a I E) R.A RY OF THE U N IVERSITY Of ILLI NOI5 82S P24.2wcr v.l THE WORTLEBANK DIARY. IN THREE VOLUMES. VOL. L J^l^I^-*-^ THE WORTLEBANK DIARY, AND SOME 0L1> STORIES FROM KATHIE BRANDE'S PORTFOLIO, BY HOLME LEE, AUTIIOK OF " SrLVAX HOLT's DAUGHTEK," ETC. IN THREE VOLUMES. VOL. I. LONDON: SMITH, ELDER AND CO., 65, CORNHILL M.DCCC.LX. iThe right of Translation is reserved.'] S-A3 V.I J CONTENTS : OF THE FIRST VOLUME. ■i Page '^ From tue Diakt ...... 1 , Kester's Evil Eye . . . . . . 9 From the Diary ...... 41 The Haunted House . . . . . 46 From the Diary ...... 208 Madame Freschon's . , . . . . 210 -- From the Diary ...... 240 \ The Heir of Hardington . . . . . 258 .From the Diary ...... 296 How Miss Bootle was Photographed . . . 301 Digitized by the Internet Archive in 2f09 with funding from University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign http://www.archive.org/details/wortlebankdiarys01leeh ADVERTISEMENT. In the Woetlebakk Diary, which is entirely new, I have set, as in a framework, many Old Stories ; some of these have appeared in Hcnisehold Words and the National Magazine , and are reprinted by the kind permission of Mr. Charles Dickens and Messrs. Kent. a 4 THE WOETLEBANK DIAEY, AND SOllE OLD STORIES FROM KATHIE BEAXDE'S PORTFOLIO. J[roiu ilxt giarg. Wortlebank Rectory, December 10, 18 — . Just before Pelix set off this morning to go to the clerical meeting at Bowerham, he came into my dressing-room, with a rather solemn face, and said, — " Kathie, there is mj curate giving Emmj •another lesson in botany in the shrubbery." *' Well, FeUx," replied I ; *• and botany is a very pleasant and profitable study." " But do you consider this the sort of weather VOL. I. 1 2 THE WOKTLEBANK DIARY. for it? There cannot be many flowers or even weeds out on the 10th of December." " I assure you, Felix, I saw a primrose peeping up in the moss yesterday." " And Emmy's primroses are beginning to peep too, I suppose ? " He came and sat down oppo- site to me at my writing table, and added more seriously, " You like Mr. Dover, Kathie?" " Yes, Felix, I do. There is everything about him to like." " And you think Emmy and he have taken a fancy for each other ? " ** I am sure of it ; and the botany lessons were the beginning of it." " Then what would you do?" « Nothing." That was every word which passed between us on the subject at that time; for I am a great enemy to premature meddling with young folks* affairs. Felix left me in a reflective mood, and went downstairs; a minute or two after I saw him drive down the avenue, and pick up Mr. Dover at the gate. I knew that Emmy's botany lesson must be for the present at an end, and FROM THE DIARY. 3 in about a quarter of aji hour, she made her appearance in the dressing-room. I saw that her mind was preoccupied, so I took little no- tice of her, but went on with my letter to my sister, Jean Maynard, until I felt the dear child's hand softly laid on my shoulder, and her voice, with a trembling in it, saying, — " Mamma, I have something to tell you." Of course I understood in a moment, and held her close clasped in my arms, until the little palpi- tation was over, when she sat down, rosy and happy, and asked me what I thought papa would say. " Mr. Dover is to speak to him as they come home from Bowerham," she added. " Mr. Dover had better have relieved his mind as they went to Bowerliam," said I ; "I would not give much for his wisdom at the meeting with such a weight on it, if one of the ditficult Daniel prophecies comes up for discussion." " He is not obliged to talk, mamma ; you know papa often says how hard it is to get a word in when Mr. Close and Mr. Sliarpe are there." 1—2 4 THE WORTLEBANK DIARY. Every little sentence was concluded with a sigh of over happiness; so as soon as I had finished my letter to Jean, with a riddle in the postscript for her to guess, I proposed to Emmy that we should take a long, sunshiny walk, to calm our minds. We only returned just in time for the two o'clock dinner which, when Felix is absent at the clerical meetings, Emmy and I sit down to, with Belle and her governess. Miss Mostyn. On these occasions we have our dessert spread on the round table in the drawing-room, and the event partakes of the character of a holiday ; especially it did to-day, for there was a general tone of satisfaction pervading our at- mosphere, and it is my belief that both my little daughter and Miss Mostyn guess what has come to pass. But we were not talkative ; and Emmy's eyes had a far-away, happy look, as if her thoughts had gone to the clerical meeting. She is, I am glad to think, a very sunshiny, even-tempered creature, and will make a delight- ful wife. Within the last year she has grown quite womanly; gentle, gracious, and blooming. If I wanted to describe her to a stranger who had fro:m the diary. 5 never seen her, I should say that she was my ideal of a " Fair Woman." And she has great good sense as well as beauty. There is as much affection and confidence between us to the full, as there could have been were we o-s^ti mother and daughter. My dear little Belle does not trust me more than Emmy always did, or love me better; and amongst the children themselves there has never been the smallest jealousy. When they are all at home together, I think Wortlebank must surely be the happiest spot in the universe! Harry and Steenie get up little amicable squabbles now and then, as to the re- spective merits of Rugby and Westminster ; but both the lads are a credit to their school. We expect great things since Harry has taken such a high degree, and I should not think it at all beyond Steenie's merits if he announced himself captain when he came home for his Christmas. We sat over our nuts and oranges so long, that blind man's holiday stole upon us unawares ; and Belle, upon whom the silence even of content sits heavily, renewed a petition to me, which she has often made before; this petition is, that 6 THE WORTLEBANK DIARY. during the winter twilights I will allow that old portfolio of mine, which was so long in my sister Jean's possession, to disburthen itself of its secrets — namely, the stories and sketches I used to amuse myself with writing when I was Kathie Brande — for I have added but little to them since Felix and I were married. Emmy pressed the request, too. " We will take our turn at reading aloud,'* said she; "and Miss Mostyn is a beautiful reader." " Come, mamie, do," pleaded Belle, coaxing, with her arm round my neck. I said I would think about it, upon which little Miss Wilful, who takes after her father in her steady pertinacity of getting her own way, told me that, "Procrastination was the thief of Time ; " and appealed to Miss Mostyn if her copy-slips did not say su. " Run away then," replied I, giving my hasty permission. "You will find the portfolio on the top shelf of my w^ardrobe." Belle was not long before she returned, balanc- ing it on her crown, and asking, — FROM THE DIARY. 