MADGE. 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 MADGE. 
 
 BY 
 
 LADY DUFFUS-HARDY. 
 
 IN THREE VOLUMES. 
 VOL. I. 
 
 LONDON: 
 HURST AND BLACKETT, PUBLISHERS, 
 
 13, GREAT MARLBOROUGH STREET. 
 1878. 
 
 All rinhts reserved
 
 LONDON : 
 
 PRINTED BY DUNCAN MACDONALD, BLENHEIM HOUSE, 
 
 BLENHEIM STREET, OXFORD STREET.
 
 852) 
 
 \f. 1. 
 
 MADGE. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 OLD FRIENDS, 
 
 TTIWO men, both in the sere and yellow 
 -■- leaf, sat one on each side of a blazing 
 
 wood fire, for though it was Spring accord- 
 "^ ing to the almanac, and a bright sun was 
 ,^ casting warm tender glances eastward, yet 
 
 ^ a biting wind still lingered in the air, like a 
 
 Mi 
 
 >iv parting grip of Winter, as though it could 
 ^ not make up its mind to be gone at once. 
 ^ The men alluded to had evidently been 
 
 4 
 
 ^ discussing matters with the freedom of old 
 
 VOL. L B
 
 2 MADGE. 
 
 companionship, and not quite agreeing on 
 the subject. 
 
 *'It is all very well for an old man like 
 me to be shunted off into this far away 
 corner of the wide world, but it won't do 
 for young people, Joseph ; it won't do." 
 
 The speaker was Mr. William Siward, the 
 older, graver, and shrewder-looking man of 
 ' the two. He was of a tall, stout build, with 
 a florid complexion, clean shaven, and a 
 mass of thick iron-grey hair that would curl 
 with all the luxuriance of its j^outh, and 
 had no intention of thinning on the top, and 
 leaving him bald, for years to come. There 
 was an atmosphere of strength and power 
 about the man that you felt rather than 
 saw, and realized at once the strong will 
 and energetic brain which formed the strik- 
 ing character he was. His companion was of 
 the thin, wiry description, smaller made, with 
 less evidence of strength and power, and
 
 OLD FRIENDS. 3 
 
 more of sensitive nervousness and general 
 irritability, with thin lips, small restless, grey 
 eyes, which all his life had been looking for 
 something they had never found. He re- 
 plied to his friend's remark with some signs 
 of irritability now. 
 
 " In our young days that which was good 
 enough for our parents was thought good 
 enough for us ; but the times are changed, 
 and I don't know as they are changed for 
 the better." 
 
 **The fact is, we have been too slow for 
 the times, or the times have been too quick 
 for us," replied Mr. Siward ; *' for my part, 
 I feel as though I was waking up from a 
 sort of Rip Van Winkle sleep, and find the 
 world a century older than it was a few 
 years ago." 
 
 '' That's because you've confined 3^our 
 course of action to a very narrow sphere, and 
 looked only on one side of the world— a 
 
 B 2
 
 4 MADGE. 
 
 very good and very necessary side, I adnnt 
 that — the money-making side ; for the last 
 thirty years you've thought of nothing but 
 money, and you've done nothing but make 
 it." 
 
 " I've done something more and some- 
 thing better than that," answered his com- 
 panion, and a proud satisfied look came into 
 his face as he rose up and pointed from the 
 window, adding, '' You remember what this 
 place was forty years ago — a mere collection 
 of mud huts, squalid poverty, ignorance, and 
 dirt ! Look at it now, it has grown and 
 expanded into a busy, thriving hive, with 
 a population of some thousand honest 
 workers, who live like Christians and work 
 like men. Go where you will, through the 
 length and breadth of the land, and you'll 
 not find such intelligent, honest industry and 
 good fellowship elsewhere ; this is my work, 
 and I'm proud of it. Don't say Tve wasted
 
 OLD FRIENDS. O 
 
 my life and only made money ; Tve helped 
 to make men^ and out of some precious 
 rough materials too." 
 
 His friend had risen and stood beside 
 him, and together they regarded the pros- 
 pect before them. It was not an especially 
 attractive one, so far as picturesque scenery 
 was concerned, though at one time it might 
 have been a pretty rural landscape when 
 nature was allowed to hold a more entire 
 possession of it ; but now it was spoilt and 
 scarred by those signs of living industry 
 which had made William Siward a rich, 
 prosperous man. Where there had once been 
 fair, green meadows, tall, ugly brick chim- 
 neys bristled up, belching forth volumes of 
 thick, black smoke, and darting out tongues 
 of red flame, as though some fire-fiend were 
 imprisoned below, and struggled to get free 
 from the dun pall that smothered and kept 
 it down; the grass and herbage in the
 
 6 MADGE. 
 
 vicinity was ragged and brown ; the bushy 
 hedges had a stunted, crippled look as 
 though they were not half-grown, and the 
 tall trees, however high and mightily they 
 lifted their heads, could not get out of the 
 smoke taint, were always in the sere and 
 yellow leaf, and bore signs of sickly old age 
 and premature decay. But while the face of 
 nature became disfigured, and its still life 
 haggard and worn, the signs of human life 
 and industry flourished everywhere ; hydra- 
 headed labour, with its strong heart and 
 limbs, filled the air with its busy hum from 
 morning till night. 
 
 There was no regular street at Clin- 
 ton ; but tiny cottages and commodious 
 dwelling-houses had risen up as occasion 
 demanded, and were built in odd nooks 
 and corners, sometimes in blocks of two 
 or three together — there was no attempt 
 at any regular style of architecture, or any
 
 OLD FRIENDS. 7 
 
 show of outward decoration — but every 
 care and forethought had been bestowed 
 upon the arrangement within ; there was no 
 crushing and crowding of families in hovels 
 which are scarcely fit for cattle-pens, but 
 every man who worked in William Si ward's 
 factory had a home worthy of the name, 
 where his family could grow up healthful 
 and self-respecting ; squalid, miserable sur- 
 roundings are great destroyers of self- 
 respect, and degrade humanity to its lowesT; 
 depths ; but there was no squalor or 
 poverty visible in Clinton. Intelligent 
 workers knew where they would find 
 suitable employment and a considerate 
 master; incompetent workmen, or the loose 
 lumber of the population, found no en- 
 couragement either from master or men. 
 The requirements of Mr. Siward soon be- 
 came known, and the field was left free for 
 men of industry and good character, for
 
 8 MADGE. 
 
 sucli only found favour in his sight; all 
 others were carefully weeded out ; and so 
 the ironworks of Clinton became celebrated 
 far and near. 
 
 The neighbouring gentry and old county 
 families had complained loudly at one time, 
 but the concern grew and grew to such 
 gigantic proportions that there was no help 
 for it, so their clamours were hushed, and 
 they subsided to a state of chronic grum- 
 bling, and, as far as possible, turned their 
 backs upon the smoky atmosphere, and left 
 Mr. Siward alone in his glory, for a great 
 glory it was to him to look back and see 
 from whence he had started, what rapid 
 strides he had made, and what a great 
 success he had achieved. He was quite 
 right when he said, 
 
 "I have made money, and helped to 
 make men." 
 
 His old friend and companion, for they
 
 OLD FRIENDS. >) 
 
 had been boys together, laid a hand upon 
 his shoulder, and answered him in a tone 
 which seemed to have an under-current of 
 bitterness in it. 
 
 ^' I acknowledge you are a successful 
 man, but you have owed a good deal to 
 luck ; thousands of men quite as clever as 
 you are, are eating black bread in the work- 
 house ; but that's neither here nor there. I 
 go back to the place we started from, and 1 
 can't help seeing that you are doing youf 
 best to cross your own plans and mar all 
 now." 
 
 "I don't see it," replied Mr. Siward ; 
 " education never marred a man's fortune 
 yet, but has often helped to make it." 
 
 *'Ay, education of the right sort; but 
 the flashy brummagem style of learning folk 
 run after now-a-days is no good to anybody, 
 it only helps to make fops and fools." 
 
 ''Neither you nor I are able to judge in
 
 10 MADGE. 
 
 that matter, being uneducated ourselves; 
 this much I do know, that some of the 
 greatest men this country has produced 
 have been educated at Harrow; for that 
 reason I sent my son there." 
 
 " You don't expect him to turn out a 
 great man ?" rejoined Kestrel, emphasizing 
 his words in a way that showed the yeasty 
 acrimony that was working in his mind. 
 *' I don't see what good all his schooling 
 and colleging will do him, it will only lift 
 him above himself, and unfit him for the 
 way of life you have marked out for 
 him." 
 
 *' That is a matter in which he and I only 
 are concerned," returned Mr. Siward, 
 " and when I want any advice in my con- 
 cerns ril ask for it." 
 
 *' I beg your pardon, I thought you 
 wanted to discuss the matter with me, or I 
 should not have ventured the remark."
 
 OLD FRIENDS. 11 
 
 " I don t know how you managed to tarn 
 the conversation to my boy George," rejoin- 
 ed Si ward ; ^' but you always contrive to do 
 so, especially if you can hint anything to his 
 disadvantage — you always turned even his 
 boyish follies into heinous offences — in other 
 matters you and I run smoothly enough 
 together, Kestrel ; but when my boy is con- 
 cerned, you are the last person in the world 
 whose opinion would have any weight with 
 me." 
 
 " Complimentary to an old friend that." 
 
 *'True, at least; I never meant to be 
 complimentary," replied Mr. Si ward, his 
 momentary austerity giving way to some- 
 thing of his old genial manner. *' We are 
 old friends. Kestrel, we've stood by one 
 another forty years, and I hope we'll stand 
 so to the end ; but no more insinuations 
 against my boy." 
 
 "I don't want to insinuate anything
 
 12 MADGE. 
 
 against him ; yOu began the conversation," 
 said Kestrel. 
 
 "But I was not alluding to him at all, as 
 you would soon have found out if you'd 
 waited ; what I said was in reference to 
 Margaret." Kestrel fixed his eyes on his 
 friend's face with a look of interest he had 
 not shown before, and echoed his last 
 words — '' in reference to Margaret." 
 
 "Yes, I think she wants a change; this 
 place doesn't seem to agree with her." As 
 he said this, he turned his eyes away and 
 looked straight out at the landscape before 
 him. 
 
 " It has seemed to agree with her pretty 
 well for the last eighteen years," replied 
 Kestrel stonily, " if there is anything wrong 
 about the place, it is rather late in the day 
 for you to find it out." 
 
 " Some knowledge comes to us late, 
 some early ; mine has come just in the niak
 
 OLD FRIENDS. 1,^ 
 
 of time — she's dull and lonesome, she wants 
 companionship, not the sort of companion- 
 ship she gets here, and Tm going to send 
 her to London for a change." 
 
 He spoke slowly and decidedly, and 
 kept his eyes turned away from Kestrel's 
 face as though he did not care to see the 
 wonder and vexation his announcement 
 created. It was evident that his words 
 meant more than they seemed to say, and 
 it was equally evident that each knew the" 
 thought that was running through the brain 
 of the other, but did not care to recognise 
 or put it into words — a strong feeling of 
 angry suspicion was burning in the heart 
 of one, and unspoken strong desire in the 
 scheming mind of the other ; but they 
 spread a flimsy veil between them, and 
 though each saw through it, neither pre- 
 tended to see. Kestrel assumed an air of 
 indifference which did not sit well upon
 
 14 MADGE. 
 
 liim ; his eyes would deaden with disap- 
 pointment and his voice had an angry- 
 vibration in it as he said, 
 
 *' After all, perhaps it's as well she should 
 see a little more of the world than she is 
 ever likely to see here ; but it is to be 
 hoped it won't spoil her." 
 
 "My Madge will bear a good deal of 
 spoiling," said the fond father. " I've tried 
 my hand at the spoiling business and failed. 
 You've had a hand in it too ; but she is no 
 longer a child, she has outgrown all that. 
 Look at this, it is just the thing I've been 
 wanting." 
 
 He handed a copy of the Times to 
 Kestrel, and pointing to an advertisement 
 added, 
 
 " Read that ; I've answered it." 
 
 The advertisement ran thus : 
 
 " A lady of rank is willing to introduce 
 into society and chaperon any young lady
 
 OLD FKIENDS. 15 
 
 whose parents or guardians are unequal to 
 the fatigues of the London season. The 
 highest references required and liberal 
 arrangements expected. Apply, X. Y, Z., 
 Westerton's Library, Knightsbridge." 
 
 As Kestrel laid down the paper with a 
 look of perplexity in his eyes, Mr. Siward 
 said, 
 
 ** There, I think that will do. I'm ready 
 to make liberal arrangements, and Master- 
 man and Co. will be about the highest 
 reference she can desire. I shall pocket, 
 the paper, take the one o'clock train up to 
 town, and manage somehow to make the 
 acquaintance of this lady of rank, and see if 
 she's likely to make a happy home for my 
 girl during the London season. If things 
 turn out as I hope they will, I'll rig my 
 Madge out in fine style, and let her have a 
 taste of real fashionable life, and see how 
 she likes it."
 
 16 MADGE. 
 
 " Does she know the good time that's in 
 store for her?" inquired Kestrel. 
 
 "Not yet ; but I expect she'll be ready to 
 jump out of her skin when I tell her," 
 replied Siward. " I've been wanting to do 
 something of this kind for a long time, but I 
 did not know how to set about it ; now I 
 see it is all plain sailing. I shall not stay in 
 London an hour longer than I'm obliged. 
 Meanwhile, you'll look after the works, and 
 let Nell come up and stay with Margaret, 
 will you ?" 
 
 " Of course — yes — certainly," replied 
 Kestrel, as though his thoughts had been 
 wandering and were suddenly called home. 
 "My poor Nell! — she'll miss Margaret 
 sadly. You can trust me in all matters 
 here, as you know well ; but just one word 
 of caution before you go. I don't know 
 much about ladies of rank, but it strikes me 
 they must be precious hard up before they
 
 OLD FRIENDS. 17 
 
 come down to this sort of thing" — tapping the 
 paper as he spoke. '^ But mind you give a 
 sharp look round, and see that things are 
 all straight and square before you give Mar- 
 garet into a stranger's keeping." 
 
 *' Ay, ay, you may trust me for that. I 
 know a thing or two, and though I've seen 
 a good deal of the rough side of the world, 
 I can tell the points of a real lady as well 
 as I can the points of a mare, or any other 
 animal. They'd have to get up very early 
 in the morning if they wanted to take me , 
 in ; but if I'm to go by the one o'clock 
 train, there's no time to lose. Just step in 
 here, will you? I've made a special mem- 
 orandum of the things I want you particular- 
 ly to attend to." 
 
 And as he spoke, the strong, genial-heart- 
 ed iron-master threw open a door which 
 led out of the oak-panelled dining-room 
 and strode into his library. Kestrel, with 
 
 VOL. I. c
 
 18 MADGE. 
 
 bent brows and downcast face, followed 
 slowly and noiselessly, as a shadow follows 
 in the track of the sun.
 
 19 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 THE TWO HOUSES. 
 
 TT"ESTREL'S house lay about half a mile 
 -■-^ from Mr. Siward's noble mansion, for 
 to such proportions had his once modest 
 dwelling grown. He had bought the piece 
 of land, and built it for his own occupation 
 long ago, but as successes came to him year 
 by year (and they came to him ^' not in 
 single spies, but in battalions"), it had been 
 built up and added to till the old home had 
 been utterly destroyed; scarcely a vestige 
 of it remained, and a new one rose in its 
 place. Every addition had been made with 
 an eye to uniformity and effect ; every stone 
 
 c2
 
 20 MADGE. 
 
 was laid under his special superintendence, 
 for he fancied he had an architectural taste 
 — and he certainly was possessed with a 
 perfect mania for altering, pulling down, 
 and building up again; the place was his 
 own, and he could do as he liked with it. 
 
 He was the " architect of his own house 
 as well as of his own fortunes," he used to 
 say proudly. Until the last few years, 
 scarcely a season passed without a score of 
 men being employed upon the premises, and 
 all the hours of relaxation Mr. Siward 
 allowed himself were spent in watching and 
 directing the operations which were being 
 carried on ; but since his daughter Margaret 
 had been grown up, so as to have a voice 
 in domestic arrangements, things had been 
 allowed to remain in statu quo ; she hated 
 the sight of bricks and mortar, and all the 
 paraphernalia of decorative art; she liked 
 to remain in undisturbed possession of home.
 
 THE TWO HOUSES. 21 
 
 and would not have even an article of fur- 
 niture displaced from one year to another ; 
 her e3^e grew accustomed to see certain 
 things in certain places, and there was no 
 shifting or changing of familiar objects over 
 which she had any control. The house now 
 presented a handsome, substantial appear- 
 ance. It was built of grey stone, two stories 
 high, with mullioned windows, and wide, 
 lofty portico, supported by tall Corinthian 
 columns; it stood some distance from the 
 high road, and the grounds sloped down 
 towards the town, looking over some acres 
 of well-wooded, park-like lands, where 
 sheep were browsing and cattle grazing 
 almost up to the entrance door. The garden 
 ground was well laid out, and beautifully 
 kept, and the orchard, which was extensive, 
 abounded with fruit-trees of various descrip- 
 tions. This was Margaret's favourite resort. 
 When the apple and pear-trees were in
 
 22 MADGE. 
 
 bloom, she would lounge lazily, book in 
 hand, beneath their clustering branches, and 
 read, think, or dream for hours together; 
 not that she was by any means a sentimental 
 girl, given to dreaming, quite the reverse, 
 she considered herself rather a practical 
 young person ; but in the Spring of life, and 
 the Spring-time of the year, dreams will 
 come unbidden, and undefined longings, 
 and wonderings for the future, will stir even 
 the coolest and most practical minds. 
 
 The interior arrangements of the house 
 were quite in keeping with its outward ap- 
 pearance — it was richly and elegantly fur- 
 nished ; there were luxurious couches, soft 
 velvet pile carpets, fanciful cabinets and 
 graceful statuettes, everything seemed to 
 fall into its right place, and every nook and 
 corner was appropriately filled. The up- 
 holsterer's lavish decorative art was curbed
 
 THE TWO HOUSES. 2-3 
 
 and made subservient to the taste of the 
 master and mistress, though the latter, a 
 woman of superior birth and education, had 
 been laid in her grave before the furnishing 
 process had been completed. 
 
 There was very little of what Mr. Siward 
 called '^gimcrackery" about the house; the 
 library was filled with a choice collection of 
 books ; philosophical works, dissertations and 
 essays on social subjects, were ranged side 
 by side with volumes of theological matter 
 and arch^ological discussions. There were 
 also to be found there classical authors, 
 poets, and dramatists of past centuries, who 
 seem to be forgotten now (except by the 
 few scholarly minds who search for the 
 pure gold contained therein), they are left 
 buried in the dust of the dead days that are 
 gone, while the world is marching on in 
 search of the frivolous and new, refusing the
 
 24 MADGE. 
 
 healthy food of the strong old times, and 
 gorging itself with the trashy follies of its 
 own day. 
 
 Mr. Siward did not pretend to be much 
 of a reader, he was a keen observer, and a 
 shrewd business man, and to the business 
 which had made the progress of his fortunes 
 his life had been devoted. He had little 
 inclination to gather knowledge from books, 
 though he had brought himself to study and 
 comprehend the political discussions of do- 
 mestic and international interest, which 
 formed the staple of his chief literary enter- 
 tainment. Of course, being an uneducated 
 man himself, so far as book learning was 
 concerned, he had trusted the formation of 
 his library to competent persons, who had 
 well performed their task. The room itself 
 was furnished in good style, with perfect 
 comfort and convenience. Here Margaret 
 spent many a leisure hour, it was so quiet,
 
 THE TWO HOUSES. 25 
 
 SO cosy; from her earliest days she had 
 been used to curl herself up in the cushioned 
 window-seat, and gloat over fairy-stories, or 
 thumb her lesson books. As time passed 
 on, and she outgrew her childish days, it 
 was her favourite spot still ; far away down 
 in the valley she could just see the top of 
 Kestrel's chimney-pots, peeping through the 
 trees, and could catch a glimpse of the broad 
 river winding through the meadows beyond. 
 Kestrel was a man of keen perceptions/ 
 and possessed as many business qualifications 
 as his friend Siward ; in fact, so far as the 
 world could judge, they stood in that respect 
 on a par. In both there was the same clear- 
 sightedness, honest integrity, and an energy 
 that never flagged ; but in the one the in- 
 visible elements of success were wanting. 
 They had both started in life together, but 
 Kestrel was left far behind in the race. 
 Siward outstripped him as the wind out-
 
 26 MADGE. 
 
 strips the fastest vessel on the open seas. 
 He used to say that it was all luck, and if 
 he had had the same opportunities as Si- 
 ward he would have had the same success. 
 However, while one had climbed to the top 
 of the tree and gathered the rich ripe fruit 
 of happy ventures, the other was still among 
 the lower branches, toihng upward. He 
 was well enough to do in the world, being 
 manager, — no, not exactly manager — Mr. 
 Si ward managed his own business, — or a 
 sort of overlooker, whose business it was to 
 see that things went smoothly, and report if 
 anything v/ent wrong, as they will some- 
 times under the wisest rule. He was a man 
 in whom Mr. Siward placed the most 
 implicit faith, and treated always -on the 
 most friendly and confidential terms ; still, 
 as Rochefoucauld, in his keen and sometimes 
 cruel analysis of human nature, says, " We 
 find some pleasure even in the troubles of
 
 THE TWO HOUSES. 27 
 
 our friends," and certainly, in spite of all 
 his efforts to crush the feeling down, it was 
 so with Kestrel — a bitter, black feeling, to 
 which he could give no name, was surging 
 up in his mind, flooding the whole prospect 
 of his life, which was fair and good enough 
 in itself, but he would contrast and compare 
 it with Siward's great prosperity. 
 
 As he left Mr. Siward's study on this 
 special morning, he pulled his felt hat over 
 his brows, and went his way across the 
 orchard and over the meadows homeward 
 in a bitterly discontented spirit. He ought 
 to have been at the foundry hours before, 
 but since he had received Mr. Siward's 
 communication, it was necessary he should 
 go home and prepare his daughter Ellen for 
 her visit to Margaret. 
 
 It was a beautiful Spring morning, clear 
 and cool, but warm in the sun ; the strong 
 fresh breeze which made sickly folk shiver.
 
 28 MADGE. 
 
 and draw their wraps closer, was invigorat- 
 ing and life-stirring to tliose in a healthier 
 state, who were able to enjoy to the full the 
 fresh Spring morning ; but Kestrel was dead 
 to all outward influences, the sun might have 
 been blotted out from the bright blue sky, 
 the day have melted into mist and darkness, 
 and he would have taken no heed. He was 
 too much occupied with his own thoughts, 
 and the angry working of his own spirit, to 
 bestow a care upon the outer world. He 
 was not a man to talk much even to those 
 who were nearest and dearest to him, he 
 kept things to himself and brooded over 
 them ; of his present prospects, future 
 plans, hopes, or desires he spoke to 
 no man, and was dumb even by his own 
 fireside ; his feelings being so repressed 
 grew all the stronger and were eating 
 into his life, but the stronger they grew, 
 the more he hid them from the world's
 
 THE TWO HOUSES. 29 
 
 eyes, and from the sight of those who loved 
 him. 
 
 As he turned into the narrow bridle lane 
 which led to his home, the door opened and 
 the slight figure of a girl stepped cautiously 
 out upon the gravel pathway. After standing 
 a moment, with her head bent in a listening 
 attitude and her wide open eyes turned in 
 the direction he was comins^ she walked 
 forward with a swift, sure step, and unlatch- 
 ed the gate just as he reached it. 
 
 The rigid lines in his face relaxed, and 
 there was a peculiar tenderness in his manner 
 as well as in his voice, as he spoke to his 
 favourite afflicted child — for the beautiful 
 brown eyes that were lifted to his face saw 
 nothing ! So far as the fresl^, glowing beauty 
 of the world was concerned, to her it was 
 all a blank ; she had been born blind ; but 
 the want of the one sense seemed to have 
 quickened all the rest. She was keenly
 
 30 MADGE. 
 
 alive to the power of music, which en- 
 thralled and held her spell-bound, and 
 either moved her to tears or stirred her 
 heart with a strange gladness. The voice of 
 the song-birds spoke to her as they never 
 speak to those who have eyes to watch their 
 flight — every feeling was intensified to a de- 
 gree — the merest trifles, which to other people 
 were a mere matter of course, were to her 
 things fraught with the keenest pleasure. A 
 walk through the blossoming bean fields 
 or under the fir pine-trees, or a saunter 
 through the new-mown hay, was a source 
 of intense enjoyment ; as for flowers, it is 
 not too much to say she fairly loved them, 
 and nursed and petted them as though they 
 could understand and appreciate her care. 
 This very morning she had been out, among 
 the fowls and working in the garden, ever 
 since the sun had fairly risen until now, past 
 t-en o'clock, when her mother, who was a
 
 THE TWO HOUSES. 31 
 
 homely woman in every sense of the word, 
 called her in and scolded her for wasting 
 her time ; she could comprehend her looking 
 after the cabbage plants and gooseberry 
 bushes, they were useful. 
 
 "But as for them flowers," she added, 
 " they're good for nothing but to smell; it's 
 a wicked waste of time, Nell, and your father 
 encourages you in it; you make as much 
 fuss over the things as though they could 
 understand you." 
 
 "So they do, mother," she answered, 
 coming in, obedient to her summons, " we 
 understand one another well enough; they 
 talk to me in their sweet, silent way, though 
 their language is different from ours; I know 
 when they are drooping, hot, and thirsty; 
 and when I give them drink, cool their 
 leaves, and clear them from the cankering 
 parasites, I am sure they know I love them, 
 for I hear their leaves quiver and they give
 
 32 MADGE. 
 
 a subtler, sweeter perfume. You know, 
 mother, when I was a child I used to think 
 the fairies had been hunted out of the work- 
 ing world and hidden themselves among the 
 flowers; well, I've something of the same 
 feeling still. I know I am blind to every- 
 thing that you can see, but God is good; 
 perhaps I may see many things which you 
 are blind to." 
 
 *' Humph," grunted Mrs. Kestrel, who was 
 never actually cross, nor sympathetic, for 
 how could she sympathise with what she 
 could not understand? '^it seems to me 
 you've got every kind of sense but common 
 sense, but it all comes of- your father's spoil- 
 ing — it's a pity he hasn't got half a dozen of 
 you." Instead of answering, the girl turned 
 her head quickly in a listening attitude. 
 
 *' What are you harking at?" inquired the 
 mother. 
 
 " Hush ! he's coming."
 
 THE TWO HOUSES. 33 
 
 *^ Who*s coming?" 
 
 *' Father." 
 
 " Nonsense ! your ears are too sharp by 
 half — what should he be coming home for 
 at this time of day ?•" 
 
 *'I don't know, but he is coming never- 
 theless," and she glided out of the door and 
 met him, as we have seen. There was no 
 mistaking the tie which bound the blind girl 
 so much stronger to her father than to the 
 mother that bore her — it seemed to her that 
 not any father nor any other child could be 
 so bound together — she had twined herself 
 round his heartstrings and become a part of 
 his very self (so far as any one human being 
 can become part of another), the better part, 
 for in his -darker hours he always left her 
 out in the cold — if he had an evil thought 
 within his mind, he quailed before the blind 
 girl's sightless eyes as he would have quailed 
 before no mortal man. 
 
 VOL. I. D
 
 34 MADGE. 
 
 *' Why, Nell," he said, as they went to- 
 wards the house, ^' you surely couldn't have 
 expected me ! What made you think I 
 was com in Of?" 
 
 " I heard you ; I always know when 
 you're coming ; I can hear you long before 
 anyone else can see you." 
 
 He patted her cheek absently, as though 
 his thoughts had flown elsewhere, and went 
 into the house, Nell following close at his 
 side. 
 
 " There's something the matter, father," 
 she said, after a moment's silence, looking 
 into his face as though she could see him, 
 *' I know there is. What has gone wrong ?" 
 
 " Nothing," he answered quickly, " only 
 Mr. Siward is going up to town, and he 
 wants you to stay with Margaret while he is 
 away." 
 
 " Yes," said Nell, with a hesitating, 
 inquiring accent, waiting for him to go on ;
 
 THE TWO HOUSES. 35 
 
 but as he continued silent, she added, " I 
 shall be glad to go — but what else ? — that is 
 not all." 
 
 ^' You're determined to have all the news, 
 Nell," he answered, with a grim smile at her 
 persistency ; there was no keeping anything 
 from her. 
 
 '' Yes," she said, "if I drag it from you 
 piecemeal, though I know it is not nice 
 news." 
 
 " I daresay she'll think it nice, though I 
 don't suppose you'll agree with her, for 
 you're going to lose your companion, Nell. 
 Siward has gone up to London to make 
 arrangements for Margaret to spend a few 
 months in fashionable society." 
 
 Nell detected the covert sneer in his tone, 
 and asked, 
 
 " Why don't you want her to go ?" 
 
 " Who says I don't want her to go ?" he 
 answered, more gruffly than he generally 
 
 d2
 
 36 MADGE. 
 
 spoke to her. *•' I don't care if she goes 
 and never comes back. It will make no 
 difference to me." 
 
