A MAN'S MISTAKE 
 
 BY THE AUTHOR OF 
 
 ST 
 
 a
 
 XI B RARY 
 
 OF THE 
 
 U N IVLRSITY 
 
 Of ILLINOIS 
 
 823 
 St38>man
 
 A MAN'S MISTAKE. 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 A MAN'S MISTAKE 
 
 BY 
 
 THE AUTHOR OF 
 
 ST. OLAVE'S," " JANTTA'S CROSS," "ANNETTE," 
 "LITTLE MISS PRIMROSE," 
 
 &c, &c. 
 
 Whatsoever tliou takest in hand, remember the end, 
 and thou shalt never do amiss." 
 
 IN THREE VOLUMES. 
 VOL. I. 
 
 LONDON: 
 HURST AND BLACKETT, PUBLISHERS, 
 
 13, GREAT MARLBOROUGH STREET. 
 
 1881. 
 
 Allriqhts reserved.
 
 LONDON : 
 
 TRINTED BY DUNCAN MACDONALD, BLENHEIM HOUSE , 
 
 BLENHEIM STREET, OXFORD STREET.
 
 
 A MAFS MISTAKE. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 EVERYONE in Abbot's Florey said 
 "that Mr. Aubury, of Florey Castle, 
 would marry Mrs. Maria Plummersleigh, 
 ^ a rather young widow, who had come to 
 pay an indefinitely long visit to Mrs. 
 Poleruont, the doctor's wife. 
 
 Everyone, that is, whose opinion on such 
 
 a subject could be received as conclusive, 
 ,\ 
 
 and who was not under the influence of 
 
 n undue partiality. There were two or 
 three, doubtless very much under the in- 
 fluence of such partiality, who did not 
 
 J scruple to affirm that, could all the worth 
 
 ^ VOL. I. B
 
 a man's mistake. 
 
 and beauty extant in the village be con- 
 centrated in the person of one woman, 
 that woman would still be too poor a wife 
 for the master of Florey Castle ; so great 
 were his own deservings, so little those of 
 the ladies amongst whom his choice would 
 probably be made. And then, to set 
 against this over-appreciation of the gen- 
 tleman's good qualities, there were others 
 ready, for their part, to say that, looked 
 at in the light of her admirable parish 
 activities, the willingness with which she 
 entered upon all kinds of church work, 
 and the diligence shown by her in the 
 visitation of her district, not to speak of 
 her skill in the administration of business 
 details, Mrs. Plummersleigh would have 
 been a wife fit for the very Bishop of 
 the Diocese. Nay, they might go farther, 
 and say that, could the Primate of All 
 England himself marry such a one, he 
 would be blest up to his deservings, great 
 though those might be.
 
 A MATS S MISTAKE. 6 
 
 But still the rank and file of common 
 sense in Abbot's Florey, including Mrs. 
 Flowerdale, the vicar's wife, and her hus- 
 band, and the two Miss Laudervilles, 
 daughters of old General Lauderville (wo- 
 men of keen perception in all social affairs), 
 and Mrs. Gallen, widow of Canon Gallen, 
 of Broadnrinster, and Mr. and Mrs. Sturt 
 — Mr. Sturt was a retired solicitor, im- 
 portant in parish matters — and Mrs. Cress- 
 well, the curate's wife, and finally Mrs. 
 Polemont herself, with whom the lady in 
 question was staying : all agreed that, if 
 Mr. Aubury and Mrs. Plummersleigh did 
 make a match of it, it would be a very 
 sensible match indeed. 
 
 Mr. Aubury was the owner and oc- 
 cupier of Florey Castle, which, with its two 
 hundred acres of farm-land, had been left 
 to him by his aunt, Miss Goodenough, an 
 old lady who used to live upon the pro- 
 perty herself. She bequeathed to him, 
 along with it, the services of Luke and 
 
 B 2
 
 4 A MAN S MISTAKE. 
 
 Betsey Martlet, a very respectable couple, 
 who bad been, one bailiff, and the other 
 housekeeper, at the place for the last 
 dozen years of her life. Indeed, Betsey 
 was, as one might say, born and bred on 
 the property, being the daughter of a 
 former bailiff, and having entered Miss 
 Goodenough's service at thirteen as poul- 
 try-girl, from which lowly estate she had 
 risen through the successive grades of 
 kitchen-maid, under-servant, and cook to 
 the honourable position of housekeeper. 
 Nay much more than that ; for, as Bet- 
 sey knew very well, though she never 
 talked about it except to Martlet, her hus- 
 band, she kept not only her mistress's 
 home, but her mistress's purse, and her 
 mistress's opinions, and her mistress's likes 
 and dislikes, and almost everything else 
 that appertained to her mistress, and kept 
 them so well, too, that when the old lady 
 was nigh upon death she thought she 
 could not do her nephew a kinder turn
 
 A MAN S MISTAKE. 5 
 
 than commit him and little Linnet Aubury 
 to the same keeping. 
 
 So Luke and Betsey lived on still at the 
 place, and did their duties, both of them, 
 with a faithfulness which made them the 
 most contented old couple in the parish. 
 A trifle loquacious perhaps now and then, 
 and not sparing of that generous despot- 
 ism which ancient retainers are apt to 
 exercise ; but true-hearted withal, and as 
 readv to do battle for their master's in- 
 terests as any mailed squire or pikeman 
 who, in days gone by, had had the safety 
 of that homestead committed to his care. 
 
 Florey Castle sounded grandly, but the 
 reality was by no means equal to the 
 sound. In mediaeval times it had been a 
 fortress, and there was still a round tower 
 with battlements and arrow slits at the 
 north end of the house. There was a 
 keep also, which, having long ago been 
 despoiled of its flanking walls, served only 
 now as a porter's lodge, facing the high-
 
 a man's mistake. 
 
 road between Abbot's Florey and Broad- 
 minster. This keep, as to its exterior, 
 was little altered from the feudal days, 
 when many an old knight had defended it 
 against the Warwicks and Plantagenets. 
 Still the barred portcullis loomed grimly 
 down from its hiding-place behind the 
 central gateway ; still the great iron- 
 clamped and studded doors were there, 
 marked with many a sword-dint which 
 beleaguering enemy had given them in 
 days of yore ; still the old drawbridge 
 stretched, mossy, and decaying, and use- 
 less, across the moat, which was traversed 
 now instead by a good wide carriage-path 
 alongside of it. And one could see yet, 
 high above that doorway, mended rents and 
 chasms in the masonry, where Cromwell's 
 cannon had gone through when Crom- 
 well's men besieged the castle in King 
 Charles' time. 
 
 But instead of giving entrance, as in 
 those days, to a courtyard whose stony
 
 a man's mistake. 
 
 pavement rang with the clash of battle- 
 axe and spear, that doorway now simply 
 admitted the visitor to a trimly-kept lawn, 
 dotted with peaceful buttercups and 
 daisies, with here and there a stray hoop 
 or ball which hinted at the modern inno- 
 vation of croquet, And in place of armed 
 retainer, keeping watch and ward over 
 his master's chattels, Grace and Tidy, 
 meekest of serving-maidens, flitted to and 
 fro in front or back kitchen, obeying 
 Betsey Martlet's behests, who, since Miss 
 Goodenough's death, had been, to all 
 intents and purposes, queen-regnant there, 
 and as imperious a queen too as ever held 
 sceptre. And this contrast between the 
 outer and inner aspect of the place was 
 wont to produce a feeling of incongruity, 
 as though one should be introduced to a 
 stranger of martial aspect, with grizzly 
 beard and beetling brows, and, after 
 respecting him accordingly, should find, 
 upon closer acquaintance made, that he
 
 8 a man's mistake. 
 
 scents his pocket-handkerchiefs and writes 
 amatory sonnets in the local papers. At 
 least that was how Mrs. Polemont, the 
 doctor's wife, always said it impressed her, 
 though, for politeness sake, she never 
 mentioned anything of the sort to Mr. 
 Aubury. 
 
 But still, on the whole, Florey Castle 
 was a fine old homestead, in spite of its 
 discrepancies and general air of patchi- 
 ness. And an honest life, honest as any 
 that could have been lived in the feudal 
 days, wore on its quiet course there, not 
 much talked of nor much noticed, until 
 now that Mrs. Maria Plummersleigh had 
 come to stay in the village, and people 
 began to whisper that a bride might find 
 her way through the crumbling old keep, 
 which mailed knight and warrior no longer 
 needed to guard. 
 
 It was with the violets and primroses of 
 late spring that Mrs. Plummersleigh made 
 her appearance in Abbot's Florey, and
 
 a man's mistake. 9 
 
 now Midsummer Day was passed without 
 any word spoken of her departure. In- 
 deed, so far from any word being spoken 
 of her departure, events seemed to point 
 in the direction of a permanent residence. 
 For the vicar had offered her a tract district, 
 which looked as if he at any rate considered 
 her a fixture. And Mrs. Polemont had 
 urged her to accept the offer, which seem- 
 ed still more conclusive. And, to clinch 
 everything, Mrs. Plummersleigh had ac- 
 cepted it, and might be seen, every Tues- 
 day and Friday of her life, going about 
 the Broadminster end of the village with 
 an embroidered black silk bag, as trim and 
 compact as herself, upon her arm, and 
 wearing that habitude of settled quiet and 
 authority which of right appertains to the 
 residents of a place, as distinguished from 
 migratory strangers who just come and go 
 as it pleases them. 
 
 Clearly Mrs. Plummersleigh had taken 
 up her abode with the doctor's wife. Pos-
 
 10 a man's mistake. 
 
 sibly, as that lady had no family, and her 
 husband, who was considerably older than 
 herself, found his professional engagements 
 increasing upon him, the long summer 
 days were a trifle tedious to her, particu- 
 larly as she was a bright, chatty, impulsive 
 little woman, full of energy, good will, and 
 activity, and yet with, as the phrase goes, 
 very few " resources within herself." And 
 for people who were in that condition 
 Abbot's Florey was as dull a place as 
 could be imagined, being, indeed, only 
 redeemed from positive insignificance by 
 a layer of genuine Saxon herring-bone 
 work half way up the tower of its little 
 bit of a church, over which layer archaeo- 
 logical societies from far and near came to 
 ponder, always associating their ponder- 
 ings with a substantial luncheon at the 
 vicars or elsewhere. But then, as Mrs. 
 Polemont was not an archaeologist, the 
 herring-bone work went for nothing. 
 Something that could talk and be talked
 
 a man's mistake. 11 
 
 to was more to the purpose. So Mrs. 
 Plummersleigh stayed. 
 
 They were not new acquaintances. Mrs. 
 Plummersleigh had been lady housekeeper 
 with Mr. Fledborough, Mrs. Polemont's 
 father, a widower, when Mrs. Polemont 
 herself was a girl at home — that is, at 
 Broadminster, three miles away from Ab- 
 bot's Florey. She had been there eight or 
 nine years, in fact, had become quite like 
 one of the family, when Dr. Polemont 
 came and stole away Mr. Fledborough' s 
 pretty daughter. And she would no doubt 
 have stayed longer, if Mr. Fledborough 
 himself had not married a wife, and so, 
 as it were, taken the ground away from 
 under her feet. She then went into quiet 
 lodgings near the minster, but, not finding 
 the locality suit her health, she had moved 
 about from place to place, at last accept- 
 ing Mrs. Polemont's invitation to spend a 
 few weeks at Abbot's Florey. 
 
 And so accommodating the young wife
 
 12 a man's mistake. 
 
 found her, and so cheery and companion- 
 able during those long mornings, and so 
 judicious in keeping out of the way when 
 the doctor did come in to resume his own 
 place, and so full of practical wisdom and 
 eommon-sense in all those little difficulties 
 which surround a not very experienced 
 housekeeper during the first years of her 
 married life, that the few weeks were 
 extended to many, and Abbot's Florey, in 
 consideration of the tract district offered 
 and accepted, began to consider her, as 
 aforesaid, a settled resident. 
 
 Mrs. Plummersleigh was not young — 
 thirty at the very least — and pretty she 
 was not, and Nature had failed to give her 
 that charm of manner which is sometimes 
 more attractive than beauty, and she had 
 not that air of high breeding which goes 
 farther with some people than either grace 
 or looks, and she lacked the fire of intel- 
 lect, and one could scarcely, without par- 
 tiality or hypocrisy, call her even interest-
 
 a man's mistake. 13 
 
 ing. And yet somehow she was a univer- 
 sal favourite. She had such admirable 
 tact in fitting herself to the peculiarities 
 of the people with whom she lived that 
 they were always glad to have her with 
 them. She was ready without being in- 
 trusive. She never appeared to be atten- 
 tively listening to conversation which was 
 not directly addressed to her, yet at any 
 point she could fall iu, and become, if not 
 eager, at least sufficiently interested to 
 carry on the subject. She never gossiped, 
 and yet somehow she knew all about every- 
 body. People who had alighted upon a 
 tit-bit of scandal rarely flew off with it to 
 her, but at the same time, if anyone want- 
 ed to listen to interesting little personal 
 details, Mrs. Plummersleigh was the lady 
 who could relate them by the score, having 
 an accurate and circumstantial memory 
 for everything she had once heard. More- 
 over, she was very discreet, very safe, 
 always more ready to listen than to talk,
 
 14 a man's mistake. 
 
 but still with enough to say when there 
 appeared a sufficient necessity for saying 
 it. Quiet, ladylike in dress, manner, and 
 deportment, neither obtrusive nor over re- 
 tiring — one of those women, in short, who 
 are invaluable if you do happen to want 
 them, and never in your way if you do 
 not. 
 
 And therefore, if Mr. Aubury did intend 
 to marry, Abbot's Florey said he could not 
 find a more suitable wife than Mrs. Maria 
 Plummersleigh.
 
 15 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 " A ND why on earth the poor man does 
 -*--*- not marry, is just one of those 
 things which I cannot make out." 
 
 It was Mrs. Polemont who said this, 
 and she said it to Mrs. Flowerdale, the 
 vicar's wife, who was calling upon her. 
 
 "Such a home as he could make for 
 anyone, Mrs. Flowerdale, with that lovely 
 old place all his own, no rent to pay for 
 it, or anything of the sort. And I am 
 quite sure that, if Mr. Aubury does not 
 keep a brougham and a man in livery, it 
 is only because he cares so little for any- 
 thing that might have an appearance of
 
 16 a man's mistake. 
 
 display. His income must be equal to it 
 over and over again." 
 
 For Mrs. Polemont, as a girl, had never 
 achieved the distinction of a carriage of 
 any kind ; and, even as the doctor's wife 
 of Abbot's Florey, she only rode in a little 
 open phaeton with a hood for wet weather ; 
 comfortable enough, but with nothing ap- 
 proaching to style about it. And if her 
 heart did at the present moment hold an 
 unsatisfied longing, it was that one day 
 she might call upon the vicar's wife in a 
 brougham of her very own, with a man in 
 livery, equally her very own, to sit upon 
 the box and receive her orders. 
 
 " Well, I look at it from another point 
 of view entirely," replied Mrs. Flowerdale, 
 who, coming of a tolerably wealthy old 
 family, had been accustomed to ride in a 
 carriage " and pair " up to the day of her 
 marriage with the vicar, and who, though 
 only driving what she called a basket now, 
 had yet the familiar recollection of the
 
 a man's mistake. 17 
 
 other to fall back upon, instead of regard- 
 ing it, as Mrs. Polemont did, through the 
 haze of an unfulfilled longing. "Mr. 
 Aubury is very wise to keep to his present 
 modest establishment; for people who 
 have to live upon land now-a-days never 
 know what they may come to. But, for 
 the sake of Linnet, he ought to make a 
 change of some sort. Mrs. Polemont, 
 that girl is being ruined, simply ruined, 
 for want of suitable female companion- 
 ship." 
 
 Mrs. Flowerdale said this with emphasis 
 and a certain air of severity. She was 
 the vicar's wife, and therefore she knew 
 all about everybody in the parish. And 
 she was a person of much more vigorous 
 perception — at least she thought so — than 
 her husband, who liked to speak as well 
 as he could of his people all round, and 
 therefore she made it her business to ac- 
 quire an accurate knowledge of what was 
 going on, so that he might not be de- 
 
 vol. i. c
 
 18 a man's mistake. 
 
 ceived in bis charitable ministrations. 
 And though she had no daughters of her 
 own, only a grown-up son at Oxford, still 
 she had a couple of nieces, Miss Loverton 
 and Miss Georgiana Loverton, who, now 
 that their boarding-school education was 
 finished, came to her for such long visits 
 that she might almost be said to have the 
 entire charge of them. And therefore she 
 knew as well as most people what the 
 behaviour of girls of seventeen or eighteen 
 ought to be, and had a right to express 
 her opinion, too. 
 
 " Ruined, Mrs. Polemont. That is the 
 only word to express it. She has no 
 manners at all. I question whether, if 
 she danced with a strange gentleman at a 
 ball in Broadminster one night, and hap- 
 pened to meet him in the street next day, 
 she would have the faintest idea what to 
 do. I say it is deplorable, neither more 
 nor less." 
 
 "Well, you see," said Mrs. Polemont,
 
 a man's mistake. 19 
 
 who shared the vicar's weakness in the 
 matter of liking to speak well of every- 
 body, " as she never goes to balls, there is 
 not so much need for her to have any 
 ideas about what to do. And somehow, I 
 daresay, it would come naturally to her. 
 Linnet is a dear, good-hearted little thing 
 as ever stepped." 
 
 " Oh ! that goes without saying. I 
 never meant to hint that she had not been 
 correctly brought up — nothing of the 
 sort. But for Mr. Aubury to let her have 
 the advantage of a lady like Miss Grey to 
 train her until sixteen, and then, when 
 the poor old body died, never to look for 
 anyone to replace her, but to throw Linnet 
 upon the almost sole companionship of 
 Mrs. Martlet, it is simply monstrous. 
 However, it is just what unpractical men 
 like Mr. Aubury are always doing." 
 
 And Mrs. Flowerdale, a keen, clear- 
 eyed, aristocratic-faced woman, well-bred 
 down to her very finger-tips, and devoted 
 
 c2
 
 20 a man's mistake. 
 
 to her husband and her church, and the 
 proprieties of life, looked away through 
 the open window into the doctor's garden, 
 and past its blossoming lime-trees to the 
 grey old tower of Florey Castle, which rose 
 half a mile away, and within whose grim 
 shadow Linnet Aubury was being given 
 over to ruin. 
 
 "It must be rather lonely for her," 
 admitted Mrs. Polemont. " But I dare- 
 say she spends half her time with Miss 
 Clerehart, and you could not find a truer 
 lady in all Abbot's Florey than she is. 
 And so wonderfully well read, too, at least 
 so they say. Of course I don't know any- 
 thing about that" 
 
 " It is not that sort of thing at all, Mrs. 
 Polemont. It is having a lady in the 
 house with her, to make a sort of atmo- 
 sphere of good breeding and refinement. 
 If Mr. Aubury did not intend to replace 
 Miss Grey, he ought to have married, or 
 engaged a lady-companion for Linnet."
 
 A MAN S MISTAKE. 21 
 
 " I wonder if lie would have married 
 Miss Grey if she had not died," said Mrs. 
 Polemont, speculatively. " She seems, by 
 what people say, to have been a very 
 superior person, only rather old-fashioned. 
 I always think it is rather pleasant to 
 marry anyone you have lived in the house 
 with, because then there is not so much 
 to find out about them. I don't know 
 really who there is about here that would 
 do for him, unless " 
 
 Mrs. Polemont paused in time. The 
 name on the very tip of her tongue was 
 the name of Maria Plummersleigh, and to 
 have spoken it out loud would have been 
 such a mistake. Because Mrs. Flowerdale 
 was a woman who pounced down upon you 
 so, and brought you to book for anything 
 you said, and she would be sure to men- 
 tion it to Mrs. Plummersleigh herself, if 
 not to Mr. Aubury, and that would spoil 
 everything. 
 
 For the doctor's little wife wanted to
 
 22 a man's mistake. 
 
 see all her friends happily married like 
 herself, but she was enough of a lady not 
 to mention names, and she was politic 
 enough to know that mentioning them 
 damaged the chances of anything satisfac- 
 tory being accomplished. That sort of 
 thing was rather like the alum basket- 
 making of which she had been so fond 
 when she was a little girl. You might 
 get your wire and weave your basket as 
 skilfully as you liked, and wind your 
 worsted over it as carefully, and then make 
 your alum solution of the right strength, 
 and, with all the tenderness in the world, 
 introduce your handiwork to it. But 
 having put it in, if you meddled with the 
 jar in which the basket was suspended, 
 or gave it a tilt, or almost looked at it 
 an hour too soon, everything was spoiled, 
 and your chances were over. The alum 
 might crystallize anywhere else, but upon 
 the structure which with so much pains 
 you had prepared it certainly would not
 
 a man's mistake. 23 
 
 settle. And there was no such thing as 
 melting it up again, after it had once de- 
 posited itself in the wrong place, and so 
 starting the experiment afresh. Your 
 basket might do again well enough, but 
 for alum you must get a new supply. 
 
 Now, in the present instance, Mrs. 
 Plummersleigh was the basket, and good 
 little Mrs. Polemont, who had a very 
 warm regard for her, fondly hoped that 
 the worsted of circumstance and oppor- 
 tunity, which she had woven round her by 
 inviting her to come to Abbot's Florey for 
 an indefinite period, might prove a suitable 
 basis for the alum of Mr. Aubury's pre- 
 ference to crystallize upon. Only matters 
 were in that condition now when perfect 
 silence was essential to the success of the 
 operation. One must not tilt the jar, 
 indeed scarcely so much as peep into it, 
 lest the love crystals should sink to the 
 bottom in a shapeless mass, instead of 
 arranging themselves where they would
 
 24 a man's mistake. 
 
 be both useful and ornamental. So, cor- 
 recting herself in time, she went on with 
 a vagueness which could not give the 
 basket so much as the least stir, 
 
 " Perhaps he might meet with some one 
 at a distance. But then he scarcely ever 
 goes away from home, and he is so shy 
 that I don't believe he would have courage 
 to make the venture, unless the lady 
 helped him very much. He is just one 
 of those men that a lady could help when 
 it came to making an offer." 
 
 "Poor man! But we must let him 
 alone. We cannot, after all, choose for 
 other people." 
 
 Mrs. Flower dale said this reflectively, 
 but with a tone which implied that she 
 would have exercised the privilege of 
 choice if she could. And then there was 
 a little pause, and Mrs. Polemont returned 
 to Linnet as being a more general subject. 
 
 11 She is a very good girl, only unfortu- 
 nate in her manners, as you say. There
 
 a man's mistake. 25 
 
 is not a bit of anything really wrong about 
 her. If she ever does get into mischief, 
 it is with the best intentions. And then, 
 you see, she has no one at home to put 
 her into a different way. Mr. Aubury 
 goes mooning about from morning to night 
 over the farm. And as for Mrs. Martlet, 
 why, she worships the very ground that 
 Linnet treads upon. You could never 
 make her believe that the child did any- 
 thing wrong." 
 
 " Exactly. And that is just why Mr. 
 Aubury ought to have some one about him 
 who can be made to believe it, for the sake 
 of Linnet's own future welfare. The only 
 thing would be for him to marry." 
 
 But at that moment Mrs. Plummersleigh 
 came in. She had been round her district. 
 She had the embroidered, black silk bag 
 in her hand. She brought an atmosphere 
 of quietness into the room. There was 
 such an entire absence of emphasis about 
 her. If she thought or expressed herself
 
 26 a man's mistake. 
 
 keenly about things at all, they were not 
 the things people talk of in afternoon 
 calls. 
 
 Mrs. Polemont felt slightly confused, 
 and for a moment there was an awkward 
 pause. Mrs. Plummersleigh might almost 
 think the conversation had been about 
 herself, but, if so, she made no sign. And 
 her hostess, regaining self-possession, said, 
 
 "We were just speaking of Linnet Au- 
 bury. Mrs. Flowerdale thinks it such a 
 pity she has no one to be a companion to 
 her at home, and I think so too." 
 
 " Indeed," arid Mrs. Plummersleigh fold- 
 ed her empty bag, and laid it carefully 
 down. " I don't think I know Miss Au- 
 bury well enough to say anything about it. 
 I have not happened to meet her very 
 often." 
 
 "Probably not," said Mrs. Flowerdale. 
 "You are not likely ever to meet her, 
 unless you go across some of the pastures 
 on the castle farm ; and then, as likely as
 
 a man's mistake. 27 
 
 not, you will find her in the company of 
 a shaggy pony and two or three dogs of 
 different sorts, with her skirts arranged 
 somewhat after the fashion of a Leith 
 fishwife, and her black hair streaming 
 behind, or sticking out all over like 
 Medusas." 
 
 " Such pretty hair though," put in Mrs. 
 Polemont. 
 
 " Yes ; which makes it all the more to 
 be regretted that she should wear it in 
 such a fashion. Unless, indeed, Mr. Au- 
 bury intends her to marry Keith Moriston, 
 and then both the hair and the fashion of 
 the draperies would be quite in keeping. 
 You have seen young Moriston, have you 
 not, Mrs. Polemont ?" 
 
 " I think so. You mean the young 
 man who comes to see Miss Clerehart ?" 
 
 " The same. And Miss Clerehart does 
 not make any secret of the fact that he is 
 the son of a rude shepherd somewhere in 
 some out of the way part of Scotland. So
 
 28 a man's mistake. 
 
 that, you see, in that case, they would be 
 admirably well matched. But, seriously, 
 I do think it is a mistake for Mr. Aubury 
 to let her go so much to Miss Clerehart's 
 house, if it is true that Moriston is to 
 spend his long vacation there. What is 
 the name of the place now that he comes 
 from ? Airdrie something. Mrs. Plum- 
 mersleigh, do you know Scotland at all ?" 
 
 " I used to go there once," replied that 
 lady, turning to the window to trim away 
 some dead leaves from the geraniums in 
 the flower-baskets ; " but I have not visit- 
 ed the country for some time now. I find 
 the climate of England suits me better/' 
 
 " Yes. You suffer from neuralgia, don't 
 you?" 
 
 " I do, I am sorry to say." 
 
 " Ah ! a tiresome thing. And it is so 
 good of you to take a district for us when 
 you are not strong. But Abbot's Florey is 
 a very good place for people who have 
 neuralgia. You see, we are sheltered from
 
 a man's mistake. 29 
 
 the wind, except just where it blows across 
 the moor behind Florey Castle, and we are 
 on gravel soil ; and so we have everything 
 in our favour. I believe, if you were to 
 stay here long enough, you would become 
 almost robust. But do not you find this 
 place almost relaxing after Scotland ?" 
 
 Mrs. Plummersleigh looked slightly ruf- 
 fled, only slightly, and she went on trim- 
 ming off the dead leaves, her face being 
 turned aside. She had certainly said 
 nothing about having lived in Scotland, 
 and yet Mrs. Flowerdale appeared to take 
 it for granted, Mrs. Flowerdale who was 
 not a woman to talk at random like wild, 
 impulsive little Mrs. Polemont. And to 
 mix it all up, too, with the mention of this 
 raw shepherd lad. As if, because she had 
 happened to admit a slight knowledge of 
 Scotland, she must needs be expected to 
 give information about Airdrie Muir and 
 its people, big and little. It was puzzling 
 and annoying too.
 
 30 a man's mistake. 
 
 But Mrs. Flowerdale, as the vicar's 
 wife, was not a lady to be quarrelled with, 
 nor was Mrs. Pluminersleigh, under pres- 
 ent circumstances, a lady to quarrel ; she 
 only kept picking away the dead leaves 
 until the geraniums looked almost as trim 
 and tidy as herself, and then she began to 
 talk about the ignorance of the women in 
 her district, a subject upon which Mrs. 
 Flowerdale, who had prejudices against 
 the working classes, was always ready to 
 be interested. And no more was said 
 about Airdrie Muir.
 
 31 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 J F the croquet lawn, with its peaceful 
 -*- buttercups and daisies, to which the 
 keep of Florey Castle gave the visitor 
 entrance, was not exactly the prospect 
 one might look for in connection with a 
 baronial fortress, so neither was the 
 master himself much in accordance with 
 his property, being, as to his outward 
 appearance, a slight man, shy, silent, 
 retiring, with kindly, meditative eyes, a 
 benevolent forehead, and a general air of 
 what superficial observers might call 
 indecision about him. That is to say, 
 with reference to the indecision, he had
 
 32 a man's mistake. 
 
 not self-esteem enough to consider his 
 own opinions on indifferent matters as the 
 only opinions worth listening to, and, 
 therefore, he advanced them with care- 
 lessness or hesitation, even allowing them 
 occasionally to be carried off prisoners by 
 a. more active opponent, or slain upon the 
 battle-field of argument, with a placidity 
 which, to some men, seemed almost like 
 cowardice. At any rate, so it appeared to 
 Mr. Cresswell, the curate, who was always 
 ready to fight through a whole church 
 committee meeting about the colours 
 which should be worn for the ecclesiastical 
 seasons; and so it appeared also to Mr. 
 Sturt, who was in the habit of bringing 
 the entire batteries of his logic to bear 
 upon the question of whether the parish 
 soup should be thickened in winter time 
 with split peas or Egyptian lentils, the 
 latter being an article which was just then 
 beginning to push itself upon the notice 
 of economists.
 
 a man's mistake. 33 
 
 By these men, therefore, the master of 
 Florey Castle was spoken of as a weak 
 brother, useful so far as subscriptions 
 went, because of his liberal turn of mind 
 in money matters, and not entirely with- 
 out value when a vote more or less was 
 wanted in affairs connected with rural 
 administration, but of definitely small 
 account in the serious business of life, and 
 of still less importance as a pillar of the 
 church to which he belonged. 
 
 Of course strangers coming to the place 
 naturally thought that Mr. Aubury was a 
 widower, and that Linnet was his only 
 child; but in this they were quite mis- 
 taken. However, the mistake was of 
 little consequence, for everyone in Abbot's 
 Florey knew his history, and was willing 
 to tell it if necessary, the facts being 
 these : 
 
 Mr. Aubury's father had been a major 
 in the Indian army, and Owen Aubury 
 had neither brother nor sister until the 
 
 VOL. I. D
 
 34 a man's mistake. 
 
 old man, after remaining a widower for 
 more than a dozen years, married a bright, 
 pretty, incompetent young wife, an orphan 
 who had been brought up in Calcutta. 
 Linnet was their daughter. At the time 
 of her birth, her step-brother was well on 
 to thirty, and fairly prospering as partner 
 with two or three other gentlemen on a 
 coffee plantation in Ceylon ; so fairly 
 prospering indeed that he was able to 
 think of marriage, and was already pre- 
 paring the home to which, after a year 
 more of hard work, he hoped to bring the 
 lady who had long been waiting for him 
 in England. 
 
 When his little girl was about six years 
 old the major died, and a few months 
 afterwards his young widow died too, 
 leaving Owen Aubury sole guardian of 
 the orphan Linnet, who had neither kith 
 nor kin belonging to her save himself. 
 And he had not much to guard either 
 in the shape of substantial worldly inter-
 
 a man's mistake. 35 
 
 ests ; for old Major Aubury had nothing 
 to live upon but his retiring pension, and 
 his wife was, to put the case in its mildest 
 form, not an economical woman ; so that, 
 excepting her allowance of some fifty 
 pounds a year as an officer's orphan, 
 Linnet was entirely dependent upon what 
 her step-brother chose to do for her. 
 
 Owen Aubury had been home once, 
 just before that coffee-plantation began 
 to prosper satisfactorily ; and now, a year 
 or two after his father's death, he came 
 home again, bringing the little girl with 
 him, intending to place her with a suitable 
 person, and then return to Ceylon, return- 
 ing not alone, he hoped. Before the ar- 
 rangements for this return were made, old 
 Miss Goodenough, his mother's sister, died, 
 leaving him the Florey Castle property. 
 And so, appointing an agent to his share 
 of the plantation, he settled clown on the 
 farm, and took Linnet to live with him ; 
 events having so fallen out that, returning 
 
 d2
 
 36 a man's mistake. 
 
 or not returning, his home would have 
 been a lonely one, but for her. 
 