7 "Mamie, did you make all this really out of your own head? It must be ever so much lighter now than it was, if you did." And then she let it fall with a crash on the floor, the strings broke, and the contents flew far and wide over the carpet. Both Emmy and Miss Mostyn sprang to help her to gather them up, but Belle spread herself out over them, exclaiming, — " Nobody is to touch them but me ! I elect myself custodian of the portfolio forthwith, and I shall choose each day what is to be read." We none of us much care to intei*fere with Belle, when she gets into the imperative mood about trifles, so she was tacitly allowed to re- arrange the papers in their receptacle, and decide on what we should have; fortunately for her, each sketch and story was tied up with penny ribbon in a bunch by itself; so she had only to lay them straight again. As she did so, she read out the titles, made her remarks, and asked her questions. " Is there much love and stufif in them, mamma?" was one of her inquiries. " Well, my dear, I am afraid there is," re- 8 THE WORTLEBANK DIARY. turned I. " Try a short one first, and then if you repent of what you have undertaken, you know it is very easy to carry the portfolio back to its hiding place." " This is a short one, ' Kester's Evil Eye,' and I rather like the name. ^ Founded on Fact.' Oh, mamie, now is that a polite little literary fiction ? You have to confess." ^ " It is founded on fact. Belle, really and truly,'* I assured her, with due solemnity. "That is satisfactory, for I like things real best. Now, Miss Mostyn, you shall enjoy the honour of reading first, and when I have lit the little green lamp, which is all I propose to allow during these twilicrht recreations, I shall make myself comfortable in papa's chair. Read up, l^lease, and give all the provincial words the proper twang. Mamie, you are going to have your lamb's-wool knitting, and Emmy and I will sit in judgment. Now, Miss Mostyn, you may begin ; and nobody is to speak until the tale is. finished." KESTEE'S EVIL EYE: A STORY FOUNDED ON FACT. In the cottage to the left hand of the forge at Harwood there lived, about five and twenty years ago, a man of the name of Christopher — or, aa the country-folks abbreviated it, Kester — Pate- man. He had formerly held the post of village blacksmith and farrier, but had long since retired from the exercise of his craft. He was said to have the gift of the evil eye ; not that he was a malicious man, but that involuntarily his look blighted whatever it fixed upon. Friend or enemy, his own children or aliens, it was all one ; Kester's eye settled on them, and they withered away. No single thing prospered with him. The crops on his little farm were always either frosted. 10 THE WORTLEBANK DIARY. blighted, or miserably tinn ; or, if they were ^ood and abundant, rain came after the corn was cut, and it lay out until it sprouted and rotted away ; once he got it all stacked, and the stack took fire ; another time the grain was threshed out and stored up in safety, but the rats devoured a third of it. His cattle were the leanest in the country ; his sheep died of disease ; his children perished one by one as they grew up to manhood and womanhood ; every horse he shod fell lame before it had gone a mile. Kester was a miserable man ; all the country avoided him as if he had got the plague. Kester had one child left : a daughter, born long after the rest; she being the offspring of a young Irish girl, whom lie had chosen to marry in his old age. The Irish girl ran away soon after the child's birth, on the plea of having a husband in her own country, whom she liked better. Kester made no attempt to bring her back, but contented himself with spoiling Katie. Katie was not a bit like what his other children had been ; she was her mother over again. Two kester's evil eye. 11 wide-opened, dark blue eyes, a white skin con- siderably freckled, black elf locks, always in a tangle, a wide red moutli, and little teeth like pearls ; a figure smart and lissome, and a step that lilted along as if it kept time to an inward tune, made of Katie a village beauty and a coquette. The strangest thing of all was (so the people thought at least) that Kester's evil eye had no effect on Katie. She grew as strongly, and bloomed as hardily, as the wild briar in the hedgerow. Everybody remembered the five chil- dren who were bom to him by his first wife; how they pined from their cradle. They had a sickly hectic in their faces like their mother ; while Katie's cheeks were red as a damask rose : they crept about home weary and ailing always ; while Katie was away in the woods, nutting and bird-nesting like a boy. Kester could deny her nothing, and she grew up, to the wonder of the village, healthier, more wilful, and bonnier than any girl in the district. 12 THE WORTLEBANK DIARY. 11. The blacksmith who had succeeded Kester Pate- man at the village forge was a yomig man of herculean strength, and a wild character. He was more than suspected of a tenderness for the" Squire's pheasants, but the gamekeeper had not yet been found bold enough to give him a night encounter in the woods; his name was Rol> Mc'Lean ; he had been a soldier, and was dis- charged with a good-conduct pension, after ten years' service, and two wounds. He was Katie's, first sweetheart. She was very proud to be seen walking with him in the green lane on Sunday nights ; but it was more child's pride than any- thing else, for when he began to talk about marrying, she laughed and said no, she was not for him, he was too old. Jasper Linfoot, the miller's eldest son, next cast his eyes upon her, and followed her like her shadow for a month ; but no — Katie did not fancy him, he was too ugly : he squinted, he had red hair, and his le^s were not both of the same kester's evil eye. 13 length. Then there was Peter Askew, the squire's huntsman, but he was a widower; and Phil Cressy, the gardener, but he was a goose ; and Tom Carter — but Katie could never abide a tailor. While Katie, very hard to please, was co- -quetting with her would-be lovers, perfectly safe and perfectly heart-free, Kester Pateman had settled all the time whom she should marry — Johnny Martin, and nobody else. Johnny was the only son of Martin, tiie Squire's coachman, who had saved money. He was a simple young man, with lank hair, a meek expression of counte- nance, and some gift for expoundhig, which he practised to small select congregations in Pate- man's barn every Sunday evening. When Kester announced his intention to his daughter, Katie pouted her red lips and tossed her head, saying, with an accent of superlative contempt, " That Johnny ! " But she answered neither yea nor nay to her father's words ; and the next Sunday " that Johnny " came courting, with a little basket of cabbages on his arm, as an offering to his belle. 14 THE WORTLEBANK DIARY. Katie looked as if it would have done her heart good to fling them one after the other in his fat, foolish face, hut she restrained the im- pulse, and only said, — " I'll plant 'em out to-morrow, Johnny." "Plant them out, Katie! Why, they're ta eat." "Pigs?" asked Katie, in innocent bewilder- ment, " We don't keep any." " No, they're for you, Katie ; they're the finest white-hearts." " Hearts ! Oh, Johnny, take 'em away directly ; hearts ! — I never saw a heart before," and she peeped into the basket with a face of horrified curiosity. Now, Johnny had proclaimed that his afiections had fallen on Katie because she was such a clever girl, and could do everything; but this exhibition of her talents by no means equalled his former impressions. He tried her again — "Can't you cook, Katie? Did you never stuff and roast a heart for your father's dinner?" " Oh, Johnny, and you putting up for the schoolmaster's place; what wicked nonsense you kester's evil eye. 15 are talking ! Surely you\'e called at the Blue Cow by the way ? " Johnny at this monstrous insinuation broke out into a cold perspiration; he was the most abstemious of young men, and had a name in the village for every variety of excellence ; and Katie was quite capable of telling her suspicions everywhere. He endeavoured to take her hand and to put his arm round her waist; but Katie brought her palm against his cheek with such hearty good-^vill, that he was fain to subside upon his chair in meek dismay. " If