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 http://www.archive.org/details/youngmistley01merr
 
 YOUNG MISTLEY.
 
 ' We see the winnei^ in the race : 
 'Tis but of victors poets tell. 
 Who knows but, in a humbler place, 
 Runs one who has run just as well ? — 
 Debarred by some slight accident, 
 Withheld by freak of cruel fate, 
 Fighting against discouragement. 
 And grasping hope that comes too late. 
 Victory may be dearly won, 
 Brave he who gained the foremost place 
 Yet bravest may, when it is run, 
 Be he who ran the losing race.'
 
 YOUNG MISTLEY 
 
 IX TWO VOLUMES. 
 VOL. I. 
 
 LONDON : 
 RICHARD BENTLEY AND SON, 
 
 publishers in ©riinarg tc ^^r Jtajestg the d^nttn. 
 
 1888. 
 [All Bights Reserved.]
 
 .4 
 
 YOUXG MLSTLEY, 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 ^OXSIEUR JACOBI— the Bar- 
 oness de Xantille !' 
 
 Monsieur Jacobi bowed with 
 grave courtesy — the Baroness de Xantille in- 
 clined her head without raising her eyes, and 
 the introduction was complete. The intro- 
 ducer, Mrs. Wright, turned away with a little 
 siorh of relief to continue her duties of hostess. 
 
 o 
 
 Monsieur Jacobi and the Baroness had never 
 been to her house before, and the astute little 
 Englishwoman was not prepossessed in favour 
 VOL. I. 1
 
 YOUNG MI ST LEY. 
 
 of the foreign lady. Monsieur Jacobi, of 
 course, was irreproachable. Everyone knew 
 the name of the new musician whose violin had 
 insinuated him into every circle in London 
 where the fine arts came under unprofitable 
 discussion. Mrs. Wright rather prided her- 
 self upon being particularly English, however. 
 She avoided Continental celebrities who, 
 like prophets and other self-made folk, are 
 entirely unknown in their own land. She 
 was, no doubt, terribly prejudiced, after the 
 manner of her countrymen and women ; but 
 the fact remains that Bohemianism, lonof 
 hair, and sallow faces received a scanty wel- 
 come in her drawing-room. Affectation in 
 any form or manner was singularly distaste- 
 ful to her, and she was not afraid of showing 
 her feelings in this matter. 
 
 The most regular frequenters of her cheer- 
 ful little entertainments were not, as a rule, 
 celebrated in any way. There was a sj)rink- 
 ling of young military men, a carefully
 
 YOUNG MI ST LEY. 
 
 selected assortment of active politicians, and 
 some waifs and strays who followed various 
 crafts and professions. It is to be feared 
 that Mrs. Wrioiit found her friends amono- 
 a circle of ver}^ cheery idlers. Men with- 
 out lofty aspirations — women without am- 
 bition. Maidens who danced, and sang, and 
 loved, and laughed — youths who rowed, and 
 rode, and roamed, and smoked wooden pipes 
 in the streets. 
 
 Of such the small rooms were full this 
 evening, and Madame la Baronne de Nantille 
 was hanging heavily upon her hostess's hands. 
 The stalwart youths at that moment dancing 
 in the other room had, by some strange mis- 
 hap, one and all discovered that their pro- 
 grammes were full when Mrs. Wright pro- 
 posed to introduce them to the distinguished 
 stranger. Every hostess knows the difficulty 
 attached to allowing their guests to bring 
 friends, and if Mrs. Wright had thought it 
 worth her while she would have borne some 
 
 1 — 2
 
 YOUNG MI ST LEY. 
 
 ill-will towards the ladies who had been the 
 means of introducing two such ' unlikely ' 
 people as the Baroness and Monsieur Jacobi 
 into her house. But, as was her cheery 
 habit, the little lady took things and guests 
 as they came, making the best of every- 
 thing. And now a weight was removed from 
 her mind. The sudden inspiration had passed 
 through her brain to introduce these two to 
 each other, and trouble little more about them. 
 Monsieur Jacobi, as already mentioned, was 
 a most presentable person. Clean-shaven, 
 dark and sleek, his manners were suave and 
 courtlv ; his medium-sized, orraceful fiofure 
 an ornament to any room. Such minute 
 peculiarities of dress as he indulged in were 
 oifensive to none, and most allowable in a 
 musician somewhat above the averaofe. In 
 Kensington he was much run after by dam- 
 sels who mistook, in themselves, bodily weak- 
 ness for mental woe, dressing in sombre mis- 
 shapen garments in order to pass on the
 
 YOUNG MISTLEY. 
 
 belief to others. But in Mrs. Wright s house 
 Monsieui' Jacobi had not as yet succeeded 
 in creatine: in any fair youno- bosom the least 
 thrill of interest. The hostess herself, who 
 it is to be feared was somewhat cynical, per- 
 sisted in looking upon him as a yiolinist and 
 nothinof else. She accorded to him no 
 greater attention — and indeed not so much 
 — as she did to young Sparkle who had just 
 scraped his way into Woolwich Academy 
 and his first dress-coat. 
 
 With the Baroness, howeyer, it was a 
 different matter. Mrs. Wrio-ht honoured 
 
 o 
 
 her with a good deal of attention of an un- 
 obtrusiye order. In fact, she took eyery 
 opportunity of glancing unobseryed in her 
 direction, noting with her quick gray eyes 
 eyery detail of the Baroness's dress, eyery 
 tiny moyement, many of which betrayed to 
 the woman of the world that this stranger 
 was out of her element. 
 
 The introduction took place in the smaller
 
 YOUNG MISTLEY. 
 
 drawing-room, which was almost deserted at 
 the moment. Indeed, there was only one 
 other person present. This was a man 
 with hair and pointed beard, moustache 
 and overhanging eyebrows as white as snow. 
 The head was that of an old man — such 
 as one pictures the ancient patriarchs to 
 have been — but the body was straight, and 
 the movements, without being lithe, were 
 far from denoting infirmity. This was 
 Laurance Lowe — a mossless stone whose roll- 
 ing-days were done. People whispered to 
 each other that in days gone by Laurance 
 Lowe would fain have ceased his rolling 
 ways, but that Providence had willed it 
 otherwise, sending a courageous and fairly 
 intelligent young soldier — one Lieutenant 
 Wright — to set the stone once more agoing, 
 and to gather for himself the moss. What- 
 ever may have passed between the white- 
 haired man and the cheery little matron 
 (still comely and hearty) in those forgotten
 
 YOUNG MI ST LEY. 
 
 days was only known to themselves, and 
 neither ever referred to it. People wondered 
 why Mrs. Wright should trouble herself with 
 this silent old man, who contributed in no 
 way to the entertainment of her guests. 
 They considered him an old bore, though 
 he never displayed the least anxiety to be 
 honoured with their attention — never yawned, 
 never confessed to fatigue, and never par- 
 took in a general conversation. 
 
 It was to him that Mrs. Wright turned 
 with her ready smile, which, however, had 
 something different in it when her eyes met 
 his. She raised her eyebrows and made an 
 almost imperceptible movement with her lijDS, 
 which plainly said, ' I do not like those 
 people.' Lowe gazed at her solemnly be- 
 neath his shaggy white eyebrows as she 
 crossed the room, but his face betrayed no 
 sign of having read aright the expression of 
 hers. His eyes never returned the little 
 flash of mutual understanding : the light
 
 YOUNG MISTLEY. 
 
 from the candles on the deheately tinted wall 
 glimmered on the surface of the small single 
 eyeglass he carried perpetually and without 
 an effort. It was well that his face w^as 
 thus expressionless and habitually somewhat 
 stony, for Monsieur Jacobi was watching 
 from out of the corners of his eyes. 
 
 Laurance Lowe inclined his head with an 
 old-world courtesy, as Mrs. Wright aj)- 
 proached him. 
 
 * Coffee ?' he said interrogatively, without 
 moving moustache or beard, and offered her 
 his arm. 
 
 ^ Thanks, Laurance, I wdll !' replied the 
 little lady, with a grateful smile. During 
 the last twenty years these two had gone 
 through that little ceremony many hundreds 
 of times. 
 
 They passed together into another room, 
 and the Baroness was left alone with Monsieur 
 Jacobi. He had possessed himself of her 
 engagement-card and was now studying it,
 
 YOUNG MI ST LEY. 
 
 pencil in hand. Every curve of his body 
 the very manner in which he held his pencil, 
 his eagerly bowed head, were expressive of 
 the utmost deference and respect. 
 
 The Baroness had not yet raised her eyes 
 from the polished floor. Her strong white 
 hands, beautifully shaped and encased only 
 in open-work mittens, lay idly uj)on her lap. 
 There was something in her whole attitude, 
 in the repose of her fair face, in her down- 
 cast eyes, which was forced and unnatural. 
 Hers was indeed a beautiful face, sculptured 
 on rather a smaller scale than Englishmen 
 admire, pale and very calm, with red level 
 lips, and close-set eyes. Her soft colourless 
 hair, almost white in its exquisite fairness, 
 was arranged with extreme simplicity, but 
 she w^ore it parted upon one side, in accord- 
 ance with a fashion now obsolete in England. 
 She could not have been more than twenty- 
 five years of age, despite her re230se of manner, 
 which was almost that of a matron.
 
 lo YOUNG MISTLEY. 
 
 When Monsieur Jacobi had made sure 
 that they were alone, the expression of his 
 keen face underwent a remarkable change, 
 though his attitude remained unaltered. 
 
 ' Who,' he asked in a low-pitched voice, 
 and with an unpleasant smile — ' who is the 
 old fossil who wears an eyeglass in one eye 
 and sees with the other ?' 
 
 The Baroness raised her calm blue eyes, 
 and met Jacobi's sardonic smile with a con- 
 temptuous stare. 
 
 * Your conscience must indeed be an evil 
 one, Jacobi,' she said slowly. ' You are for 
 ever suspecting the most innocent and harm- 
 less of treachery and double-dealing.' 
 
 ' Nevertheless, Baroness, who is that 
 man V 
 
 ' That man, my friend, is one — Laurance 
 Lowe — an English radical, which means 
 nothing. He has, by this time, completely 
 forgotten the existence of both of us. I 
 should imagine that his whole attention and
 
 YOUNG MI ST LEY. n 
 
 time are given to the management of his own 
 aflairs. 
 
 '■ You know him, then ?' said Jacobi, seat- 
 ing himself hghtly and gracefully near to the 
 Baroness. 
 
 * By reputation only. ' 
 
 ' You know some one who know^s him 
 well ?' persisted the violinist calmly, 
 a do !' 
 
 * Ah ! May I inquire ' 
 
 The Baroness suddenly cast down her 
 eyes, and the Avhite lids closed over them. 
 A faint pink tinge appeared on either cheek. 
 
 ' I obtained my information from Mr. 
 Charles Mistley,' she said in an indifferent 
 voice. 
 
 ' Brother of the Mistley V 
 
 ' Brother of the Mistley.' 
 
 ' Who is daily expected in England, with 
 his chief, Colonel Wright V 
 
 The Baroness bowed her head in acqui- 
 escence. Her red lips w^ere pressed close to-
 
 12 YOUNG MI ST LEY. 
 
 gether,her colourless eyebrows slightly raised. 
 Monsieur Jacobi prided himself upon his 
 deep discernment in matters connected with 
 the female heart and mind. He therefore 
 changed the subject somewhat abruptl}\ 
 
 ' You did not expect to meet me here to- 
 night/ he said with exaggerated coolness. 
 
 ' No.' Her voice was totally without 
 expression. 
 
 ' I am here on business.' 
 
 indeed.' 
 
 ' And you V inquired Jacobi insolently. 
 
 The Baroness looked up with slightly 
 raised eyebrows. 
 
 * That is my affair !' 
 
 Jacobi smiled again with a singularly un- 
 pleasant curl of the lip. 
 
 ^ Yes, Baroness/ he said ; ^ I am here on 
 business connected with the Brotherhood, 
 and I call uj)on you to assist me.' 
 
 The Baroness looked somewhat sullen, and 
 remained silent.
 
 YOUNG MISTLEY. 13 
 
 ' Miss Lena Wright,' continued Jacobi, 
 * the daughter of our amiable hostess, is, I 
 have reason to beheve, likely, and more than 
 likely, to come in for a considerable fortune 
 on the death of . . . Mr. Laurance Lowe, 
 whom I have seen to-night for the first 
 time. She is, I am led to suppose, singularly 
 amiable, somewhat romantic, and with no 
 more strength of mind or purpose than is 
 considered desirable in a young English lady. 
 The Brotherhood, as you know, is desperately 
 in need of funds. You begin to see, fair 
 Baroness !' 
 
 * You wish to enrol her V asked the 
 Baroness in her emotionless manner. ' You 
 wish to enrol her, and for the sake of her 
 money !' 
 
 ' I think,' replied Jacobi, gazing sadly at 
 the floor, ' I think it would benefit the cause.' 
 
 ' What do you wish me to do ?' asked she 
 abruptly. 
 
 ' Xothing much — to-night !' was the reply.
 
 14 YOUNG MISTLEY. 
 
 ' Tell me what Miss Wright is dressed in, so 
 that I may recognise her. I will manage 
 to get an introduction somehow. That will 
 be enouofh for to-niofht.' 
 
 ' She is dressed in white,' replied the 
 Baroness, in the concise manner of one who 
 observes everything and forgets nothing. 
 * Tall and slight, with hair a little darker 
 than mine, rather badly dressed and some- 
 what untidy. I suppose she is considered 
 beautiful !' 
 
 ' You do not know her V 
 
 'Nol' 
 
 Monsieur Jacobi now became absorbed in 
 the re-arrangement of the delicate flower in 
 his button-hole, and took the oj^portunity of 
 glancing keenly at his companion's face, 
 which, however, was motionless and devoid 
 of expression. 
 
 Presently the Baroness looked up, and 
 caught his sidelong gaze fixed upon her. 
 
 ' I think, Jacobi,' she said, ^ that you make
 
 YOUNG MISTLEY. 
 
 15 
 
 a great mistake in attempting to be too diplo- 
 matic — too mysterious. There is, in fact, 
 about you too much of the stage conspirator. 
 You may of course, as far as I know, be a 
 member of a thousand secret societies, whose 
 mission it is to reorganize the world and 
 society by means of crime and bloodshed ; 
 but I would have you remember that you 
 are connected with me only as joint members 
 of the Brotherhood of Liberty, which is no 
 secret society at all. With me you need 
 observe no mystery, no precautions. I am 
 not to be impressed, like a weak girl, b}^ 
 your stagey little surprises and deceptions. 
 Why, for instance, you should have allowed, 
 or asked perhaps, Mrs. Wright to introduce 
 you to me to-night — I do not know. No 
 good can possibly come of it, and I distinctly 
 prefer to take no part in such small farces 
 in the future. Your authority over me 
 ceases as soon as our meetings are adjourned. 
 It extends in nowise to mv own life : and
 
 i6 YOUNG MIST LEY. 
 
 unless we are in meeting, I must beg of you 
 to treat me as a stranger, or at least a 
 distant acquaintance. So long as I pay my 
 subscription and attend such meetings as 
 you may think proper to call, I am free to 
 live how I like and where I like — with 
 whom and amongst such as I may think 
 fit!' 
 
 The Baroness had been speaking in French 
 with a slight accent such as Germans never 
 overcome in that language. Her voice had 
 not been raised above its calm pitch, and she 
 had never taken the trouble to look into 
 Jacobi's face in order to see the effect of her 
 speech. This was no half-hysterical effort 
 of a weak nature to throw off the influence 
 of a stronger mind ; it was mere calm self- 
 assertion, and Jacobi drew back before it. 
 The Baroness had been daintily arranging 
 the lace at her wrist, and now she crossed 
 her hands upon her lap and gazed quietly 
 at the dancers, whose movements could be
 
 YOUNG MI ST LEY. 
 
 followed through the open door of the inner 
 room. 
 
 Jacobi smiled his saddest, most depre- 
 cating smile, and replied : 
 
 ' I am sorry, Madame la Baronne, that 
 you should take exception to my conduct ; 
 but to-night, as in most cases, I had impor- 
 tant reasons for doing as I did. As you 
 observed just now, I am a bit of a politician, 
 and, I trust — a patriot. Those, madame, who 
 are suspected cannot be too suspicious !' 
 
 With these words Monsieur Jacobi rose, 
 and gracefully tendered the assistance of his 
 arm to the Baroness, who accepted it. 
 
 * I have taken the liberty of placing my 
 name against the dance about to commence,' 
 said he. * It is a waltz. Shall we go into 
 the other room ?' 
 
 VOL. 1. 
 
 V
 
 CHAPTEK II. 
 
 HEN Mrs. Wright and Laurance 
 Lowe left the smaller drawing- 
 room, they tm^ned their steps 
 towards a diminutive apartment, w^here some 
 late arrivals were yet partaking of tea and 
 coffee. For some moments neither spoke. 
 Laurance Lowe w^as a singularly silent man, 
 and Mrs. Wright was by no means an ex- 
 cessive talker. They understood each other 
 thoroughly, and both enjoyed these long 
 spells of silence. Lowe found a seat for 
 Mrs. Wright in the dimly lighted corridor, 
 just outside the small coffee-room, and left 
 her there while he went in quest of the
 
 YOUNG MI ST LEY. 19 
 
 coffee. Presently he returned and sat down 
 beside her. 
 
 * Dark horse !' he murmured within the 
 white recesses of his moustache and beard. 
 
 Mrs. Wright was fanning herself gently, 
 for it was June, and she closed her fan 
 slowly as she looked up and met his solemn 
 eyes. 
 
 * I think they form a good pair,' she said, 
 smiling a little. She had rightly divined 
 that her companion was referring to Monsieur 
 Jacobi. 
 
 Lowe reflected deeply for a minute. 
 
 ' No,' he said at length with senile de- 
 liberation. ^ No ; I think the girl is all right, 
 but I do not like the man. He reminds me 
 of a dentist I once had cause to visit, a ad 
 I hate dentists.' 
 
 At this moment the servant appeared 
 with the coffee. Lowe selected the fuller 
 cup, and handed it to Mrs. Wright. He 
 dropped one piece of sugar nimbly into it
 
 20 YOUNG MISTLEY. 
 
 without causing a drop to splash up, and 
 then he began a dehberate search for a 
 second piece of smaller dimensions. He 
 knew to a drachm how much sugar Mrs. 
 Wright liked. There was no lump of the 
 desired size, so he broke a j)iece in his gloved 
 fingers, and daintily holding one half in the 
 sugar-tongs, he proceeded to scrape with the 
 other half the particular angle that had 
 come into contact with his glove. The tray 
 in the servant's hand shook in a susj)icious 
 manner, but his face was perfectly stolid. 
 Mrs. Wright smiled a little pathetically, but 
 made no attempt to intimate to her com- 
 panion that his labours were unnecessary. 
 At length the task was complete, and the 
 servant was allowed to turn his face away 
 and grin his fill. 
 
