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 SQUIRE ARDEX 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 SQUIRE ARDEK 
 
 BY 
 
 MK.S. OLIPHANT, 
 
 ACTHOK OF 
 
 "CHKONICLES OF CAKLIN GFOKD," 
 SALEM CHAPEL,' "THE MINISTER'S WIFE, 
 
 KTf., ETC, 
 
 IN THREE VOLUMES. 
 VOL. L 
 
 LONDON: 
 HURST & BLACKETT, PUBLISHERS, 
 
 IS GREAT ^lARLBOROT^GH STMEET. 
 
 1871. 
 
 The Ri'iht / Tr»,>.<hit'n,' /. i.esr.rn.l.
 
 PERTH: 
 
 Samuel Cowav & Co., I'rinter^
 
 P3 
 
 SQUIRE ARDEK 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 "What are the joy bells a-ringing for, Simon?" 
 f^ said an old woman, coming briskly out to the door 
 ~" of one of the pretty cottages in the pretty village of 
 ^ Arden, on a pleasant morning of early summer, 
 > when all the leaves were young, and the first fresh- 
 z ness of the year was over the world. " There's 
 ne'er a one married as I knows on, and it aint 
 
 Whitsuntide, nor Holmfirth fair, nor " 
 
 " It's the young Squii^e, stoopid," said the old 
 
 clerk, giniffly, leaning his arms upon the little paling 
 
 of the tiny garden and looking at her. " He's come 
 
 j^ home." 
 
 * What he really did say was "he's coom 
 
 whoam;" but the reader will be so kind as take it 
 
 for granted that Simon Molyneaux was an old 
 
 4 Lancashire man, and talked accordingly, without 
 
 gi\T.ng a pen not too familiar with the dialect the 
 
 ^ trouble of putting in all the o's that are necessary. 
 
 ^ Simon said coom, and he said loove, and moother ; 
 
 J VOL. I. B 
 
 4
 
 2 SQUIRE ARDEN. 
 
 but as there is no moral meaning in the double 
 letter, let us consent to leave it out. 
 
 " The young Squire ! " said the old woman, with 
 a start. 
 
 She was a tidy fresh old woman, with cheeks of 
 a russet colour, half bro\vn half red, yet soft, despite 
 all their wrinkles — cheeks that children laid their 
 little faces up to without feeling any difference of 
 texture ; and eyes which had stolen back during 
 these years deeper into their sockets, but yet were 
 bright and full of suppressed sunshine. She had a 
 little shawl pinned over her print gown, and a great 
 white apron, which shone in the sun, and made the 
 chief light in the little picture. Simon's rugged 
 countenance looking at her was all brown, with a 
 deep dusky red on the tops of the cheekbones ; his 
 face was as full of cross-hatching as if he had been 
 an old print. His eyes were deeper than were 
 hers, but still at the bottom of the wrinkled caves 
 they abode in had a spark of light in each of 
 them. In short, there was sufficient resemblance 
 between them still to show that Simon and Sarah 
 were brother and sister. A young woman of 
 four and twenty came to the door of the next 
 cottage at the sound of his voice, and opening it, 
 went in again, as if her duty was done. She was 
 Simon's daughter and housekeeper, who was not
 
 SQUIEE AEDEX. 3 
 
 fond of gossip, and the two kindi'ed households were 
 next door to each other. It was a very pretty 
 village, much encoiu-aged to keep itself tidy, and to 
 cultivate flowers, and do everytliing that is proper 
 in its condition of life, by the young lady at the 
 Hall The houses had been improved, but in an 
 unobtiTisive way. They were not painfully white- 
 washed, but showed here and there a gleam of red 
 brick in a thin place. The roses and the honey- 
 suckles were not always neatly trained, and there 
 was even an old shawl thiTist into a broken pane in 
 the window of Sally Timms, who was so much 
 trouble to Miss Ai'den with her untidy ways. Old 
 Simon had nothing but wallflower and southern- 
 wood (which was called lad's love in that region), 
 and red and white daisies in his garden. But n^x^ 
 door, if you came at the proper season, you might 
 see picottees that were exhibited at the Holmfii-th 
 flower show, and flouiy amiculas, such as were the 
 height of the fashion in the floral world a good 
 many years ago. In shoii. there was just that mix- 
 ture of perfection and imperfection which kept the 
 village of Arden a natural spontaneous ^illage, in- 
 stead of an artificial piece of luxury, cultivated like 
 any other ornament, in consequence of the very 
 close vicinity of the Hall gates. 
 
 "The young Squire I" said old Sarah again, who
 
 4 SQUIRE ARDEN. 
 
 had been shaking her head all the time we have 
 taken to interpolate this bit of description; and 
 she did it still more emphatically now when she 
 repeated her words, " Poor lad — poor lad ! Eh, to 
 think the joy bells should be rung in Arden Church 
 along o' Mm! He never came home yet that I 
 hadn't a good cry for't afore the day was done. 
 Poor lad!" 
 
 " Thee needn't cry no more," said Simon, " along 
 of him. He's come to his own, and ne'er one within 
 twenty miles to say him nay. He came home last 
 night, when folks were a' abed ; but he's as bright 
 as a May morning to look at him now," 
 
 " He was allays bright," said Sarah, wiping her 
 eyes with her apron, an action which disturbed the 
 whole picture, breaking up the lights, "when he 
 was kepp Hke the lowest in the house, and 'ad the 
 nose snapped off his face, he'd cry one minute and 
 laugh the next, that's what he'd do. He never was 
 long down, wasn't Mr. Edgar. Though where he 
 got that, and his Kght hair, and them dancing eyes 
 of his, it's none o' us that can say." 
 
 "It was off his mother he got 'em, as was 
 natural," said the old clerk. " I saw her when old 
 Master he brought her home first, and she was as 
 fair as fair. But, Squire or no Squire, I'm going to 
 my breakfast. Them bell-ringing boys they're at
 
 SQUIRE AEDEX. O 
 
 the Arden Arms already, dinnking the Squire's 
 sovereign, the fools, instead of l3Ljmg it up for a 
 rainy day. K they had the rheumatiz as bad as 
 me they'd know what it was to have a penny laid 
 by ; but I don't know what young folks is coming 
 to, I don't," said Simon, opening his own gate, and 
 hobbling towards the open door. He had a large 
 white handkerchief loosely tied about his shrivelled 
 brown throat, and an old black coat, which had 
 been an evening coat of the old Squire's in former 
 days. Simon preferred swallowtail coats, chiefly 
 because he thought they were more dignified, and be- 
 came his position ; but partly also because experience 
 had taught him. that coats which were only worn 
 in the evening by their original proprietor had a 
 great deal more wear in them than those which the 
 Squire or the Rector Avalked about in all day. 
 
 Sarah went in also to her own cottage, where for 
 the moment she was all alone. She spread down 
 her white apron, and smoothed out the creases 
 which she had made when she dried her eyes ; but, 
 notwithstanding, her eyes required to be dried 
 again. "Poor lad," she said at intervals, as she 
 "tidied" her already tidy room, and swept some 
 imperceptible dust into the fireplace. The fire was 
 made up. The cat sat winking by it. The kettle 
 feebly murmured on the hob. It was not the mo-
 
 6 SQUIRE ARDEN. 
 
 ment for that kettle to put itself in evidence. It 
 had made the breakfast, and had helped in the 
 washing of the solitary cup and saucer, and it was 
 only just now that it should retire into the back- 
 ground till the afternoon, when tea was again to be 
 thought of Its mistress was somewhat in the same 
 condition. She walked round the room two or 
 three times, trying apparently to find some piece 
 of active work which required to be done, and 
 poked into all the corners. " I done my scouring 
 only yesterday," she said to herself in a regretful 
 and plaintive tone; but, after a little interval, 
 added energetically, "and I cannot settle down to 
 plain sewing, not to-day." She said this as if some- 
 body had commanded her to take to her plain 
 sewing, which lay all ready in a basket on the 
 table, and the command had roused her to sudden 
 irritation. But it was only the voice of duty which 
 gave that order. Even after this indignant protest, 
 however, Sarah took her work, and put in three 
 stitches, and then picked them carefully out again. 
 " I think I'm a losing of my seven senses," she said 
 to herself plaintively. "It aint no use a struggling." 
 And with that the old woman rose, tied on her big 
 old bonnet, and set out through Ai'den village in 
 the sunshine on her way to Arden Hall. 
 
 To see that pretty rural place, you would never
 
 SQUIRE ARDEX. 7 
 
 have supposed it was within a dozen miles of the 
 great, vulgar, bustling tovm. of Liverpool — nay, 
 within half a dozen miles of the straggling, dreary- 
 outskirts of that big beehive. But yet so it was ; 
 from the tower of Arden Church you could see the 
 mouth of the Mersey, T\T.th all its crowds of ships ; 
 and, but for the haughty detennination of the old 
 Squire to grant no building leases on his land, and 
 the absence of railway communication consequent 
 thereupon, no doubt Ai'den would have been by this 
 time fLill of \allas, and would have sent a stream of 
 commercial gentlemen every morning out of its quiet 
 ■freshness by dint of a ten o'clock train. But there 
 was no ten o'clock train, and no commercial gentle- 
 men, and no bright shining new \411as ; but only the 
 row of houses, half whitewash half red brick, with 
 lilac bushes all in flower, and traveller's joy bristling 
 over their porches, and all the httle gardens shining 
 in the sun. The Church was early Enghsh ; the 
 parsonage was red brick of Queen Anne's time. And 
 there was a great house flush with the road, disdain- 
 ing any petty interposition of garden between it and 
 the highway, with white steps and a brass knocker, 
 and rows upon rows of brilliant dazzling windows, 
 which was the doctor's house. The parson and the 
 doctor were the only gentlemen in Arden village ; 
 there was nobody else above the rank of an ordinarj'^
 
 8 SQUIRE ARDEN. 
 
 cottager. There was a little shop where everything 
 was sold ; and there was the post office, where station- 
 ery was to be had as well as postage stamps ; and 
 the Arden Arms, with a little green before it, and a 
 great square sign-post standing out in the midst. A 
 little way beyond the Church, which stood on the 
 other side of the road, opposite but higher up than 
 the Arden Arms, were the great Hall gates. They 
 had a liberal hospitable breadth about them which 
 was suggestive somehow of guests and good cheer. 
 Two carriages could pass, the village folks said, with 
 natural pride, through those wide portals, and the 
 breadth of the great splendid old avenue, with its 
 elms and limes, was in proportion. There were two 
 footpaths leading on either side of the avenjue, like 
 side aisles in a great cathedral, under the green- 
 arched splendour of meeting trees ; and so princely 
 were the Ardens, with all their prejudices, that not 
 only their poor neighbours, but even Liverpool folks 
 pic-nicing, had leave to roam about the park, and 
 take their walks even in the side aisles of the avenue. 
 The Squire, like a great monarch, was affable to the 
 populace — so long as it allowed that it was the 
 populace, and kept in its right place. 
 
 Up one of these side walks old Sarah trudged, 
 with her white apron disturbing all the lights, and 
 with many homely musings in her old head, which
 
 SQUIRE AEDEX. 9 
 
 had scarcely a right to the dignified title of thoughts. 
 She was thinking to herself — " Eh, my word, but 
 here's changes ! Master o' all, him that was never 
 made no more of nor a stranger in his own father's 
 house ; nor half so much as a stranger. Them as 
 €ome on visits would get the best o' all, ponies to 
 ride, and servants to wait upon 'em, and whatever 
 they had a mind for : — and ^h\ Edgar put into that 
 bit of a room by the nursery, and never a horse, nor 
 a penny in his pocket. I'd just like to know how 
 it was. Eh, my word, what a queer feel it must 
 have ! You mind me, he'll think he hears oud 
 Squire ahind him many and many a day. And an 
 only son I And I never heard a word against 
 Madam, and !Miss Clare always the queen of all. 
 Bless him ! none on us could help that ; but I was 
 allays one as stood up for ^Ir. Edgar. And now he's 
 master o' all ! I wonder is she glad, the dear ? 
 Here's folks a coming, a man and a maid; and I 
 canno' see who they are with my bad eyes. Eh, 
 but I could once see as good as the best. I mind 
 that time I was in Cheshire, afore I came home here 
 — Lord bless us, it's Miss Clare and the young 
 Squire ! " 
 
 The young pair were coming down under the 
 trees on the same path, and Sarah stopped short in 
 her thinkings with a flutter, as if they must have
 
 10 SQUIllE ARDEX. 
 
 divined the subject of tliem : — Two young people all 
 in black, not lighting up the landscape as they might 
 have done had their dress been as bright as their 
 faces. The first thing that struck the observer was 
 that they were utterly unlike ; they had not even 
 the same little family tricks of gait or gesture, 
 such as might have made it apparent that they 
 were brother and sister. The young lady was 
 tall and slight, with a great deal of soft dignity 
 and grace; dignity which might, however, grow 
 imperious on occasion. Her face was beautiful, 
 and regular, and full of sweetness; but those fine 
 lines could set and harden, and the light young 
 figure could erect itself, if need were, into all the 
 severity of a youthful- Juno. Her hair was very 
 dark, and her eyes blue — a kind of beauty which is 
 often of the highest class as beauty, but often, also, 
 indicates a character which should attract as much 
 fear as love. She was soft now as the open- 
 ing day, leaning on her brother's arm with a certain 
 clinging gesture which was not natural to her, 
 lavishing upon him her smiles and pretty looks of 
 affection. Old Sarah, looking on, divined her mean- 
 ing in a moment. " Bless her ! " the old woman said 
 to herself, with a tear in the corner of her eye, which 
 she dared not lift the apron to dry. Hard injustice 
 and wrong had been Edgar's part all his life. His
 
 SQUIEE ARDEX. 11 
 
 sister was making it up to him, pouring upon him 
 all the sunshine she could collect into her moist eyes, 
 to make him amends for having thus lived so long 
 in the dark. 
 
 Clare Arden might have stepped out of one of 
 the picture frames in the hall, so entirely was her 
 beauty the beauty of her family ; but her brother 
 was as different as it is possible to imagine. He 
 was scarcely taller than she was, not more than an 
 inch or two, instead of towering over her as her 
 father had done. He had hght brown, curly, 
 abundant hair, fiizzing all over his well-shaped, 
 well-poised head ; and brown eyes, which sparkled, 
 and danced, and laughed, and spoke, and defied you 
 not to like them. They had laughed and danced in 
 his worst days, irrepressibly, and now, notwith- 
 standing the black band on his hat, they sent rays 
 about like danciog fauns, all life, and fixe, and active 
 energy. He looked like one whom nobody could 
 wrong, who would disarm the sourest critic. A 
 stranger would have instantly taken it for granted 
 that he was the favourite child of the house, the 
 one whose gay vagaries were always pardoned, and 
 whose saucy ways no father or mother could well 
 withstand. How such a beiug could have got into 
 the serious old-world house of Arden nobody could 
 make out. It was supposed that he was hke his
 
 12 SQUIRE ARDEN. 
 
 mother; but she had been in delicate health, poor 
 lady, and had Hved very little at Arden Hall. The 
 village folks did not trouble their head with 
 theories as to the cause of the old Squire's dislike to 
 his only son, but the parson and the doctor had 
 each a very decided opinion on the subject, which 
 the reader shall learn further on, and make his own 
 conclusions from. For, in the meantime, I cannot 
 go on describing Edgar Arden. It is his business to 
 do that for himself. 
 
 " Who is coming ? " he said. " Somebody whose 
 face I know ; a nice old woman with a great white 
 apron. But we must go on to see the village, and 
 all your improvements there." 
 
 " There are no improvements," said his sister. 
 ^' Oh, Edgar, I do hope you hate that sort of thing 
 as I do. Let us keep it as it was. Our own people 
 are so pleasant, and will do what we want them. 
 The only thing I was afraid of you for was lest you 
 should turn radical, like the rest of the young men. 
 But then you have not been in the way of it;— like 
 the Oxford men, you know." • ^ 
 
 "I don't know about the Oxford men,"»sfeid 
 Edgar, " but I am not so sure I haven't been in -^e 
 way of it." He had the least little touch of a 
 foreign accent, which was very quaint from those 
 most Saxon lips. He was just the kind of young
 
 SQUIEE ARDEX. 1^ 
 
 man whom, anywhere abroad, the traveller would 
 distinguish as an undeniable Briton; and yet his 
 English had a touch of something alien in it — a 
 flavour which was not British. He laughed as he 
 spoke, and the sound startled all the solemn elms or 
 Axden. The Ardens did not laugh much ; they smiled 
 very sweetly, and they liked to know that their smile 
 was a distinction; but Edgar was not like the Ardens. 
 
 "How you laugh," said Clare, clinging a little 
 closer to his arm, " It is very odd, but somehow I 
 like it. Don't you know, Edgar, the Ardens were 
 never people to laugh ? We smile." 
 
 " So 3^ou do," said Edgar, " and I would rather 
 have your smile than ever so much laughing. But 
 then you know I am not half an Arden. I never 
 had a chance. Here is our old woman close at hand 
 with her white apron. ^Tiy, it is old Sarah ! You 
 kind old soul, how are you ? How does it go ? " 
 And 'he took both her hands into his and shook 
 them till old Sarah lost her breath. Then a twinkle 
 like a tear came in to Edgar's laughing eye. " You 
 gave me half-a-crown when I left Arden last," he 
 said, still holding her hands, and then in his foreign 
 way he kissed her first on one brown cheek and 
 then on the other. " Oh, Master Edgar!" cried old 
 Sarah, out of breath ; while Clare looked on very 
 sedately, not quite knowing what to say.
 
 14 SQUIRE ARDEN. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 " It was kind of you to come and see my brother," 
 said Clare at length, with something of that high 
 and lofty sweetness which half implies — "it was 
 kind, but it was a piece of presumption." She 
 meant no harm to her old nurse, whom she was fond 
 of in her heart, and who was besides a privileged 
 person, free to be fond of the Ardens ; but Edgar 
 had been badly used all his life, and his sister was 
 more proud on his behalf than if he had been the 
 worshipped heir, always foremost. She drew her- 
 self up just a little, not knowing what to make of 
 it. In one way it was right, and she approved ; for 
 even a king may be tender to his favoured depend- 
 ents without derogation — but yet, certainly it was 
 not the Arden way. 
 
 " Miss Clare, you don't think that, and you 
 oughtn't for to say it," said old Sarah, with some 
 natural heat ; " but I've been about the house ever 
 since you were born : and staying still to-day in my 
 little place with my plain-sewing was more nor I
 
 SQUIRE ARDEX. 15 
 
 could do. If there had been e'er a little maid to 
 look to — but I ain't got none in hands now." 
 
 " I beg your pardon, Sarah," said Clare promptly; 
 " and Mrs. Fillpot has sometliing to say to you about 
 that. If you will go up to the house and speak to 
 her, now that you have seen Edgar, it ^yiR be very 
 nice of you. We are going down to the \Tllage to 
 see some of his old friends." 
 
 " The young master don't know the ^dllage, Mss 
 Clare, as he ougrht to have done," said old Sarah, 
 shakincr her head. She had said such words often 
 before, but * never with the same result as now ; for 
 Clare was di\T.ded between allegiance to the father 
 whom she loved, who was dead, and whom she 
 could not now admit to have ever done any wrong — 
 and the brother whom she loved, who was there by 
 her side, and of whose injuries she was so keenly 
 sensible. The blood inished to her cheek — her fine 
 blue eyes grew like steel — the lines of her beautiful 
 face hardened. Poor old Sarah shrank back instinc- 
 tively, almost as if she expected a blow. Clare's hps 
 were formed to speak when her brother intenaipted 
 her, and proba,bly the words would not have been 
 pleasant which she was about to say. 
 
 " Tlie more reason I should know it now," he said 
 in his hghthearted way. "If it had not been so 
 early, Sarah, you should have come back and made
 
 16 SQUIRE ARDEN. 
 
 me some tea. What capital tea she used to mak& 
 for you in the nursery, Clare, you lucky girl ! It is 
 Miss Arden's village I am going to see, Sarah. It 
 shall always be hers to do what she likes with it. 
 You can tell the people nothing is changed there." 
 
 "Edgar, I think we should go," said Clare, re- 
 straining him with once more that soft shade of 
 possible haughtiness. " Stay till we come back,. 
 Sarah ;" and with a little movement of her hand in 
 sign of farewell, she led her brother away. " You 
 must not tell your plans to that sort of person," she 
 said with a quick breath, in which her momentary 
 passion found relief. 
 
 " What ! not your old nurse, Clare ? " he cried. 
 " You must not snub the old woman so. We had 
 better make a bargain in time, we who are so differ- 
 ent. You shall snub me when you please for my 
 democratic ways, but you must not snub the others, 
 Clare." 
 
 "^Vhat others?" 
 
 Edgar made no direct answer. He laughed and 
 drew his sister's arm close within his own. " You 
 are such a pretty picture with those great-lady look» 
 of yours," he said ; " they make me think of rufF& 
 and hoops, and dresses all covered with pearls. 
 What is a farthingale ? I am sure that is what you 
 ought to wear."
 
 SQUIRE APvDEX. 17 
 
 " You mean it is out of fashion to rememljer that 
 one is well born, and of an old family," said Clare with 
 energ^^ " but you will never biing me to see that. 
 One has enough to do to keep one's proper place 
 with all those encroachments that are going on, 
 without one's own brother to take theii* part. But oh ! 
 forgive me, Edgar ; I forgot : I will never say another 
 word," she said, with the tears inishing to her eyes. 
 
 " \Miat did you forget ? " he said gently—" that 
 I have been brought up as never any Arden was 
 before me, and am not an Arden at all, so to speak ? 
 Perhaps on the whole it is better, for Ai'den ways 
 are not the ways of oiu' time. They are very 
 splendid and veiy imposing, and, in you, dear, I 
 don't object to them, but " 
 
 " Oh, Edgar, don't speak so ! " said his sister, with 
 a certain hoiTor. 
 
 " But I must speak so, and think so, too," he said. 
 " Could not you try- to imagine, Qare, among all the 
 many theories on the subject, that this was what 
 was meant by my banishment ? It is as good a way 
 of accounting for it as another. Imagine, for instance, 
 that Arden ways were found to be a Httle behind 
 the generation, and that, hard as it was, and, perhaps, 
 cruel as it was " 
 
 " Edgar 1 don't say it is not tme ; but oh, 
 
 don't say so, for I can't bear it ! "
 
 18 SQUIRE ARDEN. 
 
 "I shall say nothing you can't bear," he said 
 softly, " my kind sister ! you always did your best 
 for me. I hope I should not have behaved badly 
 anyhow ; but you can't tell what a comfort it is that 
 you always stood by me, Clare." 
 
 " I always loved you, Edgar," she cried, eagerly ; 
 '' and then I used to wonder if it was my fault — if I 
 got all the love because I was like the family, and a 
 girl — taking it from you. I wish we had been a 
 little bit like, do you know — -just a little, so that 
 people should say — ' Look at that brother and sis- 
 ter.' Sometimes one sees a boy and a girl so like — 
 just a beard to one and long hair to the other, to 
 make the necessary difference; and then one sees 
 ' they belong to each other at the first glance." 
 
 " Never mind," said Edgar with a smile, " so long 
 as we resemble each other in our hearts." 
 
 " But not in our minds," said Clare, sorrowfully. 
 " I can see how it will be. You will always be 
 thinking one thing when I am thinking another. 
 Whatever there may be to consider, you and I will 
 always take different views of it. You are for the 
 present, and I am for the past. I know only our 
 own Arden ways, and you know the wa3^s of the 
 world. It is so hard, Edgar ; but, dear, I don't for a 
 moment say it is your fault," she said, holding his , 
 arm clasped between her hands, and looking up.
 
 SQUIRE ARDEX. 19 
 
 with her blue eyes at their softest, into his face. 
 He looked down upon her at the same time with a 
 curious, tender, amused smile. Clare, who knew only 
 Arden ways, was so sui-e they must be right ways, 
 so certain that there was a fault somewhere in those 
 who did not understand them — but not Edgar's 
 fault, poor fellow ! He had been brought up away 
 from home, and was to be pitied, not blamed. And 
 this was why her*brother looked do^vn upon her 
 with that curious amused smile. 
 
 " No," he said, " it was not my fault ; but I think 
 you should take my theory on the subject into con- 
 sideration, Clare. Suppose I had been sent off o^ 
 purpose to inaugurate a new world ? " 
 
 Clare gave a little shudder, but she did not speak. 
 She was troubled even that he could joke on such a 
 matter, or suggest theories, as if it had been a mere 
 crotchet on the part of her father, who was incapable 
 of anything of the kind ; but she could not make a 
 direct reply, for, by tacit mutual consent, neither of 
 them named the old Squire. f ^ 
 
 "Let us think so at least," he answered gaily, 
 ** for the harm is done, I fear ; and it would not be so 
 bad to be a deserter from Arden ways, if one had 
 been educated for that purpose, don't you think ? 
 So here we are at the village I Don't tell me any- 
 thing. I remember every bit of it as well as if I
 
 20 SQUIEE ARDEN. 
 
 liacl been here yesterda}^ Where is the old lathe- 
 and-plaster house that used to stand here ? " 
 
 "To think you should recollect it!" said Clare,, 
 her eyes suddenly lighting up ; and then in an 
 apologetic tone — "It was so old.'' I allow it was- 
 very picturesque and charming to look at ; but oh, 
 Edgar, you would ' not blame me if you knew how 
 dreadfully tumble-down and miserable it was inside. 
 The rain kept coming in, and when the brook was 
 flooded in winter it came right into the kitchen ; 
 and the children kept having fevers. I felt verj^ 
 much disposed to cry over it, I can tell you ; but 
 you would not have blamed me had you seen how 
 shocking it was inside." 
 
 " I wonder if Mistress Arden, in a ruff and a 
 farthingale, would have thought about the drain- 
 age," he answered, laughing. " Fancy my blaming 
 you, Clare ! I tell you it is your village, and you 
 shall do what you like with it. Is that Mr. Fielding 
 at his gate ? Let us cross over and shake hands 
 with him before we go any further. He is not so 
 old, surely, as he once was." 
 
 " It is we who are old," said Clare, with the first 
 laugh that had yet come from her lips. "He is 
 putting on his gloves to go and call on you, 
 Edofar. The bell-rino^ers must have made it known 
 everywhere. Mr, Fielding and Dr. Somers will come
 
 SQUIRE ARDEX. 21 
 
 to-day, and the Tlionileiglis and Eveilons to-moiTOw, 
 and after that everj'body ; now see if it does not 
 happen just as I say!" 
 
 " Let us stop the first of these visits," said Edgar, 
 and he went foi-^ard holding out his hand, while 
 the parson at the gate, buttoning his gi'ey gloves, 
 peered at him thi-ough a pair of short-sighted eyes. 
 " It will be very kind of you to name yourself, Sii*, 
 for I am very shoi-t-sighted," the Hector said, looking 
 at him with that semi-suspicion which is natural to 
 a laistic of the highest as well as the lowest social 
 position. The newcomer was a stranger, and there- 
 fore had httle right and no assig-nable place in the 
 village world. 2vli\ Fielding, who was short-sighted 
 besides, peered at him very doubtftiUy from the 
 puckered corners of his eyes. 
 
 " Don't you know me ? " said Edgar ; and " Oh, 
 Mr. Fielding, don't you know Edgar?" came with 
 still greater earnestness fi'om the hps of Clare. 
 
 "It is not possible!" said !Mr. Fielding, very 
 decidedly ; and then he let his slim umbrella drop 
 out of his fingers, and held out both his hands. " Is 
 it reaUy you, my dear boy !" he said. "Excuse my 
 bhnd eyes. If you had been my o^vn son I would 
 not have known you. I was on my way to call. 
 But though tliis is not so solemn or so correct it will 
 do as weU. And Clare: Will you come in and
 
 22 SQUIRE ARDEN. 
 
 have some breakfast ? It cannot be much past your 
 breakfast hour." 
 
 " Nor yours either," said Clare ; " it is so naughty 
 of you and so wrong of you to sit up like that, when 
 you might just as well read in daylight, and go to 
 bed when everybody else does. But we don't follow 
 such a bad example. We mean to have breakfast 
 always by eight o'clock." 
 
 Mr. Fielding gave a little sigh, and shook his 
 venerable head. " That is all very pretty, my dear, 
 and very nice when you can do it ; but you know it 
 never lasts. Anyhow, don't let us stand here. Come 
 in, my dear boy, come in, and welcome home again. 
 And welcome to your own, Edgar," he added, turning 
 quickly round as he led them into his study, a large 
 low room, looking out upon the trim parsonage 
 garden. He put out both his hands as he said this, 
 and grasped both those of Edgar, and looked not at 
 all disinclined to throw himself upon his neck, 
 " Welcome to your own," he repeated fervently, and 
 his eyes strayed beyond Edgar's head, as if he were 
 confronting and defying some one. And then he 
 added more solemnly, "And God bless you, and 
 enable you to fill your high position like a man.. 
 Amen. I wonder what the old Doctor will say 
 now." 
 
 " What should he say ? " said Edgar, fun dancing
 
 SQUIRE ARDEX. 23 
 
 in his bright broTSTi eyes ; " and how is he ? I 
 suppose he Ls unchangeable, like everything here." 
 
 " Not unchangeable," said Mr. Fielding, with a 
 slight half-perceptible shake of his head at the 
 levity, one of those momentaiy assumptions of the 
 professional which most old clerg}Tnen indulge in 
 now and then ; " nothino: is unchancreable in this 
 transitory world. But old Somers is as steady as 
 most things," he added, ^^dth a responsive glance of 
 amusement. " We go on quarrelling, he and I, but 
 it would be hard • upon us if we had to part. But 
 tell me about yourself, Edgar, which is more 
 interesting. When did you get home ? " 
 
 " Late last nio:ht," said Edo^ar. " I came straight 
 through from Cologne. I began to get impatient as 
 soon as I had settled wliich day I was to reach 
 home, and came before my time. Clare was in bed, 
 poor child ; but she got up, fancy, when she heard 
 it was me." 
 
 "Of course she did; and she wants a cup of 
 chocolate now," said the old parson, "when her 
 colour changes like that from red to white, you 
 should give her some globules instantly, or else a 
 cup of chocolate. I am not a homoeopathist, so I 
 always recommend the chocolate. Mrs. Solmes 
 please. Miss Clare is here." 
 
 " Shall I make two, sir ? " said the housekeeper.
 
 24 SQUIRE AEDEN. 
 
 who had heard tlie unusual commotion, and put her 
 head in softly to see what was the matter. She did 
 not quite understand it, even now. But she was 
 too highly trained a woman, and too good a servant 
 to take any notice. The chocolate was her affair, 
 while the identity of the new comer was not. 
 
 " Don't you know my brother, Mrs. Solmes ? " 
 cried Clare. " He has come home. Edgar, she takes 
 such good care of dear Mr. Fielding. I don't know 
 how he managed without her before she came." 
 
 Edgar was not failing in his duty on the occasion. 
 He stepped forward and shook hands with the 
 radiant and flattered woman, " as nat'ral as if I had 
 known him all his life," she said in the kitchen 
 afterwards; for Mrs. Solmes was a stranger and 
 foreigner, belonging to the next parish, who could 
 not but disapprove of Arden and Arden ways, which 
 were different from the habits of Thornleigh parish, 
 to which she belonged. Edgar made her quite a 
 little speech as he stood and held her hand — " Any- 
 body who is good to Mr. Fielding is good to Clare 
 and me. He has always been so kind to us all our 
 lives." 
 
 " He loves you like his own children, sir," said 
 Mrs. Solmes, quickly ; and then she turned and went 
 away to make the chocolate, not wishing to presume ; 
 while her master walked about the room, rubbing
 
 SQUIRE ARDEX. 2o 
 
 his hands softly, and peering at the young man from 
 amid the puckers of his eyelids with pleased and 
 approving satisfaction. " It is very nicely said," 
 -cried Mr. Fielding, " very nice feeling, and well 
 expressed. After that speech, I should have known 
 him any^vhere for an Arden, Clare." 
 
 "But the Ardens don't make pretty speeches," 
 said Clare, under her breath. She never could be 
 suite sure of him. Everything he did had a spon- 
 taneous look about it that puzzled his sister. To be 
 in Arden, and to know that a certain hereditary 
 course of action is expected from you is a great 
 advantage, no doubt, yet it sometimes gives a ceii^in 
 sobriety and stiffness to the external aspect. Edgar, 
 on the contrary, was provokingly easy, w^th all the 
 spontaneousness of a man who said and did exactly 
 what he liked to do and to say. Clare's loyalty to 
 her race could not have permitted any such freedom 
 of action, and it puzzled her at every turn. 
 
 " We must send for old Somers," said Mr. Fielding. 
 " Poor old fellow, he is very crotchety and fond of 
 liis o^\^l notions ; but he's a very good fellow. We 
 are the two oldest friends you have in the world, 
 you young people ; and if we might not get a little 
 satisfaction out of you I don't know who should. 
 Mrs. Solmes," tliis was called from the study door in 
 -a louder voice, " send Jack over with my compliments
 
 2G SQUIRE APtDEN. 
 
 to Dr. Somers, and ask him to step this way for a 
 minute. No, Edgar, don't go ; I want to surprise 
 him here." 
 
 " But no one says anything about Miss Somers,'* 
 said Edgar ; " how is she ? " 
 
 "Ah, poor thing," said Mr. Fielding, shaking his 
 head," she is confined to bed now. She is growing 
 old, poor soul. For that matter, we are all growing 
 old. And not a bad thing either," he added, pausing 
 and looking round at the two young figures so radiant 
 in life and hope. " You children are sadly sorry for 
 us — but fading away out of the world is easier than 
 you think." 
 
 Edgar grasped Mr. Fielding's hand, not quite 
 knowing why, with the compunction of youth for 
 the departing existence to which its own beginning 
 seems so harsh a contrast, and yet with a reverential 
 sympathy that closed his lips. Clare, on the contrary, 
 looked at him with something almost matter-of-fact 
 in her blue eyes. " You are not so old," she said 
 quietly. " We thought you looked quite young as 
 we came to the door. Please don't be angry, but I 
 used to think you were a hundred. You have grown 
 ever so much younger these last three years." 
 
 " I should be very proud if I w^ere a hundred," 
 said Mr. Fielding, with a laugh ; but he liked the 
 grasp of Edgar's hand, and that sympathetic glance
 
 SQUIRE ARDEN. 27 
 
 in his eyes. Clare was Clare, the recognised and 
 accustomed princess, whom no one thought of 
 criticising ; but her brother was on his trial. Every 
 new look, every movement, spoke for or against him ; 
 and, so far, eveiything was in his favour. "Of 
 course, he is like his mother's family," the old Rector 
 said to himself, "more s^nnpathetic than the pure 
 Ardens, but with all their fine character and best 
 qualities. I wonder what old Somers will think of 
 him. And here he comes," he continued aloud, " the 
 best doctor in the county, though he is as crotchety 
 as an old magician. Somers, here's our young 
 squire."
 
 28 SQUIRE ARDEN. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 Dr. Somers came in, with a pair of eagle eyes 
 going before him,. as it seemed, like pioneers, to warn 
 Jiim of what was in his way. The Rector peered 
 and groped with the short-sighted feeble orbs which 
 lurked amid a nest of wrinkles, but the Doctor's 
 brilliant black eyes went on before him and in- 
 spected everything. He was a tall, straight, slim, 
 but powerful old man, with nothing superfluous 
 about him except his beard, which in those days was 
 certainly a superfluity. It was white, and so was 
 his hair; but his eyes were so much darker than 
 any human eyes that were ever seen, tliat to call 
 them black was not in the least inappropriate. He 
 had been the handsomest man in the county in his 
 youth, and he was not less so now — perhaps more, 
 with all the imposing glory of his white hair, and 
 the suavity of age that had softened the hues in 
 his face — lines which might have been a little hard 
 in the fulness of his strength. It was possible to 
 think of the Rector as, according to his own woi'ds.
 
 SQUIRE AEDEX. 21^ 
 
 fading away out of the earth, but Dr. Somers stood 
 like a strong tower, which only a violent shock could 
 move, and which had strength to resist a thousand 
 assaults. He came into the sober-toned rector}', 
 into that room which was always a little cold^ 
 filled with a soft motionless atmosphere, a kind 
 of abiding twilight, which even Clare's presence did 
 not dispel — and filled it, as it seemed, swallowing up 
 not only the Rector, but the young brother and 
 sister, in the fulness of his presence. He was the- 
 light, and Mr. Fielding the shadow in the picture ; 
 and, as ought always to be the case, the light 
 dominated the shadow. He had taken in every 
 thing and everyone in the room with a devouring 
 glance in the momentary pause he made at the 
 door, and then entered, holding out liis hand to the 
 newcomer — "They meant to mystify me, I sup- 
 pose," he said, " and thought I would not recognise 
 you. How are you, Edgar ? You are looking just 
 as I thought you would, just as I knew you would. 
 When did you come home ? " 
 
 "Last night, late," said Edgar, returning cor- 
 dially the pressure of liis hand. 
 
 " And did not wait to be waited on, like a reiem- 
 ing monarch, but came to see your old friends, like 
 an impatient good -hearted boy? There's a fine 
 fellow," said the Doctor, patting him on the
 
 so SQUIRE ARDEN. 
 
 shoulders with a caress which was quite as forcible 
 as it was affectionate. " I ought to like you, Edgar 
 Arden, for you have always justified my opinion of 
 you, and done exactly what I expected you would 
 do, all your life." 
 
 " Perhaps it is rash to say that I hope I shall 
 always justify your opinion," said Edgar, laughing, 
 " for I don't know whether it is a good one. But I 
 don't suppose I am very hard to read," he added, 
 with a warm flush rising over his face. He grew 
 red, and he stopped short with a certain sense of 
 embarrassment for which he could scarcely account. 
 He did not even try to account for it to himself, 
 but flushed all over, and felt excessively hot and 
 uncomfortable. The fact was, he was a very open- 
 hearted, candid young fellow, much more tempted 
 to wear his heart upon his sleeve than to conceal 
 it; and, as he glanced round upon his three com- 
 panions, he could see that there was a certain 
 furtive look of scrutiny about all their eyes: not 
 furtive so far as the Doctor was concerned, who 
 looked through and through him without any con- 
 cealment of his intention. But Mr. Fielding had 
 half-tuniQd his head, while yet he peered with a 
 tremulous scrutiny at his young guest \ and Clare's 
 pretty forehead was contracted with a line of 
 anxiety which Edgar knew well. They were all
 
 SQUIRE AEDEX. 31 
 
 doubtful about him — not sure of him — tr}T.ng to 
 make him out. Such a thought was bitter to the 
 young man. His colour rose higher and higher, 
 and his heart began to beat. " I do not think I am 
 very difficult to read," he repeated, with a forced 
 and painful smile. 
 
 " Not a bit," said the Doctor ; " and you are as 
 welcome home as flowers in May : the first time I 
 have said that to you, my^boy, but it won't be the 
 last. Miss Clare, my sister would be pleased if you 
 told her of Edgar's return. She vnR have to be 
 prepared, and got up, and all soi^ts of things, to see 
 him ; but, if you were to teU her, she would think 
 it kind. Ah, here's the chocolate. Of course in 
 this house everything must give place to that." 
 
 " I will go over to Miss Somers for ten minutes," 
 said Qare, " thank you. Doctor, for reminding me ; 
 and, dear Mr. Fielding, don't let Edgar go till I 
 come back." 
 
 "I should like to go too," said Edgar. "No? 
 Well, I won't then; but tell ^liss Somers I will 
 come to-morrow, Clai'e. Tell her I have brought 
 her sometliing fi'om Constantinople ; and have never 
 forgotten how kind she used to be — how kind you 
 all were ! " And the young man turned round upon 
 them — " It is a strange sensation coming back and 
 feeling myself at home among the faces I have known
 
 32 SQUIRE ARDEN. 
 
 all my life. And thank you all for being so good to 
 Clare." 
 
 Clare was going out as lie spoke, with a certain 
 shade of reluctance and even of pride. She had 
 been told to go, and she did not like it ; it had been 
 implied that she had forgotten a duty of neighbour- 
 ship, and to Miss Somers, too, who could not move 
 about, and ascertain things for herself; and Clare did 
 not like to be reminded of her duties. She turned 
 round, however, at the door, and looked back, and 
 smiled her acknowledgment of what her brother 
 said. These two old men had been very kind to 
 her. They had done everything that the most 
 attached old friends could do at the time of her 
 father's death. That was a whole year ago ; for 
 old Squire Arden had made a stipulation that his 
 son was not to come back, nor enter upon the 
 possession of his right, till he was five-and-twenty 
 — a stipulation which, of course, counted for nothing 
 in the eye of the law, but was binding on Edgar, 
 much as he longed to be at his sister's side. Thus, 
 his father oppressed him down to the very edge of 
 his grave. And poor Clare would have been very 
 forlorn in the gi'eat house but for her old friends. 
 Miss Somers, who was not then so great an invalid, 
 had gone to the Hall, to be with the girl during that 
 time of seclusion, and she had been as a child to all
 
 SQUIEE ARDEX. 33 
 
 of them. A compunction smote Clare as she turned 
 and looked round from the door, and she kissed her 
 hand to them with a pretty gesture. But still it 
 was with rather an ill grace that she went to ^liss 
 Somers, which was not her o^^ti impulse. Compul- 
 sion fretted the Arden soul. 
 
 "I brought Clare into the world, and Fielding 
 has been her head nurse all liis Hfe," said the 
 Doctor, "no need for thanking us on that score. 
 And now all's yours, Edgar. I may say, and I'm 
 sure Fielding will say, how thankful we both are 
 to see you. You could not have been altogether 
 disinherited, as the property's entailed ; but I never 
 was easy in my mind about it during your father's 
 lifetime. The old Squire was a veiy peculiar man ; 
 and th^re was no teUing " 
 
 "Doctor," said the young man, once more %^dth 
 a flush on his cheek, " would you mind leaving out 
 my father's name in anything that has to be said ? — 
 unless, indeed, he left any message for me. He Hked 
 Clare best, which was not wonderful, and he thought 
 me a poor representative of the Ai^dens, which was 
 natural enough. I have not a word to say against 
 him. On the whole, perhaps, I have got as much good 
 of my life as if I had been brought up in England. 
 I have never been allowed to forget hitherto that my 
 father did not care for me — let me forget it now." 
 
 D
 
 34 SQUIRE ARDEN. 
 
 " Exactly," said the Doctor, looking at him with 
 a certain curious complacency ; and he gave a nod at 
 Mr. Fielding, who stood winking to get rid of a tear 
 which was in the corner of his eye. " Exactly what 
 I said ! Now, can you deny it ? By Jove ! I wish he 
 had been my son ! It is what I knew he would say." 
 
 " Edgar, my dear boy," said the Kector, " every 
 word does you credit, and this more than all. 
 Your poor father was mistaken. I say your poor 
 father, for he evidently had something on his 
 mind just before he died, and would have spoken if 
 time had been allowed him. I have no doubt it was 
 to say how sorry he was. But the Ardens are 
 dreadfully obstinate, Edgar, and he never could bring 
 himself to do it. It is just like you to say this. 
 Clare will appreciate it, and I most fully appreciate 
 it. It is the best way ; let us not dwell upon the 
 past, let us not even try to explain. Your being 
 like your mother's family can never be anything 
 against you — far from it. I agree in every word 
 you say." 
 
 This speech, flattering and satisfactory as it was, 
 took the young man a little by surprise. " I don't 
 know what being like my mother's family has to do 
 with it," he said, with momentary petulance; but 
 then his brighter spirits gained the mastery. "It 
 is best never to explain anything," he continued.
 
 SQUIRE ARDEX. 35 
 
 with a smile. " There is Clare calling me. I sup- 
 pose I am to go to ^liss Somers, notwithstanding 
 your defence, Doctor." And he waved his hand to 
 Clare from the window, and went out, leaving the 
 two old men behind him, following him with their 
 eyes. He was glad to get away, if truth must be 
 told ; they were fighting some soi-t of undisclosed 
 duel over his body, Edgar could see, and he did not 
 like it. He went across the village street, which 
 was very quiet at that end, to the Doctor's gi^eat 
 red brick house, and as he did so his face clouded 
 over a little. " They have got some theory about 
 me," he said to himself; "am I never to be rid of 
 it ? And what right has any one to discuss me and 
 my affairs now ? " Then the shade gradually dis- 
 appeared from his face, and in spite of himself there 
 glided across his mind a sudden comparison between 
 the last time he had been at Arden and the present. 
 Then he had a boy's keen sense of injustice and un- 
 kindness eating into him. It had not cut so deeply 
 as it might have done if his temperament had been 
 gloomy; but still it had galled him. He had felt 
 himself contemned, disliked, thrust aside — his pre- 
 sence half clandestine — his wishes made of no 
 account — his whole being thrust into a comer — a 
 thing to hide, or at least to apologise for. Now, he 
 was the master of all. The bells had rung for his
 
 36 SQUIRE ARDEN. 
 
 home - coming ; everytliing was changed. The 
 thought made his head swim as he walked along 
 in the serene stillness, with tlie swallows making 
 circles about, and the bees murmuring round the 
 blossomed trees. He had been living an uncertain 
 wandering life, not always well supplied with money, 
 not trained to do anything, an innocent vagabond. 
 Now there was not a corner of his life upon which 
 some one interest or another did not lay a claim 
 He had the gravest occupations on his hands. He 
 might make for himself a position of high influence 
 and importance in his county; and could scarcely be 
 insignificant if he tried. And all this had come to 
 him without any training for it. His very habits of 
 mind were not English ; even in the midst of these 
 serious thoughts the village green, which was at his 
 left hand, beyond the Church and the Kectory, 
 caught his eye, and a momentary speculation came 
 across him, whether the village people danced there 
 on Sundays ? whether the fairs were held there, or 
 the tombola, or something to represent them ? and 
 then he stopped and laughed at himself What 
 w^ould Mr. Fielding say ? Thus Edgar Lad come to 
 be Squire Arden without even the habit of being an 
 Englishman. The sense of injustice which had 
 weighed upon him all his life might have embittered 
 his beginning now, had his mind been less elastic.
 
 SQUIRE ARDEN. 37 
 
 But nature had been so good to liim that he 
 was able to toss these di^eary thoughts aside, as 
 he would have tossed a ball, before he went in to 
 see Miss Somers. " Things will come right somehow," 
 he said to himself. Such was his Hght-heai-ted 
 philosophy; wliile Clare stood grave and silent at 
 the door to meet him, with a seriousness which 
 would have been more in accordance with his 
 difficulties than with hers. What troubled her was 
 the question — Would he be a radical, and introduce 
 innovations, ignore the mightiness of his family, 
 conduct himself as if his name were anything else 
 than Aixlen ? This sufficed to plant the intensest 
 seriousness, with almost a cast of severity in it, upon 
 the brow of Clare. 
 
 " Didn't I tell you exactly how it would happen ? " 
 said the Doctor, when Edgar was gone ; " no 
 sentiment to speak of — utter absence of revengeful 
 feelings : settlina: doA\Ti as if it was the most natural 
 thing in the world — bygones to be bygones, and a 
 fair start for the future. Didn't I tell you ? That 
 boy is worth his weight in gold." 
 
 "You certainly told me," said ^Ii'. Fielding, 
 faltering, "something very like what has come to 
 pass ; but I don't receive your theory, for all that. 
 No, no ; depend upon it, the simplest explanation is 
 always the best. One can see at a glance he is like
 
 38 SQUIRE ARDEN. 
 
 his mother's family. Poor thing ! I don't think sh& 
 was too happy ; and that must have intensified old 
 Ai-den's remorse." 
 
 " Old Arden's fiddlestick ! " said the Doctor. " I 
 wouldn't give that for his remorse. He had his 
 reasons you may be sure. Character has been my 
 favourite study all my life, as you know ; and if 
 that frank, open-hearted, well-dispositioned boy 
 ever came out of an Arden's nest, I expect to hear 
 of a dove in an eagle's. He has justified every 
 word I ever said of him. I declare to you, Field- 
 ing, I am as fond of him as if he were my own boy.'^ 
 
 "Poor fellow!" said Mr. Fielding, shaking, his 
 head, as if that was not so great a compensation as 
 might have been desired. " He will get into dozens 
 of scrapes with these strange ways of thinking ; 
 and he knows nothing and nobody — not a soul in 
 the county — and probably will be running his 
 head against some stone wall or other before he is 
 much older. If I had been twenty years younger 
 I might have tried to be of use to him, but as it 
 is " 
 
 "As it is we shall both be of use to him," said 
 the Doctor, " never fear. Of course, he will get into 
 a hundred scrapes; but then he will struggle out 
 again, and no harm will come of it. If he had been 
 like the Ardens he might have escaped the scrapes^
 
 SQUIRE ARDEN. 39 
 
 but he would have missed a great deal besides. I 
 like a young man to pay his way." 
 
 " It appears to me, Somers, that you are a radical 
 yourself," said the Rector, shaking once more his 
 feeble old head. 
 
