greensward, 
 where the fountains always plashed in their 
 pebbled nooks and creepers trailed over from 
 their flower-full vases. Then away below the 
 terraced slope, the lake gleamed in the sunlit 
 glen — surrounded by the deep green woods 
 which refreshed the eyes, insensibly wearied 
 by the intense brilliance of the flower-beds 
 burning with geraniums and anemones. 
 ' But how did he propose ? tell us that ? '
 
 108 IN THE WEST COUNTRIE. 
 
 cried Rose directly, transfixing me with her 
 bright brown eyes. Rose was declared by our 
 mother — (as youngest she was the favourite) 
 — to have the most common sense of us all. 
 
 ' Yes ; that's it/ chirped Bob, putting his 
 long yellow head quizzically on one side. 
 
 " Oh well ; I may tell you that, for Alice 
 told several of her friends while I was by one 
 day, so I heard it,' I replied, feeling sure of 
 my ground, and faithfully repeating our eldest 
 sister's words. ' She said she never thought 
 the old thing (I mean, correcting myself, she 
 said the dear old thing) cared about her till 
 one afternoon he began mumbling so to her 
 she could not think what he was saying. But 
 at last he asked clearly, might he speak to 
 mother, so Alice guessed of course, and said 
 he had much better, thinking it would save 
 trouble. Then he went to mother, who was
 
 IN THE WEST COUNTEIE. 109 
 
 sitting in her boudoir — and they arranged it 
 all between them.' 
 
 * And was that all ? ' uttered Bob dis- 
 gusted, whilst Rose scrutinized me still with 
 calmly expectant eyes. 
 
 ' Oh well, nearly all — at least Alice said ; 
 ''then he just touched her fringe with his 
 beard, and she felt in such a panic lest he had 
 made it look frightful for the afternoon under 
 her bonnet ; " that was all — ' I ended, as- 
 suming an air of cynical lightness. 
 
 My younger brother and sister eyed me 
 with evident disapprobation. 
 
 ' And that's what you women have all been 
 making such a fuss about. I call it very 
 poor sport/ pronounced Bob in disgust. 
 
 ' Yes, and I didn't expect it of you, 
 Pleasance, either, to speak in such a heartless 
 way about it. Why, I don't believe Alice
 
 110 m THE WEST COUNTEIE. 
 
 can care for him one bit ! ' added Rose, 
 denouncing my vvorldliness. Whilst I — 
 conscious of having cried bitterly in secret 
 at the idea of our pretty Alice tying herself 
 voluntarily to a middle-aged dullard — dropped 
 my wedding-mask of complacency and looked 
 at them both rather miserable-eyed. 
 
 ' What's the use of tormenting oneself when 
 Alice is so delighted about it; and mother 
 and Beau, and all the rest of the world ? ' 
 I abruptly asked. 
 
 ' Oh, none at all,' promptly agreed Bob. 
 ' Only you look as if you had been doing so 
 all the same ! which as yourself remarked 
 is foolish. So long as Alice likes it, wdiat's 
 the odds ? ' 
 
 Here he began airily trying to balance my 
 mother's best Sevres bonbonniere on his nose, 
 to its extreme peril and my terror.
 
 m THE WEST COUNTRIE. Ill 
 
 *Well, no; you can't help it, Pleasance/ 
 chimed in Rose, who like Bob had begun 
 to see the matter from another side, and to 
 think any extreme personal sensibility on my 
 part misplaced. She was happy in having 
 a mind that always trotted cheerfully along 
 the level in opinions, and even dipped and 
 rose as little in joys and sorrows as could 
 reasonably be consistent with a loving little 
 heart and good temper. But I felt as if 
 the rest of my family were always weighing 
 me, even in small matters, and finding me 
 light in the balance. Mene, mene^ tekel, 
 upharsin! — My own fault. Why must I be 
 ever dangerously climbing along the heights 
 of enthusiasm or painfully floundering in the 
 depths of woe ? 
 
 ' You might tell us what our brother-in-law 
 is like, however,' pursued Bob ; nearly upset-
 
 112 IN THE WEST COUNTRIE. 
 
 ting two fragile chairs and a little table by 
 stretching his legs out to their extremest 
 length before him, and his arms behind his 
 head likewise to an alarming extent as he 
 yawned. 
 
 *Yes, do begin; what is his hair like?' 
 demanded Rose. 
 
 'It is not so much black-silvered as 
 grizzled/ I replied, transposing Hamlet. 
 ' But it's thick enough still except for one 
 bald patch just on the crown, and he has a 
 beard rather less grizzled, that always seems 
 trying to turn up and look at his face.' 
 
 ' That's pretty — Rose ! Well, what sort of 
 sized man is he, Pleasance ? ' 
 
 ' Oh, he is big enough and stout, too ; not 
 amiss in that way.' (I secretly admired men 
 of goodly stature.) 'His head may be a 
 trifle large ; but not much.'
 
 IN THE WEST COUNTEIE. 113 
 
 ' That's better, Bob ; and what eyes, 
 Pleasance ? ' 
 
 ' His eyes are not good, poor man. They 
 are small and light-coloured, and his eye- 
 lashes are very pale.' 
 
 ' Dreadful ! He must look just like a pig,' 
 ejaculated Rose, hitting off a resemblance in 
 poor Sir Dudley's eyes which had secretly 
 struck me before. 
 
 ' He did not make himself, or choose his 
 eyes either,' was my retort, nevertheless ; 
 feeling the censure too unfair. 
 
 ' Well, but look here, Pleasance,' cried Bob, 
 raising his voice as requesting a final decision. 
 ' Since we are acknowledged to be a family of 
 two sorts. Browns and Beaumanoirs, which 
 division will our respected brother-in-law 
 belong to — the stupids or the shining Hghts, 
 eh?' 
 
 VOL, I. I
 
 114 IN THE WEST COUNTRIE. 
 
 *Well, I think he is certainly more of a 
 goose than a swan,' I answered laughing. 
 ' Perhaps as he is a great gourmand and 
 complains of a liver, we might call him a 
 Strasburg goose ! ' 
 
 * Pleasance ! — I am shocked and surprised ! ' 
 said my mother's voice. Entering with her 
 light footfall, she had heard the latter part of 
 our conversation, and added in a tone low but 
 so cold it withered me : ^ It is w^rong, even 
 unchristian, to prejudice your young brother 
 and sister in this way. What better do you 
 expect, I w^onder, than such a splendid match 
 as your elder sister is making? Sir Dudley 
 Digges's personal merits quite satisfy the rest 
 of your family ; but your ideas are so ridicul- 
 ous that perhaps you will want to turn nurse 
 or missionary, or to marry a penniless curate. 
 At least, I beg you will not try to make Rose
 
 IN THE WEST COUNTRIE. 115 
 
 as foolish as yourself; for some day I look to 
 her making quite as good a marriage as 
 Alice.' Contrary to her usual self-possession 
 our mother left the room after saying this, her 
 step somewhat agitated, and her still graceful 
 figure heaving with an anger she would not 
 otherwise betray. 
 
 Unlucky me ! . . . Why, oh why ! had she 
 not come five minutes sooner to have heard 
 the perfect propriety of my sentiments, till 
 the honest expressions of my favourite brother 
 and sister had stirred my heart ? 
 
 ' Poor Pleasance ! You have put your foot 
 in it this time,' uttered Bob in a pitying 
 voice. 
 
 ' I am so sorry ! But perhaps we had 
 better take ourselves out of sight for a little 
 till it has blown over,' added Rose, young as 
 she was, being practical. I finished my tea in 
 
 I 2
 
 116 m THE WEST COUNTRIE. 
 
 guilty silence, and we stole out on the lawn, 
 just out of direct view of the windows, 
 but ready if summoned to the august Digges' 
 presence. 
 
 Meanwhile, we had heard my father's 
 quick cheery step in the inner hall ; 
 then my mother evidently arrested the 
 onward progress we were all three hailing 
 with joy. 
 
 It flashed upon me, with that quick insight 
 we gain into the motives of those with whom 
 we live, that her reason in going out to meet 
 him so quickly, was to avoid my father's 
 entering during any possible further discus- 
 sion of Sir Dudley. 
 
 Somehow I felt sure he was in sympathy 
 with me ; that his evident sorrow at losing 
 his pretty Alice was deeper than it need have 
 been, whilst there seemed a forced acqui-
 
 IN THE WEST COUNTRIE. 117 
 
 escence when mother so often with gentlest 
 artifices strove to place his future son-in-law 
 before him in the most flattering light. Yes ; 
 many little things — half-sighs I had caught, 
 if no one else, a look stolen at Alice now and 
 again of troubled, fond inquiry, an almost 
 imperceptible clouding of that dear sunny 
 face when the subject of the marriage was 
 uppermost — all came with new conviction to 
 my mind. I was sorry for him, dear old dad ; 
 but wonderfully consoled by the thought 
 that we two felt alike. 
 
 ' What are you three out here for, looking 
 as glum as owls ? ' asked Alice, tripping out 
 of the glass-door, and looking so pretty and 
 light-hearted as she joined us. Her golden- 
 brown hair was waved all over her small 
 head, and fringed on her forehead. She had 
 the roundest of laughing faces, with no
 
 118 IN THE WEST COUNTRIE. 
 
 noticeable features but good eyes and a 
 most kissable little mouth with perfect teeth 
 — the general effect being that of a charm- 
 ing child's face. ' She looks so innocent/ 
 said many people. Truly, as Shakspeare 
 sang ; 
 
 ' If she be made of red and white, 
 Her faults shall ne'er be known.' 
 
 But before any of us could or would answer 
 Alice, a little Gothic door near us, leading 
 from the shrubbery, opened with a sharp 
 click, and Miss Bee Beaumanoir appeared 
 beside us, emerging with the briskness of a 
 female Jack-in-the-box. Although she was 
 expected this evening, still she always con- 
 trived to make her mode of arrival 2^?e-expected 
 to her own vast delight. 
 
 * Well, chickabiddies ! here I am,' she 
 exclaimed, as we crowded round her. She
 
 IN THE WEST COUNTRIE. 119 
 
 seemed positively to have the very same 
 gown and bonnet on her spare little person 
 as when first we had beheld her. 
 
 ' So here's the pretty bride. Well, Miss 
 Brown, my dear, I hope you're not too fine 
 to speak to me.' (For years she had taken 
 peculiar pleasure in addressing Alice with 
 this sentence.) 'Is your bridegroom paying 
 a good price for you, eh ? But I won't keep 
 you now ; for I've an idea that he was driving 
 along the approach as I took the short cut 
 through the shrubbery. So be off to meet 
 him. No, no — we won't come in until the 
 tender greetings are over ! ' 
 
 Alice shrugged her pretty shoulders and 
 went indoors, still turning her head to smile 
 and nod back at us, with a most easy dis- 
 engaged air. Her figure looked charming 
 in her pale-pink summer gown that fitted
 
 120 IN THE WEST COUNTETE. 
 
 exquisitely, and was coquettishly trimmed 
 with lace on flounces and furbelows. 
 
 ' Upon my word, Alice looks as if she had 
 been turned into a jelly, and run into that 
 gown,' went on Miss Beaumanoir, as I may 
 sometimes call her, since she did not greatly 
 like being often addressed as 'aunt.' Then 
 turning to me : ' Now, child, let me see you ! 
 Come ; you're filled out, and grown taller than 
 ever ; but you're too pale, and you've still got 
 that old trick of looking one through and 
 through with those great eyes of yours. 
 Pray, why are you not in a pink gown too, 
 instead of this sad-coloured grey calico ? ' 
 
 ^ You see, Alice always dislikes so much 
 our dressing alike, as if we had no different 
 ideas between us,' I murmured. ' So as she 
 always wears pinks and blues, and that she 
 chooses my dresses for me — '
 
 m THE WEST COUNTRIE. 121 
 
 ' You get only greys and greens/ cried my 
 grand-aunt with an expressive grimace. 
 
 ' Pleasance, my dear, with your want of 
 spirit, what a nice sort of first season you 
 must have had! Did Alice allow you an^ 
 admirers, or did she throw you a few of her 
 cast-off ones ? But you were always the 
 same from a child ; why can't you assert your 
 own rights instead of being made to sit 
 with your back to the horses through life.' 
 
 ' Some one 77mst give up in a large family, 
 if things are to go smoothly,' I answered, 
 flashing out with an evidence of possessing 
 some of that spirit my grand-aunt disbelieved 
 in. But she did not heed — being engrossed 
 suddenly like Bob and Kose in listening to 
 the sound of voices in the drawing-room. 
 We all crept nearer, just sheltered by the 
 projection of the bay window. It was a
 
 122 IN THE WEST COUNTRIE. 
 
 shabby trick; but our grand-aunt was fore- 
 most. 
 
 ' Yes ! I drove along very comfortably 
 from the station in Mr. Brown's dog-cart. 
 Thought you would have come to meet me, 
 Alice .... Oh, all right — doesn't matter ! ' 
 Sir Dudley was heard saying in a thick voice, 
 without the smallest variation of tone. ' Had 
 a queer sort of companion, though. An old 
 woman who was trailing her gown along in 
 the dust, just like the fooKshness of those 
 kind of people (not that it was worth picking 
 out of the gutter) ; she hailed me and asked, 
 if I was coming in this direction, would I 
 kindly give her a lift. So, 'pon my honour, as 
 it's so hot a day, and she seemed carrying a 
 bundle, or something that must have tired 
 her, you'll all think me very soft, but I said 
 *' Up you get ! " and she hopped up. How-
 
 IN THE WEST COUNTRIE. 123 
 
 ever, your groom seemed to know about her, 
 for he whispered to me it was all right.' 
 Miss Bee crept nearer the window. 
 
 ' But what became of her ? ' asked my 
 mother rather anxiously. 
 
 ' Well, I brought her up your drive here 
 till we came to what I saw was the back way 
 to the stables and so forth, so then I said, 
 " My good woman ! you had better get down 
 here ; that's evidently your road." So down 
 she got, and I suppose at this moment she 
 is being entertained by your cook. Queer 
 old girl — wonder who she was ? ' 
 
 'Would you know her again if you saw 
 her ? ' asked our venerable aunt, suddenly 
 stepping in through the open low window. 
 
 Tableau inside ! Sir Dudley's feelings and 
 those of my mother may be imagined.
 
 124 IN THE WEST COUNTKIE. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 rpHE days that now preceded the wedding 
 seemed still all racket and bustle no less 
 than in London, if differently so ; and I felt 
 even more alone. Each post and train brought 
 wedding-presents and new dresses, to see 
 which unpacked gave the greatest dehght to 
 every female mind in the house, next to 
 receiving these themselves ; yet generally, 
 when I cried out with admiration at sight of 
 some fresh lovely object, Alice would carelessly 
 answer after this fashion : 
 
 * Why, I thought I had shown it to every- 
 body the other day. Don't bother, Pleasance
 
 IN THE WEST COUNTRIE. 125 
 
 dear. Oh, the Mackenzies sent it, or the 
 Mackintoshes, I believe — shabby enough of 
 them ! Now I must settle about the brides- 
 maids' dresses, and you are only in the way. 
 You might just go out to the garden and 
 amuse poor old Dudley.' 
 
 Sir Dudley, smoking rather sulkily along 
 the terraces, would however have none of my 
 timidly -offered ministrations. Plainly if Ahce 
 would not herself come for one of the tete-d- 
 Ute interviews he stolidly tried to get and she 
 as laughingly avoided, he declined all others 
 of the inferior sex ; but consoled himself with 
 the ' Times,' or was conducted for the fiftieth 
 time round the farmyard by father with 
 anxious efforts for his entertainment. 
 
 One especial day, thus reheved from my 
 disagreeable task, I roamed in the gardens to 
 enjoy a few moments of sweet, perfect stillness
 
 126 IN THE WEST COUNTRIE. 
 
 away from the house turmoil. Though 
 every tree, bush, and flower of dear Stoke 
 welcomed me back, yet there was still a sense 
 of disappointment in my heart, and I wished 
 myself a child again. Little though Alice 
 had allowed me to be her companion, the 
 vague hope of becoming more to her had 
 always led me on — though she would have 
 laughed at my sisterly longing as sentimental. 
 Really, I was lonely those days ; and no one 
 clung more to companionship. My mother ? 
 — well, she liked first to enjoy a large and 
 exclusive share of my father's society ; next, 
 that of her favourite children ; lastly, she had 
 the constant care of our position in society. 
 Beau was a Sevres china sort of elder brother, 
 much admired from a distance, but seldom 
 brought into contact with us country bump- 
 kins. Bob, my best-beloved, seldom seemed
 
 m THE WEST COUNTRIE. 127 
 
 to care, wlien at home, to give up an hour's 
 amusement for me. Rose was still fast bound 
 by that iron rule, perhaps wholesome, of many 
 English mothers like our own, whose school- 
 room girls are not permitted to be seen except 
 at lunch-time ; their society being restricted 
 to that of their governess, and their wildest 
 indulgences to currant-cake at six-o-clock tea 
 and a good cry over the ' Heir of RedclyfFe.' 
 
 I scarcely ever saw her. 
 
 My father alone — ! But as I was thinking, 
 he came down the gravelled path towards me. 
 He had evidently escaped from Sir Dudley, 
 and was weary, for the old quick tread was 
 slow and heavy. 
 
