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 Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 
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 http://www.archive.org/details/nuttiesfather01yong
 
 NUTTIE'S FATHER
 
 -S>-
 
 NUTTIE'S FATHEK 
 
 BY 
 
 CHAELOTTE M. YONGE 
 
 AUTHOR OF 'THE HEIR OF REDCLYFFE,' 'UNKBOWH TO HISTORY,' ETC. 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
 ILontiou 
 
 MACMILLAN AND CO. 
 
 1885
 
 Printed by R. & R. Clark, Edinburgh.
 
 3 
 
 >- 
 
 s 
 
 GO 
 
 CO 
 
 m 
 
 cr. 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 oo CHAPTER I. 
 
 ^ PAGE 
 
 ^ St. Ambrose's Choir ...... 1 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 Monks Horton .... 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 Heir Hunting . . . • • • • 16 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 A Name 27 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 Suspense 46 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 The Water-Soldier 58
 
 VI CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 That Man 67 
 
 CHAPTER. VIII. 
 The Father 77 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 New Plumes . . . . . • ■ • 91 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 Brldgefield Egremont 99 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 Lawn-Tennis . . . . % . . . .122 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 Out of "Work . 135 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 Detrimentals . . . • . • .148 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 Going Agee . . . . . . .156 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 A Castle of Umbrellas . . . . . .172 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 Infra Dig I 82
 
 CONTEXT.-. Vll 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 An Old Friend . . . . . . .200 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 A Friend in Need . . . . . .210 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 The Vortex 230 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 Wolf 245
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 ST. Ambrose's choir. 
 
 ' For be it known 
 That their saint's honour is their own.' — Scott. 
 
 The town of Micklethwayte was rising and thriving. 
 There were salubrious springs which an enterprising- 
 doctor had lately brought into notice. The firm 
 of Greenleaf and Dutton manufactured umbrellas in 
 large quantities, from the stout weather-proof family 
 roof down to the daintiest fringed toy of a parasol. 
 There were a Guild Hall and a handsome Corn Mar- 
 ket. There was a Modern School for the boys, and a 
 High School for the girls, and a School of Art, and a 
 School of Cookery, and National Schools, and a British 
 School, and a Board School, also churches of every 
 height, chapels of every denomination, and iron mission 
 rooms budding out in hopes to be replaced by churches. 
 Like one of the animals which zoologists call 
 radiated, the town was constantly stretching out fresh 
 arms along country roads, all living and working, and 
 gradually absorbing the open spaces between. One of 
 
 VOL. I. B
 
 2 NUTTIE'S FATHER. [chap. 
 
 these arms was known as St. Ambrose's Koad, in right of 
 the church, an incomplete structure in yellow brick, 
 consisting of a handsome chancel, the stump of a tower, 
 and one aisle just weather- tight and usable, but, by its 
 very aspect, begging for the completion of the beautiful 
 design that was suspended above the alms-box. 
 
 It was the evening of a summer day which had 
 been very hot. The choir practice was just over, and 
 the boys came out trooping and chattering ; very small 
 ones they were ; for as soon as they began to sing- 
 tolerably they were sure to try to get into the choir 
 of the old church, which had a foundation that fed, 
 clothed, taught, and finally apprenticed them. So, 
 though the little fellows were clad in surplices and 
 cassocks, and sat in the chancel for correctness sake, 
 there was a space round the harmonium reserved for 
 the more trustworthy band of girls and young women 
 who came forth next, followed by four or five 
 mechanics. 
 
 Behind came the nucleus of the choir — a slim, fair- 
 haired youth of twenty ; a neat, precise, well-trimmed 
 man, closely shaven, with stooping shoulders, at least 
 fifteen years older, with a black poodle at his heels, as 
 well shorn as his master, newly risen from lying outside 
 the church door ; a gentle, somewhat drooping lady in 
 black, not yet middle-aged and very pretty ; a small 
 eager, unformed, black-eyed girl, who could hardly keep 
 back her words for the outside of the church door ; a 
 tall self-possessed handsome woman, with a fine classi- 
 cal cast of features ; and lastly, a brown-faced, wiry,
 
 I.] ST. AMBROSE'S CHOIR. 3 
 
 hardworking clergyman, without an atom of super- 
 fluous flesh, but with an air of great energy. 
 
 ' Oh ! vicar, where are we to go ? ' was the question 
 so eager to break forth. 
 
 ' Not to the Crystal Palace, Nuttie. The funds 
 won't bear it. Mr. Dutton says we must spend as 
 little as possible on locomotion.' 
 
 ' I'm sure I don't care for the Crystal Palace. A 
 trumpery tinsel place, all shams.' 
 
 1 Hush, hush, my dear, not so loud,' said the quiet 
 lady ; but Nuttie only wriggled her shoulders, though 
 her voice was a trifle lowered. ' If it were the British 
 Museum now, or Westminster Abbey.' 
 
 ' Or the Alps,' chimed in a quieter voice, ' or the 
 Uffizi.' 
 
 'Now, Mr. Dutton, that's not what I want. Our 
 people aren't ready for that, but what they have let 
 it be real. Miss Mary, don't you see what I mean ? ' 
 
 'Piather better than Miss Egremont herself,' said 
 Mr. Dutton. 
 
 'Well/ said the vicar, interposing in the wordy 
 war, 'Mrs. Greenleaf's children have scarletina, so we 
 can't go to Horton Bishop. The choice seems to be 
 between South Beach and Monks Horton.' 
 
 ' That's no harm/ cried Nuttie ; ' Mrs. Greenleaf is 
 so patronising ! ' 
 
 ' And both that and South Beach are so stale/ said 
 the youth. 
 
 ' As if the dear sea could ever be stale/ cried the 
 young girl.
 
 4 NUTTIE'S FATHER. [chap. 
 
 ' I thought Monks Horton was forbidden ground,' 
 said Miss Mary. 
 
 1 So it was with the last regime' said the vicar ; 
 ' but now the new people are come I expect great things 
 from them. I hear they are very friendly.' 
 
 ' I expect nothing from them/ said Nuttie so sen- 
 tentiously that all her hearers laughed and asked ' her 
 exquisite reason,' as Mr. Dutton put it. 
 
 ' Lady Kirkaldy and a whole lot of them came into 
 the School of Art.' 
 
 ' And didn't appreciate " Head of Antinous by 
 Miss Ursula Egremont," ' was the cry that interrupted 
 her, but she went on with dignity unruffled — ' Any- 
 thing so foolish and inane as their whole talk and 
 all their observations I never heard. " I don't like 
 this style," one of them said. " Such ugly useless 
 things ! I never see anything pretty and neatly fin- 
 ished such as we used to do." ' The girl gave it in a 
 tone of mimicry of the nonchalant voice, adding, with 
 fresh imitation, ' " And another did not approve of 
 drawing from the life — models might be such strange 
 people." ' 
 
 ' My ears were not equally open to their profani- 
 ties,' said Miss Mary. ' I confess that I was struck 
 by the good breeding and courtesy of the leader of the 
 party, who, I think, was Lady Kirkaldy herself.' 
 
 ' I saw ! I thought she was patronising you, and 
 my blood boiled !' cried Nuttie. 
 
 ' Will boiling blood endure a picnic in the park of so 
 much ignorance, folly, and patronage ? ' asked Mr. Dutton.
 
 I.] ST. AMBROSE'S CHOIR. 5 
 
 ' Oh, indeed, Mr. Dutton, Nuttie never said that/ 
 exclaimed gentle Mrs. Egremont. 
 
 ' Whether it is fully worth the doing is the question/ 
 said the vicar. 
 
 1 Grass and shade do not despise,' said Miss Mary. 
 
 1 There surely must be some ecclesiastical remains/ 
 said the young man. 
 
 1 And there is a river/ added the vicar. 
 
 ' I shall get a stickleback for my aquarium/ cried 
 Nuttie. ' We shall make some discoveries for the 
 Scientific Society. I shall note down every individual 
 creature I see ! I say ! you are sure it is not a sham 
 waterfall or Temple of Tivoli !' 
 
 ' It would please the choir boys and G-. F. S. girls 
 quite as much, if not more, in that case/ said Miss 
 Mary ; ' but you need not expect that, Nuttie. Land- 
 scape-gardening is gone by.' 
 
 ' Even with the county people ? ' said Nuttie. 
 
 1 By at least half a century/ said Mr. Dutton, ' with 
 all deference to this young lady's experience.' 
 
 'It was out of their own mouths/ cried the girl 
 defiantly. 'That's all I know about county people, 
 and so I hope it will be.' 
 
 ' Come in, my dear, you are talking very fast/ 
 interposed Mrs. Egremont, with some pain in the soft 
 sweet voice, which, if it had been a little stronger, 
 would have been the best in the choir. 
 
 These houses in St. Ambrose's Eoad were semi- 
 detached. The pair which the party had reached had 
 their entrances at the angles, with a narrow gravel
 
 6 XUTTIE S FATHER. [chap. 
 
 path leading by a tiny grass plat to each. One, which 
 was covered with a rich pall of purple clematis, was 
 the home of Mrs. Egremont, her aunt, and Nuttie ; the 
 other, adorned with a Gloire de Dijon rose in second 
 bloom, was the abode of Mary Nugent, with her mother, 
 the widow of a naval captain. Farther on, with ad- 
 joining gardens, was another couple of houses, in one 
 of which lived Mr. Dutton ; in the other lodged the 
 youth, Gerard Godfrey, together with the partner of 
 the principal medical man. The opposite neighbours 
 were a master of the Modern School and a scholar. 
 Indeed, the saying of the vicar, the Eev. Francis 
 Spyers, was, and St. Ambrose's Eoad was proud of it, 
 that it was a professional place. Every one had some- 
 thing to do either with schools or umbrellas, scarcely 
 excepting the doctor and the solicitor, for the former 
 attended the pupils and the latter supplied them. Mr. 
 Dutton was a partner in the umbrella factory, and 
 lived, as the younger folk said, as the old bachelor of 
 the Eoad. Had he not a housekeeper, a poodle, and 
 a cat ; and was not his house, with lovely sill boxes 
 full of flowers in the windows, the neatest of the neat ; 
 and did not the tiny conservatory over his dining-room 
 window always produce the flowers most needed for 
 the altar vases, and likewise bouquets for the tables of 
 favoured ladies. Why, the very daisies never durst 
 lift their heads on his little lawn, which even bore a 
 French looking-glass globe in the centre. Miss Nugent, 
 or Miss Mary as every one still called her, as her elder 
 sister's marriage was recent, was assistant teacher at
 
 I.] ST. AMBROSES CHOIR. 7 
 
 the School of Art, and gave private drawing lessons, 
 so as to supplement the pension on which her mother 
 lived. They also received girls as boarders attending 
 the High School. 
 
 So did Miss Headworth, who had all her life been 
 one of those people who seem condemned to toil to 
 make up for the errors or disasters of others. First 
 she helped to educate a brother, and soon he had died 
 to leave an orphan daughter to be bred up at her cost. 
 The girl had married from her first situation ; but had 
 almost immediately lost her husband at sea, and on 
 this her aunt had settled at Micklethwayte to make a 
 home for her and her child, at first taking pupils, but 
 when the High School was set up, changing these into 
 boarders ; while Mrs. Egremont went as daily governess 
 to the children of a family of somewhat higher pre- 
 tensions. Little Ursula, or Nuttie, as she w T as called, 
 according to the local contraction, was like the child 
 of all the party, and after climbing up through the High 
 School to the last form, hoped, after passing the Cam- 
 bridge examination, to become a teacher there in 
 another year.
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 MONKS HORTOX. 
 
 'And we will all the pleasures prove, 
 By shallow rivers, by whose falls 
 Melodious birds sing madrigals.' — Old Ballad. 
 
 It was holiday-time, and liberties were taken such as 
 were not permissible, when they might have afforded a 
 bad precedent to the boarders. Therefore, when two 
 afternoons later Mary Nugent, returning from district 
 visiting, came out into her garden behind the house, 
 she was not scandalised to see a pair of little black 
 feet under a holland skirt resting on a laurel branch, 
 and going a few steps more she beheld a big shady 
 hat, and a pair of little hands busy with a pencil and 
 a blank book ; as Ursula sat on the low wall between 
 the gardens, shaded by the laburnum which facilitated 
 the ascent on her own side. 
 
 ' Oh Miss Mary ! Delicious ! Come up here S You 
 don't know how charming this is.' 
 
 She moved aside so as to leave the ascent — by an 
 inverted flower-pot and a laurel branch — open to her 
 friend, thus knocking down one of the pile of books
 
 .chap. II.] MONKS HOBTON. 9 
 
 which she had taken to the top of the wall. Miss 
 Nugent picked it up, ' Marie Stuart ! Is this your 
 way of studying her ? ' 
 
 'Now, you know 'tis holiday time, and volunteer 
 work ; besides, she was waiting for you, and I could 
 not help doing this.' She held out a hand, which was 
 scarcely needed, and Mary sprang lightly to share her 
 perch upon the wall. ' Look here !' 
 
 'Am I to guess the subject as in the game of 
 historic outlines,' said Miss Nugent, as the book was 
 laid on her lap. 'It looks like a modern — no, a 
 mediaeval — edition of Marcus Curtius about to leap 
 into the capital opening for a young man, only with 
 his dogs instead of his horse. That hound seems very 
 rationally to object.' 
 
 ' Now don't ! Guess in earnest.' 
 
 ' A compliment to your name. The Boy of Egre- 
 mont, poor fellow, just about to bound across the 
 strid.' 
 
 ' Exactly ! I always feel sure that my father must 
 have done something like this.' 
 
 ' Was it so heroic ? ' said Miss Mary. ' You know 
 it was for the hundredth time, and he had no reason 
 to expect any special danger.' 
 
 ' Oh but his mother was waiting, and he had to go. 
 Now, I'll tell you how it must have been with my 
 father. You know he sailed away in a yacht before 
 I was born, and poor mother never saw him again ; 
 but I know what happened. There was a ship on fire 
 like the Birkenhead, and the little yacht went near to
 
 10 NUTTIES FATHER. [chap. 
 
 pick up the people, and my father called out, like Sir 
 Humphrey Gilbert — 
 
 " Do not fear, Heaven is as near 
 By water as by land." 
 
 And the little yacht was so close when the great ship 
 blew up that it got sucked down in the whirlpool, and 
 rescuers and all died a noble death together !' 
 
 ' Has your mother been telling you ? ' asked Miss 
 Mary. 
 
 ' Oh no ! she never mentions him. She does not 
 know. No one does ; but I am quite sure he died 
 nobly, with no one to tell the tale, only the angels to 
 look on, and that makes it all the finer. Or just 
 suppose he was on a desert island all the time, and 
 came back again to find us ! I sometimes think 
 he is.' 
 
 ' What ? When you are quite sure of the other 
 theory ? ' 
 
 1 1 mean I am quite sure while I am thinking 
 about it, or reading Robinson Crusoe, or the Swiss 
 Family! 
 
 'Oh!' 
 
 'Miss Mary, has no one ever told you anything 
 about my father ? ' 
 
 ' jSTo one.' 
 
 'They never tell me. Mother cries, and aunt 
 Ursula puts on her " there's-an-end-of-it look." Do 
 you think there is anything they are waiting to tell 
 me till I am older ? ' '
 
 ii.] MONKS HORTOX. 11 
 
 1 If there were, I am sure you had better not try to 
 find it out beforehand.' 
 
 'You don't think I would do anything of that sort $ 
 But I thought you might know. Do you remember 
 their first settling here V 
 
 1 Scarcely. I was a very small child then.' 
 
 Miss Nugent had a few vague recollections which 
 she did not think it expedient to mention. A dim 
 remembrance rose before her of mysterious whisperings 
 about that beautiful young widow, and that it had 
 been said that the rector of the Old Church had 
 declared himself to know the ladies well, and had 
 heartily recommended them. She thought it wiser 
 only to speak of having been one of their first scholars, 
 telling of the awe Miss Headworth inspired ; but the 
 pleasure it was to bring a lesson to pretty Mrs. Egre- 
 mont, who always rewarded a good one with a kiss, 
 ' and she was so nice to kiss — yes, and is.' 
 
 1 Aunt Ursel and mother both were governesses,' 
 continued the girl, 'and yet they don't want me to go out. 
 They had rather I was a teacher at the High School.' 
 
 'They don't want to trust their Little Bear out in 
 the world.' 
 
 ' I think it is more than that,' said the girl. ' I 
 can't help thinking that he — my father — must have 
 been some one rather grand, with such a beautiful name 
 as Alwyn Piercefield Egremont. Yes ; I know it was 
 that, for I saw my baptismal certificate when I stood 
 for the scholarship; it was Dieppe, — Ursula Alice, 
 daughter of Alwyn Piercefield and Alice Elizabeth
 
 12 NUTTIE'S FATHER. [cHAr. 
 
 Egremont, May 15, 1860. James Everett — I think 
 he was the chaplain at Dieppe.' 
 
 Mary Nugent thought it the wisest way to laugh 
 and say : ' You, of all people in the world, to want to 
 make out a connection with the aristocracy !' 
 
 ' True love is different/ said Ursula. ' He must 
 have been cast off by his family for her sake, and have 
 chosen poverty : — 
 
 " To make the croon a pimcl, my Alwyn gaed to sea, 
 And the croon and the pund, they were baith for me." ' 
 
 Miss Mary did not think a yacht a likely place 
 for the conversion of a croon into a pound, and the 
 utter silence of mother and aunt did not seem to her 
 satisfactory ; but she feared either to damp the youth- 
 ful enthusiasm for the lost father, or to foster curiosity 
 that might lead to some painful discovery, so she took 
 refuge in an inarticulate sound. 
 
 ' I think Mr. Dutton knows,' proceeded Nuttie. 
 
 ' You don't mean to ask him ? ' 
 
 ' Catch me ! I know how he would look at me.' 
 
 'Slang! A forfeit!' 
 
 ' Oh, it's holiday time, and the boarders can't hear. 
 There's Mr. Dutton's door !' 
 
 This might in one way be a relief to Miss Nugent, 
 but she did not like being caught upon the wall, and 
 therefore made a rapid descent, though not without a 
 moment's entanglement of skirt, which delayed her long 
 enough to show where she had been, as Mr. Dutton 
 was at the same moment advancing to his own wall
 
 II.] MONKS HOETOX. 13 
 
 on the opposite side of the Nugent garden. Perhaps 
 he would have pretended to see nothing but for 
 Nuttie's cry of glee. 
 
 ' You wicked elf/ said Miss Mary, ' to inveigle 
 people into predicaments, and then go shouting ho ! 
 ho ! ho ! like Eobin Goodfellow himself.' 
 
 ' You should have kept your elevation and dignity 
 like me/ retorted Ursula ; ' and then you would have 
 had the pleasure of seeing Mr. Dutton climbing his 
 wall and coming to our feet.' 
 
 ' Mischievous elves deserve no good news/ said Mr. 
 Dutton, who was by no means so venerable that the 
 crossing the wall was any effort or compromise of 
 dignity, and who had by this time joined Mary on 
 her grass plat. 
 
 ' Oh, what is it ! Are we to go to Monks Horton?' 
 cried ISTuttie. 
 
 ' Here is a gracious permission from Lord Kirkaldy, 
 the only stipulations being that no vestiges of the 
 meal, such as sandwich papers or gooseberry skins, be 
 left on the grass ; and that nobody does any mischief/ 
 he added in an awful tone of .personality. 'So if I 
 see anybody rooting up holly trees I shall be bound to 
 interfere/ 
 
 ' Now, Mr. Dutton, it was only a baby holly in a 
 chink/ 
 
 ' Only a holly tree ! Just like the giant's daughter 
 when she only carried off waggon, peasant, oxen, and 
 all in her pinafore.' 
 
 ( It is not longer than my finger now ! '
 
 14 NUTTIE'S FATHER. [chap. 
 
 ' Well, remember, mischief either wanton or scientific 
 is forbidden. You are to set an example to the choir- 
 boys.' 
 
 ' Scientific mischief is a fatal thing to rare plants/ 
 said Mary. 
 
 ' If I'm not to touch anything, I may as well stay 
 at home,' pouted Nuttie. 
 
 ' You may gather as many buttercups and daisies 
 as the sweet child pleases,' said Mr. Dutton ; where- 
 upon she threatened to throw her books at his head. 
 
 Miss Nugent asked how they were to go, and Mr. 
 Dutton explained that there was only a quarter of a 
 mile's walk from the station ; that return tickets would 
 be furnished at a tariff of fourpence a head ; and that 
 there would be trains at 1.15 and 7.30. 
 
 ' How hungry the children will be.' 
 
 ' They will eat all the way. That's the worst of 
 this sort of outing. They eat to live and live to eat.' 
 
 1 At least they don't eat at church,' said Nuttie. 
 
 'Not since the peppermint day, when Mr. Spyers 
 suspended Dickie Drake,' put in Mary. 
 
 'And the Spa Terrace Church people said it was 
 incense.' 
 
 'No, Nuttier 
 
 ' Indeed they did. Louisa Barnet attacked us 
 about it at school, and I said I wished it had been. 
 Only they mustn't eat peppermint in the train, for it 
 makes mother quite ill.' 
 
 'Do you mean that Mrs. Egremont will come?' 
 exclaimed Mr. Dutton.
 
 II.] MONKS HOETON. 15 
 
 ' Oh yes, she shall. It is not too far, and it will be 
 very good for her. I shall make her/ 
 
 ' There's young England's filial duty !' said Mary. 
 
 ' Why, I know what is good for her, and she 
 always does as " I wish." ' 
 
 ' Beneficent despotism !' said Mr. Dutton. ' May I 
 ask if Miss Headworth is an equally obedient subject.' 
 
 ' Oh ! Aunt Ursel is very seldom tiresome.' 
 
 ' ISTuttie ! Xuttie ! my dear,' and a head with the 
 snows of more than half a century appeared on the 
 other side of the wall, under a cap and parasol. ' I 
 am sorry to interrupt you, but it is cool enough for 
 your mother to go into the town, and I wish you to 
 go with her.'
 
 CHAPTEE III. 
 
 HEIR HUNTING. 
 
 1 And she put on her gown of green, 
 And left her mother at sixteen, 
 
 To marry Peter Bell ! ' — Wordsworth. 
 
 In the shrubberies of Monks Horton were walking a 
 lady somewhat past middle age, but full of activity 
 and vigour, with one of those bright faces that never 
 grow old, and with her a young man, a few years over 
 twenty, with a grave and almost careworn countenance. 
 
 More and more confidential waxed the conversa- 
 tion, for the lady was making fresh acquaintance with 
 a nephew seldom seen since he had been her pet and 
 darling as almost a baby, and he was experiencing the 
 inexpressible charm of tone and manner that recalled 
 the young mother he had lost in early boyhood. 
 
 ' Then your mind is made up,' she said ; ' you are 
 quite right to decide on having a profession ; but how 
 does your father take it ? ' 
 
 ' He is quite convinced that to repeat my uncle's 
 life, dangling on as heir, would be the most fatal 
 mistake.'
 
 CHAP. III. 
 
 HEIR HUNTING. 17 
 
 ' Assuredly, and all the legal knowledge you acquire 
 is so much in favour of your usefulness as the squire.' 
 
 ' If I ever am the squire, of which I have my 
 doubts.' 
 
 ' You expect Mr. Egremont to marry ? ' 
 
 ' Not a future marriage ? but one in the past.' 
 
 ' A private marriage ! Do you suspect it ?' 
 
 'I don't suspect it — I know it. I have been 
 hoping to talk the matter over with you. Do you 
 remember our first governess, Miss Headworth ? ' 
 
 'My dear Mark, did I not lose at Pera the charms 
 of your infancy ?' 
 
 ' Then neither my mother nor my grandmother ever 
 wrote to you about her ? ' 
 
 ' I do remember that it struck me that immunity 
 from governesses was a compensation for the lack of 
 daughters.' 
 
 ' Can you tell me no details,' said Mark anxiously. 
 ' Have you no letters ? It was about the time when 
 Blanche was born, when we were living at Eaxley.' 
 
 ' I am sorry to say that our roving life prevented 
 my keeping old letters. I have often regretted it. 
 Let me see, there was one who boxed May's ears.' 
 
 ' That was long after. I think it was that woman's 
 barbarity that made my father marry again, and a 
 very good thing that was. It was wretched before. 
 Miss Headworth was in my own mother's time.' 
 
 ' I begin to remember something happening that 
 your mother seemed unable to write about, and your 
 grandmother said that she had been greatly upset by 
 
 vol. i. c
 
 18 nuttie's FATHER. [chap. 
 
 " that miserable affair," but I was never exactly told 
 what it had been.' 
 
 ' Miss Headworth came when I was four or five 
 years old. Edda, as we used to call her in May's 
 language, was the first person who gave me a sense of 
 beauty. She had dark eyes and a lovely complexion. 
 I remember in after times being silenced for saying, 
 " not so pretty as my Edda." I was extremely fond of 
 her, enough to have my small jealousy excited when 
 my uncle joined us in our walks, and monopolised 
 her, turning May and me over to play with his dog 1' 
 
 ' But, Mark, Mr. Egremont is some years older than 
 your father. He could not have been a young man 
 at that time.' 
 
 ' So much the worse. Most likely he seemed to 
 her quite paternal. The next thing I recollect was 
 our being in the Isle of Wight, we two children, with 
 Miss Headworth and the German nurse, and our 
 being told of our new sister. Uncle Alwyn and his 
 yacht were there, and we went on board once or twice. 
 Then matters became confused with me, I recollect a 
 confusion, papa and grandmamma suddenly arriving, 
 everybody seeming to us to have become very cross, 
 our dear Miss Headworth no where to be found, our 
 attendants being changed, and our being forbidden to 
 speak of her again. I certainly never thought of the 
 matter till a month ago. You know my uncle's eyes 
 have been much affected by his illness, and he has 
 made a good deal of use of me. He has got a valet, 
 a fellow of no particular country, more Savoyard than
 
 in.] HEIR HUNTING. 19 
 
 anything else, I fancy. He is a legacy, like other evils, 
 from the old General, and seems a sort of necessity to 
 my uncle's existence. Gregorio they call him. He was 
 plainly used to absolute government, and viewed the 
 coming down amongst us as an assertion of liberty 
 much against his will. We could see that he was 
 awfully jealous of my father and me, and would do any- 
 thing to keep us out ; but providentially he can't write 
 English decently, though he can speak any language 
 you please. Well, the man and I came into collision 
 about a scamp of a groom who was doing intolerable 
 mischief in the village, and whom they put it on me 
 to get discharged. On that occasion Mr. Gregorio 
 grew insolent, and intimated to me that I need not 
 make so sure of the succession. He knew that which 
 might make the Chanoine and me change our note. 
 Well, my father is always for avoiding rows ; he said 
 it was an unmeaning threat, it was of no use 
 to complain of Gregorio, and we must digest his in- 
 solence. But just after, Uncle Alwyn sent me to 
 hunt up a paper that was missing, and in searching a 
 writing-case I came upon an unmistakable marriage 
 certificate between Alwyn Piercefield Egremont and 
 Alice Headworth, and then the dim recollections I 
 told you of began to return.' 
 
 ' What did you do?' 
 
 1 1 thought I had better consult my father, ex- 
 pecting to hear that she was dead, and that no further 
 notice need be taken of the matter. But he was 
 greatly disturbed to hear of the certificate, and would
 
 20 NUTTIE'S FATHER. [chap. 
 
 hardly believe me. He said that some friend of my 
 grandmother had written her word of goings on 
 at Freshwater between his brother and the young 
 governess, and that they went off at once to put a 
 stop to it, but found us left with the German maid, 
 who declared that Miss Headworth had gone off with 
 Mr. Egremont in the yacht. No more was heard of 
 my uncle for six weeks, and when he came back there 
 was a great row with the old General, but he absolutely 
 denied being married. I am afraid that was all the 
 old sinner wished, and they went off together in the 
 yacht to the West Indies, where it was burnt; but 
 they, as you know, never came to England again, going- 
 straight off to the Mediterranean, having their head- 
 quarters at Sorrento, and cruising about till the General's 
 death ten years ago.' 
 
 ' Yes, I once met them at Florence, and thought 
 them two weary pitiable men. One looked at the 
 General as a curious relic of the old buck of the 
 Eegency days, and compassionated his nephew for 
 having had his life spoilt by dangling after the old 
 man. It was a warning indeed, and I am glad you 
 have profited by it, Mark.' 
 
 ' He came back, after the old man died, to club life 
 in London, and seldom has been near the old place ; 
 indeed, it has been let till recently, and he wants to 
 let it again, but it is altogether too dilapidated for that 
 without repairs. So he came down to see about it, 
 and was taken ill there. But to return to what my 
 father told me. He was shocked to hear of the certifi-
 
 in.] HEIR HUNTING. 21 
 
 cate, for he had implicitly believed his brother's denial 
 of the marriage, and he said Miss Headworth was so 
 childish and simple that she might easily have been 
 taken in by a sham ceremony. He said that he now 
 saw he had done very wrong in letting his mother-in- 
 law take all the letters about " that unhappy business " 
 off his hands without looking at them, but he was 
 much engrossed by my mother's illness, and, as he 
 said, it never occurred to him as a duty to trace out 
 what became of the poor thing, and see that she was 
 provided for safely. You know Mrs. Egremont says 
 I'aissez /aire is our family failing, and that our first 
 thought is how not to do it.' 
 
 ' Yes, utter repudiation of such cases was the line 
 taken by the last generation ; and I am afraid my 
 mother would be very severe.' 
 
 ' Another thing that actuated my father was the fear 
 of getting his brother into trouble with General Egre- 
 mont, as he himself would have been the one to profit 
 by it. So I do not wonder so much at his letting the 
 whole drop without inquiry, and never even looking 
 at the letters, which there certainly were. I could 
 not get him to begin upon it with my uncle, but Mrs. 
 Egremont was strongly on my side in thinking that such 
 a thing ought to be looked into, and as I had found the 
 paper it would be best that I should speak. Besides 
 that there was no enduring that Greo;orio should be 
 pretending to hold us in terror by such hints.' 
 
 'Well, and has there been a wife and family in a 
 cottage all this time ? '
 
 99 
 
 XUTTIE S FATHEIi. [CHAP 
 
 ' Aunt Margaret, he has never seen or heard of her 
 since he left her at Dieppe ! Would you believe it, 
 he thinks himself a victim ? He never meant more 
 than to amuse himself with the pretty little governess, 
 and he took on board a Mr. and Mrs. Houghton to 
 do propriety, shady sort of people I imagine, but that 
 she did not know.' 
 
 ' I have heard of them,' said Lady Kirkaldy, signi- 
 ficantly. 
 
 'She must have been a kind friend to the poor 
 girl,' said Mark. ' On some report that Lady cle 
 Lyonnais was coming down on her, wrathful and 
 terrible, the poor foolish girl let herself be persuaded 
 to be carried off in the yacht, but there Mrs. Houghton 
 watched over her like a dragon. She made them put in 
 at some little place in Jersey, put in the banns, all un- 
 known to my uncle, and got them married. Each was 
 trying to outwit the other, while Miss Headworth herself 
 was quite innocent and unconscious, and, I don't know 
 whether to call it an excuse for Uncle Alwyn or not, 
 but to this hour he is not sure whether it was a legal 
 marriage, and my father believes it was not, looking on 
 it as a youthful indiscretion. He put her in lodgings 
 at Dieppe, under Mrs. Houghton's protection, while he 
 returned home on a peremptory summons from the 
 General. He found the old man in such a state of 
 body and mind as he tries to persuade me was an 
 excuse for denying the whole thing, and from that time 
 he represents himself as bound hand and foot by the 
 General's tyranny. He meant to have kept the secret,
 
 III.] HEIR HUNTING. 23 
 
 given her an allowance, and run over from time to 
 time to see her, hut he only could get there once 
 before the voyage to the "West Indies. The whole 
 affair was, as he said, complicated by his debts, those 
 debts that the estate has never paid off. The General 
 probably distrusted him, for he curtailed his allowance, 
 and scarcely let him out of sight ; and he — he sub- 
 mitted for the sake of his prospects, and thinking the 
 old man much nearer his end than he proved to be. 
 I declare as I listened, it came near to hearing him 
 say he had sold his soul to Satan ! From the day he 
 sailed in the Ninon he has never written, never 
 attempted any communication with the woman whose 
 life he had wrecked, except one inquiry at Dieppe, 
 and that was through Gregorio.' 
 
 'What! the valet?' 
 
 ' Yes. I believe I seemed surprised at such a 
 medium being employed, for Uncle Alwyn explained 
 that the man had got hold of the secret somehow — 
 servants always know everything — and being a foreigner 
 he was likely to be able to trace her out. 
 
 ' I daresay he profited by the knowledge to keep 
 Alwyn in bondage during the old man's lifetime.' 
 
 ' I have no doubt of it, and he expected to play 
 the same game with me. The fellow reminds me, 
 whenever I look at him, of a sort of incarnate familiar 
 demon. When I asked my uncle whether he could 
 guess what had become of her, he held up his hands 
 with a hideous French grimace. I could have taken 
 him by the throat.'
 
 24 xuttie's FATHER. [chap. 
 
 ' Xay, one must pity him. The morals of George 
 IV.'s set had been handed on to him by the General/ 
 said Lady Kirkaldy, rejoicing in the genuine indigna- 
 tion of the young face, free from all taint of vice, if 
 somewhat rigid. ' And what now ? ' 
 
 ' He assured me that he could make all secure to 
 my father and me, as if that were the important point; 
 but finally he perceived that we had no right to stand 
 still without endeavouring to discover whether there be 
 a nearer heir, and my father made him consent to my 
 making the search, grinning at its Quixotism all the 
 time.' 
 
 ' Have you done anything ? ' 
 
 ' Yes. I have been to Jersey, seen the register — 
 July 20, 1859 — and an old French-speaking clerk, 
 who perfectly recollected the party coming from the 
 yacht, and spoke of her as tres telle. I have also 
 ascertained that there is no doubt of the validity of 
 the marriage. Then, deeply mistrusting Master 
 Gregorio, I went on to Dieppe, where I entirely failed 
 to find any one who knew or remembered anything 
 about them — there is such a shifting population of 
 English visitors and residents, and it was so long ago. 
 I elicited from my uncle that she had an aunt, he 
 thought, of the same name as herself ; but my father 
 cannot remember who recommended her, or anything 
 that can be a clue. Has any one looked over my grand- 
 mother's letters ?' 
 
 ' I think not. My brother spoke of keeping them 
 till I came to London. That might give a chance, or
 
 ID.] HEIR HUNTING. 25 
 
 the Houghtons might know about her. I think my 
 husband could get them hunted up. They are sure to 
 be at some continental resort.' 
 
 ( What's that V as a sound of singing was heard. 
 
 ' " Auld Langsyne." The natives are picnicking in 
 the ravine below there. They used to be rigidly 
 excluded, but we can't stand that; and this is the first 
 experiment of admitting them on condition that they 
 don't make themselves obnoxious.' 
 
 1 Which they can't help.' 
 
 ' We have yet to see if this is worse than an 
 Austrian or Italian festival. See, we can look down 
 from behind this yew tree. It really is a pretty sight 
 from this distance.' 
 
 ' There's the cleric heading his little boys and their 
 cricket, and there are the tuneful party in the fern on 
 the opposite side. They have rather good voices, unless 
 they gain by distance.' 
 
 ' And there's a girl botanising by the river.' 
 
 1 Sentimentalising over forget-me-nots, more likely.' 
 
 ' My dear Mark, for a specimen of young England, 
 you are greatly behindhand in perception of progress !' 
 
 ' Ah ! you are used to foreigners, Aunt Margaret. 
 You have never fathomed English vulgarity.' 
 
 ' It would serve you right to send you to carry the 
 invitation to go round the gardens and houses.' 
 
 ' Do you mean it, aunt ? ' 
 
 ' Mean it ? Don't you see your uncle advancing 
 down the road — there — accosting the clergyman — 
 what's his name — either Towers or Spires — something
 
 26 NUTTIE'S FATHEH. [chap. hi. 
 
 ecclesiastical I know. We only waited to reconnoitre 
 
 and see whether the numbers were unmanageable.' 
 'And yet he does not want to sit for Micklethwayte V 
 ' So you think no one can be neighbourly except 
 
 for electioneering ! Mark, I must take you in 
 
 hand.' 
 
 I Meantime the host is collecting. I abscond. 
 Which is the least show part of the establishment ? ' 
 
 I I recommend the coal cellar ' and, as he went 
 
 off — ' Poor boy, he is a dear good fellow, but how little 
 he knows how to be laughed at !'
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 A NAME. 
 
 ' Sigh no more ladj', lady sigh no more, 
 
 Men were deceivers ever, 
 One foot on sea and one on land — 
 
 To one thing constant never.' — Old Ballad. 
 
 ' So yon have ventured out again/ said Lady Kirkaldy, 
 as her nephew strolled up to her afternoon tea-table 
 under a great cedar tree : 
 
 1 The coast being clear, and only distant shouts 
 being heard in the ravine 
 
 o 
 
 ' " Like an army defeated 
 The choir retreated ; 
 And now doth fare well 
 In the valley's soft swell," ' 
 
 said the aunt. 
 
 ' At least you have survived ; or is this the re- 
 action,' said the nephew, putting on a languid air. 
 
 ' There were some very nice people among them, 
 on whom the pictures were by no means thrown away. 
 "What would you say, Mark, if I told you that I 
 strongly suspect that I have seen your lost aunt ? '
 
 28 XUTTIE'S FATHER. [chap. 
 
 'Nonsense!' cried Mark, as emphatically as dis- 
 respectfully. 
 
 ' I am not joking in the least/ said Lady Kirkalcly, 
 looking up at him. ' I heard the name of Egremont, 
 and made out that it belonged to a very lady-like 
 pretty-looking woman in gray and white; she seemed 
 to be trying to check and tame a bright girl of eighteen 
 or so, who was in a perfect state of rapture over the 
 Vandykes. I managed to ask the clergyman who the 
 lady was, and he told me she was a Mrs. Egremont, 
 who lives with her aunt, a Miss Headworth, who 
 boards girls for the High School ; very worthy people, 
 he added.' 
 
 ' Headworth?' 
 
 ' Yes.' 
 
 ' But if it were, she would have known your name.' 
 
 ' Hardly. The title had not come in those days ; 
 and if she heard of us at all it would be as Kerrs. I 
 ventured further to put out a feeler by asking whether 
 he knew what her husband had been, and he said he 
 believed he had been lost at sea, but he, Mr. Spyers 
 I mean, had only been at Micklethwayte three or four 
 years, and had merely known her as a widow.' 
 
 ' I suppose it is worth following up,' said Mark, 
 rather reluctantly. ' I wish I had seen her. I think I 
 should know Miss Headworth again, and she would 
 hardly know me.' 
 
 ' You see what comes of absconding.' 
 
 ' After all, it was best,' said Mark. ' Supposing her 
 to be the real woman, which I don't expect, it might
 
 iv.] A NAME. 29 
 
 have been awkward if she had heard my name ! How 
 can we ascertain the history of this person without 
 committing ourselves ?' 
 
 Lord Kirkaldy, an able man, who had been for 
 many years a diplomatist, here joined the party, and the 
 whole story was laid before him. He was new to 
 Micklethwayte, having succeeded a somewhat distant 
 kinsman, and did not know enough of the place to be 
 able to fix on any one to whom to apply for informa- 
 tion ; but the result of the consultation was that Lady 
 Kirkaldy should go alone to call on Miss Headworth, 
 and explain that she was come to inquire about a young- 
 lady of the same name, who had once been governess 
 to the children of her sister, Lady Adelaide Egremont. 
 Mark was rather a study to his uncle and aunt all the 
 evening. He was as upright and honourable as the 
 day, and not only acted on high principle, but had a 
 tender feeling to the beautiful playfellow governess, 
 no doubt enhanced by painful experiences of successors 
 chosen for their utter dissimilarity to her. Still it was 
 evidently rather flat to find himself probably so near the 
 tangible goal of his romantic search ; and the existence 
 of a first cousin had been startling to him, though his dis- 
 taste was more to the taking her from second-rate folk in 
 a country town than to the overthrow of his own heir- 
 ship. At least so he manifestly and honestly believed, 
 and knowing it to be one of those faiths that make 
 themselves facts, the Kirkaldys did not disturb him 
 in it, nor commiserate him for a loss which they thought 
 the best thing possible for him.
 
 30 NUTTIE'S FATHER. [chap. 
 
 Miss Headworth was accustomed to receive visitors 
 anent boarders, so when Lady Kirkaldy's card was 
 brought to her, the first impression was that some such 
 arrangement was to be made. She was sitting in her 
 pretty little drawing-room alone, for Nuttie and her 
 mother had gone out for a walk with Miss Nugent. 
 
 The room, opening on the garden, and cool with 
 blinds, had a certain homely grace about the faded 
 furniture. The drawings on the walls were good, the 
 work quaint and tasteful. There was a grand vase of 
 foxgloves before the empty grate, and some Marshal 
 Xial roses in a glass on the table. The old lady her- 
 self — with alert black eyes and a sweet expression — 
 rose from her chair in the window to receive her guest. 
 
 Lady Kirkaldy felt reassured as to the refinement 
 of the surroundings, and liked the gentle but self- 
 possessed tones of the old lady. She noticed the fox- 
 gloves. 
 
 ' Yes,' said Miss Headworth, ' they are the fruits of 
 yesterday's expedition. My two children, as I call 
 them, brought them home in triumph. I cannot tell 
 you what pleasure Lord Kirkaldy's kindness gave them 
 — and many more.' 
 
 ' I am glad,' said the lady, while she said to her- 
 self, ' now for it,' and sat forward. ' It struck me,' 
 she said, ' on hearing your name that you might be 
 related to — to a young lady who lived a good while 
 ago in the family of my sister, Lady Adelaide Egre- 
 mont.' 
 
 A strange look came into Miss Headworth's eyes,
 
 IV.] A NAME. 31 
 
 her lips trembled, she clutched tightly the arm of her 
 chair, but then cast a puzzled glance at her visitor. 
 
 ' Perhaps if you heard of me then/ said the latter, 
 ' it was as Lady Margaret Kerr.' 
 
 1 Yes,' said Miss Headworth, then pausing, she col- 
 lected herself and said in an anxious voice, 'Do I 
 understand that your ladyship is come to inquire for 
 my niece, being aware of the circumstances.' 
 
 ' I only became aware of them yesterday,' said Lady 
 Kirkaldy. ' I was in Turkey at the time, and no 
 particulars were given to me ; but my nephew, Mark 
 Egremont, your niece's old pupil, came to consult us, 
 having just discovered among his uncle's papers evi- 
 dence of the marriage, of which of course he had been 
 ignorant.' 
 
 ' Then,' exclaimed Miss Headworth, holding her 
 hands tightly clasped, ' Shall I really see justice done 
 at last to my poor child ? ' 
 
 'It is young Mark's most earnest wish and his 
 
 father ' Lady Kirkaldy hesitated for a word, and 
 
 Miss Headworth put in : 
 
 ' His father ! Why would he never even acknow- 
 ledge either Alice's letters or mine ? We wrote several 
 times both to him and Lady Adelaide, and never received 
 any reply, except one short one, desiring he might not be 
 troubled on such a subject. It was cruel ! Alice said it 
 was not in his writing. She had done very wrong, and the 
 family might well be offended, but a poor child like her, 
 just eighteen, might have been treated with some pity.' 
 
 ' My sister was in declining health. He was very
 
 32 nuttie's FATHER. [chap, 
 
 much engrossed. He left the matter to — to others/ 
 said Lady Kirkaldy. ' He is very sorry now that he 
 acquiesced in what was then thought right. He did 
 not then know that there had been a marriage.' 
 
 ' I should have thought in that case a clergyman 
 would have been bound to show the more compas- 
 sion.' 
 
 Lady Kirkaldy knew that the cruel silence had 
 been chiefly the work of the stern Puritan pitilessness 
 of her mother, so she passed this over, saying, ' We 
 are all very anxious to atone, as far as possible, for 
 what is past, but we know little or nothing, only 
 what my nephew Mark has been able to gather.' 
 
 ' Little Mark ! Alice always talked of him with 
 great affection. How pleased she will be to hear of 
 his remembering her.' 
 
 'Would you object to telling me what you know 
 of this history ?' said Lady Kirkaldy. ' I am afraid it 
 is very painful to you, but I think we should under- 
 stand it clearly. Please speak to me as a friend, as 
 woman to woman.' 
 
 'Your ladyship is very kind,' said the poor old 
 lady. ' I have only mentioned the subject once since 
 we came to settle here, seventeen years ago, but such 
 things one cannot forget. If you will excuse me, I 
 have some dates that will assist my accuracy.' 
 