 J^ellie could hardly believe her ears when 
 she heard him speak in that indifferent — na}^ 
 worse than indifferent tone of Margaret 
 Siward, of whom he had always been so 
 fond. Something must have happened to 
 ruffle his temper, it was not his way to speak 
 so shortly to his daughter, who was always 
 privileged to say anything she pleased un- 
 corrected ; but she had a true woman's tact, 
 and knew when to speak and when to hold 
 her tongue. She asked him no questions 
 now, well knowing that questioning only 
 irritates a man. If he has anvthino; to 
 conceal and does not want to answer, 
 questioning only drives him into a corner, 
 and forces him to prevaricate and fence with 
 such inquiries, in a way that is neither digni- 
 fying to human nature, nor creditable to
 
 THE TWO HOUSES. 37 
 
 either party concerned. Kestrel avoided 
 all farther mention of the subject by telling 
 her there was no time to lose, ^' she had 
 better pack up at once and be off." She 
 was going out of the room to make those 
 little preparations which are always necessary, 
 even when leavinsr home for a sinsle ni^jht : 
 on the threshold she stopped, and asked 
 him — 
 
 " How long am I to stop, father ?" 
 
 " Till Mr. Siward comes back." 
 
 "But when will that be?" 
 
 " I don't know ; he didn't tell me, and I 
 was too wise to go asking questions about 
 what didn't concern me. Where's Rob ?" 
 
 " In the workshop, busy, as he always is, 
 you know." She was going out of the room 
 when he called her back and kissed her, and 
 said, 
 
 " I've not been cross to you, Nell, have 
 I?"
 
 38 MADGE. 
 
 *' Oh no, father, no !" she answered, her 
 face brightening as she returned his caress 
 with interest; "you're never cross to me." 
 
 "Perhaps I seern so sometimes," he said, 
 " when I'm worried and out of sorts ; a man 
 can't always keep in order any more than 
 any other machine. The fact is, Nell, I'm 
 bothered, though perhaps I've no call to be 
 so; but you must not ask your old dad foolish 
 questions, nor snap up every stray word as 
 though it meant something. Now run away ; 
 pack up your traps, and I'll take you over 
 myself." 
 
 He passed through the kitchen, where his 
 wife and a stout-limbed servant girl were 
 busy about the household work, and his old 
 mother, a withered, attenuated likeness of 
 himself, sat in her arm-chair, exactly as she 
 had done for the last thirty years, knitting, 
 knitting from morning till night, never 
 leaving off, never resting, and there she will,
 
 THE TWO HOUSES. 39 
 
 no doubt, continue to sit casting on and cast- 
 ing oiF stitches to the unmusical click clack 
 of her needles, till the day comes when Fate 
 completes the round and casts off the last 
 stitch of her life. 
 
 The women looked round as he passed 
 through, but did not speak to him ; they 
 were accustomed to let him have his way, 
 and come and go without observation or 
 remark. He crossed the paved yard and 
 entered his son's workshop, which stood 
 about twenty feet from the house. 
 
 Robert Kestrel, commonly called ''Rob," 
 was a carver and gilder by trade, and was 
 generally allowed to be a first-rate hand. 
 He worked on his own account, and was 
 known for miles round. His s^raceful 
 designs for all kinds of ornamental carving, 
 and neat handiwork were so highly appreci- 
 ated that business rarely failed with him, 
 though in that limited neighbourhood, where
 
 40 MADGE. 
 
 wealthy families were few and far between, 
 there was scarcely enough to keep hi mi fully 
 employed. His leisure hours he devoted to 
 modelling in clay, which was to him far 
 more congenial employment than his legiti- 
 mate trade ; he cultivated his talents to the 
 best of his ability ; he felt that he was grop- 
 ing in the dark, but he thought there was 
 somethino[ in him that surrounding]^ circum- 
 stances tended rather to crush than bring 
 out; he wanted intellectual guidance. A 
 little help, a little judicious direction, would 
 set him in the way to fame and fortune. 
 He might faint by the way, he might be 
 jostled aside and never reach the goal, but 
 at least he had brains enough and energy 
 enough to tr}^ He had a great deal of 
 originality, which, by delicate treatment, 
 might develop into actual genius. His 
 father had never taken any steps to push 
 him forward in the world, but let things
 
 THE TWO HOUSES. 41 
 
 drift as they would. Though he was always 
 grumbling at the state of affairs, he took no 
 steps to set them on a different footing ; 
 he had a sort of presentiment that his sou 
 would inherit his ''luck," if he inherited 
 nothing else. 
 
 The workshop was strewn with chips and 
 shavings. Blocks of wood of all sorts, 
 sizes, and shapes were littered upon the 
 bench ; on one side was a turning-lathe and 
 a three-legged stool ; on the other was a 
 rough-hewn block covered with patches of 
 paint and bits of clay. 
 
 There sat Robert busily engaged upon 
 the bust of a girl, moulding it in common 
 clay — he was so intent upon his occupation 
 that he did not observe his father till he 
 felt a hand laid upon his shoulder. 
 
 *' Still at that foolish work, Rob ? it will 
 never pay." 
 
 "That's as it may be, father," replied
 
 42 MADGE. 
 
 Eob, rising up and looking with some ap- 
 parent pride upon his handiwork ; '' don't 
 you see a resemblance to somebody ? whom 
 do you think it is like ?" 
 
 "Nobody I know, except it's a nigger 
 lady," replied Kestrel, who had no taste for 
 art, except the mere mechanical which 
 might bring grist to the mill. 
 
 "Nigger !" repeated Rob indignantly, " I 
 believe Nell has more eyes at the end of 
 her fingers than some folks have in their 
 heads — she felt it all over, and says it's as 
 like as can be." 
 
 " Like whom ?" 
 
 "Miss Siward, to be sure; I mean to do 
 it in stone and give it to her as a birthday 
 present." 
 
 " Spare your labour, lad," said Kestrel, in 
 a kindlier tone ; " we've looked our last on 
 Margaret Siward, she is going to London, 
 and when she comes back — if she ever does
 
 THE TWO HOUSES. 4S 
 
 come back — she'll be too fine a lady for the 
 like of us." The young man drew himself 
 up and stared at his father as though he did 
 not quite comprehend the full force of the 
 announcement, and repeated the words — 
 
 "Margaret going to London !" 
 
 "Just so." 
 
 "Well," rejoined Rob, drawing a long 
 breath, '' humanity's a moveable article, we 
 don't grow to the land we're reared on. I 
 shouldn't wonder if I find ray way to Lon- 
 don myself one day." 
 
 Without any further remark he sat down 
 and went on pinching, smoothing, and 
 manipulating what was to bear a correct 
 resemblance to Miss Siward's saucy nose. 
 Kestrel leaned against the wall and watched 
 his son with a curious, speculative gaze, 
 surprised, perhaps, that he took his news so 
 calmly — waiting for him to speak again, 
 and wondering what he would say ; but
 
 44 MADGE. 
 
 Robert did not seem inclined to speak at 
 all, he went on whistling a low, soft whistle 
 and working with a light, careful hand, so 
 intent he seemed upon his labour, as though 
 his eyes, heart, and soul were absorbed in 
 that face of clay.
 
 45 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 A VISITOR AT CLINTON. 
 
 "VTO better moment than the present 
 -*-^ could be chosen for presenting Miss 
 Siward to such eyes as care to see her. 
 She stands on the top of the hall steps, 
 whence she has the best and most extensive 
 view of the winding road whereon her 
 father is now fast travelling to the railway 
 station ; with one hand she shades her eyes 
 — for the blazing noonday sun is full upon 
 her — with the other she waves a series of 
 adieux to her father as he is rapidly whirled 
 away ; now and then the carriage is quite 
 hidden from her sight, but in a moment it
 
 46 MADGE. 
 
 comes in view again ; father and daughter 
 both know the exact points where they can 
 see and be seen. She pulls out her hand- 
 kerchief and waves it bannerlike for the 
 last adieu, he stands up in the carriage and 
 returns it, but soon she gains her last 
 glimpse of him, and knows she shall see 
 him no more till he comes back with news 
 from London — news that will be so full of 
 interest to her. 
 
 Her face was generally pale, but now it 
 was slightly flushed with excitement ; his 
 going was so sudden ; his errand had taken 
 her so completely by surprise ; he had 
 never breathed his intention to her until he 
 was prepared to carry it out. It was his 
 way to act upon impulse. She had had no 
 time to think, no time to express her sur- 
 prise — indeed, scarcely time to feel it— 
 before he was gone. For some minutes 
 after he had passed from her sight, she
 
 A VISITOR AT CLINTON. 47 
 
 stood still looking the way he had gone ; 
 there was a puzzled look in her eyes, and 
 a tender smile upon her lips. Her eyes — 
 large lustrous orbs, with long dark curling 
 lashes — were changeful, and full of expres- 
 sion ; their colour is best described by 
 Swinburne's lines — 
 
 "The greenest of things blue, 
 The bluest of things grey." 
 
 She had a mass of dark, obstinately curling 
 hair, that would not be coaxed to look* 
 smooth or lie flat. She wore it in no par- 
 ticular fashion ; it grew low on the fore- 
 head, it was generally gathered up and 
 massed together, a perfect coronet of curls, 
 round the crown of her head, but it never 
 would keep long in one place ; some stray 
 curl was always escaping in most " admired 
 disorder ;" but no matter, however it was 
 arranged or deranged, it was impossible 
 to make the face look otherwise than
 
 48 MADGE. 
 
 charming. It was not that her features 
 were regular, or tliat any special attraction 
 could be pointed out in any one particular ; 
 she had fine eyes, a soft mobile mouth, and 
 full rich lips, that looked as though they 
 were made for smiles and kisses — a sort of 
 mouth you watched with interest, to see 
 the smile creep over it, not caring much 
 whether it spoke sense or nonsense, the 
 mere grace and beauty of it were enough. 
 As she stood there, with that puzzled look 
 in her eyes, and the smile upon her lips, 
 it would be difficult from the expression of 
 her face to tell whether she is best pleased 
 or most perplexed at the unexpected turn 
 of affairs. Whether the change would be 
 for good or evil, time alone could tell ; she 
 did not think or speculate upon the matter 
 at all — she only wondered, as she turned 
 slowly into the house and shut the door. 
 She knew that the one and only dear
 
 A VISITOR AT CLINTON. 49 
 
 friend she possessed in the world was 
 coming to keep her company during her 
 father's absence, and she went upstairs to 
 see that a room was prepared next her 
 own, and everj^thing comfortably arranged 
 for the blind girl's reception ; then, s\^ng- 
 ing her hat in her hand, and humming 
 snatches of an old song, she went down 
 again, half hesitating whether she would 
 walk across the meadows to meet Nellie, or 
 whether to stay at home and wait patiently 
 till she came. 
 
 There was no one to give her a sugges- 
 tion that she should do one thing or the 
 other — a breath would have sent her either 
 way ; but she could do as she pleased, and 
 found it difficult to decide for herself even 
 in so shght a matter. 
 
 She crossed the hall, and went into her 
 own little sanctum ; there was her book 
 lying open upon the sofa ; there was her 
 
 VOL. I. E
 
 50 MADGE. 
 
 work, with the impossible rose half blown 
 beneath her industrious fingers ; there was 
 her easel, whereon was an elaborate pro- 
 duction in oils in the last stage of comple- 
 tion. She glanced round, then stepped out 
 up(^i the gravel pathway, went a few paces 
 forward, and then returned, flung her hat 
 aside, took up her brush, and sat down at 
 her easel as though she was in earnest, and 
 meant work. She mixed her colours in a 
 pretty, dainty way, and commenced making 
 the emerald green trees greener still, and 
 sent stray splashes of white woolly clouds 
 saihng through the brightest of bright blue 
 skies, now and then putting her head on 
 one side, and with half shut eyes criticising 
 her work. Presently she paused abruptly, 
 turned her head, and listened. The sound 
 of horses' hoofs came clattering along the 
 road, and in another moment there was a 
 loud peal at the belL Who could it be?
 
 A VISITOR AT CLINTON. 51 
 
 They had so few visitors, and those were 
 generally on business, and came in a quiet, 
 business-like way, not rattling along full 
 pelt on horseback. Then the sound of a 
 fresh young masculine voice caused her to 
 spring from her chair, throw aside her 
 brush, and rush out into the hall to wel- 
 come her brother George. 
 
 " I suppose I am the very last person in 
 the world you expected to see?" he ex- 
 claimed, giving her a brother's careless, 
 kindly kiss. 
 
 " Yes, indeed. We thought you were in 
 London. We did not expect you home till 
 June," she answered, returning his caress 
 with interest. 
 
 " Oh, as for that, I haven't come home 
 now," he answered. ''We're mere birds of 
 passage, Slade and I." He jerked his head 
 towards the door, where the friend who 
 had accompanied him stood upon the mat.
 
 52 MADGE. 
 
 shaking the dust from his light paletot 
 before he entered the house. " We're 
 staying a few days at Kirktown, and I 
 wouldn't be so near without running over 
 to see you. Besides, I wanted you to know 
 one another," he added, as he presented her 
 to his friend. " My sister ; this is my friend 
 Slade, Margaret. I promised I'd bring him 
 down one day, and here he is." 
 
 ''And I'm very glad to see him," she 
 answered, shaking hands with him cordially. 
 '' George has so often talked to me about 
 you that I have quite longed to make your 
 acquaintance. I know how kind you have 
 been to him." 
 
 Margaret looked through her long lashes 
 at Mr. Slade, and Mr. Slade looked at 
 Margaret, and kept her hand genially clasp- 
 ed in his as he said — 
 
 *' Kind ! Umph ! Well, he has returned 
 my kindness now, at any rate !" He let her
 
 A VISITOR AT CLINTON. 53 
 
 hand fall as he added, " But it is rather 
 cool of us to take you by storm in this 
 way." 
 
 "Not at all. I like to be taken by 
 storm," she answered demurely ; then, see- 
 ing an almost imperceptible smile stir the 
 light silken moustache, she added quickly — 
 " I mean, we are always ready to welcome 
 our friends. We don't need any prepara- 
 tions for that." 
 
 " I hope you're going to give us some 
 luncheon, Madge," said George, making his 
 way to the dining-room. *' Come on, 
 Slade. We've had a long ride — full fifteen 
 miles, I should think — and we're hot, dusty, 
 hungry, and thirsty — at least, 1 am." 
 
 " It is not luncheon-time yet," said Mar- 
 garet, glancing at the clock. " I'll order it 
 to be sent up as soon as possible; but I 
 don't think it can be ready for half an 
 hour."
 
 54 MADGE. 
 
 "Never mind," he answered. "We'll 
 have a refresher in the shape of sherry and 
 soda — the governor's old brown sherry, 
 Slade ; I think you'll say you never tasted 
 better." 
 
 Mr. Slade was quite sure that the best of 
 everything would be found at Clinton. 
 
 " Where's father ?" resumed George. 
 " If he isn't in the house, I must look him 
 up." 
 
 "You'd have to look a long way before 
 you found him," she answered. " He's 
 gone to London." 
 
 "What on earth has he gone there for? 
 Is it anything about me?" 
 
 '' No ; he has gone to make arrangements 
 for me to spend a season in town." 
 
 " Well, he might have consulted me about 
 that," exclaimed George, with an air of 
 offended dignity. '' I don't see how it is 
 to be managed, unless we set up housekeep-
 
 A VISITOR AT CLINTON. 55 
 
 ing together, you and I — we'd have a glori- 
 ous time ! — though I don't see what good 
 you'll do by it." 
 
 "Come, come, George," said Mr. Slade, 
 *'we will not have you throw cold water on 
 the plan. I think it's a splendid idea, and 
 I can imagine Miss Siward doing any amount 
 of good — or evil." 
 
 "Ah! that's just one of your compli- 
 mentary speeches," rejoined George. "It 
 is all very well for men to see the world, 
 but girls are best at home. / can't be al- 
 ways looking after you, Madge; and it 
 would never do for a girl like you to be 
 running wild about London." 
 
 ^' I am not going to run wild about Lon- 
 don," she replied, hurt at his tone, " neither 
 will you be troubled to look after me. If 
 father can make satisfactory arrangements, 
 I'm going to live with a lady of rank, and 
 be introduced to a part of the world that I
 
 56 MADCxE. 
 
 don't suppose you know much about." 
 
 She emphasised the you especially, and 
 then proceded to give them an account of 
 her father's intention and mode of action. 
 She showed them the advertisement which 
 had first attracted his attention. They both 
 seemed deeply interested, and Mr. Slade 
 slightly amazed. 
 
 " Do you mean to say," he exclaimed, 
 *' that you know nothing whatever of the 
 lady to whom you are going to be consigned 
 in this summary fashion ?" 
 
 " JSTo," replied Margaret, "she is quite a 
 stranger, but then, you know, we must all 
 be strangers at first ; and I hope she'll be 
 nice, most likely she will, or I shall not stay 
 with her. But as father has gone up to 
 town on purpose to see her, when he comes 
 back he'll be able to tell us all about her." 
 
 " I'm afraid you'll have to find out all 
 about her yourself, Miss Siward," said Mr.
 
 A VISITOR AT CLIDTON. 57 
 
 Slade. " The shrewdest pair of masculine 
 eyes could hardly be able to see and learn 
 ' all about ' a woman in the visit of a dav. 
 However, I shall look forward to the pleas- 
 ure of seeing you in London, although there 
 will be such a wide gulf between us — at 
 least, between our working world and 
 yours." 
 
 " Who says there will be a wide gulf be- 
 tween us ?" she exclaimed, her colour rising 
 
 « 
 slowly as she spoke. 
 
 "At least you insinuated as much to your 
 brother just now," he answered, "and he 
 and I move in about the same circle." 
 
 "Pooh! you know I did not mean it," 
 she answered quickly. " I only said that 
 because George vexed me. It is not likely 
 I should ever go anywhere where my friends 
 or my family would not be as welcome as 
 myself " Here George struck in im- 
 patiently.
 
 58 MADGE. 
 
 '^ As luncheon doesn't seem likely to put 
 in an appearance just yet, I vote we take 
 a stroll in the garden. I should like Slade 
 to see something of the place, and we must 
 be going back about four o'clock." 
 
 "Must you really go so soon?" said 
 Margaret regretfully. "Is it impossible for 
 you to stay till to-morrow ? It was hardly 
 worth while coming for such a flying visit." 
 
 "Learn to be thankful for small mercies, 
 Madge. Half a loaf is better than no 
 bread." 
 
 "I don't know; I think I would rather 
 go hungry than have my appetite tantalized 
 with the mere taste of a good thing." 
 
 "Thanks — meaning that I am a 'good 
 thing,' " replied her brother. " 1 never 
 knew you so complimentary before. As a 
 rule, you are glad to be rid of me." 
 
 "That's when father's at home; now he's 
 away, I should be very glad to put up with
 
 A VISITOR AT CLINTON. 5& 
 
 you, and with Mr. Slade too," she added, her 
 face lighting up with its sunniest smile, "if 
 we can induce him to stay. Must you really 
 go ?" this time she addressed the question to 
 Mr. Slade. 
 
 "I am afraid we really must," he an- 
 swered gravely, but there was a look in his 
 eyes which contradicted his words. She 
 was quick to see it, as what woman is not 
 quick to detect the slightest move towards 
 the fulfilment of her own desires? 
 
 " I believe you are your own master, and 
 can do exactly what you please," she an- 
 swered, and turning to her brother she 
 added caressingl}^ " George, dear, do stay — • 
 you must. Mr. Slade, can't you press him, 
 or do you want pressing too ?" 
 
 "Very much," he answered; "I should 
 like to see how much of your pressing I 
 could really stand before I gave way." 
 
 " If that is the case, there shall be no-
 
 60 MADGE. 
 
 more pressing in the matter. Consider that 
 I have said everything that ought to be said, 
 and surrender at once," she added, with a 
 playful imperious manner. 
 
 The luncheon-bell rang ; the proposed 
 stroll was postponed, and after despatching 
 a servant to the station with a telegram, 
 delaying their departure till the next day, 
 they sat down to that social meal as merry 
 a trio as could have been found for miles 
 round ; they talked about nothing particular, 
 yet there was a pleasant sparkle running 
 through the chit-chat, which did duty for 
 conversation, that would most likely have 
 been wanting in a profound or wise discus- 
 sion. They all three seemed to be en rap- 
 port with one another, and a genuine geni- 
 ality pervaded the little party ; there were 
 no solemn pauses, no awkward gaps in the 
 flow of pleasant talk, no stilted attempts at 
 unnatural agreeability. They were mutually
 
 A VISITOR AT CLINTON. 61 
 
 pleased with each other, and showed that 
 they were so without disguise. Though 
 there was not much wit among them, 
 there was plenty of laughter and effervesc- 
 ing small talk, which would fall flat and 
 stale if it were bottled up and brought for- 
 ward for the entertainment of any but that 
 special three there present. 
 
 The golden sunlight, laden with the pure 
 fresh air, stole in at the open window, the 
 full-throated robin, the blackbird, and the 
 sweet-voiced thrush united in chorus, and 
 sang their sweetest love-songs ; even those 
 small insignificant atoms seemed launched 
 upon the full, fresh Spring-tide of renewed 
 life and feathery evanescent love. 
 
 The laughing voices of the merry trio 
 within the house mingled harmoniously 
 with the melody without. George Siward 
 was in especially high spirits ; he was de- 
 lighted to find his sister and his friend were
 
 62 MADGE. 
 
 "getting on" so well together. He had 
 hoped it would be so, but he felt by no 
 means sure they would like one another so 
 well as they seemed disposed to do. He 
 knew that Slade was fantastical and peculiar 
 in his notions respecting women, and feared 
 that his sister's frank, unsophisticated nature, 
 so void of all conventional proprieties, might 
 jar upon his constitutional notions of refine- 
 ment and feminine attractions. He was not 
 old enough, or perhaps not wise enough, 
 to see that the innate refinement of a pure 
 nature is greater and far more attractive to 
 experienced eyes than the refinement of 
 art — the one proceeding from the soul 
 within, while the other can be smoothly laid 
 upon a coarse, common nature, like a coat- 
 ing of veneer upon an inferior substance. 
 
 George was an ardent admirer of his friend 
 Slade, in fact he felt for him' that species of 
 affectionate regard, indeed reverence, which
 
 A VISITOR AT CLINTON. 63 
 
 very young men are apt to feel for some 
 special friend a few years older than 
 themselves, whose virtues or vices are 
 equally attractive in their eyes, and whose 
 friendship is the bane or blessing of their 
 lives. Masculine youth has something of the 
 imitative genius of the monkey in it, and is 
 apt to adopt the manners, the style of dress, 
 of conversation, and even the morals of the 
 one special chosen friend ; at least, it was so 
 with young George Siward, who followed 
 the lead of his friend Slade in all things ; 
 and, to Mr. Slade's credit be it said, hitherto 
 he has led him through clean and, pleasant 
 places, and kept singularly free from those 
 dangerous highways and byways which 
 begin in a path of roses and end in the 
 valley of gall and bitterness. 
 
 George's eyes flashed glances of keen 
 satisfaction from his sister to his friend, as 
 he observed " how well they were getting
 
 64 MADGE. 
 
 on together/' and when the social meal had 
 been prolonged to its greatest extent, they 
 consulted together as to what would be the 
 pleasantest thing to do next — they had 
 not very long to be together, and they 
 determined to make the most of their time.
 
 65 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 SUNLIGHT. 
 
 rpHE moments passed in a light, chatty, 
 -■- pleasant way ; they were so busily 
 discussing what they should do — one pro- 
 posed one thing, one another, and they end- 
 ed by doing nothing at all. 
 
 '' I don't see why we need do anything," 
 said Mr. Slade, *' I enjoy an idle dolce fa7' 
 niente hour above all things. I never 
 have any sympathy with people who want 
 ' amusing ' like babies and idiots." 
 
 '* I like having nothing to do," said 
 George ; *^ but I like to be entertained 
 while I'm doing it, looking on at dancing, 
 
 VOL. I. F
 
 QQ MADGE. 
 
 now, or listening to some jolly kind of 
 music, or quizzing odd people. By-the-by, 
 Slade, I met such a funny fellow at Green's 
 studio the other night — the sight of his face 
 would have set you laughing before he 
 opened his mouth." 
 
 '' I always hate the funny man of a 
 party," replied Mr. Slade, " I feel inchned 
 to smother him." 
 
 ''At any rate, I know you're fond of 
 music. Margaret, we'll have a smoke while 
 you sing to us," said George, and as he 
 spoke he pulled out his case and offered one 
 to his friend. 
 
 ^'Thanks," he said, rejecting it, ^'I never 
 smoke in a lady's presence ; unless," he add- 
 ed, correcting himself, "I am sure she likes 
 it." 
 
 " I don't mind it in the least," Margaret 
 answered ; " father always smokes in the 
 evening while I read to him. I did not like
 
 SUNLIGHT. 67 
 
 it at all when I first came home from school; 
 we were taught that smoking was such a 
 dreadful thing ; but now that I have grown 
 accustomed to it, I rather like it than not — 
 so please smoke if you wish to do so." 
 
 " While you sing ?" he rejoined, interroga- 
 tively. She shook her head. ''But you 
 do sing," he added. 
 
 •^ Well, perhaps a little," she answered, 
 hesitating ; " but I don't suppose you would 
 care for my sort of singing." 
 
 ''And I am equally sure," he said, ''that 
 I should care for any sort of thing you 
 did." 
 
 "Besides," she added gravely, without 
 heeding his speech, " I never really sing in 
 the daytime ; of course sometimes I practise 
 a little ; but what I most like is to sit in the 
 twilight and sing father to sleep — not in a 
 regular way, you know, but just to croon 
 snatches of the old ballads which he knew 
 
 f2
 
 68 MADGE. 
 
 when he was a boy ; he likes it, too," she 
 added simply. 
 
 Mr. Slade was not at all surprised at that ; 
 he felt that he would rather like to change 
 places with that favoured father for one of 
 those twilight hours. He was an artist, and 
 the picture painted itself to his mind's eye 
 at once. 
 
 " I could almost envy your father for 
 having such a bit of sunshine always about 
 him." 
 
 " Gammon I Slade ; don't you believe it 
 is all sunshine with Madge," exclaimed 
 George ; " she is stormy and cloudy enough 
 sometimes, and can turn on an April shower 
 too on the slightest provocation." 
 
 " Don't take away my character like that, 
 George." 
 
 " He could never give you another that 
 would become you half as well," rejoined 
 Mr. Slade.
 
 SUNLIGHT. 69 
 
 " You are the prince of polite phrases," 
 she answered gaily ; '' you can turn an ugly 
 speech into a pretty compliment upon the 
 shortest notice^ and that shows you are in 
 good practice. But come, we must not 
 waste this glorious day in the house ; a ride 
 or a ramble — which shall it be, Mr. Skide ? 
 — you shall choose." 
 
 *' A ramble by all means," he answered ; 
 he felt at the moment that nothing on earth 
 could be so delightful as a ramble through 
 the woods, or under the full-blossomed 
 orchard-trees, with that sweet face beside 
 him. So a ramble it was decided they 
 would have, and they all three set off in 
 high spirits, Margaret and Mr. Slade taking 
 the lead, and George lounging lazily behind 
 them, his hands in his pockets, and a huge 
 Eussian cigar between his lips. She insist- 
 ed on taking their guest, in spite of all her 
 brother's protestations, through the dairy
 
 70 MADGE. 
 
 and farmyard, and was quite proud to show 
 him how well she was known among the 
 live-stock there, and how obediently they 
 came at her call. The tame pigeons flut- 
 tered down from the sloping barn roof, and 
 flocked round her ; one solemn fantail 
 perched himself on her shoulder, and cooed 
 to her as though she had been a blood rela- 
 tion. The feathered tribe having received 
 the due amount of admiration, Margaret 
 said, 
 
 ^' Now, Mr. Slade, before you are carried 
 off the premises, you must see my pet Col- 
 ly ; her mother died when she was only ten 
 days old, and I brought her up almost en- 
 tirely myself." 
 
 They crossed over to a low-barred gate, 
 which led into the meadow, where numer- 
 ous fine cattle were grazing. Some were 
 chewing the cud reflectively, swishing their 
 long tails to keep ofP the flies, which were
 
 SUNLIGHT. 7 1 
 
 beginning to be troublesome ; some few of 
 the more venerable animals had retired into 
 the shade and laid themselves down, look- 
 ing placidly content, as though nothing less 
 than the "maid with the milking-pail'' 
 could rouse them into action. Margaret 
 leaned over the gate, and gave a low, soft 
 cry, at the sound of which a beautiful young 
 heifer separated itself from its companions, 
 and came trotting towards her as obediently 
 as a dog, putting its pink nose between the 
 bars, looked at her with its large melancholy 
 eyes, and lowed softly in answer to the 
 caressing sound of her voice. She praised 
 and petted it with her soft white hand, say- 
 ing, 
 
 "Isn't she a beauty, Mr. Slade ? Our 
 bailiff says that, if she was exhibited, she 
 would be sure to get a prize." 
 
 "It is a pretty creature," she answered, 
 surveying it with a critical eye, for he knew
 
 72 MADGE. 
 
 soinething of most four-footed animals, and 
 acknowledged that this was a very beautiful 
 specimen of its kind. 
 
 "You seem very fond of the creature, 
 Miss Siward, but in reality, you know, your 
 kindness is like the kindness of most of your 
 sex, cruelty in disguise." 
 
 "How?" 
 
 "You pet and praise it now, and by-and- 
 by you will kill and eat it." 
 
 " We never kill cows," she answered, 
 feeling she was giving him a piece of solid 
 information ; " we keep them for the dairy, 
 then they grow old and die as we do ; but, 
 as you say, I am fond of all dumb animals. 
 I like to watch their instincts and learn 
 their ways ; it is strange to see hov»^ clever 
 they are sometimes. I assure you they are 
 worth studying." 
 
 "Perhaps so; but I have not given the 
 matter any special attention," he answered.
 
 SUNLIGHT. 73 
 
 "You know, Pope says, 'The proper study 
 of iDankind is man ;' but I dissent from liim 
 there, I say the proper study of mankind is 
 woman." 
 
 " Oh !" laughed Margaret, '' we are the 
 weaker, the inferior sex, remember — 
 possibly he did not think we were worth 
 studying — too frivolous and shallow, you 
 know." 
 