 ^ Lena,' said Lowe pensively as he stirred 
 his coffee, ' is looking lovely to-night.' 
 
 Through the curtained doors the cadence 
 of a slow soft waltz reached their ears, rising
 
 YOUNG MI ST LEY. 
 
 and falling on the heavy atmosphere. Mrs. 
 Wright was anxious this evening, and a little 
 restless. She had that morning received a 
 telegram from her husband, announcing his 
 arrival at Brindisi on the homeward voyage 
 from India, and she had not seen him for 
 two anxious weary years. She sipped her 
 coffee, and glanced over her cuj) towards 
 Laurance Lowe. His great eyebrows were 
 drawn forward, so that his eyes were in im- 
 penetrable shadow. He looked very old and 
 somewhat worn, but he had looked so for 
 many years. 
 
 ^ Yes, Laurance,' said she softly ; ^ I am 
 a little proud of my daughter.' 
 
 He made no reply, but continued to stir 
 his coffee absently. Presently he moved 
 slightly and looked up, drawing in a deep 
 breath. 
 
 * Thursday morning ?' he said in a slightly 
 interrogative tone. This was the time men- 
 tioned by Colonel Wright in his telegram
 
 22 YOUNG MISTLEY. 
 
 for the arrival of himself and Winyard Mist- 
 ley at Victoria Station. 
 
 'Yes, Thursday morning at half-past seven. 
 Will you come with us to meet him V 
 
 Lowe shook his head slowly and with 
 much deliberation. 
 
 * Better not/ he said gravely. ' Would 
 only be in the way. * You and Mrs. Mist- 
 ley go alone ; that will be best. 
 
 ' Well then, come in to breakfast at nine 
 o'clock,' urged Mrs. Wright. 
 
 Again Lowe shook his head, his white 
 thin beard waving from side to side. 
 
 ' Thanks,' he said. ' I will look in during 
 the morning.' 
 
 Mrs. Wright paused a moment as if choos- 
 ing her words to say something difficult. 
 
 ' Willy,' she said at length — ' Willy will 
 want to thank you . . . for . . . for everything ; 
 for your kindness to us during his absence. 
 It has been a great comfort to him, I know, 
 to feel that you were ahvays near to us, and
 
 YOUNG MISTLEY, 23 
 
 . . . and it has been a great comfort to us, 
 Laurance, to have you. I do not exactly 
 know what we should have done, Lena and 
 I, without you.' 
 
 The little lady actually blushed. It was 
 rather difficult for her to thank this impas- 
 sive man. The thouo^ht of gratitude stirred 
 up smouldering memories, best left to smoul- 
 der in the depths of her womanly heart. It 
 made the practical woman of the world look 
 back over the perspective of full years to 
 the days of heedless girlhood. Perhaps it 
 made her recoonise the oTeat chanofe that 
 had come over her own being since those 
 days, and compare it reproachfully with the 
 steadfastness of the man at her side. 
 
 She had more to say — much more, and 
 she was going on to say it ; but Lowe stopped 
 her. 
 
 ' Xo thanks,' he said, 'are wanted. I have 
 done nothing but " stand by," as Charlie 
 would sav, to be there when wanted.'
 
 YOUNG MISTLEY. 
 
 'Yes,' said Mrs. Wright ; ' but ''standing 
 by " is sometimes weary work.' 
 
 Laurance Lowe glanced sharply at her. 
 His light-blue eyes suddenly acquired an un- 
 wonted brilliancy. It almost seemed as if 
 Mrs. Wright's remark might have had a 
 second meaning ; but nothing was farther 
 from her thoughts. If any man could know 
 the undeniable truth of the assertion just 
 made, that man was Laurance Lowe. He 
 had ' stood by ' all his life. 
 
 Instantly his eyes became dull and vague 
 again. It was merely a passing flash of life 
 upon marble features. 
 
 ' He will find Lena changed,' said Lowe, 
 knowing that he was broaching a j)leasing 
 subject. 
 
 ' Yes, he will find her grown. She is a 
 young lady now, and quite — quite ' 
 
 ' Quite able to take care of herself,' sug- 
 gested Lowe. Mrs. Wright turned, and 
 their eyes met. LoAve's were grave ; but
 
 YOUNG MI ST LEY. 25 
 
 there was about the Hues of his face a faint 
 suggestion of a smile. That was the best 
 he could do in the way of smiles, by reason 
 of the long white moustache that hid his lips. 
 'Yes, I hope so,'said Mrs. Wright seriously. 
 She knew that her daughter was fair, and 
 also that it is the fairest who find the saddest 
 lives here. She knew the thousand tempta- 
 tions that beset the path of a beautiful 
 woman, the thousand little slips so easily 
 made, the thousand hands ever ready to push 
 the s tumbler down the hill. But her faith 
 in Lena was very great. There was no 
 tangible, no possible cause for fear ; but with 
 all her worldliness, all her merriment, and 
 all her apparent carelessness, Mrs. Wright 
 was a true mother ; that is to say, she was 
 weak with all the sublime weakness of her 
 kind. It was merely a natural misgiving 
 that came over her at the thought that her 
 dauo'hter's life was now an individual thinof 
 — a separate and distinct vessel floating upon
 
 26 YOUNG MI ST LEY. 
 
 the great waters, and truly obedient to only 
 one tiller — the tiller of her own heart. 
 
 Lena had her mother, her father, and 
 Laurance Lowe to watch over her, to guard 
 and keep her, to fend off the blows that fall 
 upon us all, rich and poor; but Mrs.' Wright 
 — weak woman — was pleased to believe that 
 father, mother, and friend are alike powerless 
 to shield their darling from certain small 
 arrow^s with an exceedingly sharp sting and 
 a bitter barb — arrows which fly about at 
 random, sometimes with the speed of forked 
 lightning, sometimes slowly and very surely, 
 sometimes glancing ofl" and leaving but a 
 scratch, sometimes burying their barbed heads 
 so deep that to extricate them would mean 
 death. But the shooting is never good, 
 never reliable, and never sportsmanlike. 
 
 While these two old travellers were worry- 
 ing themselves over the roughness of the 
 road they had long since left behind, the 
 object of their solicitous thoughts made her
 
 YOUNG MISTLEY. 27 
 
 appearance at the end of the corridor — a 
 dainty vision of soft white musUn, with a 
 broad yellow sash round a slender waist. 
 Lena was attended by a huge cavalier of 
 peaceful but distinguished appearance. As 
 she came lightly along the corridor, she was 
 busily engaged in putting back over her ears 
 sundry little stray wisps and tendrils of hair. 
 These particular little curls were almost 
 golden, while above them the heavier coils 
 darkened into living brown. She was smiling 
 and breathless, and just a little flushed. 
 Lena's eyes were in striking contrast to her 
 hair and fair complexion, for they were hazel 
 — a dark, deep hazel — full of ready laughter, 
 capable of sparkling with unbounded mis- 
 chief; but in repose they were as demure 
 and illegible as those of a nun. At the 
 present moment they were soft and glisten- 
 ing with excitement and weariness : danger- 
 ous eyes for a man to look into, especially 
 amidst the surroundings of odorous flowers,
 
 28 YOUNG MISTLEY. 
 
 within the sound of slow dance-music, for 
 the next waltz had beg^un. 
 
 The big man, upon whose arm she was 
 leaning, was fanning her with great sweeping 
 strokes, so that the lace upon her dress 
 fluttered in the breeze. 
 
 ' Oh, Charlie,' she was saying, ' that was 
 lovely ! I do not think that I ever danced 
 like that before. The music seemed to stop 
 suddenly, to die away into nothing, and then 
 we came to earth. Why was it so lovely — 
 why was it so lovely ?' 
 
 The big man continued fanning. He 
 looked down at her with a slow, grave smile, 
 such as one expects to see on a Saxon face. 
 
 ' And why,' he said, ^ did we come down 
 to earth again V 
 
 They had both seen Mrs. Wright and 
 Laurance Lowe, and they both knew that 
 they were within ear-shot ; but that appeared 
 in no way to interfere with or restrain their 
 conversation. They advanced slowly along
 
 YOUNG MI ST LEY. 29 
 
 the corridor, Charles Mistley taking one stride 
 to every two of Lena's. 
 
 Occasionally the young man glanced down 
 at his companion as young men do glance at 
 maidens. Although Lena was tall and 
 straight as some young tree, the coils of 
 sweet brown hair came no farther up than 
 his shoulder. A very observant person 
 would have noticed two singularities about 
 this young man. First, he was clean-shaven ; 
 and secondly, he walked with peculiar firm- 
 ness, as if there were some power of holding 
 to the floor in the soles of his boots. These, 
 added to the manner of carrying his hands 
 half-closed (as if there should have been a 
 rope within them), and his very brown face, 
 demonstrated satisfactorily that Charles Mist- 
 ley was a sailor. In the good old times, he 
 would have been a worthy lieutenant to some 
 hardy old sea-dog, all fight and energy — a 
 true sailor and a brave fighter — but Provi- 
 dence had been pleased to place his lot in
 
 30 
 
 YOUNG MI ST LEY. 
 
 later times, so Charles Mistley took things 
 as he found them, and was a very good sailor 
 as they make them now ; that is to say, half- 
 sailor and half-engineer. He was not con- 
 sidered to be brilliant, like his young brother 
 Winyard ; but his reputation for cool, re- 
 liable pluck was firmly established, and his 
 shipmates loved him one and all. 
 
 As the two young people advanced, 
 Laurance Lowe slowly raised his head, and 
 his emotionless eyes met Mrs. Wright's, 
 fixed upon his face. They looked at each 
 other, thus, for some seconds, and then turned 
 aside without a word. Lowe's wrinkled hand, 
 burnt brown by many a scorching wind, shook 
 a little, so that the spoon rattled in the 
 saucer. The expression in that elderly lady's 
 eyes resembled so remarkably that which he 
 had discovered in those of a lovely and happy 
 girl, twenty years ago, when she had told 
 him gently and wistfT^lly that his life must 
 henceforth be hopelj^s, aimless, and object-
 
 YOUNG MISTLEY. 31 
 
 less, that he could not meet them, though 
 his own were illegible in the deep shadow of 
 his brows. It was, perhaps, no coincidence 
 that when Lena and her partner approached, 
 the two older folks looked up, not at her, 
 but at Charles Mistley. Something, some 
 vaoTie and doubtino- wonder, must have 
 prompted Mrs. Wright to do this, for every 
 mother looks ten times at her own dauo-hter 
 in a ballroom for every once that her eyes 
 rest on some other person's offspring. They 
 can no more help it than an artist can resist 
 the maofnetic attraction which draws him to 
 the contemplation of his own picture in a 
 gallery full of superior works. But this 
 good lady looked at Charles Mistley, her 
 eyes resting on his strong cl|an-cut face with 
 a wistful, questioning expression which seemed 
 almost to savour of foreboding. Laurance 
 Lowe Grazed at the vouno- fellow with those 
 keen blue eyes of his, and his face bore ab- 
 solutely no expression whatever. It was
 
 32 YOUNG MISTLEY. 
 
 merely the calm impassive contemplation of 
 an indifferent looker-on. 
 
 The young sailor looked down upon them 
 from his exceptional height and smiled 
 quietly. Charlie Mistley's smile was a 
 pleasant one to meet. It seemed, somehow, 
 to bring him down to a lowxr level ; and 
 smaller, plainer men felt less inferior. It 
 was a ready smile, too, and women liked it 
 for its sincerity. 
 
 ^ I have,' he said, * danced Lena into a 
 state of sentimentality. She requires bring- 
 ing down to an everyday level, so I brought 
 her to her mother.' 
 
 * Mother,' said Lena breathlessly, ' being 
 an everyday level ?' 
 
 Mistley laughed, but made no reply. He 
 seldom indulged in the dangerous game of 
 repartee, which is like boxing, ^ just to get 
 warm,' inasmuch as a blow may be dealt 
 with unintentional force in the heat of 
 strife.
 
 YOUNG MI ST LEY. 33 
 
 ' Look at him 1' continued the girl gaily. 
 ^ He is as cool as — as ' 
 
 ' His native element,' suggested Lowe, 
 without looking up. 
 
 * Yes, thank you. As cool as his native 
 element, and I am perfectly breathless ! 
 But it was lovely, was it not, Charlie V 
 
 ^ Yes — lovely,' he said, looking gravely 
 at her. Then he brought forward a low 
 chair. 
 
 ' Sit down,' he said, ^ and I will get you 
 an ice.' 
 
 ' I will sit down,' she replied, ' but I do 
 not want an ice, thank you. You are so 
 terribly practical and earthly — n'est-ce pas, 
 mother V 
 
 ^ He is very useful, at all events,' said Mrs. 
 Wright, favouring Mistley with a smile. ' I 
 am very grateful to you, Charlie,' she con- 
 tinued, ' for dancing with that Baroness de 
 Something. I have had great difficulty in 
 finding partners for her ; the young men now- 
 VOL. I. 3
 
 34 YOUNG MI ST LEY. 
 
 adays are so hard to please, and I find a 
 growing tendency among them to divide the 
 programme among fom- or five partners at 
 the most.' 
 
 Charles Mistlev smiled. That smile of 
 his came in frequently, very profitably, in 
 place of words. 
 
 * Yes,' said Lena musingly, with all the 
 wisdom of her first season, ' I am afraid that 
 is a characteristic of the risinof o-eneration.' 
 
 And she looked demurely and innocently 
 up at Mistley, whose initials appeared five 
 times upon her engagement-card. 
 
 He, however, did not appear to notice her 
 glance ; he was looking at his programme. 
 
 ^ Yes,' he said 23resently, ' I have two 
 with the Baroness ; I should not be sur- 
 jjrised if she dances beautifully. There is 
 something about the way she holds herself 
 which leads one to think so.' 
 
 * I suppose she is very lovely,' said Lena, 
 smoothing her gloves.
 
 YOUNG MISTLEY. 35 
 
 ' Yes, she is a beautiful woman,' replied 
 her mother indifferently. 
 
 ' Who is she ?' asked Mistley quietly. 
 It was an innocent little question, innocently 
 asked, but it received no reply. Mrs. Wright 
 shrugged her shoulders and sipped her coffee. 
 Laurance Lowe slowly raised his head, and 
 his solemn blue eyes rested inquiringly upon 
 the young sailor's face. Lena continued to 
 smooth her gloves. The question obviously 
 possessed no interest for any of them except 
 Mistley, and his was only the passing thought 
 of a young man upon the possible history of 
 a beautiful woman. 
 
 3—2
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 Y George, Mistley, this is splen- 
 did ! Listen to this from the 
 Cologne paper : 
 
 ' " We learn from our London Correspon- 
 dent that the Mayor of Dover, in his robes 
 of office, awaited, yesterday, the arrival of 
 the Calais boat, despite the heavy rain to 
 which he was fully exposed on the pier, for 
 the purpose of an address to Colonel Wright 
 and his able young coadjutor Mr. Winyard 
 Mistley, to deliver " (the translation here 
 is somewhat literal). " On the arrival of 
 the boat, it was, however, discovered that 
 Colonel Wright and Mr. Mistley were not 
 on board. They parted from the other 
 Indian passengers at Brindisi, and no one 
 appears to have learnt by what route they
 
 YOUNG MISTLEY. 37 
 
 purposed returning to England. It will be 
 remembered that these gentlemen have been 
 engaged upon an arduous diplomatic service 
 on the Indian frontier, and their daring firm- 
 ness and resolute defence of the acknowledged 
 rights of their country in the midst of 
 treacherous friends and unscrupulous foes " — 
 et cetera, et cetera — et cetera /' 
 
 The speaker, or reader, was a tall gray- 
 haired man of military aspect. His mous- 
 tache was almost white, and cut rather close 
 to his lijD. His features showed signs of 
 having once been fine, but w^^inkles and hard- 
 ship had changed all that. His nose was 
 long and aquiline, a true military feature, 
 but it was jDeculiarly thin ; and the skin, 
 though brown, was transparent and entirely 
 free from that suggestive ruddiness which 
 is somewhat frequently found upon the fea- 
 tures of elderly military men. He laid aside 
 the German newspaper, and looked at his 
 companion with a twinkle of amusement in 
 his gray eyes.
 
 38 YOUNG MISTLEY. 
 
 * No, no,' said the younger man gaily. 
 * Go on — let us have it all — I like it ;' and he 
 returned gravely to the discussion of a piece 
 of chocolate. 
 
 ^ ^'And unscrupulous foes," ' continued 
 Colonel Wright, reading from the paper as it 
 lay — ' ''and unscrupulous foes" — oh yes; here 
 it is — '' undoubtedly saved the Indian Empire 
 endless trouble and strife upon the frontier, 
 while a graver mishap has perhaps been 
 averted, and the peace of Europe preserved, 
 by the prompt and consistent action of these 
 two soldier-statesmen." ' 
 
 Winyard Mistley wagged his head very 
 sapiently, and, addressing himself to the piece 
 of chocolate in his hand, he observed : 
 
 ' Oh yes ! Rather disappointing for the 
 Mayor of Dover, eh. Colonel V 
 
 ' Rather,' replied the old soldier, folding 
 the newspaper. 
 
 'You will be pleased to remember that 
 this brilliant idea of dodging the Mayor of
 
 YOUNG MISTLEY. 39 
 
 Dover and the rest of his kind emanated 
 from my fertile brain.' 
 
 This remark called for no rejDly, and for 
 some time the two men were silent. They 
 were seated opposite to each other in a first- 
 class railwav-carriao'e, an airv broad com- 
 partment Hned with bro\An linen. A fine 
 dust floated in the air and lay on every avail- 
 able space, for the train was rushing over the 
 bare plains of the Xetherlands. All around 
 lay vast tracts of yellow sand, varied here and 
 there by glassy sheets of motionless water. 
 In these pools stood, here and there, a long- 
 legged solemn heron. On a raised embank 
 ment the train ran smoothlv throuo^h the 
 deserted land. The sun had long- since set 
 and a faint blue haze was steahng inland 
 across the sand from the distant sea. Win- 
 yard Mistley lay back in his corner, and 
 gazed out of the dust-covered window over 
 the monotonous plains. It was a peaceful, 
 dreary outlook ; one calculated to call up
 
 40 YOUNG MISTLEY. 
 
 sweet memories of the past, to make one 
 dream vague day-dreams fraught with im- 
 possibiHty. The faint Hght of dying day in 
 the western sky lay over the native land 
 of these two men, the land to which they 
 were returning after two years of arduous 
 work, of constant danger grown wearisome 
 from very monotony. That pearly light 
 spoke to them of home, of rest, and love ; 
 all three rendered marvellously precious by 
 absence in the past years. To the younger 
 man this home-coming must have been doubly 
 moving. Four years before, he had left 
 England an insignificant young soldier with 
 no great prospects, encouraged and sustained 
 by no great influence at headquarters. Now 
 he was about to set foot on England's shores 
 again, a man with a name among her greater 
 sons, with a definite object' and aim in life, 
 and that aim the greatest of all that man 
 craves for, the glorification of his own 
 country.
 