you do that again, Johnny Martin, I'll tell my father," she cried ; and, with an affecta- tion of great anger, she bowled his cabbages out into the garden, and ordered him to march after them in double quick time. He took up his hat and obeyed her, casting on her, as he went, the most pitiful and expostulatory glances. "Don't stop at the Blue Cow, Johnny; go straight home," she cried, as he went out at the gate, and the defeated swain crept away quite dejected. Katie returned into the house, and began to 16 THE WORTLEBANK DIARY. «leek her hair before the little glass by the kitchen fire, humming a tune all the time, and thinking how well she was rid of Johnny, when that worthy's voice sounded through the open win- dow, — " I didn't stop at the Blue Cow, Katie." She turned smartly round, with such a shrewish face, that Johnny added, in haste to deprecate her wrath, "I left my basket, Katie; let me get it — it's in the corner." "At your peril, set foot over the door-stone, Johnny!" Johnny's plump countenance instantly disap- peared. She snatched up the basket, threw it after him, and then took a hearty fit of laughter to herself. III. It was the beginning of harvest; and, on the evening of the day after Johnny Martin's inau- spicious courting visit, Kester Pateman and Katie were sitting on the wooden bench before the door, she knitting, and he bemoaning, when a party kester's evil eye. 17 of Irish reapers, with their sickles in their hands, came up the lane. They stopped at the gate, and one of the men asked if Kester wanted hands for his corn ? ** No, I see nae the use o' hands," replied the old man ; " it'll all be spoilt." It had been a splendid season, and Kester's little fields showed as rich and ripe a crop as any in the country; it was quite ready for cutting, and the weather was settled and favour- able. " But, father, you must have hands," said Katie, who had a most irreverent disbehef in the evil eye ; " two reapers and a binder, with you and me, will get the crops in this week, and I'll over- look 'em for luck." Kester stopped two men and a lad, and bade the others go higher up the lane to Marshall's farm. "But where's the good of it, Katie?" he added. " You'd have had a tidy fortune, but for me. Go into the barn, lads, you'll get your supper 'enow." The old man was very despondent; for he VOL. I. 2 18 THE WOllTLEBANK DIARY. had just lost a fine calf, which he thought to sell at a good price. Katie bade him cheer up> and went indoors to set out the supper for the reapers. When it was ready, she called to them to come, and three as Ragged Robins as ever might have served for scarecrows appeared at her bidding. One of them was a tall, fine young man, with a head well set upon his shoulders, a roguish eye, and a very decided national tongue. He looked at Katie, and she at him ; and, for the first time in her life, the girl's eyes fell, and her colour rose. Alick seemed slightly bashful too — very slightly — for, after dropping his glance on his plate for a second, it followed Katie to and fro in the kitchen without intermission, until she went out into the garden again. Alick could see her through the branches of briar across the window, standing at the gate with her father, talk- ing to Rob Mc'Lean, and he immediately conceived an intense dislike for that well-built son of Vulcan, with the scar across his forehead. Alick jumped to conclusions very quickly; he had fallen in love at first sight, and was ready to quarrel kester's evil eye. 19 with any man who so much as looked at Katie. Having made an end of his supper, he went out into the lane to his comrades, who were sit- ting under the hedge resting, and munching lumps of bread and cheese — Marshall's kitchen not being big enough to hold them all. Allck kept Katie at the gate in sight ; and, though she seemed never to look his way, she knew per- fectly well how he watched her ; and, moved per- haps by the natural spirit of coquetry, she marched with her knittino; into the house,' and shut her- self up in her bedroom. It had a window look- ing on the lane, and Katie sat near it with her pins and stocking, peeping out sometimes to see how the evening went on, and whether there was promise of fine weather next day to cut the corn. Ahck wandered off by-and-by. How should he know that tiny lattice in the , bushy pear-tree was Katie's ? 20 THE WOETLEBANK DIARY. IV. Alick, Kester, Katie, and the rest, were all in the fields next morning as soon as the sun was up. The reaping began. Katie would bind for Alick ; and, during the day, the two exchanged a good many sharp words. Rob Mc'Lean came to lend a hand in the afternoon, and the men soon found each other out ; but Rob had a de- cided advantage over the other. " Was there ever such a wild Irishman, all tatters and rags, seen in the country-side before?" whispered Rob to Katie, as they sat under a tree, at four o'clock, eating the 'lowance that had been brought from the house. Katie gave Alick a sly glance, and said, '^ No." And as Alick overheard both question and an- swer, he vowed vengeance against Rob. That night in the lane there was Jasper Lin- foot and Phil Cressy; and Katie talked and laughed with both of them; and the next day she was gossiping with Peter Askew, over the field-style ; and in the evening Tom Carter kester's evil eye. 21 brought her some shreds of scarlet cloth that she wanted to weave into a mat, and Katie chattered with him; and the next day Johnny Martin came, with an offering of summer apples, which (Alick being there to see) were graciously accepted. So Johnny was heartened into staying half an hour, sighing and smiling spasmodically. Alick went out very wrathful. " So many rivals ai'e too many for one man/' thought he. And all the following morning, he took no more notice of Katie than he did of Kester — I mean, he seemed not to take notice of her. Katie was as cross as sticks, and pretended she was ill, and must go home. Home, accordingly, she went, and tangled her knitting horribly. She had not been there long, when Alick came in at the gate, with a long face, holding his hand in a handkerchief all stained with blood. Up sprang Katie, the colour going out of her face with fright. " You're hurt, Alick ! Oh, how have you done it? Let me see and bind it up." " The least bit in creation, Miss Katie ; but you're the best binder in the world, and it'll heal 22 THE WORTLEBANK DIARY. under your eyes," replied tlie wily Alick, un- covering the injured hand. Katie got a sponge and water, and bathed it, and her pity fled. " It's not much more than a scratch," said she ; so Alick groaned miserably. " Surely, Miss Katie, it's the hard heart you've got, for all yom- bonnie face," said he, reproach- fully. Katie blushed. Nobody else's compliments had ever had that pleasing effect before ; and Alick suddenly took heart of grace, and said one or two more pretty things that did not seem to vex Katie very much. The dressing of the wound being done, Alick was obliged to go back to the field ; carrying the 'lowance w^as an excuse for Katie to return too ; so, leaving her ball to the mercy of the cat on the floor, she got the basket and stone bottle of beer ready, and followed Alick. The reapers said 'lowance was early that day, and her father found fault about it. Alick's reflections were of a more cheerful turn now. " Too many rivals may be as good as none," kester's evil eye. 23 he thoiifilit. Indeed, he had found out — who knows by what freemasonry? — that Katie liked nobody as well as him ; and he turned his dis- covery to good account. Did she encourage Rob, or Jasper, or Peter, or Johmiy, or any one of her many admirers, by