 She hurried away, and came back in a few moments, 
 having evidently dried some tears, perhaps of thank- 
 fulness, but she paused as if reluctant to begin. 
 
 ' I think your niece had no nearer relation than
 
 iv.] A NAME. 33 
 
 yourself,' said Lady Kirkaldy, anxious to set her off 
 and at ease. 
 
 ' Oh no, or she never would have been so treated. 
 She was an orphan. My poor brother was a curate. 
 He married — as young men will — on insufficient 
 means, his strength gave way, and he died of diphtheria 
 when this poor child was only two years old. Indeed, 
 two little ones died at the same time, and the mother 
 married again and went to Shanghai. She did not 
 long live there, poor thing, and little Alice was sent 
 home to me. I thought I did my best for her by 
 keeping her at a good school. I have often wished 
 that I had given up my situation, and become an 
 assistant there, so as to have her more under my own 
 eyes ; but I fancied it important to receive a salary 
 out of which I could save. I am wearying your lady- 
 ship, but I can't but dwell on the excuses for my poor 
 child.' 
 
 ' Indeed I wish to hear all the details,' was the 
 sincere and gentle answer. 
 
 ' I had her with me generally in the holidays, and 
 I confess I was absolutely alarmed to see how pretty 
 the child was growing, knowing how great a dis- 
 advantage it often is. She was always a good girl, 
 not naturally so studious as could be wished, but 
 docile, merry, gentle, a favourite with every one, and 
 peculiarly innocent and childish. I wished her to 
 remain a few years longer as teacher, but it so 
 happened that Lady Adelaide Egremont, coining to 
 consult the head of the establishment about a nursery- 
 
 VOL. I. d
 
 34 NUTTIE'S FATHER. [chap. 
 
 governess, saw Alice, and was so much struck with 
 her sweet face, which was all sunshine then, as to in- 
 sist on engaging her.' 
 
 ' Ah ! my dear sister, I remember her enthusiastic 
 letter about her pretty governess, and her boy's affec- 
 tion for her, an affection that has lasted ' 
 
 ' It seemed so safe. A clergyman's family in the 
 country, and so kind a lady at the head, that, though 
 Alice had been educated for a superior governess, it 
 appeared the best beginning she could have. And 
 she was very happy, and met with great kindness. 
 Only, unfortunately, Lady Adelaide was delicate, and 
 for many weeks entirely confined to the sofa. Mr. 
 Egremont's elder brother was much there. He seemed 
 to my poor inexperienced child quite elderly, and his 
 attentions like those of — of an old uncle — she told 
 me afterwards ' 
 
 ' He must really have been over forty ' 
 
 'No doubt my poor Alice was unguarded. We 
 know what a merry, happy, childish girl may be, but 
 I never heard that her conduct was even censured 
 while she remained at Eaxley, though I find that 
 Captain Egremont used to join them in their walks, 
 under pretext of playing with the children. Then 
 she was sent to Freshwater with the two eldest chil- 
 dren during Lady Adelaide's confinement, and there, 
 most unjustifiably, Captain Egremont continually 
 visited them from his yacht, and offered to take them 
 out in it. Alice knew she ought not to go with- 
 out a married lady on board, and he brought a Mr.
 
 IV.] A NAME. 35 
 
 and Mrs. Houghton to call, who were very kind and 
 caressing to her and the children, so that she thought 
 all was right. Oh ! Lady Kirkaldy, I don't mean to 
 defend her, I daresay she was very giddy and silly, 
 she reproaches herself, poor dear, but I do say that a 
 wicked advantage was taken of her innocence and 
 ignorance. She says that she had begun to grow a 
 little uneasy at the way people looked when Captain 
 Egremont joined them on the beach ; and the nurse, 
 a German, said something that she could not under- 
 stand. On the 1st of July — yes — but I have the 
 date here — came a telegram to the hotel to have 
 rooms for Lady de Lyonnais and Mr. Egremont ready 
 by the evening. The whole place knew it, and some 
 meddling person burst on Alice with the news, roughly 
 and coarsely given, that they were coming to call her 
 to account for her goings on. Captain Egremont 
 found her crying in the utmost terror, and — she really 
 hardly knew what he said to her — she thinks he 
 offered to shelter her on board the Ninon from Lady 
 de Lyonnais' first wrath while he and Mrs. Houghton 
 explained matters ; but she cannot tell, for she lost 
 her senses with fright, only knew that he was kind 
 and sweet to her in her distress, and thought only of 
 escaping. Well, I don't excuse her. Of course it was 
 the most terrible and fatal thing she could have done, 
 
 and ' The good old lady was quite overcome, 
 
 and Lady Kirkaldy had tears in her eyes as she said, 
 ' It was frightful folly — but she was guarded.' 
 ' Yes, her innocence was guarded, thank God,' said
 
 36 NUTTIE'S FATHER. [chap. 
 
 Miss Headworth fervently. ' You see she did know 
 that Mr. and Mrs. Houghton were on board, and Mrs. 
 Houghton was a truly kind protector who deserved her 
 confidence, though, poor lady, she admitted to me that 
 her own conduct had not been — strictly correct.' 
 
 ' How long was it before you heard of her ? ' 
 
 'There was a dreadful letter from Mr. Egremont 
 enclosing what was due of her salary, and then I heard 
 no more for seven months. I went to the Isle of 
 Wight and made all inquiries, but the nurse and chil- 
 dren had gone away immediately, and I could obtain 
 no trace of them.' 
 
 ' Then she — your niece, never wrote.' 
 
 ' She was afraid, poor dear. She had never been 
 at her ease with me. Her mother had taught her to 
 think me strict and harsh, and she had never opened 
 to me in those days. Besides, he had forbidden her. 
 At last, however, in January, came a letter from this 
 Mrs. Houghton, telling me that my Alice was very 
 unwell at Dieppe, that nothing had been heard of her 
 husband, Captain Egremont, to whom she had been 
 married on the 20 th of July at St. Philippe, in 
 Jersey, and that she herself was obliged to leave the 
 place almost immediately ; but she would, if possible, 
 wait till my arrival, as Mrs. Egremont was not in a 
 condition to be left alone. My dear friends, with 
 whom I was then living, were as kind as possible, and 
 set me free to go. I was there in three days, and 
 truly the dear, beautiful, merry girl I had parted with 
 only a year before was a sad piteous sight. Mrs.
 
 iv.] A NAME. 37 
 
 Houghton seemed broken-hearted at leaving her, 
 thinking there was little chance of her living; but 
 Mr. Houghton, who, I am afraid, was a professed 
 gambler, had got into some scrape, and was gone to 
 Paris, where she had to follow him. She told me 
 all about it, and how, when Captain Egremont fancied 
 that a marriage in the Channel Islands was one he 
 could play fast and loose with, she had taken care 
 that the formalities should be such as to make all 
 secure. Foolish and wrong as poor Alice had been, 
 she had awakened all the best side of that poor 
 woman's nature, and no mother could have been more 
 careful and tender. She gave me the certificate — here 
 it is — and assured me that it would hold good. I 
 have shown it to a lawyer, and he said the same ; but 
 when I sent a copy to Mr. Egremont, my letter was 
 returned unopened.' 
 
 ' Captain Egremont had denied the marriage, and 
 they believed him,' said Lady Kirkaldy. ' It is hard 
 to believe that he could be so heartless, but he was in 
 bondage to the old General Egremont, and dreaded 
 losing his inheritance.' 
 
 ' So he told them in his one visit to Dieppe. He 
 said he must keep his marriage secret, but promised 
 an allowance, on condition that Alice would live quietly 
 at Dieppe, and not communicate with any one of her 
 own family or his. He had left £100 with her, but 
 that was nearly gone, and she had never heard from 
 him. It had preyed on her, and she was so ill that 1 
 never expected, any more than Mrs. Houghton, to see
 
 38 NUTTIE'S FATHER. [chap. 
 
 her recover. I stayed there with her ; she could not 
 be moved, even if she would have consented, when she 
 was continually expecting him ; but at last — four days 
 after her little girl was born — came the news of the 
 Ninon having been burnt, with all on board, three 
 months before. Do you know, strange to say, though 
 I had feared so much to tell her, she began to revive 
 from that time. The suspense and watching were over. 
 She saw that he had not deserted her, and believed 
 that he had loved her to the last. She cried a great 
 deal, but it was in a peaceful, natural way. I wrote 
 then, as I had already written, to Lady Adelaide and 
 to Mr. Egremont, but was not answered.' 
 
 1 1 can account for that,' said Lady Kirkaldy. ' My 
 sister had been ordered to Madeira in the autumn, and 
 there they remained till her death in May. All the 
 letters were sent to my mother, and she did not think 
 fit to forward, or open, any bearing on the subject. In 
 the meantime Mr. Egremont was presented to the family 
 living, and on his return moved to Bridgefield Egre- 
 mont. And you came here ? ' 
 
 ' Of course I could not part with my poor Alice 
 again. Mr. and Mrs. Fordyce, whose daughter I had 
 long ago educated, had always kept up a correspondence 
 with me, and, knowing all the story, proposed to me to 
 come here. He was then rector of the old church, and 
 by their help and recommendation, with such capital 
 as I had, we were able to begin a little school ; and 
 though that has had to give way to the High School, 
 what with boarders, and with Alice's employment as
 
 iv.] A NAME. 3 9 
 
 daily governess, we have, I am thankful to say, gone 
 on very well and comfortably, and my dear child has 
 recovered her cheerfulness, though she can never be 
 quite what — I think she was meant to be,' said the old 
 lady, with a sad smile, * though perhaps she is some- 
 thing better.' 
 
 ' Do you think she was absolutely convinced of his 
 death ? ' 
 
 1 Do you mean that he is alive ? ' exclaimed Miss 
 Headworth in dismay. ' Oh ! he is a wickeder man 
 than even I supposed, to have forsaken her all these 
 years. Is my poor child in his power ? Must her 
 peace, now she has attained it, be disturbed ? ' 
 
 ' There is a great deal to take into consideration,' 
 said Lady Kirkaldy. ' I had better tell you how this 
 visit of mine came about, and explain some matters 
 about the Egremont family.' 
 
 She then told how Captain Egremont, after a brief 
 service in the Life Guards, had been made to retire, 
 that the old General, whose heir he was, might keep 
 him in attendance on him. Already self-indulgent 
 and extravagant, the idleness of the life he led with 
 the worn-out old roud had deadened his better feelings, 
 and habituated him to dissipation, while his debts, his 
 expensive habits, and his dread of losing the inherit- 
 ance, had bound him over to the General. Both had 
 been saved from the fire in the Ninon, whence they 
 were picked up by a Chilian vessel, and they had 
 been long in communicating with home. The Genera! 
 hated England, and was in broken health. He had
 
 40 XUTTIE'S FATHER. [chap. 
 
 spent the remaining years of his life at various conti- 
 nental resorts, where he could enjoy a warm climate, 
 combined with facilities for high play. 
 
 When at length he died, Captain Egremont had 
 continued the life to which he had become accustomed, 
 and had of late manifested an expectation that his 
 nephew Mark should play the same part by him as he 
 had done by the General, but the youth, bred in a 
 very different tone, would on no account thus surrender 
 himself to an evil bondage. Indeed he felt all the 
 severity of youthful virtue, and had little toleration for 
 his uncle's ways of thinking ; though, when the old 
 man had come home ill, dejected, and half blind, he 
 had allowed himself to be made useful on business 
 matters. And thus he had discovered the marriage, 
 and had taken up the cause with the ardour stimulated 
 by a chivalrous feeling for the beautiful vision of his 
 childhood, whose sudden disappearance had ended his 
 brightest days. 
 
 ' I suppose it is right and generous of the young 
 man,' said Miss Headworth. ' But since the — the 
 man is alive, I wish my poor Alice could have been 
 left at peace ! ' 
 
 'You forget that her daughter has rights which 
 must be taken into consideration.' 
 
 ' Little Nuttie ! Dear child ! I should so far like 
 her to be provided for, so far as that she need not go 
 out in the world to earn her own livelihood. But no ! 
 better be as we are than accept anything from that 
 man ! '
 
 IV.] A NAME. 41 
 
 ' I quite understand and respect your feeling, Miss 
 Headworth,' returned the lady ; ' but may I return to 
 my question whether you think your niece has any 
 doubt of her husband being dead.' 
 
 Miss Headworth considered. ' Since you ask me, I 
 think she has kept the possibility of the life before her. 
 We have never mentioned the subject, and, as I said, the 
 belief in his death ended a great suspense and sense of 
 wounded affection. She began soon and vigorously to 
 turn her attention to the support of her child, and has 
 found a fair measure of happiness ; but at the same 
 time she has shrunk from all notice and society, more 
 than would be natural in so very young a widow and 
 so attractive, more than I should have expected from 
 her original character. And once, when she did 
 apprehend symptoms of admiration, she insisted that I 
 should tell the history, enough, as she said, to make it 
 plain that it was impossible. There was one night 
 too, when she had scarletina, and was a little light- 
 headed, only four years ago, when she talked a good 
 deal about his coming back ; but that might have been 
 only the old impression on her brain, of that long- 
 watching at Dieppe. He — Captain Egremont, does 
 not yet know where she is ? ' 
 
 'No, certainly not. But I fear he must.' 
 
 ' I suppose he ought,' sighed Miss Headworth ; ' but 
 in the meantime, till we know what line he takes, 
 surely she need not be unsettled by the knowledge of 
 his existence.' 
 
 ' By no means. You had better act as you think
 
 42 NUTTIE'S FATHER. [chap. 
 
 best about that. But you will not object to my 
 nephew, her old pupil, Mark, coming to see her? I 
 will make him promise not to enter upon the 
 subject.' 
 
 Miss Head worth had only time to make a sign of re- 
 luctant acquiescence when the door opened and mother 
 and daughter came in. ISTuttie first, eager as usual and 
 open-mouthed, unaware that any one was there, for 
 Lady Kirkaldy, wishing to avoid talk and observation, 
 had left her carriage at the livery stables, and walked 
 to St. Ambrose Koad. The girl, whom in a moment 
 she classed as small, dark, and oddly like May Egre- 
 mont, stopped short at sight of a stranger ; the mother 
 would have retreated but for Miss Headworth's nervous 
 call 'Alice, my dear, here is Lady Kirkaldy.' 
 
 Very lovely was Lady Kirkaldy 's impression as she 
 saw a slender figure in a dark gray linen dress, and a 
 face of refined, though not intellectual, beauty and 
 sweetness, under a large straw hat with a good deal of 
 white gauziness about it, and the curtsey was full of 
 natural grace. 
 
 ' You do not know me,' said Lady Kirkaldy, taking 
 her hand, ' but I am aunt to some former pupils of 
 yours, one of whom, Mark Egremont, is very anxious 
 to come and see you.' 
 
 ' Mark ! My dear little Mark,' and her face 
 lighted up. 'How very kind of him. But he is not 
 little Mark now.' 
 
 ' He is not a very big Mark either. Most of the 
 Egremonts are small. I see your daughter takes after
 
 iv.] A NAME. 43 
 
 them/ said Lady Kirkaldy, shaking hands with Ursula, 
 who looked at her in unmitigated amazement. 
 
 Alice faltered something about Lady Adelaide. 
 
 ' My dear sister fell into a decline, and died while 
 the three children were still babies. Poor things, I 
 believe they had a sad time till their father married 
 a Miss Condamine, who has been an excellent step- 
 mother to them. I have been to see them, but Mark 
 was not then at home, so he has come to me at Monks 
 Horton. When will he find you at home ? Or may 
 I bring him in at once. He was to meet me at 
 Micklethwayte.' 
 
 ' I should like very much to see him,' was the 
 answer. And Miss Headworth was obliged to say 
 something about her ladyship taking a cup of tea. 
 Lady Kirkaldy, knowing that Mark was on the 
 watch, set off in search of him, and found him, as she 
 expected, pacing the pavement in front of the church. 
 There was no great distance in which to utter her 
 explanations and cautions, warning him of her promise 
 that the intelligence of the husband's being alive was 
 to be withheld for a fitter time, but he promised duti- 
 fully, and his aunt then took him in with her. 
 
 The recognition of her claims was a less stunning 
 shock to Alice Egremont than to her aunt. Shielded 
 by her illness, as well as by her simplicity and ignor- 
 ance, she had never been aware of her aunt's attempted 
 correspondence with the Egremonts, nor of their 
 deafness to appeals made on her behalf. Far less had 
 it ever occurred to her that the validity of her marriage
 
 44 NUTTIE'S FATHER. [chap. 
 
 could be denied, and the heinous error of her elopement 
 seemed to her quite sufficient to account for her having 
 been so entirely cast off by the family. The idea that 
 as wife or widow she had any claims on them, or that 
 Ursula might have rights above those of Mark, had 
 not come into her mind, which, indeed, at the moment 
 was chiefly occupied by the doubt whether the milk 
 was come in, and by ordering in the best teacups, 
 presented by the boarders. 
 
 Thus she was in the passage when Mark entered, 
 and his exclamation instantly was ' Oh, Eclda, dear 
 old Edda ! You aren't a bit altered ! ' and he put his 
 head under her hat and kissed her, adding, as she 
 seemed rather startled, ' You are my aunt, you know ; 
 and where's my cousin ? You are Ursula ? ' 
 
 He advanced upon Xuttie, took her by the hand 
 and kissed her forehead before she was aware, but she 
 flashed at him with her black eyes, and looked stiff 
 and defiant. She had no notion of kisses to herself, 
 still less to her pretty mother whom she protected 
 with a half proud, half jealous fondness. How could 
 the man presume to call her by that foolish name ? 
 However, that single effusion had exhausted Mark's 
 powers of cordiality, or else Nuttie's stiffness froze 
 him. They were all embarrassed, and had reason 
 to be grateful to Lady Kirkaldy's practised powers as 
 a diplomate's wife. She made the most of Mrs. 
 Egremont's shy spasmodic inquiries, and Mark's jerks 
 of information, such as that they were all living at 
 Bridgefield Egremont, now, that his sister May was very
 
 iv.] A NAME. 45 
 
 like his new cousin, that Blanche was come out and was 
 very like his mother, etc. etc. Every one was more at 
 ease when Lady Kirkaldy carried the conversation off 
 to yesterday's entertainment, hoping no one had been 
 overtired, and the like. Mrs. Egremont lighted up a 
 little and began telling some of the expressions of 
 delight she had heard, and in the midst, Xuttie, wak- 
 ing from her trance of stiff displeasure, came plump 
 in with ' Oh ! and there's a water - soldier, a real 
 Stratiotes aculeatus in your lake. May we get it ? 
 Mr. Dutton didn't think we ought, but it would be 
 such a prize ! ' 
 
 ' Ursula means a rare water-plant/ said Mrs. Egre- 
 mont gently, seeing that Lady Kirkaldy had no notion 
 of the treasure she possessed. f She and some of her 
 friends are very eager botanists.' 
 
 ' I am sure you may,' said the lady, amused. 
 
 1 Thank you ! Then, mother ! Miss Mary and I 
 will go. And we'll wait till after office hours, and 
 then Gerard Godfrey can come and fish it out for 
 us ! Oh, thank you. He wants the pattern of the 
 Abbot's cross for an illumination, and he can get 
 some ferns for the church.' 
 
 Soon after this ebullition, Lady Kirkaldy carried 
 off her nephew, and his first utterance outside the 
 door was ' A woman like that will be the salvation of 
 my uncle.' 
 
 1 Firstly, if you can bring them together,' said his 
 aunt ; ' and secondly, if there is stuff enough in that 
 pretty creature.'
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 SUSPENSE. 
 
 ' Where shall the traitor rest 
 He, the deceiver?' — Scott. 
 
 Pooe Miss Headworth's peace of mind was utterly de- 
 stroyed. That the niece whom she had nursed back to 
 life and happiness, and brought to love her as a mother, 
 should be at the mercy of a man whom she looked 
 on as a heartless profligate, was dreadful to her beyond 
 measure. And it involved Ursula's young life likewise ? 
 Could it be a duty, after these eighteen years, to return 
 to him ? What legal rights had he to enforce the re- 
 sumption of the wife he had deserted. ' I will consult 
 Mr. Dutton,' said the old lady to herself ; ' Mr. Dutton 
 is the only person who knows the particulars. He 
 will give me the best advice.' 
 
 And while Miss Headworth, over her evening 
 toilette, was coming to this resolution in one bedroom, 
 Nuttie, in another, was standing aghast at her mother's 
 agitation, and receiving a confession which filled her 
 with astonishment.
 
 chap, v.] SUSPENSE. 47 
 
 ' I can't think why that gentleman should go and be 
 so affectionate all on a sudden/ quoth Nuttie ; ' if he is 
 my cousin, and so fond of you, why couldn't he have 
 come to see us before ? ' 
 
 ' Oh, Nuttie, dear, you don't understand why it is 
 so good of him ! My dear, now this has come, I 
 must tell you — you must hear — the sad thing your 
 mother did. Yes, my dear, I was their governess — 
 and — and I did not In short, my dear, I eloped.' 
 
 ' You, mother ! Oh what fun ! ' cried the girl in the 
 utter extremity of wonder. 
 
 1 JSTuttie ! ' exclaimed Mrs. Egremont, in a tone of 
 horror and indignation — nay, of apprehension. 
 
 1 mother — I didn't mean that ! But I can't get 
 to believe it. You, little mother mine, you that are 
 so timid and bashful and quiet. That you — you 
 should have done such a thing. 
 
 ' Xuttie, my dear, can't you understand that such a 
 thing would make me quiet ? I am always feeling 
 when I see people, or they bring their daughters here, 
 " If they only knew " ' 
 
 I No, no, no ! They would still see you were the 
 sweetest dear. But tell me all about it. How very 
 much in love you must have been ! ' said Xuttie, a 
 magnificent vision of a young sailor with curly hair 
 and open throat rising before her. 
 
 I I think I was more frightened than in love,' faintly 
 said Mrs. Egremont. ' At least I didn't know it was 
 love, I thought he was only kind to me.' 
 
 ' But you liked it ? ' said Ursula magisterially.
 
 48 xuttie's father. [chap. 
 
 ' I liked it, oh, I liked it ! It gave me a feeling 
 such as nothing else ever did, but I never thought of 
 its being love, he was so much older.' 
 
 ' Older ! ' exclaimed Nuttie, much taken aback. 
 ' Oh ! as old as Mr. Dutton ? ' 
 
 ' Mr. Dutton is thirty-six, I think. Yes, he was 
 older than that.' 
 
 ' Mother, how could you ? ' For to be older than 
 Mr. Dutton seemed to the youthful fancy to be near 
 decrepitude ; but she added, ' I suppose he was very 
 noble, and had done great things.' 
 
 ' He was the grandest gentleman I ever saw, and 
 had such a manner,' said the mother, passing over the 
 latter suggestion. ' Any way, I never thought what it 
 all meant — all alone with the children as I was — till 
 I found people looking at me, and laughing at me, 
 and then I heard Lady de Lyonnais and Mr. Egremont 
 were coming down, very angry, to send me away. I 
 ought, I know it now, to have waited, for they would 
 have written to my aunt. But I was horribly 
 frightened, and I couldn't bear to think of never 
 seeing him again, and he came and comforted me, and 
 said he would take me to Mrs. Houghton, the kind 
 lady who was staying in the Ninon, and they would 
 make it all square for me — and then — oh ! it was 
 very sweet — but I never knew that we were sailing 
 away to Jersey to be married ! I knew it was very 
 dreadful without any one's leave, but it was so noble 
 of him to take the poor little governess and defend 
 her, and it wasn't as if my mother had been alive.
 
 v.] SUSPENSE. 49 
 
 I didn't know Aunt Ursel then as I did afterwards. 
 And Mrs. Houghton said there was nothing else to be 
 done.' 
 
 ' don't leave off, mother. Do tell me. How 
 long did you have him ? ' 
 
 1 Six weeks then — and afterwards one fortnight at 
 Dieppe. He was not free. He had an old uncle, 
 General Egremont, who was sick and hot-tempered, 
 and he was obliged to keep everything secret from 
 him, and therefore from everybody else. And so I 
 was to live at Dieppe, while he went out to take care 
 of his uncle, and you know — you know ' 
 
 'Yes, I know, dear mother. But I am sure he 
 was saving somebody else, and it was a noble death ! 
 And I know how Aunt Ursel came to Dieppe, and 
 how I — your own little Frenchwoman — came to take 
 care of you. And haven't we been jolly without any 
 of these fine relations that never looked after you all 
 this time ! Besides, you know he is very likely to be 
 on a lonely coral island, and will come home yet. I 
 often think he is.' 
 
 'My dear child, I have been happier than I de- 
 served,' said Alice Egremont, drying her eyes. ' But 
 oh ! Nuttie, I hope you will be a wiser woman than 
 your mother.' 
 
 ' Come, don't go on in that way ! Why, I've such 
 advantages ! I've Miss Mary, and Aunt Ursel, and 
 Mr. Spyers, and Mr. Dutton, and you, you poor little 
 thing, had nobody ! One good thing is, we shall get 
 the water-soldier. Mr. Dutton needn't come, for he's 
 
 VOL. I. E
 
 50 NUTTIE'S FATHER. [chap. 
 
 like a cat, and won't soil his boots, but Gerard is dying 
 to get another look at the old ruin. He can't make 
 up his mind about the cross on one of the stone-coffin 
 lids, so he'll be delighted to come, and he'll get it out 
 of the pond for us. I wonder when we can go. To- 
 night is choir practice, and to-morrow is cutting-out day.' 
 Miss Headworth was not sorry that the small 
 sociabilities of the friends did not leave her alone 
 with her niece all that evening, or the next day, when 
 there was a grand cutting-out for the working party, — 
 an operation always performed in the holidays. Miss 
 Headworth had of late years been excused from it, 
 and it gave her the opportunity she wanted of a consult- 
 ation with Mr. Dutton. He was her prime adviser in 
 everything, from her investments (such as they were) to 
 the eccentricities of her timepieces ; and as the cuckoo- 
 clock had that night cuckooed all the hours round in 
 succession, no one thought it wonderful that she should 
 send a twisted note entreating him to call as early as 
 he could in the afternoon. Of course Nuttie's chatter 
 had proclaimed the extraordinary visitors, and it needed 
 not the old lady's dash under ' on an anxious affair ' 
 to bring him to her little drawing-room as soon as he 
 could quit his desk. Perhaps he hastened his work 
 with a hope in his heart which he durst not express, 
 but the agitation on the usually placid face forbade 
 him to entertain it for an instant, and he only said, 
 ' So our expedition has led to unforeseen consequences, 
 Miss Headworth.' And then she answered under her 
 breath, as if afraid of being overheard : ' Mr. Dutton,
 
 v.] SUSPENSE. 51 
 
 my poor child does not know it yet, but the man is 
 alive ! ' 
 
 Mr. Dutton compressed his lips. It was the greater 
 shock, for he had actually made inquiries at the Yacht 
 Club, but the officials there either had not been 
 made aware of the reappearance of the two Egremonts, 
 or they did not think it worth while to look beyond 
 the record which declared that all hands had perished, 
 and the connection of the uncle and nephew with the 
 Yacht Club had not been renewed. Presently he 
 said, ' Then hers was a right instinct. There is reason 
 to be thankful.' 
 
 Miss Headworth was too full of her own anxieties 
 to heed his causes for thankfulness. She told what 
 she had heard from Lady Kirkaldy and from Mark 
 Egremont, and asked counsel whether it could be 
 Alice's duty to return to the man who had deserted 
 her, or even to accept anything from him. There was 
 an impetuous and indignant spirit at the bottom of 
 the old lady's heart, in spite of the subdued life she 
 had led for so many years, and she hardly brooked 
 the measured considerate manner in which her adviser 
 declared that all depended on circumstances, and the 
 manner in which Captain Egremont made the first 
 move. At present no one was acting but young Mark, 
 and, as Mr. Dutton observed, it was not a matter in 
 which a man was very likely to submit to a nephew's 
 dictation. 
 
 There was certainly no need for Mrs. Egremont to 
 force her presence on him. But Mr. Dutton did think 
 
 -SRARf "- — 
 
 -.N-vERsmr of nin«
 
 52 NUTTIE'S FATHER. [chap. 
 
 that for her own sake and her child's there ought to 
 be full recognition of their rights, and that this should 
 be proved by their maintenance. 
 
 ' I imagine that Ursula may probably be a con- 
 siderable heiress, and her rights must not be sacrificed.' 
 
 ' Poor little girl ! Will it be for her happiness ? I 
 doubt it greatly ! ' 
 
 ' Of that I suppose we have no right to judge/ said 
 Mr. Dutton, somewhat tremulously. 'Justice is what 
 we have to look to, and to allow Nuttie to be passed 
 over would be permitting a slur to be cast on her and 
 her mother.' 
 
 ' I see that,' said Miss Headworth, with an effort. 
 ' I suppose I am after all a selfish, faithless old woman, 
 and it is not in my hands after all. But I must pre- 
 pare my poor Alice for what may be coming.' 
 
 1 If any terms are offered to her, she had better put 
 the matter into a lawyer's hands. Dobson would be a 
 safe man to deal with.' 
 
 Miss Headworth was amazed that he — who had 
 helped her in many a little question bordering on law — 
 should not proffer his aid now in this greatest stress. 
 He was a resolute, self-controlled man, and she never 
 guessed at the feeling that made him judge himself to 
 be no fitting champion for Alice Egremont against her 
 husband. Ever since, ten years ago, he had learnt 
 that his beautiful neighbour did not regard herself so 
 certainly a widow as to venture to open her heart to 
 any other love, he had lived patiently on, content to 
 serve her as a trustworthy friend, and never betraying
 
 v.] SUSPENSE. 53 
 
 the secret hope so long cherished and now entirely 
 crushed. 
 
 He was relieved to escape from the interview, and 
 the poor old lady remained a little more certain as to 
 her duty perhaps, but with a certainty that only made 
 her more unhappy, and she was so restless and nervous 
 that, in the middle of the evening's reading of Arch- 
 bishop Trench's Lectures on History, Alice suddenly 
 broke off in the very middle of a sentence and ex- 
 claimed, ' Aunt Ursel ! you are keeping something 
 from me.' 
 
 Miss Headworth made a faint attempt by saying 
 something about presently, and glancing with her eyes 
 to indicate that it was to be reserved till after Nuttie's 
 bedtime, but the young lady comprehended the signs 
 and exclaimed, ' Never mind me, Aunt Ursel, — I know 
 all about mother; she told me last night.' 
 
 'It is ! ' broke in Mrs. Egremont, who had been 
 watching her aunt's face. ' You have heard of him! 
 
 1 Oh, my father ! You really have ! ' cried Nuttie. 
 ' Then he really was on the desert island all this time ; 
 I was quite sure of it. How delightful S ' She jumped 
 up and looked at the door, as if she expected to see 
 him appear that instant, clad in skins like Eobinson 
 Crusoe, but her aunt's nervous agitation found vent in 
 a sharp reproof : ' Nuttie, hold your tongue, and don't 
 be such a foolish child, or I shall send you out of the 
 room this instant ! ' 
 
 ( But aunt ? ' gasped Alice, unable to bear the 
 suspense.
 
 54 KUTTIE'S FATHER. [chap. 
 
 c Yes, iny poor dear child, Captain Egremont with 
 the General got off with some of the crew in a boat 
 when the Ninon was burnt. He spent a good many 
 years abroad with the old man, but he has now in- 
 herited the family place, and is living there.' Miss 
 Headworth felt as if she had fired a cannon and looked 
 to see the effect. 
 
 1 Ah, if we could have stayed at Dieppe ! ' said 
 Mrs. Egremont. ' But we did write back to say where 
 we could be heard of.' 
 
 1 That was of no use. Mark found no traces of us 
 when he went thither.' 
 
 < Did he send Mark ? ' 
 
 'No. My dear Alice, I must not conceal from 
 you that this is all Mr. Mark Egremont's doing. He 
 seems to have been helping his uncle with his papers 
 when he came on the evidence of your marriage, and, 
 remembering you as he does, he forced the confession 
 of it from the captain, and of his own accord set 
 forth to discover what had become of you and to see 
 justice done to you.' 
 
 ' Dear little Mark ! ' said she ; ' he always was such 
 an affectionate little boy.' 
 
 ' And now, my dear, you must consider how you 
 will receive any advances on his part.' 
 
 ' Oh, Aunt Ursel, don't ! I can't talk now. Please 
 let me go to bed. Nuttie, dear, you need not come 
 yet.' 
 
 The desire for solitude, in which to realise what 
 she had heard, was overpowering, and she fled away in
 
 v.] SUSPENSE. 55 
 
 the summer twilight, leaving Nuttie with wide open 
 eyes, looking after her vanished hero and desert island. 
 
 ' My poor Alice ! ' sighed the old lady. 
 
 ' Aunt Ursel ! ' exclaimed Xuttie, ' was — I mean — 
 is my father a good or a bad man ? ' 
 
 ' My dear, should a daughter ask such a question ? ' 
 
 'Aunt Ursel, I can't help it. I think I ought to 
 know all about it,' said Xuttie gravely, putting away 
 her childishness and sitting down by her aunt. ' I 
 did not think so much of it when mother told me they 
 eloped, because, though I know it was very wrong, 
 people do do odd things sometimes when they are very 
 much in love (she said it in a superior patronising tone 
 that would have amused Miss Headworth very much 
 at any other time) ; and it has not spoilt mother for 
 being the dearest, sweetest, best thing in the world, 
 and, besides, they had neither of them any fathers or 
 mothers to disobey. But, then, when I found he was 
 so old, and that he kept it a secret, and must have 
 told stories only for the sake of money (uttered with 
 extreme contempt), I didn't like it. And if he left 
 her as Theseus left Ariadne, or Sir Lancelot left Elaine, 
 I — I don't think it is nice. Do you think he only 
 pretended to be lost in the Ninon to get rid of her, 
 or that he could not find her ? ' 
 
 'The Ninon was really reported lost with all on 
 board,' said Miss Headworth. ' That was ascertained. 
 He was saved by a Chilian ship, and seems to have 
 been a good while making his way back to Europe. I 
 had taken care that our address should be known at
 
 56 NUTTIE'S FATHER. [chap. 
 
 Dieppe, but it is quite possible that he may not have 
 applied to the right people, or that they may not have 
 preserved my letter, so that we cannot feel sure that 
 he was to blame.' 
 
 ' If he had been worth anything at all, he would 
 have moved heaven and earth to find her ! ' cried Nut- 
 tie ; ' and you said yourself it was all that Mark's 
 doing ! ' 
 
 ' He seems to be a very upright and generous young 
 man, that Mr. Mark Egremont,' said Miss Headworth, 
 a whole romance as to Nuttie's future destiny sweep- 
 ing across her mind in an instant, with a mental dis- 
 pensation to first cousins in such a case. ' I think 
 you will find him a staunch champion even against his 
 own interests.' 
 
 Perceptions came across Nuttie. ' Oh, then I am 
 a sort of lost heiress, like people in a story ! I see ! 
 But, Aunt Ursel, what do you think will happen ? ' 
 
 ' My clear child, I cannot guess in the least. Per- 
 haps the Egremont property will not concern you, and 
 only go to male heirs. That would be the best thing, 
 since in any case you must be sufficiently provided 
 for. Your father must do that.' 
 
 1 But about mother ? ' 
 
 ' A proper provision must be insisted on for her,' 
 said Miss Headworth. ' It is no use, however, to 
 speculate on the future. We cannot guess how Mr. 
 Mark Egremont's communication will be received, or 
 whether any wish will be expressed for your mother's 
 rejoining your father. In such a case the terms must
 
 V.] SUSPENSE. 57 
 
 be distinctly understood, and I have full trust both in 
 Mr. Mark and in Lady Kirkaldy as her champions to 
 see that justice is done to you both.' 
 
 ' I'm sure he doesn't deserve that mother should go 
 to him.' 
 
 'Nor do I expect that he will wish it, or that it 
 would be proper ; but he is bound to give her a hand- 
 some maintenance, and I think most probably you 
 will be asked to stay with your uncle and cousins/ 
 said Miss Headworth, figuring to herself a kind of 
 ISTewstead Abbey or some such scene of constant orgies 
 at Bridgefield Egremont. 
 
 ' I shall accept nothing from the family that does 
 not include mother/ said Xuttie. 
 
 ' Dear child, I foresee many trials, but you must be 
 her protector.' 
 
 ' That I will/ said ISTuttie ; and in the gallant pur- 
 pose she went to bed, to find her mother either asleep 
 or feigning slumber with tears on her cheek.
 
 CHAPTEK VI. 
 
 THE WATER-SOLDIER. 
 
 1 Presumptuous maid, with looks inteut, 
 Again she stretched, again she bent, 
 Nor knew the gulf between. ' — Gray. 
 
 It all seemed like a dream to Ursula, perhaps likewise 
 to her mother, when they rose to the routine of daily 
 life with the ordinary interests of the day before them. 
 There was a latent unwillingness in Mrs. Egremont's 
 mind to discuss the subject with either aunt or 
 daughter ; and when the post brought no letter, Ursula, 
 after a moment's sense of flatness, was relieved, and 
 returned to her eager desire to hurry after the water- 
 soldier. It was feasible that very afternoon. Mary 
 Nugent came in with the intelligence. 
 
 ' And can Gerard come ? or we shall only look at it.' 
 
 ' Yes, Gerard can come, and so will Mr. Dutton,' 
 
 said Mary, who, standing about half-way between Mrs. 
 
 Egremont and her daughter, did not think herself quite 
 
 a sufficient chaperon. 
 
 ' He will look on like a hen at her ducklings,' said 
 Nuttie. ' It is cruel to take him, poor man ! '
 
 CHAP, vi.] THE WATER-SOLDIER. 59 
 
 ' Meantime, Nuttie, do you like an hour of Marie 
 Stuart ? ' 
 
 1 Oh, thank you ! ' But she whispered, ' Aunt 
 Ursel, may I tell her ? ' 
 
 ' Ask your mother, my dear.' 
 
 Leave was given, half reluctantly, and with a pro- 
 hibition against mentioning the subject to any one else, 
 but both mother and aunt had confidence in Mary 
 Nugent's wisdom and discretion, so the two friends sat 
 on the wall together, and Ursula poured out her heart. 
 Poor little girl ! she was greatly discomfited at the 
 vanishing of her noble vision of the heroic self-devoted 
 father, and ready on the other hand to believe him a 
 villain, like Bertram Bisingham, or ' the Pirate,' being 
 possessed by this idea on account of his West Indian 
 voyages. At any rate, she was determined not to be 
 accepted or acknowledged without her mother, and was 
 already rehearsing magnanimous letters of refusal. 
 Miss Mary listened and wondered, feeling sometimes 
 as if this were as much a romance as the little yacht 
 going down with the burning ship ; and then came back 
 the recollection that there was a real fact that Nuttie 
 had a father, and that it was entirely uncertain what 
 part he might take, or what the girl might be called 
 on to do. Considering anxiously these bearings of the 
 question, she scarcely heard what she was required to 
 assent to, in one of Nuttie's eager, ' Don't you think so ?' 
 
 ' My dear Nuttie,' she said, rousing herself, l what 
 I do think is that it will all probably turn out exactly 
 contrariwise to our imaginations, so I believe it would
 
 60 nuttie's FATHER. [chap. 
 
 be wisest to build up as few fancies as possible, but 
 only to pray that you may have a right judgment in 
 all things, and have strength to do what is right, what- 
 ever you may see that to be.' 
 
 ' And of course that will be to stick by mother.' 
 
 ' There can be little doubt of that, but the how ? 
 No, dear, do not let us devise all sorts of hows when 
 we have nothing to go upon. That would be of no 
 use, and only perplex you when the time comes. It 
 would be much better to " do the nexte thinge," and 
 read our Marie Stuart' 
 
 Nuttie pouted a little, but submitted, though she 
 now and then broke into a translation with 'You 
 know mother will never stand up for herself,' or ' They 
 think I shall be asked to stay with the Egremonts, but 
 I must work up for the exam/ 
 
 However, the school habit of concentrating her atten- 
 tion prevailed, and the study quieted Nuttie's excitement. 
 The expedition took place as arranged. There was a 
 train which stopped so that the party could go down by 
 it, and the distance was not too great for walking back. 
 
 Mr. Dutton met them on the platform, well armed 
 with his neat silk umbrella, and his black poodle, 
 Monsieur, trotting solemnly after him. Gerard Godfrey 
 bore materials for an exact transcript of the Abbot's 
 monumental cross, his head being full of church archi- 
 tecture, while Nuttie carried a long green tin case, or 
 vasculum as she chose to call it, with her three vowels, 
 U A E, and the stars of the Little Bear conspicuously 
 painted on it in white.
 
 vi.] THE WATER-SOLDIER. 61 
 
 ' You did not venture on that the other day,' said 
 Mr. Dutton. ' How much of the park do you mean 
 to carry away in it ? ' 
 
 ' Let me take it,' said Gerard politely. 
 
 ' No, thank you. You'd leave it behind, while you 
 were pottering over the mouldings.' 
 
 'You are much more likely to leave it behind 
 yourself.' 
 
 ' What — with my soldier, my Stratiotes, in it ? I 
 think I see myself.' 
 
 ' Give it to me,' said Gerard. ' Of course I can't 
 see you carrying a great thing like that.' 
 
 1 Can't you, indeed ? ' 
 
 ' Gently, gently, my dear,' said Miss Mary, as the 
 young people seemed very near a skirmish, and the 
 train was sweeping up. Then there was another small 
 scuffle, for Nuttie had set her heart on the third class ; 
 but Mr. Dutton had taken second-class tickets, and 
 was about to hand them into a carriage whence there 
 had just emerged a very supercilious black-moustached 
 valet, who was pulling out a leather-covered dressing- 
 case, while Gerard was consoling Nuttie by telling her 
 that Monsieur never deigned to go third class. 
 
 ' It is a smoking carriage,' said Miss Nugent, on 
 the step. ' Pah ! how it smells,' as she jumped back. 
 
 1 Beautiful backy — a perfect nosegay,' said Gerard. 
 ' Trust that fellow for having the best.' 
 
 ' His master's, no doubt,' suggested Mr. Dutton. 
 
 'You'd better go in it, to enjoy his reversion,' said 
 Nuttie.
 
 62 NUTTIE'S FATHER. [chap. 
 
 1 And where's my escort, then ? ' 
 
 ' Oh, I'm sure we don't want you.' 
 
 ' Nuttie, my dear,' expostulated Miss Nugent, drag- 
 ging: her into the next carriage. 
 
 ' You may enjoy the fragrance still,' said Nuttie 
 when seated. ' Do you see — there's the man's master ; 
 he has stood him up against that post, with his cigar, 
 to wait while he gets out the luggage. I daresay you 
 can get a whiff if you lean out far enough.' 
 
 ' I say ! that figure is a study ! ' said Gerard. ' What 
 is it that he is so like ? ' 
 
 ' Oh ! I know,' said Nuttie. ' It is Lord Frederick 
 Verisopht, and the bad gentlefolks in the pictures to the 
 old numbers of Dickens that you have got, Miss Mary. 
 Now isn't he ? Look ! only Lord Frederick wasn't fat.' 
 
 Nuttie was in a state of excitement that made her 
 peculiarly unmanageable, and Miss Nugent was very 
 grateful to Mr. Dutton for his sharp though general 
 admonition against staring, while, under pretext of 
 disposing of the umbrella and the vasculum, he stood 
 up, so as to block the window till they were starting. 
 
 There was no one else to observe them but a 
 demure old lady, and in ten minutes' time they were 
 in open space, where high spirits might work them- 
 selves off, though the battle over the botanical case 
 was ended by Miss Nugent, who strongly held that 
 ladies should carry their own extra encumbrances, and 
 sluno- it with a scarf over Nuttie's shoulders in a 
 knowing knapsack fashion. 
 
 The two young people had known one another all
 
 yi.] THE WATER-SOLDIER. 63 
 
 their lives, for Gerard was the son of a medical man 
 who had lived next door to Miss Headworth when the 
 children were young. The father was dead, and the 
 family had left the place, but this son had remained 
 at school, and afterwards had been put into the office 
 at the umbrella factory under charge of Mr. Dutton, 
 whose godson he was, and who treated him as a nephew. 
 He was a good-hearted, steady young fellow, with his 
 whole interest in ecclesiastical details, wearing a tie in 
 accordance with 'the colours,' and absorbed in church 
 music and decorations, while his recreations were almost 
 all in accordance therewith. 
 
 There was plenty of merriment, as he drew and 
 measured at the very scanty ruins, which were little 
 more than a few fragments of wall, overgrown luxuri- 
 antly with ivy and clematis, but enclosing some fine old 
 coffin -lids with floriated crosses, interesting to those 
 who cared for architecture and church history, as Mr. 
 Dutton tried to make the children do, so that their 
 ecclesiastical feelings might be less narrow, and stand 
 on a surer foundation than present interest, a slightly 
 aggressive feeling of contempt for all the other town 
 churches, and a pleasing sense of being persecuted. 
 