 ' Well, my pet ! why are you by yourself? ' 
 he asked, putting his arm round my 
 shoulders, and relaxing from his occupied air 
 into a slow saunter of satisfaction. ' I don't
 
 128 IN THE WEST COUNTRIE. 
 
 like to see you so much alone, do you 
 know, Pleasance ? It's not good for young 
 people.' 
 
 ' Who is there for me to be with ? ' I 
 asked, glad and contented at once by his 
 presence, adding with a mock pout, a piece 
 of silly gaiety I never indulged in to others : 
 ' You never have time to spare for me now ; 
 and you know very well no one else especially 
 wants me/ 
 
 ' Ah, well,' said my father with a quick 
 half-sigh that surprised me, as he tightened 
 his embrace, ' I can't give you as much 
 companionship as I would like, dear ; but as 
 I may have to lose you too, like Alice, I can 
 hardly tell you, my child, how earnestly 
 I trust your husband may be a good 
 man whom you can entirely love and 
 respect'
 
 IN THE WEST COUNTRIE. 129 
 
 I thought of Sir Dudley almost with a 
 shudder; and drew closer to his shoulder, 
 exclaiming, ' Oh, father, I never want to leave 
 you!' 
 
 He smiled, well pleased, but rather sadly 
 (I remember wondering why at the time). 
 
 ' My pet ; we must part in the course of 
 nature long before your life's race will be 
 run. May the All- wise Father of us all send 
 you a udser, better companion on the road 
 than your old father.' 
 
 ' Please, sir,' said a footman appearing at 
 this moment, ' Mrs. Brown wants you particu- 
 larly to come in.' 
 
 We two approached the windows — our first 
 dear discourse since many a day thus stopped 
 short. My mother rustled out, in her in- 
 variably handsome dress, to meet us ; looking 
 like an anxious General whose second in 
 
 VOL. I. K
 
 130 IN THE WEST COUNTRIE. 
 
 command had left her alone to bear the day's 
 heat and burden. 
 
 * My dear, do you know that Sir Dudley 
 is alone in the drawing-room ? ' she said, in 
 gentle reproach. Then turning to me with a 
 more injured tone : ' And really, Pleasance, 
 instead of idling, you might be helping your 
 poor sister, I think. There are two dozen 
 notes of thanks for presents to be written, 
 and you can easily imitate Alice's hand. She 
 has left the list for you in the library.' 
 
 In very truth, since early morning till late 
 at night, I had been slaving and toiling for 
 Alice, without a word of thanks or even 
 recognition ; yet it was only now I felt really 
 vexed. I knew Alice liad time in plenty to 
 write her own letters, since she simply flitted 
 like a butterfly from her dresses to her 
 presents : and then — well, she might have
 
 m THE WEST COUNTRIE. 131 
 
 deigned to consult me a little about my own 
 bridesmaid's dress ! On second thoughts, how- 
 ever, my sister was more anxious to suit the 
 rather different figures and complexions of the 
 two Miss Pawletts, nieces of the bridegroom. 
 Lady Paw^lett, Sir Dudley's sister, was a 
 person of influence in London society, and ' so 
 much depended on pleasing her ! ' our mother 
 had anxiously said, thinking of her daughter's 
 first flight alone from the paternal nest. 
 Out upon my selfishness, then ! — yet I wished 
 our wedding over, whilst turning meekly 
 indoors. 
 
 ' But, Ada, this is becoming a tax,' said 
 my father decidedly. ' Alice must come and 
 entertain Sir Dudley herself, instead of 
 putting it on all of us.' 
 
 ' She is so busy, poor child,' said my 
 mother excusingly. ' She has been setting 
 
 K 2
 
 132 IN THE WEST COUNTEIE. 
 
 out all her presents in my boudoir for show ; 
 and he will go in and disturb her so, 
 she says, that really she can do nothing 
 right.' 
 
 ' No matter ; it is her duty to try and 
 please him, so the sooner she begins the 
 better.' 
 
 ' It will be all right, you will see, after 
 marriage,' declared my mother with such 
 a tone of thorough conviction in her voice, 
 that I, hearing no more, might well suppose 
 the discussion ended.' 
 
 This was one of her favourite maxims. Per- 
 haps, secretly, she believed in its infallibility 
 from her own experience ; since certainly her 
 own was a case in point. Herself supposed 
 to have made a match rather of prudence 
 and esteem than of affection — although my 
 father's ardent attachment to the poor county
 
 m THE WEST COUNTKIE. 133 
 
 beauty was a matter of history — there was 
 no doubt that ' after marriage ' he had en- 
 tirely won her heart by devoting to her a 
 life-time of constant, forbearing devotion ; 
 whilst she recognized that such a wise 
 superior mind as his does not always accom- 
 pany so large and patient a heart. We all 
 knew that whilst loving her own way and to 
 affect rule, yet she leaned in the main more 
 on my father's strong Brown sense than she 
 would have owned — even at the very time she 
 might be trying to sway him to a Beaumanoir 
 whim, and that seldom in vain, by the 
 affection he bore her. 
 
 ' Slaving away, Cinderella 1 ' remarked my 
 grand-aunt's cynical old voice. ' Bless me, 
 how hot I am ! I've been out with Bob 
 breaking in the bay filly till I nearly got a 
 sunstroke. It's a pity I've not a fortune,
 
 134 m THE WEST COUNTRIE. 
 
 or I'd leave it all to that boy. We've been 
 enjoying ourselves finely, while you've been 
 moped in this dark library till you look as 
 grave and lonely as a nun. I'll tell you 
 what it is, Pleasance, you want hillets doux 
 and chiffons to brighten you up, as the 
 Prench say, who know women well. With 
 a pink dress like Alice's, and a lover, 
 you'd see what a different girl you would 
 be/ 
 
 ' I must be different, indeed, if I could 
 stand a lover like Alice's,' I cried, gathering 
 up all my notes that Miss Bee's old shawl 
 had swept far and wide over the polished 
 floor. 
 
 My grand-aunt was most kind to me, 
 yet her sympathy was not always pleasing. 
 She pickled her good-nature in vinegar too 
 often, and was as exaggerated in her words
 
 IN THE WEST COUNTRIE. 135 
 
 as in her dress and manners. She would 
 have given us to her last crust and penny 
 with all her kindly queer heart, but had 
 not to give me other gifts most prized 
 from those we love, — wise womanly counsel, 
 delicate understanding, all the guidance, 
 forbearance, and help that are the fruits 
 of experience and affection in our elders. 
 Besides, one could better romp with dear 
 old Bee than venerate so ^^^-venerable a 
 grand-aunt. 
 
 One afternoon, two days later, I was 
 sitting alone in the little flower-garden, 
 called My Lady's garden, after a long dead 
 Lady Betty, who had married a Bracy when 
 George L was king ; and had left for 
 all memories of a short sweet youth, this 
 pretty pleasaunce planned in the bride-year 
 that was her last; and a full-length por-
 
 136 IN THE WEST COUNTRIE. 
 
 trait inserted in the wainscoting of our 
 inner hall. 
 
 So, I was alone, and for once idle. 
 The others had all gone off, a large party, 
 in the coach to meet Lady Pawlett and 
 her daughters at the station ; Beau driving, 
 but Bob consoling himself loudly with the 
 horn. 
 
 / There is hardly room for you, Pleasance,* 
 Alice had said graciously, as prime minister ; 
 ' still come if you like/ 
 
 ' Pleasance, there is no room for you ; so 
 you will stay and see that tea is ready for us,' 
 my mother gently commanded, adding in a 
 lower tone : ' I want Sir Dudley and Alice to 
 have the back seat to themselves, and it does 
 not really matter much about your making 
 friends with the Pawlett girls.' 
 
 So they started, and in the sunny, sleepy
 
 IN THE WEST COUNTRIE. 137 
 
 afternoon I was sitting in the remotest corner 
 of this my favourite nook, hilled by the hour, 
 the unusual quiet, the heavy flower-scents, 
 and the ' hot noise of bees/ There were 
 several summer-houses hidden in various 
 green recesses of My Lady's garden, — a shell- 
 house, a thatched bower inlaid with wood, and 
 this last, my favourite, lined with blue Dutch 
 tiles showing the true story of Reynard the 
 Fox. It had low oaken seats in which one 
 could really rest, and look out through lattices 
 of coloured glass — wide- opened this day — at 
 the lake and glen on one side ; or up green 
 alleys lined with flowers, to where above 
 the topmost terraces some gable or chimney 
 of Stoke could just be seen. 
 
 I was looking out of one of the windows, 
 framed in sweet jessamine, my head leant 
 idly on my hand, and a book dropped
 
 138 IN THE WEST COUNTRIE. 
 
 side-ways cloAvn, while I hummed from 
 memory — 
 
 ' Gather ye rosebuds while ye may, 
 
 Old time is still a-flying ; 
 And this same flower that smiles to-day, 
 
 To-morrow will be dying.' 
 
 Before the last murmm-ed word had left my 
 parted lips, there was a rustle below among the 
 leaves. What — who was this . . . ? h. young 
 man was gazing up at me, and I having never 
 seen him before gazed back astonished. How 
 long he had been there I did not know ; but 
 in those few silent seconds that followed, his 
 face, as he stood still in the vivid sunlight, 
 was stamped as clearly on my memory as 
 his figure stood out distinct against the 
 vew-hedo:e behind. 
 
 If I shut my eyes now, I could — if I still 
 w^ould — see him just so again.
 
 IN THE WEST COUNTEIE. 139 
 
 Not of tall stature, but, in the old-fashioned 
 phrase, goodlj in face ; well-built and active. 
 He had crisply- waved chestnut hair and some- 
 what redder moustache, a clear-cut nose that 
 seemed almost as expressive of its owner's 
 moods as his other features, and the most 
 sleepy, laughing, good-humoured blue eyes in 
 the w^orld upturned towards me. How many 
 more moments still the situation might have 
 lasted I cannot tell, but that (being far too 
 shy to speak first) my pale cheeks felt a 
 sudden crimson tide. 
 
 He took off his hat. 
 
 * Miss Pleasance Brown, I think ? The 
 butler told me you were in the garden. It 
 seems I was not expected till a later train. 
 May I introduce myself? My name is Clair 
 St. Leger.' 
 
 * Oh yes ; excuse my not knowing sooner.
 
 140 IN THE WEST COUNTKIE. 
 
 You are to be Sir Dudley's best man/ I 
 murmured, coming forward to the arbour- 
 door with all the gracious dignity I could 
 muster, to greet such a distinguished wed- 
 ding-guest. He sprang lightly up the steps 
 to meet my proffered hand. ' We have 
 heard of you from my eldest brother, too,' 
 I went on ; 'I believe you are a great friend 
 of his. Beau has driven the coach over to 
 meet you. He will be so sorry.' 
 
 ' Well, I cannot be very sorry, as it gives 
 me the pleasure of seeing this charming spot ; 
 and of making your acquaintance a little 
 sooner,' he replied. 
 
 His voice had that indescribable charm, 
 which the French rightly therefore term the 
 je ne sais quoi, of a man who has so lived in 
 the world and its best society, that it has 
 made him what he is ; while he and his like
 
 m THE WEST COUNTRIE. 141 
 
 make it. In manner, too, he had a peculiarly 
 soft winning way, a graceful ease ; (I know a 
 few unkind acquaintance called this impu- 
 dence — but there seldom was a more universal 
 favourite). Now, seeing I was an ingenue, he 
 took the lead, yet with an air of most court- 
 eous deference that flattered my young pride. 
 He asked me to show him the garden, with 
 which he declared himself already fascinated 
 — ' This fairy-like domain, where you were 
 looking out of your bower-lattice like an 
 enchanted princess,' he laughingly called it. 
 So I did the honours of the yew hedges and 
 pleached alleys ; the showers of white jessamine 
 or sweet honeysuckle that brushed our faces 
 as we passed under arches almost closed with 
 blossoms; the pebbled paths and paved 
 runnels down which little streamlets always 
 trickled, fed fresh from the hill above. He
 
 142 IN THE WEST COUNTKIE. 
 
 gathered me a softly-pale pink rose that was 
 out of my reach ; and I gravely gave hhn a 
 sv^eet white bud. 
 
 ' It is lovely ; but is it appropriate ? ' he 
 asked, luring me to a bench shaded from 
 the hot afternoon sun. Then, as I looked at 
 him full in questioning surprise, he added — 
 just veiling his eyes with lashes as long as any 
 woman's, while a peculiar little dainty twitch 
 of his clearly-cut nose seemed to imply, that 
 though the words coming were not worth his 
 smile, yet they meant in his own mind a little 
 more than common (very likely he fancied 
 the trick unnoticed) — 'Would not a red bud 
 have described me better? I am afraid it 
 would,' he went on. ' I have a sort of theory 
 about roses. Miss Pleasance . . Brown.' 
 (How long invented, I now wonder ?) ' See ! 
 white roses are for innocence and childhood ;
 
 IN THE WEST COUNTEIE. 143 
 
 but this lovely pink one of yours, only just 
 tinged a little warmer in the heart, ought to 
 describe yourself ; while the deep red means 
 the older, perhaps sinful, beings who have 
 lived so much longer in the world — like me.' 
 
 ' But can innocence not go beyond the 
 days of childhood ? ' I asked, half-startled to 
 find myself classed in the pink stage. 
 
 ^Why, yes — it may, of course; only I 
 meant, perhaps, more the ij/norance of the 
 good and evil of this world,' he laughed, 
 looking at me out of those blue eyes that had 
 such a caressing expression. ' To have " lived 
 and loved," is^ not that to know ? — And it 
 would surprise me very much if you had 
 passed through a season without having seen 
 some such effect in others, around you. Al- 
 though I could almost dare to swear' (looking 
 at me keenly), ' that it is only from such a
 
 144 m THE WEST COUNTRIE. 
 
 rejected glow that your rose might take a 
 shade of pink.' 
 
 My face was pink enongli now. 
 
 ' I forgot — I wanted to make a bouquet for 
 my father's study-table/ I murmured for an 
 answer, scarcely alarmed at his idle words ' 
 and slow soft look, yet with a strange 
 feeling. 
 
 ' Let me help you. I am very fond of 
 making bouquets,' cried Mr. St. Leger, rising 
 at once to gather my flowers. Then when 
 my lap was full, and that he had wooed me to 
 equanimity again with moss rose-buds, and 
 won me altogether back to happy converse by 
 the daintiest sprays of clematis and hop 
 tendrils gathered above my reach, we sat 
 down again together ; while he chose out 
 which flowers I should use as pleased his 
 sovereign liking. We were like a pair of
 
 IN THE WEST COUNTEIE. 145 
 
 innocent children. He scolded mj imputed 
 want of skill. I retorted upon his conceit. 
 
 It was all such simple, innocent amusement 
 that I need hardly have felt so startled, when 
 there came calls through the garden, and 
 Alice and Beau, of all people ! appeared 
 searching for us. 
 
 ' Pleasance ! how could you be so forgetful 
 as not to have given poor Mr. St. Leger some 
 tea ? ' cried Alice chidingly, after a bright 
 welcome to the guest. *We have all been 
 back some time ; and were wondering what 
 had become of you.' 
 
 * I did ask him, but he preferred staying 
 here,' I murmured, falling back with a sort of 
 shock into my subdued position of the one 
 who did everything wrong. 
 
 * Yes. I declared for tea-roses instead of 
 tea, and lilies instead of late luncheon,' 
 
 VOL. I. L
 
 146 IN THE WEST COUNTEIE. 
 
 interposed Clair St. Leger, taking in the 
 situation at a glance, and taking up my 
 defence against the disapproving looks of 
 both Beau and my sister; adding with a 
 laugh: *To own the truth, I had had a 
 glass of sherry and a biscuit from the butler 
 when I arrived.' 
 
 'That is all right, old chap,' uttered Beau 
 with a satisfied air, in his rather affected drawl, 
 as he glanced at me, reassured on the score of 
 my good behaviour ; adding graciously : 
 
 *Pleasance has been taught by having 
 brothers, what are the real wants and likings 
 of misrepresented man.' 
 
 Who ? — I ! Secretly I hung my head, for 
 it had never once occurred to me that my 
 pleasant companion's sportiveness among the 
 flowers and over our bouquet arose from the 
 secret consciousness of having had sherry and
 
 IN THE WEST COUNTRIE. 147 
 
 biscuits ; but I kept my own counsel. As 
 Alice and I went towards the house. Beau 
 and his friend following us in affectionate 
 discourse, my sister said, glancing at me 
 curiously : ' Really it quite looked as if you 
 and Mr. St. Leger were flirting together when 
 I first saw you. Take care, Pleasance ; that 
 is going ahead rather fast.' 
 
 ' Flirting ? Did you ever know me flirt 
 before,' — in an injured tone. 
 
 ' No, never. I don't believe it is in you,' 
 laughed Alice good-naturedly, but with a 
 certain something of secret superiority as 
 she said so. ' Only /le is supposed to know 
 as much about it as most people. Come 1 — 
 Mamma was inclined to be angry because 
 you were not in to receive us, but I'll make 
 it all straight.' 
 
