a I B RAR.Y 
 
 OF THE 
 U N IVLRSITY 
 Of ILLINOIS 
 
 823 
 J488r 
 

 
THE ROLL CALL 
 
 a laobeu 
 
 IN THREE VOLUMES. 
 
 MRS. ARTHUR TRISTRAM JERVOISE. 
 
 Author of " Holding Fast and Letting Go." 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
 REMINGTON AND CO 
 New Bond Street, W. 
 
 1884. 
 
 All Kiahts Res&rvf^d. 
 

 CONTENTS OF VOL. I 
 
 CHAP. PAGE 
 
 ...7 I. Sunshine ... ... ... ... ... ... i 
 
 '■ II. Dreamland i6 
 
 III. Aunt Flora ^^ 
 
 IV. Love and Trust ... ... ... ... ... 47 
 
 V. The Very Dear Cousin -69 
 
 ' VI. The First of September 97 
 
 1^ VII. Without "Good-bye" 125 
 
 VIII. Mystery 136 
 
 ^" IX. Taunts Succeed at Last 152 
 
 X. An Only Love 178 
 
 'sC;i XI. Bad Form 194 
 
 A XII. Another Tete-a-Tcte with Rachel 205 
 
 V XIII. Ghosts 220 
 
 S 
 
 \ XIV. In the Billiard Room 234 
 
 V XV. It came as a Message from the Dead 249 
 
 ^ 
 
 ^ 
 
CHAPTER I. 
 
 SUNSHINE. 
 
 It was a lovely day In the month of August. 
 The summer sun shone high in the heavens, 
 while the sheaves of corn, which stood bound 
 and leaning one against another In the 
 broad fields surrounding Brashleigh Manor, 
 seemed each moment to grow yet more 
 golden In Its golden beams. Every ear of the 
 ripe grain betokened in its fulness the perfect 
 work of cradling earth, mellowing sunshine, 
 and rain-dropping skies ; while the ravished 
 ground but waited for Its produce to be 
 gathered in and garnered. 
 
 '' What a lovely day ! " involuntarily ex- 
 claimed Esme Montague, as she looked from 
 an open window of the mansion belonging to 
 the Manor. " What a lovely day ! " she re- 
 peated, as her bright eyes wandered from one 
 
 VOL. I. B 
 
2 THE ROLL CALL. 
 
 object to another — from the tall trees all 
 robed in their rich raiment of summer foliage, 
 to the smooth green grass beneath them, 
 and the silvery Trent winding in and out and 
 glistening in the distance. 
 
 Beautiful as the Leicestershire landscape 
 was, however, upon which she gazed, it failed 
 to arrest the attention of Esme for any length 
 of time. Weary of her solitary work of 
 admiration, she turned from the window, and, 
 shading her eyes with one hand as if dazzled 
 by the brilliancy of the sunlight, she crossed 
 a corridor, and entered a spacious picture 
 gallery. 
 
 But here, her footsteps were brought to 
 a standstill by a voice, which exclaimed 
 eagerly — 
 
 '' My little Esme ! where are you going ? 
 I have been looking for you everywhere." 
 
 A smile and a blush struggled hard for the 
 supremacy over the dimples and lilies in the 
 face of Esme, as she was thus accosted j but 
 
SUNSHINE. 3 
 
 she vouchsafed no reply. Poising her small 
 head somewhat proudly, she stood quite still, 
 only drooping her blue-veined eyelids so that 
 their long lashes might veil the pleasure 
 which danced in her eyes. 
 
 ^^ My little Esme ! " said the voice again, 
 and now a note of love stirred in its glad 
 tones. 
 
 '' My little Esme," echoed the girl, '' I tell 
 you once for all, Arthur, that I will not be 
 called your little Esme. I claim myself, for 
 myself. I am my own property. Besides, I 
 reach almost to your chin, so how dare you 
 call me Mittle?' It was only the day before 
 yesterday that I allowed you to measure me." 
 
 As she uttered these words, partly in 
 childish petulance, and partly in womanly 
 scorn, she was a dangerous spectacle for one 
 of Eve's sons to behold. 
 
 She stood, beautiful as the craze of a 
 Pygmalion, amid a profusion of flowers, 
 which, in the eagerness of speech, she had 
 
4 THE ROLL CALL. 
 
 let slip from her hand. But, whatever the 
 peril of her charms might be, the danger 
 was met undauntedly. The tall figure of a 
 man advanced towards her, while, in answer 
 to her assertion, the voice which had spoken 
 before replied — 
 
 '' I know it was only the day before yester- 
 day, darling, and you shall be called great 
 Esme, or Httle Esme, or, in fact, anything on 
 earth that you wish — only " — 
 
 " Only what ?" was the somewhat saucily 
 put interrogation, while smiles and dimples, 
 blushes and lilies, again gave chase to each 
 other upon the fair face of the speaker. 
 
 The tall, manly figure drew closer to Esme, 
 stooped to pick up some of the flowers which 
 lay at her feet, and then said earnestly — 
 
 " Only my Esme you must always be. 
 Please God, nothing can alter that ! " 
 
 She made no answer as he wound his arm 
 around her waist, and led her towards the 
 seat from which he had just risen. 
 
SUNSHINE. 5 
 
 '' You are dreadfully sentimental this morn- 
 ing, Arthur," she said at last, darting a sunny 
 glance up into eyes which she knew were look- 
 ing fondly at her. Too happily engrossed 
 for speech, her companion made no attempt 
 to gainsay her. ** You know I don't like 
 romance," she went on, '' I like you ever so 
 much better when you look angry, or are 
 riding an awfully spirited horse, or driving a 
 tandem straight through an impossible gate, 
 or"— 
 
 ''Anything else, Esme? " he enquired 
 demurely, as she paused, either from want of 
 words or of breath. 
 
 '' Yes, of course, heaps of other things, but 
 I don't like to be teased, so I shall not 
 speak another syllable to you." 
 
 Her red lips pouted w^th such provoking 
 prettiness, that Arthur very narrowly escaped 
 a relapse into the forbidden state of senti- 
 mentalism, from which, to tell the truth, he 
 had barely rallied. Struggling valiantly to 
 
6 THE ROLL CALL. 
 
 repress any expression of its almost over- 
 whelming force, he rejoined — 
 
 *^ Not a syllable ! That would be awfully 
 slow for both of us, darhng." 
 
 The pouting lips tried hard to maintain 
 their semblance of scorn, but without avail ; 
 and as they reluctantly parted, a merry little 
 laugh escaped from between their rosy 
 portals. 
 
 The joyous notes brought Arthur Greatorix 
 from his standing position to one which was 
 more lowly. Kneeling down by the side of 
 Esme, he gazed with infinite tenderness upon 
 her face. It was very bright and fair — bright, 
 by reason of the innocent, undimmed happi- 
 ness of its expression — fair, in the porcelain 
 tints of its complexion ; the delicate regularity 
 of its features. And the countenance beside 
 it was noteworthy, although it possessed 
 neither a delicately hued complexion nor a 
 faultless contour of feature. 
 
 Arthur Greatorix was in the prime of man- 
 
SUNSHINE. 7 
 
 hood. Nevertheless he had passed the fresh- 
 ness oi premier jeimesse^ while many a battle 
 with self, many a fixed resolve, and many a 
 noble thought had stamped their lines of 
 gravity upon his brow. He was close shaved 
 with the exception of a heavy brown 
 moustache, which, while it hid a well-formed 
 mouth, could not entirely conceal the set of 
 white even teeth within. But the charm of 
 his face lay in the expression of his eyes, an 
 expression which, in its combined fearless- 
 ness and tenderness, possessed a remarkable 
 amount of fascination for most persons. He 
 was very tall, some two or three inches over 
 six feet, broad shouldered, with a muscular 
 and well-proportioned frame. Still kneeling 
 before Esme, his smile answering hers, he 
 said suddenly — 
 
 '^ I have something very important to talk 
 to you about this morning. May I begin, 
 dearest ? " 
 
 '' Important ! Nonsense, Arthur.'' 
 
8 THE ROLL CALL. 
 
 " I wish It were nonsense," he broke in, 
 with such vehemence that Esme looked up in 
 astonishment. 
 
 She laughed, however, another joyous little 
 laugh, and then said gaily — 
 
 ^' I verily believe that I know what it is. 
 You are positively repenting that you have 
 asked someone, 7tee Esme Montague, to be- 
 come one day Mrs. Arthur Greatorix, and you 
 are such a coward you are afraid to tell her 
 that her visions of living, part of every year, 
 in your dear old tumble-down Cornish castle 
 are doomed to end in anticipation only. I am 
 right, am I not?" she asked gaily. 
 
 '' No, darling, no — a hundred times no ! 
 You are out of it altogether." 
 
 '' Out of it ! — out of the castle," she 
 laughed, with eyes which danced and sparkled 
 with merriment ; '' of course I am, that is just 
 what I meant." 
 
 But somehow her gaiety was not so in- 
 fectious as usual. Arthur shook his head by 
 
SUNSHINE. 9 
 
 way of protest against her raillery, and his 
 voice was low with earnestness, as he made 
 reply — 
 
 '' I only wish that I could carry you there 
 directly — this very instant." 
 
 ''Oh, Arthur!" and a little mouth was 
 pursed up, while two wee white hands 
 were clasped together in token of mock 
 despair, '' how dreadful of you. What ! 
 before the butcher and the baker — I mean, 
 before the architect and paper-hangers have 
 made all things ready. How can you be so 
 .absurd?" 
 
 " Am I absurd? " he asked absently. 
 
 *^ Very ! Who ever heard of a wedding 
 taking place, without fuss and ceremony 
 enough to frighten one nearly to death ; and 
 how could we arrive in Cornwall without bon- 
 fires and bell-ringing, and all those sort of 
 things ? I cannot think what has happened 
 to everybody this morning. You look as 
 if you had been studying tragedy, Arthur; 
 
lO THE ROLL CALL. 
 
 and Uncle Ralph came to me directly after 
 luncheon, in a most perturbed state of mind, 
 and, with a very long face, begged me to go 
 at once to Aunt Flora. I knew that some- 
 thing had gone wrong, so I went immediately, 
 and found her in much dudgeon because 
 Uncle Ralph had asked her to receive a 
 cousin of his here for a week or two. Un- 
 fortunately, Aunt Flora professes to entertain 
 apecuhar dislike to this same cousin, so I did not 
 quite know what to say. However, I stayed 
 with her for nearly two hours, doing all I 
 could to reconcile her to the idea of the pro- 
 posed visitor. I am afraid it was waste of 
 time, for when I was retiring, Aunt Flora 
 told me that I had tired and bored her fear- 
 fully. Pleasant, was it not ? " asked Esme, 
 archly, '' to think that I had done nothing to- 
 wards helping either dear, good Uncle Ralph, 
 or his unfortunate cousin, besides having lost 
 two hours of beautiful sunshine, and kept a 
 true lover waiting.'* 
 
SUNSHINE. II 
 
 No gravity could withstand such a sally as 
 this, and yet it but very slightly relaxed the 
 seriousness which was fast deepening over 
 the spirit of Arthur Greatorix. 
 
 We all know what it is to have a disagree- 
 able subject uppermost in our thoughts, for if 
 disagreeable, uppermost it will most assuredly 
 be. We have all felt the dragging influence 
 of such a state of mind upon our speech, and 
 have tested into what mockery it can turn our 
 mirth. 
 
 Most of us, also, have experienced the 
 misery of having unpleasant tidings to impart 
 to others. Did the joy of those, for whom we 
 bore our message of woe, ever appear to us 
 to be so thoroughly unalloyed, as when we 
 knew ourselves about to quench that joy ? 
 Have they not, the ill-fated ones, at such 
 times coursed merrily with unwonted glibness 
 from one topic of conversation to another ; 
 but they never gave us a lead, whereby we 
 could run them into the subject, which, how- 
 
12 THE ROLL CALL. 
 
 ever reluctantly, we were bound to put before 
 them. 
 
 It was an experience of this nature, which 
 held in thrall the spirit of Arthur Greatorix, as 
 he knelt before his light-hearted Jiancee, and 
 replied — 
 
 ^^ If I was kept waiting, I suppose it was 
 good for me, and that it gave me a lesson in 
 self-denial." 
 
 '' Perhaps so ! But do you know, Arthur, I 
 have very little faith in the virtue of that same 
 self-denial. In fact, I am a frightful sceptic 
 upon the matter. I read pages and pages 
 about it, in all sorts of good books, but when- 
 ever I try to practise it, which, by-the-bye, I 
 am very much afraid is not so often as it 
 ought to be, you cannot think what a dismal 
 failure I contrive to make of it. I snub my- 
 self tremendously, and go through all sorts of 
 unnecessary unpleasantness, and then dis- 
 cover that it would have been better, not only 
 for myself, but for everybody else, if I had 
 
SUNSHINE. 13 
 
 followed the bent of my inclination, and left 
 self-denial alone. It is a dreadful confession, 
 I know, but it is really true, and I often feel 
 very penitent in consequence." 
 
 There was not much contrition in the gay 
 tones which proclaimed this shortcoming. 
 Gay as they were, however, the next instant a 
 soupgon of pique mingled with them, as Esme 
 continued — 
 
 ^' I am going to run away from you now, 
 Arthur. You are so dull, and besides, I am 
 tired of remaining indoors." 
 
 Arthur rose, and drawing a chair close to 
 her, said, as he seated himself — 
 
 " Do not leave me yet, Esme. I cannot 
 let you go so soon. You are my prisoner 
 you know, I caught you fairly, just now." 
 
 " Not fairly ! You were hidden by the 
 screen, and you intercepted me craftily. 
 Soldiers may lurk in ambush to surprise a foe, 
 but not brave men to capture fair women," 
 she interposed, merrily. 
 
14 THE ROLL CALL. 
 
 Arthur looked fondly at her, as he re- 
 turned — 
 
 '' I shall have to teach you, dearest, that 
 all things are fair, both in love and war. You 
 are my prize. I will not give you up, even to 
 the sunshine ; so listen to me, darling, and let 
 me tell you what is weighing on my mind.'* 
 
 Something unusual in his manner attracted 
 the attention of Esme at last. Resting her 
 hand gently upon his shoulder, she said, 
 affectionately — 
 
 " You have an attack of the blues this 
 morning, you dear old Arthur ! But come 
 with me into the drawing-room, it is cooler 
 there, and we will discuss this momentous 
 matter. Lord Oakdene and Uncle Ralph are 
 inspecting shorthorns : Aunt Flora is trying 
 to get rid of her fit of the vapours in her pony 
 carriage : and Hannah, la belle ^ is closeted 
 with her maid. So come, and tell me your 
 wonderful news. We are not likely to be 
 interrupted. Has Poole proved faithless, or 
 
SUNSHINE. 15 
 
 has your groom broken your heart by breaking 
 the knees of your pet mare ? " 
 
 Arthur Greatorlx looked wistfully into the 
 beautiful eyes which were lifted to his. Light 
 strains and playful words, jarred upon his 
 heart-strings. With a smile, which had the 
 arriere-pensee of a sigh for its companion, 
 he accompanied Esme to the room, which she 
 had chosen for their conference. 
 
CHAPTER 11. 
 
 DREAM LAND. 
 
 The individual, whom Esme Montague had 
 designated to her lover as " Uncle Ralph,'* 
 was none other than Ralph Grant, the owner 
 of Brashleigh Manor; while ''Aunt Flora" 
 was Ralph Grant's second wife. 
 
 But although he had been twice married, 
 it was not until he reached the meridian of 
 life that he succumbed for the first time to 
 the power of Cupid. No charms, before then, 
 had been so potent as those of the gigantic 
 mills, which wove for him no gossamer fabric, 
 but a very substantial and tangible cloth of 
 gold. 
 
 With his father's last blessing these mills, 
 together with land and wealth, accrued to 
 Ralph Grant. 
 
 The digger, on the far off fields of Australia, 
 
DREAMLAND. 1 7 
 
 who has braved the perils of travel and voyage 
 in order to reach his coveted destination ; 
 and the thriving manufacturer, in England, 
 who drives luxuriously along the well-made 
 road to his place of business, share in a 
 similar excitement. In the one case, an 
 eager hand grasps a pick-axe, or carefully 
 sifts our mother earth for precious ore, while 
 in the other, fingers point exultingly to the 
 accumulating balance of the banker's book, 
 and add triumphantly to the figures of the 
 ledger. Each man is busy with his own plan 
 for aggrandisement, and, whether successful 
 or otherwise, it is often difficult for each to 
 stay his work. So, at least, Ralph Grant 
 experienced it to be, and so, perchance, it 
 might have continued, but for an accident, 
 the result of which changed the whole current 
 of his life. Turning round hastily one morn- 
 ing to give some directions to a gardener, his 
 foot slipped from off the stone step whereon 
 he was standing. 
 
 VOL. L C 
 
l8 THE ROLL CALL. 
 
 He recovered his balance without falling to 
 the ground ; but, upon attempting to resume 
 his walking powers, he found that he had 
 sprained his ankle. The inconvenience of 
 this disaster was felt keenly by a man of 
 his active habits, and it was in vain that his 
 medical man insisted upon perfect rest for 
 the injured limb. As a last resource, the 
 refractory patient was peremptorily ordered 
 from home, and, after many rebellious pro- 
 tests, he finally consented to go for a short 
 time to Matlock Bath. Here the romance of 
 his life began. 
 
 Not many days after his arrival, as he was 
 resting under the shade of a tree in the 
 grounds of his hotel, with his foot carefully 
 supported upon cushions, his attention was 
 arrested by a little girl, who, as she softly 
 stole past him on the tips of her tiny toes, 
 appeared to be intent upon covertly obtaining 
 some earnestly desired object. Afraid of dis- 
 turbing her, Ralph Grant, neither spoke nor 
 moved. 
 
DREAMLAND. I9 
 
 She was a wee sprite of a child, not more 
 than four years of age, dressed in white, with 
 long light hair falling from beneath her sun- 
 bonnet. Regardless of the proximity of a 
 stranger, she suddenly turned back, and 
 paused for a moment by the side of Mr. 
 Grant. As she did so, his eyes involuntarily 
 followed the direction of hers, and he quickly 
 discovered that she was watching the move- 
 ments of a gaudily-coloured butterfly. The 
 insect was lazily flying a few feet only from the 
 ground. Presently it settled upon a flower 
 close by. Creeping towards it, the child 
 exercised numberless infantile manoeuvres be- 
 fore attempting its capture, and she manifested 
 considerable baby surprise at the failure of 
 her efforts. Again and again the butterfly 
 flaunted jauntily from blossom to blossom, 
 while as often the little figure, with out- 
 stretched hands, attempted to make it her 
 prisoner. It almost seemed as though the 
 insect took a pleasure in being thus pursued, 
 so closely did it sometimes allow her to 
 
20 THE ROLL CALL. 
 
 approach it, before it spread its wings, and by 
 flight overthrew her hopes. The patience 
 of the tiny Diana promised to be inex- 
 haustible, and her Httle feet carried her 
 bravely through the chase. 
 
 Ralph Grant was literal as well as prosaic. 
 He drew no poetical metaphor from the scene 
 before him. He did not, as he regarded it, 
 speculate how, in after life, that fair child 
 might often stretch out her hand for that 
 which she desired, and as often, be compelled 
 to draw it back unto herself, empty of the 
 treasure which she sought. But he watched 
 the mimic drama with an interest which was 
 intensified by the last act. The object of 
 pursuit soared gaily away, when the child, 
 sorrowfully drooping her head and clasping 
 her hands, cried, in lisping accents — 
 
 /' Good-bye, butterfly dear — give my love 
 to ;mamma when you go up to bed in the 'tars 
 to-night." 
 
 The unconscious insect was scarcely lost 
 
DREAMLAND. 2 1 
 
 to sight, before an elderly woman advanced 
 with hurried steps, and taking the little girl by 
 the hand, led her away. 
 
 . That night Ralph Grant had a wonder- 
 ful dream. It was a marvellous chaos, a 
 mysterious jumble of children, stars, butter- 
 flies, and flowers. Nevertheless, he ever 
 afterwards professed to have received there- 
 from a teaching, which its mystery disclosed 
 distinctly. In this dream he had flown ; 
 butterflies had talked, and otherwise disported 
 themselves, in a manner which would have 
 astonished the most learned of entomologists. 
 In his magical dream of the heavens, stars had 
 been transformed into lovely faces, one and all 
 of which beamed tenderly upon him ; -while he 
 had been surrounded by an innumerable com- 
 pany of fair-haired children, who traversed 
 space perpetually, and who, by the swiftness 
 of their evolutions, contrived persistently to 
 hide from his gaze the one star, or face, upon 
 which he most especially desired to look. 
 
22 THE ROLL CALL. 
 
 And that face was the point upon which his 
 waking imagination dwelt. 
 
 Convalescence is a dangerous period to 
 most natures. Somehow, hearts are apt to 
 be more susceptible to soft impressions at 
 that time, than at any other, and it is prob- 
 able that Ralph Grant's vision would, have 
 melted into forgetfulness had he been im- 
 mersed in his usual business cares and 
 occupations. But away from these it was 
 altogether a different matter. He pondered 
 over his dream until it haunted him, and, ere 
 long, beautiful faces seemed to smile into the 
 possibility of his future, bringing with their 
 smiles a sense of present loneliness, which he 
 had never before experienced. 
 
 Thus far, his habitual stoicism was broken 
 up. The plough of happy fancies had gone 
 over it, while the harrow of pleasant imaginings 
 duly prepared the soil for the reception of that 
 seed, which was destined to be sown through 
 the agency of the little butterfly-chaser. 
 
DREAMLAND. 23 
 
 There are few things more provoking to 
 an impetuous individual than an unanswered 
 bell. In this manner, a few days after the 
 little episode in the hotel garden, the patience 
 of Ralph Grant was sorely tried. The 
 weather was oppressive, the room uncomfort- 
 ably warm, and, notwithstanding all his 
 efforts, he could get no notice taken of the 
 bell which he rang repeatedly. Again and 
 again the summons sounded louder and 
 louder, but still neither his own servant, nor 
 any belonging to the hotel, appeared. At 
 last a breathless waiter entered the room, 
 who gasped — 
 
 "Very sorry to have kept you a' waiting, 
 sir, but I've been a'helping to look for the 
 lost child." 
 
 " Lost what? " enquired Mr. Grant hastily, 
 forgetful, in his suddenly awakened interest, 
 both of his previous anger and discomfort. 
 
 " Lost child, sir ! Strayed, sir ! out of our 
 gardens here. She were left in charge of the 
 
24 THE ROLL CALL. 
 
 lady's maid, and when the nus' went for her, 
 the httle lady couldn't be found nowhere, and 
 they hasn't found her yet." 
 
 ''Whose child is it?" interrogated Mr. 
 Grant. 
 
 " Well, sir, you see, sir, she's a horphan 
 so I can't exactly say ; but she is a visitor in 
 the 'ouse, and they call her Miss Hesney, or 
 Miss Hesmey, I can't be sure which." 
 
 ''A little girl with light hair?" suggested 
 Mr. Grant anxiously. 
 
 '' Yes, sir, the same as everyone takes 
 notice on. There are four on 'em stopping 
 'ere — the young lady as the little lady which 
 is lost calls aunt, the little lady herself, the 
 lady's maid, and the nurse." 
 
 '' And the little girl is lost, you say ! God 
 bless my heart, what a terrible business ! Go 
 back by all means, and join in the search for 
 her." 
 
 The man needed no second bidding, and 
 Ralph Grant, hobbling to the door, was about 
 
DREAMLAND. 25 
 
 to follow him, when, just outside the room, 
 he almost fell into the arms of a young lady, 
 who was swiftly proceeding in another 
 direction. A slight collision ensued, which 
 brought both parties to a standstill. It was 
 not altogether an unpleasant catastrophe, at 
 least, so thought Ralph Grant. The blushing 
 girl courteously received the commencement 
 of his apology, but he was considerably 
 startled when she suddenly drowned his 
 syllables with a wild cry, and bounded from 
 him like a young gazelle. 
 
 Ralph Grant was a bachelor, middle-aged, 
 and endowed with considerable presence of 
 mind. Nevertheless, this finale^ following so 
 closely upon the news of the lost child, and 
 the collision with the fair stranger, entirely 
 upset his accustomed equanimity. Hat in 
 hand, he remained for some moments staring 
 down the empty passage, with a vague 
 wonderment in his mind of what unlikely 
 event was likely to overtake him next. For 
 
26 THE ROLL CALL. 
 
 a brief space of time he seemed destined 
 to solitude and speculation : but only for a 
 brief space. Very soon the sound of voices 
 and of trampling feet smote upon his ear, and 
 a procession of waiters, chambermaids, and 
 servants of all denominations, headed by a 
 lady and a little girl, with a very hysterical 
 maid by their side, came in view. He recog- 
 nised them at once, and hastened to offer a 
 few words of hearty congratulation to the 
 lady, upon the finding of the child. His con- 
 gratulation was cordially received, and, in 
 accepting it, an apology, was tendered by the 
 lady, for the abrupt departure which had taken 
 place upon her part a short time before. 
 
 Sundry sounds, she proceeded to explain, 
 without the hotel, had suddenly induced her 
 to hope that the search for the lost little one 
 had been successful. Wherefore, forgetful of 
 everything but the great relief and joy which 
 this hope inspired, she had flown to the spot 
 from whence the sounds issued. 
 
DREAMLAND. 27 
 
 Ralph Grant was quick to comprehend all 
 the bearings of the case, and with a few more 
 kindly words, together with a friendly pat upon 
 the cheek to the small author of the morning's 
 excitement, he retired to the seclusion of his 
 bachelor apartments, where his day dreams 
 speedily became as vivid as his visions of the 
 night. 
 
 It did not take long, for the confidential 
 servant, by whom he was accompanied, to as- 
 certain full particulars concerning the party 
 at the hotel, in whom his master was so in- 
 terested. 
 
 The negligent lady's maid was garrulous in 
 her own exculpation. With her self acquittal 
 from all blame respecting the straying of the 
 little one, who had been temporarily confided 
 to her charge, she was communicative about 
 her employer. 
 
 '^ My mistress. Miss Lily Carlesford, is 
 an orphan. Her little niece. Miss Esme 
 Montague, is also an orphan. They have 
 
28 THE ROLL CALL. 
 
 lived tog^ether for nigh upon three years. 
 Miss Carlesford is the guardian of Httle Miss 
 Esme, and she has got another guardian ; a 
 tall, fine-looking gentleman. His name is 
 Mr. Arthur Greatorix, and he was Mr. 
 Montague's bosom friend, he was, and Mr. 
 Montague was the papa of Miss Esme, and 
 Mr. Arthur Greatorix happened to be in Italy 
 when Mr. and Mrs. Montague was travelling 
 there, and when their horses took fright and 
 ran away and nobody could stop them, and 
 the poor lady and gentleman were thrown out 
 of their carriage all down a precipice and was 
 both killed on the spot, and they was both 
 of them handsome and young, the poor lady 
 only nineteen, and the poor gentleman hadn't 
 so very long before come of age, and they 
 had one Httle baby. Miss Esme, and plenty 
 of money. And after their bodies were 
 found, they were buried, and the lawyer wrote 
 word as Miss Lily Carlesford, for she was 
 poor Mrs. Montague's sister, you know, and 
 
DREAMLAND. 29 
 
 Mr. Arthur Greatorix was to have the charge 
 of Miss Esme ; she was only a baby then, 
 but she was to be what they calls their ward, 
 and my mistress doats upon Miss Esme, and 
 makes a fine fuss about her. She hasn't any 
 other relations, you see, my mistress hasn't, at 
 least none as ever I heard of, no more hasn't 
 Miss Esme either ; and as for Mr. Greatorix 
 it is very seldom that he comes nigh them ; 
 he's always away in foreign parts, and ain't 
 much good to either of them as I can see.*' 
 
 Such was the information given by the 
 maid — information which was quickly im- 
 parted by man to master. Armed with it, 
 Ralph Grant soon contrived to commence an 
 acquaintance with the strangers. Neither 
 *' Carlesford " nor " Greatorix " were unknown 
 names to Ralph Grant. By a little dexterity 
 he quickly drew Miss Carlesford to speak of 
 her guardianship to little Esme, and from this, 
 it followed naturally, that Mr. Arthur Greato- 
 rix, her co-guardian, was spoken of. 
 
30 THE ROLL CALL. 
 
 The ball, as it were, being thus opened, 
 Ralph Grant made the most of his opportunity. 
 Question and answer followed each other 
 rapidly, and the fact was soon patent that 
 Lily Carlesford and Ralph Grant had many 
 acquaintances and friends in common. So it 
 often comes about, and the old saying, '\The 
 world is not so large as it seems to be," was 
 fully exemplified in their case, while the hke- 
 ness of Esme to her aunt fully accounted to 
 Ralph Grant, for the mystery of the beauti- 
 ful face, in the star of his dream. 
 
 The steps from acquaintanceship to friend- 
 ship, and from friendship to love, were 
 made almost at a bound by the hitherto un- 
 susceptible Ralph Grant; while more slowly, 
 perhaps, but, nevertheless, quite as surely, 
 were the like progressions made by Lily 
 Carlesford. 
 
 Six months sped away. At their expira- 
 tion Brashleigh Manor held a loved and 
 honoured mistress within its walls, and little 
 
DREAMLAND. 31 
 
 Esme was duly installed the pet and play- 
 thing of everyone therein. 
 
 Alas, that so it might not continue ! The 
 remorseless Angel of Death swept over the 
 happy household, and, enfolded the sweet wife 
 in his dark wing, ere the first anniversary 
 of her bridal day came round. 
 
 Broken-hearted, well-nigh despairing, Ralph 
 Grant retired from business, Brashleigh 
 Manor was closed, and he, with little Esme, 
 turning their faces to other lands, roamed far 
 and wide. 
 
 " My star — my flower — my beautiful Lily ; 
 your pure light has gone from earth to the 
 bright heavens above. Shine on me still, 
 darling, from your new home — light my dark- 
 ness, my pitiful darkness. Lily — my wife — 
 my dream — my star — my flower — my Lily." 
 
 Thus wailed Ralph Grant, and thus sorrow 
 winnowed all harshness from out of his honest 
 nature ; while thus also he became the tender 
 and devoted slave of the little Esme. 
 
CHAPTER III. 
 
 AUNT FLORA. 
 
 During the ten years which succeeded his 
 bereavement, Ralph Grant rarely visited 
 Brashleigh Manor. Meanwhile, many an eye 
 was cast with curiosity upon the deserted 
 mansion, and speculation was frequently busy 
 concerning its ultimate fate. At last, how- 
 ever, a rumour arose in its neighbourhood. 
 At first it was only a nervous and mysterious 
 whisper, but presently the whisperers grew 
 bolder, and before long more than one tongue 
 loudly proclaimed, that '^ Mr. Grant was going 
 to marry again." 
 
 And it was even so. Satiated, perhaps, 
 with travelling, Roman villas, French 
 chateaux^ Swiss chalets^ table d'hotes^ and all 
 the various unhomelike attributes of other 
 chmes ; anxious, maybe, that Esme should 
 
AUNT FLORA. 33 
 
 have the constant companionship of one of 
 her own sex and station, Ralph Grant not only 
 determined upon returning to sojourn in his 
 native land, but also upon bringing with him 
 a wife to share that sojourn. 
 