 "On the contrary, the only real Tory going. 
 The last of my race, — the Conservative innovator," 
 said Dr. Somers. " These old races, my dear Fielding, 
 are beautiful things to look at. Clare, for instance, 
 who is the concentrated essence of Ardenism — and 
 how channing she is ! But that order of things 
 must come to an end. Another Squire Ai'den would 
 have, been next to impossible : whereas this new- 
 blooded sanguine boy will make a new beginning. 
 I don't want to shock your feelings as a clergy- 
 man : but the cuckoo's egg sometimes comes to 
 good." 
 
 "Somers," said the Rector, soleronly, "I have 
 told you often that I knew 'Mrs. Arden well. She 
 was a good woman ; as unlikely to go wi'ong as any 
 woman I ever knew. You do her horrible injustice 
 by such a supposition. Besides, think : he was 
 always with her wherever she went — there could 
 not have been a more devoted husband ; and to 
 imagine that all the while he had such a frightful 
 wrong on his mind — it is simply impossible .' besides, 
 she was the mother of Clare."
 
 40 SQUIRE ARDEN. 
 
 " That covers a multitude of sins, of course," said 
 the Doctor, " but you forget that I know all your 
 arguments by heart, I don't pretend to explain 
 everything. It is best never to explain, as that boy 
 says — wise fellow ! Half the harm done in the 
 world comes of explanations. But to return to our 
 subject. I never said he found it out at once ; 
 perhaps — most likely — it was not discovered in her' 
 lifetime. Her papers might inform him after her 
 death. It is curious that when there is anything to 
 conceal, people do always leave papers telling' all 
 about it. If you will give me any other feasible 
 explanation I don't stand upon my theory. Like 
 his mother's family — bah ! Is that reason enough 
 for a man to shut his heart against his only bpy ? 
 Besides, he is not like any one I know. I wish I 
 could light upon any man he was like. It might 
 furnish a clue " 
 
 "When you are on your hobby, Somers, there is 
 no stopping you," said the Rector, with a look of 
 distress. 
 
 /' I am not alone in my equestrian powers," 
 retorted the Doctor, " you do quite as much in that 
 line as I do ; but my theory has the advantage of 
 being credible, at least." ' 
 
 "Not credible," said Mr. Fielding, with gentle 
 vehemence. " No, certainly not credible. Nothing
 
 SQUIKE ARDEN. 41 
 
 would make it credible — not even to have heard 
 with your ears, and seen with your eyes." 
 
 "I never argue with prejudiced persons," answered 
 the Doctor, with equal haste and heat; and thus 
 they parted, mth every appearance of a quarrel. 
 Such things happened almost daily between the two 
 old friends. Dr. Somers took up his hat, gave a 
 vague nod of leave-taking, and issued forth from the 
 rectory gate as if he shook the dust from his feet ; 
 but all the same he would drop in at the rectory 
 that evening, stalking carelessly through an open 
 window as if, ^Irs. Solmes said, who was not fond of 
 the Doctor, the ^^lace belonged to him. He went 
 across the street ^dth more than his usual energy. 
 His phaeton stood at his own door, with two fine 
 horses, and the smartest of grooms standing at their 
 heads. Dr. Somers was noted for his horses and the 
 perfection of liis turn-out generally, which was a 
 rehc of the days when he was the pride of the 
 neighbourhood, and, people said, might have manied 
 into the highest family in the county had he so 
 willed. He was still the handsomest man in the 
 parish, though he was no longer young ; and he was 
 rich enough to indulge himself in all that luxury of 
 personal surroundings which is dear to an old beauty. 
 Edgar, who was standing at one of the twinkling 
 windows, watched the Doctor get into his carriage
 
 42 SQUIRE ARDEN. 
 
 with a mixture of admiration and relief. On the 
 whole, the young man was glad not to have another 
 interview with his old friend; but his white hair 
 and his black eyes, his splendid old figure and 
 beautiful horses, were a sight to see.
 
 SQUIRE ARDEN. 45 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 " 1 AM not quite in a state to receive a gentleman,'" 
 Miss Somers was saying when Edgar went in, with 
 a little flutter of timidity and eagerness. " But it is 
 so kind of you to let me know, and so sweet of dear 
 Edgar to want to come. I told my brother only last 
 
 night I was quite sure But then he always 
 
 has his own way of thinking. And you know wh}^ 
 should dear Edgar care for a poor creature like me ? 
 I quite recognise that, my dear. There might be a 
 
 time in my young days when some people cared 
 
 but as my brother says And just come from 
 
 the Continent, you know ! " 
 
 " May I come in ? " said Edgar, tapping against 
 the folding screen which sheltered the head of the 
 sofa on which the invalid la}^ 
 
 " Oh, goodness me ! Clare, my love, the dear 
 boy is there ! Yes, come in, Edgar, if you don't 
 
 mind But I ought to call you ^Ir. Arden now. 
 
 I never shall be able to call you ^Ii\ Ai^den. Oh, 
 goodness, boy ! Well, there can't be any harm in
 
 44 SQUIRE ARDEN. 
 
 his kissing me ; do you tliink there can be any harm 
 in it, Clare ? I am old enough to be both your 
 nciothers, and I am sure I think I love you quite 
 ^s well. Of course, I should never speak of loving 
 a gentleman if it was not for my age and lying here 
 so helpless. Yes, I do feel as if I should cry some- 
 times to think how I used to run about once. But 
 so long as it is only me, you know, and nobody 
 
 «lse suffers And you are both looking so well ! 
 
 But tell me now how shall you put up with Arden 
 after the Continent and all that ? I never was on 
 the Continent but once, and then it was nothing but a 
 series of fetes, as they called them, I was saying to 
 
 my brother only last night ; for you know 
 
 you never would visit the Pimpernels, Clare " 
 
 " Who are the Pimpernels ? and what have they 
 to do with it ? " said Edgar. " But tell me about 
 yourself first, and how you come to be on a sofa. I 
 never remember to have seen you sitting still before 
 all my life." 
 
 " No, indeed," said Miss Somers, her soft 
 pretty old face growing suddenly grey and solemn, 
 ■*' that is what makes old Mercy think , it's a 
 judgment ; but you wouldn't say it was wicked to 
 be always running about, would you now ? It's 
 wrong to follow one's own inclinations, to be sure, 
 but so long as you don't harm anybody There
 
 SQUIRE ARDEX. 45 
 
 are the Pimpernel girls, who play croquet, from morn- 
 ing till night — not that I mean it's wicked to play- 
 croquet — but poor Mr. Denbigh gets just a little led 
 away I fear sometimes ; and if ever there was a game 
 intended for the waste of young people's time " 
 
 " Never mind the Pimpernels," said Clare, mth 
 a shghtly imperative note in her voice. " It is 
 Edgar who is here beside you now." 
 
 " Oh, yes — dear fellow ; but do you know I think 
 my mind is weakened as well as my body ? Do I 
 run on different from what I used, Edgar ? I was 
 talking to my brother the other night — and he busy 
 with his paper — and ' how 3'ou run on ! ' was all he 
 
 said when I asked him You know he might 
 
 have given me a civil answer. I fear there is no 
 doubt I am weakened, my dear. I was speaking to 
 young Mr. Denbigh yesterday, and he says he said 
 to the Doctor that if he were liim he would take me 
 to some baths or other, which did him a great deal 
 of good, he says ; but I could not take him away, 
 you know, nor give anybody so much trouble. He 
 is such a nice young man, Edgar. I should like you 
 to know him. But, then, to think when I ask just 
 a quiet question, ' how you do run on ! ' he said. 
 Not that I am complaining of him, dear " 
 
 " Of young IVIi*. Denbigh ? " said Clare. 
 
 " Now, Clare, my love — the idea ! How could
 
 4G SQUIRE ARDEN. 
 
 I complain of young Mr. Denbigh, who is always 
 
 the civillest and nicest Of course, I mean my 
 
 brother. He says these German baths are very good; 
 but I would not mention it to him for worlds, for I 
 am sure he would be unhappy if he had to leave 
 home only with me." 
 
 Edgar and Glare looked at each other as Miss 
 Somers, to use her own expression, ran on. Clare 
 was annoyed and impatient, as young people so 
 often are of the little follies of their seniors ; but 
 Edgar's brown eyes shone with fun, just modified 
 by a soft affectionate sympathy. " Dear Miss 
 Somers," he said, half in joke half in earnest, 
 "don't trouble yourself about your mind. You 
 talk just as you always did. If I had heard you 
 outside without knowing you were here, I should 
 have recognised you at once. Don't worry your- 
 self about your mind." 
 
 " Do you think not, Edgar ? — do you really 
 think not ? Now that is what I call a real com- 
 fort," said Miss Somers ; " for you are not like the 
 people that are always with me ; you would see in 
 a moment if I was really weakened. Well, you 
 kno'w, I could not make up my mind to take him 
 away — could I ? For after all it does not matter 
 so much about me. If I were young it would be 
 different. Dear Edgar, no one„ has been civil
 
 SQUIRE APtDEN. 47 
 
 enough to ask you to sit do^vn. Bring a chair for 
 yourself here beside me. Do you know, Clare, I 
 flon't think, if you put it to me in a confidential 
 way, that he has gi'own. He is not so tall as the 
 rest of you Ardens. I was saying to my brother 
 just the other day — I don't care for your di'eadfally 
 tall people ; for you have always to stoop coming 
 into a room, and look as if you were afi^aid the sky 
 was falling. And oh, my dears, what a long time 
 it is since we have had any rain !" 
 
 " Any rain ?" said Edgar, who was a little taken 
 by surprise. 
 
 " What the fanners will do I can't think, for you 
 can't water the fields like a few pots of geraniums. 
 That last cutting you sent me, Clare, has got on so 
 well. Do you mean to keep up all the gardens and 
 everything as it used to be, Edgar ? You must 
 make her go to the Holmfii^th flower show. You 
 did not go last year, Clare, nor the year before; 
 and I saw such a pretty costume, too, in the last 
 fashions-book — all grey and black — -just the very 
 thing for you. You ought to speak to her, Edgar. 
 She has worn that heavy deep mourning too long." 
 
 " Don't, please," said Clare, turning aside with a 
 look of pain on her face. 
 
 "My dear love, I am only tliinking of your 
 good. Now is it reasonable, Edgar ? She looks
 
 48 SQUIRE ARDEN. 
 
 beautiful in mourning, to be sure ; but it is more 
 than a year, and she is still in crape. I would have 
 put on my own light silk if I had known you were 
 coming. I hate black from my heart, but it is the 
 most useful to wear, with nice coloured ribbons, 
 when you get old and helpless. I don't know if 
 you notice any change in my appearance, Edgar? 
 Now how odd you should have found it out ! I 
 have plenty of hair still — it is not that; but one 
 gets so untidy with one's head on a pillow without 
 a cap. Mi's. Pimpernel has quantities of hair ; 
 but a married lady is quite different — they can 
 
 wear things and do things Did you observe, 
 
 Edgar, if ladies wear caps just now abroad ?" 
 
 " They wear a great many different things," said 
 Edgar, "according: to the different countries. I 
 brought Clare a yashmak from Constantinople to 
 cover her head with, and an Albanian cap " 
 
 "My dear," said Miss Somers, sitting upright 
 with horror, "the idea of Clare wearing a cap at 
 nineteen! That shows one should never speak to 
 a man about what is the fashion. Just look at her 
 lovely hair! It will be time enough for that thirty 
 years hence. I cannot think how you could like to 
 live among the Turks. I hope you did not do as 
 they do, Edgar. It may be all very nice to look at, 
 but having a quantity of wives and that soit of
 
 SQUIRE ARDEX. 41) 
 
 thing must be very dreadful. I am sure I never 
 could have put up AiNdth it for a day ; and then it 
 goes in the veiy face of the Bible. I hope you are 
 going to forget all that sort of thing now, and settle 
 down quietly here." 
 
 "Miss Somers," said Edgar, with mock solemnity, 
 *' if I had left a quantity of wives at Constantinople, 
 is it possible that you could calmly ad^'ise me to 
 forget them, and marry another here ? " 
 
 Miss Somers sat up still more straight on her 
 sofa, and showed signs of agitation. " I am sure I 
 would not ad^^se you to what was wrong for all the 
 world," she said. " Oh, Edgar, my poor boy, what a 
 
 dreadful position ! You might ask the Rector 
 
 But if they were heathens, you know, in a Christian 
 country do you think it would be binding ? Clare, 
 dear, suppose you step into the drawing-room a 
 minute, till we talk this dreadful, di'eadful business 
 over. Oh, you poor boy ! It seems wicked for me, 
 an umiiariied lady, even to think of such things ; but 
 
 if I could be of any use to you Edgar ! tjiat 
 
 kind of poor creatures," said ^liss Somers, putting 
 her face close to liis, and speaking in a whisper, 
 " people buy them in the market, you know, as we 
 read in books. Listen, my dear boy. It is not 
 nice, of course, but " 
 
 " What ? " said Edgar, bending an eager ear.
 
 50 SQUIRE ARDEN. 
 
 " You could sell them^gain, don't you think ? 
 Poor souls, if they are used to it, they wouldn't care. 
 Good gracious, how can you laugh, with such a 
 burden on your mind ? I am thinking what would 
 be the best, Edgar, for you." 
 
 The old lady was so anxious that she put her soft 
 wrinkled old hand upon his, holding him fast, and 
 gazing anxiously into his face. "You young men 
 have such strange ways of thinking," she said, look- 
 ing disapprovingly at him; "you treat it as if it 
 was a joke, but it is very, very serious. Clare, my 
 love, just go and speak to old Mercy a moment. I 
 cannot let him leave me, you know, until we have 
 settled on something to do." 
 
 " He is only laughing at you," said Clare, with 
 indignation. "How can you, Edgar? Dear Miss 
 Somers, do you really believe he could be so 
 wicked ? " 
 
 " Wicked, my dear ? " said Miss Somers, with a 
 look of experience and importance on her eager 
 old face, "young men have very strange ways. 
 The less you know about such things the better^ 
 Edgar knows that he can speak to me." . 
 
 " But Clare is right," said Edgar, smothering his 
 laugh. "I did not mean to mystify you. I brought 
 nothing more out of Constantinople than pipes and 
 embroideries. I have some for you, Miss Somers.
 
 SQUIRE ARDEX. 51 
 
 Slippers that will just ^ for you on your sofa, and 
 a soft Turkish scarf that you might make a turban 
 
 of " 
 
 "What should I do with a turban, my dear 
 boy ? " said the invalid at once diverted out of her 
 solemnity, " though I remember people wearing them 
 once. My mother had a gorgeous one she used to 
 wear when she went out to dinner — you never see 
 anything so fine now — with bu'd of paradise feathers. 
 Fancy me in a turban, Clare ! But the slippei^s 
 will be very nice. There was a ^li\ Templeton I 
 once knew, in the Royal Navy, a very nice young 
 man, with black hair, like a Corsair, or a Giaour, 
 
 or something That was in my yoimg days, 
 
 my deal's, when I was not perhaps quite so unat- 
 tractive as I am now. Oh, you need not be so 
 polite, Edgar; I know I am quite unattractive, as 
 how could I be otherwise, with my health and at 
 my age ? He was a very nice young man, and he 
 paid me a gi^eat deal of attention; but dear papa, 
 you know — he was always a man that would have 
 his own way " 
 
 Here !Miss Somers broke off with a sigh, and the 
 story of Mi\ Templeton, of the Royal Na\y, came to 
 an abiTipt conclusion, notwithstanding an effort on 
 the part of one of the listeners to keep it up. "Was 
 Mr. Templeton at Constantinople ? " Edgar asked, 
 
 U. OF ILL. L. J,
 
 52 SQUIRE ARDEN. 
 
 bringing the narrator back to lier starting-point ; 
 but it was not to be. 
 
 " Oil, what does it matter where Mr. Templeton 
 was?" said Clare. "Edgar lias come down to see 
 the village, Miss Somers, and all the poor people ; 
 and I must take him away now. Another time yoii 
 can tell us all about it. Edgar, fancy, it is nearly 
 twelve o'clock." 
 
 " It is so nice of you to come and chatter to me," 
 said tlie invalid. She was a little fatigued by the 
 conversation, the burden of which she had taken on 
 herself — by Edgar's (supposed) difficulties about the 
 wives, and by that reference to Mr. Templeton of 
 the Royal Navy. "You may send old Mercy to 
 me," she said with a sigh as she kissed Clare ; for old 
 Mercy was the tyrant whom Miss Somers most 
 dreaded in the world. It was a sad change from the 
 presence of the young people to see that despot come 
 into the room, in the calm confidence of power. 
 " Now, lie down a bit, do, and rest yoursel'," Mercy 
 said, peremptorily, "or we'll have a nice restless night 
 along o' this, and the Doctor as cross as cross. Lie 
 down and rest, do." 
 
 Meanwhile the brother and sister went downstairs, 
 she relieved, he much softened, and full of a tender 
 compassion. " If that would do her any good, you 
 and I might take lier to the German baths some
 
 SQUIRE ARDEX. .53 
 
 day," said the soft-lieailed Edgar, "if slie is able 
 to ixo. Such a restless Uttle bein^j as she was, it 
 is hard to see her l^dng there." 
 
 " I hope I am not hard-hearted," said Clare, " but 
 I think she is very well where she is. It is not as 
 if she suffered much. We have lost almost an hour 
 with her chatter. We shall never get back in time 
 for luncheon if we talk to other people as long." 
 
 " But there are not many other people like IVIiss 
 Somers," said Edgar, Avith a passing shade of gravity. 
 He in his turn was giieved now and then by some- 
 thing Clare did or said. But in a few minutes they 
 returned to theii' interrupted stream of talk, and 
 began to discuss the village, and the plans for the 
 new cottaojes, and the enlarcrement of the schools, 
 and the restoration of the Church, and many other 
 matters of detail. The two went from house to 
 house, the village gradually becoming aware of 
 them, and turning out to all the doors and the 
 Avdnclows. The women stopped in theii' cooking 
 and the men, jogging home for their early dinners, 
 ranked themselves in rows here and there, and 
 stood and gaped; the childi-en formed themselves 
 into little groups, and looked on awestricken. Such 
 was Edgar's first entry as master into the hereditary 
 A'illage. He made himself very " nice " to all the 
 bystanders, and was as cordial as if he had been
 
 54 SQUIRE ARDEN. 
 
 canvassing for their votes, Clare thought, who stood 
 by in her position as domestic critic, and noted every- 
 thing'. It was odd to see what trifles he remembered, 
 and what a memory he had for names and places. 
 If he had been canvassing he could not have been 
 more ingratiating, more full of that grace of universal 
 courtesy which, in a general way, is only manifest 
 at such times. And yet, it was not as a candidate for 
 their favour, but as their sworn hereditary sovereign, 
 that he came among them. Clare, her mind already 
 in a tumult with all the events and all the talk of 
 the morning, could not but acknowledge to herself 
 that it was very strange.
 
 SQUIRE ARDEX. 55 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 EdC4AR Ardex had lived liitlierto, as we have said, 
 a very desultoiy wandering sort of life. He had 
 been at school in GeiTQany during his earlier 3'ears, 
 and aftei^vards at Heidelberg, at the University, 
 where he had seen a great many Enghsh afar off*, 
 and vaguely found out the difference between their 
 training and ways of thinking and those in which 
 he had himself been brought up. AMien he had 
 fii'st come to the age when a boy begins to inquire 
 into his own position, and when it no longer be- 
 comes possible to take ever^^thing for gi^anted, he 
 had been told first that it was for his health that he 
 had been sent away from home ; and when he had 
 fully satisfied himself that his health could no longer 
 be the reason, other causes had been suggested to 
 him equally unsatisfactoiy. It was his father who 
 was in bad health, and could not be troubled with a 
 lively boy about him ; but then there were schools 
 in England as well as in Gennany, which would 
 have settled that matter : or the German education
 
 56 SQUIRE AllDEN. 
 
 was superior, which was a theoiy his tutor strongly 
 inclined to, but which did not seem to Edgar's lively 
 young intelligence quite justified by the opinion 
 visibly entertained by the English travellers whom 
 he met. His first visit to England, after he was old 
 enough to understand, made matters a great deal 
 more clear to him. Injustice and dislike are hard 
 to conceal from a young mind, even under the most 
 specious disguises — and here no disguise was at- 
 tempted. The Squire received his boy with a cold- 
 ness which chilled him to the heart, saw as little of 
 him as he possibly could, endured his presence with 
 undisguised reluctance, and made it quite apparent 
 to poor Edgar that, unlike all the other sons he had 
 ever seen in his life, he was only a vexation and 
 trouble to his father. The fact that his father was 
 his enemy dawned vaguely upon him at a much 
 later period; for it is hard in extreme youth to 
 think that one has an enemy. A vague sense of 
 being hustled into corners, and shut out of the life 
 of the family, such as it was, had been the cloud 
 upon his earlier days. He had felt that only in 
 Clare's nursery did he hold that position of chief 
 and favourite to which surely the only son of the 
 house was entitled. And little Clare accordingly 
 became the one bright spot in the house which he 
 still by instinct called home.
 
 SQUIRE AEDEX. o7 
 
 He had returned when he was seventeen, and 
 again after he came of age — though not to be 
 received Avith any rejoicings at that later period, 
 as became the bii-thday of the heir. His birth- 
 day was over when he came home, and Clare, a 
 gii'l of sixteen, thrust her little fiu-tive present into 
 his hand with a full sense that her brother was 
 not to the Squire what he was to her. But at 
 this period something occurred which enlightened 
 Edgar as to his father's feelings towards himself 
 in the cruellest way ; it enlightened him and yet it 
 threw a confusion darker than ever over his life. 
 The day after his arrival ^Ir. Arden sent for 
 him, and elaborately explained to him that he 
 wished for his aid in breaking the entail of certain 
 estates, of which the young man knew notliing. It 
 was the longest interview that had ever taken place 
 between the two ; and the Squire made veiy full 
 explanations, the meaning of wdiich was but indis- 
 tinct to the youth. Edgar had all the impatient 
 and reckless generosity which so often accompanies 
 a buoyant temperament ; liis sense of the sweets of 
 property was small ; and he knew next to nothing 
 about the estates. Had he kno^^Ti much there is little 
 doubt that he would have done exactly as he did; but, 
 however, he had not even that safeguard ; and the 
 consequence was that he took his father's word at
 
 58 SQUIRE ARDEN. 
 
 once, responded eagerly and promptly to the pro- 
 posal, and gave his consent to denude himself of 
 the property which had been longest in the family, 
 the little estate from which the name of Arden first 
 came, and which every Arden acquainted with his 
 family history most highly prized. Edgar, howevei-, 
 knew very little about his family history ; and with 
 the foolish disinterestedness of a boy he acquiesced 
 in all his father suggested. But after the necessarj^ 
 arrangements in respect to this were concluded Edgar 
 caught a glance from his father's eye which went to 
 his heart like an arrow. It was in the hunting- 
 field, where, untrained as he was, he had acquitted 
 himself tolerably well; and he was just about to 
 take a somewhat risky fence when he saw that look 
 which he never forgot. The Squire had reined in 
 his own horse, and sat like a bronze figure under a 
 tree watching his son. And as plain as eyes could 
 tell Edgar read in his father's look a suppressed 
 inappeasable enmity, which it was impossible to 
 mistake; his father was watching intently for the 
 spring — was it possible he was hoping that a fall 
 would follow ? How it was that Edgar got over 
 the fence he never could tell ; for to his hopeful, all- 
 believing temper such a sudden glimpse into the 
 darkness was like a paralysing blow. He kept 
 steady on his saddle, and somehow, without any
 
 SQUIEE ARDEX. 59> 
 
 conscious guidance on his part, the horse ac- 
 complished the leap; but Edgar turned straight 
 back, and went home with such a sense of misery 
 as he liad never experienced before. He was too 
 wretched to understand the calls sent after him — 
 the questions ^\T.th which he was assailed. He 
 could not even reply to Clare's wondering inquiries. 
 His father hated him — that was the discovery he 
 had made. To suspect that anybody hated him 
 would have given Edgar a shock ; but to know it 
 beyond all doubt, and to feel that it was his father 
 who regarded him with such fierce enmity, made 
 his very heart sink within him. He went away 
 next day, giving no explanation of his desire to do 
 so. Nor did the Squire make any inquiries. It 
 was a mutual relief to them to be free of each other. 
 Before his departure his father informed him that 
 he would henceforward receive a much more liberal 
 allowance — an intimation which Edgar received 
 without thinking what it meant — without caring 
 what sense was in the words. And that was the 
 last he had seen of the Squire. Nobody but him- 
 self knew of this incident. It was notliing — an 
 impression — a fancy ; but in all Edgar's life nothing 
 had happened that was so bitter to him. The eflfect 
 had not lasted, for his mind was essentially elastic, 
 and he was young, and free to amuse himself as he-
 
 CO SQUIRE ARDEN. 
 
 would. Fortunately, the kind of amusements he 
 preferred were innocent ones ; for he had no guide, 
 no one to control or restrain him, and not even the 
 shadow of parental authority. His father hated 
 him — a horrible freedom was his inheritance — no- 
 body cared if he were to die the next day — nay, on 
 the contrary, there was some one who would be 
 glad. 
 
 This impression, which had been swept out of 
 his mind by years and changes, came back upon 
 him with singular force as all at once his eye fell 
 on the great portrait of old Squire Arden, painted 
 when he was Master of the Hounds, in sporting 
 costume, which hung in the hall. He stopped short 
 before it as he went in with his sister on the first 
 day of his return, and felt a shudder come over 
 him. Perhaps it was the costume and attitude 
 which moved his memory; but there seemed to 
 lurk in his father's face, as he entered the house of 
 which that father had been unable to deprive him, 
 the same look which once had fallen upon him hke 
 a curse. He stopped short and grew pale, in 
 spite of all his attempts to control himself " Would 
 you think it cruel, Clare," he said suddenly in his 
 impulsive way, "if I were to ask you to transfer 
 that portrait to some other place ? It has a painful 
 effect upon me there."
 
 SQUIRE ARDEX. (jl 
 
 "This is your house, Edgar," answered Clai-e. 
 On this point her sweetness abandoned her. She 
 knew he had been badly used ; but she knew at the 
 same time that her father had been all love and 
 kindness to herself. Therefore, as was natural, Miss 
 Arden took it for gi'anted that somehow it must be 
 Edgar's fault. 
 
 "That is not the question," he said. "I can 
 understand by my own what your feelings must be 
 on the subject. But it cannot harm him to remove 
 it, and it doQg harm me to have it stay. If you will 
 make this sacrifice to me, Clare " 
 
 " Edgar, I tell you this is your house," she said, 
 with the tears nishing to her eyes ; and ran in and 
 left him there, in a sudden passion of gi'ief and 
 anger. Her brother, left alone, looked somewhat 
 sadly round him. He was veiy destitute of those 
 impulses of self-assertion which come so naturally to 
 most young men; on the contrar^^, liis impulse was to 
 jdeld when the feeling of anyone he loved ran 
 contrary to his own: he was a little soiTowful at 
 Clare's want of sjTnpathy, but it did not move him 
 to act as ma.ster. " What harm can it do me now ? '* 
 he said, going up and looking closely at the portrait. 
 It came natural to him to reason himself out of his 
 own fancies, and to give place to those of others. 
 "It would be wounding her only to satisfy my
 
 62 SQUIRE ARDEN. 
 
 caprice," he added after a while ; " and why should 
 I be indulged in everything, I should like to know ? " 
 Poor boy ! up to this moment he had never been 
 indulged in anything all his life. He stayed a long 
 time in the hall, now walking about it, now standing 
 before the portrait. It haunted him so that he felt 
 obliged to face it, and defy the look ; and he could 
 not but think with a sigh what a comfort it would 
 be to get quit of it, to take it down and turn it 
 somewhere with its face to the wall. But then he 
 I'emembered that though he was the master he was 
 more a stranger in the house than aiiy servant it 
 contained; and what right had he to cross his 
 sister, and go in the face of every tradition, and 
 oiFend every soul in the place, by taking down that 
 picture, which looked malevolent to nobody but him ? 
 " God forgive you ! " he said at last, shaking his 
 head at it sorrowfully as he went slowly upstairs. 
 He could not feel himself free or safe so long as it 
 remained there. If anything happened to him — 
 supposing, for instance (this grim idea crossed his 
 mind in spite of himself) — supposing it might ever 
 happen that he should be carried into that hall, 
 wounded or mangled by any accident, would the 
 painted face smile at him, would the eyes gleam 
 with a horrible joy ? And it was his father's face. 
 Edgar shuddered, he could not help it, as he went
 
 SQUIRE ARDEX. 63 
 
 slowly up the great stairs. As he went up, some 
 one else was coming doA\^i, making a gleam of 
 reflection in the still air. It was old Sarah, \\ith 
 her white apron, making a cui-tsey at eveiy step, 
 and finding that mode of progress difficult. Edgar's 
 mobile countenance dressed itself all in smiles at the 
 appearance of this old woman. Clare would have 
 thought it strange, but it came natui-al to her brother ; 
 though, perhaps, on the whole, it was Clare, her own 
 special charga and nui'sling, who was most fond of 
 old Sarali, ^ indeed, it became her to be. 
 
 " Have you been waiting for us ? " he said. 
 " My sister has gone to look for you, I suppose." 
 
 " Not gone to look for me, Mr. Edgar," said Sarah, 
 petulantly ; " run upstairs in one of her tantrums, as 
 I have seen her many a day. YouTl have to keep 
 her a bit in hand, now you've come home, 3klr. 
 Edgar." 
 
 " / keep her in hand ! " cried Edgar, struck with 
 the extreme absurdity of the suggestion ; and then 
 he tried hard to look severe, and added — " My dear 
 old Sarah, you must recollect who ^liss Arden is, 
 and take care what you say." 
 
 " There's ne'er a one knows better who she is," 
 said old Sarah, " she's my child, and my jewel, and 
 the darHn' of my heart. But, nevertheless, she's an 
 Arden, Mr. Edgar. All the Ardenses as ever was
 
 64 SQUIRE ARDEX. 
 
 has got tempers — exce2)t you ; and for her OAvn good, 
 the dear, you should keep her a bit in hand ; and if 
 you say it was her old nurse told you, as loves her 
 dearly, it wouldn't do no harm," 
 
 " Am I the only Arden without a temper ? " said 
 Edgar, gaily ; " it's odd how I want everything that 
 an Arden ought to have. But my sister is queen at 
 Arden, Sarah ; always has been ; and most likely 
 always will be." 
 
 " Lord bless you, sir, wait till you get married," 
 said Sarah, nodding her head again anS again, and 
 beaming at the prospect. " Eh ! I'd like to live to 
 see that day ! " 
 
 " It will be a long day first," said Edgar, with a 
 laugh, meaning nothing but a young man's half- 
 mocking, half-serious denial of the coming romance 
 of his existence ; " though I promise you, Sarah, you 
 shall dance at my wedding — but at Clare's first, 
 which is the proper arrangement, you know." 
 
 "If he was a good gentleman. Sir, and one as 
 was fond of her, I shouldn't care how soon it was," 
 she said. " Eh, my word, but I'll dance till I dance 
 you all off the floor ! " 
 
 "But you must not go without something to 
 remind you of your first visit to us," he said ; and 
 he took out his purse from his pocket with the 
 lavish liberality of his disposition. " Look, there is
 
 SQUIRE ARDEN. 65 
 
 not veiy much in it. Buy something you like, Sarah, 
 and say to yourself that it is given you by me." 
 
 " No, Mi\ Edgar ; no, Sir. Oh, good Lord, not a 
 purse full of money, as if that was all I was think- 
 ing of! I didn't come here, not for money, but to 
 see 3kliss Clare and you." 
 
 "It is because it is your fii'st ^'isit to us," 
 repeated Edgar, and he gave her a kind nod, and 
 went Hghtty past to his rooms. All his gloomy 
 thoughts and superstitions had been driven out of 
 his mind by this momentary encounter. His light 
 heart had risen agam hke a ball of feathers. The 
 glooms and griefs that lay in his past he shook off 
 from him as lightly as thistledown. He thought no 
 more of his father's gi'im face in the hall — did not 
 even look at it when he went downstairs. Was it 
 that his mind was a light mind, easily blown about 
 by any wind ? or that God had given him that pre- 
 servative which He gives to those whom He has 
 destined to bear much in this world ? At so early 
 a moment, when his life lay all vague before him, this 
 was a question which nobody could answer. There 
 was one indication, however, that his elasticity was 
 strength rather than weakness, which was this — 
 that he had not forgotten what had moved him so 
 strongly, but was able, his sunny nature helping 
 him, to put it away. 
 
 VOL. I. F
 
 ^Q SQUIRE AEDEN. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 The first day at Arden had been play ; the second, 
 work began again, and the new life which was so 
 unfamiliar to the young Squire came pouring in 
 up©n him like a tide. In the morning he had an 
 appointment with the family solicitor, who was 
 coming, full of business, to lay his affairs before 
 him, and to inaugurate his curiously changed exist- 
 ence. In the evening, his old friends in the village 
 were coming to dine with this equally old friend, 
 and Edgar felt that he would, without doubt, have 
 a great deal of good advice to encounter, and pro- 
 bably many reminiscences which would not be 
 pleasant to hear. None of these very old friends 
 knew in the least the character of the young man 
 with whom they had to do. They saw, as every- 
 body did, his light-heartedness, his cheerful oblivion 
 of all the wrongs of the past, and quiet commence- 
 ment of his new career ; but they did not know nor 
 suspect the thorns that past had left in his mind — 
 the haunting horror of his father's look, the aching
 
 SQUIRE ARDEN. G7 
 
 wonder as to the meanincf of treatment so extra- 
 ordinary, which had never left him since he caught 
 that glance, coupled with a strange consciousness 
 that some time or other he must find out the secret 
 of tliis unnatui'al enmity. Edgar, though he was so 
 buoyant as almost to appear deficient in feeling to 
 the careless observer, kept this thought lying deep 
 down in his heart. He would find it out some 
 time, whatever it was; and though he could not 
 frame to himself the remotest idea what it was, he 
 felt and knew that the discovery, when it came, 
 would be such as to embitter if not to change his 
 whole existence. No one had any clue to the cause 
 of the Squire's behaviour to his son. To Clare it 
 had seemed little more than a preference for herself, 
 which was cruel to her brother, as shutting him out 
 from his just share in his father's heart, but not of 
 any great importance otherwise; and at least one 
 of the theories entertained on the subject outside 
 the house of Ai'den was such as could not be 
 named to the heir. Therefore, he had not a single 
 gleam from A^dthout to assist liim in resolving this 
 great question; yet he felt in the depths of his 
 heart that some time or other it would be resolved, 
 and that the illumination, when it came, could not 
 but bring gTief and trouble in its train. 
 
 " I never saw this Mr. Fazakerley," he said, as
 
 68 SQUIRE ARDEN. 
 
 Clare and lie sat alone over their breakfast on that 
 second morning. Already it had become natural to 
 him to be the master of the great house, of all those 
 silent servants, the centre of a life so unlike any- 
 thing that he had known. His mind was very 
 rapid, went quickly over the preliminary stages, and 
 accustomed itself to a hundred novelties, while a 
 slower fancy would but have been having its first 
 gaze at them ; but the absolutely New startled him 
 to a greater degree than it ever could have startled 
 a more leisurely imagination. " I don't know him a 
 bit," he repeated, with a half laugh, in which there 
 was more nervousness than amusement. "What 
 sort of a man is he ? I always like to know " 
 
 " Mr. Fazakerley ! " said Clare, with a soft echo 
 of wonder, " why, all the Ardens have known all the 
 Fazakerleys from their cradles. He must have had 
 you on his knee a hundred times, as I am sure he 
 had me." 
 
 " I don't think so," said Edgar, suppressing, be- 
 cause of the servants, any other question, " or, if I 
 ever saw him I have forgotten. Why must we have 
 business breaking in upon us at every turn ? I am 
 afraid I like play." 
 
 "I am afraid you have had too much play," 
 Clare said, looking at him witli those eyes of young- 
 wisdom, utterly without experience, which look so
 
 SQUIKE ARDEX. 69 
 
 soft yet judge so hardly; "but, Edgar, you must 
 remember you are not a wanderer now. You have 
 begun serious life." 
 
 " I wonder if life is as serious as you are, Clare," 
 he said, looking at her with that half-tender, half 
 mocking look, which Clare did not quite understand 
 nor like; "or whether this lawyer and his gTeen bag 
 will be half as alarming as those looks of yours. I 
 may satisfy him ; but I fear I shall never come up 
 to your mark." 
 
 " Don't speak so, please," said Clare. " Why 
 shouldn't you come up to my mark ? I like a man 
 to be very high-minded and generous, and that you 
 are, Edgar; but then I like people to have proper 
 pride, and beheve in their own position, and feel its 
 duties. That is all — and I like people to be English 
 
 , and it would be so nice to think you were 
 
 going to show yourself a true Arden, in spite of 
 everything." This was said at a fortunate moment, 
 when Wilkins, the butler, was at the very other end 
 of the gi'eat room, fetching something from the side- 
 board, and could not hear. She leant across the 
 table hastily, before the man turned round, and 
 added, in a hurried tone, " Don't discuss such things 
 before the servants, Edgar ; they listen to everything 
 we say." 
 
 " I forgot," he said ; " I never had servants before
 
 70 SQUIRE ARDEN. 
 
 who knew Eno-lisli. You don't recollect that English 
 has always been a grand foreign language to me." 
 
 " The more's the pity ! " said Clare, with a deep 
 sigh. This sentiment made her beautiful face so 
 long, and drooped the corners of her mouth so sadly, 
 that her brother laughed in spite of himself 
 
 " But it is possible to live out of England for all 
 that," he said ; " and I know people in Germany that 
 would have the deepest sympathy with you. The 
 Yon Dummkopfs think just the same of themselves 
 as the Ardens do, and look down just as much upon 
 outsiders. I wonder how you would like the 
 Fraulein Ida ? They have twenty quarterings in 
 their arms, and blood that has been filtered through 
 all the veins worth speaking of in Germany for ever 
 so many centuries ; but then the Yon Dummkopfs 
 are not so rich as we are, Clare." 
 
 " As if I ever thought of that I" she said. " Who 
 is Fraulein Ida ? I have no doubt I shall like her — 
 if she is nice. But, Edgar, though I would not say 
 a word against your German friends, it would be so 
 much nicer if you would marry an English girl. I 
 should be able to love her so much more." 
 
 " Softly," said Edgar ; " don't go so fast, please. 
 I have not the least intention of marrying any one ; 
 and I don't admire the Fraulein Ida. I want no- 
 body but my sister, as long as she will keep faithful
 
 SQUIRE ARDEX. 71 
 
 to me. Let us have the good of each other fur a 
 little now, without any one to interfere." 
 
 "Edgar, no one can interfere," said Clare hur- 
 riedly. "Now that man is gone, oh, Edgar! I 
 must say one word for poor papa. I know he was 
 hard upon you, dear; but he never interfered — 
 never said a word — never tried to keep me from 
 loving you. Indeed, indeed, he never did ! I know 
 I was cross yesterday aboiit that picture. If you 
 don't like it, it shall come down; it is only right 
 it should come down. But oh, Edgar, he was so 
 kind, he was so good to me ! " 
 
 Edgar had risen before the words were half said, 
 and stood by her, holding her tenderly in his arms. 
 " My dear Httle sister ! " he said, " you have always 
 been the one star I had to cheer me. You shall 
 hang aU the house with his pictiu^e if you like. I 
 forgive him all my giievances because he was good 
 to you. But, Clare, he hated me." 
 
 "No, Edgar, not hated," cried Clare, raising to 
 him her weeping face. "Oh, not hated; but he 
 loved mamma so, and you were so like her, he never 
 could bear^ " 
 
 Her voice faltered as she spoke. It was all she 
 could say, but she did not believe it. As for Edgar, 
 he shook his head with a smile that was half bitter 
 half sad.
 
 7Z SQUIRE ARDEX 
 
 "I know better," he said; "but it is a ques- 
 tion we need not discuss. Believe the gentle 
 
 o 
 
 fiction, dear, if you can. But I will never say a 
 word again about any picture. Let it be. It would 
 be hard if your brother could not put up with any- 
 thing that was dear to you. Now tell me about Mr. 
 Fazakerley, and what he is going to say." 
 
 "Edgar, it all belongs to the same subject," said 
 Clare, drying her eyes. "I am glad you have 
 spoken. I should not have had the courage to 
 begin. There is something about the Old Arden 
 estate; they told me, but I would not listen to 
 them — would not hear anything about it till you 
 came back. They said it was your doing as well as 
 his ; I don't understand how that can be. They 
 said you wanted it to be settled on me ; but why, 
 Edgar, should it be settled on me ? It is neither 
 right nor natural," said Clare, her blue eyes lighting 
 up, though tears still hung upon the eyelashes. 
 "" Arden, that gave us our name — that was the very 
 beginning of the race — why should you wish to give 
 it to me ? " 
 
 " Is it given to you ! " said Edgar, with a certain 
 sense of bewilderment creeping over him. " I am 
 afraid I have been like you^ — I have not understood, 
 nor thought on the subject indeed for that matter. 
 There was somethino^ about breakinoj the entail
 
 SQUIRE ARDEX. 73 
 
 between him and lue ; but I did not imderstand 
 anything about it. I never knew — Clare, I can't 
 make it out," he said, suddenly sitting down and 
 gazing at her. " Why did he hate me ? " 
 
 Then they looked at each other without a word. 
 Clare's gi'eat blue eyes, dilated with grief and won- 
 der, and two big tears which filled them to over- 
 tloAving, were fixed upon her brother's face. But 
 she had no elucidation to give. She only put out 
 lier hands to him, and took his, and held it close, 
 with that instinctive impulse to tender touch and 
 contact which is moi-e than words. She followed 
 her brother with her eyes while he faced this new 
 wonder. " Well," he was sa^^ing to himself, " of 
 course you must have known he meant something 
 by breaking the entail. Of course it was not for 
 your sake he did it. What could it be for ? You 
 never asked — never thought. Of com'se it could 
 only be to take it from you. And why not give it 
 to Clare ? If not to you, of course it must go to 
 Clare ; and but for that she could not have had it. 
 It is very well that it should be so. It is best ; is 
 it not best ? " Thus he reasoned according to his 
 nature, while Clare sat watching him wdth wistful 
 dilated eyes. While he calmed himself down she 
 was rousing herself Her agitation rose to the 
 intolerable pitch, while his was slowly coming down
 
 74 SQUIRE ARDEN. 
 
 to moderation and composure. The sudden cloud 
 floated away from him, and the light came back to 
 his eyes. "I begin to see it," he said slowly. 
 " Don't be vexed, Clare, that I did not see it all at 
 once. It is not that I grudge you anything; he 
 might have given you all, and I don't think I should 
 have grudged it. It is the mistrust^ — the prefer- 
 ence. It is so strange. One wonders what it can 
 mean." 
 
 " Yes," said Clare, impulsively, " I wonder too. 
 But, more than that, Edgar; you did not know — you 
 did it in ignorance ; and I will never, never, take 
 advantage of that ! I was bewildered at first ; but 
 it is your right, and I will never take it from 
 jxyu " 
 
 Then it was he, Avho had been robbed of his 
 birthright, who had to exert himself to reconcile her 
 to his loss. " Nay, that is nonsense," he said. " It 
 is done, and it cannot be done over again. The will 
 must not be interfered with : it is my business to 
 see to that. No, Clare ; don't try to make me do 
 wrong. Nothing we can say will change it, nor 
 anything you can do either. What has been given 
 you is yours, and yours it must remain." 
 
 " But I will not accept it," said Clare ; " I will 
 give it all back the moment I come of age. 
 What ! rob you and your children, Edgar — all the
 
 SQUIRE ARDEN. 75 
 
 Arclens that may come after you ! That is what I 
 will never do." 
 
 " It is time enough to think of the Ai'dens who 
 may come after me," said Edgar, ^vith an attempt at 
 a laugh. But Clare was not to be pacified so easily. 
 He di'ew closer to her side, and sat down by 
 her, and took her hand, and spoke softly in her 
 ear, arguing it out as if the question had not been 
 a personal one. " It startled me at first," he said ; 
 " it was strange, very strange, that he should think 
 of taking this, as you say, Clare, not only from me, 
 but from all the Ardens to come ; but then you were 
 the dearest to him, and that was quite natural. And 
 it must have been my fault that he did not teU me. 
 I never asked any questions about it — never thouglit 
 of inquh'ing. He must have taken me for a kind of 
 Esau, careless of what was going to happen. If I had 
 shown a httle more interest, no doubt he would have 
 told me. Of course, he must have felt it would have 
 been for your advantage had I known all about it, and 
 been able to stand by you. I am so glad you have 
 told me now. You may be sure he would have done 
 so had I behaved myself properly. So, you see, it 
 was my fault, Clare. I must have been ungracious, 
 boorish, indifferent. It is clear it was my fault." 
 
 "Mr. Fazakerley, sir, is in the library," said 
 Wilkins, opening the door. Tliere was a certain
 
 76 SQUIRE ARDEN. 
 
 breath of agitation in the air about the two young 
 people which the servants had scented out ; and the 
 eager eyes of Wilkins expressed not only his own 
 curiosity, but that of the household in general. 
 *' He was a patting of her and a smoothing of her 
 down," was the butler's report downstairs, " and 
 Miss Clare in one of her ways. I daresay they have 
 quarrelled already, for she is her father's daughter, 
 is Miss Clare." The brother and sister were quite 
 unconscious of this comment ; but though they had 
 not quarrelled, the conflict of feeling had risen so high 
 that Mr. Fazakerley's arrival was a relief to both. " I 
 must go and see him," Edgar said, loosing his sister's 
 hand, and laying his own tenderly upon her bowed 
 head. " Don't let it trouble you so much. You will 
 see it as I do when you think of it rightly, Clare." 
 
 " Never ! " Clare cried among her tears. Edgar 
 shook his head, with a soft smile, as he went away. 
 Of course, she would come to see it. Reason and 
 simple sense must gain the day at last. So he 
 thought, feeling perfectly persuaded that such were 
 his own leading principles — calm reason and sober 
 sense. Edgar rather prided himself upon their 
 possession ; and thus fortified with a conviction of 
 Avhat were the leading characteristics of his own 
 mind, went to meet the family lawyer, and hear all 
 about it in a sober and business-like way.
 
 SQUIRE ARDEN. li 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 ]Mr. Fazakerley was a little brown man, \dt\\ a 
 vdg — a man who might have appeared on any stage 
 as the conventional tjq^e of a crafty soKcitor. He 
 was \QTj much like a fox, with little keen red-brown 
 eyes, and whiskers which vv^ere giizzled, yet still 
 retained the reddish colour of youth. His ^\dg, too, 
 was reddish-brown, and might have been made out 
 of a foxskin, so time was it to the colour and textui'e 
 of that t}^ical animal. As may be divined from the 
 fact of his outwar<l appearance, he was not in the 
 very least like a fox or a conventional solicitor, but 
 was a good, little, kind, respectable sort of man, 
 chiefly distinguished for his knowledge of Lancashire 
 famihes — their intemiarriages, and the di^^ision of 
 their properties and value of theii* land ; on which 
 points he was an infalUble guide. He came forward 
 to meet the young Squu-e with both his hands ex- 
 tended, and a smile beaming out of every wrinkle of 
 his brown face. "Welcome home, ^Ii'. Edgar," he 
 said ; " welcome home, welcome to your own house,'*
 
 78 SQUIRE ARDEN. 
 
 with a warmth and effusion which betrayed that 
 there was more than the usual occasion for such a 
 welcome. He shook the young man's hand so long, 
 and so energetically, swaying it between both of his, 
 that Edgar felt as if it must come off. " You don't 
 remember me, I can see," said Mr. Fazakerley. " I 
 never happened to be at home while you were at 
 Arden ; but I know you well, and how nobly you 
 have behaved. So you must think of me as your 
 old friend, and one always ready to serve you — 
 me and everybody belonging to me — you must 
 indeed." 
 
 "Thanks," said Edgar, taken by surprise; "a 
 thousand thanks. I never knew how rich I was in 
 friends till now. Clare has just been telling me I 
 ought to have known you all my life." 
 
 " So you ought, and so you should, but for — ah 
 — circumstances, Mr. Edgar," said the lawyer, " cir- 
 cumstances of a painful character — over which we 
 had no control. Miss Clare said that, did she ? 
 And quite right too. Your sister is a very sweet 
 young lady, Mr. Edgar. You may be proud of her. 
 I don't know her equal in Lancashire, and that is 
 saying a great deal, for we are proud of our Lanca- 
 shire witches. I have two daughters of my own, 
 pretty girls enough, and I am very proud of them, I 
 can tell you; but I don't pretend that they come
 
 SQUIRE ARDEX. / 1) 
 
 within a hundred miles of IMiss Ai'den. You must 
 not think me an impudent old fellow to talk of 
 her so, 'for, as she says, I have known her all her 
 hfe." . ^. 
 