 "On the contrary, / have always found 
 them too deep," he rejoined, " too mys- 
 terious for me to fathom ; I've given up the 
 attempt now. However, the time has been 
 when I could say with Moore — 
 
 ' My only books were women's looks, 
 And folly's all they taught me.' " 
 
 ** You made a bad selection, Tm afraid," 
 she answered; "perhaps they found they 
 could not teach you anything better, or per- 
 haps they thought that was all you wanted 
 to learn."
 
 74 MADGE, 
 
 *' That's very severe," he answered ; " you 
 mean to say it is all I have the capacity to 
 learn, which shows you have a poor opinion 
 of my intellect." 
 
 '^ I did not mean to say anything so 
 rude," she answered gravely, ''for I know 
 very little of men or women either; we lead 
 such a quiet, lonely life here." 
 
 " Do you mean to say that you do not 
 mix at all in society?" he asked, regarding 
 her with a scrutinizing look, " you seem to 
 have plenty of neighbours near enough, at 
 any rate, to keep up the ordinary amount 
 of visiting ; but perhaps they are not pleas- 
 ant people ?" 
 
 " I really do not know anything about 
 them," she answered frankly. " My father 
 is a very proud man, and he will not be 
 condescended to, or looked down upon. 
 Although he is rich enough now, he was 
 very poor once, and has worked his way up.
 
 SUNLIGHT. 75' 
 
 He does not think his education fits him 
 for the society about here — the mere idle 
 country gentlefolk, you know — his ways are 
 not their ways, he says, he would not be 
 interested in their talk, nor they in his, and 
 so — and so he keeps to himself." 
 
 " Very nice for him, but very lonely for 
 you." 
 
 " Well, to tell you the truth, I do find it 
 so sometimes," she rejoined confidentially, 
 '^for when they have company at the 
 Manor house — -just down in the hollow 
 there — on a very still night, we can hear 
 the music and see the shadows of the 
 dancers fluttering about, and I wish I was 
 one of them; but who knows what may 
 happen if I go to London ! I daresay I 
 shall go to parties enough then ; I think 
 that is why father sends me ; but how silly 
 I am to talk to you like this — I feel as 
 though I had known you all my life."
 
 76 MADGE. 
 
 "Go on feeling so, please," he answered, 
 in a strangely earnest tone. There was not 
 much in his words, but his dark, scrutinizing 
 eyes were bent upon her face with a look 
 that made the colour rise in her cheeks and 
 her eyes turn confusedly from his ; for a^ 
 wonder no laughing, light reply rose to her 
 lips ; she was saved the necessity of reply- 
 ing, for as he spoke they turned into the 
 orchard, which was a very wilderness of 
 apple and pear-trees, some of their full- 
 blossomed boughs stretched across their 
 tangled path and bent low over their heads, 
 so low indeed that they had to stoop to 
 pass under them, so Mr. Slade went in front 
 and lifted the branches for her to pass 
 under, and in so doing shook them over her 
 till she was half smothered under the pink 
 and white blossoms. 
 
 Presently they passed out into the open 
 country, and the rich wealth of a gold-
 
 SUNLIGHT. 77 
 
 en sunlight flooded the scene around 
 them. Although that part of the country 
 was by no means pretty or picturesque, 
 it was looking its best now — the tender 
 and varied green of the leafy boughs 
 were fully unfurled ; on one side was a 
 wide stretch of meadow land, intersected 
 here and there by winding lanes which are 
 always such a pleasant feature in our rural 
 districts ; on the other side, laying far away 
 as it seemed beneath their feet, was Clinton 
 itself, with the tall factory chimneys belching 
 forth volumes of dun smoke curling up in 
 spiral columns till it melted away, and was 
 lost in the bright blue skies. 
 
 Mr. Slade commented upon the aspect 
 of the country, and at the same time be- 
 wailed the fact that some of the fairest 
 districts in England should be disfigured and 
 spoilt by the sinking of mining shafts, or the 
 erection of still more unsightly chimneys,
 
 78 MADGE. 
 
 built up like those he looked on, for manu- 
 facturing purposes. 
 
 "I don't see any necessity for all this 
 ugliness," he said. '' Why can't people in- 
 vent something decent, with a sort of archi- 
 tectural design, which might be attractive 
 as w^ell as useful, instead of these ugly brick 
 chimneys?" 
 
 Margaret, who did not care to hear even 
 her father's chimney-pots found fault with, 
 answered quickly, 
 
 " Because people who have worked hard 
 for their money do not like to spend their 
 capital in bits of fancy work ; they want 
 things for use, not ornament. Those ugly 
 brick chimneys serve all the purpose they 
 were built for; any attempt at ornament 
 would only take away from the profit, 
 and " 
 
 " Oh ! please, Miss Siward, do not go into 
 the financial part of the question. I cannot
 
 SUNLIGHT. 79 
 
 bear to hear women talk about money. 
 In my opinion, the less they know about 
 that sort of thing the better." 
 
 Margaret was silent for a few minutes, 
 and they walked on side by side, without 
 speaking a word. If his thoughts had been 
 translated, they would have run somewhat 
 in this fashion — " She's very beautiful, very 
 shrewd and original ; evidently she has got 
 plenty of money, and thinks a great deal 
 about it." After pondering for a few 
 minutes, she looked up into his face and 
 said, 
 
 ^' Of course money is not a sentimental or 
 romantic thing to study or talk about, bat is 
 it not very necessary to know what to do 
 with one's own? For instance, we often 
 hear of women who have the control of 
 property embarking in foolish speculations, 
 and losing all, and being ruined, and re- 
 duced to absolute want; then you turn round
 
 80 MADGE. 
 
 and abuse them for their folly, just as much 
 as you sneer at and abuse them for their 
 knowledge ; and that is hardly fair. If you 
 don't sow the seed, and cultivate the soil, 
 you ought not to wonder if it bears no fruit. 
 Ignorance and folly are things of natural 
 growth, you know." 
 
 Mr. Slade did not care to enter into an 
 argument with Margaret ; he felt in- 
 stinctively that her shrewd yet simple com- 
 mon-sense might come down and bowl over 
 his choice opinions ; he knew perfectly well 
 that he had no reasonable arguments to 
 back them up. He shook his head with a 
 slight degree of impatience, and said, 
 
 " I don't like to argue the matter with a 
 lady ; it would not be fair, as you know. 
 There could be no downright hard hitting 
 between us." 
 
 *' You needn't mind hitting me," she an- 
 swered. " I am like an India-rubber ball,
 
 SUNLIGHT. 81 
 
 my vanity would survive the blow, puff 
 itself out, and rebound again^ and coroe up 
 ready for action." 
 
 " You've measured a good many things in 
 your time, Slade," exclaimed George, coming 
 up and joining in the conversation for a 
 moment, *'but youve never measured the 
 length of a woman's tongue, especially my 
 sister Margaret's. She will have the last 
 word ; / always let her." 
 
 " She'd take it, whether you let her or 
 no," rejoined Margaret saucily. '' We women, 
 have not many privileges, but I believe talk- 
 ing is one." 
 
 " Fancy calling yourself a woman ! — a bit 
 of a girl like you !" exclaimed George, 
 making a vile use of a brother's privilege, 
 and hitting her in a vulnerable place, for the 
 subject of age was rather a ticklish point 
 with Margaret; she wished to hide her 
 youth away, as a thing forgotten, and appear 
 
 VOL. I. G
 
 82 MADGE. 
 
 in the full bloom of womanhood, especially 
 now that Mr. Slade was by ; she fancied 
 that if he knew she was still in her teens, 
 he might treat her opinions with less regard. 
 
 *' Not quite such a girl either, George. 
 I'm nearly nineteen now. There is not so 
 very much difference between us," she an- 
 swered loftily. 
 
 "Age does not always bring wisdom. Miss 
 Siward," rejoined Mr. Slade, with an amused 
 smile, '' on tHe contrary, sometimes it takes 
 it away and leaves a heap of musty pre- 
 judices in its place. I assure you I would 
 rather talk with you than with the wisest 
 man or woman of my acquaintance." 
 
 " If you talk to Madge like that, there will 
 be no holding her vanity within bounds," 
 said George. They walked on for a mo- 
 ment without speaking, then Mr. Slade drift- 
 ed back to the question of the architectural 
 ugliness of all factory buildings.
 
 SUNLIGHT. 83 
 
 "What I mean to say, is," he added, 
 " that you may generally get things pretty 
 and useful, as well as ugly and useful ; but 
 I suppose I am wrong, for the same hideous- 
 ities are seen in every manufacturing town. 
 I should like to invent something to do away 
 with them." 
 
 *' There is no saying what genius like 
 yours would do in the matter ; if you could 
 only sweep all deformities from the face of 
 the land, you would earn the thanks of a 
 grateful country/' answered Margaret, as she 
 gathered her skirts together and tripped 
 daintily by his side. 
 
 " Which grateful country might not be 
 willing to pay them," he rejoined. ''As a 
 rule, genius gets more kicks than half-pence 
 — like the noble six hundred, it must be 
 content ' to do and die.^ " 
 
 " What a grand poem that is !" said Mar- 
 garet, her attention caught and her thoughts 
 
 g2
 
 84 MADGE. 
 
 turned easily to another subject. ^'A girl 
 at our school used to recite it beautifully ; she 
 got a prize for it." 
 
 "/ should have been rather inclined to 
 give her a prize to let it alone," rejoined 
 Mr. Slade. " I say, George, fancy a school- 
 girl reciting the ^ Charge of the Light 
 Brigade.'" 
 
 There was such an expression of contempt 
 in his tone that Margaret felt crushed for a 
 moment beneath it, and quite ashamed of 
 the enthusiastic admiration she used to feel 
 for the dramatic powers of her school com- 
 panion ; but her spirit of defiance speedily 
 asserted itself, and rose in arms against the 
 depreciative character of his remark. She 
 challenged him to repeat the poem, then and 
 there. She herself would give the verdict 
 for or against his superiority over her old 
 favourite. He laughed and confessed him- 
 self willing at once to comply, as he would
 
 SUNLIGHT. 85 
 
 have done to the playful exactions of a child. 
 
 " I do not profess to recite," he said, " but 
 I will repeat the lines and give you, in a faint 
 shadowy sort of way, my idea of the spirit 
 which ought to animate their delivery ; wait 
 till we get into the hollow yonder, that we 
 may not startle the natives." So, chatting 
 and laughing gaily, " in the May of life and 
 the month of May," to the hollow they 
 descended; arrived there, Margaret seated 
 herself upon a rough boulder stone, George 
 threw himself down on the grass, tipped his 
 hat over his eyes to screen them from the 
 sun, and gazed admiringly at his friend, who 
 threw off his felt hat, tossed the thick mass 
 of hair from his brow, and commenced the 
 world-famous lines. 
 
 " Half a league ! Half a league ! Half a 
 league onward." He had an expressive face, 
 a rich melodious voice, which he knew how 
 to manage and mould to his views. He not
 
 86 MADGE. 
 
 only conceived and comprehended the true 
 spirit and fervour of the poem, but he was 
 able to interpret it with all the power of 
 concentrated thought and genuine feeling, 
 and he did so on this occasion with all the 
 pathos and fire he was master of. 
 
 The slanting sunbeams streamed through 
 the quivering trees, and danced in fantastic 
 will-o'-the-wisp lights and shadows at their 
 feet. The sky above them was one wide 
 canopy of unbroken blue, and the soft 
 Spring breeze was laden with the sweet 
 Spring-song ; but through all, and over all, 
 rose the one strong human voice, which 
 seemed to swell out and fill the surrounding 
 space with a stirring pathos akin to martial 
 music. 
 
 Margaret sat gazing at him with rapt 
 attention ; she seemed to hang upon his 
 words; her breath came short and quick. 
 She heard the thunder of the guns ; saw the
 
 SUNLIGHT. 87 
 
 sabres flash as they turned in the air ; saw 
 with her spirit's eyes the fierce, fiery hell 
 sweeping through the peaceful scene round 
 them ; and as the shattered remnant, " all 
 that was left of them," came up from the 
 jaws of death, her face was white, her 
 hands clasped, unshed tears clouded her 
 eyes, and she leaned forward, as though to 
 catch the last words, the last accents, that 
 fell from his lips, and sobbed outright. 
 
 Mr. Slade had often recited the poem be-* 
 fore, sometimes at his club, sometimes at con- 
 vivial friendly meetings, when his audience 
 was cool and critical, ready to carp and cavil, 
 as it suited their humour ; but he had never 
 had such a listener as this. He had looked 
 out and over her head as he painted the 
 glorious word-picture, throwing his whole 
 soul into his subject, suiting the action to 
 the word, and seeing the whole scene passing 
 before his mind's eye. For a few fleeting
 
 88 MADGE. 
 
 moments it was real to him, but as he 
 finished, the glow left his face, and the 
 enthusiasm which had held him passed away 
 from his spirit. His was a warm, enthusi- 
 astic nature ; he had a keen appreciation of 
 all that was beautiful, whether in art, poetr}'', , 
 or in nature ; but his feelings were evanes- 
 cent, and easily died away. 
 
 As the last word left his lips, a low, half 
 choked sob reached his ear, and he looked 
 down on Margaret's upturned face. Her 
 feelings were too deep, and took too fast a 
 hold upon her spirit for the expression to 
 pass easily away. She heard the cannons 
 roar, saw the battle-smoke, and the sabres 
 flash in the sunlight, long after he had done 
 speaking ; he had never seen such a look on 
 a woman's face before. As their eyes met, 
 a thrill, as though some mesmeric influence 
 was at work, shot through his veins ; most 
 men have felt the same when they have
 
 SUNLIGHT. 89 
 
 looked at some special moment on some one 
 special woman's face. He stooped down 
 and took her two hands in his, and for a 
 second his face, and his spirit, too, seemed 
 to catch the glow from hers. Neither spoke ; 
 they each seemed to understand the other's 
 feeling without the aid of words. 
 
 George Siward got up slowly from the 
 grass, shook himself like a Newfoundland 
 pup, and said — 
 
 " Well, I've heard that Balaclava Charge 
 till I was sick of the name of it ; I did not 
 think I could hear it again with patience ; 
 but somehow I rather like your style of 
 giving it. You seem to put something in it 
 more than it has got. You know, I don't 
 think much of it as a piece of writing my- 
 self." 
 
 Neither of his companions seemed dis- 
 posed to argue the matter, so, after setting 
 forth his own ideas upon the subject, he left
 
 90 MADGE. 
 
 off talking and commenced whistling, which 
 was more to his taste, and pleased his com- 
 panions better than anything else he could 
 have done. They strolled quietly on side 
 by side, and drifted by degrees into a 
 desultory kind of chit-chat. They soon 
 came in sight of home, and long before 
 they reached the house their attention was 
 attracted by a solitary figure standing 
 motionless upon the lawn.
 
 91 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 TWILIGHT. 
 
 AS they approached nearer the house, 
 Margaret stopped with a sudden ex- 
 clamation — 
 
 "Why, it is Nell! All by herself too! 
 I did not expect her so early, or I cer- 
 tainly should have hurried home to receive 
 her." 
 
 "Poor Nellie," said George; "it is such 
 a terrible affliction for a pretty girl. If she 
 was old and ugly it would not matter so 
 much. I wonder if the London doctors 
 could do anything for her; they get over 
 great difficulties sometimes."
 
 92 MADGE. 
 
 " Who is Nell," inquired Mr. Slacle, " that 
 you are all so interested in her ?" 
 
 " A blind girl," replied Margaret, " the 
 daughter of father's oldest friend ; a great 
 friend of mine too ; we have known each 
 other all our lives. I asked her to come 
 and keep me company while father's away, 
 and I had forgotten all about her ; your 
 coming drove everything clean out of my 
 head — anybody's coming would, you know, 
 as we have so few visitors." 
 
 " A wonderful girl Nell is, too," rejoined 
 George, " so shrewd and clever ; she seems 
 to see more without eyes than we do wuth 
 'em. You might deceive or cheat Margaret 
 any hour of the da}^, and she's no such 
 goose either ; but you'd have to get up very 
 early in the morning to steal a march on 
 Nell." 
 
 In obedience to a sign from George, they 
 crossed the lawn with noiseless footsteps ;
 
 TWILIGHT. 93 
 
 the acutest ear could not have heard a 
 footfall on the soft green sward, and coming 
 close behind her, George, without a word or 
 sign, clasped his hands over her eyes. 
 
 " George, when did you come home ?" 
 she said, slightly turning her head. 
 
 " It is George, sure enough," he answer- 
 ed; ''but what made you suppose it was 
 I?" 
 
 '* Because you always announce yourself 
 in some such foolish way," she answered,* 
 turning bright eyes up to his face without 
 seeing him ; " and nobody but you would 
 have done that^ 
 
 " Tm quite ashamed of myself for running 
 away, Nell," exclaimed Margaret, coming 
 forward and kissing her, girl fashion; ''but 
 George's coming home made me forget 
 everything." 
 
 " There is somebody else here. Who is 
 it ?" she exclaimed, lowering her voice and
 
 94 MADGE. 
 
 turning direct to the spot where Mr. Slade 
 was standing. 
 
 ''A friend of George's, dear, Mr. Slade," 
 replied Margaret, in a low voice; but low as 
 it was he heard it. 
 
 " But I hope my privilege is to be ex- 
 tended, and in future I am to be accepted 
 as a friend of the family," he said, as Nell 
 held out her hand to him, and it lay in his 
 for a moment, while he scrutinised her face, 
 scarce believing that the large bright eyes 
 were not looking him through. He felt as 
 though she with her spiritual sight saw more 
 than the concentrated eyes of all the world 
 could see with their unclouded vision. He 
 could not account for the feeling, but if he 
 had sinned he would rather have borne the 
 gaze of a hundred men than stood before the 
 sightless eyes of this one strange girl ! He was 
 quite angry with himself; he could not tell
 
 TWILIGHT. 95 
 
 why, but he found himself slowly reddenmg 
 even to the roots of his hair. 
 
 " Mr. Slade," repeated the blind girl, half 
 as though searching in her own mind ; " yes, 
 I've heard of him before." 
 
 *' Of course you have," rejoined Margaret, 
 promptly. " You must have heard George 
 speak of him ; they are such great friends ; 
 they came quite unexpectedly this morning, 
 Nell, and are going to stay till to-morrow ; 
 they required a deal of coaxing, though,* 
 both of them, before they accepted my 
 invitation." 
 
 After a few moments' light banter and 
 pleasant chat, the two girls linked arm in 
 arm, strolled towards the house, leaving the 
 two gentlemen to amuse themselves out of 
 doors. 
 
 The young friends had not met for two 
 whole days, and, of course, they had a great
 
 96 MADGE. 
 
 deal to hear and to tell ; so they sat down 
 to an hour's confidential chat before dinner, 
 and gave vent to their many thoughts, many 
 vague hopes and aspirations, for the coming 
 days ; a touch of regret, too, tinted all their 
 thoughts ; both seemed to have an undefined 
 feeling that, a gulf was opening between 
 them, which would widen and widen, and, 
 perhaps, never again be recrossed, nor the 
 old familiar intercourse be renewed. To 
 the one helpless blind girl, this meditated 
 parting with her friend was a severe trial. 
 Her affliction isolated her, to a great extent, 
 from the small world of men and women 
 that circled round her home. It is true 
 they would have received her with a rough 
 geniality, and been disposed to be friendly 
 enough if she had gone among them ; but 
 their ways were not her ways, and she 
 shrank from any contact with the unculti- 
 vated working folk of the district, who, of
 
 TWILIGHT. 97 
 
 course, were the only people likely to drift 
 into familiar association with her ; besides, 
 her father was an eccentric man, and 
 admitted no visitors within his home, except 
 one or two old cronies of forty years' stand- 
 ing; so altogether Nell's position was not 
 one to be envied. Although she was the 
 spoilt darling of her home, and father, 
 mother, and brother (though each in a 
 different fashion) did all they could to make 
 things smooth and pleasant for her, and 
 considered her in every possible way so 
 far as they knew how to consider her, 
 their spoiling process referred to outer 
 matters only ; they could not see nor com- 
 prehend the needs of her inner nature, 
 which craved for intellectual and spiritual 
 things which they had not the power to 
 give her. 
 
 Now Margaret fed her mind with the 
 things she most hungered for ; she sang to 
 
 VOL. I. H
 
 98 MADGE. 
 
 her, played to her, read to her, and having 
 read and hiid aside the book, they would 
 discuss the subject of it, and exchange 
 opinions freely concerning the conduct of 
 hero or heroine as the case might be. She 
 described picturesque scenes and sunsets to 
 her as no uneducated tongue could do. 
 Now it seemed that all those pleasant tinaes 
 were at an end — no more lounging through 
 the warm, sunny days beneath the apple- 
 trees, dreaming and wondering what the 
 coming years held in store for them ; what 
 their lives would be ; whether they would 
 flow on in the still monotony of Clinton, or 
 break from their moorings there and be lost 
 in that far away world of which, as yet, they 
 knew nothing. Well, it was all over now ; 
 Margaret was going away. New scenes 
 might blot out the old, and new faces and 
 the pleasurable excitements of a new life
 
 TWILIGHT. 99 
 
 would, perhaps, obliterate the old days 
 from her memory. 
 
 Margaret was looking forward with great 
 delight to the prospect opening before her ; 
 a change is always pleasant to young people, 
 and it was especially so to her; she had 
 often longed to taste of the gaieties, and 
 mingle in the mild dissipations of London 
 life, but she never dreamed that her longing 
 would be gratified so soon. Nell could not 
 listen to her animated talk and animated 
 anticipations without throwing in some 
 expressions of her own regret. 
 
 '' I don't want to throw cold water on you, 
 Margaret," she said, " it will all be very nice 
 for you, but you must not expect me to 
 share your pleasure at going away; only 
 think what a terrible loss you will be to 
 
 me I" 
 
 ^' Of course you will miss me, Nell dear," 
 
 h2
 
 100 MADGE. 
 
 she answered; "but the time will soon 
 pass, and I shall come back again, and 
 thino;s will be the same as ever." Nell 
 shook her head. 
 
 "Things never do go on the same as 
 ever. When a change once comes, it 
 changes things for always. Only the other 
 day you were reading something when it 
 said, 'When the tiger has once tasted blood, 
 it Avill never again be content with water,, 
 but will be always craving for blood.' It 
 will be the same with you. When you have 
 once been among fine people, and lived their 
 lives and learned their ways, you will never 
 come back and content yourself with the 
 old life here ; I am sure of it, Margaret, 
 whatever you may say to the contrary, and 
 that's why I am so sorry to part with you." 
 
 Margaret was not disposed to say anything 
 to the contrary ; indeed, she felt that Nell's 
 surmise was true enough, and that probably
 
 TWILIGHT. 101 
 
 she might not be content to come back to 
 the old life again ; so she tried in the best 
 way she could to reconcile her friend to the 
 inevitable. 
 
 '•'Never mind, Nell, I shall write to you 
 every week and tell you all my doings. 
 What a pity it is I cannot send you nice 
 long confidential letters !" 
 
 *' And why can't you? Rob would read 
 them to me," said Nell. 
 
 " Oh, yes, that is all very well in ordinary 
 matters," rejoined Margaret, "but there are 
 so many little things we girls can say to one 
 another, when we could not possibly think 
 of taking Rob into our little confidences." 
 
 " Well, write just as you like, Madge; I 
 shall be sure to know how you are feeling, 
 whether you tell me or not, and I shall 
 judge quite as much from what you don't 
 say as from what you do." 
 
 The dinner passed off as pleasantly as
 
 102 MADGE. 
 
 youth and good spirits could make it ; they 
 were waited upon *by neat-handed maid- 
 servants, for Mr. Siward, though rich and 
 prosperous, had not outgrown his humbler 
 self, and, as yet, a man-servant had not been 
 imported into his household. He was not 
 one of the new-made vulgar rich who con- 
 sider a male domestic, yclept " my butler," 
 as a necessary appendage, which serves to 
 give the hall-mark to their respectability. 
 
 Margaret performed her part as hostess 
 in high glee, and with the easy grace and 
 simplicity that were natural to her. She 
 informed Mr. Slade confidentially that she 
 had never in her whole life entertained a 
 stranger before, and he declared that she 
 did it so well he was almost tempted to 
 prolong his stay, in order to give her a little 
 more practice. George was full of boyish, 
 broadly marked fun. Nell said very little ; 
 she seemed shy and nervous; she smiled
 
 TWILIGHT. 103- 
 
 now and then, or joined in the laugh, if 
 anything very irresistible was said, and 
 dropped a remark here and there, to show 
 that she was quietly entering into the spirit 
 of what was passing round her. She had a 
 sort of unpleasant feeling that Margaret 
 was enjoying herself too much ; she had 
 seldom seen her in so exuberant spirits — the 
 presence of this stranger seemed to bring 
 her out quite in new colours. 
 
 By the time dinner was over, the day was * 
 beginning to close in. Mr. Slade begged 
 Margaret to come for a stroll in the dim, 
 mysterious twilight — that was the time of all 
 others to enjoy the sweet air and soft mys- 
 terious beauties of the country. Nell shiver- 
 ed ; she was chilly, and did not seem disposed 
 to go out ; she begged them not to mind her. 
 She was accustomed to be alone, and could 
 always amuse herself; but Margaret de- 
 clared she was tired with the unusual ex-
 
 104 MADGE. 
 
 citement of the day, so they went into the 
 drawing-room. Mr. Slade threw himself 
 into a comfortable arm-chair beside the 
 piano, which to him seemed marked as "Mr. 
 Siward's own," and said, 
 
 ''Now, Miss Siward, give me one of your 
 twilight performances, please; fancy I'm 
 ' father,' and sing me to sleep." 
 
 '' That will be one way of keeping you 
 quiet," she said, laughing ; " if you'll pro- 
 mise to go to sleep, I'll sing you a lullaby." 
 She tripped across the room, and began 
 rummaging over a pile of music, when the 
 blind girl joined her, saying in a low voice, 
 heard only by themselves, 
 
 "What a rude man he is, Madge ! If I 
 were you, I would not sing to him at all." 
 
 "What do you mean?" said Margaret, in 
 some surprise, "i think he is delightful, 
 and I mean to sing to him as long as ever 
 he likes. I think it will be very kind of
 
 TWILIGHT. 105 
 
 hi in to listen to me, for I daresay he knows 
 what real good singing is." 
 
 She was quite right ; Mr. Slade did know 
 what good singing was, but, strange to say, 
 he preferred her pure, melodious, untrained 
 voice to all the cultivated voices he had 
 ever heard. Hers was a rich contralto, 
 exactly suited to the style of music she 
 generally preferred ; she sang with natural 
 ease and simplicity, and with a taste and 
 tender pathos that can never be taught by a* 
 master, nor learnt by a pupil who has not 
 the soul of music within. Her voice had 
 not been practised, and polished, and worn 
 by too much exercise ; it was fresh and 
 soft, with the sweet freshness of dewy 
 Spring flowers, to which it seemed near 
 akin. She had some touching, tender 
 notes, whose music stirred the heart to its 
 inmost depths without the aid of the words 
 which accompanied them.
 
 106 MADGE. 
 
 She sang some quaint old ballads, such 
 as our grandmothers rejoiced in, and which 
 are still worth remembering, though they 
 are but rarely heard. Nell always listened 
 to Margaret's singing with concentrated 
 attention ; she did so now, sitting on a low 
 stool by her side, with her hands clasped, 
 and her head leaning against the piano, as 
 though she would get as close as she could 
 to this mysterious thing that imprisoned 
 such sweet sounds ; her eyes were closed, 
 their long lashes resting on her cheeks. 
 Mr. Slade looked on all things with artistic 
 eyes, and he thought he had never seen a 
 more poetical picture than these two girls 
 now presented, the animation and spirit of 
 the one lighting up and flashing from her 
 face, and the still, rapt expression and mo- 
 tionless attitude of the other. The last 
 words of "Troy Town" fell from her lips ; 
 her finirers Avandered for a moment over
 
 TWILIGHT. 107 
 
 the kej^s ; she could not see Mr. Slacle's 
 face, for it was in shadow, and as he uttered 
 no word, gave no sign of approbation, she 
 felt his expectations had been raised beyond 
 her power to gratify them. She was about 
 to close the piano, saying impatiently, 
 
 ^^ You don't care for my singing — I knew 
 you wouldn't." 
 
 He took no notice of her impatient ex- 
 clamation, but only stretched out his hand, 
 and laid it lightly upon hers, saying, 
 
 *^ Don't rise — just one more, please — ■ 
 don't refuse me ; it may be a long time 
 before I hear your voice again." 
 
 There was something in his low, earnest 
 tones that quickened her pulse, and made 
 the blood tingle in her veins ; she needed 
 no words now to tell her the effect she had 
 produced, nor how highly she was appre- 
 ciated. She was silent for a few moments, 
 trying to steady her voice, her fingers stray-
 
 108 MADGE. 
 
 ing absently over the keys ; he resumed his 
 lounging position, and waited without utter- 
 ing a word. Nell, too, waited in silence. 
 George, to whom music was always a bore 
 (unless some special interest was attached 
 to it), and who had been amusing himself 
 making caricature sketches on his wristband, 
 paused for a second in his employment, half 
 turned towards his sister, saying, 
 
 '' Come, Madge, if you are going to sing, 
 get on, and have it over." 
 
 Without deigning to make him any reply, 
 she addressed Mr. Slade. 
 
 '' I am going to sing a song which I don't 
 think you have ever heard ; it is very scarce, 
 and I only got it quite by chance. The 
 words are Shakespeare's, the music by dear 
 old Bishop." 
 
 Without more ado, she turned to the 
 piano, and her voice rose like a bird on the 
 wing.
 