 I followed her into the drawing-room, 
 
 L 2
 
 148 m THE WEST COUNTPJE. 
 
 feeling rather injured and abashed, for really it 
 sometimes struck me that my mother would 
 understand me better if Alice did not always 
 interpose as if a necessary ambassador between 
 us. There, Lady Pawlett, a tall handsome 
 woman with dark eyes, looked me all over; 
 but did not take the trouble to say anything ; 
 though turning to my mother next moment 
 she began talking with effusive warmth, 
 and most agreeably as she sipped her tea. 
 The two Misses Pawlett, middle-sized, plain 
 girls, looked at me too in a stolid way ; made 
 a sort of soundless effort each to speak, but 
 produced no word, apparently because they 
 had nothing to say. 
 
 Evidently, having come to stay with us, 
 they considered it only fit they should be 
 entertained, but had no idea of entertaining 
 me ; although I had rushed desperately into
 
 IN THE WEST COUNTEIE. 149 
 
 conversation in the hopes of atoning for my 
 pleasant indiscretion in the garden. 
 
 Alice had gaily retreated under cover of 
 allowing some mild love-making to Sir 
 Dudley in the next room. By her quizzical 
 look towards me, she knew already what a 
 hopeless task she had left me. It was an 
 inexpressible relief when my mother rose 
 and proposed showing her guests to their 
 rooms to rest before dinner; which offer 
 Lady Pawlett accepted with cheerful alacrity, 
 observins; : 
 
 ' It does take me so much longer to dress 
 properly after a journey. But my girls will 
 take a nap instead, I know — lazy children 1 
 You see I am the active one of the family, 
 dear Mrs. Brown.' 
 
 Miss Pawlett, at this, gave a sort of 
 mysterious smile, observing in a strangely
 
 150 IN THE WEST COUNTRIE. 
 
 impressive undertone : ' It's often the best 
 way of passing one's time.' 
 
 Miss Amy Pawlett, the other 'child' of 
 three or four-and-twenty, followed in obedient 
 silence ; giving one backward look of some 
 slow regret, however, at Beau and his 
 friend St. Leger, who just then crossed 
 the inner hall on their way to the former's 
 private den.
 
 IN THE WEST COUNTEIE. 151 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 TTP-STAIRS in my own room, for a de- 
 licious hour and a half before dinner, I 
 was free to think again over what had passed. 
 
 Why — what was it? I had only been in 
 the garden, and seen a stranger. And now 
 he was not a stranger any more ; while I felt 
 so much richer by having found such a 
 pleasant acquaintance who had been living 
 some six-and-twenty years in the world, with- 
 out my having ever known it ! 
 
 There were three small windows in my 
 low wide room under the western cottage- 
 roof — one to dress at ; one to write at ; one
 
 152 IN THE WEST COUNTEIE. 
 
 to look out of, with the fairest view of all, 
 down below on the lake where the swans 
 w^ere like silver specks. Here I sat down, 
 and gazed, seeing very little of the real beau- 
 tiful world; dreaming idly, in the window- 
 seat, with a most singular lack of invention. 
 Por indeed all that I saw and thought was 
 only of what had passed in the garden ; 
 trying — already — to fit in my memory all 
 the pleasant looks and quaint turns of speech, 
 and the few complimentary words said with 
 such a flattering intonation by Mr. Clair St. 
 ijcger. It was delightfully difficult ; for their 
 essence, like a dreamily subtle atmosphere, 
 was round me still, while half of wdiat we 
 had both said seemed ready to vanish away 
 — silly speeches enough, but I liked to rescue 
 them again from oblivion. 
 
 How well he had looked, when first I saw
 
 IN THE WEST COUNTEIE. 153 
 
 him standing down there in the sun ! — so on 
 
 I thought, and thought again. 
 
 It had been like Beaumont and Pletcher's 
 
 lines : 
 
 ' Sitting in my window, 
 Printing my thoughts in lawn, I saw a god, 
 I thought (but it was you), enter our gates ; 
 My blood flew out, and back again as fast 
 As I had puffed it forth, and sucked it in 
 Like breath ; then was I called away in haste 
 To entertain you.' 
 
 Having made my calculations with secret 
 joy that Mr. St. Leger must certainly take 
 me in to dinner — since Beau and Bob would 
 naturally have the Miss Pawletts for their 
 share — I dressed myself with more than usual 
 care. The pink rose seemed to nestle of its 
 own accord low down among the dark-brown 
 coils of my hair (we still wore flowers in 
 our hair in those days). For the first time
 
 154 IN THE WEST COUNTRIE. 
 
 I became aware that my shoulders were really 
 whiter than the soft folds of my shimmering 
 white dress edged with delicate lace that half 
 veiled them ; while my throat did not compare 
 unfavourably with the double string of pearls 
 that clasped it. In London I had felt so 
 raw and countryfied, plunged straight from 
 the schoolroom into society, outshone by 
 Alice, and painfully aware that my mother 
 believed I would not be a success, and at all 
 events must not be brought forward till Alice 
 was well married ; but now, once more at 
 home, I felt to-night quite the assured airs 
 of a fine London belle. As I shook out my 
 long skirts before the glass in the westering 
 light, my figure seemed taller and more 
 lissom than ever before, though it would 
 have always pleased Lord Byron's taste when 
 he wrote, * I hate your dumpy women.' How
 
 IN THE WEST COUNTEIE. 155 
 
 silly of me ! but I turned my long neck a 
 little tliis way and that, to study the best 
 poise and carriage of my head ; and was glad 
 that if my face was pale it was not pasty like 
 that of poor Miss Pavvlett, whilst my eyes 
 seemed large and dark-brown enough to give 
 shade and their sober colour to light up my 
 other features. I must have been partly 
 right, for as I came down the old oak stairs 
 into the inner hall, which we used as a sort 
 of lounging-room, Bob — who was making 
 solitary lunges there over our ladies' tiny 
 billiard- table — put down his cue with an 
 applauding rattle and cried under his breath, 
 ' Whew ! You do look stunning, old girl ! 
 What has happened, that you are so — so 
 transmogrified ? ' 
 
 'Bob,' I only replied with sweet severity, 
 * it is time for you to put on your best man-
 
 156 IN THE WEST COUNTRIE. 
 
 ners, and come into the drawing-room with 
 me.' 
 
 The March hare grinned; and putting 
 down his cue performed a cartwheel, on his 
 hands and feet, like a street-boy, the fnll 
 length of the hall, the last tarn of which 
 triumphantly replanted him in an upright 
 position again at the foot of the stairs, just as 
 Lady Pawlett was sailing downwards. Her 
 poor daughters humbly followed ; their stout 
 shapes looking oddly in rather short muslin 
 frocks, blue sashes, and black shoes, hke little 
 school-room girls. 
 
 ' Dear me ! quite a feat of — eccentricity,' 
 remarked her Ladyship blandly; gazing at 
 him with a mach more benignant glance 
 then she had ever deigned towards me, whilst 
 Bob stood lookino; redder than even the 
 glow of his exercise warranted.
 
 IN THE WEST COUNTRIE. 157 
 
 ' What it is to be a man — or, rather, 
 even a boy ! ' thought I. 
 
 In the drawing-room an indescribable air of 
 high spirits seemed brought among us by St. 
 Leger. He stood smiling in the centre of a 
 group that had drawn insensibly round him, 
 as if, feeling himself Phoebus, he was glad 
 to beam ; and somehow all we women felt 
 elated by his presence. 
 
 ' Look at that fellow,' muttered Beau, half- 
 admiringly, half-peevishly in my ear. * How 
 does he get his tailor to fit him so, I 
 wonder ! ' 
 
 I could not answer, for my heart suddenly 
 sank. The door had opened to admit our 
 curate, an excellent little man of no individu- 
 ality ; and I found him offering me his arm to 
 dinner whilst the owner of the exquisitely 
 fitting coat passed me, smiling, with dear
 
 158 IN THE WEST COUNTRIE. 
 
 old Aunt Bee, whose claims I had quite 
 forgotten. 
 
 It was a dinner of cross purposes — rather 
 like the game of Crooked Attorney, when 
 every one answers for some one else, or pays 
 forfeit. My ears, shame to tell, were pricked 
 to catch every low soft inflection of Mr. St. 
 Leger's utterance as he talked pleasantly 
 enough to my grand-aunt ; so that I heard 
 nothing of many interesting details concern- 
 ing the working of our new soup-kitchen, the 
 last of the many charities with which my 
 father had flooded the parish. At the lower 
 end of the table. Lady Pawlett, with much 
 play of her still fine dark eyes and liberal dis- 
 play of white shoulders, was trying to fascinate 
 my dear simple father. He, quite uncon- 
 scious of all this, was only imeasy that mother 
 seemed somewhat neglecting poor dull Lord
 
 m THE WEST COUNTRIE. 159 
 
 Pawlett, whilst enlivening her other guests 
 with her own especial gift of bright, clever, 
 yet always gentle attack and repartee ; talking 
 as ladies in the old, well-bred salons used. 
 He did not understand that in society people 
 followed Lady Pawlett's lead in neglecting her 
 spouse, whose principal duty seemed to be 
 putting down her empty tea-cup, or carrying 
 her shawl ; so now father sent the butler with 
 occasional quiet little messages of — ' Would 
 not Lord Pawlett try this hock, or the sherry 
 of some dead, famous connoisseur? — con- 
 sidered rather fine, he believed.' On which, 
 pleased gleams lit up his silent Lordship's 
 inexpressive face. 
 
 * Good gracious, my dear Mr. Brown, you 
 are quite spoiling my husband,' interposed 
 my Lady with gracious peevishness several 
 times. ' But you millionnaires hardly know
 
 160 IN THE WEST COUNTRIE. 
 
 what to do with your money, I suppose. 
 We uever could afford such wme.' Opposite 
 me, Bee, with her gray hair skewered atop 
 of her head by a tortoiseshell arrow, in honour 
 of our guests, her old black barege dress 
 looking scarcely the worse for wear since these 
 many years (for even then it could hardly have 
 been shabbier), was riding full tilt one of her 
 favourite hobbies. She was entertaining St. 
 Leger vastly, and, indeed, most of those 
 around, with a lively history of how the Bey 
 or Dey of Tunis or Morocco (I forget which) 
 had fallen desperately in love with her, on 
 one of her travels ; offering to put away all 
 his other wives for her sake ; till finding this 
 meant bowstringing she had beat a hasty 
 retreat to spare her conscience. 
 
 On this our good curate, who had a mind 
 as simple and gentle as a baby, but was one
 
 IN THE WEST COUNTPJE. 161 
 
 of those persons who cannot laugh and let a 
 joke go by — always wanting instead first to 
 understand it, then to ask questions about it, 
 lastly liking to harp back upon it for a year 
 to come, when the rest of the world is sick 
 thereof — he now gravely observed in pre- 
 liminary : 
 
 'Well now. Miss Beaumanoir, I can 
 hardly understand that ; I always understood 
 that those Mussulman fanatics admired fat 
 women.' 
 
 He stopped short disconcerted at the roar 
 of laughter which came from us all ; for our 
 grand-aunt was as ' lene as is a rake,' and 
 shrivelled to a shred of humanity. 
 
 ' Never mind,' she cried patronizingly, 
 joining heartily in the laugh. ' I see you are 
 a man of taste, and like slim figures — like me. 
 Oh, I see you and I would get on famously 
 
 VOL. I. M
 
 162 IN THE WEST COUNTRIE. 
 
 together. Come ! I'm off to the Nile next 
 month, and you may come with me — there's 
 an offer. It will open your mind tremend- 
 ously, and all you stay-at-home people want 
 that. You'll see, the ancient Egyptians were 
 much more civilized than your dear Israelites. 
 I'll take you under my wing, and be a mother 
 to you.' 
 
 Almost blushing at the last part of the 
 kind proposal, my neighbour, with all eyes 
 upon him, murmured he feared his parish 
 would not like it if he took such a long 
 holiday — even if he wished it. 
 
 ' Bless you ! they'd never miss you,' cried 
 our grand-aunt heartily. ' Why, the last time 
 I was in the Holy Land we had seven clergy- 
 men, all of our party, with Cook. Three 
 Baptists, a Moravian, a Wesleyan, and two 
 Irvingites. I was the best friends in the
 
 IN THE WEST COUNTRIE. 163 
 
 world with every man of them. Only the 
 poor Wesleyan had his tent next mine, and he 
 did wrestle so in prayer, he kept me awake 
 half the night ! He was a fine fellow.' 
 
 Our curate, though liberal-minded, seemed 
 dubious at this partisanship. Lady Pawlett, 
 who was ' high/ tossed her head as if 
 scandalized. Beau artfully interposed. 
 
 ' Have me for one of your party, too, Bee ' 
 (our grand-aunt loved being called Bee by 
 her nephews) ; ' St. Leger and I, eh ? We 
 would be very good boys, I promise you ; and 
 you know you love young men.' 
 
 ' Pray do, Miss Beaumanoir — I can hardly 
 imagine a more agreeable companion,' re- 
 sponded Clair St. Leger. At that moment 
 his eye caught mine — as it had already done 
 once or twice that evening — with more mean- 
 ing in the sunny glance I fancied than there 
 
 M 2
 
 164 IN THE WEST COUNTRIE. 
 
 was for others ; while an ahuost imperceptible 
 accent on the word ' hardly ' quickened my 
 foohsh pulses with a flattered feeling. 
 
 ' Take you two elegant extracts ! Not I in- 
 deed,' cried Bee in her highest good-humour. 
 ' Why ! the last time, Beau, you came to stay 
 at the Barn for the Duchess of Westerton's 
 ball, you brought a dressing-case so big and 
 so broad it required my three maids and the 
 gardener to carry it up-stairs. If you were 
 only going to Paris, I've no doubt you would 
 think it necessary to travel with your bed, 
 bath, cheval-glass, a wardrobe, and a coffin.'' 
 
 As the laughter over this died away, we 
 heard Sir Dudley speaking, almost for the 
 first time. Quoth he, solemnly, in answer to 
 some interesting question of his hostess, 
 
 ' Ve-rt/ tender mutton, indeed, Mrs. Browti ; 
 yes, I assure you. And the plates are so
 
 m THE WEST COUNTRIE. 165 
 
 thoroughly hot, too. Ton my soul ! I like 
 plain dinners like yours, thoroughly well 
 cooked, far better than the wretched attempts 
 of most people at fine dishes.' 
 
 My mother sat serenely beaming after this 
 compliment, as if her mind was at rest. 
 But old Aunt Bee, gazing expressively at 
 the nearest menu-csiYd of what was by no 
 means a meagre feast, muttered audibly to 
 St. Leger, who wickedly egged her on in 
 her out-spokenness — 
 
 ' Plain dinner indeed ! I wish I had 
 him at the Barn, — bacon and eggs, and 
 porter ! " 
 
 As to the rest of us, Alice paid no atten- 
 tion whatever to Sir Dudley, but laughed 
 with and listened to every one else. Of the 
 wo dull Pawlett girls, the younger, who was 
 with Bob, looked at Beau ; and the elder,
 
 166 IN THE WEST COUNTRIE. 
 
 who was with Beau, looked at the oppo- 
 site wall. I have already owned whose 
 eyes met mine, and who had my secret 
 attention. 
 
 Later on, in the drawing-room, Lady 
 Pawlett sank into the most comfortable chair 
 she could find, near the door by which the 
 gentlemen would enter ; ordered one daughter 
 to find her a foot-stool ; and gave the other 
 languidly her tea-cup to hold. There, as she 
 conversed with my mother and Alice with 
 volubility, both ' the children,' as she called 
 them, sat by watching for her behests. They 
 were so like maids in waiting, that, much as 
 I pitied them, I hardly liked to distract their 
 furtive attention. In a way, it did me good 
 to see them; for being sometimes inclined 
 to think my mother's very absolute love of 
 her own w^ay a heavy if gentle yoke, here
 
 IN THE WEST COUNTRIE. 167 
 
 was the contrast of a how much heavier one — 
 lightened by none of the sweet grace and 
 pretty blandishments that we could not fail 
 to admire, even when most kept in hand 
 by our home-ruler. 
 
 Aunt Bee, after a while, suddenly called 
 me to look out at the moonlight just rising 
 over the lake. 
 
 ' We will stay here, my dear/ she whis- 
 pered, placing herself on the window-seat. 
 ' I've no notion of your doing Alice's work 
 for her. Besides, here come the gentlemen, 
 and — I thought so — Clair St. Leger's eyes 
 are turning where they did during dinner. 
 Don't blush, child! — though, indeed, that 
 little is very becoming.' 
 
 Next moment St. Leger was bending over 
 me ; and with a brusque movement my grand- 
 aunt had left my side, observing, ' Oh, are
 
 168 IN THE WEST COUNTRIE. 
 
 you there, scapegrace? I can't stay to talk 
 to you; Lord Pavvlett and the curate both 
 want to be brisked up and trotted out, so I 
 must see after them.' 
 
 ' Dear old soul ! How nice of her to leave 
 me her place ! ' murmured Clair, sinking into 
 the deep embrasure of the window. Here 
 we seemed quite apart from all the rest, 
 looking out on an exqiusite night-scene lit by 
 heaven's candles ; though close by sounded 
 the uninteresting chatter of the ordinary 
 world, which by mute consent neither of us 
 seemed to heed in the least degree. 'And,* 
 he went on, bending a little nearer as if to 
 admire the rose in my hair, — ' it was still 
 nicer of somebody else to wear my flower. 
 I could hardly keep my eyes off it all 
 evening ; it looks so charming just under that 
 little ear.'
 