 That was the history of Owen Aubury 
 of Florey Castle, so far as it had been 
 made known to the general public of 
 Abbot's Florey — the marriage episode ex- 
 cepted, which had never been spoken of 
 at all. And everyone said how noble it 
 was of him to devote himself so exclus- 
 ively to the care of his little sister, instead 
 of marrying, as a man of his position 
 might have done, into one of the best 
 families of the neighbourhood, and going 
 in for all the amusements of a country 
 gentleman. 
 
 He did his best, after a man's fashion, 
 for the child. He engaged a Miss Grey, 
 an elderly gentlewoman of the old school, 
 to give her such education as was neces- 
 sary ; and very conscientiously and very 
 efficiently she gave it for ten years, at the 
 end of which time she died, leaving Linnet, 
 at sixteen, sufficiently advanced, Mr. Au-
 
 a man's mistake. 37 
 
 bury thought, to carry on alone, or under 
 his direction, what further studies were 
 necessary. 
 
 Then, for instruction in household mat- 
 ters, she had Mrs. Martlet, who had even 
 bettered her own lessons from Miss Good- 
 enough ; and for other companionship she 
 had her step-brother, and the pony, and 
 the dogs — so severely commented upon by 
 Mrs. Flowerdale — and Miss Clerehart, or 
 Miss Alvisa, as by her more intimate 
 friends she was generally called, a maiden 
 lady of thirty-five, or thereabouts, who 
 lived at the old vicarage, a pretty house 
 whose garden joined the plantation at the 
 end of the castle property. 
 
 Under such influences as these Linnet 
 Aubury had managed to grow up into a 
 tolerably sweet and loveable maidenhood, 
 though, as Mrs. Flowerdale had very truly 
 remarked, her manners were not of the 
 sort generally to be met with in Broad- 
 minster ball-rooms, and the fashion of her
 
 38 a man's mistake. 
 
 dress, and the length of her skirts, and 
 the way she wore her wealth of rippling' 
 dark hair very much corresponded with 
 the manners, being in the highest degree 
 unconventional. 
 
 Of course, as time went on, people 
 naturally wondered that Mr. Aubury did 
 not marry. He could have chosen for 
 himself a wife — at least so far as money 
 matters went — when he took possession 
 of the castle property full ten years be- 
 fore. For the land was all his own, un- 
 encumbered by mortgage or burden of 
 any sort, and Miss Goodenough had left 
 him a tidy little sum besides, in other in- 
 vestments. And he must be five and 
 forty now, if a day, as they could make 
 out very well by comparing dates, though 
 he might have passed for a dozen years 
 younger, being of that slight build which 
 carries age well, if, in addition, he had 
 been as brisk and wide-awake in his
 
 a man's mistake. 39 
 
 manners as most unmarried men of eligible 
 means. 
 
 But then Mr. Aubury was not brisk. 
 He might almost be described as quite 
 the reverse, though without the least hint 
 of uncharitableness in the description. 
 For a kinder man, a more benevolent, a 
 more considerate in thought, word, and 
 act, there could not be. Indeed the 
 Apostle Paul must have had such a one 
 in his mind when he spoke of that " good 
 man " for whom some would even dare to 
 die; the good, as opposed to the merely 
 righteous man, who will give what is just, 
 but at the same time will look to receive 
 as much as he gives. But when you had 
 said that Mr. Aubury was in that sense 
 of the word a good man, you must stop. 
 You could not with the least show of 
 correctness say in addition that he was a 
 brisk man, or a wide-awake man, or a man 
 who could be looked upon as an acquisi- 
 tion to society, or of the sort ever to make
 
 40 a man's mistake. 
 
 a figure in the world, or that if strife came 
 he would be a hero in it, or that if his 
 little sister Linnet chose to ramble about 
 over the farm with her pony and her dogs, 
 instead of copying the latest style in dress 
 and manners, as exemplified by Mrs. 
 Flowerdale's nieces, the Misses Loverton, 
 he would bring down the strong hand of 
 brotherly authority upon her, compelling 
 her to amend her ways and her doings, 
 and show herself to society as what she 
 had a right to be considered, a fashionable 
 member of it. 
 
 No, you had to stop at the goodness. 
 Perhaps some people would have said that 
 if you could have stopped before it, and 
 had the other things instead, the briskness 
 and wide-awakeness and general air of 
 worldly wisdom, Owen Aubury would have 
 been a more useful member of society, a 
 married member, probabty, and therefore 
 a better centre for dinners and dances 
 and other hospitalities which people natur-
 
 a man's mistake. 41 
 
 ally expect from the owner of a handsome 
 property. However, such as he was, 
 there they had to leave him, content with 
 hoping that some day, before it was too 
 ]ate for themselves to participate in the 
 benefit of the change, a wife would teach 
 him better things. 
 
 And he and Linnet were very happy. 
 The girl was never so much in her own 
 element as when rambling about with her 
 staid old brother over the farm property, 
 hearing him discuss crops and timber with 
 Martlet, the bailiff, leaving them occasion- 
 ally to go off with Snip after a rabbit, or 
 to chase the dragon-flies down the dingle 
 to the swan-pools which spread out under 
 the willow-trees at the end of it. And 
 for excitement there was the fishing in 
 those same pools, where the pike lay so 
 lazily under the sedgy banks, and the 
 tench rose to dart at the flies which 
 skimmed in the clear places where the 
 sunshine could reach them between the
 
 42 a man's mistake. 
 
 overhanging willow -boughs. And there 
 was the hunt two or three times a month 
 during the cold weather ; for Mr. Aubury, 
 though a kind-hearted man and a member 
 of the Society for the Prevention of 
 Cruelty to Animals, could still find it con- 
 sistent with his principles to follow the 
 hounds, which some people considered as 
 an anomaly, until he justified himself by 
 maintaining that the fox got as much 
 sport out of it as anyone else. And this 
 was one of the very few theories for which 
 Mr. Aubury would show fight, instead of 
 leaving it to be slain or carried captive 
 from the afore-mentioned battle-field of 
 argument, like the — to him — smaller mat- 
 ters of coloured stoles and parish-soup 
 thickenings. Still it was slain sometimes, 
 and mostly by Miss Alvisa Clerehart. 
 
 Then, at night, Linnet used to sit at her 
 work in the cosy, thick- walled old dining- 
 room, which had once been the chapel of 
 the castle, and which, with its groined
 
 a man's mistake. 43 
 
 roof and Gothic windows, had many a 
 story to tell to one who, like Owen Au- 
 bury's sister, knew every line of the his- 
 tory of the place. Sitting there in her 
 favourite corner, close by the little niche 
 where once the holy water had been kept, 
 she could recall the days when monk and 
 priest had said their prayers within those 
 walls, or conquered knight had fled for 
 refuge, when spear and shield were no 
 more of any avail, and only wholesome 
 fear of the spiritual arm could hold back 
 his victors from slaying him, as he knelt 
 by the now long since ruined altar-steps, 
 praying the saints to protect him in his 
 need. She could recall, too, the story of 
 grand old Mistress Bouverie, whose hus- 
 band dwelt in the old castle once, and 
 who held it so stoutly, whilst he fought 
 for his rights elsewhere, against a band 
 of marauders who had crossed over from 
 beyond the fen country. Held it to the 
 very death, suffering them to enter the
 
 44 a man's mistake. 
 
 keep only over her dead body, which they 
 did, and then buried her with all honour, 
 so the story went, knowing her for a noble 
 enemy, if a vanquished one. 
 
 And whilst her brother sat and dreamed 
 in his easy-chair by the fire — dreamed, 
 perhaps, of what life might have been 
 could he have come home but a little ear- 
 lier, and so returned not alone to the nest 
 he had made ready for his wife amongst 
 the shady groves of Ceylon — Linnet, for 
 whom there was no past save that of 
 books, would re-people the old castle, and 
 make it live again through siege and fire 
 and storm, and hear the clash of spears 
 upon its paved courtyard, where now the 
 daisies grew, and see the steel flashing 
 from its battlements, and the arrows wing- 
 ing forth from the narrow slits in the 
 tower, and Crom well's cannon-balls crash- 
 ing through the keep, and his flag — the 
 flag of a nation's liberty — flying above its 
 great doorway.
 
 a man's mistake. 45 
 
 Until a sigh from the arm-chair roused 
 her, and tossing her curls aside, and dis- 
 missing the old days with a shake and a 
 fling, she would away to her brother's 
 side, and, with a voice the sweetest he 
 had ever heard save one, would sing to 
 him, her head resting on his arm as she 
 sang, those English ballads he loved so 
 well, because they told of joy which he 
 had known and lost, and of faith which he 
 would hold even to the end. 
 
 Then Martlet would come in with the 
 big keys, and Eex, the Newfoundland, would 
 stretch himself for his sleep on the skin 
 by the bolted door, and, with a kiss and a 
 quiet "God bless you !" from the brother 
 who loved her, Linnet would away to 
 dream it all again in her own little cham- 
 ber over the chapel.
 
 46 
 
 CHAPTER IY. 
 
 OOB, the rest, Linnet was about as wild as 
 -*- any of the squirrels in the castle plan- 
 tations, and enjoyed her life in almost as 
 nnrestraiued a fashion, the chief discipline 
 which came into it now being from Mrs. 
 Martlet, who was determined that, what- 
 ever else the girl lacked, she should not 
 go out into the world, whenever her time 
 came to do so, without at least knowing 
 how to guide the affairs of a house with 
 discretion. 
 
 " For look here, Miss Linnet," she would 
 say ; " it isn't laid out for you to spend all 
 your time hopping round about like the
 
 a man's mistake. 47 
 
 crickets at the fireside, and as like as not 
 you won't have the luck to find as warm a 
 spot as them to creep into when the time 
 for hopping is done. And there's another 
 thing, Miss Linnet, when I'm gone — and I 
 can't expect myself to last for ever — 
 where will you find another like me, 
 though I say it as shouldn't ? And me 
 watching the outgo of every shilling, as 
 I couldn't do it more carefully if it was 
 my very own ; besides seeing that the 
 master has the best of everything in sea- 
 son set before him, as the head of a house 
 has a right to. It's that sort of thing you 
 must learn to do, Miss Linnet darling, 
 against the time when you haven't me to 
 do it for you." 
 
 But Mrs. Martlet had talked like that 
 ever since Linnet could remember, and 
 still the old lady, if at sixty one could call 
 her old, worked on as heartily as ever : 
 still strong to fetch and carry, and stout 
 to stand over her preserving pans and
 
 48 a man's mistake. 
 
 tubs of home-made wine, and with an arm 
 as vigorous to turn the churn, and toss 
 the butter, and carry about the great 
 bowls of milk in the dairy. So Linnet 
 only shook back her mass of curls, and 
 whistled for Snip, and set off: to the swan- 
 pools at the bottom of the dingle, where 
 the excitement of seeing a pike leap at the 
 bait, or luring the squirrels to come for 
 nuts was to her what balls and parties are 
 to most girls. 
 
 And then there were the visits to Miss 
 Alvisa Clerehart, a better education, her 
 brother rightly judged, than any he could 
 have given her, so far as the forming of 
 character was concerned, by cultivating 
 any amount of the best society in Abbot's 
 Florey or Broadminster. 
 
 Miss Alvisa was an invalid, had been 
 so for the last ten years, during which 
 time she had never been out of the gates 
 of her own garden. She had been thrown 
 from her horse in riding, and had received
 
 a man's mistake. 49 
 
 an injury to the spine, which obliged her 
 always to lie down. Dr. Polemont, who 
 had visited her professionally all those 
 years, still held to it that some day she 
 would be up and about again, but the 
 some day was so long in coming that Miss 
 Alvisa, instead of waiting for it, set her- 
 self resolutely to make the best she could 
 of the position at present appointed to her. 
 She was not obliged to work for a living, 
 but she was obliged to work for daily 
 interest and occupation. 
 
 So instead of betaking herself to con- 
 stant meditation, which some good people 
 thought would be more profitable to her, 
 she studied the German language, of which 
 she already knew a little, having been at a 
 school in Dresden, and got employment 
 from a London publisher in translating 
 books for him. She also etched illustra- 
 tions for children's story-books, and Mr. 
 Flowerdale, the vicar, would sometimes 
 find her almost bursting with merriment 
 
 VOL. I. E
 
 50 a man's mistake. 
 
 over some humorous idea which had just 
 come into her head, and which she was 
 trying to realize with pen and ink. 
 
 The vicar was a man who appreciated 
 that sort of thing better than his wife did. 
 He could laugh as heartily as Miss Alvisa 
 herself over the comical pictures, and feel 
 as keen an interest in the quaint or pathe- 
 tic ones, and it never entered into his 
 mind, as it did into Mrs. Flowerdale's, 
 that employment of an exclusively religi- 
 ous character would have been more in 
 accordance with the position of an in- 
 valid. If it had, it would probably have 
 made little difference to Miss Alvisa her- 
 self, who had a human life to live, with 
 needs lying deeper than anyone in all 
 Abbot's Florey, except Owen Aubury him- 
 self, knew of. 
 
 Then for literature, Linnet had her 
 brother's library, where she gathered for 
 herself as freely as her favourite pony,
 
 A MAN S MISTAKE. 51 
 
 Bobtail, gathered for his more material 
 needs in the little paddock beyond the 
 garden-hedge ; and with as good a re- 
 sult, too, of healthy, wholesome develop- 
 ment. 
 
 Linnet knew every corner of that library 
 as familiarly as Bobtail did the paddock, 
 and had her own choice spots of greenest 
 pasture, the greenest and freshest of them 
 all being the shelf where Mallory's " His- 
 tory of King Arthur, and the Knights 
 of the Round Table," was kept. Linnet 
 could say chapters of those old volumes 
 by heart. Many a talk had she had with 
 Miss Alvisa, when German translations 
 and humorous etchings were put aside, 
 about the deep meaning which underlies 
 those stories of inediasval days : how they 
 are but the pictures of a human life, 
 true to itself through all time and out- 
 ward change ; how the old knightly 
 struggle with foul fiend, and enemy, 
 
 e2 
 
 LIBftAKf —
 
 52 a man's mistake. 
 
 and traitor, the pressing through pathless 
 forest and over stormy sea, the wounds 
 received almost unto death, the noble 
 deeds doue and perils overcome, until at 
 last the vision of the Holy Grail was 
 given, and the knight passed through 
 death into the presence of his "fair 
 Father, Christ," were but a story told in 
 picture and allegory of the soul's struggle 
 with its spiritual enemy as it fares 
 through the lower life to the higher and 
 nobler one. For to achieve that quest of 
 the Sangreal is to see God as the pure in 
 heart see Him ; and so seeing Him, and 
 knowing His will and doing it, the body 
 of self falls off, and the spirit is freed to 
 heaven. And to this quest of the Holy 
 Grail the noblest only are called, chosen 
 from the company of loyal, faithful souls 
 to greater suffering and sorer loss than 
 their fellows; and to win it, one must, 
 like Sir Galahad, lose his life, and to miss 
 it, one need only, like Sir Lancelot, re-
 
 a man's mistake. 53 
 
 member how sweet that life is, and, tast- 
 ing all its sweetness, lose it at the last. 
 And none better than Miss Alvisa could 
 tell the meaning of those old tales, for she 
 had lived through it all herself. Truly if 
 ever knight achieved the quest of the 
 Sangreal, she, a quiet woman, lying in her 
 curtained room through years and years 
 of suffering, had so done ; and to win it, 
 she had, like Sir Galahad, suffered the loss 
 of many things, yet, losing them all, she 
 could say, as the old knight did, " I thank 
 thee, for now I see that that hath been 
 my desire for many a day." 
 
 So, with Miss Clerehart for her friend, 
 Linnet did not fare badly, and the life 
 lived by the brother and sister at Florey 
 Castle was peaceful and pleasant as need 
 be, until the summer of that year when 
 Mrs. Plummersleigh came to stay with 
 the doctor's wife, and then Mrs. Martlet 
 began to notice what she emphatically 
 called " a change " in Mr. Aubury.
 
 54 a man's mistake. 
 
 Was it that the land was not prosper- 
 ing, or that money affairs were going 
 wrong, or that some bodily ailment was 
 preying upon him, or that a cloud had 
 come up between him and his little step- 
 sister, now growing into woman's estate? 
 No, not a cloud between those two, at any 
 rate ; for the old woman, whose percep- 
 tions were keen enough where Linnet's 
 happiness was concerned, took note that 
 never had the master's eyes rested so 
 lovingly upon the girl, or his voice 
 dropped to such a tender tone in speaking 
 to her. Linnet and her brother falling 
 out ! no, not that, anything but that, and 
 the girl herself as bright and cheerful as 
 ever, wandering about the pastures with 
 Bobtail and singing through the house, 
 ready for anything and everything but 
 the learning of those domestic duties 
 which some day would surely be so 
 important to her.
 
 a man's mistake. 55 
 
 But something there was, and sorely 
 good Mrs. Martlet puzzled herself to find 
 it out, though not a word would she speak 
 to anyone about it — as yet.
 
 56 
 
 CHAPTER Y. 
 
 rpHIS was the something : 
 -*• In the June of that summer, Owen 
 Aubuiy and his sister were strolling one 
 sunny morning round the farm, not exactly 
 in company, however, for Linnet was con- 
 stantly starting off with Snip after a stray 
 squirrel that rustled through the copse, or 
 some bright-bodied dragon-fly that lured 
 them away in the direction of the swan- 
 pools, so leaving Mr. Aubury to meditate 
 at his leisure over the pleasant prospect 
 of the ten acre wheat-field, where the 
 young, yellowy-green ears were already 
 beginning to promise what they would do
 
 a man's mistake. 57 
 
 when harvest came. And he was thus 
 meditating after his quiet fashion when 
 Mr. Flowerdale, walking homewards from 
 Pangfoss, an outlying district in his 
 parish, struck into one of the farm pas- 
 tures, across which there was a footpath 
 to the high-road, and so caught sight 
 of Mr. Aubury, alone just then amongst 
 his young crops. 
 
 The vicar cleared the stile at a bound 
 and joined him. 
 
 "Good morning, Aubury. All alone 
 again r 
 
 " Not quite. Linnet's over there in the 
 plantation." 
 
 " Where she'll stay, if it's a rabbit that 
 took her there, so it comes to the same 
 thing." 
 
 And then, after a remark or two on the 
 weather, and a few words of compliment, 
 which indeed seemed only its due, to the 
 softly-waving summer wheat, Mr. Flower- 
 dale dropped a step or two nearer to his
 
 58 a man's mistake. 
 
 companion, and seemed to be settling 
 down for a chat. 
 
 " I say, Aubury, should you mind my 
 telling you what has been on my mind a 
 good deal this last month or so ?" 
 
 " Not a bit, Mr. Flowerdale. Say on." 
 
 " It's about Linnet. You know she 
 isn't such a child as she used to be." 
 
 " Isn't she ? I don't see much differ- 
 ence." 
 
 " Ay, you don't, of course. That's just 
 where it is. People who are always see- 
 ing don't see. Now I daresay she's only 
 little Miss Pinafore to you, just as she 
 was half a score years ago ; but to other 
 people she is a handsome young girl, 
 quite ready to take her own place in 
 society." 
 
 " Nonsense, Mr. Flowerdale," said Lin- 
 net's brother, to whom the idea of her 
 being ready for anything else than a 
 scamper with Bobtail, or an evening of 
 ballad-singing with himself, seemed simply
 
 a man's mistake. 59 
 
 ridiculous. " As if society had any place 
 in it for a little harum-scarum like my 
 sister." 
 
 " Society always has a place in it for a 
 pretty girl who lives in a home like this, 
 Aubury. And, whether you are prepared 
 for it or not, she will soon find her way 
 iuto it. The truth is, my dear fellow, 
 Miss Aubury has come to an age when 
 she needs a lady to look after her a little, 
 and go out with her, and introduce her, 
 and that sort of thing, you know." 
 
 Mr. Aubury looked perplexed. This 
 was quite a new light upon his duty as 
 guardian of the rosy- cheeked, black-haired 
 little orphan girl. 
 
 Mr. Flowerdale continued, 
 
 " You can t put old heads upon young 
 shoulders, and, if you could, they wouldn't 
 look half so pretty as the young ones. 
 But if you could get heads a little bit 
 older, and shoulders a little bit older too, 
 to keep alongside of the others, it wouldn't
 
 60 a man's mistake. 
 
 be a bad thing. Not that you would ever 
 marry for your own sake, Aubury." 
 
 The vicar had said wisely there, though 
 not knowing how wisely. For his own 
 sake the master of Florey Castle was 
 never likely to marry. And, until now, 
 the thought that for another's sake he 
 should do so had not presented itself to 
 his mind. And this principle lay at the 
 root of Owen Aubury's nature : that what 
 he would not do for himself, in great 
 things or in smaller, he would do for 
 another. Had he then, he asked himself, 
 strolling along there by the vicar's side 
 in the summer sunshine, had he in any 
 way failed in his duty to Linnet ? Had 
 he been thinking of her as a child, minis- 
 tering to her necessities as a child, amus- 
 ing himself with her as a child, whilst, 
 uncared for by him, all a woman's thoughts 
 had been growing up within her? And 
 he remembered the one woman he had 
 ever loved — truly he need never look far
 
 a man's mistake. 61 
 
 off to remember her — and he could but 
 own to himself that she was no older than 
 Linnet when first they learned the sweet 
 truth that out of all the world they be- 
 longed to each other. But then Linnet 
 had always been such a child. A child's 
 pleasures satisfied her now. He had 
 never seen a cloud upon her face yet that 
 a whinny from Bobtail or a kiss from 
 himself could not drive away. 
 
 "I think she is happy," he said, looking 
 across the field to where she was chasing* 
 Snip and the squirrels, diving in and out 
 amongst the copse, her bright blue skirts 
 indeed kilted, as Mrs. Flowerdale had re- 
 marked, slightly after the fashion of a 
 Leith fishwife, her long dark curls ca- 
 reering about in no sort of fashion at 
 all. 
 
 Linnet ready to go to balls and parties ? 
 Surely not. She must be happier amongst 
 the hazel copse. But he thought it with 
 a doubt. He was always ready to doubt
 
 62 a man's mistake. 
 
 anything which depended upon his own 
 well doing. 
 
 " Happy," and the vicar's blue eyes 
 were full of kindness, as he too looked 
 away to the little orphan girl. " Happy? 
 Well, I should say if you wanted to find 
 anyone who had just about as much en- 
 joyment put into her life as she could 
 hold, inside and out, Linnet Aubury would 
 be as near the mark as you could come. 
 But you know, my dear sir, one has to 
 think about other things in this world 
 than being happy." 
 
 " Of course, there is another world to 
 prepare for," answered Mr. Aubury, re- 
 spectfully, concluding that the vicar wished 
 to give a spiritual turn to the conversa- 
 tion, a thing he was not in the habit of do- 
 ing on chance occasions like the present, 
 though still a clergyman might now and 
 then think it necessary to temper the good 
 things of this life by reference to one in 
 which they would all count for nothing.
 
 a man's mistake. 63 
 
 Mr. Flowerdale only laughed good- 
 hum ouredly. 
 
 " Do you know, I thought as soon as 
 ever I said that you would take it by the 
 the wrong handle. I'm not such a simple- 
 ton as to come preaching to you, Aubury, 
 about things of that kind. I only wish I 
 may have as clean a bill to show as you 
 have when the time comes. And, even if 
 it wasn't so, I wouldn't waylay you about 
 it under cover of Linnet's affairs. No, 
 what I meant was this. A girl may be as 
 happy as she likes, but when she comes to 
 Linnet's age people will say — and very 
 naturally, too — that you are not doing 
 your duty by her unless you have a lady 
 in the house who can make it convenient 
 for her to go into society a little, and see 
 what is going on, and learn how to tie her 
 bonnet-strings properly, and all that sort 
 of thing. You know what I mean now, 
 don't you ?" 
 
 Mr. Aubury glanced at the short petti-
 
 64 a man's mistake. 
 
 coats, and the bat-strings not tied at all. 
 Yes, he began to know what Mr. Flower- 
 dale meant, and the vicar continued, 
 
 u You know one has to provide for 
 these things sooner or later, and, if you 
 don't mind my saying it to you, Aubury, 
 you couldn't provide for them better than 
 by marryiog a suitable lady yourself. You 
 see you haven't any aunts, or sisters, or 
 anything, who could come and stay with 
 you, and everybody is ready to talk about 
 a girl who goes about by herself, or who 
 stops at home and doesn't know how to 
 go about at all. If I have heard the 
 question asked once, I have heard it asked 
 a hundred times, why doesn't that fellow 
 Aubury marry ?" 
 
 " You see that is a matter a man must 
 settle for himself," answered the master of 
 Florey Castle, quietly. 
 
 " Well, yes, he must, unless he happens 
 to have some sensible women folk about
 
 a man's mistake. 65 
 
 who can settle it for him, and I am not 
 sure whether it doesn't get settled better 
 in that way than when he takes it alto- 
 gether into his own hands. But really I 
 was not thinking so much about yourself 
 as about Linnet, and how she needs some- 
 body just now to be a sort of elder sister 
 to her." 
 
 But at that moment Linnet, with Snip 
 and Bobtail after her, came up to the stile 
 which led into the wheat-field, and she was 
 over it with a bound much more active 
 than the vicar's, before she caught sight 
 of him. Then her face flushed all over 
 rosy red, and, with another bound, she 
 was back on the pasture side, giving 
 neither look nor sign of recognition to the 
 clerical wide-awake which was so politely 
 raised. And in a moment she was out of 
 sight amongst the copse, flying hat-strings, 
 tumbling curls, kilted-up skirts, and every- 
 thing. 
 
 VOL. I. F
 
 66 a man's mistake. 
 
 " There, you see," said the vicar, with a 
 smile. "Not quite ready for the ball- 
 room yet, eh, Aubury ?" 
 
 And Mr. Aubury was obliged to smile 
 too, though he felt uncomfortable, he 
 knew not why. And they began to talk 
 of something else.
 
 67 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 pwWEN AUBUBY was never just the 
 ^S same again, after that ten minutes' 
 chat with Mr. Flowerdale. 
 
 When they parted at the gate leading 
 into the high-road, he turned aside into the 
 dingle, following it as far as the swan- 
 pools, and then crossing a stile into a lane 
 hard bv the church, where stood an old- 
 fashioned house, Miss Alvisa Clerehart's 
 home. Miss Alvisa had gone to live there 
 with her mother when Captain Clerehart 
 died, nearly thirty years before. There 
 she had grown up into girlhood, and from 
 girlhood into happy maidenhood, and there 
 
 p2
 
 68 a man's mistake. 
 
 she had dreamed her dreams and built her 
 castles in the air, as happy maidens will ; 
 and there she had loved and been loved, 
 and under that big spreading beech-tree 
 on the lawn she had sat in the twilight for 
 speech with her lover, and at those old 
 stone-pillared gates, with their guarding 
 griffins all mossed and crumbling now 
 with age, she had said good-bye to him, 
 hoping for sweeter welcome soon. And 
 through those same gates, before ever 
 that welcome could be spoken, they 
 brought her crippled one day to the 
 couch from which, through ten long 
 years, she had never risen, never thought 
 now to rise again. 
 
 And yet, in all Abbot's Florey, there 
 was none brighter than Miss Alvisa Clere- 
 hart. There was no house in the place 
 that gathered more intellectual life into it 
 than hers did, nor any fireside where upon 
 occasion one could hear better things said, 
 nor any home where the heart of home
 
 a man's mistake. 69 
 
 beat more truly in tender ]ove and faith- 
 ful service than this, from which so much 
 that some might only call joy was cast 
 out. 
 
 Miss Alvisa lay in her little parlour 
 now, whose window looked across the 
 lawn, with its big spreading beech-tree, to 
 the garden-gate, and thence to the swan- 
 pools at the bottom of the castle grounds. 
 Owen Aubury knew she was there by the 
 embroidered curtain quite drawn aside 
 from the window. In summer time, when 
 Miss Alvisa was not lying under the 
 beech-tree, her couch was placed beside 
 the window, so that she could draw and 
 undraw the curtain as she pleased. And 
 when it was undrawn he might come in. 
 
 Most days he did come in, for Miss 
 Alvisa liked to talk over with him what 
 was going on in that world of religion, 
 politics, literature, and art from which for 
 ten years she had been shut out. And 
 the talk was not always on these subjects,
 
 70 a man's mistake. 
 
 either. Miss Clerehart was not entirely 
 ignorant npon turnips and the rotation of 
 crops. The cottages upon her little bit of 
 farm land, which Mr. Aubury overlooked 
 for her along with his own, were as well- 
 built, and well-drained, and well-ventilat- 
 ed, and kept in as good order as those of 
 the lord of the manor himself, the Duke of 
 Moreland, who lived at Abbot's Florey 
 Park, and was a very stirring man in 
 royal commissions upon sanitary matters. 
 And Miss Alvisa knew a good ear of 
 wheat when she saw it, and could give 
 her opinion about phosphates and bone 
 manures as applied to the land, and knew 
 when you might safely crop your ground 
 with roots, and at what yearly intervals 
 cereals should be introduced, as well as 
 any farmer in the parish, though she 
 knew when to talk about such things and 
 when to be silent. 
 
 But it was neither wheat, nor turnips, 
 nor politics, nor literature, nor labourers'
 
 A MAN S MISTAKE. 71 
 
 cottages which took Owen Aubury day by 
 day to that old house by the church, and 
 made him come out of it sad, quiet, yet 
 with a look of purpose in his face as of a 
 man who will do his work and fill his 
 place in the world, though from his fire- 
 side, too, so much that that world calls 
 joy has been cast out. 
 
 However, he only lingered outside to- 
 day, though the drawn-back curtain told 
 him that he might go in — only lingered 
 and loitered, and turned back and looked 
 towards the little window, close to which 
 Miss Alvisa lay. If a hand had beckoned 
 him, he would have obeyed. But the hand 
 which should have beckoned was just then 
 writing the finishing paragraphs of a chap- 
 ter of German translation, and the manu- 
 script must be sent away by that evening's 
 post. 
 
 At last, with a more perplexed look than 
 was generally upon his face when he left 
 the old house by the church, Owen Au-
 
 72 a man's mistake. 
 
 bury struck off into the fields, and made 
 for a bit of fir-plantation belonging to the 
 park. There was no lovelier bit of wood- 
 land in all the place, and a right of road 
 lay through it on to the moor beyond. 
 Sauntering in the thick covert of the firs, 
 far off the soft note of the wood-pigeon, 
 round him the rustle of last year's leaves 
 as a frightened rabbit hurried past over 
 them, he tried to think things into shape 
 for himself. His duty to Linnet. 
 
 So long as the girl was bright and 
 happy, so long as she looked up to him 
 out of those clear, dark eyes, in which, 
 search as deeply as he might, he could 
 find nothing but truth, purity, and in- 
 nocence, Mr. Aubury had not troubled 
 himself much as to whether what those 
 outside called his duty was done or 
 undone. 
 
 Legally, as Linnet's guardian, morally, 
 as her nearest, if not her only near, rela- 
 tion in all the world, it was his place to
 
 a man's mistake. 73 
 
 stand between her and any evil which 
 might happen to mind, body, or estate. 
 Taking these three one by one he might 
 say he had a clear enough conscience. 
 Estate Linnet had none to guard, though 
 little had the want of it troubled her as 
 yet, so caref ally had he sheltered her from 
 the pinch of that genteel poverty which, 
 but for him, would have been her portion. 
 As for her bodily health, she was straight 
 as a poplar and strong as a sapling oak, 
 ruddy as the roses which grew round her 
 own casement window over that chapel- 
 room, clear-eyed as the dew-drops which 
 fell from them in early morning, firm in 
 her saddle at the end of a day's hunting, 
 quick to climb the steep moorland which 
 sloped upward behind the castle farm, 
 and able to reach its summit with neither 
 panting breath nor trembling pulse. And 
 as for walking — but then she never had 
 anyone to walk with : " going out with 
 the dogs " not being in those days
 
 74 a man's mistake. 
 
 considered part of a young girl's duty. 
 