 In this way Mr^S^s^erley chatted on, doing, as 
 it were, the honoui's of his own house to Edgar, 
 inviting him to sit" dots^f ^nd gradually beginning 
 to arrange before him on the table a mass of papers. 
 Then he changed the subject ; gave up Clare, whose 
 trumpet he had blo^vn for about half-an-hour ; and 
 began a disquisition upon " your worthy father," at 
 which Edgar winced. And yet there was nothing 
 in it to hurt him ; it was not full of inferences which 
 he could not understand, like the sayings of ^h\ 
 Fielding and Dr. Somers. It had not a hidden 
 meaning, like so much that Clare said on the same 
 subject. IVIr. Fazakerley was in his way very 
 straightforward. "I won't attempt to disguise 
 either from myself or from you that there was 
 much in his conduct that was very extraordinary," 
 said the lawyer, " very extraordinary — so much so, 
 that monomania is the only word that occui\s to 
 me. Monomania — that is the only explanation, and 
 I don't know that it is a satisfactory explanation ; 
 but it is the best we can make. We need not enter 
 into that matter, Mr. Edgar, for it is very unin- 
 telligible ; but the question is — Why did you give
 
 80 SQUIRE APvDEX. 
 
 in to any arrangement about breaking the entail 
 without my advice ? " 
 
 " I did what my father wished me to do," said 
 Edgar, with a deep colour rising over his face. " It 
 appeared to me that in so doing I could not but be 
 right." 
 
 " You were very wrong, Mr. Edgar," said the 
 lawyer. " What ! rob your children because it 
 pleased your father! Your father was a very 
 worthy man — an excellent landlord — a good 
 staunch Tory — everything a country gentleman 
 need wish to be ; but he was only one of the 
 family, Mr. Edgar, only the head of it in his time, 
 as your son will be. You had no more right to 
 consult the one than the other. I don't want to 
 hurt your feelings, but you were wrong." 
 
 " My son is not born yet, nor, so far as I can see, 
 any chance of him," said Edgar, laughing, "so he 
 could scarcely be consulted." 
 
 "That is all very well," said Mr. Fazakerley,, 
 bending over his papers. "I do not object to a 
 laugh ; but at the same time it was very foolish, 
 and worse than foolish — wrong. I don't blame 
 you so much, for of course you were taught to be 
 generous, and magnanimous, and all that ; but your 
 worthy father, Mr. Edgar, your worthy father — it 
 was more than wrong."
 
 SQUIRE ARDEN. 81 
 
 'Mr. Fazakerley shook his head for at least five 
 minutes while he repeated these words ; but Edgar 
 made no reply. If he could have found the shadow 
 of an excuse for the old Squii*e, or even perhaps if 
 it had not been for that look which he remembered 
 so distinctly, he would have said something in his 
 defence. But his mouth was closed, and he could 
 not reply. 
 
 " If it had been any other part of the estate, or 
 if Miss Clare had not been well provided for already, 
 I could have understood it," the lawyer continued ; 
 "but she is very well provided for. Monomania, Su", 
 it could be nothing but monomania ; and to give up 
 Old Arden was quite inconceivable — permit me to 
 say it, Mr. Edgar — on your part." 
 
 '' I did not know much about old Ai'den," said 
 Edgar, shyly putting forth this excuse for himself, 
 almost with a blush. It was not his fault ; but he 
 looked much as if it had been a voluntary abandon- 
 ment of his duty. 
 
 " The more shame to — ah," said ^Ii\ Fazakerley, 
 ^^dth a frown, feelinc^ that his zeal had led him too 
 far; and then he paused, and coughed, and recovered 
 himself " The thing to be done now is to set it 
 right as far as possible," he went on. " We may be 
 quite sure that ]Miss Clare, as soon as she knows of 
 it, will be but too eager to aid us. She is only a 
 VOL. I. G
 
 82 SQUIRE ARDEN. 
 
 girl, but she has a fine spirit, and hates injustice. 
 What I would suggest to you would be to effect an 
 exchange. Old Arden lies in the very centre of the 
 property, besides being the oldest part of it, and all 
 that. I don't insist upon the sentimental reasons ; 
 but the inconvenience would be immense — especially 
 when Miss Clare marries, as of coarse she will soon 
 do. I advise you to offer her an equal portion, by 
 valuation, of some other part of the estate — say the 
 land between this and Liverpool — which she could 
 make untold wealth of " 
 
 " I don't think we must interfere with the exist- 
 ing arrangement," said Edgar. "Pray don't think 
 of it. My father must have had some reason. I 
 can't divine it, nor perhaps any one; but some 
 reason he must have had." 
 
 " Reason — nonsense ! Caprice, monomania," said 
 Mr. Fazakerley, getting excited. " That was the 
 reason. He indulged himself so that at the last 
 every impulse became* irresistible. That is my 
 theory. I don't ask you to accept it, but it is my 
 way of explaining the matter. One day or other he 
 looked at Miss Clare, and perceived how like she 
 was to the family portraits (she is an Arden all 
 over, and you are like your mother's family), and 
 he said to himself, no doubt, ' Old Arden must be 
 hers.' Some such train of ideas must have passed
 
 SQUIRE ARDEN. 83 
 
 thi'ough his mind. And nobody ever opposed 
 him. You did not oppose him, not knowing any 
 better. He had come to take it for gi^anted that 
 he must have his own way. It is very bad for a 
 man, Mr. Edgar, to have eveiy thing his own way. 
 It led your worthy father on to a great piece of 
 injustice and even folly. But, now that the time 
 has come when the folly of it is apparent — if 
 we give her acre for acre of the land near Liver- 
 pool " 
 
 " Wh.j should you take so much trouble ? " said 
 Edgar. " K such was liis desii^e, it is my duty to 
 -ee it canied out. And I do not insist on the com- 
 pactness of the property. Why should I ? I who 
 am the one who knows least about it. If this 
 di\T.sion pleased my father " 
 
 " Tut, tut," said the lawyer, " pleased a man who 
 was a monomaniac and had a fixed idea ! I had 
 formed a higher opinion of your good sense and 
 judgment ; but to stand out for a piece of nonsense 
 like this ! Miss Clare herself would be the first to 
 >ay otherwise. When dead men do justly and 
 \visely by those they leave behind them, I am not 
 the man ever to interfere. I hold a will sacred, Mr. 
 Edgar, within fit bounds ; but when a dead man's 
 will wrongs the living " 
 
 "He is dead, and cannot stand up for it," said
 
 84 SQUIRE ARDEN. 
 
 Edgar, who was very pale ; " and it was his own to 
 do as he liked." 
 
 "There's the fallacy," cried Mr. Fazakerley 
 triumphantly, "there is just the fallacy. It was- 
 not his own. He had to get you to help him, and 
 cheated you in your ignorance. Besides, even had 
 he not required your help, which convicts him, it 
 still was not his own. He was but one in the 
 succession. What is the good of an old family but 
 for that ? Why, it is the very bulwark and defence 
 of an aristocracy. I ought to know, for I see enough 
 of the reverse. You may say the money these 
 fellows make in Liverpool is their own — they may 
 do what they like with it ; and so they do, and the 
 consequences are wonderful. But Squire Arden, 
 good heavens, what was the good of him, what was 
 the meaning of him, if he dismembered his property 
 and broke it up I My dear Mr. Edgar, you are a 
 charming young fellow, but you don't under- 
 stand " 
 
 " Well," said Edgar, warming under the influence 
 of the lawyer's half-whimsical vehemence, " perhaps 
 you are right, but it does not matter entering into 
 that now. Before Clare marries " 
 
 "There is no time like the present," said Mr. 
 Fazakerley. " When she marries she will have 
 other things in her mind, and her husband, that is^
 
 SQUIRE ARDEX. 85 
 
 to be, might interfere. Besides, that land near 
 Liverpool is the most valuable part of the property. 
 You have nothing to do but build villas upon it, or 
 let other people build \dllas, and you wiVL make a 
 fortune. Your worthy father would never hear of 
 it ; but it really was a prejudice, and a waste of 
 opportunity " 
 
 " Do you want me to fly in his face in every- 
 thing, and do just Avhat he did not wish to be 
 done ? " said Edgar, with a smile, which he tried to 
 suppress. 
 
 Mr. Fazakerley shrugged his narrow brown 
 shoulders. " New monarchs, new laws," he said. " I 
 don't see why you should be bound by his fancies. 
 He did not show much respect for youi^s, if you had 
 any. No, I mean to suggest very important modi- 
 fications, if you will permit me, in the management 
 of the estate. Perhaps, if we were to have up Tom 
 Perfitt and the map, and go over it " 
 
 Edgar consented with a sigh, which he also sup- 
 pressed. It was not that he disliked the initiation 
 into his real work in life, or objected to throw off 
 the idleness in which he had spent all these years. 
 On the contrary, he had chafed again and again 
 over the inaction — the wretched aimlessness of his 
 existence. But there was something in this sudden 
 plunge into all its new responsibihties and trials.
 
 SQ SQUIRE ARDEN. 
 
 and, more than all, in this posthumous conflict with 
 the ^vill and inclinations of the father who had 
 hated him, which sent a thrill through his mind, 
 and moved his whole being. And in this life which 
 was about to begin there was a mystery concealed 
 somewhere — the secret of his own existence, which 
 some time or other would have to be found out. 
 Nobody seemed to feel this, not even those who 
 were the most fully conscious that an explanation 
 was wanted of the old Squire's ceaseless enmity to 
 his son. They all took it for granted that it was 
 over; that the Squire's death had ended everything ; 
 and that the heir who had succeeded so tranquilly 
 would reign in peace in his unkind father's stead. 
 But Edgar's mind was not so easily satisfied. It 
 seemed to him that on this road which he was 
 entering there stood a great signpost, with a sha- 
 dowy hand pointing to the secret, and he shrank, 
 knowing that secret would bring him trouble. 
 However, to oppose this visionary sense of risk and 
 danger to Mr. Fazakerley and his papers or to Perfitt 
 and his map would have been folly indeed. So 
 Perfitt, who was the Scotch steward, came, and the 
 young Squire was drawn unconsciously within the 
 charmed circle of property, and began to feel his 
 heart beating and his head throbbing with a certain 
 exhilarated sense of importance and responsibility.
 
 SQUIRE ARDEN. 87 
 
 A\nien he heard of all that was his, he, who never 
 up to this moment had possessed anything but his 
 personaHties, a cui'ious feehng of power came over 
 liim. He was young, and his mind was fresh, and 
 the emotions of nature were still strong in him. 
 He had seen a great deal of the world, but it had 
 not been that phase of the world which makes a 
 young man hlase. He sat and hstened to the dis- 
 cussion of rents and boundaries, of what ought to 
 be done with one farm and another, of the wood 
 that oucrht to be cut, and the moor that oucrht to be 
 reclaimed, with a puzzled yet pleasant consciousness 
 that, discuss as they liked, they could not decide 
 without him. He knew so Httle about it that he 
 had to content himself with Kstening ; but the talk 
 was as a pleasant song to him, pleasing his new- 
 born sense of importance. " You'll understand fine, 
 Sir, when once you've been over the estate with me," 
 said Perfitt, ^Y\\h. a cei*tain condescension which 
 amused Edgar mightily. They seemed to him to 
 be playing at government, suggesting so many 
 things which they had no power to caiTy out, 
 which must wait for his approval. All his graver 
 anticipations floated away from him in his sense of 
 the humour of the situation. He made mental notes 
 in his mind as they settled this and that, sa;yTiig to 
 himself, " Wait a httle ; I -svill not have it so " witli
 
 88 SQUIRE ARDEN. 
 
 a boyish delight in the feehng that he could put all 
 their calculations out by any sudden exercise of his 
 will. If this was very childish in Edgar, I don't 
 know what excuse to make for him. It was so 
 amusing to him to feel himself a great man, with 
 supreme power in his hands — he who had never 
 been master of anything all his life.
 
 SQUIRE ARDEX. 89 
 
 CHAPTER YIII. 
 
 That day was a long day. Just before luncheon the 
 Thomleighs called, as Clare had expected. The 
 Thomleighs were next neighbours to the Ardens in 
 the county ; and in the general estimation they were 
 more fasliionable than the Ardens, in so much that 
 Mr. Thornleigh had maiTied Lad}^ Augusta High ton, 
 a daughter of the sDuke of Grandmaison ; whereas 
 the late Mr. Arden had man-ied a wife whose ante- 
 cedents were very Httle kno^m, and who had been 
 dead for years. So that while the Thornleighs had 
 a house in town, and went a great deal into society, 
 the Ardens had not budged for years from Aixlen 
 Hall, and were very little kno^Ti in the great world. 
 This, however, was counterbalanced by the fact that 
 while Clare was quite fresh and unworn, the five 
 Thornleigh girls were rather too well kno^vn, and 
 were talked about with just that shade of ennui 
 which so speedily creeps over a fashionable reputa- 
 tion. "One sees them everywhere," said the fas- 
 tidious rulers of that capricious world ; and as there
 
 90 SQUIRE ARDEN. 
 
 were five of tliem, it was not easy^to invite tliem ta 
 those choicest little gatherings in which Fashion is 
 worshipped with the most perfect rites, and distinc- 
 tions are granted or withdrawn. None of the Thorn- 
 leigh girls were yet married, and many people were 
 disposed to censure Lady Augusta for bringing out 
 little Beatrice, who was just seventeen, while she had 
 still Ada, and Gussy, and Helena, and Mary on her 
 hands. How could she ever expect to be able to 
 take them all out — people said? — which was very 
 true. 
 
 But, however, the thing was done, and could 
 not be mended. Lady Augusta was not a match- 
 maker, in the usual sense of the word ; neither were 
 her daughters trained to the pursuit of elder sons or 
 other eligible members of society, as it is common to 
 suppose such young women to be. But it cannot 
 be denied that as a reasonable woman, much con- 
 cerned about the wellbeing of her children. Lady 
 Augusta now and then allowed, with a sigh, that if 
 Gussy and Ada were comfortably married it would 
 be a very good thing, and a great relief to her mind. 
 " Not to say that they could take their sisters out," 
 she would sometimes say to herself, with a sigh 
 reflecting upon all the cotillions to which little 
 Beatrice, in the fervour of seventeen, would no doubt 
 subject her mothei-. And it would be vain to
 
 SQUIRE ARDEX. 91 
 
 attempt to deny that a little thrill of curiosity was 
 in Lady Augusta's mind as she drove up the avenue 
 to Arden. Edg^ar was their nearest neicrhbour, he 
 was young and "nice," so far as anybody knew — for, 
 of course, he had been met abroad from time to time 
 by wandering sons and cousins, and reports of liim 
 had been brought home — and just a suitable age for 
 Gussy, or, indeed, for any of the girls, should the 
 young people by any chance take a fancy to each 
 other. I cannot see why Lady Augusta should be 
 condemned for having this speculation in her mind. 
 If she had been quite indifferent to the futui'e fate 
 of her daughters she would have been an unnatural 
 woman. It was her chief business in the world to 
 2:>rocure a happy life for them, and pro^'ide them 
 with everything that was best; and why — a good 
 husband being placed, by common consent, foremost 
 in the list of those good thinors — a mother's efforts 
 towards the secuiinor of him should not be thouorht 
 the very highest and best of her occupations, it is 
 very hard to say. As a matter of fact, everywhere 
 but in England it is her first and most clearly recog- 
 nised duty. And I for one do not feel in the least 
 disposed to sneer at Lady Augusta. She went with 
 her husband to look at this young man with a sense 
 that one day he might be very important to her. 
 It is possible that Edgar might not have liked it had
 
 V2 SQUIRE AKDEN. 
 
 the idea occurred to Iiim that he was thus ah^eady a 
 subject of speculation, and that his tenderest affec- 
 tions — the things which belong most exclusively to 
 a man's personal being — were akeady being directed, 
 whether potentially or not, by the imagination of 
 another, into channels as yet totally unknown to 
 him. I believe such a thought is not pleasant to a 
 young man. But still it was quite natural — and, 
 indeed, laudable — on the part of Lady Augusta, and 
 demands neither scorn nor condemnation. She liad 
 made Mr. Thornleigh give up a morning's consulta- 
 tion with the keeper on some interesting young 
 moorland families and the general prospects of the 
 game, in order that no time might be lost in making 
 this call. Of course, she said nothing to him as 
 he sat rather sulkily by her side, thinking all the 
 time of the young pheasants; but on the whole, 
 perhaps, the mother's were not the least elevated 
 thoughts. 
 
 " I am so very glad to be the first to welcome 
 you home, Mr. Arden," she said. " We don't know 
 each other yet — at least we two individuals don't 
 know each other; but the Ardens and the Thorn- 
 leighs have been friends these hundreds of years. 
 How many hundreds, Clare ? You girls are so 
 dreadfully well-informed now-a-days, I never dare 
 open my lips. And I hope now your sister will go
 
 SQUIRE ARDEN. Ij:^ 
 
 out a little more, and come to us a little more. She 
 has been such a little hennit all her life." 
 
 " She shall not be a hennit now, if I can help 
 it," said Edgar. And he was pleased with the 
 kindness of the elder woman, who was still a hand- 
 some woman, and gi-acious in her mamier, as became 
 a great lady. He sat down by her, as was his duty, 
 but without thinking it was his duty — another sign 
 of the spontaneousness which puzzled Qare, and 
 gave Edgar's simple ways their greatest charai. 
 
 And the fact was that Lady Augusta, without in 
 the least meaning it, was captivated by the young 
 man. " He is not the least like an Arden," she said 
 to her husband, as they drove away ; " he has not 
 their stiffness, any more than their black hair. I 
 think he is charming. There is something very nice 
 in a foreign education, you know. One would not 
 choose it for one's ovm. boys ; but it does give a 
 certain character when you meet ^vith it by accident. 
 Young men in general are so frightfully like each 
 other," she added, with a sigh. LIr. Thoraleigh 
 gave a half articulate grunt, being full of calcula- 
 tions about the paitridges ; besides, the young men 
 did not trouble him much. He was not called upon 
 to remember which was which, and to hear them 
 say exactly the same things to his girls ball after 
 ball. Lady xVugusta's sigh turned into a half yawn
 
 ^)4> SQUIEE ARDEN. 
 
 as she glanced back upon all her experiences. He 
 was just about the age and about the height for 
 Gussy. Gussy was a small, little thing, and Edgar 
 was not tall. He would not answer at all for the 
 stately Helena, who was five feet ten. And then, if 
 the mother had a weakness, it was for little Gussy 
 of all her children. And it would be so nice to have 
 her settled so near. " But just because it is so nice, 
 and would be so desirable, of course it will never 
 come to pass," she said to herself, with another sigh. 
 She had left an invitation behind her, and had made 
 up her mind it should not be her fault if it came to 
 nothing. Thus Edgar was assailed by altogether 
 unexpected dangers the very day after his return. 
 
 And then there was the dinner in the evening, 
 which was not so pleasant to think of as the dinner 
 to which the brother and sister had been invited at 
 Thorne. There were only three gentlemen— the 
 Rector, and the Doctor, and Mr. Fazakerley — all 
 twice as old as Edgar, and all patronising and 
 explanatory. They knew his affairs so much better 
 than he did, that it was not wonderful if they 
 alarmed him. So long as Clare sat at the other end 
 of the table her brother did not mind, for she was 
 used to them, and used to having her own way 
 with them ; but Edgar felt it would be hard upon 
 him when he was left to their tender mercies. He
 
 SQUIRE ARDEX. 95 
 
 was very anxious to detain Clare, so as to shorten 
 the awful hour after dinner. " Why should you go 
 away ? " he said, " wait till we are all ready. Are 
 we such bears in England that ladies can't stay 
 Avith us for an hour ? We don't mean to smoke ; 
 that is the only thing that need send you away." 
 
 " Smoke ! " said ^h\ Fielding, with hon'or. 
 " Edgar, I hope you don't mean to introduce these 
 new-fangled foreign ways. I shall have to retire 
 with the ladies if you do. I detest smoke, except 
 in the open air." 
 
 " That is one of his old-fashioned notions," said 
 Dr. Somers, "but you must have a smoking-room 
 fitted up : then the ladies can't object. The old 
 Squire resisted such an innovation. He was of the 
 antique school, like Fielding here, and hated every- 
 thing that was new." 
 
 " Just the reverse of our young friend," said Mr. 
 Fazakerley. " I and Tom Perfitt have been giving 
 him a great many ideas to-day. You will find Tom 
 a very satisfactory fellow, I am sure. He is broad 
 Scotch, and he is fond of having his own way, but 
 he knows every inch of the land, and what is best 
 for it. If you do any amateur fanning you could 
 not have a better man. If that sort of thinof ever 
 was anything but ruinous, Tom is the man to make 
 it pay."
 
 96 SQUIRE ARDEN. 
 
 " I must take a little time to think what I am 
 going to do," said Edgar, "and to make acquaint- 
 ance with the place. You forget that I don't know 
 Arden, though you all do. Clare, why should you 
 go away ? " 
 
 " I am going to make you some tea/' said Clare, 
 with a smile, as she went away. And she took 
 no notice of his appealing look. She was half 
 vexed, indeed, that he should have suggested such 
 an innovation. It was a bad symptom for the time 
 to come. Why should not Edgar be content, as 
 everybody else was, with the usual customs of 
 society ? She was annoyed that he should show 
 his foreign breeding even before his old friends. 
 It seemed to her that Dr. Somers' keen eye 
 launched a gleam of mockery at her as she went 
 out. They would laugh at him, even these old 
 gentlemen ; and of course other people would laugh 
 still more. 
 
 " Let her go," the Doctor said, as the door closed 
 behind the young mistress of the house. " Don't 
 disturb the customs of your country, Edgar. It is 
 all very well just now when you are young ; but 
 the time will come, my boy, when you will prefer 
 having an hour's serious talk, without any women 
 to interfere with it. And they like it themselves, 
 my dear fellow ; they like a moment to put their
 
 SQUIRE ARDEX. 97 
 
 liair straight and their ribbons, and have their pri- 
 vate gossip. Don't train Clare into evil ways." 
 
 " I think they are much pleasanter ways," said 
 Edgar ; but he was put down by acclamation. To 
 suggest an innovation in Aixlen of all places in the 
 world ! the three old men looked at him as if he 
 were a natural curiosity, and studied his unusual 
 habits with a mixture of amusement and alarm. 
 
 "I don't object to young men being fond of 
 ladies' society," said Mr. Fielding, in his gentle 
 voice ; " it is a gi^eat presei-^-ative to them ; but still 
 not too much, not too much, my dear boy. Your 
 sister, of coui'se, will be a kind of cmardian anofel to 
 you ; but you know there are a gi'eat many Liver- 
 pool people about with large families — nice people 
 enough, and of course they A^dll be very Mendly, if 
 you will let them ; and pretty girls, and aU that. 
 But you must be careful, you must be very careful. 
 You must remember a great deal depends on the 
 circle you collect round you at first." 
 
 "I don't see how I can collect a circle round 
 me," said Edgar, laughing. "I have always sup- 
 posed it was the gTcat ladies who did that — Lady 
 Augusta, for instance, who called here to-day " 
 
 "My dear fellow," said Dr. Somers, "take care 
 of that woman. She has five daughters, and she 
 will play the pretty comedy of the spider and the 
 
 VOL. I. H
 
 98 SQUIRE ARDEN. 
 
 fly with you for the amusement of the county, if 
 you don't mind. If you let yourself be drawn into 
 her net, you will have to marry one of the girls, and 
 that is a severe price to pay for a few dinners. 
 You must take care what you are about." 
 
 " The Miss Thornleighs are nice girls," said Mr. 
 Fazakerley, "but they will have very little money. 
 Young Thornleigh has been dreadfully extravagant 
 at Oxford. I know for certain that his father has 
 paid his bills three times. Of course they have so 
 much under the marriage settlements; but when 
 there are five, and only a certain sum to be divided, 
 ithere can't be very much for each." 
 
 " She has Edgar booked for one, you may be 
 sure," said the Doctor, " and a very nice thing, too 
 — for them. Next neighbours, and a fine old place, 
 and a nice young fellow. For my part, I think 
 Lady Augusta is quite right." 
 
 " If you don't mind," said Edgar, " I'd rather not 
 have myself suggested as the subject of anybody's 
 calculations. Suppose one of the Miss Thornleighs 
 should do me the honour to marry me hereafter, do 
 you think I should like to remember how you 
 talked of it ? I am aware I have ridiculous no- 
 tions " 
 
 Dr. Somers laughed; Mr. Fazakerley chuckled, 
 interrupting the young man's speech; but Mr.
 
 SQUIRE ARDEX. 99 
 
 Fielding, who was of a gentler nature, peered at 
 him through his short-sighted old eyes with kindly 
 sympathy. "Edgar, I think you are quite right," 
 he said. "We all talk about women in a most 
 unjustifiable way. The Miss Thomleighs are very 
 nice girls, and never gave any one reason to speak 
 of them without respect — nor their mother eithei', 
 that I know of; but we all talk as if they were put 
 up to auction, and you might buy which you please. 
 You are quite right." 
 
 "I do not know whether I am right or not," 
 said Edgar, with some vehemence; "but I know 
 I should punch any man's head who spoke so o£ 
 Clare." 
 
 " Clare ' Ah, that's difierent," said the Doctor ; 
 " where Clare is concerned, I give you full leave to 
 punch anybody's head " 
 
 " Miss Clare is an heiress," said Mr. Fazakerley. 
 " She is as great a prize in the matrimonial market 
 as her brother. If I took the hberty to speak on 
 such a subject at all, I should represent her, not as 
 the huntress, but the hunted. Penniless giiis are 
 in a very different position; and why should we 
 blame them ? It is their natural way of providing 
 for themselves, after aU." 
 
 " Then, money is everything," said Edgar, " and 
 to provide for one's self one's fii'st duty. I have not
 
 100 SQUIRE ARDEN. 
 
 been very well brought up, you know, but I thought 
 I had heard something better than that." 
 
 "Don't be too severely virtuous, my boy," the 
 Doctor said, pushing back his chair. " You may be 
 sure that, from the savage to the swell (two classes 
 not so far apart), to provide for one's self is one's 
 highest duty. Love, &c., are very nice things, but 
 your living comes first of all. Now, come, we are 
 getting metaphysical ; let us join Clare."
 
 SQUIRE AEDEX. 101 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 *' Tell me sometliinor about the Thomleio-hs," Edojar 
 said on the momiiig of the day they were to 
 dine at Thome. "I like to know what sort of 
 people I am about to make acquaintance Avith. 
 Are they friends of yours, Clare ? " 
 
 "Pretty weU/' Clare answered, with just that 
 little elevation of her head which Edsfar beoran to 
 know. " What is the use of describing them when 
 you will see them to-night, and then judge for your- 
 self ? Ada is nice. She is the eldest of all, and she 
 talks very little. I like her for that. Gussy is 
 short, with heaps of light hair ; and Helena is very 
 tall, and rather dark, like her father. They are not 
 at all like each other — not much more like each 
 other than you and me." 
 
 " That is a consolation," said Edgar, with a smile. 
 
 " Not so much as you think, for they are like in 
 their ways; and then you can tell in a moment 
 which side of the house they belong to," said Clare, 
 with a shade crossing her face. " Whereas, Edgar —
 
 102 SQUIRE ARDEN. 
 
 don't be vexed with me for saying so — ^but you are 
 not even — like mamma." 
 
 " How do you know ? " said Edgar, a little 
 sharply ; for that he was like his mother had been 
 one of the established principles of his life. 
 
 "I have a little miniature in a bracelet. Nobody 
 knows of it, I think, but myself She must have 
 been fair, to be sure ; but you are not very like her, 
 Edgar. You are not vexed ? Of course, you must 
 be like her family. But Helena Thornleigh is like 
 her father, and Ada and Gussy are like Lady 
 Augusta. You can't mistake it; and then they all 
 have little ways of speaking, and little movements : 
 if you are going to like any of them, I wish it may 
 be Ada. She is really nice. But Gussy is a chatter- 
 box, and Helena is superior ; and as for Mary and 
 Beatrice " 
 
 "Is it certain that I must like one more than 
 another ? " said Edgar. " I mean to like them 
 all, as they are our next neighbours. Is there any 
 reason why I should confine myself to one ? " 
 
 " Oh, I suppose not," said Clare, with a suppressed 
 laugh ; "only somehow one always thinks where 
 
 there are girls Look ! Edgar ; here is some one 
 
 coming up the avenue. Who can it be? The 
 servant is in livery, and I don't recognise the carriage, 
 nor anything. It can't be the Thorpes, or the
 
 SQUIRE ARDEX. 103 
 
 Mandevilles, or the Blundells ; and it cant be the 
 Earl, for he is in town. Look ! they don't see us, 
 and I do so want to make them out." 
 
 " The ser\'ants are in purple and gi'een, and there 
 is an astounding coat of arms on the panel," said 
 Edgar "You must know that — arms as big as a 
 saucer — and somebody very big inside." The two 
 were in a little morning room which opened from 
 the great di^awing room, where they could see the 
 avenue and even the flight of steps before which the 
 carriage stopped. Clare uttered an exclamation 
 of horror as she stood gazing out at the new 
 comers. She seemed to her brother to shiver 
 with sudden dismay. " It cannot be possible ! " she 
 said. What could she mean ? Perhaps it was some 
 secret enemy whom she recognised but he did not 
 know; somebody, perhaps, connected with the 
 secret which more or less weic^hed on Edo^ar's 
 life. 
 
 " Who is it ? " he said, in serious alarm, coming 
 close to her. " Any one we have reason to be afraid 
 of? Don't tremble so. Nobody can harm you 
 while I am here." 
 
 "On the contrary, they would never have ven- 
 tured had not you been here ! " said Clare, with 
 vehement indig-nation, "They never could have 
 had the presumption Edgar, it is an insult !
 
 104 SQUIRE ARDEN. 
 
 We ought to send and say we are not at home. 
 There are some things one ought not to bear " 
 
 " Who are they ? " he asked, beginning to perceive 
 that there was no serious cause for fear. 
 
 But Clare's flushed and indignant countenance 
 showed no signs of softening. " I knew they were 
 presuming, but I never could have imagined any- 
 thing so bad as this," she cried. " Edgar, it is the 
 Pimpernels ! " 
 
 " The Pimpernels ? " Edgar repeated, confused 
 and wondering; but before he could ask another 
 question the door was thrown open, and Wilkins 
 appeared in front of the invading party. Wilkins' 
 face was a study of suppressed consternation and 
 dismay. He did his office as if he were going to 
 the stake, stern necessity compelling him in the 
 shape of those three solid figures behind. "Mr., 
 Mrs., and Miss Pimpernel," said Wilkins, with a 
 voice in which the protest of a martyr was audible 
 behind the ordinary formality. Edgar did not know 
 anything about the Pimpernels. He saw before him 
 a large man, made larger by light summer costume, 
 which magnified his breadth and diminished his 
 height, with sparkling jewelled studs in his shirt, 
 and a great coil of watch-chain spreading across his 
 buff waistcoat ; and a large lady, enveloped in black 
 silk and lace, which somehow, though so totally
 
 SQUIRE ARDEX. 105 
 
 ■different, seemed to have the same effect of enlarg- 
 ing and setting foii:h her amplitude of form. Behind 
 these two there appeared, seen by intervals, the 
 slim figure of a tall girl, ^^dth a pretty blushing face. 
 Nothing could have made Edgar uncivil — not even, 
 the teiTible fact, had he kno^vn it, that ^Ir. Pimper- 
 nel was a Liverpool cotton-broker, such a man as 
 had never before made his appearance in the capacity 
 of visitor within the stately shades of Arden. But 
 he was not aware of that awful fact. He knew only 
 that Clare had been moved by hoiTor at the sight of 
 them, and that she stood now at as great a distance 
 as possible, and made a very solemn curtsey, and 
 looked as if she were assisting at a funeral. The 
 Pimpernels, who had produced this melancholy 
 effect, were themselves so utterly unlike it, at once 
 in manners and appearance, that the situation 
 affected Edorar rather with comic than with solemn 
 feelings. 
 
 " I am very glad to see you, and to welcome you 
 home, Mr. Ai'den," said 'Mr. Pimpernel, when they 
 had all sat do^vn in the form of a semicii'cle, of 
 which Edgar and Clare formed the base. " I can't 
 pretend to be an old neighbour, but we have been 
 here long enough to take an interest in the county. 
 I have always taken a great interest in the county, 
 Si& my wafe knows."
 
 lOG SQUIRE ARDEN. 
 
 "Yes, indeed," said tliat ample woman. "Since 
 ever we settled here Mr. Pimpernel lias quite thrown 
 himself into Arden ways. We were so very lucky in 
 getting the Red House — the only one in the neigh- 
 bourhood. It is wicked to say so, but I felt so much 
 obliged to poor Mr. Dalton when he died and let us 
 have it — I did indeed. It was quite obliging of 
 him to die." 
 
 Upon this Miss Pimpernel laughed shyly, and Mr. 
 Pimpernel smiled ; and Edgar, seeing it was expected 
 of him, would have smiled too had he not encoun- 
 tered Clare's stormy countenance, without a gleam 
 of light upon it. It embarrassed him sadly, poor 
 fellow ; for of course he did not want to wound his 
 sister, and yet he could not be uncivil. " I am such 
 a stranger in my own country," he said, "that I 
 really don't know where the Red House is. I know 
 only the village, and nothing more." 
 
 " It is the sweetest village," said Mrs. Pimpernel. 
 " We were so glad to hear that there were no build- 
 ing sites to be given, though, of course, in one way 
 it must have been a sacrifice. It is selfish of us, 
 because we have been so fortunate as to secure the 
 only house ; but the moment you begin to build 
 villas you spoil the place. It never would have 
 been the same sv/eet old place again. Mr. Pimpernel 
 drives over every morning to Farnham Green, the
 
 SQUIRE ARDEN. 107 
 
 station. Of course, lie could not do it unless he was 
 able to afford horses; but we are able to afford 
 them, I am glad to say. I don't know if you have 
 ever remarked his Yankee waggon, with two beauti- 
 ful bright bays ? I hope I am not horsey, which is 
 very unladylike, but I do hke to see a fine animal. 
 It is next to a pretty girl, my husband always says." 
 
 "The only thing wanting in Arden is a little 
 society," said ]\Ii\ Pimpernel; "and I hope, Mr. 
 Arden, that your happy return, and the new life 
 you must bring with you, will change all that. We 
 hoped you would perhaps dine with us on Monday 
 week ? Youncj Newmarch is comincr, the Earl's 
 eldest son, a very nice young fellow — quite a man 
 of his century ; but of course you must know him 
 better than I do ; and we expect some young 
 Oxford men with my son, who is at Christchurch. 
 My wife wanted to write, but I think it is always 
 best to settle such things by word of mouth." 
 
 " I am afraid Miss Arden may think all this a 
 little abrupt," said LIrs. Pimpernel, taking up the 
 strain when her husband paused. " Of course, if it 
 had not been for the change, and ^Ir. Arden coming, 
 as it were, fresh to the place, it was not our part to 
 call first ; but all this last year I have done nothing 
 but think of you, so lonely as you must have been. 
 I have said to Alice a hundred times — ' How I wish
 
 108 SQUIRE ARDEN. 
 
 I could go and call upon that poor dear Miss Arden.' 
 But I never knew whether you would like it. I am 
 sure, many and many a time, when I have seen all 
 my own young ones so merry about me, I have 
 thought of you. ' If we could only have her 
 here, and cheer her up a little,' I used to say " 
 
 " It was kind of you to think of my sister. I am 
 very much obliged to you," said Edgar, warmly. 
 Clare made a little bow, and after her brother had 
 spoken murmured something vaguely under her 
 breath. 
 
 " I know what it is to have no mother," con- 
 tinued the large lady, " and to be left alone. I was 
 an only daughter myself; and when I looked at all 
 mine, and me spared to them, and thought ' Oh, that 
 poor dear girl, all by herself I' I could have cried 
 over you ; I could, indeed." 
 
 "You were very kind," said Edgar once more, 
 and Clare uttered another faint murmur, as if echo- 
 ing him, unable to originate any sentiment of her 
 own. 
 
 " But I fear Miss Arden has poor health," Mrs. 
 Pimpernel continued, fixing her eyes, which had been 
 contemplating the company in general, upon Clare. 
 And Mr. Pimpernel, who had been inspecting the 
 room with some curiosity, looked too at the young 
 lady of the house ; and the slim daughter gave her
 
 SQUIEE AEDEX. 109 
 
 a succession of shy glances, so that she was hemmed 
 in on every side, and could no longer meet A^-ith 
 silence, or with her haughty little bow, those ex- 
 pressions of friendly interest. 
 
 " Indeed I am very well — quite well," she said. 
 " I must have been getting sympathy on false pie- 
 tences. There is no lack of society had I wanted it. 
 It was my choice to be alone." 
 
 "Oh, my dear, that I have no doubt of," said 
 Mi's. Pimpernel; "in your position, of course, you 
 can pick and choose ; but still, when you are not in 
 
 good spirits, nor feeling up to much exertion 
 
 However, I do hope you ^t.11 waive ceremony, and 
 come in a friendly way with your brother to dine at 
 the Red House on Monday. It would give me so 
 much pleasure. And Ahce has been looking forward 
 to making your acquaintance for so long." 
 
 "Oh, yes; for a very long time," said pretty 
 Alice, under her breath. She was as pretty as 
 Clare herself, though in a different way ; and sat a 
 little behind her mother, looking from one to the 
 other of her parents, hke a silent chorus, softly back- 
 ing them with smiles and sympathy. ^\Tien she 
 caught Edgar's eyes during this little performance, 
 she blushed and cast down her own, and played 
 with the fringe of her parasol ; and with a certain 
 awe now and then, her looks strayed to Clare's
 
 no SQUIRE ARDEN. 
 
 beautiful, closecl-uj), repellent face. She was shy 
 of the brother, but downright frightened for the 
 sister; and besides these two sentiments, and a 
 faith as yet unbroken in her father and mother, 
 showed no personal identity at all. 
 
 "I do not go out at present," said Clare, looking at 
 her black dress ; upon which Mrs. Pimpernel rushed 
 into remonstrance and entreaty, Edgar sat looking 
 on, feeling almost as much bewildered as Alice ; foi-, 
 notwithstanding her black dress, Clare had shown 
 no particular unwillingness to go to Thorne. 
 
 " For the sake of your health you ought not to 
 shut yourself up," urged Mrs. Pimpernel ; " a young 
 creature at your age should enjoy life a little ; and 
 for the sake of your friends, who would be so glad 
 to have you — and for your brother's sake, my deai-, 
 if you will let me say so — I speak freely, because I 
 have daughters of my own." 
 
 " Thanks, you are very kind," said courteous 
 Edgar ; while his sister shut her beautiful lips close. 
 And then there was a pause, which was not comfort- 
 able. Mrs. Pimpernel began to smooth the gloves 
 which were very tight on her plump hands, and Mr. 
 Pimpernel resumed his inspection of the room. 
 
 " That is a Turner, I suppose," he said, pointing to 
 a very poor daub in a dark corner. " I hope you 
 are fond of art, Mr. Arden. When you come to the
 
 SQUIRE APvDEX. Ill 
 
 Red House I can show you some rather pretty 
 things." 
 
 " It is not a Turner ; it is very bad," said Edgar. 
 " We have no pictures except portraits. I don't 
 think the Ardens have ever taken much interest in 
 art." 
 
 " Never," said Clare, with a little emphasis. She 
 said so because she had heard a great deal about Z\L\ 
 Pimpernel's pictures, and felt it her duty to disown 
 all participation in any such plebeian taste ; and 
 then she recollected herself, and grew red, and added 
 hurriedly — " The Ardens have always had to think 
 of their country", Edgar. They have had more 
 serious things to do." 
 
 " But I am not much of an Ai'den, I fear, and I 
 am very fond of pictures," said Edgar carelessly, 
 without perceiving the cloud that swept over his 
 sister's face. 
 
 "Then I assure you, though I say it that shouldn't, 
 I have some pretty things to show you at the Red 
 House," said ]Mr. Pimpernel. Thus it came to be 
 understood that Edgar had accepted the invitation 
 for Monday week, and the party rose, — first the 
 mother, then Alice, obedient to every impulse, and 
 finally Mr. Pimpernel, who extended his large hand, 
 and took into liis own Clare's reluctant fingers. " I 
 hope we shall soon see you with your brother," he
 
 112 SQUIRE ARDEX. 
 
 said, raising liis other hand, as if he was loronounc- 
 ing a blessing over her. " Indeed, I hope so," said 
 Mrs. Pimpernel, following him with outstretched 
 hand. Alice put out hers too, but withdrew it 
 shyly, and made a little curtsey, like a school girl, 
 Clare thought ; but to her brother there was some- 
 thing very delicate, and gentle, and pretty in the 
 girl's modest withdrawal. He went to the door 
 with them to put Mrs. Pimpernel in her carriage, 
 and came back to Clare without a suspicion of the 
 storm which was about to burst upon his head.
 
 SQUIRE ARDEN. 113 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 Clare was standing by the table mtli her hands 
 clasped tightly, her mouth shut fast, her tall figure 
 towering taller than usual, when Edgar, all uncon- 
 scious, returned to her. She assailed him in a mo- 
 ment, without waiTiing. " Edgar, how can you — 
 how could you ? " she said, T\dth an impatient move- 
 ment, which, had she been less fair, less deUcate, less 
 young, would have been a stamp of her foot. Her 
 tone and look and gesture were so passionate that 
 the young man stood aghast. 
 
 " What have I done ?" he asked. 
 
 " What have you done ? You know as well as I 
 do. Oh, Edgar, you have given me such a blow ! I 
 thought when you came home, and we were toge- 
 ther, that all would l)e well ; but to see you the 
 very first day — the very fii\st oppoi-tunity — throw 
 yourself into the arms of people Hke these — people 
 that never should have entered this house " 
 
 " Who are they ? What are they ? Have they 
 done us any harm ? " said the astonished Edgar. " If 
 
 VOL. I. I
 
 114 SQUIRE ARDEN. 
 
 they are enemies you should have told me. How 
 was I to know ?" 
 
 " Enemies ! " said Clare, with increasing indigna- 
 tion ; " how could such people be our enemies ? 
 They are a great deal worse — they are the vulgar 
 rich, whom I hate ; they are trying to force themselves 
 in among us because they are rich ; they are trades- 
 people, pretending to be our equals, venturing to 
 ask you to dinner! Oh, Edgar, could not you see 
 by my manner that they were not people to know ? " 
 
 " I saw you were very rude to them, certainly," 
 he said. " But, Clare, that goes against me ; even — 
 may I say it ? — it disappointed me. I do not un- 
 derstand how a lady can be rude." 
 
 Once more she repeated his last word with a 
 certain contempt. " Rude ! The man is a trades- 
 man. They have thrust themselves into the village ; 
 and now they have seized an opportunity — which 
 was in reality no opportunity — to thrust themselves 
 into the house. Edgar, I have no patience ; I ought 
 not to have patience. They have been impertinent. 
 And you as civil as if they were the best people in 
 the county — and going to dine with them ! I did 
 not expect this." 
 
 "I am sorry, Clare, if it hurts you," he said. 
 " They seemed very kind ; and how could I help it ? 
 Besides, you made them very uncomfortable, and I
 
 SQUIRE ARDEX. 115 
 
 owed them amends. And you know I am but an 
 indifferent Ai*den ; I have not any horror of trade." 
 
 "You told them so!" said Clare — "you took 
 people like these into your confidence, and confessed 
 to them that you were not an Arden like the rest 
 of us ! Oh, please, Edgar, don't ! you might think 
 how unhappy it makes me. As if it was not 
 enough " 
 
 "WTiat, Clare?" 
 
 " Oh, can't you understand ? " she cried. " Is it 
 not enough to see that you are not a thorough 
 Arden ; that you don't care for the things we care 
 for, nor hate the things we hate. But to have to 
 hear you say so as if it did not matter ! — it is tlie 
 grief of my life." 
 
 And she threw herself into a chair, and cried — 
 weeping a sudden shower of passionate tears, wliich 
 were so hot and rapid that they seemed to scorch 
 her, yet diied as they fell. Her brother came and 
 stood by her chaii', putting his hand softly on her 
 bent head. Edgar was sony, but not only because 
 she wept. He was giieved, and perplexed, and disap- 
 pointed. A half smile came over his serious face at 
 her last words. " My poor Clare — my poor Clare," 
 lie repeated softly, smoothing the dark glossy locks 
 of her hair. When the thunder shower was over 
 he spoke, with a voice that sounded more manly
 
 116 SQUIRE ARDEN. 
 
 and mature and gi-ave than anything Clare had 
 heard from him before. 
 
 " You must take my character and my training 
 a Httle into consideration," he said. " If I had been 
 brought up hke you I might have thought with 
 you. But, Clare, though I love you more than any- 
 thing in the world, and would not vex you for all 
 Arden, still I cannot change my nature. Arden is 
 only a very small spot in England, dear, not to speak 
 of the world; and I can't look at the big world 
 through Arden spectacles. You must not ask it of 
 me ; anything else I will do to please you. I will 
 give up dining with these people if you wish it. 
 Of course I don't care for their dinner; but they 
 looked as if they wanted to be kind " 
 
 " They wanted to come to Arden, to know you 
 and me, and get admittance among the county 
 families," said Clare in one breath. 
 
 "Well, perhaps. I suppose we are all mean 
 wi^etches more or less," he said. " Suppose we give 
 up the Pimpernels; but you must not ask me to 
 avoid everybody who has anything to do, or to con- 
 tent myself with the old groove. For instance, I 
 like pictures, though you say the Ardens don't " 
 
 " That is not what I meant," said Clare, with a 
 blush ; " I meant " 
 
 "You meant opposition, and to snub that fat.
 
 SQUIRE ARDEX. 117 
 
 good-tempered man ; and you only made me uncom- 
 fortable — he did not feel it. But I like pictures, 
 Clare, and the people who paint them. I have 
 known a great many in my life ; and when I like 
 any man I cannot pause to ask what is his pedigi'ee, 
 or what is his occupation. Putting aside the Pim- 
 pernels, you must still make up your mind to that." 
 "But you ^vill put aside the Pimpernels?" said 
 Claire, ^vith pleading looks. 
 
 "I will see about it," said Edgar. It was the 
 first time he had not yielded, and Clare felt it. 
 She felt too that a shade of real dilFerence had stolen 
 between them — almost of separation. She had been 
 unreasonable, and had put herself in the wi'ong; 
 and he had set up a principle of action, erected as it 
 were his standard, and made it clearly apparent 
 what he would and what he would not do. She 
 went away to her own room with a certain soreness 
 in her heart. She had committed herself. Certain 
 words of her o^v^l and certain words of his came 
 back to her with the poignant shame of youth — 
 what she had said about the pictures, and what 
 Edgar had said of her rudeness, and of the 
 antagonism which only made him uncomfortable. 
 She had made herself ridiculous, she thought — that 
 worst of all offences against one's self It seemed to 
 the proud Clare as if neither she nor any one else
 
 118 SQUIRE ARDEX. 
 
 could forget how ridiculous she had made herself - 
 and more than ever with tenfold force of enmity she 
 hated those unlucky Pimpernels. 
 
 It was brilliant daylight, the sun was setting,, 
 and the air full of light and sweetness, when they 
 set off upon their drive to Thorne. Clare was all 
 black, as her mourning demanded — black ornaments, 
 black gloves — everything about her as sable as the 
 night — a dress, which was not perhaps so becoming 
 to her dark hair and pale complexion as it would 
 have been to pretty Alice Pimpernel, or the fair- 
 haired Gussy, whom Edgar was going (though he 
 did not know it) expressly to see. Probably Clare 
 did not waste a thought on the subject, for she was 
 young and entirely fancy free, a condition of things 
 which frees a girl from any keen anxiety in respect 
 to her appearance. She was wrapped in a large 
 white cloak, however, which relieved the blackness, 
 and brought out the delicate pale tints of her face 
 as only white can do; and Edgar, as he took his 
 place by her side, found himself admiring her as if 
 he had seen her for the fost time. The high, proud 
 features, so finely cut, the perfect roundness of 
 youth in the clieek, the large, lovely blue eyes, were 
 of a kind of beauty which you may like or dislike 
 as you please, but which it is impossible to ignore. 
 Clare was beautiful, there was no other word for it
 
 SQUIRE ARDKX. ll'J 
 
 Not pretty, like that pretty Alice ; and lier proud 
 looks and aii' of resei^A'e enhanced her beauty, just as 
 the sweet wistful frankness of the simpler giid added 
 a chaiTQ to hers. " I don't suppose I shall see any 
 one like my sister where we are going," Edgar said, 
 with that admiring affectir)n which is so pleasant in 
 a brother. 
 