 Unfortunately, his second venture upon the 
 sea of matrimony was less successful than his 
 first ; nevertheless, Cupid was not altogether 
 blameless in the matter. 
 
 Possibly, Ralph Grant supposed that it was 
 Minerva, and Minerva alone, who turned the 
 scales in favour of his marriage ; in fact, that 
 he had yielded rather to the suggestions of 
 the goddess in question, than to the tempta- 
 tions of the god. If so, his delusion was 
 destined to be somewhat roughly dispelled. 
 
 Caring nothing whatever for the pleasures 
 of a country life, nothing for its duties, in- 
 terested neither in sport nor land, few women, 
 could have been found, who would have proved 
 to be so unlikely to make his life once more 
 happy, as she upon whom his choice fell. 
 
 VOL. L D 
 
34 THE ROLL CALL. 
 
 For many a weary month, striving loyally 
 to believe both in her amiability of character 
 and in her affection for himself, he resolutely 
 shut his eyes to the fact of his mistake. But 
 his wife would not help his shaking faith. 
 He stretched out his hands to her with a 
 prayer for aid. He might as well have im- 
 plored a heathen to unravel for him some 
 abstruse doctrine of Christianity. Flora 
 Grant neither understood, nor cared to under- 
 stand, his petition. And the blank in his 
 heart was almost greater than that, which, 
 heretofore, had been made by death. 
 
 But, of this, what recked his wife ? Head- 
 ing his table, reclining comfortably in his 
 handsome carriages, surrounded by all the 
 luxuries and trappings of wealth, with a toler- 
 able amount of beauty and the gift of health, 
 she drifted contentedly far away from out of 
 the innermost life of the man by whose side 
 she had stood at God's altar. 
 
 Alas ! how many of those who should be one 
 
AUNT FLORA. 35 
 
 only, are two ! If, for a time, the knowledge, 
 that such a division must henceforward be his 
 fate, cast an expression of anxiety over the 
 ruddy countenance of Ralph Grant, in time, 
 the gloom wore away. Turning to Esme, 
 he found in her a solace and a comfort under 
 his unconfessed disappointment, and, Flora 
 Grant, misconstruing this affection into a 
 morbid love for the memory of his dead wife, 
 resented it accordingly. 
 
 ''We men are a little breed/' and, with an 
 intense worship of self, we speedily dwindle 
 and become less. Selfishness eats away all 
 fineness of perception, pollutes fair deeds 
 with foul suspicions, and stifles at last the 
 starved-out emotions of better nature. But 
 it carries with it its own curse. They who 
 sow must reap. 
 
 With interests which were too wholly con - 
 centrated, upon her own well-being, to allow 
 her to feel aught of concern for that of any 
 other living creature. Flora Grant yet deemed 
 
36 THE ROLL CALL. 
 
 herself to be ill-used, beyond conception, 
 by the cordiality which existed between 
 her husband and Esme. Their content 
 fretted her, and as time went by, and the 
 devotion of Arthur Greatorix to his fair ward 
 manifested ' itself, matters became worse. 
 Angry, it was hard to say for what reason, 
 and absurdly jealous of Esme, Flora Grant 
 grew daily more fractious and exacting. So 
 by degrees, she was treated as a spoiled child, 
 indulged in every caprice ; but, never leant 
 upon, for either counsel or sympathy. 
 
 Esme felt this keenly, in the early days of 
 her engagement to Arthur Greatorix. She 
 could understand nothing of the workings of 
 a discontented mind, and she turned to those 
 about her for love and sympathy in her joy, 
 as naturally as a flower turns to the light. 
 But she met with sore rebuffs at the hands of 
 Flora Grant. 
 
 " Don't talk to me about your engagement, 
 Esme J the whole thing is too absurd. No one 
 
AUNT FLORA. 37 
 
 but your Uncle Ralph would be silly enough 
 to permit such a foolish affair. Arthur 
 Great orix is old enough to be your father." 
 
 '* Not quite," interposed Esme, good- 
 humouredly. 
 
 But her forbearance failed to mollify Mrs. 
 Grant. 
 
 " Don't contradict me, Esme. I am not 
 strong enough to bear it. You ought to know, 
 by this time, how deHcate my nerves are, but 
 no one ever considers me in this house. I 
 might as well be Alexander Selkirk, for any, 
 notice that is ever taken of me. If I were 
 one of those wretched dogs that whimper and 
 howl all night, or a horse, I daresay I should 
 fare better." 
 
 ** Aunt Flora has been reading Tennyson, I 
 suppose," thought Esme, a wicked little smile 
 playing around the corners of her mouth, but 
 she maintained a discreet silence. Where- 
 upon, as was her wont. Flora Grant continued 
 her wail. 
 
38 THE ROLL CALL. 
 
 *' I hate England." 
 
 " Oh, Aunt Flora ! " burst emphatically 
 from her companion. 
 
 *' Now Esme ! don't make me ill. How 
 violent you are. I mean what I say, I 
 do hate England, all except London in the 
 season. What on earth can women do in 
 the country ? " 
 
 " Ride, drive, walk, skate, sketch," — but 
 Esme was stopped before her Hst of occupa- 
 tions and pleasures were half enumerated. 
 
 " Yes, of course ! a mere animal existence. 
 Your lovely idea simply means riding hard 
 until you are purple in the face, and, by way 
 of variety, grilling in the sun until the purple 
 becomes brown." 
 
 *' But it is so beautiful about this dear old 
 place," pleaded Esme, who was unwilling 
 either to prolong the conversation or to be 
 drawn into an argument. 
 
 '' So your Uncle Ralph made me beheve 
 before he brought me here to live. I wish, with 
 
AUNT FLORA. 39 
 
 all my heart, that I could discover what it is 
 which you and he persist in calling beautiful. 
 It seems to me that trees are all much ahke, 
 and that hedges and ditches are plentiful 
 enough everywhere." 
 
 '* But no hedges can be Hke the Brashleigh 
 hedges, dear Aunt Flora, they are so full of 
 flowers and ferns." 
 
 '' And toads and frogs, and all sorts of 
 horrors ! And then the people about are so 
 stupid and so badly dressed. I declare some- 
 times the women's gowns give me quite a 
 headache ; the colours are so hideous, and 
 the make so abominable." 
 
 Now Esme Montague liked well-assorted 
 colours and pretty dresses quite as much as 
 Flora Grant. Moreover, the fair Esme fully 
 understood the respective merits of both 
 Worth and Elise, and remembering the 
 peculiarities of many of the garments, which, 
 at various times, she had beheld upon the 
 backs of some of her acquaintances, she was 
 
40 THE ROLL CALL. 
 
 at a loss how to defend either these same 
 garments or their wearers. But she could not 
 let the attack upon the intelligence of the latter 
 pass unnoticed. 
 
 ''Arthur thinks that Miss Ramshaw is a 
 very intellectual person, and he says that Mrs. 
 Buckleton understands politics better than 
 any lady he has ever known." 
 
 ''Arthur!" interrupted Mrs. Grant con- 
 temptuously, " how preposterously foolish you 
 are, Esme, to mention him. His judgment is 
 not worth having. What can a fox-hunting, 
 Cornish squire know about intellect? " 
 
 The young girl reddened, and for the 
 second time during that conversation wisely 
 kept silence. 
 
 " If you are going, Esme, to pin your faith 
 upon the opinions of Arthur Greatorix, you 
 might as well have been born without brains. 
 Besides, it is very bad taste for a woman 
 to quote a man before she is actually married 
 to him." 
 
AUNT FLORA. 41 
 
 ** But it was only to you, Aunt Flora," 
 interrupted Esme, gently. 
 
 *' Oh ! yes, of course, I know, 07ily to me ! 
 As I said before, I am of no consequence ; 
 I never have been since I came here, but 
 there was a time when it was altogether 
 different. Now, Esme, I warn you. I dis- 
 approve altogether of your engagement to 
 Arthur Greatorix. Of course, I am nobody, 
 and what I say will not be heeded. But 
 I consider it my duty to warn you. He 
 is too old, and you are too young, and you 
 ought not to be married until after next 
 season. I have been looking forward to that 
 time ever since I married your uncle. I 
 mean, to the season which I thought we 
 should spend in town after you were pre- 
 sented, and now you are to be presented 
 upon your marriage ; and, of course, my 
 wishes are forgotten, and no one thinks 
 of my disappointment. I ought, of course, 
 to have been consulted, but I was not. 
 
42 THE ROLL CALL. 
 
 That is because your uncle is so much older 
 than I am. If he were a younger man, he 
 would be more polite and considerate. I 
 mean " — she hesitated, noting sundry signs 
 of indignation upon the face of her listener 
 — '' I mean that he would understand me 
 better, and that he would not, so continually 
 give way to you, at my expense. The idea of 
 allowing you to be married at Christmas 
 under any circumstances would be ridiculous 
 enough, but when you are only seventeen and 
 Arthur Greatorix is six-and-thirty " — 
 
 " I shall be eighteen, the day before 
 Christmas Day," Esme ventured to inter- 
 pose. 
 
 '' Why will you keep worrying me with 
 such silly remarks? What difference can 
 that make ? You are still years and years 
 younger than your intended husband, and I 
 know, well enough, what perpetual discomfort 
 disparity of age entails." 
 
AUNT FLORA. 43 
 
 Esme looked at the speaker, wondering, as 
 she looked, whether Flora Grant really meant 
 that which her words implied. 
 
 And Flora Grant was sharp enough to 
 guess that some such wonder was crossing 
 the mind of her young companion. Con- 
 sequently, she attempted to palliate her state- 
 ment. 
 
 *M do not wish you to run away with the 
 notion either that I am positively miserable 
 or actually ill-treated ; but, you see, I am so 
 sensitive, so delicate, and so nervous, that I 
 am neither appreciated nor understood. Other 
 women might find enjoyment in things which 
 absolutely annoy me. Rude health and bois- 
 terous spirits try me dreadfully. I shrink 
 from contact with them. But, as I said 
 just now, I am not understood. There- 
 fore I do not complain ; I only shudder and 
 suffer. You and your uncle are both so 
 painfully robust that I never expect con- 
 
44 THE ROLL CALL. 
 
 sideration upon any point from either of you. 
 Seldom, however, as I express my opinions, 
 I must frankly tell you, Esme, that I consider 
 Christmas to be a horrid, vulgar time for 
 weddings. And then, how red the cold will 
 make the noses of your bridesmaids ! You 
 cannot expect to look well either ! I do not 
 admire fair brides, they are too colourless 
 in white, which, of course, sets brunettes off 
 to perfection. The summer, perhaps, might 
 be more becoming to you, or London, where 
 the churches are well warmed and comfort- 
 able." 
 
 Since Flora Grant was a most decided 
 brunette, Esme felt utterly unable to make 
 any reply whatever, upon the subject of bridal 
 beauty. Therefore, with rather a heightened 
 colour upon her cheeks, she merely said 
 shyly — 
 
 " The poor people would be quite unhappy 
 if my — if our — if the wedding did not take 
 place at Brashleigh." 
 
AUNT FLORA. 45 
 
 " Poor people invariably grumble about 
 everything," was the retort. 
 
 And then ensued a lengthy, and not par- 
 ticularly charitable lamentation over the 
 general ingratitude of the working classes, 
 and of those around Brashleigh Manor in 
 particular. 
 
 Esme was but an indifferent listener to the 
 complaint. Totally undismayed by the evil 
 prognostications concerning her future life 
 with which she had been assailed, her 
 thoughts had wandered happily away to her 
 lover. Indeed, such prognostications had 
 so often dropped from the lips of Flora 
 Grant, that it was well for the woomg of 
 Arthur Greatorix they should fall thus power- 
 lessly upon his lady-love. 
 
 From consequences, however, they could 
 scarcely be entirely void, although of what 
 nature such consequences might prove to be, 
 Aunt Flora gave no thought. 
 
 *' Aunt Flora," so called by Esme Montague, 
 
46 THE ROLL CALL. 
 
 because, in accordance with the simple, old- 
 fashioned notions of honest Ralph Grant, his 
 wife's relations were in very truth his own, and 
 ^vice versa. 
 
 The '' Deceased Wife's Sister " Bill would 
 perish forthwith, did all men think likewise. 
 
CHAPTER IV. 
 
 LOVE AND TRUST. 
 
 From the digression of the last two chapters, 
 the reader will have gathered a few particulars 
 concerning the principal inmates of Brash- 
 leigh Manor. 
 
 '* Well, Arthur! now for your news," began 
 Esme Montague, estabhshing herself com- 
 fortably in the corner of a low couch in the 
 drawing-room, whither, it will be remembered, 
 she and Arthur Greatorix had withdrawn from 
 the galler}^ to pursue their conversation, " I 
 am all attention, so begin at once." 
 
 " It is not exactly news," he returned. 
 
 ''Then what can it be ? " 
 
 "A disagreeable fact, Esme." 
 
 Her blue eyes opened wide with amaze- 
 ment. Disagreeable facts and Arthur 
 Greatorix did not run together, in her expe- 
 
48 THE ROLL CALL. 
 
 rience. Beyond opening wide her beautiful 
 eyes, however, Esme remained passive. 
 
 Finding that she spoke not, Arthur con- 
 tinued — 
 
 *' Yes, darling, awfully disagreeable. I 
 could not sleep last night for thinking of it. 
 I heard two, three, four, five, and six o'clock 
 strike." 
 
 *' I call four, five, and six o'clock, morning, 
 not night," interposed Esme, with returned 
 gaiety. 
 
 Sorrow had not touched her yet, wherefore 
 she was slow to take alarm. It is otherwise 
 with those who have been oft-times stricken 
 by woe. Then, shadows are as substances, 
 and timid souls flee swiftly forth to meet a 
 grief. 
 
 Arthur looked somewhat rueful, as he 
 repHed — 
 
 ** They were small hours anyhow, but never- 
 theless, such awfully long ones that I most 
 sincerely desire to cut all acquaintance with 
 
LOVE AND TRUST. 49 
 
 them in future. I was afraid of alarming the 
 establishment, or I should have got up and 
 tried the fresh air." 
 
 " I wonder whether you really were awake 
 all the time," incredulously put in Esme. 
 
 " Every bit of it, every atom. How could 
 I possibly sleep, when I knew that I was soon 
 going away from you, my darHng?" he 
 answered earnestly. 
 
 It was out now. The disagreeable fact 
 was launched, and not only launched, but in- 
 advertently launched, notwithstanding the 
 many wakeful hours which Arthur Greatorix 
 had expended upon the plan of its launching. 
 
 Esme was completely taken by surprise, 
 while, Arthur was uncertain whether to feel 
 glad or sorry, that the expression of his reason 
 for anxiety had thus slipped anchor. 
 
 Both remained silent for a few seconds ; 
 then Esme said — 
 
 ** Going away, Arthur ! I thought you had 
 
 VOL. L E 
 
50 THE ROLL CALL. 
 
 arranged to stay and help Uncle Ralph with 
 his shooting parties. Going away from me. 
 I mean, from Brashleigh." 
 
 '^ I am afraid so, my own, own darling." 
 
 ''But does Uncle Ralph know?" inter- 
 rogated Esme. 
 
 ** Not yet. I have thought only of you. 
 I must, of course, inform him soon." 
 
 " But why are you going, Arthur? " 
 
 The question was simple enough, and 
 under the circumstances perfectly natural ; 
 yet, perhaps, it caused more disquietude to 
 Arthur Greatorix, at that moment, than any 
 other could have done. Scarcely venturing 
 to glance at the lovely face which was lifted 
 'SO wonderingly to him, he said, hesitatingly — 
 
 " I cannot explain the reason, Esme 
 dearest. It is very urgent, or, you may be 
 ■sure, it would have no weight with me." 
 
 " I thought we were always to tell each 
 other everything, to have no secrets. You 
 have always said, Arthur, that — that love and 
 
LOVE AND TRUST. 5 1 
 
 trust are inseparable. I feel as if I could not 
 understand it " — 
 
 '' Do not try to understand it," he inter- 
 rupted quickly ; '* the cause is born of the 
 past, not of the present." 
 
 '* But have I nothing to do with the past, 
 with your past, Arthur ? " Esme asked, her 
 fair face still wearing an expression of 
 innocent bewilderment. 
 
 '' Nothing to do with my past ! " he echoed, 
 noting with pain that Esme slightly turned 
 from him. " Nothing to do with my past ! " 
 he repeated. '' Oh ! Esme, my darling, listen 
 to me, listen to me." 
 
 She did not speak, and, with increasing 
 disquietude, Arthur took her two hands in his. 
 They were cold from excitement, and for 
 a few moments, he chafed them gently to 
 and fro, before he continued — 
 
 " I watched over your safety, Esme, when 
 you were scarcely more than a baby. I loved 
 you tenderly in your childhood, and, in the far 
 
 ' . .^ Me ffi 9 mats 
 
52 THE ROLL CALL. 
 
 away haunts to which I travelled, I mused 
 often over your lisping sentences and merry 
 prattle. God knows, I am ruffian enough 
 still ; but, Esme, I first began to ponder over 
 all things that are holy and of good report 
 from my contact with your innocence. And 
 when years went by, and you grew into some- 
 thing more than a child, I tried to become, in 
 a manner, more fit to hold the little hand, 
 which, unasked, you would often place con- 
 fidingly in mine. Years still went on, and 
 there grew up a precious hope in my breast, 
 a hope, darling, which you have turned into a 
 deep joy. Ah, Esme ! past, present and 
 future hold but one image for me. And you 
 know that it is so, do you not, in spite of 
 your question ? From the lightest word that 
 I ■ ever breathed into your baby ears until 
 now, I have never deceived you. God helping 
 me; 'I never will." 
 
 " I never dreamed of your deceiving me, 
 Arthur 1 " she remonstrated. 
 
LOVE AND TRUST. 53 
 
 Arthur saw at once that his concluding 
 remark had been inconsequent, and that he 
 had, in fact, rather followed his own train of 
 thought than her words. 
 
 '' No, darling, no ! I am at my wit's end, 
 I think, this afternoon," he cried. 
 
 "And a little unreasonable, it seems to me, 
 now you have arrived there. You have not 
 yet told me, either w^here you are going or for 
 how long you will remain away," returned 
 Esme. 
 
 *' Have I not?" he asked absently. ''I 
 am going to Gibraltar." 
 
 ''To Gibraltar!" 
 
 And the cold little hands, which Arthur 
 held, trembled exceedingly. 
 
 '' Yes, darling, but I shall not be gone 
 many weeks. It is not really far." 
 
 A very frigid '' No," interrupted him. 
 
 The taunts and evil prophecies of Flora 
 Grant were guilty of its coldness. For the 
 first time, her words assumed weight with 
 
54 THE ROLL CALL. 
 
 Esme, and, recurring unbidden to her memory, 
 arrayed themselves against Arthur Greatorix. 
 She made one last appeal, however, to her 
 lover. Choking back the pride which was 
 struggHng to vanquish her softer feelings, she 
 asked — 
 
 *' Is the business, or whatever it is, which 
 takes you to Gibraltar, so important that I 
 may not be entrusted with a knowledge of 
 it?" 
 
 '' Unfortunately, most unfortunately, it is, 
 dearest." 
 
 A profound silence followed. 
 
 Without the house, all nature was blithe 
 in the summer sunshine, but within, in that 
 gorgeously appointed drawing-room, a young 
 heart received its first stab of distrust. And 
 the pain of that stab was very hard to bear. 
 Esme struggled silently with its agony, she 
 was too proud to make if known, too in- 
 experienced to guess its danger. Looking 
 towards a time-piece, she said quietly — 
 
LOVE AND TRUST. 55 
 
 *' There is nothing more, I think, that we 
 need discuss ; therefore I will enquire whether 
 Miss Wycombe is disengaged, and inclined 
 for a stroll with me." 
 
 Arthur released the hands he was holding. 
 In mute despair, he rose to his feet, and 
 pushed aside a chair, as though to make way 
 for Esme to pass from him. Then his mood 
 changed. Flinging his arms suddenly around 
 her, he exclaimed, passionately — 
 
 *' You are all unlike your sweet self, Esme! 
 You are mistaking me altogether. Tell me, 
 darling, before you go, that you love me the 
 same, quite the same, as you did before 
 this miserable journey was ever mentioned. 
 Tell me, Esme, that you love me and trust 
 me, oh, in pity tell me so, darling ! or" — 
 
 The sentence was not destined to be con- 
 cluded. A quick footstep sounded on the 
 gravel path beside the window, and the next 
 instant the cheery voice of Ralph Grant was 
 heard, exclaiming — 
 
56 THE ROLL CALL. 
 
 *' God bless my heart ! What can you two 
 be thinking of to stay Indoors all this lovely 
 afternoon ? " 
 
 The interruption was peculiarly unwelcome 
 to Arthur. Esme flew from him, and passing 
 quickly through the window which opened 
 to the ground, she took up her position at 
 the side of her uncle, who, nodding at her 
 approvingly, said — 
 
 "That is right. You are not afraid that 
 the sun will hurt your complexion, as, I 
 believe, a good many ladies are." 
 
 By way of answer she put her arm affec- 
 tionately through his, and leaning upon it, she 
 rested one of her hands upon the other. 
 
 Arthur watched her sorrowfully. It seemed 
 to him as though she had escaped to take 
 refuge with her uncle, who ran on with in- 
 creasing cheerfulness — 
 
 '' Plenty of fresh air, Greatorix, and as 
 much exercise as you can get. There Is 
 nothing like it. I can no more sit indoors 
 
LOVE AND TRUST. 57 
 
 when the sun Is shining than I can when I 
 hear a ' view holloa.' " 
 
 Neither Esme nor Arthur spoke. Without 
 appearing to notice their taciturnity, Ralph 
 Grant pointed to a clematis that clustered 
 luxuriantly around the window, through which 
 Esme had just passed, and said enthusi- 
 astically — 
 
 ** Splendid, Is it not ? I never saw so many 
 blossoms upon It before, and the flowers are 
 larger than ever. It Is not a bit hurt by the 
 late frosts we had this spring ; Oakdene says 
 the creepers at his uncle's place are cut all 
 to pieces." 
 
 " Splendid," returned Arthur laconically, 
 with his eyes fixed upon Esme, rather than 
 upon the flower in question. 
 
 The assent to his opinion was enough for 
 Ralph Grant, who forthwith began an elo- 
 quent descantation upon the treatment and 
 growth of plants In general. His listeners, or, 
 perhaps, his companions would more faith- 
 
58 THE ROLL CALL. 
 
 fully describe Esme and Arthur, made no 
 attempt to interrupt him. The most absurd 
 botanical theory would have met with 
 neither astonishment nor contradiction at 
 their hands. So Ralph Grant, who, by 
 the way, was eminently practical in all his 
 doings, continued his remarks. They were 
 exhausted at length. Complete silence is 
 sometimes a wonderful check to loquacity. 
 Anyhow he paused, and looked enquiringly 
 first at Arthur and then at Esme. Something 
 in their faces puzzled him. He would have 
 been utterly at a loss to explain what it was. 
 He felt mystified, without knowing wherefore. 
 Lover's quarrels, and their accessories, are 
 common enough generally, but they were 
 altogether foreign to the experience of the 
 lovers whom Ralph Grant now regarded. The 
 love of Arthur for \\\s Jiancee had brought her 
 no heartburnings. She had rested hitherto in 
 his affection with a calm and perfect satis- 
 faction ; hence, roses without thorns, smiles 
 
LOVE AND TRUST. 59 
 
 without tears, had been her portion, while 
 for Arthur it had been the same. And Ralph 
 Grant comprehended much of this in spite of 
 his mature years, and comprehending it, he 
 was the more bewildered by their evident 
 tribulation. After another scrutinizing glance 
 at them, he cried with characteristic im- 
 petuosity — 
 
 '^ God bless my heart, how quiet you both 
 are ! Get Esme a sunshade, Arthur, and 
 come and look at the grapes." 
 
 Arthur turned instantaneously to comply 
 with this request. He was scarcely away a 
 minute, but, short as the space of time was, he 
 found Esme gone when he returned. 
 
 *' What is the matter with Esme ? " was the 
 query with which Ralph Grant greeted the 
 luckless bearer of the sunshade. 
 
 '' The matter with Esme," repeated Arthur 
 drearily to himself. 
 
 Awkward questions seemed to be his doom, 
 upon that sunshiny August afternoon. He 
 
6o THE ROLL CALL. 
 
 hesitated, opened his Hps as if about to 
 speak, and then remained silent. After a 
 short reflection, however, he repeated the 
 information, concerning his impending de- 
 parture from Brashleigh, which he had 
 previously given to Esme. It was received 
 by his host with equal, and much more noisy 
 astonishment. Interrogations and ejaculations 
 followed each other in rapid succession. 
 Arthur stemmed the torrent as best he could. 
 It was easier for him to strive against, 
 than were the gentle tones, and simple words 
 of Esme. Moreover, he knew that it sprang 
 from anxiety for her. 
 
 "Well, my boy! I can't say any more. 
 Of course, I don't want to pry into your 
 affairs. Every man is the best judge of his 
 own business. But I'm disappointed, and 
 I'm afraid, it will trouble the little one. 
 Parting means sorrow. She has a high 
 courage, but a tender heart, and saying 
 ' good-bye ' will be an ugly wrench for her. 
 
LOVE AND TRUST. 6l 
 
 You must break it gently to her, Greatorlx. 
 I don't like it. I thought the hunting and 
 the shooting, between them, would have kept 
 you pretty close to us, until your wadding. I 
 don't like it," he repeated; ''and out of the 
 country too ! I am over anxious, perhaps, 
 about the little one ; but I can't help it. God 
 bless her sweet face, I couldn't bear to see 
 a shadow on it ! Think it over again, 
 Greatorix. Don't decide in a hurry. Why ! 
 you and Esme might go to Gibraltar together, 
 if you only waited until next year." 
 
 Arthur struggled desperately, not only to 
 maintain his composure, but also his resolu- 
 tion. 
 
 " I wish with all my heart that it could be 
 as you propose ; nothing on earth would 
 delight me more," he returned, gravely. 
 
 " Then why, in the name of all that's good, 
 don't you settle it so ? " burst in Ralph Grant 
 eagerly. 
 
 " Time must show you why ; I cannot." 
 
62 THE ROLL CALL. 
 
 '' Time," interposed Ralph Grant, "makes 
 many things plain to those who live long 
 enough, I grant you. But there is another 
 side to the question. Many go down to the 
 ^rave, while mysteries are being solved. 
 Perhaps all things are made clear to those 
 who have so gone, but to those who are left 
 — those who are left, the satisfaction of an 
 explanation is denied. Forgive my gravity, 
 my boy. We will talk of this matter another 
 time. Keep trouble from the little one. It 
 is all I ask." 
 
 ''And it is all that I live for," interposed 
 Arthur warmly. '' I have two strong arms, and 
 trouble, must have a tough wrestle with me, 
 before it breaks through them to reach 
 Esme." 
 
 Ralph Grant thanked the speaker, and, 
 with the hopefulness of his cheery nature, 
 tried to feel satisfied ; nevertheless, a gloom 
 hung over him, as he turned away. 
 
 Left to himself, Arthur plunged his hands 
 into his trousers pockets, with a sigh, which 
 
LOVE AND TRUST. 63 
 
 had a good many elements of a groan in 
 its composition. He was dissatisfied with 
 •everything ; with himself most of all. His 
 interview with Esme had been interrupted: his 
 conversation with Mr. Grant unsatisfactory. 
 Nothing had turned out as it ought to have 
 done ; consequently, Arthur thought, no man 
 was so ill-used, so completely wretched, as 
 himself. There was only one hope left 
 to him, he silently assured himself, and 
 this hope rested in Esme. He must see her, 
 must hear, from her lips, words of pardon, of 
 love and trust. Then, he could bear anything 
 which the fates might send him. He could 
 not, nay ! he would not, endure the torturing 
 memory of her averted face. So he sought 
 her diligently ; but in vain. Shady bowers 
 and favourite trysting-places were aHke deso- 
 late. Patiently and wearily he plodded from 
 one to the other, dreaming of happier hours 
 and yearning for her presence with unutter- 
 able longing. 
 
 Suddenly a bright thought, in the shape 
 
64 THE ROLL CALL. 
 
 of afternoon tea, presented itself. He hailed 
 it as a shipwrecked mariner might a sail. 
 It was past five o'clock. Esme was a 
 zealous devotee of the tea table, and there, 
 surely, he would find her ! Accordingly, he 
 bent his footsteps towards the conservatory, 
 in which, during the summer months, it was 
 the will of Flora Grant to have afternoon tea 
 served. Reaching the spot, he looked anxiously 
 around, but china cups and saucers, a hissing 
 silver urn, and gay flowers, were the principal 
 objects visible. They were a present dis- 
 appointment, but some part of the mute array 
 gave promise of good for the future. The 
 repast was evidently an event to come. All 
 was in order ; chairs were set, tea-cups un- 
 used. He resolved, therefore, to take his 
 stand and to wait. 
 
 Before very long, a patter, the gentle tapping 
 of a high-heeled slipper, upon the tesselated 
 floor, made his heart beat fast. Pretty as the 
 figure was, however, whose coming was thus 
 
LOVE AND TRUST. 65 
 
 heralded, It was not that, for which he was 
 sighing. Scarcely daring to lift his eyes, he 
 was swiftly made aware that Hannah Wy- 
 combe, and not Esme Montague, had entered 
 the conservatory. 
 
 '' Where is Miss Montague, Mr. Great- 
 orix?" exclaimed la belle, as soon as she 
 espied Arthur. 
 
 ^' Indeed, I cannot tell you. I hoped to 
 have found her here," was the grave reply. 
 
 '^ And so did I," answered Hannah 
 Wycombe, more promptly, perhaps, than 
 truthfully. 
 
 Esme was not quite the person whom the 
 fair Hannah sought. The conference with 
 her maid at an end, la belle had taken refuge, 
 from the cares of her toilette, in a novel, the 
 plot of which was not sufficiently interesting 
 to entirely absorb her faculties. With her 
 eyes on the book, therefore, her ears had been 
 open to passing sounds. The room, In which 
 she sat, led into the conservatory. It had. 
 
 VOL. L F 
 
66 THE ROLL CALL. 
 
 seemed to her quite as possible a probability 
 that the creaking of Arthur's boots should 
 betoken the approach of Lord Oakdene, as it 
 had seemed to Arthur a probable possibility 
 that the footsteps of la belle should be those 
 of Esme. It was a blank meeting, therefore ; 
 in sporting phraseology, both were '' at fault." 
 ConventionaHty is, however, a splendid cover. 
 Whatever the chagrin might have been which 
 lurked in the respective hearts of Hannah 
 Wycombe and Arthur Greatorix, politeness 
 held it at bay. 
 
 Woman's wit is proverbially quick. It did 
 not take la belle long to divine that Arthur 
 was waiting anxiously for his fiancee. She 
 accordingly said good-naturedly — 
 
 "' I will go and tell Miss Montague that we 
 are both dying for some tea, and yet, in her 
 absence, are too conscientious to rifle the 
 contents of the teapot." 
 