 As for her mental furnishing, and due 
 maidenly accomplishments, old Miss Grey 
 had looked after them to such purpose 
 that at eighteen Linnet could stitch like 
 Penelope, and spell out a French or Ger- 
 man story, and darn stockings — though 
 she hated doing it — so well that one could 
 not tell where the old part ended and the 
 new began ; and be a not unintelligent 
 companion for her brother when the his- 
 tory of his own or other times occupied 
 his thoughts ; and sketch from Nature little 
 bits and scraps of landscape so that you 
 could distinguish an oak from an elm, and 
 either from the blackberry or ivy which 
 wandered round it. 
 
 Having done thus much, old Miss Grey 
 had been content, and so had Mr. Aubury. 
 He did not go often into other people's 
 houses himself, but, when he did, he never 
 found a young girl in any of them who 
 had a better head, a kinder heart, a truer
 
 a man's mistake. 75 
 
 ring of ladyhood about her than his young 
 step-sister Linnet. 
 
 But the vicar had let in a new light 
 upon him. All these good and pleasant 
 things were means to an end, not the end 
 itself. Linnet was not growing up into 
 that beautiful, strong, young maidenhood 
 of hers to wear it out into middle life and 
 old age along with him there in that 
 mediaeval castle, amongst its musty armour, 
 its moth-eaten books, its remains of ruined 
 battlements and ivy-trailed arrow-slits, its 
 choice historical associations and grim 
 memories of bloodshed or imprisonment ; 
 nor even out in the broad sunshine of the 
 acres which surrounded it, with a rever- 
 sion to herself of pasture-lands and wheat- 
 fields when he could no longer watch the 
 young blades greening upon them. The 
 vicar had not said it, perhaps the vicar 
 had not even thought it, but Owen 
 Aubury's conscience, keen almost to a 
 fault in everything which touched the
 
 76 a man's mistake. 
 
 interests of those whom he had under- 
 taken to protect, told him that there was 
 a fibre of selfishness in all that he had 
 been doing for Linnet, in all that he was 
 hoping she would become to him. And, 
 of all others, selfishness was the sin from 
 which he recoiled. He knew himself 
 timid, doubtful, hesitating, where great 
 issues were at stake; shrinking where 
 strong, immediate action was required 
 from him ; feeble where to strike was to 
 give sharp if needful pain ; but selfish he 
 did not know himself to be, until that 
 chance ten minutes' conversation had 
 shown him what others, true and gener- 
 ous as himself, thought he owed to the 
 girl over whom he had been set as her 
 protector. 
 
 He had been thinking only of what he 
 could be to her, of what she could be to 
 him. Such as life was now to them both, 
 such he looked for it to remain indefi- 
 nitely. He had forgotten that some day
 
 A MAN S MISTAKE. 77 
 
 thoughts would waken in Linnet's heart 
 which she could not tell out altogether to 
 himself, longings that no love of his could 
 satisfy, interests in which he could not 
 share, except as a looker-on. Her life 
 must go on to its fair fruition, whilst his 
 rested quietly, its best in the past. He 
 could but be the feeding root and shelter- 
 ing leaf to the blossom whose home was 
 in the sunshine ; and, as that blossom 
 opened wider and wider to give its richest 
 scent and colour, the leaves which clasped 
 it once must shrivel to the ground — their 
 work was done. 
 
 Linnet had been growing up all these 
 years that some day she might become the 
 joy of a good man's home ; and to keep 
 her from it would be a wrong. Nay, even 
 the negative way of keeping her from it 
 by simply making her as happy as he 
 could, there in the old castle with himself, 
 would be a wrong too. That was what 
 Mr. Flowerdale had meant. Linnet ought
 
 78 a man's mistake. 
 
 to have her own chances in life as other 
 girls had them. And to that end she 
 ought to go into society, and from time 
 to time society ought to come to her. 
 That was also what Mr. Flowerdale had 
 meant. 
 
 Mr. Aubury had thought of that some- 
 times in a vague, uncircumstantial sort of 
 way. Linnet might marry. Mrs. Martlet 
 had said as much when she urged the 
 necessity of giving her regular lessons in 
 pastry and preserves and pickles and 
 home-made wines. Though where, living 
 as she did in that quiet, retired old home- 
 stead, and seeing no one but himself and 
 the vicar, a husband was to come from, 
 was a question he had not yet considered. 
 Still less had it ever occurred to him, as 
 good Mr. Flowerdale had now plainly 
 suggested, that he himself ought to do 
 something in behalf of Linnet's matri- 
 monial interests by providing a lady who 
 might go into company with her, and
 
 a man's mistake. 79 
 
 teach her all those pretty little tricks of 
 manner and fashion and neat-handedness 
 which the vicar had broadly generalised 
 under the head of "knowing how to tie 
 one's bonnet-strings." And the vicar was 
 a man who knew what women thought 
 about things. Doubtless he was only ex- 
 pressing, in his friendly way, what Mrs. 
 Flowerdale had said over and over again 
 to him by their own fireside, and Mrs. 
 Flowerdale was a lady of strong sense, 
 though she had a way of putting that 
 sense rather severely at times. 
 
 The gist of the whole matter was this : 
 he ought to marry a wife.
 
 80 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 nnHAT was stating the case in plain 
 ■*■ language. But, once having let the 
 thought enter his mind, Owen Aubury 
 could not rest until he had reasoned out 
 with himself whether or not it was truth 
 that had been spoken to him. If truth, 
 he would do what was right, let the doing 
 cost what it might. 
 
 And when any man has a will firmly set 
 to do what is right, and a conscience ready 
 to smite him keenly for even the semblance 
 of short-coming, and an active benevolence 
 which longs to do the best for everyone 
 whom it is his place to protect, he can
 
 a man's mistake. SI 
 
 easily convince himself that a course of 
 action which is distasteful to him may, by 
 reason of that very distastefulness, be the 
 one which, of all others, he ought to 
 pursue. 
 
 The axiom — " If two roads lie before 
 thee, and thou knowest not which to follow, 
 choose that which for thyself is fullest of 
 thorns," is a safe one for the majority of 
 men, who require, as a rule, little pressure 
 to compel them into a path where pre- 
 ference is already gently drawing. But it 
 has been the ruin of many a profoundly 
 conscientious nature, of some amongst 
 men, of more amongst women, because a 
 deeply religious woman lives habitually 
 by conscience, sometimes a misdirected 
 conscience, rather than by reason. And 
 Owen Aubury had a woman's keenness of 
 conscience, a woman's fineness of principle, 
 a woman's almost infinite power of self- 
 sacrifice, power to follow the right even 
 so much the more resolutely because it 
 
 VOL. I. G
 
 82 a man's mistake. 
 
 leads through peril and pain to what must 
 surely be peace at last. And so it was 
 that the vicar's words had fallen into good 
 ground. 
 
 "Mr. Aubury, I am sure you are the 
 last man in the world to trespass upon 
 anyone else's rights, but you know the 
 old duke is so particular about his game, 
 and the doctor says there are heaps of 
 young birds all about here. That is why 
 they have so many notices put up. And 
 there might even be man-traps, too." 
 
 Mrs. Polemont said this with a sound 
 of mischief and merriment in her voice. 
 And looking up and clearing away the 
 mist of speculations which had been 
 gathering round him for the last hour, 
 Owen Aubury found himself trampling 
 down the young green ferns in the choicest 
 corner of the Duke of Moreland's pre- 
 serves, whilst only a few yards on his 
 right was a wire fencing, on the other
 
 a mam's mistake. 83 
 
 side of which Mrs. Polemont and her 
 friend Mrs. Plummersleigh were following 
 the legitimate road through the plantation. 
 How he had got there from the old vicar- 
 age he could not tell, bat there he was, 
 and, if he had been a poor man, it might 
 have gone hardly with him, gamekeepers 
 being thick upon the ground just then. 
 
 " Never mind, we won't tell of you," 
 said Mrs. Polemont. " I hate getting a 
 man into trouble. I lifted a little lad over 
 the fence here only the other day, because 
 he had got lost, and I saw one of the 
 keepers coming. But you don't go birds'- 
 nesting, I should think !" 
 
 " I really don't know where I was going," 
 said Mr. Aubury, very truthfully. " I sup- 
 pose I missed my way amongst the side- 
 paths. At any rate, I am very much 
 obliged to you for bringing me to order." 
 
 " Yes, and the duke such a man as he is 
 about his game. Knock one of his labourers 
 about as much as you like, and it is not 
 
 g2
 
 84 a man's mistake. 
 
 of the slightest consequence, but lay your 
 hands on a partridge and then see what 
 will happen. However, I should think 
 they are almost strong enough now to 
 get out of your way, if you should happen 
 to disturb them ; and look, here is a bit of 
 wire fencing lower than the rest, you can 
 jump over it as easily as can be." 
 
 Which Mr. Aubury did, and found him- 
 self side by side with the two ladies. 
 
 " I think I need not introduce you to 
 Mrs. Plummersleigh," said the doctors 
 wife. " You have met before." 
 
 Mr. Aubury had no recollection of it ; 
 still it might be so. Nor did Mrs. Plum- 
 mersleigh, who saw that he had forgotten 
 her, attempt to bring herself to his re- 
 membrance. Eaising his hat, he bowed 
 to a lady who was quiet-looking, fair-com- 
 plexioned, not quite so old, perhaps, as 
 Miss Alvisa. And then he fell back to 
 the other side of Mrs. Polemont. 
 
 " Mrs. Plummersleigh is paying me a
 
 . a man's mistake. 85 
 
 long visit, and I want her to become well 
 acquainted with the beauties of Abbot's 
 Florey. Not that it is such a remarkably 
 pretty place ; but, when one is fresh from 
 the narrow streets of Broadminster, a 
 little goes a long way. I remember, when 
 I was first married and came here, this bit 
 of woodland scenery seemed perfection. 
 Just this little bit, you know, between the 
 keeper's cottage and the old heronry." 
 
 " It seems perfection to me now," said 
 Mr. Aubury, quietly. 
 
 But Mrs. Polemont only laughed. 
 
 " Oh ! nonsense, Mr. Aubury, and you 
 living no one knows how many years 
 amongst those magnificent jungles in Cey- 
 lon. As if a few mop-handles of fir-trees, 
 and some twopenny-halfpenny wild-flowers, 
 could be perfection to you! You know, 
 Mrs. Plummersleigh, Mr. Aubury has lived 
 half his life in the East. He only says 
 this is pretty just to please us." 
 
 Mrs. Plummersleigh leaned forward a
 
 86 a man's mistake. 
 
 little now, enough to take note of the 
 gentleman who had forgotten her. Not 
 that that was of any consequence, how- 
 ever, for she was not a woman who cared 
 to make impressions. She knew Ceylon 
 chiefly in connection with the spicy breezes 
 which blow over it in Bishop Heber's 
 hymn, and of course she had read of it in 
 missionary notices, and in her geography • 
 but she had never yet met a man who had 
 lived there, except at a meeting of the 
 Propagation Society in Broadminster, and 
 he was entirely too yellow for anyone to 
 take an interest in him, unless it might be 
 the interest of pity. Now Mr. Aubury was 
 not yellow at all, and so there was uo 
 barrier to being interested in him. But 
 he might have matched a new sovereign 
 for colouring so far as any manifestation 
 on Mrs. Plummersleigh's part went. Appa- 
 rently her interest was not easily roused, 
 nor did she exert herself to rouse that of
 
 a man's mistake. 87 
 
 others. Mrs. Polemont had to do most of 
 the talking. 
 
 But in that slight forward movement 
 Mr. Aubury had caught sight of her face 
 again, and something in its quietness 
 pleased him. It was the face of a woman 
 who had made up her mind as to what she 
 had to do in the world ; a woman who had 
 no eagerness, no restlessness about her ; a 
 woman who was content to walk steadily 
 forward on the broad straight track of 
 duty. This was the story Mrs. Plummers- 
 leigh's face told to Mr. Aubury before she 
 drew back again into her place on the 
 further side of Mrs. Polemont. 
 
 "Well, I must say/' continued that 
 vivacious little lady, "I do like you for 
 being able to praise this bit of plantation 
 path. Most men who have travelled make 
 a point of looking down upon everything 
 in their native country. Now there is 
 Mr. Burstborough. Do you know Mr. 
 Burstborough ?"
 
 88 a man's mistake. 
 
 " No," said Mr. Anbury. " I know 
 scarcely anybody about here." 
 
 " Well, he is only about here for a tem- 
 porary thing. He belougs to Broadmin- 
 ster, and has taken a place here for the 
 fishing, and he was in Switzerland last 
 August, and ever since he shuts his eyes 
 when he goes through a fir-plantation, for 
 fear, he says, of spoiling the recollection. 
 Now I say, if it has that effect upon people, 
 they had better stay at home. I call them 
 mop-handles, but I love them all the same, 
 and I can't tell you how much enjoyment 
 I get out of them and the twopenny-half- 
 penny wild-flowers too. And I am so glad 
 to hear }^ou say you think they are worth 
 looking at. I do like people to care for 
 their own country, whether it is fashion- 
 able or not." 
 
 Now Owen Aubury loved that bit of 
 plantation so much because, walking down 
 it one summer morning, years and years 
 ago, with the only woman who had ever
 
 a man's mistake. 89 
 
 touched his heart, he had told her the 
 story of his love; and she, listening, had 
 let him tell on, and told her own in 
 answer. And that was why Owen Aubury 
 had never married. But of course Mrs. 
 Polemont did not know anything about it. 
 No one did, except those two. 
 
 " How is Linnet, Mr. Aubury ?" 
 
 " Oh ! all right, thank you ; tearing 
 about over the farm, and amusing herself 
 with Snip and the rest of them. She was 
 out with me this morning, and I declare 
 she knows the look of the land almost as 
 well as a man could do." 
 
 " Curious !" 
 
 And there was just the faintest little 
 hint of surprise, perhaps reproof, in Mrs. 
 Polemont's voice and the way in which 
 she drew herself aside. How could Mr. 
 Aubury allow that sort of thing? But in 
 a moment she began again, as cheerily as 
 ever, 
 
 " I suppose you will let her go into
 
 90 A MAIS ; S MISTAKE. 
 
 company a little some of these days ? " 
 
 "Well, yes, I suppose I must. It is 
 what most girls have to do, sooner or 
 later." 
 
 u Have to do ? Oh ! come, Mr. Aubury, 
 you need not put it in that way. Why, it 
 is just the very thing of all others that 
 they enjoy most." 
 
 "Well, you see, Linnet has not much 
 taste for it." 
 
 " That is because she has had no oppor- 
 tunity of finding out whether she has a 
 taste or not. She will be wonderfully 
 different from other girls, if she does not 
 like a dance now and then. It seems 
 almost unkind nob to give her the oppor- 
 tunity. Dear me ! what would my life 
 have been to me before I was married, if I 
 could not have had all that sort of fun ? 
 You know, it is what a girl naturally ex- 
 pects." 
 
 Mr. Aubury sighed. Just the vicars 
 conversation over again. It must be,
 
 a man's mistake. 91 
 
 then, that he had been dealing hardly 
 with Linnet, in keeping her from the 
 amusements of other girls, or at any rate 
 in not giving her the chance of joining in 
 them. And it was to this that Mrs. Pole- 
 mont's next remark pointed. 
 
 £f It is such a pity when a young girl 
 has no one to take her to anything of the 
 kind. It seems to shut her up so. Now, 
 if that dear old Miss Alvisa had not been 
 such an invalid, she would have been the 
 very person." 
 
 Mr. Aubury made no reply. 
 
 " The very person, because, you know, 
 she does not think too much about that 
 sort of thing, and she would just have 
 given Linnet a proper insight into society, 
 without letting her get entirely taken up 
 by it. I wish I could do anything for her 
 myself." 
 
 "I wish you could," said Mr. Aubury, 
 helplessly; and then, to his great relief, 
 he found that they had come to the little
 
 92 a man's mistake. 
 
 path which led through the plantation to 
 the doctor's house. 
 
 " I think we must go down here," said 
 Mrs. Polemont ; " George always likes me 
 to be at home when he comes in from his 
 morning's round. Tell Linnet I shall be 
 glad to see her any time. Perhaps she 
 and Mrs. Plummersleigh might like to 
 take a walk together. Mrs. Plummers- 
 leigh is a great walker." 
 
 Mr. Aubury looked at the lady, who 
 assented by a quiet smile, nothing more. 
 
 " Thank you very much, but I am afraid 
 Mrs. Plummersleigh will not care for the 
 company of such a very countrified child 
 as my little Linnet." 
 
 "I shall be quite glad," said Mrs. 
 Plummersleigh. " I am fond of young 
 people ; and it is pleasant to have a com- 
 panion in a long walk." 
 
 She said this cordially, but with no show 
 of eagerness. She was evidently not anxi- 
 ous to push herself into intimacy even
 
 a man's mistake. 93 
 
 ■with such eligible people as the master of 
 the castle and his sister. And^ as Mr. 
 Aubury shook hands with her at parting, 
 he was conscious of a wish to become 
 better acquainted.
 
 94 
 
 CHAPTEK, VIII. 
 
 " A PLEASANT, gentlemanly man, is 
 -*-■*- be not, Maria ?" asked Mrs. Pole- 
 mont, when Mr. Aubury was well out of 
 hearing. 
 
 For, in ordinary intercourse, the two 
 ladies called each other by their Christian 
 names : the elder allowing it as cementing 
 a useful intimacy which was really enjoy- 
 able to her ; the younger falling into it 
 because of a certain warm-heartedness 
 which made her long to get rid of the 
 " Miss " and " Mrs." when in intimate com- 
 panionship with people she liked so well 
 as this discreet, sympathetic, and con- 
 venient Mrs. Plummersleigh.
 
 a man's mistake. 95 
 
 "Yes," said Maria. "I should judge 
 so. With a short memory ; for, if you re- 
 member, we dined with him at the vicarage 
 only a fortnight after I came here, and 
 Mrs. Flowerdale made us partners at whist 
 afterwards." 
 
 " Ah ; but, you see, that is nearly six 
 weeks ago, and he is a man who takes so 
 little notice of anything. Why, he has 
 walked past me in the village over and 
 over again, and never so much as given 
 me a look. I expect he is always taken 
 up with his own thoughts. And you your- 
 self, Maria, are so very quiet at whist. It 
 is the merest chance, if you speak a word." 
 
 "Yes. I forget whether Miss Aubury 
 is his daughter or not." 
 
 " Then you needn't talk about other 
 people having short memories ; for I am 
 sure I told you all about him after that 
 dinner-party. He has never been married, 
 and Linnet is his half-sister — full five and 
 twenty years younger than himself, I
 
 96 a man's mistake. 
 
 should say — and he does everything for 
 her." 
 
 " Of course. Who else should do it?" 
 
 " I don't see any of course in it. It is 
 not every half-brother who would take the 
 entire responsibility of an orphan girl, 
 with not a penny to bless herself with ex- 
 cept her pension ; and that would not put 
 her to the commonest boarding-school, to 
 say nothing of dress." 
 
 u Then why is there such a difference in 
 their circumstances ?" 
 
 "Because his mother's sister — who, of 
 course, was nothing to Linnet — left him 
 the castle property; and then he was 
 already established on the coffee-planta- 
 tion. And when a man gets a start like 
 that he is all right." 
 
 "It is singular that he has never 
 married." 
 
 "Very. Unless it is that he is so shy. 
 I believe, if any sensible woman would 
 help him, it might soon be brought about ;
 
 a man's mistake. 97 
 
 for he would make one of the best hus- 
 bands in the world. I wish I knew any- 
 body who would do for him. I am sure I 
 would help him all I could." 
 
 Mrs. Polemont said this guilefully, be- 
 cause all the time she did know somebody 
 suitable, and had made up her mind, too, 
 that, so far as good-will of hers could 
 bring it about, he should marry that some- 
 body. But then, of course, it was neces- 
 sary to throw dust into people's eyes 
 sometimes. And, if her plans did come 
 right, she would confess everything after- 
 wards. 
 
 "And not for his sake only, Maria. I 
 do feel so sorry for that poor girl, shut up 
 amongst turnips and rabbits, and all that 
 sort of thing, instead of amusing herself 
 like other young people. Oh dear ! if she 
 only had a lady about her to form her 
 manners and prepare her for society, and 
 go into it with her." 
 
 Mrs. Plummersleigh apparently did not 
 
 VOL. I. H
 
 98 a man's mistake. 
 
 find the subject interesting. They were 
 at the end of the village now. 
 
 " Did you not say, Isabel, that we were 
 to get some huckaback towelling before 
 we went home ? There is the shop just 
 across the way, and it would be such a 
 pity to have to come back on purpose." 
 
 Isabel felt a little disappointed. But 
 then Maria was a person who did not 
 quickly take in new ideas. And perhaps 
 it was just as well that, as regarded what 
 was uppermost in Mrs. Polemont's mind, 
 she should not have any ideas at all. So 
 the towelling was bought. 
 
 In the course of a few days Mr. Aubury 
 called upon Mrs. Polemont and her friend. 
 Which was not more, perhaps, than Mrs. 
 Polemont expected, under the circum- 
 stances, had it not been that, as she re- 
 marked to Mrs. Plummersleigh, Mr. 
 Aubury was a man from whom no one 
 expected anything at all in the way of 
 calls. But, what was more to the pur-
 
 a man's mistake. 99 
 
 pose, he brought Linnet with him, and 
 that, of course, was just the same as say- 
 ing that he should be glad for both the 
 ladies to go up and see them at the castle. 
 
 "I don't believe you half know what a 
 struggle it must have been to him to do 
 it, Maria," said Mrs. Polemont, when the 
 call was over, and it had been arranged 
 that they were all to have a walk to- 
 gether on the following day, herself and 
 Mr. Aubury going too, for the sake of 
 making Linnet feel not quite so much 
 amongst strangers. " He is one of the 
 shyest men you ever came across, and I 
 believe that is why he has never mar- 
 ried. Poor fellow! I do pity a man when 
 he is shy, and yet has to go out and make 
 calls. But he is doing it for Linnet's 
 sake. Do you feel as if you could be kind 
 to her, Maria ?" 
 
 u Kind, Isabel ?" And Mrs. Plummers- 
 leigh scarcely paused in copying out from 
 her book a list of the women in her dis- 
 
 h2
 
 300 a man's mistake. 
 
 trict. She had been busy with it when 
 the visitors arrived, and lost no time, after 
 their departure, in setting to work again. 
 "Kind? Why, of course I feel as if I 
 could be kind to her. Why should I feel 
 in any other way ? I am sure she is 
 simple enough." 
 
 " Oh ! yes, indeed, as simple as * Line 
 upon Line ' and ' The Peep of Day.' One 
 can't go farther than that, as regards sim- 
 plicity. But what I mean is, do you feel 
 as if you could be very much interested in 
 her ?" 
 
 " I haven't begun to feel about it at all, 
 Isabel. You know I do not easily take to 
 fresh people." 
 
 " Well, no, perhaps not. I always said 
 you had a great deal of caution about you. 
 Still it would be very nice for Linnet if 
 you would take kindly to her. You see, 
 there are so few young people about 
 here." 
 
 "I am not a young person myself," said
 
 a man's mistake. 101 
 
 Maria, glancing across to the mirror, not 
 without the faintest shadow of annoyance 
 upon her quiet face. 
 
 " I never said you were. What Linnet 
 needs is not so much a young person as 
 somebody a good deal older than herself, 
 who could be pleasant and companionable, 
 without becoming familiar. Now I couldn't 
 be of any use, because I have no dignity. 
 We should get talking nonsense directly, 
 just as if we were a couple of school-girls. 
 If only Miss Alvisa were able to go about 
 now!" 
 
 " Who is Miss Alvisa ?" 
 
 " Maria ! Talk about short memories 
 again. And I am sure you must have 
 heard George say, over and over again, 
 what a peculiar case hers is. She lives at 
 the old vicarage, that pretty house, you 
 know, on the other side of the church. 
 And she had an accident of some kind, 
 and lies on her back from morning to 
 night in the very loveliest room you ever
 
 102 a man's mistake. 
 
 saw. She must be very artistic, and that 
 sort of thing ; for, if you look at the things 
 one by one, there is nothing remarkable 
 about them, and yet somehow the place is 
 a perfect picture. I should like to take 
 you to call ; but she is a woman who does 
 not care much for general society. Linnet 
 goes to see her most days, and Mr. Aubury 
 manages a little bit of farm-land for her. 
 Now it would be all right if she could go 
 about with Linnet ; but of course she can't, 
 and I should be so glad if you would take 
 kindly to the poor girl instead." 
 
 "Does Fanny Wright live at the upper 
 or lower end of Duke's Yard ?" said Mrs. 
 Plummersleigh, copying a fresh name 
 from her book, and that was all the reply 
 she made. 
 
 Isabel shrugged her shoulders. 
 
 "Maria, you are such a woman of one 
 thing at a time." 
 
 " I am what Providence made me, 
 Isabel."
 
 a man's mistake. 103 
 
 "No, you are not. At least not here. 
 You are what the clergyman of the parish 
 makes you, and nothing more. You don't 
 seem to have a wish or a purpose apart 
 from that sort of thing. If Mr. Flower- 
 dale told you to go and stand on the top 
 of the church steeple for a weathercock, 
 you would almost do it." 
 
 " I would do nothing contrary to reason, 
 Isabel." 
 
 " I don't know. I'm sure it's contrary 
 enough to reason to go poking on with 
 those lists when I want to talk to you 
 about the way in which Mr. Aubury has 
 come out of his shell to get you to take a 
 little notice of Linnet. Why, if it had 
 been either of the Miss Laudervilles who 
 had been asked to call at the castle, the 
 whole village would have heard about it in 
 a quarter of an hour, and here you can't 
 think of anything but where some stupid 
 Fanny Wright or other lives."
 
 104 a man's mistake. 
 
 " I have not been asked to call anywhere, 
 Isabel." 
 
 " You have, or, at any rate, it comes to 
 the same thing, when Miss Aubury has 
 called here upon you. Two cards, Maria. 
 You can't get over that." 
 
 " Isabel, what is the use ? As if I had 
 no common-sense." 
 
 "You have plenty of common-sense, 
 Maria, so much that you don't seem to 
 have any to spare for things that are not 
 common. Why, anybody gets asked to 
 take a tract district, but anybody doesn't 
 get asked to take a walk with Linnet 
 Aubury. Her brother is dreadfully par- 
 ticular about whom she is intimate with. 
 And you stick to that list of old women 
 as if there was nothing else in the world." 
 
 " I have finished the list now. Is there 
 anything else you would like to say ?" 
 
 " Yes, there is. I don't like that brown 
 straw bonnet of yours, Maria. With your
 
 A MAN S MISTAKE. 105 
 
 black silk dress it is simply dowdy. You 
 ought to have myrtle green, or the very 
 deepest navy blue. I should say navy 
 blue, for that would bring out what warm 
 colouring there is in your complexion. 
 You might make yourself look very nice 
 if you took more pains." 
 
 " But the brown straw was new only 
 just before I came here." 
 
 " I don't care when it was new, but I 
 do care whether it suits you or not, and I 
 shall get George to drive me over to 
 Broadminster this very afternoon, and I 
 shall buy some silk and make you one my- 
 self. I won't have you going about in a 
 thing that isn't good taste, and in a village 
 like this, where people take so much 
 notice." 
 
 " But," said the impenetrable Maria, 
 carefully wiping her pen, and putting it 
 away, " why did you not find out before 
 that my bonnet was ugly? I wrote to
 
 106 a mam's mistake. 
 
 Hursley's only last week for gloves, and I 
 could have ordered the silk as easily as 
 not, if you had only told me." 
 
 " I am sure I don't know why I didn't. 
 But I am quite sure of this," said Mrs. 
 Polemont, with the air of a pretty spoiled 
 little woman, who is accustomed to have 
 her own way in everything, "I hate the 
 brown straw bonnet, and you shan't put 
 it ou when we go out with Linnet Aubury 
 to-morrow morning, if I have to sit up till 
 midnight to make you another. I don't 
 know how it is, but I take fits about things 
 sometimes, and I can't be comfortable until 
 I have altered them. Shall it be silk or 
 terry, for to Broadminster I mean to go 
 as soon as George can drive me ?" 
 
 " Whatever you like, Isabel ; I am in 
 your hands," said Mrs. Plummersleigh, 
 calmly. 
 
 "Yery well, then, it is all right; it shall 
 be silk, and, if it doesn't make you look 
 ten — no, five years younger, I will engage
 
 a man's mistake. 107 
 
 to wear out the ugly old brown thing for 
 you;' 
 
 And to Hursley's the little woman did 
 go that very afternoon, and by sundown 
 she had finished as pretty a bonnet as any 
 lady, whose circumstances of widowhood 
 precluded her from overmuch participa- 
 tion in the pomps and vanities of the 
 world, could wish to wear.
 
 108 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 rpHE two ladies called at the castle, and 
 -*■ the walk was taken as arranged. 
 Perhaps it was not unnatural, Mrs. Pole- 
 mont being so much more chatty and 
 sociable with young people than Mrs. 
 Plummersleigh, that she should take 
 Linnet under her own charge when they 
 had got well out of the village, and the 
 two were soon enjoying themselves, as 
 Mrs. Polemont had said would be the 
 case, like a couple of schoolgirls, while the 
 elder branches came on at their own pace 
 behind. 
 
 What they talked of through the fern- 
 fringed glades of the park, and the lane
 
 a man's mistake. 109 
 
 which led out from it to the moorland 
 slopes, was probably of slight interest. 
 Mrs. Polemont and her companion, slack- 
 ening speed now and then, and dropping at 
 random into the conversation, heard a little 
 about the jungle scenery of Ceylon, and 
 then a little — this from Mrs. Plummers- 
 leigh — about the difficulty of bettering the 
 poor, and afterwards something about 
 cathedral towns in general, and Broad- 
 minster in particular, after which there 
 came a few remarks on shooting and deer- 
 stalking, amusements which Mr. Aubury, 
 though such a quiet man, thoroughly 
 enjoyed. And then, greatly to Mrs. Pole- 
 mont's satisfaction, he drew his com- 
 panion's attention to a splendid cluster of 
 wild roses which grew high up on the 
 bank, and asked her to wait until he 
 climbed up to gather it for her. Of 
 course this occupied rather a long time, 
 and, when the branch had been trimmed 
 of its thorns and given to Mrs. Plummers-
 
 110 a man's mistake. 
 
 leigh, Mrs. Polemont and Linnet were so 
 far in advance that it was clearly useless 
 to try to overtake them. 
 
 Nevertheless it was Maria who, when 
 the winding road had brought them in 
 sight of the village again, did hurry on to 
 join Linnet; and it was Maria too, who, 
 when something was said about following 
 the carriage road through the park, and 
 so lengthening the walk by nearly a mile, 
 remarked, without the least air of disap- 
 pointment or regret, that one of her boots 
 was rather uncomfortable, and she would 
 prefer going direct home. But still it 
 was a very pleasant walk, and that Mr. 
 Aubury and his sister enjoyed it was 
 evident from the fact that they both of 
 them said in parting that they should be 
 very glad if, at any time when Mrs. 
 Polemont and Mrs. Plummersleigh were 
 out in that direction, they would come up 
 to the castle and give Linnet the oppor- 
 tunity of another stroll.
 
 a man's mistake. Ill 
 
 " They seem quite inclined to be friend- 
 ly, do they not, Maria?" said Mrs. Pole- 
 mont. when they were back again in the 
 doctor's dining-room. 
 
 " Well, yes, I daresay ;" and Maria 
 stooped to pull off the offending boot. A 
 tight, trim, pretty little boot it was too, 
 though Mrs. Plummersleigh manifested no 
 consciousness of that fact as she let it 
 swing carelessly by the loop at the back. 
 " Linnet is rather too uncertain perhaps 
 sometimes ; she makes you uncomfortable 
 by her shyness, and then, whilst you are 
 trying to put her at her ease, she goes to 
 the other extreme and almost startles you 
 by her impulsiveness. I don't seem to 
 have made much out of her yet." 
 
 " That is because you are so staid 
 yourself, Maria. I don't think I ever 
 knew anyone take things in such a matter- 
 of-fact way as you do. And of course 
 you notice things more when you are 
 with girls like linnet. I am sure it will
 
 112 a man's mistake. 
 
 be all right when you know her better." 
 
 " Oh, yes, no doubt, Isabel. And, if 
 not, it is of no consequence." 
 
 But Isabel did not assent to that. 
 