 TWILIGHT. lOO' 
 
 *' Full many a glorious morning have I seen." 
 
 Mr. Slade no longer remained silently 
 absorbed and deeply appreciative — he toss- 
 ed the hair from his forehead, his eyes 
 glowed, his face flushed with nervous excite- 
 ment, pathos and sweetness touched him 
 and held his senses enthralled, but the 
 grandeur and glory of this carried him 
 away. 
 
 " Thanks, a thousand times, Miss Siward," 
 he exclaimed. " This is a revelation. Who' 
 but our one world's poet could have written 
 such words?" 
 
 " And who but Sir Henry Bishop," she 
 exclaimed, "could have joined them to such 
 perfect music?" 
 
 George got up lazily, and seeing his 
 friend's enthusiasm, professed to share it, 
 and hazarded a remark that ^' there was cer- 
 tainly something more in the music of the 
 past than in the music of the future." The
 
 110 MADGE. 
 
 girls had never heard the remark before, 
 and he was called upon to give an explanation 
 of it, which he did in a rather hazy fashion, 
 which left them not much the wiser for his 
 information. 
 
 All fair things and times must have an 
 end — the long, pleasant day was over; 
 night came too soon for one portion of the 
 little party, too late for the other. When 
 Phoebe brought in the bed-room candles, 
 she was surprised, and slightly scandalized, 
 to hear the low voices and rippHng laughter 
 of the young people out in the garden, as 
 they paced slowly up and down beneath the 
 light of the moon, which was at the full, and 
 made a kind of fictitious daylight over them ; 
 for Nell had recovered from her shivering 
 fit, and Mr. Slade had carried his point, as 
 people of strong will generally do. 
 
 Phoebe's silent summons was unheeded — 
 indeed, unnoticed ; heedless of the flight of
 
 TWILIGHT. Ill 
 
 time, the young people paced up and down 
 under the shadow of the chestnut-trees. 
 " Just one turn more," urged Mr. Slade's 
 persuasive voice, and every '* one turn " was 
 to be the last. An hour later Phoebe re- 
 appeared upon the scene, and this time took 
 courage, and went out into the garden, and 
 contrived to make her young mistress aware 
 that it was " past eleven o'clock, almost 
 midnight." They kept early hours at Clinton 
 Lodge, and to be stirring at such a time of- 
 night was a thing almost unknown. Her 
 respectfully reproachful accents struck Mar- 
 garet with a feeling that she had committed 
 some indiscretion, and, at her suggestion, 
 they hurried at once into the house, lighted 
 their candles, and went up to their rooms 
 without further delay. 
 
 '' Good night," said Mr. Slade, as he shook 
 hands with his young hostess in a frank, 
 pleasant fashion. "' This has been one of the
 
 112 MADGE. 
 
 pleasantest — nay, the pleasantest day of my 
 life." 
 
 ^^ And one, I hope, that leaves no stmg 
 behind it, as most pleasant things do, they 
 say," rejoined Margaret, returning his 
 " Good night " cordially. 
 
 ^' I don't know," he answered. " That 
 depends how things fall out; so far they are 
 fair enough. I hope I may add one more 
 to my list of friends ?" 
 
 " Oh ! yes," she answered, with a beam- 
 ing face. "But is it not strange to think 
 that this time last night we had not even 
 seen one another ? What a queer thing life 
 is," she added more gravely ; " we never 
 know what is coming into it." 
 
 "No, nor what is going out of it," he 
 answered, slowly following her up the stairs, 
 and pausing once more to say " Good night! 
 good night !"
 
 113 
 
 CHAPTER YI. 
 
 " GOOD-BYE !" 
 
 rriHE girls lingered a long time over their 
 -^ toilet that night. 
 
 " It is no use hurrying to bed," said 
 Margaret, *'for I am sure I could not sleep 
 a wink for hours to come. What a day 
 we've had ! — or I should rather say what a 
 day i've had, for you only came in at the 
 tail of it." 
 
 Nell acknowledged that so far as she was 
 concerned the day certainly had not been 
 fraught with the most pleasurable excite- 
 ment. 
 
 " I was too full of you, Madge," she said, 
 
 VOL. I. I
 
 114 MADGE. 
 
 '' to care about a stranger coming between 
 us just now ; besides, I'm shy, and somehow 
 I don't feel quite in my right place when I 
 associate as an equal with such a gentleman 
 as that." 
 
 " What do you mean by ^ such a gentleman 
 as that ' ?" inquired Margaret, fancying she 
 detected a covert sneer in the observation. 
 
 " Why, a man that is really born a 
 gentleman, not grown into one, as some do, 
 from luck or money and things of that 
 sort," replied Nell, quite innocent of the 
 suspected sneer. 
 
 Margaret smiled ; she knew her father's 
 wealth was the one great grievance which 
 was felt by the Kestrel family ; even Nell 
 could not help giving some quiet, disparaging 
 allusion to it, but that was always when 
 some other thing had vexed her, and Mar- 
 garet never answered any little peevish or 
 uncharitable observation of Nell's, she was
 
 GOOD-BYE. 115 
 
 always ready to make excuses, knowing how 
 hardly fate had used her. 
 
 '^ And how do you know he is a ^ real 
 born gentleman ' ?" she said quietly. 
 
 ^' By the feel of his hands and the sound 
 of his voice," was the answer. 
 
 ''Ah! ah! Miss Nell, I did not know 
 you'd had so much experience in such 
 matters !" 
 
 "He is different from anyone I've ever seen 
 before. I have never met anyone like him." 
 She spoke of seeing^ as most blind people do. 
 
 "Nor I," replied Margaret; "but then 
 Clinton does not abound in very brilliant 
 specimens of the human race divine — at 
 least, they don't fall in our way. Why, 
 your father, Rob, and the old sexton at 
 St. Peter's, are the only men with whom I 
 consider myself on terms of intimacy ; but 
 things will be different now — I feel as 
 though they were different already." 
 
 i2
 
 116 MADGE. 
 
 ^' You are longing to get away from us, 
 Madge," exclaimed Nell, with a slight accent 
 of reproach in her voice, '' I can tell that by 
 the sound of your voice." 
 
 "Well, yes — I shall be glad," she an- 
 swered frankly. " Of course I shall miss 
 you, and many a time I shall wish I had 
 you by my side to tell little bits of gossip 
 to; but then we cannot have everything 
 quite as we like — " she paused for a few 
 minutes, and a dreamy, preoccupied look 
 crept into her face, then she said quickly, 
 as though the idea had just struck her, '' I 
 hope father won't be angry with me for 
 asking Mr. Slade to stay here." 
 
 " Why should he be ?" said Nell. 
 
 '* Oh, I don't know ; men are strange 
 creatures, I think, especially fathers; but 
 he is George's friend, you know, and I felt 
 it my duty to behave kindly and hospitably 
 to him, especially as father was away."
 
 GOOD-BYE. 117 
 
 "And you did your duty well ; it is not 
 often that duty and inclination go hand-in- 
 hand so well as they did to-day." 
 
 "How sharp you are, Nell!" laughed 
 Margaret. " Well, I must own I did enjoy 
 playing hostess, and — I've had a delightful 
 time, and I wish it was going to begin over 
 again. I wonder whether we shall meet 
 again in London, Nell ?" 
 
 " Well, I should think a man could 
 always see anybody he liked anywhere," 
 she answered ; " he's sure to know where 
 you are, and as he and George seem to be 
 such. inseparables, 1 shouldn't wonder if he 
 became your shadow. You like him, 
 Madge ? I wish I could have seen your 
 face while you were talking to him. I am 
 sure you must have been looking beauti- 
 ful." 
 
 " I never look beautiful, Nell ; I've told 
 you that before," said Madge severely. " I
 
 118 MADGE. 
 
 believe I'm tolerably good-locking as girls 
 go ; but I am not at all the sort of person I 
 should admire if I was anybody else, you 
 know." 
 
 ^' Rob says you have a face to dream of, 
 Madge," Nell softly rejoined, " and I know 
 what that must be, for I am often dream- 
 ing ; I am never blind in my dreams — 
 never." 
 
 " I thought Rob had more sense than to 
 talk such nonsense," said Margaret, turning 
 as red as a turkey-cock as she spoke. Every 
 branch of the female family likes the sun- 
 shine of flattery, no matter whether it comes 
 laden with the breath of the peasant, or the 
 accents of the peer ; and Margaret was as 
 much flattered by Rob's compliment, filtered 
 through his sister's telling, as she had been 
 by the unuttered, though unmistakeable, ad- 
 miration of Mr. Slade.
 
 GOOD-BYE. 119 
 
 ^'You'll come and bid Kob, granny, and 
 all of us good-bye before you go ?" 
 
 " Why, of course I shall," answered Mar- 
 garet, " you don't think it possible I could 
 go without ?" 
 
 "I don't know," replied Nell, musing, 
 " we don't feel as if you came among us so 
 much as you used to do, and father thinks — " 
 she hesitated. 
 
 " Father thinks what ?" repeated Margaret 
 sharply, *'go on ; you may just as well tell me 
 what wise thoughts he has got in his head 
 now." 
 
 "Well," replied JSTell, half reluctantly, 
 ''he thinks that Mr. Siward doesn't like you 
 to come." 
 
 '^ Then he thinks wrong," said Margaret, 
 colouring slightly, '^ and does father a very 
 great injustice; he has never interfered in 
 any way with my coming or going ; if I am
 
 120 MADGE. 
 
 not with you as mucli as ever, it has nothing 
 to do with him ; the fact is, I hke to have 
 you here best, Nell, we are more to our- 
 selves, and it is more cosy ; besides " — she 
 left whatever she was going to say unsaid, 
 and added quickly, " But how late it is ! we 
 must not sit gossiping here any longer ; 
 come, Nell, let us make haste into bed. 
 George says they must start soon after ten, 
 so we must be up early ; and I declare I'm 
 getting quite sleepy. Good night, dear ; 
 good night." 
 
 Mr. Slade did not go to rest for some hours 
 after he had bidden the household good 
 night. He stood for some time before his 
 open window, looking out upon the beauti- 
 ful, bright moonlight, chewing the cud of 
 reflection, and thinking of many things that 
 troubled his mind but rarely, though they 
 came now crowding upon his brain, jumbled 
 up strangely with this day's doings. When,
 
 GOOD-BYE. 121 
 
 at last, he undressed and threw himself into 
 his bed, he slept a sound, dreamless sleep, 
 undisturbed by the sweet face Avhich had 
 occupied so large a share of his day's thoughts, 
 and had impressed itself so strongly upon his 
 mind that it seemed to be with him till the 
 very last of his waking moments, and even 
 when he closed his eyes, peeped under his lids 
 as though resolved to follow him even into 
 dreamland ; but then it left him. When he 
 awoke in the morning, for the moment he • 
 hardly knew where he was ; he rubbed his 
 eyes to make sure he was awake, and looked 
 round the room. Then he sprang out of bed, 
 for on the instant, like a flash of light, he 
 remembered he was in George Si ward's 
 home ; of course, how could he have been 
 so absurd, for a second, as to have forgotten 
 that? He hurried on his clothes and threw 
 open his window, and the sweet, fresh air, 
 full of sunshine, swept into the room, like
 
 ] 22 MADGE. 
 
 the breath of a new life. The birds were 
 singing blithely; he could hear the rooks 
 caw in the old elm-trees near by, and the 
 pigeons cooing lovingly in the distance ; 
 pleasant, too, was the prospect looking 
 away from the smoky town ; his eyes rested 
 on a large sweep of undulating meadow- 
 land, with here and there a nest of snug 
 little cottages, and a church spire rising out 
 of the scattered groups of green trees, with 
 a narroAV thread of a river winding in and 
 out among them ; the fields and trees stretch- 
 ed away till they grew misty and were lost 
 among the purple hills in the distance. How 
 sweet the air was ! it seemed a sin to w^aste 
 such a glorious morning ; he wished he had 
 woke an hour before, and he hurried with 
 his dressing, more especially when he heard 
 Margaret's voice as she was chatting and 
 laughing in the garden. He descended the 
 stairs and went out to meet her.
 
 GOOD-BYE. 123 
 
 How the sun shone ! — and with what an 
 invigorating power the strong Spring breeze 
 swept round him ! He felt as though he 
 were wrapt, body and soul, in sunshine, and 
 the sweet air falling straight from heaven. 
 For the first time in his life he could realize 
 the mere physical pleasure of living and 
 breathing for life's sake only, with no 
 thought beyond the moment, no care but 
 for the passing hour. 
 
 His young hostess came towards him with* 
 her hands full of fresh-gathered, dewy violets 
 and primroses, and a face aglow with youth 
 and health, and dimpling all over with 
 smiles. 
 
 " I can't shake hands ! See, mine are 
 both full," she exclaimed, greeting him 
 cordially. " But I'm glad to see you down 
 so early. I thought you regular Lon- 
 doners were always such terrible lie-a- 
 beds."
 
 124 MADGE. 
 
 " How do you know Fiii a ^ regular 
 Londoner ' ? " 
 
 " Because you seem to enjoy the country 
 so much," she answered promptly. 
 
 "Humph! Do you think a man must 
 needs be a ' Londoner ' to enjoy the country 
 under existing circumstances ? Well, write 
 me down Londoner, or anything you please, 
 only believe that I am very glad to be 
 here." 
 
 " And I am very glad to ' have made your 
 acquaintance.' That is the polite phrase, is 
 it not ?" she answered, lifting her laughing 
 brown eyes to his face — eyes that looked as 
 though they never could be clouded with 
 sorrow or dimmed in a mist of tears. " I 
 am only sorry father was not at home to 
 give you a worthier welcome. I wish you 
 could stay till he comes back ; but I suppose 
 you really must go to-day ?" 
 
 " Yes, we really must," he answered.
 
 GOOD-BYE. 125 
 
 " Fm sorry it happens so ; but we really 
 must be off as soon as breakfast is over." 
 
 '^ By-the-by," exclaimed Margaret, " not 
 expecting you down so early, I post- 
 poned breakfast half an hour on your 
 account." 
 
 ** I am glad of that/' he answered, his 
 face radiating at the prospect of a tete-a-tete. 
 "It is a delicious morning, and we will get 
 up an appetite. But your violets — what 
 shall we do with them ?" ' 
 
 " I'll take them into the house. I will 
 not be a moment," she answered, running 
 indoors, a large black retriever scampering 
 after her, barking with all his might ; he had 
 just been let loose from his kennel, and 
 seemed to exult in his freedom, which he 
 knew would be short-lived. She returned 
 in a moment. 
 
 '^ Yes, we're going for a ramble, and you 
 may come with us, Cassar," she said, address-
 
 12 G MADGE. 
 
 ing the dog. " Only, behave yourself, sir, 
 and don't be so rough," she added, as the 
 creature leaped up with his huge paws upon 
 her shoulders, to the imminent risk of her 
 dainty dress, and almost knocked her down 
 in his exuberant joy. 
 
 ''We must give him something to carry, 
 or he'll never be quiet," she said, looking 
 round to see what she could find. 
 
 " Here's my wide-awake," said Mr. Slade, 
 tossing it to the dog, who received his mis- 
 tress's commands " to take care of it" with 
 a respectfully wagging tail and a knowing 
 look in his soft brown eyes as he trolled 
 along soberly by her side. She and her 
 guest walked on, chatting in a light, pleasant 
 fashion, he gaining a greater insight into 
 her life and longings than she w^as herself 
 aware of; for she had nothing to conceal, 
 and talked freely of herself and her sur- 
 roundings, with which it was very evident
 
 GOOD-BYE. 127 
 
 she was not quite satisfied, but yearned 
 with the restless spirit of youth for a glimpse 
 of the world beyond the liunts of her own 
 narrow sphere. Long before their walk 
 was ended, Cecil Slade knew almost as 
 much about Margaret Siward as she knew 
 about herself ; up to the present time her 
 life had flowed on in one calm, unruffled 
 course. She had known no sorrow, no 
 care; and as yet she had been untroubled 
 by the death of friendship or the birth of 
 love. The guileless, simple talk of this young, 
 unsophisticated girl interested and amused 
 him more than the conversation of the wis- 
 est or wittiest woman would have done ; 
 there was the fresh bubble of a rich exuber- 
 ant nature in it, which was as great a contrast 
 to the world he moved in as the perfumer's 
 manufactured productions are to the natural 
 perfumes and sweet scents of the country, 
 which fill the air and sweep round us, revivi-
 
 128 MADGE. 
 
 fying and refreshing every sense at once. 
 When he made, which he was in the habit 
 of doing, cynical or satirical remarks, she 
 answered them in a pretty, playful way 
 which made him half ashamed of ever 
 having uttered them. By degrees they 
 relapsed into silence for a few minutes, 
 and walked on, he looking down upon 
 the fair, frank face of the girlish 
 figure, and thinking, with something like 
 regret, of the vexations and petty cares and 
 troubles which would surely beset and 
 harass her in the world to which she was 
 looking forward with so much expectation 
 and joy. She was thinking how handsome 
 he was ! — what a beautiful voice he had ! 
 and how delightful it was to be walking 
 with him there, and w^ondering when they 
 would so walk again. Then she began won- 
 dering aloud, and asking him questions 
 about London people and London life.
 
 GOOD-BYE. 129 
 
 " I want to know something about every- 
 thing and everybody/' she said. ^' It will 
 seem so strange to me to be living and mix- 
 ing with people I know nothing aboi^t, and 
 in a world where I am as complete a 
 stranger as though I had come from a for- 
 eign land. I shall find it a nice, pleasant 
 world though, I am sure of that." 
 
 " It is pleasant enough to some people," 
 lie answered, "such as have eyes and no 
 eyes, and no thought nor care beyond self ; * 
 to others it is one vast vanity fair. You 
 know what the philosophical Hamlet says, 
 ' Things foul and gross in nature possess it 
 merely.' " 
 
 "But it does not follow that what Hamlet 
 said is true." she answered, always ready to 
 argue the point. "He was hipped and 
 melancholy; besides, philosophers are al- 
 ways of a bilious turn of mind, and take a 
 jaundiced view of things generally. I hate 
 
 VOL. r. K
 
 130 MADGE. 
 
 to hear the world abused, for I am sure 
 there are plenty of good people in it." 
 
 "I never meant to assert there were 
 not," he replied ; "there are a sprinkling of 
 all sorts, but the bitter element predomin- 
 ates over the sweet. However, I daresay 
 you'll see only the bright and flowery part ; 
 at any rate, I hope you'll find things as you 
 expect them to be." 
 
 " And how do you suppose I expect them 
 to be?" 
 
 " Well," he answered reflectively, "as it 
 is your first season, you naturally expect it 
 to be made up of balls, pic-nics, operas, 
 flower-shows, flirtations, and every other 
 mortal vanity under the sun." 
 
 " Exactly," she answered; "and as I've 
 tasted very few of these vanities hitherto, I 
 may be inclined to indulge too much ; but 
 what can you say for yourself? you've been
 
 GOOD-BYE. 131 
 
 indulging all your life, and don't seem in- 
 clined to leave off either. Remember, 
 these ' small vanities ' could not be carried 
 on all on one side ; for instance, there must 
 be a very strong masculine element intro- 
 duced into these balls, pic-nics, flirtations, 
 and even flower-shows, before their full 
 flavour can be tasted." 
 
 '' Of course," he answered, '* and I hope 
 I shall be always ready to do my duty, 
 especially if the flirtation ever flows in my 
 way, and you join in the game." 
 
 "You talk as though we were going to 
 join in a regular ' merry-go-round,' " she an- 
 swered, with that half-shy smile which he 
 found so irresistible, '' and perhaps we shall 
 say good-bye and never meet again at 
 all ; London is such a large place, isn't 
 it?" 
 
 "Well, it is not small," he answered; 
 
 k2
 
 132 MADGE. 
 
 " but somehow the right people always seem 
 to come together, no matter how wide are 
 the circles to which they belong. 1 have 
 little doubt of our meeting, Miss Siward ; 
 indeed, it will not be my fault if I am not 
 the very first person to pay my respects to 
 you after you arrive. I suppose there will 
 be no difficulty about that?" He leaned 
 forward to look into her face to see how 
 his proposal was received ; but the eyes 
 were downcast and the face half turned 
 away. The colour came slowly covering 
 her cheek and brow, betraying the un- 
 mistakable pleasure his proposal gave her, 
 as she answered softly, 
 
 ^'I suppose not. I hope I am not to be 
 guarded like the fruit of the Hesperides." 
 
 " Even then I think I should venture the 
 gathering." 
 
 They walked on in silence. The sun 
 climbed higher and higher, shining over
 
 GOOD-BYE. 133 
 
 them and casting fantastic shadows at their 
 feet, while the dew upon the grass flashed 
 and sparkled in the sunlight like a carpet of 
 diamonds. 
 
 The young girl seemed to be treading 
 on air, she felt so foolishly, so unaccount- 
 ably happy ; indeed, if she had asked her- 
 self she could not have told why; a new 
 sense was rapidly developing in her nature, 
 a new life seemed to have been born within 
 her since yesterday. 
 
 Thus ^^in an hour a story lies," and the 
 story of two lives began that day. 
 
 After pacing to and fro a few moments 
 without speaking, Miss Siward began to 
 feel the silence embarrassing, and resum- 
 ed the conversation in the most prosaic 
 fashion. 
 
 "Whereabouts do you live in London, 
 Mr. Slade ? I should like to know, in case 
 we should ever be passing that w^ay; but
 
 134 MADGE. 
 
 who can tell, perhaps we may be neigh- 
 bours !" 
 
 '^I don't think that likely," he answered, 
 "I live in the land of Bohemia." 
 
 "In — in Bohemia?" she repeated, half 
 hesitatingly and inquiringly. 
 
 *' A sort of oasis in the desert of London 
 life," he answered, " far removed from the 
 fashionable quarter where you will most 
 likely take up your abode." 
 
 " I should have thought you would have 
 been found in the very heart of fashion," 
 she rejoined. " Were you born in — in the 
 place you allude to ?" 
 
 "No," he said, "I am only an adopted 
 child of Bohemia ; I belong to it, though I 
 was not ' to the manner born.' Ay, it is a 
 pleasant place, Miss Siward; having once 
 tasted the perfect ease, freedom, and refine- 
 ment of life in Bohemia, one feels inclined
 
 GOOD-BYE. 135 
 
 to give fashion the go by and forswear one's 
 allegiance to it for evermore." 
 
 ^* It was there you met George, was it 
 not ?" she asked, a little Eve-like curiosity 
 rising in her breast. ^' I wish you would 
 tell me all about your doings." 
 
 '* Ah ! now you are getting curious !" he 
 answered, laughing. " I shouldn't wonder 
 if you'll be wanting to be initiated into all 
 our masculine mysteries next — but look, 
 there's George ! He sees us, too, and is * 
 beckoning fast and furious for us to come 
 in." 
 
 She looked at her watch and exclaimed, 
 with a horrified expression of countenance, 
 
 " Oh ! how late it is ! I had no idea we'd 
 been out so long." 
 
 George put his hand to his mouth lest his 
 words should be blown away, and shouted 
 to them to **make haste; breakfast had
 
 136 MADGE. 
 
 been waiting half an hour." They quicken- 
 ed their steps; he gathered a double 
 violet as he went along, saying — 
 
 "I must take away a souvenir of this 
 day, it has been the happiest of my life." 
 
 '*How many happiest days have you had, 
 I wonder ?" 
 
 '^Not one of such pure, unalloyed happi- 
 ness as this," he said, and he meant it too. 
 *' Some hours and days of wild, delirious 
 excitement I have had, but some bitter 
 regrets and stinging memories have fol- 
 lowed them. It ^vill not be so now; like 
 the honey bee, I have stolen nothing but 
 sweets." 
 
 While they had been exchanging their 
 farewell words, George had been hallooing 
 for them to " come on." 
 
 " What on earth have you been after, 
 Madge ? — dawdling about while the break- 
 fast has been getting cold. Keeping Slade
 
 GOOD-BYE. 137 
 
 out, too, when I'm sure he must be starving 
 with hunger." 
 
 " We have been in search of an appetite," 
 she answered, with glowing cheeks and 
 laughing eyes. 
 
 '^ And have succeeded in «rettingr one," re- 
 joined Mr. Slade, taking a seat at table, 
 well prepared to do ample justice to all the 
 good things set before him. They found 
 Nell already seated at table, as they came 
 in. She looked up, smiled, and exchanged 
 '' Good morning," and then relapsed into 
 silence, which was only broken by her 
 answering when spoken to, and then only 
 in monosyllables, '* yes " or " no." 
 
 The party gathered round the breakfast 
 table was a contrast to the merry, genial 
 trio who surrounded the same table the day 
 before. They were the same, yet not the 
 same, for somehow a kind of restraint had 
 fallen over them, and the very ghost of the
 
 138 MADGE. 
 
 merriment that was so full of laughing light 
 3^esterday stirred among them now. So far 
 as mere words went, they talked and chatted 
 pleasantly enough, but the conversation did 
 not flow freely, a piquant flavour was want- 
 ing. Of course Margaret expressed a decor- 
 ous regret that Mr. Slade was going away, 
 but she was afraid of showing how sorry 
 she really was, and how anxiously she would 
 look forward to meeting him again, though 
 I am afraid the soft eyes told (as eyes often 
 w^ill) what the lips so guardedly refrain from 
 •uttering. She felt nervous and uneasy, too, 
 beneath her friend Nell's blind eyes, for 
 though she could not behold the varying 
 expression that sweeps over the face, and 
 tells so much to common eyes, yet she 
 seemed to penetrate beneath all outward 
 sisjns, and detect in the vibration of the 
 voice, in the very way the breathing went 
 and came, more than others see with their
 
 GOOrJ-BYE. 139" 
 
 full vision. If. fidgeted Margaret, too, to 
 see her so still and quiet, well knowing that 
 it was not the quietude of indifference ; she 
 was engaged, body and soul, in the silent 
 task of observation, weighing and measuring 
 every spoken word, every unuttered thought 
 that flowed invisibly round them. 
 
 Mr. Slade felt the influence of the hour, 
 but, without showing he felt it, carried on a 
 sort of light, skiruiishing conversation, as he 
 sipped his coffee. He did not mind express- 
 ing his regrets aloud, heartily and unre- 
 servedly, and he did not think Miss Siward 
 was half warm enough in her responses. 
 George spoke very little ; he seemed intent 
 on stowing away as much ham and coffee, 
 and as many eggs as he possibly could, to 
 guard himself against the wolfish attacks of 
 hunger for the next three hours. Well, 
 they lingered round the table till the last 
 moment, the horses were brought round.
 
 140 MADGE. 
 
 and the final " Good-byes " repeated. 
 George pecked his sister's cheek with a 
 sounding kiss, and with a careless " Good- 
 bye, pretty Nell," sprang into the saddle, 
 all boyish impatience to be off. Mr. Sk\de 
 and Margaret looked for a moment in each 
 other's eyes, a long, lingering pressure of 
 the hand, a few low, half- whispered words, 
 and he too mounted his horse, and rode 
 slowly away. The girls stood upon the 
 lawn, shading their eyes from the blazing 
 sun, and watching till they were out of sight. 
 Mr. Slade turned round more than once, 
 took off his hat, and waved it to them. 
 Photographed on his mind's eye, he carried 
 away the picture of those two girls, in the 
 Spring-time of life, standing there among 
 the sweet Spring flowers, bathed in the 
 Spring sunshine, and the picture never 
 faded quite away. 
 
 "I'm sorry they're gone," said Margaret,
 
 GOOD-BYE. 141 
 
 with a sigh that was half a sob rising in her 
 throat. 
 
 ^^ They r repeated Nell, "you mean he; 
 and, oh ! Madge, darling, I hope you will 
 never wish that he had never come !"
 
 142 
 
 CHAPTER YII. 
 
 FATHER AND DAUGHTER. 
 
 nn HE liours and days that followed,- be- 
 -*- tween Mr. Slade's visit and Mr. 
 Siward's return, passed in an unusually dull, 
 monotonous manner; outward events were 
 always few and far between at Clinton ; 
 but hitherto Margaret Siward and Nelly 
 Kestrel had been bound together in the 
 closest bonds of intimacy, showing their 
 hearts to each other with a full, free- 
 hearted confidence ; now a shadow had 
 fallen between them, and neither of them 
 seemed inclined to overstep it. Nell ap- 
 peared to resent Margaret's interest in her
 
 FATHER AND DAUGHTER. 143 
 
 new acquaintance as thougli it were an 
 injury to herself, and robbed her of some 
 portion of the old regard. 
 
 Margaret would fain have talked of Mr. 
 Slade, and repeated his conversations over 
 and over again, and wondered about him 
 till her tongue ached, and her hearer was 
 tired ; but Nell was so evidently unsympa- 
 thetic and impatient even of the mention of 
 his name that Margaret's lips were sealed. 
 The subject of Mr. Slade was tabooed be- 
 tween them, and consequently she thought 
 of him all the more, and every other sub- 
 ject under the sun lost all interest for her, 
 except, indeed, her approaching visit to 
 town, and that was an almost equally un- 
 welcome topic to Nell, who, in addition to 
 her grief at parting with her friend, con- 
 nected the idea of Mr. Slade with it. Of 
 course Margaret would meet him there, and 
 be doubly forgetful of her old friends;
 
 144 MADGE. 
 
 consequently their intercourse was more re- 
 stricted and superficial, with less of nature 
 in it than it had ever been before. 
 