 " No, indeed, they are all quite a different style," 
 Clare answered with a laugh, turning aside the 
 compliment, which nevertheless pleased her. This 
 did much to restore the foimer delightful balance 
 of affaii'S between them. About half-a-mile from 
 the village they came upon a house, just visible 
 through the trees, a veiy old solid mass of red 
 brick, shininor ^\-ith a subdued o^low in the midst 
 of the green wealth of foliage, which looked the 
 gi'eener for its redness, and heightened its native 
 depth of colour. There was a fine cedar on the lawn , 
 and many gi^eat old trees wdthin the enclosure, which 
 was so arranged that it might be taken for a park. 
 Edgar gave an inquiring glance at his sister, who 
 answered him l^y shakmg her head, and putting up 
 her hands as if to shut out the hateful vision. 
 
 " So that is the Red House ? " said Edgar. " I had 
 forgotten all about it. It is a nice house enough. 
 If I should ever happen to be turned out of Arden, 
 I should Kke to live there."
 
 120 SQUIRE ARDEN. 
 
 "What nonsense you do talk!" said Clare. 
 *' Who can turn you out of Arden, unless there was 
 a revolution, as some people think ? " 
 
 " I don't think there will be a revolution. But 
 have we no cousins who might do one that good 
 turn ? " he said, laughing. " How ? Oh, I can't tell 
 how. It is impossible, I suppose." 
 
 " Simply impossible," said Clare with energy. 
 " We are the elder branch. The Ardens of War- 
 wickshire were quite a late offshoot. You are the 
 head of the name." 
 
 " I am glad to hear it," said Edgar ; " and I 
 am sure it is a very proud position. Does that Red 
 House belong to us, Clare ? But if it had belonged 
 to us, I suppose you would not have let it to those 
 respectable — I mean objectionable — Pimpernels?" 
 
 " Don't speak of the Pimpernels," she said. " Oh, 
 Edgar, if you only knew how much I dislike those 
 sort of people — not because they are common people 
 — on the contrary, I am very ford of the poor ; but 
 those presumptuous pushing ndr 'leaux riches — don't 
 let us speak of them ' We have got a cousin — only 
 one ; and if you were not to have any children, I 
 suppose the estates would go to his son. But I hope 
 they never will." 
 
 "Why?" said Edgar. "Is there any reason to 
 suppose that his son would be less satisfactory than
 
 SQUIRE ARDEX. 121 
 
 mine ? I hope he is less problematical. Tell me 
 about him — who is he — where is he ? I feel veiy 
 curious about my heu\" 
 
 " And I hate to hear you speak in such a careless 
 way," said his sister. " ^Tiy should you show so 
 much levity on so serious a subject ? Arthur Arden 
 is a great deal older than you are. I dislike him 
 very much. Pray, don't speak of him to me." 
 
 "Another subject I must not speak of!" said 
 Edgai\ " Why do you dislike him ? Is it because 
 he is my heir ? You need not hate a man for that." 
 
 " But I do hate him," said Clare, with a clouded 
 brow ; and the rest of the way to Thome was gone 
 over in comparative silence. The jars that kept 
 occurring, putting now one sti-ing, now another out 
 of tune, vibrated throucjh both with an unceasinor 
 thrill of discord. There was no quarrel, and yet 
 each was afraid to touch on any new subject. To 
 be sure, it was Clare who v^-as in the \vrong ; but 
 then, why was he so light, so easily moved, so free 
 from aU natural prejudices, she said to herself? Men 
 ought not to run from one subject to another in this 
 careless way. They ought to be more gi'ave, more 
 stately in their ways of thinking, not moved by 
 freaks of imagination. Such le\dty was so different 
 from the Ai'den disposition that it looked ahnost 
 like something wrong to Clare.
 
 122 SQUIRE ARDEN. 
 
 Thorne was a great house, but not like Arden. 
 It stood alone, not shadowed by trees, amid the 
 great green solitude of its park ; and already lights^ 
 were glimmering in the open windows, though it 
 was still day. The servants were closing shutters 
 in the dining-room, and the table gleamed inside 
 under the lamplight, making itself brightly visible, 
 like a picture, with all its ornaments and flowers. 
 It was Lady Augusta's weakness that she could not 
 bear to dine in daylight. In the very height of 
 summer she had to support the infliction ; but as 
 long as she could she shut out the intrusive day. 
 Edgar felt his head swim as he walked into the cool 
 OTeen drawinof-room after his sister into the midst 
 of a bevy of ladies. He was fond of ladies, like most 
 well-conditioned men ; but the first moment of in- 
 troducing himself into the midst of a crowd of them 
 fluttered him, as was quite reasonable. There was 
 Ada, the quiet one, on a sofa by herself, knitting. 
 Edgar discriminated her at once. And that, no 
 doubt, was Gussy, with the prettiest tiny figure, and 
 a charming little rose-tinted face, something between 
 an angel and a Dresden shepherdess. " That will her 
 my one," he said to himself, remembering with 
 natural perversity that Ada was Clare's favourite. 
 That little indication was enough to raise in the 
 young man's mind a certain disinclination to Ada.
 
 SQUIRE ARDEN. 123 
 
 And he did not know that Lady Augusta had 
 ah'eady decided upon the advisabihty of allotting to 
 him her second daughter. He could not see the 
 others, who were busied in different comers with 
 different occupations. It was the fu'st English party 
 of the kind he had ever been at, and he was very 
 curious about it. And then it was so perfectly 
 orthodox a party. There was the nearest squire 
 and his wife, one of the gTeat Blundell family ; and 
 there was a younger son of the Earl's, with his 
 young wife; and the rector of the parish, and a 
 man from London. Such a parfy is not complete 
 without the man from London, who has all the 
 news at his finger-ends, and under whose manipula- 
 tion the biggest of cities becomes in reality that 
 " little village " which slang calls it. " Will you 
 take in my daughter, ]Mi\ Allien ? " said Lady 
 Augusta; and Edgar, without any thought of his 
 own dignity, was quite happy to find Gussy's pretty 
 curls brushing his shoulder as they joined the pro- 
 cession into the dining-room. He thought it was 
 kind of his new friends to provide him with such a 
 pleasant companion, while Clare was making her- 
 self rather unhappy ^4th the thought that he 
 should have taken in, if not the Honourable Mrs. 
 Everard, at least ^Ii's. Blundell, or, at the very least, 
 Ada, who was the Princess Royal of the House of
 
 124 SQUIRE ARDEX. 
 
 Thome. " I am so glad all the solemn people are at 
 the other end of the table," Gussy whispered to him, 
 as they took their places. " Mr. Arden, I am sure 
 you are not solemn. You are not a bit like Clare." 
 
 " Is Clare solemn ? " asked Edgar, with a half 
 sense of treachery to his sister; but he could not 
 refuse to smile at Gussy's pretty up-turned face. 
 
 " I love her dearly ; she is as good as gold," said 
 Gussy, " but not such fun as I am sure you are. If 
 you will promise never to betray me to mamma, I 
 will tell you who everyone here is." 
 
 " Not if I went to the stake for it," said Edofar ; 
 and so his first alliance was formed.
 
 SQUIRE ARDEN. 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 " You know mamma, of course," said Edgar's pretty 
 cicerone. "1 suppose I need not enter into the 
 family histoiy. You know all us Tliornleiglis, as 
 we have kno^Ti you all our lives." 
 
 " I am ashamed of my ignorance ; but I have 
 never been at home to have the chance of knowing 
 the Thomleighs," said Edgar. '• Don't imagine it is 
 my fault." 
 
 " No ; it is quite romantic, I know," said Gussy. 
 " You have been brought up abroad. Oh yes ; I know 
 all about it. Mr. Arden nearly died of losing 3'our 
 mother, and you are so hke her that he could not 
 bear to look at you. Poor dear old Mr. Ai'den, he 
 was so nice. But I thought you must have known us 
 by instinct all the same. That is Ada sitting oppo- 
 site. I must begin with us young ones, for what 
 could I say about papa and mamma ? Everybody 
 knows papa and mamma. It would be like repeat- 
 ing a chapter out of Macaulay's history, or that sort 
 of thing. Hany is the eldest, but he is not at home.
 
 126 SQUIRE ARDEN. 
 
 And that is Ada opposite. She is the good one 
 among us. It is she who keeps up the credit of the 
 family. Poor dear mamma has plenty to do with 
 five girls on her hands, not to speak of the boys. 
 And Ada looks after the schools, and manaofes the 
 poor people, and all that. All the cottagers adore 
 her. But she is not fun, though she is a dear. 
 There is not another boy for ever so long. We 
 girls all made a rush into the world before them. 
 I am sure I don't know why. As if we were any 
 good ! " 
 
 " Are not you any good ? " said Edgar, laughing. 
 He was not used to advanced views about women, 
 and he thought it was a joke. 
 
 " Of course, we are no good," said Gussy. " We 
 are all very well so long as we are young — and some 
 of us are ornamental. I think Helena is very orna- 
 mental for one ; but we can't do anything or be 
 anything. You should hear what she says about 
 that. Well, then, after Ada there is nothing very 
 important — there is only me. I am the chattering 
 one, and some people call me the little one, or the 
 one with the curls. I have not any character to 
 speak of, nor any vocation in the family, so it is not 
 worth while considering me. Let us pass on to 
 Helena. That is Helena, the one who is so like papa. 
 I think she is awfully handsome. Of course, I don't
 
 SQUIRE ARDEX. 127 
 
 mean that I expect you to think so, or to say so ; 
 but all her sisters admire her very much. And she is 
 as clever as a dozen men. All the boys put together 
 are not half so clever as she is. She ought to have 
 iDeen in Parliament, and that sort of thing ; but she 
 can't, for she is a girl. Don't you think it is hard ? 
 Well, I do. There is nothing she could not do, if 
 she only had the chance. That is the Rector who is 
 sitting beside her. He is High, but he is Broad as 
 well. He bums candles on the altar, and lets us 
 decorate the church, and has choral service ; but all 
 the same he is very philosopliical in liis preacliing. 
 Helena thinks a gi'eat deal of that. She says he 
 satisfies both the material and intellectual wants. 
 Do you feel sleepy ? Don't be afraid to confess it, 
 for I do myself whenever anybody uses long words. 
 I thought it was my duty to tell 3'ou. For anything 
 I know, you may be intellectual too." 
 
 " I don't think I am intellectual, but I am not in 
 the least sleepy," said Edgar ; " pray go on. I becdn 
 to feel the mists clear away, and the outlines gi^ow 
 distinct. I am a kind of Columbus on the shores of 
 a new world ; but he had not such a guide as 
 you." 
 
 " Please wait a little," said Gussy, shaking her 
 pretty curls, " till I have eaten my soup. I am so 
 fond of white soup. It is a combination of every
 
 128 SQUIRE ARDEN. 
 
 sort of eatable that ever was invented, and yet it 
 does not give you any trouble. I must have two 
 minutes for my soup." 
 
 "Then it is my turn," said Edgar. "I should 
 like to tell you all my difficulties about Arden. 
 Clare is not such an able guide as you are. She 
 does not tell me who everybody is, but expects me 
 to know. And when one has been away from 
 home all one's life, instinct is a poor guide. Fancy^ 
 I should never have known that you were the 
 chattering one, and Miss Thornleigh the good one, 
 if you had not told me ! I might have supposed it 
 was the other way. And if you had been at Arden 
 I never should have made such a dreadful mistake 
 as I made this morning." 
 
 " Oh, tell me ! what was it ? " said Gassy, with 
 her spoon suspended in her hand, looking up at 
 him with dancing eyes. 
 
 " I hope you will not think the worse of me for 
 such a confession. I was so misled as to say I would 
 go and dine with a certain Mr. Pimpernel " 
 
 " Oh, I know," said Gussy, clapping her hands, 
 and forgetting all about her soup. " I wish I could 
 have seen Clare's face. But it is not at all a bad 
 house to dine at, and I advise you to go. He is a 
 cotton-merchant or something; but, you know, 
 though it is all very well for Clare, who is an only
 
 SQUIRE ARDEN. 129 
 
 daughter and an heiress, we can't afford to stand on 
 our dignity. All the men say it is a very nice house." 
 
 " Then I have not behaved so very badly after 
 all ? " said Edgar. " You can't think what a comfoi-t 
 that is to me, I rather thought I deserved to be 
 sent to the Tower." 
 
 " I should not think it was bad at all," said 
 Gussy. " I should like it of all things ; but then I 
 am not Clare. Thev have evervthinor you know, 
 that can be got with mone}'. And such wine, the 
 men say ; though I don't understand that either. 
 And there are some lovely pictures, and a nice 
 daughter. I know she is pretty, for I have seen her, 
 and they say she will have oceans of money. Money 
 must be veiy nice when there are heaps of it," Gussy 
 added softly, with a little sigh. 
 
 Edgar paused for a moment, taken aback. He 
 had not yet met his ideal woman ; but it seemed to 
 him that when he did meet her, she would care no- 
 thing for money, and would shrink from an}' contact 
 with the world. A woman was to him a soft, still- 
 shadowy ideal, suiTounded by an atmosphere of the 
 tenderest poetiy, and celestial detachment fi'om 
 eaiih and its necessities. It gave him a gentle 
 shock to be brought thus face to face with so many 
 active, real human creatures, full of personal wants 
 and wishes, and to identify them as the maiden- 
 VOL. I. K
 
 130 SQUIRE ARDEN. 
 
 queens of imagination. Clare had not helped him 
 to any such lealisation of the abstract woman. 
 There was no sort of struggle in her being, no 
 aspiration after anything external to her. It was 
 impossible to think of her as capable of advancement 
 or promotion. Edgar himself was by no means 
 destitute of ambition. He had already felt that to 
 settle himself down with all his energies and powers 
 into the calm routine of a country gentleman's life 
 would be impossible. He wanted more to do, some- 
 thing to aim at, the prospect of an expanding 
 existence. But Clare was different. She was in 
 harmony with all her surroundings, wanted nothing, 
 was adapted to every necessity of her position — 
 a being totally different from any man. It 
 seemed to Edgar that so all women should be — 
 passive, receiving with a tender grace, which made 
 their acceptance a favour and honour, but never 
 acquiring, never struggling ; regarding, indeed, with 
 hoiTor, any possibility of being obliged to struggle 
 and acquire. Gussy, though she charmed him, 
 gave him at the same time a gentle shock. That it 
 should be hard for Helena not to be able to go into 
 Parliament, and that this fair creature should sigh 
 at the thought of heaps of money, sounded like 
 sacrilege to him. He came to a confused pause, 
 wondering at her. Gussy was as keen as a needle
 
 SQUIRE ARDEX. " 131 
 
 notwithstandino: her chatterincr and she found him 
 out. 
 
 " Do you think it is shocking to care for money ? " 
 she said. 
 
 " N-no," said Edgar, " not for some people. I 
 
 might, without any derogation ; but for a lady 
 
 You must remember I don't know anything about 
 the world." 
 
 " No," said Gussy, " of course you don't ; but a 
 lady wants money as much as a man. We girls are 
 di-eadfully hampered sometimes, and can't do what 
 we please because of money. The boys go and 
 spend, but we can't. It is a little hard. You 
 should hear Helena on that. I don't mind myself, 
 for I can always manage somehow; but Helena 
 gives all sort of subscriptions, and hkes to buy 
 books and things ; and then she has to keep it off 
 her dress. Papa gives us as much as he can afford, 
 so we have nothing to complain of; for, fancy five 
 girls! and all to be provided for afterwards. Of 
 course, we can't go into professions hke the boys. 
 I don't want to change the laws, as Helena does, 
 because I don't see how it is to be done ; so then the 
 jnly thing that remains is to wish for heaps of 
 money — quantities of money ; and then everybody 
 could get on." 
 
 Edgar was very glad to retii'e into an entree
 
 132 SQUIRE ARDEN. 
 
 while this curious statement of difficulties was being 
 made. It seemed so strange to him, with all his 
 own wealth, to liear any of his friends wish for 
 money without offering his purse. Had Gussy been 
 Gus, he would have said — " I have plenty ; take 
 some of mine," with all the ready goodfellowship of 
 youth. But he dared not say anything of the kind 
 to the young lady. He dared not even suggest that 
 it was possible : this wonderful difference was be- 
 yond all aid of legislation. Accordingly, he was 
 silent, and ate his dinner, and was no longer the 
 agreeable companion Gussy expected him to be. She 
 did not like her powers of conversation to be thus 
 practically undervalued, nor was she content, as her 
 sister Helena would have been, with the feeling that 
 she had made him think. Gussy liked an im- 
 mediate return. She liked to make her interlocu- 
 tors, not think, but listen, and laugh, and respond, 
 giving her swift repayment for her trouble. She 
 gave her curls another shake, and changed the sub- 
 ject, having long ere this got done with her soup. 
 
 " I have not half finished my carte du pays,'' she 
 resumed ; " don't you want to hear about the other 
 people, or have you had enough of Thorne ? I feel 
 sure you must be thinking about your new friends. 
 If I ride over to see Clare the day after your dinner, 
 will 3^ou tell me all about the Pimpernels ? I do sa
 
 SQUIRE ARDEX. loo 
 
 want to have a credible account of them, and the 
 Lesser Celandine, and all " 
 
 " Who is the Lesser Celandine ? " 
 
 " Oh, please, do not look so gi*ave, as if you could 
 eat me. I believe you are a little like Clare after all. 
 Of course it is the pretty daughter : they say she is 
 just like it; peeps from behind her leaves — I mean 
 her mamma — and never says a word. Don't you 
 think all girls should do so ? Now, confess, ^h\ 
 Ai"den. I am sure that is what you think, if you 
 would allow yourself to speak." 
 
 " I don't suppose all girls should follow one iTile 
 any more than all boys," said Edgar, with polite 
 equivocation ; and then Gussy returned to her first 
 subject, and gave him sketches of everybody at the 
 table. ^Ii\ Blundell, who was stupid and good, and 
 his w^e, who was stupid and not very good ; and 
 the Honourable pair, who were close to their young 
 historian — so close, that she had to speak half in 
 whisper, half in metaphor. " They have both been 
 so dreadfully taken in," Gussy said. " She thought 
 his elder brother was dying; and he thought she 
 was as rich as the Queen of Sheba ; whereas she has 
 only got a little money, and poor Newmarch is 
 better again. Hush, I can't say any more. Yes, he is 
 better ; and they say he is going to be married, which 
 would be dreadfully hard upon them. How ^vicked
 
 134 SQUIRE AEDEN. 
 
 it is to talk like this ! — but then everybody does it. 
 You hear just the same things everywhere till you 
 get to believe them, and are so glad of somebody 
 fresh to tell them to. Oh yes, there is that man. 
 If you were to listen to him for an hour, you would 
 think there was not a good man nor a good woman 
 in the world. He tells you how all the marriages 
 are made up, and how she was forced into it, and he 
 was cheated ; or how they quarrelled the day before 
 the wedding, and broke it oiF; or how the husband 
 was trapped and made to marry when he did not 
 want to. Oh, don't you hate such men ? Yet he is 
 very amusing, especially in the country. I don't 
 remember his name. He is in some office or other 
 — somebody's secretary; but there are dozens just 
 like him. We are going to town next week, and I 
 shall hate the very sight of such men ; but in the 
 country he is well enough. Oh, there is mamma 
 moving ; do pick up my glove for me, please." 
 
 Thus Gussy was swept away, leaving her com- 
 panion a little uncertain as to the impression she 
 had made upon him. It was a new world, and his 
 head swam a little with the novelty and the giddi- 
 ness. When the gentlemen gathered round the 
 table, and began to talk in a solid agricultural way 
 about steady-going politics, and the state of the 
 country, and the prospects of the game, he found
 
 SQUIRE ARDEX. lo.) 
 
 his head relieved a little. Clare had given him a 
 glance as she left the room, but he had not under- 
 stood the glance. It was an appeal to him not to 
 commit himself ; but Edgar had no intention of com- 
 mitting himself among the men as they drank their 
 wine and got through their talk. He was far more 
 likely to do that with Gussy, to make foolish 
 acknowledgments, and betray the unsophistication 
 of his mind. But he did not betray himself to Mr. 
 Blundell and Mr. Thornleigh. They shook their 
 heads a little, and feared he was affected by the 
 Radical tendencies of the age. But so were many 
 of the young fellows, the Oxford men who had 
 distinguished themselves, the young dilettante phil- 
 anthropists and revolutionists of the time. If he 
 sinned in that way, he sinned in good company. 
 There was Lord Ne^vmarch, for instance, the Earl's 
 eldest son, and future magnate of the county, who 
 was almost Red in his views. Edgar got on very 
 well with the men. They said to each other, " Old 
 Arden treated that boy ver}^ badly. It is a wonder 
 to see how well he has turned out;" and the ladies 
 in the drawing-room were still more charitably dis- 
 posed towards the young Squii^e. There was thus a 
 certain amount of social success in Edcrar Arden's 
 first entrance into his new sphere.
 
 136 SQUIRE ARDEN. 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 After the dinner at Thorne there was nothing said 
 between Edgar and Clare about that other humbler 
 invitation which had caused the first struggle be- 
 tween them. She took Mr. Fielding into her 
 confidence, but she said nothing more to her brother. 
 As for the Rector, he was not so hard on the 
 Pimpernels as was the young lady at the Hall. 
 "They are common people, I allow," he said. 
 "They have not much refinem-ent, nor — nor educa- 
 tion perhaps; and I highly disapprove of that 
 perpetual croquet -playing, which wastes all the 
 afternoons, and puts young Denbigh off his head. 
 I do not like it, I confess, Clare; but still, you 
 know — if I may say exactly what I think — there 
 are worse people than the Pimpernels." 
 
 " I don't suppose they steal," said Clare. 
 
 "My dear, no doubt it is quite natural, with 
 your education and habits — but I wish you would 
 not be quite so contemptuous of these good people. 
 They are really very good sort of people," said Mr.
 
 SQUIEE ARDEX. 137 
 
 Fiekling, shaking his head. She looked very ob- 
 durate in her severe young beauty as the Rector 
 looked at her, bending liis brows till his eyes almost 
 disappeared among the wrinkles. "They find us 
 places for oui^ boys and girls in a way I have never 
 been able to manage before ; and whenever there is 
 any bad case in the paiish " 
 
 " Mr, Fielding, that is our business," said Clare, 
 almost sharply. " I don't understand how you can 
 talk of our people to anybody but Edgar or me." 
 
 " I don't mean the people here," said Mr. Field- 
 ing meekly, "but at the other end of the paiish. 
 You know that new village, wliich is not even on 
 Ai'den land — on that comer which belongs to old 
 Stirzaker — where there are >»o many Iiish ? I don't 
 like to trouble you always about these kind of 
 people. And when I have wanted an^^thing " 
 
 " Please don't want anything from them again," 
 said Clare. " I don't like it. What is the good of 
 our being lords of the manor if we do not look aft^r 
 our o^vn people ? ^Ir. Fielding, you know I think 
 a great deal of our family. You often blame me for 
 it ; but I should despise myself if I did not think 
 of our duties as well. All that is our business. 
 Please — please don't ask anything of those Pimper- 
 nels again!" 
 
 " Those Pimpernels ! " said Mi\ Fielding, shaking
 
 138 SQUIRE ARDEN. 
 
 his head. " Ah, Clare ! they are flesh and blood 
 like yourself, and the young lady is a very nice girl; 
 and why should I not permit them to be kind to 
 their fellow-creatures because you think that is 
 your right ? Everybody has a right to be good to 
 their neighbours. And then they find us places for 
 our boys and girls." 
 
 " I have forgotten about everything since Edgar 
 came," said Clare, with a blush. " I have not seen 
 old Sarah since the first day. Please come with me, 
 and I will go and see her now. What sort of places ? 
 They are much better in nice houses in the country 
 than in Liverpool. The girls get spoiled when they 
 go into a town." 
 
 " But they get good wages," said Mr. Fielding, 
 " and are able to help their people. I have not told 
 you of this, for I knew you were prejudiced. Old 
 Sarah has a lodger now, a relation of Mr. Perfitt — 
 an old Scotchwoman — something quite new. I 
 should like you to see her, Clare. I have seen 
 plenty of Scotch in Liverpool, both workmen and 
 merchants ; but I do not understand this old lady. 
 She is a new type to me." 
 
 "I suppose being Scotch does not make much diflfer- 
 ence," said Clare, discontentedly. " I do not like them 
 much for my part. Is she in want, or can I be of any 
 use to her? I will 2;0 and see her in that case "
 
 SQUIRE ARDEN. 139 
 
 " Good heavens ' " cried Mr. Fielding, in alarm, 
 " Want ! I tell you she is a relation of Perfitt's, and 
 they are all as proud as Lucifer. I almost wonder, 
 Clare," he added more softly, dropping his voice, 
 "that you, who are so proud youi-self, should not 
 have more sympathy with the pride of others." 
 
 " Others ! " ciied Clare, with indignation, and 
 then she stopped, and looked at him ^Yith her eyes 
 full. If they had not been in the open air in the 
 village street she would have eased herself by a 
 burst of tears. " I am all wi'ong since Edgar came 
 home," she cried passionately out of the depths of 
 her heart. 
 
 " Since Edgar came home ? But my dear child 
 — my dear child ! " cried '^'Lr. Fielding, " I thought 
 you were so proud of your brother." 
 
 "And so I am," said Clare, hastily brushing 
 away the tears. " I know he is good — he is better 
 than me ; but he puts me all wrong notwithstand- 
 incr. He wiU not see thinors as I do. His nature is 
 always leading him the other way. He has no sort 
 of feeling — no — Oh ! I don't know how to describe 
 it. He puts me aU wi'ong." 
 
 " You must not indulge such thoughts," said the 
 Rector, with a certain mild authority which did not 
 misbecome him. " He shows a great deal of right 
 feeling, it appears to me. And we must not dis-
 
 140 SQUIHE ARDEN. 
 
 €uss Edgar's qualities. He is Edgar, and that is 
 enough." 
 
 "You don't need to tell me that," cried Clare, 
 with sudden offence ; and then she stopped, and 
 controlled herself. " I should like to go and see 
 this old Scotchwoman," she added, after a moment's 
 pause. What she had said was true, though she 
 was sorry for having said it. Edgar, with his 
 strange ways of thinking, his spontaneousness, and 
 freedom of mind, had put her all wrong. She had 
 been secure and certain in her own system of life so 
 long as everybody thought with her, and the bonds 
 of education and habit were unbroken. But now, 
 though she was still as strong in her Aixlenism as 
 ever, an uneasy, half- angry feeling that all the 
 world did not agree with her — nay, that the person 
 of most importance to her in the world did not 
 agree with her — oppressed Clare's mind, and made 
 her wretched. It is hard always to bear such a 
 blow, struck at one's youthful convictions. It is 
 intolerable at first, till the young sufferer learns 
 that other people have really a right to their 
 opinions, and that it is possible to disagree with 
 him or her and yet not be wicked. Clare could 
 not deny that Edgar's different views were main- 
 tained with great gentleness and candour towards 
 lierself — that they were held by one who wias not an
 
 SQUIRE AEDEX. 141 
 
 evil-minded revolutionaiy, but in every other respect 
 all that she mshed her brother to be. But she 
 felt his eyes upon her when she said and did many 
 little tilings which a few weeks ago she would have 
 thought most right and natural; and even while 
 she chafed at the tacit disapprobation, a secret self- 
 criticism, which she icmored and sti-uwled ao-ainst, 
 stole into the recesses of her soul. She would not 
 acknowledge nor allow it to be possible ; but yet it 
 was there. The natural consequence was that all her 
 little haughtinesses, her airs of superiority, her dis- 
 tinctions between the Ai'dens and their class and all 
 the rest of the world, sharpened and became more 
 striking. She was half-conscious that she exaggerated 
 her own opinions, painted the lights wliiter and the 
 shadows more profound, in involuntary reaction 
 against the new influences which began to affect her. 
 She had not noticed the Pimpernels, though she knew 
 them well by sight, and all about them ; but she had 
 no active feeling of enmity towards them until that 
 unfortunate day when they ventured to call, and 
 Edgar, in his ignorance, received them as if they 
 had been the family of a Duke. Since then Clare 
 had come to hate the innocent people. She had 
 begun to feel rabid about their class generally, and 
 to find words straying to her lips such as had struck 
 her as in very bad taste when old Lady Summeiix)n
 
 142 SQUIRE ARDEN. 
 
 said them. Lady Summerton believed the poor 
 were a host of impostors, and trades -people an 
 organised band of robbers, and attributed to the 
 nouveaux riches every debasing practice and senti- 
 ment. Clare had been disgusted by these opinions 
 in the old days. She had drawn herself up in her 
 youthful dignity, and had almost reproved her 
 senior. "They are good enough sort of people, 
 only they are not of our class," Clare had said ; 
 " please don't call them names. One may be a 
 Christian though one is not well-born." Such had 
 been her truly Christian feeling while yet she was 
 undisturbed by any doubt that to be well-born, and 
 especially to be born in Arden, was the highest 
 grace conceded by heaven. But now that doubt 
 had been cast upon this gospel, and that she daily 
 and hourly felt the scepticism in Edgar's eyes, 
 Clare's feelings had become as violent as old Lady 
 Summerton 's. The sentiment in her mind was that 
 of scorn and detestation towards the multitude 
 which was struggling to rise into that heaven 
 wherein the Ardens and Thornleighs shone serene. 
 " The poor people " were different ; they made no 
 pretences, assumed no equality; but the idea that 
 Alice Pimpernel came under the generic title of 
 young lady exactly as she herself did, and that 
 the daughter of a Liverpool man might ride, and
 
 SQUIRE ARDEX. 143 
 
 drive, and di'ess, and go eveiywhere on the same 
 footing as Clare Ai'den, became wormwood to her 
 soul. 
 
 Mr. Fielding walked along by her side somewhat 
 sadly. He was Clare's godfather, and he was very 
 proud of her. His own nature was far too mild and 
 gentle to be able to understand her vehemence of 
 feeling on these points ; but he had been grieved by 
 it often, and had given her soft reproofs, which as 
 yet had produced little effect. His great hope, how- 
 ever, had been in the retui-n of her brother. " Edgar 
 must know the world a little ; he will show her 
 better than I can how wrong she is," the gentle 
 Rector had said to himself But, alas, Edgar had 
 come home, and the result had not been accordinor 
 to his hope. " He is young and impetuous, and he 
 has hui'ried her convictions," was the comment he 
 made in his grieved mind as he accompanied her 
 along the village street. l^Ir. Fielding blamed no 
 one as long as he could help it ; much less would he 
 blame Clare, who was to him as his own child. He 
 thought within himself that now the only chance 
 for her was Life, that best yet hardest of all teachers. 
 Life would show her how vain were her theoiies, 
 how harsh her opinions ; but then Life itself must 
 be harsh and hard if it is to teach effectual lessons, 
 and it was painful to anticipate any harshness for
 
 144 SQUIRE ARDEN. 
 
 Clare. He went with her, somewhat drooping and 
 despondent, though the air was sweet with honey- 
 suckle and early roses. The summer was sweet,, 
 and so was life, at that blossoming time which the 
 girl had reached ; but there were still scorching 
 suns, as well as the winds of autumn and the chills 
 of winter, to come. 
 
 Old Sarah had more ways than one of gaining 
 her homely livelihood. The upper floor of her 
 cottage, on which there were two rooms, was fur- 
 nished out of the remains of some old furniture 
 which an ancient mistress had bequeathed to her ; 
 and there at distant intervals the old woman had a 
 lodger, when such visitors came to Arden. They 
 were homely little rooms, low-roofed, and furnished 
 with the taste peculiar to a real cottage, and not in 
 the least like the ideal one ; but people in search of 
 health, with small means at their disposal, were very 
 glad to give her the ten or twelve shillings a week, 
 which was all she asked. Down below, in the rooms 
 where Sarah herself lived, she was in the habit of 
 receiving one or two young girls, orphans, or the 
 children of the poorest and least dependable parish- 
 ioners, to train them to household work and plain 
 sewing. It was Clare's idea, and it had worked very 
 well ; but for some time past Clare had neglected her 
 protegees. Edgar's arrival and all the dawning
 
 SQUIRE ARDEN. 145 
 
 struggles of the new life had occupied and confused 
 her, and she had left her old nurse and her young 
 pupils to themselves. She could scarcely remember 
 as she went in who they were, though Sarah's pupils 
 were known in the parish as !Miss Arden's girls. 
 There were two on hand at the present moment in 
 the little kitchen which was Sarahs abode. One 
 stood before a lars^e wliite-covered table ironinor fine 
 linen, while the old niu^se sat by in her big chair, 
 spectacles on nose, and a piece of coarse needlework 
 in hand, superintending the process, with many 
 comments, which, added to the heat of the day and 
 the ii^ons, had heightened Mary Smith's complexion 
 to a brilliant ciimson. The other sat workino- in 
 the shady backgi^ound, the object of Mary's intensest 
 envy, unremarked and unreproved. It was the un- 
 fortunate clear-starcher who had to make her bob to 
 the gentlefolks, and called foi-th 3Iiss Arden's ques- 
 tions. " I hope she is a good girl," Clare said, look- 
 ing at Mary, who stood curtseying and hot, with the 
 iron in her hand. " She is none so good but she 
 might be better, Miss Clare," said old Sarah : " I 
 don't know none o' them as is ; but she do come on 
 in her ironing. As for collars and cults and them 
 plain things, I trust her by herself." 
 
 " I am very glad to hear it," said Clare, " and I 
 hope Jane is as satisfactoiy ; but vi'e have not time 
 
 VOL. I. L
 
 14G SQUIRE AltDEX. 
 
 to talk about them to-day. Mr. Fielding says 
 you have a new lodger, whom he wishes me 
 to go and see. Is she upstairs ? Is she at 
 home ? Does she like the place ? And tell me 
 what sort of person she is, for I am going to see 
 her now." 
 
 Sarah got up from her chair with a bewildered 
 look, and took off her spectacles, which she always 
 did in emergencies. "I beg your pardon. Miss 
 
 Clare," she said with a curtsey, "but She 
 
 ain't not to say a poor person. I don't know as 
 
 she'd — be pleased Not as your visit. Miss, ain't 
 
 a compliment ; but " 
 
 " The Scotch are very proud," said Mr. Fielding, 
 in his most deprecating tone ; " they are dreadfully 
 independent, and like their own way. And, besides, 
 she does not want anything of us. She is not, 
 as Sarah says, a poor person. I think, perhaps, 
 another day " 
 
 " Then why did you bring me here to see her ?" 
 said Clare, with some reason. Was it to read her a 
 practical lesson — to show her that she was no longer 
 queen in Arden ? A flush of hasty anger came to 
 her pale cheek. 
 
 "I only meant " Mr. Fielding began; "all 
 
 that I intended was Why, here is Edgar I and 
 
 Mr. Perfitt with him. About business, I suppose, as
 
 SQUIRE ARDEN. 147 
 
 you. two are going together. My dear boy, I am so 
 ^lad you are taking to your work." 
 
 " We have been half over the estate," said Edgar, 
 coming in, and putting down his hat on Mary Smith's 
 ironing table, while she stood and gaped at him, for- 
 getting her curtsey in the awe of so close an approach 
 to the young Squire ; "but Perfitt has some one to 
 visit here, and I have come to see Sarah, which is 
 not work, but pleasure. I did not expect to find you 
 all. Perfitt, go and see 3"0ur friend; nevermind me. 
 Oh, I beg your pardon," said Edgar, standing sud- 
 denly aside. They all looked up for the moment 
 with a little start, and yet there was nothing to 
 startle them. It was only Sarah's Scotch lodger, 
 Mr. Perfitt 's relative, who had come into the little 
 room.
 
 148 SQUIRE ARDEN. 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 She was a woman of about sixty, with very dark 
 eyes and very white hair — a tall woman, quite 
 unbent by the weight of her years, and unshaken 
 by anything she could have met with in them ; and 
 yet she did not look as if she had encountered little^ 
 or found life an easy passage from the one unknown 
 to the skirts of the other. She did not look younger 
 than her age, and yet there was no sentiment of age 
 about her. She was not the kind of woman of whom 
 one says that they have been beautiful, or have been 
 pretty. She had perhaps never been either one 
 or the other ; but all that she had ever been, or more, 
 she was now. Her eyes were still perfectly clear 
 and bright, and they had depths in them which 
 could never have belonged to them in youth. The 
 outline of her face was not the round and perfect 
 outline which belongs to the young, but every 
 wrinkle had its meaning. It was not mere years of 
 which they spoke, but of many experiences, varied 
 knowledge, deep acquaintance with that hardest of
 
 SQUIRE ARDEN. 149 
 
 all sciences — life. Not a trace of its original colour 
 belonged to the liair — slightly rippled, with an irre- 
 gularity which gave a strange impression of life and 
 vigour to it — which appeared under her cap. The 
 cap was dead white too, tied under her chin wdth a 
 solid bow of white ribbon ; and this mass of white- 
 ness brought out the pure tints of her face like a 
 picture. These tints had deepened a little in tone 
 from the red and white of youth, but were as clear 
 as a child's complexion of lilies and roses. The 
 slight shades of brown did but mellow the counte- 
 nance, as it does in so many painted faces. The 
 eyes were full of energy and animation, not like the 
 eyes of a spectator, but of one accustomed to do and 
 to struggle — acting, not looking on. The whole 
 party assembled in old Sarah's living-room turned 
 round and looked at her as she came in, and there 
 was not one who did not feel abashed when they 
 became conscious that for a moment this inspection 
 was not quite respectful to the stranger. So far as 
 real individuality and personal importance went, she 
 was a more notable personage than any one of them. 
 The Rector, who was the nearest to her in age, 
 drew a little aside from before the clear eyes of this 
 old woman. He had been a quiet man, harboured 
 from all the storms, or almost aU the storms of 
 existence ; but here was one who had gone through
 
 150 SQUIRE ARDEN. 
 
 them all. As for Edgar, there was something in her 
 looks which won his heart in a moment. He went 
 lip to her with his natural frankness, while the 
 others stood looking on doubtfully. " I am sure it 
 is you whom Perfitt has been talking to me about," 
 he said. " I hope you like Arden. I hope your 
 granddaughter is better. And I trust you will tell 
 Perfitt if there is anything than can be done to 
 make you more comfortable ; my sister and I will 
 be too glad " 
 
 Here Clare stepped forward, feeling that she 
 must not permit herself to be committed. " I am 
 sure Sarah will do her very best to make you com- 
 fortable," she said, with great distinctness, not 
 hurrying over her words, as Edgar did — and not 
 disposed to permit any vague large promises to be 
 made in her name. She was not particularly 
 anxious about the stranger's comfort ; but Edgar was. 
 hasty, and would always have his way. 
 
 " I am much obliged to ye both," said the new- 
 comer, her strong yet soft Scotch voice, with its broad 
 vowels, sounding large and ample, like her person. 
 She gave but one glance at Clare, but her eyes dwelt 
 upon Edgar with curious interest and eagerness. 
 No one else in the place seemed to attract her as he 
 did. She returned the touch of his hand with a 
 vigorous clasp, which startled even him. " I hear
 
 SQUIRE ARDEN. 151 
 
 ye're but late come hame," she said, in a deep melo- 
 dious tone, lingering upon the words. 
 
 " Yes," said Edgar, somewhat surprised by her 
 air of interest. " I am almost as much a strangei- 
 here as you are. Perfitt tells me you have come 
 from the hills. I hope Ai-den will agree with the 
 Httle girl." 
 
 " Is there some one ill ? " said Clare. 
 
 " My gi^anddaughter," said the stranger, " but 
 no just a httle girl — httle enough, poor thing 
 — the weakhest I ever trained ; but she's been 
 seventeen years in this world — a weary world to 
 her. Her life is a thread. I cannot tell where she 
 got her weakness from — no from my side." 
 
 " Na ; not from your side," echoed Pei-fitt, who 
 had been standing beliind. '' But Mr. Arden has- 
 other things ado than listen to our clavers about 
 our family. I'll go with you, with his leave, up the 
 stair." 
 
 "Has Dr. Somers been to see her?" said Clare. 
 " If she is jNIr Pei-fitt's relation, perhaps we could be 
 of some use ; some jelly perhaps, or fiiiit " 
 
 " I am much obhged to the young lady, but I'll 
 not trouble anybody," was the answer. " Thank ye 
 all. If I might ask the hberty, when Jeanie is able, 
 of a walk about your park " 
 
 She had turned to Edgar again, upon whom her
 
 152 SQUIRE ARDEN. 
 
 ^yes dwelt with growing interest. Even Mr. Field- 
 ing thought it strange. "If she wants anything, 
 surely I am the fit person to help her," Clare could 
 not help saying within herself. But it was Edgar to 
 whom the stranger turned. He, too, was a little 
 surprised by her look. "The park is open to eveiy- 
 body " he said ; " that is no favour. But if you would 
 like to go through the gardens and the private 
 grounds — or even the house — Perfitt, you can 
 arrange all that. And perhaps you might speak to 
 the gardener, Clare ? " 
 
 "Whatever you wish, Edgar," said his sister, 
 turning away. She was displeased. It was she 
 who ought naturally to have been appealed to, and 
 she was left out. But the new-comer evidently 
 was honestly oblivious of Clare's very presence. 
 She had no intention of disrespect to the young 
 lady, or of neglecting her claims ; but she forgot 
 her simply, being fascinated by her brother. It was 
 him whom she thanked with concise and reserved 
 words, but a certain strange fulness of tone and 
 expression. And then she made the party a little 
 bow, which took in the whole, and turned and led 
 the way up the narrow cottage stair — Perfitt 
 following her — leaving them all considerably puz- 
 zled, and more moved than Clare would have 
 allowed to be possible. " If this is your Scotch-
 
 SQUIRE ARDEN. 153 
 
 woman," she said, turning to the Rector, "I don't won- 
 der 3'ou found her original ;' and Clare went hastily 
 out of the cottage, without a word to Sarah, followed 
 by the gentlemen, who did not know what to say. 
 
 " Listen to her story before you begin to dislike 
 her," said Edgar. "Peiiitt told me as we came 
 along. It appears she had her daughter's family 
 thrown on her hands a great many years ago. 
 She has a little farm in Scotland somewhere, and 
 manaores it herself. Wlien these childi'en came 
 to her, she set to work as if she had been six 
 men. She has brought up and educated every 
 one of them, — not to be ploughmen, as you would 
 think — but educated them in the Scotch way ; one 
 is a doctor, another a clergyman, and so on. If you 
 don't respect a woman like that, I do. Perfitt says 
 she never flinched nor complained, but went at her 
 work like a hero. And this is a granddaughter of 
 another family whom she has taken charge of in 
 the same way." 
 
 " I felt sure she was something remarkable," said 
 Mr. Fielding, "I told Clare I had never seen any 
 one quite Hke her ; now, didn't I ? Scotch, 3'ou 
 know — very Scotch ; but to me a new type." 
 
 " I tliink I prefer the old type," said Clare, with a 
 feeling of opposition, which she her-self scarcely un- 
 derstood ; " one knows what to do with them ; and
 
 154 SQUIRE ARDEN. 
 
 then they are civil, at least. I am going to see some 
 now," and she turned back suddenly, waving her 
 hand to her companions, and went on past Sarah's 
 cottage to pay her visits. The people she was going 
 to see were quite of the old type. They had no sus- 
 ceptibilities to menager, no over-delicate feelings to 
 be studied. They were ready to accept all that could 
 be procured, and to ask for more. Clare knew, 
 when she entered these cottages, that she was about 
 to hear a long list of wants, and to have it made 
 apparent to her that the comfort, and health, and 
 happiness of her pensioners was entirely in her 
 hands. It was more flattering than the independ- 
 ence of the stranger, who wanted nothing ; but yet 
 the contrast confused the mind of the girl, who had 
 never had anything of the kind made so clearly 
 apparent to her before. One of her old women had 
 an orphan granddaughter too ; but her complaints 
 were many of the responsibility this threw upon 
 her, and the trouble she had in keeping her charge 
 in order. " Them young lasses, they eats and they 
 drinks, and they're never done ; when a cup o' tea 
 would serve me, there's a cooking and a messing for 
 Lizzy ; and out o' evenings when I just want her ; 
 and every penny a going for nonsense. At my time 
 o' life. Miss, it ain't bother as one wants ; it's quiet 
 as does best for ou'd folks."
 
 SQUIRE ARDEN. 155- 
 
 " But she has nobody to take care of her except 
 you," said Clare, pondering her new lesson. 
 
 " Eh, ^liss I They ben't good for nothing for 
 taking care o' young ones ben't ou'd folks." 
 
 Clare turned away with a little disgust. She 
 promised to supply all the wants that had been 
 indicated to her, and they were many. But she did 
 it with less than her usual kindness, and a sensation 
 of indicmation in her mind. How different was 
 
 o 
 
 this sei-vile dependence and denial of all indi^ddual 
 responsibihty from the story she had just heard • 
 She was wi'ong, as was natural ; for the old egotist 
 was in reality very fond of her Lizzy, and only made 
 use of her name in order to derive a more plentiful 
 supply from the open hand of the young lady. Had 
 there been no young lady to depend on, probably old 
 Betty would have made no complaint, but done her 
 best, and grudged nothing she had to her grand- 
 child. Clare, however, was too young and inex- 
 perienced in human kind to know that what is bad 
 often comes uppeiTuost, concealing the good, and 
 that there are quantities of people who always show 
 their worst, not their best, face to the world. She 
 went away in suppressed discontent, revolving in 
 her mind without knowing it those questions of 
 social philosophy with which every alms-giver must 
 more or less come in contact. It was right for the-
 
 156 SQUIRE AllDEN. 
 
 Ardens, as lords of the manor, to watch over their 
 dependents; of that tliere could be no doubt. Clare 
 would have felt, as one might imagine a benevolent 
 slaveholder to feel, had there been any destitu- 
 tion 01- unreheved misery in her village : but the 
 question had never occurred to her whether it was 
 good for the people to be so watched over and taken 
 care of? Supposing, for instance, such a case as 
 that of Mr. Perfitt's relative, Sarah's lodger. Was 
 it best for a woman in* such circumstances to toil 
 and strive, and deny herself all ease and pleasure, 
 and bring up the children thus cast upon her with 
 the sweat of her brow, according to that primeval 
 curse or blessing which was not laid upon woman ? 
 Or would it be better to appeal to others, and make 
 interest, and establish the helpless beings in orphan 
 schools and benevolent institutions ? The last was 
 the plan which Clare had been chiefly cognisant of 
 When any one died in the village, it had been her 
 wont to bestir herself instantly about their children, 
 as if the responsibility was not upon the widow or 
 the relatives, but upon her. She had disposed of 
 them in all sorts of places — here one, and there 
 another ; and she had found, in most cases, that the 
 villagers were but too willing to transfer their 
 burdens to the young shoulders which were so 
 ready to undertake them. But was that the best %
 
 SQUIRE ARDEX. lo7 
 
 If Edgar had enunciated this new doctrine in words, 
 no doubt she would have combated it with all her 
 might, and would have been very eloquent about 
 the duties of property and the bond between supe- 
 riors and inferiors. But Edgar had not said a word 
 on the subject, probably had not thought at all 
 about it. He was as liberal as she was, even la^dsh 
 in his bounty, ready to give to anybody or everj^- 
 body. He had said nothing on the subject ; but he 
 had told the story of that strange new-comer, who 
 was (surely) so out of place, so unlike everything 
 else in the little Arden world. 
 
 Clai'e passed by Sarah's house again as these 
 thoughts went thi'ough her mind. The window 
 of the upper room was a broad lattice wdndow 
 A\ith diamond panes, half concealed by honey- 
 suckles, which were not in very good trim, but 
 waved their long branches in sweet disorder over 
 the half-red half-white wall, where the orionnal 
 bricks, all stained wdth lichens, peered thi'ough the 
 whitewash. The casement was open, and against it 
 leaned a Kttle figure, the sight of which sent a thi-ill 
 through the young lady's heart. The face looked very 
 young, and was surrounded by softly curling masses 
 of hair, of that ruddy golden hue wliich is so often 
 to be seen in children's hair in Scotland, and which 
 is almost always accompanied by the sweetest
 
 158 SQUIRE ARDEN. 
 
 purity of complexion. It was a lovely face, like 
 an angel's, with something of the half- divine 
 abstraction about it of Raphael's angel children. 
 She had never seen anything so strangely vision- 
 ary, fair, and wild, like something from another 
 world. Clare stood still and gazed, forgetting 
 everything but this strange beautiful vision. The 
 stranger's eyes were turned towards Arden, to the 
 great banks of foliage which stood up against the sky, 
 hiding the house within their depths. What was 
 she thinking of? whom was she looking for? or 
 was she thinking of, looking for no one, abstracted 
 in some dream ? Clare's heart began to beat as she 
 stood unconscious and gazed. She was brought 
 back to herself and to the ordinary rules of life by 
 seeing that the old woman had come to the win- 
 dow, and was looking down upon her with equal 
 earnestness. Then she went on with a little start, 
 trembling, she could not tell why. Was it a child 
 or a woman she had seen ? and why had she come 
 here ?
 