 " Maria," she said, changing the conver- 
 sation, " I am so glad I insisted upon your 
 having the navy-blue bonnet. Of all 
 things that put me out of temper, a 
 brown bonnet and a black silk dress do 
 it most effectually. Just come to the 
 glass now and see what a difference I have 
 made in you." 
 
 Maria came, little Mrs. Polemont pranc- 
 ing round about her, and giving the bonnet 
 a tilt, now up, now down, to see in which 
 position it suited its wearer best. 
 
 " Well on your forehead, Maria, is the 
 place for it, because it takes off from the 
 length of your face. And now that people 
 wear their hair down over their eyes so, 
 one looks unfurnished with such a great 
 piece seen at the top. You wouldn't like 
 to take to a fringe, would you, Maria?
 
 a man's mistake. • 113 
 
 Or else it would become you very well, 
 because of such a quantity of forehead." 
 
 Mrs. Plummersleigh said she was afraid 
 the fringe would be out of place. 
 
 "Well, yes, perhaps it would. And 
 your style so very quiet in other respects. 
 But still, keep the bonnet well down, and 
 you will be all right. There now, that is 
 perfection. Maria, I told you I should 
 make you look five years younger, and I 
 have done it." 
 
 Mrs. Plummersleigh studied herself, or 
 rather the bonnet, carefully, though with 
 not at all the air of a woman to whom her 
 personal appearance is a matter of mo- 
 ment. That she should look neat, and, as 
 the phrase goes, " ladylike," was evidently 
 all she desired. And Mrs. Plummersleigh 
 was both. 
 
 She had a good figure, rather above 
 than below the middle height, with a scar- 
 city of tissue about it which, at thirty, 
 gave the impression of slenderness. She 
 
 VOL. i. I
 
 114 a man's mistake. 
 
 had an abundance of light-brown hair, 
 which she wore neatly braided, low at the 
 back of the head, in opposition to the then 
 prevailing fashion of high top braids. Her 
 forehead was a trifle too high and bald, 
 but it showed sense. She had light eyes, 
 very much the colour of her hair, with 
 thick lashes of a still lighter shade, and 
 she had a pale but evenly-tinted com- 
 plexion. The little warmth of tone there 
 was about her was well brought out by the 
 deep blue of the bonnet, to which Mrs. 
 Polemont was still giving alternate tilts 
 and pokes to satisfy herself as to its most 
 becoming position. 
 
 "I am so glad I thought of it, Maria. 
 I shall not rest now until you have a silk 
 dress exactly the same shade." 
 
 " Cashmere," said Maria, leaving the 
 looking-glass, and fingering in an absent 
 sort of way the cluster of wild-roses which 
 Mr. Aubury had given her. " I could not
 
 a man's mistake. 115 
 
 afford a silk one. It would make a neat 
 costume though." 
 
 " Very well, cashmere. I don't care 
 about the material, so long as you give in 
 to the colour. It is your everlasting 
 brown and black which I abominate so. 
 Then I shall write to mamma to-night and 
 ask her to send me patterns from Hurs- 
 ley's, and the first fine day next week we 
 will drive over and see about having it 
 made. And, Maria, something else has 
 suggested itself to me." 
 
 "No, no," said Mrs. Plummersleigh, "I 
 must stop at the dress. I must indeed." 
 
 " It is nothing about the dress. I have 
 given myself trouble enough about you. 
 I am going to think about somebody else 
 now. I wonder if the Colonel's wife would 
 mind my taking Linnet to the afternoon 
 dance next Wednesday. You know they 
 have lawn-tennis at the barracks every 
 week, and once a month a little dance 
 
 i 2
 
 116 a man's mistake. 
 
 after it ; and Mrs. Gateforth told me I was 
 always to bring anyone who happened to 
 be staying with me. Linnet could go as 
 my guest, and it would be such a treat to 
 the poor child." 
 
 " If Mr. Aubury would approve of it," 
 suggested Maria. 
 
 " Oh ! Mr. Aubury will be all right. 
 You know he told me how he should like 
 her to have a little amusement of that 
 kind. I'll get George to go over this 
 afternoon and ask her. She is such a 
 good-natured old thing she will be sure to 
 say yes." 
 
 " I don't think you need ask at all, Isa- 
 bel. You know Mrs, Gateforth said she 
 should be glad to see me with you, and, as 
 I do not intend to go, Miss Aubury can 
 take my place without ciny further cere- 
 mony." 
 
 " Don't you really want to go, Maria — 
 really now ?" 
 
 And Mrs. Polemont, for whom an after-
 
 a man's mistake. 117 
 
 noon dance was the most delightful thing 
 in the world, except a full-dress one, 
 looked at Mrs. Plummersleigh to see if it 
 was possible that she meant to give up 
 such a prospect, and to give it up so 
 quietly, too. 
 
 " You know we could all go. I am sure 
 Mrs. Gateforth wouldn't mind it one bit. 
 She said last time she wanted more girls 
 to dance, so many ladies went who did 
 not care for it. So we should be all 
 right, and it does seem such a pity to 
 miss it." 
 
 " Never mind ; it is no pity to me. As 
 I have often said, my dancing-days are 
 over." 
 
 " Did you like going to balls when you 
 were younger, Maria?" said Mrs. Pole- 
 mont, innocently. 
 
 "Well, it was never a very favourite 
 amusement of mine, Isabel. You see, my 
 tastes are graver. And then " 
 
 " Yes, of course. And then, if you lived
 
 118 a man's mistake. 
 
 in a quiet place, there would not be so 
 much dancing. Mr. Aubury was talking 
 to you about Scotland. I wonder if he 
 knows any of your peeple there." 
 
 " I never asked him," said Mrs. Plum- 
 mersleigh. 
 
 "No. Because, if they don't take any 
 interest in you, there is no need for you 
 to trouble yourself to ask about them. 
 Only, you see, it is not a common name, 
 and if he ever had met anyone." 
 
 " Scotland is a wide place," replied Mrs. 
 Plummersleigh, with just a touch of an- 
 noyance in her voice, " and I believe he 
 only knows it as a sportsman." 
 
 As Mrs. Plummersleigh said this, she 
 had been pulling the leaves from her clus- 
 ter of wild rose, and now, its beauty being 
 gone, she doubled it up and put it into 
 the waste-paper box. Mrs. Polemont 
 looked disappointed. If her alum did 
 deposit itself in the desired crystals upon 
 the worsted she had so considerately
 
 A man's mistake. 119 
 
 wrapped round the wire basket, it would 
 certainly not be because the basket itself 
 showed any anxiety to be crystallised 
 upon. And then Maria drew on her boot, 
 and appeared to be preparing for a second 
 expedition. 
 
 "I think I shall go down to Mrs. 
 Flowerdale's about Fanny Wright. I 
 do not like that woman's behaviour at 
 all." 
 
 " Maria ! And when you would not 
 take that extra mile just now, because you 
 said you were tired. It is so disappointing 
 of you." 
 
 " I did not say I was tired, Isabel. If 
 you remember, at the time I mentioned it 
 was my boot that inconvenienced me. My 
 foot is quite easy now. And Mrs. Flower- 
 dale ought to know about the woman 
 Wright." 
 
 " Very well, go then. I don't believe 
 you will find either of them at home, 
 though, for I saw them both driving
 
 120 a man's mistake. 
 
 across the moor in the direction of Broad - 
 minster when we were in the lane this 
 morning. They saw us, and they did all 
 they could to make you see them too ; but 
 Mr. Aubury was gathering that bunch of 
 roses for you, which you have just thrown 
 away, and so you neither of you took any 
 notice/' 
 
 " I am sure I did not, for I never saw 
 them," replied Maria, without the least 
 appearance of embarrassment. " And yet 
 I don't know how it could be, for, in a 
 general way, I am not at all short-sighted." 
 
 Which was quite true. 
 
 And then Mrs. Plummersleigh started 
 for the vicarage, and Mrs. Polemont wrote 
 a note to Mr. Aubury, asking him if Linnet 
 might go with her to Mrs. Gateforth's 
 dance on the following Wednesday after- 
 noon, she having a sort of general invita- 
 tion to take anyone who happened to be 
 staying with her. And therefore, if Lin- 
 net would go and spend the previous part
 
 a man's mistake. 121 
 
 of the day with them, they would all start 
 together, and the doctor would see her 
 safely home.
 
 122 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 II T~R. ATJBUHYand Linnet were sitting 
 -*-»-■- after dinner in the old chapel-room 
 of the castle. There was just a chilly 
 feeling about the place, Mrs. Martlet being 
 one of those careful housekeepers who do 
 not like to put fires, except in the back 
 rooms, when once the spring cleaning has 
 been carefully and laboriously accomplish- 
 ed. Wraps and shawls she would bring 
 down with the greatest of pleasure, and 
 her very choicest of cordials produce to 
 mitigate the summer colds and damps, 
 which are so much more disagreeable than 
 their legitimate winter relatives ; but at 
 fires, until the first of October, she made
 
 A MAN S MISTAKE. 123 
 
 a dead stand. And Mr. Aubury, who 
 bated argument, allowed her to have 
 her way. 
 
 Rain had been falling all the afternoon. 
 The grey stone mullions of the Gothic 
 windows looked damp and uncomfortable. 
 Shadows were brooding in every corner. 
 The big yew-tree just outside, which kept 
 the southern sun from beating too broadly 
 in, only cast a deeper shadow now, and 
 looked almost ghostly in its dead, black 
 outline against the grey sky. The old 
 chapel-room was a place which wanted fire 
 and sunshine to warm it up, and now it 
 had neither, it had only the young girl 
 Linnet ; and to-night she too felt dreary 
 and out of sorts, for her brother had been 
 so silent, more silent than was his wont, 
 during the last few days. What he was 
 thinking about she could not tell, only she 
 knew that she had not grieved him, for, 
 when he did speak to her, his voice was 
 kinder than ever.
 
 124 a man's mistake. 
 
 She turned from the window where she 
 had been sitting in the shadow of the yew- 
 tree. 
 
 " Shall I sing to you, brother Owen ?" 
 
 "No, Linnet child. I have too much 
 to think about." 
 
 And then he turned away from her and 
 shut his eyes. 
 
 " I expect it is the draining of the 
 seventeen acre," said Linnet to herself ; 
 " Martlet said it had fairly beaten him. 
 One gets up to one's ankles in it after an 
 hour's rain." 
 
 And then, with a desolate little shrug of 
 her shoulders, she went back to the win- 
 dow, and watched the rain filling the pools 
 on the terrace, and felt as miserable as 
 though no sunshine would ever again 
 chase away the dull grey mist which was 
 over everything now. 
 
 Why of all nights in the pleasant June 
 time should that be the rainy one ? 
 And why, just when the thoughts of
 
 a man's mistake. 125 
 
 Owen Anbury were such anxious thoughts, 
 and Linnet was in a mood which made her 
 long for almost anything to set the stag- 
 nant waters moving again, should Mrs. 
 Polemont's little note about the dance 
 find its way to the castle. At another 
 time she would not have cared about it. 
 Bobtail was a more interesting partner 
 than any which a ball-room was likely to 
 provide. To chase squirrels with Snip 
 was pleasanter exercise than walking 
 through a quadrille ; and no luncheon with 
 Mrs. Polemont and Mrs. Plummersleigb, 
 with lawn-tennis afterwards, even involv- 
 ing though it might the prettiest of new 
 dresses for the occasion, could be half so 
 enjoyable as a scramble through the planta- 
 tion in that short blue petticoat which 
 cleared the bobbing, wet clover heads so 
 conveniently, and which, drag it over what 
 gorse bnshes she chose, never showed a 
 rent. But how an afternoon's rain can 
 alter everything, and how much may
 
 126 a man's mistake. 
 
 depend upon that alteration ! The doctors 
 boy brought the note. 
 
 "Would you like to go?" said Mr. 
 Aubury, when he had read it aloud. 
 
 " Oh, wouldn't I !" 
 
 And the sudden glow on Linnet's face 
 almost lighted up the sombre room, as she 
 hurried away from the window and seized 
 the dainty little note and read every word 
 of it over again for herself. 
 
 " May I, brother Owen ?" 
 
 " Oh ! yes, child ; write and say so. I 
 have left my card at the mess. It is all 
 right. If I had thought you cared for it, 
 you should have gone when they asked us 
 last winter. Tell Mrs. Polemont I am 
 very much obliged to her." 
 
 And then Owen Aubury turned to his 
 own thoughts again. 
 
 Yes, it was as Mrs. Flowerdale and the 
 doctor's wife had hinted to him. Linnet 
 had been pining for brightness, and 
 change, and companionship, things natural
 
 a man's mistake. 127 
 
 to every young girl as dew and sunshine 
 to the opening flower, and he had kept 
 them all from her; he had taken for 
 granted that the loneliness and quietness 
 which he needed for his own withered life, 
 would serve for hers with all its young 
 strength and promise. Strange that, lov- 
 ing her as he did, he had not thought of 
 it sooner ; strange that others should need 
 to remind him of his duties to the girl he 
 had promised to take thought for as his 
 own child. He might have known it long 
 ago, even as others had known it, but that 
 all the time, thinking himself so good and 
 so unselfish, he had been wrapped up in 
 his own needs, forgetting hers. 
 
 Linnet was still reading over the note. 
 
 "And Mrs. Polemont says, brother 
 Owen, that, if I have any preparations to 
 make for the dance, she and Mrs. Plummer- 
 sleigh are going to drive over to Broad- 
 minster to-morrow morning, to Hursley's, 
 and I can go with them. They will call
 
 128 a man's mistake. 
 
 for me about ten o'clock. Shall I say yes 
 to that, too ? Because, you know, I must 
 have something pretty to go in." 
 
 " Of course, child; just whatever Mrs. 
 Polemont thinks will be proper for you. I 
 have no doubt she knows all about such 
 things better than you or I." 
 
 " May it be very pretty ?" asked Linnet, 
 who just then, in the gloom and damp of 
 the unwarmed room, seemed to have a 
 new longing for something that had colour 
 and brightness in it. "You know, I never 
 have had a very pretty dress yet, and the 
 people there are sure to be rather gay." 
 
 "Yes, as pretty as you like ; and if you 
 want one or two others, you may as well 
 choose them at the same time, whilst you 
 have Mrs. Polemont with you. I daresay 
 she is more to be depended upon for such 
 things than Mrs. Martlet." 
 
 11 Oh, brother Owen, I should just think 
 so ! Mrs. Martlet says there is nothing 
 like brown holland for a girl of my age ;
 
 a man's mistake. 129 
 
 and I looked so different to Mrs. Polemont 
 when we went out walking together this 
 
 morning;." 
 
 " I thought you looked very nice, child ; 
 but perhaps the time has come for you to 
 pay a little more attention to such things. 
 Say to Mrs. Polemont how very much 
 obliged I am that she should take so much 
 trouble." 
 
 " And," he added, after a pause — " and 
 Mrs. Plummersleigh too." 
 
 Linnet wrote the note. As she was 
 doing so, a thought came into Mr. Au- 
 bury's mind — such a bright thought that 
 it quite made a difference to the expres- 
 sion of his face. Had not Mrs. Flowerdale 
 said something about the desirableness of 
 having a lady companion or something of 
 that sort for Linnet ? Marry a wife he 
 would not, and could not, whilst the place 
 in his heart which a wife ought to fill 
 was already long given to another. But a 
 companion in the house the girl might 
 
 VOL. I. K
 
 130 a man's mistake. 
 
 have, and who so suitable as Mrs. Plum- 
 mersleigh? And the more Mr. Aubury 
 thought about it, the more he felt con- 
 vinced that she would be exactly the 
 person for the position.
 
 131 
 
 CHAPTEB XL 
 
 "VTEXT morning the rain bad cleared 
 -*-^ away, the terrace-pools were dry, 
 the June breeze blew cheerily through the 
 open doorways of the old castle, and every- 
 thing was as bright as summer sunshine 
 could make it. After ten o'clock the two 
 ladies arrived in the doctor's little phaeton. 
 Of course some consultation about the all- 
 important question of dress was necessary, 
 and Mrs. Polemont proposed that she 
 should make a tour of inspection through 
 Linnet's wardrobe before deciding upon 
 fresh purchases, leaving Mrs. Plummers- 
 leigh to be entertained meanwhile by Mr. 
 Aubury in the garden. 
 
 k2
 
 132 a man's mistake. 
 
 ''Because, Maria dear," she said, in her 
 merrily wise way, "you always say you 
 don't care a bit about dress and that sort 
 of thing, and so it will only be a bore to 
 you to go through it all. You can't think, 
 Mr. Aubury, what trouble I have to make 
 her get herself up fashionably enough 
 for even a quiet little place like Abbot's 
 Florey." 
 
 Mr. Aubury, glancing at the pretty blue 
 bonnet, which made the black silk dress 
 look now quite a different thing, thought 
 that what Mrs. Plummersleigh did manage 
 to accomplish in that line, was accomplish- 
 ed to sufficient purpose. And he had 
 already discovered in her qualities much 
 more important to him than the one of 
 being able to make herself look fashion- 
 able ; whilst always maintaining a ladylike 
 appearance, it was evident, from what he 
 had seen of her, that her thoughts found 
 their resting-place upon a much higher 
 level.
 
 a man's mistake. 133 
 
 This quiet, unemphatic, almost colour- 
 less woman, as some people might call her, 
 had now become an object of considerable 
 interest to him. To note her character, 
 her habits, her disposition in little things, 
 was very desirable. And therefore, though 
 certainty Mrs. Polemont did not hurry in 
 her inspection of Linnet's company-frocks, 
 the time appeared by no means long to 
 Mr. Aubury as he and his companion 
 strolled down the diugle to the swan-pools. 
 
 Mrs. Plummersleigh impressed him very 
 favourably, the pleasantest part of that 
 impression being that she herself apparent- 
 ly cared so little to produce it. Whatever 
 else people might say about Mrs. Pole- 
 mont's friend, they could not say that she 
 was a pushing womau. Did Mr. Aubury 
 express his fondness for a country life? she 
 did not immediately rush into raptures 
 over turnips and mangel-wurzels. Did 
 he ask her opinion of Abbot's Florey ? she 
 did not hasten to assure him that nothing
 
 134 a man's mistake. 
 
 could please her better than to spend the 
 rest of her days there. Did he turn the 
 conversation in the direction of his young 
 sister, and hint what an advantage it would 
 be to her to have the companionship of 
 some amiable and sensible woman ? Mrs. 
 Plummersleigh did not straightway jump 
 to the conclusion that that woman must 
 needs be herself, and manifest a pleased 
 self-consciousness accordingly. No ; she 
 was simply courteous, and only listened to 
 what he said with just enough interest to 
 prevent him from feeling that she was 
 bored. 
 
 In fact that half hour's walk round the 
 swan-pools, whilst Mrs. Polemont was de- 
 ciding what sort of trimming Linnet should 
 have upon the batiste which she was to 
 wear at the afternoon dance, caused Mr. 
 Aubury to make up his mind on a much 
 more momentous question, namely, whe- 
 ther or not he should, at the earliest con- 
 venient opportunity, ask Mrs. Plummers-
 
 a man's mistake. 135 
 
 leigh to assume the position of lady-com- 
 panion to his sister, assuming with it the 
 hospitalities of the castle, and the re- 
 sponsibility of accompanying Linnet to 
 such mild gaieties in Broadminster and 
 the neighbourhood as were suitable to her 
 age. And he decided to do so. 
 
 But first of all he would talk over the 
 matter with Miss Alvisa Clerehart, and 
 for that there was no better time than the 
 present, when the three ladies had started 
 for their shopping expedition to Mr. 
 Hursley's. Accordingly, when he had 
 seen them safely through the castle keep, 
 he set off to the old house by the church. 
 
 If ever there was any sunshine out- 
 side, it came into the room where Miss 
 Alvisa had been lying from morning to 
 night for the last ten years ; and if there 
 was none outside, she made it for herself 
 in that calm, quiet, ceaseless well-doing 
 which had long ago become the habit of 
 her life. Both now, sunshine from with-
 
 136 a man's mistake. 
 
 out and sunshine from within, told their 
 story in the face which Owen Aubury 
 kissed with a lover's kiss, as he bent 
 over Miss Clerehart's sofa that summer 
 morning. 
 
 With a lover's kiss. For those two 
 should have been husband and wife many 
 and many a year ago, if what the world 
 calls chance had not come between them. 
 
 It was Miss Alvisa to whom he had told 
 the story of his love, as they two strolled 
 through that bit of fir plantation on the 
 old duke's preserves. And it was the 
 memory of her low-spoken reply which 
 would make that bit of fir plantation 
 fairer, right on to the end of his life, than^ 
 all the purple mountains and blossomy 
 jungles and glowing skies of Ceylon. 
 But he was young in those days, and 
 Alvisa was younger, though they had 
 known for long that they loved each other. 
 And Alvisa's mother was of a proud sort, 
 being related in a distant way to nobility
 
 a man's mistake. 137 
 
 itself, one of her relations having married 
 into the family of the Duke of Moreland, 
 and she was not minded that her only 
 child should change her maiden estate 
 without at the same time fitting improve- 
 ment of it. And so, though Owen was 
 doing fairly well on that coffee plantation, 
 and though, when he won Alvisa's prom- 
 ise amongst the whispering fir-trees, he 
 could have taken her out to a home 
 pleasant enough, Mrs. Clerehart decided 
 that he must go alone, and in three years, 
 a wealthy man she hoped, come home to 
 fetch his bride. 
 
 Which he did ; and, only a week before 
 he arrived, that cruel accident happened 
 which had left her a helpless and hopeless 
 cripple. 
 
 That was why Owen Anbury had never 
 married ; that was why, when old Miss 
 Goodenough died, he took to the castle 
 farm and settled down to his quiet life 
 there, instead of going out again to the
 
 138 a man's mistake. 
 
 coffee plantation. Little was left to him 
 now, but that little was very dear. Better 
 that quiet kiss, exchanged day by day 
 between him and that pale-faced invalid, 
 than the love and caresses of any other 
 woman ; better to minister to her needs, 
 even in such poor fashion as social 
 conventions would allow, than to be 
 ministered unto by the most eligible of 
 the numerous wives whom Abbot's Florey 
 in its match-making anxiety would so 
 willingly have selected for him at any 
 time during these ten years past. 
 
 And the bitterness of Owen Aubury's 
 life was that he had come home too late ; 
 that the good store of silver and gold 
 which came to him now, season by season, 
 from the plenty-dropping boughs of those 
 eastern groves, had been bought by a year 
 of added work which, had he only spent it 
 in coming home, would have given him 
 the wife he had waited for so long. How 
 little would all that suffering have seemed
 
 a man's mistake. 139 
 
 to her, could he only have had the right 
 to care for her through it, could his arm 
 have been the arm to uphold, and his 
 strength the strength to support, and his 
 love, none coming between them, the love 
 to cherish, and his the right to stay for 
 help, and comfort, and blessing, where 
 now he only came and went, a passing 
 guest ! 
 
 But they had long ago given up talking 
 about these things. They had sunk into 
 their place amongst the countless might 
 have beens of men's and women's lives — 
 that dead sea over which the trafficking of 
 the present goes to and fro, what lies 
 beneath it only remembered sometimes. 
 And now, except for that kiss daily ex- 
 changed between them — mute symbol of a 
 faith steadfastly held through all the best 
 years of their lives — there was no sign. 
 They were as friends most dear and pleas- 
 ant to each other, but only friends. 
 
 And very convenient indeed for Miss
 
 140 a man's mistake. 
 
 Clerehart to have such a friend, Mr. Au- 
 bury being so dependable a man of busi- 
 ness, and the farm-land of the castle and 
 the old vicarage lying so closely together 
 that he could overlook the two almost as 
 well as one. And very agreeable for him, 
 too, to have such companionship, Miss 
 Clerehart being without exception the 
 most intelligent, cultivated woman in the 
 place ; such a woman, indeed, as any man 
 might be proud to count amongst his 
 friends, though perhaps a trifle too ex- 
 clusive in her devotion to intellectual pur- 
 suits, and not in conversation so spiritu- 
 ally-minded as could be desired of a 
 person in her weak state of health. 
 
 That was what the people of Abbot's 
 Florey said of it, and knew no more than 
 they said.
 
 141 
 
 M 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 ISS ALVISA was making a little 
 etching for the conclusion to a set 
 of illustrations to a child's story-book. It 
 was a lake, with the sun setting over the 
 mountains which girded it in. A boat, 
 with sail spread, hovered in the track of 
 brightness which shimmered across the 
 waves. In the foreground was a wayside 
 cross, such as one sees set for rest and 
 prayer among the olive-trees of northern 
 Italy ; and just alighting on the cross was 
 a little bird, ready, ere twilight fell, to sing 
 its evening song, and then be at peace in 
 the shady covert of the woods, which al- 
 ready lay in shadow along the margin of
 
 142 a man's mistake. 
 
 the lake. A pleasant picture, full of the 
 quiet which Miss Alvisa had translated 
 into it out of her own thoughts. 
 
 She was yet pondering what finishing 
 touches she could add, when, looking up, 
 she saw Owen Aubury passing the window, 
 whose curtain drawn back told him there 
 was a welcome waiting him. And a 
 minute or two afterwards he came in, with 
 the perplexed look of a man who has im- 
 portant matters to settle, and knows not 
 how to settle them. 
 
 " Is it the land, Owen ?" she said, smil- 
 ing up to him with a calm as bright as 
 that of the little picture which had grown 
 under her fingers. " I am afraid that 
 seventeen-acre is a troublesome portion to 
 you. Martlet told me this morning it was 
 nothing but a swamp again." 
 
 "It is not the land, Alvisa," and Owen 
 Aubury stooped over her and kissed her. 
 " It is Linnet." 
 
 " What about Linnet ? Is she ill ?"
 
 a man's mistake. 143 
 
 " No ; the child is well enough, as far 
 as health goes. But I am a fool to have 
 thought that things could go on quietly 
 and never change. I suppose I ought to 
 have found that out long ago, but I am as 
 contented as ever I hope to be in this 
 world, and I expected she was the same." 
 
 Mr. Aubury said this with just a touch 
 of bitterness, which Miss Alvisa had 
 never noticed before, either in voice or 
 manner. 
 
 " And Linnet is content," she said ; 
 "nay, I believe she is a great deal more 
 than content — she is happy." 
 
 u Then she is more than I am. But she 
 is not happy, Alvisa, and she is not con- 
 tent either ; and, as I said before, I am a 
 fool not to have found it out long ago." 
 
 "Are you sure you have found it out 
 rightly now ?" 
 
 " Yes, a girl of Linnet's age wants some- 
 thing more than a good-tempered horse 
 and a middle-aged brother to make her
 
 144 a man's mistake. 
 
 happy, even though the horse will walk at 
 her heels like a pet dog all day long, and 
 the brother is ready to do the same when 
 Bobtail has gone to his stable. Linnet 
 wants somebody who can think her own 
 thoughts, and neither Bobtail nor I can 
 do that ; and she wants some one who 
 can give her her own share of what is 
 going on in life, and I cannot do that, 
 either." 
 
 " And wiry not ? What is there worth 
 having in life that is kept from Linnet ?" 
 
 "A great many things that I never 
 thought of before. A girl of eighteen 
 wants companionship and change of so- 
 ciety, and to go to dances, and all that 
 sort of thing." 
 
 " Nay — there, Owen, you are wrong. 
 Kemember, only last Christmas, when my 
 cousin was staying here, and I asked you 
 if you thought Linnet would like to go 
 with her to the county ball, because, if so, 
 I could get her an invitation ; and to see
 
 a man's mistake. 145 
 
 the way she laughed at rue for even 
 proposing it." 
 
 " Yes ; but that was well on to a year 
 ago. And, somehow, the want of this sort 
 of thing seems to come suddenly into a 
 girl's life. You fancy she is contented 
 with the old ways, and Bobtail, and Snip,, 
 and the middle-aged brother; and then, 
 before you have time to think where you 
 are, you find she has shot ahead of you, 
 and wants a woman's amusements and a 
 woman's interests, and everything else that 
 comes into a woman's life." 
 
 " And how did you find it all out ?" 
 " Well, it had been dawning upon me in 
 a dim sort of way, and last night she 
 seemed unusually dull and quiet; and in 
 the midst of it there came a note from 
 Mrs. Polemont, asking her to go with 
 them to the afternoon dance at the bar- 
 racks next week. And if you had but 
 seen how she brightened up at the thought 
 of it ! how delighted she was when I told 
 
 VOL. I. L
 
 146 a man's mistake. 
 
 her she might go ! It all came clearly 
 enough to me then. Of course it is only 
 natural she should care for such things ; 
 all girls do more or less. She is growing 
 up into a woman, and I am giving her no 
 chance of living a woman's life." 
 
 " And how do you propose to mend 
 that ?" 
 
 " Well, of course, I can't go about with 
 her. I ought to have a lady in the house 
 who would enable her to see a little of 
 society, and all that sort of thiug." 
 
 Miss Alvisa looked long and steadily at 
 him. " A new light was beginning to dawn 
 upon her, too. But she made no sign. 
 She only looked at the little picture before 
 her, so full of peace ; the calm light over 
 the hills, the boat in the sunshine's track, 
 the bird on the cross, ready for its even- 
 song ; and it seemed to her that all might 
 be changed now. Owen Aubury was 
 leaning forward, his elbows on his knees,
 
 a man's mistake. 147 
 
 his head upon his hands, and his face was 
 partly turned from her. 
 
 u Owen, you must lay the past away, 
 and marry a wife and be content." 
 
 He flashed his eyes to hers for a mo- 
 ment, then flashed them away again. 
 
 " I shall never do that, Alvisa. A man 
 can live his life but once. I have lived 
 mine." 
 
 " In one sort of way, Owen, a man can 
 live his life but once. But there are more 
 ways of living than one, and living 
 worthily too." 
 
 " You say, Alvisa, I ought to marry ?" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 "You are tired of seeing me come every 
 day?" 
 
 " Tired ? Well, we will not talk of that. 
 We will only talk of what ought to be 
 done." 
 
 " I can't love two women, Alvisa ; and I 
 love you. That is enough." 
 
 l2
 
 148 a man's mistake. 
 
 "You can't love another woman, per- 
 haps, just as you love me, but you have 
 far more to spend in the power of making 4 
 some one happy than you can spend upon 
 me. And the days will come when such a 
 woman will be able to do more for you 
 than you think now." 
 
 " The days will never come, Alvisa, 
 when any woman will be to me what you 
 have been." 
 
 Miss Alvisa set her lips together. It 
 was only "have been," then. He went 
 on — 
 
 " As I said before, I am as content now 
 as I am ever likely to be. It is not my 
 duty to marry any woman for the mere 
 sake of being made comfortable by her, 
 and it is not my duty, either, to marry for 
 the sake of making Linnet comfortable. 
 I think perhaps it might be my duty to 
 have some pleasant, intelligent lady in the 
 house as a companion for her. But to 
 marry the lady — no indeed !"
 
 a man's mistake. 149 
 
 " I am afraid, Owen, when once the 
 arrangement is made, Abbot's Florey will 
 ' give you very little rest until you do marry 
 her." 
 
 "In that case, then, one could but go 
 back to the old ways. And, besides, I 
 have been blind not to see it before, but 
 one of these days Linnet will be leaving 
 me, and then I shall not want a companion 
 for her." 
 
 "No, you will want one for yourself." 
 
 Owen Aubury looked at her, but doubt- 
 fully. There was a want of something, 
 though the words of his reply were tender 
 enough. He said, holding himself quietly 
 apart from her, 
 
 " Alvisa, stop. Since I came home ten 
 years ago, and found you lying here help- 
 less, and, as you call yourself, good for 
 nothing, you have been better to me than 
 the brightest, and fairest, and strongest 
 woman that I could have chosen out of all 
 the world to be my wife. It has been
 
 150 a man's mistake. 
 
 more to me — God knows it has ! — to come 
 here and bold your band, and look into 
 your eyes, and bave you look into my 
 heart through mine, than if I had had any 
 other to cherish at my own fireside. I 
 have never even wished for any other to 
 be to me what I once thought you would 
 have been. Will you not believe this was 
 true?" 
 
 "Yes," said Alvisa, "it was." 
 