 Mr. Siward returned home after an 
 absence of only three days, and was re- 
 ceived with eager curiosity by Margaret, 
 who was anxious to hear the result of that 
 three days' business ; she could not tell from 
 the expression of his face whether the 
 negotiation had succeeded to his satisfaction 
 or not. As soon as it was compatible with 
 common decency to w^ithdraw, Nell dis- 
 creetly did so, and took her way across 
 the meadows toward her home alone, Miss 
 Siward making no efl'ort whatever to de- 
 tain her. As soon as father and daughter 
 were alone together, a mutual exchange of 
 confidences began. Her budget of news 
 was soon exhausted ; it consisted merely of 
 a chronicle of her brother's visit with Mr. 
 Slade, which she told with extraordinary
 
 FATHER AND DAUGHTER. 145 
 
 brevity, considering that, as a rule, small 
 matters were chatted over and commented 
 upon by her with extraordinary diffuseness. 
 George was well, and had not come home 
 hampered with debts and difficulties ; so far 
 Mr. Siward was satisfied ; concerning his 
 boy's friend, he troubled his head not a jot, 
 and made neither inquiry nor remark upon 
 the subject. Margaret was in a perfect 
 fever of excitement to hear how her father 
 had succeeded in his errand, and over- 
 whelmed him with questions. 
 
 " You must tell me everything, father, I 
 want to know what you have done every 
 hour since you have been away ; but first 
 of all, have you seen the lady ? what is her 
 name ? where does she live ? and when am 
 I to go to town ?" She perched herself 
 upon his knee, clasped her hands round his 
 neck, resolved to hold him fast prisoner 
 till he had told her all she wanted to know. 
 
 VOL. I. L
 
 146 MADGE. 
 
 He played with her curiosity for awhile, 
 looked grave, shook his head with an air 
 of disappointment, as though he had failed 
 in his errand ; but she knew better. 
 
 " Come, be an obedient father, and don't 
 keep me in suspense ; you know you would 
 not disappoint me for all the w^orld." 
 
 " But suppose I cannot make up my mind 
 to part with you?" he said. 
 
 " I won't suppose anything of the kind," 
 she answered ; " when we love people, we 
 think more of them than of ourselves, and 
 you know I should be miserable now if I 
 did not go — not but that I'd have been 
 happy enough at home for ever, but since 
 you have put this going away into my 
 head " 
 
 " I must carry it out," he rejoined, inter- 
 rupting her. " Well, pet, it is all settled, 
 and you're to go this day week." 
 
 "Yes/' she exclaimed, with eager, ques-
 
 FATHER AND DAUGHTER. 147 
 
 tioning delight. *'Well, go on; tell me 
 everything about the lady. What is she 
 like ? — who is she ? — is she old or young, 
 handsome or ugly ?" 
 
 " Well, she isn't handsome, as far as I'm 
 a judge she isn't young, but she's a lady, 
 every inch of her ; her name is Lady Erles- 
 cliffe ; she is the daughter of one lord, the 
 widow of another ; she has two sons, but 
 she lives alone, and will be very happy to 
 act as chaperon to my darling child for a 
 consideration — a very handsome considera- 
 tion, of course." 
 
 " But, father, dear," said Margaret, hesi- 
 tatingly, '^ doesn't it seem strange for a lady 
 — a real lady like that, with a title — to be 
 doing things for money ?" 
 
 "Why, lady or no lady, people cant live 
 without money, my dear, and if they haven't 
 got it, what are they to do ?" 
 
 This was no answer to Margaret ; it only 
 
 l2
 
 148 MADGE. 
 
 suggested a state of things she had never 
 dreamed of. She knew, of course, that in 
 the money market and in trade, and all 
 mercantile matters, there were constant 
 panics and failures, reducing people from a 
 state of affluence to absolute poverty ; but 
 that a latiy of rank and title should be 
 actually so reduced as to be compelled to 
 receive money in such a matter as her father 
 had been negotiating, seemed to her unso- 
 phisticated mind a terrible calamity ; she 
 felt quite sorry for Lady Erlescliffe, and the 
 idea of being domiciled with a lady of such 
 distinction set her heart in a flutter. 
 
 " It is quite a mistake to suppose that 
 because people have titles, and live in fine 
 houses, and ride in carriages, they must be 
 rich ; some of 'em are as poor as church 
 mice, and haven't a crust to throw to a 
 beggar s dog," said Mr. Siward. 
 
 ^' Oh, come, father !" exclaimed Madge,
 
 FATHER AND DAUGHTER. 149 
 
 with an incredulous jerk of the head. 
 
 '' One half the world doesn't know how 
 the other half lives, my dear ; it is the same 
 way with one class as with another — some 
 live on credit, some starve without it. But 
 that has nothing to do with us or Lady Erles- 
 clifFe ; she seems to be made of the right 
 sort of stuff. Everything is satisfactorily 
 arranged, my pet, and you are to be intro- 
 duced into the very best society ; you are 
 to go everywhere, and to see everything, 
 and at the very first drawing-room there is 
 you are to be presented at Court." 
 
 " Oh, father, dear, I shall never be able 
 to live through it all !" she exclaimed, stop- 
 ping her ears, as though they were full to 
 overflowing with his catalogue of coming 
 delights ; then she put him through an 
 examination, and made him give her a 
 minute description of his interview with 
 Lady Erlescliffe, and repeat, as far as he
 
 150 MADGE. 
 
 could remember, every word that passed 
 between them. He was evidently very 
 much gratified by the reception he had re- 
 ceived from her. 
 
 " She insisted on my staying to luncheon, 
 my dear, and then she drove me to my 
 hotel in the Strand, and shook hands with 
 me in quite a friendly way when she said 
 * good-bye.' " 
 
 "But, father," exclaimed Margaret, her 
 colour rising slowly as she spoke, " I hope 
 she does not think — I hope you told her 
 that we — well, that we are not a great 
 county family," she ended with a laugh. 
 
 " Of course I should not attempt to sail 
 under false colours," he answered. '^ I told 
 her the plain truth — that I had worked my 
 way in the world, and owe every penny I 
 have got to my own exertions." 
 
 "That's right, dear," she said, rubbing
 
 FATHER AND DAUGHTER. 151 
 
 her soft cheek caressingly against his rough 
 beard. 
 
 *^ I fancy she expects to find you rather a 
 gawk," he observed, chuckling quietly to 
 himself, and looking with fond, fatherly 
 pride upon the beautiful face ; " but I think 
 my pretty Madge will take all hearts by 
 storm." 
 
 " Don't be such a dear old goose ! Your 
 swan may be but an ugly duck in other 
 people's eyes. And I'm to go in a week really! 
 Of course, I shall be allowed to see my 
 friends ?" 
 
 ** My dear child, you've got no friends to 
 see." 
 
 " Well, there's George " she said. 
 
 " Your brother. Ah, of course there will 
 be no difficulty about that," he answered. 
 
 " And I suppose I'm to be allowed to do 
 as I like?" persisted Margaret. ''There
 
 152 MADGE. 
 
 are to be no restrictions upon me ? — because 
 I am not a school-girl now, you know, and 
 I am quite capable of being mistress of my 
 own actions. I've always been sucli a wild, 
 free bird ; it would never do to clip my 
 wings and keep me in a cage." 
 
 ^' Tut, tut, my dear ; you are going to see 
 the world," he answered. '' And as for 
 restrictions — there will be no restrictions in 
 the matter. It is not likely you could run 
 wild about London as you do here. Every- 
 thing will be strange and new to you, and 
 you will have a kind, sympathetic friend to 
 guide and direct you. I am sure you will 
 find her ladyship all you can desire. I've 
 paid a good round sum for the accommoda- 
 tion, I can tell you." 
 
 " There's Rob coming across the meadows, 
 father," exclaimed Margaret, glancing that 
 Avay. ''And in his Sunday clothes too! 
 "Whatever can he be wanting ?"
 
 FATHER AND DAUGHTER. 153 
 
 " By the way, my dear," rejoined Mr. 
 Si ward, " I hope you and Nell have had a 
 pleasant time. I did not think you parted 
 with one another quite so cordially as usual." 
 
 "" Foolish father ! What could have put 
 that in your head ?" she answered, while the 
 slightest possible blush suffused her cheek. 
 She knew in her heart that his observation 
 was correct. ^' Nell and I are, as we always 
 have been, the best possible friends. It 
 was very nice of her to hurry away, I think. ' 
 She knew I should be glad to be alone with 
 you." 
 
 Whilst they were talking, Rob had been 
 striding across the fields, and rang the door- 
 bell. He was by no means a frequent 
 visitor at Clinton Lodge ; in fact, he very 
 rarely came unless it was to bring a mes- 
 sage from his father. The two older men 
 had always kept on terms of the closest 
 intimacy. They were bound together by
 
 154 MADGE. 
 
 the bonds of business and the tie of mutual 
 interest, as well as by the memory of 
 '* auld lang syne." Mr. Siward was quite 
 willing that their friendship should be trans- 
 mitted to their two daughters, but he reso- 
 lutely excluded the masculine element from 
 the arrangement, and Rob was too inde- 
 pendent and too proud, he thought, to seek 
 either his sympathy or regard. 
 
 Old Kestrel's son, Robert, as I have said 
 before, was a fine, broad-shouldered, manly 
 fellow, with a profusion of bright, chestnut 
 hair, a strong, firm-set mouth, with intelli- 
 gent dark eyes that looked as though they 
 could see their way to something far beyond 
 the limits of his present narrow sphere. 
 He was by no means what could be called 
 handsome ; some might deny that he was 
 even good-looking; but everyone would 
 admit that he was a good specimen of the 
 British yeomen as they lived centuries ago,
 
 TATHER AND DAUGHTER. 155 
 
 and marched beneath the banners of their 
 feudal masters, and won the laurels that are 
 still flourishing fresh and green in the British 
 Constitution. There are still thousands of 
 such strong specimens of noble manhood, 
 marching in the rank and file of life, but 
 they never reach the front, the crowd and 
 crush is too great ; their energies are cramp- 
 ed, their actions hampered by the press of 
 circumstances ; and the hurrying feet of the 
 world tread out their noblest aspirations 
 day by day. The victories they win in this 
 work-a-day world are unchronicled beyond 
 their own fireside.
 
 156 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 ROBERT kestrel's ERRAND. 
 
 -pOBERT KESTREL'S face was white, 
 -^ ^ and wore an earnest, thoughtful look, 
 as though he had had a battle with himself, 
 and debated long before he could force him- 
 self to adopt a resolution, and fix a firm-set 
 purpose in his mind ; but having once so 
 fixed it, was determined to carry it out. 
 He had wavered much and long before he 
 arrived at a decision ; but there was no more 
 wavering now. It was with a firm step, 
 though slightly fluttering heart, strong- 
 nerved as he was, that he entered the room
 
 HOBERT kestrel's ERRAND. 157 
 
 where Mr. Si ward and his daughter were 
 still talking. 
 
 Mr. 61 ward's greeting of the young man 
 was none of the warmest, though, perhaps, 
 it was kindly enough, considering their re- 
 spective ages and positions. He neither rose 
 from his seat nor shook hands with him, as 
 he frequently did with the meanest of his 
 own workpeople; there was a nameless some- 
 thing in his tone and manner, as he spoke, 
 as though there was a gulf between them 
 which must not be rashly passed. Margaret's 
 greeting was of a more familiar and friendly 
 kind; indeed, far too familiar, her father 
 thought, and a momentary frown contracted 
 his brow as she crossed the room and shook 
 hands with Eobert, and, with a pleasant smile 
 upon her face, asked him if Nell had reached 
 home, and if he had heard the news. 
 
 ^'No, Nell had not got home," he said, 
 *'but if you mean the news of your going
 
 158 MADGE. 
 
 away, I heard that before she came. " 
 
 " Well, and are you not going to say 
 you're sorry ?" exclaimed Margaret. 
 
 "No need for me to say what you know 
 well enough — that we shall be all lost and 
 lonesome when you're gone. I don't believe 
 there's a dog in the place but'll miss you, 
 Miss Siward." 
 
 ''Miss Siward?" she said, echoing him in 
 a saucy, mocking way, " you've put on your 
 best manners with your best clothes, Rob !" 
 
 " Hold your tongue, Madge ! " said 
 her father, with a harshness in his tone 
 which he seldom adopted towards her. 
 "Rob has not come here to talk twaddle 
 to you ;" then addressing the young man, he 
 added, "what is it? is there anything wrong 
 at the works ?" 
 
 "No, sir; there's nothing wrong any- 
 where that I know of. I've come here on 
 a matter of my own."
 
 EGBERT kestrel's ERRAND. 159 
 
 ''Well?" said Mr. Siward interrogatively, 
 seeing that he paused for a moment. 
 
 ''If you've no objection, I'd rather see 
 you alone," replied the young man, glancing 
 at Margaret. 
 
 " Oh ! you needn't mind me," she said, 
 perching herself on a reading-stool and lean- 
 ing her elbow on her father's high desk ; " I 
 know all father's secrets." 
 
 "That is no reason you're to know all 
 his, pussy," rejoined Mr. Siward. " You'd . 
 better go and leave us to ourselves ; you'd 
 rather it so, E.ob ?" 
 
 " If you please, yes," he answered. 
 
 " Ah ! well, since you're so very particu- 
 lar, I'm sure I don't want to pry into your 
 secrets," she answered, springing down from 
 the stool and going off in a huff, throwing a 
 dagger glance at Rob as she passed him. 
 For a moment after she left the room dead 
 silence reigned. The two men looked in
 
 160 MADGE. 
 
 each other's faces, each waiting for the other 
 to speak. Mr. Siward's countenance wore 
 a perfectly stolid, inscrutable expression, as 
 though he were impregnable on all sides, 
 and resolved to be taken on no point un- 
 awares. Robert Kestrel waited in vain for 
 some signs of encouragement, for as soon as 
 he found himself alone with Mr. Siward, 
 the courage which he had screwed up to its 
 greatest tension as he had walked boldly 
 into the room, gave way; something seemed 
 to lie heavy on his chest, and keep back 
 the words which he had come purposely to 
 say. 
 
 Mr. Siward seemed resolved to give 
 him no assistance, and every second that 
 the silence lasted made it more difficult to 
 break the invisible wall of ice Mr. Siward's 
 cold and repellent manner had raised be- 
 tween them. At last Rob made a bold 
 stroke and took a header at once into what
 
 EGBERT KESTKEL S ERRAND. 161 
 
 he feared would be rather a troubled 
 stream. 
 
 " I want to say somethmg to you, Mr. 
 Siward, and yet I hardly know how to begin, 
 for Vm afraid you won't like what I've got 
 to say." 
 
 " If that is the case, perhaps you'd better 
 leave it unsaid." 
 
 *' I can't do that either, but I'll get it over 
 as soon as I can," he answered ; '' it is about 
 your daughter — Miss Siward." 
 
 " Perhaps it would be as well to leave my 
 daughter's name out of the question," said 
 her father drily, '*if it would make no 
 difference to you." 
 
 ^' It would make all the difference," re- 
 plied Robert Kestrel, though rather nerv- 
 ously, '' as it is about her I want to speak 
 to you." 
 
 " Well," said Mr. Siward, with the same 
 hard-set expression on his face, though an 
 
 VOL. I. M
 
 162 MADGE. 
 
 angry light seemed slowly kindling in his 
 eyes ; he knew what was coming — at least, 
 he fancied things had been tending the way 
 he feared for some titne past. 
 
 His manner and tone as he uttered the 
 word "well" were calculated to act as 
 a damper on the most eloquent or en- 
 thusiastic spirit; but Robert had found 
 courage to speak, and was determined 
 not to stop till he had said all he wanted to 
 say. 
 
 '' You know, sir," he continued, " me and 
 Miss Siward have been thrown a deal 
 together since we were children — all our 
 lives most. She has been the only compan- 
 ion Nell ever had, and that has thrown us a 
 deal together, and " 
 
 ''A deal too much," said Mr. Siward, 
 interrupting him grimly. '^The child was 
 motherless, and has been allowed to run 
 wild too long; but your father was my
 
 ROBERT kestrel's ERRAND. 163 
 
 friend. I thought I might have trusted 
 him." 
 
 " He could not blind my eyes, nor hinder 
 me from feeling as I can't help feeling for 
 her," replied Eobert. " Please don't turn 
 against father ; he has never wronged 
 you." 
 
 ^* He has wronged me," said Mr. Siward 
 angrily, "if he has allowed any fooling 
 between you two !" then he added in an 
 undertone, half to himself, " I should have 
 thought my Madge would have been more 
 upright ; she might have told me " 
 
 " She does not know," exclaimed Robert 
 eagerly, " I have not said to any human 
 soul what I say to you. I've — I've grown 
 to care for her — to love her, I say it right 
 out, and I want to know if you'll give me 
 a chance ?" 
 
 "No!" thundered Mr. Siward. "I've 
 not educated my child and brought her up 
 
 M 2
 
 164 MADGE. 
 
 like a lady, to throw her away at last on 
 the like of you. I'd advise you to transfer 
 your affections elsewhere as soon as you 
 can. You're an impertinent puppy, sir. 
 If my Madge had been the daughter of the 
 squire at the Manor yonder, you would 
 not have dared to lift your eyes to her." 
 
 *' That's where it is," said Rob, *'if she 
 were the daughter of the squire, she would 
 not have been thrown in my company, nor 
 I in hers, in the same sort of way. I don't 
 mean to say anything disparaging of Madge ; 
 she's good enough and beautiful enough to 
 be the daughter of a hundred squires, and 
 she's a sight too good for me or anybody 
 else." 
 
 " I'm glad you've a little modesty, at 
 least," exclaimed Mr. Si ward. 
 
 " Not too much," rejoined Robert quiet- 
 1}^, his courage rising as occasion demanded 
 it; '^at the present moment — barring her
 
 EGBERT kestrel's ERRAND. 165 
 
 own worth — your money set against my 
 poverty makes the only difference between 
 us." 
 
 " And you want to make things even," 
 the father rejoined, with a dry, caustic 
 laugh, " by transferring the money from my 
 pocket to yours." 
 
 " I wouldn't touch a penny of it," exclaim- 
 ed the young man, emphatically, "if Madge 
 were a beggar girl without a rag to her 
 back, it would be all one to me ; I should 
 love her just the same. I mean to make 
 my way in the world as you have made 
 yours ; when you were my age you were as 
 poor as I am now, and yet see what you've 
 made of yourself! you're one of the richest 
 as well as the most respected men for miles 
 round." 
 
 A feeling of satisfaction circulated with 
 a warm glow through Mr. Siward's veins at 
 this reference to his respectability and
 
 166 MADGE. 
 
 his wealth ; both of which he regarded 
 with profound complacency ; his feelings 
 slightly mollified themselves towards the 
 young man who held his dignity and posi- 
 tion at their proper value, and paid a fitting 
 tribute to his daughter's goodness and 
 beauty. After all there was some excuse 
 to be made for him ; it was no wonder he 
 fell in love with Margaret ; the only wonder 
 was that everybody did not fall at her feet 
 in a similar state of lunacy ; for it was 
 lunacy ; the idea of Robert Kestrel regard- 
 ing his daughter in any other light than that 
 of a respectable far-off admirer was not to 
 be tolerated for a moment, still he rather 
 respected his straightforward mode of 
 action, and was half inclined to forgive his 
 folly, provided he heard no more of it. He 
 almost allowed himself to smile, as he 
 replied to him in a milder tone and a less 
 stolid expression of countenance.
 
 ROBERT kestrel's ERRAND. 167 
 
 ''Look here," he said, "you say right 
 enough ; at your age I was as poor as you 
 are, but by energy, pluck, and good fortune 
 I have made myself what I am ; but where 
 one man succeeds as I have done, thousands 
 fall by the way ; besides, I don't think you've 
 the same capacity for business. You were 
 always a headstrong lad, Rob, and never 
 took to the works as you ought to have 
 done, or you might have followed in my 
 steps." 
 
 " My line of life lies in a different direc- 
 tion," replied Robert, his independent spirit 
 coming to the front ; *' I shall follow in no 
 man's steps. I mean to make my own. 
 way in my own fashion, and that will lead 
 me far away from Clinton. In the first 
 place " 
 
 '' Don't trouble to discuss your plans with 
 me," said Mr. Siward, interrupting him 
 hastily. " Whatever they are, or whether
 
 168 MADGE. 
 
 they succeed or fail, it can make no differ- 
 ence to rae, or to my daughter. To speak 
 in plain terms, 1 have other views for her. 
 You have heard, of course, that I have 
 made arrangements for her to spend the 
 next twelve months in town, when she will 
 be introduced to the world under very good 
 auspices. My chief reason in taking this 
 important step has been to break off the old 
 ties and associations here, where I don't 
 think the child would ever have had fair 
 play. It is quite true, as you say, I have 
 stepped out of my own rank, and am a 
 self-made man ; I am proud of the fact, but 
 I intend my daughter to marry into a differ- 
 ent class altogether. I have got money, she 
 has got youth and beauty, and I don't see 
 what's to hinder her from making a good 
 match." 
 
 ^* What's called a good match is not 
 always a happy one," Robert answered.
 
 ROBERT kestrel's ERRAND. 169 
 
 '' There's Miss Nixon that was, she made 
 what's called a "^good match ;' look at her 
 now, what a miserable, washed-out creature 
 she is ! If what the world says is true, she 
 carries an aching heart in her breast, and 
 you can see it in her face. Then there's 
 Lad}'- McNaughton at the Manor House, the 
 soap-boiler's daughter ; his lordship was glad 
 enough to get her money, and — why, there 
 isn't a soul in the place but what pities her ; 
 though she does ride in her fine carriage, 
 and is called ' My Lar]y !' everybody knows 
 she's pining away from neglect and loneli- 
 ness. To my mind it is better to be first in 
 your own rank of life than to be tacked on 
 at the fag end of that above you." 
 
 ^* There will be no fag end in the matter, 
 as far as my daughter is concerned," replied 
 Mr. Si ward angrily. '' If a man does not 
 value her he shall not have her, that's all ! 
 I'm glad you've spoken to me in this fair
 
 170 MADGE. 
 
 and above-board way, though T tell you, 
 once and for all, you must give up any 
 thought of Madge." 
 
 *' I can't do that, sir," he answered respect- 
 fully, though firmly. "You may as well 
 tell me to give up all thoughts of living. I 
 don't know when I first began to care for 
 Madge ; seems I must have loved her all 
 my life ; it has grown up with me un- 
 conscious like, and when I came to know 
 how I longed for the sight of her, every- 
 thing seemed turned upside down, for I 
 knew how you'd look upon me, but it was 
 no use; it laid hold of me stronger and 
 stronger, and when I heard she was going 
 away I thought I'd face it out with you; 
 for, by your leave, sir, I want her to know 
 that she leaves one man behind who is will- 
 in <]: to lav down his life for her." 
 
 '' You had better reserve that piece of 
 knowledge; it will be of no use whatever
 
 EGBERT kestrel's ERRAND. 171 
 
 to her," replied Mr. Siward, '' and I con- 
 sider your obstinate persistence in the matter 
 both presumptuous and impertinent. I 
 wonder I've had the patience to listen to 
 you at all ; nothing but my regard for your 
 father would have made me do it. Now 
 you ve spoken your mind, and I've spoken 
 mine, I hope there'll be an end of the mat- 
 ter. I don't want to hear any more about 
 it; and as for my daughter, I positively 
 forbid your speaking to her upon the* 
 subject." 
 
 " I don't know as you've any right to do 
 that, sir," he answered, " what I've got to 
 say, concerns her and me ; not as I want to 
 go against you in anything, but you're rather 
 hard upon me — " 
 
 "The best thing I can do is to knock this 
 mad folly on the head," exclaimed Mr. Si- 
 ward, interrupting him impatiently; '' so long 
 as you keep it in your mind, it will go on
 
 172 MADGE, 
 
 fermenting and fermenting, brewing a host 
 of miseries for you in the future ; besides, 
 when you are sure you can't win, it is as 
 well to give up the game." 
 
 But when is a man in love willing to give 
 up the game at the bidding of another ? or 
 to take any heed of the possibly con- 
 tingent miseries of the future? Robert 
 Kestrel, at any rate, was not disposed to do 
 so, and though Mr. Siward reasoned, argued, 
 and condemned, he failed to convince him 
 that his folly ivas folly, and would be fruit- 
 less. Rob was made of tough materials, and 
 was possessed with an indomitable obstinacy 
 of purpose ; when once he had set his mind 
 on a thing, he was resolved to carry it 
 through ; nothing turned him from his pur- 
 pose; if he failed, his failure resulted from the 
 want neither of pluck nor of perseverance. 
 
 To a mere outsider, simply regarding 
 the position of the two parties — looking on
 
 ROBERT kestrel's ERRAND. 173 
 
 the one, a successful and wealthy man, sur- 
 rounded by the substantial comforts and lux- 
 uries that wealth alone can give, on the other 
 (albeit, a young, strong, likely man), resting 
 solely on his daily work for his daily bread, 
 his hand and his brain being his only capital 
 for the future — his hopes did look somewhat 
 too ambitious and aspiring when he fixed 
 them on the rich man s daughter ; but taking 
 a wider view, and regarding things as the}^ 
 really were, all wonder ceased, and anyone 
 who studied human nature would recognise 
 the fact as the mere result of circumstances, 
 which, while youth is youth, and man is 
 man, could not well have been other- 
 wise. 
 
 For years past, the Kestrel's house had 
 been a second home to Mr. Siward's daugh- 
 ter. Her mother had died when she was a 
 tiny trot, scarcely able to run alone, and Mrs. 
 Kestrel had always taken a kind, motherly
 
 174 MADGE. 
 
 interest in the motherless child, not only 
 from her own womanly instincts, but out of 
 regard for the old friendship and intimacy 
 which existed between her own husband and 
 Mr. Siward, which no change of position 
 had in any degree shaken, perhaps because 
 they were of mutual service to each other. 
 By his special desire, she was constantly 
 backward and forward to the '' great house," 
 as they called it, seeing that the child was 
 well cared for ; sometimes leaving her own 
 little blind Nelly there for days together ; 
 so the children grew up in close companion- 
 ship, the one being the solitary companion 
 of the other. As they grew older, little 
 Margaret used to find her way to Kestrel's 
 €ottage, and partially domesticated herself 
 at their fireside -, there everybody spoilt and 
 petted her ; she was a perfect autocrat in a 
 small way ; and Hob, a sturdy lad six or
 
 ROBERT kestrel's ERRAND. 175 
 
 seven years older than herself, was the most 
 submissive and enduring of slaves, and 
 rarely rebelled against her sovereign will ; 
 if he did, she tried to beat him into submis- 
 sion, at which the strong boy laughed — he 
 rather liked being beaten with her dimpled 
 fistSj it was like being cannonaded with tiny 
 snowballs ; but in spite of these occasional 
 squalls she and Rob were the best of 
 friends. 
 
 He had a numerous family of pets of 
 various descriptions — rabbits, pigeons, and 
 a perfect colony of white rats, and, best of 
 all, a wonderful collie dog who did every- 
 thing but talk. Little Madge was allowed 
 free access to all these favourites, with most 
 of whom she was on familiar terms. Rob 
 submitted to all the child's baby caprices 
 with unfailing good humour. He allowed 
 himself to be harnessed and driven like a
 
 176 MADGE. 
 
 horse, or hunted like a wild beast, he 
 barked like a dog, roared like a lion, in 
 fact he turned himself into a bird, beast, or 
 fish according to her pleasure. In the 
 bright, sunny days he took his blind sister 
 and her child friend for long rambles in 
 the wood ; Margaret sent him on perilous 
 expeditions in search of birds' eggs, or to 
 find out where was the squirrel's home ; 
 and the boy was glad to do her bidding ; 
 but there soon came an end to these days 
 of ^' life's early Spring." Margaret was 
 sent to school, and the intimacy was greatly 
 broken; during the holidays she and Nell 
 were as much as ever together, but the boy 
 had been apprenticed in a distant town, and 
 rarely made one of the party. 
 
 As the years rolled on, the child bloomed 
 into a beautiful girlhood, and though, when 
 they met, the girl was as frank and joyous 
 as the child had been, the boy had grown
 
 ROBERT kestrel's ERRAND. 177 
 
 awkward and shy, and she laughed at, and 
 teazed him with somewhat the same spirit as 
 of old. Time passed, and after the fashion 
 of the day, when she was about fifteen 
 years of age, she was sent to school in Ger- 
 many to finish her education ; at the end of 
 three years she returned with the early 
 bloom and grace of womanhood upon her, 
 and the old intimacy was, to a certain ex- 
 tent, renewed ; though to her, he was still 
 the same kind, good-natured Rob as of old, 
 whom it was her special privilege to plague 
 at her pleasure^ to hm she became the one 
 ruling passion of his life, the one idea ab- 
 sorbing all his thoughts, all his hopes, till 
 he awoke to the belief that all other 
 things were nothing worth, that life itself 
 would scarcely be worth living for, without 
 her. 
 
 The days when he failed to hear her 
 voice, or catch a glimpse of her fair face, 
 
 VOL. I. K
 
 178 MADGE. 
 
 were black days to him, and might as well 
 have been blotted out of the calendar for 
 all the store he set by them. His mates 
 called him sullen and morose, when he was 
 only thoughtful and self-absorbed. He drew 
 himself away from their companionship ; 
 somehow their lines seemed to jar upon his; 
 he put aside all the rough ways and habits 
 of the workaday world, and applied himself 
 to a course of self-education (a task which 
 enterprising publishing firms has made easy) 
 with a force of wise and earnest application 
 which bade fair to fit him for the success he 
 hoped for in the days to come. 
 
 "While he was dreaming and drifting on 
 in this fashion, giving no sign to her of the 
 spirit which animated his life, the news 
 came to him of her projected visit to town, 
 and after a long and obstinate battle with 
 himself, he made up his mind that, come
 
 EGBERT kestrel's ERRAND. 179 
 
 what would, she should know he loved her 
 before she went away. 
 