 SQUIRE ARDEN. 159 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 The next day after these events occurred the dinner 
 at the Pimpernels. Miss Arden had made no 
 further allusion to it in her brother's presence. He 
 had said he would stay away if she exacted it, but 
 Clare was much too proud to exact. She stood 
 aside, and let him have liis will. She was even so 
 amiable as to fasten a sprig of myrtle iu his coat 
 when he came to bid her good night. " That is veiy 
 sweet of you, as you don't approve of me," he said, 
 kissLQg the white hand that performed this little 
 sisterly office. They were two orphans, alone in 
 the world, and Edgar's heart expanded over his 
 sister, notwithstanding the many doubts and diffi- 
 culties which he was aware he had occasioned her. 
 
 " Why should I disapprove ? " she said. " You 
 are a man ; you are not so easily affected as a girl ; 
 but only please remember, Edgar, they are not 
 people that it would be nice for you to see much of. 
 They are not Hke us." 
 
 "Not Hke you, certainly," said light-hearted
 
 160 SQUIRE ARDEN. 
 
 Edgar. " I rather liked to see you, do yon knowv 
 beside them ; you looked like a young queen." 
 
 Clare was pleased, though she did not care to- 
 confess it. " It does not require much to make one 
 look like a queen beside that good, fat Mrs. Pimper- 
 nel," she said, with more charity than she had ever 
 before felt towards her recent visitors. '' If you 
 are not very late, Edgar, perhaps I shall see you 
 when you come home." 
 
 And she watched him as he drove his dogcart 
 down the avenue with a less anxious mind. " He 
 is not like an Arden," she said to herself ; " but yet 
 one could not but remark him wherever he went. 
 He has so much heart and spirit about him ; and I 
 think he is clever. He knows a great deal more 
 than most people, though that does not matter 
 much. But still I think perhaps he would not be 
 so easily carried away after all." 
 
 Edgar, for his part, went away in very good 
 spirits. He liked the rapid sense of motion, the 
 light vehicle, the fine horse, the swiftness which was 
 almost flight. He rather liked making a dive out 
 of the formal world which had absorbed him, into 
 another hemisphere; and he even liked, which 
 would have vexed Clare had she known it, to be 
 alone. He would not suffer himself to think so, for 
 it seemed ungrateful, unbrotherly, unkind; but
 
 SQUIRE ARDEX. 161 
 
 still a man cannot get over all the habits of his 
 life in thi'ee weeks, and it was a pleasui'e to him to 
 be alone. He seemed to have thrown off the burden 
 of his responsibilities as he swept through the vil- 
 lage and along the rural road to the Red House. 
 He expected to be amused, and he was pleased that 
 in his amusement he would be subject to no criti- 
 cism. Criticism is very uncomfortable, especially 
 when it comes from youi- nearest and dearest. To 
 feel in your fi^eest moments that an eye is upon you, 
 that your proceedings are subject to lively comment, 
 is always tiying. And Edgar had not been used 
 to it. Thanks to the sweetest temper in the 
 world, he took it ver}^ well on the whole. But 
 this night he ceitainly did feel the happier that he 
 was fi^ee. The Pimpernels gi'eeted him Tvdth a 
 cordiality that was almost overpowering. The 
 father shook both his hands, the mother pounced 
 uppn him and introduced him to a dozen people in 
 a moment, and as for poor Alice, she blushed, and 
 smiled, and buttoned her gloves, which was her 
 usual occupation. Wlien the business of the intro- 
 duction was over Edgar fell back out of the princi- 
 pal place, and took a passing note of the guests. A 
 dozen names had been said to him, but not one had 
 he made out, except that of Lord Newmarch, who 
 was a tall, spare young man in spectacle^^, with a 
 VOL. I. M
 
 162 SQUIRE ARDEN. 
 
 thin intellectual face. There were two men of Mr 
 Pimpernel's stamp, with vast white waistcoats, and 
 heads slightly bald — men very well known upon 
 'Change, and holding the best of reputations in 
 Liverpool — with two wives, who were ample and 
 benign, like the mistress of the house ; and there 
 were two or three men in a cornei-, with Oxford 
 written all over them, curiously looking out through 
 spectacles, or as it were out of mists, at the other 
 part of the company. Lord Newmarch did not 
 attach himself to either of these parties. It was not 
 very long indeed since he had been an Oxford man 
 himself, but he was now a politician, and had 
 emero^ed from the academical state. 
 
 There was one other among the guests who 
 attracted Edgar's attention, he could not tell why 
 — a tall man about ten years older than himself, 
 with black hair, just touched in some places with 
 grey, and deep-set dark-blue eyes, which shone 
 like a bit of frosty sky out of his dark bearded face. 
 The face was familiar to him, though he felt sure he 
 had never seen this individual man before; and 
 though he kept himself in the background there 
 was an air about him which Edgar recognised by 
 instinct. Among the old merchants and the young 
 Dons — men hmited on one hand within a very 
 material universe, and on the other by the still
 
 SQUIRE ARDEN. 163 
 
 >traiter limitations of a purely intellectual sphere 
 — this man looked, what he was, a man of the 
 world. Edgar came to this conclusion instinctively, 
 feehng himself drawn by an interest which was 
 only half sympathy to the only individual in the 
 party who desei^'ed that name. Chance or ISlrs. 
 Pimpernel aiTanged it so that this man was placed 
 at the opposite end of the table at dinner, quite 
 out of Edgar's reach. ^Ir. Arden of Ai-den had 
 to conduct one of the most impoii^nt ladies 
 present to dinner, and was "within reach of Mrs. 
 Pimpernel ^^-ith Alice on his other hand ; but the 
 stranger who interested him was at the foot of the 
 table, being evidently a person of no importance. It 
 was only Edgar's second English party, and certainly 
 at this moment it was not nearly so pleasant as the 
 dinner at Thome, with pretty Gussy telling him 
 ever^i:hing. ^Ii's. Buxton, who sat between him and 
 Lord Newmarch, was too anxious to attend to her 
 noble neighbour's conversation to give veiy much 
 attention to Edgar. Now and then she turned to him 
 indeed, and was veiy affable ; but her subject was still 
 Newmarch, and they were too near to that personage 
 to make the discussion agreeable. '' You should 
 hear Lord Newmarch on the education question," 
 the lady said ; " his ideas are so clear, and then they 
 are so chaimingly expressed. I consider his style
 
 164 SQUIRE ARDEN. 
 
 admirable. You don't know it ? How very strange,. 
 Mr. Arden ! He contributes a good deal to the Edin- 
 burgh. I thought of course you must have been 
 acquainted with his works." 
 
 " I never read any of them," said Edgar ; and I 
 trust I never shall, he felt he should have liked to 
 have said ; but he only added instead, " I have 
 spent all my time wandering to and fro over the 
 face of the earth, which leaves one in the depths of 
 ignorance of everything one ought to know." 
 
 " Oh, do you think so ? " said Mrs. Buxton. 
 "For my part, I think there is nothing like travell- 
 ing for expanding the mind. Lord Ncwmarch 
 published a charming book of travels last year — 
 From Turnstall to Teneriffe. Turnstall is one of 
 his family places, you know. It made quite a 
 commotion in the literary world. I do think he is 
 one of the most rising young men of the age." 
 
 " Do you admire Lord Newmarch very much ? " 
 Edgar whis];)ered to Alice, who was eating her fish 
 very sedately by his side. Poor Alice grew very 
 red, and gave a little choking cough, and put down 
 her fork, and cleared her throat. She looked as if 
 she had been caught doing something w^hich was- 
 very improper, and dropped her fork as if it burned 
 her. And it was a moment before she could speak. 
 "Oh yes, Mr. Arden," was the reply she made.
 
 SQUIRE ARDEN. 165 
 
 •giving a shy glance at him, and then looking down 
 upon her plate. 
 
 " But don't you think he looks a little too much 
 as if the fate of the country rested on his head ? " 
 said Edgar, valiantly trying again. " Tell me, 
 please, is he a bore ? " 
 
 "Oh no, Mr. Arden!" said Alice, and she looked 
 at her plate again. " Does she want to finish her 
 fish, I wonder?" Edgar asked himself; and then he 
 turned to 'Mrs. Buxton, to leave his younger com- 
 panion at liberty. But ^Irs. Buxton had tackled 
 Lord Newmarch, and they were discussing the 
 question of compulsory education, with much 
 authoritative condescension on the gentleman's 
 part, and eager interest on the lady's. Edgar was 
 not uninterested in such questions, but he had 
 come to the Red House with a light-hearted 
 intention of amusing himself, and he sighed for 
 Gussy Thomleigh and her gossip, or anything that 
 should be pleasant and nonsensical. Alice had 
 returned to her fish, not that she cared for the fish, 
 but because it was the only thing for her to do. 
 If Edgar had but known it, she was quite disposed 
 to go on saying, " Oh yes, Mr. Arden," and " Oh no, 
 Mr. Arden," all the time of dinner, without caring 
 in the least for the entrees, or even for the jellies 
 .and creams and other dainties Avith which the
 
 166 SQUIRE ARDEN. 
 
 banquet wound up. But then he did not know 
 that, and could not but imagine that her fish wavS 
 what she liked best. 
 
 In his despair, however, he caught Mrs. Pimper- 
 nel's eye, who was looking bland but disturbed, 
 saying " There is no doubt of that," and " Educa- 
 tion is very necessary," and " I am sure I am quite 
 of Lord Newmarch's opinion," at intervals. She 
 was amiable, but she was not happy with that wise 
 young nobleman at her right hand, and such an 
 appreciative audience as Mrs. Buxton beside him. 
 Edgar glanced across at her, and caught her look of 
 distress. "I do not care anything about educa- 
 tion," he said, firing a friendly gun, as it were, 
 across her bows. "I hate it when I am at dinner." 
 And then Mrs. Pimpernel gave him a look which 
 said more than words, 
 
 "Oh, fie," she said, leaning across the corner,, 
 " you know you should not say that. Do you think 
 we English are behind in light conversation, Mr. 
 Arden ? For more important matters I know we 
 can defy anybody," and she gave Lord Newmarch 
 an eloquent look, which he returned with a little 
 bow; "but I daresay," said Mrs. Pimpernel, with 
 that cloud of uneasiness on her brow, " we are behind 
 in chitter-chatter and table-talk." 
 
 " I like chitter-chatter," said Edgar ; " and be^des,.
 
 SQUIRE ARDEX. 167 
 
 I want to know who the people are. Who is that 
 pretty girl on Mr. Pinipemel's left hand ? You must 
 recollect I know nobody, and am quite a stranger in 
 my own place." 
 
 " Oh, Mr. Arden, that is Ikliss Molyneaux, JMrs. 
 Molyneaux's eldest daughter," said the gracious 
 hostess, indicating the lady on her left hand, 
 who smiled and coloured, and looked at Edgar 
 with friendly eyes. " She is pretty — such a com- 
 plexion and teeth ! Did you notice her teeth, Mr. 
 Arden ? They are like pearls. My Alice has nice 
 teeth, but I always say they are nothing to compare 
 to Mary Molyneaux's. And that's ^li\ Arden, your 
 namesake, beside her. He is considered a very 
 handsome man." 
 
 " Do you approve of personal gossip, ^li-. Ai'den ? " 
 said ^Ii's. Buxton, breaking in ; but Edgar was too 
 much interested to be stopped, even by motives of 
 ci^dlity. 
 
 " Mr. Ai'den, my namesake ! Then that explains 
 it." He said these last words, not aloud, but ^vithin 
 himself, for now he could see that the face which 
 this man's face recalled to him was that of his ovm 
 sister, Clare. It gave him the most curious sensation, 
 moving him almost to anger. A stranger whom he 
 knew nothing of, who was nothing to him, to 
 resemt)le Clare ! It looked like profanity, desecration.
 
 168 SQUIRE ARDEN. 
 
 After all, there was something evidently in the 
 Arden blood — something entirely wanting to himself 
 — a secret influence — which he, the first of the name, 
 did not share. 
 
 " Not only your namesake," said Lord Newmarch, 
 in his thin voice, much to Mrs, Buxton's disgust. 
 The young lord was very philosophical, and full to 
 overflowing with questions of political importance, 
 and the progress of the world, and all the knowledge 
 of the nineteenth century ; but still he was patrician 
 born, and could not resist a genealogical question. 
 "Not only your namesake. He is old Arthur 
 Arden's son, who was your father's first cousin. He 
 is the nearest relative you have except your sister ; 
 and, as long as you don't have sons of your own, he 
 is the next heir." 
 
 " Ah I " said Edgar, as if he had sustained 
 a blow. He could not explain how it was that he 
 received the information thus. Why should he 
 object to Arthur Arden, or be anything but pleased 
 to see the next in the succession — the man who, of 
 all the men in the world, should be most interesting 
 to him ? " The same blood runs in our veins," he 
 tried to say to himself, and gazed down curiously at 
 the end of the table, raising thereby a little pleasur- 
 able excitement in the bosom of Mrs. Molyneaux, 
 who sat opposite to him. " He is struck with my
 
 SQUIRE ARDEN. 169 
 
 Mary/' the mother thought ; and Edgar was so good 
 a match that it was no wonder she was moved a 
 little. Fortunately, Mary knew nothing about it, 
 but sat by the other Ai'den, and chattered as much 
 as Gussy ThoiTdeigh had done, and could not help 
 thinking what a pity it was so handsome a man, 
 and one so like the family, should not be the true 
 heir. " I have been over Ai'den Hall, and you are 
 so like the portraits," Mary Molyneaux was saying at 
 that very moment, while Lord Newmarch explained 
 who her companion was to Edgai-. " The present 
 Ml-. Ai'den is not a bit like them. I can't help feel- 
 ing as if you must be the rightful Squire." 
 
 " I have got only the complexion, and not the 
 lands," said ^Ii\ Aithur Arden. " It is a poor 
 exchange. And this is the first time I ever 
 saw my cousin. He does not know me from 
 Adam. We are not a veiy friendly race ; but I 
 know Clare." 
 
 " Oh, Miss Ai'den ? Don't you think she is quite 
 beautiful — but awfully proud ? " said the girl. " She 
 will not know the Pimpernels ; though all the best 
 people have called on them, she will never call. 
 Don't you think it is honid for a girl to be so 
 proud ? " 
 
 "She has the family spiiit," said her kinsman, 
 with a look which Mary, in her innocence, did not
 
 170 SQUIRE ARDEN. 
 
 comprehend. The talk at the table at Thome was 
 more amusing, but perhaps there was a deeper 
 interest in what was then going on at the Red 
 House.
 
 SQUIRE ARDEN. 171 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 It was impossible for Edgar not to look with in- 
 terest upon this other Arden, who was so like his 
 family, so like his owti sister, with the very same 
 air about him which the portraits had, and in which 
 the young man felt he was himself so strangely 
 wanting. Perhaps if Gussy Thomleigh had been by 
 his side, or even that pretty ^Miss Molyneaux, who 
 was entertaining his unknown relation, his eyes and 
 thoughts would not have been so persistently drawn 
 that way. But between Alice Pimpernel, who said, 
 " Oh no, 'Mr. Aixlen," and " Oh yes, Mr. Arden," and 
 Mrs. Buxton, who was collecting the pearls which 
 dropped from the Hps of Lord Newmarch, the dinner 
 was not lively to him : and he caught from the other 
 end of the table tones of that voice which some- 
 how sounded familiar, and turns of the head full 
 of that vague family resemblance which goes so far 
 in a race, and which recalled to him not only his 
 sister whom he loved, but his father whom he did 
 not love. How strange it was that he should have
 
 172 SQUIRE ARDEN. 
 
 been so entirely passed over amid all those family 
 links that bound the others together ! It proves, 
 Edgar said to himself, that it is not blood that does 
 it, but only association, education, the impressions 
 made upon the mind at its most susceptible age. 
 He I'easoned thus with himself, but did not find the 
 reasoning quite satisfactory, and could not but feel 
 a mingled attraction and repulsion to the stranger 
 who was his nearest relation, his successor if he 
 died, and surety ought to be his friend while he 
 lived. When the ladies left the room, and the 
 others drew closer round the table, he could no 
 longer resist the impulse that moved him. It was 
 true that Clare had expressed anything but friendly 
 feelings for this unknown cousin ; but anyhow, were 
 he bad or good, it was Edgar's duty, as the chief of 
 the family, to know its branches. It did not seem 
 to him even that it was right or natural to ask for 
 any introduction. After a little hesitation he 
 changed his place, and took the chair by Arthur 
 Arden's side. " They tell me you are of my family," 
 he said, " and your face makes me sure of it — in 
 which case, I suppose, we are each other's nearest 
 relations, at least on the Arden side." 
 
 The landless cousin paused for a moment before 
 he replied to the young Squire. He looked him all 
 •over with something which might have seemed
 
 SQUIRE ARDEX. 173 
 
 insolence had Edgar's nature led him to expect evil. 
 " I suppose, of course, you are my cousin the Squire," 
 he said, carelessly, " though I ceiiiainly should never 
 have made you out to be an Arden by your face." 
 
 " No ; I am like my mother they tell me," said 
 Edgar ; but for the first time in his life he reddened 
 at that loner understood and acknowledored fact. 
 There was nothing said that insulted him, but there 
 was an inference which he did not understand, 
 which yet penetrated him like a dagger. It was 
 unendurable, though he had no comprehension what 
 it meant. 
 
 " I never knew rightly who Mrs. Arden was," 
 said Arthur ; " a foreigner, I believe, or at least a 
 stranger to the county. I don't think I should like 
 my eldest son to be so unlike me if I were a married 
 man." 
 
 " Mr. Arden, I don't pretend to understand your 
 meaning ; but if you wish to be offensive perhaps 
 our acquaintance had better end at once," said 
 Edgar, " I have no desire to quarrel with my heir." 
 
 Another pause followed, during which the dark 
 countenance of the other Arden fluctuated for 
 a moment between darkness and light. Then it 
 suddenly brightened all over with that smile for 
 which the Ai^dens were famous. " Your heir ! " he 
 said. " You are half a Hfetime younger than I am.
 
 174 SQUIRE ARDEN. 
 
 and much more likely to be my heir — if I had any- 
 thing to leave. And I don't want to be offensive. 
 I am a bitter beggar ; I can't help myself If you 
 were as poor as I am, and saw a healthy boy cutting 
 you out of everything — land, money, consideration, 
 life " 
 
 "Don't say so," cried open-hearted Edgar, for- 
 getting his offence ; " on the contrary, if I can do 
 anything to make life more tolerable — more agree- 
 able I am just as likely to die as any one," he 
 
 continued, with a half comic sense that this must be 
 consolatory to his new acquaintance ; " and I have 
 my sister to think of, who in that case would want 
 a friend. Why should not we be of mutual use to 
 each other ? I now ; you perhaps hereafter " 
 
 " By Jove I " cried the other, looking at him 
 keenly. And then he drank off a large glass of 
 claret, as if he required the strength it would give. 
 " You are the strangest fellow I ever met." 
 
 " I don't think so," said Edgar, laughing. " No- 
 thing so remarkable; but I hope we shall know 
 each other better before long. There is not much 
 attraction just now in the country, but in September, 
 if you will come to Arden " 
 
 " Do you know Miss Arden can't bear me ? " said 
 his new friend. 
 
 "Can't bear you I" Edgar faltered as he spoke
 
 SQUIRE ARDEN. 175 
 
 for as soon as his unwary lips had uttered the invita- 
 tion he remembered what Clare had said. 
 
 " Yes ; your sister hates me," said Aiihur Ai'den. 
 " I cannot tell wdiy, I am sure. I suppose because 
 my father and yours fought like cat and dog — or 
 like near relations if you choose, wliich answers 
 quite as well. I am not at aU sure that he did not 
 send you abroad to be out of our way. He believed 
 us capable of poisoning you — or — any other atrocity," 
 he added, with a little harsh laugh. 
 
 "And are you?" said Edgar, laughing too, though 
 with no great heart. 
 
 "I don't think I shall try," said his new kinsman. 
 " My father is dead, and one is less courageous than 
 two. By Jove ! just think wdiat a difference it would 
 make. Here am I, a poor wretch, Uving from hand 
 to mouth, not knowing one year where my next 
 year's living is to come from, or sometimes where 
 my next dinner is to come from, for that matter. 
 If ever one man had an inducement to hate another, 
 you may imagine it is I." 
 
 This grim talk was not amusing to Edgar, as may 
 be supposed ; but, as his companion spoke with perfect 
 composure, he received it with equal calm, though 
 not without a secret shudder in his heart. " I think 
 -we micfht arrantre better than that," he said. " We 
 shall have time to talk it over later; but, in my
 
 176 SQUIRE ARDEX. 
 
 opinion, the head of a family has duties. It sounds 
 almost impertinent to call myself the head of the 
 family to you, who are older, and probably know 
 much more about it ; but " 
 
 "You are so," said Arthur Arden, "and fact is 
 incapable of impertinence. Talking of the country 
 having no attractions, I should rather like to tiy a 
 June at Arden. I suppose you bucolics think that 
 the best of the year, don't you ? roses, and all that 
 sort of thing. And I happen to have heaps of 
 invitations for September, and not much appetite 
 for town at the present moment. If it suits you, 
 and your sister Clare does not object too strenuously, 
 I'll go with you now." 
 
 This sudden and unexpected acceptance of his 
 invitation filled Edgar with dismay, September 
 was a totally different affair. In September there 
 would be various visitors, and one individual whom 
 she disliked need not be oppressive to Clare. But 
 now, while they were alone, and while yet all the 
 novelty of his situation was fresh upon Edgar, 
 nothing, he felt, could be more inappropriate. 
 Arthur Arden swayed himself upon his chair, leav- 
 ing one arm over the back, with careless ease, while 
 his cousin, suddenly brought to a stand-still, tried 
 to collect himself, and decide what it was best to 
 do, "Ah, I see," Arthur said, after a pause, still
 
 SQUIRE ARDEX. 177 
 
 with the same carelessness, " I bore you. You were 
 not prepared for anything so prompt on my part ; 
 and Madam Clare " 
 
 "I cannot allow my sister's name to be men- 
 tioned," cried Edgar angrily, " except with respect." 
 
 " Good heavens, how could I name her with 
 greater respect ? If I said Madam Arden, which is 
 the proper traditionary title, you would think I 
 meant your grandmother. I say Madam Clare, 
 because my cousin is the lady of the parish : I will 
 say Queen Clare, if you please : it comes to about 
 the same thing in our family, as I suppose you 
 know." 
 
 "As I suppose you don't know," was in this 
 arrogant Arden's tone ; but it was lost upon Edgar, 
 whose mind was busy about the problem how he 
 could manage between Arthui^'s necessities and 
 Clare's dislike. The party was in motion by this 
 time to join the ladies, and Lord Newmarch came 
 up to the two Ardens in the momentary breaking 
 up. 
 
 " I want very much to see more of you," he said, 
 addressing himself to Edgar. " I see you two cousins 
 have made acquaintance, so I need not volunteer 
 my ser^-ices ; but I am veiy anxious to see more of 
 you. I daresay there are many things in the county 
 and in the coimtiy which you ^idll find a little 
 
 VOL. I. N
 
 178 SQUIKE AKDEN. 
 
 puzzling after living so long abroad ; and I hope to 
 get a great deal of information from you about 
 Continental politics. My father is in town, so I 
 cannot ask you to Marchfield, as I should like 
 to do; indeed, I am only off duty for a week on 
 account of this great social assembly in Liverpool. 
 How shall I manage to see a little of you ? I go 
 back to Liverpool with the Buxtons to-night." 
 
 "I cannot promise to go to Liverpool," said 
 Edgar ; " but if you could come to us at Arden-: " 
 
 " That would be the very thing," said the young 
 politician, " the very thing. I could spare you from 
 the 1st to the 5th. I must be back in- town before 
 the 7th for the Irish debate. My father has Irish 
 property, and of course we poor slaves have to come 
 up to the scratch ; though, as for justice to Ireland, 
 you know, Arden -" 
 
 " I fear I don't know much about it ; shall we 
 join the ladies ? " said Edgar, a little confused by 
 finding his hospitality so readily embraced. 
 
 " I shall be very happy to give you the benefit 
 of my experience," said Lord Newmarch; "there 
 are some things on which it is necessary a young 
 landed proprietor should have an opinion of his 
 own. Yes, by all means, let us go upstairs. 
 There is a great deal in the present state of the 
 country that I should be glad to talk to you about.
 
 SQUIRE AEDEX. 179 
 
 We have become frightfully empmcal of late ; 
 whether the Governraeut is "WTiig or whether it is 
 Tory, it seems a condition of existence that it should 
 tr}^ experiments upon the people; we are always 
 meddling with one thing oi' another — state of the 
 representation — education — management of the 
 
 poor " 
 
 Such were the words that came to Arthur Ar- 
 den's ears as his cousin disappeared out of the 
 dioiilg-room under the wing of Lord Newmarch, 
 beiag preached to all the way. The kiusman, who 
 was a fashionable vagabond, looked after them 
 with a smile which very much resembled a sneer. 
 "Thank heaven, I am nobody," he said to him- 
 self, half aloud. He was the last in the room, 
 and no one cared whether he appeared late or early 
 in Mrs. Pimpemers fine drawing-room ; no one 
 except, perhaps, one or two young ladies, who 
 thought " poor Mi-. Arden " veiy handsome and 
 agreeable, but knew he was a man who could never 
 be married, and must not even be flii-ted with over- 
 much. If he was bitter at such moments, it was 
 not much to be wondered at. He was more mature, 
 and much better able to give an opinion than 
 Edgar, better educated, perhaps a more able man 
 by nature; but Edgar had the family acres, and 
 therefore it was to him that the politician ad-
 
 180 SQUIRE ARDEN. 
 
 dressed himself, and whom everybody distinguished. 
 Arthur Arden persuaded himself, as he went his 
 way after the others to the drawing-room, that it 
 was almost a good bargain to be quit of Lord New- 
 march and his tribe, even at the price of being quit 
 of land and living at the same time ; but the attempt 
 was rather a failure. He would have appreciated 
 political power, which Edgar was too ignorant to 
 care for ; he would have appreciated money, which 
 Edgar evidently meant to throw away, in his capa- 
 city of head of the family, on poor relations and 
 other unnecessary adjuncts. What a strange mis- 
 take of Providence it was ! " He would have made 
 a capital shopkeeper, or clerk, or something," the 
 
 elder Arden said to himself, "whereas I ; but, at 
 
 all events, we shall see what effect his proceedings 
 will have upon saucy Clare."
 
 SQUIRE ARDEX. 181 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 It would be difficult to imagine anything more 
 uncomfortable than were Edgar's feelings as he 
 drove home that evening. He had tried with much 
 simplicity to avoid his kinsman Arden, thinking, in 
 his inexperience, that if he did not repeat his 
 invitation, or if no further conversation took place 
 between them as to that visit in June, that the 
 other would take it for granted, as he himself 
 would have been quick to do, that such a visit was 
 undesirable. Edgar, however, had reckoned with- 
 out his guest, who was not a man to let any such 
 trifling scruples stand in the way of his personal 
 comfort. He was on the lawn with some of the 
 other gentlemen when Edgar got into his dogcart, 
 and shouted to him quickly, " I shall see you in a 
 few days," as he drove past. Here was a pleasant 
 piece of news to take back to Clare. And Lord 
 Newmarch was coming, who, though a stranger to 
 himself, was none to his sister, and might possibly 
 be, for anything Edgar knew, as^ distasteful to her
 
 182 SQUIRE ARDEN. 
 
 as Arthur Arden himself. He laughed at his own 
 discomfiture, but still was discomfited ; for indiffer- 
 ence to the feelings of anybody connected with him 
 was an impossibility to the young man. "Of 
 course, I am master, as people say," he suggested 
 to himself, with the most whimsical sense of the 
 absurdity of such a notion. Master— in order to 
 please other people. Such was the natural mean- 
 ing of the term according to all the laws of inter- 
 pretation known to him. It was Clare who was 
 queen at the present moment of her brother's heart 
 and household ; but even if there had been no Clare, 
 Edgar would still have been trying to please some- 
 body — to defer his own wishes to another's pleasure, 
 by instinct, as nature compelled him. It is a dis- 
 position which gives its possessor a great deal of 
 trouble, but at least it is not a common one. And 
 the curious thing was that he did not blame 
 Arthur Arden for pushing his society upon him, 
 as anybody else would have done. It was weak- 
 ness on his own part, not selfishness on that of 
 his kinsman. Had he been driven to reason on 
 the subject, Edgar would have indeed manifested 
 to you clearly how his own yielding temper was 
 the greatest of sins, as tempting others to be selfish. 
 " Of course it is my own fault " had been his theory 
 all his life.
 
 SQUIRE ARDEX. 183 
 
 But he was very uncomfoi'table about it in this 
 case. Up to this time, when he had been inju<li- 
 ciously amiable he alone had been the sufferer; 
 but now it was Clare who must bear the bnint. 
 When he reached the village he threw the reins to 
 the groom, and jumped out of the dogcart. " If 
 Miss Arden is downstairs let her know that I have 
 gone for an hour's chat to Dr. Somers','' he said ; 
 and so started on, with his cigar, in the moonlight, 
 feeling the stillness and solitude a relief to him. 
 How free his old life had been ! and yet he had felt 
 himself wronged and injured to be left in enjoy- 
 ment of so much freedom. Now he was hampered 
 enough, surrounded by duties and responsibilities 
 which he understood but dimly, ^^th one of those 
 terrible domestic critics by his side who had the 
 power which only love has to wound him, and 
 who subjected him to that terrible standard of 
 family perfection which in his youth he had known 
 nothing of, and the rules of which even now he did 
 not recognise. Edgar sighed, and took his cigar 
 from his lips, and looked at it as if he ex- 
 pected the kind spirit of that soothing plant to 
 step forth and counsel him ; but receiving no revela- 
 tion, sighed and put it back again, and thrust his 
 hands into his pockets, and passed along the silent 
 village street with his disturbed thoughts. All was
 
 184 SQUIRE ARDEN. 
 
 silent in Arden : the doors closed which stood open 
 all day long, and only here and there a faint light 
 twinkling. One in John Horsfall's cottage, in the 
 little room where Lizzie, his eldest daughter, was 
 dying of consumption ; one in old Simon the clerk's 
 window, downstairs, where his harsh-tempered but 
 conscientious Sally was busy with the needlework 
 which she did, as all Arden knew, '' for the shop." 
 *' The shop " meant a certain famous place for baby- 
 linen in Liverpool, which demanded exquisite work 
 — and Sally alone of all the neighbourhood was 
 honoured with its commissions. In her aunt Sarah's 
 cottage, next door, the upper window showed a 
 faint illumination, and stood open. These were all 
 the signs of life which were visible in Arden. The 
 old people, and the hard-working out-door people 
 who began the day at five in the morning, were all 
 safe in bed, enjoying their well- won repose. The 
 moon was shining brightly, with all the soft splen- 
 dour of the summer — shining over Arden woods, 
 which looked black under her silver, and making 
 the little street, with its white lines of broken pave- 
 ment before each door, as bright as day. Edgar's 
 footsteps rang upon the stones as he crossed those 
 little strips of white one by one. The sound broke 
 the silent awe and mystery of the night, and with 
 his usual sympathetic feeling he did his best to
 
 SQUIRE ARDEX. 185 
 
 restrain it. He had thrown away his cigar, and 
 had taken off his hat to refresh himself with the 
 cool sweet air, when he heard a cry from the 
 window above. It was the window of old Sarah's 
 Scotch lodger. He looked up eagerly, for her 
 aspect had awakened some curiosity in his mind. 
 But what he saw was a little white figure leaning 
 out so far that its balance seemed doubtful, spread- 
 ing out its hands, he thought, towards himself as 
 he stood looking up. "My Willie! my Willie!" 
 cried the voice ; " is it you at last ? Oh, he's here, 
 he's here, whatever you may say. Willie ! Willie ! 
 How could he rest in his grave, and me pining 
 here?" 
 
 Edorar rushed forward in the wildest alarm. The 
 little creature leaned over the windows-sill, with 
 arms stretched out, and hair streaming about her, 
 till he felt that any moment she might be dashed 
 upon the pavement below. The cry of " Willie ! " 
 rang into the stillness w^ith a wild sweetness which 
 went to the listener's heart. It sounded like the 
 very voice of despair. " Take care, for God's sake," 
 he cried, instinctively rushing into the little garden 
 below the window and holding out his arms to catch 
 her should she fall. Just then, however, she was 
 caught from behind. The grandmother's face looked 
 suddenly out, ghastly pale and stein in its emotion.
 
 186 SQUIRE ARDEN. 
 
 " I have her safe, sir, thanks to you," said the serious 
 Scotch voice, every word of which sounded to Edgar 
 like a chord in music full of a hundred mingled 
 modulations. " Willie, my Willie ! " cried the 
 younger voice, rising wilder and shriller ; and then 
 there followed a momentary rustle, as of a slight 
 struggle, and then the sharp decisive closing of the 
 window. He could see nothing more. But it was 
 not possible to pass on calmly after such an inci- 
 dent. After a moment's indecision, Edgar tapped 
 lightly at old Sarah's window, which was dark. 
 The sounds upstairs died into a distant murmur 
 of voices, and downstairs all was still. Old Sarah, 
 if she heard, took no notice of his summons ; but 
 young Sarah, her niece, who was working in the 
 next cottage, roused herself and came to the door. 
 "It's best to take no notice, sir, if you'll take my 
 advice," said Sally, with a piece of white muslin 
 wrapped round her arm, which shone in the moon- 
 light. " It's nought but the mad lass next door." 
 
 " Mad ! is she mad ? " said Edgar eagerly. 
 
 " Poor lass ! they do say as it's a brother ; but I 
 don't hold for making all that fuss about brothers," 
 said Sally. "T'ou'd dame, she's a proud one, and 
 never says nought she can help ; and the poor wench 
 ain't dangerous or that, but as mad as mad, in 
 special when the moon's at the full. Don't you
 
 SQUIRE AEDEX. 187 
 
 take no notice, sir, for there never was a proud 
 un like t'ou'd dame. T' poor lass had an only 
 brother as died, and she's ne'er been hersel' since. 
 That's what they say." 
 
 "But she looks like a child," said Edgar, not 
 knowing what to do ; for already complete silence 
 and dai'kness seemed to have fallen over the cottage. 
 Old Sarah did not wake, or if she waked, kept still 
 and made no sign, and the light had disappeared 
 from the upper window. It was hard to believe, to 
 look at the perfect stillness of the summer night, 
 that any such interruption had ever been. 
 
 " She do, Squire," said Sally ; " but seventeen 
 they say, and some thinks her mortal pretty — 
 t'ou'd Doctor for one, as was a^vful wild in his o^vn 
 time, I've heerd say. But Mrs. Murray she watches 
 her like a dragon. It's t'ou'd lady as is my sort. 
 I don't hold with prettiness nor fuss, but them as 
 takes that care of their OAvn " 
 
 Sally jumped aside with a sudden cry, as the door 
 of the next house softly opened, and Mrs. Murray her- 
 self suddenly appeared. In the moon-light, which 
 blanched even Sally's dingy complexion, the old 
 woman looked wliite as death ; but probably it was 
 as much an effect of the light as of the scene she had 
 just gone tkrough. She laid her hand veiy gently, 
 with a certain dignity, upon Edgar's aiTu.
 
 188 SQUIRE ARDEN 
 
 " Sir," she said, " you'll excuse my poor bairn. 
 Willie was her brother, that we lost a year back. 
 He was lost at sea, and the poor thing looks for 
 him night and day. He was in a Liverpool ship ; 
 that's why we're here. She took you for him," the 
 grandmother continued, and then made a pause, as 
 if to recover her voice. Tears were glistening in 
 her eyes. Her voice thrilled and changed even 
 now, it seemed to Edgar, like chords. She touched 
 his arm again with her hand, a soft, yet firm, 
 momentary touch, which was like a caress. And 
 then, all at once, " You're like him. Good night," 
 she said. 
 
 It was as if she could not trust herself to say 
 more. And Edgar stood gazing at the vacant spot 
 where she had stood, while Sally peered round the 
 porch of her own house, straining to see and hear. 
 " She's a queer 'un, t'ou'd dame," said Sally, with a 
 little gasp of disappointed excitement ; and she 
 stood at her door with the muslin twisted about 
 her hand, and gazed after him when he went away 
 up the village with a hasty good night. Edgar 
 heard her close and bolt her door as he hurried on 
 to the Doctor's. Poor rural fastenings, what could 
 they shut out ? not even a clever thief, did any 
 such care to enter — much less pain, trouble, sorrow, 
 madness, or death.
 
 SQUIRE ARDEN. 189 
 
 Dr. Somers' study was a gi-eat contrast to the 
 splendour and silence of the night. It was lighted 
 by a green reading-lamp, which threw its illumina- 
 tion only on the table, and it was full of smoke fi^om 
 a succession of cigars. The Doctor was seated in a 
 large old-fashioned elbow-chair, T\dth a hiorh back 
 and sides, covered ^vith dark leather, against which 
 his handsome head stood out. On the table stood a 
 silver claret-cup, and a rough brown bottle of seltzer- 
 water — such were his modest potations. He had a 
 medical magazine before him on the table, but it was 
 a novel which was in his hand, and which he pitched 
 away from him as Edgar entered. " Some of Letty's 
 rubbish," he explained, as he threw it on the sofa in 
 the shade, and welcomed his young guest. " Bravo, 
 Edgar ! Now this is what I call emancipating your- 
 self from petticoat government. These sisters of 
 ours are as bad as half-a-dozen wives." 
 
 " You don't seem to have suffered much under 
 yours," said Edgar ; " and mine, I assure you " 
 
 " Oh, yes ; yours, I assure you," cried the Doctor, 
 " is exactly like the rest — would not curtail any of 
 your pleasures for the world ; in short, would entreat 
 you to amuse yourself, and be heartbroken at the 
 thought of keeping you at home for her ; but once 
 let her find out that you have wings and can fly, 
 and see what she says. I know them all."
 
 190 SQUIRE ARDEN. 
 
 Edgar sat down, and cast a hurried glance round 
 the room as the Doctor spoke. He asked himself 
 quite involuntarily whether, after all, a cigar in 
 Dr. Somers' study was so much more delightful than 
 Clare's society and her pretty surroundings, and was 
 not by any means so certain on that point as the 
 Doctor was. But if he smiled within himself he 
 suffered no evidence of it to escape, and for this 
 night, at least, he had a definite object in his visit. 
 "I did not know if I should find you," he said. 
 " What has become of the old whist party, of which 
 I used to hear so much ? " 
 
 " Ah, the whist party," said the Doctor, with a 
 sigh. " Poor Letty made an end of that. She was 
 always willing to do her best, though she never was 
 anything of a player ; and she bore abuse like an 
 angel. But that won't do now, you know. And 
 young Denbigh is the most abject spoon I ever saw. 
 When he is not dangling after Alice Pimpernel, he is 
 writing verses to her, I believe. The boy is capable 
 of any folly, and revokes as soon as look at you. 
 Croquet is the food of love ; and that is what the 
 degenerate cub has abandoned whist for. No 
 wonder the race deteriorates day by day." 
 
 "That is just what I wanted to speak to you 
 about," said Edgar; "I have just come from the 
 Pimpernel's."
 
 SQUIRE AKDEN. 191 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 "Let us be correct and categorical," said Dr. Somers. 
 " That is just what you wanted to talk to me about ? 
 Which ? Love, or croquet, or the Pimpernels ? " 
 
 " Neither," said Edgar, with a little impatience. 
 " These are things altogether out of my way ; and I 
 must ask you to be serious, for what I have to ask is 
 grave enough. Can you tell me anjrthing about my 
 cousin Arthur Arden ? and why my sister dislikes 
 him ? and why " 
 
 " Whew I " said Dr. Somers, with a prolonged 
 whistle. " You might well tell me to be serious. 
 Why, and why, and why ? Have you met Arthur 
 Arden ? And if so, did nobody warn you that he 
 was the worst enemy you ever had in your life." 
 
 " He might very easily be that, and not scare me 
 much," said Edgar, with his careless, almost boyish, 
 smile. 
 
 " You silly lad!" said the Doctor. " You simple- 
 ton I You think you never had an enemy in your 
 life, and feel as if this would be something new. I
 
 192 SQUIRE ARDEN. 
 
 wonder if I ought to enlighten you ? You remember 
 your father, Edgar ? Which was he, enemy or friend V* 
 
 "Dr. Somers," said Edgar, gravely, "I have already 
 told you that nothing shall induce me to discuss my 
 father." 
 
 Dr. Somers said "Humph ! " with sudden con- 
 fusion, and filled himself out a large bumper of wine 
 and seltzer water. "That shows a fine disposition 
 on your part," he said ; " but whether it is safe or 
 expedient to ignore such things you must judge for 
 yourself. Perhaps I know more about it than you 
 do, and it seems to me you have had an enemy or 
 two. But, anyhow, take care of Arthur Arden, for 
 he will be the worst." 
 
 " I don't think I am afraid." 
 
 " No ; I don't suppose you are," said the Doctor, 
 looking at him between two puffs of his cigar; 
 "but whether that is wise or not is a different 
 matter. Why does Clare hate him ? Why, I sup- 
 pose, because he once made love to her, and offered 
 ' his hand,' as people say, with nothing in it. Was 
 not that enough ? " . 
 
 " Surely not enough to make her hate him," said 
 Edgar, "but enough to make it horribly embarrassing. 
 Was that all? Don't people say it is the highest 
 compliment, &c. I am sure I have read something^ 
 like that in books."
 
 SQUIRE ARDEX. 193 
 
 " And so have I," sai*l the Doctor ; " and I sup- 
 pose it is the highest compliment, &c. Women don't 
 generally hate us because we love them, or think we 
 love them. Clare has been petted and spoiled all 
 her life. But still Arthur Arden is a handsome 
 feUow " 
 
 AMiile Dr. Somers went on thus philosophically, 
 Edgar winced and shifted about in his chair. He 
 was not susceptible about himself, but he was in- 
 tensely sensitive in respect to his sister. Clare was 
 not to him an abstract woman, to be discussed by 
 general rules, but an individual whom he would fain 
 have drawn curtains of profoundest respect about, 
 and veiled from every vulgar gaze. There is no 
 doubt that this is one of the first piimitive instincts 
 of love. The Turk is the tiTiest symbol of humanity 
 so far, and there is no man, worth calling a man, 
 who would not be satisfied in his inmost heart 
 if he could shut up his womankind from every 
 rash look or doubtful comment. Edgar beat a 
 tune on the table with his fingers, blew clouds of 
 smoke about him in his restlesness, shufiied and 
 swayed himself about in his chair ; but what could 
 he do to stop the disquisitions of the man who had 
 kno^vn Clare all her life ? 
 
 " Arthur Arden is a handsome fellow, and a 
 clever fellow," continued Dr. Somers. "If he had 
 
 VOL. I. O
 
 194 SQUIRE ARDEN. 
 
 impressed a girl's imagination, I for one should not 
 have been surprised. My own theory is that he did, 
 and that it was her liking for him, combined with 
 her sense of his enmity to you " 
 
 " Good heavens ! what has that to do with it ? " 
 cried Edgar, thankful of some means of expressing 
 his impatience. " How could he show enmity to me 
 when he had never seen me ? and what did it 
 matter if he had ? That has nothing to do with 
 Clare." 
 
 " It had a great deal to do with Clare," said the 
 Doctor. " If I tell you what my theory is, of course 
 you will understand I don't mean to hurt your feel- 
 ings, Edgar, I think he must have proposed some 
 sort of compromise to your father to exclude you 
 quietly " 
 
 "To exclude me !" Edgar stopped him with 
 
 an impatient gesture. " Dr. Somers, you speak in 
 riddles. How could I be excluded ? What compro- 
 mise was possible ? This is something so astound- 
 ing that I must ask what it means in so many 
 words " 
 
 "Ohj of course it was absolute folly," said the 
 Doctor, with confusion. The truth was, he had 
 taken Edgar for a fool, and it seemed to him as if 
 anything could be said to so amiable, so good-tem- 
 pered, so unsuspicious a simpleton. He paused and
 
 SQUIRE ARDEX. 195 
 
 grew red, notwithstanding his ordinary composure 
 and knowledge of the world. " I speak of the mad 
 notions of a self-wiUed man, who thought persistence 
 would overcome everything," he went on, embar- 
 rassed. " Of course there was no compromise pos- 
 sible. You were the only son, and the undoubted 
 heir. But, going upon some notion of his own that 
 
 the Squire hated — I mean was not fond of you 
 
 In short, Edgar, I warned you you were not to think 
 I wanted to wound your feelings — and that Ai-thui- 
 Ai'den was the worst enemy you ever had in your 
 life." 
 
 " You have given me a ghmpse of something 
 worse still," said Edgar. "You have insinuated 
 the possibility that his enmity might have been 
 of importance — that there was some harm pos- 
 sible. What could he do ? What could — since you 
 force me to speak of that — my father have done ? 
 The estates were entailed. If he could have cut me 
 off by will, I am not so simple as to doubt that he 
 would have done it. But being, as I am, heir of 
 entail " 
 
 " Yes, yes," said Dr. Somers eagerly ; '' of coui'se 
 you are heir of entail; of course it was all nonsense ; 
 
 you can't imagine for a moment But then there 
 
 are such very cui'ious things in law and family his- 
 tory. Men sometimes take an unaccountable aver-
 
 196 SQUIRE ARDEN. 
 
 sion Did I ever tell you the story of the 
 
 Agostinis, a very strange thing that excited every- 
 body when I was at Rome ? " 
 
 Edgar gave a little wave of his hand in impa- 
 tience. What were the Agostinis or their story to 
 him ? 
 
 "That was almost a case in point," said the 
 Doctor. "There was supposed to be no heir, and 
 the estates had gone to the daughter (of course there 
 was no law of entail to complicate the matter), when 
 all at once starts up a young man, who had been 
 bred in a public hospital, and yet was proved be- 
 yond dispute to be the Duchess Agostinis son. She 
 was living, though her husband was dead, and could 
 not deny it. The proof, indeed, was so strong that 
 he won his suit, and is now the Duke, and head of 
 one of the oldest houses in Italy. Brought up in an 
 orphan hospital, and just as nearly shut out from all 
 
 inheritance for ever — just as near " 
 
 " But I suppose there was some explanation," said 
 Edgar, interested in spite of himself; "mere aversion 
 of a father could not surely go so far as that ?" 
 
 " Oh, yes, there was a reason given," said the 
 Doctor, more and more confused, " something about 
 the mother — some little speck, you know, on her 
 character : one must not inquire too closely into 
 those family stories. But he won his suit, and now
 
 SQUIRE ARDEX. 197 
 
 he is Duke Agostini — the hospital boy 1 You may 
 imagine what a sensation it made in Rome." 
 
 " Something about his mother," Edgar repeated 
 vaguely, under his breath, with eyes in which a 
 strange light suddenly sprang up. Then he bit his 
 lip, and restrained himself. Dr. Somers, watching 
 closely, saw that he had made an impression much 
 more serious than he intended. He did not, indeed, 
 intend to make any impression. He meant only, in 
 the wantonness of fancied power, to make an experi- 
 ment, to pique Edgar's curiosity, to give him, perhaps, 
 a passing thrill of alarm and wonder, such as an 
 operator might give, half in jest, to curious specta- 
 tors round an electric machine ; but, unfortunately, 
 the operation had been too successful, the shock 
 overmuch. The young man said nothing farther, 
 but sat moody, with the cigar between his fingers, 
 and let the Doctor talk. Dr. Somers said a gi'eat 
 deal more, but with the sense that Edgar was not 
 listening, and that he might as well have been a 
 hundred miles off for any companionship there w^as 
 between them. And though he had in general a 
 very good opinion of himself, for once in his life the 
 Doctor was abashed, and felt that he had gone too 
 fax. He tried to draw the young man's attention to 
 other matters — to local interests — to Lord New- 
 march and his enlightened views. " I may be a
 
 198 SQUIRE ARDEN. 
 
 Kaclical myself," said the Doctor, " but I do not 
 belong to that school of Enlightened Youth. New- 
 march is very appalling to me ; and if you don't 
 mind, Edgar, you'll find he wants to make up ta 
 Clare too.^' 
 
 " Too ! is there any other ? " said Edgar, with a 
 certain languid haughtiness which was more like the 
 Ardens than anything that had ever been seen in 
 him before, and which gave Dr. Somers a thrill 
 almost as sharp and sudden as that he had produced 
 in the young Squire. Could it be possible, at this 
 moment, of all others, that his theory was to prove 
 itself wrong ? " 
 
 " I should think there were others," he said, with 
 an attempt at carelessness. " Flowers like Clare do 
 not grow in every garden, not to speak of the dot 
 which you and your father endowed her with. I 
 suppose nothing has been done about that as yet ; or 
 have you been so wise as to take old Fazakerley's 
 advice ? " 
 
 " I think I shall go home," said Edgar abruptly, 
 and he got up, and lighted his cigar by the Doctor's 
 candle. " There was something I wanted to speak 
 to you about, but it has gone out of my head." 
 