 YOUNG MISTLEY. 41 
 
 It is assuredly no great wonder that Win- 
 yard Mistley should be silent under these 
 circumstances. The very movement of the 
 train in its smooth rapidity, the bewitching 
 hour, the happy days in store — all could 
 not fail to appeal to a youthful heart and a 
 young imagination. But in the man's eyes 
 there was no far-away look, no dreamy wist- 
 fulness. Ah 1 would I were a ladv-novelist ! 
 How infinitely romantic, how yearningly 
 interesting could this youth be rendered ! 
 This duller pen, however, has a humble pride 
 in truthfulness. 
 
 Winyard Mistley was an eminently practi- 
 cal young man. He was an adept at mend- 
 ing his own clothes, cooking his owm dinner, 
 and grooming his own horse. Practical 
 people, however, are not necessarily devoid of 
 sentiment. They hide it — that is all. What 
 dreaming they may indulge in is done in 
 private. 
 
 His was a striking face whether in ani-
 
 42 YOUNG MI ST LEY. 
 
 mation or repose, with dark gray eyes of 
 singular penetration ; eyes that seldom 
 smiled, desjoite the readiness of the lips 
 which smiled perhaps too easily. A great 
 charm about him was his peculiar unaffected- 
 ness. Whatever he did, or said, was to all 
 appearance perfectly spontaneous, and with- 
 out after-thought. Never at a loss in the 
 most trying emergency, no one ever saw a 
 look of embarrassment or self-consciousness 
 on Winyard Mistley's face. He was simply 
 without vanity, and therefore was fortunate 
 enough to be unafflicted b}^ jealousy. 
 
 At this moment his face wore an expres- 
 sion of calm reflectiveness. He was think- 
 ing, but not deeply. Perhaps he never had 
 thought very deeply over anything. His 
 thoughtfulness was characterized by an ex- 
 traordinary readiness. It was not deep, but 
 it was very quick, and therefore likel}^ to 
 make its mark in this shallow age. Such 
 mental work as this never shows itself upon
 
 YOUNG MISTLEY. 43 
 
 a man's face, and Winyard Mistley looked 
 younger than he was, despite a few Hnes 
 about his mouth which were the result of 
 physical hardship, and therefore in no way 
 permanent. 
 
 Coming from a military stock, Mistley had 
 himself been in the army ; but the authorities 
 having been pleased to place difficulties in 
 the way of his accepting Colonel Wright's 
 pressing offer to accompany him on a diffi- 
 cult frontier mission, he had calmly laid 
 aside his sword to take up the sharp pen of 
 a diplomatist. 
 
 This, though rapidly carried out, had been 
 no hasty conclusion. The young fellow 
 knew that the Indian army was no field for 
 an active-minded man endowed with more 
 than his clue share of brains and ambition, 
 such as, without the least conceit, he sus- 
 pected himself to be. 
 
 Such was Winyard Mistley : a man who 
 at the age of twenty-eight had been not only
 
 44 YOUNG MISTLEY. 
 
 fortunate enough to find his speciahty, but 
 had gone so far as to get his feet well planted 
 upon the rungs of his own particular ladder. 
 It is true that his name was always coupled 
 with that of Colonel Wright, and invariably 
 came second in such mention ; but there were 
 whispers in more than one diplomatic circle 
 that in this happy partnership, one gave the 
 larger experience and more patient attention 
 to details, while the other supplied the 
 brilliant conception and rapid execution. 
 
 Colonel Wright was a diplomatist in one 
 great and important matter, if in nothing 
 else. He could, with unfailing discrimina- 
 tion, gather round him the men he required. 
 At a glance he recognised the fighting-man, 
 a mere thoughtless creature of courage, whose 
 ambition lay in the two letters ' Y.C. ;' whose 
 soft heart was the most vulnerable portion 
 of his anatomy, his head been the least so 
 when hard knocks were flying. The thinker, 
 also, could the Colonel select from the
 
 YOUNG MISTLEY. 45 
 
 crowded ranks of human workers. He had 
 no need for, and took but small interest in, 
 the slow and deliberate thinker of such ma- 
 terial as produces essay-writers and sjDecial- 
 ists ; but he knew full well the value of a 
 brilliant and rapid man whose thoughts are 
 almost instinctive. One who, as a plot un- 
 folds itself before him, can at once, and with 
 light touch, lay his finger upon the motive 
 and say, ' This is what he is leading up to ' — 
 ' That is what he will do next ;' and who, 
 like a skilful chess-player, can execute a 
 counter-move of apparently trifling import- 
 ance, which, when the crisis comes, carries 
 everything before it. 
 
 Of this latter type was "Winyard Mistley, 
 and the Colonel was fully aware that the 
 best step he ever took in his life was to per- 
 suade that young officer, then fretting under 
 the command of a man somewhat his inferior 
 in many ways, to leave the army and join 
 him, since he could not retain his commis-
 
 46 YOUNG MISTLEY. 
 
 sion and accept the offer. Two years of con- 
 stant intercourse, of days spent in the per- 
 formance of a common task, and nights 
 passed together in various degrees of dis- 
 comfort often amounting to danger, will do 
 much to obliterate the barrier that invari- 
 ably stands between men belonging to a 
 different generation. It had been so with 
 Colonel Wright and Winyard Mistley. The 
 friendship commenced at a mess-table, and 
 based upon letters from the wife of one and 
 the mother of the other, had grown into 
 something stronger ; and gradually the two 
 men (though thirty years lay like a wall be- 
 tween them) had become necessary to each 
 other. Of course there were mutual debts. 
 Had it not been owing to Colonel Wright 
 that Mistley had found his mission in life ? 
 But for him the young officer might still 
 have been idling his life away in semi-in- 
 difference. On the other hand, without his 
 brilliant assistant Colonel Wright would un-
 
 YOUNG MISTLEY. 47 
 
 doubtedly have failed to cany out the diffi- 
 cult mission entrusted to him. Without 
 this aid he would not now have been return- 
 ing in triumjDh to his home, and certainly 
 the honour which they were both so anxious 
 to avoid — that which had awaited them on 
 the pier at Dover — would not have been 
 tendered by the self-constituted representa- 
 tive of a spasmodically grateful country. 
 
 It was assuredly something more than 
 mere chance that had brought these two men 
 together, so perfectly suited were they to 
 each other. What the Colonel lacked Mist- 
 ley supplied, and such slower qualities as 
 were wanting in the younger man were 
 to be found in his chief Many good quali- 
 ties, however, had these men in common, 
 qualities necessary to the traveller and sailor, 
 such as independence, readiness of resource, 
 rapidity of execution. They were travelling 
 with very little luggage, and no encumbrances 
 whatever. Each clad in a simjDle tweed suit,
 
 48 YOUNG MI ST LEY. 
 
 they might have been beginning some trivial 
 local journey, instead of being at the end of 
 a rush across half the world. 
 
 Two small black boxes, lost in a chaos of 
 huge trunks somewhere in the van, were all 
 they could claim, and there was something 
 characteristic even in these small receptacles. 
 Identical in form, size, and colour, they ap- 
 peared to cling, as if from long habitude, to 
 each other. The same labels and enticing 
 hotel placards were to be found on both ; 
 and in particular there was around each a 
 slight indented mark as if from chafe or 
 friction, such as one sees round a river-side 
 jDOst. This betrayed the hardships they had 
 passed through, one on each side of a weary 
 pack-horse, balancing and supporting each 
 other, lashed together, though separated by 
 the body of their bearer. Many of us, me- 
 thinks, go through our travels like these 
 road-worn trunks, with a mark of friction 
 upon us, showing what we have come
 
 YOUNG MISTLEY. 49 
 
 through. A grocer, for instance, though he 
 be clad in purple and fine linen, seems to me 
 to have a slight indentation round the centre 
 of his person, where the apron-string was 
 wont to press. It is his mark, his trade- 
 mark as it were, worn and chafed into his 
 soul as into his body. 
 
 Winyard Mistley lay back in his corner, 
 serenely unconscious of his senior's steady 
 gaze. Colonel Wright was absently looking 
 at him, merely because, perhaps, that clear- 
 cut intellio'ent face was the most interestinor 
 object in sight. At length he spoke with 
 the determined air of one who has weighed 
 his words carefully, having something rather 
 difficult to say. 
 
 * In twenty-four hours,' he said in a specu- 
 lative tone, * our official relationship ceases.' 
 
 ' Alas !' observed Mistley with ready 
 cheerfulness. 
 
 ' I do not wish you, Mistley,' continued 
 the Colonel gravely, ^ to go away without 
 
 VOL. I. 4
 
 50 YOUNG MI ST LEY, 
 
 knowing how fully I appreciate and have 
 appreciated all your unfailing j)atience. your 
 skill, and your ha23py power of being ever 
 cheerful and good-humoured under the most 
 trying circumstances. As for my owai per- 
 sonal feelings in the matter, I have never 
 ceased to congratulate myself upon my action 
 two years ago in asking you to join me, and 
 I only hope that you will never have cause 
 to regret it.' 
 
 ' For me,' replied Mistley, looking out of 
 the window, and purposely avoiding the 
 Colonel's eyes, ' these two years have simj^ly 
 been a holiday. That soldiering in India 
 w^as not the work for me at all — there is too 
 much unavoidable routine — too little to do, 
 and too much time to do it in. Besides, 
 there is always the feeling that the first 
 fool who comes along with his head full of 
 theory could do the work as well, if not 
 better, than one's self There is absolutely no 
 individuality in the army. We are like so
 
 YOUNG MISTLEY. 51 
 
 many brass buttons on a tunic ; if two come 
 off they can be put back in reversed order, 
 or two new ones can be sewn on, and no 
 one is the wiser — the tunic is neither better 
 nor worse. Thanks to you, I am no longer 
 a button. Thanks to you, I have got my 
 foot on the ladder which to me has been the 
 onlv one worth climbino- since I was old 
 enough to know that my life was my own. 
 The gratitude should be on my side, I think, 
 Colonel.' 
 
 This was unsatisfactory, and in no manner 
 helped Colonel Wright in his little speech. 
 So the old gentleman went straight to the 
 point at once, and somewhat surprised his 
 junior by the unexpected powers of observa- 
 tion which his remarks betrayed. 
 
 ' I think,' he said, ' that it is of no use 
 mincing matters between us, Mistley. We 
 know each other too well for that. You 
 have ofot bevond the lower runofs of the 
 ladder, for you are half-way up it already ; 
 
 4 — 2 
 0, OF lU- UB.
 
 52 YOUNG MISTLEY. 
 
 and in climbing you have found time to give 
 a helping push to an old slow-coach above 
 you, who bid fair to stick where he was. I 
 am not blind, nor am I ashamed to acknow- 
 ledge that you are a sharper fellow than I. 
 You are my superior in the w^ork we have 
 had to do together, and there is no reason 
 why it should be concealed. The difference 
 lies in the fact that you were born to it, 
 and I had it forced upon me by circum- 
 stances. Everything in you points to what 
 Providence designed you for ; with me rests 
 only the honour of finding out the intention 
 of Providence. Your gift of languages points 
 to it, your restless love of travel, your very 
 face even. Why, look at me — I say some- 
 thing very diplomatic, and the best I can do 
 in the way of disguising my feelings is to 
 look blank and vacant ; whereas you can think 
 one thing and make your face express the 
 very ojDposite !' 
 
 Mistley was intensely relieved at this
 
 YOUNG MISTLEY, 
 
 53 
 
 moment to catch sight of the distant spires 
 of Flushing, which enabled him to change 
 the subject. Like many of his countrymen, 
 he could not bear beino^ thanked.
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 ICTORIA STATION is not a 
 
 favourite resort of the fashion- 
 able world between the hours of 
 seven and eight in the morning. In fact, 
 that sweetest, freshest, most entrancing hour 
 is rather apt, in London, to be dull and 
 somewhat dismal ; therefore better spent in 
 bed. The early porters were busy sweep- 
 ing up with long brushes the dust shaken 
 from the feet of many a weary traveller, and 
 sprinkling water in strange circular patterns 
 upon the pavement of the station, when the 
 first hansom-cab of the day made its appear- 
 ance with much clatter of hoofs.
 
 YOUNG MISTLEY. 55 
 
 From it there alighted a brisk httle lady, 
 who instantly glanced up at the clock. Her 
 movements were very quick without being 
 in the least fussy. She paid the cabman 
 with an air of quiet confidence, which did 
 not fail to impress upon that most uncivil 
 of public servants (which is saying much) 
 that she was j^erfectly aware of the fact that 
 he v\'as receiving sixpence more than his 
 legal fare. Then she turned to a porter, 
 and said in a silvery voice, with the faintest 
 suspicion of a foreign accent : 
 
 'The Queenborough train, porter. AVhich 
 platform, please V 
 
 ' The far platform, ma'am. Due in ten 
 minutes,' w^as the reply, given with a polite- 
 ness which seemed always to be this little 
 lady's due. With a quick nod of thanks, she 
 went in the direction indicated. A light, 
 almost girlish form with a firm elastic step, 
 such as is of more service to a girl in a ball- 
 room than the most enticing beauty. Many
 
 56 YOUNG MISTLEY. 
 
 a man in passing that girlish form in the 
 street had tm^ned his head, to be met by a 
 pair of cahn gray eyes, and to see with a 
 shock of surprise that the pretty energetic 
 face was surmounted by a mass of silvery 
 hair. Mrs. Mistley's w^hite hair was an in- 
 herited peculiarity. Long, thick, and silky, 
 it was gray at the temples when she married 
 Major Mistley. It did not change much 
 for two years after that, but at the end of 
 the third year when she returned from India, 
 a widow of twenty-two, it was white. She 
 wore it piled up high upon her graceful head, 
 after a fashion which vaguely suggested 
 Madame de Lamballe, or some other gracious 
 lady of the old French Court. This mode 
 of coiffure harmonized w^ith the faint accent 
 which was hardly that of a foreigner, but 
 rather of one who had for many years spoken 
 in an acquired tongue. Such, indeed, was 
 the case with Mrs. Mistley, who had spent 
 the greater portion of her life in France. For
 
 YOUNG MISTLEY. 57 
 
 her, this was the land of the blessed, the 
 home of sunshine and flowers, of sweet and 
 calm comitiy life. It was not the country 
 known to the majority of us — the France of 
 Paris, of broad pavements and lofty buildings, 
 of outward brilliancy and gaudy vice, of dust 
 and reckless merry lives. Her France was a 
 land of smiling meadows and quaint, crum- 
 bling family palaces, far from the restless city ; 
 where loyalty is still to be found among a 
 quiet self-contained people, living out their 
 lives of voluntary exile from the haunts of 
 man, with a strange restful patience. A 
 race bearing names dangerously historical, 
 and carrying their heads above the petty 
 strifes of Republican office-seekers with a 
 dignified pride intensely galling to the people. 
 They talked sometimes, though rarely, of 
 these same people, and always with a smile, 
 half pitying and half contemptuous, as one 
 speaks of a wayward headstrong child. 
 
 Mrs. Mistley walked as far as the plat-
 
 58 YOUNG MISTLEY. 
 
 form, and finding no one there, returned to 
 the entrance of the station. Presently a 
 small victoria arrived, and from it Mrs. 
 Wright alighted. The two ladies kissed 
 each other warmly, and both remembered 
 later that that form of salutation had not 
 passed between them since the caressingly 
 affectionate days of their girlhood. Mrs. 
 Wright was somewhat pale, but she returned 
 her friend's smile bravely, and they turned 
 to;vards the platform indicated by the porter. 
 The train was late, and the two ladies walked 
 up and down the deserted platform in silent 
 impatience. The circumstances of their 
 meeting that morning seemed to have swept 
 away the barrier of years. A coincidence 
 of memory took their thoughts back to the 
 days when they had walked side by side 
 beneath the great silent trees of a vast 
 French forest — a pair of thoughtfully happy 
 girls, and the necessit}^ of speech was no 
 more.
 
 YOUXG MISTLEY. 59 
 
 They were now essentially women of the 
 world, well dressed and brisk ; hurrying 
 through life, and gathering much enjoyment 
 from it ; practical, cheerful, and universally 
 liked. They had met again in a whirl of 
 London gaiety, after having lost sight of 
 each other for almost twenty years ; and 
 each havino' come thi'ouo'h the whirrino- mill 
 of Youth, with its loves and fears, trials and 
 delirious joys, found the other, as in the 
 olden days, a very counterpart of herself 
 The two young girls whose friendship had 
 found birth under the trees of Melun, as 
 they walked side by side beneath the gently 
 watchful eyes of the nuns who educated 
 them, had each left upon the character 
 of the other her individual influence which 
 had never died away. And so it came about 
 that these two women of the world, walkino- 
 side by side upon the deserted platform of a 
 London railway-station, found again in the 
 other that little o^erm of human love
 
 6o YOUNG MISTLEY. 
 
 which we call sympathy, and wondered over 
 it, each in her own mind, as we do wonder 
 over human kindness when we meet with it. 
 They hardly spoke at all, but each little 
 movement, each word, and the manner of 
 saying it, recalled those bygone days. It 
 was like the recollection — note by note 
 — of some forgotten air : new yet subtly 
 familiar. 
 
 Presently they sat down upon a highly 
 polished seat ; and, hidden in the folds of 
 their dresses, their hands met and clasped 
 each other. 
 
 ' Do you remember,' said Mrs. Mistley, 
 with a pathetic little smile, ' all the nonsense 
 we talked in the old Melun days ? How 
 we were never going to cease corre- 
 sponding ; how, if we married, we were to be 
 constant companions ; how our children were 
 to grow up together as brothers and sisters ; 
 how . . . our husbands were to be friends.' 
 
 * I am afraid,' replied Mrs. Wright, ' that
 
 YOUNG MI ST LEY. 6i 
 
 we were very foolish and romantic in those 
 days !' 
 