 If Owen Aubury could have caught her 
 meaning then, if he could have perceived 
 the little undertone of pain in the lingering 
 upon that last word " was," all might have 
 been different. But he let it pass. 
 
 " Then why do you speak to me so ?" 
 
 " Because," said the brave-hearted wo- 
 man, not letting so much as a tear force 
 its way into her eyes, as now, with her 
 own free will, she put away, believing he 
 wished it so, the one most precious thing 
 in her life, and put it away so tbat be 
 should rather think her love was failing.
 
 a man's mistake. 151 
 
 than have the greater bitterness of feeling 
 that she mistrusted him — " because I want 
 you to think differently, and to let some 
 other sunshine into your life, which may 
 warm it as mine never can." 
 
 Owen Aubury turned away, full of 
 thought. He was facing a new trouble. 
 There fell a loug pause between them, be- 
 tween these two who had hitherto spoken 
 out to each other every thought and pur- 
 pose of their lives. In that pause the 
 woman was doing what women have done 
 before for the men they loved best, taking 
 her love and laying it out of sight, and 
 letting the loved one think it was not so 
 much after all. And the man was doing 
 what also many a man has done, vexing 
 himself with the thought that what he 
 has given so faithfully is misprized, strug- 
 gling to believe that it is better so, and 
 winning with that belief a feeling of hard- 
 ness which will make him trust all other 
 women a little less.
 
 152 a man's mistake. 
 
 Truly Owen Aubury had given faith- 
 fully and kept loyally the promise of so 
 many years ago. And to keep it had not 
 been hard to him. The time had seemed 
 but a few days for the love he bore her. 
 Now the thought crept into his heart that 
 Alvisa Clerehart had not set that love so 
 high as it deserved. And with that 
 thought came another, which often steps 
 closely enough behind disappointed trust, 
 injuring the mind which gives it entrance 
 even more fatally than any disappointment 
 can — the thought that he had done nobly, 
 and she unworthily : the little touch of 
 self-praise which makes all self-sacrifice 
 useless. And for a few minutes these two 
 thoughts told their story in his face. 
 
 That was the one time, the one single 
 solitary time in all these ten years, that 
 Owen Aubury had by so much as look or 
 word or tone given sign that the loneli- 
 ness he was bearing for Alvisa's sake was 
 too heavy a burden. And it was but a
 
 a man's mistake. 153 
 
 little sign mow ; yet clear, distinct as the 
 point of a diamond, it drew its mark 
 across the pure crystal of their love. To 
 Alvisa, with senses quickened by those 
 years of suffering, it was as the beginning 
 of the end. She read her own meaning in 
 that look of weariness upon his face. It 
 was waiting for her, waiting with no hope 
 of better days to come, that had brought 
 it there. It bound her to loose his prison 
 doors and let him go forth. And it bound 
 her to loose them in such wise that blame, 
 if blame there were, should fall only upon 
 herself. 
 
 " Owen," she said, " it is time you were 
 free." 
 
 Mr. Aubury turned and looked her 
 steadily in the face. 
 
 " Alvisa, are you saying that for your 
 own sake, or for mine ?" 
 
 " I am saying it for both of us, Owen." 
 
 He turned away again, this time not 
 looking towards the sunlight any more as
 
 154 a man's mistake. 
 
 it struck bravely through the beech-tree 
 boughs outside— the beech-tree boughs 
 beneath whose shade he and Alvisa had 
 once exchanged such sweet words of love 
 — but burying his face in his hands, that 
 she might not see the wound she had 
 given him. Nevertheless, just then she, 
 calm-eyed, pale, silent, with face upturned 
 bravely towards the day, was the more 
 blessed of the two, no thought of herself, 
 but only of the man she loved so truly, 
 having leave to stir within her. 
 
 " Well, good-bye, Alvisa," he said, after 
 a while, taking her hand and stooping 
 over her for the usual farewell kiss. Nay, 
 this time it was not the usual one ; there 
 was almost the bitterness of death in it. 
 It seemed to seal the solemn barrier which 
 had just been raised between them and 
 the enduring, noble patience of the past 
 ten years. " Good-bye, Alvisa. But I 
 shall come and see you again soon." 
 
 She made a slight involuntary gesture
 
 a man's mistake. 155 
 
 with her hand, as though bidding some- 
 thing aside. 
 
 " Oh, yes, of course. You must just 
 come as usual. There are always so many 
 things for us to arrange. I know there 
 was something I wanted to ask you this 
 morning, only I am not able to recollect 
 it. There has been so much more to think 
 about." 
 
 And with that she let him go away. 
 
 "But I shall never do as she tells me 
 — never," he said to himself, as slowly 
 and sadly, and with a world of regretful 
 thoughts in his heart, he turned from her 
 into the darkness, out of which there 
 seemed no way for him now.
 
 156 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 [)UT he had scarcely crossed over the 
 -*-^ little bit of foot-road into the dingle, 
 •when he returned, not, however, entering 
 the house again, but pausing at the open 
 window under which her sofa was placed. 
 Still the curtain was drawn back. There 
 was his welcome, but how different now ! 
 
 "I had forgotten something too, Alvisa. 
 I meant to have asked you what you had 
 decided about that little corner of land at 
 the end of your pasture — the piece, you 
 know, which Leebury wants to rent. I 
 should let him have it, if I were you. You 
 have as much as you want without it." 
 Mr. Aubury said this in a cheerful,
 
 a man's mistake. 157 
 
 business-like way. It was better to let 
 Miss Alvisa see that what had taken place 
 would not make any difference to the kindly 
 understanding which subsisted between 
 them on all ordinary affairs. What he 
 could do to help her in such affairs he 
 would do still, come what might. 
 
 And that she could meet him in the 
 same frank, pleasant way was evident 
 from her reply. 
 
 " Oh ! yes, the land at the other end of 
 the pasture. By all means let him have 
 it. And do not be hard upon him about 
 rent ; it is a matter of little importance. 
 He might have it for nothing, only that 
 would not be so good for him." 
 
 "No. What is worth having at all is 
 worth paying for. And have you remem- 
 bered what you were going to ask me ?" 
 
 " Yes ; it came into my head before you 
 were across the road. I want you to let 
 Martlet give Blackamoor a trot now and 
 then, so as to get him into riding order
 
 15S a man's mistake. 
 
 before Keith comes. You know, the long 
 vacation begins in a week or two, and I 
 expect him down here for awhile." 
 
 "Oh ! Keith Moriston, your Airdrie 
 Muir shepherd lad, as you used to call 
 him. So he is coming, is he ?" 
 
 " Yes. He has always managed before 
 to get a tutorship on the Continent for 
 the long vacation, and he wanted to do 
 it this time ; but he has been working very 
 hard lately, because he was so anxious to 
 take honours, and the doctors tell him he 
 must have perfect rest. I don't think he 
 will get that better anywhere than here." 
 
 "No; the place is quiet enough. How 
 is he getting on ? Not going to be double 
 first, I am afraid." 
 
 "No. You see, mathematics are not in 
 his line ; he always had more taste for 
 literature, and in that I think he will do 
 well." 
 
 " What are you going to make of him ?" 
 
 " Just what he is able to make of him-
 
 a man's mistake. 3 59 
 
 self. I open the door of everything by 
 giving him a good education. He must 
 find his own way forward after that. At 
 any rate, he is working as if he knew there 
 was nothing for it but work." 
 
 " And quite right too. He would not 
 be good for much, if he idled away his 
 time whilst you are stinting yourself to 
 keep him at college. You never say any- 
 thing about it, Alvisa, but I am sure you 
 must get tired sometimes of etching and 
 translating." 
 
 There were other things Mr. Au- 
 bury thought of just then, which he had 
 hoped might have been more precious to 
 her than etching and translating, and of 
 which she had also tired. But he would 
 not bring up that matter again. And 
 there was nothing in his manner to make 
 Miss Alvisa think he cherished any bitter- 
 ness for what had been said. Rather, he 
 was, if possible, more friendly and obliging 
 than usual, as though almost pressiDg
 
 160 a man's mistake. 
 
 upon her notice his acceptance of the 
 changed relation between them. 
 
 « Tired! No," she said. "I am not 
 tired. Indeed it is far better to have 
 something to work for than only to work 
 to put off the time. Keith has clone well 
 so far, with scholarships and prizes. There 
 was really but little for me to make up 
 last year. Then I have a good hope that 
 he will get a professorship out in India 
 before long. The English literature chair 
 in the Calcutta University will be vacant 
 some time after Christmas, and I know 
 Keith has been mentioned as likely for it, 
 that being the department to which he 
 has given most attention. But one may 
 work, and wait, and hope, and it may 
 come to nothing after all." 
 
 " I hope not," said Mr. Anbury, not 
 letting himself think that the words might 
 apply to herself rather than to the shep- 
 herd laddie. " If young Moriston is 
 clever and persevering, he is sure to get
 
 a man's mistake. 161 
 
 on. It is a pity he is so shy. I remem- 
 ber he wouldn't come over to see us at the 
 castle for all I could say to persuade him 
 last Christmas, but that is better than the 
 other extreme, when one considers what 
 he has sprung from. People would per- 
 haps be more ready to remind him of it, if 
 he appeared to forget it himself." 
 
 " Keith never will do that, though the 
 world will, I believe, one day, and society 
 too. But I wanted to ask you, Owen, to 
 show him a little kindness this time. I 
 am afraid he may find the time hang 
 rather heavily here, alone with me." 
 
 "I will show him as much as ever you 
 like, Alvisa. I am sure I shall not show 
 him more than I feel ; for I like the little 
 I have seen of him, and I wish it had been 
 more. I got him to go riding out with me 
 two or three times last Christmas, but to 
 the house I could not get him. Perhaps 
 he will be a little more sociable this time. 
 Tell him there is very good fishing down 
 
 VOL. I. M
 
 162 a man's mistake. 
 
 at the swan-pools, and he is welcome to 
 try it whenever he likes, without waiting 
 for an invitation. I daresay, being of the 
 quiet sort, he will like that as well as any- 
 thing else. And if he likes to come into 
 the house any time, and have a spell of 
 reading in the library, why, the books are 
 there ready for him." 
 
 " Thank you very much. And you will 
 not forget Blackamoor." 
 
 " No ; it will do him no end of good to 
 carry old Martlet to Broadminster and 
 !>ack every day for the next fortnight, and 
 I will see that he does it. I think I will 
 be going now. And Leebury is to have 
 the bit of land at his own rent. Let me 
 see, is there anything else ?" 
 
 " No, thank you. You are very good 
 about Keith." 
 
 "Not at all. I like the young fellow, 
 and so it will be a pleasure to me to do 
 anything for him. I shall be coming over 
 again before long, but be sure you send
 
 a man's mistake. 163 
 
 me word, if there is anything you want. 
 Now good-bye again." 
 
 Mr. Anbury dropped the curtain, which 
 he had been holding back as he leaned 
 upon the window-sill, talking to Miss 
 Alvisa. And then, with a quiet smile 
 and a wave of the hand, he crossed the 
 lawn again, and was soon oat of sight 
 amongst the trees by the swan-pools. 
 
 When he was gone, Miss Alvisa lay still 
 for a little while, with her eyes shut. 
 Then she took up the picture upon whicli 
 she had been working so busily only a 
 couple of hours before. "With a few 
 touches she altered the whole expression 
 of it. When it was finished, the little 
 bird lay, with broken wing, dead, near the 
 cross on which it had alighted to sing its 
 evening song. A shadow, creeping down 
 from the mountain, had almost "hidden the 
 white-sailed boat in its blackness. No 
 track of sunshine lay any longer across 
 the ripples of the lake. Clouds, heavy 
 
 m2
 
 164 a man's mistake. 
 
 with tempest, were rolling up in the dis- 
 tance. The reeds by the water's edge 
 crowded together, and the long willow- 
 branches shivered at the first breath of 
 the coming storm. All the story was of 
 change and unrest. 
 
 " That will do," she said to herself. 
 "Yet one has only to wait, and it will 
 have passed away."
 
 165 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 fTIHEJSr she wrote a long, cheery letter 
 -■- to Keith Moriston, bidding him get 
 away from Balliol as soon as he could, 
 and come to the old vicarage for a complete 
 holiday. 
 
 Keith Moriston was an orphan lad 
 whose parents had been cottars on the 
 estate of Lord Stormont, at Airdrie Muir, 
 in the south of Scotland. When they 
 died he was " taken to " by his mother's 
 people, cottars also on the same estate, 
 and was tending sheep there when Miss 
 Alvisa Clerehart, staying, before her acci- 
 dent, with some friends in the neighbour- 
 hood, used to meet him, then a bright-
 
 166 a man's mistake. 
 
 eyed lad of thirteen, sitting with his books 
 amidst the tufts of heather, spelling 
 through a tattered copy of Shakespeare, 
 which the village school-master had lent 
 him. Miss Clerehart, watching him day 
 by day, and having long talks with him as 
 he counted his flocks on the braeside, 
 made up her mind that he was intended 
 for better things than the keeping of 
 sheep ; and, after taking counsel with her 
 friends, and his too, determined to send 
 him to the High School of Edinburgh, 
 pledging herself, if he proved himself 
 worthy, to help him through his college 
 course, and do what she could towards 
 establishing him afterwards in some occu- 
 pation more suited to his tastes. He did 
 so well at the High School that, leaving 
 it, he took away enough in bursaries 
 to support him at Balliol, with very 
 little additional help from Miss Alvisa. 
 And his career hitherto had been such as 
 to give her hope that she had done well
 
 a man's mistake. 1G7 
 
 in depriving Lord Stormont of one of his 
 most trustworthy little shepherd laddies. 
 
 Not that Keith Moriston, now a young 
 man of three and twenty, was at all of 
 the active, energetic sort to make a figure 
 in the world. He was good-looking, of 
 the genuine Scottish build, tall, broad, 
 ruddy of face, with dark hair tangling 
 over a forehead which showed room 
 enough for any quantity of brain ; but 
 there was an amount of physical inertia 
 about him, a leisureliness, not to call it 
 by a stronger name, which, by those who 
 did not know his intellectual activity, 
 might well be taken for a barrier against 
 probable success. 
 
 Mrs. Flowerdale so took it. Mrs. 
 Flowerdale had a son of her own at 
 Balliol, who was putting the vicar to the 
 full expenses of his university education, 
 not having won either scholarships or 
 prizes, though for one or two he had run 
 young Moriston rather closely. Mrs.
 
 168 a man's mistake. 
 
 Flowerdale hoped he would run him still 
 more closely in the matter of that Calcutta 
 professorship, young Percy having no lean- 
 ing towards the Church, and the Bar being 
 too risky for a youth who had as yet done 
 nothing which could with exactitude be 
 called brilliant. Besides, they had friends, 
 not connected with the college, who could 
 put in a word for him, and, after all, inter- 
 est did a good deal in an Indian appoint- 
 ment, so that Mrs. Flowerdale had strong 
 hopes that Percy would be sent out. 
 
 Perhaps the fact that the fulfilment of her 
 own hopes would involve the disappoint- 
 ment of Miss Alvisa Clerehart's, infused a 
 little acid into her feelings towards that 
 lady. One naturally feels that one has 
 justice on one's own side, and as naturally 
 one credits the other side with the oppo- 
 site. And if Mrs. Flowerdale ever spoke 
 out at all about it, — which she did some- 
 times to Mrs. Polemont, the vicar never 
 allowing her to enter upon the subject
 
 a man's mistake. 169 
 
 with himself, — it was to say that she 
 thought Miss Alvisa had done very fool- 
 ishly in lifting a young man out of his 
 own position, and thrusting him amongst 
 gentlemen; and, for her own part, she 
 should think it a lesson to them both if 
 the Secretary of State for India passed 
 over young Moris ton altogether. She had 
 said this once in Mrs. Plummersleigh's 
 presence, and Mrs. Plummersleigh had 
 quite agreed with her, saying there was 
 nothing she disliked so much as seeing 
 youug men of low birth pushed in amongst 
 their superiors. And she added that, if 
 ever she herself met Mr. Moriston, she 
 should, whilst treating him with politeness 
 for Miss Clerehart's sake, still give him to 
 understand that there were certain bound- 
 ary lines in good society, which young 
 men of his origin would do well not to 
 overpass. 
 
 For Mrs. Plummersleigh paid great at- 
 tention to what Mrs. Flowerdale said.
 
 170 a man's mistake. 
 
 And Mrs. Flowerdale, on her side, re- 
 spected Mrs. Plu miner sleigh as a woman 
 of unusual discretion, tact, and common 
 sense, though perhaps more silent than 
 was necessary about her friends and con- 
 nections. 
 
 It had been arranged, before Linnet 
 went to the dance, that Mrs. Polemont 
 and Mrs. Plummersleigh should stay at 
 the castle on their way home, and have a 
 quiet dinner, the doctor having unexpect- 
 edly gone some distance on a professional 
 consultation. This arrangement was car- 
 ried out, Mrs. Polemont also allowing Mr. 
 Aubury to send the little phaeton away, 
 as he said it would give him great pleasure 
 to walk home himself with the ladies. 
 Linnet walked with them too, for the sake 
 of returning afterwards with her brother, 
 the moon being then at the full, and the 
 walk from the doctor's house, along the 
 foot-road, past the dingle to the swan- 
 pools at the bottom of the castle farm.
 
 A MANS MISTAKE. 171 
 
 one of the prettiest in Abbot's Florey. 
 Naturally they fell into couples, little 
 Mrs. Polemont, always brisk and active, 
 and ready to take the lead in anything, 
 going on first with Linnet, leaving Mrs. 
 Plummersleigh to Mr. Aubury, who was, 
 of course, not unwilling to avail himself 
 of this further opportunity to become ac- 
 quainted with the lady who he hoped by- 
 and-by would become a resident in his 
 house. He had already taken advantage 
 of a little quiet conversation after dinner, 
 to ascertain from Mrs. Polemont that her 
 friend had no plans or purposes extending 
 beyond this visit to Abbot's Florey ; that, 
 if she happened to hear of any engagement 
 similar to the one which she had for the 
 past eight or nine years filled so conscien- 
 tiously in Mr. Fledborough's house at 
 Broadminster, she should be not unwilling 
 to accept it ; and that the village, so far, 
 had suited her health remarkably well; 
 better, in fact, than she could have ex-
 
 172 a man's mistake. 
 
 pected from its close vicinity to Broad- 
 minster, where she suffered almost inces- 
 santly from neuralgia. 
 
 Upon which very satisfactory informa- 
 tion, Mr. Aubury had remarked, with a 
 pleasant smile, that he hoped she might 
 be induced to make Abbot's Florey a per- 
 manent residence. 
 
 Mrs. Polemont did not quite know what 
 that meant, but she thought it looked re- 
 markably like the alum settling upon the 
 basket. And it was to give it a chance of 
 depositing itself still more successfully 
 that she tripped off with Linnet before 
 Mr. Aubury, who might perhaps have felt 
 bound in politeness to do it, had had time 
 to offer his own escort. 
 
 That same evening Mr. Flowerdale and 
 his wife were dining quietly with the Miss 
 Laudervilles, and it so fell out — though 
 whether for better or worse no one could 
 tell — that, returning home in the moon-
 
 A MAN'S MISTAKE. 173 
 
 light, they saw, a little in advance of 
 them, the castle party on their way to the 
 doctor's house. And, moreover, they saw 
 that Mrs. Plummersleigh was walking be- 
 hind with Mr. Aubury, and that he had 
 offered his arm to her. 
 
 " Shall we hurry on a little and join 
 them ?" said the vicar's wife. " You know 
 you said you wanted to see Mr. Aubury 
 about a subscription for that clothing- 
 club." 
 
 " Not a bit of it, Laura," replied Mr. 
 Flowerdale. 
 
 " But indeed you did, Percy, and only 
 yesterday, too. And, as he is walking 
 with a lady, perhaps he will not like to 
 refuse." 
 
 " Laura, my dear, what a mean advan- 
 tage to take ! No, if Mr. Aubury is walk- 
 ing behind with Mrs. Plummersleigh, he 
 is doing it for his own pleasure, and not 
 for my convenience. I should have
 
 174 a man's mistake. 
 
 thought, Mrs. Vicar, that you were a 
 clever enough woman to have found that 
 out for yourself." 
 
 " Percy, you don't mean to say " 
 
 "I don't mean to say anything at all, 
 Laura," replied Mr. Flowerdale, afraid that 
 he might have gone too far with a woman 
 of such an inquiring disposition as his 
 w T ife ; " so just you be quiet now. All I 
 say is, that two are company, and three 
 are none, so I shall not go across and 
 interrupt them." 
 
 ''Very well. And it was Mrs. Plum- 
 mersleigh, was it not, that he was gather- 
 ing the bunches of roses for, whilst Mrs. 
 Polemont and Linnet were ever so far on 
 before ?" 
 
 " The very same, my dear. How you 
 women do pick up things !" 
 
 "Percy! I didn't pick up anything at 
 all. I know my place as a clergyman's 
 wife too well to go about picking up 
 things. It was you who first put it into
 
 a man's mistake. 175 
 
 my head by saying that we ought not to 
 hurry up and join them." 
 
 "Well, we will go, if you like, Laura." 
 
 " Oh ! dear no, not on an} 7 account. I 
 know very well what it means when one 
 must not interrupt a lady and gentleman 
 who are walking arm in arm ever so far 
 behind their companions. Though, at the 
 same time, Percy, I quite believe you have 
 lost a good subscription by it. Under the 
 circumstances, Mr. Aubury would not have 
 minded how much he gave you." 
 
 " Well, Laura, just be discreet about it, 
 and don't say anything." 
 
 " Percy ! How can you ? As if I went 
 gossiping about like that quicksilvery 
 little Mrs. Polemont. I do consider it my 
 place to know what is goiug on in the 
 parish, but it is not my place to talk about 
 it. If he should be thinking of anything 
 of that kind, what an awkward thing it 
 will be for poor Linnet." 
 
 " There you go again, Laura. Who ever
 
 176 a man's mistake. 
 
 said that lie was thinking of anything of 
 the kind ? But, if he is, I'll venture to 
 say he is doing it more for Linnet's sake 
 than his own." 
 
 "You don't say so. What simpletons 
 men must be then. Do you think, Percy, 
 he will make any provision for her, being 
 only his half-sister ? You see, if he mar- 
 ried, and had a family of his own, it would 
 make all the difference. " 
 
 " So it would. Only we have to find 
 out first that he is thinking of anything of 
 the kind. Don't you think that younger 
 Miss Lauderville ages very much, Laura ?" 
 
 u Percy, I am not going to be put off. 
 I believe you know something about it 
 that you won't tell me. Have you been 
 having any conversation with Mr. Au- 
 bury ?" 
 
 " My dear," replied the entangled vicar, 
 "I have conversations with Mr. Aubury 
 nearly every day of my life, and I don't
 
 a man's mistake. 177 
 
 know that he ever mentioned Mrs. Plum- 
 mersleigh's name to me ; there then. Now 
 let us change the subject." 
 
 "Keally, Percy, how yon do snap one 
 up ! I suppose one has just as much right 
 to talk about Mr. Aubury as one has to 
 talk about anyone else." 
 
 ei Of course, my dear, just as much. 
 And you have just as much right to take 
 for granted that he is going to marry 
 Mrs. Plummersleigh, which is no right at 
 all." 
 
 " Well, Percy, all I can say about it is, 
 that you first put the idea into my mind 
 by making such a difficulty about inter- 
 rupting them. If you had gone across at 
 once without any fuss, I should never 
 have given another thought to it." 
 
 " Then don't give another thought to it 
 now, Laura, my dear," said the excellent 
 vicar, who, however, with all his excellence, 
 was not wide-awake enough to see that 
 
 VOL. I. N
 
 178 a man's mistake. 
 
 that was the very way to make his wife 
 think all the more, and perhaps say what 
 she thought too.
 
 179 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 BLACKAMOOR was looked up accord- 
 ing to promise, and put upon a 
 somewhat shorter allowance of diet ; and 
 for about a fortnight before the long vaca- 
 tion commenced he might have been seen 
 trotting to and fro between Abbot's Florey 
 and Broadminster, with good Martlet's 
 fifteen stone of combined muscle and re- 
 spectability safely mounted on the back of 
 him. 
 
 "And, Martlet, I should like to know 
 what that may be for," said the old house- 
 keeper, as her husband, on his new steed, 
 halted at the back-kitchen door for a 
 draught of home-brewed, before starting 
 
 n 2
 
 180 a man's mistake. 
 
 down the dusty road. " As if the master 
 hadn't plenty of his own, and the brown 
 mare eating her head off this three months 
 past, and Gypsy as fat while it's as much 
 as her skin can do to hold it in. There's 
 no need for folks on this place to go a- 
 borrowing just yet, I should say." 
 
 "It's Miss Alvisa's young man," said 
 Martlet, stolidly ; " him as comes from 
 what-d'ye-call-it, where he gets his learn- 
 ing. And the master give me orders as 
 Blackamoor was to be got ready for him." 
 
 " Oh ! Mr. Moriston. Ay, I remember 
 him last year. He'd used to go about a 
 good bit with the master outside. Not 
 that he ever corned in, though. He don't 
 look the sort as sets theirselves easily at 
 other folk's tables. And so Blackamoor's 
 a-getting ready for him. 91 
 
 " Yes ; and I don't know whether there's 
 more behind. The master was saying 
 something to Miss Linnet when we was 
 all three out over the seventeen acre,
 
 a man's mistake. 181 
 
 about having a bit more company to the 
 place, and the linen and things looked 
 over. But, as it wasn't anything as 
 belonged to the land, I didn't take 
 heed." 
 
 "Nor hadn't need to, Martlet. It's a 
 deal you know about a tablecloth, whether 
 it's damask or whether it's hemp, so long- 
 as you've a bit of something savoury set 
 on top of it. But, if there's linen to be 
 looked to, it's myself that ought to be 
 spoke to in time, and I wonder the master 
 hasn't done it. You didn't happen to hear 
 nothing no more ?" 
 
 " No, nor didn't watch for it. That's a 
 good tap, Betsey, as good as ever you and 
 me brewed betwixt us, and it'll set me 
 finely on to Broadminster. This is the 
 sort of day one wants a drop o' something 
 cool to wet his whistle." 
 
 And, wiping the froth from the stubbly 
 three days' growth on his upper lip, 
 Martlet jogged cheerily away, under the
 
 182 a man's mistake. 
 
 keep and up the straight turnpike road to 
 Broadminster, 
 
 But the stores of darnask and homespun 
 linen in that big old oaken chest on the 
 front landing were not disturbed so often 
 that Mrs. Martlet should fail to know the 
 why and the wherefore, if anything was 
 going to be done to them now. And her 
 opportunity fell out before long. The 
 very next morning, which was about a 
 week after the dance at Broadminster, 
 there were greengages to preserve ; and 
 Miss Linnet, concerning whom the master 
 had given orders that she should under- 
 stand what was fitting in matters domestic, 
 must be taught to do them. 
 
 Accordingly, when the roomy front 
 kitchen had been made as clean as a new 
 pin, and Tidy, the housemaid, was busy 
 with the upstairs work, so that Mrs. Mart- 
 let had a clear course before her, she 
 brought out her sugar, and her fruit, and 
 her scales, and fetched Miss Linnet in
 
 a man's mistake. 1S3 
 
 from the dingle, where she had been fish- 
 ing for pike in the swan-pools. 
 
 11 Not as 1 would have disterved you 
 myself, Miss Linnet," she said, seeing that 
 the girl took with a somewhat bad grace 
 to the weighing of the sugar into the 
 great brass pan, and to the careful turning 
 over, one by one, of the greengages, which 
 were just beginning to " give/' as Mrs. 
 Martlet called it, in their own separate pan 
 over the clear fire, "but it was the master 
 himself's wish that you should see it from 
 first to last, and greengages isn't a thing I 
 ever take in hand over once in a season. 
 Besides, if you don't gather them dry with 
 the sun on, and before the wasps has begun 
 to help themselves, you may as well never 
 gather them at all." 
 
 " And we could get them off the trees, 
 which would be a great deal nicer," said 
 Linnet, baring her beautiful round white 
 arms to stir the sugar, which was just set 
 on. In vain Mrs. Martlet assured her
 
 184 a man's mistake. 
 
 that it did not want stirring at that early 
 stage of the process, that, in fact, there 
 was nothing to stir until it had begun to 
 melt at the bottom of the pan. 
 
 " Then why on earth did you put a 
 spoon in ?" said Linnet, quitting it with a 
 look of disgust. " But never mind ; the 
 greengages want something doing to them, 
 I am sure." 
 
 And, with a plunge to the other side of 
 the fire, Linnet seized a second spoon, 
 which she thrust with all the vigour of her 
 young health and strength into the soften- 
 ing yellowy-green fruit before Mrs. Mart- 
 let, panting and astonished, could lay 
 hands upon her. 
 
 " Miss Linnet ! Miss Linnet ! And them 
 to be preserved whole in halves, and at the 
 very point now for a touch to bruise them. 
 There then, if you haven't been and gone 
 and done it, and made them all into a 
 mash !" 
 
 "I don't care, Mrs. Martlet. I'm sure
 
 a man's mistake. 185 
 
 something must want stirring. And I 
 haven't bruised more than half a dozen of 
 them. I will pick them out, if you like ?" 
 
 " Then, Miss Linnet, I don't like. No, 
 you'd best leave them, now the mischief's 
 done. And just you watch this sugar 
 now, and, as the scum rises, take it off into 
 this here basin, which I've set for it, as 
 long as there's any to take. I shall need 
 to go and fetch the book ; for it's jam we 
 shall have to make them into, now you've 
 broken them so, and whether you put as 
 much sugar in for jam I wouldn't like to 
 say without being sure. Oh dear, oh 
 dear ! But you'll mind the scum, Miss 
 Linnet?" 
 
 " Yes, yes," said Linnet, taking out one 
 of the spoilt halves and eating it. "As 
 long as there is anything to stir, you may 
 depend upon me to stir it." 
 
 Mrs. Martlet dropped her broad hands 
 helplessly by her sides. Did ever a girl 
 have so little idea about anything ?
 
 186 a man's mistake. 
 
 " Miss Linnet, if you put a spoon to 
 that sugar at the present moment, you'll 
 ruin everything. It's the scum that has 
 to rise, and as it rises you've got to take 
 it carefully off." 
 
 " And pour it over the greengages?" 
 
 " No, Miss Linnet," said Mrs. Martlet, 
 with dignity, "not over the greengages." 
 
 "Then may I eat it ? "With that little 
 bit of butter you put at the bottom of the 
 pan, it ought to taste exactly like toffee." 
 
 "You may do what you like, Miss 
 Linnet. I'm not the woman to go out 
 of my place to give instructions." 
 
 "Oh! come, Mrs. Martlet," and Linnet 
 went and stroked down the old lady's 
 rough, red cheeks as tenderly as she would 
 have touched the fur of a little young- 
 rabbit ; " 1 didn't mean to vex you. There 
 is no harm in saying that syrup tastes like 
 toffee." 
 
 "No, honey/' said Mrs. Martlet, appeas- 
 ed, and kissing the soft hand as it came
 
 a man's mistake. 187 
 
 over her lips, " only there's a respect that's 
 proper to fruit like this, and when you've 
 the very best of loaf-sugar to it likewise. 
 I had set my heart upon them greengages 
 being a pattern, and every half as clear as 
 you mightn't have been ashamed for the 
 Duke of Moreland's own cook to see them. 
 Not that I should ever be ashamed of my 
 preserves being shown at the park, but, 
 being a duke, one naturally expects every- 
 thing of the best ; and now to think of its 
 being only jam." 
 
 " Never mind, Mrs. Martlet. It will be 
 very good jam, I am sure." 
 
 u No, it won't, Miss Linnet, if you stand 
 over it and let the scum rise in that way." 
 
 " Oh, dear ! I forgot. What a pity !" 
 
 And down went the spoon to the very 
 bottom of the syrup, which was just now 
 simmering delightfully — went down with a 
 stir as vigorous as all Linnet's good-will 
 could make it. 
 
 " Oh, Miss Linnet, Miss Linnet!" said
 
 18S a man's mistake. 
 
 the housekeeper, with a despairing groan. 
 "As if I hadn't told you over and over 
 again that to meddle with it on the sim- 
 mer was to ruin it ! That syrup will be 
 as thick as thick can be now. And the 
 very best of sugar — I couldn't have got 
 better if I'd gone down on my bended 
 knees to the grocer." 
 