 Taking into consideration the circum- 
 stances which for years had existed between 
 the two families, it was perhaps no wonder 
 he had grown to love her, and grown bold 
 enough to tell her father so. It was all 
 very well to argue upon the difference of 
 their positions ; Rob could not be brought 
 to see things in the same light as Mr. Si- 
 ward did. Money was the only object that 
 rose like a mountain dividing them, but 
 that might be got over. Rob did not con- 
 sider himself so humbly as a lover is gene- 
 rally supposed to do in regard to his mis- 
 tress, and would by no means have submit- 
 ted to be trampled on, even by her fairy 
 feet. He loved her as a man rarely loves 
 but once in his life, but he respected himself, 
 and believed that the devotion of one man's 
 
 n2
 
 180 MADGE. 
 
 faithful, honest heart was worth a great 
 deal more than the sickly sentimentality 
 which is sometimes gilded and sweetened 
 by wealth, rank, and palmed off on the un- 
 wary as the real undiluted essence of love. 
 
 The interview between himself and Mr. 
 Siward was unsatisfactory on both sides ; 
 argument, reason, or reproaches quite failed 
 to convince Rob of his folly, and he reiterated 
 over and over again with obstinate pertina- 
 city that he loved Madge, and would try to 
 win her one day ; he v/as in no hurry ; he 
 was content to bide his time, to watch and 
 wait to see whither the rising tide of the 
 new life would carry her. Having spoken 
 to Mr. Siward, his sense of honour and 
 right was satisfied, and he resolved to carry 
 out his own plans for the future, so far as it 
 was possible for him to do so. One pro- 
 mise, however, Mr. Siward, after a good 
 deal of difficulty, extorted from him — that
 
 ROBERT kestrel's ERRAND. 181 
 
 he would not speak to Madge on the subject 
 nearest his heart until her return from 
 town. 
 
 Eob gave his word reluctantly, but he 
 resolved to keep it.
 
 182 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 A FAKE WELL VISIT. 
 
 11 ,1" ARGARET was very indignant at beinsj 
 JJA. "treated like a cliild," and being 
 turned out of the room ; it was very rude 
 of Rob to suggest such a thing, and very 
 unkind of her father to send her away. 
 She was afflicted with Eve-like curiosity, 
 and could not help wondering what on 
 earth he could have to say to her father 
 that needed to be privately told. She ima- 
 gined all kinds of things, but her thoughts 
 never for a moment connected the idea of 
 herself with the object of his mission. She 
 knew exactly how long he stayed, for she
 
 A FAREWELL VISIT. 183 
 
 impatiently counted the minutes by the 
 clock. As soon as he went away, and she 
 heard the hall door close after him, she 
 flew downstairs to her father, resolved to 
 do her best to learn what had passed be- 
 tween them. She found him with an un- 
 usually vexed and cloudy expression of 
 countenance — nay, almost with a frown 
 upon his face. 
 
 "Well, father dear," she exclaimed, 
 " how grim you are looking ! What on 
 earth has Robert been saying to you ?" and 
 she peered into his face with the sharp, 
 quick eye of the inquisitive jackdaw as she 
 asked the question. 
 
 ** Never mind about Rob, Madge," he 
 answered, somewhat impatiently ; '^ we may 
 easily find something pleasanter to talk 
 about." 
 
 " Oh, easily enough," she answered care- 
 lessly, ''only at the present moment I'd
 
 184 MADGE. 
 
 rather talk about liiiii, if you've no objec- 
 tion." 
 
 "But I have a very great objection; he 
 is a presumptuous young jackanapes, and I 
 never wish to hear his name mentioned 
 again," replied Mr. Siward severely. 
 
 " He must have done something very 
 bad to make you so angry," said Margaret, 
 with evident concern, " and I'm very sorry 
 for it ; but I shall not rest till I know what 
 it is." 
 
 ''No need for you to know," he replied 
 grimly, '' it is his business and mine." 
 
 " I hate mysteries," she rejoined pettishly, 
 " and if you won't tell me, I shall coax it 
 out of himr 
 
 "For goodness sake, do nothing of the 
 kind, Madge !" he exclaimed, alarmed to 
 think how the coaxing process might end ; 
 " it would be a most indecent proceeding ; 
 besides, he would not tell you, for I've
 
 A FAREWELL VISIT. 185 
 
 bound him down solemnly, and he has 
 promised not to speak to you upon the 
 subject." 
 
 " Bound him down not to speak to me !" 
 she repeated, knitting her brows in a 
 puzzled way ; " that sounds more mys- 
 terious still. Come, father dear," she 
 added caressingly, "never let a woman 
 suspect there's a secret, or she's sure to get 
 at the wrong end of it, and never trust her 
 with half a one either; you know women ' 
 are " 
 
 " Chit ! call yourself a woman !" 
 
 " I shall go far towards the making of 
 one, at any rate," she answered. '' Come, 
 dad, tell," she added imperatively. 
 
 '' You boasted you knew all my secrets," 
 replied her father; "but this belongs to 
 him." 
 
 " Give it to me ; then it will be mine," 
 she persisted.
 
 186 MADGE. 
 
 '^ Well, I think you have a right to a bit 
 of it," he answered, as a mischievous twinkle 
 came into his eye, his good humour re- 
 turning, as it generally did, in the sunshine 
 of her presence. "Do you know he has 
 been fool enough to fall in love with 
 you?" 
 
 " Is that all ?" she exclaimed, in disap- 
 pointed tones. 
 
 '^ All! I think that's enough ! the ridicu- 
 lous idiot !" 
 
 "I don't know that he's a 'ridiculous 
 idiot' for that," responded Margaret, 
 slightly nettled that his admiration for her 
 should give rise to the epithet, " a wise 
 man might have made the same— mistake ; 
 but go on, what did you say ?" 
 
 " Say ! I told him he was a presump- 
 tuous puppy — that my Madge was not for 
 the like of him." 
 
 "Well?"
 
 A FAKE WELL VISIT. 187 
 
 '' Well!— I don't think it was well." 
 
 '' I mean what else did you say ?" said 
 Margaret. 
 
 ^' Oh ! we neither of us said much,'' he 
 answered, " a very little goes a great way 
 in these cases. I gave him a bit of my 
 mind though, and I must say the young 
 fellow stood to his guns manfully." 
 
 " Of course he did ; trust Rob for that," 
 rejoined Madge, laughing lightly. '' But 
 really, father dear, I don't see what there' 
 was to make you so very angry; if I'd 
 fallen in love with him now ! and, by-the- 
 by," she added, with sudden vivacity, ^' I 
 almost wonder I didn't, considering the 
 chances I've had ; but the idea never 
 entered my head " 
 
 " I should think not, indeed," began her 
 father warmly. 
 
 " Ah ! but it might, you know," she ob- 
 served demurely. " ' Satan finds some
 
 188 MADGE. 
 
 mischief stiir for idle brains, as well as for 
 idle hands to do." 
 
 '^What rubbish you're talking," he ex- 
 claimed, almost angrily ; '• I thought you 
 would have been as indignant as I was my- 
 self." 
 
 ^' The idea of any girl being indignant 
 with any man for falling in love with her," 
 said Margaret, "provided, of course, that 
 he is properly modest about it, as, I am 
 sure, poor dear Rob has always been ; he 
 has never said a word to me that he 
 mightn't — well — that he mightn't have said 
 to a saint." 
 
 "I should think not, indeed," he an- 
 swered, waxing wroth. ^' It was bad enough 
 to speak to me." 
 
 " He is the last person in the world I 
 should have suspected of falling in love with 
 anybody, especially with me. I've always 
 plagued and laughed at him for his quiet,
 
 A FAREWELL VISIT. 189 
 
 solemn ways. I won't do it again, though. 
 A man who has the spirit to fall in love 
 with one has a right to be treated with a 
 certain sort of respect." 
 
 " You talk like a confounded fool, Madge ! 
 And if I'd had an idea you'd have been so 
 soft about it, hang me if I'd have told you 
 at all !" 
 
 " Then I should have found it out," she 
 answered, adding recklessly, " But there's 
 no harm done, dear. You can't expect me * 
 to be very furious with him for falling a 
 victim to my attractions ; but I am going 
 away, you know, and I daresay he'll 'have 
 forgotten all about me long before I come 
 back." 
 
 During the progress of this conversation 
 it had gradually dawned upon her mind that 
 he was really more seriously vexed than she 
 had at first supposed him to be. She de- 
 tected, too, with a natural quick intuition^
 
 190 MADGE. 
 
 the fear that hiy at the bottom of his heart 
 lest she might be disposed to reciprocate 
 the feeling. Her manner of receiving his 
 communication inclined him to that way of 
 thinking, but in a sensible, straightforward 
 way she speedily set him at rest on that 
 point, and for awhile Robert Kestrel's pre- 
 sumption passed out of his thoughts, though 
 it lay sufficiently near to the surface of his 
 mind to rise up as a most disturbing element 
 on the slightest provocation. So far as 
 Margaret herself was concerned, she was 
 slightly surprised, slightly amused and 
 pleased to find that somebody had fallen in 
 love with her, though that '^ somebody " was 
 only poor Rob, whom she had known all 
 her life. 
 
 When she found herself alone in her 
 own room, she threw open her window 
 and sat down, leaning her cheek upon 
 her hand, and began to ponder on the.
 
 A FAREWELL VISIT, 191 
 
 strange, mysterious feeling that had sprung 
 up so unexpectedly in Robert Kestrel's 
 heart for her. He was so staid, so solemn, 
 she wondered how he had come to care for 
 her (such a giddy butterfly as she was !) in 
 that sort of way ; but in what sort of way 
 did he really care for her ? It seemed 
 absurd to think of his feeling anything like 
 what she fancied love must be. It would, 
 be altogether too subtle, too refined and 
 delicate a thing for the soul of Robert Kes- 
 trel even to comprehend. She wished he 
 had spoken to her instead of to her father, 
 and wondered why he had not. She could 
 have shown him the folly of it in a pleasant, 
 kindly fashion ; have scolded him, if it were 
 necessary, and have comforted him, if he 
 needed comfort at the same time. She did 
 not, however, waste much time or sentiment 
 in thinking of him ; it never crossed her 
 mind that he might suffer pain or disap-
 
 192 MADGE. 
 
 pointment on her account. If he had 
 spoken to her, and she had looked in his 
 troubled face, heard his voice, and learned 
 from his own lips how long and how de- 
 votedly he had loved her, and how he 
 meant to bend all his energies to the work, 
 and striving in the future all for her, things 
 might have been different. 
 
 She almost laughed outright as she pictur- 
 ed his interview with her father, though the 
 imaginary picture, of course, differed materi- 
 ally from the reality ; she was altogether 
 vexed and annoyed, though she would have 
 found some difficulty in putting her feelings 
 into words ; however, she made up her mind 
 to one thing, that she would never marry a 
 man who dared to speak to her father in- 
 stead of her ; " as though it were possible he 
 could give an answer, either one way or the 
 other, and if he did, it would be sure to be 
 the wrong one," she thought ; " as for Rob,
 
 A FAEEWELL VISIT. 193 
 
 in any case, I could never think about him, 
 but he was a fool to promise not to speak to 
 me all the same ; I wonder if he will keep 
 his word ?" a smile played round her lips as 
 the thought crossed her mind. 
 
 As things seemed to be turning out, Mr. 
 Siward congratulated himself upon his fore- 
 sight in making existing arrangements, and 
 he would have hastened her departure, if 
 that had been possible. The few days that 
 intervened between his return home and 
 her leaving it, passed quickly away ; every 
 moment of her time had been occupied in 
 making and superintending her own personal 
 preparations; there was so much to be 
 thought of, so much to be done before she 
 could feel comfortable at leaving her home 
 and her father for so long a time. Her old 
 nurse would take charge of the house during 
 her absence; in fact, she was going away for 
 a whole year ! and that was so long a time 
 
 VOL. I. o
 
 194 MADGE. 
 
 that her coming back at all seemed like a 
 thing lying far away in the dim, unrealizable 
 distance. There was a great deal to be done 
 too, in the way of leave-taking, among her 
 father's workpeople, many of whom had 
 watched her grow up from her childhood. 
 And she had endeared herself to them by 
 her kindly winning ways, and a readiness to 
 sympathise with them in their troubles, as 
 well as to give every practical help in her 
 power ; the universal regret at her going 
 from among them had been loudly express- 
 ed ; and had been greatly disapproved of by 
 the majority, who looked upon her as 
 belonging exclusively to Clinton, and could 
 not bear to see her drop out of their circle, 
 even for a time. The idea of her never 
 coming back (and that had been suggested 
 b}^ some) was scouted, as not to be for a 
 moment entertained. She postponed her 
 farewell visit to the Kestrels till the verv
 
 A FAREWELL VISIT. 195 
 
 last evening. Nell had been up to the 
 house more than once to hear how things 
 were going on, and to have as much as she 
 could of Margaret, to whom she clung with 
 tenacious jealousy, the more so as the hour 
 for parting drew near. Somehow, as though 
 by mutual consent, they avoided all men- 
 tion of Robert's name. 
 
 " This is my last day at home, dear," ex- 
 claimed Margaret, *^ but I shall come down 
 to the cottage this evening, to bid you all 
 good-bye." 
 
 "If you are very busy," said Nell, "had 
 not father and mother better come up to 
 you ? they would, I know, if it would save 
 you any trouble." 
 
 "No, I prefer coming down," said Mar- 
 garet, shortly. 
 
 Accordingly, in the evening, her boxes 
 being all packed and corded, standing in the 
 hall ready for her early departure in the 
 
 o2
 
 196 MADGE. 
 
 morning, while her father sat enjoying his 
 post-prandial nap, she threw on her hat, and 
 started across the fields on her well-known 
 road to Kestrel's cottage. 
 
 It was a lovely evening — mild and warm, 
 and as she made her way across the soft, 
 green sward, and on under the shadow of 
 the sombre pine-trees, the setting sun came 
 glinting through their dark, stiff branches, 
 and danced in bright, fantastic shadows at 
 her feet; it seemed almost a sin to tread 
 upon them — as though the glorious sunlight 
 could be trampled out. The last time she 
 had walked this way, Mr. Slade had been 
 by her side on that never-to-be-forgotten 
 evening. How well she remembered every 
 word he had said, the expression of his 
 face — nay, the very light of his eyes as he 
 bent down to look into her face. The scene 
 came back with such vivid reality to her 
 mind that she could almost fancy that he
 
 A FAREWELL VISIT. 197 
 
 had left his unfading shadow graven on the 
 air, and was walking by her side noiu^ even 
 as he had walked then^ lifting aside the long, 
 bending branches of the trees for her to 
 pass under them. Her pulse quickened, 
 the colour deepened on her cheeks as she 
 hurried on, scarce pausing to take breath 
 till she reached Kestrel's cottage. 
 
 As she lifted the latch of the cottage and 
 stepped upon the pathway, Nell appeared 
 upon the threshold with outstretched hands* 
 and a tender smile upon her face. 
 
 *^ I've been waiting for you ; I heard you 
 a long way off. Come round the garden, 
 Madge; you can bid father and the rest 
 ^ good-bye ' in a minute. I want to have 
 you to myself till — till the very last, if I 
 can." 
 
 The two girls walked round the garden, 
 having a last long talk together, heedless of 
 the flight of time. They had not much to
 
 198 MADGE. 
 
 say — merely the old promise to keep love 
 unchanged and faith unbroken, and to con- 
 tinue such friends as they were now. Nell, 
 in her sightless helplessness, clung to her 
 friend as though she could never part from 
 her, for indeed this parting was fraught 
 with the greatest pain she had ever known ; 
 it seemed as though the light of the world 
 was being shut out from her, and she would 
 be left in double darkness, double loneli- 
 ness, for Margaret's vivid word-painting of 
 scenes and things, of glowing landscapes and 
 soft moonlight nights, presented things so 
 clearly to her mind's eye that she seemed 
 to see them in all the richness and colour- 
 ing of reality; indeed, she often used to say, 
 *' Don't talk of my being blind ; I'm sure I 
 see more with my mind's eye as you talk to 
 me, Madge, than you can possibly do with 
 your actual sight." 
 
 Now it seemed as though all pleasant
 
 A FAREWELL VISIT. 199 
 
 days were ended, all pleasant things dead. 
 Margaret was going away, and Nell turned 
 a deaf ear to all promises of her coming 
 back, and maintained that the Margaret 
 ■who came back would not be the same Mar- 
 garet who went away. The last words were 
 said ; still they lingered and reiterated them 
 again and again till the evening shadows 
 began to close round them, and Margaret 
 tore herself away and ran into the cottage 
 to say a brief good-bye to the old people. 
 Mrs. Kestrel looked up from the board 
 where she was busy ironing her husband's 
 shirts. 
 
 "Well, Miss Madge," she exclaimed, on 
 recognising her visitor, '' I said you'd never 
 go without bidding us ^ good-bye.' " 
 
 " I should think not, Mrs. Kestrel," she 
 answered, with a bright smile in her eyes as 
 well as on her lips. '' I shouldn't deserve 
 to be welcomed home again if I did;
 
 200 MADGE. 
 
 besides, I hope to carry away heaps of your 
 good wishes too." 
 
 " Ay, ay," crooned the old granny from 
 the chimney-corner, wagging her palsied 
 head with a ghastly, idiotic grin, " and I 
 suppose you'll be buried before you come 
 back, my dear ?" 
 
 " Married, she means," whispered Mrs. 
 Kestrel; ''she forgets her words somehow." 
 
 Margaret patted her kindly, and asked 
 what gifts she should bring her when she 
 came home. 
 
 '' Something smart and neat, my dear," 
 she answered, clutching liold of the girl's 
 skirt with her claw-like hand, " I'm none so 
 old — none so old but I may come to your 
 burying." 
 
 The girl disengaged herself as quickly as 
 she could, and left the old woman mutter- 
 ing about grave clothes and winding sheets. 
 
 " Well, now, only to think of your going
 
 A FAREWELL VISIT. 201 
 
 away all in a flourish like this," resumed 
 Mrs. Kestrel, in half reproachful accents. 
 '^ It's a sad blow to us ; especially to Nell ; 
 you're all the friend she's got." 
 
 "I know it," replied Margaret, feeling 
 naturally annoyed at the injured tone 
 adopted towards her; ''but I cannot be 
 there and here too ; you could never have 
 expected me to be chained to Clinton all 
 my life?" 
 
 " Ah, well, I hope it will be all for the 
 best," Mrs. Kestrel answered, with a sigh ; 
 " but I never knew much good come from 
 gadding abroad. However, I wish you 
 well, Miss Margaret, I'm sure, and so do we 
 all." 
 
 Margaret shook hands with her and 
 thanked her for her good wishes ; although 
 she felt they were coolly and grudgingly 
 given, she did not choose to waste any 
 words upon the matter — she was sorry and
 
 202 MADGE. 
 
 hurt to find they were less cordial and 
 kindly than she expected, that was all ; but 
 she was too proud to say as much. Once 
 more she said good-bye, and as she drew 
 on her gloves she glanced round as though 
 searching for some one, and said care- 
 lessly, 
 
 " I suppose I shall find Mr. Kestrel and 
 Robert in the workshop ?" 
 
 " Ay, ay, no doubt," Mrs. Kestrel went 
 on muttering to herself as she turned to 
 resume her work. Margaret left the cot- 
 tage and crossed the yard without further 
 notice. Pushing open the loosely hung door 
 of the shed which was dignified by the 
 name of workshop, she found the old man 
 leaning over the bench with his back to- 
 wards her. 
 
 *' Well, Mr. Kestrel," she exclaimed. 
 " You know I'm going away to-morrow, so 
 I've come to say good-bye."
 
 A FAREWELL VISIT. 203 
 
 " Very kind and condescending of you, 
 I'm sure," he answered, rising from his 
 stooping posture and wiping his hand upon 
 his coat tails before he took hers ; " I hope 
 you won't be disappointed in the new world 
 you're going to — your father is expecting 
 great things, and I hope lie won't be dis- 
 appointed either. If you play your game 
 well, you'll have fine innings, and I wish 
 you may. I don't know as I can say any- 
 thing more, nor wish you better than that, 
 though I'm sorry — we are all sorry — to part 
 with you; you've grown up amongst us, 
 and we looked to have you married and 
 settled among us." 
 
 " And so, perhaps, I may be one day," 
 she answered. *' You talk as though I 
 was taking leave for ever." 
 
 " And so you are — leastways, if you ever 
 do come back — but there, I say nothing ;
 
 204 MADGE. 
 
 ' fate follows us wherever we go, however 
 hard and fast we run, we can't get away 
 from it — it is sure to overtake us at some 
 point of the road, and trip us up when we 
 least expect it." 
 
 '^Dear me, Mr. Kestrel !" she exclaimed 
 lightly, " I never heard you talk in such an 
 awfully mysterious way before, and I don't 
 at all understand your rigmarole about 
 fate, though I suppose it is meant for my 
 special edification. However, I hope Fm 
 going to meet a brighter fate than I leave 
 behind me. I can't say there's much to 
 regret in leaving Clinton ! Where's Rob ? 
 I must shake hands with him before I 
 so." 
 
 " No need," replied the old man, and a 
 gleam of angry light shot from beneath his 
 bushy brows; ''best leave the lad alone. 
 Go your ways and leave the hand-shak-
 
 A FAREWELL VISIT. 205 
 
 ing business undone. Til make things 
 
 right " 
 
 " Thank you," she said, interrupting him. 
 quickly, annoyance and vexation sending 
 the colour to her cheeks, and a dark cloud 
 into her eyes, ^' there is nothing wrong to 
 need making right, only I've got more feel- 
 ing than you give me credit for. I could 
 not go away without paying a last visit to 
 you all. You were very kind to me once, 
 I can't forget that, though you don't seem 
 to care about me now. There's not a soul 
 about the place that has not given me kind 
 words, kind wishes, and an honest, hearty 
 * God speed,' while you have not a single 
 pleasant word to say, and you look as 
 though you would take a cruel delight in 
 flinging pain and sorrow after me, as if 
 they were hounds that you could hold in 
 leash and let slip to run me down in the
 
 206 MADGE. 
 
 happy world I'm going to ; but it doesn't 
 matter, I don't care in the least, though if 
 I had known how you would have re- 
 ceived me I would have gone without bid- 
 ding you good-bye." 
 
 She flung the last words over her shoulder 
 as she hurried out of the shed, across the 
 garden, and over the fields beyond, turning 
 a deaf ear to his apologetic entreaties that 
 she would ''come back." He was in truth 
 half ashamed of his churlish behaviour ; but 
 he could not control himself, nor force his 
 thin, pinched lips to utter a kindly sym- 
 pathetic word ; all the yeasty bitterness of 
 his temper fermented and worked him up 
 almost to hating her as she stood there, 
 looking so bright, so beautiful and happy, 
 heedless, because unconscious, of the ruined 
 hope which he had for years past been 
 blindly, silently building up, but v/hich now 
 lies heavy and broken on his ambitious, dis-
 
 A FAREWELL VISIT. 207 
 
 contented heart. He had a silent suspicion 
 of the why and the wherefore which had 
 caused Mr. Siward's decision to send his 
 daughter away from Clinton ; but the sus- 
 picion had never found utterance, never, 
 though in some subtle, mysterious way it 
 filled the atmosphere of his home, and lay 
 like a cloud over it; but she was innocent of all 
 knowledge on the matter ; she only felt, and 
 felt keenly, that her old friends had changed 
 towards her. She had come to them with a 
 warm, fluttering, affectionate heart, expect- 
 ing to find an answering, sympathetic, genial 
 kindliness, but she was disappointed and 
 chilled ; she had " asked for bread and they 
 gave her a stone." She was angry and 
 hurt, but she choked back her wounded 
 feelings, and fled away homeward with the 
 speed of a young lapwing. Once or twice 
 she stumbled over the rough stones that lay 
 in her way. Turning suddenly into a long
 
 208 MADGE. 
 
 narrow lane which skirted and led up to the 
 large apple orchard, she fell almost into the 
 arms of Robert Kestrel.
 
 209 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 THE LAST EVENING, 
 
 TMPULSIVELY her hands went out to 
 -*- him. 
 
 " Rob," she exclaimed heartily, " I'm so 
 glad to have met you. I was rushing home 
 in a rage. They've been so unkind to me 
 over there !" She jerked her head towards 
 the cottage that lay half hidden, nestling 
 among the tall trees, a few hundred yards 
 off. 
 
 ^' Not Nell ?" he rejoined deprecatingly. 
 
 *'No, not Nell," she answered, ''but the 
 rest. They were not even civil enough to 
 
 VOL. I. p
 
 210 MADGE. 
 
 say they were sorry I am going away ; and 
 your mother said " 
 
 " Never mind what my mother said," he 
 answered, interrupting her quickly, " she's 
 put out many ways just now ; but in her 
 heart she cares a deal about you." 
 
 '^ She has not a very pleasant way of 
 showing it then," rejoined the girl pettishly ; 
 "but it doesn't matter; things are looking 
 so bright for me just now, they might be too 
 sweet, you know, perhaps it is well to have 
 a drop of gall falling here and there." 
 
 ^' So you really are going?" he said, ignor- 
 ing the injured tone of her voice, and look- 
 ing into her face with eyes half sorrowful, 
 half proud, and withal so full of his strong 
 heart's love, they would have told the tale 
 which, in accordance with his promise, he 
 most desired to conceal, but that he stood 
 in the shadowy twilight, where his face and 
 figure were but dimly outlined, and the
 
 THE LAST EVENING. 211 
 
 delicacies of expression and feeling were 
 wholly invisible. 
 
 ''Yes, I really am. Isn't it delightful?" 
 she answered, with unmistakeable pleasure 
 at the prospect. 
 
 *' For you — yes, I suppose it is delightful," 
 he answered, and there was just a touch of 
 weariness in his tone, "but it is not so de- 
 lightful for those you leave behind. Don't 
 you think that some — that many of us here 
 regret your going awa}^, Miss Siward ?" 
 
 "Not 'Miss Siward' to-night, Rob," she 
 answered softly. '' We're such old friends 
 
 and playfellows that " She hesitated, 
 
 then added, " I know there has been a cool- 
 ness between us lately, indeed for a long 
 time past, but I don't think it has been my 
 fault. You have avoided me in the most 
 marked manner." 
 
 " I know I have," he answered, in a low 
 voice, '' but I did not think you cared." 
 
 p2
 
 212 MADGE. 
 
 " Cared !" she exclaimed sharply, with a 
 little toss of her pretty head. " Of course 
 I didn't care ; but it was not very pleasant 
 for me to come in at one door, and see your 
 coat-tails vanishing at another. It was not 
 polite, to say the least of it." 
 
 " I beg your pardon. I never meant — I 
 had no notion I had vexed you." 
 
 *' I wasn't vexed," she answered, tapping 
 her foot impatiently upon the ground. 
 " How aggravating you are — you won t 
 understand. I only noticed it, that was all. 
 And it is not pleasant for a lady to be 
 neglected, and treated with disrespect, even 
 — by a ploughboy." 
 
 "I am not a flimsy, fine gentleman, I 
 know/' he replied quietly, " but I don't 
 quite stand on a level with a ploughboy." 
 
 " You might stand on a level with a worse 
 thing. A ploughboy is a very respectable, 
 useful member of society ; and that is more
 
 THE LAST EVENING. 213 
 
 than can be said of some people, who dream 
 and drone through the world, doing nothing 
 half so useful as driving a plough. But you 
 needn't try to quarrel about a paltry word, 
 Rob ; we may not see one another again for 
 a long time, and I wanted to part with you 
 in the old friendly way. You were always 
 too good to me. I'm half ashamed when I 
 look back and see what a teasing, tiresome 
 child I was, and how patient you always 
 were. Do you remember the bullfinch 
 nest? — how you fell, and I, foolish child! 
 thought you were dead, and " 
 
 " Ay, I remember," he said. It was well 
 she could not see how his face glowed with 
 that day's memory; he almost fancied he 
 could feel her arms about his neck, her 
 tears moistening his cheek, and her soft, 
 sweet kisses on his lips still, as he some- 
 times felt them in his dreams even now. 
 
 "For God's sake, don't talk of those old
 
 214 MADGE. 
 
 days, or I shall wish you were a child 
 again !" 
 
 ''Ah, well," she remarked, with a little 
 sentimental sigh, *' however long we live, 
 and however far they drift away, I don't 
 suppose we ever forget our childish days, 
 especially when they are as happy as mine 
 were ; and you hold a very prominent place 
 among them, Robert." 
 
 She held out her hand to him with a 
 pretty, shy gesture. 
 
 He seized it eagerly, and clasped it in 
 his own, and drew a step nearer to her as 
 he said — 
 
 *' What makes you so dangerously kind to- 
 night, Madge?" He had left off calling her by 
 her Christian name since her years of young 
 ladyhood had begun ; now it fell with a 
 strangely tender accent from his lips, and 
 his voice was as full of pure, unadulterated 
 love as his eyes and his heart. "Is it — can
 
 THE LAST EVENING. 215 
 
 it be possible that you are sorry to go away 
 from us ?" 
 
 "No, it is not that. I'm not sorry," she 
 answered, in a frank, free voice, that gave a 
 chill to his rising passion ; " only I'm think- 
 ing of the old days when we were all so 
 free and happy together. And I can't help 
 feeling sorry for the change that's come over 
 us. And I want to go away on the best 
 possible terms with everybody — especially 
 with you^ 
 
 She was silent for a moment. He held 
 his eyes to the ground and was dumb. See- 
 ing he was not disposed to speak, she 
 added — 
 
 . " If I have done anything to offend you 
 lately, I'm sorry for it. I shall have no 
 chance of offending you again — for a long 
 time, at least." 
 