 "Nothing about your health, I hope," said the 
 Doctor anxiously. " You look quite well " 
 
 " Oh, no, nothing about my health," he said, with
 
 SQUIRE ARDEX. 199 
 
 a short laugh, and went out, lea\'ing Dr. Somers in a 
 state of great discomfort, saying to himself that he 
 had not meant it, and that he could not have 
 imagined such a good-tempered careless fellow would 
 have taken anything up so quickly. " It was 
 nothing," he said to himself. "I did not even 
 imply that his cii'cumstances were the same ; in 
 short, I did not say a word to offend — an}^ one ; 
 nonsense ! Who is Edgar Arden, I wonder, that one 
 should study his feelings to such an extent? Good 
 heavens, didn't he insist upon being told ? " Thus 
 the Doctor excused and accused himself, and felt 
 extremely uncomfortable, and at last went to bed, 
 not feeling able to drown his remorse either in his 
 seltzer water or his novel. " If Fielding had done 
 anytliing as idiotic," was his comment as he went 
 upstairs, "or poor Letty — but I, that pretend to 
 some sort of discretion !" His foUy had at least 
 this salutaiy effect. 
 
 Meanwhile Edgar walked home very fast, as if 
 some one were pursuing him. It was his thoughts 
 which were pursuing him, rushing and driving him 
 on. The avenue had never looked so stately in the 
 moonlight, nor the woods so myst-eriously sweet. 
 Ill the soft perfumes of the night were in the air ; 
 the smell of the fi'esh earth and the dew, the fra- 
 grance that breathed out of here and there an old
 
 200 SQUIRE ARDEN. 
 
 hawthorn, still covered with blossom, beginning to 
 brown and fade in the daylight, but still sweet in 
 the darkness. The front of the house lay in a 
 great shadow made of its own roof and the big trees 
 behind; but lights were twinkling about, as they 
 ought to be in a house which expects its master. 
 Was it possible that Arthur Arden could have turned 
 him out, could have replaced him there ? Could it 
 be that Clare knew such a thing was possible ? 
 " Something about his mother." Edgar did not him- 
 self realise what horror it was which had thus 
 breathed across him. What could it be about his 
 mother ? Could there be anything about her 
 which gave to any man the right of a possible in- 
 sinuation? He did not remember her, and had 
 not even a portrait of her, but was like her, people 
 said. And therefore his father had hated him. 
 Edgar's brain burned as this strange thought whirled 
 and fluctuated about him ; he was its victim, he did 
 not entertain it voluntarily. His father hated him 
 because he was like her ; but yet, was not she the 
 mother, too, of the beloved Clare ?
 
 SQUIRE ARDEX. 201 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 It was perhaps fortunate for Edgar that he did not 
 see his sister that night. She had waited for him 
 till the return of the gi'oom with the dogcart, and 
 then she had gone upstairs. Probably she had gone 
 with a little initation against him for delaying his 
 return, Edgar felt ; and a momentary impatience of 
 all and everyone of the new ch'cumstances which 
 made his life so different came upon him. What if 
 Dr. Somers' suggestion had come tiiie, and he had 
 been shut out of the succession ? Why, then, this 
 bondage on one side or other, this failure in 
 satisfying one and understanding another, this 
 expenditure of himself for everybody's pleasure, 
 would not have been.. " I should have been brought 
 up to a profession, probably," he said to himself, " or 
 even a trade ;" and for the moment, in his impatience, 
 he almost wished it had been so. But then he 
 looked out upon the park, lying broad in the moon- 
 light, and the long lines of trees which he could see 
 from his open ^vdndow, and felt that he would be.
 
 202 SQUIRE ARDEN. 
 
 a coward indeed who would give up such an inherit- 
 ance without an effort. The lands of his fathers. 
 Were they the lands of his fathers ? or what did 
 that terrible insinuation mean ? 
 
 Clare was cloudy, there could be no doubt of it, 
 when she met her brother next morning. She 
 thought he might have come back earlier. " What 
 is Dr. Somers to him ? " she said to herself, and 
 concluded, like a true woman, that he must have 
 fallen in love with Alice Pimpernel. " If he were 
 to marry that girl I should certainly keep Old 
 Arden," she said to herself; for it seemed almost 
 impossible to imagine that, seeing Alice was the 
 last girl in the world who ought to attract him, 
 he should have been able to resist falling in love 
 with her. And thus she came down cloudy, and 
 found Edgar with a face all overcast by the events 
 of the previous night, which confirmed her in all 
 her fears. " Of course, he does not like to speak of 
 her," Clare said to herself Poor Alice Pimpernel ! 
 who was too frightened for Mr. Arden even to 
 raise her eyes from her plate. 
 
 " Had you a pleasant party ? " she said, with a 
 half angry sound in her voice. 
 
 "Not very pleasant," said Edgar. "I suppose 
 that is why I am so tired this morning; but yet 
 I met some people who interested me."
 
 SQUIRE ARDEX. 20^3 
 
 "Indeed!" said Clare, w^ith polite wonder. 
 " Tell me who you took in to dinner ? and who was 
 next you ? and in short all about it ? One would 
 think it was I who had been at a party last night, 
 and you who had stayed at home." 
 
 " I took in Mrs. Buxton, whoever she may be — 
 and I sat next J^Iiss Pimpernel — and the one was 
 
 philosophical, and the other was Is there not 
 
 some word that sounds pretty, and that means 
 inane ? She is a very nice gii'l, I am sui'e. She 
 said, ' Oh, yes, Mr. Ai'den,' and then, ' Oh, no, Mr. 
 Arden.' If I had not kept up the proper alterna- 
 tions I wonder what the poor girl would have 
 said ? " 
 
 " But you did ? " said Clare, with all her cloud 
 removed. Had she but known who was at that 
 party beside Alice Pimpernel ! 
 
 "Oh, yes, I did. And there was Lord New- 
 march, who is coming here on the 1st to make my 
 acquaintance. I hope you don't mind. He was so 
 anxious to see me, poor fellow, that I could not 
 deprive him of that pleasure. I hope, Clare, you 
 don't mind." 
 
 " Not in the least," she said, in her most genial 
 mood. " If you will not be shocked, I rather like 
 him, Edgar. He means well ; and then if he ls a 
 Radical, it is in a kind of dignified superior way."
 
 204 SQUIKE AKDEN. 
 
 " So it is," said Edgar ; " very superior, and very 
 dignified — not to say instructive — but we might 
 get too clever, don't you think, if we had too much 
 of it ? There was some one else there, about whom 
 you must pardon me, Clare. I was led into giving 
 him an invitation — without thinking. It did not 
 occur to me till after " 
 
 Edgar grew very red making his excuses, and 
 Clare grew pale listening. She made a great effort 
 over herself, and clasped her hands together, and 
 looked at her brother with a forced smile. " Why 
 should you hesitate ? " she said. " Edgar, you are 
 master; I wish you to be master. Whoever you 
 choose to ask ought to be welcome to me." 
 
 " I do not wish to be master so long as I have 
 my sister to consult," he said ; " but this was a mis- 
 take, an inadvertence, Clare. You can't guess ? It 
 was Arthur Arden whom I met at the Pimpernels ! " 
 
 " Ah ! " Clare said, growing paler and paler. But 
 she made no observation, and kept listening with 
 her hands clasped fast. 
 
 " I asked him to come in September, remember- 
 ing you had said you did not like him much ; but 
 he offered himself for June. I did not accept his 
 proposed visit; but from what I saw and what I 
 hear it seems likely he will come." 
 
 " No doubt he will come," said Clare ; and then
 
 SQUIRE ARDEX. 205 
 
 her hands separated themselves. She had heard all 
 that she had to fear. " If I hate him it is not for 
 myself," she added hurriecll}-, "but for you Edgar. 
 He did all he could to injure you." 
 
 "So I have heard. But how could he injure 
 me ? " said her brother, feeling that it was now his 
 turn. 
 
 "Edgar, I hate to speak of it. You can't 
 understand my love for poor papa. Arthur tried 
 
 to set him against It was — his fault. No; 
 
 Edgar, no, I don't mean that — it was not his fault ; 
 but he tried to make things woi-se. That is why I 
 
 hate — no, I don't hate. If you don't mind Edgar 
 
 You kind, good, sweet-tempered boy ! " 
 
 And here, in a strange transport, which he could 
 not understand, Clare took his hand, and held it 
 close, and pressed it to her heart, which was beat- 
 ing fast. She looked up at him with tears in her 
 eyes, with a curious admiration. " You are not 
 like us other Ardens," she said. "We ouofht to 
 learn of you ; we ought to look up to you, Edgar. 
 You can forgive. You don't keep on remembering 
 and thinking over everything that people have done 
 and said against you. You can put it away out of 
 your mind. Edgar, dear, I hate myself, and I love 
 you with all my heart." 
 
 " Do you, Clare ; do you, indeed, Clare ? " he
 
 206 SQUIRE ARDEN. 
 
 said, and went to her side, and kissed her with 
 brotherly tenderness. " God do so to me and more 
 also," he said to himself, if I ever forget her 
 good and her happiness ; or, at least, if he did 
 not say the words, such was the sentiment that 
 passed through his mind. He was so much moved 
 that he felt able to ask a question he had been 
 hesitating over all the morning. "Clare," he said 
 softly, bending over her, and smoothing her dark 
 hair. His voice had a certain sound of supplication 
 in it which struck her strangely. She thought he 
 was about to ask something hard to do — perhaps a 
 renunciation, perhaps a sacrifice. "Clare, can you 
 tell me anything about our mother ? Do you 
 know ? " 
 
 " About mamma ? " said Clare, with a sense of 
 disappointment. "Edgar, you frighten me so; I 
 thought you were going to ask me something that 
 was very hard. About mamma ? Of course I will 
 tell you all I know." 
 
 " And there is a portrait — you said there was a 
 portrait — I should like to see that too." 
 
 " Yes, Edgar, I will run and get it. Oh, I wonder 
 if you would have been very like her — if she had 
 lived ? I sometimes think it would have been so 
 much better for us all." 
 
 "Do you think so ?" said Edgar, with a sadness
 
 SQUIRE ARDEX. 207 
 
 which he could nv)t control. Would it have been 
 better ? But, at all events, Clare knew of nothing 
 evil that concenaed their mother. He walked about 
 the room slowly while she went to seek the portrait, 
 and finally paused at the great window, and gazed 
 out. It had the same view over the park which he 
 had looked at last night imder the moonlight. Now, 
 in the morning, with a certain ache of strange doubt- 
 fulness, he looked at it again. The feeling in his 
 mind was that it might all dissolve as he looked, 
 and melt away, and leave no sign — that, and the 
 house, and the room he stood in, with all theii' 
 appearance of weight and reality. Such ttiings had 
 been; at least, sui^ely that was what Dr. Somers' 
 story meant about those Agostini. What was it ? 
 •' Something about the mother." A mist of bewilder- 
 ment had fallen over him, and he could not tell. 
 
 Clare's entrance wath a little case in her hand 
 roused him. She came up, and put her arm within 
 his where he stood, and, thus hanging on him, 
 opened the case, and showed him the miniature, 
 which formed the clasp of a bracelet. It was the 
 portrait of a face so young that it startled him. He 
 had been thinking and talking of his mother, which 
 meant something almost venerable, and this was the 
 face of a girl younger, ever so much younger, than 
 himself. " Aie you sure this is her ? " he said in a
 
 208 SQUIRE ARDEN. 
 
 whisper, taking it out of his sister's hand. " Of course 
 it is her ; who else could it be ? " she answered, in 
 the same tone. " She is so young," said Edgar, apol- 
 ogetically. He was quite startled by that youthful- 
 ness. He held it up to the light, and looked at it 
 with wondering admiration. " This child ! Could 
 she be my mother, your mother, Clare ? " 
 
 " I suppose everybody is young some time. She 
 must have looked very different from that when she 
 died." 
 
 " Will it ever seem as strange, I wonder," said 
 Edgar, still little above a whisper, " to somebody to 
 look at your portrait and mine ? How pretty she 
 must have been, Clare. What a sweet look in her 
 eyes ! You have that look sometimes, though you 
 are not like her. Poor little thing ! What a soft 
 innocent-looking child." 
 
 " Edgar," said his sister, half horrified, for she had 
 little imagination, " do you remember you are speak- 
 ing of mamma?" 
 
 He gave a strange little laugh, which seemed 
 made up of pleasure and tears. " Do you think I 
 might kiss her?" he said under his breath. Clare 
 was half scandalized half angry. He was always so 
 strange ; you never could tell what he might do or 
 say next; he was so inconsistent, not bound by sacred 
 laws like the Ardens ; but still his sister herself was
 
 SQUIRE AKDEN. 209 
 
 a little touched by the portrait and the suggestions 
 it made. 
 
 " She would not have been old now if she had 
 been li\T.ng, not too old for a companion. Oh, Edgar, 
 what a difference it would have made I I never 
 had a real companion, not one I was thoroughly fond 
 of; only think what it would have been to have had 
 her " 
 
 " With that face ! " Edgar said, with a sigh of 
 relief, though Clare could not guess why he felt so 
 relieved. Then — " I wonder if she would have liked 
 me," he said, softly. " Clare, there has been a kind 
 fiction about my mother. I am not like her. I 
 don't think I am like her. But she looks as innocent 
 as an angel, Clare." 
 
 " Why should not she be innocent ? " said Clare, 
 wondering. " We are all innocent. I don't see why 
 you should fix upon that. What strikes me is that 
 she must have been so prett}^ Don't you think it 
 is pretty ? How arched the e3'ebrows are and dark, 
 though she is so fair." 
 
 "But I am not like her," he said, shakino- his 
 head. How strange it was. Was he a waif of 
 fortune, some mere stray soul whom Providence had 
 made to be bom in the house of Arden, quite out of 
 its natui-al sphere ? It gave him a little shock, an*! 
 yet somehow he could feel no sharp disappointment 
 VOL. I. p
 
 210 SQUIRE ARDEN. 
 
 on the day he had made acquaintance with this 
 innocent face. 
 
 " Do you think not ? " said Clare, faltering. 
 " Oh, yes ; you are like her. See how fair she is, 
 and you are fair, and the Ardens are all dark; 
 
 besides, you know, poor papa Don't change 
 
 like that, Edgar, when I mention his name. He 
 was the only one who knew her, and he said " 
 
 " Did he ever say I was like my mother ? " said 
 Edgar, while the sweetness and softness had all gone 
 out of his voice. 
 
 " I am not sure that he ever said it in so many 
 
 words. But, Edgar! Why, everybody here 
 
 What could it be but that ? And see how fair she 
 is, and you are fair " 
 
 Edgar Arden shook his head. The face in the 
 miniature was not sanguine and ruddy, like his, but 
 a pensive face; locks too fair to be called golden 
 surrounding it, and soft blue eyes. Everything was 
 soft, gentle, tender, composed, in the young face. 
 Even Clare's grave beauty, though in itself so differ- 
 ent, was less unlike her than Edgar's warm vitality, 
 the gleams of superabundant life, which showed as 
 colour in his hair and as light in his eyes. " I am 
 not like her," he said to himself, as he closed the 
 little case and gave it back to his sister; but the 
 shadow which had been upon him all the morning
 
 SQUIRE AEDEX. 211 
 
 "had disappeared for ever. AMiatever was^the secret 
 of his story, it was not Uke the story of the Agostini. 
 Once and for ever he dismissed that, dread from his 
 breast.
 
 212 SQUIRE ARDEN. 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 It was, however, some time before Edgar got over 
 the painful impression made upon his mind by what 
 Dr. Somers had said. He had known very well for 
 the greater part of his life that his father did not 
 love him ; but the idea that doubt had ever fallen 
 upon his rights, that there had been a possibility 
 of shutting him out from his natural inheritance, 
 had never entered his mind. Of course there was 
 really no such possibility ; but still the merest sug- 
 gestion of it excited the young man. It seemed to 
 hint at a deeper secret in his own existence than 
 anything he had yet suspected. He had been able 
 to take it for granted with all the carelessness of 
 youth that his father disliked him. But why should 
 his father dislike him ? What reason could there be ? 
 And then that story of the Agostini returned to 
 him. Edgar pondered and pondered it for days, 
 and rejected the suggestions conveyed in it, feeling 
 from the moment he had seen his mother's picture a 
 certain fierce sentiment of rage against Dr. Somers
 
 SQUIRE ARDEX. 213 
 
 as her maJigner. But yet this explanation being 
 evidently a false one, and his mother cleared of all 
 shadow of shame or wrong, there remained the 
 strange thought that there must be some clue to the 
 mystery ; and what was it ? K it had been within 
 the bounds of possibility that the Squke could have 
 doubted his wife's faithfulness, that of course would 
 have explained a great deal. But the evidence of 
 the portrait was quite conclusive that any such 
 suspicion was out of the question. Edgar was 
 young and fanciful, and ready to accept the evi- 
 dence of a look, and every natural sentiment within 
 him rose up in defence of his mother. But he could 
 not help asking himself, even though the question 
 seemed an injury to her — what if it had been pos- 
 sible ? Had she been another kind of woman and, 
 capable of wickedness, what in such horrible cii'- 
 cumstances would it have been a man's duty to do ? 
 He had of course heard such questions discussed, 
 like everybody else in the world, as affecting the 
 husband and wife, the immediate parties. But 
 imagine a young man making such a discovery, 
 finding himself out to be a spurious branch thus 
 arbitrarily engrafted upon a family tree ; in a 
 position so frightful, what would it be his duty to 
 do ? Edgar roamed about the woods which were 
 his, putting to himself in every point of view this
 
 214 SQUIRE ARDEN. 
 
 appalling question. A man could take no single 
 step in such circumstances without taking upon him 
 the responsibility of heaping shame upon his mother^ 
 and giving up her cause. It would be her whom he 
 would cover 'with disgrace, much more than him- 
 self. He would have to decide a question which 
 nobody but she could decide, and to give it 
 against her, his nearest and dearest relation. 
 Could any one willingly assume such an office ? 
 And, on the other hand, how could he retain a 
 name, an inheritance, a position to which he had no 
 right, and probahly exclude the rightful heir? 
 "Thank heaven," said Edgar fervently, "that 
 can never be my case. The son of the woman 
 to whom God gave so ano^elic a countenance can 
 never have to blush for his mother. Whatever 
 records came to light, she never shall be shamed." 
 He gave up whole days to this question, pondering 
 it again and again in his mind. The sight of the 
 portrait gave] him for that one day an absolute 
 certainty that such was not his position : and 
 this force of conviction carried him through the 
 second and even the third day ; but then as the first 
 impression waned a horrible chill of doubt stole 
 slowly over him. That hypothesis, terrible as it 
 was, could it but be believed, explained so much. 
 It explained the Squire's dislike to himself at once
 
 SQUIRE ARDEN. 215 
 
 and vindicated the unhappy old man. It explained 
 why he was kept at so gi-eat a distance, brought up 
 in so strange a way ; and oh, good God I if such 
 could be the case, what was Edgar's duty? His 
 brain began to whirl when he got so far ; and then 
 he would work his way back again through all the 
 arguments. Dr. Somers had calculated when he 
 threw abroad this winged and barbed seed that 
 Edgar was too easy-minded, too careless and good- 
 natured and indifferent to let it rest in his thoughts ; 
 and to hide his consciousness of it, to be blank as a 
 stone wall to any allusion which might recall it, was 
 clearly now the first duty of ^Ii's. Arden's son. If 
 he could but be absolutely sm^e of it one way or 
 other ; if he could put it utterly out of liis mind, on 
 the one hand, or — a horrible alternative, which 
 nevertheless would be next best — know absolutely 
 that it was true ! But neither of these things 
 seemed possible to Edgar. He had to submit to 
 that doubt which was so fundamental and all-em- 
 bracing — doubt as to his o^vn very being, the foun- 
 dations upon which his life was built — and never to 
 breathe a whisper of it to any creature on the face 
 of the earth. A hard task. 
 
 It may be thought that Clare must have observed 
 her brother's abstraction, his silent wanderings and 
 musings, and the look of thought and care which
 
 216 SQUIRE AEDEN. 
 
 he could not banish from his face ; but the truth 
 was that Clare herself was occupied by a hundred 
 reflections. She had told her brother she hated 
 Arthur Arden, and at the moment it was true ; but 
 now that Edgar, for whose sake she hated him, had 
 condoned his offences, and asked him to the house, 
 Clare, if her pride would have let her, might have 
 confessed that she loved Arthur Arden, and it would 
 have been equally true. He had exercised over her 
 when she had seen him last that strange fascination 
 which a man much older than herself often exercises 
 over a girl. She had been pleased by the trouble 
 he took to make himself agreeable, flattered by the 
 attentions which a man of experience knows how 
 to regulate according to the age and tastes of the 
 subject under operation, and had felt the full charm 
 of that kindred not near enough to be familiar, but 
 yet sufficiently near to account for all kinds of 
 mysterious affinities and sympathies which he knew 
 so well how to make use of He was a true Arden 
 —everybody said so. And Clare, who was an Arden 
 to the very finger tips, felt all the force of the bond. 
 She had sighed secretly, wishing that her brother 
 mip-ht have been like him. The tears had come into 
 her eyes with affectionate pity that such a 
 genuine representative of the family should be so 
 poor ; and again a little glow of generous warmth
 
 SQUIRE ARDEX. 217 
 
 had followed, as a faint dream of how it might be 
 made up to him stole across her mind. A man of 
 such excellence and such gi-ace — so distinguished by- 
 blood and talent, and all the qualities that adorn a 
 hero, who could doubt that it would be made up to 
 him ? Honour would fall at his feet for the lifting 
 up, and if wealth should be wanting, why then 
 somebody whom Clare would try to love would 
 endow him with everything that heart could desire, 
 and herself best of aU. She had nourished these 
 notions until she had heard from Arthur himself, 
 with one of the inadvertencies common to men 
 whose consideration for others, however elaborate 
 outside, does not come from the heart, of his opposi- 
 tion to her distant brother. He had taken it for 
 gi-anted that she must share her father's opinion on 
 the subject. " Why, you do not knoAv him ! " he 
 had said, in his astonishment, when he became 
 aware of his mistake. " I love my brother with all 
 my heart," was all the answer Clare had made. 
 Something of the magniloquence of youth was in 
 this large assertion; but the poor girl's heart was 
 Very sore, and the struggle she had with herself in 
 this wild sudden revulsion of feehng was almost 
 more than she could bear. He was Edgar's enemy, 
 this man who had been too pleasant, only too ten- 
 <ler to herself, and she hated him ! She had walked
 
 218 SQUIRE ARDEN. 
 
 away from him at that painful moment, and when 
 they met afterwards had only looked at him from 
 behind the visor of cold pride and icy stateliness 
 which the Ardens knew so well how to use. But 
 the feeling in her heart was only hatred because it 
 had been so nearly love. 
 
 And now that the tables had been so strangely 
 turned, now that Arthur was coming to Arden as 
 Edgar's guest, Clare was seized with a sudden 
 giddiness of mind and heart, which made the outer 
 world invisible to her, or at least changed, and 
 threw it so awry that no clear impression came to 
 
 her brain. As Edgar's friend She could not 
 
 feel quite sure whether her feelings were those of 
 excited expectation and delight or of alarm and 
 terror. And she was not sure either what to think 
 of her brother. Was he magnanimous beyond all 
 the powers of the Arden mind to conceive, as had 
 been her first idea; or was he simply careless, 
 insensible — not capable of the " amount of feeling 
 which came natural to the Ardens ? This second 
 thought was less pleasant than the first, and yet 
 in one way it was a kind of relief from an over- 
 powering and scarcely comprehensible excellence. 
 "He does not feel it," Clare said to herself; but 
 surely Arthur would feel it; Arthur would be moved 
 by a forgiveness so generous. Even now, when
 
 SQUIRE ARDEX. 219 
 
 Edgar was fully aware what his kinsman had done 
 against him, it did not occur to him to withdraw his 
 in\'itation or forbid his enemy to the house. Such 
 a sublime magnanimity could not fail to impress the 
 mind of the other. But yet, Clare recollected that 
 Arthur was a tiaie Arden, and the Ai'dens were 
 tenacious, not addicted to forgiving or giving up 
 their own way, as was her strange brother. Arthui- 
 might come, concealing his emnity, watching his 
 foe's weak points and the crevices in his armour, and 
 laying up in his mind all these particulars for future 
 use. Such a proceeding was not so foreign to the 
 Arden mind as was that magnanimity or indifference 
 — which was it ? — that made Edgar a wonder in his 
 race. If her cousin was to do this, what horrible 
 thing might happen? Between Aii:hur's watch- 
 fulness and Edgar's unwariness, Clare trembled. 
 But then, would not she be there to guard the one 
 and keep the other in check ? 
 
 Thus, Clare was so fully occupied with thoughts 
 of her own that she did not notice the change in 
 her brother's looks, nor his sudden love of sohtude. 
 When Mr. Fielding expressed to her his fear that 
 Edgar was ill, the thought filled her with surprise. 
 "111! Oh, no, there is notliing the matter with 
 him," she said. " Here he comes to speak for him- 
 self : he looks just the same as usual. Edgar, you
 
 220 . SQUIKE ARDEX. 
 
 are not ill ? Mr. Fielding has been giving me a 
 fright." 
 
 "I am not ill in the least," he said, "but I wanted 
 to see you. Are you going into the village ? I will 
 walk there with Mr. Fielding, Clare, and you can 
 pick me up on your way." 
 
 " You see there is not much the matter with him ; 
 he is always walking," said Clare, waving her hand 
 to the Rector. " I will call for you, Edgar, in half- 
 an-hour ;" and she went away smiling to put on her 
 riding-habit. The brother and sister were going to 
 Thornleigh to pay their homage before Lady Augusta 
 should go away. 
 
 " Of course I understand you don't want to alarm 
 Clare," said the Rector, when they were on their 
 way down the avenue ; " but, my dear boy, you are 
 looking very poorly. I don't like the change in 
 your look. You should speak to the Doctor. He 
 has known you more or less all your life." 
 
 " The Doctor ! I do not think he knows much 
 about it," said Edgar, with vehemence. " But I am 
 not ill. I am as well as ever I was." Then 
 he made a little pause ; and then, putting his hand 
 on his old friend's arm, he said impulsively, yet 
 trying with all his might to hide the force of the 
 impulse, " Mr. Fielding, you have always been very 
 good to me. I want you to help me to recollect
 
 SQUIRE AEDEX. 221 
 
 what happened long ago. I want you t(^ tell me 
 something about — my mother." 
 
 Old Mr. Fielding's short-sighted eyes woke up 
 amidst the puckers which buried them, and showed 
 a diamond twinkle of kindness in each wrinkled 
 socket. He gave a look of benign goodness to 
 Edgar, and then he turned and sent a glance towards 
 the village which might almost have set fire to Dr. 
 Somers' high roof " Yes, Edgar," he said quickly, 
 "and I am very glad you have asked me. I can 
 tell you a great deal about your mother." 
 
 " You knew her, then ? " cried the young man, 
 turning upon him wdth eager eyes. 
 
 " I knew her very well. She was quite young, 
 younger than you are ; but as good a woman, Edgar, 
 as sweet a woman as ever went to heaven." 
 
 " I was sure of that ! " he cried, holding out his 
 hand; and he grasped that slim hand of the old 
 Rector's in his strong young grasp, till ^Ii\ Fielding 
 would fain have cried out, but restrained himself, 
 and bore it smiling like a martp; though the water 
 stood in his eyes. 
 
 " Somers never saw her," said ]VIi\ Fielding, 
 waving his hand towards the village. " He was in 
 Italy at the time ; but ask his sister, or ask me. 
 Ah, Edgar ! in that, as in some other things, the old 
 parson is the best man to come to. Why, boy, it Ls
 
 222 SQUIRE ARDEN. 
 
 not you I care for ! How do I know you may not 
 turn out a young rascal yet, or as hard as the nether 
 millstone, like so many of the Ardens ? but I love 
 you for her sake."
 
 SQUIRE ARDEX. '223 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 " Your mother was very young," Mr. Fielding con- 
 tinued, "and early matured as maniage makes a 
 girl. She was a little old-fashioned, I think, as 
 well as I can remember, through being di'iven into 
 maturity before her time. WHien a gii"l is mamed, 
 not over happily " 
 
 " Was her maiTiage not happy ? " Edgai* inter- 
 i-upted, with a cloud on hLs face. 
 
 "I should not have said that. I mean, you 
 know, her being so yoimg. Why, I don't think she 
 was as old as Clai-e when they came back here with 
 you a baby " 
 
 "I was bom abroad," said Edgar, half in the 
 tone of one making an inquiry, half as asserting a 
 fact. 
 
 " If you would try not to interrupt me, please," 
 said Mr. Fielding, piteously. " You put me off my 
 story. Yes, you were bom abroad. They came 
 home in October, and you had been bom in the end 
 of the previous year. Tliey took everybody a good
 
 224 SQUIRE ARDEN. 
 
 deal by surprise. In the first 2:>lace, few people 
 knew there was a baby ; and no one knew when 
 your father and mother were coming. There were 
 no bells rung for you, Edgar, when you came home 
 first, and the old wives have a notion — but never 
 mind that." 
 
 " Tell me the notion," said Edgar. 
 "Oh, nothing — about mischief to the heir for 
 whom no bells are rung. That's all ; and heaven be 
 praised, no mischief has come to you, Edgar. They 
 came quite suddenly and the baby. Your father 
 never made a fuss about babies. That is to say, my 
 dear boy," said the old Rector, lowering his voice, 
 " if it will not grieve you ; from the very beginning 
 that had begun." 
 
 Edgar gave a little nod of his head, sudden and 
 brief, understanding only too clearly ; and Mr. Field- 
 ing stopped to grasp his hand, and then went on 
 again. 
 
 "If I could have helped it, I would not have 
 mentioned it ; but, of course, it must be referred to 
 now and then," continued the Rector. " Instead of 
 being proud of you, as a man, if he is good for an}^- 
 thing, always is, he never seemed able to bear the 
 fuss. To be sure, some men don't. They will not 
 be made second even for their own child. Your 
 mother "
 
 SQUIRE ARDEX. 22-5 
 
 " My mother was fond of me at least ? " said 
 Edgar, turning away his head, and cutting at the 
 weeds with the light cane in his hand, doing his 
 best to conceal his excitement and emotion. 
 
 " Your mother, poor child ! — but that of course, 
 that of course, Edgar ; how could she be otherwise 
 than fond of her first-bom ? Your mother's entire 
 life was absorbed in an attempt to satisfy her 
 husband. I saw the whole process ; and it made 
 my heart bleed. She was a passive, gentle, little 
 creature — not like him. She shrank from the world, 
 and all that was going on in it. She liked 
 melancholy books and sad songs, and all that — one of 
 the creatures doomed to die young. And he was so 
 different I She used to strain and strain her faculties 
 trying to please him. She would try to amuse him 
 even in her innocent way. It was very hard upon 
 her, Edgar. You are an active, restless sort of being 
 yourself; but, for heaven's sake, don't wony your 
 wife when you get one. Let her follow her own 
 constitution a little. She tried and tried till she 
 could strive no longer: and when Clare was bom, I 
 think she was quite glad to be obliged to give in, 
 and get a little rest in her grave. Of course, she was 
 not here aU the time. They used to come and go, 
 and never stayed more than a month or two. You 
 were left behind very often. The Doctor never saw 
 
 VOL. I. Q
 
 226 SQUIRE ARDEN. 
 
 ler," Mx\ Fielding added pointedly, "till just before 
 she died. He had newly come back and got settled 
 in his house. He never saw her but on her death- 
 bed. He knew nothing about her ; but I — you may 
 think I am bragging like a garrulous old talker as I 
 am — but I saw a great deal of her one way or ano- 
 ther. I think she felt she had a friend in me." 
 
 "Thanks!" Edgar said below his breath. He 
 was too deeply moved to look at his old friend, nor 
 could he trust himself to speak. 
 
 " I buried her," said the old clergyman in his 
 musing way. " You know^ the place. It was all I 
 t;oukl do to keep from crying loud out like a child. 
 I lost my own wife the same way ; but the child 
 died too. That is one reason, perhaps, why I am so 
 fond of Clare. When you come to think of it, Edgar, 
 this world is a dreary place to live so long in. A 
 year or two's brightness you may have, and then 
 the long, long, steady twilight that never changes. 
 They are saved a great deal when they die early. 
 What with her natuial weakness, and what with 
 you, it would have been hard upon her had she 
 lived. However, it is lucky for us that life and 
 death are not in our power." 
 
 " I hate myself for thinking of myself when you 
 have been telling me of — her," said Edgar. " But — 
 my fate, it appears, was the same from the begin-
 
 SQmRE ARDEN. 227 
 
 ning. It cuukl not arise from anything — found 
 ■out?" 
 
 " There was nothing that could be found out," 
 Mi\ Fielding answered, almost severely. "Your 
 mother was as good a woman as ever lived — too 
 good. If she had been less tender and less gentle it 
 would have been better for her — ^and for her son as 
 well. Yes, there is such a thing as being too good." 
 
 " Am I Like her ? " said Edgar suddenly, looking 
 for the first time in the Rector's face. 
 
 Ml'. Fielding looked at him with critical gi-avity, 
 w^hich by-and-bye melted into a smile. "If black 
 and white put together ever produced red," he said, 
 " I should be able to undei*stand you, Edgar. But I 
 <3an't somehow. It must be one of the old Ai'dens 
 asserting his right to be represented ; that sometimes 
 occurs in an old family; some great-grandfather tired 
 of letting the other side of the house have it all theii- 
 own way ; for you know that dark beauty came in 
 wdth the Spanish lady in Queen Elizabeth's time. 
 You must be like your mother in your disposition — 
 for you are not a bit of an Ai'den. The difference is 
 that you don't take things to heart much — and she 
 did." 
 
 " Don't I take things much to heaii ? " 
 
 " My dear boy, you ought to know better than I 
 io. I should not think you did. Tlie world comes
 
 228 SQUIRE ARDEN. 
 
 more easily to you ; and then, a man — and a young- 
 man in your position — can't be kept down as she 
 was. I am not blaming your father, Edgar. He 
 meant no harm. To him it seemed quite proper and 
 natural. Men should mind when they have a life 
 and soul to deal with ; but they never do until it is 
 too late. Yes, of course, you are like her," Mr Field- 
 ing added ; " I can see the marks of her bonds upon 
 you. She taught herself to give in, and submit, and 
 prefer another's will to her own; and you do that 
 same for your diversion, because you like it. Yes, 
 my boy, you carry the marks of her bonds — you are 
 the son of her heart." 
 
 "That is a delusion," said Edgar. "I always- 
 please myself" But he was soothed by the kind 
 speech of the old man, who was a friend to him, as 
 he had been to his mother, and her story had moved 
 him very deeply. She, too, had suffered like him- 
 self "Thanks for telling me so much," he added, 
 humbly. "I never heard anything about her before.^ 
 And Clare has a little picture, which she showed 
 me. I have been thinking a very great deal about 
 her for the last two or three days." 
 
 "What has made you think of her more than 
 usual?" asked Mr. Fielding, with some sharpness. 
 Edgar paused, unwilling to answer. It seemed to 
 him that the Rector knew or divined how it was.
 
 SQUIRE ARDEN. 229 
 
 He had made several allusions to the Doctor, as it* 
 -contradicting beforehand an adverse authority. But 
 Edgar felt it impossible to allow that he had heard 
 -of any suspicion against his mother. He made a 
 dash into indifferent subjects — the management of 
 the estate, the building of the new cottages. Mr. 
 Fielding was not deceived : but he was judicious 
 -enough to allow the conversation to be turned into 
 •another channel, and on this subject to ask no 
 more.
 
 230 SQUIRE AllDEX. 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 Clare rode down the avenue about ten minutes 
 later, the groom behind her leading Edgar's *horse,. 
 and her own thoughts very heavy with a hundred 
 important affairs. 
 
 The immediate subject in her mind, however, 
 was one which was very clearly suggested by 
 the visit which she was about to make ; and when 
 her brother joined her at the Rectory Gate, she led 
 him up to it artfully with many seeming innocent 
 remarks, though it was with a little timidity and 
 nervousness that she actually introduced at last the 
 real matter which occupied her thoughts. 
 
 " You will laugh, I know," she said, " but I don't 
 think it at all a laughing matter, Edgar. Please 
 tell me, without any nonsense, do you ever think 
 that you must marry — some time or other ? I 
 knew you would laugh ; but it is not any nonsense 
 that is in my mind." 
 
 " Shouldn't I return the question, and ask you, 
 ' Do you ever think that you must marry, Clare ? ' "^
 
 SQUIRE ARDEX. 231 
 
 said Edgar, when liis laugh was over. Clare drew 
 up her stately head with all the dignified disap- 
 proval which so much levity naturally called 
 forth. 
 
 " That is quite a different matter," she said^ 
 impatiently. " I may or may not ; it is my own 
 affair ; but you must.'' 
 
 '' Why must I ? I do not see the necessity," 
 said E(Jgar, still with a smile. 
 
 " You must, however. You are the last of our 
 family. Why, because it is your duty ! Arden has 
 not gone out of the direct line for two hundred and 
 fifty years. You must not only maiTy, but you 
 must many very soon." 
 
 " There remains only to indicate the lady," said 
 Edgar. " Tell me that too, and then I shall be eas}' 
 in my mind." 
 
 " Edgar, I ^\ish 3'ou would not be so teasing. 
 Of course, I don't want to indicate the lady ; but I 
 will tell you, if you like, the kind of person she 
 ought to be. She must be well bom ; that is quite 
 indispensable ; any other deficiency may be taken 
 into consideration, but bii-th we cannot do ^vithout. 
 And she must be young, and handsome, and good — 
 but not too good. And if she had some money — 
 just enough to make hev feel comfoi*table " 
 
 " This is a paragon of all virtues and qualities,'*
 
 232 squiep: arden. 
 
 asdd Edgar ; " but whei'e to be found ? and when 
 we find her, why should she condescend to me ? " 
 
 " Condescend I Nonsense ! " cried Clare. " You 
 are just as good as she is; — so long as you are 
 not carried away by a pretty face. It is so 
 humbling to see you men. A pretty face carries 
 the day with you over everything. Can you 
 fancy anything more humiliating to a girl ? She 
 may be good, and wise, and clever, and yet people 
 only want to marry her because her cheek has a 
 pretty colour or her eyes are bright. I think it 
 is almost as bad as if it were for money. To be 
 married for youi- beauty ! Every bit as bad — or 
 even worse ; for the money will last at least, and 
 the beauty can't." 
 
 "But, my dear Clare, I don't want to marry — 
 either for beauty or anything else," said Edgar. 
 
 " But you must marry," repeated his sister, 
 peremptorily. " If you had set your heart upon it, 
 Edgar, I would not mind Gussy Thornleigh. I 
 should like Ada a great deal better ; but of course 
 they have the same belongings. I think she is 
 rather frivolous, and a great chatterbox; but still 
 if you like her best " 
 
 " I don't like her best," said Edgar. " I don't 
 like anybody best, except you. When you marry, 
 then perhaps it will be time to think of it ; but in
 
 SQUIRE ARDEX. 'IS^ 
 
 the meantime I am very happy. I think, Clare, 
 you should let well alone." 
 
 " But it is not well," said Clare, with her usual 
 •energy. And then she added, under her breath, 
 " Arthur Arden is your heir-presumptive. He will 
 be the one who will be looked up to ; and if you 
 don't maiTy soon, people Avill tliink — Edgar, you 
 had much better make up yoiu' mind." 
 
 This was said very rapidly, and with great 
 eai-nestness. Was it a last attempt to stand by her 
 ,brother, and resist the influence of the other, who, 
 whether ^^sibly or not, was her brother's antagonist ? 
 Edgar turned round upon her with tranquil wonder, 
 entirely unmoved. She was excited, but he was 
 calm. Ai-thur's pretensions, it was evident, were 
 nothing to him. 
 
 " Well ? " he said. " Of course Ai'thur Ai'den is my 
 heir ; and probably he would make a much better 
 Squire than I. The only thing for which I have a 
 gmdge at liim is that he is like you. I confess I 
 detest him for that. He may have my land when 
 his time comes and I am out of the way ; but I 
 don't like liim to be nearer than I am to my sister. 
 He is an Ai'den, like you." 
 
 " He is like the old Ai'dens," said Clare, with a 
 faint smile ; and then the conversation di'opped. 
 She did not care to prolong it. They went across
 
 234 SQUIRE ARDEN. 
 
 the cheerful country, still in the glory of the fresh 
 foliage. The blossoms were beginning to fall, the 
 first flush of spring verdure was past, but still the 
 road was pleasant and the morning fine. Whether 
 it was that Clare found enough to occupy her 
 thoughts, or that she did not wish to disclose the 
 confused state of feeling in which she was, it would 
 be difficult to say ; but, at all events, she gave up 
 the talk, which it was her wont to lead and direct. 
 And Edgar, left to himself, ran over his recent ex- 
 periences, and, for almost the first time since he had 
 seen her, thought of Gussy Thornleigh. She was 
 very " nice ; " she was a very different person to 
 have at your elbow from that pretty Alice Pimper- 
 nell, whom Clare held in such needless terror. If a 
 man could secure such a companion — so amusing, so 
 pretty, so full of brightness, would not he be a lucky 
 man ? Edgar let this question skim through his 
 mind, with that sense of pleasant exhilaration which 
 moves a young man who is sensible of the possibility 
 of power in himself, the privilege of making choice, 
 before any real love has come in to change the 
 balance of feeling. He had not been made subject 
 by Gussy, had not set his heart on her, nor trans- 
 ferred, to her the potential voice ; and it half amused, 
 half disturbed him to think that he probably might, 
 if he chose, have for the asking that prettiest,.
 
 SQUIRE ARDEX. 23.> 
 
 liveliest, charming little creature. He did not enter 
 so deeply into the question as to realize that it was liis 
 position, his wealth, his name, and not himself which 
 she would be sure to many. He only felt that it 
 was a curious, amusincr excitina thouMit. He was 
 not used to such reflections ; and, indeed, had he gone 
 into it with any seriousness, Edgar, who had a 
 natural and instinctive reverence for women, would 
 have been the fii'st to blush at liis own superficial 
 mixture of pleased vanity and amusement. But, 
 being fancy free, and feeling the surface of his mind 
 thus lightly rippled by imagination, he could not 
 think of the young women with whom he had been 
 brought into accidental contact since he came home 
 ^vdthout a certain pleasant emotion. They moved 
 him to a sort of affectionate sentiment wliich was 
 not in the least love, though, at the same time, it 
 was not the kind of sentiment with which their 
 brothers would have inspired him. Probably he 
 would have been utterly indifferent about theii- 
 brothers. With a sensation of pleasure and amuse- 
 ment he suffered his thoughts to stray about the 
 subject : but he had not fallen in love. He was as 
 far from that malady as if he had never seen a 
 woman in his life ; and, with a smile on his lip, he 
 asked himself how it was that they did not move 
 liim simply as men did — or rather, how it was that
 
 236 SQUIRE ARDEN. 
 
 they affected him .so differently ? not with pas- 
 sionate or irreverent, far less evil thoughts, but 
 with a soft sense of affectionateness and indulgent 
 friendship, a mingling of personal gratification and 
 liking which was quite distinct from love on the 
 one hand, and, on the other, from any sentiment 
 ever called forth by man. 
 
 Lady Augusta was at home, with all her girls, 
 but on the eve of starting. They were going to 
 town for the short season, which was all Mr. Thorn- 
 leigh meant to give them that year. "Don't you 
 think it is hard," Gussy said, confidentially, to 
 Edgar, "that because Harry has got into debt we 
 should all be stinted ? If any of us girls were to 
 get into debt, I wonder what papa would say. 
 This is the last day of May, and we must be back 
 in July — six weeks ; fancy only six weeks in town, 
 or perhaps not quite so much as that." 
 
 " But Clare does not go at all," said Edgar, "and 
 I don't think she suffers much." 
 
 " Oh, Clare ! Clare is a great lady, and not 
 dependent upon anybody's pleasure. When one is 
 mistress of Arden, and has everything one's own 
 
 way " Here, apparently, it occurred to Gussy 
 
 that she was expressing herself too frankly, for she 
 stopped short, and laughed and blushed. " I mean, 
 when one is one's own mistress," she said, " and not
 
 SQUIRE ARDEX. 237 
 
 one of many, like us girls — it is quite different. If 
 Clare chose to go to Siberia, instead of going to 
 town, I think she would have her way. I am sure 
 you would not oppose." 
 
 " I never oppose anybody," said Edgar ; and it 
 was curious how strongly inclined he felt to laugh 
 and blush just as Gussy had done, and to ask her 
 whether she would like to be mistress of Arden ? 
 "Why shouldn't she, if she would like it ?" he felt 
 himself asking. It seemed absurd not to give 
 her such a trifle if it reaUy would make her so 
 much more comfortable. Edgar, however, felt a 
 little disposed to reason with her, to demonstrate 
 that the position was not so very desirable after 
 all. " But it is not so easy as you think," he said, 
 " for Clare finds it very difficult to manage me. I 
 don't think she ever had so hard a task. She has 
 no time to think of town or the season for taking 
 care of me." 
 
 Gussy 's eyes lighted up with fun and mischief. 
 "I wonder if I could manage you — were I Clare," 
 she said, laughing, and not without a little faint 
 blush of consciousness. Perhaps Lady Augusta 
 heard some echo of these last words, for she came 
 and sat down by Edgar, entu-ely breaking up their 
 tete-d-tete. Lady Augusta was very kind, and 
 motherly, and pleasant. She inquired into Edgar's
 
 238 SQUIRE ARDEN. 
 
 plans with genuine interest, and gave him a great 
 deal of good advice. 
 
 " If I were you, I should take Clare to town," 
 she said. " I think it would do her good. To be 
 sure, she is still in mourning, but she ought to be 
 beginning to think of putting her mourning off. 
 What is the use of it ? It cannot do any good to 
 those who are gone, and it is very gloomy for the 
 living. To be sure, it suits Clare ; but I think, Mr. 
 Arden, you should take her to town. Besides, you 
 ought not to shut yourself up at your age in the 
 • country all the year through ; it is out of the 
 question. My girls are grumbling at the short 
 season we shall have. I daresay Gussy lias told 
 you. You must not mind her nonsense. She is 
 one of those who say not only all, but more than 
 they really mean to say." 
 
 " Then I wish there were more of such people in 
 the world, for they are very charming," said Edgar 
 heartily ; and he thought so, and was quite sincere 
 in this little speech. Lady Augusta was very friendly 
 indeed as she shook hands with him. " Don't forget 
 that we expect to see you in town," she said, as he 
 went away. " He will be with us before ten days 
 are over," she said to Mr. Thornleigh, in confidence, 
 with a nod of satisfaction: but her conclusion was 
 made, unfortunately, on insufficient grounds:
 
 SQUIRE ARDEN. 239 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 The lii-st of June was very bright and Avarm. The 
 summer had set in with great ardour and vehe- 
 mence, not \vith the vacillation common to English 
 summers. There had been no rain for a long time, 
 and the whole world began to cry out for the want 
 of it. A long continuance of fair weather, though it 
 fills an Englishman with delight out of liis ow^i 
 country, is very embarrassing to him at home. He 
 gets troubled in his mind about the crops, about the 
 grass, about the cattle, and tells everybody in the 
 most solemn of voices that "we want rain;" 
 whereas when he has crossed the Channel it is the 
 grand subject of his self-congratulations that you 
 need not be always speculating about wet days, but 
 <3an really believe in the weather. The weather 
 had been thoroughly to be trusted aU tliat month of 
 May, and all the rural world was gloomy about it ; 
 but Edgar had not yet acquii-ed EngHsh habits to 
 such an extent, and he was glad of the serene con- 
 tinuous sunshine, the blue sky that made a perma-
 
 240 SQUIRE ARDEN. 
 
 nent l)ackground to his fine trees. It was the first 
 time that he had been able to give hospitahty, and 
 it pleased him. When he had made sure that his 
 sister did not object, he anticipated Lord New- 
 march's visit with a certain pleasure. There would 
 be novelty in it, and some amusement ; and it was 
 natural to him to surround himself with people, 
 and feel about him that flow and movement of 
 humanity which is necessary to some spirits. The 
 Ardens could do without society as a general rule.. 
 They had stately feasts now and then, but for the 
 greater part of their lives the stillness of the park 
 that surrounded them, the gambols of the deer, or 
 the advent of now and then the carriage of a 
 county neighbour coming to pay a call, was all 
 that was visible from their solemn windows. This 
 was not at all in Edgar's way ; and accordingly he 
 was glad somebody was coming. It would have 
 been a pleasure to him to have filled his house, to 
 have put himself at everybody's service, to have 
 felt the tide rising and swelling round him. To 
 Clare it might be a bore, but it was no bore to her 
 brother. Lord Newmarch drove out from Liver- 
 pool, where he had been attending the great social 
 meeting, between five and six in the afternoon. 
 Edgar saw him from a distance, and hurried home 
 to meet his guest. "Newmarch is coming, Clare,"
 
 SQUIRE ARDEN. 241 
 
 he cried as he came into the little drawing-room in 
 which Clare sat very demurely, \\dth the silver and 
 china shining on the little tea-table beside her, and 
 her embroidery in her hand. It was not an occu- 
 pation she cared for, but j^et it was good for 
 emergencies, and especially when it was necessary 
 to take up that dignified position as the lady of the 
 house. " Very well, Edgar ; but you need not be 
 excited about it," said Clare. What was Lord 
 Newmarch that any one should care about his 
 coming ? She sat in j^lacid state to receive her 
 brother's visitor, secretly fretting in her heart to see 
 that Edgar was not quite as calm as she was. " Can 
 it be because he is a lord ? " she said to herself, and 
 shrank, and was half ashamed, not being able ta 
 realise that Edgar's fresh mind, restrained by none 
 of the Ai'den traditions, would have been heartil}^ 
 satisfied to receive a beggar, had that beggar been 
 pleasant and amusing. To be sure Lord Newmarch 
 was not amusing; but he was instructive, which 
 was far better — or ati, least so some people think. 
 