 In his heart, Arthur fervently blessed la 
 belle, for the suggestion. Alas, for her 
 
LOVE AND TRUST. 67 
 
 kindly proposal ! Temptation, in the shape 
 of Lord Oakdene, assailed her before she 
 had gone many paces from the presence 
 of Arthur. The temptation triumphed ; the 
 search for Esme was relinquished. The fact, 
 that his blessings had been premature, was 
 revealed to Arthur by the fluttering of the 
 rose-coloured ribbons of la belle's sunshade 
 among the trees which skirted the lawn. 
 The ribbons fluttered on a little further, and 
 then the head of Lord Oakdene could be seen 
 in close juxtaposition to them. 
 
 Arthur absolved la belle for the disappoint- 
 ment which she had caused him. Neverthe- 
 less, in the disappointment, he felt that another 
 straw had been added to the burthen of the day ; 
 moreover, that any addition thereto would in- 
 evitably prove fatal to his powers of endurance. 
 At the sound, therefore, of the tinkling of 
 silver bells, which silver bells he knew pro- 
 claimed the approach of Mrs. Grant's pet 
 dog, and if of her pet dog, then of Mrs. 
 
68 THE ROLL CALL. 
 
 Grant herself, he fled.' He could not en- 
 counter, under existing circumstances, a tete- 
 a-tete tea with his hostess. 
 
 The fabulous camel, of whose straws 
 Arthur had been thinking, might for ever 
 preserve Its back entire, could It thus easily 
 escape Its threatened doom. 
 
CHAPTER V. 
 
 THE VERY DEAR COUSIN. 
 
 ^' Vewy unlucky to help anyone to salt, 
 Gweatowix. Help them to salt, help them to 
 sorwow, you know," exclaimed Lord Oakdene, 
 jestingly to Arthur, who, seated by Esme at 
 the dinner table, was placing some of the 
 thus maligned condiment upon her dessert 
 plate. 
 
 Lord Oakdene's remark was inopportune. 
 
 Two days had elapsed since Arthur fled 
 from before the coming of Flora Grant. 
 They had not been happy days to him- 
 Gaiety and amusements of various kinds had 
 kept the inmates of Brashleigh Manor con- 
 stantly astir. Through them all, he had 
 found it hard to determine, whether Esme had 
 purposely kept aloof from him. True, she 
 
70 THE ROLL CALL. 
 
 had accepted all his ''sweet observances/' as 
 usual, but yet, whenever he thought that he 
 had secured a tete-a-tete with her, she had 
 slipped from him like snow before sunshine 
 and was nowhere to be found. 
 
 He was In no mood, therefore, for banter. 
 Putting a cheerful countenance upon the 
 matter, however, he asked — 
 
 '^ In what old wife's school did you learn 
 that balderdash, Oakdene ? " 
 
 '' Why, in that establishment for education 
 which the world keeps, to be sure," laughingly 
 replied his Lordship. " Evewybody knows it 
 is awfully unlucky to help anyone to salt. Do 
 they not, Mrs. Gwant ? " 
 
 ''I thought so, certainly. It seems, how- 
 ever, that you and I are in a minority upon 
 the matter. Miss Wycombe, and Miss 
 Montague both look incredulous. For my 
 part, nothing would induce me to allow any- 
 one, for whom I had the smallest regard, to 
 
THE VERY DEAR COUSIN. 71 
 
 help me to salt. But we must hope, that, in 
 this instance, the old saying may not be 
 verified." 
 
 Flora Grant sighed plaintively, as she 
 emphatically pronounced the word ''hope." 
 The sigh was accompanied by a meaning 
 shrug of her shoulders, and a melancholy 
 attempt at a smile. It was quite evident, 
 that she believed her charitable wish ran but 
 very little chance of meeting with fulfilment. 
 
 The sigh, together with the words of his 
 wife, attracted the attention of Ralph Grant, 
 who said briskly — 
 
 " Nonsense, my dear Flora ! you need not 
 hope at all about it. Greatorix is right. 
 Such fables are all rubbish. Esme has given 
 me my salt at breakfast, ever since she wore 
 short frocks, and I don't think, she has 
 brought me into any very heart-breaking 
 tribulation, as yet." 
 
 Esme rewarded her uncle with a smile of 
 
72 THE ROLL CALL. 
 
 affection, and Arthur, ignoring the covert 
 attack which Flora Grant had made upon him, 
 again addressed Lord Oakdene. 
 
 '' Come, old fellow, since you have given 
 us the dark side of the picture, it is only fair 
 that we should have the other. There is an 
 antidote to most poisons they say. Can't I 
 undo this horrible deed of mine ? " 
 
 '' I don't know," returned Lord Oakdene ; 
 ^' there is something, I think, about thowing 
 salt over your left shoulder, I " — 
 
 '^ No, no," chimed in pretty Hannah 
 Wycombe, with a laugh which allowed her 
 pearly teeth to be displayed to advantage, 
 *' that is only to be done when it is spilled." 
 
 *' You are quite wight. Miss Wycombe, so 
 it is. I am afwaid it wouldn't help Gweatowix 
 out of his pwesent scwape." 
 
 At any other time, Arthur would undoubtedly 
 have prolonged the badinage. As it was, he 
 merely replied curtly — 
 
 *' Then I must trust to my own resources." 
 
THE VERY DEAR COUSIN. 73 
 
 Whereupon Lord Oakdene said, sotto voce, 
 to Hannah Wycombe — 
 
 " The gweat man seems wather iwate this 
 evening." 
 
 Hannah Wycombe replied by a smile only. 
 And so the short conversation upon super- 
 stition ended. 
 
 The persons, who were assembled that 
 night around the dinner table at Brashleigh, 
 formed a charming picture, to which the 
 handsome room, all aglow with the rich 
 tints of the setting sun, formed a fitting 
 framework. 
 
 Flora Grant wore a dress of old gold- 
 coloured brocade, with crimson flowers in her 
 dark hair. The attire becameher brunette com- 
 plexion admirably. She was looking less dis- 
 contented than usual, perhaps because she had 
 wit enough to know that she had somewhat 
 disconcerted Arthur. She was always more 
 amiable when others were uncomfortable. The 
 sight of contentment was displeasing to her. 
 
74 THE ROLL CALL. 
 
 The countenance of Flora Grant ought to 
 have been piquant. Arch smiles should have 
 dwelt persistently upon her full red lips ; and 
 her dark eyes should have sparkled often with, 
 merry glances. Alas, that arch smiles and 
 merry glances were alike doomed to be absen- 
 tees ! By no means absent were they, however^, 
 from the face of Hannah Wycombe, who, in 
 the palest of pale pink robes, formed a charm- 
 ing contrast, not only to her hostess, but 
 also to Esme. La belle, with her golden' 
 hair, brilliant complexion, flashing eyes, white 
 neck and handsome arms, was so dazzlingly 
 attractive, that even the rare beauty of Esme 
 ran the danger of being temporarily ecHpsed.. 
 
 In addition to her personal charms, la belle 
 was invariably gay and good-humoured ;, 
 consequently, she was universally popular. 
 It followed, as a matter of course, that she 
 gained the reputation of being a flirt — not, 
 perhaps, altogether unjustly ; but since she 
 neither encouraged deserters from the ranks 
 
THE VERY DEAR COUSIN. 75 
 
 of rival queens of beauty, nor resented deser- 
 tions from those of her own, she made but few 
 enemies. She was very much in earnest 
 about her flirtations, so long as they lasted ; 
 but, she was in no wise cast down, when they 
 came to a conclusion. 
 
 At the time of her present stay at Brash- 
 leigh, she was indulging in a decided 
 tendresse for Lord Oakdene, by whom it was 
 fully reciprocated, notwithstanding the fact 
 that he believed himself to be suffering 
 poignantly from the life-long misery of a 
 hopeless passion for Esme. Perhaps, he con- 
 ceived his woe to be as a bitter which gave 
 additional zest to his appetite for the enjoy- 
 ment of other sweets. 
 
 He was a petted, rather than a spoiled 
 favourite of fortune. Sang bleu and gold are 
 talents, which, too often prove worse than use- 
 less, in the heedless hands of their possessor. 
 In the present instance, they had not, at any 
 rate, been abused. If, but a small amount of 
 
76 THE ROLL CALL. 
 
 positive good had been effected by Lord 
 Oakdene, during the four-and-twenty years of 
 his existence, it is surely something, in these 
 days, to be able to aver, that no act of his 
 tarnished the lustre of his ancient name ; no 
 fashionable folly or vice, call it which you 
 will, blemished his honour. He was not only 
 an aristocrat, but, — a gentleman. And it 
 came to pass that the knowledge of Esme 
 being engaged, and, as a consequence, for- 
 bidden fruit to him, stimulated him to no 
 unlawful or ungenerous dealings. 
 
 Calling and esteeming Arthur Greatorix his 
 friend, Lord Oakdene allowed no sign of his 
 intense admiration for Esme to escape him. 
 Sure of his honesty of purpose, he braved the 
 dangers of her presence, returning again and 
 again to Brashleigh Manor. He prided him- 
 self a good deal upon the self command 
 which he there displayed, and he thought 
 with complacency upon the secret devotion 
 which inspired him. He, at least, could 
 
THE VERY DEAR COUSIN. 77 
 
 suffer and keep silence ; he, at least, could 
 rejoice in the joy of a friend ; he would lay- 
 down his life for the unconscious object of 
 his adoration, should the necessity for such 
 a sacrifice arise ; he would worship secretly, 
 and endure patiently. So whispered Lord 
 Oakdene, many times, to his heart of hearts. 
 Meanwhile his spirits lost none of their light- 
 ness, his appetite was not impaired, nor his 
 repose destroyed. His visits to Brashleigh 
 gave general satisfaction. To Flora Grant 
 they were the solitary circumstances to, which 
 she raised no dissenting voice. 
 
 Lord Oakdene was a connection of Flora 
 Grant's. Very distant, it is true ; but, he was 
 a lord, and not only a lord, but an earl ! Had 
 it not been so, good looking young guardsman 
 (he belonged to the Coldstreams, or as he 
 called them to the " Coldstweams ") although 
 he assuredly was, with his tall, soldier-like 
 figure and his pleasant face, with its aristo- 
 cratic features, it is more than probable that 
 
78 THE ROLL CALL. 
 
 he would have been allowed to slip alto- 
 gether from out of her list of friends and 
 acquaintances. 
 
 But, being so, she claimed him as her kith 
 and kin. She prided herself vastly, not only 
 upon her ancestral tree itself, but likewise 
 upon her knowledge concerning it. Horace, 
 Earl of Oakdene, was a twig which she un- 
 hesitatingly declared could be plainly traced 
 to the parent stem, and, with a little access 
 of ingenuity, she as unhesitatingly gave 
 cogent reasons for claiming him her cousin. 
 He made no protest to this, and so the 
 •cousinship was established as a fact. It 
 amused his Lordship, and it pleased Flora 
 Grant, so it mattered little to the rest of the 
 world, saving and excepting to honest Ralph 
 Grant, who winced considerably at the oft 
 repeated phrase, ''my cousin Lord Oakdene," 
 which fell from the Hps of his wife. 
 
 Upon such occasions, a gesture of annoyance 
 would escape the master of Brashleigh ; but 
 
THE VERY DEAR COUSIN. 79 
 
 then, he was unskilled in heraldic lore, unversed 
 in the mysteries of pedigree, and so his scru- 
 ples were accounted worthless ! Scorned as 
 lie and his scruples were, however, by the wife 
 who headed his table, his character, and even 
 his appearance, won respect from all others. 
 The dignity, not the infirmity, of years was 
 upon him. Time had neither robbed his eye 
 of its kindly light, nor bent his stalwart frame ; 
 his cheery voice was still lusty, his arm still 
 vigorous. Few better shots than he could be 
 found in the county, few men rode straighter 
 to hounds ; while, over and above all, there 
 shone that warmth of heart and active bene- 
 volence, which had endeared him alike to 
 rich and poor. 
 
 Personally, Ralph Grant liked Lord Oak- 
 dene. Had it been otherwise, even the 
 **very dear cousin," nobleman although he 
 was, would have found no place at Brash- 
 leigh Manor. But, next to Esme, it was 
 to Arthur Greatorix that Ralph Grant 
 
8o THE ROLL CALL. 
 
 turned for companionship and sympathy. 
 The bond between these two men was very 
 strong. Hence the perfect satisfaction with 
 which Ralph Grant looked forward to the 
 cementing of that bond, by the marriage of 
 Arthur with Esme. 
 
 It was in vain that Flora Grant moaned and 
 prophesied evil in the days that were to come ; 
 in vain that she snubbed Arthur ; in vain that 
 she issued terrible warnings to Esme. The 
 betrothal went on all the same. Until the 
 question of Arthur's leave-taking arose, the 
 course of true love had run smoothly ; scarce 
 a ripple stirred the calm sea of delight upon 
 which the lovers sailed, not a breath of 
 adverse wind disturbed them. 
 
 Of the impending leave-taking. Flora Grant, 
 as yet, was unaware. She saw that, for some 
 reason, Lord Oakdene's jest about the salt had 
 perturbed Arthur, and she knew that she had 
 done her best to add to his perturbation. 
 More than this, she did not know. If she had 
 
THE VERY DEAR COUSIN. 8l 
 
 not lacked the tenderness usually to be found 
 in her sex, the gravity which overshadowed 
 Arthur Greatorix would have made her merci- 
 ful towards him. As it was, it only enhanced 
 her triumphant feeling and made her the 
 more keen to pursue her advantage. Un- 
 usually silent, with a sadness in his eyes and 
 a deepened colour upon his bronzed cheek, 
 his appearance would have disarmed most 
 women of all spite towards him. But, like a 
 gnat. Flora Grant returned again and again 
 with words to buzz about and sting him. It 
 was with a certain weariness, therefore, that 
 was born of his spirit, and which manifested 
 itself outwardly, that he rose from his chair 
 as the ladies prepared to leave the room ; a 
 weariness, however, which was dispelled by 
 so sweet a glance from Esme, that rapturous- 
 hope quickly replaced it. Her blue eyes had 
 been turned to him with, once again, their 
 old expression of loving trust, and what cared 
 VOL. I. G 
 
82 THE ROLL CALL. 
 
 he for a hundred Flora Grant's, and ten 
 thousand stinging words? 
 
 Many a malicious intent has brought about 
 a blessing upon those whom it was meant to 
 harm. Just so, the ill-concealed unkindness of 
 Flora Grant produced a total revulsion, in 
 favour of her lover, in the heart of Esme 
 Montague. In her generous wrath at the 
 attacks upon him, which she, and perhaps 
 she only at the table, understood, away went 
 all the pique, which his proposed departure 
 had aroused, all the pride, which his refusal to 
 explain the motives for that departure, had 
 engendered. She remembered only, all his 
 love for her, all her own love for him, and, 
 with her whole soul looking forth from her 
 beautiful eyes, she told him in mute language 
 of her restored faith. 
 
 Are any so quick as lovers at reading 
 signs ? A closely written volume of the most 
 logical and elaborate argument could not have 
 carried such firm conviction to the heart of 
 
THE VERY DEAR COUSIN. 83 
 
 Arthur Greatorix, as did that one, short, sunny 
 glance. And what a change that conviction 
 wrought ! It chased the shadow from his 
 brow, unloosed his tongue, uplifted his head, 
 and dispelled many a dreary misgiving. Such, 
 was the good wrought over him. The evil 
 was impatience — impatience to be up and 
 away from his host and Lord Oakdene ; 
 impatience, in fact, to revel in the joy which 
 his conviction told him was in store for him. 
 And, this could only be, in the presence of 
 Esme. 
 
 Ralph Grant was no wine-bibber, but to 
 use his own words, " I enjoy a glass of good 
 wine myself, and I Hke to see my friends 
 around me doing the same." In accordance 
 with this assertion, he was wont to sip his 
 port, leisurely, after dinner, enjoying, mean- 
 while, the cheery conversation, in which his 
 genial nature took delight. Unluckily for 
 Arthur Greatorix, upon this particular evening, 
 the respective rights of landlord and tenant 
 
84 THE ROLL CALL. 
 
 were under discussion, in consequence of 
 which, the sitting was graver and more pro- 
 longed than usual. The sound of music 
 from the drawing-room, however, brought 
 Arthur's emancipation. 
 
 '' God bless my heart ! I had no idea it was 
 so late," exclaimed Ralph Grant, as the 
 strains reached him. 
 
 Then, to the relief of Arthur, he proposed 
 to join the ladies, and they went. 
 
 There was one moment of wild hope in 
 the breast of Arthur Greatorix, the next 
 instant, he was overwhelmed with despair. 
 To use a schoolboy's phrase. Flora Grant 
 proved herself to be, ''one too many," for the 
 impatient lover. No sooner had Lord Oak- 
 dene, who was closely followed by Arthur, 
 entered the drawing-room, than, music in 
 hand, she accosted the former ; and with an 
 affectation of extreme earnestness, she en- 
 treated him to sing the duet, with the music 
 of which she had fore-armed herself, at once, 
 
THE VERY DEAR COUSIN. 85 
 
 with Esme. What could his Lordship do 
 but acquiesce in such a request, even had he 
 been reluctant instead of willing ? 
 
 Taking the piece of music from his hostess, 
 he went immediately to the piano. Esme 
 was already there. 
 
 Thus Arthur was foiled. Mentally ac- 
 knowledging that it was so, a bitter smile 
 wreathed itself upon his Hp beneath the 
 cover of his heavy moustache. The smile 
 would have been less bitter, if, with second 
 sight, he could have known, that this malice 
 aforethought upon the part of Flora Grant 
 was working for him further good. 
 
 Swiftly glided the fair fingers of Esme 
 over the ivory keys ; fresh and full rose her 
 young voice in the song. Not a false chord 
 was struck, not a wrong note uttered, although 
 her heart and brain were burning and busy 
 with the resolution that, coilte qui coute^ she 
 would see, and speak alone with Arthur, be- 
 fore she went to rest. 
 
86 THE ROLL CALL. 
 
 Meanwhile, matters were growing more 
 desperate for him. La belle had betaken her- 
 self to her hundred and first examination of 
 a bulky photographic album, which graced 
 a table at some distance from the piano, 
 and was listlessly trying to discover, some 
 fresh acquaintance, among the stolid visaged 
 men and women whose likenesses were 
 therein ; Flora Grant was listening with 
 pretended rapture to the performance of the 
 singers, while her husband, leaning against a 
 window, leisurely turned over the leaves of 
 a newspaper. Arthur, although hopelessly 
 unmusical, hovered close to Esme. 
 
 Suddenly there was a stir. He knew only 
 too well what it betokened. His doom was fast 
 overtaking him. The whist table appeared. 
 Forgetful of the music, which but a moment 
 before had been so wholly engrossing to her, 
 Flora Grant clapped her hands with childish 
 glee. 
 
 *' How delightful ! We are just the right 
 
THE VERY DEAR COUSIN. 87 
 
 number. Esme and Lord Oakdene will sing 
 to us, while you and I, Hannah, have a rubber 
 with Mr. Greatorix and Mr. Grant." 
 
 La belle was very weary of her solitary in- 
 spection of the well known photos. She hailed 
 any change, therefore, with pleasure, and, 
 rose up with alacrity, at the words of Flora 
 Grant. Unlike Arthur Greatorix, Hannah 
 Wycombe was musical and could sing, but 
 that she should do so, upon that evening, 
 formed no part of the plan of her hostess. 
 
 '' Come, my dear;" and the voice of Flora 
 Grant had an unusual amount of sweetness in 
 it. 
 
 Thus accosted, Ralph Grant looked up 
 from his paper. A slight astonishment be- 
 trayed itself upon his face as he walked on 
 tip-toe, so as not to disturb the vocalists, 
 to his wife, and said — 
 
 " Did you speak to me. Flora? " 
 
 " Yes ! Come and have some whist." 
 
 He nodded his acceptation of the proposal , 
 
88 THE ROLL CALL. 
 
 and with dumb show invited Arthur to share 
 in the game. Poor Arthur ! With a scowl at 
 Lord Oakdene, whom, in his wrath, Arthur 
 deemed to be as guilty as Flora Grant, he 
 slowly left the piano and stood by the whist 
 table. 
 
 Flora Grant was prompt in arranging 
 matters. The ladies would play the gentle- 
 men. No one objected, so they sat down to 
 the game. One song succeeded another, 
 while still Arthur Greatorix was forced to bear 
 his share in tricks, trumps and honours. 
 They came to an end at last. But not before 
 it was so late that even Flora Grant felt her 
 work to be accomplished. Night had come, 
 Arthur .had been successfully kept from his 
 fiancee all the evening, and for the present, 
 spite had done its worst. 
 
 *' Good-night" sounded on all sides. The 
 soft rustle of silken robes, along the hall and 
 staircase, ceased. All was quiet, save the 
 murmur of men's voices in a distant room. 
 
THE VERY DEAR COUSIN. 89 
 
 Then a door opened in a corridor at some 
 little distance from the gallery, which has 
 been before mentioned, and the somewhat 
 frightened Httle face of Esme peered out into 
 the darkness. Still all was silent. Gaining 
 courage apparently therefrom, Esme stepped 
 quickly forward, and passed swiftly to the 
 gallery. The moon shone brightly through 
 the mullioned windows ; nevertheless, she 
 cast many a timid glance around her. 
 
 There were not wanting ghostly legends 
 in connection with the spot, and, as the tardy 
 minutes '' dragged themselves along," she 
 half repented of her resolve to wait for Arthur. 
 Her heart beat quickly. *' Suppose after 
 all," she thought, " he should not come. 
 And yet he must. He always comes this 
 way to his room. Surely, he will do so to- 
 night ! And then, as surely, he must come 
 directly ; he always changes his coat be- 
 fore going into the billiard-room to smoke." 
 In this manner, Esme argued to herself ; 
 
90 THE ROLL CALL. 
 
 nevertheless, she grew more nervous every 
 instant, more distrustful of the success of 
 her enterprise. For an enterprise, and a very 
 daring one, did the measure which she had 
 adopted seem to be to her. True, Arthur was 
 her guardian, but he had become her lover, and 
 that which would have been undertaken with- 
 out a flutter of her heart in the one instance, 
 became altogether a different matter, now that 
 the twofold relationship was established 
 between them. Esme knew quite well that it 
 was not a guardian only, but a lover for whom 
 she waited — a lover who needed comfort, 
 comfort which none but she could give. Her 
 conscience smote her for the coldness with 
 which she had treated him during the past 
 few days. But it was all over now, she 
 told herself, or it soon would be. She would 
 tell her own, old Arthur, that it had been 
 no wish of hers to keep away from him 
 all that evening, and to sing so many 
 songs with Lord Oakdene. She could not 
 
THE VERY DEAR COUSIN. 91 
 
 possibly go to sleep without explaining this, 
 and without expressing her indignation at 
 Aunt Flora's unkind remarks and unjust 
 words. Indeed, it was those very remarks 
 and words which had decided Esme upon her 
 present step. 
 
 But here, again, the conscience of the 
 fair Esme pricked her. Had she not been 
 allowing similar unjust speeches and un- 
 kind syllables to rankle in her own bosom ? 
 Oh, it was all too dreadful ! How ungenerous 
 she had been ! She must make Arthur some 
 atonement ; something more than just waiting 
 to see him there. Yes, she knew what she 
 would do ! She would tell him that she 
 trusted him implicitly, for she did trust him, 
 she had trusted him all along, only she had 
 been so childish and silly. Yes, she would 
 tell him that she trusted him fully and 
 entirely, even if he really did go to Gibraltar ; 
 only — only — she was getting so horribly 
 frightened, she wished he would be quick 
 
92 THE ROLL CALL. 
 
 and come into the gallery. If a cloud passed 
 over the moon it would be quite dark, and 
 then she could not stay in that dreadfully 
 bogie sort of a place, with the statues all 
 looking like ghosts, and the suits of armour, 
 as if men were hiding in them. 
 
 Darkness, however, did not overtake Esme. 
 She kept her ground, therefore, in spite of 
 statues and suits of armour, until her 
 quickened ear caught the sound of ap- 
 proaching footsteps of the one whom she 
 loved right well. 
 
 None save Esme would have recognised 
 these footsteps to be those of Arthur Greatorix. 
 They were quite unlike his quick, elastic tread ; 
 depression made them lag. Slowly and 
 moodily he was pursuing his way. Too love- 
 loyal to cast a thought of blame upon Esme, 
 his full ire fell upon Flora Grant and Lord 
 Oakdene. What a powerless puppet, Arthur 
 thought, he had been in their hands. 
 He was too angry to understand that Lord 
 
THE VERY DEAR COUSIN. 93 
 
 Oakdene was innocent in the matter. 
 Suddenly a slight movement betrayed the 
 presence of Esme. 
 
 '' You here, my darling ! " he exclaimed, 
 bounding to her side with a swiftness which 
 formed a marked contrast to the pace at 
 which but a moment before he had been 
 proceeding, '' you here, my own Esme. This 
 is, indeed, a stroke of good fortune ! I was 
 thinking of you, and longing to see you, but 
 with about as much hope of having my wish 
 gratified, as there is a chance of my being 
 made Prime Minister of England to-morrow. 
 I thought you were half asleep, darling, by 
 this time." 
 
 '' No, Arthur dear ! I could not go to sleep 
 until I had seen you. I want very much to 
 speak to you. I have something to say — I 
 thought I knew exactly how to say it just 
 before you came, and now, somehow, it all 
 seems fooHsh, and — and — I wish I had not 
 come." 
 
94 THE ROLL CALL. 
 
 '* Not come ! " echoed Arthur in dismay. 
 
 " Yes — well, not quite that, perhaps. First 
 of all, I think I have been a little frightened, 
 at being here alone, and now, I feel a little 
 frightened of you." 
 
 Arthur laughed. It was the only ex- 
 pression of genuine mirth which had escg-ped 
 him, since Esme and he held their last 
 tete-a-tete. His laugh did Esme good. 
 Rallying her composure, she put her two 
 hands upon his broad chest, and, looking 
 straight up into his face upon which the 
 moonlight rested, she said timidly — 
 
 '' I am sorry I asked you not to go to 
 Gibraltar. I trust you quite, quite. I know 
 you would not go unless you were obliged, 
 and — and Arthur, you must not mind any of 
 those silly things which Aunt Flora sometimes 
 says. They are so unjust, and I know they 
 vex Uncle Ralph almost as much as they 
 do me." Esme paused. A crimson blush 
 mounted to her cheek and brow, as she 
 
THE VERY DEAR COUSIN. 95 
 
 added, " They vex me, Arthur, and they do 
 me harm. Forgive me, that I have let them 
 do me harm." 
 
 Was any petition, ever made, so certain 
 of being granted as this ? Without enquiring 
 what it was that he was asked to forgive, he 
 tenderly raised her hands ; and, stooping low, 
 placed them around his neck, pouring forth, 
 meanwhile, thanks, love, blessings and pro- 
 testations, in a breath. 
 
 Fortunately, incoherency of speech in no 
 manner interferes with the bliss of lovers ; 
 nevertheless, it renders their conversations 
 somewhat difficult to repeat. And such con- 
 versations are bewildering ; and they are also, 
 somewhat difficult of comprehension, to any 
 mortal save the lovers themselves. But, thus 
 much could be gathered, from the murmurs and 
 disjointed sentences which fell that night from 
 the Hps of Esme and Arthur. He had never 
 been, '' so perfectly happy in all his life be- 
 fore " — Esme was, '' very glad and very happy 
 
96 THE ROLL CALL. 
 
 too" — they, ''would not be parted after all "^ 
 — he, '' had given his word to go to Gibraltar, 
 but how could he go and leave his darling? " 
 — he must, '' get off his promise somehow." 
 Whereupon, there ensued a lengthened pro- 
 test, but the girlish voice in which it was 
 uttered, was so soft and low, that, even Arthur 
 failed to catch all its syllables, greedy as he 
 was of them. 
 
 When, with lingering touch of lip and hand,, 
 the second ''Good-night" passed between 
 the lovers, Arthur Greatorix had forgotten, 
 not only, his wrath against Flora Grant, but 
 also, against her " very dear cousin." 
 
CHAPTER VI. 
 
 THE FIRST OF SEPTEMBER. 
 
 It is marvellously pleasant to find, upon 
 awaking, that the sun is brightly shining ; 
 and more especially, after days of gloomy 
 weather. It is even more pleasant, perhaps, 
 with returning consciousness, to know that 
 the cloud, which has been overshadowinof the 
 happiness of life, has disappeared. This was 
 the agreeable experience which came to 
 Arthur Greatorix on the morrow, and he 
 rejoiced exceedingly. 
 
 It was all, " made up," as nursery parlance 
 has it, between Esme and himself, therefore, 
 it was small wonder that the first of 
 September found him still lingering at 
 Brashleigh Manor. Cupid held him fast ; 
 the boy's rosy fetters could not be broken. 
 
 VOL. I. H 
 
98 THE ROLL CALL. 
 
 ■ Manifold attractions had combined to keep 
 Hannah Wycombe and Lord Oakdene also 
 there. They were amusing themselves to 
 their heart's content, with everything around 
 them ; and, with each other, possibly, most of 
 all. 
 
 The addition to their numbers consisted of a 
 Scotch laird, who, had shot with Ralph Grant, 
 except during the interregnum of his resi- 
 dence abroad, for over thirty years. The best 
 shooting in the country, would not have com- 
 pensated to either for the loss of the other's 
 society, when September came round ; and, if 
 the pockets of the laird were almost as empty 
 as those of his friend were full, he could at 
 least match that friend in warmth of heart, 
 in love of sport, and in endurance of fatigue. 
 The laird had a fund of dry humour at com- 
 mand which amused everybody ; everybody, 
 at least, but Flora Grant, who chose to con- 
 >demn his bonhomie as vulgar. 
 
 Perhaps, however, after Ralph Grant, the 
 
THE FIRST OF SEPTEMBER. 99 
 
 individuals, who most thoroughly appre- 
 ciated the wit and anecdotes of the old 
 laird, were two brothers, who were also 
 guests at Brashleigh. 
 
 They were agreeable young men, ready 
 both to be pleased themselves, and to give 
 what pleasure they could to others. 
 
 Frank Lashmore, the elder brother, was 
 a subaltern in a marching regiment ; while 
 his brother Cecil, had yet another year to 
 pass at Oxford, before taking his degree. 
 They were not often together. Leave sea- 
 sons and vacations found them, generally, 
 in different parts of the world. But they 
 were much attached to each other, and the 
 prospect of their stay at Brashleigh was very 
 welcome to them both. They were sons of a 
 keen sportsman, and had handled guns all 
 their Hves. Hence their invitation to join the 
 shooting party which was staying at Brash- 
 leigh Manor, for the first of September. 
 
 There was one other person, among the 
 
lOO THE ROLL CALL. 
 
 guests at Brashleigh, who must be mentioned. 
 That other person, was, Rachael Tritton. 
 
 Rachel Tritton ! the cousin about whose 
 coming Esme had, in vain, endeavoured to 
 reconcile Flora Grant. 
 
 The visit of Rachel was eventually brought 
 about in the following manner. 
 
 A morning or two after Esme and Arthur 
 had recovered their wonted light-heartedness, 
 Mr. Grant bore a letter to his wife. She was 
 in her boudoir. Hastily scanning the con- 
 tents of the epistle, she cried, angrily — 
 
 '' We must put her off. Indeed, I have 
 quite made up my mind to do so. Do you 
 understand me, Ralph? I shall put her off." 
 
 '' Put who, off, my dear? " 
 
 *' Who ! How particularly dense and try- 
 ing, you are this morning, Ralph." 
 