word or smile, he devoted himself to Jennie, the pretty Irish girl, who was binding at Marshall's farm; and Katie's pillow could have testified that he had ample revenge. Thus they went on till the last shock was in stack, and the Irish reapers began to travel north in search of fresh pastures. All went but Alick; and he, from his quick wit and shai'p eye, had won favour with the Squire's head keeper, who retained him as one of his watchers. Althoucrh he had arrived at Harwood a scare- crow of rags, who so trim and spruce now as Alick ? Katie had a secret pride in his appear- ance, as, with his gun on his arm, and his game- bag slung over his shoulder, he followed the Squire in the woods — looking, as she thought, far the finer and handsomer frentleman. "That Johnny's " face had now become perfectly sicken- 24 THE WORTLEBANK DIAKY. iiig to her, and none the less so because Kester would talk of their marriage ; for the young man had been chosen village schoolmaster, with a salary of thirty pounds, a cottage and garden rent- free, and coals ad libitum ; so that he had a home^ to take her to. Katie was having a good cry one afternoon, in the house by herself, over the thoughts of Johnny,, when there came a knock to the door. She got up and opened it, expecting to see a neighbour come in for a gossip ; but, instead, there stood Alick. Directly he saw what she had been about he- cried, — - *' Who has been vexing thee, Katie ? Only tell me — tell me, Katie ! " And a smile broke through her tears as she said, — "Oh, Alick, it's that Johnny!" And they looked in each other's faces and laughed. What Alick said more, this tradition betray eth not ; but, whatever it was, Johnny's prospects of a wife were not increased thereby; and when Alick went away home to his cottage at the park KESTER'S EYIL EYE. 25 gate, it was with a triumphant step, and his curly head in the air ; and Katie cried no more over her knitting: that afternoon. Village gossip soon proclaimed the fact of Alick's visits to Kester Pateman's cottage ; and amongst the first to hear of them was Johnny. He went and remonstrated with Katie, and threatened to tell her father. Katie's blood was up, and she dared him to tell at once. So Johnny did tell, and Kester bade Alick keep away. " Katie's for no Irish beggar, but for a decent Harwood lad," said he, surlily. ^' And you'll come about my place no more. Sir Gamekeeper, — d'ye hear?" Alick feigned obedience ; but he and Katie met in the green lane on Sundays. There was a little gate from the pasture where Kester's cows were, into the wood ; and often, at milking time, you might have seen Alick leaning over the gate, talking to Katie at her task ; but, as the evenings grew cold and the cattle vv-ere "26 THE WORTLEBANK DIARY. brought up to the house, these meetings were less frequent; for Kester began to watch his daughter as a cat watches a mouse. He sus- pected her. The neighbours noticed Katie had become graver rand paler, and shook their heads portentously. " She's fading, like the rest of them," they said ; •*' she'll not see the spring. Kester's smitten her, poor man ! " And, by-and-by, Kester saw the change him- self. When he did see it, his heart stopped beat- ing. *^Why, Katie, my bairn!" cried he, with fully awakened love and fear ; " Katie, my bairn ! thou's not going off in a waste, like thy brothers ■and sisters ? " Katie was knitting by the firelight; and, as her needle went, her tears fell. " I don't know, father ; but the neighbours say I look like it. I'm sick and ill " And her tears flowed faster. Kester kissed her, and went out in a black mood. "Oh, what'll I do? What'll I do for thee, Katie, my bairn ? " said he, aloud. " I'm fit to kester's evil eye. 27 tear my eyes out o' my head I What have I -done, that all goes ill with me ? " It happened that Alick was loitering about in the hope of a chance word with Katie^ and he overheard Kester's lamentation. " What's the matter. Master Pateman ? Katie's not ill, is she ? " he ventured to ask. Glad to unfold his misery to anybody, Kester told Alick of his daughter's changed looks, and what everybody attributed them to. " Go to the wise man, 'Bram Rex, at Swinford, to-morrow : he's got a charm agen the Evil Eye," suggested Alick, m haste. '- He'll tell you what to do : you may trust him." Somewhat comforted, Kester re-entered the house. Alick went off to Swinford to prepare the sage for his visitor the next day. VI. ■*^ Wheke are you going, father ? " Katie asked, the following morning, as her father came to •breakfast dressed as if for church or market. " I'm going to 'Bram Eex, Katie, to hear what 28 THE WORTLEBANK DIARY. he says about something. He's a wonderful wise man." " Is it about the stacks, father ? I'd fear none r all's right so far. Them Irish reapers brought you luck, I'm thinking." "It's not about the corn, Katie, — but thee. I maun't lose thee, my bairn. Alick says 'Bram has a charm, and I'm going to get it for thee. I don't like thy white looks and thy crying." Katie dropped her spoon, and smiled to her- self as she stooped to pick it up again, with a face like a rose, which she was fain to hide by looking away through the window for ever so long. After breakfast, Kester mounted his old grey mare, and went slowly to Swinford, very mourn- ful, and much troubled in his mind. The village of Swinford was, by the river, seven miles from Harwood, and the high road ran along the bank, with a steep fall to the water, which was covered with hazel and low shrubs. " Wherefore shouldn't I fling myself in there, and save the poor bairn ? "^ he said to himself, as he saw the river shining kester's evil eye. 29 and glancing through the bushes. '^But, after all," he added, " it will be as well to see old 'Bram Rex first, and hear what he's got to say to her. !My poor bairn ! poor Katie ! " So he went forward to a small slated cottage at the entrance of the village, and knocked at the door. "Come in," said a rough voice. Kester fas- tened his bridle to the paling of the garden, and v.entered. The wise man was sitting in a large chair by -the fireside, stirring a composition in a pan which had far more of the perfume of a poached hare than hell-broth, which the gossips said he was in the habit of making. 'Bram was an old man with a long beard, and the subtlest and most wily of smiles. He looked up at his visitor from under his brows cunningly and shrewdly, then motioned him to be seated by a wave of his hand. Kester was not here for the first time ; many a half-crown had he paid 'Bram for prognostics touching the weather, information about lost articles, and charms for his cattle against disease, and his crops against blight; but he had never 30 THE WORTLEBANK DIARY. before felt such a perfect submission to the- awful sage in the chair covered with cat-skins. " I know your errand, Kester Pateman," said 'Bram, solemnly. " I have been working out the horoscope all night. It is a case of difficulty." Kester was profoundly impressed by this pre- science, and his poor old hands shook as he drew out his leathern purse, and said, — " 'Bram, it's not money nor corn this time, it's, my bairn Katie." The sage nodded and echoed, — '' Katie ! I knew it." " What must I give you ? This ? " And Kester took out a gold piece, and laid it on the seemingly unconscious palm of 'Bram. " Enough, Kester Pateman," replied he ;. ^^ enough. Tell me what you want — jowc daugh- ter is smitten " " Yes, 'Bram ; but there was one told me you had a charm agen the Evil Eye. Would it save her ? Will you sell it ? " asked Kester, trembling all over with anxiety, and stretching out his feeble hands with the purse to 'Bram. kester's evil eye. 31 'Bram took the purse, but said, severely, — "I do not sell, Kester Pateman — talk not of selling. Describe to me your child's sjTnptoms, and be at peace." The wise man had a voice of such preter- natural depth that it really seemed as if liis words were also of superior sagacity ; Kester listened to him with the profoundest faith, and then gave a description of Katie's state — her pale cheeks, her stillness, and her crying. 