 " Oh, bother the syrup !" said Linnet, 
 beginning to lose patience. " I don't care 
 if it's as thick as a London fog. I'll go 
 and catch pike again. There is some fun 
 in that." 
 
 "Yes, Miss Linnet, and when it comes 
 to the winter-time, and the puff tarts 
 you're so fond of, I wonder where they'd 
 be." 
 
 " They would be in the store-room, Mrs. 
 Martlet, as right as possible, so long as 
 you yourself were in the kitchen. You 
 and puff tarts go together as naturally as 
 sage and onions, or beans and bacon. 
 And, what is more, they would be the
 
 a man's mistake. 189 
 
 best puff: tarts in the world if you bad 
 bad anything to do with them. There, 
 then, now don't go and scold me again." 
 
 "Eh, Miss Linnet, honey, but I don't 
 think there was ever another like you for 
 coming round over anyone. It's little 
 scolding you'd ever get from me, if it 
 wasn't that the master himself said so 
 particular that everything proper in a 
 house you had ought to learn, and I'm 
 sure I'm doing my best to teach you. But 
 if it had been anybody else that had tried 
 me so, I don't know that I could have 
 kept my hands off her. To put a spoon 
 to the bottom of the syrup when it's just 
 on the simmer ! Did ever anybody hear !" 
 
 " It shan't happen again, Mrs. Martlet. 
 I wish preserves could be clone in the 
 winter-time, when it doesn't seem such a 
 shame to stop in the house to look after 
 them. Or, better still, I wish one never 
 had to learn to make them at all. I say, 
 Mrs. Martlet,"
 
 190 a man's mistake. 
 
 "Well, honey," and Mrs. Martlet, who 
 had found it necessary at last to take mat- 
 ters entirely under her own care, Linnet 
 only standing by and looking on, began to 
 turn over the bruised greengages as ten- 
 derly as a nurse handles a wounded pa- 
 tient. " What is it ? You can take off a 
 bit more scum if you like, only you mind 
 to take it off: carefully, whatever you do." 
 
 <e Oh, dear, no, thank you. I don't want 
 to have anything more to do with it. I 
 will just stand here and look, and then it 
 will seem easier another time." 
 
 "Very well. I don't doubt but what it 
 comes strange at first, same as a many 
 other thiogs. But what was it you was 
 a-going to say, Miss Linnet ?" 
 
 " I have quite forgotten. Something 
 about Mrs. Plummersleigh, I think." 
 
 "Mrs. Plummersleigh? Oh, yes, I re- 
 member — her as come back with you and 
 Mrs. Polemont after the dance, as I said 
 myself to Martlet you'd have been just as
 
 a man's mistake. 191 
 
 happy among the live creatures on the 
 farm, as tossed up with fine clothes and 
 set among them you haven't been used to. 
 Mr. Anbury was wonderful particular 
 about my having the best set of ivy-leaf 
 damask out for the table, though, if I'd 
 been let to do according to my own likings, 
 I should have said the acorn pattern was 
 good enough for 'em both, Mrs. Polemont 
 not beino* a woman as knows a deal about 
 a house ; and that brings it round to me, 
 Miss Linnet, what I was going to ask you 
 about, if there was company likely to be 
 invited, for, if there is, I'm the one that 
 ought to be told." 
 
 " Company, Mrs. Martlet ? No, I never 
 heard of any compan}^, except that my 
 brother told Mrs. Polemont he hoped they 
 would come over to dine again before 
 long. I don't call that company." 
 
 " No, not enough to have the great 
 linen-chest disturbed, and the business it 
 is to sort them all into sets when once
 
 192 a man's mistake. 
 
 you've begun to meddle. It was Martlet 
 told me lie thought he had heard the 
 master saying to you there would have to 
 be linen put out. I'm not a person that's 
 curious, Miss Linnet, only I like to know 
 beforehand." 
 
 " I should think you would, Mrs. Mart- 
 let. But perhaps it is the Mr. Moriston 
 that is coming to stay with Miss Alvisa. 
 Oh! dear, and I had forgotten all about 
 it. What a good thiDg you did say some- 
 thing ! Yes, my brother told me to tell 
 you he should like a little room made 
 ready. Not the big one, you know." 
 
 "I should think not, Miss Linnet, if it's 
 for a single young man like Mr, Moriston 
 to be put into it." 
 
 " I don't know who he is, Mrs. Martlet, 
 but I should have thought Tidy could have 
 put towels and things into the big room 
 easily enough, and you need not have 
 troubled yourself at all." 
 
 " Towels and things, Miss Linnet !" said
 
 a man's mistake. 193 
 
 the old lady, depositing her greengages 
 one by one in the now crystal-clear syrup. 
 " As if that was the way to talk when 
 there's the best bed to strip and the toily 
 stand, and them two tall mirrors, and all 
 the oak to be waxed, and the rugs to lay 
 down, as it's a morning's work for Tidy if 
 it's a minute, and me to put the finishing 
 off after all, for Tidy isn't the girl I would 
 trust with them vases of old china on the 
 mantelshelf, and the very mirror frames is 
 a piece of work to dust, as I've seen Miss 
 Goodenough at 'em by the hour together. 
 And you talk of towels and things. Law, 
 Miss Linnet, how little you do know about 
 a house !" 
 
 " And law, Mrs. Martlet," said the girl, 
 mischievously, "why should I know any- 
 thing at all when you know so much? 
 And then I am not so bad. Don't you say 
 yourself you never see linen mended like 
 ours, and yet whose hands ever touch it 
 but mine? There now. And didn't you 
 
 vol. i. o
 
 194 a man's mistake. 
 
 say, too, that those little lemon biscuits 
 last week were as light as fingers could 
 make them? And I wonder whose fingers 
 had anything to do with them if mine 
 hadn't. And then to tell me I know 
 nothing about a house !" 
 
 Mrs. Martlet laughed good-naturedly, as 
 one does at a child who, with all the im- 
 portance of its two or three years' strength, 
 stands by its mother's side, and puts out 
 its little hands to help to push the big 
 table she is moving, and, when it is moved, 
 looks up into her face with such innocent 
 satisfaction, as much as to say, lc We have 
 done it, haven't we ?" 
 
 " Well, Miss Linnet, if it pleases you I 
 wouldn't go again' it. But when there's 
 one to cream the butter, and whisk the 
 egg, and stir in the flour, there isn't a deal 
 left but to drop 'em clean and round on 
 the tins, and I won't say but what you did 
 frame to that better nor what you've done 
 with the greengages this morning. And
 
 a man's mistake. 195 
 
 there's reason in everything if I did praise 
 'em, Have your own way, Miss Linnet. 
 And that's all the company, is it ? Nothing 
 but a gentleman." 
 
 Ci Nothing but a gentleman, Mrs. Mart- 
 let. And perhaps not even him." 
 
 " Then he's welcome. Or else — but, 
 Miss Linnet, there's nothing more you can 
 do now. I don't doubt you'd rather be at 
 the swan-pools." 
 
 "Yes, I would, Mrs. Martlet." 
 
 And Linnet went. 
 
 Or else. And Mrs. Martlet thought her 
 own thoughts as she skimmed her pre- 
 serves, and then drew the pan aside to 
 cool. If it was only a gentleman it was 
 all right. She was rather jealous of ladies 
 coming to the castle, for there was never 
 any telling what might happen, though, 
 thank goodness, as she said to herself, the 
 master was not like most, ready to make a 
 fool of himself for the first pretty face that 
 came in his way. Still a plain face fooled 
 
 o2
 
 196 A MAN'S MISTAKE. 
 
 a man sometimes, if the woman that owned 
 it knew how to manage for herself. And 
 she must say she had had her doubts about 
 that quiet, low-spoken Mrs. Plummer sleigh, 
 for whom the ivy-leaf damask had been 
 brought out, and for whose sake, no one 
 else's, she was sure, — the master being a 
 man who was never dainty about his food — 
 she had been told to prepare those dessert 
 biscuits, and to see that the dinner was as 
 delicate as good cooking could make it. 
 
 But Mrs. Martlet was not a woman to 
 talk.
 
 197 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 LINNET did not go back to the swan- 
 pools after her somewhat ineffectual 
 attempt to preserve greengages whole in 
 halves. Instead she went to Miss Alvisa, 
 who, the morning being bright and sunny, 
 had had her sofa taken out into the 
 garden, and was lying under the beech- 
 tree with her books and work about her. 
 
 " Keith's parlour, I call this," she said, 
 as Linnet settled herself down in a swing, 
 conveniently situated for rocking to and 
 fro within reach of Miss Al visa's hand, 
 " because I hope he will spend many 
 pleasant mornings here. And you must 
 come too, Linnet. Our King Arthur
 
 198 a man's mistake. 
 
 readings will be ever so much better now 
 that we have him to help us." 
 
 Linnet gave a little shrug. She would 
 as soon learn preserving any day as meet 
 a strange gentleman. 
 
 " When do you say he is coming, Miss 
 Alvisa ?" 
 
 t£ Saturday, I think." 
 
 " And this is Thursday. And for how 
 long ?" 
 
 " Well, I hoped he would have stayed 
 with me for two or three months, so as to 
 get quite strong again." 
 
 " Oh, dear, poor man ! Is he an in- 
 valid?" 
 
 "Yes, rather. At any rate, he has 
 been working a great deal too hard, this 
 being his last term, and the doctors said 
 he must give up and take a good long rest • 
 but the tiresome boy tells me that he has 
 made up his mind to go as travelling tutor 
 by-and-by to Lord Stormont's two little 
 boys. They are going to spend some time
 
 a man's mistake. 199 
 
 moving about in England and on the Con- 
 tinent, and he thinks it will be as good for 
 his health as being idle here." 
 
 " Quite, I should think," said Linnet, 
 who was very ready for any arrangement 
 which should keep Keith Moriston away 
 from the old vicarage. 
 
 " And he says that Lord Stormont may 
 send for him at any time. They do not 
 exactly know yet when they will start. 
 Lord Stormont is the owner of Airdrie 
 Muir, you know, where Keith was brought 
 up, and they have always been very kind 
 to him, so that it would not be wise to let 
 such an opportunity pass." 
 
 "I should think not at all. Then per- 
 haps he may only just come for a very 
 little while." 
 
 " Well, a month, I hope. I shall be 
 very much disappointed if it is less than a 
 month, when I had expected three." 
 
 " Our readings wont be half so pleasant, 
 Miss Alvisa, when he comes."
 
 200 a man's mistake. 
 
 "I think they will be a great deal 
 pleasanter, Linnet. He knows a great 
 deal more about books than we do, and 
 can see deeper down into the meaning of 
 things." 
 
 " I don't care how deep he sees ; I am 
 sure it won't be half so pleasant. I think 
 I shall come to-morrow and bid you good- 
 bye until after he is gone." 
 
 "Very well, Miss Wilful, just as you 
 please. You will find the gate in its usual 
 place whenever you have a mind to open 
 it. And besides, you know, he will not 
 always be here. Your brother has very 
 kindly asked him to go and fish the swan- 
 pools whenever he likes." 
 
 " Down by the dingle ? Oh ! Miss 
 Alvisa, that is worse than ever. I have 
 always been able to go there and do just 
 as I liked." 
 
 "Well, Keith will not prevent you from 
 doing just as you like; he is very inoffen-
 
 a man's mistake. 20 J 
 
 sive, and will take no notice of you if you 
 take no notice of him." 
 
 " That is just what Mrs. Martlet used 
 to say to me, when I was a little girl and 
 did not like to go near the tame magpie — 
 1 He will take no notice of you if you take 
 no notice of him.' But he used to come 
 after me all the same, and peck at my 
 ankles, too, before I had long frocks." 
 
 " All right. But Keith is not a magpie. 
 Perhaps it would be better for him if he 
 had a little more of the magpie's gift of 
 talking ; and certainly it would be better 
 for him if he had a magpie's readiness in 
 coming after people, instead of getting as 
 far away from them as he can. So that I 
 do not think you need be afraid. And 
 besides you have long frocks now. And, 
 lastly, I can tell your brother that he need 
 not say anything to him about the fishing." 
 
 "Oh! no, please don't do that, brother 
 Owen would think I had been so rude to
 
 202 a man's mistake. 
 
 say anything about it ; only, you see, you 
 might just tell Mr. Moriston not to come 
 when he sees me there. "Will you ?" 
 
 " All right," said Miss Alvisa, laughing. 
 Perhaps she had a notion that some day, 
 before Keith went off to his tutorship, 
 Linnet might think differently on that 
 matter. " But I do not fancy he will want 
 telling. He is very shy. It takes a good 
 deal to persuade him that he is welcome 
 anywhere." 
 
 "I am glad of that," said Linnet, with 
 unnecessary straightforwardness. " It is 
 so tiresome to find people there when you 
 think you are going to be all by yourself. 
 It was only yesterday I went down, and 
 there was a nasty, shabby-looking fellow 
 idling about, and I had to come away 
 again. Brother Owen said, if I saw any- 
 one there again, I was not to speak, but 
 look very hard at them, and turn round 
 and come straight back to him. And I 
 mean to do so next time."
 
 a man's mistake. 203 
 
 " Very proper," replied Miss Alvisa, 
 smiling at the appearance Linnet would 
 present under the circumstances. " But 
 I really don't think you will fiud poor Keith 
 a nuisance. You must tell me, if you do, 
 and I will be sure to speak to him about 
 it. Are you going to stay, and have a 
 reading this morning ?" 
 
 u No; that tiresome Mrs. Martlet kept 
 me so long over the preserves, and then 
 she said what I did was to spoil them 
 after all. I think I will go home now, 
 and the day after to-morrow I will 
 come." 
 
 u Yery well. To say good-bye to me, I 
 suppose?" 
 
 " Yes, for the present— until Mr. Moris- 
 ton has gone away. Oh ! it is such a pity ; 
 for we are just coming to the beautiful 
 part where Sir Galahad achieves the quest 
 of the Sangreal. And to have to stop — 
 well, if it were not that you want him to 
 come, Miss Alvisa, I do so wish those
 
 204 a man's mistake. 
 
 Stormont people would set off upon their 
 travels immediately." 
 
 "Very well, Linnet, we shall see. Good 
 morning." 
 
 And Linnet jumped down from the 
 swing, and, kissing Miss Alvisa, was soon 
 amongst the dingle trees, singing as merri- 
 ly as any of the birds that fluttered in 
 their branches. 
 
 On the appointed morning, she took old 
 Mallory's book, and set off to the swan- 
 pools, intending to have a quiet hour there 
 with the "Knights of the Bound Table" 
 before going across to Miss Alvisa's. But, 
 to her disgust, some one was there before 
 her, sitting on a bit of overhanging bank 
 at the opposite side of the pool. 
 
 Was it the lad who had interrupted her 
 a day or two before ? Linnet thought so 
 at first, but, after inspecting him as closely 
 as she could through the low bushes, she 
 decided that he belonged to a better sort ;
 
 a man's mistake. 205 
 
 though that made things all the worse for 
 him, as he ought to have had more good 
 sense than to go and make himself at 
 home in a gentleman's private grounds. 
 And that he did feel quite at home was 
 evident from the manner in which he was 
 lolling there, with one book in his hands, 
 and two or three more lying about on the 
 bank beside him. He was so much ab- 
 sorbed in his reading that he did not look 
 across, though she purposely made as 
 much rustling as she could to draw his 
 attention to her side of the pool. 
 
 But Miss Linnet knew her lesson this 
 time. Summoning up all the dignity of 
 which she was capable, she struck vigor- 
 ously through the hazel brake, first wrap- 
 ping round her a scarlet shawl, which she 
 generally used as a cushion, so that she 
 might present a more conspicuous appear- 
 ance. Then, marching down to the edge 
 of the pool, she planted herself exactly 
 opposite the intruder, and, giving a some-
 
 206 a man's mistake. 
 
 what unnecessarily emphatic cough, waited 
 for him to become aware of her presence. 
 
 Which he did by-and-by. Lifting his 
 eyes from the book, they met hers, level- 
 ling a steady look of disgust at him from 
 under the shadow of very scornful brows. 
 When she saw that she had attracted his 
 notice, she kept her eyes fixed on him for 
 a moment or two, holding herself very up- 
 right all the time ; and then, turning her 
 back upon him, she walked rapidly up the 
 bank again towards the hazel brake. 
 
 When she reached it, she turned to see 
 what effect her course of treatment had 
 produced. The stranger was no longer 
 there. He must have taken himself off 
 very quickly, for he was already through 
 the little gate and over the stile on the 
 opposite side of the footpath, and shoul- 
 dering away up the moors with his books, 
 a regular bundle of them, under his arm, 
 in search, probably, of a more undisturbed 
 retreat.
 
 A MAN S MISTAKE. 207 
 
 She bad done for him, at any rate. 
 With a comical little feeling of import- 
 ance, she folded the scarlet shawl and 
 settled down for an hour of readme before 
 going across to Miss Alvisa. 
 
 But somehow she could not enjoy old 
 Mallory's quaint story as usual. She felt 
 she had been rather too hard upon this 
 poor man, whoever he might be. She had 
 not quite meant to send him scudding 
 over the moor in such a hurry. If he had 
 fidgeted uneasily, and made some sort of 
 apology, which could have been heai^d well 
 enough across that narrow end of the 
 pool, it would have satisfied her. Or if 
 even he had braved her look, and stuck 
 boldly to his bit of bank and his books, 
 she would have felt, if very indignant, 
 more comfortable than at present. Be- 
 cause one can more easily bear the sense 
 of wrong received than of wrong inflicted. 
 She knew how she would have felt herself 
 if anyone had behaved so to her — how all
 
 208 a man's mistake. 
 
 her pride would have boiled over, how she 
 would have dashed away, and never will- 
 ingly come again within a mile of the 
 place- where she had been so insulted. 
 And somehow the poor fellow looked so 
 humbled and disappointed as he struggled 
 up the moor with his burden of books. 
 That was the worst part of it. If he had 
 looked very indignant, she would not have 
 cared half so much, or if he had gone off 
 with a jaunty, amused, half insolent air. 
 But now the more she thought about what 
 she had done, the more rebuked she felt. 
 
 At last, finding that her thoughts would 
 not keep out of this uncomfortable track, 
 she took her book back to the house, and 
 had a scamper with Bobtail over the 
 seventeen acre to fill up the time until she 
 needed to start for her appointment with 
 Miss Alvisa. That, at any rate, would 
 help to blow away the tiresome feeling of 
 self-reproach which would not let her 
 enjoy her favourite book as usual.
 
 a man's mistake. 209 
 
 Twelve o'clock found her at the old 
 vicarage gate. Miss Alvisa was again 
 under the beech-tree, her sofa so arranged 
 that she was facing the gate. And almost 
 alongside of her, only facing the other 
 way, so that they could look at each other 
 as they talked, stretched at full length on 
 the lawn, with his hands behind his head, 
 lay a young man, probably this Mr. Keith 
 Moriston, who must have come a day 
 before his time. 
 
 It was very provoking. However, she 
 must make his acquaintance some time, 
 and perhaps the sooner the better, espe- 
 cially as her brother had asked him to 
 come over to the castle. Besides, Miss 
 Alvisa had seen her, and therefore she 
 must go forward. But Miss Alvisa settled 
 the matter by saying, with an amused 
 smile, " Come in, Linnet." 
 
 Linnet came, slowly, as a child to say a 
 lesson which is by no means perfectly 
 learned. 
 
 vol. i. p
 
 210 a man's mistake. 
 
 " Linnet, this is Mr. Moriston ; he found 
 he was able to get away sooner than he 
 expected, and so he came last night. Miss 
 Aubury, Mr. Moriston." 
 
 By this time Keith Moriston was on his 
 feet, and facing Linnet, ready to do his 
 part in the ceremony of introduction. 
 The girl, glancing nervously up into his 
 face, — for she dreaded strangers of any 
 kind, and especially what she called men 
 strangers, — recognized the shy yet master- 
 ful brown eyes of the intruder whom, less 
 than a couple of hours ago, she had driven 
 away so unceremoniously from his resting- 
 place on the bank of the swan-pools. 
 
 Keith was just going to make a bow, 
 when, somewhat to his embarrassment, he 
 found there was no one to bow to. For 
 Linnet, much more quickly than she came 
 in, had fled away to the gate, bounding 
 over rugs and flower-beds, and anything 
 else that lay in the road, and was now 
 with trembling fingers trying to open it.
 
 A MAN S MISTAKE. 211 
 
 Probably in another moment, if unsuccess- 
 ful, she would have bounded over that too, 
 but Miss Alvisa said, 
 
 "Fetch her back, Keith." 
 
 Very obediently, somewhat after the 
 fashion of a Scotch collie, who finds it his 
 duty to hunt up a runaway sheep, and so 
 does it without much personal interest in 
 the pursuit, Keith Moriston, in even less 
 time than it had taken Linnet to clear 
 them, was over the flower-beds and at her 
 elbow. 
 
 " Miss Alvisa says you are to come 
 back." 
 
 And without more ado he fastened upon 
 a bit of her sleeve, and led her by it to the 
 sofa. There leaving her, he disappeared, 
 for which poor Linnet felt heartily grate- 
 ful. 
 
 " Oh ! Miss Alvisa," she said, " what am 
 I to do ?" 
 
 " Do !" said Miss Alvisa, laughing heart- 
 ily, " why, you can do nothing at all." 
 
 p2
 
 212 a man's mistake. 
 
 " But I did behave so badly to him this 
 morning, and he is the very same." 
 
 " Yes, he is the very same ; there is no 
 doubt about that. He told me all about 
 it not ten minutes ago. He says he never 
 felt more uncomfortable in his life than 
 when he gathered his books together and 
 went off up the moorside." 
 
 " I wish you would tell him how un- 
 comfortable I felt too after I had done it, 
 if that would make it any better." 
 
 " You will be able to tell him that your- 
 self sometime maybe, so I think I had better 
 say nothing about it. You know he would 
 not have been there at all, only Mr. Au- 
 bury came over this morning to have a talk 
 with me about some business matters, and 
 finding him here, and thinking perhaps he 
 misrht not know what to do with himself 
 whilst we were busy with accounts, he 
 proposed that he should go over to the 
 swan-pools. That was how you happened
 
 a man's mistake. 213 
 
 to meet him, or else be really was intend- 
 ing to call first." 
 
 " Perhaps he thinks it was somebody 
 else. That would be a comfort." 
 
 "No; he knows it was Miss Aubury 
 herself. Don't trouble yourself about it, 
 but next time you see him, just go up to 
 him as if nothing had happened, and tell 
 him how very sorry you are." 
 
 " Do you think that will set everything 
 straight ?" 
 
 " More than straight, Linnet. Keith is 
 very simple-minded, and I am sure he will 
 never make you feel awkward about it. 
 And tell your brother, too, as soon as you 
 can." 
 
 " Yes. I will go right off and do it 
 now." 
 
 Which Linnet did. Kissing Miss Alvisa, 
 who seemed to have a fairy gift of set- 
 ting things right for other people, however 
 crooked they might be for herself, she
 
 214 a man's mistake. 
 
 went straight home, and did not even stay 
 to take her hat off before she told brother 
 Owen the whole story : how she had " dis- 
 persed " the intruder, sending him dis- 
 consolate, with his books, up the moor- 
 land-path ; and how, going to see Miss 
 Alvisa a couple of hours later, she had 
 encountered him again, and, instead of 
 allowing him to be properly introduced to 
 her, had rushed on° to the garden-gate, 
 whence he had fetched her back, and then 
 disappeared ; that being the present state 
 of affairs between them. 
 
 Under the circumstances, Mr. Aubury 
 felt the least he could do was to ask the 
 trespasser over to dinner, and that at the 
 earliest opportunity too. And so it came 
 to pass that on the very evening of the 
 day whose morning had witnessed such a 
 manifestation of dignity down at the swan- 
 pools, Linnet had to receive Keith Moris- 
 ton in her brothers drawing-room, and 
 make her apology with such grace as was
 
 a man's mistake. 215 
 
 possible. She made it witli most un-Lin- 
 net-like meekness. There was nothing 
 this time of cold defiance in the glance 
 which was lifted to him from beneath those 
 pretty dark brows. And her voice quaked, 
 and so did the fingers which he held in his 
 great palm, as she said, with almost 
 comical ruefulness, 
 
 " If you please, Mr. Moriston, I am so 
 sorry. I will never do it again." 
 
 " Pray don't say anything," replied Keith, 
 holding the little fingers fast, and feeling 
 that, if ever he were sent after this run- 
 away sheep again, he would have much 
 more personal interest in the bringing 
 back of her. " I don't want to hear any- 
 thing more about it." 
 
 " Oh ! but Miss Alvisa told me I was 
 to say something, and I always have to do 
 what Miss Alvisa tells me. I felt ever so 
 uncomfortable after I had behaved so rude- 
 ly and come down to the bank and stared 
 at you. Only brother Owen had told me
 
 216 a man's mistake. 
 
 to do exactly like that, had you not, 
 brother ?" 
 
 "Yes, exactly like that," said Mr. Au- 
 bury, laughing. " So Linnet was only 
 acting under orders. You must show 
 your forgiveness of us both by coming 
 to-morrow morning, and then Linnet shall 
 show you the best places for fishing. She 
 knows every cranny and corner of the 
 pools far better than I do myself; and I 
 am sure she will be very glad to help 
 
 you." 
 
 Linnet did not reply to that, for just 
 then Mrs. Martlet came in to say that 
 dinner was ready. But next morning 
 Keith Moriston was down at the swan- 
 pools, ready for his lesson.
 
 217 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 T~\ID ever a bright-eyed, innocent-heart- 
 -*-' ed girl teach a young student where 
 the darting pike lay thickest under the 
 reedy banks, and teach him nothing more ? 
 And when Keith Moriston had looked, not 
 once but many times, into those clear 
 dark eyes, and so looked that they had 
 learned to fall beneath his glance ; and 
 when he knew that morning by morning 
 Linnet was to be found wandering amongst 
 the blossoming grasses of the dingle ; and 
 when Mr. Aubury, good, unsuspicious man, 
 anxious to show all kindness to Miss 
 Alvisa's guest, had bidden him come there 
 as often as he liked, was it to be wondered
 
 218 a man's mistake. 
 
 at if the sunny August noonday often 
 found him stretched under the willows by 
 the swan-pool, studying no book but Lin- 
 net's face? And that Miss Alvisa, etch- 
 ing under the shadow of her own beech- 
 tree boughs, often had only her own 
 thoughts for company ? 
 
 Linnet, too, found the dingle a fair 
 place. It was better to wander there 
 now, listening for Keith Moriston's tread 
 upon the last year's leaves, than to race 
 over the seventeen-acre and the planta- 
 tions with Snip and Bobtail and all the 
 rest of them at her heels. A change 
 which the four-footed people did not un- 
 derstand at all, nor appreciate. 
 
 And Linnet grew quieter. So much 
 quieter that not only Mr. Aubury and Miss 
 Alvisa, but the old housekeeper noticed it. 
 
 " It's because she's overmuch moped," 
 said the good woman to her husband one 
 day, when Keith Moriston had been about 
 a fortnight at the old vicarage. She was
 
 a man's mistake. 219 
 
 ironing in the front kitchen, Tidy being 
 busy at the back, washing up after the 
 butter-making, and Martlet sat in the 
 doorway with his pipe, the blue smoke 
 gently curling up between him and the 
 scarcely more solid-looking towers of 
 Broadminster, which rose beyond the 
 Abbot's Florey valley, three miles away. 
 " She's overmuch moped, that's what it is. 
 She'd ought to have more young people 
 about the place, young girls to match 
 herself." 
 
 " Nay, not she," said Martlet, shrewdly. 
 " She don't want no young girls about her. 
 She's got Miss Alvisa, and Miss Alvisa's as 
 good as a hundred of 'em." 
 
 " That may she be and welcome, Mart- 
 let, and yet not what Miss Linnet stands 
 in need of. She wants somebody she can 
 talk her own bits of thoughts to, same as 
 she can't to one who has seen Miss Alvisa's 
 share of trouble. "Whether you're young, 
 or whether you're old, or whether you're
 
 220 a man's mistake. 
 
 middle-aged, Martlet, it's a hard thing and 
 a bad not to have no one to say your 
 own thoughts to when you Ve a mind for 
 it." 
 
 "It isn't what you know a deal of, I 
 lay, Betsey," said her spouse. 
 
 "I know more of it than what you 
 might think, Martlet. It isn't everything 
 that I can open out to you about, though 
 I will say you've been a good husband to 
 me, as men go. There's times and times, 
 Martlet, when I've felt that moped and 
 queer you might frighten me with a broom- 
 handle set up in a corner, and yet I've 
 never made no sign of it, but just gone 
 about my work same as usual, and when 
 I've had a chance to go and see my sister 
 Wright, and have a good outing with her, 
 it's made me as different as different could 
 be." 
 
 Martlet puffed his pipe in silence. He 
 was as wise as most men, but the mopes 
 he could not understand, nor how people
 
 a man's mistake. 221 
 
 got them, nor what was best to take for 
 them. 
 
 " Now," said his wife, " if Mr. Aubury 
 was to speak a word to me about it, this is 
 just what I should advise him : to get three 
 or four young people into the house, and 
 have things bright and cheerful, and blind- 
 man's buff, and games, same as old Miss 
 Goodenough had used to have 'em at 
 Christmas time. Law, Martlet, the beds 
 and beds I've had to make up when I 
 lived under-girl with her, and the holidays 
 was on, and never considered it a trouble 
 neither, no, nor wouldn't at the present 
 time, though nobody but myself knows 
 what it is to get the best lodging-room 
 fettled for company, what with the oak to 
 rub, and the furniture to strip, and all 
 that. But I'd do it, yes, and welcome, to 
 see Miss Linnet same as she'd used to be 
 last fore end." 
 
 " Yes, Betsey. And if the master got a 
 fry of strange folk into the house, as like
 
 222 a man's mistake. 
 
 as not he'd be fishing one on 'em out for 
 himself before long. There's many a wed- 
 ding gets made up that way." 
 
 Mrs. Martlet paused in setting the folds 
 of a starched front, put her iron back on 
 the stand, folded her arms, and faced about 
 upon her husband. 
 
 " You say that, Martlet, and to me, who 
 have seen him coming and going in the 
 house this ten years past. He's not that 
 kind of man, isn't the master, to go and 
 make a fool of himself, so don't you believe 
 it, no, nor try to make me, neither." 
 
 " I don't know as it shows a man's a 
 fool, Betsey, to think he'd be the better of 
 a good wife." 
 
 "Yes, it does, Martlet, when he's got a 
 young lady like our Miss Linnet to look 
 after him, with such pretty ways as he'd 
 never get anybody else to match them." 
 
 " And maybe he won't have Miss Linnet 
 so long as you think," said Martlet, who 
 had seen those two sauntering down by
 
 a man's mistake. 223 
 
 the swan-pools, and bad his own thoughts 
 about it, though he never opened out to 
 Betsey on the subject. 
 
 "What makes you say that, Martlet?" 
 
 "I don't say as anything makes me say 
 it. It only stands to reason. A young 
 lady can't go all her life rampaging over 
 the pastures, and fetching out rabbits, and 
 scrambling after squirrels. If Miss Linnet 
 don't set her mind to marrying some of 
 these days, it'll be because she's like no 
 other I ever heard tell of ; and when she's 
 been fetched, and fetched she will be as 
 sure as sure, you'll see the master won't 
 stay here alone." 
 
 " Martlet, you don't say it. Have you a 
 reason why ?" 
 
 " I don't know, Betsey, as I've any 
 reason to speak of. I just looks round 
 about, and I takes notice, that's all." 
 
 "Martlet," said his wife, grasping her 
 iron firmly, and coming a step nearer to 
 him, with solemnity stamped upon her
 
 224 a man's mistake. 
 
 face, u Martlet, is it that lady as come 
 here to dine with Mrs. Poleraont ? As 
 you're a Christian man, tell me." 
 