 " Very likely I may be, my dear Flora, but, 
 how can I possibly tell, of whom you are 
 speaking?" 
 
THE FIRST OF SEPTEMBER. lOI 
 
 In answer, Flora Grant contemptuously 
 tossed the letter to her husband. 
 
 " Rachel ! " he exclaimed, in pleased 
 surprise. 
 
 ''Yes, Rachel Tritton, of course! Who, 
 but she, would have had the bad taste to pro- 
 pose coming to us the last week in August ? 
 But it does not matter. I shall write and 
 tell her that it is not convenient for her to 
 come then." 
 
 " Rachel ! " said Ralph Grant, again. 
 
 He had not heard the last remark which his 
 wife had made. 
 
 " Yes, I tell you it is from Rachel. How 
 slow of comprehension you are." 
 
 '' Poor little Rachel! " he continued, still not 
 heeding the words of Flora Grant, and speak- 
 ing half to himself. 
 
 " Poor ! Of course, she is poor. No 
 people on this earth are such a bore as poor 
 relations. Thank goodness ! I have none 
 
I02 THE ROLL CALL. 
 
 belonging to me. One, Rachel Tritton is 
 enough. I shall put her off, Ralph, that is 
 settled." 
 
 '' No, Flora. Rachel must not be put off. 
 The change will do her good. I am glad 
 she has written to say that she can come." 
 
 '* But, as mistress of the house, I decline 
 to receive her ; therefore, I am afraid you will 
 not have the pleasure, which you seem so 
 much to anticipate, of her arrival." 
 
 Thus addressed, Ralph Grant passed his 
 hand caressingly over his bald head, and, 
 he paused, before trusting himself to reply. 
 
 Emboldened by his apparent hesitation, 
 Flora Grant continued — 
 
 '' You always contradict me, Ralph. If I 
 were not one of the best tempered women 
 in the universe, I should not stand it. I 
 invariably give way to you, but, I mean to be 
 firm, in this instance. It really is most annoy- 
 ing to have such a visitor proposed. You 
 know quite well, the house will be full." 
 
THE FIRST OF SEPTEMBER. I03 
 
 '' Nonsense, my dear ! The house being 
 full will not make any difference ; Rachel can 
 come all the same. Besides, the more the 
 merrier, you know ! " 
 
 '' Really, this is too bad ! Can't you 
 understand, that, Rachel Tritton is not the 
 person I wish to have here, with Sir 
 Marmaduke and Lady Alicia Hargreaves?" 
 was the impatiently put query. 
 
 Ralph Grant looked gravely at his wife, as 
 he said gently — 
 
 '' No, Flora, I cannot understand you. This 
 is the second time, during: our conversation 
 about Rachel Tritton, that I have not been 
 able to do so. Rachel is my own cousin, and 
 she is as good a little soul as ever breathed. 
 What are you driving at ? " 
 
 " Well, you know, I meant — you see — I 
 meant — that — that — in fact — she is — not — 
 well ! — that she is not quite in the same 
 position as ourselves — does not move in the 
 same society, and all that sort of thing." 
 
I04 THE ROLL CALL. 
 
 *' The plain English of which Is," inter- 
 rupted Ralph Grant, warmly, '' that she does 
 not drive a carriage and pair, keep a tribe of 
 idle servants, and have a new gown to her 
 back every other day. My best friends are 
 also friends of hers. If her father had stuck 
 to business, as Industriously, as mine did, she 
 might have had as many of these fine things, as 
 — as " — he was going to say ''as you have," but 
 he checked himself, and simply added, **as 
 other people have." 
 
 '' For mercy's sake, do not speak of busi- 
 ness, Ralph," cried Flora Grant, with a 
 gesture of supreme disdain. '' Please to have 
 •a little respect for me, if you have none for 
 yourself. If you are so unfortunate as to 
 have mercantile connections, I think it ex- 
 tremely bad taste of you to allude to 
 them. I know nothing at all, about people 
 in business. If I did, I should not take the 
 smallest Interest in them." 
 
 '' I daresay not," drily, returned Ralph 
 
THE FIRST OF SEPTEMBER. 105 
 
 Grant. Then he continued, ''But I am no 
 more ashamed of being connected with 
 business people, and of having been in busi- 
 ness myself, than I am of my dear old native 
 land." 
 
 " I have no doubt your sentiments are very 
 charming, but you will oblige me by not 
 giving them expression. When we were 
 dining out the other evening, I heard you 
 talking about those odious mills, or whatever 
 they were, which belonged to you before I 
 knew you. You were positively raving about 
 them. It annoyed me exceedingly. Please 
 do not repeat the annoyance. My head 
 aches frightfully. You are making it worse, 
 •every instant." 
 
 Ralph Grant listened demurely to his wife, 
 who, enforced her complaint of the headache, 
 by saturating her pocket-handkerchief with 
 eau de Cologne, and applying it with a martyr- 
 like air to her forehead. Without noticing 
 the beginning of her remark, he said, kindly — 
 
Io6 THE ROLL CALL. 
 
 " Can I get you anything, my dear, or shall 
 I ring for your maid ? " 
 
 '' I want nothing, thank you. I am 
 gradually becoming perfectly accustomed^ 
 both to pain of body, and to vexation of mind. 
 It is my lot. You may congratulate yourself 
 that I know both how to suffer, and how to 
 be patient." 
 
 As she thus spoke, the victim of these 
 imaginary ills applied herself with fresh 
 vigour to her scent bottle, and, leant back 
 upon her couch, with affected resignation. 
 
 Ralph Grant cast a furtive glance at the 
 door of the room. Escape would have 
 been an immense relief to him. He 
 w^as not quite sure, however, of the 
 righteousness of such a proceeding, under 
 existing circumstances. His wife, perchance, 
 might be suffering, although her cheek was 
 blooming. So he approached her, and said, 
 affectionately — 
 
 '' There, there my dear ! you are vexing 
 
THE FIRST OF SEPTEMBER. 107 
 
 yourself foolishly, this morning. Neither the 
 Hargreaves, nor anyone else, could possibly 
 object to meet little Rachel. I am grieved 
 to upset your arrangements, as I told you be- 
 fore ; but I particularly wish my cousin, (for 
 Rachel is the daughter of my father's 
 only sister, you must remember) to be put up 
 somehow. We asked her to name her own 
 time for coming to us. Now^ that she has 
 done so, it will look unkind if we write and 
 say we cannot have her. " 
 
 '' It is not very polite of you, Ralph, to re- 
 mind me of my own stupidity. I must have 
 been perfectly idiotic to fall in with such a 
 plan, as that of telling her she might come 
 whenever it suited her. I hate those free and 
 easy ways, but, I suppose, I did it to gratify 
 you and Esme." 
 
 " Scarcely Esme, I think ! She has only 
 seen Rachel once, and then only for a short 
 time. I do not suppose the matter would 
 particularly interest Esme." 
 
Io8 THE ROLL CALL. 
 
 '' It would interest her, I daresay, if she 
 thought it was anything to which I had an 
 objection, and I tell you again, Ralph, that, I 
 have a very decided objection to entertain 
 your cousin, until our shooting parties are 
 over. Who would have thought of her want- 
 ing to come at such a particularly incon- 
 venient time ? Those kind of people, how- 
 ever, are always utterly devoid of tact and 
 consideration." 
 
 The patience of Ralph Grant was fast 
 giving away. The attack upon Esme had 
 not fortified it. He exclaimed impetuously — 
 
 '' God bless my heart, Flora, what a fuss you 
 are making about nothing at all ! Rachel will 
 not, interfere with you, in any way. Esme will 
 take her off your hands." He knew of old 
 that it was useless to notice the aspersions, 
 which his wife cast upon those with whom she 
 was annoyed. Making no attempt, therefore, 
 to defend either the tact, or the consideration, 
 of Rachel Tritton, he continued, '' You have 
 
THE FIRST OF SEPTEMBER. 109 
 
 not a trouble in the world, Flora. Take 
 care that you do not make some for yourself. 
 Such troubles are the hardest to bear." 
 
 ''Not a trouble !" whimpered Flora Grant, 
 " when you are so unkind, and Esme is so 
 obstinate. Oh, no, of course, I have not ! " 
 
 " No, Flora, in very truth, you have not. 
 Look around you, and thank God. We are 
 both strong and hearty — I beg your pardon 
 my dear, except your headache, which I 
 hope will soon be better — and we have every- 
 thing which we desire. Dry your tears, my 
 dear. Crying is bad for your head. Do 
 not worry yourself about trifles. Rachel's 
 position is a sad one, or I should not stick so 
 closely to my point. She has had a long 
 round of sorrow. Most of those, whom she 
 loved best, have been taken from her, and she 
 is now in almost constant attendance upon 
 one, whom she regards as a mother. The 
 old lady is crochetty, I believe, and a great 
 invalid. From all that I hear, it is no sinecure 
 
no THE ROLL CALL. 
 
 to be always with her. But Httle Rachel 
 plods on bravely. You see from her letter, 
 that some good Samaritan has offered to 
 supply hef place for a week or tw^o. If, there- 
 fore, she does not take her holiday now, the 
 chances are, that, she will not be able to get 
 one at all, another time. Besides, it will do 
 her more good to come, when there are plenty 
 of people about ; she wants cheering. Do 
 not bother yourself any more. I will take 
 care that Rachel is no trouble to you, and 
 Esme shall answer her letter. Shall I find 
 an interesting book for you, or, would you like 
 a drive ? Perhaps, the fresh air would cure the 
 pain in your head." 
 
 Ungracious to the last. Flora Grant pet- 
 tishly declined both book and drive. Dis- 
 appointed, but not entirely rebuffed, her 
 husband essayed one or two more kindly 
 propositions. They met with a like refusal. 
 At last, in despair of arriving at a better under- 
 standing, he desisted from his overtures of 
 
THE FIRST OF SEPTEMBER. Ill 
 
 peace, and withdrawing from the presence of 
 his wife, sought that of Esme. 
 
 It was the old story — the old feeling of 
 relief to be away from the one woman, and 
 with the other. Fain would Ralph Grant 
 have had it otherwise. There was yet enough 
 of love for his wife, in his heart, to make it 
 very sore at leaving her thus. Esme under- 
 stood at once how matters stood. She had 
 learnt to know the outward signs which be- 
 tokened fresh domestic disquietude for her 
 uncle, and, by a variety of affectionate en- 
 deavours, she succeeded in chasing the cloud 
 from his brow. Promising to take Rachel 
 Tritton under her charge, and to be especially 
 careful that she should be no burthen to 
 Flora Grant, Esme wrote the letter which 
 eventually brought Rachel, on the last day of 
 August, to Brashleigh Manor. 
 
 It would have surprised the said Rachel 
 amazingly, if she had known that she had 
 given occasion for a matrimonial dissension of 
 
112 THE ROLL CALL. 
 
 a somewhat unpleasant character. Nothing- 
 could be more foreign to her imagination. 
 She deemed herself, to be an utterly unim- 
 portant atom of creation, to the world in 
 general. And an atom, was she truly, in 
 one sense. A w^ee, fragile woman in body, 
 slight and delicate ; a woman whom a puff 
 of wind might have lifted from off her small 
 feet. But nevertheless, she w^as a woman, 
 strong in heart, and brave in endurance. 
 
 Ralph Grant was right. No one could 
 possibly object to meet '' little Rachel." In- 
 deed, few could pass her by, without feehng 
 that she had awakened their interest. Sorrow, 
 had set its chastening seal of meekness on 
 her — goodness, its patent of nobility. 
 
 It so happened, however, that Sir Mar- 
 maduke and Lady Alicia Hargreaves did not 
 meet Rachel Tritton, at Brashleigh Manor.. 
 The desire of Flora Grant's heart was in this 
 respect granted to her. She had not to pass 
 through the ordeal of presenting, her bus- 
 
THE FIRST OF SEPTEMBER. II3 
 
 band's unfashionable cousin, to her fashion- 
 able friends. 
 
 At the hour which had been appointed 
 for the arrival of Rachel, Esme loitered in 
 the entrance hall. True to her promise, she 
 wished to take the stranger at once under 
 her especial charge ; and so she waited to give 
 her welcome. While Esme thus waited, a 
 servant approached, bearing a telegram and 
 a note. 
 
 The telegram was, for Flora Grant. The 
 note was, for Arthur Greatorix. 
 
 Esme possessed herself, of both the tele- 
 gram and the note. Arthur was away, and 
 was not expected to return for an hour or two. 
 The note, therefore, was carefully placed in a 
 rose-coloured, satin-lined receptacle, which 
 Esme designated her ''work basket." Thus 
 safely housed, Esme left it. Her next care 
 was to find Flora Grant. 
 
 There is always a sort of half-frightened 
 excitement attendant upon the appearance of 
 
 VOL. I. I 
 
114 THE ROLL CALL. 
 
 a telegram. Such an excitement, made the 
 footsteps of Esme even fleeter than usual, as 
 she bore the one in question to Flora Grant. 
 When she reached her, that lady, read the 
 announcement upon the thin, yellow-looking 
 paper, with a sigh of relief. The telegram 
 was from Sir Marmaduke. Lady AHcia had 
 been taken suddenly ill, and their visit to 
 Brashleigh was impossible. Without a pang 
 of sorrow for the sickness of her friend, 
 Flora Grant congratulated herself upon the 
 turn which affairs had taken. Rachel Tritton 
 had not been put off, and, the Hargreaves, 
 after all, would not see her. How luckily 
 everything had happened ! 
 
 Pleasing herself by thus reasoning, it was 
 almost with cordiality that Flora Grant re- 
 ceived Rachel ; and Rachel, who looked for 
 no attention — who found great pleasures in 
 small things — who saw beauty in everything 
 and kindness in everybody, was charmed with 
 her reception. 
 
THE FIRST OF SEPTEMBER. II5 
 
 Truly, so far as Flora Grant was con- 
 cerned, Ignorance was bliss for Rachel ! 
 
 The first of September, therefore, dawned 
 upon contented inmates at Brashlelgh. At the 
 close of the day, a jovial party assembled around 
 the dinner table. The weather had been per- 
 fect, and the sport excellent. The appetites 
 of the sportsmen were good — their spirits 
 high. Repartee and laughter sounded on 
 all sides. Fair cheeks were radiant, and 
 soft eyes sparkled with amusement. 
 
 Rachel looked wonderingly from one to 
 another of those by whom she was sur- 
 rounded. She had been so long isolated 
 from every description of gaiety, that, it 
 bewildered her, at first. By degrees, how- 
 ever, her bewilderment cleared away, and she 
 was able to enter, with a keen relish, into the 
 pleasure of the hour. It was the relish of a 
 healthy appetite ; the thorough, unquestioning 
 pleasure of a child. All that glittered was 
 gold to Rachel. She had no thought either 
 
Il6 THE ROLL CALL. 
 
 of sham or of tinsel. Her laugh told that thus 
 it was with her ; it was so true and genuine 
 a laugh. In all its soft low cadence, there 
 was not a wrong note — not a sharp of the 
 discord of satire, nor a flat of the dulness of 
 ennui. It was very pleasant to Hsten to its 
 harmony ; and, Arthur Greatorix, was quick to 
 mark its peculiar beauty, as it floated softly 
 amid the more boisterous sounds of merri- 
 ment. It seemed to him, as the simple air of 
 some sweet old melody, in contrast to the 
 noise and show of a modern variation. 
 
 The '' gweat man," as Lork Oakdene called 
 Arthur Greatorix, had needed no second bid- 
 ding from Esme, to befriend Rachel. His 
 sympathies, had been warmly enlisted upon 
 her behalf, before he saw her, and, when he 
 saw her, he liked her even better than he 
 thought he should. He was glad, therefore, 
 to see her happy and amused. 
 
 But, while light laughter rang within the 
 walls of Brashleigh Manor, a lonely watcher 
 
THE FIRST OF SEPTEMBER. I 17 
 
 Stood without. The sounds of merry-making 
 reached her, as she paused upon a terrace- 
 walk within a short distance of the dining- 
 room windows. For the space of a few 
 moments she bent forward, as if Hstening to 
 the din of joyous voices which floated from 
 the room into the quiet evening air, and then, 
 turning away abruptly, she wandered farther 
 from the house. Twilight came, its shadows 
 deepened, and night set in ; but still, she 
 roamed restlessly to and fro, returning, from 
 time to time, to within a few paces of the 
 Hghted windows. 
 
 At last, leaving the vicinity of the house 
 altogether, she plunged into a narrow grass 
 path which ran between two high yew hedges. 
 This path, she traversed from end to end, 
 again and again. 
 
 Suddenly, with a gesture of impatience, 
 she bent her steps in another direction, and 
 quickly gained a more distant part of the 
 shrubbery. Still hurrying on, she did not 
 
Il8 THE ROLL CALL. 
 
 stop, nor slacken her speed, until she reached 
 a disused summer-house, which, half fallen to 
 ruin, was situated beneath the wide-spreading 
 branches of a tree. The entrance, to this 
 place, was black and cavernous. Undeterred 
 by its gloom, she crossed the dilapidated 
 doorway, and, in an instant, vanished from 
 sight. 
 
 Nearly an hour passed. The night grew 
 cloudy and chill. The summer-house was 
 damp and drear ; but the figure did not 
 emerge therefrom. As a distant clock, how- 
 ever, chimed eleven, something, which looked 
 more liked a shadow than a substance, stood 
 again in the doorway. 
 
 . Spectre-like, it hovered there for some 
 moments. Then, stepping forth from out of 
 the darkness of the vault-like opening, it 
 paused beneath the gently-rustling trees, and 
 the tall, slight figure of a woman was distinctly 
 visible. For a while she stood perfectly 
 motionless. A bat whirled close by. She 
 
THE FIRST OF SEPTEMBER. I I9 
 
 did not stir. She might have been carven 
 stone, for aught of Hfe's token that she dis- 
 played. No statue could have looked more 
 still. Her attitude was that of Hstening ; and 
 listening, as though, she watched and waited, 
 for the coming of another. If so, watching and 
 waiting alike proved futile. A flash of light- 
 ning broke the spell which bound her. With 
 a start, she darted forwards, and retraced her 
 steps to the hedge-bound path. The mossy- 
 turf gave back no sound to her footfall. 
 From end to end, again she wandered, 
 swiftly at first, and then more slowly, until 
 at length she swayed, feebly stretched out her 
 arms, and sank silently to the ground. 
 
 As she fell, the young moon came forth 
 from beneath its curtain of clouds. Its soft 
 light rested, as if in pity it would point the 
 way to succouring hands, upon her prostrate 
 form half concealed, although it was, by 
 shrubs and ferns. 
 
 But no succour came. The fleecy clouds 
 
I20 THE ROLL CALL. 
 
 again obscured the pale moonlight. All was 
 silent as the grave, while, ever and anon, the 
 lightning played fitfully, over earth and sky. 
 
 Presently, a gay whistle broke the stillness. 
 The whistle rose and fell : now sounding close 
 to where the figure lay, then floating afar off, 
 and dying away In the distance. 
 
 By-and-bye, the noise of the striking of a 
 fusee succeeded to the whistle. A moment 
 afterwards, the red light of a cigar glimmered 
 along the hedge-bound path, while Arthur 
 Greatorix, sauntering thereon, leisurely trod 
 down the impress of the small footprints, 
 which still remained upon the damp grass, 
 and strolled towards the ferns. 
 
 Twice he passed them by, unconscious of 
 what they concealed ; but, as he was about to 
 turn for the third time, he started. Bending 
 low to ascertain what the dark huddled-up 
 mass could be, which had attracted his atten- 
 tion, he uttered a suppressed exclamation of 
 dismay. 
 
THE FIRST OF SEPTEMBER. 121 
 
 Without a moment's hesitation, however, 
 he Hfted it from the gromid. As he did 
 so, the long fair hair of a woman streamed 
 over his hand. Stooping down, so that he 
 might look upon her face, he murmured 
 breathlessly, '* My God, it is Alice ! Can 
 she be dead ? " 
 
 Roused, to partial consciousness, by the 
 change of position, a few incoherent sentences 
 fell from the lips of her upon whom Arthur 
 •Greatorix thus gazed ; but, before he could 
 gather their meaning, his agitation was in- 
 creased by the sound of approaching foot- 
 steps, and the voices of Lord Oakdene and 
 Frank Lashmore were speedily distinguishable. 
 
 There was not an instant to lose. Gather- 
 ing the slight figure in his arms, as easily as a 
 mother might enfold the form of her babe, 
 he fled with it swiftly. 
 
 As he disappeared. Lord Oakdene and 
 Frank Lashmore turned slowly into the hedge- 
 bound path. 
 
122 THE ROLL CALL. 
 
 '' Upon my word, It is weally vewy wemark- 
 able," commenced his Lordship, '' but I could 
 have sworn that I heard Gweatowix, and 
 something vewy hke a woman, talking down 
 here just now. Didn't you, Lashmore ? " 
 
 But Mr. Frank Lashmore had not heard 
 anything of the sort. He suggested, however, 
 that it was a most decidedly romantic spot 
 for a rendezvous. 
 
 ^' Wendezvous ! " exclaimed his companion, 
 '' what can Gweatowix want with a wendez- 
 vous ; at least, not with a woman, and I'm 
 positive it was his voice." 
 
 ''' Better not be too positive, perhaps," was 
 the interruption. " Greatorix is a very big 
 man, too big to thrash, and the earth can't 
 have opened and swallowed him up, lady and 
 all." 
 
 Lord Oakdene laughed, and after puffing 
 away at his cigar for a few seconds, he said, 
 reflectively — 
 
 '' He might have bolted." 
 
THE FIRST OF SEPTEMBER. 123 
 
 " Bolted ! Oh, yes, of course ! He has 
 taken good care not to leave his fair Juliet 
 behind him though, hasn't he?" replied 
 Frank Lashmore. 
 
 Lord Oakdene again took refuge in his 
 cigar. He was more puzzled than he chose 
 to appear. The thought of Esme stirred in 
 his heart. Something within him bade him 
 say no more about the two voices which he 
 had heard, or which he thought he had 
 heard. He knew not why it was, but, for the 
 sake of Esme, he felt that he must be silent. 
 He wished that he had not mentioned the 
 subject at all to his companion. 
 
 Lord Oakdene had spoken upon the im- 
 pulse of the moment, and he regretted his 
 indiscretion. Vexed with himself, he pondered 
 how best he might efface the impression 
 which he feared his remark, concerning Arthur 
 Greatorix, had made upon the mind of Frank 
 Lashmore. Fortunately for Lord Oakdene,, 
 Frank Lashmore took the initiative. 
 
124 • THE ROLL CALL. 
 
 '' Let us get out of this place, Oakdene. 
 It is all bosh about Greatorix having been 
 here, I feel convinced. It is an awfully 
 dismal hole — just like a cemetery." 
 
 '' Bar the tombstones," laughed Lord 
 Oakdene. '' But come along," he continued, 
 wisely refraining from further comment upon 
 Arthur Greatorix, ''it is time that we returned 
 to the house." 
 
 And they went. 
 
 When next the young moon peeped forth 
 from under the clouds, neither human voice 
 sounded, nor human foot stirred, within the 
 narrow grass path, between the high yew 
 Jiedges. 
 
CHAPTER VII. 
 
 WITHOUT " GOOD-BYE." 
 
 " Do you really think that I had better go 
 without taking leave of Esme ? " 
 
 The speaker was Arthur Greatorlx. The 
 person, whom he thus addressed, was Ralph 
 Grant. Scene, the gun-room, at Brashleigh. 
 Time, six o'clock in the morning. Date, the 
 second of September, i8 — . 
 
 The manner, in which Arthur Greatorix put 
 his question, was dejected beyond descrip- 
 tion. Scarcely more than a few short days 
 had elapsed, since the cheek of Esme had 
 rested against his in the happiness of restored 
 confidence, and now — where were the protesta- 
 tions which had mingled with her whispers ? 
 
 Ralph Grant seemed loth to speak. When 
 he did so, he looked furtively around the 
 room, as if afraid lest the walls might in very 
 
126 THE ROLL CALL. 
 
 truth have ears, then drew nearer to Arthur, 
 and, in a nervous voice, repHed — 
 
 '' She would be certain to ask you questions 
 if she saw you — would she not ? It would 
 only be natural. And you know you could 
 not answer them — could you ? " 
 
 '^ No," sighed Arthur. 
 
 His forlorn hope was fast faiHng him. It 
 had been a dismally forlorn one, all along. 
 The next words, which were spoken by Ralph 
 Grant, annihilated it completely. 
 
 '' I will take care of her while you are gone. 
 It is a miserable business, from beginning to 
 end. But it can't be helped. Esme must 
 not know anything about it, so I am quite 
 sure it is better for you to get off at once. 
 The sooner matters are settled the better 
 for all of us. Meeting, only to part, would 
 be as hard for you as for Esme. Give me 
 the letter which you said you had written 
 for her. I will see that you have an answer 
 as soon as possible." ' 
 
l( >-/-N/-vT^ r>TrT- ') 
 
 WITHOUT "GOOD-BYE." 127 
 
 Under the circumstances, there was not, at 
 the moment, much comfort to Arthur, m the 
 prospect, which was thus held out to him, of 
 a speedy answer to his letter. Small as 
 the comfort was, however, he was in too 
 sore a strait to reject it. The letter had 
 taken him one half of the night to compose, 
 and the other half to write out fairly. 
 And yet, what a feeble production he felt 
 it to be, as he reluctantly placed it in the 
 hands of Ralph Grant ! How he longed to 
 scatter it to the winds, and, at all cost, to 
 see Esme instead of sending it ! But it 
 might not be. Time pressed. His dog- 
 cart had already been waiting some minutes. 
 There was a long road to be got over, and 
 an express train to be caught. Moments, 
 therefore, were precious. Accordingly, the 
 leive-taking between Arthur and his host, 
 was brief. Both men were considerably 
 agitated. Of the two, the older man be- 
 trayed his agitation most. 
 
128 THE ROLL CALL. 
 
 Glancing despairingly at the closed blinds 
 which shrouded the windows of the chamber 
 wherein Esme, unconscious of the disappoint- 
 ment which the hour of awakening had in 
 store for her, peacefully slumbered ; Arthur 
 reluctantly stepped into his dog-cart and was 
 gone. 
 
 The station for which, he was bound, had 
 not many persons waiting upon its platform 
 when he arrived, and of those who waited, 
 none presented a sufficiently attractive 
 appearance, to account for the searching 
 scrutiny with which he regarded them. 
 Searching as it was, however, it was ap- 
 parently unsatisfactory. Uttering a smothered 
 exclamation of impatience, he took up his 
 position at the outer door of the booking- 
 office, and looked moodily down the straight 
 piece of road which it faced. 
 
 There was nothing to be seen upon this 
 road, although the train was almost due.. 
 Cautious passengers had already arrived ; 
 
WITHOUT ''GOOD-BYE." 129 
 
 tickets had been taken, and luggage labelled. 
 
 Presently, the bell sounded. There was a 
 
 hurrying of feet. Porters looked expectantly 
 
 down the line, along which the mighty engine 
 
 soon came swooping. 
 
 Arthur Greatorix maintained his post. The 
 
 prevailing excitement had no effect upon 
 
 him. 
 
 A whistle, a puff of steam, and then, creak- 
 ing, panting, and grating, the train entered 
 the station. 
 
 At that instant, and not until that instant, 
 an old-fashioned, closed conveyance turned 
 the corner of the road, and became visible to 
 Arthur. The jaded steeds were being urged 
 to their utmost speed, by their shabbily- 
 attired driver ; while, once or twice a wan face 
 looked, from out of the window. Arthur 
 waited, but to assure himself of the identity 
 of the occupant of the vehicle. Then turning 
 upon his heel, he passed to the ticket-office, 
 VOL. I. K 
 
130 THE ROLL CALL. 
 
 and procured two first-class tickets for 
 Paddington. 
 
 Meanwhile, the late comer, stepped 
 quickly from the carriage, counted some 
 pieces of silver into the hands of the coach- 
 man ; and, without luggage, wraps, or parcels 
 of any description, passed Arthur, and pro- 
 ceeded, to the platform, without delay. 
 
 Once again, a deafening whistle arose; once 
 again, the mighty engine puffed and snorted. 
 Doors were slammed, important-looking 
 officials gesticulated, all was ready ; the signal 
 was given, and the train was off — off, and in 
 one of its compartments sat the lady who had 
 arrived so late at the station, and, opposite to 
 her, Arthur Greatorix. If any greeting had 
 passed between them, it had been of a very 
 slight nature. Nevertheless, oneof the tickets, 
 which had been procured by Arthur, had found 
 its way into her hand. They were not alone 
 in the railway carriage. It held a third per- 
 son, who proved to be acquainted with Arthur. 
 
(( ^A-W^T^ T-.-.7T- M 
 
 WITHOUT "GOOD-BYE." 131 
 
 This meeting was purely accidental. It was 
 not until the train was in full swing, that the two 
 men recognised each other ; until then, they 
 had each been occupied in settling themselves 
 comfortably for the journey. 
 
 Not so the lady. With her face towards 
 the window, and with her left shoulder turned 
 upon the rest of the carriage, she remained 
 in precisely the same position as that in which 
 she had at first placed herself. She wore a 
 broad brimmed hat, which shaded the left side 
 of her face, so that very little of her features 
 could be seen by her fellow passengers. 
 
 The train sped on. It dashed past hedge 
 and field, wood and water, mansion and 
 cottage, signal-box and station, until at 
 length a junction was reached. 
 
 Here, eager eyes anxiously scanned the 
 passing carriages, and, at the same time, 
 waving hands told that hoped for meetings 
 were passing rapidly into certainties. But 
 such a happy experience was not for all. 
 
132 THE ROLL CALL. 
 
 The mighty engine had brought disappoint- 
 ment to some loving hearts ; and, the moment 
 of parting from dear ones, to others. Such 
 is Hfe, in our railway days ! 
 
 Hedge and field, wood and water, mansion 
 and cottage, signal-box and station, meetings 
 and partings, however, alike failed to extract, 
 any show of interest, from the lady who shared 
 the journey of Arthur Greatorix. Her wistful 
 gaze was never turned from the window by 
 which she sat ; while her hands lay clasped 
 upon her lap. If she saw aught, it was as 
 though she did not see ; if she heard aught, it 
 was as though she did not hear. 
 
 With Arthur, it was far otherwise. He was 
 restless, now taking up a book or paper, then 
 casting it discontentedly aside ; while, from 
 time to time, he glanced stealthily at the 
 motionless female figure. The eyes of the 
 third individual in the railway carriage were 
 also, from time to time, from behind the folds 
 of his newspaper, cast furtively upon the 
 
WITHOUT ''GOOD-BYE." 133 
 
 same figure, the rigidity of which puzzled 
 him. He was not a beHever in the placidity 
 of womankind, more especially, when the 
 fair creatures indulged in travelling. " Fuss 
 or fidget" here, however, there was none; 
 and he marvelled greatly that so it was. 
 
 He would have marvelled still more, if he had 
 known how the heart of that passive figure 
 was throbbing with impatience, and how fierce 
 longing and icy despair in turn possessed it. 
 He would have marvelled, truly ! But he was 
 not one who could have comprehended the 
 nature of those agonising pangs. 
 
 It is not given to all men, either to suffer, 
 or to enjoy, keenly. 
 
 But, his speculations concerning his 
 feminine fellow traveller were brought to an 
 end, by the termination of his journey. 
 