'Bram shook his head. '' I don't say shell die, Kester, and I can't say shell live; but there's one chance, if you'll try it." '^ I'll do anything, 'Bram — why, I'd die for that bairn I You don't know how I love my Katie, What's the chance, 'Bram ? " "The stars will not be hurried, Kester Pate- man ; they have not spoken yet. Come and see." The sage led the way into a second room, in the middle of which was a table whereon lay a sheet of paper with sundry figures and scrawls thereon. 32 THE WORTLEBANK DIARY. " Look here," and 'Bram began to trace a line with his forefinger. " This is the girl's line of life. Mark it well, Kester Pateman." Kester, dizzy with anxiety, fixed his eyes on it intently. " Here is a man of battles ; it passes him. This part shows them that seek her in matrimony ; them that she must not marry, Kester — you mark me ? " Kester nodded his head. " She must not marry any one of these with the cross agen 'em. Not this YTith the spade, nor .the figure with the sack, nor him with the tailor's goose, nor yet this man leading of a horse, nor yet that one with the peaked cap and ferule — the stars have spoken agen 'em all." Kester wiped his forehead, and said he saw that clearly enough. "Mark me agen, Kester," pursued the sage, sinking his voice until it sounded as if it came up out of the toes of his boots ; " mark well, for I can't show you it a second time. This is the sign of a powerful man who has come over the sea — he's got a sickle and a gun. The sickle means kester's evil eye. 33 that lie shall reap abundance o' corn, and li^-e on the fat o' the land all his days, and the gun is a token that he's a brave man ; and his face being to Katie's line o' life is a sign that he loves her, and that she has a thought for him. Are you hearkening, Kester ? " " Yes, 'Bram, I hear. Oh ! but jou are a knowledgeable man. These," following the first marks with his fino;ers, " are surelv Rob Mc'Lean, and Jasper Linfoot, and here's Phil Cressy, and Peter Askew, and Tom Carter, and Johnny Martin " " Them's their names ! None o' 'em must your Katie marry, the stars has otherwise be- spoke for 'em. Do you know who tliis last is, Kester ? " " It maun be Alick, the wild Irish reaper ; him that's at the Squire's now." " Him it is, and no other ! The interpretation thereof is just ! " said 'Bram, emphatically, and he rolled up the sheet of paper. Kester Pateman was greatly in awe of 'Bram, but he endeavoured to protest against the con- clusion. YOL. I.^^^ 3 34 THE WORTLEBANK DIARY. " 'Bram, couldn't you bring forward another ? *^ said he, hesitatingly. " Can I alter the stars, Kester ? " replied the saire, in his sternest tone. " I do not make, or mend, or mar, I only read for the blind what is written. You must give your bairn Katie to Alick, or she'll die." " Oh ! I will — surely I will, 'Bram ! " in great haste cried poor Kester. " He's honest if he's poor, and Katie '11 not have a penny. Tell me, Kester, will I sell my corn well this time ? " *^ You shall," responded 'Bram ; '' you shall sell it as others do." " Have you that charm agen the Evil Eye that one told me of, 'Bram ? " Kester humbly inquired. " Yes, Kester ; but it is not to be bought with silver nor gold. Send me half a bushel of your best aits, and you shall have it. I've parted with a many, but I've only one on hand now, and it's a good one." "Let me have it, 'Bram. You'll get the aits to-morn." 'Bram went to a drawer in the dresser, and, after rummaging for some minutes amongst its KESTER^S EVIL EYE. 35 contents, he brought forth a hare's foot with a strmg attached to it. He smoothed it carefally with his hand, muttering a formula of words to himself as he did so. " You must put this in your pillow, Kester, and every morning, the first thing when you get up, open the window, and fix on some particular tree or bush, and look at it steady while you spell your own name backwards three times. You must look every day fasting at the same thing, and in time it will wither away and die. And so you'll be cured, and in smiting the tree the rest o* your tilings '11 be safe." Kester took the hare's foot as tenderly as if it had been a sacred relic, and put it in his bosom. " Thank you, 'Bram — and you're sure Katie '11 be well if I let her wed Alick ? " " Yes, man ! You'll find the lass's face shining when you get home, for she's feeling that your heart's changed towards her already. The stars has been whispering of it to her." Quite cheerfully Kester trotted the grey mare home, and, as if immediately to prove the sage's words true, Katie came to meet him at the gate as 3—2 36 THE WORTLEBANK DIARY. rosy as a peony. Alick, at that minute, was escaping by the cow-house door into the pasture, after telling Katie of his visit to 'Bram Rex, and preparing her for its probable results. YII. In the centre of the great meadow directly oppo- site Kester Pateman's chamber window there was a fine old oak-tree, quite in the maturity of its years and strength. Under its wide- spreading branches a herd of cattle could shelter from the summer heat, and in its giant bole was timber enough to build a frigate almost. When Kester rose the morning after his visit to 'Bram Rex, he opened his window, and his eje& fell on this tree the first thing, as they had probably done for many a year. This time he gazed at it fixedly, half expecting to see the leaves and branches shrivel under his gaze ; but he spelt his name backwards three times, and there were no visible effects. He went to market after breakfast and sold his corn, and bought a new cow ; so implicit was his faith in 'Bram's charm; and, meeting IvESTEr's evil eye. 37 Johnny Martin, told liim ruefully, that he must leave off thinking of Katie ; for she was not per- mitted to be his wife. ^* Why not, Master Pateman ? " demanded Johimy, to whom this sudden change was incom- prehensible. " Because thou's bespoken, Johnny, for another woman; and there'd be contradiction and the mischief and all if we tried to go agen what's ordained. I spoke to 'Bram Rex yesterday — it was he tell 't me." " 'Bram Rex ! the vagabond fortune-teller ! " exclaimed Johnny, puffing out his fat cheeks in token of contempt, for Johnny pretended to more licrht than his neicrhbours. " Is that Katie's best reason, Kester Pateman ? " "Maybe not, man; she's no inkling that I've changed my mind yet. I 'an't spoken to her, but I maun." " But it's not fair to jilt a poor fellow, because 'Bram Rex tells you a pack of lies," remonstrated Johnny. " I'll speak to Katie myself, with your leave. Master Pateman, and ask her her reasons." 