 " T don't know as it's a lady at all, 
 Betsey, and I don't say it's neither here 
 nor there, for all he was walking her up 
 and down the garden a good half hour, if 
 it was a minute, when they took Miss 
 Linnet over to Broadminster afore the 
 dance. And then when him and her set 
 them home after they'd stopped to dinner 
 that night, it was Mrs. Plummersleigh and 
 him walked behind, ay, and a good bit 
 behind, same as you and me had used to, 
 Betsey, when we was keeping company at 
 the first. If there was four to walk, 
 Betsey, it was never you and me who took 
 the front." 
 
 "No, Martlet, it wasn't," replied his 
 wife, a touch of tenderness softening the 
 expression of severity with which his bold 
 hypothesis had clouded her face ; "it was 
 behind we went, if we went at all. And
 
 a man's mistake. 225 
 
 now you've mentioned it, Martlet, she have 
 been about the place a goodish deal, and a 
 sort of person, too, that knows where she's 
 going and what she means to do. There's 
 some that looks about 'em and doesn't see, 
 but that isn't the lady as is staying with 
 Mrs. Polemont." 
 
 " Don't you go over- fast, Betsey. I don't 
 say it's the lady that's staying with Mrs. 
 Polemont, and I don't say it's anybody 
 else ; all I say is, there were them two 
 walking behind same as me and you used 
 to, and whether it means anything, or 
 whether it means nothing, isn't for you 
 and me to judge." 
 
 " It mayn't be for you to judge, Martlet, 
 but it is for me, I haven't lived here for 
 the last ten years, with everything, as you 
 may say, given into my hands, to have 
 Mrs. Plummersleigh or anybody else put 
 over me. And if the master was let to do 
 as he likes, there never would be anybody 
 put over me. If it's a wife he's thinking 
 
 VOL. I. Q
 
 226 a man's mistake. 
 
 about, it's somebody as has pushed him 
 forward to it." 
 
 " Nay, Betsey, it's easy going that road ; 
 I didn't need nobody to push me afore I 
 made a start." 
 
 "No, Martlet, you went fast enough, as 
 I'm a witness to. But the master's a dif- 
 ferent sort. I've as many eyes behind my 
 spectacles as serve me to see that." 
 
 "Well, be easy, Betsey, about it, like I 
 am. 
 
 " No, Martlet, I'm not the woman to be 
 easy after the words you've spoke. There's 
 them in this parish that don't mean to let the 
 master do as he likes. I don't take in the 
 fancy dishes when there's company with- 
 out heariDg a deal ; not that it makes any 
 difference to me, nor goes farther than 
 myself, let alone when it touches my own 
 place, and then I don't think I'm wrong to 
 open out to yourself." 
 
 " I'm safe, Betsey."
 
 a man's mtstake. 227 
 
 c< Yes. And you remember the vicar 
 was here a week or two back, when Miss 
 Linnet was having her dinner at Miss 
 Alvisa's, and he was at him in his nice, 
 free, pleasant way about having a lady ' to 
 give a finish to the place.' Them was his 
 very words, Martlet, to give a finish to 
 the place. He said that was all it wanted, 
 just a lady to finish it oil like. And if it's 
 Mrs. Plummersleigh that it's going to be, 
 well, then !" 
 
 And Mrs. Martlet planted down her 
 iron with an emphatic thump on the folds 
 of Mr. Anbury's linen front. 
 
 " Betsey, I wouldn't talk if I was you." 
 
 " It's what I'm not intending to do, 
 Martlet, only to yourself, which it's a duty, 
 and a privilege likewise. If it's another, 
 I don't know but what I shall give warn- 
 ing. But if it's Mrs. Plummersleigh, 
 Martlet " 
 
 And again she faced round upon him 
 with the flat iron. 
 
 Q2
 
 228 a man's mistake. 
 
 " If it's Mrs. Plummersleigh, I shall 
 stay." 
 
 " Maybe there's them that won't let you 
 do as you like, Betsey." 
 
 " There's none will put me out of this 
 here place so long as you are what you 
 are to the master. We shall go and live 
 at the keep, Martlet. I've heard the mas- 
 ter say he would like a steady couple there. 
 And then one could keep an eye." 
 
 " For why, honey ?" 
 
 " Because look here, Martlet. It's for 
 Miss Linnet's sake. It isn't as if she be- 
 longed to the master himself, his own flesh 
 and blood, as you may say, and had a 
 right to look for his to be hers. But 
 she's only here because her brother, bless 
 him, is one of the kindest and best of 
 men ; and if he was worked round to it — 
 which no one can tell he won't be — she 
 might be put out into the world and never 
 so much as a sixpence to bless herself 
 with, let alone what she gets from her
 
 a man's mistake. 229 
 
 poor pa being in them foreign parts, so as 
 there's a pension for her, but not to call 
 more than beggary, and her brought up as 
 she has been." 
 
 " Goodness, Betsey, how you do talk ! 
 As if there was anybody mean enough to 
 
 do it r 
 
 " And isn't there anybody mean enough ? 
 "Well, then, Martlet, wait and you'll see. 
 My sister Wright hasn't lived up in that 
 yard where Mrs. Plummersleigh gives out 
 tracts not to know what she is and what 
 she'd as soon do as not do. Yes, and tells 
 me, too, so as I've a right to speak. One 
 as thinks you can never live lean enough, 
 and grudges every bit of fat you pat into 
 a short-cake, and always at you if she 
 smells a bit of bacon in the place, while 
 my sister Wright says she gets that ag- 
 gravated, if it was her last halfpenny she'd 
 spend it over a rasher, so as Mrs. Plum- 
 mersleigh might hear it frizzling in the 
 pan, just to set her off, as you may say.
 
 230 a man's mistake. 
 
 And is that the person for you and me 
 and Miss Linnet to live comfortable 
 under ? I'll defy you to look me in the 
 face, Martlet, and say it is." 
 
 " I don't say nothing," replied Martlet, 
 rising slowly and shaking the ashes out 
 of his pipe. " I just looks round about 
 me, and I takes notice." 
 
 "Yes, and plenty there'll be to take 
 notice on by-and-by. Mrs. Plummersleigh 
 would part Miss Linnet and her brother 
 just as soon as she wouldn't, if she thought 
 it would serve her turns. And that's why 
 I mean to stay about the place — not that 
 I couldn't get a better any day, if it came 
 to that — when there's a mistress put over 
 me. 
 
 " Well, Betsey, you've cooked a rare 
 roast, according to your own thinking, but 
 there's the leg of mutton a-wanting to 
 start with." 
 
 " It won't be wanting long, Martlet, if 
 I'm the woman I take myself to be for
 
 a man's mistake. 231 
 
 seeing what lies round about. And so now 
 you know, you do." 
 
 And with that Mrs. Martlet fetched a 
 basin of water to sprinkle Mr. Aubury's 
 shirt-front, for it had got too dry for the 
 iron whilst she had been casting his matri- 
 monial horoscope.
 
 232 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 I T was about the middle of July when 
 -*- the vicars wife saw the castle party 
 walking home after that quiet little 
 dinner, and by the middle of August 
 everyone in Abbot's Florey said that Mr. 
 Aubury was going to marry Mrs. Plum- 
 mer sleigh. 
 
 Not that there was really auy particular 
 reason for sayiug so, and certainly not 
 that Mrs. Plummersleigh herself gave any 
 cause for the gossip. Indeed, Mrs. Pole- 
 mont, who was delighted when any of 
 these little flying rumours reached her, 
 because, as she said, wherever there is 
 smoke there must be fire somewhere, or
 
 a man's mistake. 233 
 
 something which, with judicious manage- 
 ment, may be kindled into fire, — Mrs. 
 Polemont would have been better pleased 
 if her visitor's behaviour had been more 
 marked in its consciousness of Mr. Au- 
 bury's now evident attention. 
 
 For whether Maria had any sort of 
 feeling for him or not, or whether she 
 knew what people were talking about or 
 not, or whether she noticed anything 
 special in his behaviour or not, Mrs. Pole- 
 mont, who found out nearly everything 
 about her neighbours, never could find 
 out. And Maria was not a person you 
 could " tax " with anything, neither was 
 she a person you could drop hints to ; she 
 might understand, but if she did, there 
 was never a spark of consciousness to let 
 you know anything about it. True, she 
 never put on that brown hat now, which 
 she. used to wear with the black silk dress ; 
 she had had the navy cashmere made up, 
 too, and very well she looked in it ; but
 
 234 a man's mistake. 
 
 whether that meant anything, Mrs. Pole- 
 mont could not tell any more than she 
 could tell what sort of feeling Maria was 
 cherishing for the master of Florey Castle. 
 
 Then she was just as devoted as ever to 
 the work she had undertaken in the parish, 
 seemed to enjoy nothing so much as going 
 about in her district and reprimanding 
 the women for using too much fat bacon, 
 never seemed particularly anxious to take 
 a walk with Linnet, though it did happen 
 pretty frequently that the walk was taken. 
 And if they ever came out of church at the 
 same time that Mr. Anbury did, who went 
 regularly now every Sunday evening of his 
 life, it was Mrs. Polemont herself who 
 contrived it, not Maria. Yet people kept 
 on talking. 
 
 " Now, Mrs. Polemont, tell me, is there 
 anything in it?" Mrs. Flowerdale said, 
 with almost what might be called an air 
 of authority, for if anyone had a right to 
 know what was going on in the parish, the
 
 a man's mistake. 235 
 
 vicar's wife had. What Mrs. Polemont 
 found out by that merry, good-humoured 
 roundabout questioning of hers, Mrs. 
 Plowerdale found out by going and boldly 
 demanding information on the subject ; it 
 was due to her position, and she had no 
 hesitation in asking it, just as a parochial- 
 ly authorised inspector of nuisances makes 
 the tour of your premises, with a fine inde- 
 pendence which, in any other person, 
 would amount to ill breeding, not to say 
 insolence. And so, sitting there in the 
 doctors pretty drawing-room, with the 
 doctor's pretty wife pouring out afternoon 
 tea for her, she at once proceeded to 
 business. 
 
 " I ask you seriously, Mrs. Polemont, is 
 there anything ?" 
 
 " Indeed, Mrs. Flowerdale, I cannot tell 
 you. I really know nothing whatever 
 about it. I must say that Mr. Aubury 
 comes to our house more frequently than 
 he used to, but, if he has any purpose in
 
 236 a man's mistake. 
 
 it, he has never told me so ; of course, if 
 he has, George and I would be very glad." 
 
 " Of course ; it would be an excellent 
 thing for them both, and the age so suita- 
 ble, too." 
 
 Mrs. Polemont admitted the facts. 
 
 {t And then/' continued the vicar's wife, 
 " that poor child Linnet would have some 
 one to look after her, which she needs, if 
 report says truly. What Mr. Aubury 
 can be thinking of, to allow that young 
 Moriston to go to the castle farm as he 
 does, 1 cannot imagine." 
 
 " Oh, Mrs. Flowerdale ! Do you think 
 there is anything in that direction ?" 
 
 And little Mrs. Polemont, who enjoyed 
 nothing so much as hearing about a pos- 
 sible engagement, began to quiver with 
 suppressed eagerness, as a cavalry horse 
 when it listens to the flourish of trumpets. 
 
 " I cannot really say, Mrs. Polemont. 
 All I know is this, that he is constantly 
 there, and as often as not Linnet is with
 
 a man's mistake. 237 
 
 him. My husband happened to be cross- 
 ing that bit of pasture land down by the 
 swan-pools the other day, because Mr. 
 Aubury had told him he might make use 
 of the private road whenever he wanted a 
 short cut home ; and there they both were, 
 sitting side by side as comfortably as pos- 
 sible, with not a creature to look after 
 them. Now, Mrs. Polemont, that is what 
 I call morally wrong. A young man of 
 no prospects whatever, and no means of 
 livelihood. I shall ask Percy to speak to 
 Mr. Aubury about it." 
 
 Mrs. Polemont did not see how young 
 Moriston's prospects could affect the moral 
 aspect of the proceeding, but Mrs. Flower- 
 dale was not a woman one liked to contra- 
 dict. She generally made up her mind 
 about a thing so decidedly before she men- 
 tioned it at all, that to argue with her was 
 to provoke a quarrel. And to be on bad 
 terms with one's vicar's wife was such a 
 nuisance. Still she was not sorry to hear
 
 238 a man's mistake. 
 
 about Linnet and Mr. Moriston, because, 
 if there was going to be anything in that 
 direction, it would make the position so 
 much pleasanter for Maria, if there was 
 going to be anything in that direction too. 
 And though Mrs. Polemont attended to 
 the proprieties so far as they had any right 
 to be attended to, she was always ready to 
 leave a margin for other people, whose 
 notions on the subject might not be just 
 the same as her own. And she had faith 
 in Linnet, that the girl would do nothing 
 that was not noble and true. 
 
 The doctor's wife had very few of what 
 are called "resources" within herself, and 
 so she was obliged to fill up her life out of 
 other people's affairs, that vast reservoir 
 which so seldom runs dry, only bursts 
 sometimes, and causes so much mischief. 
 But she always turned on the tap of infor- 
 mation and the tap of inquiry with the 
 utmost good-will. In those affairs con- 
 cerning which she took the greatest inter-
 
 a man's mistake. 239 
 
 est, namely, matrimonial affairs, she would 
 far rather help on an engagement than 
 mar it by any spiteful little innuendoes, 
 whether the people belonged to herself or 
 anyone else. She believed — and she knew 
 as much about Keith Moriston as Mrs. 
 Flowerdale did — that he was a true-heart- 
 ed, chivalrous fellow, perhaps somewhat 
 lazy, as physically overgrown young men 
 are apt to be — at least, so the doctor had 
 told her — but with not a fibre of vice or 
 disloyalty about him. At the same time, 
 whether he was what might be called a 
 " good match " was quite another question, 
 and one which Mr. Aubury must decide 
 for himself. 
 
 But Mr. Moriston and Linnet were not 
 uppermost in Mrs. Flowerdale's thoughts 
 this afternoon. 
 
 " Then you don't deny it, Mrs. Pole- 
 mont?" she said, after a pause, during 
 which, whilst she trifled with her spoon, 
 she had .been considering whether, viewed
 
 240 a man's mistake. 
 
 parochially, it would not be a very good 
 thing for Mr. Aubury to marry Mrs. Pluin- 
 mersleigh ; for that lady was so fond of 
 her church, and gave almost all her sub- 
 stance — that is, of time and trouble — in the 
 advancement of its external interests, so 
 far as the most diligent domiciliary visita- 
 tion could advance them. And if she 
 brought her influence to bear upon Mr. 
 Aubury, who had substance of a more 
 substantial nature, why then there was 
 scarcely any limit to what might be asked 
 from him in the shape of charitable sub- 
 scriptions. The vicar might almost give 
 up sending round lists at all, which would 
 be such a relief. 
 
 " You don't deny it, Mrs. Polemont ?" 
 " Deny what, dear Mrs. Flowerdale ?" 
 " Why, that there is something between 
 Mrs. Plummersleigh and Mr. Aubury." 
 
 Mrs. Polemont was delighted that the 
 vicar's wife should recur to that subject. 
 It showed how much importance . she was
 
 A MANS MISTAKE. 241 
 
 attaching to it. Had Mr. Aubury been 
 confiding his intentions to Mr. Flowerdale, 
 and had the vicar just allowed himself to 
 whisper a word to his wife ? 
 
 "I really can't deny anything, Mrs. 
 Flowerdale, simply because I don't know 
 anything to deny. Maria is not a woman 
 who ever says much about herself." 
 
 " No. Then I believe there is something 
 in it. 
 
 " There may be. I cannot tell." 
 
 " Because, you know, Percy and I were 
 coming home from the Miss Laudervilles' 
 one night, not long ago, and we came in 
 sight of you all, Mr. Aubury, and Linnet, 
 and you, and Mrs. Plummersleigh. And 
 Mr. Aubury was walking some distance 
 behind, with Mrs. Plummersleigh, and they 
 were arm in arm. I wanted Percy to 
 hurry on a little, and ask him a subscrip- 
 tion for the rural hospital ; you know it 
 saves so much trouble if one can get a 
 thing settled without the ceremony of a 
 
 VOL. i. R
 
 242 a man's mistake. 
 
 call ; but Percy said no, he would not dis- 
 turb them on any account. Of course I 
 knew what he meant immediately." 
 
 Mrs. Polemont smiled with an air of 
 subdued intelligence. She did not know 
 they had been walking arm in arm. It 
 certainly did look rather marked, particu- 
 larly as the road was neither rough nor 
 dangerous between the castle and the 
 doctor's house. 
 
 " I was perfectly sure, from the manner 
 in which he spoke, that there was more 
 behind than he chose to tell me. You 
 know you can gather a great deal from a 
 man's manner of speaking about such 
 things. They don't take things for grant- 
 ed as women do, in a general way, and so 
 when they do make a circumstance of any- 
 thing, you may be more sure there is 
 something in it." 
 
 " There may be," said Mrs. Polemont, 
 jubilantly hopeful that the vicar's wife was 
 right. "All I can say is, that Maria has
 
 a man's mistake. 243 
 
 never mentioned anything of the kind to 
 me." 
 
 " That goes for nothing. It does not at 
 all imply that he has never mentioned 
 anything of the kind to her. When a 
 shy, quiet man like Mr. Aubury offers his 
 arm to a lady under such circumstances, 
 he generally offers his hand too." 
 
 Mrs. Polemont laughed. Mrs. Flower- 
 dale did not often put things so neatly as 
 that. If it really should be true, how 
 delightful ! 
 
 " I almost think," she said, " I might 
 speak to Maria about it." 
 
 " Almost think ? Why, I should have 
 done it long ago, if I had been you. If 
 you don't mind you will find they are 
 engaged, and the wedding-day fixed, be- 
 fore a word is said to you about it. But 
 you will remember that I have given you 
 warning. And now I must go. I have 
 really made quite a visitation." 
 
 " Not at all longer than has been agree- 
 
 r2
 
 244 a man's mistake. 
 
 able, I assure you," said Mrs. Polemont, 
 cordially. "And I do hope you will come 
 in again soon. You see Mrs. Plummers- 
 leigh spends so much of her time going 
 about in the parish, I might really almost 
 as well not have her staying with me at 
 all. I tell her sometimes that the vicar 
 has taken complete possession of her." 
 
 " Well, you see, Percy is so glad to get 
 hold of anyone who really will take an 
 interest in church matters." 
 
 "Oh! yes; I don't grudge it in the 
 least. I am so glad for Maria to be ap- 
 preciated. Only it is no more than fair, 
 you know, that you should make it up to 
 me." 
 
 11 Of course. And then perhaps it is 
 just as well that you should be let down 
 gently. Because, if you are likely to have 
 to part t with Mrs. Plummersleigh alto- 
 gether, you ought to be getting accus- 
 tomed to it by degrees. You will tell me 
 now, will you not, when it is really
 
 a man's mistake. 245 
 
 settled ? I never chatter about things." 
 " You shall be the very first, Mrs. Flower- 
 dale, as soon as I know anything myself. 
 Now do come again soon." 
 
 Mrs. Flowerdale repeated the substance 
 of the conversation to the vicar that night, 
 as they sat together over their dessert, but 
 not a word could she get out of him as to 
 whether Mr. Aubury had been saying any- 
 thing on the subject.
 
 246 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 mHROUGHOUT all that summer-time 
 -*- Mr. Aubury might have been seen 
 going as usual to the old house by the 
 church. Miss Alvisa was not quite so 
 dependent upon him for companionship, 
 now that Keith Moriston was with her, 
 but still there were matters of business to 
 arrange and accounts to settle, which gave 
 him need enough to watch from time to 
 time for the drawing aside of the curtain, 
 still, as before, the signal that there was a 
 welcome for him within, if the welcome 
 was different. 
 
 That had been indeed good-bye which 
 they said to each other whilst Mrs. Pole-
 
 a man's mistake. 247 
 
 mont was helping Linnet to choose her 
 dancing-dress at Broadminster. Good-bye 
 to the daily kiss and the mutual recogni- 
 tion of the love which for so many years 
 had been kept green and fresh between 
 them, whilst she lay there, shut out from 
 all other but his, and he lived on alone 
 with Linnet, better content, as he truly 
 said, with the little Miss Alvisa could give 
 him than with the much which many- 
 others might willingly have granted. 
 
 But not good-bye to the love itself. 
 There it lay, far down in the hearts of 
 both of them, a thing that could not die 
 nor change for such as they. It lived on 
 for Alvisa Clerehart, a little holy of holies 
 in which she worshipped, as she now 
 thought, alone. It lived on for Owen 
 Aubury in a regret, a proud regret, which 
 shut out for him all other longing, all 
 other hope. 
 
 " For I shall never do as she tells me/' 
 he said to himself over and over again, as
 
 248 a man's mistake. 
 
 the words from which she had so abso- 
 lutely crushed out one single tone of pain 
 or reproach came back to him from time 
 to time. In that way, if in no other way, 
 could he be faithful to the one love of his 
 life. 
 
 And now he had fully settled in his own 
 mind how to provide for Linnet's intro- 
 duction into the society which one and 
 another had told him she ought to have. 
 That was why he had so readily fallen in 
 with Mrs. Polemont's pleasant little plans 
 and contrivances for throwing him into 
 the company of Mrs. Plummersleigh. That 
 was why he had taken his place at her 
 side when they were returning home after 
 the dance, and availed himself of sundry 
 opportunities of quiet conversation, which 
 the small public of Abbot's Florey, quite 
 unknown to him, had interpreted into the 
 actual existence of an understanding be- 
 tween them. 
 
 And the more he saw of Mrs. Plum-
 
 a man's mistake. 249 
 
 mersleigh, the more he felt that she was 
 the very one for the position of companion 
 to Linnet. Her intimacy with the doctor 
 and his wife was an assurance of her re- 
 spectability. She was sensible, unassum- 
 ing, with no wish to take advantage of 
 any little attentions paid to her, and no 
 vanity ready to construe into preference 
 any marks of personal interest shown. 
 For Owen Aubury, though a shy man, 
 and sensitive, and full of self-depreciation, 
 was yet shrewd enough to perceive, better 
 than men of more conceit would have 
 done, where attempts were being made to 
 entangle him. His very lack of occupa- 
 tion with self set him at liberty to be 
 occupied with others, and he felt that he 
 judged Maria Plummersleigh rightly in 
 concluding that she was innocent of any 
 desire to obtain influence over him, even 
 if he should place her in a position where 
 she might naturally consider herself able 
 to exercise it.
 
 250 a man's mistake. 
 
 Then she was a woman of active, though 
 quiet habits. She had already, as Mrs. 
 Polemont's guest, shown herself anxious 
 to redeem the time by laying out for her- 
 self plans of usefulness in the village. 
 And yet what she did was never made the 
 occasion of any flourish of trumpets. You 
 never heard Mrs. Plummersleigh speak of 
 her own good works in the tract district, 
 nor did she ever lead the conversation up 
 Lo any point for the sake of bringing for- 
 ward her opinions or arrogating import- 
 ance to herself. In fine, her manner of 
 life during the few weeks that he had been 
 somewhat closely observing her, was such 
 as to warrant him in hoping that, if he 
 made her an inmate of his house, she 
 would bring into it all those good qualities 
 which a man desires in the lady whom he 
 would place for a longer or shorter period 
 at the head of his establishment. 
 
 The only difficulty now was a suitable 
 way of ascertaining whether Mrs. Plum-
 
 a man's mistake. 251 
 
 mersleigh herself would be willing to 
 accept the position which he desired to 
 offer. There was always a certain amount 
 of awkwardness in asking a lady to under- 
 take services which were to be recognized 
 by the payment of cheques, quarterly or 
 otherwise. Mrs. Polemont's visitor was 
 not without a kind of dignity which might 
 upon occasion almost crush anyone who 
 made mistaken advances. He might per- 
 haps have misunderstood her position al- 
 together in supposing that she would 
 undertake such a situation. Of course it 
 would not do to ask her to call upon him 
 at the castle. Should he speak to Mrs. 
 Polemont about it, or should he ask them 
 all up to dinner, and get Keith Moriston 
 to come over to smoke a cigar afterwards 
 with the doctor, whilst he conducted Mrs. 
 Plummersleigh over the grounds again 
 and introduced the subject ? There would 
 be an awkwardness about that too, because 
 what would become of Mrs. Polemont ?
 
 252 a man's mistake. 
 
 And Linnet, who knew nothing as yet 
 about the matter, would be sure to break 
 in upon them and make an embarrassing 
 pause. Should he then write to Mrs. 
 Polemont, and ask if she would kindly 
 appoint a time for him to come over and 
 see them quietly, as he had a subject of 
 importance to talk over with Mrs. Plum- 
 mersleigh? 
 
 He decided that the last would be the 
 best plau, especially as, after sleeping 
 upon it, he could still see none better. 
 Accordingly he wrote to the doctor s wife, 
 and that good little lady, in reply, begged 
 that he would come up and dine with 
 them on the following evening but one. 
 Which he promised to do. 
 
 What could it mean, thought Mrs. Pole- 
 mont, as she folded up the letter and put 
 it carefully in her desk, but that Mr. 
 Aubury wished to see Mrs. Plummersleigh 
 with a view to making her an offer of 
 marriage ? There was no other " subject "
 
 a man's mistake. 253 
 
 between them which could be invested 
 with so much importance. They had no 
 business transactions with each other, in- 
 volving the necessity of personal inter- 
 views, and Maria was not a woman to 
 make confidences to anyone, still less to 
 expose herself to remark by making them 
 to men of Mr. Aubury's position. Clearly 
 then, he had made up his mind on the 
 marriage question. Mrs. Flowerdale was 
 right ; there was an understanding between 
 them. At least, there was going to be. 
 
 "Maria dear," she said, with a pleasant- 
 little air of mystery, as that lady came 
 into the drawing-room, and quietly seated 
 herself at the window, with a piece of 
 embroidery which was intended for the 
 border of a table-cloth, " we are going to 
 have company to dinner the day after to- 
 morrow." 
 
 " What, again !" said Mrs. Plummers- 
 leigh. " Really, Isabel, how gay you are ! 
 And the vicar and his wife here only last
 
 254 a man's mistake. 
 
 night ! And did I not hear you saying 
 that you should have to ask the Sturts and 
 Mrs. Gallen some day next week ? But I 
 believe the wives of medical men do have 
 to entertain very frequently." 
 
 " I am not entertaining on George's 
 account next Wednesday, though, Maria, 
 and I don't think I am doing it on my 
 own, because I haven't invited anyone. It 
 is some one who has invited himself." 
 
 " Then I must say, Isabel, I think he 
 has done a very unnecessary thing. One 
 might almost call it taking a liberty. 
 
 And Mrs. Plummersleigh, sorting out 
 some warm autumnal tints, went on with 
 the embroidering of a blackberry spray. 
 
 " Wait until }^ou know who it is," said 
 Mrs. Polemont. " At any rate, I do not 
 call it taking a liberty." 
 
 " Very well, then it is all right. I think 
 people ought to be very intimate before 
 they invite themselves to dine at other 
 houses. I should consider it intrusive."
 
 a man's mistake. 255 
 
 " Then you are considering Mr. Aubury 
 intrusive. It is he who is coming on 
 "Wednesday." 
 
 The very slightest shade of embarrass- 
 ment came into Mrs. Plummersleigh's 
 manner. It was scarcely a blush which 
 flitted over her face. It was more like a 
 shadow of annoyance. She said not a 
 word, only worked quietly on with her 
 embroidery, that very silence convincing 
 Mrs. Polemont that she knew very well 
 what Mr. Aubury was coming about. 
 
 At last she said, and there was a little 
 nervous hesitation in her voice, 
 
 " Shall you ask anyone else, Isabel ?" 
 
 "JSTo, Maria, certainly not. I could not 
 think of doing it under the circumstances." 
 
 " I don't see it. When you have one to 
 dine you may just as well have three or 
 four. The providing is the same, and 
 people help to entertain each other." 
 
 "It is not exactly a matter oi providing" 
 said Mrs. Polemont, with that sense of
 
 256 a man's mistake. 
 
 importance which a woman naturally feels 
 when she has been made the receptacle of 
 a confidence which as yet belongs to her- 
 self alone, and confidence upon such an 
 absorbing subject, too. " If it had only 
 been a matter of providing a nice little 
 dinner, there are plenty of people in the 
 village that I could have thought of. I 
 believe Mr. Aubury would prefer to come 
 quite alone." 
 
 "And leave Linnet! I have a great 
 mind to go over and keep her company, 
 poor child !" 
 
 " Maria, I beg you will do nothing of 
 the sort. I am quite sure Mr. Aubury 
 would not — well, we should none of us 
 like it." 
 
 "Very well. It is a matter of no es- 
 pecial consequence to me. Only I thought 
 she might be lonely." 
 
 Was ever anyone so impracticable ? 
 thought Mrs. Polemont. Had she the 
 least idea ? Or was this outward careless-
 
 a man's mistake. 257 
 
 ness merely a blind ? But she would enter 
 boldly upon the subject with her. The 
 time had come at last for straightforward- 
 ness. 
 
 vol. I.
 
 258 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 MARIA, my dear." 
 " Yes." 
 " Have you any feeling about it, Maria ? 
 I don't ask from curiosity, but really it 
 seems to have been brought about so dif- 
 ferently from many things of this kind, 
 and I should like to know before he comes. 
 It will make it so much more easy for 
 myself." 
 
 " Isabel, what do you mean ?" 
 " I mean have you considered what you 
 shall say to Mr. Aubury when he comes to 
 the point ? I don't think I ought to keep 
 it from you, Maria, if you really are in the 
 dark about it up to the present moment ;
 
 a man's mistake. 259 
 
 but it is chiefly, indeed I think I may say 
 entirely, on your account that Mr. Au- 
 bury is coming on Wednesday. He has a 
 matter of great importance to mention to 
 you. He says he has had it on his mind 
 for some time, but he has not been able 
 to find a fitting opportunity for expressing 
 it." 
 
 The embroidery did tremble a little now, 
 but only a little. 
 
 u Had you. any idea of it, Maria?" 
 
 "Isabel, I had no idea of it." 
 
 "But you feel as if you could give him 
 a favourable answer. Do say now, Maria 
 dear, that you feel as if you could give 
 him a favourable answer. It would be 
 such a satisfaction to both George and 
 myself, if we thought you could." 
 
 "Isabel, it will be time enough to think 
 about an answer when the question has 
 been asked. Mr. Aubury has given me 
 no reason to think he intends asking it at 
 all." 
 
 s2
 
 260 a man's mistake. 
 
 "Maria! How am you? But they do 
 say none are so blind as those who will 
 not see. Do put that embroidery down 
 and listen to reason." 
 
 " I can listen just as well when I am 
 working, Isabel." 
 
 " Very well then. In all the time that 
 we have lived at Abbot's Florey, we have 
 dined at the castle once, and Mr. Aubury 
 had called upon us twice, until within the 
 last six weeks. You may count over the 
 times he has been here since then, and, if 
 you cannot draw a conclusion, why I give 
 it up. 
 
 "Well, you see, Linnet is growing older, 
 and wants companionship. Mr. Aubury 
 says so himself." 
 
 " Yes ; but she is not growing older any 
 more quickly now than she has been for 
 any time within the last twelvemonths, 
 and, even if she had, there are plenty of 
 young people about who would have been
 
 a man's mistake. 261 
 
 very glad to make her acquaintance. No, 
 Maria, it is companionship for himself that 
 Mr. Aubury wants. George and I have 
 felt sure of that ever since he began to 
 come here so frequently, and we are not 
 the only people who have noticed it." 
 
 " Who else has ?" 
 
 " Well, Maria, I do not like to mention 
 names. A doctor's wife can never be too 
 careful in that respect, so much mischief 
 is brought about by careless talking. But, 
 if I have been asked once, I have been 
 asked at least half a dozen times whether 
 there really is anything between you and 
 Mr. Aubury." 
 
 " It would be better then if people 
 would attend to their own affairs," said 
 Mrs. Plummersleigh, taking a fresh needle- 
 ful of embroidery-silk, and outlining a 
 blackberry leaf. 
 