 They fought over the floriations and mouldings 
 with great zest, and each maintained a date with 
 youthful vigour — both being, as Mr. Dutton by and 
 by showed them, long before the foundation. The 
 pond had been left to the last with a view to the well- 
 being of the water-soldier on the return. Here the 
 difficulties of the capture were great, for the nearest
 
 64 nuttie's FATHER. [chap. 
 
 plant flourished too far from the bank to be reached 
 with comfort, and besides, the sharp-pointed leaves to 
 which it owes its name were not to be approached 
 with casual grasps. 
 
 ' Oh Monsieur, I wish you were a Beau,' sighed 
 Nuttie. ' Why, are you too stupid to go and get it ? ' 
 
 ' It is a proof of his superior intelligence,' said Mr. 
 Dutton. 
 
 ' But really it is too ridiculous — too provoking — 
 to have come all this way and not get it,' cried the 
 tantalised Nuttie. ' Oh, Gerard, are you taking off 
 your boots and stockings ? You duck ! ' 
 
 ' Just what I wish I was,' said the youth, rolling 
 up his trousers. 
 
 But even the paddling in did not answer. Mr. 
 Dutton called out anxiously, ' Take care, Gerard, the 
 bottom may be soft,' and came down to the very verge 
 just in time to hold out his hand, and prevent an 
 utterly disastrous fall, for Gerard, in spite of his bare 
 feet, sank at once into mud, and on the first attempt 
 to take a step forward, found his foot slipping away 
 from under him, and would in another instant have 
 tumbled backwards into the slush and weeds. He 
 scrambled back, his hat falling off into the reeds, and 
 splashing Mr. 'Dutton all over, while Monsieur began 
 to bark 'with astonishment at seeing his master in 
 such a plight,' declared the ladies, who stood convulsed 
 with cruel laughter. 
 
 1 Isn't it dreadful ? ' exclaimed Ursula. 
 
 1 Well ! It might have been worse,' gravely said
 
 vi.] THE WATER-SOLDIER. 65 
 
 Mr. Dutton, wiping off the more obnoxious of his 
 splashes with his pocket handkerchief. 
 
 1 Oh I didn't mean you, but the water-soldier,' said 
 Nuttie. ' To have come five miles for it in vain ! ' 
 
 1 I don't know what to suggest,' added Gerard. 
 1 Even if the ladies were to retire ' 
 
 1 No, no,' interposed Mr. Dutton, ' 'tis no swimming 
 ground, and I forbid the expedient. You would only 
 be entangled in the weeds.' 
 
 1 Behold ! ' exclaimed Mary, who had been prowling 
 about the banks, and now held up in triumph one of 
 the poles with a bill-hook at the end used for cutting 
 weed. 
 
 ' Bravo, Miss Nugent ! ' cried Gerard. 
 
 'Female wit has circumvented the water -soldier.' 
 said Mr. Dutton. 
 
 ' Don't cry out too soon,' returned Mary ; ' the 
 soldier may float off and escape you yet.' 
 
 However, the capture was safely accomplished, 
 without even a dip under water to destroy the beauty 
 of the white flowers. With these, and a few water- 
 lilies secured by Gerard for the morrow's altar vases, 
 the party set out on their homeward walk, through 
 plantations of whispering firs, the low sun tinging the 
 trunks with ruddy light; across heathery commons, 
 where crimson heath abounded, and the delicate blush- 
 coloured wax-belled species was a prize ; by cornfields 
 in ear hanging out their dainty stamens ; along hedges 
 full of exquisite plumes of feathering or nodding grass, 
 of which Nuttie made bouquets and botanical studies, 
 
 VOL. I. F
 
 66 NUTTIE'S FATHER. [chap. vi. 
 
 and Gerard stored for harvest decorations. They ran 
 and danced on together with Monsienr at their heels, 
 while the elders watched them with some sadness and 
 anxiety. Free- masonry had soon made both Mary 
 and Mr. Dutton aware of each other's initiation, and 
 they had discussed the matter in all its bearings, 
 agreed that the man was a scoundrel, and the woman 
 an angel, even if she had once been weak, and that 
 she ought to be very resolute with him if he came to 
 terms. And then they looked after their young com- 
 panions, and Mr. Dutton said, ' Poor children, what is 
 before them ? ' 
 
 ' It is well they are both so young,' answered 
 Mary.
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 THAT MAN. 
 ' It is the last time — 'tis the last !' — Scott. 
 
 Sundays were the ever-recurring centres of work and 
 interests to the little circle in St. Ambrose's Road. To 
 them the church services and the various classes and 
 schools were the great objects and excitements of the 
 week. A certain measure of hopeful effort and vary- 
 ing success is what gives zest to life, and the purer 
 and higher the aim, and the more unmixed the motives, 
 the greater the happiness achieved by the 'something 
 attempted, something done.' 
 
 Setting apart actual spiritual devotion, the altar 
 vases, purchased by a contribution of careful savings, 
 and adorned with the Monks Horton lilies, backed by 
 ferns from the same quarter ; the surplices made by 
 the ladies themselves, the chants they had practised, 
 the hymns they had taught, could not but be much 
 more interesting to them than if they had been mere 
 lookers on. Every cross on the markers, every flower 
 on the altar cloth was the work of one or other of
 
 68 NUTTIE'S FATHER. [chap. 
 
 them; everything in the church was an achievement, 
 and choir boys, school children, Bible classes, every 
 member of the regular congregation, had some special 
 interest ; nay, every irregular member or visitor might 
 be a convert in time — if not a present sympathiser, 
 and at the very least might swell the offertory that 
 was destined to so many needs of the struggling 
 district. 
 
 Thus it was with some curiosity mingled with self- 
 reproach that Nuttie, while singing her Beneclictus 
 among the tuneful shop-girls, to whom she was bound 
 to set an example, became aware of yesterday's first- 
 class traveller lounging, as far as the rows of chairs 
 would permit, in the aisle, and, as she thought, staring 
 hard at her mother. It was well that Mrs. Egre- 
 mont's invariable custom w T as never to lift her eyes 
 from her book or her harmonium, or she surely must 
 have been disconcerted, her daughter thought, by the 
 eyes that must have found her out, under her little 
 black net bonnet and veil, as the most beautiful 
 woman in church, — as she certainly was, — even that 
 fine good-for-nothing gentleman thinking so. Nuttie 
 would add his glances to the glories of her lovely 
 mother ! 
 
 And she did so, with triumph in her tone of re- 
 probation, as she trotted off, after the early dinner, to 
 her share of Sunday-school work as usual under Miss 
 Nugent's wdng. It began with a children's service, 
 and then ensued, in rooms at the factory, lent by Mr. 
 Dutton, the teaching that was to supply the omissions
 
 VII. 
 
 THAT MAX. 69 
 
 of the Board School ; the establishment of a voluntary 
 one being the next ambition of St. Ambrose's. 
 
 Coming home from their labours, in the fervent 
 discussion of their scholars, and exchanging remarks 
 and greetings with the other teachers of various 
 calibres, the friends reached their own road, and there, 
 to their amazement, beheld Miss Headworth. 
 
 ' Yes, it really is ! ' cried Xuttie. ' We can't be too 
 late ? No — there's no bell ! Aunt Ursel ! What 
 has brought you out ? What's the matter ? Where's 
 mother ? ' 
 
 1 In the house. My dear,' catching hold of her, 
 and speaking breathlessly, ' I came out to prepare you. 
 He is come — your father ' 
 
 ' Where ? ' cried Nuttie, rather wildly. 
 
 ' He is in the drawing-room with your mother. I 
 said I would send you.' Poor Miss Headworth gasped 
 with agitation. ' Oh ! where's Mr. Dutton — not that 
 anything can be done ' 
 
 1 Is it that man ? ' asked Xuttie, and getting no 
 answer, ' I know it is ! Oh Aunt Ursel, how could 
 you leave her with him ? I must go and protect her. 
 Gerard — come. No, go and fetch Mr. Dutton.' 
 
 ' Hush ! hush, Nuttie,' cried her aunt, grasping her. 
 ' You know nothing about it. Wait here till I can 
 tell you.' 
 
 1 Come in here, dear Miss Headworth,' said Mary, 
 gently drawing her arm into hers, for the poor old lady 
 could hardly stand for trembling, and bidding Gerard 
 open the door of her own house with the latch-key.
 
 70 NUTTIE'S FATHER. [chap. 
 
 She took them into the dining-room, so as not to 
 disturb her mother, sent Gerard off after Mr. Dutton 
 in the very uttermost astonishment and bewilderment, 
 and set Miss Headworth down in an easy-chair, where 
 she recovered herself, under Mary's soothing care, 
 enough to tell her story in spite of Kuttie's exclama- 
 tions. ' Wait ! wait, Niittie ! You mustn't burst 
 in on them so ! No, you need not be afraid. Don't 
 be a silly child ! He won't hurt her ! Oh no ! They 
 are quite delighted to meet.' 
 
 ' Delighted to meet ? ' said Nuttie, as if transfixed. 
 
 1 Yes,' said her aunt. ' Oh yes, I always knew the 
 poor child cared for him and tried to believe in him 
 all along. He only had to say the word.' 
 
 ' I wouldn't,' cried the girl, her eyes flashing. 
 ' Why didn't you ask him how he could desert her 
 and leave her V 
 
 * My dear ! how can one come between husband 
 and wife ? Oh, my poor Alice ! ' 
 
 ' How was it, how did they meet, dear Miss Head- 
 worth ? ' asked Mary, administering the wine she had 
 been pouring out. 
 
 ( You hadn't been gone half an hour, Alice was 
 reading to me, and I was just dozing, when in came 
 Louisa. "A gentleman to see Mrs. Egremont," she 
 said, and there he was just behind. We rose up — she 
 did not know him at once, but he just said " Edcla, 
 my little Eclda, sweeter than ever, I knew you at 
 once," or something of that sort, and she gave one 
 little cry of " I knew you would come," and sprang
 
 vii.] THAT MAX. 71 
 
 right into his arms. I — well, I meant to make him 
 understand how he had treated her, but just as I 
 began "Sir" — he came at me with his hand out- 
 stretched " 
 
 ' You didn't take it, aunt, I hope ? ' cried ISTuttie. 
 
 1 My dear, when you see him, you will know how 
 impossible it is. He has that high-bred manner it is 
 as if he were conferring a favour. " Miss Headworth, 
 I conclude," said he, " a lady to whom I owe more 
 than I can express." Just as if I had done it for his 
 sake.' Miss Nugent felt tins open expression danger- 
 ous on account of the daughter, and she looked her 
 consternation at Mr. Dutton, who had quietly entered, 
 ruthlessly shutting Gerard Godfrey out with only 
 such a word of explanation as could be given on the 
 way. 
 
 ' Then he comes with — with favourable intentions,' 
 said Mary, putting as much admonition as she could 
 into her voice. 
 
 ' Oh ! no doubt of that,' said Miss Headworth, 
 drawing herself together. ' He spoke of the long 
 separation, — said he had never been able to find her, 
 till the strange chance of his nephew stumbling on her 
 at Abbots Norton.' 
 
 ' That is — possib — probably true,' said Mr. Dutton. 
 
 ' It can't be,' broke in Nuttie. ' He never troubled 
 himself about it till his nephew found the papers. 
 You said so, Aunt Ursel ! He is a dreadful traitor of 
 a man, just like Marmion, or Theseus, or Lancelot, 
 and now he is telling lies about it ! Don't look at
 
 72 NUTTIE'S FATHER. [chap. 
 
 me, Aunt Ursel, they are lies, and I vrill say it, and 
 he took in poor dear mother once, and now he is 
 taking her in again, and I can't bear that he should 
 be my father ! ' 
 
 It was so entirely true, yet so shocking to hear 
 from her mouth, that all three stood aghast, as she 
 stood with heaving chest, crimson cheeks, and big 
 tears in her eyes. Miss Headworth only muttered, 
 ' Oh, my poor child, you mustn't !' 
 
 Mr. Dutton prevented another passionate outburst 
 by his tone of grave, gentle authority. ' Listen a 
 moment, Ursula,' he said. ' It is unhappily true that 
 this man has acted in an unjustifiable way towards 
 your mother and yourself. But there are, no doubt, 
 many more excuses for him than you know of, and as 
 I found a few years ago that the people at Dieppe 
 had lost the address that had been left with them, he 
 must have found no traces of your mother there. You 
 cannot understand the difficulties that may have been 
 in his way. And there is no use, quite the contrary, 
 in making the worst of him. He has found your 
 mother out, and it seems that he claims her affection- 
 ately, and she forgives and welcomes him — out of the 
 sweet tenderness of her heart.' 
 
 ' She may — but I can't,' murmured- Nuttie. 
 
 'That is not a fit thing for a daughter, nor a 
 Christian, to say,' Mr. Dutton sternly said. 
 
 ' 'Tis not for myself — 'tis for her,' objected Nuttie. 
 
 ' That's nonsense ; a mere excuse,' he returned. 
 'You have nothing at all to foroive, since he did not
 
 vil] THAT MAN. 73 
 
 know you were in existence. And as to your mother, 
 whom you say you put first, what greater grief or pain 
 can you give her than by showing enmity and resent- 
 ment against her husband, when she, the really injured 
 person, loves and forgives V 
 
 1 He's a bad man. If she goes back to him, I 
 know he will make her unhappy ' 
 
 ' You don't know any such thing, but you do know 
 that your opposition will make her unhappy. Ee- 
 member, there's no choice in the matter. He has 
 legal rights over you both, and since he shows himself 
 ready (as I understand from Miss Heaclworth that he 
 is) to give her and you your proper position, you have 
 nothing to do but to be thankful. I think myself 
 that it is a great subject of thankfulness that your 
 mother can return so freely without any bitterness. 
 It is the blessing of such as she ' 
 
 Nuttie stood pouting, but more thoughtful and less 
 violent, as she said, ' How can I be thankful ? I don't 
 want position or anything. I only want him to let 
 my — my own mother, and aunt, and me alone.' 
 
 ' Child, you are talking of what you do not under- 
 stand. You must not waste any more time in argu- 
 ment. Your mother has sent for you, and it is your 
 duty to go and let her introduce you to your father. 
 I have little doubt that you will find him very unlike 
 all your imagination represents him, but let that be as 
 it may, the fifth Commandment does not say, " Honour 
 only thy good father," but, " Honour thy father." 
 Come now, put on your gloves — get her hat right, if
 
 74 NUTTIE'S FATHER. [chap. 
 
 you please, Miss Mary. There — now, come along, be 
 a reasonable creature, and a good girl, and do not give 
 unnecessary pain and vexation to your mother.' He 
 gave her his arm, and led her away. 
 
 * Well done, Mr. Dutton !' exclaimed Miss Nugent. 
 
 'Poor Mr. Dutton!' All Aunt Ursel's discretion 
 could not suppress that sigh, but Mary prudently let 
 it pass unnoticed, only honouring in her heart the 
 unselfishness and self-restraint of the man whose long, 
 patient, unspoken hopes had just received a death- 
 blow. 
 
 ' Oh, Mary ! I never thought it would have been 
 like this!' cried the poor old lady. 'I ought not to 
 have spoken as I did before the child, but I was so 
 taken by surprise ! Alice turned to him just as if he 
 had been the most faithful, loving husband in the 
 world. She is believing every word he says.' 
 
 1 It is very happy for her that she can,' pleaded 
 Mary. 
 
 ' So it is, yes, but — when one knows what he is, 
 and what she is ! Oh, Mr. Dutton, is the poor child 
 gone in V 
 
 1 Yes, I saw her safe into the room. She was very 
 near running off up the stairs,' said Mr. Dutton. ' But 
 I daresay she is fascinated by this time. That sort of 
 man has great power over women.' 
 
 ' ISTuttie is hardly a woman yet,' said Miss Nugent. 
 
 'No, but there must be a strong reaction, when 
 she sees something unlike her compound of Marmion 
 and Theseus.'
 
 vil] THAT MAN. 75 
 
 ' I suppose there is no question but that they must 
 go with him !' said Miss Headworth wistfully. 
 
 'Assuredly. You say he — this Egremont — was 
 affectionate/ said Mr. Dutton quietly, but Mary saw 
 his fingers white with his tight clenching of the bar of 
 the chair. 
 
 ' Oh yes, warmly affectionate, delighted to find her 
 prettier than ever, poor dear ; . I suppose he meant it. 
 Heaven forgive me, if I am judging him too hardly, 
 but I verily believe he went to church to reconnoitre, 
 and see whether she pleased his fancy ' 
 
 'And do you understand,' added Mr. Dutton, 'that 
 he is prepared to do her full justice, and introduce her 
 to his family and friends as his wife, on equal terms ? 
 Otherwise, even if she were unwilling to stand up for 
 herself, it would be the duty of her friends to make 
 some stipulations.' 
 
 ' I am pretty sure that he does/ said the aunt ; ' I 
 did not stay long when I saw that I was not wanted, 
 but I heard him say something about his having a 
 home for her now, and her cutting out the Eedcastle 
 ladies.' 
 
 ' Besides, there is the nephew, Mr. Mark Egremont/ 
 said Mary. ' He will take care of her.' 
 
 ' Yes/ said Mr. Dutton. ' It appears to be all right. 
 At any rate, there can be no grounds for interference 
 on our part.' 
 
 Mr. Dutton took his leave with these words, wring- 
 ing Miss Headworth's hand in mute sympathy, and 
 she, poor old lady, when he was gone, fairly collapsed
 
 76 NUTTIE'S FATHER. [chap. VII. 
 
 into bitter weeping over the uncertain future of those 
 
 whom she had loved as her own children, and who 
 
 now must leave her desolate. Mary did her best 
 
 with comfort and sympathy, and presently took her 
 
 to share her griefs and fears with gentle old Mrs. 
 Nugent.
 
 CHAPTEE VIII. 
 
 THE FATHER. 
 
 ' I do think this lady 
 To be my child.' — King Lear. 
 
 Xuttie, in her fresh holland Sunday dress, worked in 
 crewels with wild strawberries by her mother's hands, 
 and with a white -trimmed straw hat, was almost 
 shoved into the little drawing-room by Mr. Dutton, 
 though he was himself invisible. 
 
 Her eyes were in such a daze of tears that she hardly 
 saw more at first than that some one was there with 
 her mother on the sofa. ' Ah, there she is ! ' she 
 heard her mother cry, and both rose. Her mother's 
 arm was round her waist, her hand was put into 
 another, Mrs. Egremont's voice, tremulous with ex- 
 ceeding delight, said, ' Our child, our Ursula, our 
 Nuttie ! Oh, this is what I have longed for all these 
 years ! Oh, thanks, thanks !' and her hands left her 
 daughter to be clasped and uplifted for a moment in 
 fervent thanksgiving, while Nuttie's hand was held, 
 and a strange hairy kiss, redolent of tobacco- smoking,
 
 78 NUTTIE'S FATHER. [chap. 
 
 was on her forehead — a masculine one, such as she 
 had never known, except her cousin Mark's, since the 
 old rector died, and she had grown too big for Mr. 
 Dutton's embraces. It was more strange than de- 
 lightful, and yet she felt the polish of the tone that 
 said, 'We make acquaintance somewhat late, Ursula, 
 but better late than never.' 
 
 She looked up at this new father, and understood 
 instantly what she had heard of his being a grand 
 gentleman. There was a high-bred look about him, 
 an entire ease and perfect manner that made every- 
 thing he did or said seem like gracious condescension, 
 and took away the power of questioning it at the 
 moment. He was not above the middle size, and was 
 becoming unwieldy ; but there was something imposing 
 and even graceful in his deportment, and his bald 
 narrow forehead looked aristocratic, set off between 
 side tufts of white hair, white whiskers, and moustaches 
 waxed into sharp points, Victor Emmanuel fashion, 
 and a round white curly beard. His eyes were dark, 
 and looked dull, with yellow unwholesome corners, 
 and his skin was not of a pleasant colour, but still, 
 with all Nuttie's intentions of regarding him with 
 horror, she was subdued, partly by the grand breeding 
 and air of distinction, and partly by the current of 
 sympathy from her mother's look of perfect happiness 
 and exultation. She could not help feeling it a favour, 
 almost an undeserved favour, that so great a personage 
 should say, ' A complete Egremont, I see. She has 
 altogether the family face.'
 
 Yin.] THE FATHER. 79 
 
 ' I am so glad you think so,' returned her mother. 
 
 1 On the whole it is well, hut she might have done 
 better to resemble you, Edda,' he said caressingly ; 
 1 but perhaps that would have been too much for the 
 Earlsforth natives. William's girls will have enough to 
 endure without a double eclipse ! ' and he laughed. 
 
 ( I — I don't want ' faltered the mother. 
 
 1 You don't want, no, but you can't help it,' he 
 said, evidently with a proud delight in her beauty. 
 'Now that I have seen the child,' he added, 'I will 
 make my way back to the hotel.' 
 
 1 Will you — won't you stay to tea or dinner V said 
 his wife, beginning with an imploring tone which 
 hesitated as she reviewed possible chops and her 
 aunt's dismay. 
 
 'Thank you, I have ordered dinner at the hotel,' 
 he answered, ' and Gregorio is waiting for me with a 
 cab. No doubt you will wish to make arrangements 
 with Madame — the old lady — and I will not trouble 
 her further to-night. I will send down Gregorio to- 
 morrow morning, to tell you what I arrange. An 
 afternoon train, probably, as we shall go no farther 
 than London. You say Lady Kirkaldy called on you. 
 We might return her visit before starting, but I will 
 let you know when I have looked at the trains. My 
 compliments to Miss Headworth. Good evening, 
 sweetest.' He held his wife in a fond embrace, kiss- 
 ing her brow and cheeks and letting her cling to him, 
 then added, ' Good evening, little one,' with a good- 
 natured careless gesture with which Nuttie was quite
 
 80 xuttie's FATHER. [chap. 
 
 content, for she had a certain loathing of the caresses 
 that so charmed her mother. And yet the command 
 to make ready had been given with such easy author- 
 ity that the idea of resisting it had never even entered 
 her mind, though she stood still while her mother went 
 out to the door with him and watched him to the last. 
 
 Coming back, she threw her arms round her 
 daughter, kissed her again and again, and, with showers 
 of the glad tears long repressed, cried, ' Oh, my Nuttie, 
 my child, what joy! How shall I be thankful enough ! 
 Your father, your dear father ! Now it is all right.' 
 Little sentences of ecstasy such as these, interspersed 
 with caresses, all in the incoherence of overpowering 
 delight, full of an absolute faith that the lost husband 
 had loved her and been pining for her all these years, 
 but that he had been unable to trace her, and was as 
 happy as she was in the reunion. 
 
 The girl was somewhat bewildered, but she was 
 carried along by this flood of exceeding joy and glad- 
 ness. The Marmion and Theseus images had been 
 dispelled by the reality, and, with Mr. Dutton's sharp 
 reproof fresh upon her, she felt herself to have been 
 doing a great injustice to her father ; believed all that 
 her mother did, and found herself the object of a 
 romantic recognition — if not the beggar girl become 
 a princess, at any rate, the little school-teacher a 
 county lady ! And she had never seen her mother 
 so wildly, overpoweringly happy with joy. That made 
 her too, feel that something grand and glorious had 
 happened.
 
 viii.] THE FATHER. 81 
 
 ' What are we going to do V she asked, as the 
 vehemence of Mrs. Egremont's emotion began to work 
 itself off. 
 
 ' Home ! He takes us to his home ! His home V 
 repeated her mother, in a trance of joy, as the yearn- 
 ings of her widowed heart now were fulfilled. 
 
 ' Oh, but Aunt Ursel !' 
 
 'Poor Aunt Ursel! Oh, Xuttie, JSTuttie, I had 
 almost forgotten ! How could I ? ' and there was a 
 shower of tears of compunction. ' But he said he 
 owed everything to her ! She will come with us ! Or 
 if she doesn't live with us, we will make her live close 
 by in a dear little cottage. Where is she ? When 
 did she go ? I never saw her go.' 
 
 The sound of the front door was heard, for the 
 visitor had been watched away and Miss Headworth 
 was returning to her own house to be there received 
 with another fervent gush of happiness, much more 
 trying to her, poor thing, than to Xuttie. 
 
 There was even-song imminent, and the most need- 
 ful act at the moment was to compose the harmonium- 
 player sufficiently for her to take her part. Miss 
 Headworth was really glad of the necessity, since it 
 put off the discussion, and made a reason for silencing 
 Xuttie until all should be more recovered from the 
 first agitation. Alice Egremont herself was glad to 
 carry her gratitude and thankfulness to the Throne 
 of Grace, and in her voluntary, and all her psalms, 
 there was an exulting strain that no one had thought 
 the instrument capable of producing, and that went to 
 
 VOL. I. G
 
 82 nuttie's FATHEK. [chap. 
 
 the heart of more than one of her hearers. No one 
 who knew her could doubt that hers was simply 
 innocent exultation in the recovery of him whom she 
 so entirely loved and confided in. But there could 
 not but be terrible doubts whether he were worthy of 
 that trust, and what the new page in her life would be. 
 
 Miss Headworth had said they would not talk till 
 after church, but there was no deferring the matter 
 then. She was prepared, however, when her niece 
 came up to her in a tender deprecating manner, say- 
 ing, ' Aunt Ursel, dear Aunt Ursel, it does seem very 
 ungrateful, but ' 
 
 1 He is going to take you away ? Yes, I saw that. 
 And it ought to be, my dear. You know where ? ' 
 
 ' Yes ; to London first, to be fitted out, and then to 
 his own home. To Bridgefield Egremont. I shall 
 have to see Mr. Egremont,' and her voice sank with 
 shame. ' But Mark will be good to me, and why 
 should I care when I have him.' 
 
 ' It is quite right. I am glad it should be so,' 
 firmly said the old lady. 
 
 ' And yet to leave you so suddenly.' 
 
 ' That can't be helped.' 
 
 c And it will only be for a little while,' she added, 
 ' till you can make arrangements to come to us. My 
 dear husband says he owes you everything. So you 
 must be with us, or close to us.' 
 
 ' My dear, it's very dear and good of you to think of it, 
 but I must be independent.' She put it in those words, 
 unwilling again to speak unguardedly before Nuttie.
 
 viii.] THE FATHER. 83 
 
 ' Oh, dear auntie, indeed you must ! Think what 
 you are to us, and what you have done for us. We 
 can't go away to be happy and prosperous and leave 
 you behind. Can we, Nuttie ? Come and help me 
 to get her to promise. Do — do dearest auntie,' and 
 she began the coaxing and caressing natural to her, 
 but Xuttie did not join in it, and Miss Headworth 
 shook her head and said gravely — 
 
 'Don't Alice. It is of no use. I tell you once 
 for all that my mind is made up.' 
 
 Alice, knowing by long experience that, when her 
 aunt spoke in that tone, persuasion was useless, de- 
 sisted, but looked at her in consternation, with eyes 
 swimming in tears. Nuttie understood her a little 
 better, and felt the prickings of distrust again. 
 
 ' But aunt, dear aunt, how can we leave you ? What 
 will you do with all the boarders,' went on Mrs. Egremont. 
 
 1 1 shall see my way, my dear. Do not think about 
 that. It is a great thing to see you and this child 
 receive justice.' 
 
 c And only think, after all the hard things that have 
 been said of him, that we should meet first at church ! 
 He would not wait and send letters and messages by 
 Mark. You see he came down himself the first 
 moment. I always knew he would. Only I am so 
 sorry for him, that he should have lost all those sweet 
 years when ISTuttie was a tiny child. She must do 
 all she can to make up to him.' 
 
 ' Oh dear !' broke out Nuttie. f It is so strange ! It 
 will be all so strange !'
 
 84 NUTTIE'S FATHER. [chap. 
 
 ' It will be a very new life/ said her aunt, rather 
 didactically ; ' but you must do your best to be a good 
 daughter, and to fill your new position, and I have no 
 doubt you will enjoy it.' 
 
 ' If I could but take all with me ! ' said Nuttie. 
 ' Oh dear ! whatever will you do, Aunt Ursel ? Oh 
 mother, the choir ! "Who will play the harmonium ? and 
 who will lead the girls ? and whatever will Mr. Spyers 
 do ? and who will take my class ? Mother, couldn't 
 we stay a little longer to set things going here ?' 
 
 ' It is nice of you to have thought of it, my dear/ 
 said Mrs. Egremont, ' but your father would not like 
 to stay on here. 
 
 * But mightn't I stay, just a few days, mother, to 
 wish everybody good-bye ? Mr. Dutton, and Miss 
 Mary, and Gerard, and all the girls V 
 
 There was some consolation in this plan, and the 
 three women rested on it that night, Mrs. Egremont 
 recovering composure enough to write three or four 
 needful notes, explaining her sudden departure. The 
 aunt could not talk of a future she so much dreaded 
 for her nieces, losing in it the thought of her own 
 loneliness ; Alice kept back her own loving, tender, 
 undoubting joy with a curious sense that it was hard 
 and ungrateful towards the aunt ; but it was impos- 
 sible to think of that, and Nuttie was in many 
 moods. 
 
 Eager anticipation of the new unseen world be- 
 yond, exultation in finding herself somebody, sympathy 
 with her mother's happiness, all had their share, but
 
 vill.] THE FATHER. 85 
 
 they made her all the wilder, because they were far 
 from unmixed. The instinctive dislike of Mr. Egre- 
 mont's countenance, and doubt of his plausible story, 
 which had vanished before his presence, and her 
 mother's faith, returned upon her from time to time, 
 caught perhaps from her aunt's tone and looks. Then 
 her aunt had been like a mother to her — her own 
 mother much more like a sister, and the quitting her 
 was a wrench not compensated for as in Mrs. Egre- 
 mont's case by a more absorbing affection. Moreover, 
 Nuttie felt sure that poor Gerard Godfrey would break 
 his heart. As the mother and daughter for the last 
 time lay down together in the room that had been 
 theirs through the seventeen years of the girl's life, 
 Alice fell asleep with a look of exquisite peace and 
 content on her face, feeling her long term of trial 
 crowned by unlooked-for joy, while Ursula, though 
 respecting her slumbers too much to move, lay with 
 wide-open eyes, now speculating on the strange future, 
 now grieving over those she left — Aunt Ursel, Gerard, 
 Mary, and all such ; the schemes from which she was 
 snatched, and then again consoling herself with the 
 hope that, since she was going to be rich, she could at 
 once give all that was wanted — the white altar cloth, 
 the brass pitcher — nay, perhaps finish the church and 
 build the school ! For had not some one said some- 
 thing about her position ? Oh yes, she had not 
 thought of it before, but, since she was the elder 
 brother's daughter, she must be the heiress ! There 
 was no doubt a grand beautiful story before her ; she
 
 86 xuttie's FATHER. [chap. 
 
 would withstand all sorts of fascinations, wicked 
 baronets and earls innumerable, and come back and 
 take Gerard by the hand, and say, ' Pride was quelled 
 and love was free.' Not that Gerard had ever uttered 
 a word tending in that direction since he had been 
 seven years old, but that would make it all the 
 prettier ; they would both be silently constant, till the 
 time came, perhaps when she was of age. Mother 
 would like it, though that father would certainly be 
 horrid. And how nice it would be to give Gerard 
 everything, and they would go all over the Continent, 
 and see pictures, and buy them, and see all the 
 cathedrals and all the mountains. But perhaps, since 
 Mark Egremont had really been so generous in hunting 
 up the cousin who was displacing him, she was bound 
 in duty to marry him ; perhaps he reckoned on her 
 doing so. She would be generous in her turn, give 
 up all the wealth to him, and return to do and be 
 everything to Micklethwayte. How they would 
 admire and bless her. And oh ! she was going to 
 London to-morrow — London, which she so much wished 
 to see — Westminster Abbey, British Museum, All 
 Saints, National Gallery, no end of new dresses. 
 
 Half- waking, half - dreaming, she spent the night 
 which seemed long enough, and the light hours of the 
 summer morning seemed still longer, before she could 
 call it a reasonable time for getting up. Her splash- 
 ings awoke her mother, who lay smiling for a few 
 moments, realising and giving thanks for her great 
 joy, then bestirred herself with the recollection of all
 
 vni.] THE FATHER. 87 
 
 that had to be done on this busy morning before any 
 summons from her husband could arrive. 
 
 Combining packing and dressing, like the essentially 
 unmethodical little woman she was, Mrs. Egremont 
 still had all her beautiful silky brown hair about her 
 shoulders when the bell of St. Ambrose's was heard 
 giving its thin tinkling summons to matins at half- 
 past seven. She was disappointed ; she meant to have 
 gone for this last time, but there was no help for 
 it, and Nuttie set off by herself. 
 
 Gerard Godfrey was at his own door. He was 
 not one of the regular attendants at the short service, 
 being of that modern species that holds itself superior 
 to ' Cranmer's prayers,' but on this morning he hastened 
 up to her with outstretched hand. 
 
 ' And you are going away ! ' he said. 
 
 c I hope to get leave to stay a few days after 
 mother,' she said. 
 
 ' To prolong the torment ? ' he said. 
 
 ' To wish everybody good-bye. It is a great piece 
 of my life that is come to an end, and I can't bear to 
 break it off so short.' 
 
 ' And if you feel so, who are going to wealth and 
 pleasure, what must it be to those who are left 
 behind?' 
 
 ' Oh ! ' said Xuttie, ' some one will be raised up. 
 That's what they always say.' 
 
 1 1 shall go into a brotherhood,' observed Gerard 
 desperately. 
 
 ' Oh, don't,' began Nuttie, much gratified, but at
 
 88 NUTTIE'S FATHER. [chap. 
 
 that moment Miss Nugent came out at her door, and 
 Mr. Spyers, who was some way in advance, looked 
 round and waited for them to come up. He held out 
 his hands to her and said, ' Well, Nuttie, my child, 
 you are going to begin a new life.' 
 
 ' Oh dear ! I wish I could have both ! ' cried 
 Nuttie, not very relevantly as far as the words 
 went. 
 
 c ScJieidm unci weiclcn thut well ! ' quoted Mary. 
 
 ' If his place was only Monks Horton. What will 
 Aunt Ursel do ? ' 
 
 'I think perhaps she may be induced to join us,' 
 said Mary. 'We mean to do our best to persuade 
 her.' 
 
 ' And there's the choir ! And my class, and the 
 harmonium,' went on Nuttie, while Gerard walked on 
 disconsolately. 
 
 ' Micklethwayte has existed without you, Nuttie,' 
 said Mr. Spyers, taking her on with him alone. 
 ' Perhaps it will be able to do so again. My dear, you 
 had better look on. There will be plenty for you to 
 learn and to do where you are going, and you will be 
 sure to find much to enjoy, and also something to 
 bear. I should like to remind you that the best 
 means of going on well in this new world will be to 
 keep self down and to have the strong desire that only 
 love can give to be submissive, and to do what is 
 right both to God and your father and mother. May 
 I give you a text to take with you ? " Children, obey 
 your parents in the Lord, for this is right." '
 
 VIII.] THE FATHER. 89 
 
 Tliey were at the door and there was no time for 
 an answer, but Nuttie, as she took her place, was 
 partly touched and partly fretted at the admonition. 
 
 The question as to her remaining a day or two 
 after her mother was soon disposed of. Mrs. Egre- 
 mont sent a pretty little note to make the request, 
 but the elegant valet who appeared at ten o'clock 
 brought a verbal message that his master wished Mrs. 
 and Miss Egremont to be ready by two o'clock to join 
 him in calling on Lady Kirkaldy at Monks Horton, 
 and that if their luggage was ready by four o'clock, 
 he (Gregorio) would take charge of it, as they were all 
 to go up to town by the 4.40 train. 
 
 ' Did he have my note ? ' faltered Alice, stimulated 
 by the imploring glances of aunt and daughter, but 
 anticipating the answer. 
 
 ' Yes, madame, but he wishes that Miss Egremont 
 should accompany you immediately.' 
 
 ' Of course,' was Alice's comment, ' now that he has 
 found his child, he cannot bear to part with her.' 
 
 And all through the farewells that almost rent the 
 gentle Alice's heart in two, she was haunted by the 
 terror that she or her daughter should have red eyes 
 to vex her husband. As to Mr. Dutton, he had only 
 come in with Gerard in a great hurry just after 
 breakfast, said there was much to do to-day at the 
 office, as they were going to take stock, and they 
 should neither of them have time to come home to 
 luncheon. He shook the hands of mother and daughter 
 heartily, promised to ' look after ' Miss He ad worth, and
 
 90 NUTTIE'S FATHER. [chap. viii. 
 
 bore off in his train young Gerard, looking the picture 
 of woe, and muttering ' I believe he has got it up on 
 purpose;' while mother and daughter thought it very- 
 odd, and rather unkind.
 
 CHAPTEE IX. 
 
 NEW PLUMES. 
 
 ' And ye sail walk in silk attire, 
 And siller hae to spare.' — Old Ballad. 
 
 The very best open fly and pair of horses, being the 
 equipage most like a private carriage possessed by the 
 Eoyal Hotel, came to the door with Mr. Egremont 
 seated in it, at a few minutes after two o'clock, and 
 found Alice in her only black silk, with a rose in her 
 bonnet, and a tie to match on her neck, hastily pro- 
 cured as signs of her wifehood.. 
 
 She had swallowed her tears, and Nuttie was not a 
 cryiug person, but was perfectly scarlet on her usually 
 brown cheeks. Her father muttered some civility 
 about back seats, but it was plain that it was only in 
 words, and she never thought of anything but looking 
 back, with her last wave to her aunt and the two 
 maids, one crying at the gate, the other at the door. 
 
 'There,' said Mr. Egremont, as they drove away, 
 1 that is over ! ' 
 
 ' My dear aunt,' said his wife. c Who can express 
 her goodness to me ?'
 
 92 NUTTIE's FATHEE. [chap. 
 
 ' Cela va sans dire,' was the reply. ' But these are 
 connections that happily Ursula is young enough to 
 forget and leave behind.' 
 
 ' I shall never forget !' began Nuttie, but she saw 
 her father composing himself in his corner without 
 paying the slightest heed to what she was saying, and 
 she encountered a warning and alarmed glance from 
 her mother, so she was forced to content herself with 
 uttering silent vows of perpetual recollection as she 
 passed each well-known object, — the unfinished church, 
 with Mr. Spyers at the door talking to old Bellman ; 
 the Town Hall, whose concerts, lectures, and S. P. G. 
 meetings had been her chief gaiety and excitement ; 
 the School of Art, where Lady Kirkaldy's appearance 
 now seemed to her to have been like that of a bird of 
 omen ; past the^shops in the High Street, with a little 
 exultation at the thought of past desires which they 
 had excited. Long could she have rattled away, her 
 hopes contradicting her regrets, and her regrets quali- 
 fying her anticipations, but she saw that her mother 
 was nervous about every word and gesture, and fairly 
 looked dismayed when she exclaimed, ' Oh, mother, 
 there's Etta Smith; how surprised she will be!' 
 bowing and smiling with all her might. 
 
 There was a look of bare toleration on Mr.Egremont's 
 face,. as if he endured because it would soon be over, as 
 Nuttie bowed several times, and his wife, though less 
 quick to catch people's eyes, sometimes also made her 
 recognition. When the streets were past and Nuttie had 
 aimed her last nods at the nursery parties out walking
 
 ix.] NEW PLUMES. 93 
 
 on the road, she became aware that those cold, lack- 
 lustre, and yet sharply critical eyes of her father were 
 scanning her all over. 
 
 'She has been educated?' he presently said to his 
 wife. 
 
 ' Oh yes,' was the eager answer. ' She is in the 
 highest form at the High School, and has to go up for 
 the Senior Local Examination. Miss Belper makes 
 sure that she will get a first class.' 
 
 Mr. Egremont gave a little wave of the hand, as 
 dismissing something superfluous, and said, ' I hope 
 she has some accomplishments/ 
 
 1 She has done very fairly in French and German ' 
 
 'And Latin,' put in Ursula. 
 
 ' And she has had several prizes at the School of Art.' 
 
 ' And music ? That's the only thing of any value 
 in society,' he said impatiently, and Mrs. Egremont 
 said more timidly, ' She has learnt music regularly.' 
 
 ' But I don't care about it/ broke in Nuttie. ' I 
 haven't mother's ear nor her voice. I learnt the 
 science in case I should have to teach, and they make 
 me practise. I don't mind classical music, but I can't 
 stand rubbish, and I think it is waste of time.' 
 
 Mr. Egremont looked fairly amused, as at the out- 
 spoken folly of an enfant terrible, but he only said, 
 either to his wife or to himself, ' A little polish, and 
 then she may be fairly presentable.' 
 
 ' We have taken great pains with her/ answered 
 the gentle mother, evidently taking this as a great 
 compliment, while the daughter was tingling with in-
 
 94 nuttie's FATHEE. [chap. 
 
 dignation. She, bred up by mother, and aunt, and 
 Mary Nugent, to be barely presentable. Was not their 
 society at Micklethwayte equal in good manners to any, 
 and superior, far superior, in goodness and intelligence 
 to these stupid fashionable people, who undervalued all 
 her real useful acquirements, and cared for nothing 
 but trumpery music. 
 
 The carriage entered the park, and Nuttie saw 
 lake and woods from a fresh point of view. The 
 owners were both at home, and Nuttie found herself 
 walking behind her parents into a cheerful apartment, 
 half library, half morning-room. Mrs. Egremont was 
 by far the most shy and shrinking of the party, but it 
 was an occasion that showed her husband's complete 
 tact and savoir faire. He knew perfectly well that the 
 Kirkaldys knew all about it, and he therefore took the 
 initiative. ' You are surprised to see us,' he said, as 
 he gave his hand, ' but we could not leave the country 
 without coming to thank Lady Kirkalcly for her kind- 
 ness in assisting in following up the clue to Mrs. 
 Ecrremont's residence.' 
 
 ' I am very happy,' said Lady Kirkalcly, while all 
 were being seated. 
 
 ' I think it was here that my nephew Mark first 
 met one whom, child as he was, he could not but 
 remember.' 
 
 ' I don't think you met him here,' said Lady Kirk- 
 aldy to Mrs. Egremont ; ' but he heard the name and 
 was struck by it/ 
 
 ' Dear Mark !' was the response. ' He was so kind.'
 
 IX.] NEW PLUMES. 95 
 
 ' He is a dear good boy/ chimed in my lady. 
 
 1 Yes/ said her lord, ' an excellent good fellow with 
 plenty of brains.' 
 
 ' As he well knows/ said Mr. Egremont. ' Oh yes ; 
 I quite agree with all you say of him ! One ought 
 to be thankful for the possession of a rare specimen.' 
 
 It was in the tone in which Falstaff discussed that 
 sober boy, Lord John of Lancaster. Lord Kirkaldy 
 asked if the visitors were going to remain long in the 
 neighbourhood. 
 
 'We are due in London to-night/ replied Mr. 
 Egremont. ' We shall spend a day or two there, and 
 then go home. Alice/ he added, though his wife had 
 never heard him call her so before, ' Lady Kirkaldy 
 knows your inexperience. Perhaps she would be good 
 enough to give you some addresses that might be 
 useful.' 
 
 ' I shall be delighted/ said the lady, cordially look- 
 ing at the blushing Mrs. Egremont. 
 
 ' Dressmaker, and all the rest of it/ said Mr. Egre- 
 mont. ' You know better than she does what she will 
 require, and a little advice will be invaluable. Above 
 all, if you could tell her how to pick up a maid.' 
 
 Lady Kirkaldy proposed to take the mother and 
 daughter up to her dressing-room, where she kept her 
 book of addresses to London tradesmen ; and Mr. 
 Egremont only begged that they would remember the 
 4.40 train. Then Lord Kirkaldy was left to entertain 
 him, while the ladies went up the broad staircase to 
 the pleasant room, which had a mingled look of refine-
 
 96 XUTTIE'S FATHER. [chap. 
 
 ment and usefulness which struck Nuttie at once. 
 Lady Kirkaldy, as soon as the door was shut, took her 
 visitor by the hand, kissed her forehead, and said, 
 ' You must let me tell you how glad I am.' 
 
 The crystal veil at once spread over Alice's eyes. 
 
 ' Oh, thank you, Lady Kirkaldy ! I am so happy, 
 and yet I am so afraid. Please tell me what we shall 
 do so that we may not vex him, so high bred and fas- 
 tidious as he is ? ' 
 
 ' Be yourself ! That's all, my dear,' said Lady 
 Kirkaldy tenderly. ' Don't be afraid. You are quite 
 incapable of doing anything that could distress the 
 most fastidious taste.' 
 