 The brisk Httie lady stopped short. She 
 was at a loss for something to say — a very 
 rare occurrence. Mrs. Mistley had touched 
 upon a page of her life which was closed to 
 her friend. Those three years of married 
 life were as a sacred memory, and Mrs. 
 Wright thought that the j)ages were better 
 left unread. 
 
 ^ Who would have thought/ said Mrs. 
 Mistley presently, ' that we should have one 
 day to be waiting here for your husband and 
 my son — waiting together for them to arrive 
 together ? It almost seems as if Providence 
 had heard all our girlish vows ; for we have 
 come together again after all those years, 
 and our children will be friends !' 
 
 * Yes/ said Mrs. Wright absently. ' Yes, 
 our children will be friends !' 
 
 Then they relapsed into silence. Mrs. 
 Wright betrayed a greater impatience than
 
 62 YOUNG MISTLEY. 
 
 her companion. It had been promised that 
 after this expedition her husband should 
 leave her no more, and she was terribly 
 afraid that something would yet come in the 
 way of this pleasant arrangement. As the 
 time wore on, she began to picture to her- 
 self a thousand-and-one dangers which in 
 reality never existed. Now she knew that 
 he was in a civilized land where travelling 
 was a pleasure, unattended by hardship or 
 danger ; but he was not home yet. 
 
 It was only natural that Mrs. Mistley 
 should be thinking of her son at that moment, 
 and the thoughts were apparently pleasant, 
 for occasionally she smiled with a passing 
 gleam of pride in her eyes. Her two sons 
 appeared to her maternal vision such as any 
 mother might reasonably be proud of In 
 accordance with an old tradition of her hus- 
 band's family, she had made one a soldier 
 and the other a sailor. Soldiers and sailors 
 the Mistleys had been from one generation
 
 YOUNG MISTLEY. 62, 
 
 to another, rising as high as hard blows 
 could bring them, but caring nothing for 
 honours or titles. Ambition was not infused 
 into the Mistley blood — at least, it had never 
 shown itself, until Winyard laid aside his idle 
 sword to wield the mightier pen. And the 
 astute little lady recognised in this action 
 the handiwork of a certain restless energy 
 which had been inherited from herself, along 
 with other characteristics more or less Gallic 
 in their vivacity and quickness. At first, 
 Mrs. Mistley had not approved of this sudden 
 change in her son's life ; but by the time the 
 letter announcino' it had reached her, thinp^s 
 had gone too far to make objection of any 
 use : so, like a wise woman, she held her 
 tongue. Now, she recognised and frankly 
 acknowledged that Winyard had been right. 
 Her feelings as she waited for the train 
 that morning were strange. After a three 
 years' absence her son was coming back, and 
 the day when he had left was as fresh in her
 
 64 YOUNG MISTLEY. 
 
 mind as ever. She could recall the very 
 expression of his face as the train moved 
 away — a handsome boyish countenance, 
 with a peculiar, rigid purity of outline ex- 
 pressive of too great a degree of refinement 
 for comfort in this world. He had left 
 England a merry, reckless boy, with no 
 great sense of responsibility in life ; and now 
 he was comino^ back a man, with a name 
 among his contemporaries, with a definite 
 purpose in life. She wondered vaguely 
 whether he would be much changed, whether 
 she would now find him thoughtful and 
 serious. 
 
 It was hard for Mrs. Mistley to realize that 
 this was really her son — her youngest born, 
 over whose tiny crib she had stood twenty- 
 three years ago, with staring dry eyes and a 
 breakinof heart, while in the next room lav 
 the still form of his dead father. Could 
 this man with the burden of life already 
 upon his shoulders be that same helpless
 
 YOUNG MISTLEY. 65 
 
 piece of infantine humanity ? Woman-like, 
 she began to think of his appearance, and 
 pictured herself walking by the side of a 
 squarely-built bronzed man, with a heavy 
 moustache, and that queer Indian look in 
 his eyes that she knew so well. Xor was 
 this mental portrait so very far from the 
 truth. It was a modification of the memory 
 of her husband, but Winyard Mistley was 
 a cleverer man and more intellectual than 
 his father. His face was cut upon a keener 
 mould, the features were lighter in their 
 modelling, and expressive of a refinement 
 almost amounting to nervousness. Charles 
 Mistley was in reality more after the t}^e 
 of his father, with the same tranquil Saxon 
 strength visible in his eyes. 
 * At last there was a bustle in the station, 
 and a troup of porters assailed the platform, 
 arriving in the most astonishing manner 
 from all sides. Then the great locomotive 
 came clanking in, with a mighty sense of its 
 VOL. I. 5
 
 66 YOUNG MISTLEY. 
 
 own importance and general superiority over 
 the mere local engines around it. 
 
 A moment later Mrs. Mistley was look- 
 ing into the face she had so longed to see. 
 Even amidst the confusion and excitement 
 of the greeting, she found time to marvel 
 that there was so little change in it — a little 
 browner perhaps, with a hard dry look which 
 spoke of great hardships borne manfully, and 
 testified to exceptional powers of endurance. 
 
 ' Where is Charlie ?' were Winyard's first 
 words. While his mother was explaining 
 that her younger son would be detained 
 at Greenwich until later in the day, the 
 Colonel approached with Mrs. Wright at 
 his side. Xo form of introduction was at- 
 tempted ; the old soldier came forward with 
 outstretched hand, and as he took Mrs. 
 Mistley's fingers within his, he bowed with 
 a jDcculiar old-fashioned courtesy, which con- 
 veyed a wondrous amount of admiration and 
 respect.
 
 YOUNG MISTLEY. 67 
 
 ' Mrs. Mistley !' he said, ' I should have 
 known you anywhere. We carried a photo- 
 graph of you in our despatch-case for many 
 months. I think Winyard considered it the 
 most precious document there.' 
 
 ' And which,' added that respectful youth 
 gaily, ' the Colonel left lying about one 
 night in the rainy season, the consequence 
 beinor that it all came uno^ummed, and no- 
 thing was left next morning to the eyes of a 
 bereaved son but two sticky rolls of wrinkled 
 paper, one of which was found adhering to 
 the person of a native dog. How do you 
 do— Mrs. Wright ? . . .' 
 
 The young fellow became suddenly silent, 
 and turned rather hastily to find the luggage. 
 There were unshed tears in Mrs. Wright's 
 eyes, and perhaps he was not quite sure of 
 himself ; at all events, he was by no means 
 sure of the Colonel, who, like many brave 
 men, was afflicted with a soft heart. 
 
 Presently the two small boxes were found 
 
 5—2
 
 68 YOUNG MISTLEY. 
 
 and placed under the care of a porter, who 
 shouldered them both at once with much 
 zeal. He saw how the land lay, and knew 
 that his reward would be o'reater than his 
 deserts. 
 
 There were now many travellers upon the 
 platform, and the usual bustle attendant on 
 the arrival of non-phlegmatic foreigners on 
 these tranquil shores supervened. It there- 
 fore occurred that no one except Winyard 
 Mistley observed a tall fair-haired youth 
 who had evidently been awaiting the arrival 
 of the train. In appearance this young- 
 man was distinctly Germanic, although his 
 face was of a more refined type than one 
 usually meets with in the Rhineland. Al- 
 though his presence on the platform ap- 
 peared to be other than the mere result of 
 accident, he did not give one the impression 
 that he was there to meet a friend. The 
 thought passed through Winyard Mistley's 
 mind that this man was watching the Colonel
 
 YOUNG MISTLEY. 
 
 69 
 
 and himself, but at the moment he did not 
 attach much importance to the suspicion, 
 though he remembered it later. 
 
 After having arranged that Mrs. Mistley 
 and her two sons should dine with them in 
 Seymour Street that evening, the Wrights 
 drove away, and mother and son were left 
 alone together.
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 HERE is in the lamentably un- 
 interesting parish of Lewisham 
 a long street where the numbers 
 of the houses attain to three figures. Stand- 
 ing at the end of this street, one has before 
 one's eyes a lesson in perspective, from which 
 it could be easily imagined that Mr. Vere 
 Foster had taken those strange diverging 
 lines by the help of which he undertakes to 
 instil the rudiments of perspective into the 
 densest minds. 
 
 As a rule, there is no object to spoil 
 the purity of line from end to end : the 
 grass-grown road knows the pressure of a
 
 YOUNG MI ST LEY. 71 
 
 daily milk-cart and a rare cab ; otherwise 
 nothing. 
 
 From nmiiber one to nmnber one hundred 
 and forty-nine on the one side, and from 
 number two to number one hundred and 
 fifty on the other, the houses bear such a 
 deadly resemblance to each other that the 
 oldest inhabitant of Prout Street, a bank- 
 clerk of reofular habits and mechanical mind, 
 is compelled to look at the number on his 
 own door before trying the latch-key, and 
 his house is opposite the fourth lamp-post 
 on the left-hand side. For those who live 
 between the lamp- posts the difficulty is 
 naturally oTcater, and it is on that account 
 
 I/O ' 
 
 that Mr. Sellerar (w^ho is in some manner 
 connected with the City dinners, though his 
 name never appears in the list of guests), 
 occupying number forty-eight, invariably 
 spends a portion of the night, or, to be more 
 correct, early morning, in trying the effect 
 of his latch-key upon the lock of number
 
 72 YOUNG MI ST LEY, 
 
 fifty, which house is inhabited by the two 
 Miss Parks of an uncertain agfe. 
 
 Number fifty-one was occupied by Mrs. 
 Gredge, a lady who, hke the bhnd beggar, 
 had seen better days. After the manner of 
 elderly females of a brilliant past, Mrs. 
 Gredge let lodgings, and it is with her lodger 
 that we have to do. 
 
 The yellow rays of sunset shone in the 
 sky over the roof-line from number forty- 
 eight to fifty, and lighted up the bare par- 
 lour of number fifty-one, Prout Street, 
 Lewisham. The hideous wall-paper, repre- 
 senting innumerable baskets of impossible 
 flowers hanging from festoons of blue rib- 
 bon attached to nothing, was shown up in 
 all its brilliant crudity by the searching 
 light. 
 
 Small portions of this flowery abomination 
 were hidden by framed prints, of which the 
 poor workmanship and general vulgarity 
 prepared one for the information in the
 
 YOUNG MISTLEY. 73 
 
 corner of each, to the effect that they were 
 specimens of German enterprise. 
 
 In strange contrast to the brilhant wall- 
 paper and repulsive prints, there was sus- 
 pended in one corner of the room a small 
 but beautifully worked representation of the 
 Virgin and Child. It was an emblem of the 
 Greek Church, and before it hung a tiny oil- 
 lamp of red glass with a floating wick for 
 ever burning. 
 
 The workmanship was rather finer than 
 that of the ordinary Russian ' ikon ' or shrine, 
 suspended in every house and homestead of 
 the great Empire. The body and raiment 
 of the Virgin and Child were of stamped 
 silver, and small spaces were left in the 
 metal where the faces and hands appeared, 
 beautifully painted on wood behind the silver. 
 The painting itself was of the simple, smooth 
 style which reminds one of the work of 
 Botticelli, and seems to lend itself particu- 
 larly to religious subjects.
 
 74 YOUNG MI ST LEY. 
 
 At the table in the centre of the room 
 sat a young girl. She did not look more 
 than twenty years of age, though at times 
 the expression of her face was almost that 
 of a woman of forty. From a low white 
 forehead, her dull flaxen hair rose in a soft 
 curve before it yielded to the black ribbon 
 that bound it in a loop low down on her 
 neck. The light rested softly on it, but 
 failed to draw from its smooth bands any 
 gleam of life. She wore it parted at the 
 side and brushed well back. Her delicately 
 cut face was pale, and there was a peculiar 
 drawn look about her lips, which were very 
 red. Mrs. Gredge knew her lodger by the 
 name of Miss Marie Bakovitch ; to many 
 lovers of music in London she was known 
 as the Baroness de Nantille. 
 
 The whole life of her being seemed to be 
 centred in her eyes. They were intensely 
 blue, with an almost metallic gleam. 
 
 Before her on the table was a newspaper
 
 YOUNG MISTLEY. 75 
 
 which she was slowly scanning, column by 
 column. She followed the line of columns 
 with a pencil ; not like one who is reading 
 word for word, but as if she were searching 
 for some particular news, the rest of the 
 printed matter being indifferent to her. 
 
 The fingers that held the pencil were 
 singularly white and beautiful, but they 
 trembled painfully as if from inward excite- 
 ment. 
 
 The girl's pale and striking face, more 
 beautiful than pleasing ; her painfully search- 
 ing eyes, her small trembling hand, and the 
 softly rounded active figure, all seemed to 
 imply an unusually nervous and impetuous 
 temperament. 
 
 She appeared to be very ignorant as to 
 the system followed out in the formation of 
 an English newspaper, as she read through 
 the leading articles with the same anxious 
 haste as she devoted to the advertisement 
 columns.
 
 76 YOUNG MISTLEY. 
 
 Suddenly she laid down her pencil, and 
 looked towards the window with expecta- 
 tion visible in every feature. She had not 
 been mistaken. From below came the 
 sounds of hurried footsteps on the deserted 
 pavement, then the creaking of an iron 
 gate. 
 
 She could hear the distant tinkle of a bell, 
 and a few moments later some one knocked 
 hurriedly at her door. 
 
 ^ Come in 1' she said in a quiet voice, and 
 she leant back in her chair without looking 
 towards the door. 
 
 A tall graceful man entered the room. 
 
 ' Marie,' he said, ' he has come. He is 
 in London !' 
 
 The girl did not move nor look towards 
 him ; her eyes were fixed on the yellow sky 
 over the roof of number forty-eight. 
 
 ' He has come ... he is in London !' 
 she repeated after him, as if to force the 
 news into her own brain.
 
 YOUNG MISTLEY. 77 
 
 One white hand was lying idly on the 
 table, extended towards the young man. 
 
 He took a step forward, and raised her 
 fingers to his lips. Then he seemed to re- 
 member the shrine in the corner of the room, 
 for he bowed towards it, and crossed himself 
 rapidly but with reverence. 
 
 For some moments he looked at the fair 
 girl in silence ; she was slowly pressing the 
 hair back from her temj^jles. Then he sud- 
 denly fell on his knees at her side, and seized 
 her two hands in his. He forced her pas- 
 sionately to look at him. 
 
 ' Marie, Marie !' he exclaimed in Russian ; 
 * for the love of heaven give this up ! It is 
 madness ; his life will make no difference ; 
 you can do no good by the sacrifice of yours. 
 Think of your mother, your sister ; think of 
 me ! You cannot love me, or you would 
 not hold to this mad purpose !' 
 
 She looked down at his pale miserable 
 face with an expression which any but a
 
 78 YOUNG MISTLEY. 
 
 lover would have read as fatally kind and 
 affectionate. 
 
 ^ Yes, Ivan dear,' she said in a faint weary 
 voice, ' I love you. But I love my country 
 first ; O Ivan, will you never understand 
 what this love of one's country is ? I re- 
 j)roach myself again and again for filling your 
 brave heart, so that there is no room in it 
 for patriotism. No, no, a thousand times 
 no ! I cannot gfive it up. Think you that 
 I travelled to the South, then home to holy 
 Moscow again, only to leave it in a few days 
 for this doomed land, to give up my inspired 
 purpose after all ? No, it cannot be. Let 
 me think what must be done. I am dazed, 
 like the hunter who suddenly finds himself 
 face to face with his quarry. Where is he ?' 
 
 ' He is hving with his mother in Bedford 
 Place, London. Marie, I will warn him if 
 you do not listen to me. It is my duty. 
 I must save you at all risks.' 
 
 * Ivan,' said the girl with a passionate
 
 YOUNG MISTLEY. 79 
 
 thrill in her calm voice, ' if I thought you 
 would warn him I should kill you now as 
 you kneel there 1 God who gave me this 
 work to do will help me to execute it ! 
 Besides, has he not been warned, more than 
 a year ago, and he simply ignores it ?' 
 
 * Then threaten him,' said the young man, 
 rising and walking towards the window. 
 
 ' Threaten him !' retorted the girl, shrug- 
 ging her shoulders. ' You do not know these 
 Englishmen, Ivan. Threats are to them 
 what oil is to a smouldering cinder — it 
 brings out the fire that no one thought to 
 be there.' 
 
 For some moments there was silence in 
 the room. The young man stood with his 
 back towards his companion. He was ex- 
 ceptionally tall, with a slight droop in the 
 shoulders, which suggested a man of thought 
 more than of action. 
 
 His slim white hands rested on the centre 
 woodwork of the w^indow, and he was gazing
 
 So YOUNG MISTLEY. 
 
 abstractedly at the deserted road, parched and 
 grass-grown. Gradually there came life into 
 his eyes, the inward light reflected from an 
 alleviating thought within his brain. 
 
 He turned slowly, and his eyes rested 
 thouoiitfullv on the youno- g-ivVs bent head 
 for some moments. 
 
 ' Marie,' he said at length, ^ if I swear 
 to kill him, will you marry me to-morrow ? 
 Let me call you wife for one day, and I will 
 be willing to take the risk of getting away 
 when . . . when it is done. We can go to 
 America ; my art will keep us comfortably 
 there. See, I have only been in England a 
 few days, and I have already sold many 
 sketches. It is a strange way to win a wife, 
 by assassinating a man whom I cannot but 
 admire T 
 
 'Admire !' echoed the girl. ' The man, the 
 individual, does not come into my thoughts 
 at all. It is the work he has done and will 
 carry on, unless he is stopped ; the harm he
 
 YOUNG MISTLEY. 8i 
 
 has done to our country. What care I if 
 he be a scoundrel or a patriot, young or old, 
 beloved or alone in the world ? It is the 
 same to me, Ivan. It is the power within 
 him I aim at, not the man himself. You 
 cannot realize what harm this man can yet 
 do. You are half a Nihilist, and think that 
 our country's ruin will be brought on by a 
 succession of Emperors ; they at least are 
 patriots. No, no ; if you men would only 
 combine, the whole world could do no harm 
 to us ! It is the inward rottenness of the 
 people's i^atriotism that drags down Holy 
 Russia.' 
 
 ' WiU you let me do it V 
 
 ' No, Ivan. I cannot. God gave me the 
 work to do, and I must not shirk it. If He 
 intends me to escape when it is done. He 
 will help me ; if not, I will take . . . what 
 comes !' 
 
 Her blue eyes flashed with the fire of 
 reliofious fervour, but she leant across the 
 
 VOL. I. 6
 
 82 YOUNG MISTLEY. 
 
 table and laid her hand on his, as if to soften 
 the cruelty of her own decision. 
 
 The girl looked very frail and nervous as 
 she sat in the fading light. There was, 
 however, a strange set look about her mouth ; 
 her level red lips were pressed together with 
 a firmness betokening a marvellous deter- 
 mination for a girl of her physique. 
 