 IN THE WEST COUNTEIE. 169 
 
 ' I wish you would not laugh at me, Mr. 
 St. Leger. I am not accustomed to have 
 compliments paid me,' drawing away from 
 him half-frightened, half-fascinated. 
 
 ' Don't look at me with such an air of 
 injured dignity, please, Miss Pleasance Brown. 
 If nobody has never said to you more than 
 that, why ! — the world must be dull indeed, 
 and without discrimination. Shall I say 
 you are not nice; and that you have a 
 very big ear ? ' 
 
 ' Please say nothing — ' 
 
 ' Nothing !' interrupting me softly. ' Very 
 well, I won't. Only then you must talk 
 to me with those speaking eyes, as you did 
 to-day in the garden. How quiet and 
 subdued you are to-night ! Do look at me.' 
 
 By way of proving that I was not an 
 utterly timid ingenue^ I did look up, meaning
 
 170 m THE WEST COUNTRIE. 
 
 it to be for one moment — but for several 
 more found my gaze arrested by his laughing 
 caressing one. Just because there was that 
 look of amusement mingled with his admira- 
 tion, I did not feel half so discomposed with 
 him as with almost any one else in his place. 
 So w^e sat perfectly silent for some seconds. 
 St. Leger seemed to have assumed that we had 
 entered into a compact thereunto ; for with 
 one arm on the window-sill lazily supporting 
 his head, with the other he toyed with 
 my fan. Every now and then my eyes 
 dropped ; I would turn away from this con- 
 fusing private lesson in magnetism. But he 
 w^ould arrest my attention again, with the 
 look of a mischievous school-boy, by appar- 
 ently threatening destruction to my beloved 
 fan, which I dared not snatch from him, and 
 which he mutely refused to restore. Suddenly
 
 m THE WEST COUNTRIE. 171 
 
 he protested under his breath, 'What a 
 nuisance ! They are coming to rout us out 
 of this dear little corner — we have not been 
 happy here five minutes.' 
 
 We had not. But already my mother was 
 bestirring herself, on behalf of the Miss 
 Pawletts, to get up a round game. 
 
 ' You young people will all play, and we 
 can look on,' she smiled, ' unless Lady 
 Pawlett — what, oh, you would like to join 
 too ! Where is Mr. St. Leger ? Ah, Pleas- 
 ance, are you there? Mr. St. Leger, would 
 you like better to play Van John than to sit 
 still?' 
 
 ' I shall be delighted to play anything 
 on earth you like, Mrs. Brown ; including my 
 own natural part of the fool,' drawled Clair 
 in evasive reply, with a quick regretful look 
 at me. Still he rose with an air of such
 
 172 m THE WEST COUNTRIE. 
 
 outwardly easy willingness to leave my side, 
 that inwardly I felt rather surprised. He was 
 placed between the Pawletts by mother, who, 
 in spite of some remonstrances aside from 
 Beau, was bent on arranging the game. 
 Secretly I agreed with Beau; thinking that 
 unless every one feels like school-boys and 
 girls, it is the dreariest thing on earth to set 
 grown people down perforce to play for 
 counters or sixpenny stakes at vingt-et-wi ; 
 and my conscience had — then as now — 
 scruples against playing for much money. 
 
 Meanwhile, our elders withdrew to com- 
 fortable arm-chairs ; father and Lord Pawlett 
 talking of turnips ; mother resting, gracefully 
 weary : and Aunt Bee actually producing fun 
 in the curate. But our game languished as 
 such amusements generally do. Alice and Sir 
 Dudley banked, thereby keeping both their
 
 IN THE WEST COUNTEIE. 173 
 
 conversation and their counters apart. Mild 
 jokes, with which we had all begun, were 
 changed gradually to covert yawns as time 
 passed. Lady Pawlett, who was struggling to 
 be lively witb all the determination of over 
 two-score years, kept endeavouring to attract 
 St. Leger's attention from her daughter beside 
 him to herself opposite, which the latter did 
 not seem to altogether relish. In this delicate 
 dilemma, Clair conducted himself with the 
 most perfect impartiality between both claim- 
 ants ; keeping up jokes with an even flow of 
 great good-humour that rather mortified me ; 
 for now he never looked my way. Still — my 
 vain mind began to fancy there was no flash 
 or sparkle on the surface of his mirth ; and 
 so Beau, his friend, apparently thought too. 
 Eor, as my mother came to bend over the chair 
 of her eldest-born to ask with well-assumed
 
 174 IN THE WEST COUNTEIE. 
 
 interest after the fortunes of the game, in 
 her silvery complacent voice, he hastily 
 muttered : 
 
 ' It won't do, mother. Look, St. Leger is 
 bored to death; you can't set men like him 
 down to this sort of thing nowadays ! Why 
 cant you let us amuse ourselves in our own 
 way ? ' 
 
 My mother drew back rather aghast at 
 this rebellion of her best-beloved against her 
 long-established conviction that she knew 
 best what we all really liked. But even at 
 the same moment our grand-aunt, perceiving 
 the state of affairs, and inspired by her whim- 
 sical love of movement, sat down to a piano 
 in the oak saloon which opened out of the 
 drawing-room by large doors, and began 
 ratthng out a frantic polka. We all flung 
 down our cards \ and next moment, as if
 
 m THE WEST COUNTRIE. 175 
 
 bitten by a tarantula, were spinning over the 
 polished floor in there, from which Bob had 
 deftly whipped away the Turkey rugs in the 
 twinkhng of an eye. 
 
 Almost before I knew it, Clair St. Leger's 
 arm was round my waist, and he had whirled 
 me off in a most delightful dance. Both my 
 brothers were doing their duty manfully with 
 the Pawlett girls, who had quite roused into 
 warmth. The affianced pair were revolving 
 together as fast as Alice could make Sir 
 Dudley heavily bestir himself. Lady Pawlett 
 alone had been left out, to her momentary 
 disgust ; but then seizing gaily on my father 
 she insisted on his dancing, and away he 
 went with his coat-tails flying in a fine old- 
 fashioned step, whilst my lady towered over 
 his dear bald pate. How Aunt Bee played 
 first a polka, then changed into a waltz, then
 
 176 IN THE WEST COUNTPJE. 
 
 a mad galop, like one possest ! And we 
 danced on and on, not changing our partners, 
 except Bob, who having the eldest Miss 
 Pawlett to his sorry share, was pounced on 
 presently by her Ladyship, who claimed him 
 for herself. As for me, I was breathless with 
 delight — and also because Clair St. Leger 
 would hardly let me stop a moment, lest, 
 as he whispered, we should be separated. 
 Dancing had never before meant more to 
 me than plunging into the Maelstrom of a 
 crowded room, mostly with Alice's rejected 
 and dejected admirers ; but this was 
 paradisiacal. 
 
 When at last all ceased in delighted 
 exhaustion we two, at least, seemed to have 
 acquired a tenfold acquaintance of each other ; 
 — why, we seemed old, old friends as w^e 
 looked in each other's eyes !
 
 IN THE WEST COUNTRIE. 177 
 
 ' And now it's my turn,' cried my grand- 
 aunt springing up. ' Come, Lord Pawlett, I'll 
 challenge you to a jig.' 
 
 Alice, with a scream of laughter, flew to 
 the piano. 
 
 Lord Pawlett, fired by Bee's example and 
 father's generous wines and attentions, began 
 to shuffle his feet like a solemn beaver trying 
 to be lively; with deprecating haw-haws 
 against himself; whilst his witch-like old 
 partner performed the most wonderful steps 
 opposite him, cutting, crossing her feet in the 
 air, with the most surprising agility, consider- 
 ing her age. 
 
 Bob, with his lopsided visage all on the 
 grin, finding no one else to jig with, was 
 jigging away by himself. 
 
 ' How eccentric your aunt is ! What a 
 blessing it must be that every one knows she 
 
 VOL. I. N
 
 178 IN THE WEST COUNTRIE. 
 
 is a Beaumanoir/ acidly smiled Lady Pawlett, 
 her good-humour being gone. Our saloon 
 had been rather a salle des pas perdus 
 to her; as none of the young men had 
 paid her the special attention she still tried 
 desperately for, save Beau ; and having 
 some maternal conscience, my lady had 
 plainly meant him for one of her daughters 
 in her own mind. Though, if that was 
 impracticable, she was quite willing to flirt 
 with him herself. 
 
 As we were all breaking up, my mother, 
 who was beside me, murmured apart to Beau 
 with a fond forgiving smile : 
 
 'Well, my dear, I am so glad you did 
 enjoy yourself after all. Tell me, is not it 
 odd that such a quiet person as Sir Dudley 
 should have chosen Mr. St. Leger for his best 
 man ? '
 
 m THE WEST COUNTPJE, 179 
 
 * Not at all/ replied Beau carelessly. ' Old 
 Dudley has not really got any friends, you 
 see, except utter old fogies like himself; so 
 luckily he happened to know St. Leger, who 
 is quite in ' the swim ' on the other hand. I 
 suspect Clair doesn't mind doing it, because 
 he is sure to be asked to Broadhams for 
 the shooting, and some good dinners. He 
 is always staying about somewhere or 
 other.' 
 
 ' Ah ! He is not well-off, is he ? That 
 is the worst of him.' 
 
 ' He has got about eight or nine hundred 
 a year of his own, I believe,' was Beau's 
 reply, disparagingly given. 'Enough for a 
 bachelor.' 
 
 * Ah, yes.' 
 
 Then advancing with her charming smile, 
 mother shook hands with St. Leger, in his 
 
 N 2
 
 180 IN THE WEST COUNTRIE. 
 
 turn, as engagingly as if he had been heir to 
 half a miUion, and we ladies trooped up the 
 dark old stairs, making quite a pretty picture 
 with our lights and coloured dresses against 
 the sombre wood- work of walls and ceiling, 
 — as Clair called out to us, looking up 
 to me. 
 
 'Pleasance, come into my room a moment,' 
 said my grand-aunt; as mother went on 
 escorting Lady Pawlett to the glories of 
 the blue and gold bed-room, that was all 
 trimmed with old point-lace. And meanwhile 
 Alice, prettily stifling a yawn, dutifully 
 preceded her future nieces to their virgin 
 chambers hung appropriately in white muslin. 
 Aunt Bee had our second finest bed-room. 
 Indeed, but for her odd habits, mother 
 w^ould no doubt have thought a Beaumanoir 
 deserved the best. But, as the housekeeper
 
 IN THE WEST COUNTRIE. 181 
 
 observed, it was ' heart-rending the way ' Miss 
 Beaumanoir flouted the splendidly-carved 
 catafalque, wherein it was doubtfully related 
 Charles 11. had slept, declaring she would 
 prefer any little iron cot, ' in which the only 
 turn one could take would be the turn out.' 
 Now she looked like a witch amongst the 
 crimson silk glories of the room. 
 
 ' Well ? ' she just asked ; holding my hand 
 with her lean withered one, that was, however, 
 still vice-like in its firmness, while like the 
 ancient mariner she transfixed me with her 
 glittering eye. 
 
 * Well ! ' quoth I, guessing her malici- 
 ous meaning, but resolved not to betray 
 myself. 
 
 ' Tiresome girl ! So that's all my thanks 
 for acting fairy godmother to you and your 
 admirer to-night ? Ah ! you may well blush j
 
 182 m THE WEST COUNTRIE. 
 
 but I was right that you only wanted rousing 
 to be almost a beauty. . . a tall divinity St. 
 Leger called you to me ; some men like — 
 positively like — dark-eyed pale faces like yours 
 when the face is small and the eyes big ; and 
 your pallor looks pure-bred. Queer tastes ! 
 Now 1 always had little eyes and a big head, 
 and never looked half so well-bred as a 
 Brown minx like you ! Well, well, good 
 night, Pleasance, child; anyhow your old 
 aunt tries to do the best she can for 
 you.' 
 
 Dear old Bee ! truly she did so try ; and if 
 only others had been as loyal, my story might 
 have been a different one — whether for ulti- 
 mate good or evil. 
 
 But in my own room once more, as I had 
 dreamed in daylight, so 1 lay awake to 
 dream; and dreamt in sleep again only of
 
 IN THE WEST COUNTRIE. 183 
 
 every word and sign and look of Clair 
 St. Leger, hugging myself in foolish secret 
 joy at the now double assurance that he 
 admired me.
 
 184 IN THE WEST COUNTEIE. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 TTTE bridesmaids were all kneeling in the 
 little aisle of Stoke church — eight 
 creamy-clad maids all a-row. Tor though too 
 new still in the country to be very intimate 
 with our exclusive neighbours' daughters, 
 we had nevertheless by virtue of our riches 
 managed to borrow four of their children. 
 
 As head bridesmaid I was nearest the 
 bridal pair, and felt as if T could hardly take 
 my eyes off them. How stout, burly, stupid 
 Sir Dudley looked ; and Ahce — a smiling 
 angel of lovehness in white satin. Some 
 strange feeling suddenly so touched my heart,
 
 IN THE WEST COUNTRIE. 185 
 
 the tears rising in my eyes, and a hysterical 
 lump, like an egg, in my throat, that I could 
 scarcely keep myself from screaming out, 
 * Don't take him, AHce ; don't I Say, No, 
 even at the altar-rails.^ Good heavens ! to 
 have to live with Sir Dudley as closest com- 
 panion one's life long ; to walk, sit, drive with 
 him day after day. (In my innocence I 
 never doubted but that Alice meant to do 
 all this.) It seemed to me a thousandfold 
 worse, too, now that / knew how delightful 
 the society of some men could be. But Alice 
 did know ; she had seen the world. I had to 
 bend my head till my spasm of horror and 
 sorrowful regret was past. Did I not re- 
 member how, after all, only last night when 
 I had gone into her room to say good-night — 
 feeling really keenly that it was for the last 
 time Alice was wholly ours — she had cried out
 
 186 IN THE WEST COUNTEIE. 
 
 lightly, ' How ridiculously sentimental you 
 look, Pleasance? Don't, for goodness' sake, 
 devour me so uncomfortably with those great 
 eyes of yours.' 
 
 But, in spite of all, I was still horribly 
 afraid that Alice might break down. I knew 
 that under an enforced calm, more than was 
 natural, my mother was watching her nerv- 
 ously also. So with an effort, fearing to see 
 a sudden gush of tears, I raised my eyes — 
 The bride was laughing so much in her 
 cobweb lace handkerchief that the little 
 curate looked scandalized ! But a dignified 
 Dean and solemn Rector, supplied by the 
 Digges' party in the alliance, were so smug 
 and stolid perhaps they mistook her move- 
 ment for sobbing. At that moment another 
 pair of eyes met my pained ones. Clair St. 
 Leger looked at me with such tender interest.
 
 m THE WEST COUNTEIE. 187 
 
 such a quick glance of pitying affection, that 
 the warm blood swept my cheeks, and my 
 heart beat fast whilst devoutly thankful that 
 the curiously- watching crowd behind could 
 not see my face. When it was all over, and 
 we had filed out after the bride, St. Leger, 
 helping me into a carriage, furtively touched 
 my hand — a mere quick touch, but yet a 
 sympathetic one that again made me feel 
 agitated, although this time he was pre- 
 tending to look away. 
 
 How quickly one learns this kind of de- 
 ception ! I, who had hitherto piqued myself 
 on my honesty, trying indeed with a conceit 
 on my name to make myself quoted as plain 
 and pleasant, now found myself through that 
 wedding morning pretending hardly to see 
 Clair St. Leger beside me. Yet I was aware, 
 with a sensitiveness almost painful, of his
 
 188 m THE WEST COUNTRIE. 
 
 every movement; feeling when he now and 
 then turned to speak in my ear with caressing 
 soft brevity, as if his breath wafted an at- 
 mosphere of love around me, while each 
 syllable seemed full of musical intonation. 
 
 But I did not show what I had felt ; no, 
 certainly no one could have known ! Already 
 Clair seemed to have silently taught me to be 
 careful. Then the breakfast was over ; — to 
 me the weddins; seemed a mad mindino- of 
 prayers, champagne, laughter, and tears ; the 
 carriage stood ready. My mother, who was 
 beside me, visibly trembled for the first time 
 that I could remember, looking anxiously 
 at her eldest daughter. Alice was buried in 
 a great hug by father, and when she re- 
 appeared again to view there were tears — not 
 hers — on her face. She stepped smilingly 
 into the carriage, handed by Beau ; putting
 
 IN THE WEST COQNTEIE. 189 
 
 out her face past Sir Dudley to cry eagerly 
 in a parting injunction to us all : 
 
 ' Now, remember you are not to dance to- 
 night ! If I thought you were all dancing 
 without me, I would come hack I ' 
 
 Then came a shower of rice ; a volley of 
 slippers ; a masculine growl from inside the 
 brougham, followed by rippling girlish laughter 
 — and the play was over. We were dull that 
 afternoon. The neighbours had all left us : 
 we had heard the last of the sincere and 
 insincere congratulations; and two silly old 
 ladies who stayed to the very end had 
 departed with the final observations that 
 * marriages are made in heaven — ' and that 
 (smiling at Rose and me) ' one wedding 
 always brings another.' All gone but our- 
 selves, and the house party. 
 