 It was perfectly true of the mother, perhaps less so 
 of the daughter ; but Lady Kirkaldy only thought of 
 her as a mere girl, who could easily be modelled by 
 her surroundings. The kind hostess applied herself to 
 giving the addresses of the people she thought likely 
 to be most useful in the complete outfit which she saw 
 would be necessary, explaining to which establishments 
 she applied with confidence if she needed to complete 
 her wardrobe in haste, feeling certain that nothing 
 would be sent her that she disliked, and giving leave 
 to use her name. She soon saw that the mother was 
 a little dazed, while Ursula's eyes grew rounder at the 
 unlimited vista of fine clothes, and she assented, and 
 asked questions as to the details. As to a maid, Lady 
 Kirkaldy would write to a person who would call on 
 Mrs. Egremont at the hotel in London, and who might 
 be what was wanted; and in conclusion, Lady Kirkaldy,
 
 ix.] NEW PLUMES. 97 
 
 with some diffidence, begged to be written to — l if — 
 if/ she said, ' there happened to be any difficulty about 
 which you might not like to consult Mrs. William 
 Egremont.' Nuttie hardly knew whether to be grate- 
 ful or not, for she did not believe in any standard 
 above that of Micklethwayte, and she was almost angry 
 at her mother's grateful answer — ' Oh, thank you ! I 
 should be so grateful ! I am so afraid of annoying 
 him by what he may think small, ignorant, country- 
 town ways ! You will understand ' 
 
 Lady Kirkaldy did understand, and she dreaded 
 what might be before the sweet little yielding woman, 
 not from want of breeding so much as from the lono- 
 indulged selfishness of her husband ; but she encour- 
 aged her as much as possible, and promised all possible 
 counsel, bringing her downstairs again just in time. 
 
 ' Pretty little soul ! ' said Lord Kirkaldy, as the fly 
 clattered away. ' I wonder whether Mark has done 
 her a kindness ! ' 
 
 ' It is just what she is, a pretty, nay, a beautiful 
 soul, full of tenderness and forgiveness and affection 
 and humility, only I doubt whether there is any force 
 or resolution to hold her own. You smile ! Well, 
 perhaps the less of that she has the better she may 
 get on with him. Did he say anything about her ? ' 
 
 ' No ; I think he wants to ignore that they have 
 not spent the last twenty years together.' 
 
 ' That may be the best way for all parties. Do 
 you think he will behave well to her ? ' 
 
 1 No man could well do otherwise to such a sweet 
 
 VOL. I. H
 
 98 NUTTIE'S FATHER. [chap. ix. 
 
 little thing/ said Lord Kirkaldy ; ' especially as she 
 will be his most obedient slave, and will make herself 
 necessary to him. It is much better luck than he 
 deserves ; but I pity her when she comes to make 
 her way with yon ladies ! ' 
 
 1 1 wish I was there ! I know she will let herself 
 be trodden on ! However, there's Mark to stand up 
 for her, and William Egremont will do whatever he 
 thinks right and just. I wish I knew how his wife 
 will take it ! '
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 BRIDGEFIELD EGREMONT. 
 
 ' Let us see these handsome houses 
 Where the wealthy nobles dwell.' — Tennyson. 
 
 ' Mother, mother ! ' cried two young people, bursting- 
 open the door of the pretty dining-room of Bridgefield 
 Eectory, where the grown-up part of the family were 
 lingering over a late breakfast. 
 
 ' Gently, gently, children,' said the dignified lady at 
 the head of the table. ' Don't disturb papa.' 
 
 ' But we really have something to say, mother ! ' 
 said the elder girl, ' and Fraulein said you ought to 
 know. Uncle Alwyn is come home, and Mrs. Egre- 
 mont. And please, are we to call her Aunt Egremont, 
 or Aunt Alwyn, or what ? ' 
 
 The desired sensation was produced. Canon Egre- 
 mont put down his newspaper. The two elder sisters 
 looked from one to the other in unmitigated astonish- 
 ment. Mark briefly made answer to the final question, 
 ' Aunt Alice,' and Mrs. Egremont said gravely, ' How 
 did you hear this, Rosalind ? You know I always 
 forbid you to gossip.'
 
 100 NUTTIE'S FATHER. [chap. 
 
 f We didn't gossip, mother. We went up to the 
 gardens to get some mulherries for our half-holiday 
 feast ; and Eonaldson came out and told us we must 
 ask leave first, for the ladies were come. The Squire 
 came home at nine o'clock last night, and Mrs. Egre- 
 mont and all, and only sent a telegram two hours 
 before to have the rooms got ready.' 
 
 ' Has Uncle Alwyn gone and got himself married ? ' 
 exclaimed one of the young ladies, in utter amazement. 
 
 ' Not just now, Blanche,' said her father. ' It is an 
 old story now. Your uncle married this lady, who 
 had been governess to May and Mark, many years ago, 
 and from — circumstances in which she was not at all to 
 blame, he lost sight of her while he was abroad with 
 old General Egremont. Mark met her about a fort- 
 night ago, and this has led to your uncle's going in 
 quest of her, though he has certainly been more sudden 
 in his proceedings than I expected.' 
 
 The mother here succeeded in sending Eosalind and 
 Adela, with their wondering eyes, off the scene, and 
 she would much have liked to send her two step- 
 daughters after them, but one-and-twenty and eighteen 
 could not so readily be ordered off as twelve and ten ; 
 and Mark, who had been prohibited from uttering a 
 word to his sisters, was eagerly examining Margaret 
 whether she remembered their Edda ; but she had 
 been only three years old at the time of the 
 adventures in the Isle of "Wight, and remembered no- 
 thing distinctly but the aspect of one of the sailors in 
 the yacht.
 
 x.] BRIDGEFIELD EGREMONT. 101 
 
 ' Well,' said Mrs. Egremont, ' tins has come very 
 suddenly upon us. It would have "been more for her 
 own dignity if she had held out a little before coming 
 so easily to terms, after the way in which she has been 
 treated.' 
 
 'When you see her, mother, you will understand,' 
 said Mark. 
 
 ' Shall we have to be intimate with her ? ' asked 
 May. 
 
 ' I desire that she should be treated as a relation,' 
 said the Canon decidedly. ' There is nothing against 
 her character,' and, as his wife was about to interrupt, 
 — ' nothing but an indiscretion to which she was almost 
 driven many years ago. She was cruelly treated, and 
 I for one am heartily sorry for having let myself be 
 guided by others.' 
 
 Mrs. William Egremont felt somewhat complacent, 
 for she knew he meant Lady de Lyonnais, and there 
 certainly had been no love lost between her and her 
 step - children's grandmother; but she was a sensible 
 woman, and forbore to speak, though there was a mental 
 reservation that intimacy would a good deal depend 
 upon circumstances. Blanche cried out that it was a 
 perfect romance, and May gravely said, ' But is she a 
 lady ? ' 
 
 c A perfect lady,' said Mark. ' Aunt Margaret says 
 so.' 
 
 ' One knows what a perfect lady means,' returned 
 May. 
 
 ' Come, May,' said Mrs. Egremont, ' do not let us
 
 102 NUTTIE'S FATHER. [chap. 
 
 begin with a prejudice. By all accounts the poor thing 
 has conducted herself with perfect respectability all this 
 time. What did you tell me, Mark ? She has been 
 living with an aunt, keeping a school at Micklethwayte.' 
 
 ' Not quite,' said Mark. ' She has been acting as a 
 daily governess. She seemed to be on friendly terms 
 with the clerical folk. I came across the name at a 
 school feast, or something of the kind, which came off 
 in the Kirkalclys' park.' 
 
 ' Oh, then, I know exactly the sort of person ! ' re- 
 turned May, pursing up her lips. 
 
 Mark laughed and said, f I wonder whether it is 
 too soon to go up and see them. I wonder what my 
 uncle thinks of his daughter.' 
 
 ' What ! You don't mean to say there is a 
 daughter ? ' cried May. 
 
 ' Even so. And exactly like you too, Miss May.' 
 
 ' Then you are cut out, Mark ! ' 
 
 ' You are cut out, I think, May. You'll have to 
 give her all your Miss Egremont cards.' 
 
 ' No,' said the young lady ; ' mother made me have 
 my Christian name printed. She said all but the 
 daughters of the head of the family ought to have it 
 so. I'm glad of it.' 
 
 * How old is she ? ' asked Blanche. 
 
 ' About a year younger than you.' 
 
 1 I think it is very interesting,' said Blanche. 
 ' How wonderful it must all be to her ! I will go up 
 with you, Mark, as soon as I can get ready.' 
 
 ' You had better wait till later in the day, Blanche,'
 
 x.] BRIDGEFIELD EGREMONT. 103 
 
 said the mother. She knew the meeting was inevit- 
 able, but she preferred having it under her own eye, if 
 she could not reconnoitre. 
 
 She was a just and sensible woman, who felt repar- 
 ation due to the newly-discovered sister-in-law, and 
 that harmony, or at least the appearance of it, must 
 be preserved ; but she was also exclusive and fastidi- 
 ous by nature, and did not look forward to the needful 
 intercourse with much satisfaction either on her own 
 account or that of her family. 
 
 She told Mark to say that she should come to see 
 Mrs. Egremont after luncheon, since he was determined 
 to go at once, and moreover to drag his father with 
 him. Canon Egremont was a good and upright man, 
 according to his lights, which were rather those of a 
 well-beneficed clergyman of the first than of the last 
 half of the century, intensified perhaps that the passive 
 voice was the strongest in him. All the country knew 
 that Canon Egremont could be relied on to give a 
 prudent, scholarly judgment, and to be kind and liberal, 
 when once induced to stir mind or body — but how to do 
 that was the problem. He had not been a young man 
 at the time of his first marriage, and was only a few 
 years' junior to his brother, though he had the fresh, 
 wholesome look of a man who kept regular hours and 
 lived much in the air. 
 
 Alice knew him at once, and thought eighteen 
 years had made little change, as, at Nuttie's call to her, 
 she looked from the window and saw the handsome, 
 dignified, gray -haired, close -shaven rosy face, and the
 
 104 XUTTIE'S FATHER. [chap. 
 
 clerical garb unchanged in favour of long coats and 
 high waistcoats. 
 
 The mother and daughter were exploring the house 
 together. Mr. Egremont had made it known that he 
 preferred having his breakfast alone, and not being 
 disturbed in the forenoon. So the two ladies had 
 breakfasted together at nine, the earliest hour at which 
 they could prevail on the household to give them a 
 meal. Indeed Nuttie had slept till nearly that time, 
 for between excitement and noise, her London slumbers 
 had been broken ; and her endeavour to keep Mickle- 
 thwayte hours had resulted in a long, weary, hungry 
 time in the sitting-room of the hotel, with nothing to 
 do, when the gaze from the window palled on her, but 
 to write to her aunt and Mary Nugent. The rest of 
 the day had been spent in driving about in a brougham 
 with her mother shopping, and this she could not but 
 enjoy exceedingly, more than did the timid Mrs. Egre- 
 mont, who could not but feel herself weighted with 
 responsibility ; and never having had to spend at the 
 utmost more than ten pounds at a time, felt be- 
 wildered at the cheques put into her hands, and then 
 was alarmed to find them melting away faster than 
 she expected. 
 
 There was a very late dinner, after which Mr. 
 Egremont, on the first day, made his wife play Uzique 
 with him. She enjoyed it, as a tender reminiscence 
 of the yachting days ; but Nuttie found herself de 
 trop, and was reduced to the book she had contrived 
 to purchase on her travels. The second night Mr.
 
 x.] BRIDGEFIELD EGREMONT. 105 
 
 Egremont had picked up two friends, not yet gone out 
 of town, whose talk was of horses and of yachts, quite 
 incomprehensible to the ladies. They were very 
 attentive to Mrs. Egremont, whom they evidently ad- 
 mired, one so visibly as to call up a blush ; but they 
 disregarded the daughter as a schoolgirl. Happily 
 they appeared no more after the dinner ; but Nuttie's 
 first exclamation of astonished disgust was silenced at 
 once by her mother with unusual determination, ' You 
 must not speak so of your father's friends.' 
 
 ' Not when ' 
 
 ' Not at all,' interrupted Mrs. Egremont. 
 
 The only sense of promotion to greatness that 
 Ursula had yet enjoyed was in these fine clothes, and 
 the maid whom Lady Kirkaldy had recommended, a 
 grave and severe-looking person, of whom both stood 
 somewhat in awe. The arrival at Bridgefield had 
 been too late for anything to be taken in but a general 
 impression of space and dreariness, and the inevitable 
 dinner of many courses, after which Nuttie was so 
 tired out that her mother sent her to bed. 
 
 Since the waking she had made some acquaintance 
 with the house. There was no show of domestics, no 
 curtseying housekeeper to parade the new mistress 
 over the house ; Mr. Egremont had told his wife that 
 she must fill up the establishment as she pleased, but 
 that there was an admirable cook downstairs, and he 
 would not have her interfered with — she suited his 
 tastes as no one else did, and she must be left to deal 
 with the provisions and her own underlings. There
 
 106 NUTTIE'S FATHER. [chap. 
 
 was a stable establishment, and a footman had been 
 hired in town, but there was besides only one untidy- 
 looking housemaid, who began by giving warning ; and 
 Alice and Nuttie had roamed about without meeting 
 any one from the big wainscotted dining-room with 
 faded crimson curtains and family portraits, the older 
 grimy, the younger chalky, to the two drawing-rooms, 
 whose gilding and pale blue damask had been pre- 
 served by pinafores of brown holland ; the library, 
 which looked and smelt as if Mr. Egremont was in 
 the habit of sitting there, and a big billiard-room, all 
 opening into a shivery -feeling hall, with Scagliola 
 columns and a few dirty statues between them ; then 
 upstairs to a possible morning-room, looking out over 
 a garden lawn, where mowing was going on in haste, 
 and suites of dreary shut-up fusty bed-rooms. Nuttie, 
 who had notions of choosing her own bower, could not 
 make up her mind which looked the least inviting. 
 It did not seem as if girls could ever have laughed 
 together, or children clattered up and down the stairs. 
 Mrs. Egremont begged her to keep possession for the 
 present at least of the chamber where the grim 
 housemaid had chosen to put her, and which had the 
 advantage of being aired. 
 
 The two windows looked out over the park, and 
 thence it was that while Morris, the maid, was un- 
 packing and putting away the new purchases, and 
 Nuttie was standing, scarcely realising that such pretty 
 hats and bonnets could be her very own, when her 
 mother beheld the canon and Mark advancing up the
 
 x.] BEIDGEFIELD EGREMONT. 107 
 
 drive. It was with a great start that she called 
 Ursula to come down directly with her, as no one 
 would know where to find them, hastily washing the 
 hands that had picked up a sense of dustiness during 
 the exploration, and taking a comprehensive glance in 
 the cheval glass, which showed her some one she felt- 
 entirely unfamiliar to her in a dainty summer costume 
 of pale gray silk picked out with a mysterious shade 
 of pink. Ursula too thought Miss Egremont's outer 
 woman more like a Chelsea shepherdess than Xuttie's 
 true self, as she tripped along in her buckled shoes 
 and the sea green stockings that had been sent home 
 with her skirt. With crimson cheeks and a throbbing 
 heart, Alice was only just at the foot of the stairs 
 when the newcomers had made their way in, and the 
 kind Canon, ignoring all that was past, held out his 
 hands saying, 'Well, my dear, I am glad to see you 
 here/ kissing Mrs. Egremont on each cheek. ' And so 
 this is your daughter. How do you do, my dear — 
 Ursula ? Isn't that your name ? ' And Ursula had 
 again to submit to a kiss, much more savoury and 
 kindly than her father's, though very stubbly. And 
 oh 1 her uncle's dress was like that of no one she had 
 ever seen except the rector of the old church, the 
 object of unlimited contempt to the adherents of St. 
 Ambrose's. 
 
 As to Mark, he only kissed his aunt, and shook 
 hands with her, while his father ran on with an un- 
 usual loquacity that was a proof of nervousness in 
 him.
 
 108 NUTTIE'S FATHER. [chap. 
 
 ' Mrs. Egremont — Jane, I mean — will be here 
 after lnnclieon. She thought you would like to get 
 settled in first. How is Alwyn ? Is he down yet ? ' 
 
 1 1 will see/ in a trembling voice. 
 
 ' Oh no, never mind, Alwyn hates to be disturbed 
 till he has made himself up in the morning. My call 
 is on you, you know. Where are you sitting V 
 
 'I don't quite know. In the drawing-room, I 
 suppose.' 
 
 The Canon, knowing the house much better than 
 she did, opened a door into a third drawing-room she 
 had not yet seen, a pretty little room, fitted up with 
 fluted silk, like a tent, somewhat faded but not much 
 the worse for that, and opening into a conservatory, 
 which seemed to have little in it but some veteran 
 orange trees. Nuttie, however, exclaimed with pleasure 
 at the nicest room she had seen, and Mark began 
 unfastening the glass door that led into it. Meantime 
 Alice, with burning cheeks and liquid eyes, nerved her 
 voice to say, ' Oh, sir — Mr. Egremont — please forgive 
 me ! I know now how wrong I was.' 
 
 1 Xonsense, my dear. Bygones are bygones. You 
 were far more sinned against than sinning, and have 
 much to forgive me. There, my dear, we will say no 
 more about it, nor think of it either. I am only too 
 thankful that poor Alwyn should have some one to 
 look after him.' 
 
 Alice, who had dreaded nothing more than the 
 meeting with her former master, was infinitely relieved 
 and grateful for this kindness. She had ejaculated,
 
 x.] BRIDGEFIELD EGEEMOXT. 109 
 
 * Oh, you are so good !' in the midst, and now at 
 the mention of her husband, she exclaimed, ' Oh ! 
 do you think he is ill ? I can't help being afraid 
 he is, but he will not tell me, and does not like to 
 be asked.' 
 
 1 Poor fellow, he has damaged his health a good 
 deal,' was the answer. ' He had a sharp attack in 
 the spring, but he has pretty well got over it, and 
 Eaikes told me there was no reason for uneasiness, 
 provided he would be careful; and that will be a 
 much easier matter now. I should not wonder if we 
 saw him with quite a renewed youth.' 
 
 So the Canon and Mrs. Egremont were getting on 
 pretty well together, but there was much more stiff- 
 ness and less cordiality between the two cousins, 
 although Mark got the window open into the con- 
 servatory, and showed Nuttie the way into the garden, 
 advising her to ask Eonaldson, the gardener, to 
 fill the conservatory with flowers. The pavilion, as 
 this little room was called, always seemed to have 
 more capacities for being lived in than any other room 
 in the house. It had been fitted up when such things 
 were the fashion for the shortlived bride of ' our great 
 uncle.' 
 
 ' The colour must have been awful then,' said Mark, 
 looking up at it, ' enough to set one's teeth on edge ; 
 but it has faded into something quite orthodox — much 
 better than could be manufactured for you.' 
 
 Mark had evidently some ideas of art, and was 
 besides inclined to do the honours to the stranger;
 
 110 XUTTIE'S FATHER. [chap. 
 
 but Nuttie was not going to encourage him or any- 
 body else to make up to her, while she had that look of 
 Gerard Godfrey's in her mind's eye. So she made small 
 answer, and he felt rebuffed, but supposed her shy, 
 and wondered when he could go back to her mother, 
 who was so much more attractive. 
 
 Presently his father went off to storm the den of 
 the master of the house, and there was a pleasant 
 quarter of an hour, during which the three went out 
 through the conservatory, and Mark showed the ins- 
 and-outs of the garden, found out Eonaldson, and con- 
 gratulated him on having some one at last to appreciate 
 his flowers, begging him to make the conservatory 
 beautiful. And Mrs. Egremont's smile was so effective 
 that the Scot forthwith took out his knife and pre- 
 sented her with the most precious of the roses within 
 his reach. 
 
 Moreover Mark told the names and ages of all his 
 sisters, whole and half. He was the only son, except 
 a little fellow in the nursery. And he exhorted his 
 aunt not to be afraid of his step-mother, who was a 
 most excellent person, he declared, but who never 
 liked to see any one afraid of her. 
 
 There was something a little alarming in this, but 
 on the whole the visit was very pleasant and encourag- 
 ing to Mrs. Egremont; and she began rejoicing over 
 the kindness as soon as the Canon had summoned his 
 son, and they had gone away together. 
 
 ' I am sure you must be delighted with your uncle 
 and cousin, my dear,' she said.
 
 x.] BRIDGEFIELD EGEEMOXT. Ill 
 
 1 He's not a bit my notion of a priest/ returned 
 Nuttie. 'And I don't believe he has any daily 
 prayers ! ' 
 
 'He is old-fashioned, my clear.' 
 
 ' One of the stodgey old clergymen in books/ ob- 
 served Nuttie. ' I didn't think there were any of that 
 sort left.' 
 
 ' Oh, my dear, pray don't take fancies into your 
 head ! He is a very, very good man, and has been 
 most kind to me, far more than I deserve, and he is 
 your uncle, Nuttie. I do so hope you will get on well 
 with your cousins.' 
 
 Here a gong, a perfectly unknown sound to Nuttie, 
 made itself heard, and rather astonished her by the 
 concluding roar. The two ladies came out into the 
 hall as Mr. Egremont was crossing it. He made 
 an inclination of the head, and uttered a sort of 
 good morning to his daughter, but she was perfectly 
 content to have no closer salutation. Having a 
 healthy noonday appetite, her chief wish was at 
 the moment that those beautiful little cutlets, 
 arranged in a crown form, were not so very tiny ; or 
 that, with two men-servants looking on, it were pos- 
 sible to attain to a second help, but she had already 
 learnt that Gregorio would not hear her, and that 
 any attempt to obtain more food frightened her 
 mother. 
 
 ' So his reverence has been to see you/ observed 
 Mr. Egremont. ' William, if you like it better.' 
 
 ' Oh yes, and he was kindness itself ! '
 
 112 nuttie's fathee. [CHAP. 
 
 'And how did Master Mark look at finding I 
 could dispense with his assistance ? ' 
 
 ' I think he is very glad.' 
 
 Mr. Egremont laughed. ' You are a simple woman, 
 Edda ! The pose of virtuous hero was to have been 
 full compensation for all that it might cost him ! And 
 no doubt he looks for the reward of virtue likewise.' 
 
 Wherewith he looked full at Ursula, who, to her 
 extreme vexation, felt herself blushing up to the ears. 
 She fidgeted on her chair, and began a most untrue 
 
 ' I'm sure ' for, indeed, the poor girl was sure of 
 
 nothing, but that her father's manner was most uncom- 
 fortable to her. His laugh choked whatever she might 
 have said, which perhaps was well, and her mother's 
 cheeks glowed as much as hers did. 
 
 ' Did the Canoness — Jane, I mean — come up ? ' Mr. 
 Egremont went on. 
 
 ' Mrs. Egremont ? JSTo ; she sent word that she is 
 coming after luncheon.' 
 
 ' Hm ! Then I shall ride out and leave you to her 
 majesty. Now look you, Alice, you are to be very 
 careful with William's wife. She is a Condamine, you 
 know, and thinks no end of herself ; and your position 
 among the women-folk of the county depends more on 
 how she takes you up than anything else. But that 
 doesn't mean that you are to let her give herself airs 
 and domineer over you. Eemember you are the elder 
 brother's wife — Mrs. Egremont of Bridgefield Egremont 
 — and she is nothing but a parson's wife, and I won't 
 have her meddling in my house. Only don't you be
 
 x.] BRIDGEFIELD EGREMOXT. 113 
 
 absurd and offend her, for she can do more for or 
 against you in society than any one else — more's the 
 pity!' 
 
 ' Oh ! won't you stay and help me receive her ? ' 
 exclaimed the poor lady, utterly confused by these 
 contrary directions. 
 
 ' Not I ! I can't abide the woman ! nor she me ! ' 
 He added, after a moment, ' You will do better without 
 me.' 
 
 So he went out for his ride, and Ursula asked, 
 1 Oh, mother ! what will you do ? ' 
 
 'The best I can, my dear. They are good people, 
 and are sure to be kinder than I deserve.' 
 
 ISTuttie was learning that her mother would never 
 so much as hear, far less answer, a remark on her 
 husband. It was beginning to make a sore in the 
 3/oung heart that a barrier was thus rising, where there 
 once had been as perfect oneness and confidence as 
 could exist between two natures so dissimilar, though 
 hitherto the unlikeness had never made itself felt. 
 
 Mrs. Egremont turned the conversation to the 
 establishing themselves in the pavilion, whither she 
 proceeded to import some fancy-work that she had 
 bought in London, and sent ISTuttie to Eonaldson, who 
 was arranging calceolarias, begonias, and geraniums in 
 the conservatory, to beg for some cut-flowers for a 
 great dusty-looking vase in the centre of the table. 
 
 These were being arranged when Mrs. William 
 Egremont and Miss Blanche Egremont were ushered 
 in, and there were the regular kindred embraces, after 
 
 VOL. 1. 1
 
 114 NUTTIE'S FATHER. [cHAr. 
 
 which Alice and Nuttie were aware of a very hand- 
 some, dignified -looking lady, well though simply 
 dressed in what was evidently her home costume, with 
 a large shady hat and feather, her whole air curiously 
 fitting the imposing nickname of the Canoness. 
 Blanche was a slight, delicate-looking, rather pretty 
 girl in a lawn-tennis dress. The visitor took the part 
 of treating the newcomers as well-established relations. 
 
 ' We would not inundate you all at once,' she said, 
 ' but the children are all very eager to see their cousin. 
 I wish you would come down to the Eectory with me. 
 My ponies are at the door. I would drive you, and 
 Ursula might walk with Blanche.' And, as Alice 
 hesitated for a moment, considering how this might 
 agree with the complicated instructions that she had 
 received, she added, ' Never mind Alwyn. I saw him 
 going off just before I came up, and he told William 
 he was going to look at some horses at Hale's, so he 
 is disposed of for a good many hours.' 
 
 Alice decided that her husband would probably 
 wish her to comply, and she rejoiced to turn her 
 daughter in among the cousins, so hats, gloves, and 
 parasols were fetched, and the two mothers drove 
 away with the two sleek little toy ponies. By which it 
 may be perceived that Mrs. William Egremont's first 
 impressions were favourable. 
 
 ' It is the shortest way through the gardens,' said 
 Blanche. ' Have you been through them yet ? ' 
 
 ' Mark walked about with us a little.' 
 
 ' You'll improve them ever so much. There are
 
 X.] BRIDGEFIELD EGREMOXT. 115 
 
 great capabilities. Look, you could have four tennis 
 courts on this one lawn. We wanted to have a garden- 
 party up here last year, and father said we might, but 
 mother thought Uncle Alwyn might think it a liberty ; 
 but now you'll have some delicious ones ? Of course 
 you play lawn-tennis ? ' 
 
 1 1 have seen it a very few times,' said ISTuttie. 
 
 ' Oh, we must teach you ! Fancy living without 
 lawn-tennis ! ' said Blanche. ' I always wonder what 
 people did without it. Only' — with an effort at 
 antiquarianism — ( I believe they had croquet.' 
 
 'Aunt Ursula says there wern't garden-parties 
 before croquet came in.' 
 
 ' How dreadful, Ursula ! Your name's Ursula, isn't 
 it ? Haven't you some jolly little name to go by ? ' 
 
 'Nuttie.' 
 
 1 Nuttie ! That's scrumptious ! I'll call you Xuttie, 
 and you may call me Pussycat.' 
 
 ' That's not so nice as Blanche.' 
 
 ' Mother won't have me called so when strangers 
 are there, but you aren't a stranger, you know. You 
 must tell me all about yourself, and how you came 
 never to learn tennis !' 
 
 ' I had something else to do,' said Nuttie, with 
 dignity. 
 
 ' Oh, you were in the schoolroom ! I forgot. 
 Poor little Nuts ! ' 
 
 c At school,' said Ursula. 
 
 ' Ah, I remember ! But you're out now, aren't 
 you ? I've been out since this spring. Mother won't
 
 116 nuttie's FATHER. [chap. 
 
 let us come out till we are eighteen, isn't it horrid ? 
 And we were so worked there ! I can tell you a 
 finishing governess is an awful institution ! Poor little 
 Rosie and Adey will be in for one by and by. At pre- 
 sent they've only got a jolly little Fraulein that they 
 can do anything they please with.' 
 
 ' Oh, I wonder if she would tell me of some Ger- 
 man books !' 
 
 ' You don't mean that you want to read German !' 
 and Blanche stood still, and looked at her cousin in 
 astonishment. 
 
 'Why, what else is the use of learning it ?' 
 
 ' Oh, I don't know. Every one does. If one went 
 abroad or to court, you know,' said Blanche vaguely ; 
 but Ursula had now a fresh subject of interest ; for, 
 on emerging from the shrubbery, they came in sight of 
 a picturesque but not very architectural church, which 
 had the smallest proportion of wall and the largest of 
 roof, and a pretty oriel-windowed schoolhouse covered 
 with clematis. Nuttie rushed into inquiries about 
 services and schools, and was aghast at hearing of 
 mere Sundays and saints' days. 
 
 ' Oh no ! father isn't a bit Ritualistic. I wish he 
 was, it would be so much prettier ; and then he always 
 advertises for curates of moderate views, and they are 
 so stupid. You never saw such a stick as we have got 
 now, Mr. Edwards ; and his wife isn't a lady, I'm sure.' 
 
 Then as to schools, it was an absolute amazement 
 to Nuttie to find that the same plans were in force as 
 had prevailed when her uncle had come to the living
 
 x.] BPJDGEFIELD EGREMOXT. 117 
 
 and built that pretty house — nay, were kept up at his 
 sole expense, because he liked old-fashioned simplicity, 
 and did not choose to be worried with Government 
 inspection. 
 
 ' And,' said Blanche, ' every one says our girls work 
 ever so much better, and make nicer servants than 
 those that are crammed with all sorts of nonsense not 
 fit for them.' 
 
 As to the Sunday school. ' Mother and the curate 
 take care of that. I'm sure, if you like it, you can 
 have my class, for I always have a headache there, 
 and very often I can't go. Only May pegs away at 
 it, and she won't let me have the boys, who are the 
 only jolly ones, because she says I spoil them. But 
 you must be my friend — mind, Xuttie, not May's, for 
 we are nearer the same age. When is your birthday ? 
 You must put it down in my book !' 
 
 Xuttie, who had tolerable experience of making 
 acquaintance with new girls, was divided between a 
 sense of Blanche's emptiness, and the warmth excited 
 by her friendliness, as well as of astonishment at all 
 she heard and saw. 
 
 Crossing the straggling, meandering village street, 
 the cousins entered the grounds of the Eectory, an 
 irregular but well-kept building of the soft stone 
 of the country, all the garden front of it a deep 
 verandah that was kept open in summer, but closed 
 with glass frames in the winter — flower-beds lying 
 before it, and beyond a lawn where the young folk 
 were playing at the inevitable lawn-tennis.
 
 118 nuttie's FATHER. [chap. 
 
 Margaret was not so pretty as Blanche, but had a 
 more sensible face, and her welcome to Ursula was 
 civil but reserved. Rosalind and Adela were bright 
 little things, in quite a different style from their half- 
 sisters, much lighter in complexion and promising to 
 be handsomer women. They looked full of eager- 
 ness and curiosity at the new cousin, whom Blanche 
 set down on a bank, and proceeded to instruct in 
 the mysteries of the all-important game by comments 
 and criticisms on the players. 
 
 As soon as Mark and Adela had come out con- 
 querors, Ursula was called on to take her first lesson. 
 May resigned her racket, saying she had something to 
 do, and walked off the field, and carrying off with her 
 Adela, who, as Blanche said, ' had a spine,' and was 
 ordered to lie down for an hour every afternoon. The 
 cheerfulness with which she went spoke well for the 
 training of the family. 
 
 Nuttie was light-footed and dexterous handed, and 
 accustomed to active amusements, so that, under the 
 tuition of her cousins, she became a promising pupil, 
 and thawed rapidly, even towards Mark. 
 
 She was in the midst of her game when the two 
 mothers came out, for the drive had been extended all 
 round the park, under pretext of showing it to its new 
 mistress, but really to give the Canoness an oppor- 
 tunity of judging of her in a tete-a-tete. Yet that 
 sensible woman had asked no alarming questions on 
 the past, still less had offered any advice that could 
 seem like interference. She had only named localities,
 
 x.] BPJDGEFIELD EGREMOXT. 119 
 
 mentioned neighbours, and made little communications 
 about the ways of the place such as might elicit remarks ; 
 and, as Alice's voice betrayed less and less constraint, 
 she ventured on speaking of their daughters, so as to 
 draw forth some account of how Ursula might have 
 been educated. 
 
 And of this, Alice was ready and eager to talk, telling 
 how clever and how industrious iSTuttie had always been, 
 and how great an advantage Miss ISTugent's kindness 
 was, and how she was hoping to go up for the Cam- 
 bridge examination ; then, detecting some doubt in her 
 companion's manner, she said, ' It would be a great 
 disappointment to her not to do so now. Do you 
 think she had better not ? ' 
 
 1 1 don't think she will find time to go on with the 
 preparation ! And, to tell the truth, I don't think we 
 are quite ripe for such things in this county. We are 
 rather backward, and Ursula, coming in fresh upon us, 
 might find it a disadvantage to be thought much 
 cleverer than other people.' 
 
 ' Ah ! I was not quite sure whether her father 
 would like it.' 
 
 ' I do not think he would. I am sure that if my 
 little Eose were to take it into her head, I should 
 have hard work to get her father's consent, though no 
 doubt the world will have progressed by the time she 
 is old enough.' 
 
 'That settles it,' said Alice. ' Thank you, Mrs. 
 Egremont. I own,' she added presently, ' that I do 
 somewhat regret that it cannot be, for I thought that
 
 120 NUTTIE'S FATHER. [chap. 
 
 a motive for keeping up her studies would be helpful 
 to my child ; — I do not mean for the sake of the 
 studies, but of the — the balance in all this change and 
 novelty.' 
 
 'You are quite right, I have felt it myself,' said 
 her sister-in-law. ' Perhaps something could be done 
 by essay societies. May belongs to one, and if 
 Ursula is an intellectual girl, perhaps you could keep 
 her up to some regular employment in the morning. 
 I succeeded in doing so when May came out, but I 
 can accomplish nothing regular but music with Blanche; 
 and an hour's steady practice a day is better than 
 nothing.' 
 
 The drive was on the whole a success, and so was 
 the tea-drinking in the verandah, where Aunt Alice 
 and little five-years old Basil became fast friends and 
 mutual admirers ; the Canon strolled out and was in- 
 stalled in the big, cushioned basket-chair that crackled 
 under his weight ; Blanche recounted Nuttie's successes, 
 and her own tennis engagements for the week ; Mark 
 lay on a rug and teased her, and her dachshund ; Nuttie 
 listened to the family chatter as if it were a play, and 
 May dispensed the cups, and looked grave and 
 severe. 
 
 ' Well ? ' said the Canon anxiously, when Mark, 
 Blanche, and little Basil had insisted on escorting the 
 guests home, and he and his wife were for a few 
 minutes Ute-a-Utc. 
 
 * It might have been much worse,' said the lady. 
 ' She is a good little innocent thing, and has more
 
 x.] BRIDGEFIELD EGREMOXT. 121 
 
 good sense than I expected. Governessy, that's all, 
 but she will shake out of that/ 
 
 ' Of course she will. It's the best thing imaginable 
 for Alwyn ! ' 
 
 His wife kept back the words, ' A .hundred times 
 too good for Alwyn !'
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 LAWN -TENNIS. 
 
 ' Madam, the guests are come, supper served up, 
 My young lady asked for ! ' — Romeo and Juliet. 
 
 A garden-party, Mrs. William Egremont decided, 
 would be the best mode of testifying her approbation 
 of her sister-in-law, and introducing the newcomers to 
 the neighbourhood. So the invitations were sent 
 forth for an early day of the coming week. 
 
 From how many points of view was Mrs. William 
 Egremont's garden-party regarded, and how different ! 
 There was Basil, to whom it meant wearing his velvet 
 suit and eating as many ices as mother would allow. 
 To Blanche, it was an occasion for triumph on the tennis 
 ground for herself, and for hopes for her pupil ; and 
 Ursula herself looked forward to it and practised for 
 it like a knight for his first encounter in the lists, her 
 sole care being to distinguish herself with her racket. 
 To her mother, it was an ordeal, where she trusted not 
 to be a mortification to her husband and his family ; 
 while to the hostess, it was a not unwelcome occasion
 
 chap, xi.] LAWN-TENNIS. 123 
 
 of exercising honest diplomacy and tact, not without a 
 sense of magnanimity. To May, it was a bore to be 
 endured with dutiful philosophy ; to her good-natured 
 father an occasion for hospitality, where he trusted 
 that his brother would appear, and appear to advantage, 
 and was ready even to bribe him thereto with that 
 wonderful claret that Alwyn had always envied, and 
 declared to be wasted on a parson. And Mark, per- 
 haps he viewed the occasion with different eyes 
 from any one else. At any rate, even the denizens of 
 Bridgefield mustered there with as many minds as 
 Scott ascribes to the combatants of Bannockburn, and 
 there were probably as many other circles of feeling 
 more or less intersecting one another among the more 
 distant guests, most of them, however, with the same 
 feeling of curiosity as to what this newly-discovered 
 wife and daughter of Alwyn Egremont might be 
 like. 
 
 Externally, in her rich black silk, trimmed with 
 point lace, and her little straw-coloured bonnet with 
 its tuft of feathery grass and blue cornflower, she was 
 so charming that her daughter danced round her, 
 crying, ' mammy, mammy, if they could but see you 
 at home ! ' — then, at a look : ' Well then — Aunt Ursel, 
 and Miss Mary, and Mr. Dutton ! ' 
 
 Xuttie was very much pleased with her own 
 pretty tennis dress ; but she had no personal vanity for 
 herself, only for her mother. The knowledge that she 
 was no beauty was no grievance to her youthful spirits ; 
 but when her father surveyed them in the hall, she
 
 124 NUTTIE'S FATHER. [chap. 
 
 looked for his verdict for her mother as if their re- 
 lations were reversed. 
 
 1 Ha ! Well, you certainly are a pretty creature, 
 Edda,' he said graciously. ' You'll pass muster ! You 
 want nothing but style. And, hang it ! you'll do just 
 as well without it, if the Canoness will only do you 
 justice. Eaces like that weren't given for nothing.' 
 
 She blushed incarnadine and accepted one of his 
 kisses with a pleasure, at which Nuttie wondered, her 
 motherly affection prompting her to murmur in his ear — 
 
 ' And Ursula ? ' 
 
 ' She'll not cut you out ; but she is Egremont 
 enough to do very fairly. Going already ? ' 
 
 ' If you would come with us,' she said wistfully, to 
 the horror of Nuttie, who was burning to be at the 
 beginning of all the matches. 
 
 ' I ? oh no ! I promised old Will to look in, but 
 that won't be till late in the day, or I shall have to 
 go handing all the dowagers into the dining-room to 
 tea,' 
 
 ' Then I think we had better go on. They asked 
 us to come early, so as to see people arrive and know 
 who they are.' 
 
 Tliey was a useful pronoun to Alice, who felt it a 
 liberty to call her grand-looking sister-in-law, Jane — 
 was too well-bred to term her Mrs. William. 
 
 The mother and daughter crossed the gardens, 
 Kuttie chattering all the way about the tennis tactics 
 she had picked up from Blanche, while her mother 
 answered her somewhat mechanically, wondering, as her
 
 xi.] LAWN-TENNIS. 125 
 
 eye fell on the square squat gray church tower, what 
 had become of the earnest devotion to church work 
 and intellectual pursuits that used to characterise the 
 girl. True, always both mother and daughter had 
 hitherto kept up their church-going, and even their 
 Sunday-school habits, nor had any hindrance come in 
 their way, Mr. Egremont apparently acquiescing in what 
 he never shared. But these things seemed, in Ursula's 
 mind, to have sunk out of the proportion they held at 
 Bridgefield, no longer to be the spirit of a life, but 
 mere Sunday duties and occupations. 
 
 Was this wicked world getting a hold of the poor 
 child ? Which was duty ? which was the world ? 
 This was the thought that perplexed Alice, too simple 
 as yet to perceive that Ursula's former absorption had 
 been in the interests that surrounded her and her 
 companions, exactly as they were at present, and that 
 the real being had yet to work itself out. 
 
 For herself, Alice did not think at all. She was 
 rejoicing in her restored husband, and his evident 
 affection. Her duty towards him was in her eyes 
 plain. She saw, of course, that he had no religion, 
 but she accepted the fact like that of bad weather ; she 
 loved him, and she loved her daughter ; she said her 
 prayers with all her heart for them, she hoped, and 
 she did her best, without trying to go below the surface. 
 
 There was the Eectory gate wide open. There was 
 Basil rushing up to greet his dear Aunt Alice, there 
 were all the windows and doors of the Eectory open, 
 and the nearer slopes covered with chairs and
 
 126 NUTTIE'S FATHER. [chap. 
 
 seats of all dimensions, some under trees, some um- 
 brelliferous, and glowing Afghan rugs, or spotted 
 skins spread for those who preferred the ground. 
 There was Blanche flitting about wild with excitement, 
 and pouncing on Nuttie to admire her outfit, and 
 reiterate instructions ; there were the two younger 
 girls altering the position of chairs according to their 
 mother's directions ; there were actually two guests — 
 not very alarming ones, only the curate and his wife, 
 both rather gaunt, bony people. He was button-holing 
 the Canon, and she was trying to do the same by the 
 Canoness about some parish casualty. The Canon 
 hoped to escape in the welcome to his sister-in-law 
 and niece, but he was immediately secured again, 
 while his wife found it requisite to hurry off else- 
 where, leaving Mrs. Edwards to tell her story to Mrs. 
 Egremont. In point of fact, Alice really liked the 
 good lady, was quite at ease with her, and felt parish 
 concerns a natural element, so that she gave full heed 
 and attention to the cruelty of Mrs. Parkins' depriving 
 Betsy Butter (with an old father and mother to 
 support) of her family washing, on the ground of a 
 missing pocket handkerchief, the which Mrs. Edwards 
 believed to have been abstracted by the favourite 
 pickle of Miss Blanche's class, if only a confession 
 could be elicited from him when undefended by his 
 furious mother. Mrs. Egremont was listening with 
 actual interest and sympathy to the history of Betsy 
 Butter's struggles, and was inquiring the way to her 
 cottage, when she was called off to be introduced to
 
 XI.] LAWN-TENNIS. 127 
 
 the arrivals who were beginning to flood the lawn. 
 She presently saw May, who had just come down, 
 walking up and down with Mrs. Edwards, evidently 
 hearing the story of the handkerchief. She thought it 
 had been Nuttie for a moment. There was a general 
 resemblance between the cousins that made them be 
 mistaken for one another several times in the course 
 of the day, since their dresses, though not alike, were 
 of the same make and style. 
 
 Thus it was that as ISTuttie was sitting on the grass 
 in earnest contemplation of Blanche's play, a hand 
 was familiarly laid on her shoulder, and a voice said, 
 ' I haven't seen that horrid girl yet S ' 
 
 After so many introductions, Nuttie had little idea 
 whom she knew, or whom she did not know. She 
 looked up and saw a small person in light blue, with the 
 delicate features, transparent skin, and blue eyes that 
 accompany yellow hair, with an indescribable glitter 
 of mirth and joyousness about the whole creature, as 
 if she were part and parcel of the sunbeam in which 
 she stood. 
 
 ' What horrid girl ? ' said Nuttie. 
 
 1 The interloper, the newly-discovered savage, come 
 to upset — Ah!' — with a little shriek — ' It is'nt May! 
 I beg your pardon.' 
 
 1 I'm May's cousin,' said Nuttie, ' Ursula Egremont.' 
 
 ' Oh, oh !' and therewith the fact burst on both 
 girls at once. They stood still a moment in dismay, 
 then the stranger went into a fit of laughter. ' Oh, 
 I beg your pardon ! I can't help it ! It is so funny !'
 
 128 nuttie's FATHER. [chap. 
 
 Nuttie was almost infected, though somewhat hurt. 
 ' Who said I was horrid ?' she asked. 
 
 ' Nobody ! Nobody but me — Annaple Euthven — 
 and they'll all tell you, May and all, that I'm always 
 putting my foot in it. And I never meant that you 
 were horrid — you yourself — you know — only ' 
 
 ' Only nobody wanted us here/ said Nuttie ; ' but 
 we could not help it.' 
 