 He quitted the train with alacrity, and was 
 soon lost to sight. Probably, the object of his 
 curiosity, was immediately forgotten. 
 
 Thus left alone with Arthur Greatorix, the 
 
134 THE ROLL CALL. 
 
 mysterious lady turned eagerly towards him, 
 and fixed her eyes, which had been so 
 mechanically staring into vacancy during the 
 journey, enquiringly upon his face. 
 
 It was well that she did so. At that moment, 
 a resolve was taking shape in his mind to 
 leave London, for Brashleigh, by the next train. 
 The questioning gaze disenchanted him of his 
 half-formed purpose. He knew that purpose, 
 to have been a delusion, which he had forged 
 for his momentary comfort. Those wistful, 
 questioning eyes, told him so. Answering 
 their mute interrogation, he said — 
 
 *' I hope my brougham is here, Alice. I 
 telegraphed to Stevens to meet me by this 
 train, so it ought to be all right. Stay here a 
 moment, while I go and look for it." 
 
 She, whom Arthur Greatorix had thus 
 called '^AHce," silently acceded to his 
 request. 
 
 He was no sooner gone from her, however, 
 than, uttering a low moan, like one in bodily 
 
WITHOUT ''GOOD-BYE." 135 
 
 pain, she wrung her hands despairingly ; and 
 then pressed them tightly to her brow. A visible 
 tremor shook her from head to foot. Her 
 gaze was no longer fixed and expressionless. 
 It was exchanged for wild and startled 
 glances. A mental anguish was upon her. 
 And that anguish w^as born of terror. Terror, 
 lest Arthur Greatorix should not return to her. 
 When, after a few moments, he did so, her 
 w^ords betrayed the cause of her emotion. '' I 
 have been nearly mad, since you went away. 
 I thought you would not come back." 
 
 Oh ! it was such a weary voice, which 
 answered, gently — 
 
 '' For what reason should I have come at all, 
 if I had not intended to return ? You might 
 have judged me less harshly. I am not going, 
 to break my promise, a second time. Come 
 with me, I have found the carriage." 
 
 He assisted her to alight from the train. 
 Then, side by side, they passed along the 
 station, and disappeared together. 
 
CHAPTER VOL 
 
 MYSTERY. 
 
 That evening, an anxious face looked from 
 the window of a house in the Regent's Park. 
 
 The face, which was that of a woman, was 
 worn, white, and suffering. Nevertheless, it 
 was a fair face — one, which would have been 
 esteemed beautiful, had it not been so 
 blanched by sorrow. 
 
 Only a few short years before, and men 
 had turned to look with pleasure upon its 
 brightness ; while women regarded it with 
 envy. Alas, the day had dawned, when men 
 and women alike passed it by without a 
 second glance ! 
 
 It was the same sad face, over which, the 
 young moon had tenderly cast its pitying 
 light, as it lay upon the dark ferns, in the 
 grass path, between the high yew hedges — 
 
MYSTERY. 137 
 
 the same wan face, which had looked out, 
 
 •expectantly, from the shabby fly at the 
 
 station — the same face, which ashen and 
 quivering, had awaited the return of Arthur 
 Greatorix to the railway carriage. And, pale 
 and trembling, again, it waited for his coming. 
 
 It was past nine o'clock. The street lamps 
 were lighted. The stars twinkled in the 
 heavens. Pedestrians had become scarce. 
 The pavements were almost deserted. No 
 loungers, of those within society's pale, were 
 to be seen. Well dressed individuals, had, for 
 the most part, either gone to their several habi- 
 tations ; or showed, by their hurrying gait, 
 that they were pressing towards some special 
 destination. Here and there, maid ser- 
 vants, jug or basket in hand, tripped briskly 
 along. At last, even their white aprons ceased 
 to relieve the scene. The face pressed closer 
 to the window, as these various signs of 
 coming night manifested themselves. 
 
 " All gone home;" moaned the quivering 
 
138 THE ROLL CALL. 
 
 lips, as for a moment not a human being was 
 visible. '' All gone to husband, wife, and 
 child ; father and mother, but, O great and 
 merciful God ! no home — no place on earth, 
 where any loved ones rise up, and call me 
 blessed." 
 
 It was a pitiful wail. The silence, by which 
 it was succeeded, remained unbroken for 
 a few minutes. Presently, the sound of 
 wheels drew near ; and soon a well-appointed 
 brougham stopped before the door of the 
 house. 
 
 Whereupon, the solitary watcher arose, let 
 fall the blind, closely drew the window cur- 
 tains, and lighted a gas chandeher which 
 hung from the ceiling. The light fell over a 
 prettily furnished apartment of tolerably good 
 dimensions. The walls were somewhat pro- 
 fusely adorned with pictures and mirrors, 
 while the crimson seats of the couches and 
 chairs gave a cheerful appearance to the 
 room. 
 
MYSTERY. 139 
 
 Drawing up her remarkably tall, and equally 
 remarkably slight, figure, she, who had been 
 watching from the window, pushed back the 
 disordered hair from off her forehead ; and, 
 with panting breath, and dilated nostril, 
 listened to the footsteps which could be 
 plainly heard ascending the staircase. There 
 was no smile of welcome upon her face, but 
 only an expression of fierce anxiety. 
 
 The door of the room was opened, and 
 Arthur Greatorix entered. He received no 
 greeting, and he proffered none. He looked 
 silently upon the woman before him, who, 
 impetuously, exclaimed — 
 
 ''How late you are, Arthur! I have 
 been waiting for you, for I don't know 
 how long. When they began to light the 
 lamps in the street, I thought I should 
 have shrieked aloud for help. You have no 
 conception what a wretchedness it is to wait, 
 and wait — to see the darkness coming on, 
 and the daylight departing, without the 
 
140 THE ROLL CALL. 
 
 arrival of that relief, for which you have 
 looked, and longed, and hoped. Most 
 women, are afraid to go out of doors, 
 when good men are either asleep, or 
 praying, and when none but the wicked are 
 about, lurking in those dim shadows which 
 best suit their evil deeds ; but, I was much 
 more afraid of the long night hours, which I 
 knew were before me, when I thought that it 
 was growing too late for you to come. I 
 could not have borne the suspense which I 
 should have had to endure before morning 
 broke." 
 
 '' I could not arrive earlier," Arthur re- 
 plied, " I have had so much to arrange — so 
 much upon my hands." 
 
 '' Happy people always have," she inter- 
 rupted bitterly. ''And the unhappy ones — 
 those who have been set aside by the world, 
 like superseded inventions, and old novels, 
 and who have no occupation but to muster 
 their woes to their memories for inspection, 
 
MYSTERY. 141 
 
 must wait patiently, until their more fortunate 
 fellow creatures find leisure to bestow some 
 attention upon them." 
 
 " You are complaining unjustly, Alice. My 
 time has been almost, if not entirely, occu- 
 pied for you, although I could not manage to 
 get here earlier." 
 
 " What have you done then — or, better 
 still, what are you going to do?" she en- 
 quired gloomily. 
 
 '' Start for Gibraltar, to-morrow." 
 
 The words had scarcely left the lips of 
 Arthur, before Alice cried, passionately — 
 
 " Not without me. I cannot stay here, 
 while you go." 
 
 He shook his head sorrowfully, and was 
 about to speak again, but his companion pre- 
 vented him. '' It would be torture, I tell you. 
 I cannot, will not, stay." As she. spoke, she 
 rose from her chair, and, flinging herself on 
 a couch by the side of Arthur, clung be- 
 seechingly to his arm. 
 
142 THE ROLL CALL. 
 
 The strong man looked pityingly upon the 
 impotent grasp. Speaking gently, as though 
 to some fractious, fever-stricken patient, he 
 said — 
 
 '' Do not ask impossibilities. I will do 
 all that I can ; but, you must remain here 
 until I return. There is no alternative." 
 
 '^ I will not, remain," she rejoined decidedly ; 
 "it is easy enough for you to ask it, but I 
 will not do it. I must accompany you. All 
 through those summer weeks which have 
 just gone by, and which w^ere so dreary to 
 me — so bright to all the world beside — I 
 stayed here, because you bid me stay. I 
 cannot again submit to such utter wretched- 
 ness. I cannot again watch from dawn 
 to night, from sunset to sunrise ; not know- 
 ing what is happening, where you are — 
 what doing. If I may not be actually with 
 you, surely the same vessel can bear us 
 across the Atlantic." 
 
 There was a pause. A deep flush had 
 
MYSTERY. ^ 143 
 
 mounted to the white cheeks of Alice. On 
 the other hand, Arthur was paler than usual. 
 
 "Alice Royston," he began, still speaking 
 in gentle and soothing tones. 
 
 "Ah, call me so," she interrupted; " it is 
 such a splendid mockery — such a taunt — so 
 false, like everything else which appertains to 
 me. Yes, call me Alice Royston. I am so 
 proud of my ancestry. I wonder what dim 
 walls their grim portraits adorn. My own 
 should surely, one day, there be added. It 
 is so grand to have an honourable name ; I 
 needs must glory in such grandeur. What 
 more would you have of Alice Royston? 
 Would you bind her, by her name, to obey 
 you ? Ah, was ever chain forged of such 
 alloyed metal ? Were ever links wrought so 
 easy to break? " 
 
 Without heeding her sarcasm, Arthur 
 Greatorix replied — 
 
 " I would not ' bind ' you to anything, 
 Alice. I only wish to repeat what I have 
 
144 THE ROLL CALL. 
 
 before said. It is utter folly to suppose that 
 you can go with me. It would mar much of 
 that which I hope to accomplish. Have 
 patience " — 
 
 '' Patience ! " she echoed, interrupting him, 
 ^* preach patience to the winds. They can 
 howl you down, and scatter your words in 
 their gusty blasts. Do not preach patience 
 to me. I never possessed any, or, if I once 
 did, it perished miserably beneath your 
 mother's doubtful reception of my statements, 
 when I, long years ago — fool that I was ! — 
 sought to unburthen my grief to her." 
 
 *' My mother was ill at the time, and 
 passed away soon afterwards ; she could 
 scarcely be blamed," returned Arthur, mu- 
 singly. 
 
 Alice caught his words. She looked up 
 sharply at him. A fierce light gleamed in 
 her eyes. Her breath came and went in 
 short, quick gasps. For a few seconds her 
 emotion was so intense, she could not articu- 
 
MYSTERY. 145 
 
 late. When at last she spoke, her voice was 
 low and husky with agitation, but her words 
 did not falter — 
 
 " Because I had been cruelly maligned 
 to her. Good women are always hard, 
 or nearly always. They gather up their 
 skirts lest they should brush against an 
 erring sister's petticoat ; but they do not 
 stop, these righteous women, to gather up 
 the crumbs of truth, which, if gathered, 
 w^ould whiten the blackness of many a foul 
 report. Ah, Arthur, you know that I speak 
 truly. Have pity, then. Do not doom me 
 to solitary confinement. I should not even 
 have the relief of hard labour." 
 
 Placing his hand gently upon hers, he said 
 kindly, '' One moment's reflection, Alice, 
 will show you that I am not in a position to 
 comply with your request. For a time, be 
 content to be guided by circumstances." 
 
 She dashed aside his hand, and cast her- 
 self upon her knees before him. Ere he had 
 
 VOL. I. L 
 
146 THE ROLL CALL. 
 
 time to raise her from her lowly posture, 
 she cried entreatingly, '' In the days which 
 are yet unborn, when I, perchance, have 
 ceased to live, it may be that you will taste 
 the agony of being far from one whom you 
 love — may God help you ! — better than your 
 own soul. Aye ! you may not only drink of 
 that agony, but you may know the still 
 keener pain of fearing that the place, which 
 your absence should have made vacant, is not 
 all vacant. Should this grief ever come to 
 you, you will understand some of my pitiful 
 longing to accompany you to-morrow. Nay, 
 do not turn away ! Who knows but that 
 mercy, if shown now to me, may not win for 
 you a blessing in the future ? Can any torture, 
 devised of man or devil, be equal, think you, 
 to that of sitting alone, afar off, dreaming of 
 another resting upon the heart for the pos- 
 session of which, you have sacrificed every 
 hope, both in life and in death ? Such a 
 torture will you doom me to suffer, if you 
 
MYSTERY. 147 
 
 leave me here. You cannot be so hard, so 
 cruel. My tongue has, before now, cloven to 
 the roof of my parched mouth with unutter- 
 able horror ; before now, my heart has well- 
 nigh broken under a hideous weight of woe ; 
 but never, through all the thirty-seven years 
 of my most miserable existence, have I sued 
 so humbly, begged for pity so earnestly, as I 
 do at this moment." 
 
 " God knows, Alice, I would take you with 
 me, if "— 
 
 " If, what?" she asked impatiently. ''Ah, 
 Arthur, why did you linger at Brashleigh ? 
 Had you forgotten me, until you found me 
 lying half dead in the grass path between the 
 yew hedges ? Had you forgotten me ? I ask. 
 And yet, little wonder if you had ! Who 
 would care to remember such a discord in 
 life's harmony as I am?" 
 
 " Nay, Alice, I had not forgotten you. My 
 -conscience smote me daily, almost hourly." 
 
 " But still you lingered," she retorted, 
 
148 THE ROLL CALL. 
 
 rising abruptly, and accepting the chair 
 which Arthur placed for her. 
 
 " Yes," he answered sadly. 
 
 '' Then surely you owe me something — 
 some reparation." 
 
 *' Yes," he repHed again, with increased 
 gravity. 
 
 The cords of his resolution were sustaining 
 a mighty strain. He had much ado to prevent 
 them from giving way. 
 
 Alice divined this. Hope stirred within 
 her breast. Speaking more calmly than here- 
 tofore, she said — 
 
 "With all the world against me; with 
 deadly wrong in the place of right; with 
 mourning where there should be rejoicing, 
 and with misery where happiness should 
 reign ; with foes in the place of friends, and 
 with treachery given back to me for truth ; 
 with my brain dizzy, my heart aching, and 
 with my fair womanhood trampled in the 
 
MYSTERY. 149 
 
 dust ; yet I protest, that, there Hves not the 
 human being who can deny my right to pro- 
 ceed to Gibraltar, if so I choose. You cannot 
 gainsay me." 
 
 *' I do not seek to do so." 
 " You admit my right to go, then ?" 
 " Certainly. But not with me to-morrow." 
 "Oh, Arthur, have you turned coward?" 
 she asked touchingly, while a soft melan- 
 choly stole over her face, giving it for the 
 time a weird, inexpressible charm. 
 
 Arthur could make no reply ; and she 
 continued — 
 
 " Can one so helpless as myself harm 
 you ? Have beautiful eyes robbed you of 
 clear-sightedness, and have fresh rosy lips 
 tainted you with the breath of selfish cau- 
 tion ? Must the weak and the erring lift 
 up their hands to you in vain, because 
 soft white fingers, which have never been 
 wrung together in agony, have rested in 
 
150 THE ROLL CALL. 
 
 your grasp; and, has such resting made your 
 arm nerveless, to succour the oppressed ? 
 Save me, Arthur, as you alone can." 
 
 *' Heaven only knows what I am to do. 
 At your request I am here, Alice. For your 
 sake I am leaving England, but for the sake 
 of others, as well as of yourself, I must go 
 alone. There is no alternative." 
 
 '' Very well," she returned, with sudden 
 composure; ''there are some miseries which 
 God sends. They are those which He helps 
 the righteous to bear. There are some which 
 men make. They are far harder to endure. 
 Such are mine. I have whined enough. 
 Forgive me. Let us look over the papers." 
 
 Too much relieved by this diversion, Arthur 
 did not question its sincerity. He produced 
 a packet of papers from the pocket of his 
 great coat, and untied it with alacrity. For 
 the space of nearly an hour, Alice and he 
 were busily engaged in an examination of 
 various documents. They possessed, seem- 
 
MYSTERY. 151 
 
 ingly, a vital interest for both. When the 
 last had been perused, Arthur, with a con- 
 siderable amount of nervous hesitation, pre- 
 pared to depart. He dreaded a recurrence 
 of Alice's petitioning. She wished him 
 " Good-bye," however, with perfect calmness. 
 After he had gone, she stood for a few brief 
 moments lost in thought. Then, seizing a 
 hat and cloak which were lying upon a chair 
 in a corner of the room, she opened the door, 
 and sprang down the flight of stairs leading 
 to the hall. It was the work of an instant. 
 Gaining the open air with incredible swiftness^ 
 she bounded to the edge of the pavement, 
 just as Arthur entered his brougham. Quicker 
 than thought, her fingers turned the silver 
 handle of the door, and, as she stepped into 
 the carriage, her voice called authoritatively 
 to the coachman to '^ drive on." The man 
 obeyed. And thus for the second time, since 
 he bade adieu to Brashleigh Manor, Arthur 
 Greatorix journeyed with Alice Royston. 
 
CHAPTER IX. 
 
 TAUNTS SUCCEED AT LAST. 
 
 Either affection for Esme had converted 
 simple-minded Ralph Grant into a diplomatist, 
 or, he was in very truth perfectly satisfied, 
 with the abrupt flitting which Arthur Greatorix 
 had made from Brashleigh Manor. 
 
 It was only natural that Esme should 
 receive, with child-like confidence, whatever 
 dictum her uncle should propound upon the 
 matter. 
 
 As one undaunted spirit may check the 
 panic of a multitude, so his quiet assurance, 
 that all was as it should be, allayed her 
 sorrow, and calmed the rebellious feelings, 
 which othenvise might have risen in her heart, 
 against her lover. 
 
 Esme wept to find that lover gone, but her 
 tears fell gently. They were only a summer 
 
TAUNTS SUCCEED AT LAST. 1 53 
 
 shower, and they barely left a trace upon 
 the roses of her cheek. Softly as her tear- 
 drops fell from her long lashes, however, Esme 
 told herself that, they scarce would have fallen 
 at all, could she but have taken farewell of 
 Arthur. Everything she knew would be verv, 
 verv dull without him ; but then he would soon 
 return, he said so several times in his letter, 
 and he was going to write to her every day, 
 sending his letters whenever an opportunity 
 occurred. He would not have gone away if 
 he could possibly have avoided doing so. 
 Uncle Ralph had told her this over and over 
 again. And Uncle Ralph had particularly 
 begged her not to be unhappy, for his sake, 
 as well as for Arthur's — and she did not mean 
 to allow herself to be unhappy. Uncle Ralph 
 and Arthur were both so good and so clever, 
 of course they knew what to do for the best 
 about everything. No, she was not going to 
 be miserable ; although there were one or two 
 little things she would like to have said to 
 
154 THE ROLL CALL. 
 
 Arthur before he went away. Thus solilo- 
 quizing, with a faith which was firm both 
 in lover and uncle, Esme soon resumed her 
 smiles. 
 
 She placed Arthur's photograph in a more 
 conspicuous position in her room, pleased her- 
 self by wearing his favourite dress, hid his 
 written words of love within her bosom, 
 covered her little fingers with as many of his 
 gift rings as they could possibly carry ; and, 
 within a few hours after his departure had 
 been made known to her, she went bravely 
 forth to face the blank, which she knew his 
 absence had created for her. A blank to her — a 
 change to others. And a change which, to 
 one at least of those who were assembled 
 at Brashleigh Manor, was in no manner 
 beneficial. 
 
 Had Lord Oakdene been less rash, he 
 would have followed with all possible speed 
 in the wake of Arthur. But the snare was 
 too pleasant. Lord Oakdene no more dreamt 
 
TAUNTS SUCCEED AT LAST. 155 
 
 of quitting Brashleigh than he did of cutting 
 his own throat. Life, near to Esme, was by 
 far too fascinating in the one instance, and 
 too enjoyable altogether in the other. 
 
 Hugging the delusion that the absence of 
 Arthur could in no way affect him. Lord Oak- 
 dene contentedly remained where he was. 
 
 La belle could have w^hispered a different 
 story to him. The most obtuse of women 
 know intuitively when their power of enslave- 
 ment is on the wane. La belle was anything 
 but obtuse upon matters of this kind, or, in 
 point of fact, upon that of any other. 
 
 Before Arthur Greatorix had been many 
 days upon the briny ocean, she knew quite 
 well, by various signs and tokens, not only 
 that Lord Oakdene was fast foreswearing his 
 allegiance to her, but also that peril was 
 ahead for him. 
 
 It was scarcely to be expected that 
 she should issue a cry of warning to her 
 recreant knight, as he veered from her ta 
 
156 THE ROLL CALL. 
 
 Esme. The generosity of la belle was great, 
 but so was her pride ; therefore, she pre- 
 ferred to watch events quietly, and, so far as 
 in her lay, smilingly. 
 
 Since Arthur Greatorix had, apparently with- 
 out either rhyme or reason, vacated his post 
 at the side of his ^om\g fiancee, it was only 
 natural, perhaps, that Lord Oakdene should 
 find himself frequently filling it. Esme 
 evinced no objection to this. She was per- 
 fectly at her ease with him, and she was 
 utterly unconscious of his intense admiration 
 for her. Her mind was very full of her ab- 
 sent lover; and, she rarely bestowed a pass- 
 ing thought upon Lord Oakdene, saving and 
 excepting when actually in his presence. 
 
 So far, all was well for Esme ; but, for Lord 
 Oakdene, it was a very different matter. By- 
 and-by there crept into his heart hard 
 thoughts of Arthur; and hard thoughts of 
 Arthur, induced correspondingly tender ones 
 for Esme. In the somewhat severe judgment 
 
TAUNTS SUCCEED AT LAST. 157 
 
 which, by degrees, Lord Oakdene mentally 
 passed upon his absent friend, he believed 
 himself to be fully justified. He had allowed 
 his suspicion, with regard to the two voices 
 which he had heard, or which he thought 
 he had heard, in the hedge-bound path, to 
 grow into a certainty ; he had coupled this 
 certainty with what he chose to consider 
 a "mysterious" disappearance of Arthur; 
 and, out of the two circumstances, he had 
 fabricated an alarm for Esme, which alarm, it 
 is needless to say, sufficed, as an excuse to 
 himself, for any increase of devotion which he 
 permitted himself to feel for her. 
 
 Flora Grant was perfectly unmoved by the 
 flitting of Arthur. Perhaps, Ralph Grant was 
 almost as nervous about breaking the news of 
 it to his wife, as he was at imparting the 
 intelligence of it to Esme. If so, his trepi- 
 dation was needless. Flora Grant merely 
 shrugged her shoulders, and with the remark, 
 that it would be " quite a relief to have the 
 
158 THE ROLL CALL. 
 
 love-making put a stop to for a little time," 
 went on her way with perfect unconcern. 
 
 But if Flora Grant had neither sympathy 
 for Esme, nor regret for Arthur, Rachel Tritton 
 possessed plenty of both to bestow upon 
 them. She sadly missed the frank kindHness 
 with which Arthur ever accosted her ; while, 
 strange although the heedless would have 
 deemed such an assertion to be, she under- 
 stood, even better than la belle, what a void 
 had arisen for Esme. 
 
 Rachel loved to look upon the young girl's 
 face ; so pure, as well as so beautiful. And 
 as Rachel looked, she marvelled, sometimes, 
 as to what could have taken Arthur Greatorix 
 away from it. 
 
 In this wonderment of Rachel's, there was 
 not a vestige of treason to Arthur. Esme 
 herself could scarcely be more loyal to him 
 than Rachel. But Rachel questioned the 
 wisdom of his absence. And she did so, 
 the more especially, when she noted how 
 
TAUNTS SUCCEED AT LAST. 1 59 
 
 frequently the eyes of Lord Oakdene were 
 rlvetted upon Esme. 
 
 Esme was very calm and serene. The 
 glances, and blushes, which the words of 
 Arthur, and the approach of Arthur, would 
 call forth, had gone with him. None other 
 had power to evoke them. This rejoiced 
 Rachel Tritton. To her simple ideas, a great 
 deformity would have fallen over the beauty 
 of Esme, had it been otherwise. 
 
 Rachel saw beauty so plainly in truth, that, 
 without truth, she cculd discern no beauty. 
 She marked her line of truth very plainly, 
 and very boldly. There were no " ins and 
 outs " to be found in it. 
 
 Glances and blushes would not be accounted 
 untruth to an absent lover, by fashionable folk, 
 because the fashionable world is apt, some- 
 times, to think Hghtly enough of honest faith, 
 and purity in love. Lax enough, too, as a rule, 
 is this same fashionable world in its notions 
 upon such matters. And, when it chooses, 
 
l6o THE ROLL CALL. 
 
 indulgent enough also, to its votaries. It 
 loves, sometimes, to smooth over pitfalls, and 
 to blink at danger. It does not always like 
 to call a spade a spade ; while folly is often 
 so trimly decked that it is well-nigh mistaken 
 for wisdom. But, what a hue and cry follows, 
 when the unwary slip into a pitfall, or danger 
 overtakes and crushes the rash ! The agri- 
 cultural implement is called by its right 
 name then. Neither feminine nor masculine 
 tongues halt over its pronunciation. But 
 so long as no harm happens, or, if it happens, 
 so long as it is not found out, no blame is 
 accorded. 
 
 All this would have been as Arabic, or 
 Hindoostanee, to Rachel Tritton. She could 
 not have understood the creed which holds it 
 right for a woman to accept, either with 
 feigned, or real smiles, the admiration of one 
 man, while the love of another is in her keep- 
 ing. 
 
 The doctrine was too subtle for the simple 
 
TAUNTS SUCCEED AT LAST. l6l 
 
 comprehension of Rachel. The tenets, to 
 which she clung, were more clearly defined ; 
 while the action of her charity was altogether 
 different. She did not wink at evil, until its 
 consequences were disastrous. She turned her 
 back resolutely upon it from the outset. 
 
 But when the evil came, who so pitying, 
 so gentle to the evil-doer, as she ? There 
 was no hue and cry with her. Only grief for 
 another's mistake, and a mantle of tenderness- 
 stretched forth to hide another's fault. 
 
 So faiths differ, and so Rachel Tritton, 
 differed from some of the world, in her ideas 
 of how an affianced maiden should keep her 
 troth. 
 
 Arthur Greatorix had been gone nearly a 
 fortnight, when the calm, which thanks to 
 the care and watchfulness of Ralph Grant 
 still rested upon the spirit of Esme, was. 
 somewhat rudely disturbed. 
 
 Lord Oakdene had for several days been 
 away from Brashleigh, but had returned upon 
 
 VOL. L M 
 
l62 THE ROLL CALL. 
 
 some trifling excuse ; consequently, he formed 
 one of a walking party who, one morning, 
 were looking at some colts, which had been 
 brought for inspection to within a short dis- 
 tance of the house. It was not long after 
 breakfast. Early hours did not suit Flora 
 Grant, who was generally more snappish and 
 ill-humoured before luncheon, than afterwards. 
 Upon that particular morning nothing 
 pleased her, while even Lord Oakdene met 
 with a rebuff. It was an unfortunate time 
 for the mention of Arthur's name. Never- 
 theless, it fell unwarily from the lips of Esme. 
 '* The brown colt is the handsomest, Uncle 
 Ralph ; Arthur always said it would be." 
 
 It was a very natural Httle speech, but, it 
 brought about many unpleasant consequences, 
 to her who made it. 
 
 *' Instead of instructing you upon the merits 
 of horseflesh, it would have been more to the 
 purpose I think, Esme, and at any rate more 
 suitable, if Arthur had kept you a little better 
 
TAUNTS SUCCEED AT LAST. 163 
 
 Informed respecting his movements. But as I 
 have often told you, you are too much of a 
 baby to have any understanding, so, of course, 
 he would not trouble himself to tell you his 
 secrets." 
 
 These remarks from Flora Grant, which 
 w^ere utterly irrelevant, startled Esme, and 
 worse, they opened afresh an old sore from 
 the pain of which she believed herself to have 
 been cured. 
 
 Thought is very swift. Quick as a flash of 
 lightning there ran through her mind the 
 remembrance of that sunshiny August morn- 
 ing, when she had first heard from Arthur of 
 his meditated visit to Gibraltar — of her un- 
 granted request to be told the why and the 
 wherefore, of such an intention — of the few 
 constrained days which followed upon the 
 unfulfilment of that request — of the moonlight 
 interview which she had held with him in the 
 gallery — of the subsequent happiness, and last 
 of all, of his sudden departure. 
 
164 THE ROLL CALL. 
 
 Each of these circumstances came before 
 her with distinctness, while, with them, 
 and through them, there beat on her brain, 
 words which had been heretofore uttered by 
 Flora Grant ; but which words, Esme had 
 buried in forgetfulness, until by an unlucky 
 remark she called forth the answer which 
 awoke them to renewed life within her 
 memory. 
 
 '^ Too much of a baby to have any under- 
 standing " — '' of course he would not trouble 
 himself to tell you his secrets." 
 
 ''Was this really so?" Esme asked herself. 
 Would not Arthur take the trouble to tell her 
 his secrets (and had he any secrets from her) 
 after all that he had said to her about the 
 perfect trust and confidence, which, in every- 
 thing, all through life, was to exist between 
 them. Surely not, it could not be ! And 
 yet, yet, oh ! how she wished it were other- 
 wise, he had (she could not deny it even to 
 herself) gone all the way to Gibraltar without 
 
TAUNTS SUCCEED AT LAST. 165 
 
 telling her, In the very least, why he went. 
 Even in his letters he never said a word about 
 it. They were full of affection, but not of 
 explanation. Was this the beginning of those 
 dreadful things to which she had ever before 
 refused to give credence, and against which 
 Aunt Flora had so often warned her ? 
 
 Very wild was the tumult in the gentle 
 breast of Esme. Very faint and sick her 
 heart. For, in the want of trust in her, 
 which she now for the first time read in the 
 departure of Arthur, and in his silence con- 
 cerning the reason for that departure, lay 
 all her woe — all the smart of that freshly 
 opened wound — all the power to sting, and 
 to torment her, of the taunts, both past and 
 present, of Flora Grant. 
 
 Esme had listened to the words of her lover 
 with a blind belief not only in them but in him, 
 and, she had dreamt of sharing every joy, hope, 
 and sorrow of his heart, as he had so often 
 told her that she should. She was awakened 
 
l66 THE ROLL CALL. 
 
 roughly from her dream. A reality, which 
 she seemed suddenly to understand, displaced 
 her sweet vision. She felt that she would 
 like to have slumbered on. In this instance, 
 she was a very sluggard. 
 
 Too much engrossed with her own reflec- 
 tions to heed what was happening around 
 her, she was not aware that a silence, which 
 her companions, one and all, felt to be 
 awkward, had succeeded to the ill-timed 
 remark made by Flora Grant. 
 
 Rachel Tritton was the first to speak ; but, 
 although for a time conversation flowed 
 again, a check had been given to the pleasure 
 of the ramble ; and, the party soon sauntered 
 towards the house, there to amuse themselves 
 until luncheon as each might like best. 
 