 * Shall we sit out of doors on the lawn, under
 
 190 IN THE WEST COUNTPJE. 
 
 some tree ? ' I asked rather dolefully of Amy, 
 the second Pawlett girl, whom I liked best. 
 
 She answered, pressing my arm Avith a 
 quite unexpected friendliness in her dull 
 expression, ' Certainly — ' : she was sure I felt 
 lonely ; then, in a whisper, added might she 
 just let her mother know. 
 
 ' Mamma ; if you don't want me at all, 
 Pleasance has asked me to go out with 
 her.' 
 
 ' Mam?na this ! — Mamma that ! ' — scoffed 
 Lady Pawlett, mimicking her daughter's 
 humble tone with irritability, for the benefit 
 of two or three married ladies of the Digges' 
 root and branch, the Dean's and Rector's wives 
 who were staying in our house. ' Why can 
 you not ask me a simple question, without 
 dragging in a " Mamma ! " I wonder, my 
 dear Mrs. Brown, that you allow your girls
 
 IN THE WEST COUNTRIE. 191 
 
 to call you always mother ; as if they wanted 
 people to think you a hundred/ 
 
 * Oh ! . . I rather like my children to call 
 me so/ returned our mother in a very quiet 
 voice ; whilst I alone could detect disapproval 
 of Alice's influential sister-in-law under that 
 graceful dignity of manner. Certainly, my 
 mother was no older than Lady Pawlett, and 
 had been far more of a beauty. Her light 
 brown hair was as glossy as ever, her figure 
 still slender, whilst the fair face never, marked 
 by passions, sorrows, or even keen excitement, 
 contrasted in beautiful restfulness with her 
 ladyship's bold black eyes, and made-up 
 complexion and person. 
 
 One could almost fancy, now, she might tell 
 herself, behind those discreetly lowered, gentle 
 eyelids, that she too might have flirted after 
 marriage, snubbed her husband, and wasted
 
 192 IN THE WEST COUNTRIE. 
 
 his substance in extravagant living — seeking 
 for and trying to keep admiration till at last 
 competing with her own daughters ; but that 
 she had, on the contrary, always felt pene- 
 trated with her duty as a Beaumanoir, a wife, 
 and a mother. 
 
 We two went quietly outside, and I led the 
 wav to a shaded sequestered nook down a 
 steep slope of the grass terraces. Here, thank 
 goodness ! Lady Pawlett with her loud laugh 
 and restless ways would hardly find us, if 
 even— as often happened — she grew weary 
 of her compeers' society. 
 
 ' Where is your sister? Would she not 
 have liked to come too?' I asked, though 
 feeling still awed by the eldest of my especial 
 guests. 
 
 ' Oh, Charlotte, she is sleeping — at least, 
 you know, she says she is taking a nap,'
 
 m THE WEST COUNTRIE. 193 
 
 replied Amy Pawlett, giving me an unusuallj 
 confidential look. 
 
 ' But I don't quite understand ; why does 
 she only say so ? ' 
 
 ' Because then she is supposed to be harm- 
 lessly employed, and Mamma ' (with sad 
 bitterness) ^ does not torment her. She is 
 really reading in her books of devotions.' 
 
 'What, the Bible?' 
 
 ' Well no, not exactly. At least she does 
 not quite tell me ; and as I don't go so far 
 yet in my views of life as she does, I don't 
 ask. She is preparing herself to leave the 
 world lohenever she can, I believe' — in a 
 mysterious whisper. 
 
 ' Not to go into a convent ! ' I cried in 
 horror. 
 
 ' Either that or a sisterhood. I can't see 
 much difference between them myself, but 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 194 IN THE WEST COUXTRIE. 
 
 as it's wisest not to know what she means, 
 I don't ask.' 
 
 ' But to put on that ugly dress and hve in 
 a bare cell till you die !— to shut yourself 
 voluntarily out from the beautiful world, 
 and friends, and pleasures of every kind ! 
 Amy, it seems horrible to me ! — like slow 
 suicide.' 
 
 ' Ugly dress, pleasures of society, friends,' 
 slowly uttered Amy ; who, sitting bolt upright 
 as I lay stretched more classically on the 
 grass, bent sideways, now to pluck nervously 
 little bits of grass ; adding in a low tone : 
 ' Do you think really our lives are so pleasant 
 that Charlotte need mind quitting all that? 
 We are two plain, stupid girls with no fortune 
 (yes, yes, we are !), and Mamma thinks our 
 very existence a mistake and bother. You 
 can see that for yourself.'
 
 IN THE WEST COUNTRIE. 195 
 
 * But still — ' I expostulated, and then not 
 knowing quite what to say next, paused. 
 
 Then came into my mind with a ridiculous 
 force the fragment of a cradle-song, to which 
 our old nurse had many a time gaily dandled 
 us each in turn on her knee. It ran — 
 
 ' I won't be a nun, 
 And I sha'n't be a nun. 
 And it's nothing shall induce me for to ever be a nun ! ' 
 
 I felt such a stirring of life within me at the 
 bare idea of convent cells, that I was quite sure 
 nothing loould induce me to ever be a nun. 
 
 'It is not even as if your sister had 
 suffered any great sorrows. One could under- 
 stand it in people who have,' I next ex- 
 claimed ; thinking aloud. 
 
 ' How do you know ? ' simply returned Amy, 
 now pulling daisies to bits with still averted 
 face. And there was an unmusical though 
 
 2
 
 196 m THE WEST COUNTKIE. 
 
 pitiful hoarseness in her slow voice. ' One 
 may be dull and plain, but still take likings ; 
 and then feel one's life only full of pain and 
 disgust. Mind, I only say, one may ! Some- 
 how I can't give up hope altogether of my 
 life changing to be at least a little pleasanter, 
 some time. It's foolish, I know, so Charlotte 
 tells me. She's stronger — but I'd rather be 
 a housemaid than the holiest nun ! ' 
 
 * It's not foolish of you at all, I'm certain/ 
 hotly repUed I. ' We oif.^ht all to have hope ; 
 hope, faith, and charity — the Bible says so. 
 Think too of Pandora's box ! Oh, surely — 
 surely each human being must have some 
 happiness of their very own in Hfe, one time 
 or other.' 
 
 ' Ah, I don't know that. Not always 
 worldly happiness,' answered Amy Pawlett 
 in a dreamy, heavy way, that a few days
 
 IN THE WEST COUNTRIE. 197 
 
 since I should have called dreary and 
 sluggish. 
 
 Now I sat abashed beside this poor plain 
 creature, who knew more of the secrets of 
 life than myself; and I could have cried for 
 her, though she did not cry for herself. 
 No doubt I must have been in a melting 
 mood that day; but the wrench of parting 
 from Alice and what seemed to me ' the pity 
 of it ! ' had moved all my being. Perhaps the 
 wedding associations and the many thoughts 
 of past and future thereby engendered had 
 equally betrayed Amy into weak womanish 
 confidence ; and that to-morrow she might be 
 as solidified as ever, and regret she had 
 spoken unadvisedly with her lips. But I was 
 glad to know she had a heart and brain like 
 enough my own, though hidden inside that 
 broad, graceless figure, with its dull-featured
 
 198 IX THE WEST COUNTEIE. 
 
 face and lack-lustre hair. And, fancy those 
 Pawlett girls with their suppressed heartache 
 eating such hunches of cake after a moun- 
 tain of lunch, as they did at five o'clock 
 tea ! 
 
 Verily, thought I, the life of each of us 
 is a romance, to ourselves ; and the dullest 
 seeming might surprise the rest, if they 
 could but write their own single story, as 
 they each/<?/zf it! with pens dipped deep into 
 their own hearts-blood. 
 
 ' Why are you two sitting so sadly on the 
 ground ? ' broke in a gay voice behind us. 
 And Clair St. Leger appeared, guided to 
 our haunts by Bob, who was shaking the 
 branches ridiculously, in search of us ; whilst 
 Beau followed a pace or two behind with a 
 scornful manner. 
 
 ' We both feel so quiet ; after a storm
 
 IN THE WEST COUNTRIE. 199 
 
 comes a calm, you know/ I explained, as they 
 lay down beside us. 
 
 ' Well ; I feel as if we had all been in an 
 atmosphere of champagne and orange-flowers, 
 that has left a certain simmering excite- 
 ment in the lightsome St. Leger not 
 altogether disagreeable/ said the owner of 
 that name. 
 
 'And 1/ quoth Bob, with his wild eyes 
 dancing, ' feel as much off my head as 
 ever.' 
 
 ' You may well say as ever ; though you 
 did distinguish yourself to-day, catching your 
 coat-buttons in Lady Pawlett's lace, up- 
 setting soup over poor old Bee's solitary lilac 
 silk, and nearly putting out Dudley's eye 
 with the heel of that last slipper you threw,' 
 cynically murmured Beau, stroking his 
 curved moustaches that just made a dark line
 
 200 IN THE WEST COUNTRIE. 
 
 against his cheek, as dehcate as his pencilled 
 eyebrows. ' For my part, I am not worth 
 sixpence.' 
 
 Perceiving that my handsome brother was 
 out-of-sorts — and as all the feminine portion 
 of our family considered Beau in the light of 
 a patronizing young house-god, to be propiti- 
 ated even to the self-sacrifice of all the 
 virgins, if displeased — I tried to conciUate 
 him by observing in a sympathetic whisper : 
 
 ' I see you are low at losing Ahce too, like 
 me. It does seem such a pity ! doesn't it ? ' 
 
 ' Don't be a romantic little fool, Pleasance,' 
 returned my brother, in a flash of indignant 
 contempt that startled me. ' Dudley is a 
 very rich man — that is the principal thing ; 
 and a right good fellow, too. He and Alice 
 could do a great deal, if they pleased, to help 
 all of us ; including yourself. You surely
 
 IN THE WEST COUNTRIE. 201 
 
 don't imagine that their set in town will be 
 like my poor mother's quiet fogies, w^ho were 
 fashionable only when she was young.' (Beau 
 always said my mother with unconscious 
 emphasis as if he had more property in her 
 than w^e ; a trick I have noticed in several 
 maternal favourites. And he was the only 
 one of us all who spoke of Sir Dudley 
 with studious familiarity by name, without 
 prefix.) 
 
 Seeing something was amiss wdth his friend, 
 St. Leger, always good-tempered and willing 
 to smooth matters for everybody, proposed 
 we should all go for a walk. 
 
 ' Not I, thank you, this hot day. Much 
 better come and have a cigar in the shade of 
 my den,' drawled Beau rising, with ill-con- 
 cealed annoyance. 
 
 ' Why, my dear old chap,' said Clair good-
 
 202 IN THE WEST COUNTRIE. 
 
 humouredlj, ' I have been smoking for the last 
 hour with you, so — ' 
 
 So we started. Goino; alonsj a narrow 
 path through the thick shrubberies that 
 stretched for almost a mile on every side 
 round our house, and fringed the hanging 
 woods, Bob suddenly pinched my arm as a 
 brotherly secret signal. ' Oh, don't Bob, 
 darling : my arms are all black and blue 
 already, and it looks so bad at night,' I 
 expostulated in a whisper, dropping behind 
 with him a moment. 'What is it?' 
 
 'I'm awfully sorry, old girl; — but I say 
 what's wrong, do you think, with his usually 
 Serene Magnificence ? ' 
 
 ' I don't know.' 
 
 ' Well, I thhik I do. Do you remember his 
 being equally genteelly savage about Christmas 
 last, before he could make up his mind to tell
 
 m THE WEST COUNTETE. 203 
 
 about the lot of money lie owed ; though the 
 dear old governor paid for him like a man ? ' 
 
 ' Oh, Bob — how could he be in debt so 
 soon again ? ' 
 
 ' Whew ! don't ask me/ whistled Bob 
 airily. ' Of course I'm called the wild one 
 of the family, and the March hare ; still, I 
 never understood how to make the money 
 spin as royally as Beau does. I make a noise 
 gambling for five shillings, and mother thinks 
 me extravagant — she warns the pater ! whilst 
 Beau loses a hundred sovereigns in the most 
 graceful silence.' 
 
 At that moment Clair St. Leger looked 
 back for me rather reproachfully. Clearly 
 it had been no part of his intention, when 
 proposing a walk, to pass his time with Amy 
 Pawlett. 
 
 ' Hullo ! what sheep's-eyes that fellow does
 
 204 IN THE WEST COUNTRIE. 
 
 make at you ! ' muttered Bob, jeeringly, 
 adding : ' He's like most of Beau's friends 
 — rather too fine for me/ 
 
 'Don't talk about wliat you don't under- 
 stand tlien, you dear old goose,' I retorted, 
 plucking up spirit, ' but fly by the short cut 
 to the schoolroom window, and bring out poor 
 Rose. She must be so lonely, I know.' 
 
 I knew; because having often felt lonely 
 myself in that same prim prison of a school- 
 room in which we grubs had been rigidly 
 pent till we came out as butterflies. My 
 own coming-out had not been hastened by 
 Alice ; indeed even at her instance retarded 
 by motlier for a year or more, because I was 
 still so thin and awkward-looking, as they 
 both told me very kindly ; and the glass had 
 added this was then true. But Rose was 
 neither shy nor wanting in colour and plump-
 
 IN THE WEST COUNTRIE. 205 
 
 ness, so as I did not care at all to reign alone 
 as Miss Brown, like Alice, it was my secret 
 generous hope to hasten the emancipation of 
 the family pet.
 
 206 IN THE WEST COUNTRIE. 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 TT7HAT a merry walk — or rather, race — we 
 had ! The wedding afternoon that 
 had been so dull was now changed into one 
 of the merriest, most deliciously golden - 
 winged evenings imaginable — to me, at least ! 
 With cheering halloos away went Bob, our 
 leader, past our tiny Stoke hamlet ; taking us 
 all a merry scramble through copses where 
 we startled the blackbirds ; out across corners 
 of broadly-hot fields ; diving into cool woods 
 again ; plunging through fern-forests ; scram- 
 bling up stony paths, and always surmounting 
 innumerable fences.
 
 m THE WEST COUNTEIE. 207 
 
 And at all big fences, though I could 
 jump like a bird, St. Leger sedulously begged 
 of me not to risk a sprain, but to allow him 
 to lift us down carefully. He did take ex- 
 ceeding great care certainly. Indeed, each 
 time I found ?/zyself in his arms full two 
 seconds longer than was strictly necessary; 
 and felt relieved, with an inward flutter, that 
 Bob was ahead — he was so severe in some 
 ways, was Bob. 
 
 At last, when we had gone a mile of a 
 chase through the country and were just re- 
 entering Stoke woods again, after clambering 
 over a last and easy enough stile, at which 
 with real decision I rejected unnecessary 
 help, St. Leger, who had nevertheless insisted 
 on catching my hand, held it fast and quickly 
 said : ' Thank goodness ! . . . The others 
 are out of sight now ; they are going straight
 
 208 IN THE WEST COUNTRIE. 
 
 back, and won't wait. Bo let us sit here a 
 few minutes . . . ; you will talk to me just 
 for a little, won't you — Pleasance ? ' It had 
 come to that word from him once or twice 
 already ; no further. But this time my 
 name from his lips frightened yet delighted 
 me as with dangerous sweetness, for I fairly 
 trembled. And yet, with the lightning speed 
 of thought, I asked myself, why be so fearful, 
 when Alice had been assured enough ? Oh, 
 mine, mine should be a very different mar- 
 riage from hers ! We two really, surely did 
 love ! — I trembled with happiness and dared 
 not think more. ' Come ! — sit down beside 
 me,' murmured St. Leger, inviting me to 
 share the topmost rail of the stile. It 
 was a perch more airy than easy; but no 
 matter ! — 
 
 For some little time, neither of us spoke.
 
 IN THE WEST COUNTRIE. 209 
 
 His arm was round my waist, and I, being at 
 
 so young and blissful a stage of my life, be 
 
 it remembered, felt all my mind lulled in a 
 
 delicious strange day-dream of which Clair St. 
 
 Leger's presence and embrace were the living 
 
 fancies. The spot was a true lover's tryst 
 
 too. They called it the Wishing-Stile in the 
 
 country-side, for all the love-lorn maidens 
 
 repaired here at sun-down to wish for their 
 
 heart's desire; and every lover and lass in 
 
 the parish had worn the cross-bar smooth 
 
 before us. Behind stretched a gorse-sprinkled 
 
 common, bordered by wood, to the sky-line. 
 
 Were lovers surprised by any figure coming 
 
 across it, they easily escaped unseen by 
 
 gossips into the steep wood through which 
 
 a little path led, overhung by brushwood; its 
 
 track leaving an opening among the branches 
 
 through which we now seemed to look down- 
 VOL. I. p
 
 210 IN THE WEST COUNTPvIE. 
 
 Avards into the sunny glories of the opulent 
 western sky. St. Leger's arm became 
 tiglitened round me ; with a little nmrmur 
 of dissent I ventured to beg release, yet alas ! 
 not with a whole heart. 
 
 ' Then you must call me Clair. Let 
 me hear you — Will you?' — he caressingly 
 urged, bending his head nearer mine. 
 ' Come ! I must go away to-night ; and 
 that dear voice has never yet called me by 
 my name.' 
 