 Clare's placidity, however, vanished like a dream 
 when she raised her astonished eyes and saw that 
 two people had come into the room, and that one of 
 them was Arthur Arden. The sudden wonder and 
 excitement brought the blood hot to her cheeks. She 
 gave Edgar a rapid angry look, which fortunately 
 
 VOL. I. R
 
 242 SQUIRE ARDEN. 
 
 lie did not perceive, and then lier cousin's voice was 
 in her ear, and she saw dimly his hand held out to 
 her. She had known, of course, that they must 
 meet, but she had expected to have time to prepare 
 herself, to put on her finest manners, and receive 
 him in such a way that he should feel himself kept 
 at a distance, and understand at once upon what 
 terms she intended to receive him. But there he 
 stood all at once before the dazzled eyes which 
 were so reluctant to believe it, holding out his hand 
 to her, assuming the mastery of the position. 
 Clare's high spirit rose, though her heart fluttered 
 sadly in her breast. She got up hastily, stumbling 
 over her footstool, which was an admirable excuse 
 for not seeing his offered hand. " Mr. Arden ! " she 
 exclaimed. "Forgive me for being surprised; but 
 Edgar, you never told me that you expected Mr. 
 Arden to-day." 
 
 "I did not know," said Edgar, with anxious 
 politeness; "but he is very welcome anyhow, I 
 am sure. We did not settle anything about the 
 day." 
 
 "Newmarch drove me over," said Arthur. "I 
 have been at Liverpool too, going in for science. 
 At my age a man must go in for something. 
 When one ceases to be interesting on one's own 
 merits But Miss Arden, if I am inconvenient.
 
 SQUIRE ARDEX. 243 
 
 send me off to the Arclen Ai-ms. There never was 
 man more used to shift for himself than I." 
 
 " It is not in the least inconvenient," said Clai-e, 
 with her stateliest look ; and she seated herself, and 
 offered them tea. But she did not look acrain at 
 
 o 
 
 her cousin. She addi'essed herself to his companion, 
 and asked a himdred questions about his meeting, 
 and all that had been discussed at it. Lord New- 
 march was not in the least disinchned to com- 
 municate all the infonnation she could desire. 
 He sipped his tea, and he talked with that sur- 
 prised sense of pleasure and satisfaction which the 
 sudden discovery of a good hstener conveys. He 
 stood over her, his tea-cup in his hand, with the 
 light, which was not positive sunshine, but a soft 
 reflection of the blaze without thrown from a great 
 muTor, glimmering on his spectacles as it did on 
 the china — and expounded everytliing. " It was a 
 very inconvenient time," he said, " but fortunately 
 nothing very important was goiug on, and I was so 
 fortunate as to secure a pair. So I do not feel that 
 I have neglected one part of my duty in pm^uing 
 another. This was the most convenient moment 
 for our foreign friends. The fact is, aU great 
 questions affecting the people should be treated 
 internationally. That has long been my theoiy. 
 Politics are a different thing; but social questions
 
 241 SQUIRE AEDEX. 
 
 — questions wliicli affect the morality and the- 
 comfort of tlie entire human race " 
 
 "But the measures which suit one portion of 
 the race might not suit another," said Clare, avIio 
 was intensely British. " I don't think I have any 
 confidence in things that come from abroad." 
 
 "Except brothers," said Arthur Arden, almost 
 below his breath. 
 
 Nobody heard him but Clare. It was said for 
 her, with the intention of establishing that private 
 intercourse which can run on in the midst of the 
 most general conversation. But Clare had set her- 
 self stoutly against any such indulgence. 
 
 "Except brothers," she said calmly, as if the 
 observation had been her own. 
 
 " That is exactly my own way of thinking," said 
 the social philosopher, " but are not we all broth^\s ? 
 Am not I identical with my cousin in France and 
 my brother in America so far as all social necessi- 
 ties are considered ? I require to be washed, and 
 clothed, and fed, and taken care of exactly as they 
 do. We will never have a thorough and effectual 
 system till we all work together. Though I am a 
 Liberal in politics, I am not at all against the 
 employment of force in a legitimate way. If I will 
 not keep myself clean of my own accord, I beljeve 
 I ought to be compelled to do it — not for my own
 
 SQUIRE ARDEX. 245 
 
 .-sake, but because I become a nuisance to my neigh- 
 bom-s. If I do not educate my children as I ought, 
 I should be compelled to do so. There are a great 
 many things, more than are thought of in our 
 pliilosophy, which ought to be compid.sory. The 
 individual is all veiy well, and we have done a 
 great deal for him ; but now something must be 
 done for the race." 
 
 " If a man eats garlic, for instance, he should be 
 L-ompeUed to give it up," said Ailhiu' Ai'den. "I 
 was in Spain last year, and I would gave my vote 
 for that. Insects ought to be aboHshed, and all 
 that. If you get up a crusade on that subject, I 
 will give you my best support. And then there are 
 duns. To be asked to pay money is a honible 
 nuisance. I don't know anything that makes a 
 man more obnoxious to liis neighbour " 
 
 " I don't see what advantage is to be gained by 
 laughing at a serious subject," said Lord Newmarch, 
 over his tea-cup. " There are a gi'eat many things 
 that can scarcely be discussed in general society ; 
 though indeed ladies are setting us a good example 
 in that respect. They are boldly approaching sub- 
 jects which have hitherto been held unfit " 
 
 " Edgar, you will remember that we dine at half- 
 past seven," said Clare, rising. Her usual paleness 
 had given way to a little flush of excitement. It
 
 24G SQUIRE ARDEX. 
 
 was not Lord Newmarch and liis questionable sub- 
 jects that excited her. Lord Newmarch was a 
 politician and a Social Reformer, and, as he himself 
 thought, a man of intellect ; but Clare was perfectly 
 able to make an end of him should it be necessary. 
 It was the other man standing by, who made no 
 pretension to any kind of superiority, who alarmed 
 her. And he did more than alarm her. She was 
 confused to the very depth of her being to see him 
 standing there by her brother's side. Was he friend 
 or foe ? Had he come back to Arden in love or in 
 hatred ; for herself or for Edgar ? Arthur Arden 
 had powers and faculties which were the growth of 
 experience^ and which are rarely possessed by very 
 young men. He could look so that nobody could 
 see him looking except the person at whom he gazed. 
 He could express devotion, almost adoration, without 
 the bystanders being a bit the wiser. He could 
 flatter and persuade, and make use of a thousand 
 weapons, without even addressing the object of his 
 thoughts. And Claire, how she could not tell, had 
 come to understand that strange language. She kncAv 
 how much was meant for herself in all he said. She 
 felt the charm stealing over her, the sense that here 
 were skill and strength worthy a much greater effort 
 brought to bear upon her, as if her approbation, her 
 love, were the greatest prizes to be won upon eai'th.
 
 SQUIRE ARDEX. 247 
 
 There is something very captivating to the hnagina- 
 tion of a young woman in this kind of pursuit ; but 
 this time she was forewarned, and had the conscious- 
 ness of her danger. She hunied away, and took 
 refuore in her own room, feelino- it was her onlv 
 stronghold. Then she tried to ask her.self what her 
 feelings really were towards this man, the very sight 
 of whom had made her heart flutter in her bosom. 
 He was poor, and she was rich ; he had passed the 
 limits of youth, and she was in its th'st blossoiu. 
 He had no occupation, nothing to do by which he 
 could improve or advance himself. It was even 
 suspected that he had not passed through the troubles 
 of life without somewhat tarnishing his personal 
 character. The history that could be made of him 
 was not a very edifying history, and Clare was 
 
 aware of it. But yet All these things were 
 
 of quite secondary importance to her. The question 
 that really absorbed her mind was — Had he come 
 here for her ? Was she his object ? and if so, why ? 
 Clare knew well what eveiybody would say — that 
 he came "to better himself;" that her fortune was 
 to fill up the gap in his, and her young life to be 
 absorbed in order to give sustenance and comfort to 
 his worn existence. Could it be so ? Could any- 
 thing so humbling be the truth? Not merely to 
 love and soothe, and make him ha]>py ; but her
 
 248 SQUIRE ARDEN. 
 
 money to maintain, lierself to increase liis personal 
 comfort. Clare tried very hard to consider the 
 matter fully in this light. But how difficult it was 
 to do it ! Just when she tried to remember how 
 penniless he was, and how important her fortune 
 would be to him, a certain look rushed back on her 
 mind which surely, surely could have nothing to do 
 with her fortune ! And then Clare upbraided her- 
 self passionately for the gross and foul suspicion: 
 but yet it would come back. Was he a man to love 
 generously and fondly, as a woman likes to be loved? 
 or would he think but of himself in the matter, not 
 of her ? If he loved her, it would not matter to her 
 that he had nothing, or even that his past was 
 doubtful, and his life half worn out: all that was 
 
 nothing if it was true love that moved him; but 
 
 Old Arden was hers, and she was an heiress capable 
 of setting him up again in the world, and giving to 
 him honour and position such as in reality had 
 never been his. And she felt so willing to do it. 
 True, she had assured Edgar that she would not 
 take Old Arden from him. But anyhow she would 
 be rich, able to place her husband, when she married, 
 
 in a position worthy of her name. If 
 
 It may be supposed that to dress for dinner while 
 these thoughts were buzzing through her brain was 
 not the calm cei'emony it usually is. And all this
 
 SQUIRE ARDEX. 249 
 
 •commotion had arisen from the first glance at liim, 
 tlie mere sense of his presence. What would it be, 
 then, when he had found time to put foi-th all his 
 arts ? 
 
 The reader A\nll probably think it veiy strange 
 that Clare Arden should not have been utterly re- 
 volted by the thought that it was possible her kins- 
 man could mean to make a speculation of her, and 
 a mere stepping-stone to fortune. But she was not 
 revolted. She had that personal objection to being 
 maiiied for her money which every woman has ; but 
 had not she hei^elf been the heroine of the stoiy, she 
 would rather have felt approval than otherwise for 
 Arthur Arden. What else could he do ? she would 
 have said to hei'self. He could not dicr and beofcnnor 
 -even when one is little troubled with shame, is an 
 unsatisfactoiy maintenance. And if eveiything 
 could be put right by a suitaljle mamage, why 
 should not he many ? It was the most natm^al, the 
 most legitimate way of aiTanging everything. For 
 the idea itself she had no hoiTor. All she felt was 
 a natural prejudice against being herself the subject 
 of the transaction.
 
 250 SQUIRE ARDEX. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 " MxiY I walk with you, if you are going to the 
 village ?" said Arthur Arden, when Clare met him 
 in one of the side Waives, tv/o or three mornings 
 after his arrival. She had not seen him until he 
 was by her side, and all this time had avoided him 
 strenuously, allowing herself to be deluged with 
 Lord Newmarch's philosophy, and feeling by instinct 
 that to keep out of her cousin's way as long as she 
 was able would be her soundest policy. She would 
 have abandoned her walk had she known that he 
 was in the park waiting for her ; but now it was 
 too late to escape. Clare gave him a little bow of 
 assent, feeling that she could not help herself; and 
 she did not take any trouble to conceal her senti- 
 ments. The pucker came to her brow which Edgar 
 knew so well, and the smile that just touched her 
 lips was merely a smile of civility — cold and re- 
 luctant. She was, indeed, so far from disguising 
 her feelings that Arthur, who was learned in such 
 matters, drew a certain encouragement from her
 
 SQUIRE ARDEX. . 251 
 
 frank discontent. He was clevei- enough to 
 know that if this rehictance had been quite 
 genuine, Clare woukl have taken some pains to 
 restrain it. Her faint smile and only half-su})- 
 pressed fro^\ai were the best ^van-ants to him that 
 she was not so perfectly indifferent as she had 
 attempted to appear. 
 
 " You don't want me ? " he said, with a plaintive 
 intonation. " I can see that very clearly ; and you 
 will never give me a chance of saying a word. But, 
 ^liss Ai'den, you must not be anorv ^viih me, if I 
 have schemed for this moment. I am not e:oino; to 
 say an}i:liing that ^vill offend you. I only want to 
 beg you to pardon me for what I once said in 
 ignorance. I did not know Edgar then. What a 
 fine fellow he is ! I came disposed to hate him, and 
 find fault T\^th evervthino* he did and said. But 
 now I feel for him as if he were my younger 
 brother. He is one of the finest young fellows I 
 ever met. I feel tliat I must say this to you, at 
 whatever cost."' 
 
 The blood rushed to Clare's cheek, and her heart 
 thumped wildly in her breast, but she did all she 
 could to keep her stiff demeanour. " I am glad you 
 acknowledge it/' she said, ungi^aciously ; and then 
 with a little rush of petulance, which was more 
 agitation than anger — "If that was how you
 
 ."2025 SQUIRE AllDEN. 
 
 thought of my brother — if you intended to hate 
 him — why did yon come here ? " 
 
 A pause followed upon this liasty question — a 
 pause which had the highest dramatic effect, and 
 told immensely upon the questioner, notwithstand- 
 ing all her power of self-control. " Must I answer ?" 
 said Arthur Arden, at last, subduing his voice, and 
 permitting a certain tremulousness to appear in it — 
 for he had full command of his voice ; " I will, if I 
 must ; but in that case you must promise not to be 
 angry, for it will not be my fault." 
 
 " I do not want any answer," said Clare, seeing 
 lier danger. " I meant, how could you come with 
 that opinion of Edgar ? and why should you have 
 formed such an opinion of Edgar ? He has done 
 nothing to make any man think ill of liim — of that, I 
 am very sure. An old prejudice that never had any 
 foundation ; because he did not resemble the rest of 
 us " 
 
 " Dear Miss Arden, do not I confess it ? " said 
 her cousin, humbly. " The echo of a prejudice — 
 that was all — which could never stand for a 
 moment before the charm of his good nature. If 
 there are any words which will express my recan- 
 tation more strongly teach them to me, and I will 
 repeat them on my knees." 
 
 " Edgar would be much surprised to see you on
 
 SQUIEE ARDEX. 25?^ 
 
 your knees," said Gare, avIio felt the clouds melting- 
 away from her face, m spite of herself 
 
 "He need' not see me," said Aii^hur; "the 
 offence was not committed in his kno\\dedcre. I am 
 
 o 
 
 in that attitude now, though no one can see it. 
 Will not the Lady Clare fo^gi^•e her poor kinsman 
 when he sues — on his knees ? " 
 
 " Pray — pray, don't be ridiculous !" said Clare, in 
 momentaiy alarm ; but Aii:hur Arden was not the 
 kind of man to o-q the leno-th of makino- himself 
 ridiculous. Emotion which is very great has not 
 time to think of such restraints ; but he was always 
 conscious of the limitations which it is Avise to 
 put to feeling. His homage was spiritual, not 
 external ; but still, he alloAved her to feel that he 
 might at any moment throw liimself at her feet, 
 and betray that which he had the appearance of 
 concealing so carefully. Clare went on, uncon- 
 sciously quickening her steps, suiTounded by an 
 atmosphere of suppressed passion. He did not 
 attempt to take her hand — to arrest her in any 
 way; but yet he spread round her that dazzhng 
 web which was woven of looks and tones, and hints 
 of words that were not said. 
 
 "It is not anything new to me," she said 
 hurriedly. " I always knew what Edgar was. It 
 is very sad to think that poor papa would never
 
 254 SQUIRE ARDEN. 
 
 understand him; and, then, his education One 
 
 cannot wonder that he should be different. My gi^and 
 anxiety is that he should marry suitably," Clare add- 
 ed, falling into a confidential strain, without know- 
 ing it. " He has so little knowledge of the world." 
 " Does he mean to marry ? Lucky fellow !" said 
 Arthur Arden, with a sigh. 
 
 " It does not matter much whether he means it 
 or not," said Clare. " Of course he must. And then, 
 he has such strange notions. If he fell in love with 
 any girl in the village, I believe he would marry her 
 as soon as if she were a Duke's daughter. It is very 
 absurd. It is something wanting, I think. He does 
 not seem to see the most ordinary rules of life." 
 
 "Lucky fellow, I say!" said Arthur Arden. 
 " Do you know, I think it is angelic of me not to 
 hate him. One might forgive him the houses and 
 lands ; but for the blessed power of doing what he 
 pleases, it is hard not to hate him. Of course, he 
 won't be able to do as he pleases. If nobody else 
 steps in, Fate will, and baulk him. There is some 
 consolation to be got out of that," 
 
 " It does not console me to think so," said Clare. 
 "But look — here is something very pretty. Look 
 at them, and tell me if you think the girl is a great 
 beauty. I don't know whether I admire her or not, 
 with those wild, strange, visionary eyes."
 
 SQUIRE AEDEX. 255 
 
 The sight, which was very pretty, which sud- 
 <:lenly stopped them as they talked, was that of ]\Ii\s. 
 MiuTay and her gi-anddaughter. They were seated 
 under a hawthorn, the whiteness of which had 
 begun to tarnish, but which still scented the air all 
 round. The deeper gi-een of the elms behind, and 
 the sweet silken greeimess of the limes in the fore- 
 ground framed in this Kttle picture. The old lady 
 sat knitting, with a long length of stocking depend- 
 ing from her hands, sometimes raising her head to 
 look at her charge, sometimes sending keen glances 
 up or down the avenue, like sentinels, against any 
 surprise. Jeanie had no occupation whatever. She 
 lay back, mth her eyes fixed on the sky, over 
 which the lightest of wdiite clouds were passing. 
 Her lap was full of flowers, bits of hawthorn, and 
 of the yellow-flowered gorse and long-plumed 
 grasses — the bouquet of a child ; but she was 
 paying no attention to the flowers. Her eyes and 
 upturned face were absorbed, as it were, in the 
 fathomless blue of the sky. 
 
 " I hope she is better," said Clare, in her clear 
 voice. " I am very glad you can bring her out to 
 enjoy the park. They say the air is so good here. 
 Do you find it much milder than Scotland ? I 
 suppose it is veiy cold among the hills." 
 
 " Cold, oh, no cold," said Mrs. Murray, " but no
 
 250 SQUIRE ARDEN. 
 
 SO dry as here among your fine parks and all youi- 
 pleasant fields. Jeanie, do you see the young lady ? 
 She likes to come out, and does nothing, the idle 
 thing, but look up at the sky. I canna tell what 
 she finds there for my part. She tells me stories 
 for an hour at a time about all the bits of fleecy 
 clouds. Ye may think it idle, Miss Arden, and a 
 bad way to bring up a young thing; but the 
 doctors a' tell me it's the best for the puir bairn." 
 
 "I don't think it idle," said Clare, who never- 
 theless in her mind highly disapproved. " When 
 one is ill, of course one must seek health first of 
 all." 
 
 "Jeanie, do ye no see the young lady?" whis- 
 pered the grandmother; but neither of them rose, 
 neither attempted to make that curtsey of which 
 Clare felt herself defrauded. When the girl was 
 thus called, she raised her head and looked up in 
 Clare's face with a soft child-like smile. 
 
 "I am better, thank you," she said, with a 
 dreamy sense that only a question about her health 
 could have been addressed to her. "I am quite 
 better, quite better. I canna feel now tliat it's me 
 at all." 
 
 " What does she mean ? " said Clare, wondering. 
 
 "That was the worst of all," said Jeanie, answer- 
 ing for herself. " I never could forget that it was
 
 SQUIRE ARDEN. 257 
 
 me. Whatever I did, or wherever I was, it was aye 
 me, me — ^but now the world is coming back, and 
 that sky. Granny ! do ye mind what you promised 
 to say ?" 
 
 " It was to tell you how thankful we are," said 
 Mi^. Murray, looking up from her knitting, yet 
 going on with it without intei-mission, " that ye let 
 us come here, Miss Arden. It is like balm to my 
 poor bairn. AMien it's no the body that's ailing, 
 but the mind, it's hard to ken what to do. I've 
 tried many a thing they told me to try — physic and 
 strengthening meat, and all ; Vjut there's notliing 
 like the sweet air and the quiet — and many, many 
 thanks for it, Jeanie, Jeanie, my darlin', what has 
 come to you ?" 
 
 The girl had gradually raised herself upright, 
 and had been seated "v\^th her eyes fixed in admira- 
 tion upon Clare, who was as a goddess to the young 
 creature, thus dreaming her way back into life ; 
 but there had been a rustle by Clare's side which 
 had attracted her attention. It was when she saw 
 Arthur Arden that she gave that ciy. It rang out 
 shrill and wild through the stiUness, startling aU the 
 echoes, startling the veiy birds among the trees. 
 Then she started up wildly to her feet, and clutched 
 at her gi-andmother, who rose also in sudden fi'ight 
 and dismay. "Look at him, look at him!" said 
 VOL. I. s
 
 258 SQUIRE ARDEN. 
 
 Jeanie — " that man ! it's that man I" — and with 
 every limb trembling, and wild cries bursting from 
 her lips, which grew fainter and fainter as her 
 strength failed, she fell back into the arms which 
 were opened to support her. Arthur Arden started 
 forward to offer his assistance, but Mrs. Murray 
 waved him away with an impatient exclamation. 
 
 " Oh, if you would go and no come near us — oh, 
 if you would keep out of her sight ! No, my 
 bonnie Jeanie — no, my darlin'I it's no that man. 
 It's one that's like him, one ye never saw before. 
 No, my bonnie bairn ! Oh, Jeanie, Jeanie, have ye 
 the courage to look, and I'll show ye the difference ? 
 Sir, dinna go away, dinna go away. Oh, Miss Arden, 
 keep him still till my darling opens her eyes and 
 .sees that he's no the man." 
 
 Clare stood silent in her consternation, looking 
 from one to the other. Did it mean that Arthur 
 knew these strangers ? that there was a secret, some 
 understanding she had not been meant to know, 
 some undisclosed wrong ? She suspected her cousin; 
 she hated that old, designing, artful woman; she 
 feared the mad girl. " I can do nothing," she said 
 hoarsely, with quivering lips, drawing apart, and 
 sheltering herself behind a tree. And then she hated 
 herself that her first movement was anger and not 
 pity. As for Jeanie, her cries sank into moans, her
 
 SQUIRE ARDEN. 2o9 
 
 trembling increased, until suddenly she dropped so 
 heavily on her gi^andmother's shoulder as to di-aw 
 Mrs. Mun-ay down on her knees. Tliey sank 
 together into the deep, cool gi'ass — the young crea- 
 ture like one dead, the old woman, in her pale 
 strength and self-restraint, holding her fast. She 
 asked no help from either of the two astonished 
 spectators, but laid the gii-1 down softly, and put 
 Jback her haii', and fanned her, with the gentleness 
 of a nurse to an infant, murmuring all the while 
 words which her nursling could not hear. " It's no 
 him, my bonnie baim ; oh, my Jeanie, it's no liim ! 
 It's a young gentleman, one ye never saw — maybe 
 one of his kin. Oh, my poor baim, here's it come 
 all back again — all to do over again I Why did I 
 bring her here ?" 
 
 " What has here to do ^vith it ? what do you mean 
 by calling Mr. Arden that nian ? what is the mean- 
 ing of it all ?" said Clare, coming forward. " I must 
 know the meaning of it. Yes, I see she has faiuted ; 
 but you are used to it — you are not unhappy about 
 her; and I am unhappy, very unhappy, to know 
 what it means." 
 
 The three women were by this time alone, for 
 Arthur Arden had gone for help from the HaU, 
 which was the nearest house, as soon as Jeanie 
 fainted. Clare came forward, almost imperious, to
 
 SCO SQUIRE ARDEN. 
 
 where the poor girl was lying. It was a thing the- 
 grandmother was used to, she said to herself. The 
 old woman made no fuss about it, and why should 
 she make any fuss ? "I don't want to be cruel," 
 she said, almost crying in her excitement ; " if you 
 are anxious about her, tell me so ; but you don't look 
 anxious.- And what, oh, what does it mean ?" 
 
 "It means our ain private affairs, that neither 
 you nor any stranger ia^s aught to do with," said 
 Mrs. Murray, looking up witli an air as proud as 
 Clare's own. And then she returned in a moment 
 to her natural tone. " I am no anxious because she 
 has fainted. She will come out of her faint, poor 
 bairn ; but it's sore, sore work, when you think it's 
 aU passing away, that the look of a man she never 
 saw before should bring it back again. I canna tell 
 ye my private history. Miss Arden. I may have 
 done wrong in my day, and I may be suffering for 
 it ; but I canna tell it a' to a stranger ; and that is 
 what it means — no an accident, but our ain private 
 affairs that are between me and my Maker, and no 
 one beside." 
 
 *' But she knew Mr. Ai'den !" said Clare. 
 
 " The man she took him for is dead ; he was a 
 man that did evil to me and mine, and brought us 
 to evil," said the grandmother, solemnly. " The life 
 is coming back to her ; and oh, if ye would but go
 
 SQUIRE ARDEX. 261 
 
 away, and keep yon gentleman away ! If we w^ere 
 to bide here for a year, I could tell ye no more." 
 
 Wretched with suspicion, unbelie\'ing and un- 
 happy, Clare turned away. Had she been capable 
 of feeling any additional blow to her pride, that 
 dismissal would have given it ; but her piide was in 
 abeyance for the moment, swallowed up in wonder 
 and anxious curiosity. " The man she took him for 
 is dead" — was that true, or a He invented to screen 
 one who had betrayed poor Jeanie. The girl herself 
 could not surely be deceived. And if Aithur Arden 
 had w^-ought this ruin, what remained for Clare ?
 
 262 SQUIRE APvDEN, 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 Mrs. Murray was left alone with her grandchild,, 
 and she was glad. Though she was old, she was- 
 full of that patient strength which shows itself 
 without any ostentation whenever the emergenc;y' 
 which requires it arises. She was not sorry for 
 herself, nor did she think much of her own ag-e, or 
 of what was due to her. She had long got over 
 that phase of life in which a woman has leisure to 
 think of herself. And there was no panic of alarm 
 about her, such as might have come to the inexperi- 
 enced. She knew her work, and all about it, and 
 did not overwhelm herself with unnecessary excite- 
 ments. She laid her child down in the grass, in 
 the shade, laying her head upon a folded shawl. 
 Jeanie had come out of her faint, but she lay in a 
 state of exhaustion, with her eyes closed, unable to 
 move or speak. The grandmother knew it was 
 impossible to take her home in such a state of pros- 
 tration. She seated herself so as to screen? her 
 charge from passers by, and resumed her knitting
 
 SQUIRE ARDEN. '2('>o 
 
 — a picture of calm and thoughtful composure — 
 serious, yet with no trace of mysteiy or panic about 
 her. "WTiat had happened to Jeanie was connected 
 with their o^vn afiaii^. It was a thing which 
 nobody but themselves had anything to do with. 
 She sat and watched the young sufferer \\'ith all 
 that grave power of self-restraint which it is always 
 so impressive to witness, asking neither help nor 
 pity, knitting on steadily, with sometimes a tender 
 glance from her deep eyes at the young fair creature 
 lying at her side, and sometimes a keen look 
 round to guard against intrusion. The work went 
 on through all, and those thoughts which nobody 
 knew of, which no one suspected. What was she 
 thinking about ? She had a breadth of sixty years 
 to go back upon, and memories to recall with which 
 nothing here had any connection. Or could it be 
 possible that there might be a certain connection 
 between her thoughts and this unknowTi place ? 
 Sometimes she paused in her work, and di'opped 
 her hands, and turned her face towards the house, 
 wliich was invisible from where she sat, and fell 
 into a deeper musing. " Would I do it over again 
 if it were to do ? " she said half aloud to herself, 
 with an instinctive impulse to break the intense 
 stillness ; and then, making no answer to her own 
 question, sat with her head dropped on her hand.
 
 20 4 SQUIRE ARDEN. 
 
 gazing into the shadowy distance. What was it 
 slie had done ? It was something which touched 
 her conscience — touched her heart ; but she had not 
 repented of it as a positive wrong, and could yet, 
 it was clear, bring forth a hundred arguments to 
 justify herself to herself. She paused, and leant 
 her head upon her hand, and fixed her eyes on the 
 distance, in which, unseen, lay the home of the 
 Ardens. Her thoughts had strayed away from 
 Jeanie. She mused, and she sighed a sigh which 
 was very deep and long drawn, as if it came from 
 the depths of her being. " The ways of ill-doers 
 are hard," she murmured to herself; and then, after 
 a pause, "Would I do it again?" It was not 
 remorse that was in her face ; it was not even 
 penitence ; it was pain subdued, and a great doubt 
 which it was very hard to solve. But there was no 
 €lue to her musing, either in her look or her tones. 
 She took up her knitting with another sigh, when 
 she had apparently exhausted, or been exhausted 
 by that thought, and changed the shawl under 
 Jeanie's head, making her more comfortable, and 
 looked at her with the tenderest pity. "Poor 
 bairn!" she said to herself; "Poor bairn!" and 
 then, after a long pause, " That she should be the 
 first to pay the price ! " The words were said but 
 half aloud, a murmur that fell into the sound of the
 
 SQUIRE ARDEN. 205 
 
 wind in the trees and the insects all about. Then 
 she went to work again, knitting in the deepest 
 Xjuiet — a. silence so intense that she looked like a 
 weird woman knitting a web of fate. 
 
 It' was a curious picture. The girl with her 
 bonnet laid aside, and her hair a Uttle loosened 
 from its smoothness, l^'ing stretched out in the 
 deep cool gi-ass which rose all round her, and shaded 
 by a great bough of hawthorn, laden ^^dth the 
 blossom which was still so sweet. The white petals 
 lay all about upon the gTass, lying motionless like 
 Jeanie, who was herself like a gi^eat white flower, 
 half buried in the soft and fragi'ant verdure ; while 
 the old mother sat by doing her work, watching 
 with every sense, ear and eye on the alert to catch 
 any questionable sound. The giii fell asleep in her 
 weakness ; the old woman sat motionless in her 
 strength and patience ; and the trees waved softly 
 over them, and the summer blue filled up all the 
 interstices of the leafage. This was the scene upon 
 which Arthur Arden came back as he returned 
 from the house wdth aid and promises of aid. He 
 had been interested before, and now, wdien he per- 
 ceived that Clare was not to be seen, liis interest 
 grew more manifest. He came up huniedly, half 
 running, for he was not without natural sympathy 
 ^nd feehng. "Is she better?" he asked. "Miss
 
 2CG SQUIRE ARDf:N. 
 
 Arclen's maid is coming, and the carriage to take 
 lier home ; and, in the meantime, here is some- 
 thing." And he hastily produced a bottle of smell- 
 ing-salts and some eau-de-cologne. 
 
 "She is better," said Mrs. Murray, stiffly. "I 
 thank ye, sir, for all your trouble ; but there's no 
 need — no need ! She is resting, poor lamb, after 
 her attack. It's how she does always. But I 
 would fain be sure that she would never see you 
 aerain. Dinna think I'm uncivil, Mr. Arden ; for I 
 know you are Mr. Arden by your looks. You are 
 like one that brought great pain and trouble to our 
 house a year or two since. I would be glad to think 
 that she would never see ye more." 
 
 "But that is a little hard," said Arthur Arden. 
 "To ask me to go away and make a martyr of 
 myself, wthout even telling me why. I must say 
 I think that harsh. I would do a great deal for so 
 pretty a creature," he added, carelessly drawing 
 near the pretty figure, and stooping over her. Mrs. 
 Murray half rose with a quick sense of the difference 
 in his tone. 
 
 " My poor bairn is subject to a sore infirmity," 
 she said, "and for that she should be the more 
 pitied of all Christian folk. A gentleman like you 
 will neither look at her nor speak to her but as 
 you ought. I am asking nothing of you. It's my
 
 SQUIRE AEDEX. 2G7 
 
 part to keep my o\yii safe. All I pray is that if 
 you should meet her in the road you would pass on 
 the other side, or turn away 3'our face. That's little 
 to do. I can take care of my own." 
 
 "My good woman, you are not very compli- 
 mentary," said Arthur; and then he went and gazed 
 down once more upon the sleeping figure in the 
 grass. His gaze was not that of a pure-minded or 
 sympathetic spectator. He looked at her with a 
 half smile, noting her beauty and childish grace. 
 "She is very young, I suppose?" he said. "Poor 
 little thinor ! What did the man who was like me 
 do to frighten her so ? And I wonder who he was? 
 The resemblance must be very great." 
 
 "He brought grief and trouble to our house," 
 said Mrs. Murray, who had risen, and stood screen- 
 ing her child with a jealous mother's instinct. "Sir, 
 I am much obliged to you. But, oh ! if you would 
 be kinder still, and go on your way ! We are com- 
 plaining of nothing, neither my bairn nor me." 
 
 "Your 'bairn,' as you call her, is mighty pretty," 
 said Arthur Arden. " Look here, buy her a ribbon 
 or something with this, as some amends for ha^^ng 
 frightened her. What, you won't have it ? Non- 
 sense ! I shall probably never see her again. You 
 need not be afraid of me." 
 
 "I am no afraid of any man," said Mrs. Murray;
 
 268 SQUIRE ARDEN. 
 
 "if you would leave us free in this spot, where 
 we're harming nobody. Good day to you, sir. 
 Give your siller to the next poor body. It's no 
 wanted by me." 
 
 "As proud as Lucifer, by Jove!" said Arthur 
 Ai'den, and he put back his half-sovereign in his 
 pocket, perhaps not unwillingly, for he had not 
 many of them ; and then he stood still for a minute 
 longer, during which time the old woman resumed 
 her knitting, and went on steadily, having dropped 
 him, as it were, though she still watched him keenly 
 from under her eyelids. He waited for some other 
 opportunity of speech, but at length, half amazed 
 half annoyed, swore "by Jove!" once more, and 
 turned on his heel with little courtesy. Then he 
 began to bethink himself of Clare, who had gone 
 down the avenue, and whom he had missed. He 
 was a man used to please himself, used to turn 
 aside after every butterfly that crossed his path, 
 and it was so long since he had engaged in the 
 warm pursuit of anything that he had forgot the 
 amount of perseverance and steadiness necessary 
 for it. He had been almost, nay quite glad, when 
 lie saw that Clare was gone, and felt himself free 
 for the moment to find out something about the 
 pretty creature who lay in the grass like a Sleeping 
 Beauty ; but now that the careful guardian of the
 
 SQUIEE ARDEX. 2G9 
 
 sleeping beauty had sent him away, his mind re- 
 turned to its original pursuit. Would Clare be 
 angiy ; would she consider his desertion as a sign 
 of indifference, an offence against herself? He 
 chafed at the self-denial thus made necessary, and 
 3'et he was as anxious to secure Clare's good opinion 
 as any man could be, and not entii^ely on interested 
 motives. She was very dignified and Juno-like 
 and stately. She would condemn him and all his 
 ways did she know them. She would be intolerant 
 of his hfe, and his friends, and his habits ; and yet 
 Clare attracted him personally as well as pecuniarily. 
 He would be another man if he could succeed in 
 persuading her to Ioa'C him. It would make him 
 rich, it would give him an estabUshed position in 
 the world — and it would make him happy. Yes, 
 there could not be any doubt on that subject, it 
 would make him happy ; and yet he was ready to 
 be led astray all the same b}' any buttei-fly hunt 
 that crossed his path. 
 
 As he hastened down the avenue, he met a httle 
 procession which was coming up, and which con- 
 sisted of an invahd chair, drawn by a man, who 
 paused every ten minutes to speak or be spoken to 
 by the patient within, and followed by an elderly 
 maid, who walked with a disappro^^[ng air under 
 a huge umbrella. Arthur Arden was sufficiently
 
 ^70 SQUIRE ARDEN. 
 
 acquainted with the population of Arden to know 
 at once who this was, and the voice which immedi- 
 ately addressed him was one which compelled his 
 attention. " Mr. Arden, Mr. Arden," said the voice, 
 " do stop and look at this beautiful chair ; a present 
 from Edgar. I was saying to my brother just the 
 
 other day Ten minutes in the open air — only 
 
 ten minutes now and then, if there was any way of 
 doing it ! And to think of dear Edgar recollecting. 
 
 And the handsomest Now, is not he a dear 
 
 fellow ? All padded and cushioned, and as easy as 
 a bed— — And the very best temper in the world, 
 Mr. Arden, and always thinking of others. You will 
 think me an old fool, but I do so love that boy." 
 
 " He is very lucky, I am sure, to inspire so warm 
 a feeling," said Arthur, with mock respect. 
 
 " Lucky indeed ! he deserves it, and a thousand 
 times more. Of course I would not speak of such a 
 thing as loving a gentleman," said Miss Somers, with 
 a soft blush stealing over her pretty faded old face, 
 " if it was not that I was so old and helpless. And 
 dear Edgar is so nice and so kind. Fancy his coming 
 to see me the very first day he was at home : a 
 young man you know, that might have been sup- 
 posed and, then this beautiful chair. I was 
 
 saying to my brother just the other day but 
 
 then some men are so different from others, and
 
 SQUIRE ARDEN. 271 
 
 never take the ti'ouble even to give you an answer. 
 To be sure, there are many things that put a gentle- 
 man out and tiy his temper that we ladies have not 
 
 got to bear ; but then, on the other hand And, 
 
 as I was sa}dng, it arrived all at once, two days ago, 
 in a big packing-case — the biggest packing case, you 
 know. My brother said, ' It is for you, Lucy ; ' and 
 ' Oh, good gracious, is it for me ? and what is it, and 
 who could have sent it ? and how good of them to 
 'think of me ; ' and then, when one is in the midst of 
 one's little flutter, you know, he tells you you are a 
 little fool, and how you do run on ! " 
 
 " That w^as unkind," said Ai-thui-, when she 
 paused to take breath ; " but ^vill you tell me, 
 please, have you seen Miss Arden ? I left her going 
 down the avenue." 
 
 " Oh, Clare ! she's in the village by this time, 
 walking so quick. I wonder if it is good to walk so 
 quick, especially in the sun. When I was a young 
 
 girl like Clare And then they say it biings 
 
 illnesses She was in such a huny ; not a bit 
 
 like Clare to walk so fast ; and it makes you look 
 heated, and all that. Mr. Arden, you will make me 
 so happy if you will only look. It can draw out, 
 and I can lie all my length when I get tii'ed. The 
 Queen herself, if she were an invalid — but I'm so 
 glad she is not an iavalid, poor dear lady ; with all
 
 272 SQUIRE ARDEN. 
 
 those horrible death warrants to sign, and every- 
 thing — Don't you think there should be somebody 
 to do the death warrants when there is a lady for 
 the Queen — I mean, you know, when there is a 
 Queen ? But if I were the Queen I could not have 
 anything better. Isn't he a dear fellow I And the 
 springs so good, and everything so light and nice 
 and so pretty. You have not half seen yet how 
 nice " 
 
 " There is somebody a little in advance who will 
 appreciate it a great deal better than I can," said 
 Arthur. " I must overtake Miss Arden. Yes — 
 there ; just a little further on." 
 
 " Now, I wonder what he can mean by some- 
 body a little in advance," said Miss Somers, as 
 Arthur went hastily on. " Can it be Edgar, I won- 
 der — the dear fellow ! or the Rector ? or whom, I 
 wondej' ? Mercy, please, if you don't mind the 
 trouble, do you see anybody coming ? Not that I 
 mind who I meet. I am sure I should like to show 
 dear Edgar's present everywhere. I wonder if it is 
 Lady Augusta? I am sure, Mercy, you know I have 
 always thought well of Lady Augusta " 
 
 " I don't see nobody, mum," said Merc}^, cutting 
 her mistress remorselessly short, " but them Scotch 
 folks as lives in the village, and ain't no company 
 for the quality ; set them up, them and their pride I
 
 SQUIRE ARDEN. 27-> 
 
 John, Miss Somers wants to go a little quicker past 
 them tramps and folks ; for they ain't no better, a 
 poking into our parish," muttered Mercy, under her 
 breath. 
 
 " Oh, no, John ; please, John — I want so much 
 to see them," remonstrated Miss Somers. Fortu- 
 nately, John wanted to see them too, and after a 
 struggle with Mercy, who ruled her mistress with 
 a rod of iron, the procession paused opposite to 
 where Mrs. MuiTay sat. Mercy herself could not 
 be more unT^dlling for any colloquy. The old 
 Scotchwoman kept on her knitting, with her eyes 
 steadily fixed upon it, as long as that was possible. 
 She only moved when the invalid's eager voice had 
 called her over and over again, " Oh, please, come 
 and speak to me. I am Dr. Somers' sister, and a 
 great invalid, and I have heard so much about you ; 
 
 and just yesterday I was saying to my brother 
 
 Oh, please, do put down your knitting for a moment 
 and come to me. I am so helpless, I cannot put my 
 foot to the gi'ound." 
 
 Mrs. Murray rose slowly at thLs appeal, and 
 came and stood by the invalid's chair. 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 274< SQUIRE ARDEN. 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 "" I HAVE heard so much about you," said Miss 
 Somers, eagerly. " I am so glad to have met you. 
 The Doctor is always so busy he never gives me 
 any answer when I speak ; and you know when 
 
 one is helpless and can't budge I should have 
 
 been in my room for ever but for Edgar, you know 
 — I mean Mr. Arden — the dearest fellow ! — who has 
 
 sent me I don't know if you understand such 
 
 things ; but look at it. This is the first time I have 
 been out for two years. Such a handsome chair ! 
 the very best, you may be sure, that he could get to 
 
 buy. And I know he is so interested in both 
 
 Which is your grandchild ? Goodness gracious me ? 
 Are not you frightened to death to leave her ? She 
 might catch cold ; she might have something go up 
 her ear — lying right down in the grass." 
 
 ** She'll take no harm," said the old woman, " and 
 it's kind, kind of you to ask " 
 
 " Oh, I am always asking," said Miss Somers ; 
 ^* but people are so very impatient. 'How you do
 
 SQUIRE ARDEN. 275 
 
 run on ! ' is all my brother says. I hear your child 
 is so pretty ; and I am so fond of seeing pretty 
 people. Once, when I was young myself — but that 
 is such a long time ago, and, of course, you would 
 not think it, and I don't suppose any traces are left 
 
 — but people did say Well, well, you know, 
 
 one ought never to be vain. She lies dreadfully 
 still ; are you not frightened to see her like that — 
 so pale, you know, and so still ? It always frightens 
 me to see any one lie so quiet." 
 
 " She is sleeping, poor bairn," said ^Ii's. Murray. 
 " She has had a fright, and a bit little attack — and 
 now she's sleeping. The Doctor has been real kind. 
 I canna say in words how kind he has been — and 
 Mr. Arden. You're fond of Mr. Arden ? I do not 
 wonder at that, for he's a fine lad." 
 
 " There can't be anything wrong in saying I am 
 fond of Edgar. No ; I am sure there can't be any- 
 thing wrong," said Miss Somers : " he is the dearest 
 fellow ! We were brought up so very strict, I 
 always feel a httle difficulty, you know, in saying, 
 
 about gentlemen But then at my age, and so 
 
 helpless as I am I have him up to my room 
 
 to see me, you know, and I can't think there is any 
 harm, though I would not for the world do anything 
 that was considered fast, or that would make any 
 talk. Why, I have known him from a baby — or
 
 276 SQUIRE ARDEN. 
 
 rather I ought to have known him. The Doctor was^ 
 not here then. When one thinks of such a while 
 ago, you know, everything was so very different. 
 I was going to balls and parties and things, like 
 other young people. Five and twenty years ago ! — 
 there was a gentleman that had a post out in India 
 somewhere — but it never came to anything. How 
 strange it would have been, supposing I had been 
 all these five and twenty years in India ! I wonder 
 if I should have been helpless as I am now ? — ^but 
 probably it would have been the liver — it would 
 have been sure to have been the liver. Poor dear 
 Edgar, he never was like the Ardens. That was 
 why they were so unkind." 
 
 "Unkind!" said Mrs. Murray, with a sudden start 
 " Oh, you must not say anything of it now," said 
 the invalid, frightened. "He is the Squire, and 
 there is no harm done. The old Squire was noi 
 nice ; he was that sort of hard-hearted man — and 
 poor dear Edgar was never like an Ai'den. My 
 brother has his own ways of thinking, you know, 
 and takes things into his head ; and he thinks he 
 understands: he thinks it was something about 
 Mrs. Arden. But that is all the greatest wicked- 
 ness and folly. I knew her, and I can say 
 
 He was so hard-hearted — not the least like a father 
 — and that made him think, you know "
 
 SQUIRE ARDEN. 277 
 
 !Mrs. Murray, who was not used to Miss Somers, 
 and could not unravel the maze, or make out which 
 kim was the Squii-e and which the Doctor, gazed at 
 her ^vith wondering eyes. She was almost as much 
 moved as Edgar had been. Her cheeks grew red, 
 her glance eager. " I have no right to be asking 
 questions," she said, " but there's a cousin of mine 
 here that has long been in their service, and I cannot 
 but take an interest in the family. Thomas Pei-fitt 
 has told us a' about the Ardens at home. If I was 
 not presuming, I would like to know about ^ir. 
 Edgar. There's something in his kind eyes that 
 goes to the heart of the poor. I'm a stranger ; but 
 if it's no presuming " 
 
 " Yes ; I suppose you are a stranger," said Miss 
 Somers, who was too glad to have any one to talk 
 to. " But I have heard so much about you, I can't 
 
 think Oh, dear, no, you are not presuming. 
 
 Everybody knows about the Ardens ; they were 
 always a veiy proud sort of stiff people. The old 
 Squire was married when I was a young lady, you 
 know, and cared for a little attention and to be taken 
 notice of; though I am siu^e why I should talk of 
 myself ! That is long past — ever so long past ; and 
 his wife was so nice and so sweet. If she had been 
 a great lady I am sure I should never have loved 
 her so And the baby — but somehow no one
 
 278 SQUIRE ARDEN. 
 
 ever thought of the baby — not even his mamma. 
 She had always to be watching her husband's looks, 
 poor thing. On the whole, I am not sure that one 
 is not happier when one does not marry. The 
 things I have seen I Not daring to call their souls 
 their own ; and then looking down upon you, as if 
 
 you were not far, far But poor dear Edgar 
 
 never was petted like Clare. One never saw him 
 when he was a child ; and I do believe his poor 
 
 dear papa hated him after I ought not ta 
 
 talk hke this, I know. But he has come out of it 
 
 all like — like Oh, he is the dearest fellow I 
 
 And to be sure, he is the Squire, and no one can 
 harm him now." 
 
 "Maybe the servants should not hear," said 
 Mrs. Murray, whose face was glowing with a deep 
 colour. The red was not natural to her, and seemed 
 to burn into her very eyes. And she did not look 
 at Miss Somers, but stood anxiously fingering the 
 apron of the little carriage, John and Mercy were 
 both close by — perhaps out of hearing, but no more. 
 
 " Oh, my dear woman, the servants know all 
 about it," said Miss Somers. " They talk more about 
 it than we do ; that is always the way with them. 
 I might give a hint, you know; but they speak 
 plain. No ; he was not happy when he was a boy ;. 
 lie went wandering all about and about "
 
 SQUIRE ARDEN. 279 
 
 "But that was for his education," said the 
 anxious inquirer, whose interest in the question did 
 not astonish Miss Somers. To her it seemed only 
 natural that the Ardens should be prominent in 
 everybody's horizon. She shook her head with, such 
 a continuous shake, that Mercy was tempted to 
 interfere. 
 
 " You'll have the headache, Miss, if you don't 
 mind," said Mercy, coming forward ; " and me and 
 John both thinks that it ain't what the Doctor 
 would like, to see you a-sitting here." 
 
 " It's only for a miuute," said the invalid, humbly, 
 " I want a little breath, after being so long shut up. 
 You may think what it would be if you were shut 
 up for two years. Would you tell Jolm to go and 
 gather me some may, there's a dear good creature ? 
 I am so interested in these nice people ; and my 
 
 brother says Some may, please, John ; not 
 
 the brown branches that are going off I 
 
 think I saw some there. Mercy, you have such good 
 eyes, go and show him, please. There, now they 
 are gone, one can talk. Old servants are a great 
 
 blessing, though sometimes But it is all their 
 
 interest in one, you kngw. His education was the 
 excuse. I remember when I was young, Mary 
 
 Thorpe They said it was to leani Italian ; but 
 
 if that young man had not been so poor It is
 
 280 SQUIRE ARDEN. 
 
 such a Kstrange, .strange world ! If people were to 
 think less of money, don't you think it would be 
 happier, especially for young girls ? I hope it is 
 not anything of that kind with your poor little 
 grandchild ; but then she is so young " 
 
 "You were speaking of Mr. Arden," said Mrs. 
 Murray, with a sigh ; and then she added — " But he 
 is the only heir, and all's his now." 
 