38 THE WORTLEBANK DIARY. " Her reasons, Johnny, is that she can't abide thee; thou's a good lad, but it goes agen the grain with her to think o' thee. She's a saucy lassie, and her that's bespoken you by the stars has a mint of money." This happy invention of Kester's was uttered boldly as a consolation to the forsaken swain, and he, as such, accepted it. Johnny was as credulous as his neighbours. In about a month after Kester Pateman's visit to 'Bram Rex there w^as a wedding at Harwood, and such a dance in Kester's barn as had never been heard of in the country-side before. All the defeated swains were there. Johnny Martin and Tom Carter made the music on two inde- pendent-minded violins, and lost, in this oppor- tunity of distinguishing themselves, the sore sensation of disappointment. Johnny behaved nobly ; he presented Katie with half a peck of apples as a wedding present, and looked glorious all night. When Katie came near him once he whispered, — "Katie, did you tell anybody about the Blue Cow?" kester's evil eye. 39 ^' Xo, man ; it was only my fun," replied she, miscliievously ; and Johnny drew a long breath of relief. What a dance that was to the tune of ^' Merrily danced the Quaker's wife, and merrily danced tlie Quaker ! " It seemed as if it would never come to an end. So loud and hilarious was the mirth at the supper after it, that nobody heard the thunder rattling overhead, or saw, when all separated and went home, the lightning leaping about the hills. But there had been certainly a terrible storm that night, though few people at Harwood recollect it; and the next morning, when Kester opened his window, as his custom was, to give the charmed gaze at the oak-tree in the meadow, behold ! one side was reft entirely of its boughs, and a black scarred trunk faced him instead of yesterday's majestic growth. Kester started back affrighted. Could this be the effect of his Evil Eye ? If you ever go to Harwood, as you ride into the village, in the meadow opposite the black- smith's forge you will see the blasted trunk of the giant oak-tree ; and, should curiosity prompt 40 THE WOKTLEBANK DIAKY. you to ask how it came to be destroyed, any gossip will tell you that one Kester Pateman withered it away by the powder of the Evil Eye — he having gazed at it every morning, fasting, for that purpose. They will tell you also that, from having been one of the most unlucky of men, he became one of the most prosperous in the district, with grandchildren and great-grand- children, and flocks and herds innumerable. Alick and Katie still live in the farmhouse down by the water-pasture, which the Squire let them have when they were married. By dint of talking of it, they have come themselves to believe in the Evil Eye. 'Bram Rex's de- scendants live and flourish in various districts;, though 'Bram himself, for some mistake respect- ing another person's property, was transported to a distant colony to exercise his craft there — with what success, this tradition sayeth not. 41 (^rom ih §m\h ^' And that is the end of it," said IMiss Mostyn^ laying the manuscript aside. "It Avill doj" pronounced my pickle of a Belle. " There was sojne fun in you, mamie,. when you were young, for all Hannah says you were so solemn. Do you thmk there is time for another story before papa comes home ? " "No, my dear," replied IMiss Mostyn, seri- ously. *• Our tea will have been carried into the schoolroom, and there are to-morrow's lessons- to prepare." I did not gainsay the governess, so Belle tied up the portfolio, shouldered it with some show of exertion, and informing me that she knew of a nice safe place to keep it in — namely, the old trash closet — she went away to her own domains.. 42 THE WORTLEBANK DIARY. My dear child is very outspoken, but I think her own warmth of heart will preserve her from blundering upon the tender feelings of her relations and friends, which is a danger some ready-tongued people often risk. When Emmy and I were left to ourselves, we had a little quiet talk over the great event of the day, and then leaving James to clear aw^ay the dessert, and set the table for tea, we adjourned upstairs to dress against the return of Felix and Mr. Dover. Neither of us said so, but, of course, we expected Mr. Dover to come in to drink tea and spend the even- ing. I was writing a little letter to Steenie, when I heard the phaeton drive round the avenue, so I waited upstairs until Felix came to me. He looked frosty-faced but cheerful, so I perceived, at once, that Mr. Dover's unbosoming had been agreeable to both. " Well, Katie, where is she ? " asked he, having first ascertained by a glance round the room that Emmy was not hiding in any of its shady corners. FROM THE DIARY. 43 The next moment she came running in, and throwing her arms round his neck, kissed him and cried, " Oh ! papa, papa ! " It was all out of her happiness, but she could not help a rush of tears; so after a little sensible rallying and soothing, he left her to me, and in a short time we were enabled to appear quite smiHng and rosy in the drawing-room, where the curate was standing on the hearth-rug, recklessly breaking up a whole spill-case of my cedar-wood matches -and castino; them into the fire. He recovered himself rapidly, and we shook hands ; — from the first Mr. Dover has seen that I was his friend ; — and then I suppose he gave Emmy his news from the clerical meeting, for they laid their heads together and had some very serious talk over the blotting folio in which the botanical specimens are dried. Felix had not much to tell me. As usual, Mr. Close and Mr. Sharpe had been the chief speakers ; and poor Mr. Travis had fallen asleep. The doctor says his circulation is so slow, that there is danger of his being attacked by para- lysis of the brain; he would be a sad loss to 44 THE A70RTLEBANK DIARY. Bowerliam, for I do not know anywliere a better man, or better parish priest. And so this celebrated day came to an end.. This afternoon, just as it was beginning tO' darken, and Emmy and I were sitting over the dressing-room fire, holding a consultation about a matter of no great significance. Belle came in beguilingly with — " Oh ! mamie, what a dull fire you have here ! We have such a beauty in the schoolroom ; I wish you would come — and I want to show you a drawing that I have finished to-day." I knew in a moment what the sly little pussy's invitation meant. Emmy and I closed our business at once, and adjourned to Miss Mostyn's quarters, where we found set out all in form the portfolio of scraps, the green lamp, the old sofa so comfortably stuffed, and my idle-time knitting. "It is going to be a Legend of a Haunted House this time," announced Belle, appointing our places. *' A story about Eversley, where mamie was born. It will last us three or four FROM THE DIARY. 45 days. Now, mamie dear, will you read tlie beginning?" " No, Belle ; it is quite sufficient that I wrote without being condemned to read it," said I, decisively, so, in the end, the manuscript was given over to Miss Mostyn again ; and it could not have been in better hands, for she is a very expressive and touching reader indeed. 46 THE WORTLEBANK DIARY. THE HAUNTED HOUSE. I. THE HOUSE IN NEVIL'S COURT. In one of the courts in the vicinity of Eversley Minster, there lived many years ago an engraver, Nicholas Drew by name. He was a quiet, in- offensive old man, of retired habits, who minded his own business, and was charitable according to his means. He occupied the whole of the second floor of the house, to which he ascended, not by the common stair-way, but by a flight of rude wooden steps, which he had himself constructed beneath the centre window of the room where he worked at his craft. The curious in such matters said that Nicholas Drew's etchings were unique ; but the probability is, that they brought him small gain ; for though THE HAUNTED HOUSE. 