 ' Of course not. It was shocking, just my way. 
 Please forgive me !' and she looked most pleading. 
 Nuttie held out her hand with something about ' No 
 one could mind ;' and therewith Annaple cried, ' Oh, 
 if you don't mind, we can have our laugh out !' and 
 the rippling laughter did set Nuttie off at once. The 
 peal was not over when May herself was upon them 
 demanding what was the joke. 
 
 ' Oh, there she is ! The real May ! Why,' said 
 Annaple, kissing her, ' only think here I've been and 
 gone and thought this was you, and inquired about 
 — What was it ? — the awful monster — the chimera 
 dire — that Mark had routed up ' 
 
 ' No; you didn't say that,' said Nuttie, half provoked. 
 
 'Never mind what I said. Don't repeat it. I 
 only wish myself and every one else to forget it. Now 
 it is swept to the winds by a good wholesome gig- 
 gling. But what business have you two to be so in- 
 conveniently alike ? You are as bad as the twin 
 Leslies ! ' 
 
 ' There's an old foremother on the staircase in white 
 satin who left her looks to us both,' said May.
 
 xi.] LAWN-TENNIS. 129 
 
 1 You'll have to wear badges/ said Annaple. ' You 
 know -the Leslies were so troublesome that one had to 
 be shipped off to the East Indies and the other to the 
 West.' 
 
 ' They married, that's all/ said May, seeing Nuttie 
 looking mystified ; and at that moment, Blanche's side 
 coming out victorious, Nuttie descended into the arena 
 to congratulate and be asked to form part of the next 
 set. 
 
 'Well, that was a scrape!' said Annaple; 'but she 
 wasn't bad about it ! I must do something to make 
 up for it somehow — get Janet to invite her, but 
 really Janet is in such a state of mind that I am 
 mildness itself compared with her. She would not 
 have come, only John was curious, and declared he 
 should go whether we did or not.' 
 
 ' Ah !' said May, ' I saw him, like the rest of man- 
 kind, at madame's feet.' 
 
 'Oh! is she of that sort?' 
 
 ' No/ said May, ' not at all. Mother and father 
 too both think she is good to the backbone ; but she 
 is very pretty, with just the inane soft sweetness that 
 men rave about — innocent really. All accounts of her 
 are excellent, and she has nice parish ways, and will 
 be as helpful as Uncle Alwyn will let her.' 
 
 • But she couldn't always have been nice ? ' 
 
 'Well, I verily believe it was all Uncle Alwyn's 
 and grandmamma's fault. I know Mark thinks so.' 
 
 1 When the women of a family acquit a woman it 
 goes for something/ said Annaple. ' That's not original, 
 
 VOL. I. K
 
 130 NUTTIE'S FATHER. [chap. 
 
 my dear, I heard old Lady Grosmede say so to Janet 
 when she was deliberating over the invitation, '• For a 
 good deal more than Mr. Mark's, at any rate.'" 
 
 'Mark is very fond of her — the mother, I mean. 
 He says when he was a little fellow her loss was 
 worse to him than even our mother's.' 
 
 ' Do you remember the catastrophe ? ' 
 
 'Not a bit. Only when she is petting Basil it 
 strikes me that I have heard the tones before. I only 
 remember the time of misery under the crosspatches 
 grandmamma got for us.' 
 
 ' Well, it was a splendid cutting of his own throat 
 in Mark,' said Annaple, ' so it ought to turn out well.' 
 
 ' I don't know how it is to turn out for Mark,' 
 answered May. ' Oh, here he comes !' 
 
 ' Will you come into this set, Annaple ? ' he asked. 
 ' They want another couple,' and, as she accepted, 
 ' How do you get on with May's double ?' 
 
 ' I pity May for having such a double.' 
 
 ' Don't encourage her by misplaced pity.' 
 
 ' It's abominable altogether ! I want to fly at some- 
 body!' 
 
 ' Exhaust your feelings on your racket, and reflect 
 that you see a man released from bondage.' 
 
 'Is that philosophy or high-faluting ?' she said in 
 a teasing tone as the game began. 
 
 The Euthvens had very blue blood in their veins, 
 but as there were nine of the present generation, they 
 possessed little beyond their long pedigree ; even the 
 head of the family, Lord Koimisglen, being forced to
 
 xi.] LAWN-TENNIS. 131 
 
 live as a soldier, leaving his castle to grouse shooters. 
 His seven brothers had fared mostly in distant lands as 
 they could, and his mother had found a home, together 
 with her youngest child, at Lescombe, where her eldest 
 was the wife of Sir John Delmar. Lady Eonnisglen 
 was an invalid, confined to the house, and Lady Delmar 
 had daughters fast treading on the heels of Annabella, 
 so christened, but always called Annaple after the old 
 Scottish queens, her ancestors. She had been May 
 Egremont's chief friend ever since her importation at 
 twelve years old, and the intimacy had been promoted 
 by her mother and sister. Indeed, the neighbourhood 
 had looked on with some amusement at the com- 
 petition ascribed to Lady Delmar and to the wealthy 
 parvenu, Mrs. West, for the heir-presumptive of Bridge- 
 field Egremont. 
 
 Annaple's lightness and dexterity rendered her the 
 best of the lady tennis-players, and the less practised 
 Ursula found herself defeated in the match, in spite of 
 a partner whose play was superior to Mark's, and with 
 whom she shyly walked off to eat ices. 
 
 c I see,' said Annaple, ' it is a country-town edition 
 of May. I shan't blunder between them again.' 
 
 ' She will polish,' said Mark, ' but she is not equal 
 to her mother.' 
 
 ' Whom I have not seen yet. Ah, there's Mr. 
 Egremont! Why, he looks quite renovated !' 
 
 ' Well he may be !' 
 
 'But Mark, not to hurt your feelings, he must 
 have behaved atrociously.'
 
 132 NUTTIE'S FATHER. [chap. 
 
 ' I'm not going to deny it/ said Mark. 
 
 ' I always did think he looked like it/ said Annaple. 
 
 1 When have you seen him before V 
 
 ' Only once, but it was my admirable sagacity, you 
 understand ? I always see all the villains in books 
 just on Iris model. Oh, but who's that ? How very 
 pretty ! You don't mean it is she ! Well, she might 
 be the heroine of anything ! ' 
 
 ' Isn't she lovely?' 
 
 'And has she been keeping school like Patience 
 on a monument all these years? It* doesn't seem to 
 have much damaged her damask cheek !' 
 
 'It was only daily governessing. She looks much 
 better than when I first saw her ; and as to the damask 
 — why, that's deepened by the introduction to old Lady 
 Grosmede that is impending/ 
 
 ' She is being walked up to the old Spanish duck 
 with the red rag round her leg to receive her fiat. 
 What a thing it is to be a bearded Dowager, and 
 rule one's neighbourhood !' 
 
 ' I think she approves. She has made room for 
 her by her side. Is she going to catechise her ?' 
 
 Annaple made an absurd sound of mingled pity 
 and disgust. 
 
 ' Not that she — my aunt, I mean — need be afraid. 
 The shame is all on the other side.' 
 
 'And I think Lady Grosmede has too much sense 
 to think the worse of her for having worked for her- 
 self/ added Annaple. ' If it was not for mother I 
 should long to begin !'
 
 xi.] LAWN-TEKNIS. 133 
 
 ' You ? It's a longing well known to me ! — but 
 you!' 
 
 ' Exactly ! As the Irishman felt blue moulded for 
 want of a bating, so do I feel fagged out for want of 
 an honest day's work.' 
 
 ' If one only knew what to turn to/ said Mark 
 so wearily that Annaple exclaimed, 
 
 ' We seem to be in the frozen-out state of mind, and 
 might walk up and down singing " I've got no work 
 to do,'" — to which she gave the well known intonation. 
 
 ' Too true,' said he, joining in the hum. 
 
 • But I thought you were by way of reading law.' 
 
 ' One must see more than only " by way of " in 
 these days to do any good.' 
 
 At that moment Basil ran up with a message that 
 Lady Delmar was ready to go home. 
 
 They walked slowly up the terrace and Mark 
 paused as they came near Mrs. Egremont to say, 
 ' Aunt Alice, here is Miss Euthven, May's great friend.' 
 
 Annaple met a pleasant smile, and they shook 
 hands, exchanging an observation or two, while a little 
 way off Lady Grosmede was nodding her strong old 
 face at Lady Delmar, and saying, ' Tell your mother 
 I'll soon come and see her, my dear. That's a nice 
 little innocent body, lady-like, and thoroughly pre- 
 sentable. Alwyn Egremont might have done worse.' 
 
 'The only wonder is he did not!' returned Lady 
 Delmar. ' They make the best of it here.' 
 
 ' Very good taste of them. But, now I've seen her, 
 I don't believe there's anything behind. Very hard
 
 134 NUTTIE'S FATHER. [chap. xi. 
 
 upon the poor young man, though it was all his doing, 
 his mother says. I congratulate you that it had not 
 gone any farther in that quarter.' 
 
 1 Oh, dear no ! Never dreamt of it. She is May's 
 friend, that's all.' 
 
 Nevertheless Lady Delmar made a second descent 
 in person to hurry Annaple away. 
 
 'Isn't it disgusting?' said May, catching her step- 
 mother's smile. 
 
 ' You will see a good deal more of the same kind,' 
 said the Canoness ; ' I am afraid more mortification is 
 in store for Mark than he guesses. I wish that girl 
 were more like her mother.' 
 
 ' Mamma ! a girl brought up among umbrella- 
 makers ! Just fancy ! Why, she has just nothing 
 in her ! ' 
 
 'Don't set Mark against her, May; he might do 
 worse.' 
 
 1 Her head is a mere tennis ball,' said May, draw- 
 ing her own higher than ever, ' and no one would 
 know her from a shop girl.' 
 
 ' She is young enough,' said the Canoness. ' Don't 
 class me with Lady Delmar, May — I only say — if — 
 and that I don't think you realise the change Mark 
 will feel.' 
 
 ' Better so than sell himself,' muttered May.
 
 CHAPTEE XII. 
 
 OUT OF WORK. 
 
 1 I'm seeking the fruit that's nae growing.' — Ballad. 
 
 Society recognised the newcomers. Lady Grosmede's 
 card appeared the next day, and was followed by 
 showers of others, and everybody asked everybody 
 ' Have you seen Mrs. Egremont V 
 
 It was well for Alice's happiness even at home that 
 she was a success. When Alwyn Egremont had been 
 lashed by his nephew's indignant integrity into tardy 
 recognition of the wife of his youth, it had been as if 
 he had been forced to pick up a flower which he had 
 thrown away. He had considerable doubts whether it 
 would answer. First, he reconnoitred, intending, if 
 he found a homely or faded being, to pension her off; 
 but this had been prevented by her undeniable beauty 
 and grace, bringing up a rush of such tender associa- 
 tions as he was capable of. Yet even then, her posi- 
 tion depended on the impression she might make on 
 those about him, on her own power of self-assertion, 
 and on her contributing to his comfort or pleasure.
 
 136 NUTTIE'S FATHER. [chap. 
 
 Of self-assertion Alice had none, only a gentle 
 dignity in her simplicity, and she was so absolutely 
 devoted to him that he found his house far more 
 pleasant and agreeable for her presence and unfailing 
 attention, though still his estimation of her was in- 
 fluenced more than he owned to himself by that of 
 the world in general, and the Eectory in particular. 
 
 And the Eectory did its part well. The Canon 
 was not only charmed with the gentle lady, but felt an 
 atonement due to her; and his wife, without ever breath- 
 ing into any ears, save his, the mysterious adjective 
 ' governessy,' praised her right and left, confiding to 
 all inquirers the romance of the burnt yacht, the lost 
 bride, and the happy meeting under Lady Kirkaldy's 
 auspices, with the perfect respectability of the inter- 
 mediate career, while such was the universal esteem 
 for, and trust in herself and the Canon, that she was 
 fully believed ; and people only whispered that prob- 
 ably Alwyn Egremont had been excused for the 
 desertion more than he deserved. 
 
 The subject of all this gossip troubled herself about it 
 infinitely less than did the good Canoness. In effect 
 she did not know enough of the world to think about 
 it at all. Her cares were of a different order, chiefly 
 caused by tenderness of conscience, and solicitude to keep 
 the peace between the two beings whom she best loved. 
 
 Two things were in her favour in this latter respect, 
 one that they saw very little of each other, since Mr. 
 Egremont seldom emerged from his own rooms till 
 after luncheon ; and the other that Ursula's brains ran
 
 XII.] OUT OF WORK. 137 
 
 to little but lawu-teunis for the ensuing weeks. To 
 hold a champion's place at the tournaments, neck and 
 neck with her cousin Blanche, and defeat Miss Kuth- 
 ven, and that veteran player, Miss Basset, was her 
 foremost ambition, and the two cousins would have 
 practised morning, noon, and night if their mothers 
 would have let them. There need have been no fear 
 of Ursula's rebellion about the Cambridge honours, 
 she never seemed even to think of them, and would 
 have had no time in the more important competition 
 of rackets. Indeed, it was almost treated as a hard- 
 ship that the pair were forbidden to rush together 
 before twelve o'clock, and that Ursula's mother insisted 
 on rational home occupation until that time, setting 
 the example herself by letter-writing, needlework, and 
 sharing in the music which was a penance to the girl, 
 only enforced by that strong sense of protecting affec- 
 tion which forbade rebellion. But Alice could hope 
 that their performances were pleasant to her husband 
 in the evening, if only to sleep by, and so she persisted 
 in preparing for them. 
 
 Nuttie's rage for tennis, and apparent forgetfulness 
 of her old life and aspirations, might be disappointing, 
 but it conduced to make her mother's task easier than 
 if she had been her original, critical, and protesting 
 self. In the new and brilliant surroundings she 
 troubled herself much less than could have been 
 expected at the failure of her father, his house, nay, 
 and of the parish itself, in coming up to the St. 
 Ambrose standard. How much was owing to mere
 
 138 NUTTIE'S FATHEE. [chap. 
 
 novelty and intoxication, how much to a yet nnanalysed 
 disappointment, how much to May's having thrown her 
 upon the more frivolous Blanche, could not be guessed. 
 The effect was unsatisfactory to her mother, but a 
 certain relief, for Nuttie's aid would have been only 
 mischievous in the household difficulties that weighed 
 on the anxious conscience. Good servants would not 
 stay at Bridgefield Hall for unexplained causes, which 
 their mistress believed to be connected with Gregorio, 
 or with the treasure of a cook-housekeeper over whom 
 she was forbidden to exercise any authority, and who 
 therefore entirely neglected all meals which the master 
 did not share with the ladies. Fortunately, Mr. Egre- 
 mont came in one day at their luncheon and found 
 nothing there but semi-raw beef, upon which there was 
 an explosion ; and being by this time convinced that 
 his wife both would and could minister to his comfort, 
 her dominion was established in the female department, 
 though, as long as Gregorio continued paramount with 
 his master, and the stables remained in their former 
 state, it was impossible to bring matters up to the 
 decorous standard of the Eectory, and if ever his mis- 
 tress gave an order he did not approve, Gregorio over- 
 ruled it as her ignorance. In fact, he treated both the 
 ladies with a contemptuous sort of civility. Meantime 
 Mr. Egremont was generally caressing and admiring in 
 his ways towards his wife, with only occasional bursts 
 of temper when anything annoyed him. He was proud 
 of her, gave her a liberal allowance, and only refused to 
 be troubled ; and she was really happy in his affection,
 
 XII.] OUT OF WORK. 139 
 
 for which she felt a gratitude only too humble in the 
 eyes of her daughter. 
 
 They had parties. Blanche's ambition of tennis 
 courts all over the lawn was fulfilled, and sundry 
 dinners, which were crosses to Alice, who had neither 
 faculty nor training for a leader and hostess, suffered 
 much from the menu, more from the pairing of her 
 guests, more again in catching her chief lady's eye 
 after, and most of all from her husband's scowls and 
 subsequent growls and their consequence, for Ursula 
 broke out, ' It is not fair to blame my mother. How 
 should she have all the savoir-faire, or what you 
 may call it, of Aunt Jane, when she has had no 
 practice ? ' 
 
 ' Perhaps, Mrs. Egremont,' he retorted with extreme 
 suavity, ' you will also attend to your daughter's 
 manners.' Otherwise he took little notice of Ursula, 
 viewing her perhaps, as did the neighbourhood, as a 
 poor imitation of May, without her style, or it may be 
 with a sense that her tongue might become incon- 
 venient if not repressed. When he began to collect 
 sporting guests of his own calibre in the shooting 
 season, the Canoness quietly advised her sister-in-law 
 to regard them as gentlemen's parties, and send Ursula 
 down to spend the evening with her cousins; and to 
 this no objection was made. Mr. Egremont wanted 
 his beautiful wife at the head of his table, and his 
 guests never comported themselves unsuitably before 
 her ; but nobody wanted the unformed girl, and she 
 and Blanche were always happy together.
 
 140 xuttie's FATHEH. [chap. 
 
 The chief restraint was when Mark was at home, 
 and that was not always. He made sundry visits and 
 expeditions, and was altogether in an uncomfortable 
 condition of reaction and perplexity as to his future. 
 He was a good and conscientious fellow, and had never 
 been actually idle, but had taken education and life 
 with the easiness of the prospective heir to a large 
 property ; and though he had acquitted himself credit- 
 ably, it was with no view of making his powers market- 
 able. Though he had been entered at the Temple, it 
 was chiefly in order to occupy himself respectably, 
 and to have a nominal profession, so as not to be 
 wholly dependent on his uncle ; and all that he had 
 acquired was the conviction that it would be half a 
 lifetime, if not a whole one, before the law would 
 afford him a maintenance. 
 
 His father wished him to take Holy Orders with a 
 view to the reversion of the Eectory, but Mark's esti- 
 mate of clerical duty and vocation was just such as to 
 make him shrink from them. He was three-and- 
 twenty, an awkward age for all those examinations 
 that stand as lions in the face of youth intended for 
 almost any sort of service, and seldom or never to be 
 gagged by interest. For one indeed, he went up and 
 failed, and in such a manner as to convince him that 
 cramminsj had more to do than general culture with 
 success. 
 
 He had a certain consciousness that most people 
 thought another way open to him, most decidedly his 
 gentle aunt, and perhaps even his parents. The matter
 
 xii.] OUT OF WORK. 141 
 
 came prominently before him one day at luncheon, 
 when, some parochial affairs being on hand and Mr. 
 Egremont out for the day, Alice, whose free forenoons 
 enabled her to take a share in church and parish affairs, 
 was there, as well as the curate and his wife. • 
 
 These good people were in great commotion about 
 a wedding about to take place between a young farmer 
 and his delicate first cousin, the only survivor of a 
 consumptive family. 
 
 ' " Proputty, proputty," ' quoted the Canon. ' James 
 Johnson is what they call a warm man.' 
 
 ( It is a sin and a shame,' said Mrs. Edwards. 
 ' What can they expect ? George Johnson looks strong 
 enough now, but they tell me his brother undoubtedly 
 died of decline, though they called it inflammation ; but 
 there was tubercular disease.' 
 
 1 1 am afraid it is strong in the family/ said the 
 Canoness, ' they all have those clear complexions ; but I 
 do believe George is heartily in love with poor little 
 Emily.' 
 
 ' First cousins ought to be in the table of degrees,' 
 said Mr. Edwards. 
 
 ' It is always a question whether the multiplying 
 of prohibitions without absolute necessity is expedient,' 
 said the Canon. 
 
 He spoke quite dispassionately, but the excellent 
 couple were not remarkable for tact. Mrs. Edwards 
 gave her husband such a glance of warning and con- 
 sternation as violently inclined May to laugh, and he 
 obediently and hesitatingly began, 'Oh yes, sir, I beg
 
 142 NUTTDS'S FATHER. [cHAr. 
 
 your pardon. Of course there may be instances,' 
 thereby bringing an intense glow of carnation into 
 Alice's cheeks, while the Canon, ready for the occasion, 
 replied, ' And George Johnson considers himself one of 
 them. He will repair the old moat house, I suppose.' 
 
 And his wife, though she would rather have beaten 
 Mrs. Edwards, demanded how many blankets would be 
 wanted that winter. 
 
 The effect of this little episode was that Mark 
 announced to his father that evening his strong desire 
 to emigrate, an intention which the Canon combated 
 with all his might. He was apparently a hale and 
 hearty man, but he had had one or two attacks of 
 illness that made him doubt whether he would be long- 
 lived ; and not only could he not bear to have his eldest 
 son out of reach, but he dreaded leaving his family to 
 such a head as his brother. Mark scarcely thought 
 the reasons valid, considering the rapidity of communi- 
 cation with Canada, but it was not possible to with- 
 stand the entreaties of a father with tears in his eyes ; 
 and though he could not bring himself to consent to 
 preparing to be his father's curate, he promised to do 
 nothing that would remove him to another quarter of 
 the world, and in two or three days more, started for 
 Monks Horton to see what advice his uncle and aunt 
 there could give him ; indeed, Lord Kirkaldy's influ- 
 ence was reckoned on by his family almost as a sure 
 card in the diplomatic line. 
 
 The Kirkaldys were very fond of Mark, and had 
 an odd feeling of being accountable for the discovery
 
 xii.] OUT OF WORK. 143 
 
 which had changed his prospects. They would have 
 done anything for him that they could, but all Lord 
 Kirkaldy's interest was at the foreign office, or with 
 his fellow -diplomates, and here he soon found an 
 insuperable bar. Mark's education had stood still 
 from the time of Miss Headworth's flight till his 
 father's second marriage, his energies having been 
 solely devoted to struggles with the grim varieties of 
 governess purveyed by his grandmother, and he had 
 thus missed all chance of foundation of foreign lan- 
 guages, and when once at school, he had shared in the 
 average English boy's contempt and aversion for the 
 French masters who outscreamed a whole class. 
 
 In consequence, Lord Kirkaldy, an accurate and 
 elegant scholar in European tongues, besides speaking 
 them with the cosmopolitan ease of an ambassador's 
 son, was horrified, not only at Mark's pronunciation, 
 but at his attempts at letter-writing and translation, 
 made with all the good will in the world, but fit for 
 nothing but to furnish the good stories which the kind 
 uncle refrained from telling any one but his wife. 
 L nluckily, too, a Piedmontese family, some of them 
 not strong in their English, were on a visit at Monks 
 Horton, and the dialect in which the old marquis and 
 Mark tried at times to interchange ideas about phea- 
 sants was something fearful. And as in the course of 
 a week Mark showed no signs of improvement in ver- 
 nacular French or Italian, Lord Kirkaldy's conscience 
 would let him give no other advice than that his 
 nephew should stick to English law living still on the
 
 144 NUTTIE'S FATHER. [chap. 
 
 allowance his father gave him, and hoping for one of 
 the chance appointments open to an English barrister 
 of good family and fair ability. 
 
 Of course Mark had gone at once to carry tidings 
 of ' Annt Alice/ as he scrupulously called her, to old 
 Miss Headworth, whom his aunt had continued to 
 visit at intervals. That good lady had given up her 
 boarders, having realised enough to provide for her 
 own old age, and she had joined forces with the 
 ISTugents, Mary being very thankful to have her com- 
 panionship for Mrs. Nugent, who was growing too 
 blind and feeble to be satisfactorily left alone all day. 
 
 Mark delighted the old ladies by Ins visits and 
 accounts of their darling's success and popularity, 
 which he could paint so brightly that they could not 
 help exulting, even though there might be secret mis- 
 givings as to the endurance of these palmy days. He 
 was a great hero in their eyes, and they had too good 
 taste to oppress him with their admiration, so that he 
 really was more at ease in their little drawing-room 
 than anywhere at Monks Horton, whither the Italians 
 could penetrate. The marchesino spoke English very 
 well, but that was all the worse for Mark, since it gave 
 such a sense of inferiority. He was an intelligent man 
 too, bent on being acquainted with English industries of 
 all kinds ; and thus it was that a party was organised 
 to see the umbrella factory. It was conducted by Mr. 
 Dutton, with wdioni Lord Kirkaldy, between charities 
 and public business, had become acquainted. 
 
 To Mark's secret shame, this manufacturer spoke
 
 XII. J 
 
 OUT OF WORK. 14, 
 
 French perfectly, and even got into such a lively con- 
 versation with the old marquis about Cavour, that 
 Lord Kirkaldy begged him to come to dinner and con- 
 tinue it. They were all surprised, not only by the 
 details of the manufacture and the multitude of 
 artizans, male and female, whom it employed, but by 
 the number of warehouse-clerks whom they found at 
 work, and who, it appeared, were in correspondence 
 with agencies and depots in London and all the prin- 
 cipal towns in the kingdom. Gerard Godfrey was 
 there, — casting looks askance at the young Egremont, 
 whom he regarded as a kind of robber. 
 
 The marchesino asked from what class these young 
 men were taken, and Mr. Dutton made reply that 
 most of them were sons of professional men. If they 
 could obtain a small capital and take shares in the 
 business they were encouraged to do so, and rose to 
 the headship of the agencies, obtaining a fair income. 
 
 "And you don't exact an examination,' said Mark. 
 
 ' Except in handwriting and book-keeping,' said 
 Mr. Dutton. 
 
 ' Poor Mark, you look for your bugbear everywhere !' 
 sighed his aunt. 
 
 They went over the Institute, coffee-rooms, eating- 
 rooms, and lodging-houses, by which the umbrella firm 
 strove to keep their hands respectable and contented, 
 and were highly pleased with all, most especially with 
 Mr. Dutton, who, though his name did not come pro- 
 minently forward, had been the prime mover and 
 contriver of all these things, and might have been a 
 
 VOL. I. L
 
 146 nuttie's father. [chap. 
 
 wealthier man if he had not undertaken expenses 
 which he could not charge upon the company. 
 
 Gerard Godfrey came in to Mrs. Nugent's that 
 evening in the lowest spirits. He had a sister married 
 to a curate in the same county with Bridgefield, and 
 she had sent him a local paper which ' understood 
 that a marriage was arranged between Mark de Lyon- 
 nais Egremont, Esquire, and Ursula, daughter of Alwyn 
 Piercefield Egremont, Esquire, of Bridgefield Egremont/ 
 and he could not help coming to display it to Miss 
 Headworth in all its impertinence and prematurity. 
 
 ' Indeed he said nothing to me about it,' said 
 Miss Headworth, ' and I think he would if it had 
 been true.' 
 
 ' No doubt he intends it, and is trying to recom- 
 mend himself through you,' said Gerard. 
 
 'I should not think he needed that,' returned 
 Aunt Ursel, ' though I should be very glad, I am sure. 
 He is an excellent young man, and it is quite the 
 obvious thing.' 
 
 ' People don't always do the obvious thing,' put in 
 Mary Nugent. 
 
 ' Certainly it didn't look like it,' said Miss Head- 
 worth, ' when he told us about the great anuual Hunt 
 Ball at Eedcastle that Nuttie and his sister Blanche 
 are to come out at ; he said he did not intend to go 
 home for it if he could help it.' 
 
 ' Struggling against fate,' said Miss Nugent. 
 
 'The puppy!' burst out Gerard. 
 
 Having ascertained the particulars of this same
 
 xn.] OUT OF WORK. 147 
 
 Hunt Ball, Gerard became possessed with a vehement 
 desire to visit his sister, and so earnestly solicited a 
 few days' leave of absence that it was granted to him. 
 ' Poor boy, he may settle down when he has ascertained 
 what an ass he is,' said Mr. Dutton. 
 
 'Ah!' said Mary. 'I thought he was very bad 
 when I saw he had not changed the green markers 
 for St. Luke's Day.'
 
 CHAPTEK XIII. 
 
 DETRIMENTALS. 
 
 ' That tongue of yours at times wags more than charity allows ; 
 And if you're strong, be merciful, great woman of three cows.' 
 
 J. C. Mangan. 
 
 Nine miles was a severe distance through country 
 lanes in November to go to a ball ; but the Eedcastle 
 Hunt Ball was the ball of the year, uniting all the 
 county magnates; and young ladies were hardly reckoned 
 as ' come out ' till they had appeared there. Mrs. 
 Egremont's position would hardly be established till 
 she had been presented to the notabilities who lived 
 beyond calling intercourse ; and her husband pre- 
 pared himself to be victimised with an amount of 
 grumbling that was intended to impress her with, the 
 magnitude of the sacrifice, but which only made her 
 offer to forego the gaiety, and be told that she would 
 never have any common sense. 
 
 So their carriage led the way, and was followed by 
 the Eectory waggonette containing the ladies and Mark, 
 who had been decisively summoned home, since his 
 stepmother disliked public balls without a gentleman
 
 chap, xiii.] DETRIMENTALS. 149 
 
 in attendance, and his father was not to be detached 
 from his fireside. 
 
 And in a group near the door, got up as elaborately 
 as his powers could accomplish, stood Gerald Godfrey. 
 He knew nobody there except a family in his sister's 
 parish, who had good-naturedly given him a seat in 
 their fly, and having fulfilled his duty by asking the 
 daughter to dance, he had nothing to disturb him in 
 watching for the cynosure whose attraction had led 
 him into these unknown regions, and, as he remembered 
 with a qualm, on the eve of St. Britius. However, 
 with such a purpose, one might surely grant oneself a 
 dispensation from the vigil of a black letter saint. 
 
 There at length he beheld the entrance. There 
 was the ogre himself, high bred, almost handsome, as 
 long as he was not too closely scrutinised, and on his 
 arm the well-known figure, metamorphosed by deli- 
 cately-tinted satin sheen and pearls, and still more by 
 the gentle blushing gladness on the fair cheeks and 
 the soft eyes that used to droop. Then followed a 
 stately form in mulberry moire and point lace, leaning 
 on Gerard's more especial abhorrence, — ' that puppy,' 
 who had been the author of all the mischief; and 
 behind them three girls, one in black, the other two in 
 white, and, what was provoking, he really could not 
 decide which was Ursula. The carefully- dressed hair 
 and stylish evening dress and equipments had alto- 
 gether transformed the little homely schoolgirl so that, 
 though he was sure that she was not the fair-haired 
 damsel with pale blue flowers, he did not know how
 
 150 NUTTIE'S FATHER. [chap. 
 
 to decide between the white and daisies and the black 
 and grasses. Indeed, he thought the two whites most 
 likely to be sisters, and all the more when the black 
 lace halted to exchange greetings with some one, and 
 her face pnt on an expression so familiar to him, that 
 he started forward and tried to catch her eye ; but in 
 vain, and he suffered agonies of doubt whether she had 
 been perverted by greatness. 
 
 It was some comfort that, when presently a rush of 
 waltzers floated by, she was not with her cousin ; but 
 to provoke him still more, as the daisies neared him, 
 he beheld for a moment in the whirl the queer smile, 
 half-frightened, half-exultant, which he had seen on 
 Nuttie's face when swinging sky-high ! 
 
 When the pause came and people walked about, 
 the black lady stood talking so near him that he 
 ventured at last on a step forward and an eager 
 ' Miss Egremont,' but, as she turned, he found himself 
 obliged to say, ' I beg your pardon.' 
 
 { Did you mean my cousin. We often get mistaken 
 for each other,' said May civilly. 
 
 He brightened. ' I beg your pardon,' he said, ' I 
 knew her at Micklethwayte. I am here — quite by 
 accident. Mrs. Elmore was so good as to bring me.' 
 
 May was rather entertained. ' There's my cousin,' 
 she said, 'Lord Philip Molyneux is asking her to 
 dance,' and she left him most unnecessarily infuriated 
 with Lord Philip Molyneux. 
 
 A steward introduced him to a dull -looking girl, 
 but fortune favoured him, for this time he did catch the
 
 xiii.] DETRIMENTALS. 151 
 
 real Nuttie's eye, and all herself, as soon as the dance 
 was over, she came up with outstretched hands, ' Oh 
 Gerard ! to think of your being here! Come to mother !' 
 
 And, beautiful and radiant, Mrs. Egremont was 
 greeting him, and there were ten minutes of delicious 
 exchange of news. But ' pleasures are as poppies fled,' 
 Nuttie had no dance to spare, her card was full, and she 
 had not learnt fashionable effrontery enough to play tricks 
 with engagements, and just then Mr. Egremont descended 
 on them — ' I wish to introduce you to the Duchess,' he 
 said to his wife ; and on the way he demanded — 
 ' Who is that young cub ? ' 
 
 Gerard Godfrey — an old neighbour.' 
 
 ' I thought I had seen him racketing about there 
 with Ursula. I'll not have those umbrella fellows 
 coming about ! ' 
 
 ' Does he really make umbrellas, Nuttie ? ' asked 
 Blanche, catching her hand. 
 
 '~No such thing !' said jSTuttie hotly, 'he is in the office. 
 His father was a surgeon; his sisters married clergymen!' 
 
 ' And he came here to meet you,' said Annaple 
 Buthven. ' Poor fellow, what a shame it is ! Can't 
 you give him one turn ! ' 
 
 ' Oh dear ! I'm engaged all through ! To Mark 
 this time.' 
 
 ' Give him one of the extras ! Throw Mark over to 
 me ! No,' as she looked at the faces of the two girls, 
 ' I suppose that wouldn't do, but I'm free this time — 
 I'm not the fashion. Introduce me ; I'll do my best 
 as consolation.'
 
 152 NUTTIE'S FATHEE. [chap. 
 
 Nuttie had just performed the feat, with great 
 shyness, when Mark appeared, having been sent in 
 quest of his cousin, when her father perceived that she 
 had hung back. 
 
 Poor Gerard led off Miss Euthven the more 
 gloomily, and could not help sighing out, c I suppose 
 that is an engagement ! ' 
 
 ' Oh ! you believe that impertinent gossip in the 
 paper,' returned Annaple. ' I wonder they don't contra- 
 dict it ; but perhaps they treat it with magnificent scorn.' 
 
 ' No doubt they know that it is only premature.' 
 
 ' If they means the elders, I daresay they wish it, 
 but we aren't in France or Italy.' 
 
 ' Then you don't think, Miss Euthven, that it will 
 come off ? ' 
 
 ' I don't see the slightest present prospect,' said 
 Annaple, unable to resist the kindly impulse of giving 
 immediate pleasure, though she knew the prospect 
 might be even slighter for her partner. 
 
 However, he ' footed it ' all the more lightly and 
 joyously for the assurance, and the good-natured 
 maiden afterwards made Mm conduct her to the tea- 
 room, whither Mark and Nuttie were also tending, and 
 there all four contrived to get mixed up together; 
 and Nuttie had time to hear of Monsieur's new accom- 
 plishment of going home for Mr. Dut ton's luncheon 
 and bringing it in a basket to the office, before fate 
 again descended ; Mr. Egremont, who had been at the 
 far end of the room among some congeners, who pre- 
 ferred stronger refreshment, suddenly heard her laugh,
 
 xiii. ] DETRIMENTALS. 153 
 
 stepped up, and, with a look of thunder towards her, 
 observed in a low voice, ' Mark, you will oblige me by 
 taking your cousin back to her mother.' 
 
 'The gray tyrant father,' murmured Annaple in 
 sympathy. ' That being the case, I may as well go 
 back in that direction also.' 
 
 This resulted in finding Lady Delmar and the two 
 Mrs. Egremonts together, comparing notes about the two 
 different roads to Bedcastle from their several homes. 
 
 Lady Delmar was declaring that her coachman was 
 the most obstinate man in existence, and that her 
 husband believed in him to any extent. 
 
 ' Which way did you come ? ' she asked. 
 
 ' By Bankside Lane,' said the Canoness. 
 
 ' Over Bluepost Bridge ! There, Janet/ said An- 
 naple. 
 
 ' So much the worse. I know we shall come to 
 grief over Bluepost Bridge, and now there will be 
 treble weight to break it down. I dreamt it, I tell 
 you, and there's second sight in the family.' 
 
 'Yes, but you should tell what you did dream, 
 Janet,' said her sister. ' She thought Bobinson, the 
 coachman, was waltzing with her over it, and they 
 went into a hole and stuck fast, while the red- flat* 
 traction engineman prodded her with an umbrella till 
 she was all over blood. Now, if it had been anything 
 rational, I should have thought something of her 
 second sight ! I tell her 'twas suggested by — 
 
 ' " London Bridge is broken down, 
 Dance o'er my lady Lee ! " '
 
 154 NUTTIE'S FATHER. [chap. 
 
 'Well, I am quite certain those traction-engines 
 will break it some time or other/ said Lady Delmar. 
 ' I am always trying to get John to bring it before 
 the magistrates, but he only laughs at me, and nothing 
 will induce Eobinson to go the other way, because 
 they have just been mending the road on Lescombe 
 Hill ! Annaple, my dear, I can't allow you another 
 waltz; Mark must excuse you — I am going. It is 
 half-past two, and the carriage was ordered at two ! 
 Eobinson will be in a worse temper than ever if we 
 keep him waiting.' 
 
 She bore her sister off to the cloak-room, and there, 
 nearly an hour later, the Egremonts found them still 
 waiting the pleasure of the implacable Eobinson ; but 
 what was that in consideration of having kept her 
 sister from such a detrimental as poor Mark had 
 become ? So muttered Mr. Egremont, in the satisfac- 
 tion of having himself, with gentlemanly severity, 
 intimated the insuperable gulf between Miss Egremont 
 of Bridgefield and the Man of Umbrellas. 
 
 Moreover, his sister-in-law took care that he should 
 hear that the Duchess of Eedcastle had pronounced his 
 wife sweetly pretty and lady-like, and talked of invit- 
 ing them for a visit of a few nights. 
 
 ' A bore,' observed he ungratefully, ' 'tis as dull as 
 ditchwater.' But, in truth, though the Canon's 
 family, when in residence, were intimate with the 
 ducal family, Alwyn Egremont had never been at 
 the castle since the days of his earliest youth, and 
 he was not quite prepared to owe his toleration
 
 xiii.] DETRIMENTALS. 155 
 
 there to his wife's charms, or the Canoness's patronage 
 of her. 
 
 And innocent Alice only knew that everybody had 
 been very kind to her, and it was only a pity that 
 her husband did not like her to notice poor Gerard 
 Godfrey.
 
 CHAPTEE XIV. 
 
 GOING AGEE. 
 1 Gin ye were a brig as auld as me.' — Burns. 
 
 ' What's the matter ? ' exclaimed Mrs. Egremont, wak- 
 ing from a doze, — ' that bridge ? ' 
 
 ' Bridge ! Don't be such a fool ! We aren't near 
 it yet' 
 
 The servant, his face looking blurred through the 
 window, came to explain that the delay was caused by 
 an agricultural engine, which had chosen this unlucky 
 night, or morning, to travel from one farm to another. 
 There was a long delay, while the monster could be 
 heard coughing frightfully before it could be backed 
 with its spiky companion into a field so as to let the 
 carriages pass by ; and meantime Mr. Egremont was 
 betrayed into uttering ejaculations which made poor 
 Nuttie round her eyes in the dark as she sat by his 
 feet on the back seat, and Alice try to bury her ears 
 in her hood in the corner. 
 
 On they went at last, for about a mile, and then 
 came another sudden stop — another fierce growl from
 
 chap, xiv.] GOING AGEE. 157 
 
 Mr. Egremont, another apparition of the servant at 
 the window, saying, in his alert deferential manner, 
 ' Sir, the bridge have broke under a carriage in 
 front. Lady Delrnar's, sir. The horse is plunging 
 terrible.' 
 
 The door was torn open, and all three, regardless of 
 ball costumes, precipitated themselves out. 
 
 The moon was up, and they saw the Eectory 
 carriage safe on the road before them, but on the 
 bridge beyond was a struggling mass, dimly illuminated 
 by a single carriage lamp. Mr. Egremont and the 
 groom hurried forward where Mark and the Eectory 
 coachman were already rendering what help they 
 could, May standing at the horses' heads, and her 
 mother trying to wrap everybody up, since stay in 
 their carriages they could not. Transferring the horses 
 to Nuttie, the two sisters hurried on towards the scene 
 of action, but Blanche's white satin boots did not carry 
 her far, and she turned on meeting her uncle. He 
 spoke with a briskness and alacrity that made him 
 like another man in this emergency, as he assured the 
 anxious ladies that their friends were safe, but that 
 they could not be extricated till the carriage was lifted 
 from the hole into which it had sunk amid bricks, 
 stones, and broken timbers. He sent his own coach- 
 man to assist, as being the stronger man, and, mount- 
 ing the box, turned and drove off in quest of further 
 help, at a wayside cottage, or from the attendants on 
 the engine, whose weight had probably done the mis- 
 chief, and prepared the trap for the next comer.
 
 158 NUTTIE'S FATHER. [chap. 
 
 As May came near, her brother made her available 
 by putting the lamp into her hand, bidding her hold 
 it so as to light those who were endeavouring to re- 
 lease the horse, which had cleared the portion of the 
 bridge before the break -down under the brougham, 
 and now lay on the road, its struggles quelled by a 
 servant at its head. Nearly the whole of the hind 
 wheels and most of the door had disappeared on one 
 side, and, though more was visible on the other, it was 
 impossible to open the door, as a mass of rubbish lay 
 on it. Annaple was on this side, and her voice was 
 heard calling to May in fits of the laughter which is 
 perhaps near akin to screams — 
 
 " ' London bridge is broken down, 
 Dance o'er my lady Lee !" 
 
 Janet will go in for second-sight ever after. Yes, she's 
 all right, except a scratch from the glass, and that 
 I'm sitting on her more or less. How are they get- 
 ting on?' 'The horse is all but out. Not hurt, 
 they think. Here's another man come to help — a 
 gentleman — my dear, it is your partner, Nuttie's 
 umbrella man.' ' Oh, making it complete — hopes, 
 Janet — I'm sorry, but I can't help squashing you ! 
 I can't help subsiding on you ! What is it now V 
 as the lamp-light vanished. 
 
 'They are looking for something to make levers of,' 
 returned May ; e these wooden rails are too rotten. 
 
 ' Can't they get us through the window ? ' sighed a 
 muffled voice.
 
 XIV. 
 
 GOIXG AGEE. 159 
 
 'Not unless we could be elongated, like the Hope 
 of the Katzekopfs.' 
 
 1 We shall manage now/ cried Mark ; ' we have 
 found some iron bars to the hatch down there. But 
 you must prepare for a shock or two before you can 
 be set free.' 
 
 The two gentlemen and three servants strove and 
 struggled, hoisted and pushed, to the tune of suppressed 
 sounds, half of sobs, half of laughter, till at last the 
 carriage was heaved up sufficiently to be dragged 
 backwards beyond the hole; but even then it would 
 not stand, for the wheels on the undermost site were 
 crushed, neither could either door be readily opened, 
 one being smashed Id, and the other jammed fast. 
 Annaple, however, still tried to keep up her own spirits 
 and her sister's, observing that she now knew how to 
 sympathise with Johnnie's tin soldiers in their box 
 turned upside down. 
 
 Two sturdy labourers here made their appearance, 
 having been roused hi the cottage and brought back 
 by Mr. Egremont, and at last one door was forced open 
 by main force, and the ladies emerged, Annaple, helping 
 her sister, beginning some droll thanks, but pausing as 
 she perceived that Lady Delmar's dress was covered 
 with blood. 
 
 ' My dear Janet. This is worse than I guessed. 
 Why did you not speak ? ' 
 
 ' It is not much,' said the poor lady, rather faintly. 
 ' My neck ' 
 
 The elder ladies came about her, and seated her on
 
 160 nuttie's FATHEE. [chap. 
 
 cushions, where, by the light of May's lamp, Alice, 
 who had been to an ambulance class at Micklethwayte, 
 detected the extent of the cut, extracted a fragment of 
 glass, and staunched the bleeding with handkerchiefs 
 and strips of the girls' tulle skirts, but she advised her 
 patient to be driven at once to a surgeon to secure that 
 no morsel of glass remained. Mr. Egremont, gratified to 
 see his wife come to the front, undertook to drive her 
 back to Bedcastle. Indeed, they must return thither 
 to cross by the higher bridge. ' You will go with me,' 
 entreated Lady Delmar, holding Alice's hand ; and the 
 one hastily consigning Xuttie to her aunt's care, the 
 other giving injunctions not to alarm her mother to 
 Annaple, who had declared her intention of walking 
 home, the two ladies went off under Mr. Egremont's 
 escort. 
 
 Just then it was discovered that the Delmar coach- 
 man, Eobinson, had all this time been lying insensible, 
 not dead, for he moaned, but apparently with a broken 
 leg, if nothing worse. Indeed, the men had known it 
 all along, but, until the ladies had been rescued, nothing 
 had been possible but to put his cushion under his 
 head and his rug over him. The ladies were much 
 shocked, and Mrs. William Egremont decided that he 
 must be laid at the bottom of the waggonette, and 
 that she would take him straight to the hospital. 
 