 '' You done anything to offend me !" he 
 repeated. " Good heavens ! how could you
 
 216 MADGE. 
 
 think it ! You have always been only too 
 good and charming. You have made me 
 forget the gulf between me, a rough, 
 working, penniless man, and your pretty, 
 dainty ladyhood. I've avoided you, you 
 say. Well," he concluded, with a deep- 
 drawn breath, " I've been trying to remem- 
 ber it, that's all." 
 
 " Then please forget it again ; only re- 
 member that I'm just the same Madge you 
 used to take for long, sunny days nutting 
 in the Autumn woods. Of course, I've 
 grown older; and we used to do foolish 
 things then that we could not do now ; 
 but we're very dear friends all the same. 
 I may always rely on your friendship, 
 Robert ? " 
 
 *' Call it that — yes, always," he answered. 
 " It shall never fail you — never. It seems 
 foohsh to speak of it now, but time flies 
 fast, and the day may come when you may
 
 THE LAST EVENING. 217 
 
 find one man's friendship better than another 
 man's love." 
 
 '^Perhaps ; but I hope that day is a long 
 way off. The flavour must be very dif- 
 ferent. I must be very tired of the one 
 before I take to the other," slie answered, 
 with a frank, piquant air that told him 
 plainly that — at least, for him — there was 
 no love-seed germinating in her breast. He 
 felt that now, as he had been talking to her, 
 more than he had ever done before. 
 
 There had been, unconsciously to himself, 
 a dim idea gradually growing in his mind 
 that in the first early wakening of girlish 
 romance, she had indulged in some senti- 
 mental dreaming that was not yet, but might 
 one day be, nursed into love. Her soft, 
 tender ways, the outcoming of her warm, 
 sympathetic nature, combined with his own 
 longing and close association, tended to 
 mislead him thus far ; it was under this im-
 
 218 MADGE. 
 
 pression that he was led to speak to Mr. 
 Siward as he had done. He felt he had 
 deceived himself now ; she was so frank in 
 her regrets, which were evidently mere 
 common-place regrets, at breaking off an. 
 old association, and nothing more ; besides, 
 there w^as something in the ring of her 
 voice, in the touch of her hand, that told 
 him she was ice-cold, and free from the 
 fierce passion which fired his blood, and 
 held his soul in bondage. Meanwhile, she 
 was speculating in a desultory sort of way, 
 that was more curiosity than real interest in 
 the matter, whether Robert was really fond 
 of her, or whether he had an eye to the 
 money-bags, as her father had suggested, 
 and saw his way to them onl}^ through her. 
 She knew that old Kestrel was avaricious and 
 grasping, hankering always for the touch of 
 gold. Suppose the taint was hereditary, 
 and Rob was suffering from the gold fever^
 
 THE LAST EVENING. 219 
 
 which he mistook for love ? A silence fell 
 between them ; she turned her head, and 
 glancing homeward, observed the lights 
 flashing from the windows, and seemed 
 suddenly to become aware of the fact that 
 it was growing late, and this being her last 
 evening at home, she felt with some com- 
 punction that she might have devoted more 
 of it to her father. 
 
 " I must go now, Rob," she said ; "father 
 will be wondering what has become of me 
 — see, it is quite dark. Good-bye." 
 
 He pressed the hand which he had held 
 close clasped for the last few minutes, and 
 impulsively lifted it to his lips and kissed it, 
 not once, but many times, with a wild, mad 
 passion, as though he knew that, as it was 
 the first, so it would be the last time. 
 
 " God bless you, dear !" he said, as he 
 at last relinquished it. " Wherever you go, 
 you take the best part of my life with you."
 
 220 MADGE. 
 
 " Don't talk nonsense — I shouldn't know 
 what to do with such useless luggage — once 
 more good-bye ; I must not stay another 
 minute ; if I get a scolding, it will be your 
 fault." 
 
 She had shaken hands with him cordially, 
 said a few last words, and was walking 
 rapidly away, when she found he had not 
 left her, as she supposed, but was striding 
 along by her side, evidently without the 
 least intention of turning back. She stopped 
 suddenly. 
 
 " Why don't you go back, Eob ?" she 
 said, with a slight accent of impatience. 
 
 " I can't let you go home alone at this 
 time of the evening ; you are not used to be 
 out so late." 
 
 " You may, and must," she answered ; 
 '^you need not be afraid — I shall meet 
 nothing worse than a ruminating cow or a 
 stray dog, so pray go," and, as she spoke, .
 
 THE LAST EVENING. 221 
 
 she had a horrible vision of the storm of 
 parental wrath which would break forth if 
 she ventured to return home so escorted. 
 ^' Besides," she added, not wishing to seem 
 unkind, " I'm afraid father might be vexed; 
 you and he did not seem to part upon quite 
 friendly terms the other day." 
 
 She peered through the darkness into his 
 face, wondering what he would say ; he 
 answered, with some slight hesitation — 
 
 " I should not have thought you would 
 have noticed that ; but your father and I 
 certainly did have rather a breezy meeting. 
 If 1 had been a millionaire he might have 
 been more polite ; but as it is, he was right 
 and wise, and 1 — was a fool," he added 
 shortly. 
 
 "It is not every fool that knows his own 
 folly, Master Robert ; but I'm glad to see 
 you've such a just appreciation of yourself." 
 
 In spite of her evident desire to get rid
 
 222 MADGE. 
 
 of him, he would not leave her till she was 
 safely entered on her father's premises, and 
 even then he watched her across the orchard 
 and through the umbrageous shadows of 
 the garden, till he saw the door open, and 
 she disappeared from his sight, swallowed up 
 in a stream of light. 
 
 Having ascertained from Phoebe that her 
 father was still in the drawing-room, she 
 threw off her hat and mantle and went 
 noiselessly into the room, where she found 
 him in precisely the same position as she 
 had left him nearly two hours before, ex- 
 cept that the paper which he had been 
 reading' had slipped from his hand, and now 
 lay beside the chair where he leaned back 
 fast asleep. She had the lights brought in, 
 shaded them from his eyes, opened her 
 piano and began to play, with a soft, gentle 
 touch, some of the old familiar airs which 
 he loved so well — they were full of the
 
 THE LAST EVENING. 223 
 
 memories of his youth, and brought back to 
 him the scent and savour of the old dead 
 days that would never return. There was 
 always a peculiar delicacy in her touch that 
 seemed to bring something more than 
 music out of the cold ivory keys ; she gave 
 to the mere harmonious sounds a soul and 
 a sense that stayed with you long after their 
 vibration on the air had ceased. The same 
 airs played by another hand would have 
 fallen flat and dead upon the ear, and never 
 reached the soul at all, or stirred a buried me- 
 mory to light and life. She knew that many 
 a day would pass before her hands wouldf 
 stray over those keys again. This feeling, 
 perhaps, gave a more special tenderness to 
 her touch ; she seemed to fuse a portion of 
 herself into the music, and drew forth such 
 soft, lingering, regretful tones they seemed 
 almost like living voices united in perfect 
 melody, and floating in ghostly cadences
 
 224 MADGE. 
 
 through the silent room. Her fingers 
 wandered with fairy-Hke lightness over the 
 keys at first. She did not wish to waken 
 her father with a crash of sweet sounds, 
 but let the music creep into his dreams 
 with the subtle mystery of an echo, slowly 
 stirring his senses into waking life. Gradu- 
 ally the strains swelled higher and higher 
 till they reached their full harmonious 
 height ; they had grown so gradually out of 
 the silence that the sleeper still slept on. 
 Cautiously she avoided the dazzling, 
 operatic airs of her music-master's choosing, 
 which were full of running fusillades of 
 mimic thunder, and wandered through a 
 wild rose-garden of sweet sounds, which Sir 
 Henry Bishop's genius has created, and left 
 a glorious legacy to the world on which it 
 will never feed to satisfy — '^ the appetite " 
 which "grows by what it feeds on," and goes 
 back with ever-increasing appetite to the fresh,
 
 THE LAST EVENING. 225 
 
 breezy productions of the illustrious dead ; 
 while the soul of music lives in the land 
 the name of Bishop will be held among its 
 dearest. 
 
 For a long time she rambled on from one 
 delicious bit of melody to another, so lost 
 and absorbed as to be quite unconscious of 
 the fast flight of time, till she heard, or 
 fancied she heard, a sigh or deep-drawn 
 breath from her father's lips; then she 
 paused, and found he had been some time, 
 awake, listening to, and watching her, as he 
 knew he would not listen nor watch again 
 for many a day. Not that he was at all 
 disposed to be sentimental on the subject of 
 her departure, he had what he considered 
 her interest too much at heart for that; 
 but, nevertheless, he knew he should feel 
 the separation keenly, not the less so be- 
 cause he gave his regrets no utterance. 
 He did not wish even a passing cloud of 
 VOL. I. Q
 
 226 MADGE. 
 
 sorrow to shadow her going away. She 
 might be blithe and happy, and take her 
 first plunge into the new life with a fresh, 
 unclouded gladness, as a newly-fledged bird 
 soars for the first time into the sunshine ; it 
 may fall back with a broken wing, as she 
 might return to the old home with a broken 
 spirit, but who thinks of these things when 
 the flush of youth and the glow of novelty 
 are upon them ? 
 
 When a vessel is first launched upon a 
 calm, sunlit sea, with her sails wide spread 
 and her sailors merry with a ''yo heave ho," 
 who thinks of storms and tempests, or of 
 the many dangers that crouch, like hidden 
 monsters lying in wait for the brave sea 
 ships ? Not the captain, certainly, nor yet 
 the crew. Now Mr. Si ward would have 
 his lovely, living craft set afloat with her 
 streamers flying, hopes and expectations 
 bounding, and the *^ God speed !" of loving
 
 THE LAST EVENING. 227 
 
 hearts to follow her. His eyes grew humid 
 though, as he thought how lonely the old 
 home would be when the girl's bright pres- 
 ence was no longer there to enliven it ; but 
 she must not know, must not have a passing 
 glimpse into that inner self of his. He 
 commenced talking to her in quite a lively 
 strain, which she scarcely appreciated ; she 
 would rather he had adopted a more re- 
 gretful tone, but " nobody seems half sorry 
 enough I am going away !" she thought, 
 making a little moue to herself. 
 
 She quite forgot, or rather she never re- 
 flected, that we ourselves generally colour the 
 surroundings of our own lives, and sound the 
 keynotes whence harmony or discord arises. 
 She had herself been all along in the most 
 jubilant spirits, full of anticipation of com- 
 ing pleasures, and talked freely and frankly 
 of the varied delights in store for her. With 
 the natural inconsistency of human nature, 
 
 q2
 
 228 MADGE. 
 
 she expected regrets from others when she 
 herself felt gladness. Now, however, at 
 the eleventh hour, her spirit veered round 
 to a more regretful quarter ; she began to 
 realise the fact that she was leaving a home 
 where she was the spoilt pet and darling, to 
 go into a new world of strangers where 
 there was not one familiar face or friendly 
 voice to meet her. The prospect had at first 
 been lighted up with all the glow of novelty, 
 but now, as it came nearer, it did not appear 
 quite so bright. She wondered what sort of 
 a person Lady ErlesclifFe was ; she did not 
 pay much regard to her father's glowing 
 description. With a natural feminine intui- 
 tion she knew that men are easily deceived ; 
 they have so little penetration where wo- 
 men are concerned. Everything depended 
 on the way she and Lady Erlescliffe got on 
 together ; she only hoped she would not be 
 a stiff, starched, awe-inspiring person, full
 
 THE LAST EVENING. 229 
 
 of freezing politeness or irreproachable 
 courtesies. So far as she herself was con- 
 cerned, Margaret felt much flattered at 
 being received into the family of so distin- 
 guished a person, and was quite ready to 
 respond with double warmth to any kindly 
 demonstrations on the lady's part. 
 
 The eve of a parting, even such a parting 
 as this, is not a very pleasant time, especially 
 when the parties concerned are as near and 
 dear to each other as in the present case ; 
 each was fearful of disturbing the equanimity 
 of the other*. 
 
 Father and daughter sat for the last hour 
 of the night together, she perched upon his 
 knee with her arms about his neck, talking 
 of anything or everything except their own 
 feelings ; these they carefully avoided. 
 
 " Come, puss," said Mr. Siward at last, 
 ^' it is time you went to bed ; remember, 
 you must be up early in the morning, and
 
 230 MADGE. 
 
 you have a tiring and exciting day to look 
 forward to." 
 
 " Doesn't it seem strange, father, to think 
 that this time to-morrow night I shall call 
 another place home, and Lady Erlescliffe 
 will be my legitimate guardian instead of 
 
 you?" 
 
 "I am sure she will be a kind one, pet," 
 he answered, as she buried her pretty face 
 in his thick, fuzzy beard. '' My only fear is 
 you will like her too well ; you don't know 
 what the companionship of a refined and 
 gentle lady is, Madge; I'm afraid you'll 
 never want to come back again." 
 
 "Shan't I? well, perhaps not, I'll make 
 no rash promises," she said, saucily, " I don't 
 know what good things may be held in store 
 for me!" and she launched out in the most 
 absurd fashion about the possibilities and im- 
 possibilities of the future. She went through 
 many phases of imaginary life in the course
 
 THE LAST EVENING. 231 
 
 of an hour, painting them all in such a 
 ludicrous fashion that they laughed them- 
 selves out of the pitfall of low spirits into 
 which they were in danger of falling, and 
 said '' good night," with a loving warmth 
 and geniality that had no fears for to-morrow.
 
 232 
 
 CHAPTER XI, 
 
 BEHIND THE SCENES. 
 
 TT is a warm, sunny April day, with a 
 *- fresh breeze bio win oj from the soft 
 south-west ; such a day as we sometimes 
 have in the early Spring, which makes us 
 stretch out our arms and lift up our hearts 
 in longing for the full-flowered Summer, 
 which sends so sweet a foretaste of its com- 
 ing ; when we shake off our Winter lethargy 
 and begin to dream of long, delicious 
 rambles through shady woods, or winding 
 country lanes, where the hedges are wreath- 
 ed with scented flowers, and lazy loungings 
 by the reedy river, where we can fancy the
 
 BEHIND THE SCENES. 233 
 
 great god, Pan, is still lingering, '^ discours- 
 ing sweet music" by the running water. 
 Though we know the busy season's work 
 has got to be waded through before we can 
 enjoy these prospective delights, yet we are 
 content, and taste the full pleasure of anticipa- 
 tion. Perhaps, after all, there is more real 
 delight in the fresh, sunlit Spring day than 
 in the gorgeous Summer time, as the pro- 
 mise is so often sweeter than the fulfilment. 
 The sun has not yet reached the full 
 height of its blazing power; the heat is 
 tempered by the cool west wind that sweeps 
 over the land, stirring the world of men and 
 the world of nature to new life and gladness. 
 The sun smiles down and the balmy breeze 
 comes hurrying through the narrow thorough- 
 fares of the city till the outlying shadows 
 are chased away and broken in the darkest 
 corners, which rarely revel in the light of 
 day, and bid defiance to the rays of the
 
 234 MADGE. 
 
 sun to reach them. The crowds of busy 
 men elbow their way along, and even the 
 frowning face of business wears a brighter 
 look, and its devoted throngs exchange a 
 "good day," or "good morning," in a 
 cheerier voice than usual. The flower-girls 
 swarm on the narrow pavements, and the sale 
 of the dewy violets is looking up ; shabby, 
 threadbare clerks, who have grown grey 
 and trod out their lives in the dingy city 
 ways, stretch out their hands eagerly to 
 grasp the only things they ever know of 
 Spring. 
 
 The river Thames, below the bridge, is 
 alive with craft of all sizes, shapes, and 
 uses ; from the huge three-masted vessel 
 to the tiny toy boat, which rocks and reels 
 upon its heaving breast ! The small pleasure 
 steamers are puffing and groaning as they 
 labour along, heavily laden with their living 
 freight, and a brazen brass band blares out
 
 BEHIND THE SCENES. 235 
 
 its ear-splitting discords, wringing "curses 
 not loud but deep " from all lovers of true 
 harmony. 
 
 Going westward, the stream of life 
 changes with kaleidoscopic variation — 
 country cousins, pleasure seekers, and idling 
 loungers mingle with its sterner aspect and 
 give it a holiday look. The pavements 
 are thronged with gaily-dressed people, the 
 feminine element is more largely represent- 
 ed ; handsome equipages mingle with the 
 lumbering public conveyances, and carts, 
 wagons, and carriages wind their way along 
 like a moving panorama. In the parks the 
 trees have donned their leafy robes of tender 
 green ; beneath their umbrageous shades 
 people of all degrees stroll and chat at their 
 leisure. Pretty nursemaids, not in " single 
 spies, but in battalions," saunter about wheel- 
 ing perambulators of fat babies, getting in 
 everybody's way with the coolest audacity^
 
 236 MADGE. 
 
 deaf to the anatheaias masculine humanity 
 hurls after them. 
 
 The world of labour and the world of 
 pleasure was early astir, and had lived half 
 the day through before the world of fashion 
 had opened its heavy eyes. Slowly, how- 
 ever, it began to show some signs of life. 
 Smart grooms began to trot leisurely along, 
 leading saddle-horses, which were speedily 
 mounted, and a bevy of fair girls started for 
 their morning exercise in Rotten Row. For 
 pure health's sake they trot or canter from 
 end to end of the Ladies' Mile ; not to stare, 
 or be stared at, or flash their feats of horse- 
 manship in the eyes of a crowd of idlers, do 
 they come thus early in the day ; they can- 
 ter, or ride, at a fair hand-gallop from end 
 to end of the Row, till their cheeks glow, 
 and the blood tingles in their veins with the 
 delightful exercise of rapid riding. 
 
 Later on, at a more fashionable hour of
 
 BEHIND THE SCENES. 237 
 
 the day, they may perhaps join the crowd of 
 equestrians, the miscellaneous gathering from 
 the varying circles of London society, where 
 folks of high and low degree arable or 
 canter along side by side, and where some 
 of the worst and some of the best riding 
 may be seen every day during the season. 
 
 Some ride as though. Centaur-like, they 
 were a part of the high-mettled creature 
 beneath them ; some wobble from side to 
 side in a loose, disjointed fashion, straining 
 at the bit, irritating and hindering the fat, 
 unwieldy cob in its endeavours to carry as a 
 a respectable beast should carry its rider. 
 Again, there are others who flop up and 
 down in the saddle, as though they were 
 playing an imaginary game of *' cherry- 
 bob ;" the only wonder is that their breath 
 is not shaken out their bodies. Every male 
 creature of the human family thinks he can 
 ride ; only give him a horse, and he will ex-
 
 238 MADGE. 
 
 liibit himself amongst the most refined and 
 perfect riders, where men and animals are 
 both thoroughbred. Well, for a brief hour, at 
 least, the mongrel is among them, wrapt in 
 his mantle of self-conceit, unconscious of the 
 ridicule that follows him. Of course it is 
 chiefly the masculine element that shows its 
 grotesque and foolish side. As a rule, the 
 women who ride at all ride well, and in 
 their neat, well-fitting habits, and pretty, 
 coquettish hats, form the most bright and 
 attractive feature on Summer afternoons. 
 They mingle with pleasant effect and in 
 blooming contrast with '^the grave, thought- 
 ful men, who '' have done the state some 
 service," and canter or trot upon their stout- 
 limbed cobs, and thorough-bred mares, as 
 they have cantered and trotted from their 
 curly-headed boyhood, till now that age 
 has stolen the fire from their eyes, the
 
 BEHIND THE SCENES. 239 
 
 vigour from their limbs, almost the flesh 
 from their bones, still they appear and re- 
 appear in their old haunt on every bright 
 Summer day. How often must the ghost 
 of their youth be cantering beside them, its 
 bright freshness of life in gloomy contrast 
 with the present fading days 1 
 
 Lady ErlesclifFe's house looked out upon 
 this ever-changing, variegated scene. It 
 was pleasantly situated close to the park. 
 Her drawing-room was a large, lofty apart- 
 ment, furnished in the good old-fashioned 
 style of ancient days. No modern gim- 
 crackery, or light, airy nothings of the 
 present time, found a place there ; there 
 was nothing bright; no rich glowing 
 colouring or gorgeous gilding to attract 
 or distract the eye ; everything was 
 massive, sombre, and handsome ; curtains 
 and coverinf]fs of chairs and sofas were
 
 240 MADGE. 
 
 of rich injperial purple, of such a colour 
 and texture as no longer issues from 
 the weaver's looms. These were slightly 
 relieved with gold, which, though it had 
 seen the wear and tear of years, still put on 
 a bright face, and when the rooms were 
 lighted up, on Lady ErlesclifFe's receiving 
 nights, made a rather gorgeous show. 
 
 The floor, of finely-polished oak, was 
 uncarpeted ; mats and mediasval-patterned 
 rugs were thrown down here and there 
 with a careless precision, which had a more 
 artistic and pleasing effect than the regula- 
 tion stretch of modern velvet pile would 
 have had, and looked rather hke a graceful 
 design than the 'result of dire necessity — 
 indeed, necessity's bare bones were covered 
 up in the most graceful fashion throughout 
 Lady Erlescliffe's estabhshment. She had 
 that hardest of all hard tasks to fulfil, 
 namely, to keep up an appearance in the
 
 BEHIND THE SCENES. 241 
 
 world's eyes upon a scanty revenue, and a 
 banker's book that was a blank. The large 
 drawing-room was only used on those rare 
 occasions when Lady ErlesclifFe received 
 during the season ; for, poverty or no 
 poverty, she was harnessed to fashion's car, 
 and must run with the rest, as for all her 
 life she had been running, and now she was 
 going fast down-hill, and knew what awaited 
 her at the bottom. 
 
 At the end of this what we may call 
 " state " apartment, and opening from it, 
 was a small, cosy nest of a room. Lady 
 ErlesclifFe's special chamber, where she 
 wrote her letters, read her books, and spent 
 all the leisure hours of her day, and where 
 she sometimes received a favourite guest. 
 She was seated there now, on this fair 
 Spring morning, with her hands folded in 
 her lap, her eyes downcast, except when she 
 lifted them, as she did now and then, to flash 
 
 VOL. I. R
 
 242 MADGE. 
 
 a look of bitter reproach or repressed anguish 
 on a gentleman who spoke to her in low- 
 cynical tones. She was a woman about fifty 
 years of age, perhaps hardly as much, with 
 the remains of rare beauty lingering on her 
 still attractive face ; her features, on rather 
 a large scale, were finely cut and strongly 
 marked, just of that kind which bear the 
 wear of time without showing much of its 
 ill-usage, and give character and dignity to 
 a face when its youthful beauty is dead and 
 gone ; whereas the pretty, piquant features 
 shrivel up at the brief touch of time, and 
 destroy the identity of their owner. 
 
 Her brother. Lord Norreys, was standing 
 opposite to her ; there was little likeness be- 
 tween the two ; he was rather short and stout, 
 with little grace or dignity either of form 
 or feature ; he had a bald head, with a 
 fringe of harsh, iron-grey hair, rather long
 
 BEHIND THE SCENES. 243 
 
 and lank, without the suspicion of a curl in 
 it ; he had a sharp, shrewd face, free from 
 that anxiety which lined the lady's more 
 refined countenance ; his thin lips only smiled 
 a hard wooden smile, which had no sympathy 
 in it ; his keen grey eyes, deep sunken in his 
 head, looked as though they could penetrate 
 into motives, however much the tongue 
 might try to conceal them. Those eyes 
 were now bent upon Lady ErlesclifFe with 
 a cold, angry light shooting from them. 
 They had been carrying on an animated 
 conversation on the subject of Miss Siward's 
 expected arrival, for she had only just told 
 him of her intention to receive and intro- 
 duce into society a young lady of respect- 
 ability and wealth, who would be willing to 
 pay well for her chaperonage and introduc- 
 tion. 
 
 Of course, it was not a thing she would 
 
 r2
 
 244 MADGE. 
 
 have chosen to do, had there been any 
 choice in the matter, but there was none. 
 She was naturally a reserved woman, and 
 with stubborn pride had always kept her 
 affairs to herself until now, when she opened 
 her mind to her brother, and laid the sub- 
 ject before him ; she was involved in such 
 diflSculties that they threatened to overwhelm 
 her, unless some means of extrication were 
 found, and she believed she had found such 
 means now, whereby she might release her- 
 self without a general expose before the 
 world she loved and dreaded. Having 
 taken Lord Norreys fully and freely into 
 her confidence, she waited for his repl}^, 
 under the delusion that he would at least 
 express some sympathy. 
 
 "Well, I have heard all you have to say," 
 he answered — " I only wish you had con- 
 sulted me upon the subject." 
 
 " I don't see how consulting you would
 
 BEHIND THE SCENES. 245 
 
 have altered matters," she answered ; ^' you 
 could not have helped me, you have 
 enough to do in looking after your own 
 affairs." 
 
 '* We might have accommodated you with 
 a temporary loan." 
 
 *' Which I could never have paid," she 
 answered shortly. " You might as well 
 hang a mill-stone round my neck, and let 
 me go down at once. Besides, the loan, 
 like everything else, must come from your 
 wife's pocket, and I don't wish to be her 
 debtor. I could not stoop to that." 
 
 " You have stooped low enough as it is," 
 he answered. *' Advertise for a protegee! 
 I never heard of a more disgraceful pro- 
 ceeding. What woul^ the world say ?" 
 
 ^' I don't intend to take the world into 
 my confidence," she answered. "This is 
 a strictly private arrangement, with which 
 the world has no concern. I don't see
 
 246 MADGE. 
 
 why the matter should not be kept to our- 
 selves." 
 
 " Pooh ! it will be sure to leak out ; un- 
 pleasant things, that you especially wish to 
 keep quiet, always do, and never in their 
 right form either. You must be mad to 
 suppose that this Brummagem beauty of a 
 provincial town will pass current here. Be- 
 sides, it is not fair to let your name and 
 position be used as a means for circulating 
 pretenders and parvenues through your 
 social circle." 
 
 " If all pretenders and parvenues were 
 weeded out, society would be considerably 
 thinned, and become a more deadly-lively 
 concern than it is now." 
 
 ^'What voucher have you for the bare 
 respectability of your protegee T 
 
 ^' The best of all vouchers — her father's 
 banker's book. You need be under no 
 apprehension on the subject. I have taken
 
 BEHIND THE SCENES. 247 
 
 all precautions, and made all necessary in- 
 quiries. Besides, I have had a long inter- 
 view with her father, and have penetration 
 enough to know that he is precisely what 
 he seems to be, a thoroughly respectable, 
 somewhat uneducated, self-made man, who 
 is anxious to lift his daughter out of her own 
 grade of society into ours, though God 
 knows what he expects to find there. See, 
 there is her portrait, which he left with 
 me." 
 
 Lord Norreys took up the faint resem- 
 blance to Madge Si ward's lovely living face, 
 and regarded it with the eye of a connois- 
 seur ; then pursed up his lips, and laid it 
 down again. 
 
 " Umph ! pretty, yes, but naturally 
 vulgar." 
 
 " Why naturally ?" exclaimed Lady Erles- 
 cliffe. " Vulgarity belongs to no class. 
 Indeed, I believe a tolerably thick stratum
 
 248 MADGE. 
 
 runs through all, though in some it becomes 
 more visible and patent than in others ; a 
 refined soul sometimes inhabits a vulgar 
 body, and — vice versa. I don't know how 
 my venture will turn out," she added re- 
 flectively, "but I felt bound to do some- 
 thing. I detest this life of miserable shams. 
 Servants, tradespeople, everybody knows 
 the pitiful shifts I have been reduced to. I 
 am in debt ever^^where. I am ashamed of 
 the mean trickery I have been compelled to 
 use to keep my creditors quiet. Now I 
 have no longer a bone to throw to the wolf 
 when he clamours at my door. I shrink 
 from the eyes of my own household." 
 
 "So bad as that," exclaimed her brother, 
 alarmed at the picture she presented to hun. 
 
 " Ay, you don't know how bad," she 
 answered, with a melancholy inflection of 
 voice. ^'I have never been in the habit 
 of talking of my concerns even to you ; but
 
 BEHIND THE SCENES. 249 
 
 I cannot keep my head above water much 
 longer/' 
 
 " Come and live with us," he exclaimed, 
 in an unwonted fit of generosity. 
 
 ^' Live with your wife !" she said, in a 
 significant tone of voice. ''A pauper upon 
 her bounty ! No, I would rather starve 
 outright. If the matter I have in hand 
 turns out a failure — well, I shall break up 
 the house, sell everything I possess, pay my 
 debts so far as I can, and retire to some quiet , 
 country place, and live peacefully. I shall 
 still have enough for that. When I have 
 weaned myself from the old life I may be 
 happy." 
 
 *'That weaning process is a difficult pro- 
 cess to a woman of your age ; it is not so 
 easy to shake yourself free from the w^orld 
 you have lived in all your life. Besides, 
 you owe something to societ}^, something to 
 your family."
 
 250 MADGE. 
 
 " I have paid my debt to both long ago ; 
 I have played a losing game for years. I 
 wish I had given in long ago, but I had not 
 the courage, but I hope things will go well 
 now," she added, brightening ; " I expect my 
 young protegee at two o'clock — you'll stay 
 and see her ?" 
 
 "Thanks, I'd rather not," he said quickly; 
 '' I'm not disposed to do her justice, I should 
 look on her with jaundiced eyes. The 
 whole affair has troubled me more than I 
 can tell you ; I don't like to think of it." 
 
 '' After all," she exclaimed, rising and 
 standing beside him, "in introducing this 
 young girl into society, I am doing no more 
 than one friend does for another every 
 day." 
 
 " But you do it for money!" he exclaimed, 
 *' that's where the matter galls me." He 
 paused a moment ; then bending a scrutinis- 
 ing look upon her, he added, as though.
 