47 individuals were well inclined to turn over tlie contents of his folios, they were less disposed to pay the high prices which the old man set upon his works. He lived alone, and seemingly quite contented with his lot; but it was a tantalizing mystery to the people of the court how he used the six rooms he rented; and though his appearance was that of meagre, nay, of sordid poverty, the gossips presently concluded that he possessed a fabulous amount of wealth, hidden away in the locked chambers. Close on this rumour followed another, which, a couple of centuries before, would have consigned him speedily to either stake or gibbet; but which now drew on him nothing more terrible than the ill-concealed dislike of his neighbours, and the jeers of little children, who would have quivered to their shoe-ties if he had but turned and scowled at them. It must be allowed that Nicholas did not carry a good introduction in his face : it was a stern, grim, unkindly countenance, not unlike the corbel- heads by the gateway of the court. His sharp grey eyes peered anxiously from beneath frown- 48 THE WOETLEBANK DIARY. ing grizzled brows, a clislievelled beard lay out- spread upon his breast, and lank rusty hair curled down upon his collar ; he had a restless, choleric nostril ; a high, full, bald forehead — the one com- mendable point of his physiognomy ; a small, nervous figure, and a rapid gait. When he went abroad, his worn, ])atched clothing was always concealed beneath a dusky tartan cloak. He generally chose wet days or twilight for his ex- cursions ; and under the cloak was his portfolio, with a corner sticking out before and behind. His head was invariably covered with a wide- flapped felt-hat, v/hich served partially the purpose of an umbrella, and hid all but the lower part of his face with its patriarchal appendage. In his right hand was gripped a stout stick, the very sight of which was protection enough against the little mocking urchins in the street, who, with precocious bravado and pitiful cowardice, would fling a stone after him when he was quite out of reach, and almost out of sight. If not pressed for time, poor Nicholas would sometimes watch for the temporary absence of his small enemies, that he might evade their attacks ; for, if truth THE HAUNTED HOUSE. 49 must be told, there was a heart under the old tartan that shrank from this universal hatred, and not seldom a hot salt moisture under the pent-house brow also. Some respectable people, passing the old man in the street, would vouch- safe him a nod, which he eagerly returned; he would have been glad to speak to them, but the opportunity was not given him : so the poor engraver plodded on his silent and cheer- less way, secretly marvelling what kept every- body aloof from him, whilst he longed more and more each day of his life for friends and com- panionship. Tlie fact was, he was clever, poor, •and needy — not a desirable acquaintance, in short. One snowy New Year's Eve, Nicholas crept forth in the darkness, with his portfolio under his arm, to pay a visit to a printseller in the Barbican, who had half promised to buy an etch- ing of the Chapter-House interior, which the -engraver had just finished. The wind was very high, and the blinding snow-flakes drove full in YOL. I. 4 50 THE WOETLEEANK DIAP.Y. the old man's face as he turned his back on the Minster, and went down into Friargate; hut less chilled than ordinary — perhaps because he had escaped his tormentors — and glowing more- over with a hope of ultimate appreciation, he bore it indifferently, and strode through the crisping snow with quite a light foot and almost a light heart. It is an impossibility to crush the elasticity out of some natures. Nine men out of every ten would have collapsed utterly and miserably under a tithe of the disappointments that Nicholas Drew had borne cheerfully, supported by a very mode- rate daily portion of coarse bread, and the love of his art. It did not take the old man quite half an hour to reach his destination ; but the printseller's shop was already closed. Nicholas knocked at the door for some ten minutes in vain ; but at last a surly-voiced lad appeared, and said his master had some guests, ajid would not be dis- turbed. " Then I'll come to-morrow morning," suggested the engraver. THE HAUNTED HOUSE. 51 "I dou't think you need, for I heard master say he had changed liis mind ; your pictures are so dear," responded the youth ; and with that he shut the door in the old man's face. '' Well, God is good," gasped poor ]S'icholas, turning oflP the step, after lingering a few seconds ; '' God is good. I migld suspect that He had forgotten Nevil's Court ; but I know He has not; His time has not come yet, that's all. I wonder when it will ? " A woman came up, and begged of him ; he tried to evade her, but she followed him closely. " Master, for the love of Heaven — for the love of the mother that bore you " Her voice was hoarse and feeble ; he soon outwalked her; but the echo of her words, "for the love of the mother that bore you," pursued him like a wailing prayer. He turned back, and found her standing on the Barbican bridge, gazing dowm mto the blackness. "Come away; w^hat are you thinking about?" be asked, harshly; for his voice was toned to match his grim face. "I can't tell; drowning, maybe. It is an 52 THE WOETLEBANK DIARY. easy death, they say," was the whispered re- sponse. "Nothing of the sort; it is dreadfuL When anything tells you that, shut your ears : it is damnation to hearken." " Nay, master, but that is hard ; as well die at once as die by inches. Who condemns me to live, and gives me no means ?" " You must wait till your hour comes ; it is, mavbe, deferred that you may repent. You are not to lift the latch of life yourself, and steal away from your sorrows like a thief." " I am not a thief, master." " No ; you only thought of becoming a mur- deress." " It i^ easy to talk, master ; but it is not easy to pine day after day, and to slink about ashamed and ragged in the streets at night; it is not easy to see people eye one suspiciously, and get out of one's way, as if they were afraid to file their clothes with touching mine in passing, — that's not easy, master." " Why, the very children spit at me ! Little thincTs that can hardly go alone raise a shrill cry THE HAUNTED HOUSE. 53 as soon as I come in sight. Don't think you have got all the rough bits of life to yourself." They had come to the corner of the market-place, walking as they talked. " Don't go down Bar- bican again to-night, ^ for the love of the mother who bore you.' " He put a shilling into her hand — tlie last he had — and pattered away homewards, hearing her earnest " God bless you, master ! " echoed in the swirl of every gust that came cuttingly through the thick snow against his cheek, as he scurried along. All the bells in the city were alive, clanging and clattering in every direction. Nicho- las fancied the noise made the night warmer; but the fact was, that his keen edge of disap- pointment about the etching was blunted by that little exercise of human charity, and the blessing he had earned ; his heart was warmer within. The exhilarated feelincp did not fro down until he came within scent of a provision-shop. Poor old fellow ! it is sad that genius, if it has not wherewith to eat, must hunger like coarser clay. Nicholas had indulged a mundane vision of supper in going to the printer's, which was now out of 54 THE WORTLEBANK DIARY. his reach completely: it is even possible that his eyes were not quite clear as the savoury gust waft against his nostrils, and reminded him of his failure in the Barbican; but he clutched his portfolio very tight, and crossed the street, trying to forget the gnawing emptiness under the tartan in a dream of future well-deserved repu- tation, some day to be his. The wind and the snow and the bells together had got up a famous whirl in the Minster Yard, and came tearing down College Lane in a per- fectly reckless way as Nicholas turned into it. It was all he could do to hold fast the cloak and folio, the stick and hat, as he crept under the projecting houses up to Nevil's Court ; and there, liaving gained the partial shelter of the gateway, he paused to ascertain that he really had not lost any of his adjuncts, and to shake the snow from his garments before climbing his staircase. He had reared the portfolio in a niche, long since despoiled of its tenant, and was quietly taking off his cloak, when a sound close at his heels made him jump aside almost as if he were bitten. Could one of his little persecutors have THE HAUNTED HOUSE. 