 They were only a mile and a half from Lescombe, 
 and it was pronounced safe to cross on foot by the 
 remains of the bridge, so that Annaple, who had a 
 pair of fur boots, had already decided on going home
 
 xiv.] GOING AGEE. 161 
 
 on foot. The other girls wanted to accompany her, 
 and, as May and Nuttie both had overshoes, they were 
 permitted to do so, and desired to go to bed, and wait 
 to be picked up by the waggonette, which must return 
 to Bridgefield by the Lescombe road. Blanche, having 
 a delicate throat, was sentenced to go with her step- 
 mother. Mark undertook to ride the horse through the 
 river, and escort the three girls, and Gerard Godfrey 
 also joined them. The place where he was staying 
 lay a couple of miles beyond Lescombe, and when 
 Mrs. Elmore's fly had been met and turned back by 
 Mr. Egremont, he had jumped off to render assistance, 
 and had done so effectively enough to win Mark's 
 gratitude. 
 
 It was by this time about half-past five, as was 
 ascertained by the light of the waning moon, the 
 carriage-lamp having burnt out. It was a fine frosty 
 morning, and the moon was still powerful enough to 
 reveal the droll figures of the girls. May had a fur 
 cloak, with the hood tied over her head by Mrs. Egre- 
 mont's lace shawl ; Nuttie had a huge white cloud 
 over her head, and a light blue opera cloak ; Annaple 
 had ' rowed herself in a plaidie ' like the Scotch girl 
 she was, and her eyes flashed out merrily from its 
 dark folds. They all disdained the gentlemen's self- 
 denying offers of their ulsters, and only Nuttie con- 
 sented to have the carriage-rug added to her trappings, 
 and ingeniously tied on cloak-fashion with her sash 
 by Gerard. He and Mark piloted the three ladies 
 over the narrow border of the hole, which looked a 
 
 VOL. I. M
 
 162 NUTTIE'S FATHER. [chap. 
 
 very black open gulf. Annaple had thanked the men, 
 and bidden them come to Lescombe the next day to 
 be paid for their assistance. Then they all stood to 
 watch Mark ride through the river, at the shallowest 
 place, indicated both by her and the labourers. It 
 was perfectly fordable, so Annaple's were mock heroics 
 when she quoted — 
 
 1 Never heavier man and horse 
 Stemmed a midnight torrent's force.' 
 
 And Nuttie responded in a few seconds — 
 
 * Yet through good heart and our Ladye's grace 
 Full soon he gained the landing place.' 
 
 They were both in high spirits, admiring each 
 other's droll appearance, and speculating on the ghosts 
 they might appear to any one who chanced to look out 
 of window. Annaple walked at the horse's head, 
 calling him poor old Eobin Hood, and caressing him, 
 while Gerard and Nuttie kept together. 
 
 May began to repent of her determination to walk ; 
 Lescombe seemed very far off, and she had an instinct 
 that she was an awkward fifth wheel. Either because 
 Eobin Hood walked too fast for her weary limbs, or 
 because she felt it a greater duty to chaperon Nuttie 
 than Annaple, she fell back on the couple in the rear, 
 and was rather surprised at the tenor of their conver- 
 sation. 
 
 This ' umbrella man ' was tellino- of his vicar's de- 
 light in the beautiful chalice veil that had been sent 
 by Mrs. Egremont, and Nuttie was communicating, as
 
 xiv.] GOING AGEE. 163 
 
 a secret she ought not to tell, that mother was working a 
 set of stoles, and hoped to have the white ones ready by 
 the dedication anniversary ; also that there was a box 
 being filled for the St. Ambrose Christmas tree. They 
 were trying to get something nice for each of the choir 
 boys and of the old women ; and therewith, to May's 
 surprise, this youth, whom she regarded as a sort of 
 shopman, fell into full narration of all the events of 
 a highly- worked parish, — all about the choral festival, 
 and the guilds, and the choir, and the temperance 
 work. A great deal of it was a strange language to 
 May, but she half-disapproved of it, as entirely unlike 
 the ' soberness ' of Bridgefield ways, and like the Red- 
 castle vicar, whom her father commonly called l that 
 madman.' Still, she had a practical soul for parish 
 work, and could appreciate the earnestness that mani- 
 fested itself, and the exertions made for people of the 
 classes whom she had always supposed too bad or else 
 too well off to come under clerical supervision. And 
 her aunt and cousin and this young man all evidently 
 had their hearts in it ! For Xuttie — though her new 
 world had put the old one apparently aside — had 
 plunged into all the old interests, and asked questions 
 eagerly, and listened to their answers, as if Mickle- 
 thwayte news was water to the thirsty. The two 
 were too happy to meet, and, it must be confessed, had 
 not quite manners enough, to feel it needful to include 
 in their conversation the weary figure that plodded 
 along at a little distance from them, hardly attending 
 to the details of their chatter, yet deriving new notions
 
 164 XUTTIE'S FATHER. [chap. 
 
 from it of the former life of Ursula and her mother, 
 matters which she had hitherto thought beneath her 
 attention, except so far as to be thankful that they 
 had emerged from it so presentable. That it was a 
 more actively religious, and perhaps a more intellectual 
 one than her own, she had thought impossible, where 
 everything must be second-rate. And yet, when her 
 attention had wandered from an account of Mr. Dutton's 
 dealings with a refractory choir boy bent on going to 
 the races, she found a discussion going on about some 
 past lectures upon astronomy, and Nuttie vehemently 
 regretting the not attending two courses promised for 
 the coming winter upon electricity and on Italian art, 
 and mournfully observing, 'We never go to anything 
 sensible here.' 
 
 May at first thought, ' Impertinent little thing,' and 
 felt affronted, but then owned to herself that it was 
 all too true. Otherwise there was hardly anything 
 said about the contrast with Nuttie's present life ; 
 Gerard knew already that the church atmosphere was 
 very different, and with the rector's daughter within 
 earshot, he could not utter his commiseration, nor 
 Nuttie her regrets. 
 
 Once there was a oeneral start, and the whole five 
 came together at the sight of a spectrally black appa- 
 rition, with a huge tufted head on high, bearing down 
 over a low hedge upon them. Nobody screamed 
 except Nuttie, but everybody started, though the next 
 moment it was plain that they were only chimney- 
 sweepers on their way.
 
 xiv.] GOING AGEE. 165 
 
 ' Retribution for our desire to act ghosts ! ' said 
 Annaple, when the sable forms had been warned of 
 the broken bridge. ' Poor May, you are awfully tired ! 
 Shouldn't you like a lift in their cart ? ' 
 
 1 Or I could put you up on Robin Hood,' said 
 Mark. 
 
 ' Thank you, I don't think I could stick on. Is it 
 much farther ? ' 
 
 ' Only up the hill and across the park,' said An- 
 naple, still cheerily.' 
 
 ' Take my arm, old woman,' said Mark, and then 
 there was a pause, before Annaple said in an odd voice, 
 ' You may tell her, Mark.' 
 
 1 Oh, Annaple ! Mark ! is it so ? ' cried May joy- 
 ously, but under her breath ; and with a glance to see 
 how near the other couple were. 
 
 ' Yes,' said Annaple between crying and laughing. 
 ' Poor Janet, she'll think we have taken a frightfully 
 mean advantage of her, but I am sure I never dreamt 
 of such a thing ; and the queer thing is, that Mark 
 says she put it into his head ! ' 
 
 ' No, no/ said Mark ; ' you know better than 
 that ' 
 
 1 Why, you told me you only found it out when 
 she began to trample on the fallen ' 
 
 ' I told you I had only understood my own heart.' 
 
 ' And I said very much the same — she made me so 
 angry, you see.' 
 
 ' I can't but admire your motives ! ' said May, 
 exceedingly rejoiced all the time, and ready to have
 
 166 nuttie's father. [chap. 
 
 embraced them both, if it had not been for the spec- 
 tators behind. ' In fact, it was opposition you both 
 wanted. I wonder how long you would have gone on 
 not finding it out, if all had been smooth ! ' 
 
 ' The worst of it is/ said Annaple, ' that I'm afraid 
 it is a very bad thing for Mark.' 
 
 * Not a bit of it,' retorted he. ' It is the only 
 thing that could have put life into my work, or made 
 me care to find any ! And find it I will now ! Must 
 we let the whole world in to know before I have 
 found it, Annaple ? ' 
 
 ' I could not but tell my mother,' said Annaple. 
 ' It would come out in spite of me, even if I wished 
 to keep it back.' 
 
 ' Oh yes ! Lady Eonnisglen is a different thing/ 
 said Mark. ' Just as May here is ' 
 
 'And she will say nothing, I know, till we are 
 ready — my dear old minnie/ said Annaple. ' Only, 
 Mark, do pray have something definite to hinder Janet 
 with if there are any symptoms of hawking her com- 
 modity about.' 
 
 ' I will, 3 said Mark. ' If we could only emigrate ! ' 
 
 ' Ah, if we could ! ' said Annaple. ' Eonalcl is 
 doing so well in New Zealand, but I don't think my 
 mother could spare me. She could not come out, and 
 she must be with me, wherever I am. You know — 
 don't you — that I am seven years younger than Alick. 
 I was a regular surprise, and the old nnrse at Eonnis- 
 glen said ' Depend upon it, my Leddy, she is given to 
 be the comfort of your old age.' And I have always
 
 xiv. J GOING AGEE. 167 
 
 made up my mind never to leave her. I don't think 
 she would get on with Janet or any of them without 
 me, so you'll have to take her too, Mark.' 
 
 1 With all my heart,' he answered. ' And, indeed, 
 I have promised my father not to emigrate. I must, 
 and will, find work at hand, and make a home for you 
 both ! ' 
 
 ' But you will tell papa at once ? ' said May. ' It 
 will hurt him if you do not.' 
 
 ' You are right, May ; I knew it when Annaple 
 spoke of her mother, but there is no need that it should 
 go further.' 
 
 The intelligence had lightened the way a good deal, 
 and they were at the lodge gates by this time. Gerard 
 began rather ruefully to take leave ; but Annaple, in 
 large-hearted happiness and gratitude, begged him to 
 come and rest at the house, and wait for daylight, and 
 this he was only too glad to do, especially as May's 
 secession had made the conversation a little more 
 personal. 
 
 Nuttie was in a certain way realising for the first 
 time what her mother's loyalty had checked her in 
 expressing, even if the tumult of novelties had given 
 her full time to dwell on it. 
 
 ' Everybody outside is kind,' she said to Gerard ; 
 ' they are nice in a way, and good, but oh ! they are 
 centuries behind in church matters and feeling, just 
 like the old rector.' 
 
 ' I gathered that ; I am very sorry for you. Is 
 there no one fit to be a guide ? '
 
 168 XUTTIE'S FATHER. [chap. 
 
 ' I don't know/ said Nuttie. c I didn't think — I 
 must, somehow, before Lent.' 
 
 ' There is Advent close at hand,' he said gravely. 
 ' If you could only be at our mission services ; we hope 
 to get Father Smith ! ' 
 
 1 Oh, if only I could ! But mother never likes to 
 talk about those kind of things. She says our duty 
 is to my father.' 
 
 ' Not the foremost.' 
 
 ' No, she would not say that. But oh, Gerard ! 
 if he should be making her worldly ! ' 
 
 ' It must be your work to hinder it,' he said, look- 
 ing at her affectionately. 
 
 ' Oh, Gerard ! but I'm afraid I'm getting so myself. 
 I have thought a great deal about lawn-tennis, and 
 dress, and this ball,' said Nuttie. ' Somehow it has 
 never quite felt real, but as if I were out on a visit.' 
 
 1 You are in it, but not of it,' said Gerard admir- 
 ingly. 
 
 ' No, I'm not so good as that ! I like it all — 
 almost all. I thought I liked it better till you came 
 and brought a real true breath of Micklethwayte. 
 Oh ! if I could only see Monsieur's dear curly head 
 and bright eyes ! ' 
 
 This had been the tenor of the talk, and these were 
 the actual last words before the whole five — just in 
 the first streaks of dawn — coalesced before the front 
 door, to be admitted by a sleepy servant; Mark tied 
 up the horse for a moment, while Aimaple sent the 
 man to waken Sir John Delmar, and say there had
 
 Xiv.] GOING AGEE. 169 
 
 been a slight accident, but no one was much hurt; 
 and, as they all entered the warm, dimly-lighted hall, 
 they were keenly sensible that they had been dancing 
 or walking all night. 
 
 Eest in the chairs which stood round the big hearth 
 and smouldering wood -fire was so extremely comfort- 
 able, as they all dropped down, that nobody moved or 
 spoke, or knew how long it was before there was a 
 voice on the stairs — c Eh ? what's this, Annaple ? An 
 accident ? Where's Janet ? ' and a tall burly figure, 
 candle in hand, in a dressing-gown and slippers, was 
 added to the group. 
 
 'Janet will be at home presently, I hope,' said 
 Annaple, ' but she got a cut with some broken glass, 
 and we sent her round by Dr. Eaymond's to get it set 
 to rights. Oh, John ! we came to grief on Bluepost 
 Bridge after all, and I'm afraid Bobinson has got his 
 leg broken ! ' 
 
 Sir John was a good-natured heavy man, whose 
 clever wife thought for him in all that did not regard 
 horses, dogs, and game. He looked perfectly astounded, 
 and required to have all told him over again before he 
 could fully take it in. Then he uttered a suppressed 
 malediction on engines, insisted that all his impromptu 
 guests should immediately eat, drink, and sleep, and 
 declared his intention of going off at once to Bedcastle 
 to see about his wife. 
 
 The two gentlemen were committed to the charge 
 of the butler, and Annaple took Nuttie and May to 
 her sister's dressing-room, where she knew she should
 
 170 nuttie's fathee. [chap. 
 
 find fire and tea, and though they protested that it was 
 not worth while, she made them undress and lie down 
 in a room prepared for them in the meantime. It 
 was a state chamber, with a big bed, far away from the 
 entrance, shuttered and curtained up, and with double 
 doors, excluding all noise. The two cousins lay down, 
 JSTuttie dead asleep almost before her head touched the 
 pillow, while May was aching all over, declaring her- 
 self far too much tired and excited to sleep ; and, 
 besides that it was not worth while, for she should be 
 called for in a very short time. And she remained 
 conscious of a great dread of being roused, so that 
 when she heard her cousin moving about the room, 
 she insisted that they had scarcely lain down, where- 
 upon Nuttie laughed, declared that she had heard a 
 great clock strike twelve before she moved, and showed 
 daylight coming in through the shutters. 
 
 ' We can't lie here any longer, I suppose,' said May, 
 sitting up wearily ; ' and yet what can we put on ? It 
 makes one shiver to think of going down to luncheon 
 in a ball dress ! ' 
 
 ' Besides, mine is all torn to pieces to make ban- 
 dages,' said Nuttie. ' I must put on the underskirt 
 and my cloak again.' 
 
 1 Or Annaple might lend us something. I must get 
 out somehow to know how poor Lady Delmar is, and 
 what has become of everybody. Ring, Ursula, please, 
 and lie down till somebody comes.' 
 
 The bell was answered by a maid, who told them 
 that my lady had been brought home by Mr. and Mrs.
 
 XIV 
 
 GOING AGEE. 171 
 
 Egremont about an hour after their arrival. She was 
 as well as could be expected, and there was no cause 
 for anxiety. Mr. and Mrs. Egremont had then gone 
 on to Bridgefield, leaving word that Mrs. William 
 Egremont and Miss Blanche were sleeping at Bedcastle, 
 having sent home for their own dresses and the young 
 ladies', and would call for the rest of their party on the 
 way. Indeed, a box for the Miss Egremonts had been 
 deposited by the Canon from the pony-carriage an hour 
 ago, and was already in the dressing-room ; but Miss 
 Buthven would not have them disturbed. Miss Buth- 
 ven, — oh yes, she was up, she had not been in bed at all.
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 A CASTLE OF UMBRELLAS. 
 
 No, Annaple Ruthven could not have slept, even if she 
 had had time. Her first care had been to receive her 
 sister, who had been met at the entrance of Eedcastle by 
 her husband. There had been profuse offers of hospitality 
 to Mr. and Mrs. Egremont, the latter of whom looked 
 tired out, and offers of sending messengers to Bridge- 
 field ; but Mr. Egremont would not hear of them, and 
 every one suspected that he would not incur the chance 
 of rising without Gregorio and all his appliances. 
 
 By the time they were disposed of, and Lady Del- 
 mar safe in bed, it was time to repair to her mother's 
 room, so as to prevent her from being alarmed. Lady 
 Eonnisglen was English born. She was not by any 
 means the typical dowager. Her invalid condition was 
 chiefly owing to an accident, which had rendered her 
 almost incapable of walking, and she was also extremely 
 susceptible of cold, and therefore hardly ever went out; 
 but there was so much youth and life about her at 
 sixty-three that she and Annaple often seemed like
 
 chap, xv.] A CASTLE OF UMBRELLAS. 173 
 
 companion sisters, and her shrewd, keen, managing 
 eldest-born like their mother. 
 
 Annaple lay down beside her on her bed in the 
 morning twilight, and gave her the history of the 
 accident in playful terms indeed. Annaple could never 
 help that, but there was something in her voice that 
 made Lady Eonnisglen say, when satisfied about Janet's 
 hurt, ' You've more to say, Nannie dear.' 
 
 ' Yes, minnie mine, I walked home with Mark 
 Egremont.' 
 
 'And V 
 
 ' Yes, minnie. He is going to work and make a 
 home — a real, true, homely home for you and me.' 
 
 ' My child, my child, you have not hung the old 
 woman about the poor boy's neck ! ' 
 
 ' As if I would have had him if he did not love 
 her, and make a mother of her ! ' 
 
 ' But what is he going to do, Nan ? This is a very 
 different thing from ' 
 
 ' Very different from Janet's notions ! ' and they both 
 laughed, the mother adding to the mirth by saying — 
 
 'Poor Janet, congratulating herself that no harm 
 had been done, and that you had never taken to one 
 another ! ' 
 
 ' Did she really now ? ' 
 
 c Oh yes, only yesterday, and I bade her not crow 
 too soon, for I thought I saw symptoms ' 
 
 ' You dear darling minnie ! Think of that ! Before 
 we either of us knew it, and when he is worth ever so 
 much than lie was before ! Not but that I am enraged
 
 174 NUTTIE'S FATHEE. [chap. 
 
 when people say lie has acted nobly, just as if there 
 had been anything else for him to do ! ' 
 
 ' I own that I am glad he has proved himself. I 
 was afraid he would be dragged in the way of his 
 uncle. Don't be furious, Nannie. Not at all into 
 evil, but into loitering; and I should like to know 
 what are his prospects now.' 
 
 ' Well, mother, I don't think he has any. But he 
 means to have. And not a word is to be said to any- 
 body except you and his father and May till he has 
 looked over the top of the wall, and seen his way. We 
 need not bring Janet down on us till then.' 
 
 ' I must see him, my dear. Let me see him before 
 he goes away. He always has been a very dear lad, 
 a thoroughly excellent right-minded fellow. Only I 
 must know what he means to do, and whether there 
 is any reasonable chance of employment or fixed 
 purpose.' 
 
 Lady Eonnisglen's maid here arrived with her 
 matutinal cup of tea ; and Annaple, beginning to per- 
 ceive that she was very stiff, went off in hopes that her 
 morning toilette would deceive her hardworked little 
 frame into believing it had had a proper night's rest. 
 
 She was quite ready to appear at the breakfast 
 table, though her eldest niece, a long-haired, long- 
 limbed girl, considerably the bigger of the two, was 
 only too happy to preside over the cups. All the four 
 young people were in the greatest state of excitement, 
 welcoming, as the heroes of the night, Mark and Mr. 
 Godfrey, and clamouring to be allowed to walk down
 
 xv.] A CASTLE OF UMBRELLAS. 1 75 
 
 after breakfast with their father and the gentlemen to 
 see the scene of the catastrophe and the remains of the 
 carriage and the bridge. 
 
 Sir John made a conrteons reference to the gover- 
 ness, but there was a general sense that the cat was 
 away, and presently there was a rush upstairs to pre- 
 pare for the walk. Annaple had time in the course of 
 all the bustle, while the colour came back to her 
 cheeks for a moment, to tell Mark that her mother 
 had been all that was good, and wanted to see him. 
 He must manage to stay till after eleven o'clock ; she 
 could not be ready before. Then he might come to her 
 sitting-room, which, as well as her bedroom, was on the 
 ground floor. 
 
 Mark had to work off his anxiety by an inspection 
 of the scene of the disaster and a circumstantial ex- 
 planation of the details to the young Delmars, who 
 crowded round him and Mr. Godfrey, half awed, half 
 delighted, and indeed the youngest — a considerable 
 Tomboy — had nearly given the latter the opportunity 
 of becoming a double hero by tumbling through the 
 broken rail, but he caught her in time, and she only 
 incurred from Sir John such a scolding as a great fright 
 will produce from the easiest of fathers. 
 
 Afterwards Mark put Gerard on the way to his 
 brother-in-law's living, asking him on the road so many 
 questions about the umbrella business that the youth 
 was not quite sure how to take it, and doubted whether 
 the young swell supposed that he could talk of nothing 
 else ; but his petulance was mitigated when he was
 
 176 NUTTIE'S FATHER. [chap. 
 
 asked, ' Supposing a person wished to enter the business, 
 to whom should he apply ? ' 
 
 ' Do you know any one who wishes for anything of 
 the kind ? ' he asked. ' Are you making inquiries for 
 any one ? ' and on a hesitating affirmation, ' Because I 
 know there is an opening for a man with capital just 
 at present. Dutton won't advertise — 'tis so risky; and 
 he wants some knowledge of a person's antecedents, 
 and whether he is likely to go into it in a liberal, 
 gentlemanly spirit, with good principles, you see, such 
 as would not upset all we are doing for the hands.' 
 
 ' What amount of capital do you mean ? ' 
 
 ' Oh, from five hundred to a thousand ! Or more 
 would not come amiss. If I only had it ! What it 
 would be to conduct an affair like that on true 
 principles ! But luck is against me every way.' 
 
 Mark was at the sitting-room door as the four 
 quarters began to strike in preparation for eleven, but 
 Lady Eonnisglen had been in her chair for nearly half- 
 an-hour, having been rapid and nervous enough to 
 hurry even the imperturbable maid, whom Annaple 
 thought incapable of being hastened. She was a little 
 slight woman, with delicate features and pale com- 
 plexion, such as time deals with gently, and her once 
 yellow hair now softened . with silver was turned back 
 in bands beneath the simple net cap that suited her 
 so well. There was a soft yet sparkling look about 
 her as she held out her hands and exclaimed, 'Ah, 
 Master Mark, what mischief have you been doing ? ' 
 
 Mark came and knelt on one knee beside her and
 
 XV.] A CASTLE OF UMBRELLAS. 177 
 
 said : c Will you let me work for you both, Lady 
 Eonnisglen ? I will do my best to find some.' 
 
 ' Ah ! that is the point, my dear boy. I should 
 have asked and wished for definite work, if you had 
 come to me before that discovery of yours ; and now 
 it is a mere matter of necessity.' 
 
 1 Yes,' said Mark ; then, with some hesitation, he 
 added : ' Lady Eonnisglen, do you care whether I take 
 to what people call a gentleman's profession ? I could, 
 of course, go on till I am called to the bar, and then 
 wait for something to turn up ; but that would be 
 waiting indeed ! Then in other directions I've taken 
 things easy, you see, till I'm too old for examinations. 
 I failed in the only one that was still open to me. 
 Lord Kirkaldy tried me for foreign office work, and 
 was appalled at my blunders. I'm not fit for a 
 parson.' 
 
 ' I should have thought you were.' 
 
 ' Not I,' said Mark. ' I'm not up to the mark 
 there. I couldn't say honestly that I was called to it. 
 I wish I could, for it would be the easiest way out of 
 it ; but I looked at the service, and I can't. There — 
 that's a nice confession to come to you with ! I can't 
 think how I can have been so impudent.' 
 
 ' Mark, you are a dear good lad. I respect and 
 honour you ever so much more than before all this 
 showed what stuff was in you ! But the question is, 
 What's to be done ? My child is verily the " penniless 
 lass with a high pedigree," for she has not a poor 
 thousand to call her own.' 
 
 VOL. i. n
 
 178 NUTTIE'S FATHER. [chap. 
 
 ' And I have no right to anything in my father's 
 lifetime, though I have no doubt he would give me 
 up my share of my mother's portion — about £3000. 
 Now this is what has occurred to me : In the place 
 where I found my uncle's wife — Micklethwayte, close 
 to Monks Horton — there's a great umbrella factory, 
 with agencies everywhere. There are superior people 
 belonging to it. I've seen some of them, and I've 
 been talking to the young fellow who helped us last 
 night, who is in the office. I find that to go into the 
 thing with such capital as I might hope for, would 
 bring in a much larger and speedier return than I 
 could hope for any other way, if only my belongings 
 would set aside then feelings. And you see there are 
 the Kirkaldys close by to secure her good society.' 
 
 Lady Konnisglen put out her transparent-looking, 
 black-mittenecl hand, and gave a little dainty pat to his 
 arm. ' I like to see a man in earnest,' said she. Her 
 little Skye terrier was seized with jealousy at her 
 gesture, and came nuzzling in between with his black 
 nose. ' Mull objects ! ' she said, smiling ; but then, 
 with a graver look, ' And so will your father.' 
 
 1 At first,' said Mark ; ' but I think he will give 
 way when he has had time to look at the matter, and 
 sees how good you are. That will make all the 
 difference.' 
 
 So Annaple, who had been banished for a little 
 while, was allowed to return, and mother, daughter, 
 and lover built themselves a little castle of umbrellas, 
 and bestowed a little arch commiseration on poor Lady
 
 xv.] A CASTLE OF UMBRELLAS. 179 
 
 Delmar ; who, it was agreed, need know nothing until 
 something definite was arranged, since Annaple was 
 clearly accountable to no one except her mother. She 
 would certainly think the latter part of her dream only 
 too well realised, and consider that an unfair advantage 
 had been taken of her seclusion in her own room. In 
 spite of all loyal efforts to the contrary, Mark, if he 
 had been in a frame of mind to draw conclusions, 
 would have perceived that the prospect of escaping 
 from the beneficent rule of Lescombe was by no 
 means unpleasant to Lady Eonnisglen. The books 
 that lay within her reach would hardly have found a 
 welcome anywhere else in the house. Sir John was 
 not brilliant, and his wife had turned her native wits 
 to the practical rather than the intellectual line, and 
 had quite enough to think of in keeping up the 
 dignities of Lescombe with a large family amid agri- 
 cultural difficulties. 
 
 Annaple remembered at last that she ought to go 
 and look after her guests, assisted therein by the 
 pleasure of giving May a hearty kiss and light squeeze, 
 with a murmur that ' all was right.' 
 
 She brought them downstairs just as the gong was 
 sounding, and the rush of girls descending from the 
 schoolroom, and Lady Eonnisglen being wheeled across 
 the hall in her chair. Nuttie, who had expected to 
 see a gray, passive, silent old lady like Mrs. Nugent, 
 was quite amazed at the bright, lively face and voice 
 that greeted the son-in-law and grandchildren, May 
 and herself, congratulating these two on having been so
 
 180 xuttie's FATHEE. [chap. 
 
 well employed all the morning, and observing that she 
 was afraid her Nannie could not give so good an 
 account of herself. 
 
 ' Well/ said Sir John, ' I am sure she looks as if 
 she found plodding along the lanes as wholesome as 
 sleeping in her bed ! Nan Apple- cheeks, eh ? ' 
 
 Whereupon Annaple's cheeks glowed all the more 
 into resemblance of the baby-name which she had long 
 ceased to deserve ; but May could see the darkness 
 under her eyes, betraying that it was only excitement 
 that drove away fatigue. 
 
 Sir John had not gone far in his circumstantial 
 description of the injuries to his unfortunate carriage 
 when the Canon arrived, with his wife and Blanche. 
 Mark would have given worlds in his impatience to 
 have matters settled between the two parents then and 
 there ; but Lady Eonnisglen had already warned him 
 that this would not be possible, and assured him that 
 it would be much wiser to prepare his father before- 
 hand. 
 
 Then he fixed his hopes on a solitary drive with 
 his father back in the pony carriage, but he found him- 
 self told off to take that home, and had to content him- 
 self with May as a companion. Nor was his sister's 
 mode of receiving the umbrella plan reassuring. She 
 had smiled too often with her stepmother over Nuttie's 
 having been brought up among umbrellas to be ready 
 to accept the same lot for her brother and her friend, 
 and she was quite sure that her father would never 
 consent. 'An Eoremont an umbrella - maker ! how
 
 xv.] A CASTLE OF UMBRELLAS. 181 
 
 horrible ! Just fancy seeing Dutton, Egremont and 
 Co. on the handle of one's umbrella ! ' 
 
 ' Well, you need not patronise us/ said Mark. 
 
 ' But is it possible that Lady Eonnisglen did not 
 object ? ' said May. 
 
 ' She seemed to think it preferable to driving pigs 
 in the Texas, like her son Malcolm.' 
 
 ' Yes, but then that was the Texas.' 
 
 ' Oh May, May, I did not think you were such a 
 goose ! ' 
 
 ' I should have thought the folly was in not being 
 patient. Stick to your profession, and something must 
 come in time.' 
 
 ' Ay, and how many men do you think are sticking 
 to it in that hope ? No, May, 'tis not real patience to 
 wear out the best years of my life and hers in idleness, 
 waiting for something not beneath an Egremont to 
 do!' 
 
 'But is there nothing to do better than that ? ' 
 
 ' Find it for me, May.'
 
 CHAPTEE XVI. 
 
 INFRA. DIG. 
 
 ' Till every penny which she told, 
 Creative Fancy turned to gold.' — E. Lloyd. 
 
 The Blueposts Bridge had produced a good deal of 
 effect. Ursula Egremont in special seemed to herself 
 to have been awakened from a strange dream, and to 
 have resumed her real nature and affections. She felt 
 as if she would give all her partners at the ball for 
 one shake of Monsieur's fringed paws ; her heart 
 yearned after Aunt Ursel and Miss Mary ; she longed 
 after the chants of the choir ; and when she thought 
 of the effort poor Gerard Godfrey had made to see her, 
 she felt him a hero, and herself a recreant heroine, who 
 had well-nigh been betrayed into frivolity and deser- 
 tion of him, and she registered secret resolutions of 
 constancy. 
 
 She burnt to pour out to her mother all the 
 Micklethwayte tidings, and all her longings to be 
 there ; but when the Eectory party set her down at 
 the door, the footman, with a look of grave importance,
 
 chap, xvi.] INFRA DIG. 183 
 
 announced that Mr. Egremont was very unwell. ' Mr. 
 Gregory thinks he have taken a chill from the effect 
 of exposure, sir, and Dr. Hamilton has been sent for.' 
 
 The Canon and his wife both got out on this in- 
 telligence, and Mrs. Egremont was summoned to see 
 them. She came, looking more frightened than they 
 thought the occasion demanded, for she was appalled 
 by the severe pain in the head and eyes ; but they 
 comforted her by assuring her that her husband had 
 suffered in the same manner in the spring, and she saw 
 how well he had recovered ; and then telling Nuttie to 
 bring word what the doctor's report was, and then spend 
 the evening at the Eectory, they departed, while poor 
 Nuttie only had one kiss, one inquiry whether she 
 were rested, before her mother fled back to the patient. 
 
 Nor did she see her again till after the doctor's 
 visit, and then it was only to desire her to tell her 
 uncle that the attack was pronounced to be a return 
 of the illness of last spring, and that it would be 
 expedient to go abroad for the winter. 
 
 Go abroad ! It had always been a vision of delight 
 to Nuttie, and she could not be greatly concerned at the 
 occasion of it ; but she did not find the Eectory in a 
 condition to converse and sympathise. Blanche was 
 lying down with a bad headache. The Edwardses and 
 a whole party of semi-genteel parish visitors had come 
 in to inquire about the accident, and had to be enter- 
 tained with afternoon tea ; and May, though helping 
 her stepmother to do her devoir towards them, seemed 
 more preoccupied than ever.
 
 184 XUTTIE'S FATHER. [chap. 
 
 As indeed she was, for she knew that Mark was 
 putting his fate to the touch with his father in the 
 study. 
 
 The Canon heard the proposal with utter consterna- 
 tion and dismay at the perverseness of the two young 
 people, who might have been engaged any time these 
 two years with the full approbation of their families, 
 and now chose the very moment when every one was 
 rejoicing at their freedom. 
 
 ' When a young man has got into a pickle,' he said, 
 ' the first thing is to want to be married !' 
 
 'Exactly so, sir, to give him a motive for getting 
 out of the pickle.' 
 
 ' Umbrellas ! I should like to hear what your 
 grandfather would have said !' 
 
 ' These are not my grandfather's days, sir.' 
 
 ' No indeed ! There was nothing to do but to give 
 a hint to old Lord de Lyonnais, and he could get you 
 put into any berth you chose. Interest was interest 
 in those days ! I don't see why Kirkaldy can't do 
 the same.' 
 
 ' Not unless I had foreign languages at my tongue's 
 end.' 
 
 Whereat the Canon groaned, and Mark had to work 
 again through all the difficulties in the way of the 
 more liberal professions ; and the upshot was that his 
 father agreed to drive over to Lescombe the next 
 day and see Lady Eonnisglen. He certainly had 
 always implicitly trusted his son's veracity, but he 
 evidently thought that there must have been much
 
 xvi.] INFRA DIG. 185 
 
 warping of the imagination to make the young man 
 believe the old Scottish peeress to have consented to 
 her daughter's marrying into an umbrella factory. 
 
 Nuttie was surprised and gratified that both Mark 
 and May put her through an examination on the 
 habits of Micklethwayte and the position of Mr. 
 Godfrey, which she thought was entirely due to the 
 favourable impression Gerard had produced, and she 
 felt proportionably proud of him when Mark pro- 
 nounced him a very nice gentlemanly young fellow. 
 She could not think why her uncle, with more testiness 
 than she had ever seen in that good-natured dignitary, 
 ordered May not to stand chattering there, but to give 
 them some music. 
 
 The Canon drove to Lescombe the next day under 
 pretext of inquiring after Lady Delmar, and then almost 
 forgot to do so, after he had ascertained that she was 
 a prisoner to her dressing-room, and that Sir John was 
 out shooting. The result of his interview filled him 
 with astonishment. Lady Eonnisglen having had a 
 large proportion of sons to put out in life on very 
 small means had learnt not to be fastidious, and 
 held that the gentleman might ennoble the vocation 
 instead of the vocation debasing the gentleman. 
 Moreover, in her secret soul she felt that her daughter 
 Janet's manoeuvres were far more truly degrading than 
 any form of honest labour; and it was very sore to 
 her to have no power of preventing them, ridicule, 
 protest, or discouragement being all alike treated as 
 the dear mother's old-world unpractical romance. It
 
 186 NUTTDS'S FATHEE. [chap. 
 
 galled her likewise that she could perceive the deter- 
 mination that Annaple Kuthven should be disposed of 
 before Muriel Delmar came on the scene ; and the 
 retiring to ever so small a home of their own had been 
 discussed between mother and daughter, and only put 
 aside because of the pain it would give their honest- 
 hearted host and their hostess, who really loved them. 
 
 Thus she did her best to persuade her old friend 
 that there were few openings for a man of his son's 
 age, and that if the Micklethwayte business were all 
 that Mark imagined, it was not beneath the attention 
 even of a well-born gentleman in these modern days, 
 and w T ould involve less delay than any other plan, 
 except emigration, which was equally dreaded by 
 each parent. Delay there must be, not only in order 
 to ascertain the facts respecting the firm, but to prove 
 whether Mark had any aptitude for the business 
 before involving any capital in it. However every 
 other alternative would involve much longer and more 
 doubtful waiting. And altogether the Canon felt that 
 if a person of Lady Eonnisglen's rank did not object, 
 he had scarcely a right to do so. However, both alike 
 reserved consent until full inquiry should have been 
 made. 
 
 The Canon wrote to Lord Kirkaldy, and in the 
 meantime wanted to gather what information he could 
 from his sister-in-law ; but he found her absolutely 
 engrossed as her husband's nurse, and scarcely per- 
 mitted to snatch a meal outside the darkened room. 
 He groaned and grumbled at his brother's selfishness,
 
 xvi.] IXFEA DIG. 187 
 
 and declared that her health would be damaged, while 
 his shrewder lady declared that nothing would be so 
 good for her as to let Alwyn find her indispensable to 
 his comfort, even beyond Gregorio. 
 
 This absorption of her mother fell hard on Ursula, 
 especially when the first two days' alarm was over, and 
 her mother was still kept an entire prisoner, as com- 
 panion rather than nurse. As before, the rheumatic 
 attack fastened upon the head and eyes, causing 
 lengthened suffering, and teaching Mr. Egremont that 
 he had never had so gentle, so skilful, so loving, or 
 altogether so pleasant a slave as his wife, the only 
 person except Gregorio whom, in his irritable state, he 
 would tolerate about him. 
 
 His brother could not be entirely kept out, but 
 was never made welcome, more especially when he 
 took upon himself to remonstrate on Alice's being 
 deprived of air, exercise, and rest. He got no thanks ; 
 Mr. Egremont snarled, and Alice protested that she 
 was never tired, and needed nothing. The Eectory 
 party were, excepting the schoolroom girls, engaged to 
 make visits from home before going into residence at 
 Eedcastle, and were to begin with Monks Horton. 
 They offered to escort Ursula to see her great aunt at 
 Micklethwayte — Oh joy of joys ! — but when the Canon 
 made the proposition in his brother's room, Mr. 
 Egremont cut it short with ' I'm not going to have 
 her running after those umbrella-mongers.' 
 
 The Canon's heart sank within him at the tone, 
 and he was really very sorry for his niece, who was
 
 188 NUTTIE'S FATHER. [chap. 
 
 likely to have a fortnight or three weeks of compara- 
 tive solitude before her father was ready to set out on 
 the journey. 
 
 ' Can't she help you, in reading to her father — or 
 anything ?' he asked Alice, who had come out with 
 him into the anteroom to express her warm thanks 
 for the kind proposal. 
 
 She shook her head. ' He would not like it, nor 
 I, for her." 
 
 ' I should think not !' exclaimed the Canon, as his 
 eye fell on the title of a yellow French book on the 
 table. ' I have heard of this ! Does he make you 
 read such as this to him, Alice ?' 
 
 'Nothing else seems to amuse him,' she said. 'Do 
 you think I ought not? I don't understand much of 
 that kind of modern French, but Nuttie know^s it 
 better.' 
 
 ' Not that kind, I hope,' said the Canon hastily. 
 'No, no, my dear/ as he saw her colour mantling r 
 ' small blame to you. You have only to do the best 
 you can with him, poor fellow ! Then we'll take any- 
 thing for you. We've said nothing to Nuttie, Jane 
 said I had better ask you first.' 
 
 ' Oh, that was kind ! I am glad she is spared the 
 disappointment.' 
 
 Not that she was. For when she learnt her 
 cousins' destination, she entreated to go with them, 
 and had to be told that the proposal had been made 
 and refused. 
 
 There is no denying that she behaved very ill. It
 
 xvi.] IXFUA DIG. 189 
 
 was the first real sharp collision of wills. She had 
 differed from, and disapproved of, her father all along, 
 but what had been required of her had generally been 
 pleasant to one side at least of her nature ; but here 
 she was condemned to the dulness of the lonely out- 
 sider to a sick room, when her whole soul was leaping 
 back to the delights of her dear old home at Mickle- 
 thwayte. 
 
 She made her mother's brief meal with her such a 
 misery of protests and insistences on pleadings with 
 her father that poor Alice was fain to rejoice when the 
 servants' presence silenced her, and fairly fled from her 
 when the last dish was carried out. 
 
 When they met again ISTuttie demanded, 'Have 
 you spoken to my father ? ' 
 
 ' I told you, my dear, it would be of no use.' 
 
 ' You promised/ 
 
 ' No, Nuttie, I did not.' 
 
 'I'm sure I understood you to say you would if 
 you could.' 
 
 ' It was your hopes, my dear child. He is quite 
 determined.' 
 
 ' And you leave him so. Mother, I can't under- 
 stand your submitting to show such cruel ingratitude !' 
 
 Nuttie was very angry, though she was shocked at 
 the burning colour and hot tears that she beheld as, 
 half choked, her mother said : ' Oh, my dear, my 
 dear, do not speak so ! You know — you know it is 
 not in my heart, but my first duty, and yours too, is to 
 your father.'
 
 190 NUTTIE'S FATHER. [chap. 
 
 1 Whatever he tells us ? ' demanded Nuttie, still 
 hot and angry. 
 
 ' I did not say that/ returned her mother gently, 
 ' but you know, Nuttie, Aunt Ursel herself would say 
 that it is our duty to abide by his decision here.' 
 
 ' But you could speak to him,' still argued Nuttie, 
 1 what's the use of his being so fond of you if he won't 
 do anything you want ? ' 
 
 { Hush ! hush, Nuttie ! you know that is not a right 
 way of speaking. I cannot worry him now he is ill. 
 You don't know what that dreadful pain is ! ' 
 
 Happily Nuttie did refrain from saying, ' No doubt 
 it makes him very cross ;' but she muttered, ' And so 
 we are to be cut off for ever from Aunt Ursel, and 
 Miss Mary, and — and — every thing good — and nice — 
 and catholic ?' 
 
 ' I hope not, indeed, I hope not. Only he wants us 
 to get the good society manners and tone — like your 
 cousins, you know. You are young enough for it, and 
 a real Egremont, you know Nuttie, and when you have 
 learnt it, he will trust you there,' said the mother, 
 making a very mild version of his speech about the 
 umbrella-mongers. 
 
 ' Yes, he wants to make me worldly, so that I should 
 not care, but that he never shall do, whatever you may 
 let him do to you.' 
 
 His bell rang sharply, and away hurried Alice, 
 leaving her daughter with a miserably sore and im- 
 patient heart, and the consciousness of having harshly 
 wounded the mother whom she had meant to protect.
 
 xvi.] INFRA DIG. 191 
 
 And there was no hugging and kissing to make up for 
 it possible. They would not meet till dinner-time, 
 and Nuttie's mood of stormy repentance had cooled 
 before that time into longing to be more tender than 
 usual towards her mother, but how was that possible 
 during the awful household ceremony of many courses, 
 with three solemn men-servants ministering to them ? 
 
 And poor Alice jumped up at the end, and ran 
 away as if afraid of fresh objurgations, so that all 
 Xuttie could do was to rush headlong after her, catch 
 her on the landing, kiss her face all over, and exclaim, 
 ' Oh, mother, mother, I was dreadfully cross ! ' 
 
 ' There, there ! I knew you would be sorry, dear, 
 dear child, I know it is very hard, but let me go. He 
 wants me ! ' 
 
 And a very forlorn and deplorable person was left 
 behind, feeling as if her father, after carrying her away 
 from everything else that she loved, had ended by 
 robbing her of her mother. 
 
 She stood on the handsome staircase, and contrasted 
 it with the little cosy entrance at her aunt's. She felt 
 how she hated all these fine surroundings, and how very 
 good and unworldly she was for so doing. Only, was 
 it good to have been so violent towards her mother ? 
 
 The Eectory folks were dining out, so she could 
 only have recourse to Mudie's box to try to drive dull 
 care away. 
 
 A few days more and they were gone. Though 
 Mr. Egremont was gradually mending, he still required 
 his wife to be in constant attendance. In point of
 
 192 nuttie's father. [chap. 
 
 fact Alice could not, and in her loyalty would not, tell 
 her dignified brother-in-law, far less her daughter, of 
 the hint that the doctor had given her, namely, that 
 her husband was lapsing into the constant use of 
 opiates, founded at first on the needs of his malady, 
 but growing into a perilous habit, which accounted for 
 his shutting himself up all the forenoon. 
 
 While under medical treatment it was possible to 
 allowance him, and keep him under orders, but Dr. 
 Hamilton warned her not to allow the quantity to be 
 exceeded or the drugs to be resorted to after his 
 recovery, speaking seriously of the consequences of 
 indulgence. He spoke as a duty, but as he looked at 
 the gentle, timid woman, he saw little hope of her 
 doing any good ! 
 
 Poor Alice was appalled. All she could do was to 
 betake herself to ' the little weapon called All-Prayer,' 
 and therewith to use all vigilance and all her arts of 
 coaxing and cheering away weariness and languor, 
 beguiling sleeplessness, soothing pain by any other 
 means. She had just enough success to prevent her 
 from utterly despairing, and to keep her always on the 
 strain, and at her own cost, for Mr. Egremont was far 
 more irritable when he was without the narcotic, and 
 the serenity it produced was an absolute relief. She 
 soon found too that Gregorio was a contrary power. 
 Once, when he had suggested the dose, and she had 
 replied by citing the physician's commands, Mr. Egre- 
 mont had muttered an imprecation on doctors, and she 
 had caught a horrible grin of hatred on the man's face,
 
 xvi.] IXFEA DIG. 193 
 
 which seemed to her almost diabolical. She had pre- 
 vailed then, but the next time her absence was at all 
 prolonged, she found that the opiate had been taken, 
 and her dread of quitting her post increased, though 
 she did not by any means always succeed. Sometimes 
 she was good-humouredly set aside, sometimes roughly 
 told to mind her own business ; but she could not 
 relinquish the struggle, and whenever she did succeed 
 in preventing the indulgence she felt a hopefulness 
 that — in spite of himself and Gregorio, she might yet 
 save him. 
 