 ' Going away ! — to-night ! ' The ejacula- 
 tions fell like snowflakes from my lips, as if 
 my happiness had been frozen on them. 
 
 ' Ah ! you are sorry ? — Say you are — ! 
 No ? Well, selfish wretch that I am, I hope 
 — I believe you are, dear child. Did Beau 
 not tell you? He got a telegram asking 
 us both up to shoot in Scotland, so he
 
 IN THE WEST COUNTRIE. 211 
 
 wants me to start with him by the night- 
 mail/ 
 
 *Ah!' — was all I murmured. But it 
 seemed enough. For with a little flash of his 
 eyes back into mine, and a tender exclamation, 
 Clair caught me to him. 
 
 ' / should have been so glad to have 
 stayed ! ' he uttered passionately. And then 
 before I knew our lips met in a kiss that 
 seemed to me the first one ever given on earth. 
 A few seconds only, but not another 
 word between us two, had passed, when 
 there came the sound of an inquiring ^ halloo' 
 in the wood sent up after us. Clair made 
 a gesture of impatience, and tried still to 
 delay me. 
 
 'We must go now and join them,' I mur- 
 mured, trembling with new-born love, but 
 
 much troubled, too. 
 
 p 2
 
 212 IN THE WEST COUNTEIE. 
 
 * Then this is our last meeting, darling ? ' 
 
 ' I — I — suppose so, — Good-bye.' 
 
 He caught my hand. ' No ; au revoir. I 
 
 am asked back for your mother's ball here 
 
 in September. Till then, don t forget me, . . . 
 
 promise you won't forget me, Pleasance . . . 
 
 though I am such a miserable pauper.'
 
 IN THE WEST COUNTKIE. 213 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 rpHE sun was down ; the moon rising slowly 
 up ; the stars were beginning to twinkle 
 forth overhead, and the world of nature to be 
 hushed in sleep. 
 
 I had stolen out in the warm night-air; 
 past the pebbled court under the house-eaves, 
 to where beside an ivied-corner of the furthest 
 of our many cottage-gables, with its splashing 
 little fountain sounding loudly in the twilight 
 stillness, was niched a small hot-house. Stoke 
 being built, or rather having grown, with such 
 indescribable irregularity, it is hardly sur- 
 prising that little gardens and glass-houses
 
 214 IN THE WEST COUNTKIE. 
 
 were likewise dotted hither and thither 
 about its bower-like precincts. It might 
 have been imagined the woodland home of 
 several big children, who had played at 
 having each a rival half-acre of Paradise ; 
 whilst their cottages seemed merely approach- 
 ing each other for necessary protection, as the 
 old Saxon hurs were once grouped round 
 the central hall in the homestead. 
 
 Into this little glass-covered arbour I hied, 
 looking eagerly round its blossomed walls. 
 Not that I expected to meet any one ! — No, 
 he was with Beau, who for some inexplicable 
 reason seemed moodier than ever, and hating 
 his own company, gave it to his friend. 
 
 No ! we could not now meet again ; indeed 
 I felt still too agitated with this bewildering 
 love almost to wish it, — and all I was now 
 seeking was a white rose-bud. Nothing
 
 TN THE WEST COUNTRIE. 215 
 
 more ; but then Clair (how I loved just 
 breathing the name low within myself !) had 
 besought me, as we left the stile and were 
 following the others within frequent ear-shot 
 down the winding path, to give him some 
 keep-sake — till we met again. ' What shall I 
 give you ? ' I whispered back, reddening, being 
 indeed the veriest novice in love. 
 
 He smiled, glancing admiringly at my coils 
 of brown hair; just touching them with 
 his finger in the soft mischievous way that 
 made women allow St. Leger more such 
 small liberties than other men, perhaps 
 because he was so light-minded and playful 
 that to take him to task seriously seemed 
 to make too much of the matter ; or perhaps — 
 simply because he had a certain charm ; 
 privileging him to steal with laughing 
 effrontery while others might not look over
 
 216 IN THE WEST COUNTRIE. 
 
 the hedge. There are such people; and 
 they have these inexplicable gifts we can all 
 recognize, it may be with private envy, — but 
 dare not copy. 
 
 But this time I had drawn back, slightly 
 wounded and affronted. A lock of my hair ! 
 What right had he yet to ask so sacred a gift, 
 as that should be, between lovers? Oh, of 
 conrse, I trusted him, if with a vague and 
 troubled sweetness of trust, yet most confid- 
 ingly. Had he not said, aii revoir'^. and 
 though now he could not well say more with 
 Bob and Rose sending us jeering outcries 
 through the bushes to know why we tarried, 
 — ilten, I knew lohat more lie would say I But 
 as I drew back, shy and frightened, he said 
 soothingly, 'What is the matter? You are 
 so sensitive, Pleasance . . . W^ell ; will you 
 give me another white rose-bud ? '
 
 IN THE WEST COUNTKIE. 217 
 
 So I was searching now for one, since by 
 ill-luck all those of our former bush were 
 dead ; it seemed almost an ill-omen as I 
 saw a few ghostly petals glimmering in the 
 dusk. But here, up overhead in the green- 
 house, was an exquisite bud, all I or he 
 could wish. As I stretched up to it, my 
 father's voice sounded through the open 
 glass-door. His favourite stone seat was 
 just outside, in a recess of the house- 
 wall; so promising myself gladly a few 
 minutes' pleasant chat with his dear old self — 
 a pleasure stolen from his guests' rights, I 
 still reached with difficulty for my bud. With 
 more of a shock, came mother's voice in 
 unexpected answer: 
 
 'I have come out, my dear William. I 
 slipped away from the other ladies, knowing 
 you wanted me ; as — as this is a matter — '
 
 218 m THE WEST COUNTPJE. 
 
 ' Of serious importance,' said father with 
 great gravity ; for she had seemed to hesitate, 
 even be troubled in her speech. 
 
 My hand held the bud now; but even 
 as it broke under my fingers 1 stood rooted 
 to the ground, while a great expectant thrill 
 of shame, pleasure, fear, and hope tingled 
 up to the roots of my hair. For — it must 
 be confessed — I thought, perhaj)s Clair has 
 spoken to father about me ; and unable to 
 move, speak, or think, though innocent of 
 eaves-dropping, I could not help standing 
 motionless, and overhearing my parents. 
 
 Next instant, mother's voice entreating 
 gently sent a cruel shiver of disappointed 
 counter-shock all through my being. 
 
 * You loill pay the poor boy's debts, will 
 you not, William ? He should not be so 
 extravagant, I know ; but, after all, it is in
 
 m THE WEST COUNTEIE. 219 
 
 such a gentleman -like way ; and really it is 
 so hereditary in him, I believe he cannot 
 help it. All my family did the same, and 
 he is such a thorough Beaumanoir.' 
 
 'Ada, Ada! is that all you can say in 
 your son's defence? At least, he might 
 remember, I think, that he is wasting plain 
 William Brown's substance : all that his 
 father earned with hard toil,' said my father 
 very sadly. 
 
 I turned noiselessly to flee by the other 
 glass-door, and hear no more of what was 
 not meant for me ; but it was locked. My 
 mother's tones, a little sharpened beyond 
 their usual low clearness by a sudden access 
 of emotion, pierced my ears. 
 
 'Don't think I mean to depreciate your 
 worth, my dear husband. Ah, — I only wish 
 that in some ways Beaumanoir was more like
 
 220 IN THE WEST COUNTRIE. 
 
 you.' (This, of her idolized son, the image 
 of her own ancestors! She could not have 
 said more. I stood in despair, not knowing 
 whether to show myself, to their annoyance, or 
 stay still in the darkness and never reveal my 
 unwilling presence.) Then mother added in 
 beseeching feeling : ' But still ; say you will 
 help him once again, for my sake if not 
 for his. These losses in the business you 
 told me of cannot be so very great ; and 
 I could not endure the feeling that my son 
 did not pay his debts of honour.' 
 
 ' Dear ; the business losses are severe, 
 though I would not trouble you before by 
 saying so, and trade is depressed. Then there 
 has been Alice's marriage portion now, and 
 the London house ; besides that, this place is 
 expensive to keep up,' returned father, more 
 in deep grief than anger. ' It comes to this.
 
 IN THE WEST COUNTllIE. 221 
 
 that as I dare withdraw no more money 
 from our firm, to pay this frightful, this 
 exorbitant sum of Beau's, T should have to 
 touch what I had laid by for the other girls' 
 fortunes.' 
 
 There was a moment's silence. 
 
 'Father,' I cried, my whole soul in my 
 voice as I darted out to his side, ' I am here ! 
 I was gathering' flowers in there, and heard 
 what you said without meaning to listen. 
 Oh, yes ; do take our fortunes, — at least take 
 mine! — don't trouble your dear self about 
 that,' and putting one arm round his neck, I 
 kissed his head. 
 
 * You here, Pleas an ce ! ' ejaculated mother. 
 Her vexation, I had foreseen, at being over- 
 heard was softened by quick satisfaction at 
 my sympathy wdtli her great heart's wish. 
 
 Still she added : ' I am glad you show such
 
 222 m THE WEST COUNTEIE. 
 
 a good feeling at once ; but you ought not to 
 have listened, or have been out in the hot- 
 houses so late. Now go, dear. You need 
 not be so impetuous about this matter — 
 as if your opinion or consent could influence 
 your father.' 
 
 ' Pardon me, my dear wife ; but this last is 
 precisely where you must allow me to differ 
 from you,' said my father, in his slow, rather 
 old-fashioned tone ; whenever gravity made 
 his natural courteousness preponderate over 
 jollity. ' In a matter like this, it almost seems 
 to me, I would not dare to dispose of the 
 future of Pleasance and Rose without their 
 leave ; for money might make or mar their 
 lives. In any case, it would be an inex- 
 pressible relief to know they will not here- 
 after blame their old father.' 
 
 Then putting his arm round my waist, he
 
 IN THE WEST COUNTRIE. 223 
 
 drew me closer to him with great fondness ; 
 saying : ' Come here, my tall daughter. So 
 you really think you could face the world with- 
 out fortune, do you ? Ah ! child, little you 
 know yet. Well, well, well ; still, if God gives 
 me leave, I hope to earn as much and more 
 for you, darling. I am not an old man 
 yet.' 
 
 * No, indeed ; ' thankfully murmured mother, 
 who sat beside him. Then laying her white 
 hand, flashing with diamonds through the 
 dusk, gently on his — *And remember, dear, 
 what the world thinks if such debts to friends 
 are not paid ! It is sad and foolish in young 
 men, T grant ; but still how many other sisters 
 have to suffer likewise ! Your business habits 
 and inclination to divide more equally between 
 the children, and to think less of your eldest 
 son than is generally the hereditary feeling
 
 224 m THE WEST COUNTRIE. 
 
 of other landed proprietors, makes you too 
 rigid, dear William. Believe me, it does.' 
 
 There was a pause. All the time, my 
 father had never taken his eyes off my 
 mother's face vrith its pleading and still 
 beautiful features. He smiled rather sadly ; 
 against himself, as it w^ere, for she had ever 
 been the central object in life to him, and 
 could move him as she wished — and, she 
 knew it, — in almost all things. She added 
 with a little sparkle of gaiety : 
 
 * Who know^s ? Pleasance and Rose may 
 both marry rich men who will want no 
 portion with them : in fact, I count upon 
 it. No doubt Sir Dudley would not have 
 expected any with Alice, had he but 
 known.' 
 
 Pather wagged his head with slow dolorous 
 humour.
 
 IN THE WEST COUNTRIE. 225 
 
 ' Don't be too sure of that, my dear. Sir 
 Dudley, like all rich men, knows money's 
 worth ; " nothing for nothing " is a very safe 
 motto in this world.' 
 
 My heart at this moment began to feel 
 suddenly heavy and heavier, the elasticity in 
 my body to relax ; for in my generous heat 
 and haste it had not struck me till now that 
 Clair was not a rich man I My mother's 
 laughing prophecy brought it to my mind. 
 
 * You are silent, pet,' said father, laying his 
 head against my shoulder; trying despite 
 himself to be sportive, for he could not bear 
 money matters to weigh heavily on us. ' Are 
 you repenting of your offer ? ' 
 
 ' No, father,' said I stoutly, which was 
 true ; then added — ' only I have nothing more 
 to say. You know all about it' 
 
 ' Quite true. And now you had better 
 
 VOL. I. Q
 
 226 IN THE WEST COUNTRIE. 
 
 really let her go indoors/ interposed mother ; 
 ' for,' with a little sound of impatience, ' who 
 is there else to see after Lady Paw4ett ? ' 
 
 As my father slowly freed my waist from 
 his lingering clasp she added, moving nearer 
 him and assuming quite a bright, business- 
 like air : 
 
 ' Then — I have been thinking this after- 
 noon, that my ponies could be sold ; for, now 
 Alice is gone, there is no one else to drive 
 them for me.' 
 
 At any other time, as I turned away, this 
 last proposal would have given me a little 
 stab in the heart; for / had been looking 
 forward to driving mother, in my turn, in 
 that same pony-carriage with secretly quite 
 absurd elation. It was one of Alice's many 
 privileges, which fond hope had confidently 
 whispered would be part of my future
 
 IN THE WEST COUNTRIE. 227 
 
 promotion ; as more my mother's companion 
 and a being of consequence ; one of the 
 small consolations to set-off against real 
 sorrow at losing my sister. 
 
 Still — as I went indoors, holding my hand 
 involuntarily over the precious bud hidden 
 in the lace at my bosom, the ponies did not 
 so greatly seem to matter. The glow of 
 sacrifice had not yet died away to grey ashes 
 within me 1 — only first ardour was cooling. 
 And then I shivered, for the night air seemed 
 chilly, as if some dampness had come up 
 from the lake. I was troubled ; but far 
 nearer and heavier than Beau's debts, pressed 
 the thought that Clair St. Leger was going 
 away before an hour. The other was a 
 greater burden, but it might be laid aside 
 for the present, at least ; it was on my brain 
 
 even now, auguring unknown evils for the 
 
 Q 2
 
 228 m THE WEST COUNTKIE. 
 
 future ; but this other smaller trouble lay 
 close on my heart. 
 
 'Whither in haste, fair lady? You come 
 flitting out of the twilight eerily/ said Clair's 
 voice. 
 
 In the deepened darkness, I had not seen 
 three figures smoking in the porch, as I 
 approached. 
 
 ' Yes ; she comes like a ghost. Pleasance, 
 you're uncanny for the first time in your life. 
 Let me turn you three times the wrong way 
 of the sun,' chimed in Bob, seizing me by the 
 shoulders. 
 
 ' Ought you to be neglecting your guests, 
 by straying out alone in the gardens ? ' 
 So said Beau; carelessly knocking off" his 
 cigar-ash, and just looking at me with 
 momentary criticising superiority from under 
 his drooping eyelids.
 
 m THE WEST COUNTRIE. 229 
 
 * 1 was with father and mother ; they were 
 talking to me,' I answered, with a flash in 
 my eyes and a little rush of colour to my 
 face, as I looked at him straight. In my 
 heart I was fond and proud of Beau, and 
 believed he really cared for me too after his 
 fashion, but he seldom deigned to speak to 
 me except to notice some defects in my 
 person or behaviour; and just now this 
 lordly air of infallibility from him was 
 irritating. He was silent a moment ; then 
 said : 
 
 ' Are they out there now ? I will go and 
 find them. St. Leger, the trap will be round 
 in ten minutes : ' so left us. 
 
 ' What is this posy ? ' vulgarly demanded 
 Bob ; snatching at my precious bud with the 
 freedom of a favourite brother, and the 
 gambolling manner of a big dog. But he
 
 230 IN THE WEST COUNTEIE. 
 
 received a slap on his poor ear from my 
 open hand. 
 
 * Go away ; you shall not have it ; you are 
 such a rude boy.' 
 
 ' May I have it ? I am really a very good 
 boy,' asked Clair behind, in his most melli- 
 fluous accents. 
 
 ' Perhaps ... I have not quite made up my 
 mind, yet,' — in shy withdrawal ; ' not really 
 coquetry, but a doubt whether, after all, I 
 ought yet to give him a token so lightly, 
 although this afternoon he had — ' 
 
 ' By all that is highly proper ! ' observed 
 Bob, execratingly at this instant, ' we ought 
 to be going indoors to wait dutifully on 
 the lordly will of our new relations ; eh, 
 Pleasance ? ' 
 
 Sighing acquiescence, I followed the good 
 lad. But as we were going through the
 
 IN THE WEST COUNTRIE. 231 
 
 inner doors of the hall, I felt Clair gently 
 possessing himself of my hand; a moment's 
 pause, then he took the bud — he kept it ; 
 — that was all. A few minutes later, before 
 my giddy head had got accustomed to the 
 bright lights in our drawing-room, and whilst 
 I was still forcing myself to oflPer agreeable 
 little attentions and remarks to Lady Pawlett 
 — who evidently thought it waste of time to 
 answer, and was straining her eyes and ears 
 waiting for Beau — there was a crash of 
 wheels on the gravel outside. 
 