 " Oh, yes, all is his — the dear fellow ; but he is 
 
 not the only heir; there is Clare, you know 
 
 Don't you hate entails, and that sort of thing, that 
 cut off the girls ? We may not be so clever, though 
 
 I am sure I don't know But we can't live 
 
 without a little money, all the same. I say to my 
 brother sometimes — but then he is so impatient. 
 And Clare is wonderfully superior — equal to any 
 man. I think, though I have seen her every day 
 for years, I get on better with Edgar. It makes my 
 poor head ache, I am such a helpless creature, not 
 good for anything. If you could have seen me a 
 few years back you would not know me. I was 
 always running about: the 'little busy bee ;' when I 
 was young that is what they always used to call me. 
 There was a gentleman that used to say — a Mr. 
 
 Templeton, of the Royal Navy but there were 
 
 difficulties, you know Oh, yes ; I remember, 
 
 about Arden I do run on, I know ; my brother
 
 SQUIRE ARDEX. 281 
 
 is always telling me I lose the thread, but why there 
 
 should be a thread Yes, there is another 
 
 Arden — Arthur Ai'den ; you must have seen him 
 pass just now." 
 
 " The man that was so like " said Mrs. 
 
 Murray ; and then she stopped, and shut up her 
 lips tight, as if to establish even physical safeguards 
 against the utterance of another word. 
 
 " He is very like his family — ;just the reverse of 
 poor dear Edgar," said ^liss Somers ; " but I don't 
 
 like him at all, and he is such a dear fellow If 
 
 there had been no son, Arthur w^ould have succeeded, 
 and poor dear Clare would have been cut off, unless 
 they were to many. I sometimes think if they 
 
 were to marry Was that your daughter 
 
 stirring I I can't think how you don't die of fright 
 to see her lying there so still. Do bring her to see 
 me, please. I am never out of my room — except 
 now, in this fine new chair, of course, I shall be 
 going out every day. But it is so dreadful to have 
 to be canied, and not to put'your foot to the gi'ound. 
 Mercy says it is a judgment ; but, you know, I can- 
 not beUeve Of course, you must be a Calvinist, 
 
 I suppose ? " 
 
 " There's many a judgment that never shows," 
 said the Scotchwoman ; " you feel it deep in your 
 heart, and you ken how it comes, but nobody in
 
 282 SQUIRE ARDEN. 
 
 this world is any the wiser. Of that I am well 
 aware." 
 
 Miss Somers was a little frightened by the gravity 
 of her companion's tone, and did not quite under- 
 stand what she meant, and was alarmed by the sight 
 of Jeanie lying still and white in the grass. She 
 gave a little cough, which was an appeal to Mercy, 
 and was seized with a sudden flutter of nervousness 
 and desire to get away. 
 
 " Yes, yes ; I have no doubt you know a great 
 deal better," she said ; " if one was to do anything 
 
 very wicked I say to my brother sometimes - 
 
 I am on my way to Ai-den, you know, to show 
 
 Edgar And Clare passed just now; did ^ou 
 
 see her ? I mean Miss Arden, but it comes so 
 natural to say Edgar and Clare. Oh, yes, I must- 
 go on; my brother might think And then 
 
 Mercy does not like to be kept and John's 
 
 work Good-bye. Please come and see me. 
 
 If there was any room, I. should offer to take your 
 
 grandchild home, but a chair, you know I am 
 
 so glad to have seen you. And do you think you 
 should let her sleep there in the grass ? Earwigs 
 is the thing that frightens me ; they might creep 
 
 up, you know, and then Yes, Mercy, I am 
 
 quite ready ; oh, yes, quite ready. I am so sorry 
 
 Please come to see me and the grass, and the
 
 SQUIRE ARDEN. 283 
 
 earwigs Oh, John, gently : Good-bye, good- 
 bye !" 
 
 With these fragnientaiy words Miss Somers was- 
 drawn away, looking behind her, and throwing her 
 good-byes after her with a ceitain guilty politeness. 
 Tliis Scotchwoman was superior, too, she said to 
 herself, with a little shudder, and made her head 
 ache ahnost as much as Clare did. Mrs. MuiTay, 
 for her part, went back and sat down by Jeanie, 
 who still slept, but began to move and stir ^\ith the 
 restlessness of waking. The grandmother did not 
 resume her work. She let her hands drop on her 
 knees, and sat and pondered. The somid of the 
 wheels which slowly carried the invalid along the 
 path grew less and less, the aii' sank into quietness, 
 the bees hummed, and the leaves stiiTed, murmur- 
 ing in that stillness of noon, which is almost gi'eater 
 than the stillness of night. But the old woman sat 
 alone with another world about her, conscious of" 
 other times and other things. She was in the 
 woods of Arden, with the unseen house near at 
 hand, and aU its histor^^ past and present, float- 
 ing about her, as it were, an atmosphere new 
 and yet old, strange yet familiar, of which she 
 knew more and knew less than any other in the 
 world. How and what she knew was known to 
 nobody but herself ; yet this very conversation had
 
 "284 SQUIRE ARDEN. 
 
 opened to her a mass of unsuspected information, 
 and new avenues of thought, each more painful 
 than the other. She had to bring all the powers 
 of her mind to bear upon the new questions thus 
 set before her,- and it was with a doubly pain- 
 ful strain that she brought herself back when the 
 young creature at her feet opened her bright eyes, 
 And with a confused gaze, slowly finding out where 
 she was, came back to the life of dreams, which was 
 lier portion in this world so full of care.
 
 SQUIRE ARDEN. 285 
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 While Miss Somers was discoursing thus with 
 Mrs. Murray under the trees, Arthur Arden had 
 pursued Clare to the \allage. He had lost the best 
 possible opportunity, he felt. Just as he had been 
 beginning to make an impression ! He sped after 
 her between the long lines of trees, sweaiing softly 
 under his breath at the intrudei^. " Confound 
 them I" he was saying ; and yet in his secret 
 thouorhts there was a lurkiuor determination to see 
 that pretty little thing again, although the pretty 
 little thing was nothing to him in comparison with 
 Clare. He skimmed along, devouring the way, 
 planning to himself how he shoidd recover the 
 ground he must have lost by his benevolent errand. 
 " Putting one's self out of the way for other people 
 is a deuced mistake," he said to himself. It was not 
 a habitual weakness of his, so that he could identify 
 the moment and recognise the results with undoubt- 
 ing accuracy, and a clear perception of the weakness 
 and folly which had produced them. He must get
 
 1286 SQUIRE ARDEN. 
 
 over this kind of impulse, he thought, and prove 
 himself superior to all such frivolous distractions. 
 A mere pretty face ! with probably nothing in it. 
 Arthur Arden remembered Clare, who was not 
 pretty, but beautiful ; whose face had a great deal 
 in it, not to speak of her purse ; who was to have 
 Old Arden, the cradle of the race. If he could but 
 secure Clare everything would come right with him ; 
 and accordingly no pretty face — nothing frivolous or 
 foolish — must be allowed to intercept or block up 
 his way. 
 
 Clare was going towards the village school when 
 Arthur overtook her. She had been walking very 
 fitfully, sometimes with great haste, sometimes slow 
 and softly, losing herself in thought. He came up 
 to her when she had fallen into one of these lulls of 
 movement, and Arthur was satisfied to see that he 
 was recognised with a start, and that the little shock 
 of thus suddenly perceiving him brought light to 
 her eyes and colour to her face. 
 
 " You, Mr. Arden !" she said, with a kind of 
 forced steadiness. "I thought you were still occupied 
 about — that — girl. I am so sorry, it seems uncivil, 
 but I don't really know her name. Was she better ? 
 It was good of you to interest yourself so much." 
 
 " I did no more than any man must have done," 
 said Arthur. " Your maid promised to go, and gave
 
 SQUIRE ARDEN. 287 
 
 me salts, &c. But she was better, I think. The old 
 woman seemed quite used to it. She was lying 
 asleep in the gi-ass — a very pretty picture. But the 
 old woman is an old dragon. She fairly drove me 
 away." 
 
 " Indeed ! " said Clai'e feebly, with white lips, 
 feeling that the crisis of her fate might be near. 
 
 " I only looked at the child — pretty she is, you 
 know, but a little dwarf — when the mother got up 
 and drove me away. I dared not stay a moment 
 longer; and she gave me my orders, to turn my 
 head away if I met them, and never to show my 
 face again. Droll, is it not ? One surely should be 
 permitted a little property in one's own head and 
 face." 
 
 " Yes ; but it is not every head and face that 
 have the same effect." And then Clare paused a 
 little to collect her energy. She had the fortitude 
 of a young princess and ruling personage, accus- 
 tomed (for their good) to speak very freely to the 
 persons under her, and even to ask questions which 
 would have covered her with confusion had she 
 looked at theni; ia' another point of view ; but the 
 queen of a community, however small, is not per- 
 mitted to blush and hesitate like other girls. She 
 made a pause, and collected all her energies, and 
 looked her cousin in the face, not Avith any shyness.
 
 288 SQUIRE ARDEN. 
 
 but pale, with a passionate sense of her duty. She- 
 was so simple at bottom, notwithstanding all her 
 stateliness, that she thought she could assume over 
 him the same authority which she had over the 
 lads of the village. "Mr. Arden," she said, with 
 tremulous firmness, " you may think it is a matter 
 with which I have nothing to do — you may think 
 even that it is unwomanly in me to ask anything 
 about it," and here a sudden violent blush covered 
 her face ; " but I have always considered myself 
 responsible for the village, and — and entitled to 
 interfere. One's position is of no use unless one 
 can do that. I wish to know what you have to do 
 with these people — what is — your business — with 
 that poor girl ? " 
 
 Clare's courage almost gave way before she con- 
 cluded. She faltered and stumbled in her words ; 
 her face burned; her courage fled. If she could 
 have sunk into the earth she would gladly have 
 done it. This was very different from a village 
 lad. She felt his eye upon her ; she imagined the 
 curious gleam that was passing over his counte- 
 nance ; she was almost conscious of putting herself 
 in his power. And yet she made her speech, going 
 on to the end, though her excitement was such that 
 she felt quite incapable of paying any attention to 
 the answer. She did not look at him, and yet she
 
 SQUIRE ARDEN. 289 
 
 divined the look of mingled wonder and offence and 
 partial amusement that was in his face. There was 
 somethincT else besides — a look of less innocent 
 
 o 
 
 meaning — the significant glance which such a man 
 gives to the woman who has committed herself; 
 but Clare was too innocent, too void of e\dl thought 
 to divine that. 
 
 "My dear Miss Ai-den, you surprise me very 
 much," he said. " WTiat could be my business with 
 the girl ? What could I have to do with such 
 people ? Your imagination goes more quickly than 
 mine. I do not know what connection there could 
 possibly be between us. Do you ? I am at a loss 
 to understand " 
 
 Poor Clare felt hei^elf ready to sink to the 
 ground with shame and mortification ; and then her 
 pride blazed up in sudden fury. "How can you 
 ask me ? How dare you ask me ? " she said, at the 
 height of passion ; and he was so quiet, so entirely 
 in command of himself. 
 
 " Why should not 1 dare ? " he said softly. " My 
 cousin has alwaj^s been very good to me, except 
 once, when she mistook my meaning, as she does 
 now. There is nothing I dare not tell you about 
 myself at this moment." He evinced a little when 
 he had said this, not intending to make so explicit 
 a declaration; but yet went on courageously. 
 VOL. I. u
 
 290 SQUIRE ARDEN. 
 
 "About these poor people, there is really nothing 
 in the world to say. I never saw them in my life 
 before. The old woman said so, if you remember. 
 1 was like somebody who had disturbed their peace 
 — very unlucky indeed for me, for I feel I shall be 
 subject to all manner of false construction. But my 
 cousin Clare can understand me, I think. Should I 
 be likely to venture into her presence while carry- 
 ing on a vulgar Such things should never so 
 
 much as be mentioned in her hearing, I am 
 ashamed to seem to imply •" 
 
 Clare had been driven to such a pitch of shame 
 and passion that she could no longer endure herself. 
 
 " I did not imply," she said, " I asked — plainly 
 
 I am the protector of everybody here. It is not for 
 me to shut my eyes to things, though they may be a 
 horror and shame to think of I asked you — plainly 
 — what you had been doing — why the sight of you 
 had such an effect upon that poor girl ?" 
 
 " I will answer the Princess, not the young lady," 
 said Arden, with mocking calm. " Your young 
 subject has taken no scathe by me. I never saw her 
 until this morning in your presence. I never should 
 have known of her existence but for you ; is that 
 enough ? or shall I appear in your Highness's Court 
 and swear to it ? Such a question could scarcely 
 be put by you to me ; but from a Sovereign to a
 
 SQUIRE ARDEN. 291 
 
 stranger is a difterent matter. Have I cleared my- 
 self to the Princess Clare of Arden ? Then let me 
 be acquitted, and let it be forgotten. It wounds me 
 to suppose " 
 
 " You are to suppose nothing," said Clare, with 
 avei-ted face. " I have asked you because I thought 
 
 it was my duty, Mi\ Arden, in my position I 
 
 have spoken quite plainly — and I am going to 
 
 visit the school. You will not find it at all amusing. 
 I am soiTy to have said an^i^hing — I mean I am 
 
 sorry if I have been unjust. I am gi^ieved 
 
 Good morning. I a^^U not trouble you more just 
 now " 
 
 " Majrn't I wait for you ? " said Aii^hur, in his 
 gentlest tone. " If you could know how much 
 higher I think of you for your straightfoi'wardness, 
 
 how much nobler No, please don't stop me ; 
 
 there are some things that must be said " 
 
 " And there are some things that cannot be 
 listened to," said Clare, waving her hand as she 
 entered the porch. She escaped from him without 
 another word, plunging iuto the midst of the children 
 and the monotonous hum of their lessons with a 
 sense that everything about it was simply intolerable, 
 that she could bear no more, and must fall dowTi at 
 his feet or their feet, it did not much matter which. 
 She could not see the trim little schoolmistress, her
 
 292 SQUIRE ARDEN. 
 
 own special protegee and pupil, who came forward' 
 curtesying and smiling. A haze of agitation and' 
 bewilderment was about her. The rows of pinafored' 
 children rising and bobbing their little curtseys to 
 the young lady of the manor were visible to her 
 as through a mist. " My head aches so," she said 
 faintly. " Let me sit down for a little in the quiet ; 
 and oh, couldn't you keep them quite still for two 
 minutes ? The sun is so hot outside." 
 
 " Won't you go and sit down in my room, Miss 
 Clare ? " said the schoolmistress. " The children will 
 be moving and whispering. It is so cool in my 
 room. You have never been there since you had it 
 built for me ; and the jasmine has grown so, you 
 would not know it. Please come into my room." 
 
 Clare followed mechanically into the little sitting- 
 room, a tiny cottage parlour, with jasmine clustering 
 about the window, and some monthly roses in a little 
 vase on the table. " It is so sweet and so quiet 
 here. I am so happy in my little room," said the 
 schoolmistress ; " and it is all your doing, Miss Clare: 
 everything is so convenient. And then the garden.. 
 I am so happy here." 
 
 "Are you, indeed ?" said Clare, sitting down in 
 the little wickerwork chair, covered with chintz, 
 which creaked under her, but which was at once 
 soft and splendid in the eyes of hei* companion..
 
 SQUIRE ARDEN. 293 
 
 '" Never mind me, please ; go on with your work, 
 and as soon as I am rested I will follow you to the 
 school. Please leave me by myself, I want nothing 
 now." 
 
 And there she sat for half an hour all alone in 
 that little homely quiet place. The window was 
 open, the white cui-tain fluttered in the wind, the 
 white stars of the jasmine gleamed — just one or two 
 early blossoms — among the darkness of the fohage. 
 And the roses were faintly sweet, and the atmos- 
 phere warm and balmy ; and in the distance a faint 
 hum like that of the bees betrayed the neighbour- 
 hood of tlie school. Clare, wdio had all Arden at 
 her command, and to whom the great rooms and 
 stately passages of her home were a matter of 
 necessity, felt gi^ateful for this balmy, homely still- 
 ness. She took off* her hat, and pushed her hair off" 
 her forehead, and gradually got the mist out of her 
 eyes, and saw things clearly. Oh, how foolish she 
 had been I She, who prided herself upon her good 
 sense. Edgar would not have committed himself so, 
 she thought, though she was continually finding 
 fault ^vith him ; but she, who had so good an opinion, 
 of her own wisdom, she who was so proudly pure, 
 and above the breath of evil, that she should have thus 
 betrayed and made apparent her evil suspicions and 
 Tvicked thoughts I What must anyone think of her?
 
 294 SQUIRE ARDEN. 
 
 " Your imagination goes faster than mine ;" that was 
 what he had said. And her imagination had jumped 
 at something which should never be named in 
 maidenly ears. Clare's confusion and self-horror 
 were so great that the longer she mused over them 
 the more insupportable they grew. Her cheeks 
 blazed with a hot permanent blush, though she sat 
 alone. What could he think of her ? what could 
 anybody think of her ? Such thoughts would never 
 have entered Miss Budd's head, whose life was 
 spent between the noisy school and this quiet parlour, 
 who was a good little creature, never interfering 
 with anybody, doing her work and smiling at the 
 world. " Why cannot I do that ?" Clare said to her- 
 self, with the wild shame of youth, which feels its. 
 little sins to be indelible. She, Clare, did not seem 
 to be able to help interfering with her brother, who 
 knew better than she did — with everybody, down 
 to this little Scotch girl, and even with Arthur 
 Arden ! Oh, how she hated herself, and what a fool 
 she had been ! 
 
 Clare was very lowly in her tone when she 
 went into the school, with a bad headache and a 
 pale face, and a spirit more subdued probably than 
 it had ever been in her life before. It is very 
 dreadful to make one's self ridiculous, to show one's 
 self in a bad light, when one is young. The sense
 
 SQUIRE ARDEN. 295 
 
 of shame is so intense, the certainty that nobody 
 will ever forget it. She passed a gi-eat many false 
 notes in the singinor, and biof stitches in the needle- 
 work, and was altogether so subdued and gentle 
 that Miss Budd was filled with astonishment. 
 "She must be going to be married," sighed the 
 schoolmistress, with a glow of sympathy and ad- 
 miration in her eyes ; for she was romantic, like so 
 many young persons in her position, and ftdl of 
 interest, and a 'svistful, half-en\ying curiosity what 
 that state of mind could be like. ^liss Budd had 
 seen a gentleman lingering about the school door ; 
 she had seen him pass and repass when she came 
 back from the little parlour in which she had left 
 Clare. She could not but volunteer one little timid 
 observation, when Miss Arden's duties were over, 
 and she attended her to the door. " The gentleman 
 went that way. Miss Clare," said the schoolmistress, 
 timidly stealing a glance from under her eyelashes. 
 " What gentleman ? " said Clare, with a start ; and 
 her self-control was not sufficient to keep the tell- 
 tale blush from her cheeks. " Oh, my cousin, Mr. 
 Arden," she went on, coldly. "He has gone back 
 to the Hall, I suppose." And she pointedly went 
 the other way when she left the school, taking a 
 path which could only lead to Sally Timms' cottage, 
 a woman who was quite out of Clare's good gi^aces.
 
 296 SQUIRE ARDEN. 
 
 " Can it be a quarrel ? " Miss Budd asked herself 
 -anxiously, as she went back to her scholars. And 
 Clare went hurriedly, seeing there was nothing else 
 for it, to visit Sally Timms. Nothing could well 
 be imagined more utterly unsatisfactory than Sally 
 Timms's house, and her children, and her personal 
 character. She was the favourite pest of the village, 
 though she did not originally belong to it, or even to 
 the neighbourhood. Her boys thieved and played 
 tricks, and took every malady incident to boys, and 
 were generally known to have brought measles and 
 whooping-cough, not to say small-pox, into Arden. 
 The two former maladies had passed through all 
 the children of the place, in consequence of the 
 wandering propensities of Johnny^^and Tommy, and 
 their faculty for catching everything that was going. 
 And the latter had been only kept off by the 
 prompt removal of Sally herself to the hospital in 
 Liverpool, from whence she had come back white 
 and swollen, and seamed and scarred, to the utter 
 destruction of the remnant of good looks which she 
 had once possessed. She was a widow, as such 
 people always manage to be, and had no established 
 means of livelihood. She took in washing when 
 she could get it. She would go messages to Liver- 
 pool when her boys were doing something else, 
 always ready for any piece of variety. She had
 
 SQUIRE ARDEN. 297 
 
 some boxes of matches and bmiclies of twigs in her 
 window for lighting fires, by which she sometimes 
 turned a penny. Now and then she had been seen 
 Avith a basket furnished with tapes and buttons, 
 which she sold about the country, enjoying that, 
 too, as a relief from the monotony of ordinary exist- 
 ence. In short, she was one of those wild nomads 
 to be met in all classes of society, who cannot con- 
 fine themselves to routine — who must have change 
 and movement, and hold in less than no estimation 
 the cleanliness and good order and decorums of life. 
 She was veiy fond of gadding about, not very 
 particular as to the laws of property, and utterly 
 indifierent to ordinary comfort. It would be im- 
 possible for one person to disapprove more entii-ely 
 of another than Clare disapproved of Sally Timms. 
 And yet she was on her way to see her — there 
 being only her cottage at the end of the village 
 street which could lead her in an opposite direction 
 from that taken by Arthur Ai'den — which was only 
 too clear a sign, had she but known it, how im- 
 portant Ai^hur Ai'den was becommg to Clare. 
 
 How long the conversation lasted Miss Ai'den 
 could not have told any one — nor indeed what it 
 was about. Sally was saucy and she was penitent ; 
 but she was not hopeful ; and Clare shook her head 
 -as she went away. She gave a little nod to John
 
 298 SQUIRE ARDEN. 
 
 Hesketh's wife, who was the model woman of the 
 village, as she passed' lier cottage. " I have been 
 talking to Sally Timms, but I fear there is nothing 
 to be done Avith her," she said, stopping a second at 
 the garden gate. " She's a bad one. Miss Clare, is 
 Sally Timms," said Mrs Hesketh, disapprovingly. 
 But neither of them were aware that Clare's visit 
 was totally irrespective of Sally's welfare, spiritual 
 or bodily ; and was only a pretext to avoid Arthur 
 Arden, who, nevertheless, was patiently waiting for 
 her all this time at the great gate.
 
 SQUIRE APvDEX. 299 
 
 CHAPTER XXVII. 
 
 The conversation which Ai-thur Arden thrust upon 
 Clare by persistently waiting for her in the avenue 
 was not a satisfactory one. Though she could not 
 refuse to accept his explanation that he knew 
 nothing about the strangers, yet a sense of uneasi- 
 ness and discomfort remained in her mind. When 
 once it is suggested that such secrets exist in a 
 world which looks all fair and straiorhtforward, it is 
 difficult for a young mind to throw off at once the 
 shock of the suggestion. Clare looked at her cousin, 
 who was so much older than herself, and who had 
 been so much in the world, acquiring, no doubt 
 experiences of which she knew nothing, and shrank 
 just a Httle aside, closing herself up, and putting on 
 all her defences. "How do I know what his life 
 has been, what things may have happened to him?" 
 she said to herself. With a certain minorlinor of 
 attraction and repulsion, she glanced at him from 
 under her eyelashes. He had lived a man's life, 
 which is so different from a woman's ; he had been
 
 wo SQUIRE ARDEN. 
 
 abroad in the world, swept along in the great 
 current, driven from one place to another, from one 
 society to another. And Clare felt that she could 
 never tell what recollections he might have brought 
 out of that great ocean in which he had been sailing, 
 which was so unknown to her, and doubtless so 
 distinct and clear to him. He might have left 
 cares and sorrows behind him — nay, was it not 
 certain that he must have left many a trace behind 
 him, being such a man as he was ? As she walked 
 on beside him this feeling came over her so strongly 
 that it swallowed up all other sentiments. She too 
 had a little line of memories, innocent recollections, 
 pangs of childish suffering, unjust reproofs, wounded 
 self-love, and one great natural grief. It was like a 
 little rivulet running under the bushes, hiding only 
 the softest blameless secrets. But his must be like 
 the sea, full of sunny islands and dark cliffs, with 
 calms and storms in it, and havens and shipwrecks 
 — things she could not possibly know of, except by 
 some chance word now and then, and never could 
 fully enter into. A certain admiration grew uncon- 
 sciously in her mind, along with a great deal of 
 dread and shrinking. What a fine thing it would 
 be to be such a man! How wide his horizon in 
 comparison with hers ! How extended and varied 
 his knowledge ! Poor Clare I she shrank with
 
 SQUIRE ARDEN. 301 
 
 a chilled sense that she never could partake or 
 share this vast extent of experience ; but it never 
 occurred to her to inquire what kind of knowledge 
 of the world is acquii-ed at German ganiing- tables. 
 Clare's imagination was utterly ignorant of the 
 Tui-f, and the coulisses, and the Kursaal. She had 
 an idea much more elevated than reahty of the 
 Clubs, and took it for sd'anted that a man who 
 was an Aixlen, even though he was poor, mast have 
 entrance always into the best society. He for his 
 part walked by her side with the real recollections 
 bubbling in his mind of which she formed so flatter- 
 ing a vision. He was remembering various things 
 that would not have borne telling, even to eai*s 
 much less innocent than those of Clare. The Al, 
 who knew nothing about it, surrounded him with 
 a bright and wide and noble world, swelling higher 
 and greater than her unassisted thoughts could 
 penetrate — with tragedies in it, no doubt, and sins, 
 but all on so large a scale ; whereas the meanest 
 matters possible haunted Arthur's mind, the narrow 
 stifling atmosphere of commonplace dissipation, the 
 " Life " which is a roimd of poor amusements, 
 varied only by the excitement of gain or loss, with 
 now and then a flavour of \TLce, the only piquant 
 element in the poor mixtui'e. Thus Imagination 
 and Fact went side by side, unable to di\'ine each
 
 302 SQUIRE ARDEN. 
 
 other ; and Clare shrank, yet wondered, secretly 
 inclining towards the man who was so little known 
 to her, painfully attracted and repelled, averting her 
 face for the moment, but drawing near in her heart. 
 
 Lord Newmarch could only spare three days to 
 the Ardens, one of which was a Sunday. And he 
 walked dutifully to church, carrying Clare's prayer- 
 book, and placing himself by her side. "This is 
 what I like," he said. " The only real remnant of 
 anything worth presei'ving in the feudal system. 
 Here are your brother and yourself, Miss Arden, at 
 the head of your people, to take their part or plead 
 their cause, or redress their wrongs ; here they can 
 see you, and pay their homage ; they have the ad- 
 vantage of feeling that you too worship God in the 
 same place ; they have the benefit of your example. 
 This is the beautiful side of a country gentleman's 
 life." 
 
 " But they see us, I assure you, on other days 
 besides Sunday," said Clare. 
 
 " That I do not doubt. Forgive me. Miss Atden, 
 but it is very charming to see your sense of duty. 
 Women seem to me generally to be deficient in that 
 point. I see it in my sisters. They will be wildly 
 charitable whenever their feelings are touched, and 
 that is easily enough done, heaven knows. Any 
 cottager on the estate — or oiF the estate, for that
 
 SQUIRE ARDEN. 303 
 
 matter — who has a story to tell can accomplish it. 
 But they have not that sense of duty to all, which 
 is more or less impressed upon men who have de- 
 pendents. Allow me to pay my tribute of admiration 
 to one who is an exception to the rule." 
 
 Clare made him a little curtsey in reply to his 
 elaborate bow, and did not laugh, partly because 
 she was wanting in the sense of humour, and partly 
 because, to tell the tnith, she agi'eed with him, and 
 was so far conscious of her own excellence. And 
 then he had suggested another line of reflection. 
 " But your sisters " — she said, and hesitated, for it 
 was not quite polite to say what she was going to 
 say, that his sisters were young women of no family, 
 with no feudal rights, and very different from a 
 daughter of the house of Ai'den. It does not 
 answer, however, to make this sort of speech to the 
 son of an Earl, and Clare caught herself up. 
 
 "My sisters are comparatively little at March- 
 field ? " he suggested. " That is what you would 
 say ; and no doubt it is quite true ; but still there 
 is a deficiency in this point. There is no sense of 
 duty. And I find it common among women. They 
 do things from emotional motives, or because they 
 like to do them, but not from that manly, serious 
 
 sense I am not one of those who sneer at 
 
 what are called women's rights. For my part, I
 
 304 SQUIRE ARDEN. 
 
 should be but too happy, for instance, to have the 
 assistance of your fine instincts and administrative 
 powers in public business ; but, still, there are 
 characteristic differences which cannot be over- 
 looked " 
 
 "Pray, don't think I care for women's rights," 
 said Clare, with a blush of indignation. " I hate 
 the very name of them. Why should we be jested 
 and sneered at for the sake of two or three here and 
 there who make a talk ? • Let us alone, please. I 
 would ratl)#r suffer a great deal, for my part, than, 
 hear all this odious, odious talk I " 
 
 " Ah, you feel it in that way ? " said Lord New- 
 march, impartially. " I cannot say I quite agree 
 with you there, Miss Arden. You at present suffer 
 
 nothing. You are young and rich, and and 
 
 every one you meet with is your slave," the young- 
 philosopher added gallantly, after a pause. " But 
 that is not the case with all women. Some of them 
 are oppressed by unjust laws, some feel the necessity 
 of a career " 
 
 "Helena Thornleigh, for instance," said Clare. 
 " I have no patience with her. Thornleigh village 
 is in pretty good order, thanks to Ada ; but only 
 fancy a girl wanting a career, and all those dreadful 
 cottages within a mile of her father's house ! Don't 
 you know Chomely and Little Felton, on the way to>
 
 SQUIRE ARDEN. 305 
 
 Thome ? They are fi-ightful places. If the poor 
 people were pigs, they could not be more uncomfort- 
 able. And what does Helena ever do to mend 
 them ? Why, there is a career ready to her hand." 
 
 " But what could she do to mend them ? " said 
 Lord Newmarch, *'I don't suppose she has any 
 money of her o^vn." 
 
 " She has her father's," said Clare indignantly ,^ 
 and walked on, elevating her head, her heart swell- 
 ing with a recollection of all the power her father 
 accorded to her, and all the revolutiofls she had 
 made. 
 
 "Ah," said Lord Newmarch, shaking his head, 
 " there are fathers and fathers ; and besides, Mis.s 
 Thornleigh probably thinks that to gain a thing by 
 wheedling her father, which her brother could do 
 independently, is but a sign of bondage. She has a 
 fine intellect, and a great deal of energy " 
 
 " Then I would go and build them with my own 
 hands ! " said Clare, with that fine mixture of un- 
 reasoning Conservatism and Revolutionism which 
 so often distinguishes a woman's politics. She was 
 the strictest Tory in the world : a change of law or 
 custom was a hoiTor to her. She scorned the idea 
 of a career for Helena Thornleigh with the intensest 
 inconsiderate disdam. But she would have backed 
 her up about the cottages to the fullest extent that 
 
 VOL. I. X
 
 306 SQUIRE ARDEN. 
 
 enthusiasm could go, and helped her to work at 
 them had that been needful. Lord Newmarch put 
 his head a little on one side and took a close view 
 of her, which was not without meaning. Strong 
 sense of duty, good fortune, enthusiasm in a certain 
 way which might be most usefully trained, excellent 
 old family, great personal beauty, youth. These 
 were qualities most worthy of consideration. He 
 could not feel that he had encountered any one yet 
 who was quite so well endowed. She would do 
 credit to the choice even of an Earl's son ; she 
 might further even a high political career. He 
 made a mental note in his mind to this effect as 
 they arrived at the church door. 
 
 Mr. Fielding was not very much of a preacher. 
 He looked venerable in his surplice, with his white 
 hair, and he read the service with a certain paternal 
 grace, like a father among his children. He had 
 baptised the great majority of his hearers, married 
 them, had some share in all the great events of their 
 life, and had given them all the instruction they 
 had in sacred things. Accordingly, there was no 
 one so appropriate as he to conduct their prayers, 
 to read them the simple lesson of love to God and 
 aid to man. His teaching seldom went any further. 
 His was not the preaching which insists upon the 
 authority of the Church, or the extreme importance
 
 SQUIRE ARDEX. 307 
 
 of the divisions of the ecclesiastical year. And 
 though there were one or two points of doctrine 
 Av^hich he held very strongly, it was only on very 
 urgent pressure that he preached on them. His 
 audience knew, or, at least, the instinicted among 
 his audience knew, that the Rector had been hold- 
 ing a very hot discussion ^vith Dr. Somers when he 
 -produced one of hi:^ discourses upon Faith or Pre- 
 destination. On such occasions Dr. Somers would 
 himself be present, with his keen eyes confronting 
 the gentle preacher in an attitude of war, and 
 noting all the flaws in his aimour; and it was 
 well for Mr. Fielding that he was short-sighted 
 and could not see his adversary. But on this Sun- 
 day there had been nothing to excite him. The 
 June day was soft and balmy, and thi-ough the 
 open door the peaceable blue sky and gieen boughs 
 looked in to cool and lighten the atmosphere. A 
 irrave or two outside but made the sense of home 
 more profound. The rustics woi-shipped with their 
 »lead around them, almost sharing their prayers, 
 and eyes that wandered found nothing worse to 
 look upon than the gieen gi^assy turf ^\'ith its 
 ])athetic mounds below, and the deep blue, leading 
 their thoughts to the unutterable, above. The line 
 of educated faces in the Squire's pew, and Dr. 
 Somers, like a humanised eagle, seeing everjrtliing,
 
 308 SQUIRE ARDEN. 
 
 were the only breaks in the usual audience. Here 
 or there a farmer or two, with an ample wife more 
 brilliant than her humble neighbours, headed a row 
 of ruddy boys and girls— but these were as much 
 rustics as the ploughmen round them. At the big- 
 door of the church, the west end, sat Perfitt and 
 Mrs. Murray, two faces of a very different type: 
 She looked on, rather than joined in the service, 
 half disapproving, half interested ; while he, with a 
 certain matter-of-fact superiority, patronised and 
 initiated the stranger, finding the places in the 
 prayer-book for her, and thrusting it into her hand 
 at every change. No one noted the two thus 
 strangely introduced into a scene foreign and 
 strange to at least one of them, except Edgar, Avho, 
 perhaps, was not so attentive as he ought to have 
 been to Mr. Fielding's sermon, and to whom the 
 changes on the old Scotchwoman's face were in- 
 teresting, he could not tell why. It seemed to him 
 that he could divine what was passing through her 
 mind, and he looked on with almost affectionate 
 amusement at the listener, who was perhaps Mr. 
 Fielding's only attentive hearer in all the congrega- 
 tion. The good folks about were dropping asleep 
 in the unaccustomed quiet, or else looking straight 
 before them with complacent composure, Ijearing 
 the words addressed to them as they heard the
 
 SQUIRE ARDEX. 309 
 
 bees and insects, which made a slumberous pleasant 
 hum about the place. That sound was natural to 
 church, as the hum of bees and twitter of birds are 
 natural which come so sweetly from the outer 
 world. The hush, the wannth, the stray breath of 
 air, now and then, the Sunday clothes, the hum of 
 parson and bees together, the scent of the monthly 
 rose laid on the prayer-book — all this was pleasant 
 to the simple folk. They were doing their duty, 
 and their hearts were at rest. But Mrs. Murray 
 looked and commented, and sometimes softly shook 
 her handsome Scotch head, and wondered if this 
 was all the spiritual fare vouchsafed to the inhabi- 
 tants of Aixlen. Edgar di\dned her thoughts as if 
 he had known her all his life, and was more inter- 
 ■ested than if Mr. Fielding had been a much better 
 preacher, though it would have been hard to tell 
 why.
 
 310 SQUIRE ARDEN. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII. 
 
 After this Sunday, and the thoughts it awoke in- 
 his mind, Lord Newmarch found that he could 
 stay another day, and during that day he sought 
 Clare's company with great perseverance. And it 
 was not so difficult as might have been expected 
 to secure it. Miss Arden, indeed, found her noble 
 companion tiresome sometimes, but yet she agreed 
 in a good many of his ways of thinking. His 
 Radicalism did not jar upon her as did the Radical- 
 ism of other people. For Lord Newmarch was 
 clear as to the duty of the upper classes to head 
 and guide the new movement in which he devoutly 
 believed. He had no desire to lessen the influence 
 of his own order, or withdraw a jot of position or 
 power from them. And Clare did not laugh at the 
 social reformer, as her brother was tempted to do. 
 She was even angry with Edgar for his amusement, 
 and could not understand what called it forth. 
 " He is serious, of course ; but a man whose mind 
 is full of such subjects ought to be serious," she
 
 SQUIRE ARDEN. oil 
 
 said, ^\dth a little displeasure. "I don't know 
 what you find to laugh at in him." And she did 
 not object to being talked to about the improve- 
 ment of the country, and how the people could 
 best be guided for theii- own good. Clare knew, 
 no one better, that the people took a gi'eat deal of 
 guiding. She had not the least objection to make 
 their social existence the subject of laws, to con- 
 descend to minute legislation, and ordain how often 
 they were to wash, and what clothes they were to 
 wear. Why not ? It was all for their own coni- 
 foi-t, and not for anybody else's advantage. Thus 
 Lord Newmarch and she had a good many topics 
 of mutual interest. They squabbled over the 
 question of education, but that only increased the 
 interest of their talk ; and it is not to be denied 
 that his position as an actual legislator, a man 
 not discussing an abstract question, but seek- 
 ing infonnation on a matter he would have per- 
 sonally to do wdth, increased his importance in her 
 eyes. She battled stoutly against the impression 
 which sometimes forced itself upon her mind that 
 he was a bore, and did not decline to talk to him, 
 nor show any desire to avoid him all through the 
 following Monday. Ai*thur Arden looking on was 
 dismayed. Even he was not clever enough in his 
 own case to perceive, what he would have per-
 
 *312 SQUIRE ARDEN. 
 
 ceived in any other, that Clare's avoidance of him- 
 self was the strongest argument in his favour. She 
 did not avoid Lord Newmarch ; and Arthur was in 
 <lismay. He took Edgar dolefully to the other end 
 of the terrace, upon which the drawing-room win- 
 dows opened, that Monday evening. Lord New- 
 march had engaged Clare upon some of their 
 favourite subjects, and the other two were thrown 
 out, as people so often are by one animated dia- 
 logue going on in a small society. " That Newmarch 
 has plenty to say," Arthur ejaculated, sulkily ; and 
 pulled his moustache, and secretly murmured at 
 Clare, whose presence prevented even the consola- 
 tion of a cigar. 
 
 " Yes ; he will not soon exhaust himself I fear," 
 said Edgar. " Clare will be too much accomplished 
 with all this flood of information poured upon her. 
 It is a triumph of good manners on her part not to 
 look bored." 
 
 " Do you think she is bored?" said Arthur Arden, 
 eaoferlv. " I fear she is not. See how interested 
 .she looks. Confound him ! The fellow's father 
 was a cheesemonger, or his grandfather — it comes 
 to the same thing — and to see him sitting there I 
 If I were you, Arden, I should not stand it. Being 
 as I am, you know, only a poor cousin, it goes 
 against me."
 
 SQUIRE ARDEN. 313 
 
 " Why would not you stand it ? " asked Edgar, 
 ^calmly. 
 
 " Because — why, look at your sister. He is a 
 nobody — a prig, and the son of a man who has no 
 more right to be an Earl than Wilkins has. But 
 can't you see he is making up to Clare ? T can't 
 help sajdng Clare. Why, she is my cousin, and I 
 have known her all her life. She is rich, and she is 
 handsome, and she has the air of a great lady, as 
 ahe ought to have. But, mark my words, the fellow 
 is making up to her, and if you don't mind some- 
 thing will come of it." 
 
 " I suppose he is what people call a very good 
 match," said Edgar. " If Clare is not to be trusted 
 to refuse the honour — though I think she is quite 
 to be trusted — we shall have nothing to reproach 
 each other with. He is a bore, but if she should 
 happen to like him, you know " 
 
 " Oh, confound your coolness !" said Arthur, be- 
 tween his teeth ; and he left Edo^ar standino^ there 
 astonished, and made the round of the house, and 
 came back to him. During that round various 
 thoughts and calculations had passed through his 
 mind. Should he tell Edgar of his love for Clare ? 
 Should he thus commit himself without knowing in 
 the least whether Clare cared for him or not? It 
 might secure him a powerful auxiliary, and it might
 
 314 SQUIRE ARDEX 
 
 lay him open to a rebuff which he could ill bear.- 
 The pause looked like a start of impatience, but it 
 was in reality a most useful and important moment 
 of deliberation. He had decided that boldness was 
 the best policy by the time he came back to his 
 cousin's side. 
 
 " You think me a strange fellow," he said,. 
 " making off from you like this, and showing so 
 much temper about a matter which really does not 
 seem to concern me in the least. But — 1 may as well 
 make a clean breast of it, Arden — I am in love with 
 Clare myself Yes, you may well start — a penniless- 
 wretch like me, that am twice her age ! But these 
 things don't go by any rule. 1 don't ask you to 
 approve of me ; but I can't stand by calmly, and see 
 other people using opportunities which I fear to use. 
 That's enough. I am glad I have told you. I ought 
 perhaps to have done so before I came into your 
 house ; but I thought I had got the better of it. 
 Forgive me ; I have no other excuse." 
 
 Edgar stood and looked at his cousin with un- 
 feigned surprise. He watched him as he got through 
 his speech Avith a wonder which was soon mingled 
 with other emotions. He was not prejudiced either 
 for or against him ; but the more he said the less 
 and less favourable became Edgar's countenance.. 
 "Does Clare know of this?" he inquired coldly, ia
 
 SQUIRE ARDEN. ol.> 
 
 a tone which suffered surprise to be seen under a 
 veil of indifference. Such a sentiment was the very 
 last which Ai-thur had imagined possible. He could 
 conceive his cousin angry, or he could conceive, what 
 in his supei-ficial eyes seemed equally probable, that 
 Edgar would have embraced his cause at once vdih 
 the impulsive readiness with which he had invited 
 him to his house. But this chilling calm was utterly 
 unexpected. Notwithstanding all his self-command, 
 he stammered and faltered as he replied — 
 
 " No, I don't suppose she does. She looks on me 
 as an uncle, I have no doubt. Arden, you young 
 fellows are lucky fellows, I can tell you, who know 
 what you are bom to. And you don't know what 
 injury you did me by not coming into the world ten 
 years sooner. The foundations of my education 
 were laid on the principle that I was the heir." 
 
 "I beg your pardon, I am sure, for being bom 
 at all," said Edcrar, with a laup^h in which there was. 
 not much miith ; " I could not help it, you know. 
 But I cannot see how that can have done you 
 much hann at ten years old. However, this is a 
 very useless discussion. I don t quite know what 
 you expect me to say to you. Am I to make any 
 decision ? Is this a confidence that you make to me 
 pnvately, or am I to consider that my consent is 
 asked?"
 
 316 SQUIRE ARDEN. 
 
 " Coiifound it ! " said Arthur Arden, " you look 
 at me as cool as a judge, without a bit of sympathy 
 in you. I did not look for this, at least. Flare up, if 
 you please — treat it any way you like. I was driven 
 to it by my feelings ; if yours are so calm " 
 
 "Were you?" said Edgar, gravely. "Perhaps I 
 am wrong. I have no right to make light of any 
 man's feelings ; but naturally it is my sister I must 
 think of, not you. You talk of Newmarch as some- 
 thing not to be supported ; but do you really think, 
 Arden, that yon yourself would be a better match 
 for Clare?" 
 
 " I am a gentleman, at least, though I am not 
 the son of a pasteboard Earl," said Arthur, angrily. 
 To tell the truth, it was hard upon him. Up to 
 this moment it was he who had held the superior 
 position, as the man of most age, and experience 
 and knowledge of the world. But now he felt that 
 he stood at the bar before this boy, and the change 
 galled him. And then his resentment impaired at 
 once his dignity and judgment, as may be supposed. 
 
 " He is a gentleman also, whatever his father 
 may be," said Edgar ; " and though he is a bore he 
 has a great man}^ advantages to oiler. He is rich 
 and he has a good position, and some reputation, 
 such as it is. 1 should not like to marry him my- 
 self, if the question were put to me ; but Clare has
 
 SQUIRE ARDEN. 817 
 
 her own ambitions, and might choose to influence the 
 world as the \vT.fe of a statesman. Why shouldn't 
 she ? These are all substantial advantages, where- 
 
 as- 
 
 " Whereas I am a miserable beggar, twice her 
 age, with not even much to brag of in the wa}' of 
 reputation," said Ai*thur Ai'den. " Say no more 
 about it ; I perceive the contrast sufliciently as 
 
 it IS. 
 
 Edgar did not say any more ; but looked so 
 serious and unmoved by his cousin's impatience, that 
 he occasioned Arthur a new sensation. To be set 
 down by this boy, whom he had believed to be a 
 simpleton and enthusiast ! To meet the gi^avity of 
 a look which became penetrating and keen the 
 moment it was roused with such an interest — all 
 this was utterly unexpected. He had feared Clare, 
 but he had said to himself, with the contempt <jf a 
 man of the world for Edgar's open temper and liberal 
 heart, that he could twine her brother round his 
 finger. Indeed, there had not seemed any particular 
 credit in so doing. Anybody could do it, even a 
 novice. The young man could be pei^suaded out of 
 or into anytliing, and was not in reaUty worth con- 
 sidering at alJ. But now Aithur Ai'den paused, and 
 changed his mind. The tables were turned — the 
 simpleton had seen through the whole question at
 
 S18 SQUIRE AllDEN. 
 
 once, and had calmly snubbed him, Arthur Arden, 
 and put him back in his proper place. By Jove I — 
 a fellow who had taken his inheritance from him, 
 and who probably had no more real right to it 
 
 than . What a drivelling fool old Arden was 
 
 to put up with it, and how hard a case for himself ! 
 All this fei'mented so strongly in Arthur's mind that 
 he flung: off the restraints which had hitherto con- 
 fined him. He had been, by way of being very civil 
 to Edgar since he came to the house, deferring to 
 his wishes and consulting all his tastes ; but if this 
 was all that was to come of it ! Accordingly, he left 
 Edgar abruptly, and went and joined himself to 
 Clare and her supposed admirer. " Here is Frivolity 
 come to the rescue, in case my young cousin should 
 become too wise," he said. " We don't want to have 
 her made too wise. She is cleverer than all the rest 
 ' of us by nature ; and, Newmarch, I can't have her 
 made more dangerous still by your art." 
 
 " Miss Arden instructs instead of needing to be 
 instructed," said Lord Newmarch. " What astonishes 
 me is the breadth of her views. She does not go 
 into detail, as women generally do, but takes a broad 
 grasp. I assure you, her feeling about the education 
 of the people and the knowledge of their wants is 
 marvellous. She knows the poorer classes as well 
 as I flatter myself I know them, and her knowledge
 
 SQUIRE ARDEX. 319 
 
 'Can only come by intuition, whereas mine is the 
 result of careful study and " 
 
 " You ought to know them better, certainly," 
 said Aiiihur, with suppressed insolence. " As a race 
 advances in the world it forgets the sentiments of 
 the common stock it sj^rang from — and we Ai-dens 
 are a long way off the original root." 
 
 "Yes, very true," said Lord Newmarch, with a 
 little bow, " veiy much what I was sa}dng. I am 
 going to persuade your brother to make a run up to 
 town with me," he added, turning to Clare, and 
 rising from his seat — into which Ai-thur threw him- 
 .self without loss of time. 
 
 '• Mr. Ai'den, how could you speak to him so ? 
 You were rude to him," said Clare, the moment 
 they were left alone. 
 
 " I meant to be," said Ai'thur Aixlen, carelessly. 
 " What right had he, I should like to know, to 
 monopolise you ? What right had he to cross liis 
 legs, and sit here talking to you all the evening ? 
 Besides, it is perfectly true ; and why should I be 
 expected to eat humble pie, and loiter at a distance, 
 and see you appropriated ? You might have a 
 little pity on your kinsman. Lady Clare." 
 
 " My kinsman ought not to be rude," said Clare. 
 But that was all the punishment she inflicted 
 Something warped her judgment and blinded her
 
 320 SQUIRE ARDEN. 
 
 clear eyes. She was not even angry at this piece- 
 of incivility, much as she prided herself upon the 
 stateliness of the Arden manners, which Edgar 
 could not acquire. And she sat on the terrace for 
 ever so long after, and let him talk to her, compen- 
 sating herself for the severity of the morning. And 
 her brother looked on with a grave countenance, 
 wondering much what he could or ought to do. 
 
 END OF VOL. I.