 Another hint she had from both the Canon and his 
 wife. When they asked what place was chosen, Mr. 
 Egremont said he had made Alice write to inquire of 
 the houses to be had at various resorts — Mentone, Nice, 
 Cannes, and the like. She was struck by the ardour 
 with which they both began to praise Nice, Genoa, 
 Sorrento, any place in preference to Mentone, which 
 her husband seemed to know and like the best. 
 
 And when she went downstairs with them the 
 Canon held her hand a moment, and said, ' Anywhere 
 but Mentone, my dear.' 
 
 She looked bewildered for a moment, and the 
 Canoness added, 'Look in the guide-books/ 
 
 Then she remembered Monte Carlo, and for a 
 moment it was to her as shocking a warning as if she 
 had been bidden to keep her husband out of the 
 temptation of thieving. 
 
 She resolved, however, to do her best, feeling im- 
 mediately that again it was a pull of her influence 
 
 VOL. i. o
 
 194 nuttie's FATHEE. [char 
 
 against Gregorio's. Fortune favoured her so far that 
 the villa favoured by Mr. Egremont was not to be 
 had, only the side of the bay he disliked, and that a 
 pleasant villa offered at Nice. 
 
 Should she close with it ? Well — was there great 
 haste ? Gregorio knew a good many people at Mentone, 
 and could ascertain in his own way if they could get 
 the right side of the bay by going to the hotel and 
 waiting. Alice, however, pressed the matter — repre- 
 sented the danger of falling between two stools, pleaded 
 personal preference, and whereas Mr. Egremont was too 
 lazy for resistance to any persuasion, she obtained per- 
 mission to engage the Nice villa. The next day 
 Gregorio announced that he had heard that the pro- 
 prietor of Villa Francaleone at Mentone was giving 
 up hopes of his usual tenants, and an offer might 
 secure it. 
 
 'Villa Eugenie at Nice is taken,' said Alice, and 
 she received one of those deadly black looks, which 
 were always like a stab. 
 
 Of all this Nuttie knew nothing. She was a good 
 deal thrown with the schoolroom party and with the 
 curate's wife for companionship. Now Mrs. Edwards 
 did not approve of even the canonical Egremonts, 
 having an ideal far beyond the ritual of Bridgefield ; 
 and she was delighted to find how entirely Miss Egre- 
 mont sympathised with her. 
 
 Nuttie described St. Ambrose's as a paradise of 
 church observances and parish management, every- 
 thing becoming embellished and all shortcomings for-
 
 xvi.] INFRA DIG. 195 
 
 gotten in the loving mists of distance. The harmonium 
 was never out of tune ; the choir-boys were only just 
 naughty enough to show how wisely Mr. Spyers dealt 
 with them ; the surplices, one would think, never needed 
 washing ; Mr. Dutton and Gerard Godfrey were para- 
 gons of lay helpers, and district visitors never were 
 troublesome. Mrs. Edwards listened with open ears, 
 and together they bewailed the impractibility of moving 
 the Canon to raising Bridgefield to anything approach- 
 ing to such a standard ; while ISTuttie absolutely culti- 
 vated her home sickness. 
 
 According to promise Blanche wrote to her from 
 Monks Horton, and told her thus much — ' We have 
 been all over your umbrella place. It was very 
 curious. Then we called upon Miss Headworth, who 
 was quite well, and was pleased to hear of you.' 
 
 Blanche was famous for never putting into a letter 
 what her correspondent wanted to hear, but her step- 
 mother wrote a much longer and more interesting 
 letter to Mrs. Egremont. 
 
 ' You will be glad to hear that we found your aunt 
 quite well. I suppose it is not in the nature of things 
 that you should not be missed ; but I should think 
 your place as well supplied as could be hoped by that 
 very handsome and superior Miss Nugent, with whom 
 she lives. I had a good deal of conversation with 
 both ; for you will be surprised to hear that the Canon 
 has consented to Mark's making the experiment of 
 working for a year in Greenleaf and Dutton's office, 
 with a view to entering the firm in future. I was
 
 196 NUTTIE'S FATHER. [chap. 
 
 very anxious to understand from such true ladies what 
 the position would be socially. I longed to talk it 
 over with you beforehand ; but Alwyn could never 
 spare you, and it was not a subject to be broached 
 without ample time for discussion. We felt that 
 though the Kirkaldys could tell us much, it was only 
 from the outside, whereas Miss Headworth could speak 
 from within. The decision is of course a blow to his 
 father, and will be still more so to the De Lyonnais 
 family, but they have never done anything to entitle 
 them to have a voice in the matter, and the Kirkaldys 
 agree with us that, though not a path of distinction, 
 it is one of honourable prosperity ; and with this, if 
 Mark is content, we have no right to object, since 
 his mind is set on present happiness rather than 
 ambition.' 
 
 It was a letter gratifying to Alice in its con- 
 fidential tone, as well as in the evident approval of 
 those surroundings which she loved so well. She read 
 it to her husband, as she was desired to give him a 
 message that the Canon had not written out of con- 
 
 o 
 
 sideration for his eyes. He laughed the laugh that 
 always jarred on her. ' So Master Mark has got his 
 nose to the grindstone, has he ? ' was his first ex- 
 clamation, and, after some cogitation, ' The fellow wants 
 to be married, depend on it ! ' 
 
 'Do you think so?' returned Alice wistfully. 
 
 ' Think ! Why you may see it in Jane's letter ! 
 I wonder who it is ! The little yellow Euthven 
 girl, most likely ! The boy is fool enough for anything !
 
 xvi.] INFRA DIG. 197 
 
 I thought he would have mended his fortunes with 
 Ursula, but he's too proud to stomach that, I 
 suppose !' 
 
 'I did wish that !' said Alice. ' It would have set 
 everything straight, and it would have been so nice 
 for her.' 
 
 ' You should have cut out your daughter after your 
 own pattern,' he answered ; ' not let her be such a 
 raw insignificant little spitfire. 'Tis a pity. I don't 
 want the estate to go out of the name, though I won't 
 leave it to an interfering prig like Mark unless he 
 chooses to take my daughter with it !' 
 
 The latter part of this amiable speech was muttered 
 and scarcely heard or attended to by Alice in her 
 struggle to conceal the grief she felt at the uncompro- 
 mising opinion of her child. Nuttie might outgrow 
 being raw, but there seemed less rather than more 
 prospect of a better understanding with her father. 
 About a week later Mark made his appearance, timing 
 it happily when his uncle was making his toilette, 
 so that his aunt was taking a turn on the sunny 
 terrace with Nuttie when the young man came hurry- 
 ing up the garden. 
 
 ' Mark ! What ? Are you come home ? ' 
 
 'Not the others. They are at Mr. Condamine's. 
 I came last night — by way of Lescombe. Edda, dear, 
 it is all right ! Oh, I forgot you did not know ! 
 There was no seeing you before we went away. Ah ! 
 by the bye, how is my uncle ?' 
 
 ' Much better, except that using his eyes brings
 
 198 NUTTIE'S FATHER. [chap. 
 
 on the pain. What is it, Mark ? Ah ! I can guess/ 
 she said, aided no doubt by that conjecture of her 
 husband's. 
 
 ' Yes, yes, yes ! ' he answered, with a rapidity quite 
 unlike himself. 'Why, Nuttie, how mystified you 
 look !' 
 
 ' I'm sure I don't wonder at any one being glad to 
 live at dear old Micklethwayte,' said Nuttie slowly. 
 1 But, somehow, I didn't think it of you, Mark.' 
 
 ' My dear, that's not all ! ' said her mother. 
 
 'Oh!' cried Nuttie, with a prolonged intonation. 
 ' Is it ? — Oh, Mark ! did you do it that night when 
 you led the horse home ?' 
 
 ' Even so, Nuttie ! And, Aunt Alice, Lady Eonnis- 
 glen is the best and bravest of old ladies, and the 
 wisest. Nobody objects but Lady Delmar, and she 
 declares she shall not consider it an engagement till 
 Eonnisglen has been written to in Nepaul, as if he 
 had anything to do with it ; but that matters the less, 
 since they all insist on our waiting till I've had a 
 year's trial at the office ! I suppose they could not 
 be expected to do otherwise, but it is a pity, for I'm 
 afraid Lady Delmar will lead Annaple and her mother 
 a life of it.' 
 
 ' Dear Mark, I am delighted that it is all going so 
 well.' 
 
 ' I knew you would be ! I told them I must tell 
 you, though it is not to go any farther.' 
 
 So that hope of Mark's restoration to the inherit- 
 ance faded from Alice, and yet she could not be
 
 xvi.] INFEA DIG. 199 
 
 concerned for him. She had never seen him in such 
 good spirits, for the sense of failure and disappoint- 
 ment had always been upon him; and the definite 
 prospect of occupation, gilded by his hopes of Annaple, 
 seemed to make a new man of him.
 
 CHAPTEK XVII. 
 
 AN OLD FRIEND. 
 
 'My heart untravelled still returns to thee.' — Goldsmith. 
 
 To go abroad 1 Such had been the fairy castle of 
 Nuttie's life. She had dreamed of Swiss mountains, 
 Italian pictures, Eheinland castles, a perpetual pano- 
 rama of delight, and here she was in one of the great 
 hotels of Paris, as little likely to see the lions of that 
 city as she had been to see those of London. 
 
 The party were halting for two days there because 
 the dentist, on whom Mr. Egremont's fine show of 
 teeth depended, practised there ; but Nuttie spent 
 great part of the day alone in the sitting-room, and her 
 hand-bag and her mother's, with all their books and 
 little comforts, had been lost in the agony of landing. 
 Her mother's attendance was required all the morning, 
 or what was worse, she expected that it would be, and 
 though Nuttie's persistence dragged out the staid, silent 
 English maid, who had never been abroad before, to 
 walk in the Tuilleries gardens, which they could see 
 from their windows, both felt half-scared the whole
 
 CHAP, xvn.] AX OLD FRIEND. 201 
 
 time. Xuttie was quite unused to finding her own 
 way unprotected, and Martin was frightened, cross, and 
 miserable about the bags, which, she averred, had been 
 left by Gregorio's fault. She so hated Gregorio that only 
 a sort of adoration which she entertained for Mrs. Egre- 
 mont would have induced her to come tete-a-tete with 
 him, and perhaps he was visiting his disappointment 
 about Mentone on her. In the afternoon nothing was 
 achieved but a drive in the Bois de Boulogne, when it 
 was at once made evident that Mr. Egremont would 
 tolerate no questions nor exclamations. 
 
 His mouth was in no condition for eating in public, 
 and he therefore decreed that his wife and daughter 
 should dine at the table d'hote, while he was served 
 alone by Gregorio. This was a great boon to Nuttie, 
 and to her mother it recalled bridal days long past at 
 Dieppe; but what was their astonishment when on 
 entering the room they beheld the familiar face of Mr. 
 Button ! It was possible for him to place himself 
 between them, and there is no describing the sense of 
 rest and protection his presence imparted to them, more 
 especially to Xuttie. 
 
 He had come over, as he did from time to time, 
 on business connected with the materials he used, and 
 he was beguiled into telling them of his views of Mark, 
 whom he had put in the way of learning the prelimin- 
 aries needful to an accountant. He had a deep 
 distrust of the business capacities and perseverance of 
 young gentlemen of family, especially with a countess- 
 aunt in the neighbourhood, and quoted Lord Eldon's
 
 202 nuttie's father. [chap. 
 
 saying that to make a good lawyer of one, it was need- 
 ful for him to have spent both his own and his wife's 
 fortune to begin with, but he allowed that young Mr. 
 Egremont was a very favourable specimen, and was 
 resolutely applying himself to his work, and that he him- 
 self felt it due to him to give all the assistance possible. 
 
 Miss Headworth, he could not deny, had aged, but 
 far less than Mrs. Nugent in the past year, and it really 
 was a great comfort to Miss Mary to have the old ladies 
 together. He told too how the mission, now lately 
 over, had stirred the Micklethwayte folk into strong 
 excitement, and how good works had been undertaken, 
 evil habits renounced, reconciliations effected, religious 
 services frequented. Would it last ? Xobody, he 
 said, had taken it up so zealously as Gerard Godfrey, 
 who seemed as if he would fain throw everything 
 up, and spend his whole life in some direct service as 
 a home missionary or something of the kind. ' He is 
 a good fellow,' said Mr. Dutton, 'and it is quite 
 genuine, but I made him wait at least a year, that he 
 may be sure that this is not only a passing impulse.' 
 
 Nuttie thought that she knew what was the im- 
 pulse that had actuated him, and felt a pleasant elation 
 and self consciousness even while she repressed a sigh 
 of pity for herself and for him. Altogether the dip 
 into the Micklethwayte world was delightful, but when 
 Mr. Dutton began to ask Nuttie what she had seen, 
 she burst out with, ' Nothing — nothing but just a walk 
 and a drive in the Bois de Boulogne;' and her mother 
 explained that ' in Mr. Egremont's state of health,' etc.
 
 xvii.] AN OLD FEIEND. 203 
 
 ' I wonder/ asked Mr. Dutton, ' if I might be 
 allowed ' 
 
 Nuttie's eyes sparkled with ecstasy. 
 
 It ended in her mother, who had been wondering 
 how Mr. Egremont could be amused all the long even- 
 ing, arranging that Mr. Dutton should come in an 
 hour's time to call on him, on the chance of being 
 admitted, and that then the offer might be made when 
 she had prepared him for it, advising Nuttie to wait in 
 her own room. She was beginning to learn how to 
 steer between her husband and her daughter, and she 
 did not guess that her old friend was sacrificing one of 
 the best French plays for the chance. 
 
 It turned out well ; Mr. Egremont was conscious of 
 a want of variety. He demanded whether it was the 
 young fellow, and being satisfied on that part, observed 
 in almost a good-humoured tone, ' So, we are in for 
 umbrellas, we may as well go in for the whole firm ! ' 
 caused the lights to be lowered under pretext of 
 his eyes — to conceal the lack of teeth — did not 
 absolutely refuse to let Nuttie take advantage of the 
 escort, and when Mr. Dutton did come to the ante- 
 room of the apartment, he was received with full 
 courtesy, though Gregorio looked unutterable contempt. 
 Mr. Dutton was a man who could talk, and had seen 
 a good deal of the world at different times. Mr. 
 Egremont could appreciate intelligent conversation, 
 so that they got on wonderfully well together, over 
 subjects that would have been a mere weariness to 
 Xuttie but for the exceeding satisfaction of hearing
 
 204 NUTTIE'S FATHEK. [chap. 
 
 a Micklethwayte voice. At last Mr. Dutton said some- 
 thing about offering his escort to the ladies, or to Miss 
 Egremont, who used, he said in a paternal way, to be 
 a little playfellow of his ; Mr. Egremont really smiled, 
 and said, ' Aye, aye, the child is young enough to run 
 after sights. Well, thank you, if you are so good as 
 to take the trouble, they will be very grateful to you, 
 or if her mother cannot go with her, there's the 
 maid.' 
 
 Nuttie thought she had never known him so 
 amiable, and hardly durst believe her good fortune 
 would not turn the wheel before morning. And it so 
 far did that her mother found, or thought she found, 
 that it would not do to be out of call, and sent the 
 silent Martin in her stead. But Mr. Dutton had set 
 telegraphs to work and recovered the bags, which 
 Gregorio had professed to give up in despair. 
 
 A wonderful amount of lionising was contrived by 
 Mr. Dutton, who had lived a few years at Paris in 
 early youth, and had made himself acquainted alike 
 with what was most worth seeing, and the best ways 
 and means of seeing it, so that as little' time as pos- 
 sible was wasted on the unimportant. It was one of 
 the white days of ISTuttie's life, wanting nothing but 
 her mother's participation in the sight of the St. 
 Michael of the Louvre, of the Sainte Chapelle, of the 
 vistas in Notre Dame, and of poor Marie Antoinette's 
 cell, — all that they had longed to see together. 
 
 She had meant to tell Mr. Dutton that it was all 
 her father's selfishness, but somehow she could not say
 
 xyii.] AN OLD FRIEND. 205 
 
 so, there was something about him that hindered all 
 unbefitting outbreaks of vexation. 
 
 And thus, when she mentioned her disappointment 
 at not being allowed to go to Micklethwayte with her 
 uncle, he answered, ' You could not of course be spared 
 with your father so unwell.' 
 
 * Oh, he never let me come near him ! I wasn't 
 of the slightest use to him !' 
 
 ' Mrs. Egremont would have missed you.' 
 
 ' Eeally he never gave her time. He perfectly 
 devours her, body and soul. Oh dear, no ! 'Twas for 
 no good I was kept there, but just pride and ingrati- 
 tude, though mother tried to call it being afraid for 
 my manners and my style.' 
 
 1 In which, if you lapse into such talk, you fully 
 justify the precaution. I was just thinking what a 
 young lady you had grown into,' he answered in a 
 tone of banter, under which, however, she felt a 
 rebuke ; and while directing her attention to the 
 Pantheon, he took care to get within hearing again of 
 Martin. 
 
 And in looking at these things, he carried her so 
 far below the surface. St. Michael was not so much 
 Eaffaelle's triumph of art as the eternal victory over 
 sin ; the Sainte Chapelle, spite of all its modern im- 
 sanctified gaudiness, was redolent of St. Louis ; and the 
 cell of the slaughtered queen was as a martyr's shrine, 
 trod with reverence. There were associations with 
 every turn, and Nuttie might have spent years at 
 Paris with another companion without imbibing so
 
 206 NUTTIE'S FATHER. [chap. 
 
 many impressions as on this December day, when she 
 came home so full of happy chatter that the guests at 
 the talk d'hote glanced with amusement at the eager 
 girl as much as with admiration at the beautiful 
 mother. Mr. Dutton had been invited to come and 
 take coffee and spend the evening with them again, 
 but Mr. Egremont's affairs with the dentist had been 
 completed, and he had picked up, or, more strictly 
 speaking, Gregorio had hunted up for him, a couple of 
 French acquaintances, who appeared before long and 
 engrossed him entirely. 
 
 Mr. Dutton sat between the two ladies on a stiff 
 dark-green sofa on the opposite side of the room, and 
 under cover of the eager, half-shrieking, gesticulating 
 talk of the Frenchmen they had a quiet low -toned 
 conversation, like old times, Alice said. ' More than 
 old times,' Nuttie added, and perhaps the others both 
 agreed with her. 
 
 When the two Englishwomen started at some of 
 the loud French tones, almost imagining they were full 
 of rage and fury, their friend smiled and said that such 
 had been his first notion on coming abroad. 
 
 ' You have been a great deal abroad ? ' Mrs. Egre- 
 mont asked ; ' you seem quite at home in Paris.' 
 
 ' Oh, mamma, he showed me where the school was 
 that he went to, and the house where he lived S Up 
 such an immense way ! ' 
 
 Mr. Dutton was drawn on to tell more of his former 
 life than ever had been known to them. His father, 
 a wine merchant, had died a bankrupt when he was ten
 
 xvii.] AN OLD FKIEND. 207 
 
 years old, and a relation, engaged in the same business 
 at Paris, had offered to give him a few years of foreign 
 schooling, and then make him useful in the business. 
 
 His excellent mother had come with him, and they 
 had lived together on very small means, high up in a 
 many-storied lodging-house, while he daily attended the 
 Lytic. His reminiscences were very happy of those 
 days of cheerful contrivance, of her eager desire to 
 make the tiny appartement a home to her boy, of their 
 pleasant Sundays and holidays, and the life that in 
 this manner was peculiarly guarded by her influence, 
 and the sense of being all she had upon earth. He 
 had scarcely ever spoken of her before, and he dwelt 
 on her now with a tenderness that showed how she had 
 been the guiding spirit of his life. 
 
 At fifteen he was taken into the office at Marseilles, 
 and she went thither with him, but the climate did 
 not agree with her; she drooped, and, moreover, he 
 discovered that the business was not conducted in the 
 honourable manner he had supposed. After a few 
 months of weighing his obligations to his kinsman 
 against these instincts, the question was solved by his 
 cousin's retiring. He resolved to take his mother back 
 to England at any loss, and falling in with one of the 
 partners of the umbrella firm in quest of French silk, he 
 was engaged as foreign correspondent, and brought his 
 mother to Micklethwayte, but not in time to restore 
 her health, and he had been left alone in the world 
 just as he came of age, when a small legacy came to 
 him from his cousin, too late for her to profit by it.
 
 208 NUTTIE'S FATHER. [chap. 
 
 It had been invested in the business, and he had thus 
 gradually risen to his present position. Mrs. Egre- 
 niont was amazed to hear that his mother had only 
 been dead so short a time before she had herself come 
 to Micklethwayte ; and fairly apologised for the sur- 
 prise she could not help betraying at finding how 
 youthful he had then been, and Nuttie exclaimed, in 
 her original unguarded fashion : 
 
 'Why, Mr. Dutton, I always thought you were 
 an old bachelor ! ' 
 
 ' Nuttie, my dear ! ' said her mother in a note of 
 warning, but Mr. Dutton laughed and said : 
 
 ' Not so far wrong ! They tell me I never was a 
 young man.' 
 
 ' You had always to be everything to your mother,' 
 said Mrs. Egremont softly. 
 
 'Yes,' he said, 'and a very blessed thing it was 
 for me.' 
 
 ' Ah ! you don't regret now all that you must have 
 always been giving up for her,' returned Alice. 
 
 ' No, indeed. Only that I did not give up more.' 
 
 ' That is always the way.' 
 
 ' It is indeed. One little knows the whips that a 
 little self-will prepares.' 
 
 Nuttie thought he said it for her admonition, and 
 observed, 'But she was good,' only, however, in a mumble, 
 that the other two thought it inexpedient to notice, 
 though it made both hearts ache for her, even Alice's 
 — with an additional pang of self-reproach that she 
 herself was not good enough to help her daughter better.
 
 xvil] AN OLD FRIEND. 209 
 
 Xeither of them guessed at the effect that a glimpse 
 of the lovely young seeming widow had had on the 
 already grave self-restrained young man in the home 
 lately made lonely, how she had been his secret object 
 for years, and how, when her history was revealed to 
 him, he had still hoped on for a certainty which had 
 come at last as so fatal a shock and overthrow to all 
 his dreams. 
 
 A life of self-restraint and self- conquest had 
 rendered it safe for him to thoroughly enjoy the brief 
 intercourse, which had come about by the accident of 
 his having come to dine at the Hotel de Louvre, to 
 meet a friend who had failed him. 
 
 These were two completely happy hours to all the 
 three, and when they said 'good -night' there was a 
 sense of soothing and invigoration on Alice's mind ; 
 and on Nuttie's that patience and dutifulness were 
 the best modes of doing justice to her Micklethwayte 
 training, although he had scarcely said a word of 
 direct rebuke or counsel. 
 
 While Mr. Dutton sped home to tell Miss Head- 
 worth that Mrs. Egremont looked lovelier than ever, 
 and was — yes she was — more of an angel, that her 
 husband had been very pleasant, much better than he 
 expected, and, indeed, might come to anything good 
 under such influence ; and as to little Nuttie — she 
 was developing fast, and had a brave constant heart, 
 altogether at Micklethwayte. But that servant who 
 was acting as courier was an insolent scoundrel, who 
 was evidently cheating them to the last degree. 
 vol. i. p
 
 CHAPTEE XVIII. 
 
 A FRIEND IN NEED. 
 
 1 True courage often is in frightened eyes. ' — 
 
 Thoughts and Verses. 
 
 All the preliminaries of the sojourn at Nice had been 
 settled in correspondence, and the Egremont family 
 had nothing to do, after arriving at the station, but to 
 drive up to Villa Eugenie, whose flower -wreathed 
 balconies were like a vision of beauty. Servants had 
 been hired through agencies known to Mr. Egremont, 
 and Gregorio looked very black at his mistress keeping 
 the reins in her hand, and tried to make her feel her- 
 self inefficient. 
 
 It was not an eventful or very interesting part of 
 Ursula's life. She was almost wild with the novelty 
 and beauty of the South at first, but except for what 
 she could thus see, there was little variety. The 
 mould of the day was as much as possible after the 
 Bridgefield fashion, except that there were no cousins 
 at the Rectory, no parish interests, very little society, 
 as far as the ladies were concerned. Mr. Egremont
 
 chap. XVIII.] A FRIEND IX NEED. 211 
 
 had old acquaintance and associates with whom he 
 spent afternoons and evenings, after his own fashion, 
 but they were not people to whom he wished to intro- 
 duce Ins wife and daughter. 
 
 And the superior English habitues of Nice, the 
 families who formed the regular society, knew Mr. 
 Egremont's reputation sufficiently to feel by no means 
 disposed to be cordial to the fair wife and grown-up 
 daughter whom he so unexpectedly produced on the 
 scene. It had been different at home, where he had 
 county standing, and the Canon and Canoness answered 
 for the newcomers ; but here, where all sorts of 
 strange people came to the surface, the respectable felt 
 it needful to be very cautious, and though of course 
 one or two ladies had been asked to call through the 
 intervention of Lady Kirkalcly or of Mrs. William 
 Egremont, and had been assured on their authority 
 that it was ' all right,' their attentions were clogged 
 by doubt, and by reluctance to involve their man- 
 kind in intimacy with the head of the family. 
 Thus very little of the proverbial gaiety of Nice 
 offered itself to Nuttie and her mother, and, except 
 by a clerical family who knew Mr. Spyers, they 
 were kept at a distance, which Mr. Egremont per- 
 ceived and resented by permitting no advances. The 
 climate suited him so well that, to his wife's great 
 relief, he seemed to have dropped his inclination for 
 sedatives ; but his eyes would not bear much, and she 
 felt bound to be always on the alert, able to amuse 
 him and hinder his feeling it dull. Gregorio highly
 
 212 nuttee's fathee. [chap. 
 
 disapproved of the house and servants, and was always 
 giving hints that Mentone would agree far better with 
 his master ; but every day that Mr. Egremont seemed 
 sufficiently amused at Nice was so much gain, and she 
 had this in her favour, that he was always indolent 
 and hard to move. Moreover, between his master's 
 levee and late dinner Gregorio was hardly ever to be 
 found. No doubt he knew the way to Monte Carlo 
 well enough, and perhaps preferred that the family 
 should be farther off, for he soon ceased to show him- 
 self discontented with their present abode. Once 
 when his absence was inconvenient, Mr. Egremont 
 abused him roundly as a good-for-nothing gambler, 
 but when Alice hoped that he might be called to a 
 reckoning, the wrath had subsided with the immediate 
 vexation, and as usual she was told ' All those fellows 
 were alike.' 
 
 The foreign servants were not to be induced to 
 give the early-rising ladies more than a roll and cup 
 of coffee, and Nuttie felt ravenous till she learned to 
 lay in a stock of biscuits, and, with Martin's conni- 
 vance, made tea on her own account, and sustained her 
 mother for the morning's walk before the summons to 
 Mr. Egremont. 
 
 He always wanted his wife much earlier in the day, 
 during his hours of deshabille, and letting her write 
 his letters and read the papers to him. She was 
 pleased with this advance, but it gave Nuttie a great 
 deal more solitude, which was sometimes judiciously 
 spent, but it was very hard not to be desultory in
 
 XVIII.] A FRIEND IX NEED. 213 
 
 spite of learning lessons in French, Italian, and 
 drawing. 
 
 Later in the day came the drive or the visit to the 
 public gardens when the band was playing, but this 
 became less frequent as Mr. Egremont observed the 
 cold civility shown to his wife, and as he likewise 
 grew stronger and made more engagements of his own. 
 Then Nuttie had happy afternoons of driving, donkey- 
 riding, or walking with her mother, sketching, botanising, 
 admiring, and laying up stores for the long descriptive 
 letters that delighted the party in St. Ambrose's Eoad, 
 drinking in all the charm of the scenery, and entering 
 into it intelligently. They spent a good many even- 
 ings alone together likewise, and it could not but give 
 Alice a pang to see the gladness her daughter did not 
 repress when this was the case, even though to herself 
 it meant relaxation of the perpetual vigilance she had 
 to exert when the father and daughter were together 
 to avert collisions. They were certainly not coming 
 nearer to one another, though Nuttie was behaving 
 very w T ell and submissively on the whole, and seldom 
 showing symptoms of rebellion. This went on through 
 the early part of their stay, but latterly there was a 
 growing sense upon the girl that she and her mother 
 were avoided by some young ladies to whom they had 
 been introduced, and whom they saw regularly at the 
 daily services at St. Michael's Church. They were 
 pleasant -looking girls, with whom Nuttie longed to 
 fraternise, and she was mortified at never being allowed 
 to get beyond a few frigidly civil words in the street,
 
 214 NUTTIE'S FATHER. [.hap. 
 
 more especially when she came upon sketching parties 
 and picnics in which she was never included. 
 
 It was all very well for her mother to answer her 
 murmurs and wonderings with ' You know people are 
 very exclusive, my dear.' Nuttie began to. guess that 
 her father and her name were the real reason, and her 
 eyes were further opened later in the spring when Mr. 
 Egremont, who had recovered unusual health and 
 vigour, took his ladies to Mentone to spend a day or 
 two in the newer beauties there. Alice had her mis- 
 givings, but the visit was avowedly to show the place 
 to her, and she could not reasonably object. He was 
 in unusual good humour, and even tolerated their 
 ecstasies at the scenery and the flowers, dined at the 
 table d'hote and found acquaintance, enjoyed himself, 
 and in the forenoon, while Xuttie was out wondering 
 and admiring, and going as far as she could drag 
 Martin, he expressed to his wife that she would be 
 astonished at the gardens and the music of Monte 
 Carlo. 
 
 There, however, Alice made a stand. ' Thank you, 
 it is very kind, but if you please, I should not like to 
 take Ursula to Monte Carlo, or to go there myself,' she 
 said in an apologetic tone. 
 
 He laughed. ' What ! you are afraid of making 
 the little one a confirmed gambler ? ' 
 
 ' You know I am not, but ' 
 
 1 You think the little prig will be contaminated, eh ? ' 
 
 'Well, I think it will be happier for her if she 
 never sees anything — of the kind.'
 
 XVIII. 
 
 A FRIEND IX XEED. 21 
 
 1 You little foolish Edda, as if her eyes or ears 
 need see anything but flowers and music and good 
 company.' 
 
 ' I know that, but I had so much rather not.' It 
 was a sweet face and caressing voice that implored, 
 and he still was good humoured. 
 
 'Well, well, I don't want to drag you, old lady, 
 against your will, though I fancy you would be rather 
 surprised at the real aspect of the abode of iniquity 
 your fancy depicts.' 
 
 ' Oh, thank you, thank you so much !' 
 
 ' What an absurd little woman it is ! I wonder if 
 you would thank me as heartily supposing I cleared a 
 round thousand and gave you — say a diamond neck- 
 lace V 
 
 ' I am sure I should not !' 
 
 'No, I don't believe you would. That restless 
 little conscience of yours would be up on end. After 
 all, I don't know that you are the worse for it, when 
 it looks so prettily out of your brown eyes. I wonder 
 what you expect to see ? The ruined gamester shoot- 
 ing himself on every path, eh V 
 
 1 No, no ; I don't suppose I should see anything 
 horrid or even disagreeable. I know it is all very 
 beautiful ; but then every person who goes for the 
 innocent pleasures' sake only helps to keep up the 
 whole thing — evil and all.' 
 
 1 And what would the old women of all sorts here 
 and at Mce do without such a choice temple of scandal 
 to whet their teeth upon ? Well, I suppose you and
 
 216 nuttie's father. [chap. 
 
 your precious daughter can take care of yourselves. 
 There are the gardens, or you can tell Gregorio to 
 order you a carriage.' 
 
 ' Then you are going ? ' 
 
 c Yes, I promised Grafton. Don't be afraid, Mis- 
 tress Edda, I'm not going to stake Bridgefield and 
 reduce you to beggary. I'm an old hand, and was a 
 cool one in my worst days, and whatever I get I'll 
 hand over to appease you.' 
 
 That was all she could obtain, and she secretly 
 hoped there would be no winnings to perplex her. 
 Thankful that she had not made him angry by the 
 resistance for which she had prepared herself with 
 secret prayer ever since the Mentone scheme had been 
 proposed, she placed herself at Nuttie's disposition for 
 the rest of the day. 
 
 They had a charming donkey-ride, and, still un- 
 satiated with beauty, Ursula made her mother come 
 out again to wonder at the trees in the public 
 gardens. Bather tired, they were sitting on a 
 shaded bench, when a voice close to them exclaimed, 
 'It is; yes, it must be; 'tis the voice — yes, and 
 the face prettier than ever. Little Alice — ah ! 
 you don't know me. Time has been kinder to you 
 than to me.' 
 
 ' Oh ! I know you now ! I beg your pardon,' cried 
 Alice, recognising in the thin nutcracker parchment 
 visage and shabbily-dressed figure the remnant of the 
 brilliant aquiline countenance and gay attire of eighteen 
 years ago. ' Mrs. Houghton ! I am so glad to have
 
 xviii.] A FRIEND IN XEED. 217 
 
 met you, you were so kind to me. And here 
 she is.' 
 
 ' What ! is this the child ? Bless me, what a proof 
 how time goes ! Young lady, you'll excuse my not 
 knowing you. You were a very inconvenient person- 
 age not quite born when I last met your mother. 
 What a likeness ! I could have known her for Alwyn 
 Egremont's daughter anywhere !' 
 
 ' Yes, they all say she is a thorough Egremont.' 
 
 ' Then it is all right. I saw Alwyn Egremont, 
 Esquire, and family among the arrivals at Xice, but I 
 hardly durst expect that it was you. It seemed too 
 good to be true, though I took care the knot should be 
 tied faster than my gentleman suspected.' 
 
 'Oh, please!' cried Alice deprecatingly, at first 
 not apprehending the force of the words, having never 
 known the gulf from which Mrs. Houghton had saved 
 her, and that lady, seeing that the girl was listening 
 with all her ears, thought of little pitchers and re- 
 strained her reminiscences, asking with real warm 
 interest, ' And how was it ? How did you meet him 
 again ?' 
 
 ( He came and found me out,' said Alice, with satis- 
 faction in her voice. 
 
 1 Indeed ! Not at Dieppe ; for he was en gargon 
 when I nearly came across him ten years ago at 
 Florence.' 
 
 ' Oh no ! He inquired at Dieppe, but they had 
 lost the address my aunt left.' 
 
 ' Indeed ! I should not have thought it of old
 
 218 nuttie's father. [chap. 
 
 Madame Leroux, she seemed so thoroughly interested in 
 la pauvre petite, What did you do ? Your aunt 
 wrote to me when your troubles were safely over, and 
 she thought him lost in the poor Ninon, that she 
 meant to settle in a place with an awfully long York- 
 shire name.' 
 
 ' Micklethwayte ; yes, we lived there, and got on 
 very well. We had boarders, and I had some dear 
 little pupils ; but last year Mark Egremont — you 
 remember dear little Mark — was in the neighbourhood, 
 and hearing my name, he told his uncle, who had been 
 seeking us ever since. And he came, Mr. Egremont, 
 and took us home, and oh, the family have been so 
 kind !' 
 
 ' What ? The parson, and that awful old she-lion 
 of a grandmother, whose very name scared you out of 
 your wits V 
 
 * She is dead, and so is dear good Lady Adelaide. 
 Canon Egremont is kindness itself. It was all the old 
 lady's doing, and he knew nothing about it. He was 
 gone to Madeira with Lady Adelaide and got none of 
 our letters, and he never knew that his brother was 
 married to me.' 
 
 ' Trust Alwyn for that,' Mrs. Houghton muttered. 
 ' Well, all's well that ends well, and I hope he feels 
 due gratitude to me for doing him a good turn against 
 his will. I tried to get at him at Florence to find out 
 what he had done with you, but unluckily I was ill, 
 and had to send through poor Houghton, and he mis- 
 managed it of course, though I actually wrote down
 
 xviii.] A FRIEND IN NEED. 219 
 
 that barbarous address, Mickle something, on a card. 
 I believe he only got as far as the man instead of the 
 master.' 
 
 ' Ah ! I wanted to ask for Captain Houghton,' said 
 Alice, glad to lead the conversation away from revela- 
 tions of which she had an instinctive dread. 
 
 1 Gone, my dear ! two years ago. Poor fellow ! it 
 was low fever, but quite as much want of luck, I shall 
 always believe,' she said. 
 
 ' Oh, I am sorry ! He was so kind to me ! ' said 
 Alice, squeezing her hand, and looking up with sweet 
 tender commiseration. 
 
 ' There, there, don't, you pretty creature ! ' said Mrs. 
 Houghton, putting her hand across her eyes. ' I 
 declare, you've almost made me cry — which I've not 
 done — well, hardly, since I parted with you at Dieppe, 
 thinking you a sweet little flower plucked and thrown 
 away to die, though I had done my best to bind it to 
 him. What care I took not to let Houghton disabuse 
 him about Jersey marriages ! ' 
 
 There is a difference between hearing and hearken- 
 ing, and Alice Egremont's loving and unsuspecting 
 heart was so entirely closed against evil thoughts of 
 her husband, and so fully occupied with her old 
 friend's condition, that she never took in the signi- 
 fication of all this, while Xuttie, being essentially of a 
 far more shrewd and less confiding nature, and already 
 imbued with extreme distrust of her father, was taking 
 in all these revelations with an open-eyed, silent horror 
 of conviction that her old impressions of the likeness
 
 220 nuttie's father. [chap. 
 
 to Marmion or Theseus had been perfectly correct. 
 It was all under her hat, however, and the elder ladies 
 never thought of her, Alice bringing back the con- 
 versation to Mrs. Houghton herself. ' Oh, my dear, I 
 drag on as I can. I've got a fragment of our old 
 income, and when that's run too low, I go up to 
 Monte Carlo — I always had the lucky hand, you 
 know, and 'tis only restitution after all ! I'm sick of 
 it all though, and sometimes think I'll take my good 
 sister Anne's offers and go home.' 
 
 ' Oh do, do ! ' cried Alice. 
 
 1 But,' went on the poor woman, ' humble pie goes 
 against me, and think what an amount would be 
 before me — heigh ho ! — after nearly five-and-twenty 
 years; yes, five-and-twenty years it is — since Houghton, 
 poor fellow, told me I was too bright and winsome for 
 a little country lawyer's house in a poky street. 
 What would they think of me now ? ' and she laughed 
 with a sound that was painful to hear. 'Well, 
 Sycorax had done one good deed, and when I look at 
 you, queening it there, I feel that so have I.' 
 
 ' You were very good to me, I know ; but oh, if 
 you would go home to your sister ! ' 
 
 ' My dear, you little know what you ask ! Anne ! 
 Why she is the prime district lady, or whatever you 
 call it, of Dockforth. Think what it would be to her 
 to have this battered old vaurien thrown on her hands, 
 to be the stock subject for all the righteous tongues. 
 Besides,' as she coughed, ' the English climate would 
 make an end of me outright. I'm in a bad way
 
 xvin.] A FRIEND IX NEED. 221 
 
 enough here, where I can sit among the lemon trees 
 half the days in the winter, but the English fireside 
 in a stuffy parlour ' and she shuddered. 
 
 That shiver reminded all that it was getting late, 
 too late for Mrs. Houghton to be out of doors, and 
 near the time when Mr. Egremont was to meet his 
 ladies at the hotel. Alice begged for Mrs. Houghton's 
 address, and it was given with a short ironical laugh 
 at her promise to call again if possible. ' Aye, if 
 possible,' the poor woman repeated. ' I understand ! 
 'No, no,' as Alice was about to kiss her. ' I won't 
 have it clone.' 
 
 1 There's no one in sight.' 
 
 c As if that made a difference ! Alice, child, you 
 are as innocent as the little dove that flew aboard the 
 Ninon. How have you done it ? Get along with 
 you ! No kisses to such as me ! I don't know whether 
 it breaks my heart, or binds it up to look at the face 
 of you. Anyway, I can't bear it.' 
 
 She hurried away, and made some steps from them. 
 A terrible paroxysm of coughing came on, and Mrs. 
 Egremont hurried towards her, but she waved back 
 all help, shook her head, and insisted on going home. 
 Alice kept her in sight, till she dived into a small side 
 street. 
 
 ' Mother,' said Nuttie. Then there was a pause. 
 ' Mother, did you know all this ? ' 
 
 ' Don't talk of it, Nuttie. It is not a thing to be 
 talked about to any one or by any one. I wish you 
 had not been there.'
 
 222 PUTTIE'S FATHER. [chap. 
 
 1 But mother, this once ! Did you know ? ' 
 
 ' I knew that I knew not what I did when I went 
 on board that yacht, but that God's kind providence 
 was over me in a way that I little deserved. That is 
 all I care to know, and, Ursula, I will have not another 
 word about it. No, I will not hear it.' 
 
 ' I was only going to ask whether you would tell 
 my father.' 
 
 ' Certainly ; but not before you.' 
 
 The tone of decision was unwonted, and ISTuttie 
 knew she must abide by it, but the last shreds of 
 filial respect towards Mr. Egremont were torn away 
 by what Mrs. Houghton had implied, and the girl 
 dashed up and down her bedroom muttering to herself, 
 ' Oh, why have I such a father ? And she, she will 
 not see it, she is wilfully blind ! Why not break with 
 him and go home to dear Aunt Ursel and Gerard and 
 Mr. Dutton at once, instead of this horrid, horrid 
 grandeur? Oh, if I could fling all these fine things in 
 his face, and have done with him for ever. Some day 
 I will, when I am of age, and Gerard has won his way/ 
 
 Meantime Alice, in some trepidation, but with 
 resolution at the bottom, had told her husband of the 
 meeting with Mrs. Houohton, of her widowhood, sick- 
 ness, and poverty. 
 
 He did not like the intelligence of their meeting, 
 and hoped no one had seen it ; then, when reassured on 
 this score, he hummed a little and exclaimed, 'Poor 
 old Flossy Houghton ! I don't wonder ! They went 
 the pace ! Well, what do you want ? Twenty pounds
 
 •xviii.] A FEIEXD IN XEED. 223 
 
 for her ! Why, 'twill all be at Monte Carlo in three 
 days' time.' 
 
 ' It is very good of you, hut I want more than that. 
 She is so ill and wretched, you know.' 
 
 ' I can't have you visiting her, if that's what you 
 mean. Why, after all the pains I've t been at to get 
 you on your proper level at home, here's my Lady 
 Louisa and all her crew, in their confounded insolence, 
 fighting shy of you, and you can't give them a better 
 colour for it than by running after a woman like that — 
 divorced to begin with, and known at every gambling 
 table in Europe.' 
 
 ' I know that, Alwyn, dear Alwyn ' (it was very 
 seldom that she called him so, and she put her clasped 
 hands on his shoulder) ; ' but I am sure she is dying, 
 and she was so good to me, I can't bear doing nothing 
 for her.' 
 
 ' Well, there's twenty — fifty, if you like.' 
 
 1 Thank you, thank you, but you know I never 
 meant to visit her — like — like society ; only to go 
 sometimes privately and ' 
 
 ' And how about your daughter ? ' 
 
 ' I would not take her on any account. What I 
 want to do is this. Mrs. Houghton spoke of her sister, 
 a kind good woman in England, who would take her 
 home, and love her, if only she could bring herself 
 to go. Now, I think I could persuade her to write, or 
 let me write to the sister — and if only the two were 
 together again ! It is very dreadful to think of her 
 dying alone, in the way she is going on ! '
 
 224 NUTTIE'S FATHER. [chap. 
 
 ' What, little saint, you want to try your hand on 
 her ? I should say she was too tough an old sinner 
 for you.' 
 
 ' Oh, Alwyn ! her heart was very near, though she 
 tried to keep it back. I do not want to — to do what 
 you mean — only to get her to let her sister come. I'm 
 sure that would do the rest.' 
 
 ' If any sister does more than you, you little witch,' 
 he said. 
 
 Alice pressed him no more then, but a day or two 
 later, when she knew he had an engagement, she 
 arranged to dispose of Nuttie with the clergyman's 
 wife, and then begged permission to go by train to 
 Mentone, and come back in the evening. He did not 
 like it — no more did she — for she was perfectly un- 
 accustomed to travelling alone, but there was a deep 
 sense of sacred duty upon her, only strengthened by 
 her unwillingness to realise how much she owed to 
 Mrs. Houghton. 
 