 " So it would, Maria; a very great deal 
 better. And that is why I wish you would
 
 262 a man's mistake. 
 
 attend to yours a little more diligently. I 
 am sure, if many women had the prospects 
 that you have just now " 
 
 " Isabel, it is all I wish to do, to attend 
 to my own affairs, if other people would 
 only leave them to me. If things be as 
 you say, why need I disturb myself about 
 them ? I leave my future to Providence. 
 You know where my trust is." 
 
 " Oh ! Maria dear, if it comes to that, 
 we all of us trust in Providence, after our 
 own fashion. I don't suppose I am an 
 atheist, any more than you are yourself." 
 
 Mrs. Plummersleigh shuddered. 
 
 " Isabel, I wish you would not use that 
 word, even in jest. It produces a creep- 
 ing sensation, which I can scarcely ex- 
 press." 
 
 "Yes, and it gives me a creeping sensa- 
 tion which I can scarcely express, Maria, 
 when I see you so blindly indifferent to 
 what might be such a happiness to you.
 
 a man's mistake. 263 
 
 Do you wish then that Mr. Aubury had 
 never asked me to arrange this interview 
 for him?" 
 
 " I wish nothing at all, Isabel, but what 
 is appointed for me. I have no doubt 
 everything will turn out for the best. I 
 never disturb myself about what I cannot 
 influence in any way. At the same time, 
 I must say you have always acted in a 
 most kind and sisterly manner to me, 
 and I am very sensible of it, though per- 
 haps I do not express my gratitude so 
 loudly as some people might." 
 
 " Oh, never mind your gratitude. I 
 don't care a bit about that. A.t least, you 
 know, Maria, I mean that I don't want 
 you to feel obliged or anything of that 
 sort. I am sure, if ever I can do anything 
 to help you, I shall do it with the very 
 greatest pleasure, only I do wish you could 
 see this matter as I do. However, if it 
 annoys you, I will not say any more about
 
 264 a man's mistake. 
 
 it. I feel sure that you will do what is 
 right, whatever happens ; at any rate, 
 what you think is right." 
 
 " Thank you, Isabel. You may be sure 
 that I shall endeavour to act conscienti- 
 ously." 
 
 " Conscientiously, of course. Why one 
 expects conscientiousness from you, just 
 as one expects consistency from a clergy- 
 man, though one does not always get that. 
 If there is a word carved upon your heart, 
 Maria, I believe it is conscientiousness." 
 
 Mrs. Plummersleigh's silence gave con- 
 sent. 
 
 " And you wouldn't wish me now, would 
 you," resumed Mrs. Polemont, after a little 
 pause, "to ask anyone else to come in on 
 Wednesday evening?" 
 
 " Isabel, you must do just what you 
 like. I must say it does seem a pity, 
 when you are going to provide a dinner, 
 not to make it serve for a few more. 
 You were saying only yesterday that you
 
 a man's mistake. 265 
 
 should be obliged to ask Mr. Burstborough 
 again before long." 
 
 "Yes, I really must, and for old ac- 
 quaintance sake, too. Do you remember, 
 Maria, how he used to come to papa's 
 when I was at home, and you always said 
 he had a meaning ?" 
 
 " Yes, Isabel, and I say it still, if you 
 had only given him a little encouragement. 
 But the doctor is more suitable, and then 
 Mr. Burstborough is left for somebody 
 else." 
 
 " Exactly. He told me the other day 
 he wished he could find a nice wife. And 
 he wouldn't mind a bit about money. Mr. 
 Burstborough is not a mean man, though 
 I can't say he was ever a very great fa- 
 vourite of mine. You know he thinks a 
 little too much of himself." 
 
 u So would many men, Isabel, if they 
 were as well off as he is. That beautiful 
 new house at Broadminster wants nothing 
 but a wife."
 
 266 a man's mistxVke. 
 
 " That's just what he said to me. And 
 I am sure, if I could help him to put one 
 into it, I would. I do like men to marry. 
 It is so much more comfortable all round 
 when they get settled." 
 
 There was a pause. Maria rooted out 
 some olive-brown tints from among her 
 embroidery silks. 
 
 " It is so difficult to make these leaves 
 exactly the right shade. The design leaves 
 so much to your own taste." 
 
 And then she added, with no perceptible 
 change of tone, 
 
 " Should you not ask Linnet, too, some 
 night?" 
 
 "Linnet? Oh, Linnet knows she can 
 come whenever she likes; George is so 
 fond of her. I might have a sort of young 
 people's party, though, when I ask Mr. 
 Burstborough." 
 
 " That is what I was thinking." 
 
 " Only you know, Maria," and Mrs. 
 Polemont put on one of her knowing little
 
 a man's mistake. 267 
 
 looks of intelligence, " I am not sure that 
 it would be quite kind to poor young 
 Moriston to bring Mr. Burstborough and 
 Linnet into each other's way. I think 
 there is no doubt that he is very much 
 impressed in that direction." 
 
 " My dear Isabel ! How you do take 
 things for granted !" 
 
 " I only hear what other people say, 
 Maria. I am sure George and the vicar 
 both think there is something in it. You 
 may think them gossips, if you like." 
 
 " Oh, dear, no, Isabel. I am sure they 
 are nothing of the sort. Only I should 
 not have thought Mr. Aubury would have 
 cared for his sister to have got entangled 
 with a young man of such very uncertain 
 prospects as Mr. Moriston's. Mrs. Flower- 
 dale seems to think very little of him." 
 
 "Because he carried off a scholarship 
 that her boy was trying for. One natur- 
 ally feels things of that kind. And then 
 she thinks Miss Alvisa ought to subscribe
 
 268 a man's mistake. 
 
 more to the parish, charities, instead of 
 spending so much of her spare money 
 over keeping him at college. But still, as 
 you say, his prospects are uncertain, unless 
 he gets a professorship they are talking 
 about, somewhere out in India." 
 
 " Is that likely?" 
 
 " One can never tell. You know I 
 think he is a very decent young fellow, 
 and I should not like to be the one to 
 bring anyone else in between them. By 
 the way, he was saying, when I met him 
 the other day at Miss Al visa's, that he 
 thought he had seen you before, and he 
 was quite sure he had heard your name. 
 It was when he was up at Airdrie Muir. 
 You know, he comes from there, and from 
 a very humble family, too." 
 
 " So Mrs. Flowerdale tells me. I don't 
 think it at all likely that he should have 
 known me? 
 
 And an expression of annoyance passed 
 over Mrs. Plummersleigh's face.
 
 a man's mistake. 269 
 
 il Not personally. Oh ! dear no, I never 
 meant anything of that sort, of course, 
 because his people were shepherds, or 
 farm-labourers, I believe. But still he 
 might have seen you, all the same, or 
 heard your name." 
 
 " I have no recollection. I think, Isabel, 
 I shall go for a walk now." 
 
 " Very well. Oh ! but there is one 
 thing more I want to ask you." 
 
 " What is it ?" 
 
 " You will let me dress you for Wednes- 
 day evening. You know you always did 
 say I had a way of making people look 
 their best when I dressed them, and it will 
 be so very important then. You must 
 forgive me for saying it, Maria, but, if 
 ever you do put a flower into your hair, it 
 looks just as if you had fastened it in with 
 a hammer and nails. You see, you are so 
 very thorough in everything that you do." 
 
 For Mrs. Polemont felt that, under the 
 circumstances, she might venture so far in
 
 270 a man's mistake. 
 
 the direction of a joke, though, in a 
 general way, Mrs. Plummersleigh was not 
 one who cared for pleasantry. But just 
 then the doctor came in, and the conversa- 
 tion was stopped. 
 
 Mrs. Polemont had it all over with 
 him that evening. They both agreed that 
 their visitor was on the point of having a 
 most advantageous proposal made to her, 
 though she accepted the probability of it 
 so quietly, far less quietly indeed than a 
 few weeks before she had accepted Mr. 
 Flowerdale's offer of a tract-district in his 
 parish. 
 
 Mrs. Polemont did not sleep much that 
 night. She was far too anxious to know 
 what Maria would say ; for if there was 
 one subject more than another which 
 stirred to its deepest depths the curiosity 
 of Abbot's Florey, it was the continued 
 bachelorhood of Owen Aubury. Never 
 for years past had a young lady come to 
 'Visit in the village without the question
 
 a man's mistake. 271 
 
 being raised as to whether or not she 
 would do for him ; and dinners were 
 arranged, and parties were made up for 
 the purpose of bringing them together, 
 though everyone knew, who knew Mr. 
 Aubury at all, that he would sooner put 
 himself anywhere than in the immediate 
 vicinity of an unappropriated lady. 
 
 What was the reason of it no one could 
 tell ; for a kinder, more benevolent man 
 never existed, nor one who could make a 
 woman happier, or surround her more 
 completely with that quiet, unobtrusive 
 care which the best of wives value so high- 
 ly. Only he had such nervous, hesitating 
 ways. He had such a painful manner of 
 always appearing to distrust himself. And 
 it was perfectly genuine, too ; for, if ever 
 there was a man in whom humility reached 
 the extent of a fault, that man was Owen 
 Aubury. 
 
 But then, as Mrs. Polemont said to her- 
 self, what a delightful husband he would
 
 272 a man's mistake. 
 
 make, just for that very reason, if only he 
 met with a wife, or if one could be found 
 for him, who had good sense enough not 
 to take advantage of his gentleness, not to 
 presume upon the generosity which felt as 
 if it never could give enough, and the 
 simplicity which built so little upon all the 
 outward advantages of position and wealth 
 at his bestowal. 
 
 And Isabel, in her inmost heart, believed 
 Maria Plummersleigh to be that very 
 woman.
 
 273 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 Tl f"B. AUBUHY set out for his appoint- 
 JJ-L meD t at the doctors house that 
 Wednesday evening, with the comfortable 
 feeling naturally experienced by a man 
 who has at length settled a vexed ques- 
 tion, and settled it in the most satisfactory 
 manner possible. 
 
 Of course there was the little awkward- 
 ness of getting the matter introduced to 
 Mrs. Plummersleigh, who was not a wo- 
 man to come to anyone's help where 
 readiness of speech was required. She 
 would wait patiently enough to hear what 
 another had to say, but she never, with 
 
 VOL. I. T
 
 274 a man's mistake. 
 
 graceful ease and tact, took hold of the 
 tangled ends of thought and wound them 
 off upon the reel of her own perception, 
 thus saving that other a world of uncom- 
 f ortableness. Indeed, Mrs. Plummersleigh's 
 silent, leisurely manner of waiting for what 
 her companion might have to advance, 
 was occasionally, to say the least, very 
 embarrassing, especially to a shy man like 
 Mr. Aubury, whose words had to be 
 pumped up from untold depths of nerv- 
 ousness, and who would therefore in any 
 exigency like the present one, have appre- 
 ciated a woman who had the power of 
 pouring in a little stream of preliminary 
 sentences, and so, as it were, priming the 
 pump of his own eloquence by her ready 
 ease and fulness of speech. Instead of 
 which, he knew Mrs. Plummersleigh would 
 only look at him out of those calm, patient, 
 inquiring hazel eyes, and never utter a 
 word until his own were ended ; a habit
 
 a man's mistake. 275 
 
 which, for the needs of ordinary social 
 life, would make her a]l the more pleas- 
 ant, for there was nothing which worried 
 him so much as a chattering woman, but 
 which, on occasions like this one, threw 
 too much of the burden of commencement 
 upon himself. 
 
 However, there was one comfort. He 
 knew that what he was going to do was 
 the right thing, and that was no small 
 help towards getting it done, even though 
 it could not entirely put aside that nerv- 
 ous embarrassment, that almost painful 
 air of hesitation and drawing back, which 
 was as natural to Owen Aubury as its 
 drooping branches to the larch, and its 
 want of roughness to the beech-tree's 
 stem ; a failing, no doubt, and as such call- 
 ing for one's pity. But then one can 
 carve one's name on the beech-tree, and it 
 stays there for ever, whilst the oak will 
 not make room for so much as a single 
 
 t2
 
 276 a man's mistake. 
 
 letter on its tough, resistant old bark. 
 
 Coming up the village he met the vicar, 
 cheery, genial as usual, quite ready for a 
 chat with one of his most respected par- 
 ishioners. Besides, the vicar always felt 
 it a charity to turn and walk alongside of 
 Mr. Aubury and warm him up, and shake 
 off that haze of misty meditation which 
 clung about him like the fog over the bit 
 of willow-fringed brook between Abbot's 
 Florey and Broadminster. It gave him as 
 much pleasure to get a laugh out of the 
 master of Florey Castle as in frosty 
 Christmas weather it did to wrap up all 
 the old women of his parish in blankets 
 and flannel petticoats. And he seldom 
 failed either. 
 
 " Good evening, Aubury. I had some 
 thought of coming up to the castle after 
 dinner to smoke a cigar with you, but I 
 see you have other business on hand." 
 
 And the vicar nodded at a little frag-
 
 a man's mistake. 277 
 
 ment of dress-coat, which was to be dis- 
 cerned between the buttonings of Mr. 
 Aubury 's dust wrapper. 
 
 " Yes, I am dining out. Not a thing 
 that I very often do now-a-days." 
 
 " No, indeed. One may as well look 
 for oysters in August as you at a dinner- 
 party. Going to the doctor's, eh ?" 
 
 "Yes, going to the doctor's," answered 
 Mr. Aubury, with the most unsuspecting 
 simplicity. "But come up some other 
 evening before long, will you ? It is never 
 anything but a pleasure to lay an extra 
 knife and fork for you." 
 
 " Thank you, all right," said Mr. Flower- 
 dale, with a merry twinkle in his eyes, 
 which Mr. Aubury, still much exercised 
 about the manner of introducing the sub- 
 ject of the lady-companionship to Mrs. 
 Plummersleigh, failed to observe. " And 
 where's Miss Linnet ? — gone on before ?" 
 
 "No; staying behind."
 
 278 a man's mistake. 
 
 " Staying behind ! All alone by her- 
 self ? Nay, then that's too bad." 
 
 " Linnet doesn't mind it a bit, these 
 pleasant summer evenings. I expect she 
 is down by the swan-pools, teaching Keith 
 Moriston to fish. I told him he might 
 come whenever he liked." 
 
 The vicar gave a long whistle. 
 
 " Oh ! come now, Aubury, that is going 
 a little too far. If you mean a young man 
 and a maiden to marry, why, then let them 
 go fishing together in your own grounds 
 on quiet August nights ; but, if you don't, 
 I should say you had better let the fishing 
 alone. Young folks will be young, you 
 know." 
 
 Mr. Aubury looked puzzled. That was 
 quite a new light upon the subject. 
 
 " It really never occurred to me, Mr. 
 Flowerdale ; but perhaps, as you say " 
 
 lc Yes, indeed, as I say, Mr. Aubury. 
 It's the very thing to make them think
 
 a man's mistake. 279 
 
 about it, whether you mean them to do so 
 or not. And then, of course, having 
 nothing else to do, and nobody else to talk 
 to, Linnet naturally " 
 
 The vicar stopped and turned rather 
 abruptly to his companion. 
 
 " I say, Aubury, for that child's sake it 
 would be the best thing in the world if 
 you were to marry." 
 
 Again there came that quiet, gentle tone 
 of repulse in Mr. Aubury's voice. One 
 must go so far with him, meek as he was, 
 and no farther. 
 
 "That question is settled, Mr. Flower- 
 dale. It is no use talking about it. But 
 I have considered what is due to Linnet, 
 and I have decided to have a lady-com- 
 panion for her." 
 
 "Bother your lady-companions!" said 
 the vicar, irreverently. " Get a wife for 
 yourself. That is the best sort of lady- 
 companion you or Linnet could have.
 
 280 a man's mistake. 
 
 And a lady that would be good enough 
 for a companion for Linnet, would be good 
 enough for a wife for yourself. But, how- 
 ever, Aubury, it is your own affair, not 
 mine. And what is Mr. Keith Moriston 
 doing for himself ? Anything but fishing 
 with your bonnie young sister ?" 
 
 "Well, I hope so, or he wouldn't be 
 doing much. Miss Clerehart is not the 
 one to encourage a young fellow to idle 
 away all his long vacation. I suppose he 
 reads." 
 
 " Yes. My wife says you may generally 
 see any quantity of books scattering about 
 on the lawn. Perhaps some of them are 
 on fishing. Aubury, you really ought to 
 have a care." 
 
 "Thank you, Mr. Flowerdale. But 
 Linnet is too much of a child yet to trouble 
 herself about such things. It is pike and 
 trout with her yet, and nothing else." 
 
 The vicar shrugged his shoulders.
 
 a man's mistake. 281 
 
 " One can never tell when a young girl's 
 fancies begin to wander after other things 
 than pike and trout. Just listen to me, 
 Anbury. You think that because Linnet 
 has lived all her life out of the world, 
 with nobody to talk to but a saint like 
 Miss Alvisa " 
 
 " And a sinner like myself." 
 
 ct No, not a sinner like yourself, Anbury, 
 but a man that has no more of the thoughts 
 and ways and weaknesses of the world about 
 him than yon elm-tree will have leaves at 
 Christmas time. That's the sort of sinner 
 that you are, Aubury. And, because 
 Linnet has lived all her life with the two 
 of you, you think she will keep a child so 
 much the longer." 
 
 " And so she will." 
 
 " And so she will not. Of all the 
 schemings and plannings that go on in 
 fashionable society, likely enough she 
 knows nothing at all, and well for her
 
 282 a man's mistake. 
 
 that she doesn't. But of what grows up 
 in a young girl's heart as naturally and 
 beautifully as forget-me-nots by a water- 
 course, and all the more naturally and 
 beautifully because no foot of man, no, 
 nor of beast either, comes there to tread 
 them down, Linnet knows the more, and 
 knows it more purely, just because her 
 own sweet thoughts have taught it to her, 
 not the maxims of your fine society 
 people." 
 
 Mr. Aubury looked serious. It was 
 seldom the vicar said so much, and said it 
 so earnestly, except in church, where of 
 course there was nothing of a directly 
 personal nature in it. It might be true ; 
 who could tell ? 
 
 And again he began to think about Miss 
 Alvisa Clerehart, and how she carried no 
 more than Linnet's weight of years upon 
 her, when, with such grave, sweet tender- 
 ness looking out from her eyes, she first
 
 a man's mistake. 283 
 
 owned to him a love which she had kept so 
 faithfully ever since. 
 
 Until now. 
 
 Owen set his lips together. But even 
 now she had only taken it back into the 
 keeping of her own heart. It was scarcely 
 change ; it was want of faith. And the 
 thoughts that she, a girl of eighteen, had 
 cherished then, might not be all strange to 
 Linnet now. Could it indeed be so ? 
 
 Mr. Flowerdale made a passing remark 
 about the beauty of the bedding-out plants 
 in the little bit of lawn in front of Miss 
 Lauderville's house, which they had just 
 then reached. But Mr. Aubury took no 
 notice. And again he made a remark as 
 they came up to the rural hospital at the 
 doctor's end of the village, and again Mr. 
 Aubury took no notice. The vicar's seed 
 was falling into good ground apparently, 
 and so the vicar held his peace. 
 
 Mr. Aubury thought on. Strangely had
 
 284 a man's mistake. 
 
 the past conie back upon him, though that 
 was not the time to hold it so fast. He 
 was again wandering with Alvisa Clerehart 
 through that little bit of fir plantation, 
 and he was listening to the words which 
 had made his life so lonely, and yet so 
 beautiful. And Alvisa then, though with 
 only Linnet's years upon her, had a noble, 
 calm, and far-seeing purpose upon her 
 face which Linnet, wild, impulsive, full of 
 jDassiou, and vigour, and health, and eager- 
 ness, must wait many a long day to win. 
 And he, too, in those early years had been 
 grave and purposeful. Life brought its 
 meaning to him full soon, its cares, its 
 burdens. Working his own way out there 
 amongst the mountains and jungles of 
 Ceylon, manhood came to him before its 
 time ; and with it came the power to do 
 and to endure, and to wait and to be 
 patient. 
 
 That remembrance gave Owen Aubury
 
 a man's mistake. 285 
 
 comfort. At the age when Alvisa could 
 look into the future, and quietly accept all 
 that it meant of hope deferred, Linnet was 
 a child, with all a child's pleasures still 
 fresh for her. And at the age when he 
 had taken a man's work and a man's 
 burden upon him, Keith Moriston was 
 just nothing but a great over-grown boy, 
 handsome as Apollo, with his square brow 
 and tangling hair and great masterful 
 eyes, and with power enough to do and 
 dare in some future far-off conflict lying 
 latent within him ; but as yet only a boy, 
 simple-hearted, shy, unworldly, unpractical 
 down to the very tips of his fingers, as 
 Miss Alvisa herself said. And so there 
 was no need to fear. Besides, everything 
 would be right when Mrs. Plummersleigh 
 came. 
 
 He shook himself free from his dreams, 
 and said, brightening up as they passed 
 the hospital,
 
 286 a man's mistake. 
 
 fC Yes, you are a wise man. I will think 
 about it. Perhaps I ought to have done 
 so sooner, but naturally one does not 
 realize how the years go on. I will have 
 this matter settled about the lady-eom- 
 panion for Linnet." 
 
 " Or, better still, for yourself," suggested 
 the vicar. 
 
 " Thank you. Were you not making 
 some remark about needing funds for the 
 rural hospital just now." 
 
 Which was very much the same as say- 
 ing that the present conversation had bet- 
 ter be dropped. And Mr. Flowerdale, 
 who never went farther than a gentleman 
 has a right to go, dropped it accordingly.
 
 287 
 
 CHAPTEK XXII. 
 
 TT was a pleasant little dinner, just those 
 -*- four of them sitting round the doc- 
 tor's table. Mrs. Plummersleigh had let 
 her hostess manage for her in the matter 
 of dress, and the result was as eminently 
 satisfactory as the materials allowed. A 
 bit of pink geranium, with some darkly- 
 tinted leaves, skilfully nestled amongst 
 the pale brown braids, whicb, though their 
 owner was past the bloom of youth, were 
 still too luxuriant to need any other adorn- 
 ment ; and another like it, gathering to- 
 gether some folds of creamy lace upon the 
 left shoulder of the navy-blue cashmere,
 
 288 a man's mistake. 
 
 made Mrs. Poleinont's visitor look decided- 
 ly more attractive than was her wont. 
 And then there was an air of quiet self- 
 possession about her, the result perhaps of 
 feeling that she was, in some sort, mistress 
 of the situation, which made Mr. Aubury, 
 as he kept looking across to her, more 
 than ever convinced that both for manner, 
 appearance, and character he had done 
 well in choosing such a companion for his 
 sister. 
 
 Then the Doctor and Mrs. Polemont 
 were very bright and genial, feeling, of 
 course, that they had done both Mr. Au- 
 bury and Mrs. Plummersleigh a kindness 
 by arranging for an understanding to be 
 brought about in this manner, and the 
 guest of the evening himself was the only 
 one who was evidently embarrassed and 
 nervous. But then that was natural. 
 Things would have been far less hopeful, 
 both for the alum and the basket, if no-
 
 a man's mistake. 289 
 
 thing but the calm of self-possession had 
 been apparent round the daintily-spread 
 dinner-table. And the thought of how 
 happily it would all end by and by, caused 
 the doctor's pretty little wife positively to 
 beam with hardly-concealed triumph and 
 delight. 
 
 There was only one thing. She had 
 had a world of trouble in arranging how 
 the actual interview should take place. 
 Even yet it was not settled to her own 
 satisfaction. Of course the gentlemen 
 must have a few minutes to themselves 
 over their wine, whilst she and Maria had 
 a little preliminary confidential chat in the 
 drawing-room. Then the difficulty was 
 how she and George, without any appear- 
 ance of having planned it, should both 
 disappear, and leave the other couple in 
 undisturbed possession of the apartment. 
 
 After talking the matter over with her 
 husband and Mrs. Plummersleigh, separ- 
 
 vol. i. u
 
 290 a man's mistake. 
 
 ately, she at last decided that after dinner 
 a walk in the garden should be proposed, 
 and then it should be suggested to Mr. 
 Aubury that perhaps he might like to see 
 the little fern-house, and as Mrs. Plum- 
 niersleigh was something of a botanist, it 
 would only seem natural that she should 
 accompany him, after which Mrs. Pole- 
 mont might slip quietly away for ten 
 minutes or more, as seemed advisable. 
 
 " Though really, Maria," as the doctor's 
 wife had said, when this last resolution 
 had been put to the vote and carried, 
 " seeing that there is nothing on earth in 
 the fern-house but a few little half-dead 
 scratchy bits of roots, it does seem rather 
 ridiculous to make such a circumstance of 
 taking him to see them. However, he 
 will know why it is proposed, if he has any 
 tact at all, and I have no doubt he will 
 take the hint." 
 
 But fortune was more propitious than
 
 a man's mistake. 291 
 
 Mrs. Polemont had dared to wish. "Whilst 
 they were seated at dinner, a messenger 
 came, summoning the doctor to a distant 
 patient. Of course then there was no 
 necessity for Mr. Aubury to linger behind 
 when the ladies returned to the drawing- 
 room, so they all went together; and a 
 short time afterwards Mrs. Polemont made 
 an excuse for going out to shut up her 
 green-house; first, however, having pro- 
 vided that Mr. Aubury and Mrs. Plum- 
 mersleigh should be in convenient juxta- 
 position, and having also, by a bright 
 glance of intelligence towards the gentle- 
 man, given him to understand that the 
 opportunity he had asked for was now 
 placed at his disposal. 
 
 Mr. Aubury so understood it. After a 
 moment or two of silence, during which 
 Maria had been working diligently at 
 that autumn-tinted blackberry-spray, he 
 rose from the sofa on which they were 
 
 u2
 
 292 a man's mistake. 
 
 sitting together, and, leaning against the 
 mantelshelf, began to fidget nervously 
 with a needleful of embroidery silk which 
 he had abstracted from her work-basket. 
 
 " Mrs. Plummersleigh,''' he said, with the 
 hesitation and embarrassment of a man 
 who feels that he is asking a supreme 
 favour, " I do not know whether Mrs. 
 Polemont has told vou that I asked for 
 this interview." 
 
 Maria, deepening a tint of rosy red at 
 the end of a leaf, neither spoke nor moved. 
 Perhaps something like a tinge of rosy 
 red stole into her own cheek, but beyond 
 that she betrayed no consciousness that a 
 question was about to be asked which 
 would alter the whole course of her future 
 life. 
 
 " I have been seeking such an interview 
 some time," he continued, bending a little 
 more closely over her, and still nervously 
 playing with the bit of silk. " And, as I
 
 a man's mistake. 293 
 
 was very anxious to ascertain your own 
 feelings on the subject, I asked your friend 
 to give me this opportunity of learning 
 them." 
 
 Mrs. Plummersleigh looked away past 
 him through the open window to the fir 
 plantation, behind which the grey battle- 
 mented tower of Florey Castle, her home 
 that was to be, rose. Then her eyelids 
 dropped, and her fingers slid from her 
 work, and she clasped her hands loosely 
 over her embroidery, and still she spoke 
 no word. 
 
 Mrs. Plummersleigh never looked so 
 well as when her eyelids were dropped in 
 that way. They were large, and round, 
 and finely chiselled, and, veiling the some- 
 what unmeaning hazel eyes, gave an ex- 
 pression of peace to her whole face. Not 
 at all the expression that the women of the 
 district number three saw, when their tract 
 distributor was bent upon convincing them
 
 294 a man's mistake. 
 
 that frizzled bacon at fivepence a pound 
 was an extravagance not permitted to their 
 station in life, or that lentils and split peas, 
 neither more nor less than lentils and split 
 peas, ought to be their portion six days 
 out of the seven, instead of the fried 
 scraps and short-cakes with which thej 
 endeavoured to enliven the tedium of 
 existence on five and sixpence a week. 
 
 " I have tried," he continued, uncon- 
 sciously bending lower and lower over her, 
 "to give you such opportunities as I could 
 of becoming acquainted with myself and 
 Linnet. I felt; it would be unjust to you 
 to say anything until you had had at least 
 some little chance of judging whether 
 our tempers and dispositions would har- 
 monize. I would not take advantage of 
 any mere outward circumstances to in- 
 fluence your decision, even if I thought 
 you were a woman to be moved by such 
 thin ^ s."
 
 A MAN S MISTAKE. 295 
 
 Still those dropped eyelids and that calm, 
 peaceful expression. Only the softly-fall- 
 ing leaves which Mrs. Polemont had 
 gathered round that bit of pink geranium 
 amongst the light-brown braids quivered 
 a little, a very little. 
 
 "I believe, Mrs. Plummersleigh, you 
 look far below these things^ I want you 
 to know myself and Linnet just as we 
 are, and to ask yourself whether you 
 could be happy with us. Do you think 
 you could ?" 
 
 Maria took her embroidery needle, and 
 began idly to draw it round the outline of 
 a leafy spray of her work. Just for one 
 moment she looked up at the benevolent, 
 earnest eyes bent upon her, then quickly 
 looked down again, and said, in a low tone, 
 
 "You are very good to me. I could 
 never have dreamed that you should make 
 me the object of your preference. I will 
 indeed try to deserve it."
 
 296 a man's mistake. 
 
 The needle trembled in Maria's fingers 
 then. The down-drooping rounded eye- 
 lids hid all that the hazel eyes might have 
 to tell, but something in the tones of her 
 voice told it instead ; told Mr. Aubury 
 that he had, in fact, made Mrs. Plummers- 
 leigh an offer of marriage, and that she 
 had accepted it. 
 
 As in a dream one sometimes lives 
 through years, and finds, on waking, that 
 an instant has covered it all; or as in one 
 brief lightning flash the whole country 
 side, over which one has been painfully 
 groping, with each bush and tree, each 
 winding path, cottage, gate, and hovel, is 
 suddenly, amidst the darkness of mid- 
 night, clearly printed on the eye ; or as 
 drowning men, ere the waves close over 
 them for the last time, recall the whole of 
 their past lives, and live over again all 
 that the buried years have ever held : so 
 in that moment all that he had done, and
 
 a man's mistake. 297 
 
 all that now remained for him to do, smote 
 upon his consciousness. Past, present, 
 and future, each seemed distinctly re- 
 vealed. 
 
 The love that had been given to Alvisa 
 Clerehart, and kept so long by her, and 
 then let fall ; the needs of his little sister 
 Linnet ; the much that wife of his might 
 be to her ; the loneliness now of his own 
 life, since what he cherished so faithfully 
 was his no longer ; the quietness, good 
 sense, amiability of this woman, sitting 
 with bended head and drooped eyelids 
 before him ; the unutterable shame and 
 humiliation under which she must be 
 crushed if he released himself by explain- 
 ing her error ; his own inexcusable folly 
 in having so presented his request that it 
 could be construed into other meaning ; 
 the sole possibility that remained of aton- 
 ing for that blunder by giving what she 
 had with all innocence and good-will
 
 298 a man's mistake. 
 
 shown herself ready fco receive — all these 
 things crowded upon him, yet each one of 
 them clear, distinct, separate, in that little 
 moment during which Mrs. Plummers- 
 leigh was tremulously drawing her needle 
 round the outline of that blackberry 
 spray. 
 
 Obeying the first impulse which stirred 
 him, that of pity, honour, chivalry, self- 
 sacrifice ; knowing not, thinking not 
 whether it was for good or evil ; knowing 
 only that he was doing all he could to 
 shield a woman from the consequences of 
 his own error, he took the hand that just 
 trembled upon the leaves, and, holding it 
 resolutely in his own, said, 
 
 " Then, Maria, let it be so." 
 
 That Mrs. Plummersleigh did not with- 
 draw her hand was sufficient reply. And 
 then he raised it to his lips. 
 
 Perhaps it was as well that just then
 
 a man's mistake. 299 
 
 Mrs. Polemont, with a judicious little pre- 
 paratory process of rustling and bustling, 
 made known the fact that she was return- 
 ing to the drawing-room. 
 
 When she entered it, Maria was calmly 
 engaged upon her embroidery at one end 
 of the sofa, and Mr. Aubury was leaning 
 against the mantelshelf, twisting a bit of 
 silk round his fingers, not looking much 
 more embarrassed than he had done ever 
 since he came into the house. 
 
 END OF THE FIRST VOLUME. 
 
 LONDON : PRINTED BY DUNCAN YIACDONALD, BLKNHKIM HODS:
 
 SOU N D 
 ■ V 
 
 irir.uTflK