 Esme was ill at ease. Her uncle was not 
 at hand to pour oil upon the troubled waters 
 of her soul ; he had, in fact, purposely dis- 
 appeared. Like a child in bodily pain, she 
 scarce could give her suffering, words. For 
 
TAUNTS SUCCEED AT LAST. 167 
 
 the first time in her hitherto untroubled Hfe, 
 she felt lonely and alone. She had none to 
 lean upon ; no gentle mother's knee beside 
 which to kneel and make her moan ; no 
 mother's breast whereon to lean her throb- 
 bing brow and gather counsel ; no mother's 
 tender hand to point the way, with loving 
 wisdom, through all the shifting sands of 
 hopes and fears by which she was surrounded. 
 Ah, is there aught upon earth which can 
 compare with the strength and the stay of 
 maternal affection ? There is little need of 
 word — little need of explanation — to a mother. 
 Only a sob, or a sigh, and forthwith, with- 
 out that questioning, which so often bruises 
 the jaded spirit, the mother's love is poured 
 out, her tenderness is unsparingly lavished, 
 and the comfortless is comforted. 
 
 Esme Montague might never taste of this. 
 Hence, perchance, many a blunder in her 
 judgment, many an hour of suffering for her. 
 Ralph Grant and Arthur Greatorix had been, 
 
l68 THE ROLL CALL. 
 
 and still were, nearest and dearest to her. 
 They were her strongholds, her citadels of 
 affection. Nay, they were all her world ; and 
 hitherto she had been content. But, in this 
 her hour of disquietude, a vague, undefined 
 longing possessed her for something more : 
 a longing which the presence of Arthur would 
 doubtless have dispelled as soon as it arose, 
 but which, under existing circumstances, drove 
 her disconsolately from room to room in a 
 very weariness of spirit. Ordinary occupa- 
 tions failed to interest her, and ordinary 
 amusements to amuse her. Is there any- 
 thing so hard to bear as dissatisfaction with 
 a loved one ? 
 
 There was an especial apartment, in Brash- 
 leiorh Manor, which had been dedicated to 
 Esme almost from her infancy; from the time, 
 in fact, when she had first arrived there with 
 her Aunt Lily. 
 
 It was a very delightful sanctum. Within 
 it Esme had stored, all the relics of her child- 
 
TAUNTS SUCCEED AT LAST. 169 
 
 hood, and all the treasures of her girlhood. Its 
 ornaments and appointments were, perhaps, 
 somewhat incongruous. Half nursery, half 
 boudoir, with here a doll's house, there a 
 work of art, a stranger might have cavilled 
 at the want of harmony in its arrangements. 
 To the eye of its mistress it was simply per- 
 fection. Toys and trinkets were alike hal- 
 lowed by recollections. Not one seemed to 
 her to be out of place. 
 
 Such rooms are generally looked upon as 
 a sort of haven by their possessors. It was 
 scarcely surprising, therefore, that in a 
 moment of tribulation the restless feet of 
 Esme should carry her thither. 
 
 Rachel Tritton had observed, with no small 
 -degree of concern as well as of surprise, the 
 unusual gravity and absent - mindedness of 
 her young friend. Rachel knew that for some 
 reason a sudden chill had fallen over the 
 spirits of those who were assembled to in- 
 spect the young horses ; but, she was unable, 
 
I/O THE ROLL CALL. 
 
 to connect this with the change in the de- 
 meanour of Esme. After returning from the 
 inspection, Rachel saw how the piano was 
 shut almost as soon as it was opened by 
 Esme — saw, too, how idly the gilded leaves 
 of numberless volumes were turned back- 
 wards and forwards, in the vain endeavour to 
 extract an interest from them, and as she 
 saw, she marvelled. 
 
 Esme, had by no means played the part of 
 a love-sick damsel, either before or since the 
 departure of Arthur. What, therefore, could 
 her present mood mean ? Sorely wounded 
 herself in the battle of Hfe, Rachel was quick 
 to take alarm for the safety of others. 
 
 Before long, Esme absented herself alto- 
 gether. Rachel thought of '* Miss Monta- 
 gue's room," as it was generally called, and 
 she conjectured rightly that thither Esme 
 had betaken herself. 
 
 Rachel resolved to follow her ; but not im- 
 mediately. Rachel took nothing by storm. 
 
TAUNTS SUCCEED AT LAST. 171 
 
 She had the rare gift, not only of saying the 
 right things, but of choosing the right time 
 for saying them. So she waited a little, tarry- 
 ing until she thought that, solitude having 
 done its work, Esme might possibly be glad 
 of companionship. 
 
 It was even so. Rachel's gentle tap at 
 the door brought her a speedy admittance to 
 the presence of Esme, who, was seated at a 
 table near an open window, brush and pallet 
 in hand, with a half-finished picture before 
 her. 
 
 Rachel understood everything at a glance, 
 together with the wearied expression of the 
 beautiful face which looked up at her entrance. 
 
 '' Are you going to finish that picture 
 before Mr. Greatorix returns?" she asked, 
 after having duly admired both the subject 
 and its treatment. 
 
 *' I don't know," replied Esme, with just a 
 soupgon of surprise at the question in the 
 tone of her voice, ''I had not thought of 
 
172 THE ROLL CALL. 
 
 doing SO. I am afraid it would be impossible. 
 I want some of his touches to finish it off for 
 me." 
 
 ''Why not finish it off yourself?" sug- 
 gested Rachel with a smile. 
 
 " I don't know," replied Esme again ; and 
 then she added ingenuously, " Yes, I do. It 
 is because I am idle, and like having things 
 done for me better than doing them myself." 
 
 '' I wonder, who does not," said Rachel 
 cheerfully ; ''but it is better to feel that one 
 can be independent, if a necessity for being 
 so should arise." 
 
 "Is it ? " Esme asked doubtfully. 
 
 " I think so. It is pleasant certainly to be 
 helped, but it is even pleasanter, perhaps, 
 to help others," returned Rachel. 
 
 " My help will never be worth anything 
 to anybody, I am afraid," answered Esme. 
 ^' Besides, as I said before, I like having 
 things done for me. I would rather be a 
 queen bee. I always pity the working bees." 
 
TAUNTS SUCCEED AT LAST. 1 73 
 
 Rachel looked at her young companion. 
 A queen bee, in the splendour of her queenly 
 beauty, Rachel thought, might that young 
 companion surely remain, if so she willed it. 
 Rachel pondered, also, of the talent which that 
 marvellous beauty was, and how all-powerful 
 it might become either for good or for evil. 
 Drawing her chair closer to Esme, Rachel 
 seated herself comfortably, and beginning 
 some work which she had brought with her, 
 said — 
 
 *' You see, I am settling myself for a chat 
 with you, and am showing you practically 
 that I do not incline to this queen-bee notion 
 of yours." 
 
 " What are you making? " inquired Esme. 
 
 '* Knee-caps for my mother. She thinks 
 those which I make for her are softer and 
 warmer than any others. I have no doubt 
 you have never seen such articles of wearing- 
 apparel before." 
 
 " No, I have not. But they seem to be 
 
174 THE ROLL CALL. 
 
 beautifully knitted. If I had a mother, I 
 would work all day long for her! " exclaimed 
 Esme. 
 
 Rachel was too wise to allude to the queen- 
 bee idea which this assertion somewhat con- 
 tradicted. She saw that she was drawing 
 Esme out of herself, and she was satisfied. 
 Pausing a moment, she rephed gently — 
 
 '' God will send you someone to work for in 
 His own good time, I doubt not, and then, you 
 will love the work, for His dear sake. Like 
 yourself, I am motherless. She, whom I call 
 my mother, was the step-mother only of one 
 I fondly loved. In reahty, she is not even 
 related to me." 
 
 The attention of Esme was completely ar- 
 rested. Pushing aside her painting materials, 
 she said eagerly — 
 
 " I hke you to talk to me in this manner. 
 Mr. Greatorix — Arthur does sometimes, but 
 I am afraid I laugh, and do not attend to 
 him." 
 
TAUNTS SUCCEED AT LAST. 175 
 
 Rachel smiled. 
 
 ** Mr. Greatorix has not much chance, then, 
 of enforcing what he would teach, I am 
 afraid." 
 
 *' Oh, but he only talks about grave things 
 with reference to himself. He says that I do 
 not need what he calls discipline and teach- 
 ing, and that he only wants me to keep just 
 as I am," returned Esme, blushing, as she 
 spoke, and playing nervously with her rings. 
 
 It did Rachel's heart good to see how well 
 her plan for amusing her companion was 
 prospering, and she answered cheerily — 
 
 ''Mr. Greatorix is the best of tutors. You 
 have the teaching of joy, dear Esme : only let 
 it be a thankful joy, and all will be well, while 
 you will keep pure and true. Cold, bracing 
 atmospheres are needful for some constitu- 
 tions, you know, but not for all. Sunny 
 cHmes and balmy breezes bring others to 
 perfect strength. I am given to preaching. 
 You must stop me, if I tire you." 
 
176 THE ROLL CALL. 
 
 '' I am not in the least tired, thank you," 
 answered Esme, warmly. '' I hope you will 
 not think me dreadfully inquisitive, but, I 
 cannot help wondering, how and when you 
 learned all this." 
 
 '' By experience. I once had the sun and 
 the warmth, the light and the love, of earth. 
 I basked in them, and dreamt not of night. 
 There was One Who knew, that so it would 
 continue until my strength was all spent. 
 But a cold wind was sent in mercy, and I 
 cowered down shiveringly beneath its cutting 
 blast. Darkness — a thick, impenetrable dark- 
 ness — a starless night of woe — accompanied 
 the blast. It swept over the sea of life, upon 
 which my fair ship, laden with happiness, 
 was launched, and sank it. It snapped the 
 brightest flower, which bloomed in the land 
 of my rapture, and laid it low. I sank into 
 a fathomless abyss with the one ; and I cast 
 myself prostrate to the ground with the other. 
 I had not let the sunshine do its work, and 
 
TAUNTS SUCCEED AT LAST. 1 77 
 
 God, in His marvellous compassion, sent me 
 the trial of His storms.'^ 
 
 Rachel paused. Her head was bowed, her 
 hands were clasped ; while, she seemed to 
 have forgotten, all save her sorrowful reminis- 
 cences, and for the moment to be uncon- 
 scious even of the presence of Esme. 
 
 VOL. L N 
 
CHAPTER X. 
 
 AN ONLY LOVE. 
 
 Rachel's reverie was of short duration. 
 Taking up her knitting, which had fallen from 
 her hand, she said to Esme — 
 
 ** Shall I tell you ' all about it,' as people 
 say?" 
 
 '' If you please, dear Rachel, but not if it 
 will either tire you, or give you pain," returned 
 Esme. 
 
 *' It will do me good," answered Rachel 
 quickly, and then with a gentle smile she 
 added, '' Perhaps, it may do you good also. 
 I have no doubt you will consider me a very 
 ancient personage to talk about lovers, but if 
 I tell you my little history I shall be obliged 
 to do so. Mine was an early, as well as an 
 only, love. His name was Edward St. 
 Vincent. I was just seventeen — about your 
 
AN ONLY LOVE. 1 79 
 
 your age, Esme — when he first came to the 
 village in which, after the death of my father, 
 we (I mean my own mother, my brother Fred, 
 and myself) had taken up our residence. The 
 good rector of the place, who had been for 
 some time in failing health, talked often of 
 establishing a curate to share his work. But, 
 loth either to make any change, or to spare 
 himself labour, he was slow to carry out his 
 proposal. 
 
 "In those good old days, there were no 
 School Boards to sit in judgment upon his 
 teaching ; while his flock gave him loving 
 as well as unquestioning, obedience. But, 
 alas ! new arrivals, in the shape of a large and 
 decidedly rabid High Church family, came 
 amongst us. From that moment the peace of 
 our parish was sadly impaired. Our old cus- 
 toms and habits were called in question. 
 Discussion speedily brought dissension, until 
 at length the much tried, much enduring 
 rector, laid some of his troubles before my 
 
l8o THE ROLL CALL. 
 
 mother. Her advice was both prompt and 
 decided. * Union was strength/ she said, 
 ' with a curate, a fellow worker, the battle 
 would be more equal' So, before long, a 
 curate was found. The fact of his advent 
 was supposed to be a profound secret between 
 my mother and the rector. Of course, it 
 oozed out somehow, and there was no small 
 amount of excitement, I can assure you, 
 amidst the members of our primitive congre- 
 gation, when Mr. St. Vincent entered the 
 church. I am afraid, I was mischievous 
 enough to fancy that the genuflexions of the 
 five Misses Simpson, who, varying in age 
 from thirty to five and forty, composed part 
 of the High Church family to whom I have 
 alluded, were more exaggerated than usual. 
 Anyhow, I am quite sure, that I was irreverent 
 enough to look with especial favour upon the 
 handsome face and tall figure of our new 
 curate. Truant thoughts, however, could 
 scarcely ramble for long with his earnest voice 
 
AN ONLY LOVE. l8l 
 
 calling them back to the paths of devotion ; 
 and although, I fear, they started often upon 
 their idle wanderings, they were as often 
 arrested and brought back. My mother was 
 right. The curate soon proved to be an un- 
 doubted benefit both to rector and people. 
 My emancipation from the school-room had 
 not then taken place ; consequently, I was 
 not present, when my mother made the 
 acquaintance of Mr. St. Vincent. It was 
 not long, however, before he and I became 
 fast friends. 
 
 ** One particularly warm afternoon, it was 
 a half-holiday, I had been amusing myself 
 with an industrious search for a rare fern 
 which was said to grow on a bank at a 
 short distance from our house, but which to 
 my disappointment I had failed to find. Tired 
 out with my fruitless search, I cast my hat 
 aside, and seated myself upon the grass 
 beneath the shade of a tree. For some little 
 time, I gave myself up to the enjoyment of 
 
l82 THE ROLL CALL. 
 
 the rest and the shelter from the sun. Then^ 
 I grew weary of my soHtude. Like the boy 
 in the fable, I longed for someone, or some- 
 thing, to share my idleness. Laziness is a 
 great snare. From futile wishes I fell into a 
 profitless vein of thought. I began by de- 
 claring to myself, that I had grown terribly 
 tired, both of my governess and of study — 
 that I should like to go to London, be pre- 
 sented, and go through the gaiety of a season. 
 Presently, I took altogether another view of 
 matters. I wished that I was my brother 
 Fred, that I could go to Oxford, pull in the 
 * eights,' and go, as he did, on walking tours 
 to Switzerland, and other beautiful places. 
 
 '' I cannot tell what my next desire might 
 have been, for my ambitious ideas and flights 
 of fancy were suddenly laid low. Looking up, 
 I saw Mr. St. Vincent approaching me. He 
 was walking slowly as if in pain, and I 
 remarked immediately that he was very pale. 
 I rose from my lonely seat, shy and uncertain 
 
AN ONLY LOVE. 183 
 
 what to do. But, as he came close to me, I 
 saw him put his handkerchief to his fore- 
 head, and I also saw that the handkerchief 
 was stained with blood when he removed it. 
 My shyness vanished at the sight. Spring- 
 ing forward I obeyed an uncontrollable im- 
 pulse ; and, without hesitation, offered the 
 assistance, which I gathered from his ap- 
 pearance that he needed. He thanked me 
 cordially, and we made our way at once for 
 the house. As we proceeded thither, he told 
 me that he had been thrown from his pony 
 carriage on to a heap of stones, cutting his 
 hand and forehead by the fall. I took him 
 straight to my mother, who promptly supplied 
 him with remedies and restoratives. She was 
 particularly skilful at prescribing upon such 
 occasions. Under her care he was soon 
 better, and — and — ah, well — what a happy 
 summer followed ! I never wanted again to be 
 my brother Fred." 
 
 Here, Rachel paused, looking very much as 
 
184 THE ROLL CALL. 
 
 if the remembrance of that bygone happiness 
 had made her once more forget that she was 
 not alone. 
 
 '^ Where was I ? " she asked after a few 
 moments, as she brushed a tell-tale tear 
 stealthily away. *' Oh ! I remember now, I 
 was telling of that glad time when Edward 
 St. Vincent and I first began to care for each 
 other. Six months after his accident, which 
 he always declared was the luckiest ' spill ' a 
 man ever had, he and I were engaged. My 
 mother, in sanctioning our attachment, made 
 one stipulation, and one only, which was that 
 our marriage should not take place for a year 
 and a half. To this, Edward agreed ; while, 
 at the expiration of that time, Fred vowed to 
 bring home a wife who should live with my 
 mother and take my place." 
 
 " Did you and Mr. St. Vincent tell each 
 other everything, when you were engaged ? " 
 asked Esme abruptly. '' I beg your pardon for 
 interrupting you, but I mean, had you no 
 
AN ONLY LOVE. 185 
 
 secrets from each other — if he went a long 
 way off, used you to know why he went ? " 
 she added, anxiously. ^^ 
 
 " Edward St. Vincent was a clergyman, 
 you know, Esme, therefore he could not tell 
 me everything " — 
 
 " Yes, that would, of course, make it differ- 
 ent — different from " — 
 
 Esme hesitated painfully, and grew so em- 
 barrassed, that Rachel, anxious to relieve her, 
 continued gently — 
 
 " You are right, clergymen are, in many 
 respects, different from other people ; it would 
 not be proper for them always to speak 
 either of where they go, or their reason for 
 going." 
 
 " No," returned Esme absently. 
 
 Rachel was puzzled. But still, she read 
 nothing more than a young girl's natural de- 
 pression at the absence of her lover, in the 
 returning gloom which was fast overspreading 
 the face of Esme. Thinking it kinder, there- 
 
l86 THE ROLL CALL. 
 
 fore, to continue talking, Rachel took up the 
 thread of her story, which had been somewhat 
 let go, and resumed — 
 
 '^ If, Edward St. Vincent and I had a joyous 
 summer, before our engagement was per- 
 mitted, we had a still more joyous winter 
 afterwards. The season was very severe, 
 but it had no dreariness for us. With 
 hearts so warm, and light, what cared we for 
 frozen window panes, and ice-clad paths? 
 
 '' All through the succeeding spring time, 
 and until summer had waned into autumn, no 
 cloud arose to dim our happiness, and then 
 • — but I must not anticipate the sadness by 
 which our bliss was destroyed. One day, my 
 mother and Edward, with Fred and myself 
 were returning from the Rectory, where we had 
 been having luncheon, when a terrible cry of 
 fire suddenly rang through the air. It arrested 
 our steps instantaneously, and I clung, with 
 frightened amazement, to the arm of Edward. 
 
 " At first, we could not determine the 
 
AN ONLY LOVE. 187 
 
 exact direction from which the cry proceeded. 
 Soon, however, a dense cloud of smoke rose 
 slowly in the heavy autumn atmosphere, 
 telling us, only too surely, where the mischief 
 was raging ; while, men and women, with 
 panting breath and blanched countenances, 
 rushed past us. The fire, we made out from 
 them, was at the prettiest end of our village, 
 and thither Edward and Fred pressed at once, 
 leaving my mother and myself to return home. 
 
 "Arrived there, we could see the fearful 
 flames bursting from time to time through the 
 columns of smoke, which continued to rise 
 steadily heavenward, and we could hear the 
 hum of voices from the terror-stricken 
 villagers. My mother was full of consterna- 
 tion and pity for the sufferers, but, I am 
 afraid that I had no thought, no anxiety, 
 save for Edward. My terror for his safety 
 shut out all other considerations. 
 
 '* We waited long, before we heard anything 
 either of him, or of Fred. At last a servant. 
 
l88 THE ROLL CALL. 
 
 returned from the scene of the conflagration, 
 who told us that the fire was almost extin- 
 guished, although not before terrible havoc 
 had been wrought. The cottages were for 
 the most part thatched, and stood so closely 
 to each other that the flames had spread with 
 marvellous rapidity. I listened, to the man's 
 account, with burning cheeks, although I 
 shivered until my teeth chattered one against 
 the other ; while my trembling hands would 
 scarcely permit me to assist my mother in 
 the various arrangements, which, she forthwith 
 commenced, for giving aid to those, who, 
 alas ! were that day made homeless. 
 
 '^ By-and-by Fred returned, and then I 
 was dismissed to bed. Edward was still 
 working hard, but was safe, my brother said, 
 so, although I would fain have lingered to hear 
 more about him, I had no excuse for dis- 
 obeying the wish of my mother. But, 
 although I retired to bed as she desired, I 
 could not sleep. When I dozed into forget- 
 
AN ONLY LOVE. 189 
 
 fulness, the horrible cry of * Fire ! ' seemed to 
 be ringing in my ears again, and I started 
 up trembling, and affrighted. 
 
 " The next morning it poured in torrents. 
 The rain, perhaps, was providential, as it ex- 
 tinguished any fire which might have been left 
 smouldering. As soon as we had finished 
 breakfast, I asked my mother to allow me to 
 accompany Fred, who was going to see 
 Edward. At first she refused to listen to my 
 request, because of the inclemency of the 
 morning. I was not to be denied, however, 
 and after a great amount of persuasion, and 
 coaxing, she relented, and finally gave a re- 
 luctant permission. 
 
 '* Edward was not at home, when we 
 reached his cottage, and his house-keeper in- 
 formed us that he had been out during the 
 greater part of the night. Fred proposed 
 to take me home again, but after a second 
 edition of coaxing, when he, instead of my 
 mother, held my fate in his hands, I was 
 
190 THE ROLL CALL. 
 
 allowed to continue my search for Edward. 
 Anxiety to see him, prevented me from feeling 
 at all tired, and securely wrapped in my water- 
 proof, I trotted bravely by the side of my 
 brother through the drenching rain. As we 
 neared the still smoking ruins, the aspect of 
 everything was forlorn, and wretched in the 
 extreme. I cannot attempt to describe it. 
 The work of devastation had been too terrible. 
 The cottages were mere shells, with here and 
 there, perhaps, a blackened doorway still stand- 
 ing ; and with here and there, charred masses 
 of thatch hanging over the shattered frames 
 of broken windows. 
 
 '' Desolation was written everywhere, and 
 nowhere was it written more plainly than upon 
 the haggard faces of those, who, in the pitiless, 
 pelting rain, stood staring blankly at the de- 
 struction before them. I tried, as best I could, 
 to speak a few words of sympathy to them, but 
 the sight of their distress unnerved me, while 
 they, I think, were too much stunned by their 
 
AN ONLY LOVE. I9I 
 
 misfortune, to gather the meaning of my 
 words. 
 
 *' Edward was not amongst them, but 
 I found out from one of the poor women that 
 he was at the school house, which he had 
 converted into a temporary refuge for the 
 sickly, the aged, and the children. There, 
 Fred and I found him, administering com- 
 fort alike to body and mind. He looked 
 very worn and tired, and his clothes 
 were wet. I noticed all this directly, and, 
 with the quick alarm of affection, begged 
 him to return home immediately. 
 
 *^ With his usual thoughtfulness for me, 
 he prepared to comply with my request, 
 confessing that the double necessity of 
 breakfast, and a dry coat, had been 
 forcing itself upon him for some time. 
 So we turned from the school house 
 together, leaving Fred to help the rector, 
 and the sisters Simpson, who, of course, 
 were there." 
 
192 THE ROLL CALL. 
 
 Rachel smiled a little, as she said the last 
 few words. 
 
 " I had much to say to Edward, and to 
 hear from him about the sad night which 
 had just gone by. As I listened to his 
 account of it, I drew closer to his side, 
 thanking God fervently for my darling's 
 escape from its perils ; but, ah, that happy, 
 lingering walk sealed the death warrant of my 
 best beloved ! Cold, wet, and fasting, he " — 
 
 Here, Rachel's voice failed her, and she 
 fairly broke down. 
 
 Esme was much distressed, but Rachel,, 
 rallying her composure and looking from 
 the window, said with a feeble attempt at 
 cheerfulness — 
 
 *' I am afraid I have been selfish to keep 
 you here so long. I see Lord Oakdene is 
 wandering disconsolately about the lawn, 
 looking, I have no doubt, for you. I only 
 hope that, I have not quite tired you out, 
 with my long story." 
 
AN ONLY LOVE. I93 
 
 Esme eagerly assured Rachel to the 
 contrary, and with many affectionate thanks 
 entreated that she would conclude her 
 narrative at the earliest opportunity. 
 
 This, Rachel promised she would do, and 
 then she retired to her own room, but, neither 
 she nor Esme left their respective sanctums^ 
 until the gong sounded for luncheon. 
 
 While the past afforded Rachel much 
 matter for reflection, the present gave an 
 equal amount to Esme. 
 
 VOL. L 
 
CHAPTER XI. 
 
 BAD FORM. 
 
 Rachel Tritton was perfectly correct, 
 when she supposed that Lord Oakdene was 
 wandering about the lawn in search of Esme. 
 At luncheon he contrived, as he generally did 
 now that Arthur Greatorix was away, to place 
 himself next to her at table. 
 
 After a few observations upon the weather 
 and other ordinary topics, he remarked — 
 
 *^ Vewy dull, I should think, Miss Montague, 
 to be shut up nearly a whole morning alone 
 with Miss Twitton." 
 
 '' On the contrary," returned Esme quickly, 
 *' I have not passed such a pleasant two hours, 
 since" — she was going to say, ''since Mr. 
 Greatorix left," but she checked herself, and 
 added instead, " for some time." 
 
. BAD FORM. 195 
 
 Lord Oakdene winced a little. He knew 
 perfectly well what the hesitating *' since " 
 meant. The knowledge was not gratifying to 
 his self-love, seeing that he had relinquished 
 more than one day's sport in order that he 
 might devote himself to the service of Esme. 
 His glance wandered somewhat superciH- 
 ously over Rachel, who was nearly opposite 
 to him, as he said in reply to Esme — 
 
 " I am wather inclined to be incwedulous. 
 Miss Twitton looks vewy quiet. I don't 
 believe you will twy a tete-a-tete with her 
 again." 
 
 " Indeed! you are quite mistaken. I shall 
 be only too delighted to do so. I thought 
 thsit you knew, I always mean what I say." 
 
 There was just an atom of balm for Lord 
 Oakdene to apply to his ruffled feelings, in the 
 latter remark. Under its soothing influence, 
 he applied himself to some of the viands 
 before him, and with a dainty morsel delicately 
 poised upon his fork, returned — 
 
196 THE ROLL CALL. 
 
 " I often twy to hope that you do not always 
 mean exactly what you say." 
 
 Esme slightly elevated her eyebrows, giving, 
 meanwhile, the least possible shrug of her 
 shoulders ; but, she vouchsafed no reply, to 
 that which was intended to be a pointed 
 remark. 
 
 Lord Oakdene, therefore, once more took 
 refuge in his knife and fork, leisurely refilled 
 his glass, and then said with assumed light- 
 ness of tone — 
 
 '' It is vewy wemarkable, but women, always 
 seem to find any amount of things to talk 
 about, when they are shut up together in their 
 own sitting-wooms." 
 
 '' Don't men ? " laconically enquired Esme. 
 
 '* Not as a wule — at least, not in the morn- 
 ing. They are genewally all wight after 
 dinner." 
 
 Esme laughed, which encouraged his Lord- 
 ship to continue — 
 
 '' While you were so engwossed with Miss 
 
BAD FORM. 197 
 
 Twitton, I felt like a lost spiwit within sight 
 of Pawadise. I could hear your voices 
 floating on the bweeze, thwough your open 
 window." 
 
 '' How extremely romantic ! " exclaimed 
 Esme, laughing, '' but I am very glad you did 
 not think yourself a Peri." 
 
 " I would have thought myself any mortal 
 thing," began Lord Oakdene eagerly. 
 
 But he was interrupted by Esme, who ex- 
 claimed merrily — 
 
 " Ah ! but then, you know, Peris were not 
 mortals." 
 
 '' Never mind their natuwal histowy," he 
 returned with equal gaiety, '' I would have 
 imagined myself to be anything, or nothing, and 
 would have twied to find — it is vewy wemark- 
 able," he continued, after pausing abruptly, 
 '' but, for the life of me, I cannot wemember, 
 what on earth it was that those wetchedly 
 industwious Pierwys did twy to find." 
 
 ''Can't you, Lord Oakdene?" demurely 
 
198 THE ROLL CALL. 
 
 asked Esme, her eyes the while dancing with 
 merriment. 
 
 " No," he returned gravely. 
 
 '' Well then ! I will tell you what it was not, 
 if that will help you. It was neither cold 
 chicken, lobster salad, nor cigars." 
 
 '' That is wather a hard wap upon my heavy 
 luncheon and my smoking ; but when a fellow 
 is so despewately misewable he must do 
 something," was the reply. 
 
 '' It is a very good sign when the patient 
 can eat," said Esme, her merriment in noway 
 diminished. 
 
 ''Don't the Pierwys eat?" asked her 
 companion. 
 
 '' No ! " answered Esme promptly. 
 
 '' Vewy wemarkable," said Lord Oakdene 
 seriously, '' they must be awfully hard up." 
 
 '' For what ? " enquired Esme. 
 
 " For evewything, I should think, but I 
 wish. Miss Montague, you would tell me what 
 it was in weality they went pwowling about ta 
 find." 
 
BAD FORM. 199 
 
 '' You are too absurd." 
 
 *' No, upon my word, I am quite In earnest. 
 I do weally want to know." 
 
 *' It was," began Esme quickly, but she 
 as quickly stopped speaking. '' It was," she 
 continued in some confusion, for she did not 
 find the information so easy to impart as 
 she had imagined, " it was," she repeated 
 hesitatingly, " sighs, and tears, and good 
 works, with which the Peri in the poem 
 sought to gain an admittance into Paradise. '* 
 
 '' I could have bwought plenty of sighs, 
 and of tears also, if they would have helped 
 me to win an entwance into the Pawadise of 
 your boudoir this morning." 
 
 '' Nonsense," said Esme. '' Why did you 
 not go out shooting ? " 
 
 '^ Because both Pawadise and the beautiful 
 Pierwy were here, and I liked better to keep 
 near to them." 
 
 As Lord Oakdene said this, he pushed 
 aside his plate, leant his wrists upon the 
 table, interlaced his fingers, and turning 
 
200 THE ROLL CALL. 
 
 slightly round looked earnestly at Esme. It 
 was impossible to feign an ignorance of his 
 meaning. She did not attempt it. Meeting 
 his gaze steadily, she said coldly — 
 
 '' It is what the Cambridge Mr. Lashmore 
 would call ' bad form ' to make the badinage 
 personal." 
 
 " Lashmore is an idiot," was the impatient 
 rejoinder. 
 
 " And you, I suppose, are imitating the wise 
 men of Gotham, but remember, I am not 
 like King John," said Esme, less frigidly 
 than before. 
 
 "It is awfully hard to wemember anything 
 pwoperly, when one is talking to you, Miss 
 Montague. I always contwive somehow to 
 lose my head." 
 
 " But not your tongue," Esme could not 
 refrain from saying. 
 
 *' Wap, number two," he returned good- 
 humouredly, *' but whether I lose my head 
 only, or my head and my tongue both, I know 
 
BAD FORM. 20I 
 
 that I feign nothing — nothing," he repeated 
 with marked emphasis and gravity. 
 
 Before Esme could make any further com- 
 ments, she heard her name pronounced very 
 distinctly at the other end of the table. Ralph 
 Grant was addressing her. Somehow, he 
 often did so, when her conversation with 
 Lord Oakdene appeared to be interesting. 
 Flora Grant pursued an entirely different 
 course of action. 
 
 '' Esme, my dear, I want you to give Miss 
 Wycombe a mount to-day. Can you spare 
 the chestnut ? Nothing else would suit her so 
 well. Ride your bay, and come with us. It 
 is going to be a lovely afternoon," said Ralph 
 Grant. 
 
 " I am such a coward you know, Esme," 
 chimed in pretty Hannah Wycombe, before 
 Esme had time to answer her uncle. '' Lord 
 Oakdene's pet, ' Scamper,' nearly terrified 
 me to death, when I rode him last week." 
 