 She telegraphed that she was coming, and found her 
 friend more touched than she chose to allow at the 
 fact of her visit, declaring that she must have wonderful 
 power over Alwyn Egremont, if she knew how to use 
 it ; indeed, the whole tone was of what Alice felt 
 flattery, intended to turn away anything more serious. 
 Poor woman, she was as careful of doing no injury to 
 her young friend's reputation as Mr. Egremont could 
 have desired. Alice had come resolved that she 
 should have one good meal, but she would not hear 
 of eating anywhere in public where either could be
 
 xviii.] A FPJEXD IX XEED. 225 
 
 recognised, and the food was brought to a private 
 room in the hotel. To her lodgings she still would 
 not take Alice, nor would she give her sister's address. 
 Except for a genuine shower of tears when Alice 
 insisted on kissing her there seemed no ground 
 gained. 
 
 But Alice went again on her husband's next visit 
 to Mentone. He was, to a certain degree, interested in 
 her endeavours, and really wished the poor woman to 
 be under the charge of her relations, instead of dying 
 a miserable lonely death among strangers. 
 
 This time Alice had to seek her friend in the dreary 
 quatrtime of the tall house with the dirty stone stairs. 
 It was a doleful empty room, where, with a mannish- 
 looking dressing-gown and a torn lace scarf tied 
 hood-fashion over her scanty hair, Mrs. Houghton 
 sat over a pan of charcoal oppressive to Alice's English 
 lungs. 
 
 O' 
 
 ' Come again!' she cried. { Well, I really shall begin 
 to think that angels and ministers of grace exist off 
 the stage ! You pretty thing ! Let me look at you. 
 Where did you get that delicious little bonnet ? ' 
 
 1 Why, it is perfectly plain ! ' 
 
 1 So it is ! 'Tis only the face that is in it. Xow 
 if some folks put this on — sister Anne, for example, 
 what dowdies they would be. Poor old Anne, you must 
 know she had a turn for finery, only she never knew 
 how to gratify it. To see the contortions of her crino- 
 lines was the delight of all the grammar school. It 
 was a regular comedy for them to see her get into our 
 
 VOL. I. Q
 
 226 NUTTIE'S FATHEK. [cHAr. 
 
 pew edgeways, and once unconsciously she carried off 
 a gentleman's hat on her train.' 
 
 So she went on talking, coughing at intervals, and 
 generally using a half- mocking tone, as if defying the 
 tenderness that awoke in spite of her, but always of her 
 original home, and especially of her sister. Alice ven- 
 tured to ask whether they often heard from one another. 
 
 ' Good soul, she always writes at Christmas and on 
 my birthday. I know as well as possible that I shall 
 find a letter poste restante wherever she heard of me 
 last, and that she hasn't done — I'm ashamed to say 
 for how long — really, I think not since I let her 
 know that I couldn't stand Ivy Lodge, Dockforth, at 
 any price, when she wrote to Monaco on seeing poor 
 Houghton's death in the paper.' 
 
 There was a good deal of rambling talk of this 
 kind, to which Alice listened tenderly and compassion- 
 ately, making no attempt at persuasion, only doing 
 what was possible for the poor lady's comfort. She 
 had procured on her way some fruit and jelly, and 
 some good English tea, at which Mrs. Houghton 
 laughed, saying, ' Time was, I called it cat-lap ! Some- 
 how it will seem the elixir of life now, redolent, even 
 milkless, of the days when we were young.' 
 
 Then she revealed something of her long, suffering, 
 almost ghastly nights, and Alice gently told how her 
 old friend, Mrs. Nugent, suffered from sleeplessness, and 
 kept a store of soothing psalms and hymns in her 
 memory. There was a little laugh. ' That's for you 
 good folk. I haven't such a thing about me ! Come,
 
 xvill.] A FRIEND IX NEED. 227 
 
 Par exemple V and Alice repeated the first thing she 
 could remember, the verse beginning ' God, who madest 
 earth and heaven.' 
 
 ' That's one of your charms, is it ? Well, it would 
 not be too much for me if my poor old memory would 
 hold it. Say it again.' 
 
 Alice generally had about her a tiny prayer-book 
 with ' Hymns, Ancient and Modern,' attached. It had 
 been a gift from Mary Nugent, and she was fond of it, 
 but the opportunity was not to be lost, and she took 
 it out, saying she would bring a larger one and reclaim 
 it. And, as she was finally taking leave, she said with 
 a throbbing heart, ' Do you know that you have be- 
 trayed your sister's address ? I shall write to her now.' 
 
 1 If you do ! ' cried Mrs. Houghton, in a tone 
 
 like threatening deprecation, but with a little of her 
 strange banter in it besides. Alice's mind had been 
 made up to do the thing, and she had not felt it 
 honest not to give due warning of her intentions. 
 Even now she was not certain of the lady's surname, 
 but she trusted to her husband's knowledge of Mrs. 
 Houghton's previous history; and not in vain. Mr. 
 Egremont amused himself with a little ridicule at his 
 wife's quixotry, and demanded whether Flossy Hough- 
 ton was a promising convert ; but confessed himself very 
 glad that the poor thing should be off their hands, 
 declaring that it was quite time her own people looked 
 after her, and happily he recollected her maiden name. 
 So the letter was written, after numerous attempts 
 at expressing it suitably, explaining Mrs. Houghton's
 
 228 NUTTIE'S FATHER. [chap. 
 
 illness and the yearnings she was too proud and ashamed 
 to express to her sister, and was answered at once by a 
 few short words of earnest gratitude, and an assurance 
 that Miss Eeade was preparing to start at once. Could 
 Mrs. Egremont meet her and prepare her sister ? 
 
 To Alice's disappointment this could not be. Mr. 
 Egremont had invited some friends to the villa, and 
 would not spare her. She could only send a note, 
 assuring Miss Eeade that she believed that preparation 
 would do more harm than good, and she waited and 
 watched anxiously. A card came by the post in Mrs. 
 Houghton's scrawled writing. ' Naughty little wretch ! ' 
 was all it said, but thence she gathered hope. 
 
 The spring was advancing, and Mr. Egremont was 
 in haste to be gone, but Alice obtained one more run 
 to Mentone, and once more climbed up the dark and 
 dirty stairs to the room, where the well-known voice 
 answered her tap, c Come in ! Ah, there she is, the 
 wicked little angel ! ' 
 
 A substantial little roly-poly business-like little 
 woman hurried forward with tearful eyes and out- 
 stretched hands. ( Oh, Mrs. Egremont ! can I ever 
 thank you enough ? ' 
 
 ' You can't, Anne, so don't try. It will be a relief 
 to all parties,' interposed Mrs. Houghton. ' Sentiment 
 is not permitted here.' 
 
 Nevertheless she hugged Alice almost convulsively. 
 She was sitting in a comfortable arm-chair, one about 
 which Mrs. Egremont knew something, and the whole 
 aspect of the room had changed indescribably for the
 
 XVIII. 
 
 A FPJEXD IX NEED. 229 
 
 better, as much indeed as Mrs. Houghton's own per- 
 sonal array, which had no longer the desolate neglected 
 look of old. 
 
 A little stool was close to her chair, as if the two 
 sisters could not bear to be far apart, and the look of 
 love and content in their eyes as they turned to one 
 another was perfect joy to Alice. She had no longer 
 any doubt that Anne Eeade, who had found the 
 wanderer yet a great way off, would yet bring her 
 back to the home, spiritually if not outwardly. 
 
 Mrs. Houghton spoke of better rooms when the 
 winter visitors had fled, Anne spoke of her being able 
 to return to Dockforth. Whether that would ever 
 be seemed entirely doubtful to Alice's eyes, especially 
 as the patient's inclination was evidently otherwise. 
 There was nothing to be done but to leave the sisters 
 together, obtaining Miss Reade's ready promise to write, 
 and putting into her hands a sum of money which 
 could be sincerely called ' only a debt of gratitude 
 from my husband and me,' and which would smooth 
 the way either to remaining or returning to England. 
 
 Nor was there any return. Ere many weeks had 
 passed Mrs. Egremont heard from Miss Eeade how 
 a fresh cold had made it impossible to move, and 
 summer heat had brought on low fever, which had 
 destroyed the feeble strength, but not till ' childhood's 
 star ' had again arisen, and a deeply and truly repent- 
 ant woman had passed away, saved, as it seemed, 
 through that one effort on behalf of the young girl 
 whose innocence she had protected.
 
 CHAPTEE XIX. 
 
 THE VORTEX. 
 ' With one black shadow at her feet. ' — Tennyson. 
 
 The rebuffs that society had bestowed on his wife and 
 daughter at Nice had rendered Mr. Egremont the more 
 determined on producing them in London and estab- 
 lishing their position. He secured a furnished house 
 in Westburnia before leaving Mce, and, travelling 
 leisurely home without visiting Bridgefield, he took 
 possession the second week in May. 
 
 There had not been much correspondence with the 
 Rectory, and on the first forenoon, as Mrs. Egremont 
 and Nuttie were trying to enliven the drawing-room 
 with the flowers sent up to meet them, they were 
 surprised by the entrance of Blanche, full of kisses 
 and welcomes. 
 
 ' Oh ! didn't you know ? I'm with the Kirkaldys 
 just round the corner. Aunt Margaret has undertaken 
 to do the part of a noble aunt by me.' 
 
 ' Then you are here for the season ? And May ? ' 
 
 'May wouldn't come, except just for a week to
 
 CHAP. XIX. 
 
 THE VORTEX. 231 
 
 see the pictures, and lay in a stock of talk. She's 
 grown more parochial than ever, and we believe it is 
 all Hugh Condamine. Oh ! I forgot you were gone 
 before we carne home last autumn. He is mamma's 
 nephew, you know, and was ordained last year to the 
 curacy of the next parish to his father's place. If the 
 Edwardses only would take themselves oft", we would 
 have him at home, and then we should have flowers 
 on the altar, and all sorts of jolly things. Papa would 
 stand ever so much more from him than from the old 
 Edwardses.' 
 
 ' But is he engaged to May, then ? ' 
 
 ' Well, no, not exactly. I believe he does not think 
 it right till he has done preparing for priest's orders. 
 He's ever so strict, you know, and he hasn't got much 
 either ; but he means it. Lucy, his sister, you know, 
 told me all about it, and that altogether the elders had 
 settled it was better for both that he should attend to 
 his preparation, and May should not bind herself, 
 though they really understand one another, and so 
 she won't come to London.' 
 
 ' Oh, that's very good of her ! ' cried Nuttie ; ' but 
 why won't they let them settle their minds and be 
 engaged ? ' 
 
 ' People are always tiresome,' said Blanche ; ' and 
 I do believe the living is at the bottom of it, at least 
 Lucy thought so. I mean everybody wants to wait — 
 all the old ones, I mean — not Hugh or May, of course 
 — to know whether Mark will stick to the umbrellas, 
 or turn back and be a clergyman, because, then, of
 
 232 NUTTIE'S FATHER. [chap. 
 
 course, lie would have the living; and if he doesn't, 
 they want to be certain whether Uncle Alwyn, or you, 
 Nuttie, would promise it to Hugh if he married May !' 
 ' Me !' exclaimed Nuttie. 
 
 I My dear, I don't like to hear you talk of such 
 things,' said Mrs. Egremont gently. 
 
 ' Oh yes, I know — it's all very dreadful. I was 
 only telling you what is in the old people's heads, 
 and what would settle it, and make it all right with 
 them.' 
 
 ' And how is Mark ? Is Miss Euthven in London ?' 
 asked Mrs. Egremont, glad to turn away the conversa- 
 tion from the contingencies of which Blanche spoke 
 with the hardness of youth, as yet not realising sorrow. 
 
 I I daresay you know nearly as much of Mark 
 as we do, now the Kirkaldys are up here. All his 
 letters go to Lescombe. Oh no, Annaple is not in 
 London. The Delmars can't afford it, you know, 
 though I believe my lady would have made a stretch 
 if Annaple hadn't been bespoke — but now she re- 
 serves herself for Muriel.' 
 
 Alice looked with some discomfort at the soft fair- 
 haired creature who was uttering all this worldly 
 jargon in a tone that would have been flippant if it 
 had not been so childish. She asked if Lord Eonnis- 
 glen had written. 
 
 ' Oh yes, long ago. Lady Delmar had tried to 
 make him nasty about it, but he wouldn't be, so that's 
 all right ; and Mark seems to get on very well, though 
 it must be horridly dull for him now the Kirkaldys
 
 xix.] THE VORTEX. 233 
 
 are away, and he can't spend all his Sundays at 
 Monks Horton.' 
 
 ' He will get more into the spirit of the place,' said 
 Nuttie, whereat Blanche shrugged her shoulders a 
 little, and exclaimed : 
 
 ' You've got out of it at any rate, Nuttie !' 
 
 c I hope not !' 
 
 ' Well, then, the look of it ! I never saw any one 
 so improved ! Isn't she, Aunt Alice ? She's grown, I 
 declare ! Yes ' — measuring herself against her cousin 
 — ' I was a lee tie bit taller when you came, and now 
 you've got above me ! and what a duck of a way 
 of doing your hair ! You must show me ! I must 
 tell May there's no fear of your being taken for one 
 another now ; Aunt Margaret will be quite surprised.' 
 
 It was true that Ursula had developed a good deal 
 during the last year, and, under the experienced hands 
 of Martin, had lost her schoolgirl air, and turned into 
 a young lady capable of becoming the Paris outfit 
 which her father had enjoined. Without positive 
 beauty, she was a pleasing, intelligent, animated girl, 
 with the reputation of being an heiress, with a romance 
 in the background, and there was nothing to prevent 
 her from being a success. The family connections, 
 with Lady Kirkaldy to set the example, had deter- 
 mined on giving full support to Mrs. Egremont, and, 
 as of course every one liked to look at so lovely a face, 
 the way of both was smoothed in a manner that de- 
 lighted her husband when they encountered any of 
 those who had looked coldly on her at Nice.
 
 234 XUTTIE'S FATHER. [chap. 
 
 He would have had her presented, but her own 
 reluctance and the united counsels of Lady Kirkaldy 
 and the Canoness prevailed on him to drop the idea ; 
 and then there was a fight with Ursula, who declared 
 that she would not go to court if her mother did not ; 
 but she was overruled at last by that mother's tears 
 at her defiance ; and let herself be presented, together 
 with Blanche, by Lady Kirkaldy. 
 
 To Ursula it was altogether a strange time, full of 
 the same kind of reckless swing and senge of intoxi- 
 cation that had possessed her at Bridgefield. Not that 
 there was an excessive amount of actual gaiety. Hot 
 rooms and late hours were soon found not to agree 
 with Mrs. Egremont. She looked faded and languid 
 after evening parties ; and, as her husband really cared 
 more to have her ready to wait upon him and amuse 
 him than for anything else, he did not insist on her 
 going out more than might be needful to establish her 
 position, or when it suited him to show her off. The 
 other purposes were quite as well served by letting 
 L T rsula go out with Lady Kirkaldy, who was warmly 
 interested in mother and daughter, glad of a companion 
 for Blanche, and still more glad of a companion for 
 herself. For she was not slow to discover that exhi- 
 bitions, which were merely fashionable gapeseed to her 
 niece, were to Nuttie real delights, viewed intelligently, 
 and eliciting comments and questions that Lady 
 Kirkaldy and even her husband enjoyed in their 
 fresh interest, but which were unendurable weariness 
 to Blanche, unless she had some one to chatter with.
 
 xix.] THE VORTEX. 235 
 
 Lectures and lessons, which the aunt hoped to render 
 palatable by their being shared by the two cousins, 
 only served to show the difference between a trained 
 and eager, and an untrained and idle, nature. "With 
 the foreign society to be met at Lord Kirkaldy's, 
 Blanche was less at a loss than her brother, and could 
 get on by the help of nods and becks and wreathed 
 smiles ; but Nuttie, fresh from her winter abroad, could 
 really talk, and was often in request as a useful person 
 to help in entertaining. She thus saw some of the 
 choicest society in London, and, in addition, had as 
 much of the youthful gaiety as Lady Kirkaldy thought 
 wholesome for the two girls. Also there were those 
 ecclesiastical delights and privileges which had been 
 heard of at Micklethwayte, and were within reach, 
 greatly enjoyed by Mrs. Egremont whenever she could 
 share them, though her daughter chafed at her treating 
 all except the chief sendee on Sunday as more indul- 
 gence than duty. 
 
 Nuttie was strong, with that spring of energy 
 which unbroken health and a quiet life lays up, and, 
 in her own phrase, she went in for everything, from 
 early sendees to late balls, thinking all right because 
 it was seldom that her day did not begin with matins 
 or Celebration, and because she was not taken to more 
 than two balls a week, and conversed at times with 
 superior people, or looked at those with world-famed 
 names. Possibly the whirl was greater than if it had 
 been mere gaiety, for then the brain would not have 
 participated in it. Church functions, with the scurry to
 
 236 NUTTIE'S FATHER. [chap. 
 
 go at all, or to obtain a seat, fine music, grand sermons, 
 religious meetings, entertainments for the poor, lectures, 
 lessons, exhibitions, rides, drives, kettle-drums, garden- 
 parties, concerts, theatres, operas, balls, chattering, 
 laughing, discussing, reading up current subjects, en- 
 joying attention, excitement as to what should be 
 done and how, — one thing drove out another in per- 
 petual succession, and the one thing she never did or 
 could do was to sit still and think ! Eest was simply 
 dreamless sleep, generally under the spell of a strong 
 will to wake at the appointed hour for church. The 
 short intervals of being alone with her mother were 
 spent in pouring out histories of her doings, which 
 were received with a sympathy that doubled their 
 pleasure, excepting when Nuttie thought proper to 
 grumble and scold at her mother's not coming to some 
 Church festival at an hour when she thought Mr. 
 Egremont might want her. 
 
 Of him Nuttie saw very little. He did not want 
 her, and cared little what she did, as long as she was 
 under the wing of Lady Kirkaldy, whose patronage 
 was a triumphant refutation of all doubts. He went 
 his own way, and had his own club, his own associates, 
 and, with his wife always at his beck and call, troubled 
 himself very little about anything else. 
 
 Alice spent a good deal of time alone, chiefly in 
 waiting his pleasure ; but she had her own quiet 
 occupations, her books, her needlework, her house- 
 keeping, and letter-writing, and was peacefully happy 
 as long as she did not displease Nuttie. There were no
 
 Xix.] THE VORTEX. 237 
 
 collisions between father and daughter, and the house- 
 hold arrangements satisfied that fastidious taste. She 
 was proud of Ursula's successes, but very thankful not 
 to be dragged out to share them, though she was much 
 less shy, and more able on occasion to take her place. 
 
 One pain she had. Good old Mrs. Nugent was 
 rapidly decaying, and she shared with all her loving 
 heart in the grief this was to Mary and to Miss Head- 
 worth, and longed to help them in their nursing. She 
 would not grieve Nuttie by dwelling constantly on the 
 bad accounts, and the girl hardly attended to them in 
 the tumult of occupations ; and so at last, when the 
 final tidings came in the second week in July, they 
 were an absolute shock to Xuttie, and affected her as 
 the first grief sometimes does. Mrs. Nugent was really 
 the first person of her own intimate knowledge who 
 had died, and in the excited state in which she was, 
 the idea of the contrast between her own occupations 
 and Mary's was so dreadful to her that she wept most 
 bitterly, with the sobs of childhood, such as she really 
 did not know how to restrain. 
 
 It was an unfortunate day, for it was one of the few 
 on which Mr. Egremont wanted to take out his ladies. 
 There was to be a great garden-party at Richmond, given 
 by one of his former set, who had lately whitewashed 
 himself by marrying a very fast and fashionable lady. 
 Nuttie had heard strong opinions on the subject at Lord 
 Kirkaldy's ; but her father was quite elated at being in a 
 position to countenance his old friends. Alice, in the 
 midst of her sorrow, recollected this with consternation.
 
 238 nuttie's father. [chai>. 
 
 ' My dear, my dear, hush ! You must stop your- 
 self ! Kemember we have to go out' 
 
 ' Go — out/ cried Nuttie, her sobs arrested by very 
 horror. 'You wouldn't go !' 
 
 ' I am afraid your father would be very much 
 vexed ' 
 
 ' Let him ! It is a horrid wicked place to go to at 
 all; and now — when dear, dear old Mrs. Nugent is 
 lying there — and ' 
 
 The crying grew violent again, and in the midst in 
 walked Mr. Egremont with an astonished ' What is all 
 this?' 
 
 ' We have lost one of our dear kind old friends at 
 Micklethwayte,' said Alice, going towards him ; ' dear 
 old Mrs. Nugent,' and she lifted up her tear-stained 
 face, which he caressed a little and said, 'Poor old 
 body ;' but then, at a sob, ' Can't you stop Ursula from 
 making such a row and disfiguring herself? You 
 must pick up your looks, Edda, for I mean you to 
 make a sensation at Jerningham's.' 
 
 ' Oh, Alwyn, if you could let us stay at home ! 
 Mrs. Nugent was so good to us, and it does seem un- 
 kind ' The tears were in her eyes again. 
 
 'Nonsense!' he said impatiently. 'I promised 
 Jerningham, and it is absurd to have you shutting 
 yourself up for every old woman at Micklethwayte.' 
 
 Thereupon Ursula wiped away her tears, and stood 
 up wrathful before him. ' I am not going,' she said. 
 
 ' Oh, indeed !' he returned in a tone that made her 
 still more angry. ' Hein ' ! a French ejaculation which
 
 xix.] THE VORTEX. 239 
 
 he had the habit of uttering in a most exasperating- 
 manner. 
 
 1 No/ she said. ' It is scarcely a place to which 
 we even ought to be asked to go, and certainly not 
 when ' 
 
 'Do you hear that, Mrs. Egremont?' he asked. 
 
 ' Oh, Nuttie, Nuttie, dear !' she implored ; ' don't.' 
 
 ' No, mother,' said Nuttie, with flashing eyes ; ' if 
 you care so little for your best friends as to let your- 
 self be dragged out among all sorts of gay, wicked 
 people when your dear friend is lying dead, I'm sure I 
 shan't go with you.' 
 
 Her father laughed a little. ' A pretty figure you 
 are, to make a favour of accompanying us !' 
 
 ' Oh go away, go away, Nuttie/ entreated her mother. 
 ' You don't know what you are saying.' 
 
 ' I do know,' said Nuttie, exasperated perhaps by 
 the contrast in the mirror opposite between her own 
 swelled, disfigured face, and the soft tender one of her 
 mother with the liquid eyes. ' I know how much you 
 care for the dear friends who took care of us when we 
 were forsaken ! ' 
 
 And with this shaft she marched out of the room, 
 while her father again laughed, and said, ' Have they 
 been training her for the tragic stage ? Never mind, 
 Edda, the little vixen will come to her senses upstairs, 
 and be begging to go.' 
 
 ' I don't think she will,' said Alice sadly ; ' she is 
 not that sort of stuff, and she was very fond of Mrs. 
 Nugent. Oh, Alwyn ! if you could let us off.'
 
 240 nuttie's father. [chap. 
 
 'Not after that explosion, certainly,' he said. 
 ' Besides, I promised Jerningham, and such an excuse 
 would never hold water. She is not even a relation.' 
 
 ' No, but she was very good to me.' 
 
 'The more reason why you should not stay at 
 home and be hipped. Never mind that silly girl. 
 She will be all right by and by.' 
 
 On the contrary, she did not come down to 
 luncheon, and when, about an hour later, Alice, after 
 writing a few tender loving words to the mourners, went 
 up to her daughter's room, it was to find a limp and de- 
 plorable figure lying across the bed, and to be greeted with 
 a fresh outburst of sobs and inarticulate exclamations. 
 
 ' Oh Nuttie, dear, this will not do ! It is not right. 
 Dear good Mrs. Nugent herself would tell you that 
 this is not the way any one so good and so suffering 
 should be grieved for. Think ' 
 
 'Oh, I know all that!' cried Nuttie, impatiently; 
 ' but she — she was the dearest — and nobody cares for 
 her but me. Not even you ' 
 
 Again Alice tried to debate the point, and urge on 
 her the duties of moderation, self-control, and obedience, 
 but the poor gentle mother was at a great disadvantage. 
 
 In the first place, she respected and almost envied 
 her daughter's resistance, and really did not know 
 whether it was timidity or principle that made it her 
 instinct to act otherwise ; in the next, Ursula could 
 always talk her down ; and, in the third, she was, and 
 greatly she reproached herself for that same, in great 
 dread of setting herself off into tears that might become
 
 xix.] THE VORTEX. 241 
 
 hysterical if she once gave way to them. And what 
 would be her husband's feelings if she too collapsed 
 and became unpresentable. 
 
 So, having once convinced herself that even if 
 Nuttie had been a consenting party, no amount of cold 
 water and eau-de-cologne would bring those bloodshot 
 eyes, swollen lids, and mottled cheeks to be fit to be 
 seen, she fled as fast as possible from the gasps of 
 barbed reproaches which put her own composure in 
 peril, and dressed with the heaviest of hearts, coupled 
 with the utmost solicitude to look her best. If she had 
 not thought it absolutely wrong, she would even have 
 followed Martin's suggestion, and put on a soujpcon of 
 rouge; but by the time she was summoned to the carriage 
 the feverishness of her effort at self-control had done the 
 work, and her husband had paid her the compliment 
 of observing that she looked pretty enough for two. 
 
 Nuttie heard them drive off, with a burst of fresh 
 misery of indignation against her mother — now as a 
 slave and a victim — now as forgetting her old home. 
 It was chiefly in mutterings ; she had pretty well used 
 up her tears, for, unconsciously perhaps, she had worked 
 them up as a defensive weapon against being carried 
 to the party ; and now that the danger was over, her 
 head throbbed, her eyes burnt, and her throat ached too 
 much for her to wish to cry any more. She had not felt 
 physically like this, since the day, seven years ago, when 
 she and Mildred Sharpe had been found suspiciously 
 toying with the key of the arithmetic, and had been 
 debarred from trying for the prize. Then she felt 
 VOL. I. E
 
 242 xuttie's father. [chap. 
 
 debased and guilty ; now she felt, or ought to feel, like 
 a heroine maintaining the right. 
 
 She got up and set herself to rights as well as she 
 could. Martin, who had been allowed to know that 
 she had lost an old friend, petted and pitied her, and 
 brought her a substantial meal with her tea, after 
 which she set out to evensong at the church at the 
 end of the square, well veiled under a shady hat, and 
 with a conviction that something ought to happen. 
 
 .Nothing did, however, happen ; she met no one 
 whom she knew, the psalms were not particularly 
 appropriate, and her attention wandered away to the 
 scene at home. She did not come back, as she was 
 sure she ought to have done, soothed, exhilarated, and 
 refreshed, but rather in a rasped state of mind, and a 
 conscience making a vehement struggle to believe itself 
 in the right — a matter in which she thoroughly suc- 
 ceeded. 
 
 She wrote a long letter to Mary Nugent, and shed 
 some softer tears over it, then she built a few castles 
 on her future escape from the power of her father ; 
 and then she picked up Reata, and became absorbed 
 in it, regretting only the weakness of her eyes, and the 
 darkening of the summer evening. 
 
 She was still reading when the others came home. 
 Her mother kissed her, but looked so languid and 
 tired-out that Nuttie was shocked, and Martin declared 
 that she ought not to go down to dinner. 
 
 A tete-a-tete dinner between father and daughter 
 was too dreadful to Alice's imagination to be permitted,
 
 xix.] THE VORTEX. 243 
 
 so she dressed and went down, looking like a ghost. 
 Mr. Egremont scowled at Nuttie, Nuttie scowled at 
 him, each considering it the fault of the other, and 
 when at last it was over, Alice gave up the struggle, 
 and went off to hed, leaving a contrite message that 
 her headache would be better to-morrow. 
 
 c All your accursed folly and obstinacy,' observed 
 Mr. Egremont, when JSTuttie, with a tone of monition 
 gave him the message. 
 
 ' I should call it the consequence of being dragged 
 out with a sore heart,' returned Nuttie — a little speech 
 she had prepared ever since she had seen how knocked 
 up her mother was. 
 
 ( Then I should recommend keeping your ideas to 
 yourself,' he answered, looking at her in his annihilat- 
 ing manner. 
 
 She was put down. She thought afterwards of a 
 hundred things that she could have said to him, but 
 she was crushed for the present, and when he went 
 out she could only betake herself to Reata, and forget 
 all about it as much as she could. 
 
 When she went upstairs, at the end of the third 
 volume, Martin was on the watch, and would not let 
 her go into the room. 
 
 ' I have been at hand, ma'am, without her guessing 
 it, and I am happy to say her tears has had a free 
 course when she was in bed. Yes, ma'am, suppressed 
 grief is always dangerous.' 
 
 Mrs. Egremont was still prostrate with fatigue and 
 headache the next day, and Nuttie had all the quiet
 
 244 NUTTIE'S FATHEE. [chap. xix. 
 
 luxuriating in reminiscences she desired. Her father 
 was vexed and angry, and kept out of the way, but it 
 must be confessed that Nuttie's spirits had so much 
 risen by the afternoon that it was a sore concession to 
 consistency when she found herself not expected at 
 Blanche's last little afternoon dance at Lady Kirkaldy's !
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 WOLF. 
 
 ' If I cannot once or twice in a quarter bear out a knave against 
 an honest man, I have but very little credit with your Worship.' 
 
 II. King Henry IV. 
 
 Another cause besides Ursula's recalcitrance and her 
 mother's ailment contributed to disturb Mr. Egremont, 
 and bring him home. His agent, by name Bulfinch, 
 a solicitor at Redcastle, came to him with irrefragable 
 proofs of gross peculation on the part of the bailiff who 
 managed the home farm which supplied the house and 
 stables, and showed him that it was necessary to make 
 a thorough investigation and change of system. 
 
 In point of fact, Mr. Egremont greatly preferred 
 being moderately cheated to exerting himself to investi- 
 gate, but this was going beyond moderation, and the 
 explosion had been too public to be passed over. So 
 he came home and sat by, while his wife and Mr. 
 Bulfinch did the work for him, and made it evident 
 to him that the frauds had been of long standing, and 
 carried on with the connivance of the coachman, of 
 Gregorio, — who had before Mrs. Egremont's arrival
 
 246 NUTTIE'S FATHEE. [chap. 
 
 acted as house steward, — and of the former cook. 
 Indeed, it was the housekeeper whom Mrs. Egremont 
 had left in charge, whose refusal to connive had brought 
 about the discovery. 
 
 Gregorio's share in all was sufficiently evident, and 
 Alice's heart leapt with hope. Her husband would be 
 wholly her own if his evil genius were once departed, 
 but Mr. Egremont would not see it. He had no 
 objection to sacrifice the coachman and all his under- 
 lings, with the bailiff and his entire family, and felt 
 none of the pity that Alice had for the pretty, silly, 
 half-educated daughters ; but as to the valet — Pooh ! 
 pooh ! the poor fellow had been out of the way all this 
 time — whatever he had done had been in the dark, 
 ages long ago, before Bridgefield knew its mistress ; he 
 was a foreigner, and that was enough to prevent him 
 from forgathering with the English. It was all their 
 English prejudice. 
 
 ' I can show you facts and figures, sir,' said Mr. 
 Bulfinch. 
 
 ' I daresay, a year or more old. Why, I was an 
 unprotected carcase then — a mere prey — the fellow 
 only did after his kind.' 
 
 Alice held her tongue then, but made an effort in 
 private. ' Indeed, I don't think you know ; I am 
 afraid Gregorio is not altered. I found him out in his 
 charges about the wine, and the servants' wages at 
 Nice, only you wouldn't listen.' 
 
 ' His little perquisites, my dear child ! Come, non- 
 sense, these foreign fellows don't pretend to have the
 
 xx.] WOLF. 247 
 
 morals you ascribe to the native flunkey — generally with- 
 out foundation either — they are much of a muchness as to 
 that ; but your Frenchman or Italian does it more neatly, 
 and is a dozen times better servant than the other is.' 
 
 ' But ' 
 
 ' Oh, aye ! I know you don't like him. But he 
 knows his manners to you, I hope V said Mr. Egremont, 
 with a suddenness that made her wish she could truth- 
 fully say he did not. 
 
 'Yes, he always is — is respectful, but somehow I 
 see it is under protest.' 
 
 Mr. Egremont laughed. ' Bivals — yes, I see ; why, 
 you don't consider the sore trial of having a full-grown 
 mistress turned in upon him ! Look here, you keep 
 the keys already, but the new fellow at the farm and 
 all the rest of them shall account to you for every- 
 thing — Gregorio and all. Won't that satisfy you ? ' 
 
 ' 'Tis not only the money, but I think Gregorio is 
 a bad — not a good — man.' 
 
 ' Ho, ho ! she wants to advertise for a pious foot- 
 man and coachman ! eh ? No, I thank you, my dear 
 Edda, I agree with — who was it who said, " Volez moi, 
 metis sans m'ennuyer." ' 
 
 The Rectory likewise had hoped for Gregorio's dis- 
 missal, and there were grave looks when Alice had to 
 confess that nothing would move her husband against 
 him. The Canon even lashed himself up to say, ' I 
 tell you how it is, Alwyn, you'll never do any good 
 with your household, while you keep that fellow.' 
 
 ' I am not aware what description of good you
 
 248 NUTTIE'S FATHEK. [chap. 
 
 expect me to do with it, Will/ coolly answered the 
 elder brother in a disconcerting tone. 
 
 Poor Alice, on her side, thought of the Little 
 Master, and then wondered if it was uncharitable to 
 do so. For she knew it had become war to the knife 
 with Gresforio ! Whether his master told him, or 
 whether it were his own evil conscience, or the won- 
 derful intuition of servants, he certainly knew of the 
 pressure for his dismissal, and he visited it on her as 
 much as he durst. 
 
 Outwardly deferential, he could thwart and annoy 
 her in a hundred ways, from making love to the 
 housemaids to making evil suggestions to his master, 
 yet never giving her any overt cause of complaint. 
 He could worry and sting her under the politest 
 exterior, and he knew very well that the most effectual 
 form of annoyance was the persuading his master that 
 any discomfort or lassitude was to be removed by some 
 form of narcotic. This would have the further advant- 
 age of stupefying Mr. Egremont, and making him more 
 ready to lapse under the old influence ; while the dura- 
 tion and strength of the new one was already a sur- 
 prise to Gregorio. 
 
 But there was no doubt that Mrs. Egremont had 
 profited by her year of training. She looked tired, 
 and less youthful and pretty, but she had gained in 
 grace and importance as well as in style, and was 
 much more really the mistress of Bridgefield. Her 
 shyness had passed away, and she knew now to take 
 her place in society, though still she was somewhat
 
 xx.] WOLF. 249 
 
 silent. And her husband depended upon her entirely 
 for all his correspondence, for much of his occupation 
 and amusement, and even for the regulation of his 
 affairs. In the household, Gregorio was little more 
 than his personal attendant, and she had the general 
 management, even of the other men-servants. The 
 Canoness might well say it had turned out better than 
 she expected. 
 
 And ISTuttie had become more womanly, and had 
 acquired the indefinable polish given by a London 
 season. She had learnt the art of conversation, and 
 could make herself agreeable to her uncle, or to any 
 one else who came in her way. Even May allowed 
 that she had something in her, and cultivated her 
 more than before ; but, on the other hand, even 
 the Eectory could perceive that there was now an 
 absolute alienation between her and her father, and 
 what might before have been fear had become dislike. 
 If she had to refer to him, especially if her plans for 
 herself or her mother were crossed, there was always 
 a tone of bitterness or of sarcasm about her ; and her 
 greater boldness and freedom of speech would occasion- 
 ally manifest itself towards him. This was not indeed 
 often, since not only did his cool contempt make her 
 come off the worst in the encounters, but the extreme 
 distress they gave to her mother made her refrain when- 
 ever her temper, or what she thought her conscience, 
 would let her; but still there was always a danger 
 which kept poor Alice on thorns whenever there was a 
 possible difference of schemes or opinions.
 
 250 NUTTIE'S FATHEE. [chap. 
 
 Mrs. William Egremont was seriously considering 
 of representing to Ursula that her conduct was bad 
 taste, bad policy, and, moreover, was doing her mother's 
 spirits and health serious harm ; but it was a delicate 
 matter in which to meddle, and the good lady could 
 not make up her mind how far to surrender her 
 brother-in-law's character and allow a partial justifica- 
 tion to Ursula. She was a cautious woman, and 
 waited and watched her opportunities. 
 
 In the beginning of October Mr. and Mrs. Egremont 
 were invited to a great shooting party at Sir James 
 Jerningham's. The invitation did not include Ursula. 
 Perhaps she had never dawned on their hostess's 
 imagination; perhaps it was that Lady Jerningham 
 was well known to dislike girls, or any one who might 
 absorb young men's attention. At any rate the 
 omission was a cause of thankfulness to the party 
 concerned, and she did not neglect to worry her mother 
 by a protest against keeping such company as would 
 be met at Waldicotes. 
 
 Alice smiled a little faintly and said, ' I don't think 
 it hurts me, my dear ; I don't understand half of what 
 they talk about, and they are always kind to me.' 
 
 ' I don't think you ought to go among them or 
 countenance them.' 
 
 ' My dear child,' — and the colour rose — ' I don't 
 feel as if I had a right to set myself above any 
 one.' 
 
 ' Mother ! ' 
 
 ' People might have said just the same of me.'
 
 xx.] WOLF. 251 
 
 1 And whose fault was that ? ' muttered iSTuttie 
 under her breath, but Mrs. Egremont would not hear. 
 She only pleaded, as perhaps mother ought not to have 
 done with child. 
 
 ' You know, ISTuttie, it is not for my own pleasure, 
 but your father's eyesight makes him dislike to go 
 anywhere without me now ; and I really should be 
 uneasy about him.' 
 
 ' Yes ; he is all you care for,' said Nuttie. ' You 
 sacrifice everything you used to think essential, just to 
 his will and pleasure.' 
 
 1 Oh, Nuttie, I hope not ; I don't think I do ! ' 
 
 ' If I thought it was doing him any good I should 
 not so much mind,' went on the girl ; ' but he is just 
 the same, and I am always thinking of "As the 
 husband is, the wife is " ' 
 
 ' Hush ! hush ! You have no right to think in 
 that way of your father. I will not hear it. I have 
 let you say too much already, iSTuttie.' Then after 
 a pause she added, gently and wistfully, ' You have 
 been better taught, and are clearer headed than ever 
 I was, my Nuttie, and it is quite right that you 
 should hate what seems evil to you. I can only 
 go on trying to do what seems my duty from day to 
 day. I know,' she added with rising tears, ' that the 
 sin and folly of my younger days worked a difficult 
 position for us both ; but we can only act according to 
 our lights, and pray God to direct us ; and please — 
 please bear with me, my dear one, if the same course 
 does not always seem right to us both.'
 
 252 NUTTIE'S FATHER. [chap. 
 
 Nuttie liad never heard lier say anything so fully 
 showing that she realised these difficulties, and, greatly 
 touched, she asked pardon, kissed and caressed her 
 mother. There was a calm over them for the next few 
 days, and Nuttie actually refrained from bitter comments 
 when her mother was not allowed to go to evensong 
 on Sunday, on the plea of her being tired, but, as the 
 girl believed, in order that she might read the news- 
 papers aloud. 
 
 She knew that her silence was appreciated by the 
 way her mother kissed her and called her a dear, good, 
 considerate girl. 
 
 On Monday Mr. and Mrs. Egremont went away at 
 what was a strangely early hour for the former, Nuttie 
 spending her days at the Eectory. 
 
 On the Tuesday Blanche went with her little sister 
 and the governess on a shopping expedition to Red- 
 castle, and in relating her adventures on her return, 
 she said, ' Oh, by the bye, I met Annaple in Park's shop ! ' 
 
 ' Full of Micklethwayte news, I suppose,' said May. 
 
 1 Yes, of course. Did you know, Nuttie, that your 
 aunt was ill ? ' 
 
 ' No, indeed, I did not. What was the matter ? ' 
 
 ' Bronchitis, I believe — brown titus, as Betty Butter 
 calls it.' 
 
 ' Bronchitis ! Oh clear ! oh clear ! Are you quite 
 sure, Blanche ? ' 
 
 ' Oh yes ! I am quite certain Annaple said Mark 
 told her that Miss Headworth was laid up with 
 bronchitis.'
 
 xx.] WOLF. 253 
 
 ' And nobody has written to us all this week ! ' 
 sighed jSTuttie. 
 
 1 1 should think that a sign there could not be 
 much in it,' observed May ; ' it may be only a bad 
 cold.' 
 
 ' But Aunt Ursel had bronchitis four years ago, and 
 was very ill indeed,' persisted Nuttie. ' I'm sure it is 
 bronchitis, and that she won't let Miss Mary write 
 to us.' 
 
 She was in much distress about it, though May 
 privately told her that she ought to know Blanche's 
 way better than to trust implicitly to any of her 
 reports ; and her aunt said much the same thing in 
 more general terms, even proposing that if she did not 
 hear the next morning she should go over to Lescombe 
 to ascertain what Mark had really said. 
 
 This pacified her a little, but on her way home 
 the alarm grew upon her, and, moreover, she recollected 
 the opposition that she believed that her father was 
 certain to make to either her mother or herself going 
 to nurse her aunt. It flashed upon her that if she 
 were to hasten to Micklethwayte on this alarm before 
 there could be a prohibition, it would be no disobedience, 
 and perfectly justifiable, not to say noble. Her parents 
 were to return on Thursday evening, and she made up 
 her mind that, unless she were fully reassured as to 
 Miss Headworth's state, she would go off at once to 
 Micklethwayte before any one could gainsay her. She 
 had plenty of money, and she consulted the time-table 
 in the hall before going upstairs. It only concerned
 
 254 NUTTIE'S FATHER. [chap. 
 
 the nearest line, but she calculated that if she caught 
 the express, she should reach her destination in time to 
 write to her mother at Waldicotes, and prevent 
 needless shocks. Her eagerness for the plan grew 
 upon her, so that it seemed like liberation ; she could 
 hardly sleep for thinking of it, and certainly was not 
 as much disappointed as she believed herself when the 
 post came in — a blank. 
 
 Martin was away with her mistress, so Nuttie 
 explained matters to the upper housemaid, who was 
 very sympathetic, carried down her orders for the 
 carriage, procured for her both breakfast and provision 
 for the journey, and packed her clothes. Ursula would 
 fain have been off before the Eectory was aware, but 
 the two little girls came up with a message about the 
 plans for the day, just as she was beginning an explan- 
 atory note, and she entrusted to them the information 
 that she was so uneasy about Miss Headworth that 
 she had decided on going to see for herself. 
 
 So in dashed Adela and Eosalind to their mother's 
 room full of excitement with the news that Cousin 
 ISTuttie was gone off by the train, because her aunt was 
 very ill indeed. 
 
 ' Gone, Adela ? are you sure ? Eeally gone ? ' 
 ' Oh yes, mamma ! The dogcart was coming round, 
 and she said she wanted to catch the 10.5 train, and 
 was very sorry she had not time to write a note to you.' 
 ' Was there a letter ? What had she heard ? ' 
 ' Oh, only that her aunt was so very ill ! She did 
 not tell us — did she, Eosie ? '
 
 XX.] WOLF. 2 00 
 
 ' There was something about being in time to write 
 to Aunt Alice/ suggested Adela. 
 
 ' I am very sorry about this. I am afraid it will 
 be a great shock to Alice,' observed the mother, as she 
 imparted the news at her husband's dressing-room door. 
 
 ' Young girls are so precipitate ! ' said the Canon. 
 
 ' Your brother won't like it at all,' the lady con- 
 tinued. 
 
 ' Not he. But after all, it is just as well that he 
 was not asked. They do owe that poor old lady a 
 good deal, and Alwyn's not the man to see it. I'm 
 not sorry the girl took the matter into her own hands, 
 though I couldn't have advised it.' 
 
 'Except that it will all fall on Alice.' 
 
 f He is very fond of Alice. She has done more 
 with him than I ever thought possible. Kept him 
 respectable this whole year, and really it grows on 
 him. He makes ever so much more of her now than 
 when he first brought her home — and no wonder. Xo, 
 no ; he won't fall foul of her.' 
 
 ' Perhaps not ; but it is just as bad, or worse, for 
 her if he falls foul of her daughter. Besides, she is 
 very much attached to her aunt. I wish I knew 
 what the account was, or whether she knows anything 
 about it.' 
 
 END OF VOL. I. 
 
 Printed by R. & R. Clark, Edinburgh.