 The young man rose from his seat and 
 walked to the window, pressing the soft 
 straight hair back from his forehead. 
 
 ' If you forget your own mother,' he threw 
 back sharply over his shoulder, ' you cannot 
 overlook his. What has she done that you 
 should punish her ? She is no doubt proud 
 of her son, who after all has done nothing 
 but his duty, though God knows he has 
 done that well !' 
 
 * I think of nothing, Ivan — I think of no 
 one. All must be sacrificed to the good of 
 the country ! Am I not willing and ready 
 to risk my own life '
 
 YOUNG MISTLEY. 83 
 
 ' And throw aside my love,' interrupted 
 the young man. 
 
 ' For the holy cause ? Can you not give 
 up something, Ivan ? Though I married 
 you, I could not make you happy. It is 
 not in me to be content with the trivial 
 occupations of a wife and ... a mother. I 
 cannot rest now ; I often think, Ivan, that 
 there will be no rest for me on earth.' 
 
 She spoke in a cold, weary voice, as 
 though the words were forced from her by 
 some superior will, not emanating from her 
 own beinof at all. 
 
 Then he came towards her with both 
 hands outstretched. 
 
 ' Only marry me, Marie,' he urged in 
 a voice hoarse witli suppressed passion. 
 ^ Marry me, and all will come right. Rest 
 will come, and peace — ah ! and love, Marie ; 
 for you do not love me now. I can see it 
 in your eyes. We will go away, and find a 
 new home in a new land. There we can 
 
 6—2
 
 84 YOUNG MI ST LEY. 
 
 watch things from afar, for we can do no good ; 
 the sacrifice of our happiness to the cause 
 can do nothing. It is not thus that the 
 fate of an Empire is ruled. It is in higher 
 Hands than ours ; or, as some say, it will 
 work itself out despite emperors and states- 
 men, despite lives thrown away and homes 
 made desolate. If there were work to do I 
 should be among the first, and you know that, 
 Marie. It is weary work to pass one's life 
 in idle waiting for a crisis that never comes ; 
 but it is written, and we cannot but obey. 
 When the time comes, there will be no call 
 for statesmen and politicians ; the people will 
 do the work, the peoj^le will find the leaders. 
 Ah ! Marie, if you would only listen when 
 I tell you that this is no work for women, 
 these are no thoughts for a woman's mind ! 
 Everything in the past points to it, every- 
 thing in the present confirms that God will 
 not have such work done by a woman's hand. 
 He will never bless such an undertaking.'
 
 YOUNG MI ST LEY. 85 
 
 Mental resistance in women is usually 
 totally without respect to physical force. 
 The man might have argued and persuaded 
 till dawn, but it would have been of no avail. 
 The frail girl was as intent on her purpose 
 as the most determined man, and with the 
 additional incentive of a woman's unreason- 
 ing belief in her own convictions, which 
 will not listen to the most direct and con- 
 vincing argument, while it laughs at milder 
 measures. 
 
 The man knew this, and yet, with the 
 stubborn calmness of his Northern blood, he 
 still sought to appeal to her reason. At 
 the same time, he attempted to rouse in 
 her some faint reflex of the passion within 
 his own heart. He took her two hands 
 again ; he drew her towards him, and 
 stooping till the soft wavy curls about her 
 temple touched his lips, he spoke fervently 
 and with flashing eyes that vainly sought 
 hers.
 
 86 YOUNG MISTLEY. 
 
 But she, forgetting that her two hands 
 were prisoners, that his arm was round her, 
 and that his hungering Hps were close to 
 her own, still clung to her argument merely 
 as an argument, and not with the feeble 
 resistance of one who has the faintest idea 
 of yielding. 
 
 * And Charlotte Corday,' she said, ^ her 
 life was not thrown away.' 
 
 The man's patience was almost sublime, 
 but he relinquished her fingers suddenly with 
 a little movement, as if to cast her hands 
 away from him. 
 
 ' She !' he said bitterly — ' Charlotte Cor- 
 day, what good did she do ? Think you that 
 France would have been different now had 
 she never existed ? No, no ; events were 
 moving on slowly and irresistibly, she neither 
 accelerated nor retarded them ; and she has 
 left a lasting example of violence behind her 
 for other women to follow. Think, Marie — 
 think what you are doing ! It is murder,
 
 YOUNG MISTLEY, 87 
 
 the most vile of human crimes ; not even 
 murder with the extenuation of hot blood, 
 but a calm and unflinching thirst for the 
 life of a fellow-creature, and he a man who 
 has served his country as few men have. 
 He has fought an oj^en fight ; dealing with 
 the most treacherous and unreliable mis- 
 creants, he has ever been the soul of honour ; 
 no mean subterfuge has stained the brilliancy 
 of his diplomatic skill — would that I could 
 say the same of our ow^n countrymen !' 
 
 By dint of praising this man, the pas- 
 sionate young Russian student had gradually 
 grown into the habit of attributing to him 
 virtues which he perha23s did not possess. 
 Nevertheless he was^a true champion, though 
 he had taken up the sword from purely selfish 
 motives. 
 
 ' He may be doing his duty towards his 
 country,' said the girl, with the cool cruel 
 judgment of an Inquisitor, 'but from what 
 motives ? These Englishmen are no patriots ;
 
 88 YOUNG MI ST LEY. 
 
 they do not possess that burning love for 
 their native land that lies in our Russian 
 hearts, Ivan. Think you they would go 
 cheerfully to the horrors of Siberia, content 
 that they had made one attempt, failure 
 though it may have been, to loosen one 
 stone of the structure they pit their helpless 
 strength against, as flies against a grave- 
 stone ? These English fight for the love of 
 fighting, whether it be with sword or pen ; 
 and then when it is over, they are quite 
 content to go home and spend their lives in 
 profitless leisure. No, Ivan ; do not speak 
 to me of duty to country, and of patriotism. 
 It may or it may not influence this man — 
 this . . . Winyard Mistley, for we do not 
 know him ; but if it is the case, he is not 
 like the rest of his countrymen. Ah, if I 
 could only meet some one who knows him, 
 who could give me some opinion as to his 
 motives ! He never speaks ; he never shows 
 himself ; you never hear his opinion quoted.
 
 YOUNG MISTLEY, 89 
 
 He seems to laugh at fame, and yet he is 
 the most powerful of them all. He works 
 silently, like a mole ; but when the work is 
 done he seems to forget it all, and is almost 
 a boy. What did MarlofF, the cleverest of 
 the Government agents, find out on the 
 voyage home to Suez ? Nothing, nothing 
 at all. He wrote to me of a light-hearted 
 recklessly merry boy, w^hom he could not 
 believe to be identical with the man he was 
 told to watch. He spoke of one who was 
 ever the foremost in organizing amusements 
 on board — think of that, Ivan, organizing 
 amusements and keeping the whole ship 
 merry and joyful ! Ah, it is maddening ! 
 This man, who can find time between the 
 rounds of his amusements to outwit our 
 cleverest diplomatists, and then laughingly 
 resume his pleasure. I tell you he is laugh- 
 ing at us, laughing at our best statesmen ; 
 and you speak to me of threatening such 
 a man as this ! It is strangfe ... it is
 
 90 YOUNG MISTLEY. 
 
 strange — that he can be the brother ... of 
 the sailor !' 
 
 The girl stood by the window in the 
 rapidly fading light, twining and intertwin- 
 ing her slim white fingers, while her lips 
 quivered with an almost childish passion. 
 
 * Marie/ said the young man, in a slow 
 cold tone, ' has it never struck you, has 
 the idea never passed through your brain, 
 that some one else is laughing at you ? Have 
 you never thought that the Government, 
 our own Government, whose duty it is to 
 watch over all its people, is making a tool 
 of you ? They fear this man, and with good 
 reason ; therefore they would not be sorry 
 if he were removed from their path. They 
 dare not suggest such an action, but they 
 dare to forward it indirectly, so long as they 
 are themselves safe from suspicion. They 
 pretend to know nothing of you, and to be 
 ignorant of your motive in coming to Eng- 
 land ; but why was it made so easy for you
 
 YOUNG MI ST LEY, 91 
 
 to leave Russia ? and why was I, the son of 
 a Xihihst, and myself a suspected Nihilist, 
 allowed to come to England with you ? Can 
 you not see that they do not wish to make 
 inquiries ? They allowed MarlofF to write 
 to you, because you pleaded a personal 
 interest in this man. For all they know, 
 this Englishman may have wronged you 
 personally ; doubtless they will say it was so. 
 '' Give the girl the information she requires," 
 they would say ; and the letter would be 
 drafted from the Yasili Ostrov for MarlofF 
 to copy out in his own handwriting. If 
 you carry out this scheme, this mad scheme 
 of yours, Marie — think you that the Govern- 
 ment will say a word for you ? Xo ! they 
 will express to the English Government 
 their sincere regret that this dastardly as- 
 sassination should have been perpetrated by 
 a Russian ; an attache will attend his funeral, 
 and the English newspapers will by some 
 means get hold of the information that
 
 92 YOUNG MISTLEY. 
 
 there has always been madness in your 
 family !' 
 
 ' I have thought of that,' replied the girl, 
 * and it only confirms my inward conviction 
 that I am working for the good of my 
 country. Ah, if I only knew his motives — 
 if I only knew him !' 
 
 The girl was much more influenced by her 
 own doubts than by the young man's argu- 
 ments, though perhaps these were indirectly 
 fostering her doubts. 
 
 He was not slow to see this, and take 
 advantage of it. 
 
 ' Well, then,' he urged, * wait ; wait and 
 watch him ; we may even get to know him. 
 They are different from us, these Englishmen, 
 for they can throw aside their work entirely 
 for a time, and take it up again where they 
 dropped it when the moment comes. He 
 will probably be doing nothing now for some 
 time, and then who knows what his next 
 mission may be ? They are a universal
 
 YOUNG MI ST LEY. 93 
 
 people these, and try many things ; they have 
 no discrimination in their judgment of men. 
 Do they not make statesmen of their generals, 
 and naval lords of their men of letters ? 
 Mistley may go into Parliament, and do 
 nothing more in the world.' 
 
 ^ If he went into Parliament,' said the girl 
 forebodingly, ^ he would be more dangerous 
 still.' 
 
 ' Well,' urged the young man with plead- 
 ing eyes, ' but at all events give him a week 
 or a fortnight.' 
 
 ' Then I must leave this forsaken place, 
 and live in London,' said the girl with de- . 
 termination. 
 
 ' Yes ; I will take lodgings in Bedford 
 Place, and you will join me there. You 
 will be my sister again, Marie.' 
 
 ' Yes, Ivan,' she said with a little weary 
 ring in her voice, as she laid her hand on 
 his ; ' I will be your sister again !' 
 
 He raised the cool, lifeless fingers to his
 
 94 
 
 YOUNG MI ST LEY, 
 
 lips, and left her alone in the darkened 
 room, where the light of the sacred lamp 
 cast its ruddy gleams upon the calm faces 
 of the Holy Virgin and her Child.
 
 CHAPTER YI. 
 
 O Colonel Wright this home-coming 
 was full of delight and sweet 
 anticipation. His life had been 
 broken uj^ by many wanderings, many cam- 
 paigns, and many separations. All that was 
 now to be left behind, and before him lay a 
 prospect of active leisure, a life of intellectual 
 ease, of pleasure and loving companionship. 
 He had passed so many years in the East, 
 that he brought home with him an Anglo- 
 Indian freshness and energy for home-plea- 
 sures. He was young enough to be still of 
 an active mind, and leisure with him by no 
 means meant idleness.
 
 96 YOUNG MI ST LEY. 
 
 That first breakfast was an event to be 
 remembered. So clean, so bright, so home- 
 hke was everything. Surely there never 
 was a cloth so white, no silver ever shone 
 so brilliantly as those forks and spoons. And 
 never had happy father so fair, so dainty, so 
 sweet a daughter to pour out his coffee, with 
 just a little movement of shyness in the 
 curve of her rounded arm. 
 
 ' Then they are coming this evening V 
 remarked Lena when they were seated, look- 
 ing across the table towards her father 
 without ceasing her occupation of filling 
 a coffee-cup, which manoeuvre successfully 
 directed the nourishing beverage into the 
 saucer. 
 
 Mrs. Wright noted this result, and imme- 
 diately gazed intently at the ceiling with a 
 marvellous expression in her face, which 
 distinctly gave one to understand that she 
 saw the coffee in the saucer, knew how it 
 came there, and from the entire proceeding
 
 YOUNG MISTLEY. 97 
 
 deduced that it is always well to look before 
 one pours. 
 
 ' Yes,' replied the Colonel. ' They are 
 comino' this evenino- the sailor beino- in- 
 eluded.' 
 
 ' Mother,' said Lena presently, ' have 
 you told papa about the invitation to Broom- 
 hauo'h ?' 
 
 ' Yes, and he is quite ready to go.' 
 
 ' Oh, I am so glad ! Papa, it will be 
 simply lovely. Charlie has told me all about 
 it. It is a melancholy old house, built by 
 some remote Mistley, who was a cattle-lifter, 
 or a borderer, or somethino- romantic. The 
 Mistley s have lived there ever since — in the 
 intervals between their wanderings. Great 
 bare hills all round, and a little colony of 
 pine-trees round the house, which is bleak 
 and gray, like an old fortress. Below the 
 house, at the foot of a sort of cliff, there is a 
 trout-stream, where you can fish all day ; 
 Charlie knows every inch of the stream, 
 
 VOL. I. 7 ^
 
 98 YOUNG MISTLEY. 
 
 and talks very wisely about flies, '' March- 
 Browns," ''Professors," and all sorts of impos- 
 ing names. Then we are going to get up 
 some theatricals ; we have arranged it all, and 
 chosen the piece. Charlie says that his 
 brother acts splendidly.' 
 
 ' Oh yes ! He can do that I' replied the 
 Colonel, sapiently wagging his head. ' He 
 is always acting. In fact, it is very hard 
 to say when he is, and when he is not. I 
 have watched him listening to a long story, 
 which he knew to be a fabrication from be- 
 ginning to end, and the childlike innocence 
 of his expression was a perfect study. He 
 is the very man for theatricals ; he was 
 always stage-managing something or other 
 out in India.' 
 
 ' Perhaps he will be too good for us,' sug- 
 gested Lena ; ' but it would be very nice to 
 have a really good actor for the principal 
 part, because the whole piece depends upon 
 
 it;
 
 YOUNG MISTLEY. 99 
 
 ^ Charlie V suggested the Colonel, with the 
 ghost of a twinkle in his eye as he looked at 
 his wife. 
 
 ' Charlie won't take it,' replied Lena, 
 with perfect innocence. ' He insists upon 
 having a minor part, as he is to be stage- 
 manager.' 
 
 * What part do you act V asked Mrs. 
 Wright. 
 
 ' Well, we have not quite decided yet. 
 Charlie wants me to be the heroine, and a 
 Miss Sandford, who lives close to Broom 
 haugh, to take the part of a sprightly widow. 
 Now I think I would do for a sprightly 
 widow much better than for a devoted 
 heroine ; but Mrs. Mistley says no. Let 
 me see ... if I were the widow, Winyard 
 Mistley would be my son — a source of end- 
 less woe to his relations ; if I were the 
 heroine ... oh ... he would have to make 
 love to me !' 
 
 ' Ah ! he would do that,' said Colonel 
 
 7—2
 
 YOUNG MISTLEY. 
 
 Wright, with conviction. ' He would do that 
 well !' 
 
 ' I think I would rather be his mother,' 
 said Lena. 
 
 ' Nonsense !' exclaimed Mrs. Wright in- 
 credulously. 
 
 ' I once saw him making love,' began the 
 Colonel, in a tone somewhat suggestive of a 
 long story. 
 
 * Indeed,' said Lena indifferently, and she 
 extended her hand towards the morning 
 paper. 
 
 ' Yes,' continued the Colonel. ' It was 
 one of the funniest sights I have ever seen, 
 and yet Mistley was as grave as a judge. 
 She was a Russian ; her complexion was of a 
 dull yellow ; she appeared to be ignorant of 
 the primary use of water, and she smoked 
 very bad cigars. Added to that, she was 
 somew^hat older than his mother !' 
 
 ' Why did he do it ?' asked Lena, smil- 
 ino\ She was more interested now in the
 
 YOUNG MISTLEY. 
 
 little story, and had laid aside the news- 
 paper. 
 
 ^ He wanted some information which we 
 knew her to possess.' 
 
 ' Are you sure 3^ou did not make love to 
 her too V asked Mrs. Wright with a smile, 
 which the old soldier fully appreciated. 
 
 ' I tried,' was the candid reply, ' but could 
 not get on at all. The best of it was that 
 she half suspected what he was about ; but 
 she was so anxious to get some information 
 out of him, that she encouraged his love- 
 making. In fact, it was a game of cross- 
 purposes.' 
 
 ^ And who won ?' asked Lena. 
 
 ' Oh, he did,' replied the Colonel, and he 
 returned to his toast as if there could only 
 have been one answer to that question. 
 
 Presently, after some moments spent in 
 deep thought, Lena looked up with a twinkle 
 of merriment hovering in her eyes. 
 
 ^ I think, papa,' she said, ' that he will do
 
 I02 YOUNG MISTLEY. 
 
 very well for the part we wish him to take. 
 Your description of him sounds dark and 
 mysterious, and that is what we want.' 
 
 ' Excuse me, little one. I never said he 
 was dark and mysterious. As it happens, 
 he is rather fair and the very reverse of 
 mysterious, for he is open and almost boyish ; 
 though, indeed, his manner changes so much 
 and so suddenly, that it is nearly impossible 
 to say when he is in earnest or in fun. 
 Generally the latter, I think.' 
 
 '■ Because,' continued the girl, ' it is a vil- 
 lain's part — a very nice villain, though !' 
 
 'The part he takes in life is that of the light 
 comedian, I think,' said the Colonel, thought- 
 fully stirring his coffee. ' He usually plays 
 the light comedian to my heavy schemer, 
 if I may put it thus ; but then it is only be- 
 cause he has found it convenient to do so. 
 People consider him a frivolous light-hearted 
 boy, and he is content that they should do 
 so ; but I know him to be different. The
 
 YOUNG MISTLEY. 103 
 
 fellow is a born organizer, foreseeing every- 
 thing, ready for every emergency, which he 
 meets with that impertm^bable smile of his, 
 as if he were enjoying himself immensely.' 
 
 ' I am rather afraid of this paragon,' said 
 Mrs. Wright, rising from the table. 
 