 Next came the little bustle of farewells. 
 Our parents had entered with Beau, in whom 
 I detected a suppressed air of relief; nay, 
 almost intense thankfulness, I could fancy. 
 He kissed me with light graciousness on my 
 forehead, to my no small surprise (it was in 
 thanks for what I had done for him). Then
 
 232 IN THE WEST COUNTRIE. 
 
 they were off, the servants catching the last 
 sound of their voices ; whilst I would have 
 given so much to have been out there, and 
 to have strained my eyes down the drive 
 after them in the darkness. 
 
 Gone ! Yes ; Clair St. Leger was gone. 
 But still, I felt so sure that when he 
 came back in September, he loould ask 
 me 1 
 
 In the days that followed, when the last 
 wedding-guest had left us, we were somewhat 
 dull. To be dispirited in fine summer days 
 has always seemed to me double dreariness ; 
 a shameful robbery of our due happiness of 
 existence in the mere sunshine, which last is 
 rare enough in Britain ! 
 
 Bob had gone back to his army tutors to 
 make gaily unwilling efforts to squeeze in
 
 IN THE WEST COUNTEIE. 233 
 
 among the lowest candidates at the next ex- 
 amination. The ponies had silently vanished. 
 And Rose, too, had made a smiling sacrifice 
 to Beau's debts. (This is worth recounting, 
 as showing my little sister's practical char- 
 acter, for which we already admired her in 
 our family.) 
 
 One day, after a long private interview in 
 mother's boudoir, the nature of which I 
 vainly guessed at, she came tripping out in 
 a transport of joy; and giving me a quick, 
 small kiss on either cheek, exclaimed : ' Listen 
 what I've done, Pleasance, dear; you'll be as 
 delighted as myself. I'm not to have a 
 governess any more ! ' 
 
 Then, in answer to my astonished inquiries, 
 Miss Rose explained, that — meditating over 
 the reductions which were being effected as 
 privately as possible by mother — she had
 
 234 IN THE WEST COUNTRIE. 
 
 tliought that her expensive governess might 
 very v^ell be parted v^^ith. 
 
 'She would only have stayed six months 
 more, at any rate, as mother promised to 
 bring me out next season ; so it saves that 
 much ; besides keeping the school-room maid 
 to wait upon us both, and the separate meals, 
 which must be a considerable expense — 
 mother quite saw that,' added Eose, wrink- 
 ling her firm little brow with the air of an 
 old housekeeper. * Then, as I said, I can 
 read two or three hours a day, French and 
 German and things with you, Pleasance ; 
 because you are the cleverest of us all. Now, 
 I know you'll be as glad as myself to have 
 me at liberty,' executing some small hops 
 with a most sprightly air, I could never have 
 imitated. 
 
 Glad ! — of course I was glad. With Rose
 
 IN THE WEST COUNTHIE. 235 
 
 as my dear, little, daily companion, although 
 I should certainly not reign in chief supremacy 
 as Miss Brown, there was no longer any fear 
 of being solitary. Perhaps I may have 
 thought rather enviously a few moments that 
 such a grace would never have been accorded 
 me ; and that, on the contrary, for more than a 
 year after the time when I might reasonably 
 have been presented, my mother and elder 
 sister had caused me (certainly under the 
 kindest representations) to languish in school- 
 room captivity. We all do have these sort of 
 thoughts at times. It was wrong of me, but 
 I was not at all perfect any more than most 
 people ; still being really properly ashamed of 
 myself, these ideas were soon stifled. For 
 Rose was the youngest, and had always 
 retained her privileges as my mother's last 
 baby and pet, whilst we others received
 
 236 IN THE WEST COUNTRIE. 
 
 justice and affection ; the latter seldom out- 
 weighing the former, except perhaps in Beau's 
 case, — and then he was the eldest son. 
 
 So Kose soon had the school-room con- 
 verted into a private morning-room for herself 
 and me ; and surreptitiously bribed my maid 
 (now hers also) to lengthen her dresses by a 
 sly extra flounce. When my mother re- 
 marked it, Rose kissed and coaxed her, with 
 explanations that she did not wish to be 
 considered ' out ' any the more ; but that short 
 frocks made her feel awkward. Since the 
 affair of Beau's debts our mother had grown 
 somewhat silent, and unusually lenient or in- 
 different in small matters like this. 
 
 For myself, Rose's company cheered and 
 kept me busy. Yet something was amiss. 
 How golden those few days of Alice's wed- 
 ding time had been ! — but now I was always
 
 IN THE WEST COUNTEIE. 237 
 
 vaguely troubled and sad. It seemed to me, 
 though I was still so young, as if there had 
 come — 
 
 ' a mist and a driving rain, 
 
 And life is never the same again.' 
 
 Nay, nay ! not a driving rain. I chid 
 myself for such morbid fancy. A mist, per- 
 haps — but who has not mists in their lives? 
 And soon in September it would lighten and 
 raise and brighten. For Alice had been 
 promised her wedding-ball then, before Beau's 
 troubles were surmised ; and then would not 
 Clair come to us once more, and all the world 
 seem full of music and sunshine and sweet- 
 ness again. And who knew — who knew then 
 what he might not say to me ?
 
 238 m THE WEST COUNTRIE. 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 niO September came at last, with its time 
 of partridges and yellow stubble-fields ; 
 orchards heavy-hanging with ruddy apples ; 
 brambles glorious in all the hedgerows with 
 blackberries and bronze-tinted trails. It was 
 a time of year to me always beautiful but 
 sad hitherto, witli summer's death — never 
 before so secretly longed for day and night. 
 
 Alice had come back to us. We had 
 looked anxiously to see what change marriage 
 might already have made in her, not saying 
 to each other our fears of the dulling effect 
 of Sir Dudley's companionship. She seemed
 
 m THE WEST COUNTRIE. 239 
 
 gayer than ever, however; or rather more 
 excitedly determined to be gay, for Paris she 
 declared had been too empty, and Switzerland 
 too full for enjoyment. 
 
 ' And now for my ball — who is asked to 
 the house ? ' she cried, throwing herself heart 
 and soul into the matter ; as if she was still 
 the most interested one of us all therein. 
 So, while Rose and I recounted the names 
 of the expected guests, she expressed satisfac- 
 tion, or pouted in criticism. 
 
 ^ What a dull set of men you have asked — 
 all either mamma's old beaux, or Bob's raw 
 chums ; or, at the best, Beau's friend Clair 
 St. Leger — and you seem to admire him so 
 much that no one else can get a word in 
 with him, Pleasance,' she ended very discon- 
 tentedly. ' Why on earth did you not tell 
 Beau to ask them all for you, as unfortunately
 
 240 m THE WEST COUNTEIE. 
 
 I was not here. His friends are nearly all 
 of them afternoon -whist men ; and not at 
 all a marrying set ; but still they would have 
 looked better in the room.' 
 
 'We have not seen Beau for some time, — 
 and father wished poor Bob for once in a 
 way to ask w^ho he liked/ I quietly answered, 
 not entering into further explanations. 
 
 'And besides, Lady Digges, it is Plea- 
 sances turn now, and mine, to play prime 
 minister,' interposed Rose with a bright little 
 nod. 
 
 ' Pleasance has not been troubhng mother 
 for any favours yet ' (no, indeed ! knowing 
 Clair was coming), ' but I mean to assert my 
 rights soon.' 
 
 ' You chit ! I have no doubt you will,' 
 laughed Alice good-humouredly enough. 
 
 ' Well ; wait till you both come to stay
 
 IN THE WEST COUNTRIE. 241 
 
 with me at Broadhams in winter, and then 
 you shall see what a country-house party 
 ril have!' Then turning to our grand-aunt, 
 who was sitting beside us in the old school- 
 room's privacy, but taking apparently no 
 interest in the conversation : ' Anyhow, Bee, 
 you will bring the duchess for me? You 
 promised us that ever so long ago.' 
 
 ' Yes indeed : you extracted that, and a 
 nice worry it has given me to keep my word,' 
 retorted the old lady with a sudden flaring 
 up of wrathful spirit, which showed her 
 silence heretofore had been only dudgeon. 
 
 'A pretty price I have to pay truly for 
 the freaks of you Browns. I wonder why 
 I take any trouble about you.' 
 
 'But, Bee — dear Bee — you so often have 
 
 the duchess staying with you alone for a 
 
 night or two ; so we did not think it would 
 VOL. I. R
 
 242 IN THE WEST COUNTEIE. 
 
 have been any more expense to you/ we all 
 cried out together, aghast. 
 
 There followed m unanimous murmur — 
 'If it is only money, and that you are do- 
 ing it for our pleasure, do allow father ' 
 
 (We all knew our old grand-aunt never 
 had a spare sixpence ; but at the same time 
 her horror of receiving help from any of 
 her nearest relations was quite a subject of 
 delicate dread to them when longing to aid 
 her.) 
 
 ' Good gracious ! do you think I wanted 
 alms, foolish brats. No ! — the price I pay is 
 that of my pride, in bringing you a live 
 duchess ; for she instantly took a mean 
 advantage, and declared she w^ould only 
 appear with me if I had a new dress. As 
 if my dear old lilac silk that I've had since 
 your mother's marriage was not good enough
 
 m THE WEST COUNTRIE. 243 
 
 for my friends, forsooth ! However, as I 
 cannot afford any such unnecessary garment, 
 the upshot of the matter is, that to please 
 both you and her, she has worried me into 
 accepting a wonderful patent gown invented 
 by a German tailor she patronises. So there 
 — see what I've done for you ! ' ended our 
 grand-aunt, with a sound as of swallowed 
 tears in her sharp short laugh. Then, in- 
 terrupting our discreet murmurs of gratitude 
 and satisfaction she added in a quaint 
 grumble : ' But, if you think from that, I'm 
 more likely to allow presents from any of 
 you, you are all vastly mistaken. No, no : 
 what friends give one looks at as a token of 
 affection ; but from your kith and kin it 
 has at once an air of necessitous support; 
 and when I can't fend for myself it will be 
 time for me to go into my grave.' 
 
 E 2
 
 244 IN THE WEST COUNTEIE. 
 
 'But what kind of dress is this new 
 one?' inquired AHce, judiciously avoiding dis- 
 cussion on the subject of giving and taking. 
 
 Said Miss Beaumanoir with a sprightly air : 
 
 ' Oh, an excellent plan, and one that just 
 suits me. It's reversible, my dears. First 
 it's a heavy black silk by day, then at night, 
 turn it inside out, and there you are ! ' 
 
 ' Yes, there you are ; but what are you 
 like ? ' I cried. 
 
 * As fine as a jay ; crimson shot with gold,' 
 returned my grand-aunt composedly. 
 
 In a day or two Bee went back to her 
 tumble-down old country-house, to begin her 
 baking and boiling for the duchess, she said ; 
 but before departure she confided to us 
 in the privacy of the schoolroom that she 
 meant to have more guests than the ducal 
 lady only.
 
 IN THE WEST COUNTRIE. 245 
 
 ' I've asked some old friends of your 
 father's, and his family ; I've asked Mrs. 
 Gladman and her son.' 
 
 ' The Gladmans — ! ' uttered Alice, parting 
 her lips and raising her pretty eyebrows in 
 undisguised astonishment. 
 
 ' The Gladmans ! We only ask them for 
 small family parties,' echoed Hose, pressing 
 her mouth into a firm little button. 
 
 ' Exactly so. I always liked them, and 
 thought they had been rather neglected 
 lately at your wedding, Alice. Yes, they're 
 coming: I've just told your mother so, and 
 she looked at me as if I was mad. But that 
 is not all. I've another surprise for you in 
 store — a young man is coming to me worth 
 all the rest of your partners. What d'ye 
 think of that ? ' 
 
 'Well, if he is not better than that
 
 246 IN THE WEST COUNTRIE. 
 
 good country booby, John Gladman, I 
 pity the duchess/ said Alice, rather im- 
 pertinently. 
 
 ' He is of a great deal better family than 
 your own husband ; and let me tell you, the 
 Gladmans, for the matter of that, are a fine 
 old family, and far better than the Browns,' 
 retorted the old lady in a flash of wrath. 
 ' Pray allow me to decide who is fit to 
 be asked to my house, and to meet my 
 own friend/ 
 
 Afterwards I succeeded in soothing her ; 
 but in vain tried to extract the name 
 of the mysterious stranger, as Alice and 
 even my mother, in agony of apprehen- 
 sion at Bee's vagaries, begged me to do. 
 * For it is very odd that you seem 
 quite her favourite, Pleasance,' said my 
 sister.
 
 IN THE WEST COUNTRIE. 247 
 
 But our grand-aunt shook her head and 
 was not to be cajoled. 
 
 ' Trust me — ' she only said ; ' I never make 
 a mistake about who are nice men ; and this 
 is just the sort of man I would like you to 
 like, Pleasance, — worth three dozen of little 
 St. Leger ; though he does very well jpour 
 passer le temps! 
 
 Was that all, Aunt Bee ? However, I did 
 not think it worth while almost to heed 
 what she said, for in two days was not Clair 
 St. Leger coming ? Clair St. Leger ! — most 
 musical of names. I repeated it over and 
 over, now and again, in my own mind; and 
 so by keeping my fancy always occupied with 
 the one image — the same person — fancying a 
 hundred ways of where we should meet, 
 and how he would look, and what he would 
 say — I fell deeper and deeper into the
 
 248 IN THE WEST COUNTRIE. 
 
 foolishly day-dreaming, unpractical state of 
 girlish first love. 
 
 Then two days of nothingness, but that I 
 felt waiting, waiting . . . had passed — 
 
 St. Leger had come with Beau.
 
 IN THE WEST COUNTKIE. 249 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 A ND now it was night again. 
 
 In the solitude of my room that 
 alone knew so much of my fond, mooning 
 meditations of late upon my coming lover, 
 — the dear old room where I sat idly looking 
 out of the deep lattices on high, down to 
 the lake, so many afternoons w^hen they all 
 thought me busy as usual, embroidering or 
 reading or drawing — in this room I was once 
 more ; but now almost weeping ! 
 
 So it fares in love. Clair had come this 
 evening, but only to be hurried up -stairs by 
 Beau to dress for dinner. Then quite late,
 
 250 IN THE WEST COUNTEIE. 
 
 after our solemn, smoothfaced, fat butler had 
 announced dinner, he came in. One touch of 
 my hand, hardly a look, — no more. He had 
 sat beside Alice, after taking in iVmy Pawlett 
 to dinner — for Amy had been asked back to 
 us at my earnest request, I had so pitied her — 
 And he had devoted himself to my sister all 
 the time, hardly noticing my poor dull friend. 
 Rose and I sat together, and I feebly tried to 
 answer her bright little remarks sometimes ; 
 but my whole soul seemed occupied in trying 
 to catch fragments of the talk opposite. It 
 was all about Switzerland and Paris, where I 
 had never been ; and about people in town 
 whom I did not know. 
 
 In my heart I ahnost regretted my kindness 
 in getting Amy to stay with us ; for otherwise 
 he must have been with me, and surely he 
 would, as of old, have preferred me to Alice.
 
 m THE WEST COUNTRIE. 251 
 
 Or, if mother had not asked that poor old 
 neighbour of ours, who loved to call herself 
 Mrs. General Jones — who was staring at Beau 
 through her double eye-glasses, and talking 
 volubly over her double chin — then Beau 
 would have had Amy, Avhilst Clair and I 
 
 No use thinking over all that now ! After 
 dinner, being a small party, we sat in the 
 morning-room, which was supposed to be 
 more cosy than the drawing-room, but was cut 
 in two by a great round table heavily laden 
 with flowers, lamps, and albums, against which 
 Alice had often protested in vain. On this 
 occasion fate played Lady Digges a good 
 turn. She was on one side of the table ; I on 
 the other. What should Sir Dudley ponder- 
 ously do, to my inner dismay, after dinner, 
 but come in first, and heavily seat himself 
 beside me on the very seat I had been secretly
 
 252 IN THE WEST COUNTRIE. 
 
 guarding for St. Leger ! There was no more 
 chance for me. When Clair came in, he gave 
 one quick look certainly in my direction ; then 
 Alice beckoned to him, smiling prettily behind 
 her large feather fan. As he took the seat 
 beside her with that winning and pleased 
 look I knew so well, and had hoped was more 
 for me than any one else, my heart sank, and 
 I grew so dull and absent that even Sir 
 Dudley must have wondered at me. Presently 
 Clair took Alice's fan into his own possession, 
 as he had used to do with mine. It hid his 
 face so that I could only now see a wave or 
 two of chestnut hair on the top of his head ; 
 and yet I felt constrained to look again and 
 again at him by some fascination, though as 
 furtively as I well could. 
 
 Just before we went up-stairs for the night 
 I might have easily moved a little and spoken
 
 IN THE WEST COUNTEIE. 253 
 
 to liim. But my feet seemed rooted to the 
 ground ; my tongue at the idea clove to the 
 roof of my mouth; and after all our easy 
 unshadowed friendship, the most horrible 
 shyness came over me, as if he was an utter 
 stranger. 
 
 Now — up-stairs, I miserably reproached 
 myself for my cowardice, for had we spoken 
 together, I should at least have known 
 if he had changed. As it was, we had 
 certainly touched hands when saying good- 
 night in the family group — but I could not 
 be sure Clair had even looked at 7ne ! 
 