55 Iain in wait for him in sucli weather? — Oh, the depths of juvenile mahce I — yet it seemed scarcely possible. However, in his alarm, Nicholas darted across the court, and feeling his way up the steps, unlocked his window-door, and entered the room in all haste to escape from the shrill taunt and laugh which he so dreaded. " It is too bad," said he aloud, dropping his hat and cloak on the floor, " it is too bad : I don't know what it means. I never hurt any- body in all my life that I know of Poor old Nicholas ! you're a sad, miserable, despised old pauper. No, you're not either; you're not sad, you're not miserable by any means, and don't say so, for it is not true ; you know it is not, and it is wrong in you to mention it." He always talked to himself as to a second person ; if he had not done so, his tongue would have stiffened with disuse. Breaking up the block of coal which he had left smouldering in the grate, the room was filled suddenly with a dancing radiance ; Nicholas chafed his withered hands in the glow, and as the snow on his beard be^an to melt in the heat. 56 THE WORTLEBANK DIARY. lie shook the white flakes off, and said, more cheerily, — " Well, this is pleasant ; I wonder if that poor soul in the Barbican has got to warm herself at a fire. What business have you to complain with such a shelter to come to — eh, Nicholas Drew ? Now let us look at our work." He strode across to shut the door, which he had left ajar, and then with a groan remembered that he had left the portfolio in the niche. " What is to be done ? — has that little mongrel gone to bed yet ? " He advanced his head outside to listen, and hearing nothing but the heavy sweep of the ladened wind, he cautiously descended and reached the gateway, grasped the case, and was returning, when a child's sobs startled him again. *^Why don't you go home to your mamie, little one?" he asked, with what gentleness he could, stooping over a dark bundle crouched against the wall. He got no answer, but a kind of hysteric cry, and the figure shrank away from him farther into the shadow. " You must not stop here all night; you may get frozen to THE HAUNTED HOUSE. 57 death. Tell me where you live, and I'll carry you home." He meant it; here was one of his foes in trouble, and his anger was quite gone. To this offer was returned a series of shrieking sobs, very pitiful to hear; but the child would not suffer itself to be removed. " What must I do ? " said Nicholas, almost as much distressed as the stray child at his feet. After a moment's consideration, he determined to knock at the door of a woman who was a shade less uncivil to him than the rest in the court, and to ask her advice. There was so much noise of talking within, and such a clangour of bells with- out, that it was some minutes before he could make himself heard. At length the door was opened, churlishly enough, by the woman of the place, who, directly she saw Nicholas, said : " Are you wantinc^ a licrht ao-ain. Master Drew ? other folk can keep their fires in, if they have to leave home fur an hour or two." " It is not a light I want ; but here is some poor body's cliild lying under the gateway, crying^ Come and see if vou know whose it is." -58 THE WORTLEBANK DIARY. " Bless me ! a bairn out at this time, and on such a night : it is lost maybe." And snatching a candle from the table, round which sat a party of -extremely merry guests, she scudded across the €0urt, unmindful of the snow falling on her best •cap. The little creature lifted up her face at the sound of a woman's voice. " Heart alive, why it is the forrin' wood-carver's bairn!" cried Mrs. Parkes. " Job, come out here. AYhat's come of Louis Duclos, that Adie's left here?" The hus- band appeared at the summons, looking rather hazy and incapable, and desiring to know what it was all about ; to which his spouse contemp- tuously bade him go back to his chimney-corner for a blind owlet that could not see an inch beyond his nose ; an order which he obeyed with commendable alacrity. "You've a good fire in your room, I see. Master Drew ; with your leave I'll carry Adic Tip there. Come, my bonnie bairn, come to me ; I'll take care of you," said Mrs. Parkes, in a coaxing motherly way, which had due influence over the child ; who now, sobbing violently, allowed herself to be lifted from the ground and THE HAUNTED HOUSE. 59 taken to the engraver's room. Nicholas had dropped the portfolio in his excitement, and it was not likely he should recollect to pick it up now. He followed Mrs. Parkes with the ex- tinguished candle, and plunging into the room after her, stirred up the blaze again till every knob of the carved mantel and every panel twinkled in the glow. "Here's a New Year's gift for you. Master Drew I I doubt some mischance has befallen the bairn's father, for Louis is not the man to let her be straying about alone of nights," said ]Mrs. Parkes, rubbing the child's benumbed limbs with rough yet kindly hands." " If anything has happened, I will keep the little lass myself," replied Nicholas. " Hush now ! she is quietened a bit ; she'll speak enow. Adie, bairn, where's father ? don't you know ? " The small eerie-looking creature turned a pair of great dark wistful eyes on her face, and said, with a shrill gasping cry, '^ Oh, he's dead ! he's dead I " and fell weeping again as passionately as before. 60 THE WOETLEBANK DIARY. It was useless to question the child any further then, for she was utterly incapahle of answering ; and after vainly endeavouring to elicit something further, Mrs. Parkes gave her some bread steeped iA milk, which she ate with avidity, and then laid her to sleep on a rude settee, wdiere she presently sank into an exhausted torpor. " I wonder whether Avhat Adie says can be true ? " observed Mrs. Parkes, reflectively. ** She is not like other bairns, you see ; she has strange flights and fancies for one so young ; yet she can't have fancied that. You stop by her, Mastei' Drew, while I go and ask them below if they know where Louis has been working yesterday and to-day. He w^as at the Minster last week ; I saw him go out this noon, and at tea-time Adie went off to meet him, as she always does ; then our folks came in, and we hadn't opened the dooir after till you knocked. His place is all dark: see." They were standing in the doorway ; the wood- carver's room was on the ground-floor, in an angle of the court opposite. Mrs. Parkes now cautiously descended the steps ; while Nicholas turned back THE ILVUNTED HOUSE. 61 anto the room, wishing that the noisy bells would cease for once. He came and looked at the sleeping child very earnestly, making a silent vow to keep her and cherish her as his own, if what she had said should prove correct. It was a pretty mobile face on which he gazed, delicate in feature and dusk in complexion, as if the mellow warmth of a southern sun glowed through the tender skin. She was not like an English child at all; the ripe hue of her lips, the high arch of her brows, and the black gloss of her damp loose hair, were all more or less indicative of forei