 ' My dear,' replied the Colonel, who was 
 occupied in selecting a cigarette from a very 
 highly -polished leather case, ' if it were not 
 for this paragon, I should very probably 
 not be sittinof here now. You must not let 
 my praises prejudice you against him, as 
 praise is very apt to do. Winyard Mistley 
 is a clever fellow, and what is better still, he 
 is sincere. He does his work well, and he 
 does it because he loves it. It is such men 
 as he who get on in the w^orld — provided 
 they do not marry.' 
 
 ' Why should the poor man not marry, 
 papa V asked Lena, who was busy with some 
 flowers at a side-table. 
 
 ' Simply because marriage would com-
 
 I04 YOUNG MISTLEY. 
 
 pletely spoil his career. You see, a man 
 cannot go roaming about in disguise in the 
 heart of Central Asia, when he has a young 
 wife fretting her life away at home.' 
 
 Lena looked round, and then turned again 
 to her flowers, which she continued to arrange 
 thoughtfully for some moments. This was a 
 new phase in man's existence which her 
 father presented. She had hitherto (with 
 some excuse, for she was young and fair) 
 considered that love and marriage were the 
 two crowning events of a man's life, around 
 which all those dreary years of early youth 
 and late old age circled like planets round 
 the sun, gaining their light, their very being, 
 therefrom. And now her father, who was 
 no cynic, calmly laid the fact before her, that 
 a man may find a life's happiness in the build- 
 ing up of a career, in imjDrinting upon the 
 sands of time his own particular footstep. 
 And (alas, poor Cupid !) what was still more 
 lamentable, there was on the face of it a
 
 YOUNG MISTLEY. 105 
 
 certain reason in the argument that love and 
 a wife could, on occasion, be nothing less 
 than encumbrances. 
 
 She was not by any means convinced, how- 
 ever, and smiled a little to herself. You 
 and I, fellow-traveller, can smile a little 
 too. TT> know what a fell destroyer of man's 
 career that tinv-wino^ed o^od can be, when 
 once he o'ets his rano^e and settles to his aim. 
 We know that ambition crumbles away be- 
 fore love, as a sandheap before the rising 
 tide. But Lena knew none of this. She 
 only felt that there was something ^^^'ong, 
 or that there sJwv.Id be, in this argument ; 
 and her next question was of some weight. 
 
 ' Is that his view of the case, or yours ?' 
 she asked demurely. 
 
 ' Mine, but Mist ley knows it to be true.' 
 
 ' And,' continued Lena very indiflPerentty, 
 ' will it be his mission to roam about in 
 Central Asia in disguise ?' 
 
 ' Probably,' replied the Colonel, who
 
 io6 YOUNG MISTLEY. 
 
 promptly seized this little opening to launch 
 forth upon his favourite topic. ' Probably. 
 You see, he is the only living man who 
 knows his way about those parts. There is 
 no doubt about it that the movements of our 
 white-coated friends must be watched closely, 
 and the Government are beginning to recog- 
 nise it. Mistley is the man to do it, and if 
 they send anyone they will send him. It 
 will be a difficult mission and a dangerous 
 one ; what we have been doing is mere child's 
 play compared to it. I am getting too old for 
 it now. The old folks have to make way 
 for the young ones sooner than they quite 
 bargain for ; but I make way for Mistley with 
 pleasure, for I know that he will do the work 
 better than ever I could ! And it will need 
 the best men we have ; there is more going 
 on out there than people think. It is a 
 strangely overlooked land ; people here think 
 of it only by fits and starts, once in every 
 six months or so, while all the time those
 
 YOUNG MISTLEY. 107 
 
 fellows are working and scheming ; plotting 
 with native potentates, learning the resources 
 of the country, and generally forw^arding the 
 cause of Holy Russia. One day Central 
 Asia will be opened out, suddenly and com- 
 jjletely, by the biggest fight the world has 
 ever seen. It has not come in my time, it 
 may not come in Mistley's ; but come it 
 will, as sure as fate.' 
 
 Lena remembered these remarks later, 
 when she could compare with them Winyard 
 Mistley's views upon the subject, of wdiich 
 he was accredited wdth so great a knowledge. 
 The younger man took a less alarming view 
 of the case ; but while exercising a greater 
 reservation, he spoke with a certain confi- 
 dence, which, however, might or might not 
 have been sincere. Winyard Mistley had a 
 peculiar aversion to the subject of his travels, 
 past or future, being discussed in the presence 
 of ladies, and by some instinct the Colonel 
 avoided any such mention when he was there.
 
 io8 YOUNG MISTLEY. 
 
 It is to be feared that, beyond a mere objec- 
 tion to talking * shop,' Mistley had rather a 
 poor opinion of a lady's discretion. Like 
 many a wiser and more experienced man, 
 he was of the opinion that politics are no 
 woman's study. Even in his limited diplo- 
 matic experience, he had found means of 
 discovering that in any phase or walk of 
 life, a woman has not the power of sink- 
 ing her individuality. Her own personality 
 is uncrushable ; those strange unreasoning 
 opinions, instinctive hatreds, and unaccount- 
 able loves which we men can never under- 
 stand and never be too thankful for, clearly 
 demonstrate that she was not constructed or 
 intended for that cold, selfish science we call 
 politics. 
 
 ' I know,' said Lena, partly to herself and 
 partly to her mother, when the Colonel had 
 left the room — ' I know I shall be disap- 
 pointed in him.' 
 
 Mrs. Wriofht said nothino\ She was stand-
 
 YOUNG MISTLEY. 109 
 
 ing near the window with the newspaper in 
 her hand ; but she was looking over it into 
 the sunht street. She was thinking of the 
 hves of two women who had married soldiers 
 — lives that had not been quite a success — 
 lives made up of weary waiting and anxious 
 watching ; and running through these 
 thoughts was a vague desire that this visit 
 to Broomhaugh might yet be avoided.
 
 CHAPTER YII. 
 
 HE language of conversation is 
 woefully limited. Whatever our 
 feelings or our nature may be, 
 we say what we wish to say by usage in pre- 
 cisely the terms that usage may dictate, and 
 in the self-same words as are employed by 
 thousands of other mortals to express the 
 passing thought. Thus we may pass hours 
 in the presence of a fellow-creature — hours 
 made pleasant by the flow of easy conversa- 
 tion, and yet at the end we know no more 
 of that fellow-creature's inward soul than we 
 did at the beginning. Opinions may have 
 been exchanged, but doubtless they were
 
 YOUNG MISTLEY. m 
 
 nothing more than mechanical phrases ex- 
 pressing a stereotype idea. Views of men 
 and things may have been asked and given ; 
 but these views are as original and individual 
 as the colourless photographs of a lovely 
 scene with which enterprising manufacturers 
 of useless little wooden boxes love to dis- 
 figure their wares, and which cannot fail to 
 impress upon every observer the fact that 
 they are turned out by the dozen. The 
 truth is, that our thoughts are the slaves of 
 the tongue. They may conceive wondrous 
 ideas and opinions, but the tongue refuses to 
 speak them — it prefers the well-trodden paths 
 of easy and ready-made phrases. When, how- 
 ever, we take up a ^^i\, our thoughts often 
 gain the upper hand. Old conceits, long 
 overlooked, wake up in the silent pigeon- 
 liole of the brain where they were hidden ; 
 and lo ! — set down in black and white, to be 
 read by the world and sacred to none, are 
 the secret thoughts we would not dare to
 
 YOUNG MI ST LEY. 
 
 speak to any living being. It seems that 
 the pen has the power of making men forget 
 their vain individuahty. 
 
 But, thank Heaven, it is not vouchsafed 
 to all, this outlet of the j^en 1 Many put their 
 thoughts into music ; many into pictures ; 
 and some into song. Of these, the musicians 
 are the more numerous. Not that they 
 compose music, and thus express what in 
 them lies ; but, in playing on wdiatsoever 
 instrument, the music of whatsoever com- 
 poser, their whole soul goes into their fingers, 
 and they forget their audience, they forget 
 everything. For them the allegros and 
 pia7ios and j^l^Pl^'^ have no meaning. The 
 composer's intention comes to them instinc- 
 tively, and all they know is that the har- 
 mony in some manner fits into the train of 
 their own unexpressed thoughts. Perhaps 
 this is why we may hear sweeter, truer 
 music from a girl practising in an empty 
 room than has ever thrilled out from a
 
 YOUNG MISTLEY. 113 
 
 platform, over the heads of an appreciative 
 audience. 
 
 Lena singing and Lena in everyday hfe 
 were two very different persons. To the 
 ordinary world she was merry and light- 
 hearted, rather frivolous perhaps, totally 
 without romance, and probably heartless. 
 So thought such peoj^le as had never heard 
 her sing, or had not attended while she was 
 singing ; or again, whom she did not con- 
 sider worth singing to. Combined with a 
 sweet, clear voice and a true ear, she had 
 the rare power of imparting a meaning to 
 the words she sano\ No sono- of hers ever 
 seemed trivial or senseless. In wandering 
 through the world, it has usually been the 
 experience of the present writer to hear a 
 drawing-room audience burst into rapturous 
 ' Thank you's ' and ' Who is that by's ?' the 
 very instant that the last note of the singer's 
 voice had died away. \Yhen Lena Wright 
 ceased sino-ina, there was o-enerallv a little 
 
 VOL. I. 8
 
 114 YOUNG MI ST LEY. 
 
 pause before anyone expressed their thanks. 
 It is of no great importance perhaps, this 
 momentary silence, but yet it may be worth 
 mentioning. Sometimes Lena noticed it, 
 and then a passing look of embarrassment 
 came into her eyes as she turned from the 
 piano. 
 
 Most people had known the Lena of every- 
 day life first, and first impressions hold to the 
 memory like a woman to her argument — 
 through contradiction and undeniable evi- 
 dence, through ridicule and sober reasoning. 
 Those obstinate first impressions never die; 
 and we look back through the greater events 
 and crises of a friendship to them, and believe 
 in them still. Thus it was that Lena Wright 
 had, among certain of her friends, the repu- 
 tation of being somewhat worldly, a little 
 frivolous, and not entirely averse to mild flir- 
 tation. No one accredited her with any share 
 of that shy romance which, to a girl, is as the 
 dewdrop to the tender bud. There were, it
 
 YOUNG MISTLEY. 115 
 
 may be mentioned in passing, two notable ex- 
 ceptions to this rule — an old and a young man, 
 both of whom were gifted with a singularly 
 reliable power of observation. Laurance Lowe 
 looked upon Lena as a fair replica of the fairest 
 human picture he had ever studied ; and he 
 could not well make a mistake, as he himself 
 had blended the colours for both. It does not 
 often occur that a man influences the life of 
 mother and daughter in the same way ; but 
 when such does happen, the two women will 
 be very similar in character. Charles Mistley 
 was the second exception ; he had only kno^vn 
 Lena for three years ; but that dangerous 
 intimacy which springs up between the chil- 
 dren of old friends had grown rapidly with 
 these two, and he knew the girl's character 
 and nature as her own mother did not know 
 them. A danoferous studv for a youno- man, 
 you will say — these inner dej^ths of a maiden's 
 heart ! Alas ! perhaps it is so ; but fire is a 
 mighty pleasant plaything, and has been found 
 
 8—2
 
 ii6 YOUNG MISTLEY. 
 
 so since man existed, and maidens smiled 
 upon him ! 
 
 It happened that Winyard Mistley heard 
 Lena sing before he spoke with her ; and in 
 after years that first impression remained up- 
 permost in his mind. He never afterwards 
 doubted the j^resence of a deep true woman's 
 heart beneath the gay and almost frivolous 
 manner she chose to assume before the world. 
 Perhaps he was judging in some degree from 
 himself He knew that the gay and some- 
 what shallow youth, known to the generality 
 as Winyard Mistley, was not the true inner 
 thinking man, whose ambition was fortunately 
 tempered with a whole-hearted sense of patri- 
 otism rarely met with in these self-seeking 
 times. 
 
 When Winyard arrived at the door of 
 Colonel Wright's house in Seymour Street, 
 the postman was just turning away from it, 
 having dropped a letter into the box and given 
 his recognised rap. Thus Jarvis, the old
 
 YOUNG MISTLEY. 117 
 
 soldier-servant, saw the shadow of a visitor 
 upon the ground-glass of the door when he 
 came for the letters, and did not wait for a 
 second knock. The old warrior knew who 
 this brown-faced stranger was at once, and 
 stepped back, holding the door wide open. 
 
 Lena was sinofino- in a small room imme- 
 diately opposite the entrance, and the door 
 of this room was wide open. The old soldier's 
 movements were quick and noiseless as a 
 soldier's movements should be ; but Winyard 
 was quicker, and with a touch of his hand he 
 stopped Jarvis fi^om going forward to an- 
 nounce him. 
 
 ^ Wait a moment !' he whispered. 
 
 Lena sang on unconsciously. She had 
 heard the postman's knock, and recognised 
 it ; but was not expecting any particular 
 letter, and therefore did not interrupt her 
 song. 
 
 The two men stood outside the door, and 
 listened in silence. The old soldier whose
 
 YOUNG MI ST LEY. 
 
 fighting-days were done, and the young man 
 whose time was yet to come. One a sturdy, 
 powerful figure, very straight, with a peeu- 
 harly flat back and a square honest face — the 
 other somewhat taller, of lighter build, lean 
 and wiry, active as a cat. They could just 
 see Lena's shoulder, and the play of her white 
 hand and wrist. Occasionally, as she swayed 
 a little to one side with the rhythm of her 
 music, they caught sight of her dainty head, 
 with the soft dry hair drawn well up and 
 clustering down again. 
 
 It was a strange song that this light- 
 hearted maiden was sinoinsf to herself, while 
 awaiting the arrival of her mother's guests. 
 A ' Farewell,' sweet and low as the sound of 
 the sea at night when the sunset breeze is 
 dying. There was a mournful, almost hope- 
 less swing in the old-fashioned air ; but the 
 words were brave and strong. The words of 
 a true woman to the lover she was sending 
 away for ever ; for a woman is always the
 
 YOUNG MISTLEY. 119 
 
 braver where love has no earthly hope. It 
 was a song written and composed by a woman 
 who was white-haired and a grandmother 
 when Lena sang it; the only musical work of 
 her life — the one sad song of her heart. Never 
 having been printed, it was little known ; and 
 Lena had copied it from the manuscript-book 
 of a school-friend. It happened that the girl 
 was in the humour for singing on that par- 
 ticular evening. The day had been an eventful 
 one, and she was looking forward to the even- 
 ing. All this made her sing as she had rarely 
 sung before. 
 
 When the last note of the accompaniment 
 had died away, Lena swung rather suddenly 
 round upon the music-stool, and found her- 
 self face to face with Winyard. He was 
 standing with his overcoat still upon his arm, 
 and at first Lena thought that it was Charles 
 Mistley. So quick was her movement that 
 she caught Winyard looking grave — a luxury 
 he rarely indulged in.
 
 I20 YOUNG MI ST LEY. 
 
 Instantly Lena rose, and although she 
 blushed, she smiled with perfect self-posses- 
 sion. 
 
 ' Mr. Mistley,' she said, extending her 
 hand, ' I never heard you come in.' 
 
 Then they shook hands, and Jarvis van- 
 ished Avith Winyard's coat. 
 
 ' I am afraid,' said Mistley, looking a trifle 
 guilty, ' that I have been standing outside 
 since the end of the first verse.' 
 
 Lena gave a little laugh, which was not 
 quite free from embarrassment. 
 
 ' That was rather mean,' she said. 
 
 ' I am afraid it was impertinent,' said Win- 
 yard quickly, ' now that I come to think of 
 it ; but at the moment I hardly thought of 
 what I was doing. You see, I came in with 
 the letters, and then, as soon as I stepped 
 inside the door, I heard . . . you singing. 
 I am afraid I prevented the man from inter- 
 rupting you. I could not help it. You must 
 make some allowance for a wanderer whose
 
 YOUNG MISTLEY. 
 
 manners have sufterecl, Miss Wright. You 
 see, I have not heard anything . . . hke that 
 for three years, and I could not resist hear- 
 inof it all ! Do vou think I should have said 
 '^ Ahem !" or banged my umbrella into the 
 stand so as to let you know that some one 
 was listening V 
 
 'Xo doubt,' rephed Lena, 'that would 
 have been the proper course to pursue ; but 
 it does not matter much, I suppose. If you 
 like to listen to j^eople practising, there is no 
 actual harm in it. Let us go ujDstairs to the 
 drawing-room. Our respective mothers are 
 there. Papa is dressing, and Charlie has 
 not come yet.' 
 
 Lena stopped rather abruptly, and led the 
 way upstairs. It suddenly struck her that 
 the Charlie whose name came so naturally 
 from her lips was this man's brother, and 
 that her easy manner of speaking of him 
 must sound objectionably familiar. 
 
 Winvard o^ave her no time to think of it,
 
 YOUNG MISTLEY. 
 
 however. He saw the passing embarrass- 
 ment, and came to her rehef at once. 
 
 ' I have not seen Charhe,' he said quietly, 
 as he followed her, ' since he went to sea. 
 He could not get away from Grreenwich till 
 this evening, and of course the Colonel and 
 I have been spending a happy day at the 
 Foreign Office. I suppose he is a great big 
 fellow now ; he was rather weedy when I 
 went to India, but there was a promise of 
 great strength about him.' 
 
 ' I think,' said the girl softly, ' he is the 
 strongest man I have ever seen.' 
 
 Winyard looked u|) quickly into her face, 
 which he could now see, as she had turned 
 at the to23 of the stairs to wait for him. 
 
 ' In every sense of the word ?' he asked, 
 for he thought he detected a deeper meaning 
 in the tone of her voice than the mere words 
 conveyed. 
 
 But he never received his answer, for at 
 that moment the drawing-room door 023ened,
 
 YOUNG MI ST LEY. 123 
 
 and Mrs. Wright came forward to receive 
 him. 
 
 ' It is striking seven/ she said with a smile. 
 'You are here to the minute. I know now 
 how it is that you never hurr}^, and always 
 have time for everything, as the Colonel tells 
 me you have. I need not introduce you two, 
 a23parently.' 
 
 ' No, it is not necessary, thank you,' re- 
 2)lied Mistley, standing aside to allow Lena 
 to pass into the room. ' We have settled 
 all that, and I have got myself into trouble 
 already !' 
 
 ^ How so V 
 
 * By listening.' 
 
 * Did you hear any good of yourself ?' 
 asked Mrs. Mistley, who was waiting for 
 them in the inner drawling- room. 
 
 ' I heard the most pathetic song I have 
 ever heard,' returned Winyard, glancing at 
 Lena. 
 