 What with the disappointment T would 
 have been glad to cry, but was too self- 
 ashamed to do so. After all, I had nothing 
 positive to complain of. It was only fate — 
 yes, yes ! that I reiterated to myself — only fate 
 that had been against me; and how school
 
 254 m THE WEST COUNTRIE. 
 
 girlish it was to imagine that Mr. St. Leger 
 would not talk agreeably to any one else, 
 when obvious little difficulties had intervened 
 to separate us. So trying to reason with 
 myself, I lay heavily down, but not to sleep 
 for long hours, and even then to dream only 
 of vague trouble and disappointment. After 
 such sweet anticipations, it was a sorry night, 
 indeed. 
 
 Next morning with daylight, my courage 
 returned marvellously. It seemed so weak of 
 me overnight to have succumbed to the very 
 first obstacles fortune had ever opposed to 
 my intercourse with Clair St. Leger. 
 
 Of course, things could not always go as 
 I exactly wished ; but one must be strong and 
 bear that. The time seemed very long to my 
 troubled heart, however, for the male half of 
 our guests were all out shooting most of that
 
 m THE WEST COUNTRIE. 255 
 
 day; and much as Alice tried, my mother's 
 notions of propriety forbade our being allowed 
 to lunch with them. 
 
 Once or twice, at breakfast and after, Clair 
 might have said just a word or two to me 
 aside, I fancied — but always some one or 
 other came between us. No matter; I was 
 still resolute to make allowances, and be wise 
 and patient. 
 
 By evening came my reward. 
 
 Passing through the inner hall, I met him 
 at last coming in, hot, tired, but well-pleased 
 apparently with his day's sport. ' Well, Miss 
 Pleasance,' he exclaimed, with the old voice 
 and smile ; coming slowly towards me, as 
 if weary-footed but still determined on a 
 talk, 'and what have you been about — 
 you have hardly given me a word since 
 I came ? '
 
 256 IN THE WEST COUNTEIE. 
 
 ' That was not my fault, Mr. St. Leger/ 
 said I ; trying to smile as lightly as if my 
 heart had not been yesternight so heavy, and 
 so bitter against him. 
 
 ' Meaning it was my fault, I suppose — I 
 What an air of gracious haughtiness you say 
 that with,' murmured Clair, in half-soliloquy, 
 looking full in my face, so that I Avas afraid 
 my cheeks were growing warm in self- 
 betrayal, and returned eagerly : 
 
 ' I did not say so. I never said such a 
 thing.' 
 
 ' No ; but some people's looks are so 
 eloquent . . . Come, forgive me this once, 
 for it was really not my fault. Your sister 
 called me over to talk to her ; and she very 
 kindly asked me to stay at Broadhams next 
 month. You will be there, won't you ? " 
 His voice had suddenly become tender and
 
 IN THE WEST COUNTRIE. 257 
 
 pleading, though he looked round as if 
 especially careful not to be overheard. 
 
 What could T say ? I tried to look down 
 and say nothing beyond the vaguest assent ; 
 but my heart was softening, and he must have 
 knovvn as much, for he went on hurriedly : 
 
 ' Last night we were too small a party ! 
 Every word one said w^as overheard all round, 
 and I hate that ; but to-night you will have 
 more people, so then — Anyhow, promise 
 you will have four, no, five dances with me 
 to-morrow night at the ball.' 
 
 Oh, silly, silly girlhood ! That request 
 made me so perfectly happy, that with beat- 
 ing pulses and a new warmth all through me, 
 I slipped up-stairs to be glad a few minutes 
 alone. 
 
 We were indeed a large party that evening ; 
 
 so large that Clair's prophecy came untrue, 
 VOL. I. s
 
 258 IN THE WEST COUNTRIE. 
 
 for somehow we always seemed separated — 
 what with my duties as eldest daughter of 
 the house, and his being such a universal 
 favourite. But, nevertheless, this night I 
 lay down almost happy again in anticipation ; 
 even glad of those few words we had had 
 together. 
 
 It was very diflPerent. truly, from all I had 
 dreamt through the dying summer. Yes ! 
 But the deadening disappointment of last 
 night had shown me how foolish had been 
 the exaltation of my former hope. Now, I 
 was sadder and wiser, but still resolved to 
 trust implicitly in Clair St. Leger.
 
 IN THE WEST COUNTRIE. 259 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 ' Last night, as to the trembling lute, 
 The dance gaed thro' the crowded ha',' 
 
 /^UR ball had begun ; oh, what a delightful 
 one it was ! 
 To the first thrilling twang of the open- 
 ing waltz, played by the best band all over 
 west of England, Clair St. Leger and I had 
 skimmed away over the polished floor of the 
 ball-room that was like black ice this night. 
 <jThe guests were coming thick and fast, all 
 in best dresses and highest spirits. Eor 
 balls were then rare around us, and much to 
 be enjoyed ; so every one came with a deter- 
 
 S 2
 
 260 IN THE WEST COUNTETE. 
 
 raination unto that same, which the hosts 
 helping meant ' go/ that commmiicated hke 
 magnetism to the crowd. An old ball-goer 
 would have known at once that the night 
 would be a success. Bob's friends had indeed 
 come down to stay with us in force ! A body 
 of strong shy youths, who blushed and laughed 
 uneasily whenever one of our sex spoke to 
 them, but watched ladies steadily with big 
 eyes all the same. They one and all wor- 
 shipped the March hare as their leader ; and 
 after some awkward but ineffectual attempts 
 to divert my attention from Clair St. Leger to 
 their joint selves, chose Rose as their divinity 
 and type of a ' jolly girl,' rather to my Bob's 
 chagrin, who could not understand why I 
 did not get on better with his chums. 
 
 Too truly, as Alice had prophesied, mother's 
 contingent were indeed rather ancient Love-
 
 m THE WEST COUNTEIE. 261 
 
 laces, somewhat dyed and padded, and well 
 aware what they were about. In consequence, 
 they devoted themselves to a man to Lady 
 Digges, the future ruler of the Broadhams' big 
 house and winter-shooting ; who, for her part, 
 merrily accepted their laboured devotion — 
 faute de mieux. 
 
 And therefore — and therefore — not to my 
 sorrow, I was somewhat less sought out to- 
 night than either of my sisters. 
 
 We danced in the great dining-room, 
 seldom used. It had been the old Saxon hall 
 in long bygone days, so that no ceiling inter- 
 vened between the dark oaken floor and the 
 arched rafters of its lofty roof, that sprang in 
 bold outlines above the fine later carvings 
 panelling the wainscoted walls. Lofty, se- 
 vere, and sombre in general though it was, 
 to-night the old hall was flooded with light.
 
 262 IN THE WEST COUNTrJE. 
 
 There were tapers, tapers, everywhere, in 
 Milky Ways and constellations of brightness. 
 There were stacks of hot-house flowers, and 
 beds of roses filling every window-niche and 
 carved nook. The old Bracy banners mean- 
 while, depending from the walls, frayed and 
 time-worn, lent a more solemn beauty to the 
 scene ; yet they were in keeping with the 
 traditions of the hall, where they looked down 
 on the festivity of this last human generation 
 into whose ownership they had passed. 
 
 Without doubt Stoke was a gem — an ideal 
 home this night. My heart swelled with just 
 pride as I gazed round at what seemed dream- 
 rooms of brilliance or shadowed delight — for 
 was it not entirely to my dear father's credit 
 that our ball was so beautiful ? He had 
 arranged it all himself, and no one had 
 better taste.
 
 IN THE WEST COQNTEIE. 263 
 
 The same thought was in St. Leger's mind 
 too; for as we paused he exclaimed, with a 
 httle genuine outburst of admiring envy : 
 ' What a charming old place yours is, cer- 
 tainly ! Your father is a lucky man. Look at 
 him now, receiving his guests, the perfect 
 picture of an English country Squire, and then 
 he is not troubled by having acres without the 
 money, like so many Ah ! any one can see 
 that he has everything wealth can get, and, 
 besides, all it so often does ?iot know how to 
 get. No lack of the golden showers here ! ' 
 
 It was on my lips to say something in half- 
 protest against our supposed riches ; as the 
 remembrance of a summer night's scene in our 
 garden came vaguely back to my memory. But 
 I looked at my father standing up so straight 
 and broad, for all his short stature — ruddy 
 of face and silver of hair, without a trace of
 
 264 m THE WEST COUNTRIE. 
 
 trouble on his dear broad brow — and then all 
 shadow of possible coming care died away 
 within me. 
 
 This night was too happy a one ! I was 
 with Clair, and would be with him again and 
 again ; and all through my being was a 
 vague delicious dreaminess of satisfaction in 
 which thought happily died. 
 
 My mother stood queen -like at the door, 
 shimmering in diamonds and satin gloss, and 
 robed in costly lace. Every now and then I 
 could detect father stealing a glance at her — 
 and then round at some of us— with such 
 fond, though partly-concealed, pride and 
 affection. Clair saw it too; perhaps his 
 eyes were guided by sympathy. 
 
 ' Yes,' he murmured. ' Few men have such 
 a charming wife at her age, two such good 
 fellows for sons, and such perfect daughters.
 
 IN THE WEST COUNTKIE. 265 
 
 Or ' (lowering bis voice), * to say what I think 
 — such a perfect daughter ! ' 
 
 It was the old tone ; the old look ! I called 
 them old, and yet they had been but those 
 of a ^^^ happy hours last summer. Feeling 
 utterly blessed, but unnerved, I looked down, 
 trying to hide my happy smile and the blush 
 that was self-felt, I trusted, rather than 
 shown, while my heart quickened its beats. 
 
 At this moment, as the first w^altz ended, a 
 sort of thrill seemed to stir the crowd near 
 us at the doorway. k. line of footmen's 
 heads, culminating in the naturally-frosted 
 pate of our sleek chief butler, could be seen 
 in a file down the outer hall to the entrance- 
 door. And though mother never stirred a 
 hair's -breadth from her due post, yet by the 
 forward bending of the bodies of the meaner 
 folk around, making a wave-like movement
 
 266 IN THE WEST COUNTRIE. 
 
 on either side of a Red Sea passage the 
 crowd reverentially left, I knew the Duchess 
 — the glory of our countryside — was coming. 
 
 ' The Duchess of Westerton, and Miss Beau- 
 manoir ! ' was indeed sonorously announced 
 immediately ; some meaner sound then fol- 
 lowed as of the Gladman name, soon lost in 
 the ducal reverberations. 
 
 ' Whew ! the duchess, and the Queen of 
 Sheba ! ' exclaimed Clair, transfixed, while he 
 and I gazing from afar beheld a sight 
 advancing that outdid speech. 
 
 ' Oh ! glory, hallelujah ! ' whispered Bob, 
 as springing across the room he came to 
 pinch my arm fraternally in the most delicate 
 portion of its softness, that I might partake 
 of his secret joy. ' Come nearer, Pleasance, 
 my child, come nearer; I would not miss 
 this sight for a thousand pounds.'
 
 IN THE WEST COUNTEIE. 267 
 
 In the twinkling of an eye, likewise, we 
 found Alice by our side ; her eyes as big 
 as saucers, and her mouth quivering with 
 laughter. Rose, too — peering with bright 
 determination over unkind shoulders that 
 were taller than her eyes, unless she stood 
 on tiptoe. We were all there to do Bee 
 honour, excepting Beau, who, as Bob dis- 
 gustedly murmured, with a backward glance 
 of his eye, was doing ' the grand ' in an 
 attitude of elegant expectancy in the middle 
 of the hall. 
 
 The duchess advanced, a ponderous figure 
 in dark-blue velvet, smihng around with the 
 affable condescension of her conscious rank, 
 and the good-humoured unction of all stout 
 people. But she was almost blotted out of 
 our visions next moment by the weird little 
 figure behind her in a blazingly gorgeous
 
 268 IN, THE WEST COUNTEIE. 
 
 red dress of dresses ! It seemed to swallow 
 its small wearer in folds of flaming splendour, 
 and trailed behind in yards of wastefulness. 
 So old Miss Beaumanoir clearly thought, 
 for already she w^as giving the tail thereof 
 some spiteful kicks ; and with her shoulders 
 hunched up, and her black eyes searching 
 the crowd with a sort of angry defiance, 
 our grand-aunt looked really^ rather like a 
 witch at the stake. 
 
 Then two, large, motherly hands caught 
 one of mine, and a kind voice that I had 
 not heard for nearly three years whispered 
 in my ear : 
 
 *Pleasance, my dear child, how lovely 
 you look ! I had no idea you had 
 changed so from my pale, little, school-girl 
 friend.' 
 ^ ' Oh, Mrs. Gladman,' I murmured back.
 
 IN THE WEST COUNTEIE. 269 
 
 meeting with deprecating pleasure the kind 
 glance of my good godmother. ' No one else 
 thinks so, I am sure ; at least, hardly any one 
 else/ 
 
 ' Perhaps not every one ; it might be a 
 matter of divided opinion ; but 1 think so, 
 at least.' 
 
 ' I am so glad to see you again ; it seems 
 
 such a long while since ' (Thereupon, an 
 
 uncomfortable pause might have suggested 
 that it was our fault as a family we had not 
 seen Mrs. Gladman of late.) 
 
 But that most forgiving of dear women 
 comfortably answered : 
 
 'Well; it is some time, dear! But once 
 Alice came out, that was quite natural ; 
 for your mother has had to begin a gayer, 
 more fashionable life, and you had to be 
 strictly finished in the schoolroom — while I
 
 270 IN THE WEST COUNTRIE. 
 
 have been leading my usual existence of a 
 country vegetable.' 
 
 It gave me real pleasure to see that, 
 although she so miscalled herself, hardly one 
 of our company, not excepting the duchess, 
 had a better air or presence than Mrs. 
 Gladman herself. Dressed very handsomely, 
 though quietly, she still enjoyed a large fair 
 comeliness. It gave a charm as of surprise 
 at seeing such beauty of health. 
 
 ' But where is John ? I want you to dance 
 with him, dear ; if only to give my eyes the 
 pleasure of seeing you botli together/ she 
 went on, looking round. 
 
 She had only a very little way to look. 
 Standing bashfully behind some strangers — 
 among whom he had allowed himself to be 
 entangled, having drifted from his party — was 
 a well-fed looking and handsome, countrified
 
 IN THE WEST COUNTKIE. 271 
 
 young man, steadily gazing at both rae and 
 his mother through round black orbs. 
 
 Mrs. Gladman started at once to recover 
 her son from his captivity among the stranger 
 skirts he seemed afraid to tread on. Mean- 
 while I found Alice energetically stabbing 
 me in the side with her fan (a little atten- 
 tion she would have loudly protested against, 
 had I ever dreamt of returning it). 
 
 ' Who is that other man Bee has brought 
 with her ? He is the only man in the room 
 I am dying to dance with ; such a good air, 
 and so fine-looking. She is bringing him up 
 to ^oa, the little wretch ! Pleasance, like an 
 angel, pass him on to me.' 
 
 On the other side of me, Bob had 
 also suddenly begun renewing his friendly 
 pressures of my elbow, this time so excitedly 
 that I winced, feeling convinced that all secret
 
 272 IN THE WEST COUNTRIE. 
 
 pride in the whiteness of my arms would be 
 mined for the evening. 
 
 ' Pleasance, I say ! — don't you remember ? 
 Doesn't something remind you of — ? ' 
 
 Bnt I could neither attend to him nor 
 AUce, for at that moment my grand-aunt 
 advanced upon me, and snatching at my 
 hand as if her fingers were talons, ex- 
 claimed — energetically holding her prey at 
 half an arm's length — and turning towards 
 a tall, fine-looking man behind her : 
 
 'Here she is, Fulke. Here, Pleasance, 
 is a partner for you. Many a time I have 
 nursed him on my knee in this very house ; 
 where he had then a better right to be than 
 even you have now.' 
 
 The new-comer said, in a deep pleasant 
 voice which somehow seemed not quite un- 
 familiar, bringing some vague memories as of
 
 IN THE WEST COUNTRIE. 273 
 
 a pleasant dream : ' This is not quite the first 
 time that I have had the pleasure of meeting 
 Miss Pleasance Brown ; though ' — looking 
 at me with a kindly smile lighting up good 
 grey eyes — 'I daresay, you have quite for- 
 gotten me and Dartmoor, as I should hardly 
 have recognized you in the change of finding 
 a grown-up young lady/ 
 
 I stammered over an answer, puzzling my 
 memory tantalizingly but vainly, when Bob, 
 who had been craning his long head and neck 
 forward to examine the stranger inquisitively, 
 suddenly thrust a yard's length of arm and 
 hand between us, exclaiming with a cry of 
 
 joy •• 
 
 * I knew it — I thought I knew you from 
 the very first. Shake hands. How are you, 
 — ^how are you? Why, Pleasance, don't you 
 remember Mr. Fulke ? ' 
 
 VOL. I. T
 
 274 IN THE WEST COUNTRIE. 
 
 'Mr. Fulke!— of Cliagford?' I repeated, 
 in a maze. 
 
 *I don't know what you and Bob mean 
 with your Mr. Fulke/ interposed our grand- 
 aunt brusquely, as if she thought us both 
 crazy creatures. ' But, anyhow, his proper 
 name is Mr. Fulke Bracy, the last of the 
 Bracys of this very house of Stoke-Bracy.' 
 
 END OF VOL. I.