 BEHIND THE SCENES. 251 
 
 struck by a sudden thought, "Are you doing 
 this bit of business solely on your own 
 account ?" 
 
 " For whom else should I do it ?" she 
 inquired, with some surprise. 
 
 " Bah ! innocence Avill not do now," he 
 answered; ''you took me by surprise at 
 first, but I see it all now." 
 
 "See what all?" she repeated, the puz- 
 zled look deepening on her face. 
 
 " This girl is rich, you say ?" ♦ 
 
 "I did not say that; but her father told 
 me if she married well, he would give her 
 a handsome fortune." 
 
 '' Of course," he rejoined drily ; " and 
 you are scheming to get this fortune for 
 your son. You know it, I know it, and 
 the world will soon find it out." 
 
 She shook her head and smiled. 
 
 " You are quite on a wrong scent. M}^ 
 schemins^ would be of little use, so far as he
 
 252 MADGE. 
 
 is concerned; he has made up his mind not 
 to marry." 
 
 " How often men do that," he replied 
 sapientl}^, " and are snared in a golden net, 
 or caught by a pretty face at last \ and I 
 don't suppose Cecil is an exception. By- 
 the-by, what has become of him ? I have 
 not seen him for weeks past." 
 
 ''Nor I," she exclaimed, with a sigh, 
 and a harassed look came into her face ; the 
 words forced themselves from her lips, as 
 though she were loth to speak them in her 
 brother's hearing, for her favourite son was 
 no favourite of his, " but he will be here to- 
 morrow night ; it is my first reception this 
 season, and he never fails me." 
 
 " Then the first move in the game will 
 be made. Well, ' fidele et secret ' shall be 
 my motto ; I'll not play the role of Marplot. 
 When it becomes generally known that 
 you have opened a matrimonial market, .
 
 BEHIND THE SCPINES. 253 
 
 you'll drive a thriving trade ; many a penni- 
 less spendthrift will rise to the bait of a 
 pretty provincial heiress." 
 
 " I shall take as much care of the girl 
 as I would of my own child," said Lady 
 ErlesclifFe, burning with angry indignation 
 at his manner no less than at his words. 
 "But think what you please," she added 
 wearily. She knew it would be no use trying 
 to convince him when he was resolved not 
 to be convinced. " I have told you I ha^^ 
 no such thought in ray mind as you sup- 
 pose. Marrying for money has not been a 
 successful experiment in our family ; at any 
 rate, I have no desire for my son to try it." 
 
 She could not help sending this Parthian 
 shaft after him as he left the room, for Lord 
 Norreys, about ten years before, had mar- 
 ried money in the shape of an elderly 
 orphan, the daughter of a deceased soap- 
 boiler ; the affair, as a domestic speculation.
 
 254 MADGE. 
 
 had not been quite so successful as had been 
 expected. 
 
 The Norreys family, owing to the extra- 
 vagance and speculative propensities of the 
 past and present generation, had been 
 graduall}^ falling away from their old flourish- 
 ing condition, and now lay far on the 
 shady side of fortune. The present peer 
 had contributed his share towards the 
 family ruin ; the speculative spirit, like some 
 moral taint, ran in the blood. In his 
 younger days he had been a well-known 
 sporting character ; he had gambled on the 
 turf till bit by, bit all the property that 
 had not been strictly entailed melted away, 
 and he awoke one day to the fact that he 
 had the rank and position of a peer to 
 support, with scarcely the means to live, in 
 the simplest way, as a gentleman. Talent 
 or genius he had none ; he knew the good 
 points of a horse, and could ride to hounds
 
 BEHIND THE SCENES. 255 
 
 and risk his neck as boldly as any man. 
 Nothing particularly good or particularl}^ 
 bad had ever been said of him. He was 
 liked very v^ell in his own circle, but would 
 not have been much missed if he had 
 dropped out of it. When he found himself 
 sinking in the slough of despond he glanced 
 round wildly for help, stretched out his 
 hand, and caught an heiress. He gave her 
 a title and position, she gave him money — so 
 far it was a fair bargain; they had both* 
 long outlived their *' green and salad " days 
 when love was considered a necessary 
 ingredient of the matrimonial feast, and 
 were mutually content with a decorous 
 regard, which satisfied their mutual require- 
 ments. 
 
 Figuratively speaking, in this as in many 
 similar cases, " the grey mare was the 
 better horse." The lady ruled with an 
 iron rod, and compelled her lord to live a
 
 256 MADGE. 
 
 life of dull respectability; well, he was 
 arrived at that age when respectability be- 
 comes easy. He must have had the power 
 of self-restraint in no small degree, for he 
 left off his old habits as he left oif his old 
 clothes, when they became too loose or too 
 shabby for wear. He took his seat in the 
 House, and generally went to sleep there ; 
 but he had his uses ; in cases of division he 
 could always vote — that was no tax either 
 upon his intellect or his purse. During the 
 last ten years, he seemed to have outgrown 
 himself, to have cast his skin, and become 
 somebody else, for he came out rather 
 strongly at sanitary and religious meetings, 
 was always ready to take the chair any- 
 where on the slightest provocation. He 
 gave prizes at flower-shows, and w^as a 
 dummy director of a railway company. He 
 was always ready to give advice to every- 
 body, which nobody ever took ; indeed, he
 
 BEHIND THE SCENES. 257 
 
 considered himself, and was considered by 
 many other people, as a useful and thorough- 
 ly respectable member of society. 
 
 His sister, the widowed Lady ErlesclifFe, 
 was in all respects the very opposite to her 
 brother ; she had a heart, and a large one, 
 too, if it had been allowed its own natural 
 growth, but it had been cramped and 
 narrowed by early training and the selfish 
 egotism of the world she lived in. Before 
 she had grown old enough or cold enough 
 to adapt herself to the necessities of her 
 position, and by a rich marriage piece her 
 broken fortunes, she had been foolish 
 enough to fall in love and marry a youthful 
 peer almost as poor as herself. They had 
 struggled on, casting care behind them, 
 leading a gay, thoughtless life, and only 
 managed to keep their heads above water. 
 When he died he left her two sons. What 
 little landed property there was, of course 
 
 VOL. I. s
 
 258 MADGE. 
 
 went with the peerage, and when the eldest 
 son became of age he let the patriarchal 
 domain, which was well situated in a sport- 
 ing part of the country, and lived upon the 
 rental. What he could have done in the 
 way of self-help, he felt, wrongly perhaps, 
 that it would have been infra dig. for him 
 to have attempted here. On the Continent, 
 for he travelled far and wide, he managed 
 to enjoy life to a considerable extent. Her 
 younger and best beloved son, Cecil, derived 
 an income of a few hundreds a year from 
 certain funded property, the capital being 
 so tied up he could not touch it. The half 
 of his income, small as it was, he scrupulous- 
 ly allotted to his mother's use, and contrived 
 to live upon the other, aided by some 
 occasional gatherings in the fields of art and 
 literature. He knew that Lady ErlesclifFe 
 was poor, considering her rank and position ; 
 but he had no idea of the real state of her
 
 BEHIND THE SCENES. 259 
 
 affairs, or he would have given up the whole 
 of his slender income, and left himself to 
 struggle or to starve. 
 
 s2
 
 260 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 ON THE THRESHOLD. 
 
 rpHE train, for a wonder, was punctual, 
 -*- and drove into the station at the ap- 
 pointed time. Mr. Siward and Margaret 
 alighted and soon had their luggage hoisted 
 on to the top of a cab and drove to Ken- 
 sington, arriving at Lady ErlesclifFe's about 
 half an hour after Lord Norreys had left 
 the house. 
 
 By that time, Lady Erlescliffe had got 
 over the unpleasantness of the interview, 
 and had calmed down to her usual self- 
 possessed serenity. Nothing could have
 
 ON THE THRESHOLD. 261 
 
 been kinder than her reception of Margaret. 
 She threw open the library door and went 
 out into the hall to meet her ; and though 
 there was a certain air of stateliness and 
 reserve in her manner, the stately reserve 
 was natural and became her well. To Mr. 
 Siward she was especially gracious and 
 charming, and even deepened the favour- 
 able impression she had already made upon 
 him in their first interview. She invited 
 him to remain to luncheon, but he declined, 
 as he desired " to return home by the next 
 train," he said, " he would only give Mar- 
 garet into her charge and leave her ; how- 
 ever long he stayed, it would be equally 
 painful to go at last ; besides, he thought it 
 best to leave them alone together, that 
 they might at once commence their mutual 
 acquaintance." 
 
 He had a brief interview with Lady 
 Erlescliffe before he left the house, which
 
 262 MADGE. 
 
 was evidently satisfactory on both sides, for 
 they parted on the most cordial and flatter- 
 ing terms. With a decorous regard for 
 their feelings, she left father and daughter 
 to exchange their last few words in private. 
 Margaret threw her arms round his neck 
 and kissed him again and again. 
 
 " Dear father," she said, " don't be too 
 happy without me — miss me just a little.*' 
 
 "You'll be very happy here, Madge," he 
 answered ; his voice was a little husky, and 
 he held her as though he would never let 
 her go. "You think you'll get on with 
 LadyErlescliffe?" 
 
 "I'm sure I shall," replied Margaret 
 heartily, " she's the very sweetest and 
 noblest-looking lady I've ever seen, and 
 her voice is so soft and kind that I long to 
 hear it again." 
 
 Mr. Siward was content to leave her in 
 such a satisfactory state of mind. She
 
 ON THE THRESHOLD. 263 
 
 watched him drive from the door, and then 
 turned from the window, for the first time 
 fully alive to the fact that she must rely 
 entirely on her own resources for making 
 her way in the world that was opening before 
 her, and she was in no wise loth to face the 
 prospect ; every nerve was quivering with 
 expectation, her pulse beat, and her heart 
 danced to the music of her own sweet 
 youth ; her senses were all keenly on the 
 alert, ready to observe and receive the im- 
 pression of things round her. She was full 
 to overflowing with the novelty of her situa- 
 tion, and was conscious of a certain un- 
 defined longing, a sort of blind groping out 
 into the dazzling sunshine to grasp at some- 
 thing which she knew was waiting for her 
 somewhere ; she seemed to have no room 
 even to feel regret for the dear father who 
 was now wending his way homeward to 
 his lonely fireside.
 
 264 MADGE. 
 
 When she returned to the room where 
 she had left Lady Erlescliffe, their eyes met 
 and beamed with a look of mutual interest 
 and regard. Lady Erlescliffe nodded and 
 smiled. 
 
 "We shall do very well, I think; and 
 now, ray dear, you will like to see your 
 room. I'll send for your maid." 
 
 " Oh, thank you ; but I have no maid ; I 
 always wait upon myself." 
 
 "That may be all very well in the coun- 
 try, where, I presume, you led a very quiet 
 life," said Lady Erlescliffe, in rather inquir- 
 ing accents. 
 
 " Yes, very quiet," replied Margaret, 
 " there was never anything going on, 
 except once a year when father gave a 
 feast to the workpeople." She would fain 
 have given an account of the feast and the 
 special part she took in it, but Lady Erles-
 
 ON THE THRESHOLD. 265 
 
 clifFe tapped her cheek with the end of her 
 fan, saying, 
 
 *' Well, well, we'll forget all about the 
 work-people at present ; things are very 
 different now ; you'll find a maid an abso- 
 lute necessity, to arrange your wardrobe, 
 look ■ to your dresses ; you'll have quite 
 enough to do to take care of your roses ; 
 we must keep them blooming till the end 
 of the season." 
 
 Lady ErlesclifFe had decided that this the * 
 first day of her arrival should be spent 
 quietly at home, that they might have the 
 pleasure of beginning to know one another. 
 They lunched alone. In the afternoon 
 came several callers to whom Margaret was 
 introduced with much empressement ; when 
 the regulation ^yq o'clock tea was served, 
 one lady, Mrs. Granville Burke, took entire 
 possession of Margaret, and entered into a
 
 266 MADGE. 
 
 pleasant, chatty conversation with her, if 
 conversation it can be called when the talk 
 was all on one side. Margaret, being a 
 perfect stranger in London, could neither 
 help to abuse a friend nor pick an acquaint- 
 ance to pieces. Mrs. Granville Burke 
 seemed quite satisfied to be commander-in- 
 chief of the conversational forces. Mar- 
 garet was astonished at the wonderful way 
 in which she attacked, temporised with, or 
 demolished one subject after another. 
 With a light smile and a pleasant voice, she 
 dashed into the general discussions that 
 were passing round her, and threw in a 
 sparkling observation which sent a rippling 
 wave of laughter from face to face ; then 
 she addressed herself again to Margaret, 
 and in a quiet undertone gave her facts 
 and scraps of useful information, which, so 
 far from enlightening, only served to be-
 
 ON THE THRESHOLD. 267 
 
 wilder and daze her senses; she laughed 
 and was amused, though she could not tell 
 how much was romance, how much was 
 reality, fact and fiction seemed so mingled 
 together. 
 
 Having kept the conversation in hand till 
 she was tired, Mrs. Burke slackened the 
 reins, and seemed inclined to coax Mar- 
 garet in for a canter. There was a piq- 
 uancy in Margaret's manner, and such a 
 perfectly unsophisticated spirit of innocence 
 in the general tone of her remarks, that the 
 elder lady could not help smiling at the 
 dewy freshness of this daisy of the field, 
 who seemed as innocent of all evil know- 
 ledge as Eve herself before she plucked the 
 fruit from the forbidden tree. Margaret 
 presently found herself undergoing a strict 
 cross-examination at the hands of Mrs. 
 Granville Burke, who, with the unscrupu-
 
 268 MADGE. 
 
 lous tact of a clever woman of the world, 
 soon wormed herself into Margaret's confi- 
 dence, and penetrated into the inmost 
 recesses of her heart (at least, so far as one 
 mortal ever does reach into the heart of 
 another), and she soon knew as much of 
 Margaret as Margaret knew about herself. 
 Having laden herself with the latest news 
 from one particular quarter, she rose to go 
 and circulate it in another. 
 
 " What has that horrid woman being 
 saying to you, my dear ?" inquired Lady 
 ErlesclifFe, as soon as they were alone. 
 
 *' Horrid woman!" echoed Margaret, in 
 open-eyed wonder, "why, I thought she 
 was your dearest friend ?" 
 
 " 'Dearest friend ' is often another name 
 for our 'dearest foe,'" exclaimed Lady 
 ErlesclifFe; " she is an agreeable and amus- 
 ing woman, and, I believe, would worm
 
 ON THE THRESHOLD. 269 
 
 herself into heaven, though St. Peter 
 slammed the gate in her face." 
 
 "I like her very much." rejoined Mar- 
 garet ; *' she was very kind and sympathetic, 
 and seemed interested in everything I told 
 her." 
 
 "And what did you tell her?" asked 
 Lady Erlescliffe. "I hope you've not been 
 imprudent in your communications." 
 
 " Imprudent ! Oh, no ! how could I be ? 
 I don't know anything to be imprudent 
 about ; jou forget I've only been here a 
 day." 
 
 " But you have had many yesterdays." 
 
 *^ Yes, but all my yesterdays put to- 
 gether would be of no interest whatever to 
 any human soul." 
 
 " But you must have talked about some- 
 thing?" 
 
 " Oh ! it seems to me we talked
 
 270 MADGE. 
 
 about everything," said Margaret, laugh- 
 ing; ''she told me funny anecdotes about 
 everybody here; then I told her about 
 father and George, and all our people at 
 home." 
 
 '' Humph !" exclaimed Lady ErlesclifFe, 
 and a vexed expression crossed her face; 
 " then she has found out all she wanted to 
 know. I ought to have warned you against 
 her; but I never expected she would be 
 here to-day." 
 
 " Have warned me against her !" exclaim- 
 ed Margaret, perplexed ; "dear Lady Erles- 
 clifFe, why T 
 
 " Because she is as inquisitive as a magpie, 
 and as fond of chattering ; whatever you 
 have said to her will be repeated wherever 
 she goes. I wish you to do well, and stand 
 well in society, my dear, and — you had 
 better keep your family affairs to yourself;
 
 ON THE THRESHOLD. 271 
 
 I don't want the world to be gossiping and 
 wondering about you." 
 
 " No !" said Margaret, vaguely, wondering 
 why the world should gossip about her, and 
 by no means seeing the drift of Lady Erles- 
 cliffe's remark. 
 
 " Only be prudent, my dear Miss Si- 
 ward " 
 
 " Call me Margaret, please." 
 
 "Well, Margaret," resumed the lady, 
 smiling, " and do not take everybody into 
 your confidence; no one has a right to 
 inquire either who you are or whence you 
 came. When any special one has such a 
 right, he will be easily answered. Most 
 people walk through the world with their 
 souls in mufti, my dear, and the arrange- 
 ment has always answered very well, and 
 there is no reason why you should expose 
 yours."
 
 272 MADGE. 
 
 '* You mean one should not tell out one's 
 thoughts freely," said Margaret ; '* it seems 
 to me that it is no use to have a tongue. if 
 we can't use it as we like." 
 
 "Use it, certainly, but with discretion. 
 You'll find plenty of subjects for thought 
 and conversation in the current affairs and 
 circumstances that are flowing round you ; 
 for instance, there is no necessity to talk of 
 your old home life at Clinton, of your family 
 condition and surroundings, all very pleasant 
 things to keep in your memory, no doubt, 
 but bearing not the slightest interest for 
 other people, especially for those with 
 whom you will associate now. Talk to 7ne 
 about everything and everybody, my dear ; 
 you cannot tell me too much of those you 
 love and those who love you ; everything 
 which concerns or interests you, will always 
 be interesting to me. We two will enjoy
 
 0^ THE THRESHOLD. 273 
 
 our nice long chats together by our own 
 fireside, and keep the rest of the world out 
 in the cold." 
 
 Margaret thought she quite understood 
 her now ; the old life at home was surround- 
 ed by too many homely things to be interest- 
 ing to the fashionable world she was now 
 entering. 
 
 They went for a drive in the Row in the 
 evening. As usual, at the fashionable hour 
 it was crowded with the rank and beauty of 
 the land, with just a sprinkling of coarser 
 clay to leaven the mass and throw a stronger 
 glow of light and shade upon the kalei- 
 doscopic scene. 
 
 To Margaret it was deliciously new. With 
 eager eyes and glowing cheeks she looked 
 round upon the mass of life which v/as 
 gathered on all sides ; whichever way she 
 turned, a sea of human faces, wave on wave, 
 
 VOL. I. T
 
 274 MADGE. 
 
 seemed to be surging round her, sparkling 
 and changing with all the varying expressions 
 of human feeling. 
 
 The drive was crowded, and the carriages 
 could only roll slowly, very slowly along ; 
 occasionally there was a block, giving time 
 to gazers to gaze their fill, or friends to ex- 
 change greeting. By the time they had 
 made their slow progress up and down, 
 Margaret began to think that Lady Erles- 
 chffe must have a bowing acquaintance with 
 half London ; there were so many smiles 
 and bows exchanged as they passed along. 
 More than one pair of curious female eyes 
 scanned the lovely face beside Lady Erles- 
 clifFe, and wondered who she was. The 
 masculine element, too, was soon rife with 
 the same wonder, but their wonder concern- 
 ing her was swallowed up in the rush of 
 admiration that flew from their lips ; some
 
 ON THE THRESHOLD. 275 
 
 of the most impressible went wild about her 
 on the spot, but as they generally went wild 
 about somebody once a week that counted 
 for nothing. The word soon passed from 
 one to another, sending a rumour flying like 
 wildfire that a new and lovely face was 
 among them. Nobody knew it — nobody 
 had ever seen it ; it had bloomed out upon 
 them for the first time in this bright Spring 
 sunshine, and might have been a part of it, 
 so fresh and dewy it was — utterly unknown 
 in society too — at least, in that portion of 
 the world which formed their special society; 
 for as the worm crawls upon the cabbage 
 leaves, believing, or feeling by instinct, that 
 the world is bounded by those cabbage- 
 beds, so men and women, too, crawl and 
 canter in the narrow circle of life which 
 flows round them and call that society; 
 that is their world ; all beyond is nothing. 
 
 T 2
 
 276 MADGE. 
 
 Everybody knew that their curiosity need 
 not remain long ungratified ; at Lady Erles- 
 cliffe's reception the next evening they would, 
 of course, see this fair unknown, and soon 
 find out all about her. Lady Erlescliife 
 saw the impression her young protegee was 
 making, and smiled contentedly. With a 
 quick, well-practised eye she read the ad- 
 miration that flashed from the eyes and 
 smiled from the lips of both men and wo- 
 men as they passed and repassed, each time 
 seeking and, for the moment, resting on the 
 face beside her. 
 
 Presently there was a stir among the 
 multitude which thronged the side walks — 
 they came crowding to the barrier ; there 
 was a rising hum of whispering voices, a 
 wave of eager excitement swept over them, 
 as the wind sweeps over the waving corn, 
 rising and falling like a rushing, rustling
 
 ON THE THRESHOLD. 277 
 
 breath of wandering air. The carriages 
 cleared and came to a full stop on either 
 sidCj while down the centre, driving a pair 
 of splendid bays at a gentle trot, came the 
 sweet and royal lady who has grown so 
 dear to our English hearts, her two young 
 sons were by her side, and the pleasant smile 
 that is so rarely absent from her lovely face, 
 fell like human sunshine wherever her 
 glances turned. With a courteous recogni- 
 tion on one side, and a gracious smile on. 
 the other, the lady passed. 
 
 The British public, having been gratified 
 by the sight of their idol, sauntered slowly 
 from the barriers, and dispersed themselves 
 over the green sward ; the ranks of carriages 
 closed behind her, and the drive and the 
 Row resumed their former aspect of busy, 
 bustling life. This was the first glimpse 
 Margaret had ever caught of a royal face,
 
 278 MADGE. 
 
 and she was overcome by the unexpected 
 pleasure. 
 
 " She smiled at me, Lady Erlescliffe !" 
 she exclaimed, "I am sure she did, for I 
 caught her eye as she passed. Who would 
 have thought of such a thing happening on 
 my very first day ? I shall write home and 
 tell father all about it !" 
 
 "You are satisfied, then, with your first 
 glimpse of the world ?" said Lady Erlescliffe, 
 for the naive, simple pleasure of the girl 
 surprised almost as much as it amused her. 
 She had herself seen so much of the world 
 that to her jaded spirit most things seemed 
 flat, stale, and unprofitable. 
 
 "Satisfied ! Oh, I think it is glorious !" 
 Margaret exclaimed enthusiastically, "only 
 I'm surprised to find such crowds of people 
 who have nothing to do but enjoy them- 
 selves."
 
 ON THE THRESHOLD. 279 
 
 '' Fm afraid you'll find tlie task of enjoy- 
 ment very difficult sometimes — a life of 
 pleasure is the most fatiguing and least 
 satisfactory of all lives — the glamour of 
 novelty is over your eyes now ; but, per- 
 haps, you will come round to my way of 
 thinking by the time the season is over." 
 
 ^'I don't think I shall," she answered 
 confidently, in the splendour of her untired 
 youth, being boundless in her ideas of its 
 powers of enjoyment. " I am sure this is , 
 the most heavenly place in the world, and 
 I shall always think so." 
 
 At this moment there was a slight block 
 among the crowded equipages, and a gentle- 
 man, who had been sauntering up and down, 
 smoking, outside the barriers, flung away 
 his cigar, and with a quick, rapid stride 
 came towards them. He and Lady ErlesclifFe 
 shook hands with the genial cordiality of
 
 280 MADGE. 
 
 old friends; but though he spoke to the 
 elder lady, his eyes — large, dark eyes they 
 were — turned and fixed themselves on the 
 girl's blushing face, for she could not help 
 colouring beneath the searching scrutiny of 
 those eager-looking, half melancholy eyes. 
 He and Lady ErlesclifFe exchanged a little 
 gossiping chat concerning things and people 
 of whom Margaret knew nothing. 
 
 "I hear you have a reception to-morrow 
 evening, Lady Erlescliffe," he said, uttering 
 the first words that had any interest to 
 Margaret, '^ and though I have no invitation 
 I think I shall drop in." 
 
 " Feeling sure of your welcome," she an- 
 swered, '^ though you hardly deserve one ; 
 you have refused my invitations so syste- 
 matically that I have left off sending them." 
 
 "You must begin again then. It is 
 never too late to mend, and — then, perhaps,
 
 ON THE THRESHOLD. 281 
 
 you will clo me the honour of presenting rae 
 to your young friend ?" 
 
 '' Perhaps," she answered, determined 
 not to gratify him now; ''be on your best 
 behaviour, and you shall be treated accord- 
 ing to your deserts." 
 
 " Better, please," he answered ; '' if we 
 were treated according to our deserts, who 
 would escape whipping? — not you, nor I, 
 Lady ErlesclifFe !" with a short laugh, that 
 had a hard, metallic sound in it. He raised' 
 his hat, and in another moment was lost in 
 the crowd. 
 
 " What a strange man ! and how very 
 rude !" exclaimed Margaret. 
 
 "Nobody minds Colonel Dunstable," re- 
 plied Lady Erlescliffe, "he is very eccen- 
 tric and very rich, altogether quite an out 
 of the way character. His biography 
 might be written in a very few words,
 
 282 MADGE. 
 
 at least so much as the world knows of 
 it." 
 
 '' The world can't know everything about 
 everybody," rejoined Margaret, feeling call- 
 ed upon to say something. 
 
 " So much the better for the world." 
 
 '^ He is very peculiar-looking," rejoined 
 Margaret, again pursuing her idea ; '' and 
 what haunting eyes ! I shall never forget 
 their expression ; there was a hungry, 
 longing look about them, just such a look 
 as I fancy a wandering soul would wear 
 when it was lost out of this world and 
 could not find its way into another.'^ 
 
 " You have quite a romantic way of 
 putting it ; but I cannot say he strikes me 
 exactly in that way," said Lady ErlesclifFe. 
 "So far as appearances go, I don't think 
 there is anything particular about him ; he 
 differs from other men as one sheep differs
 
 ON THE THRESHOLD, . 283 
 
 from another, that's all ; but we know he is 
 full of eccentricities and queer fancies; as 
 he has the power to indulge them, and they 
 do not interfere with other people, no one 
 has a right to interfere with him ; of course, 
 one cannot help noticing and regretting his 
 oddities." 
 
 " What sort of oddities are they ?" asked 
 Margaret, with Eve-like curiosity seeking a 
 knowledge that might not be good for 
 her. i 
 
 ''Well, you saw the way he addressed 
 us and the way he took his departure," re- 
 plied Lady ErlesclifFe. 
 
 *'Ah!" exclaimed Margaret, disap- 
 pointedly, ''he has mere oddities of 
 manner, you mean ?" 
 
 "And oddities of action too; up to a 
 given time he was like other young men, a 
 little fast perhaps ; then the troubles broke
 
 284 MADGE. 
 
 out in America, and, animated with a love 
 of excitement and adventure, he joined the 
 United States Army, and went through the 
 American War. I believe he was terribly- 
 cut about, and came back in very ill health, 
 and altogether very much changed." 
 
 ''Poor fellow! such a miserable experi- 
 ence was enough to change any man," ex- 
 claimed Margaret, her interest and com- 
 miseration considerably increased. 
 
 " Soon after his return, he inherited a 
 large property from an old uncle. He has 
 a fine estate in the wilds of Westmoreland, 
 and another in Shropshire ; he drops in and 
 out of society just as he pleases, sometimes 
 he disappears for months together, and 
 leaves no sign, nobody knows what becomes 
 of him, and he returns to the world as 
 though he had left it yesterday." 
 
 '' Has he no wife ? no family ?"
 
 ON THE THRESHOLD. 285 
 
 " He has never been married, and his 
 sister, Mrs. Granville Burke, is, I believe, 
 his only near female relative ; by-the-by, 
 there's a very good story current about her. 
 Some few years ago, he left London during 
 the height of the season in one of his strange 
 moods which were then becoming common 
 to him, and it was strongly suspected he 
 had gone into Shropshire. Mrs. Burke al- 
 ways pooh-poohed his oddities, and in an 
 adventurous spirit resolved to assail him in 
 his stronghold and bring him triumphantly 
 back to town ; so she and a small party of 
 intimate friends, as adventurous as herself, 
 sent a telegram to Shropshire, saying they 
 would arrive on the heels of it, and should 
 expect good entertainment. On their ar- 
 rival, instead of the welcome they expected, 
 they found the gates closed, the whole place 
 shut up, and quite chapfallen, in a most
 
 286 MADGE. 
 
 humiliated condition, they were obliged 
 to sleep at the village inn some miles 
 distant." 
 
 " I suppose he had changed his mind 
 and gone to some other place," said Mar- 
 garet. 
 
 " No ; it was well-known that he was 
 there, but he chose to be invisible ; since 
 then he has been left alone, and allowed to 
 indulge in the savage delights of solitude 
 at his pleasure. Something like a comet, 
 he comes and goes, nobody knows how 
 or whither. While he is in the world 
 he is much like other people ; when he 
 leaves it, his life is as blank a mystery as 
 though he were an inhabitant of another 
 sphere." 
 
 During the rest of their drive, nay, long 
 afterwards, Margaret's mind was occupied 
 by speculative wonderings concerning Colo- 
 nel Dunstable ; she was intensely interested
 
 ON THE THRESHOLD. 287 
 
 in him. The mysterious cloud in which he 
 appeared periodically to shroud himself 
 piqued her curiosity, and fed her imagina- 
 tion. His coming home from the war 
 '^terribly cut about," as Lady Erlescliffe 
 tersely put it, touched her heart, and dis- 
 posed her to look on him with tender 
 eyes. 
 
 END 0]r THE FIRST VOLUME. 
 
 LONDON: PRINTED BY DUNCAN MACDONALD, BLENHEIM HOUSE.
 
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