 ' Pathos being so very much in my line !'
 
 124 YOUNG MI ST LEY. 
 
 laughed Lena, as she dropped into a low 
 seat. 
 
 * And in Winyard's 1' added that youth's 
 mother merrily. ^ You are neither of you 
 very likely subjects, I am afraid 1' 
 
 Winyard Mistley laughed, a clear, practi- 
 cal, ready laugh, as he sat down in obedience 
 to Mrs. Wright's gesture, and then quietly 
 changed the subject. 
 
 ^ The mariner is late,' he said. 
 
 ' The mariner,' observed Mrs. Wright, 
 with a mock severity which betrayed a kindly 
 feeling towards its object, ' has a gentle way 
 of lounging serenely in about ten minutes 
 late upon most occasions. Never more than 
 ten minutes, mind ; and he does it so un- 
 obtrusively, so calmly, and so good-naturedly, 
 that one cannot be angry with him. By- 
 the-bye, Winyard — I suppose I may call 
 you Winyard — when I said that we Avould 
 be a family party this evening, in case you 
 should be tired with your journey '
 
 YOUNG MISTLEY. 125 
 
 ' Mistlev is never tired,' said Colonel 
 Wright parenthetically as he entered the 
 room, and after carefully raising his trousers 
 so as to avoid draofoinof them at the knees, 
 he sat down. 
 
 Mrs. Wright nodded in acquiescence, and 
 continued : 
 
 ' When I said we would be a family party, 
 I forgot that it would be necessary to ex- 
 plain that Laurance Lowe would be here. 
 To your mother such an explanation was 
 unnecessary, as she knows our ways. Mr. 
 Lowe is such an old friend, that we consider 
 him one of the family, you understand.' 
 
 ' I think,' said Colonel Wright, in his 
 peculiarly slow and somewhat hesitating 
 manner, ' I think that Mistley knows a good 
 deal about Laurance Lowe. You see, we 
 had a large amount of spare time ui^on our 
 hands out there ; morning paj^ers were not 
 readily procurable, Mudie's was some way 
 ofl", and altogether we were thrown a good
 
 126 YOUNG MISTLEY. 
 
 deal upon each other's society, so we talked 
 of home. Eh, Mistley V 
 
 ' Yes,' chimed in Winyard cheerfully ; 
 ' we got quite learned in each other's family 
 affairs, and by dint of hearing extracts from 
 letters, began to take an absorbing interest in 
 the doings of people we knew nothing what- 
 ever about. I shall be glad to meet Mr. Lowe. 
 
 ^ Laurance Lowe/ said the Colonel sturdily, 
 * is the most silent man and the truest friend 
 I have ever known.' 
 
 Winyard Mistley nodded with a peculiar 
 little acquiescent smile, which meant that 
 he was not thinking very much about the 
 subject under discussion. 
 
 ^ A silent friend,' he said presently, with 
 a great show of gravity, ' is as rare as he is 
 
 valuable I think I hear Mr. Lowe 
 
 upon the stairs.' 
 
 The next moment the door opened, and 
 Laurance Lowe entered the room, closely fol- 
 lowed by Charles Mistley.
 
 
 CHAPTER YIII. 
 
 m 
 
 
 HE old man entered in his usual 
 slow and deliberate manner. The 
 
 Colonel advanced to meet him with 
 outstretched hand and a hearty word of 
 greeting. 
 
 ' Ah, Laurance, I am glad to see you ! 
 There's life in the old dogs yet, although 
 the vouno' ones are oTowinof so bigf around 
 us!' 
 
 Lowe answered never a word. He took 
 the outstretched hand in his thin stronof 
 fingers, and bowed as he pressed it with a 
 quaint old-fashioned courtesy. 
 
 In the meantime the two brothers had met.
 
 128 YOUNG MISTLEY. 
 
 ' Hallo, Charlie 1' 
 
 ' Well, Win r 
 
 They were close to Lena when they shook 
 hands, and she heard the characteristic 
 greeting. She also saw the long slow glance 
 of their eyes as each noted the work of the 
 last three years in the development, bodily 
 and mental, of the other's forces. 
 
 As they stood thus together before her, 
 she saw with feminine rapidity of thought 
 that there was not such a marked resem- 
 blance between the brothers as she had at 
 first imagined. What likeness there was 
 lay rather in manner and carriage than in 
 feature. She saw now that Charlie was a 
 much bigger man than his brother ; also 
 that he was fairer and with blue eyes, while 
 Winyard's were gray and quick in their 
 glance. In one, the slow, sure characteristics 
 of a Saxon predominated ; in the other, the 
 quicker organization of a Dane. 
 
 Lena's comparisons were at this moment
 
 YOUNG MISTLEY. 129 
 
 interrupted by her father, who came up and 
 shook hands with Charles Mistley, dispensing 
 with an introduction. 
 
 ^ Ah/ he said genially, ' you should have 
 been a soldier instead of a sailor ! You are 
 too big a fellow to be cramped up in a 
 torpedo-boat I am afraid we old soldiers 
 think that every man should be a red-coat, 
 and perhaps we're right after all. I know 
 that every time I hear the roll of the drum 
 or the tread of trained feet, I look down for 
 the ofold lace on mv arm, and think that if I 
 had another life to live, I would try soldiering 
 again.' 
 
 Winyard Mistley had turned away, and 
 across the room his eves met Laurance Lowe's 
 calm ofaze. Mrs. Wrioiit had been watchino- 
 them in anticipation of that moment, and 
 now she hastened to introduce them formally. 
 One great secret in Winyard Mistley's suc- 
 cess was his ready adaptability to the cir- 
 cumstances in which he was placed as to 
 
 VOL. I. 9
 
 I30 YOUNG MISTLEY. 
 
 social surroundings. With the merry he 
 could be merry, and silent with the silent. 
 This was no tour de force with him, but a 
 happy gift of which he was not fully con- 
 scious. Without devoting even a passing 
 thought to the matter, he shook hands with 
 Laurance Lowe without saying a word. The 
 strength of the grip he received caused him 
 some little surprise ; but this was not be- 
 trayed in the genial gravity of his eyes as 
 he met Lowe's solemn gaze. 
 
 To the young fellow, who, like all born 
 travellers, was a keen observer of human 
 nature, this unobtrusive old man was in- 
 tensely interesting. He was too intelligent 
 to fall into the common error of considering 
 Laurance Lowe a mere cipher in Mrs. 
 Wright's circle of friends. His silence was 
 not the natural reserve of a self-absorbed 
 man ; nor did it emanate from the simple 
 fact that his brain was fallow, and that he 
 had nothing to say. Before the evening
 
 YOUNG MI ST LEY. 131 
 
 was far advanced, Winyard had established 
 these two discoveries to his own satisfaction, 
 without betraying to anyone that he was 
 watching Laurance Lowe. He observed that 
 the old man followed the conversation, which, 
 among such closely-allied friends, was per- 
 force general ; that no remark jDassed un- 
 heard, no sally was missed ; but that he 
 never spoke unless he was directly addressed, 
 which occurred frequently on Lena's ^Dart, 
 occasionally with the Colonel, and rarely 
 with Mrs. Wright. Winyard also observed 
 that whenever Lowe met Lena's eyes, the 
 lines of his face, which were deeply drawn, 
 especially immediately over his moustache, 
 relaxed somewhat, and that a faint motion 
 of his lips beneath the silky white hair took 
 place. These phenomena constituted a 
 smile. 
 
 There was, in Lowe, no desire to pose as 
 a man with a story ; a blighted being who 
 lived in a hopeless past, whose interest in 
 
 9—2
 
 132 YOUNG MISTLEY. 
 
 life was dead. Indeed, nothing gave him 
 so much pleasure as to sit as he was sitting 
 this evening, among intelligent women, and 
 travelled, genial men ; to listen to their 
 views on men and things, however frivolous, 
 however ridiculous, and to add that shadowy 
 smile of his to the general merriment. And, 
 when he was referred to, he invariably proved 
 that his humour consisted of more than the 
 mere ap2)reciation of humour in others ; which 
 is like the reflection of a candle in a mirror, 
 inasmuch as it is light, but not original 
 light. Many of us are capital mirrors ; but 
 without the candle we are woefully dull. 
 
 Strange to say, it was these little flashes 
 of humour that caused Winyard to realize 
 the living pathos of this old man's existence. 
 They came as a suggestion of wasted capa- 
 bilities, of powers unheeded, of opportunities 
 wilfully ignored. There is pathos in the 
 sight of a man who, having tried, has failed ; 
 but infinitely greater sadness is there in the
 
 YOUNG MI ST LEY. 
 
 contemplation of him who will not try be- 
 cause he is indifferent. Winyard Mistley 
 was just at that age when a young man is 
 perhaps a little too self-confident (a fault 
 which soon wears itself away). He was full 
 of energy and life, and quite ready to try 
 his capabilities upon any task — not with the 
 bhnd self-reliance of conceit, but with a 
 brave knowledge that he was ready to do 
 his best, which might, after all, prove as 
 good as the same commodity from the hands 
 of any other man. If the situation of Prime 
 Minister had at that time been offered to 
 him, it is possible that he would cheerfully 
 have expressed his willingness to try. To 
 him, therefore, the sight of Laurance Lowe, 
 a man whom he instinctively recognised as 
 clever and capable — the sight of him, aimless, 
 hopeless, indifferent, was not only pathetic, 
 but it was disheartening and disquieting. 
 Could it be that this energy, this restless 
 desire to be pressing forward in the great
 
 134 YOUNG MISTLEY. 
 
 race, this qualified ambition, was only a 
 momentary incentive ? Could it be that 
 there are, after all, other things in life worth 
 striving for than fame, and the glory of 
 placing one's chiselled stone in the great 
 structure of an empire ? Winyard Mistley's 
 love of his country was exceedingly great ; 
 but, after all, it was only human, and we all 
 know that in the flower of every human love 
 there is a gnawing worm called Self, which, 
 though often unseen, is suflicient to render 
 it but a poor misshapen shadow of that other 
 love of which we talk so much and know so 
 little. 
 
 The young diplomatist knew well enough 
 that the poorest in the land, the very hum- 
 blest cripple of a shoeblack, may be a loyal 
 and true patriot ; but he also knew that for 
 all the good such loyalty and patriotism 
 could do, the man might as well be a black- 
 hearted traitor. Therefore his ambition ran 
 very smoothly with his sense of patriotism,
 
 YOUNG MISTLEY. 135 
 
 upon the principle that the higher he chmbed 
 the farther could his voice be heard. 
 
 It was not until after the ladies had left 
 the room that the conversation turned upon 
 the subject dearest to the Colonel's heart ; 
 and then Mistley learnt with some surprise 
 that upon this, as on every other question 
 that had been raised, Laurance Lowe knew 
 something. This tongue-tied, callous English- 
 man was one of the few who from the ener- 
 vating security of peaceful Britain could look 
 afar with watchful eyes and note the risftig 
 of that tiny cloud in the East, which at times 
 seems about to rend the heavens with the 
 furv of its liofhtninof, and then ao^ain will 
 dwindle away to mere vapour, floating over 
 the blue ether of time. Winyard, being of 
 a colder, less enthusiastic nature than the 
 Colonel, was more correct in his reading of 
 the public opinion in England upon matters 
 Indian and Colonial. He was well aware that 
 a fresh and daring encroachment upon the
 
 136 YOUNG MISTLEY. 
 
 frontier of our Indian Empire would rivet the 
 gaze of every Englishman upon the sullen 
 movements of the aggressor for the whole 
 space of a week, j)rovided some fresh excite- 
 ment, some thrilling murder in Paris, or a 
 shipwreck attended with graphic details, did 
 not usurp its place in the public interest. But 
 beyond that he was too wise to expect any- 
 thing. He recognised, therefore, that Lau- 
 rance Lowe was more learned on this question 
 than the majority of Englishmen. But in 
 this, as in everything, Winyard found that 
 strange lack of enthusiasm, and even of in- 
 terest. He found that Lowe's observations, 
 keen and far-sighted as they were, confined 
 themselves to the mere indifferent criticism of 
 a looker-on, whose life or happiness could in 
 no way be affected by future events. 
 
 Thus it came about that Laurance Lowe, 
 who was no favourite with young men, added, 
 that evening, to his scanty circle of admirers. 
 The attraction, also, was naturally in some
 
 YOUNG MISTLEY. 137 
 
 degree mutual, as such friendships invariably 
 are. Lowe was prejudiced greatly in Win- 
 yard's favour from the mere fact that he had 
 j)roved such a valuable assistant to Colonel 
 Wright, and also as the brother of Charles 
 Mistley. 
 
 Lena also had that evening cast a little 
 seed upon the broad earth by the mere sing- 
 ing of a plaintive song. It had fallen upon a 
 spot where other seeds had taken root, and 
 grew in strength already ; but within that 
 little germ lay power and life to outgrow them 
 all in strength and height and splendour.
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 WAY up in the gently undulating 
 land that rolls northward from 
 the Cheviots to the Lammermuir 
 and Pentland Hills lies the little town of 
 Walso. Indeed, it lies upon the downward 
 slope of Cheviot ; and the clean streets, now 
 grass-grown and silent, have many a grim tale 
 to tell of the warm blood trickling down their 
 ofutters into the Qf-lancins;' river, if stones could 
 only speak. Walso is a town with a past 
 history such as fcAv can boast of — a history 
 full of brave deeds and fierce horror, for it 
 stood in the very midst of Border warfare
 
 YOUNG MISTLEY. 139 
 
 when the Cheviot burns ran blood, and the 
 oTeat silent hills echoed the rino- of steel. 
 
 But now all that is past, and from it has 
 gro\\Ti up a jDrim clean little town, paved 
 tlii'oughout with spotless stone. No brick 
 in all the burgh can be found — stone, stone 
 everywhere, as strong and clean and sturdy 
 as any Walso man. Side by side the gray 
 houses are set down, shoulder to shoulder as 
 the brave old buro^hers were wont to stand 
 when the Borderers were out. Ujd and down 
 these narrow streets pass to-day a race of 
 grave-faced men and tall women. Men with 
 lonof slow limbs and broad shoulders, brown 
 faces, golden hair, and gray eyes. These 
 same gray eyes are strangely direct in then- 
 gaze, looking into one as if they were looking 
 into the sea-fret — as, indeed, they do during 
 half the year. Up the broad valley from the 
 Xorth Sea this fret comes stealing like a gray 
 veil all moist with tears, and envelops Walso, 
 with its attendant hills, in mystery. And so
 
 I40 YOUNG MISTLEY. 
 
 the men possess a peculiar contraction of the 
 eyeHds, which makes shifty eyes feel shiftier 
 — and so the women are blessed with com- 
 plexions as purely pink and white as sunset 
 over snow. 
 
 Life up here is conducted upon a slower 
 principle than in the bustling South. Slow 
 of movement, slow of sj^eech ; but wondrous 
 sure is this tall race of men and women. 
 Taciturn about themselves, and not too genial 
 to strangers, the men are reputed to be very 
 shrewd and far-sighted, especially in matters 
 pertaining to pasture, wool, and ' beasteses.' 
 In fact, they, one and all, appear entirely 
 capable of managing their own affairs. The 
 women in Walso, as also (I am led to under- 
 stand) in other parts of the world, must neces- 
 sarily be of superior intellect to their spouses, 
 as they find time not only to manage their 
 own affairs, but also those of every other 
 woman in and around their native town. One 
 worthy woman there was, however, who by
 
 YOUNG MISTLEY. 14 
 
 ex23erience had learnt discretion in its closest 
 sense. This was Mrs. Ai-mstrong, who let 
 lodoinofs in the Hio^h Street. Her lodgers 
 were mostly of the same habits and inclina- 
 tions ; in fact, they were all trout fishermen. 
 The pavement of the High Street, which had 
 rung beneath many an armed heel, now 
 knew again the touch of steel, but of a more 
 peaceful metal. Day after day these patient 
 anoflers slouched down the street towards the 
 river, taking long ungainly steps and swing- 
 ins: their heavilv clad feet and leg's with a 
 slow rhythm which indicated powers of long 
 endm^ance. These same anglers were no orna- 
 ments to Walso society, for it must be con- 
 fessed that their appearance was uniformly 
 disoTaceful. One and all affected a verv loose 
 tweed coat, much dragged and misshapen by 
 the creel-strap ; a tweed cap of a different 
 pattern, embellished with the gleam of gut 
 and gaudy fly ; a short pipe and a long stride ; 
 stained waders, and greasy brogues. In the
 
 142 YOUNG MI ST LEY. 
 
 morning they tramped heavily over the stones, 
 with many a screech of pohshed nail and heel- 
 plate ; in the evening they slouched along, 
 leaving little trails of water after them. All 
 wore the same calmly contemplative expres- 
 sion ; for yom- trout fisherman, whatever he 
 may be in ordinary life, is a meditative being 
 when he gets within sound of running water : 
 loving solitude and seeking it, yet ready with 
 a genial nod or word of greeting. 
 
 But now it happened that the busy tongues 
 had really something tangible to thresh out 
 between them, for Mrs. Armstrong had let 
 her lodofinofs to a strano^er much more in- 
 teresting than an unobtrusive, indifferent 
 fisherman. This was no other than a young 
 lady, ^ a furrineer,' as was generally supposed. 
 The worst of it was, that no one in Walso 
 could put forward, for the general benefit 
 and information, a single fact concerning her. 
 Mrs. Currie, the station-master's wife, had 
 seen her descend from the train, and was at
 
 YOUNG MI ST LEY. 143 
 
 first inclined to consider her a ' likely enough ' 
 young lady — whatever that distinction might 
 be worth — but on overhearing an inquiry as 
 to whether lodgings w^ere obtainable in the 
 village, the worthy matron at once withdrew 
 her mental observation. She had naturally 
 exj)ected that this was another visitor for 
 Broomhaugh, as she understood that Mrs. 
 Mistley had many ' furrineering ' acquaint- 
 ances ; but that a young woman, ^ ay, an' 
 wi' good looks, too,' should arrive alone — that 
 is to say, with no other companion than a 
 diminutive maid, who spoke no word of 
 honest English — why, the thing was ^ pre-e- 
 jDosterous.' 
 
 This event, following close upon the arrival 
 at Broomhaugh of Mrs. Mistley, young Mr. 
 Winyard, and several guests, among whom 
 was a real ' cornel,' proved almost too much 
 for Walso. This sudden influx of other folk's 
 affairs in want of management was unpre- 
 cedented, and it is to be feared that, in their
 
 144 YOUNG MI ST LEY. 
 
 zeal for the good of others, many prominent 
 ladies of Walso neglected sadly their own 
 interests. Several tins of embryo bread, set 
 before the fire on baking-day for the purpose 
 of ^ rising,' were allowed to rise and fall again 
 by reason of evaporation ; and the two Misses 
 Currie w^ere disappointed of their new white 
 dresses on Wednesday evening, because Miss 
 Eghye allowed her tongue to overrule her 
 needle. Their first dressmaker-made dresses, 
 too ! 
 