 " I was awfully sorwy, and vewy much 
 
202 THE ROLL CALL. 
 
 annoyed about it. He is genewally quiet 
 enough, but he hadn't been widden by a lady 
 for some time," said Lord Oakdene apologeti- 
 cally, feeling, that la belle was looking 
 volumes at him, although his gaze was turned 
 in any direction rather than towards her. 
 
 '' ' Beauty' will not frighten you, Hannah. 
 She is a dading — can go like the wind, but, 
 is as quiet as a mouse," added Esme, who, un- 
 like Lord Oakdene, was looking at la belle, 
 and who saw at once that part of the eulogy, 
 which she had bestowed upon her favourite 
 mare, was not altogether pleasing to la 
 belle, 
 
 "' I expect that our ideas, differ concerning 
 quietness," laughed la belle ; ''however, with 
 your recommendation, and under the escort of 
 Mr. Grant, I have no doubt that, I may safely 
 trust my neck to the keeping of ' Beauty,' for 
 an hour or two. Are you going to ride this 
 afternoon, Lord Oakdene ? " 
 
 '' Oh, no," Esme answered archly for him^ 
 
BAD FORM. 203 
 
 " Lord Oakdene has taken a literary turn, and 
 intends to stay at home and study Paradise 
 and the Peri." 
 
 " I should have thought that ' Maud ' 
 would have been more in Lord Oakdene's 
 line," suggested la belle, who had witnessed 
 his disconsolate roaming about the lawns 
 and garden, together with the furtive glances 
 which, from time to time, he cast towards 
 the windows of the boudoir of Esme. 
 
 In no way disconcerted by the double 
 attack which had thus been made upon him, 
 and determined, not to commit himself with 
 regard to the riding-party, until fully assured 
 of the plans of Esme, he said — 
 
 '' I quite agwee with you, Miss Wycombe. 
 It is vewy wemarkable, but ' Maud ' has 
 always been one of my favouwite poems. I 
 like it better than anything else which the 
 Poet Lauweate has ever witten." 
 
 Mrs. Grant now rose from the table. 
 Taking advantage of the general movement 
 
204 THE ROLL CALL. 
 
 which ensued, Lord Oakdene added in an 
 undertone to Esme — 
 
 ''Lashmore's phwase, might fairly be ap- 
 plied to others here besides myself, it seems 
 to me." 
 
 '' Honi soit qui mal y pense^^ she returned 
 evasively, as they sauntered into an adjoin- 
 ing room. 
 
 Lord Oakdene was about to reply, but his 
 eyes met hers, and for the moment he forgot 
 his repartee. 
 
 Perhaps, like good wine, it proved all the 
 better for keeping. 
 
CHAPTER XII. 
 
 ANOTHER TETE-A-TETE WITH RACHEL. 
 
 ''Here we are at last, Rachel, and with a 
 good two hours to spare before we need 
 begin to dress for dinner. Sit in this low 
 chair, while I go and have my hat and habit 
 taken off, and be sure that you do not fall in 
 love with Arthur's photo during my absence," 
 said Esme Montague. 
 
 Rachel took the offered seat, and smilingly 
 promised not to lose her heart to the portrait 
 in question. 
 
 Two days had elapsed, since Rachel and 
 Esme had been closeted together in the 
 same room wherein Rachel now again found 
 herself. During those two days, Esme had 
 more than once tried to bring Rachel thither ; 
 but something had always happened to frus- 
 
2o6 THE ROLL CALL. 
 
 trate her endeavour. Now, however, she had 
 carried her point. Nothing could be more 
 cosy, and more inviting, for a confidential 
 conversation than the aspect of everything 
 around. It was growing dusk, but a bright 
 fire threw its cheerful blaze over a tiny 
 tea-table with fairy-like tea appointments ; 
 while opposite to Rachel, on the other side 
 of the table, and drawn up to the fire, there 
 was another even lower, and, perhaps, still 
 more luxurious, chair than that in which she 
 was seated. 
 
 Rachel was not alone for many minutes. 
 When Esme returned it was in such a be- 
 witching tea-gown, and she looked so radiant 
 after her exercise in the open air, that Rachel 
 thought she had never seen her look so 
 lovely. Thus thinking, Rachel could not 
 help saying — 
 
 '' There is much more danger, Esme, of 
 my falling in love with you than with the 
 picture of Mr. Greatorix. Your cheeks put 
 
ANOTHER TETE-A-TETE. 207 
 
 the embroidered roses on your gown to 
 shame." 
 
 " Poor roses ! " laughed Esme, glancing 
 down upon the soft pink silks of the well- 
 simulated flowers, " I am sorry for them ; 
 but please, dear Rachel, talk about yourself 
 instead of me. Moments are precious, you 
 know, and Aunt Flora is exigeante. If I am 
 not in the drawing-room when the good 
 people begin to arrive to-night, she will be 
 very much annoyed." 
 
 '' Is there a dinner party ? " asked Rachel. 
 
 '' Did not Aunt Flora tell you ? I am so 
 sorry. Yes, we have quite a great dinner 
 to-night, in more senses than one ; our M.P. 
 and his wife, with all the biggest people 
 around to meet them. I have positively a 
 new gown, for the occasion, a present from 
 dear Uncle Ralph, who ordered it for me 
 from Paris." 
 
 Mrs. Grant had grown reconciled to the 
 presence of Rachel Tritton, or, perhaps, it 
 
2o8 THE ROLL CALL. 
 
 would be more truthful to say, she entirely^ 
 overlooked It. She never introduced Rachel 
 to man, woman, or child ; never by word of 
 mouth included her in any arrangements, nor 
 took any trouble to exclude her therefrom 
 — never enquired for her if she were not 
 present, nor betrayed the slightest annoyance 
 if she were. It was not surprising, there- 
 fore, that she had not informed Rachel of the 
 expected dinner party. A more self-asserting 
 individual than Rachel Tritton might have 
 found matter for resentment, in the conduct 
 of Flora Grant, covered although this con- 
 duct was by the constant kindness and at- 
 tention of both Esme Montague and Ralph 
 Grant. 
 
 Without a harsh thought of her hostess, 
 and without an anxiety concerning her own 
 attire, Rachel was vastly interested in the 
 fashion and colour of the finery which was 
 destined to adorn her young friend. When 
 Esme had fully enlightened Rachel upon 
 
ANOTHER TETE-A-TETE. 209 
 
 these points, the latter resumed her story, 
 and, without preamble, said — 
 
 '' Edward never came agam to my mother's, 
 after that walk from the schoolhouse which we 
 had in the rain together. He took me home, 
 but did not stay to breakfast, as my mother 
 invited him, because, as I told you the other 
 day, he was wet through. In the afternoon, 
 I rather expected him to appear, but, as the 
 weather did not improve, and I knew that he 
 was very busy, his absence gave me no anxiety. 
 In the evening, however, while we were dining, 
 I noticed that my mother, and also Fred, 
 looked unusually grave. I did not in any 
 way connect their gravity with Edward, and 
 yet, an unaccountable depression stole over 
 me, as the meal proceeded. When we retired 
 to the drawing-room, my mother called me 
 to her. 
 
 *' ' Rachel, my child,' she said, ' your 
 brother tells me that Edward is not well.' 
 
 VOL. I. P 
 
2IO THE ROLL CALL. 
 
 " My arms were around her in an instant, 
 and, with my cheek pressed against hers, I 
 cried piteously — 
 
 "'Not well, dear mother; what do you 
 mean ? ' 
 
 " She hesitated, caressing me fondly, mean- 
 while. 
 
 " ' I mean, my child, that last night's ex- 
 posure to the cold rain has given him a chill, 
 and the doctor ' — 
 
 " But here I interrupted her with so vehe- 
 ment a gesture of despair that she stopped, 
 and, smoothing back my hair, kissed me again 
 and again. Illness was, happily, almost un- 
 known in our household. I could scarcely 
 remember the death of my father, and from 
 then, thanks to the healthfulness of our con- 
 stitutions and the skill of my mother, a doctor 
 had rarely crossed our threshold — at least, 
 not in his professional capacity. 
 
 '' When, therefore, my mother spoke of 
 a doctor, in connection with Edward, I was 
 
ANOTHER TETE-A-TETE. 211 
 
 filled with dire dismay. It was in vain that 
 my mother strove to calm my fear. I could 
 not take comfort. I tried to do so, but I 
 could not. Her words fell on my ears, it is 
 true, but for the first time in all my young 
 life her tender syllables were utterly, and en- 
 tirely powerless. Terror of a coming evil pos- 
 sessed me ; a wave of undefined sorrow swept 
 with irresistible force over me. 
 
 " While my mother was patiently striving 
 to soothe my excited imagination, my brother 
 Fred returned to Edward. This return was 
 soon followed by a note, to me, from Fred, 
 containing the welcome information that he 
 had found Edward decidedly better. The 
 bearer of this note was to wait for an answer. 
 I felt sure this meant that Edward would 
 like me to write to him. Need I tell you, 
 how much I was comforted by thus being 
 able to pour out some of my affectionate 
 anxiety ? My note despatched, I grew more 
 composed, and listened eagerly to a promise 
 
i^ijl THE ROLL CALL. 
 
 from my mother that at early morning I 
 should go with her to Edward. 
 
 ''How long the night hours seemed! At 
 last, the dawn stole over my weary, wakeful 
 eyehds, and then I slept — slept as the 
 anxious so often do when darkness disap- 
 pears. My mother came early to my room, 
 and was retiring stealthily when I awoke and 
 espied her. A lingering mother's kiss, an 
 earnest ' God bless you ! ' and then she 
 left me to prepare for that day, which He, 
 the merciful One above, alone knew was to 
 be fraught whether with weal or with woe to 
 me. 
 
 " When I saw Edward, his flushed cheek 
 and bright eyes gave encouragement to my 
 inexperience. My apprehension rolled away 
 like a heavy cloud, hope replaced the agony 
 of terror, the wave of sorrow receded, while, 
 the anxiety of the hours of darkness seemed, 
 but as some horrible nightmare through 
 which I had passed long, long ago. With 
 
ANOTHER TETE-A-TETE. 213 
 
 his hand in mine, and with his gaze resting 
 fondly upon me, even his short, hard cough 
 awoke no suspicion of evil in my heart. I 
 stayed with him for some time, and when I 
 left him my spirits had recovered their elasti- 
 city ; my joyful anticipations of the future 
 were undimmed. 
 
 '' Alas, that I could have been so blind ! 
 That very night acute inflammation of the 
 lungs set in. On the morrow, my mother 
 again visited my room before I awoke. This 
 time, however, instead of ' God bless you ! ' 
 being murmured with her morning kiss, it 
 was a tearful, solemn ' May God help you, my 
 child ! ' I sprang from my bed. My limbs 
 trembled. 
 
 '''What is it, mother? Edward! oh, he 
 is not worse! Say there is no bad news 
 about him!' I cried, clinging to her with 
 childlike dependence, and with all my pre- 
 vious fears a thousandfold intensified. 
 
 " ' Would that I could say so, my darling,' 
 
214 THE ROLL CALL. 
 
 she returned gently, * but he has sent for 
 you, and, you must be brave, thinking only 
 how best to comfort him in his suffering/ 
 
 '' No other words were needed. I dressed 
 myself like one half-stupified. I drank me- 
 chanically the cup of tea which my mother 
 put to my lips, and then, half-carried, I 
 was placed in the carriage and driven to my 
 darling. Shall I stop, Esme, or would you 
 like to know how peacefully he went to his 
 home?" asked Rachel, noting the falling 
 tears of Esme, and trying hard to keep back 
 her own. 
 
 Esme entreated her to continue. 
 
 With a pathos which was as simple as it 
 was touching, Rachel resumed — 
 
 ** All through that terrible day, the struggle 
 for breath continued. Doctors came and 
 went, but no one took me from the side of 
 Edward. When the sharpest paroxysms 
 seized him, he still held my hand, smiling at 
 me through his pain, as if to sustain my 
 
ANOTHER TETE-A-TETE. 215 
 
 courage. Ah, me ! it was a fearful, terrible 
 battle for me to watch ; the battle between 
 death and the young, strong life of my 
 darling. At last he slept, and my mother, 
 drawing a pillow softly beneath my head, 
 motioned me to rest thereon. The angels 
 took pity on me, I think, for, strange to say, 
 I sank into a sweet, although brief, repose. 
 My mother's touch aroused me. Looking up, 
 I saw that the eyes of Edward were upon 
 me, and I heard him feebly pronounce my 
 name. I slid to my knees, and still holding 
 his hand, nestled my face close to his. 
 Hushing my sobs and almost my breath, thus 
 I listened to his last words — thus I heard for 
 the last time those accents which had brought 
 me such untold joy — that voice which I loved 
 so passionately — so well. He spoke slowly, 
 at intervals, and with difficulty. I heard him 
 tell of Heaven, of that blessed place, where, 
 by a wondrous cleansing, we might hope to 
 meet again, and live for ever. Suddenly, a 
 
2l6 THE ROLL CALL. 
 
 terrible faintness overpowered him. The 
 doctor was summoned hastily, and I was 
 taken from the room. I remember nothing, 
 after the agony of being lifted from the 
 presence of my Edward, for days — nay, for 
 weeks. I, too, it was thought, had taken 
 cold upon that never to be forgotten morning 
 after the fire, and this, together with the 
 shock which my nervous system sustained in 
 the loss of Edward, brought me very near 
 unto the gates of death, through which he, 
 alas ! had passed. But, I recovered, to live a 
 life without him. There was small joy to me 
 in the thought. I would fain have rested by 
 his side ; and, it was long, before I could lift 
 up my heart and take unto myself that bright 
 hope which, with his dying breath, he had 
 bid me hold. 
 
 '' Thank God ! the cloud, which hid that 
 hope from me, has departed. In moaning for 
 the earthly bliss which, in Love Infinite, He 
 had seen fit to remove, I forgot the crown which 
 
ANOTHER TETE-A-TETE. 21 7 
 
 Edward had won already — the crown which 
 I must try to win. You will see now, dear 
 Esme, how needful the storm of chasten- 
 ing was for me, and you will comprehend 
 something of the hope which prevents me, 
 lonely old maid although I am, from feeling 
 either sad or desolate. I do not know that 
 I have much more to tell that will interest 
 you. My mother was spared to me for 
 some years, after the Angels took Edward to 
 Heaven ; but, doubtless, you have heard from 
 your uncle of the terrible accident which 
 bereaved us of my bonny, light-hearted 
 brother Fred. Since my mother and my 
 brother both passed away, I have lived en- 
 tirely with Mrs. St. Vincent, endeavouring, 
 as best I can, to soften the suffering of her 
 declining years. She was only the step- 
 mother of Edward, but she loved him fondly, 
 and, for his sake, she is inexpressibly dear 
 to me." 
 
 The dusk had faded into darkness, and the 
 
2l8 THE ROLL CALL. 
 
 fire burned low, as Rachel finished speaking. 
 It was well. Light would have revealed the 
 palor of her face — the tear-drops in her eyes. 
 
 There are some moments when words seem 
 too poor to express our sympathy. There 
 are some moments also when we shrink from 
 listening to words — moments when the con- 
 tact of flesh and blood — the mere pressure of 
 a warm, living hand — imparts more solace 
 than the tenderest eloquence ever uttered. 
 
 So, it was, that evening, with Esme and 
 Rachel. The one could not spqak the words 
 which filled her soul. The other could scarce 
 have borne to hear, had those words been 
 spoken. But, to that other, the two loving 
 arms which were cast around her, and the two 
 soft hands which stole to hers, gave a w^elcome 
 — aye, a most welcome — assurance of affec- 
 tion, and she rose up comforted. 
 
 Life is made up of smiles and tears. A 
 new dress, a dinner party, quickly followed 
 
ANOTHER TETE-A-TETE. 219 
 
 Rachel's story. But Esme could not forget 
 it, nor did she wish to do so. 
 
 By the light of sorrow, pale although it be, 
 wonderful mysteries are oft-times revealed. 
 Did Esme look for them, even while an assi- 
 duous abigail fitted on a gorgeous robe, and 
 while, amid the glitter of silver and glass, 
 M.P's talked politics over their soup ? 
 
CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 GHOSTS. 
 
 ESME had a dog ; a small, white, long-haired 
 terrier, which she called " Cinderella." It 
 was a vastly privileged animal ; allowed to 
 curl itself, unrebuked by its mistress, upon 
 the hem of her most delicate robe, to sleep 
 upon the very softest of soft pillows at the 
 foot of her bed, and when it was awake, a 
 somewhat rare circumstance by-the-by, it ate 
 rich morsels from off transparent china. The 
 natural consequences followed. It snapped, it 
 snarled, and it growled, at all who came near 
 it, and, excepting to Esme, it was as cross- 
 grained, and as obnoxious as a well-bred 
 dog could possibly be. Nevertheless, it pos- 
 sessed great charms for her. It was some- 
 what hard upon her, therefore, that, through 
 its agency, fresh disquietude concerning 
 
GHOSTS. 221 
 
 Arthur Greatorix should arise to torment her. 
 Yet so it was. 
 
 She had received a budget of letters from 
 Arthur, since the morning upon which Flora 
 Grant had called forth such disturbing 
 thoughts ; and these letters, coupled with 
 Rachel's story and Rachel's influence, had 
 gone far towards restoring the mind of Esme 
 to its usual serenity. Far towards restoring it, 
 but it was not restored. Rents may be neatly 
 mended, rivets hold breakages together, but 
 the rent and the damage are still there. Esme 
 did not thus reason of herself. She only knew, 
 that she was not so perfectly and completely 
 happy as heretofore. She only felt, that she 
 was more of a woman, and less of a child. 
 
 There was no element of suspicion in her 
 nature. Its vile seed had been thrown there 
 by a ruthless hand, but the soil was not pro- 
 pitious, and the seed languished well-nigh to 
 destruction. Adverse circumstances alone 
 could fructify it. One was nigh at hand. 
 
222 THE ROLL CALL. 
 
 Amongst the many foes which Cinderella, 
 by its ill-temper, created for itself, none were 
 more bitter than Flora Grant, unless indeed 
 it was Flora Grant's pet pug, *' Countess." 
 
 Very jealous were the rival pets of each 
 other, and, very savage the one to the other, 
 so far as opportunity allowed them to be. 
 Therefore, as Esme was preparing to go for 
 a walk the morning after the dinner party. 
 Flora Grant said to her sharply, as she was 
 leaving the room — 
 
 " If you are going out Esme, I hope, you 
 will take Cinderella with you." 
 
 '' I should like to do so, but I suppose I 
 had better not. The ground is so wet, it will 
 make her in such a mess." 
 
 " Then pray take her away from this room 
 before you start. She is abominably cross 
 this morning ; it makes me quite nervous 
 to hear her growl. Now my little Coun- 
 tess never growls, " returned Mrs. Grant, 
 
GHOSTS. 223 
 
 patting her sleek apoplectic-looking pug 
 affectionately. 
 
 " But Countess bites instead, which is not 
 altogether a pleasing variety, or an innocent 
 little pastime," replied Esme merrily. 
 
 Of course, a warm vindication of the 
 amiability of Countess speedily followed from 
 its mistress. Perhaps, it was unanswerable, for 
 Esme made no attempt to refute it, and very 
 shortly afterwards she quitted the apartment 
 with Cinderella in her arms. 
 
 The weather was hopelessly damp and 
 dreary. Esme went to several rooms try- 
 ing, amongst the lady visitors, to find some 
 recruits for her pedestrian expedition. But 
 no one was inclined to venture out of 
 doors. Even Rachel Tritton, pleaded letter 
 writing as an engagement, looking lovingly 
 the while at her nice warm fire. 
 
 Thus deserted, without a thought of what 
 it would shortly cost her, Esme deposited 
 
224 THE ROLL CALL. 
 
 Cinderella in her boudoir, and still without 
 a suspicion of coming evil, resolved to sally 
 forth alone. As she was crossing the hall, 
 she encountered Lord Oakdene. Somehow, 
 he was singularly adroit in the art of making 
 his appearance, when Esme had not anybody 
 with her. 
 
 As a matter of course he promptly offered 
 his escort, while also, as a matter of course, 
 Esme could hardly refuse it. She was bound, 
 for a saunter in the grounds only, she told 
 him, and he, perfectly contented so long as 
 she was his companion, declared that nothing 
 could be more delightful. 
 
 Thus tastes differed respecting a stroll, upon 
 that drizzling morning, and thus Esme Mon- 
 tague found a more than willing escort. 
 
 They started very cheerfully, those two ; 
 that bonny English maiden, and that blithe 
 young lord. The elements did not affect 
 them. Their footsteps went lightly over sod- 
 dened leaves and wet grass, while their voices 
 
GHOSTS. 225 
 
 sounded gaily beneath the dripping ^branches. 
 As they passed the grass-path between the 
 yew hedges, Esme started forward suddenly, 
 and turning to her companion, asked 
 eagerly — 
 
 " Did you see anything move across that 
 path near to the ferns ? I could declare 
 that I did." 
 
 "Vewy likely," he replied gravely, *' I 
 firmly believe that place to be haunted." 
 
 Esme laughed right merrily at the idea. 
 But, Lord Oakdene looked unusually grave, 
 as he continued — 
 
 "I do, upon my honour, Miss Montague. 
 I believe It Is haunted, and that an Innumew- 
 able company of spiwits hold their seances 
 there." 
 
 ** How very entertaining ! I should apply 
 for a ticket of admission, if I were you," 
 suggested Esme. 
 
 *' P'waps I might, only it is such a we- 
 
 VOL. I. Q 
 
226 THE ROLL CALL. 
 
 markably dull, cut-thwoat looking place," was 
 the response. 
 
 ** I think it is one of the prettiest spots in 
 the garden, so do not abuse it. I own, how- 
 ever, that it looks a little dismal this morn- 
 ing. But never mind, you must remember, 
 ghosts and cheerfulness never go together. 
 It is a pity, by-the-by, that the ghosts" — 
 
 " Spiwits, Miss Montague, I said spiwits, 
 not ghosts." 
 
 '' I beg your pardon, or their pardon, or, 
 the pardon of both you and them, if necessary. 
 You must forgive my ignorance, I really 
 thought they were one, and the same." 
 
 '* P'waps they are," returned Lord Oakdene 
 reflectively. 
 
 ** Very Hkely " answered Esme demurely, 
 *' but whether ghosts or spirits, they would 
 doubtless feel very much honoured by your 
 patronage, if you informed them by telegram, 
 or telephone, or something of that sort, that 
 you wished to attend one of their meetings. 
 
GHOSTS. 227 
 
 They might promote you to the office of first 
 medium, and then you could tell me some of 
 their secrets, although I do not suppose that 
 you would find them very conversational." 
 
 '' I am not so sure, about that," was the 
 prompt rejoinder, '' I could have sworn that I 
 heard Gweatowix and a woman talking in that 
 path, one night just before he went away. 
 Lashmore was with me, and we looked about 
 evewy where. It was vewy wemarkable, but 
 we could not see a soul." 
 
 '' It would have been infinitely more 
 remarkable, if you had done so," returned 
 Esme, curtly. 
 
 There was nothing that was either pleasant 
 or amusing to her, in the supposition with 
 which Lord Oakdene had just acquainted 
 her. It checked her raillery considerably. 
 With all banter gone from her voice, as well 
 as from her words, she continued — 
 
 '' I really must go and ascertain beyond a 
 doubt, whether or no my eyes deceived me 
 
228 THE ROLL CALL. 
 
 just now. Let me explore the mysteries of 
 this hedge-bound path by myself. I am not 
 at all afraid of haunted places." 
 
 She turned quickly from her companion to 
 prosecute her search, but, before she reached 
 the broken, half- withered ferns, she discovered 
 a small child, shyly trying to hide herself in- a 
 natural hollow formed by one of the yew 
 hedges. 
 
 '' Now this is weally wemarkable, is it 
 not ? " enquired Lord Oakdene, who, it is 
 needless to say, had followed Esme closely. 
 '' I declare you have wun that child to gwound 
 splendidly." 
 
 " Hush, you will frighten the poor little 
 creature to death. Keep quiet, while I ask 
 her what she has been doing, and whether 
 she has lost her way." 
 
 So saying, Esme accosted the little figure, 
 in the checked pinafore, whom she had so 
 unexpectedly discovered ; but it required no 
 
GHOSTS. 229 
 
 small amount of patience, to extract an an- 
 swer therefrom, as well as of ingenuity. 
 
 By dint of gentle questioning, however, 
 Esme at last made out, that the scrap of 
 humanity before her had been sent to the 
 house with a message for one of the under- 
 servants. Moreover, that the beauty of the 
 place had tempted her small feet to stray, 
 until hearing voices she had, in shame and 
 terror, tried to hide. 
 
 Soothed by the kindly bearing and reassur- 
 ing words of her interrogator, the juvenile 
 offender took courage, and, forgetful of her 
 trespass, looked with a timid smile from under 
 her wet calico bonnet into the face of Esme, 
 contriving, as she did so, to twist her little 
 body into a contortion which she intended for 
 .a courtesy. 
 
 " Have you ever been here before?" asked 
 Esme, presently. 
 
 The question was put carelessly ; rather, in 
 
230 THE ROLL CALL. 
 
 fact, by way of saying something else to the 
 child, than from any motive for the enquiry. 
 
 " Yes, miss," was the reply which accom- 
 panied another spasmodic bob of the little 
 body, and which, hke its predecessor, was in- 
 tended for a courtesy. 
 
 '* Indeed ! when ? " exclaimed Esme, unable 
 to repress her surprise. 
 
 " I can't remember, how long ago, please 
 
 miss." 
 
 '' Try," said Esme. 
 
 A suspicious pucker came over the rosy 
 face of the little one, and her fingers played 
 nervously with one corner of her pinafore, but 
 she uttered no sound. The effort of memory, 
 for which Esme had asked, was too great, 
 apparently, to be attempted. 
 
 *' Was it a week ago?" enquired Esme, 
 anxious to prevent the tears, of which the 
 " pucker " had given warning, from falling. 
 
 The child shook her head, dolefully. 
 
 '^ Please, miss, I don't know." 
 
GHOSTS. 231 
 
 *' Never mind," returned Esme kindly, 
 *' although you cannot tell me how long it is 
 since you came here before, I have no doubt, 
 you have not forgotten why you came." 
 
 With a sigh of intense relief, the child 
 replied — 
 
 '^ No ; please, miss, I brought a letter from 
 the pale lady — I brought it, please, miss, for 
 Mr. Greats." 
 
 *'Ha— ha— ha!" laughed Lord Oakdene, 
 *' fancy Gweatowix heawing himself called 
 Mr. Gweats." 
 
 There was an awkward silence. 
 
 " You mean Mr. Greatorix," said Esme to 
 the little girl. 
 
 " Yes, please^ miss," was the very faint 
 reply. 
 
 The merriment of Lord Oakdene had 
 checked any further desire, which Esme might 
 have entertained, of gaining additional infor- 
 mation respecting either the pale lady or the 
 letter. 
 
232 THE ROLL CALL. 
 
 With a few kind words, the child was disr 
 missed. Then Esme Montague and Lord 
 Oakdene turned their faces homewards. 
 
 In after days, when he had learned to probe 
 the motives from whence his actions sprang, 
 Lord Oakdene could never quite determine 
 whether he had, or had not, with malicious 
 intent of purpose, made known to Esme the 
 mystery of the grass path, between the high 
 yew hedges. 
 
 Be this as it may, that rainy walk with 
 Lord Oakdene was but a sorry one for Esme. 
 
 Alas ! her return from it proved to be, 
 but little better. 
 
 Cinderella was still in the boudoir, and upon 
 the floor, lay a work-basket, with thimble, 
 scissors, pin-cushions, and needle-book, scat- 
 tered here, there, and everywhere. 
 
 Patting the perpetrator of the disorder 
 with a rebuke so gentle that it sounded more 
 like a caress, Esme stooped to pick up her 
 treasures. To her surprise, she discovered a 
 
GHOSTS. 233 
 
 letter amongst them. A deep flush over- 
 spread her face, as she recognised it to be the 
 letter which had arrived for Arthur at the same 
 time as the telegram to Mrs. Grant, from Sir 
 Marmaduke Hargreaves, announcing the 
 sudden indisposition of Lady AHcia. 
 
 But it was something more than annoyance, 
 for so carelessly forgetting the existence of 
 the letter, which sent the hot blood so swiftly 
 to the cheek of Esme. 
 
 A noble lord, a small child, and a pet dog, 
 had contrived, between them, to conjure up 
 veritable ghosts for Esme Montague. And 
 these ghosts took the form of a pale lady 
 and — a letter. 
 
CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 IN THE BILLIARD ROOM. 
 
 "Well, my dear! and what do you find so 
 perplexing in the fact that a letter, or rather 
 a note, should be sent here to Greatorix ? It 
 is doubtless an invitation to dinner, or to 
 shoot, or something of that sort. Why, God 
 bless my heart ! eligible bachelors, nowadays, 
 may eat every meal in the day in a different 
 parish, and, never sleep two nights in succes- 
 sion in the same house, if so they choose ! 
 Everybody knows that Greatorix is often 
 to be found here, and if they didn't, it 
 would be all the same ; dowagers with 
 daughters, and men who want guns, would 
 be certain to hunt him up," said Ralph 
 Grant to Esme, who, after a few days 
 
IN THE BILLIARD ROOM. 235 
 
 of ineffectual combat with her " ghosts," 
 resolved to seek counsel from the stout heart 
 of her uncle. 
 
 Esme, could not vanquish these same 
 "ghosts," alone and unaided. They haunted 
 her with too much pertinacity. Neither day- 
 light nor society routed them. So, she went 
 one morning, directly after breakfast, into the 
 library, and taking a stool, which had been 
 her privileged seat from childhood, she drew 
 it to the feet of her uncle, and, with her arms 
 resting upon his knees, told him of the over- 
 turned work-basket, together with the finding 
 of the forgotten letter. 
 
 Here she paused, and Ralph Grant made 
 answer immediately. But his answer failed to 
 satisfy her. With a faint smile upon her. sweety 
 upturned face, she said — 
 
 " I am not exactly perplexed. Uncle Ralph." 
 
 " That's right, my dear, I am very glad to 
 hear you say so," he interrupted. 
 
 *' Not perplexed," she interposed gently, 
 
236 THE ROLL CALL. 
 
 and still with her face upturned, " but vexed 
 — vexed with myself, you know." 
 
 '' Pooh — pooh ! Don't talk such nonsense. 
 What have you done with the letter, my 
 love ? " 
 
 " Sent it to Arthur with an apology for my 
 stupidity," was the grave return. 
 
 *' Well, well, my dear, you know best ; but 
 I think you might as well have kept it until he 
 returned. Why, God bless my heart, we shall 
 have him here, before we can look round ! " 
 
 There was a wealth of comfort to Esme, in 
 this assertion. Nevertheless, her head drooped 
 a Httle, as she asked — 
 
 *' When do you think we may really expect 
 him. Uncle Ralph ? " 
 
 " In a fortnight, perhaps, or three weeks at 
 the outside. Gibraltar is no distance, and, 
 when he gets to England, he will come straight 
 on here. No one will be glad to see him, I 
 expect," said Ralph Grant, looking at Esme 
 
IN THE BILLIARD ROOM. 237 
 
 with a sly smile, and patting her affectionately 
 upon the shoulder. 
 
 It was astonishing how fast her misgivings 
 vanished, under the influence of the presence 
 and the cheery words of her uncle. A thought 
 of the ''pale lady" crossed her mind, but only 
 to meet with instant banishment ; while Lord 
 Oakdene's suspicions, concerning the voices 
 in the grass-path, appeared now but as the 
 veriest fable. 
 
 " No one will be glad to see Greatorix — eh, 
 Esme ! " repeated Ralph Grant. '' No little 
 woman is counting upon his return, eh ? " 
 
 " Of course not ! " returned Esme gaily, 
 with a quick thought that she had been un- 
 commonly silly, and with as quick a deter- 
 mination to hide, the rest of the history of her 
 foolishness, within the precincts of her own 
 bosom. 
 
 Her mountains had suddenly become mole- 
 hills. Her ghosts were scared, at any rate, 
 for the present. 
 
238 THE ROLL CALL. 
 
 '' No, of course not," echoed Ralph Grant, 
 and then, still in the same bantering tone, he 
 continued, *'and of course there is not going 
 to be a gay wedding at Brashleigh when 
 Christmas comes round ! What with wedding 
 chimes, and Christmas chimes, and ringing in 
 the New Year, and ringing out the old, the 
 bell-ringers will have a stiffish time of it, my 
 dear." 
 
 '' Aunt Flora says, I am too young to be 
 married at Christmas," said Esme involun- 
 tarily. 
 
 *' Tut — tut — folly and nonsense. You will 
 soon grow older. Youth is a fault which 
 Father Time makes small ado about curing. 
 It doesn't seem to my mind that it has taken 
 him long to make an old man of me. But, 
 between ourselves, my dear, it is the know- 
 ledge that he has done so, which makes me 
 so anxious for your marriage. I shall die the 
 happier, for knowing that you are safely in the 
 charge of Great orix." 
 
IN THE BILLIARD ROOM. 239 
 
 " Don't call yourself an ' old man,' dear 
 Uncle Ralph ! And don't talk about giving 
 me into the ' charge ' of Arthur ; it sounds so 
 like pick-pockets and handcuffs," said Esme, 
 anxious to dispel the gloom which had 
 suddenly stolen across the countenance of her 
 uncle. 
 
 Her affectionate solicitude was successful. 
 
 " A golden ring will be strong enough to 
 hold the offender I have in view," he returned 
 with restored cheerfulness. 
 
 At this moment, a knock at the door heralded 
 the approach of a farm bailiff. Esme did not 
 attempt to leave the room. There was a 
 sense of security, and of peace, to her in its 
 very atmosphere. Still retaining her seat 
 upon her favourite stool, therefore, she took 
 up a newspaper, while Mr. Grant withdrew to 
 a table at some distance from her, and was 
 soon busy with pens, ink, and baihff. 
 
 Thus, nearly an hour passed away. A book 
 had replaced the newspaper, and Esme was 
 
240 THE ROLL CALL. 
 
 beginning to wonder how much longer the 
 conversation at the writing-table was going to 
 continue, when a fresh arrival, appeared upon 
 the scene, in the shape of the vicar of the 
 parish, who came to discuss coal and clothing 
 clubs, together with the like local charities. 
 In this discussion, Esme was not only willing^ 
 but able to take her part. Mr. Grant would 
 in no way dispense with her presence. So it 
 came to pass that she spent nearly the whole 
 of the morning with him. Through all her 
 life, the remembrance that she had done so 
 proved more than a satisfaction to her ; while, 
 even of greater comfort than this satisfaction, 
 was, the remembrance that she had forborne 
 to trouble him with a relation of those griev- 
 ances, which she had held to be so great, 
 when first she presented herself before him in 
 the library. 
 
 The vicar gone, Esme learnt that an en-^ 
 gagement to attend a coursing meeting, for 
 which he was already late, was also about to 
 
IN THE BILLIARD ROOM. 241 
 
 carry her uncle away. Then, and not until 
 then, did she remember that she likewise had 
 an engagement, for which, alas, she was not 
 only late, but too late ! In extreme conster- 
 nation, she exclaimed — 
 
 " What will Rachel think of me ! I promised 
 to drive her out this morning." 
 
 " Your pony carriage has not been an- 
 nounced, my dear." 
 
 '* No ; I never even ordered it," replied 
 Esme, looking a very picture of penitence. 
 
 By this time, both she and her uncle were 
 anxiously consulting their respective watches. 
 Ralph Grant read a warning, upon the face of 
 his, to hasten his movements ; while Esme 
 sought, upon hers, for the comfort which was 
 not there. Hour and minute hands were alike 
 obdurate. They told of a broken promise^ 
 and of an intended drive which could not 
 take place, at any rate, that morning. 
 
 It was with rather a distrait air, therefore, 
 that Esme received the adieu, and parting 
 
 VOL. I. R 
 
242 THE ROLL CALL. 
 
 kiss, of her uncle. He had no sooner gone, 
 however, than her conscience smote her for 
 her careless '' good-bye " to him. Some inward 
 monitor bade her follow him, ere he had time 
 to quit the house. 
 
 '' Good-bye, dear Uncle Ralph. I was 
 obliged to run after you to wish you ' good- 
 bye ' again. I was so taken up with think- 
 ing about Rachel and the drive, that I hardly 
 knew what I was saying, when you went away. 
 Good-bye ! I hope you will have a pleasant 
 ride, and that you will enjoy the coursing." 
 
 Ralph Grant turned from the hall door 
 with a smile of pleased surprise, as the voice 
 of Esme thus reached him ; and when, shortly 
 afterwards, she watched him mount his horse, 
 she thought she had never seen him look so 
 hale and stalwart. 
 
 There was a slight delay, of which she took 
 advantage, before he started. Passing from 
 under the portico, she went to his side, and, 
 chatting gaily meanwhile of horses, sport, and 
 
IN THE BILLIARD ROOM. 243 
 
 weather, bestowed sundry pats of appro- 
 bation upon the sleek neck of the animal 
 upon which he was mounted. At last all was 
 ready. Lifting his hat with old fashioned 
 politeness, he stooped towards her, and said — 
 
 *' God bless you, my child." 
 
 Many a time before had such a farewell 
 to her fallen from his lips. But, to-day, it 
 seemed to Esme to have a new and an 
 especial force — an earnestness which was 
 akin to sadness — an affection that was 
 almost overpowering in its intensity. 
 
 " Dear Uncle Ralph ! how good and kind 
 he is!" she murmured, striving by the thought 
 of his excellence to overcome the unaccount- 
 able melancholy, which his departure, together 
 with his words had occasioned, as she watched 
 him lovingly, until both he and his good 
 horse were lost to sight. Then again, Rachel 
 Tritton became paramount in her mind. 
 
 With a last lingering glance in the direction 
 which her uncle had taken, Esme re-entered 
 
244 '^^^ ROLL CALL. 
 
 the house. She had scarcely done so before 
 she encountered Rachel. 
 
 Forbearance often deepens penitence. The 
 good-humoured smile with which Rachel 
 greeted Esme increased the regret of the 
 latter for her broken promise, while, at the 
 same time, it rendered doubly awkward 
 the unpleasant confession that, all through 
 those long morning hours, she had entirely 
 forgotten her friend. Between sorrow and 
 confusion, therefore, Esme made but a stam- 
 mering apology, an apology, however, which 
 Rachel good-naturedly cut short, by saying — 
 
 *' My dear Esme ! pray do not look so 
 doleful. I have been very happy all the 
 morning. Your maid told me you were in 
 the library with your uncle, so I thought, 
 perhaps, you would not be able to come out 
 with me." 
 
 '' But I ought to have sent to you " — 
 
 ** It does not matter in the least," inter- 
 
IN THE BILLIARD ROOM. 245 
 
 rupted Rachel, ^'thls afternoon will do quite 
 as well for our drive." 
 
 So the matter was settled. Anxious to 
 atone for past neglect, Esme was ready and 
 waiting for Rachel at the appointed hour. The 
 afternoon was cold, but not raw ; Esme was a 
 good whip, her ponies were fleet, and Rachel 
 was not nervous, therefore nothing marred 
 the pleasure of the drive, which terminated 
 without either adventure or misadventure. 
 
 In answer to her interrogations, when they 
 reached Brashleigh, Esme learned from the 
 butler, that his master had not returned, and 
 also that none of the other gentlemen, all of 
 whom had gone early to the coursing, had 
 come back. Mrs. Grant was at home, but 
 two or three ladies had gone out in the 
 carriage. 
 
 While these questions and answers were 
 being given, and received, Rachel vanished. 
 Those fragments of time, which are com- 
 
246 • THE ROLL CALL. 
 
 monly called " spare moments," were reli- 
 giously utilized by Rachel. Her absence, 
 therefore, was no sooner discovered than it 
 was understood by Esme. And, moreover, 
 Esme knew that while she was idly wonder- 
 ing how next she should amuse herself, 
 Rachel had, in all probabiHty, quietly settled 
 down to some employment. 
 
 Drawing off her driving gloves with a sigh, 
 which was almost a yawn, Esme sauntered 
 into the billiard room. It was not nearly 
 dark, although the shadows of night were 
 stealing up '' gloomy and black." 
 
 The room was empty. A wood fire blazed 
 upon the hearth, but the window curtains 
 still remained looped back from the win- 
 dows, while the blinds were not yet drawn 
 down. 
 
 Esme was half inclined to ring for lights, 
 have the table uncovered, and practice a 
 stroke or two. But upon second thoughts 
 " cannons " and " kisses " with no one at hand 
 
IN THE BILLIARD ROOM. 247 
 
 either to admire, or to envy, seemed dull, and 
 uninviting. 
 
 The fire, with its crackling logs, and bright 
 sparks, was far more seductive. And it wooed 
 her to its side. Once there, she fell into a 
 reverie. How long this reverie lasted, she 
 could never tell. While, however, with her 
 hat and fur coat upon her lap, she let go 
 her fancy, and built bright castles in the air, 
 a peculiar sound arose without the house. 
 She heard, and yet she only partly heard 
 it. She was only half conscious of it, as a 
 heavy slumberer, often is, of the first awaken- 
 ing knocks at his or her chamber door. It 
 smote upon her ear, although not sharply 
 enough to arrest her attention, and, by so 
 arresting, to dispel her daydream. 
 
 A few moments passed, and then the noise 
 grew more distinct. At last, making itself 
 heard, it penetrated her perception. Starting 
 to her feet, she Hstened, more, perhaps, in sur- 
 prise than in alarm. The wind, a dog, a bird, 
 
248 THE ROLL CALL. 
 
 anything, in fact, might have occasioned it, 
 and even while she thus reasoned, all became 
 so quiet, that she was re-assured. Scarcely, 
 however, before she could resume her seat, 
 the same strange sound arose again. 
 
 The ear of Esme was dull no longer. It 
 was quickened by anxiety. 
 
 No one could be abroad and stirring in the 
 grounds, at that hour. Gardeners and work- 
 men had long since gone home. Yet, surely, 
 the fallen leaves were rustling ominously — and 
 — it was foot steps — nay ! — the sound of many 
 feet — a dull, slow, heavy, measured trampling, 
 which she heard, in the shrubbery close by. 
 There could be no mistake. With a dread 
 of coming evil, Esme flew to the window. 
 
CHAPTER XV. 
 
 IT CAME AS A MESSAGE FROM THE DEAD. 
 
 We all know what strange, fantastic shapes 
 the most common-place objects assume, when 
 the weird shadows of twilight are over them, 
 and the difficulty, at such a time, of dis- 
 tinguishing anything clearly. 
 
 It was even so with Esme Montague, as 
 she peered from out of the billiard room 
 window into the uncertain gloom. But, after 
 gazing steadily for a few moments, she felt 
 convinced that figures were moving stealthily 
 amid the trees. Moreover, that the direction, 
 in which they were proceeding, was that of a 
 path which led to a private entrance from the 
 gardens to the library. This entrance was 
 reserved so exclusively for the use of the 
 master of the house, that Esme turned at 
 once to raise an alarm. 
 
250 THE ROLL CALL. 
 
 She had already left the room, and was 
 rushing breathlessly across the hall when she 
 encountered Lord Oakdene. Before she had 
 time either to address him, or to wonder at his 
 troubled, and haggard appearance, he had 
 seized her by both hands, exclaiming in ex- 
 treme agitation, " Not there Miss Montague 
 — for God's sake do not go into that woom.'^ 
 
 '* Which room Lord Oakdene — what do you 
 mean — is anything the matter ? " she gasped, 
 striving to free herself from his hold. But he 
 grasped her the more firmly, dragging her 
 with him, almost by force, towards the draw- 
 ing room, saying the while — 
 
 " No, no, there is nothing the matter — at 
 least, nothing weally, only, only — I thought, 
 I beg your pardon ; but I thought you were 
 going to the liberwawy — and — and — I wanted 
 you to come to the dwawing woom, or some- 
 where else instead." 
 
 Amazement and terror, of she knew not 
 what, rendered Esme speechless. 
 
AS A MESSAGE FROM THE DEAD. 251 
 
 '' Don't be fwightened," continued her com- 
 panion, trembling as he had never trembled 
 before. '' Don't be fwightened," he repeated, 
 while the lovely face which was looking so 
 piteously at him grew each instant whiter. *' I 
 did not mean to say, don't be fwightened. 
 What a fool I am — of course I didn't mean to 
 say that. It was the wong word altogether — 
 it was indeed — pway beheve me. I shall 
 never forgive myself for having startled you 
 so." 
 
 "You have not startled me. Lord Oakdene," 
 returned Esme, with lips so quivering that 
 they not only behed her words, but prevented 
 her further utterance. 
 
 " I was afwaid I had" — he began. 
 But here his desire to screen Esme from a 
 sudden blow was completely frustrated by the 
 unexpected appearance of Flora Grant, who, 
 between hysterical shrieks and wails, sobbed 
 out — 
 
 " Why did you not come to me, Esme, in- 
 
252 THE ROLL CALL. 
 
 Stead of remaining here with Lord Oakdene ? 
 How could you be so cruel and so selfish ! 
 The shock has nearly killed me, but you do 
 not seem to care. Where have you been? 
 It is nearly an hour, and it seems like a cen- 
 tury, since Dr. Wyldham broke the news to 
 me, and I have been expecting you to come 
 to me ever since. I never thought you would 
 leave me alone, at such a time as this. And 
 now they have brought the body " — 
 
 ''The body!" groaned Esme, a ghastly 
 suspicion of the truth suddenly overwhelming 
 her. 
 
 '' Of course they have. They could not 
 leave it where it was." 
 
 '' It !" interposed Esme in horror-stricken 
 accents, her agony of dread fast becoming 
 torture. 
 
 " Yes, don't you know ; have you not been 
 told— that "— 
 
 Lord Oakdene started forward stretching out 
 his hands deprecatingly towards Flora Grant, 
 
AS A MESSAGE FROM THE DEAD. 253 
 
 but he could not stay the terrible announce- 
 ment which she sobbed out, *' that — your poor 
 dear uncle is dead." 
 
 There was no echo this time to the sorrow- 
 giving words. Without a sign or a sound, 
 Esme slipped from her seat, and lay senseless 
 on the floor. The swoon frightened Flora 
 Grant into silence, and in this manner it might, 
 perhaps, be accounted a mercy for Esme. 
 But the return to consciousness brought with 
 it indescribable suffering. 
 
 Death is more terrible to the young than to 
 the old. It had never come nigh to Esme 
 before ; never, at least, since she had been of 
 sufficient age to realize its dire mystery. And 
 now, it had come so close, so very close, to 
 her. It had entered her home, silenced for 
 ever the voice she loved so well, and laid low 
 the head she honoured. 
 
 The ''silver cord" was 'Moosed." Flora 
 Grant had spoken only too truly. Good 
 Ralph Grant had gone to his rest. Hence- 
 
254 THE ROLL CALL. 
 
 forth, his place upon earth might know him 
 no more. 
 
 As he was returning from the coursing, he 
 was observed to swerve suddenly in his saddle. 
 His friends were with him immediately, but 
 the decree had gone forth ; the irrevocable 
 fiat had been issued, and in a few moments 
 the cheery, hospitable host, the warm-hearted 
 friend and neighbour, had left earth far 
 behind, had crossed the dark bridge, and had 
 entered into that life which knows no end. 
 
 All too soon, therefore, did Esme Montague 
 comprehend the meaning of the mysterious 
 trampling in the shrubbery. No one had 
 thought of looking for her in the billiard 
 room. Hence it came to pass, that Flora 
 Grant was the first to impart the sad intel- 
 ligence to her. 
 
 And, the shock was very heavy, to Esme. 
 A mighty terror seized her ; an untold horror 
 encompassed her ; an icy coldness shrouded 
 her spirit. She could not weep ; she dared 
 
AS A MESSAGE FROM THE DEAD. 255 
 
 not pray. An awful, mute, indescribable de- 
 spair overshadowed her. 
 
 " The blow has been too sudden. Great 
 care is needed. Quiet and sleep will be the 
 best restoratives." 
 
 So spake the doctor, who had been hastily 
 summoned to the spot where Ralph Grant 
 breathed his last, and who, stricken with 
 grief at the loss of his friend and patron, was 
 administering to the various needs of the 
 bereaved household. But notwithstanding 
 all his endeavours, for two whole days, Esme 
 lay, pale, almost motionless, tearless, and 
 passive beyond description. Then, in the 
 third night, she suddenly awoke to find her- 
 self alone, and unwatched. As she awoke, 
 a remembrance, clear and distinct in every 
 particular, came to her of a request which 
 her uncle had made to her, long months 
 before, and of a promise which, she had 
 given to him, in answer to that request. 
 
 It was a message, she thought, from the 
 
256 THE ROLL CALL. 
 
 dead : a summons for immediate action, a 
 behest which could not be withstood. 
 
 Trembling from head to foot, she arose, 
 arrayed herself in a loose morning wrapper, 
 took a small key from amongst some others, 
 and, with her hair falling like a glory around 
 her, she descended, taper in hand, to a small 
 and now almost disused room. 
 
 This room had once been her uncle's study. 
 In one corner, there stood an escritoire. 
 Pointing to this same escritoire, Ralph Grant 
 had, upon more than one occasion, said to 
 Esme. 
 
 '' In the right-hand drawer, my child, there 
 is a roll of papers. Should any accident 
 ever happen to me, or should I be called 
 away suddenly, take care, that no one gets 
 possession of these papers but yourself. I 
 wish you only to see them. There are two 
 keys to the drawer. One, I have already 
 given to you ; the other, I keep carefully put 
 away. You will not forget, my child ; the 
 
AS A MESSAGE FROM THE DEAD. 257 
 
 roll is In the right-hand drawer, the next but 
 one from the top." 
 
 And holding up the little key, which she 
 generally wore upon her watch-chain, Esme 
 would promise both obedience and remem- 
 brance. It was easy enough to do so then, 
 with the strong, erect form of her uncle before 
 her. But, it was a very different matter, now 
 that the hour had come for the promise to 
 be redeemed, and the remembrance to be 
 acted upon. Upheld, however, by her love 
 for the newly dead, Esme neither flinched 
 nor faltered in her purpose. 
 
 It was past midnight, when she glided 
 stealthily towards the escritoire. Darkness 
 reigned, and all was so profoundly still, that, 
 she thought, with a shudder, the house re- 
 sembled some vast tomb, while its silence was 
 like the silence of the grave. 
 
 Scarcely daring to glance around her, 
 afraid of her own light footstep, and still more 
 afraid of the slight rustle which she made in 
 
 VOL. I. S 
 
258 THE ROLL CALL. 
 
 passing the various articles of furniture stand- 
 ing between the door and the escritoire, she 
 went breathlessly on her way, and without 
 hesitation, albeit with well-nigh powerless 
 fingers, fitted the key in the lock. The key 
 turned easily, and the drawer was with equal 
 facility opened ; but when so opened, there 
 was nothing to be seen therein ; nothing of 
 that for which Esme sought ; nothing but a 
 piece of string, some old envelopes, a broken 
 india-rubber band, and a box of pens. 
 
 Too much agitated to feel disappointed at 
 the fruitlessness of her search, or, indeed, to 
 be conscious of any emotion, save a mournful 
 satisfaction at having, so far as it lay in her 
 power to do so, accomplished her task ; she 
 shut the drawer, re-locked it, and quitted the 
 apartment. 
 
 As she softly closed the door behind her, 
 she was astonished to see the flicker of a fire 
 in an opposite room. It was suggestive of 
 an idea that some member of the household 
 
AS A MESSAGE FROM THE DEAD. 259 
 
 might possibly be astir. This idea was an 
 inexpressible relief to Esme. The silence, 
 the soHtude, the darkness, were, each and all, 
 becoming insupportable to her. Forgetful, 
 therefore, that, by so doing, she might be 
 imperilling the secrecy of her midnight 
 mission, she stepped across the threshold of 
 the fire-lighted room. 
 
 Misery often creates a sensation of cold, 
 while, on the other hand, cold often increases 
 the sensation of misery. Esme shivered 
 from the combined effects of both misery and 
 cold, as she looked around her. There was no 
 one to be seen ; and, as she thought of the 
 hope which the glimmer of the fire had 
 created, but which to all appearance was 
 utterly futile, her heart died within her. 
 Nevertheless, her hope was not so futile as 
 she imagined ; better, perhaps, that it had 
 been ! 
 
 Hidden by a folding-screen, with a pile of 
 letters ready for the post at his side, and with 
 
26o THE ROLL CALL. 
 
 his head thrown back against the cushions of 
 his easy chair, slept Lord Oakdene. His arms 
 were folded across his breast, and his brow 
 was slightly contracted, as though troublous- 
 thoughts had followed him even into dream- 
 land. Slumber had apparently overtaken him 
 at the conclusion of his occupation. 
 
 Esme had left her taper in the hall, and the 
 candles, of the writing-table at which Lord 
 Oakdene sat, were burnt out. There was 
 no light, therefore, save the flicker of the 
 fire : that flicker which had tempted Esme 
 thither. 
 
 From the door of the room to the folding- 
 screen was but a few paces. These were 
 traversed in an instant. Another short 
 moment, and Esme was facing the slumberer. 
 
 Words cannot fitly describe her amaze- 
 ment. With a start, which she was powerless 
 to control, she uttered a faint exclamation of 
 surprise. Faint as it was, however, it aroused 
 Lord Oakdene, as if by magic. From the 
 
AS A MESSAGE FROM THE DEAD. 261 
 
 time that, she had been carried from his 
 presence, white as a snowflake, after the 
 terrible revelation made by Flora Grant, Esme 
 had been constantly In his thoughts, while 
 he had ceaselessly experienced the keenest 
 anxiety upon her account. When, therefore, 
 he suddenly awoke, and saw her standing 
 before him in her pale-coloured robe, with all 
 her shining hair falling like a glory around 
 her, he deemed that the Angels had already 
 claimed her for their own, and that as one of 
 their bright band she had come to visit him. 
 Bewildered, he gazed wonderlngly and awe- 
 stricken upon her. Then, as the firelight 
 danced and flickered over her, he covered his 
 face and groaned aloud. Assuring himself 
 that it was her spirit which stood before 
 him, with all the reasoning power of which 
 he was master, he believed her to be one of 
 the dead. 
 
 The nerves of Lord Oakdene had been a 
 good deal shaken. He had been one of the 
 
262 THE ROLL CALL. 
 
 first to notice Ralph Grant sway and lose his 
 seat — one of the first to reach him — one of 
 the first to learn that all was over — one of 
 the first to raise the motionless form, and 
 help to bear it back to Brashleigh ; and, 
 having borne it thither, he stayed within the 
 darkened doors, mourning with those w^ho 
 mourned. Silence and gloom had replaced 
 light words and laughter, guests had departed, 
 servants trod softly and whispered low, win- 
 dows were scarce permitted to admit either 
 the light or the breath of Heaven, but still he 
 did not flinch, nor seek to flee. Neverthe- 
 less, as it has been said before, he was to a 
 certain extent unnerved, and the indisposition 
 of Esme, the report of which was consider- 
 ably exaggerated, tended to add to his de- 
 pression. 
 
 As a terror of death was upon Esme, so a 
 dread of death was upon him — he dreaded it 
 for her. It was a groan of veritable agony, 
 
AS A MESSAGE FROM THE DEAD. 263 
 
 therefore, which Esme heard him utter, and 
 it enhsted her sympathy immediately. 
 
 Advancing timidly, she gently spoke his 
 name. It was enough. Reality, at once, took 
 the place of un-reality. Roused as from some 
 horrible night-mare, and overjoyed, with a joy 
 unspeakable, at the knowledge of her presence 
 in the fiesh, it was with extreme difficulty that 
 he preserved his presence of mind sufficiently 
 to conceal the terrible supposition which the 
 sound of her voice had dispelled. 
 
 The force of habit rests very strongly upon 
 most of us at all times. By this force. Lord 
 Oakdene was rescued from all extravagance 
 alike of word and action. 
 
 He arose, and with a few words of greeting 
 wheeled his chair towards her. She accepted 
 the proffered seat with a smile so wan and 
 so woe-begone, that tears, he thought, would 
 have betrayed less sorrow. 
 
 The strangeness of their situation occurred 
 
264 THE ROLL CALL. 
 
 to neither of them. Conventionality fades 
 into insignificance, before acute suffering, 
 whether it be of body or of mind. Thus 
 Esme was obHvious of time and circum- 
 stance. Her affection for Ralph Grant was 
 that of a child for a parent, and not only her 
 affection, but her courage also, had been 
 severely tested. 
 
 The effort, consequent upon her search, 
 being over, an inevitable re-action set in. 
 It could not be otherwise. Companionship, 
 therefore, was more than grateful to her ; 
 the sense of protection, which it gave, was 
 more than welcome. She realized this, with- 
 out understanding it. It stole over her, 
 bringing with it untold comfort. And no 
 disturbing question either of etiquette or pro- 
 priety overthrew its consolation. 
 
 But he, Lord Oakdene, ah, w^ell ! his grief, 
 naturally enough, was far less poignant than 
 the grief of Esme ; his mind, was not filled 
 to such a painful overflowing with regret for 
 
AS A MESSAGE FROM THE DEAD. 265 
 
 the departed, sore although it assuredly was. 
 The current of his life had not been changed, 
 as hers had been, nay, well-nigh brought to a 
 standstill, by the slipping adown it, far away 
 — far, far away out of sight for ever, of a 
 dearly loved form ; his woe, was very feeble, 
 when compared with hers. And yet, he too, 
 Avas oblivious of time, if not of circumstance ; 
 while he, as well as Esme, was perfectly un- 
 disturbed by any thought of Mrs. Grundy. 
 
 There was this difference, however, between 
 Esme Montague and Lord Oakdene. Her 
 oblivion of present surroundings was brought 
 about by the agony of her young heart ; his 
 — by unfeigned concern for her, and by 
 delight unbounded at the mere sight of her 
 pure face, and slight, graceful figure. 
 
 To stir the fire into a brighter blaze, to fetch 
 a wrap from the hall, (Esme still shivered) 
 and to place it around her, was the work of a 
 very few moments. They were small offices 
 for the performance of one, who felt that he 
 
266 THE ROLL CALL. 
 
 would gladly suffer martyrdom for her, and he 
 looked anxiously around, eager, if possible, to 
 add still further to her comfort. Her eyes 
 followed him wistfully, as he moved to and fro. 
 She had many enquiries to make of him, but 
 she knew not how to commence them. 
 
 At last, he understood her mute questioning. 
 As he understood, he grew nervous and 
 uneasy. Alas ! what had he to tell that was 
 not sadder than sad ? What answers might 
 he give to those questions which he felt most 
 certainly were awaiting him ? What could 
 he say to soften that pain which, he would 
 have died to spare her, rather than inflict ? 
 
 When at length her pitiful accents framed 
 themselves into words, and their faint whisper- 
 ing replaced the mute interrogation which 
 had preceded them, he stepped behind her 
 chair. He felt braver there. The sight of 
 her large, sorrowful, tearless eyes unmanned 
 him. What then she asked of him needs 
 not to be repeated. He tried to hide as- 
 
AS A MESSAGE FROM THE DEAD. 267 
 
 much as he could from her. But, woman- 
 like, little by little, she drew from him the 
 whole sad history of the particulars con- 
 cerning the sudden death of her uncle. And 
 when it was finished, she covered her face, 
 and wept. Tears were granted to her at last, 
 relieving, as they fell, her overcharged bosom. 
 
 Lord Oakdene was sorely distressed. Pity, 
 they say, is akin to love. He needed no pity, 
 to quicken his affection for Esme ; there was 
 love in his heart for her and to spare, without 
 pity ; but, with pity added to his love, he 
 lost his footing, and was swept onwards by 
 an overwhelming force. 
 
 He struggled desperately, at first, and then 
 more feebly. Like a mighty sea his passion 
 bore all before it, breaking down the barriers 
 of self-restraint, upon which he had relied so 
 firmly, with a sudden crash. The past, the 
 future, sorrow, joy, death, everything was 
 forgotten, in that wild tumultuous present. 
 The woman he adored was before him^ 
 
268 THE ROLL CALL. 
 
 bowed down by grief alone. He stooped 
 over her — lower — lower yet — stooped, until 
 his lips were close to her small bent head, 
 and then a very madness seizing him, he 
 kissed her soft bright hair, again and again. 
 
 His Nemesis was close at hand. Shrinking, 
 cowering, trembling, Esme let fall her hands 
 from before her face and started to her feet. 
 His sin had found him out and punished him, 
 already. In that instantaneous recoil from 
 his touch, he read both his fault and his doom. 
 No words could have reproached him so 
 keenly as that terrified shrinking of her slight, 
 quivering form. His penitence was swift. 
 His remorse was bitter. With a deep flush 
 mounting to his temples, he approached to 
 a few feet of where she stood, and said 
 despairingly — 
 
 '' Forgive me ! I implore you to do so, 
 .although I can never forgive myself." 
 
 Unbroken silence reigned in the room. 
 
 '' Forgive me," he repeated, " I cannot tell 
 
AS A MESSAGE FROM THE DEAD. 269 
 
 how it is that I dare to beg for your for- 
 giveness, only — only I could not live without 
 it ; oh ! say that you forgive me." 
 
 There were tears in his voice although none 
 upon his cheek, but still Esme gave no 
 answer to his appeal. 
 
 The fiush died out from off his brow ; 
 his pallor matched hers, as he murmured 
 hoarsely — 
 
 " I was off my guard. My honour is turned 
 to dishonour. The bitterness of this can 
 never cease. I thought myself so strong — 
 God help me." 
 
 His self-humiliation and earnestness could 
 not be longer withstood. Esme remembered 
 many a kindly word spoken by him, many a 
 kindly deed done by him, and it was with 
 sorrow rather than with anger that she said — 
 
 " The bitterness will pass away, Lord 
 Oakdene. Regret will wipe out all dis- 
 honour." 
 
 He shook his head ; and, she continued 
 
270 THE ROLL CALL. 
 
 gently, from out of her woman's noble 
 nature — 
 
 " Do not look so sad. Forget, what has 
 passed, as I shall." 
 
 He would have thanked her — would have 
 grovelled at her feet in gratitude, but she 
 ghded past him, and was gone. 
 
 END OF VOL. L 
 
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