 As it was more or less generally under- 
 stood that Mrs. Mistley was in some degree 
 capable of managing her own affairs (though 
 the advice of an experienced woman such as 
 Mrs. Currie could surely never come amiss), 
 the greater share of public criticism and 
 assistance was kindly accorded to the young- 
 lady of foreign proclivities who enjoyed the 
 hospitality of Mrs. Armstrong's roof Now, 
 this young lady was no other than Miss Marie 
 Bakovitch, or, as she was pleased to call her-
 
 YOUNG MISTLEY. 145 
 
 self uj^on occasions, the Baroness de Nantille 
 — a title enjoyed by her mother before that 
 lady married the Odessa merchant, Peter 
 Bakovitch, her second matrimonial venture. 
 
 With a gentle wonder at the glibness of 
 her own tonofue, the Qfirl had told Mrs. 
 Armstrong on arriving that she exj^ected her 
 brother Ivan in a few days. The old woman 
 knew the responsibility of her j^osition too 
 well to abuse it by retailing to her neigh- 
 bours incidents that might be injurious to 
 her lodgers ; but the ways of this vague 
 fair-haired girl were not her ways, and Mrs. 
 Armstrong positively ached to confide the 
 fruits of her observations to the ear of some 
 sympathetic soul. According to her simple 
 code of honour, she was bound by the laws 
 of hospitality to protect and defend any 
 person temporarily under her roof ; and, 
 although there were many facts sorely trouble- 
 some to her mind — such as the affixing to 
 her walls of a small picture of the Virgin 
 
 VOL. I. 10
 
 146 YOUNG MISTLEY. 
 
 and Child, and the constant illumination of 
 the same by an uncouth and uncanny little 
 oil-lamp — Mrs. Armstrong succeeded in con- 
 taining herself until the arrival of Ivan Meyer 
 at Walso. 
 
 This took place two days later than the 
 advent of Marie Bakovitch herself, and before 
 the wonder of her coming had been fully dis- 
 cussed or exhausted. 
 
 Meyer soon discovered that the silence of 
 the absorbed and dreamy girl was more likely 
 to do harm than a discreet straightforward- 
 ness of speech. He therefore informed Mrs. 
 Armstrong of sundry particulars concerning 
 himself and his sister Marie. Without ill- 
 treating the truth, he slipped round about it 
 by that same path which at first looks so 
 broad and easy, but soon becomes tortuous 
 and hard to trace with reliant clearness. 
 
 Himself he described as an artist desirous 
 of immortalizing some of the charming hill- 
 side stream-beds hitherto familiar to fisher-
 
 YOUNG MISTLEY. 147 
 
 men alone. His sister Marie was delicate, 
 of a nervous temperament, which could not 
 fail to benefit by contact with folk of such 
 well-known self-reliance and sturdiness of 
 character. He was afraid that London, in 
 which restless city they had been sojourning, 
 was not by any means the proper habitation 
 for poor Marie ; but Mrs. Ai-mstrong would 
 understand that a needy artist was compelled 
 to live where there was a demand for pic- 
 tures. 
 
 ^ Ay, dootless, dootless,' replied Mrs. Arm- 
 strong. ' I dinna ha'ad much by pictures 
 mysel', but there's folks that likes them !' 
 
 ' Ye-es, Mrs. Armstrong,' responded Meyer, 
 without having the faintest conception of the 
 ofood ladv's meaning- • but he knew the value 
 of agreeing with a woman, especially if she 
 be from the Xorth country. 
 
 This and more he told her, for the purpose 
 of having it spread through Walso, even as 
 the seeds are spread over the earth by windy 
 
 10—2
 
 148 YOUNG MISTLEY. 
 
 impulse ; but the tongue of a Walso woman 
 could ever beat the wind. 
 
 Ivan Meyer was young, and therefore full 
 of hope, which is essentially a flower of spring- 
 tide ofrowth. To have constant intercourse 
 with Marie Bakovitch was to this patient 
 lover a source of haj)piness. His cold Nor- 
 thern blood allowed his mind such thorough 
 control over his heart, and those latent pas- 
 sions which exist deep down in the soul of 
 every man, be his eyes of calm blue or fiery 
 black, that he could, at her bidding, in very 
 truth cast away the lover and become a 
 brother. 
 
 He still hoj)ed to persuade the girl, whom 
 he in his simplicity looked upon as possessed 
 for the time being by a mental disease — 
 though he did not suspect that the doctors 
 had already commenced to give it a name — 
 to give up her mad project of serving her 
 country by a useless murder. Also he 
 hoped, by the constant influence of his pre-
 
 YOUNG MISTLEY. 149 
 
 sence, to turn her thoughts to other things, 
 and to bring back the sweet and merry httle 
 Marie of his boyhood. Yet behind the 
 subhme Hght of Hope he vaguely felt the 
 presence of a cloud. A dull misgiving was 
 ever at the portals of his heart, awaiting 
 the night hour, or the aid of some passing 
 untoward circumstance, to effect an entrance. 
 
 He rather dreaded the first mention of 
 the subject which occupied the girl's mind, 
 and, though he did his best to talk of other 
 topics, she took the very earliest opportunity 
 of bringing it forward. 
 
 Mrs. Armstrong had just cleared away 
 the remains of their simple evening meal, 
 and set the lamp on the table. Meyer pro- 
 duced his portfolio and spoke of his latest 
 sketches ; but the girl quietly placed her 
 hand upon it so as to keep it closed, and 
 looking across the table she forced him to 
 meet her eyes, and said slowly : 
 
 ' Ivan, what news have you ?'
 
 I50 YOUNG MISTLEY. 
 
 ^ He is here,' replied the young artist re- 
 luctantly. 
 
 ^ At Broomhaugh ?' 
 
 ' At Broomhaugh. His mother is there 
 also ; Colonel Wright, his wife and daughter 
 as well.' 
 
 Marie Bakovitch sat for some moments 
 in silence. Her hands, very white and 
 beautifully formed, w^ere lying upon the 
 green tablecloth, with a peculiar stillness 
 which was characteristic of the girl. It was 
 a stillness without peace. Without raisings 
 her eyes she said presently : 
 
 * And the other — the sailor V Her voice 
 was singularly calm and indifferent. 
 
 ^ He comes in a fortnight. At present 
 he is detained by his duties at Chatham or 
 Greenwich, my informant could not say 
 which.' 
 
 ' When did the Mistleys come V 
 
 ' On Monday, the same day as you^ 
 Marie.'
 
 YOUNG MISTLEY. 151 
 
 The girl nodded her head, as if in silent 
 confirmation of Meyer's statement. 
 
 ' Have you seen Marloff V she asked 
 suddenly. 
 
 * I have.' 
 
 ' And you have the photograph, Ivan ?' 
 
 ' No,' replied Meyer, shaking his head 
 slowly. ^ The photograph has been destroyed 
 — such were his orders !' 
 
 ' But you have the verbal description.' 
 
 ^ Yes . . .' 
 
 ' What is it ?' 
 
 ' '^ Of medium height, square shoulders. 
 Looks military, walks lightly, is agile in his 
 movements." . . .' 
 
 ' Yes — yes,' interrupted the girl impa- 
 tiently. She had been following the descrip- 
 tion as if it were familiar to her. ' And his 
 face ?' 
 
 * " Face, intelligent and much sunburnt ; 
 eyes gray, of some penetration, though usu- 
 ally wearing a smile. Light moustache,
 
 152 YOUNG MISTLEY. 
 
 somewhat fairer than the hair which is 
 brown. Profile good, and expressive of de- 
 termination." ' 
 
 Meyer stopped. He had been reciting 
 in the monotone of a schoolboy who knows 
 his lesson well, but he had been watching 
 his companion's face steadily, and now he 
 saw her change colom\ The faint pink 
 flush left her cheeks, while the shadow be- 
 neath her eyes deepened. The brilliant red- 
 ness of her lips was startling in comparison 
 with her pallid face. 
 
 ' Marie — Marie !' he exclaimed, taking her 
 cold hands within his. ' You are killing 
 yourself with all this excitement ! For God's 
 sake listen to reason ! This man . . .' 
 
 Marie Bakovitch rose suddenly and walked 
 to the window, which was open, though the 
 thick curtain was drawn across it. She 
 jerked it back, and looked through the 
 branches of a geranium j^lant, out into the 
 deserted street.
 
 YOUNG MISTLEY. 153 
 
 ' I travelled from London with him,' she 
 said presently. 
 
 ' In the same compartment ?' inquired 
 Meyer anxiously ; he had risen and was 
 standing beside her, looking down upon her 
 fair head. 
 
 ' No, in the same train.' 
 
 ' Thank the Holy Virgin you did not 
 know him !' exclaimed he fervently. 
 
 * I did know him,' the girl replied softly ; 
 
 * I knew him by his resemblance to — to his 
 brother.' 
 
 * Marie !' exclaimed Meyer suddenly, 
 
 * Marie ! You ^nust wait. As long as he 
 is here, he can be doing no harm. The 
 moment he stirs from here, instead of placing 
 difficulties in your way, I will help you.' 
 
 ' So you have placed difficulties in my 
 way ?' she said wonderingly, as she looked 
 up into his sensitive, feeble face ; but he did 
 not meet her gaze. 
 
 ^ You will never understand my love for
 
 154 YOUNG MISTLEY. 
 
 you,' he said by way of reply, and his voice 
 was wonderfully soft and patient. 
 
 As she looked at him, her blue eyes slowly 
 filled with tears, and it was a proof of her 
 ignorance of love that she did not hide 
 them from her lover. 
 
 ^ Good-night, brother,' she said gently, 
 holding out her hand. 
 
 ' Good-night, Marie.' He took her fingers, 
 and was about to raise them to his lips, when 
 his eves met hers. Somethingf he saw there 
 made him drop her hand, and cross the room 
 to open the door for her to pass out.
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 ^"^^HERE is always something pathetic 
 in a friendship between men of 
 widely different aofes. However 
 great a tact the younger may display, he 
 cannot ahvays conceal the fact that there are 
 resources of vitality and reserves of energy 
 within him that the elder man has lost. He 
 may slacken his pace upon the curve of a 
 hill with infinite cunning, but it is probable 
 that the elder man w^ill detect the movement ; 
 perhaps saying nothing about it, but that 
 makes it only sadder, for silence can express 
 greater pathos than any spoken language. 
 Mrs. Wriofhtwas not a sentimental woman ;
 
 156 YOUNG MISTLEY. 
 
 her heart was filled with that infectious joy- 
 ousness which is as sunshine on a gray and 
 harren land ; but when she saw her husband 
 and Winyard Mistley together, an unaccus- 
 tomed obstruction rose in her throat, and 
 always a busy woman, she became busier 
 than ever. This sight made her think more 
 than w^as desirable of a little mound far away 
 in an Indian churchyard, whereon the turf 
 had thickened with the growth of twenty 
 years. It took her back over that dim road 
 which narrowed and finally vanished in the 
 blessed perspective of time, and in her heart 
 this brave lady wondered at her own cheer- 
 fulness. 
 
 One morning, soon after their arrival at 
 Broomhaugh, this sudden glimpse of the past 
 came to Mrs. Wright with unusual force. 
 The Colonel was anxious to begin fishing 
 without delay, and there was consequently a 
 great display of fly-books and rods on the 
 table near the window. Over these the two
 
 YOUNG MISTLEY. 157 
 
 men were bending their heads, absorbed in 
 the disentano'lement of drv and curlino- o-ut. 
 Their brown hands occasionally touched as 
 they cleared the loops and freed the spiteful 
 hooks ; and Mrs. Wrio^ht, g-lancino' over the 
 morning paper, noted the slight trembling of 
 one pair of hands and the deft steadiness of 
 the slio'hter fino^ers. She saw the close 
 brown curls almost touching the older head 
 of o^^av verofino' on to white, and thouo-ht 
 again of the infinite possibilities buried in 
 that little churchyard far away, within sound 
 of the roaring Indian surf 
 
 ' I must get accustomed to seeing them 
 too'ether,' thouoiit the unsentimental woman, 
 turning resolutely to the Parliamentary news. 
 
 Upon a chair near at hand was seated 
 Adonis, a lamentably plain Irish terrier. 
 Grave and expectant, he was watching with 
 intelligent interest every movement, every 
 preparation, doubtless thinking the while of 
 the pleasant day he was going to have among
 
 158 YOUNG MISTLEY. 
 
 green hedges and soft grass, with here and 
 there a succulent blade, over which to per- 
 form strange labial contortions, to the detri- 
 ment of his personal appearance, but infinite 
 benefit of his inner dog. In connection also 
 with the last-named matter, he glanced 
 occasionally towards Lena, who was helping 
 Mrs. Wright to prepare sandwiches for the 
 fishermen ; and when he looked that way he 
 slightly lowered his ears and smiled a little, 
 for Adonis was woefully impressionable, and 
 loved a pretty maid. 
 
 At last the lines were ready and the casts 
 made up with cunning combination of parti- 
 coloured flies, tempting and gay, but not 
 fulsome. At hand were also two gray flannel 
 bags, with close neat seams of Lena's work, 
 containing in cool moss a crawling, restless 
 Gordian-knot of red worms, in case the fishy 
 appetite should be too coarse for daintier 
 fare. 
 
 Then I^ena approached with a bright smile.
 
 YOUNG MISTLEY. 159 
 
 and two dainty packets neatly tied with a 
 knot which would have brouoiit a smile to 
 Charlie's face had he been there to see. 
 One she stufled into her father's jacket- 
 pocket, and held the other out to Mistley. 
 But he unaccountably became clumsy at that 
 moment, and all his fingers were employed 
 with his rod. Somehow the joints would 
 not re-enter the narrow baof constructed for 
 their reception. So the ingenuous youth 
 murmured, ' Thank you,' and glanced auda- 
 ciously at the 2^ocket of his rough fishing- 
 jacket which hung conveniently open. The 
 rod showed no signs of approaching sub- 
 mission, so Lena was compelled to drop the 
 small parcel into the open pocket, which she 
 did with much exercise of care, in order to 
 avoid touching any part or portion of the 
 coat. 
 
 ' Then,' said Winyard with a great show 
 of innocence, ' we are to be home by three 
 o'clock, to ride over to Sandoe.'
 
 i6o YOUNG MISTLEY. 
 
 Lena had walked towards the window, and 
 was now standing just inside. She turned 
 her head, after a Httle pause, and said indif- 
 ferently : 
 
 ' That was what you arranged, but of 
 course, if the fish are taking well, it would 
 be a shame to drag you away from them.' 
 
 Winyard bowed low, and opened the large 
 old-fashioned window for her to pass out on 
 to the terrace. 
 
 ^ You are very considerate,' he said in a 
 low voice, as he followed her. 
 
 This terrace was a charming feature of 
 Broom haugh. It was formed by an old wall 
 built up sheer from the sloping bank of the 
 Broom water, and was paved by huge slabs of 
 rough stone, now worn smooth by the tread 
 of many feet. The house itself was low and 
 gray, being built of the same stone. Grim 
 and sturdy, it harmonized with the bare hills 
 around and above it. Signs there were still 
 of the old fortifications, notably the wall
 
 YOUNG MISTLEY. i6i 
 
 forming the terrace, which had rendered 
 Broomhaugh practically impregnable from 
 the river-side in the olden times. Below it, 
 amidst the whispering leaves of silver birch 
 and mountain-ash, ran the little river — a 
 trout-stream such as one finds only within 
 the shadow of the Cheviots — and on this fair 
 morning its gentle ripple scarcely reached 
 the ears of those upon the terrace, for rain 
 was sadly wanted. A downpour of two 
 hours would convert the clear brown water 
 into a yellow torrent rushing down to the sea, 
 as if ashamed of its own impurity. Then 
 would the air at Broomhaugh grow heavy 
 with a dull roar rising from the tree-clad 
 valley beneath, and old Lee, the gardener, 
 would peer down through the branches and 
 mutter : ' Eh, but she's a big watter !' As 
 the waters gradually subsided, the old fellow 
 was wont to hobble away to his little cottage, 
 and there, with trembling clumsy fingers, 
 would adjust his rod, and laboriously disen- 
 VOL. I. li
 
 YOUNG MI ST LEY. 
 
 tangle his cast, in readiness for Mrs. Wright's 
 suggestion that he should go down to the 
 burn and catch a basket of fish for break- 
 fast. 
 
 As Lena and Winyard paced slowly back- 
 wards and forwards on the terrace awaiting 
 the Colonel, the ripple of the stream awakened 
 within the young fellow's heart a fisherman's 
 longing for the sight of running water. Only 
 fishermen can understand this love of nature, 
 for only they know the delight of wandering 
 rod in hand up the bed of a stream with legs 
 encased in waders, and the heavy swing of 
 brogues at their ankles. Their sj^ort, with 
 its quiet concentration, gives time for a pass- 
 ing admiration of the solitary beauty around 
 them, and the murmur of the glancing w^ater 
 is to their ears as the voice of one they 
 love. 
 
 Men born among these hills may go to 
 dwell in cities, they may change their mode 
 of life again and again, until the days of their
 
 YOUNG MISTLEY. 163 
 
 youth lie away back in the perspective of the 
 past ; but the sound of running water, and 
 the smell of it, will bring a message back to 
 them unaltered by the years that lie between, 
 and the old love of solitude, disturbed only 
 by the peaceful rill of w^ater or the curlew's 
 weird cry, will rise within their weary breasts 
 again. The hand cramped with holding a 
 pen will long to grasp the quivering rod, 
 and the ears weary with city din will ache for 
 the sound of the whistling line. 
 
 Presently Lena stopped at the corner of 
 the terrace, and stood motionless, gazing 
 down the narrow valley where, like a silver 
 thread, the Broomwater ran its tortuous 
 course. 
 
 ' I have never understood before,' she said 
 slowly, ' what the love of one's native country 
 is. You see, I have never had a native 
 country. We have always been wanderers 
 upon the face of the earth. But when one 
 can call a place like this one's home, it is 
 
 11 — 2
 
 i64 YOUNG MISTLEY. 
 
 very different — the most heartless person 
 could not help being a patriot.' 
 
 ' And yet,' said Winyard, ^ what wander- 
 ers we are ! It has even come to my being 
 a professional wanderer, you see ; while 
 Charlie is a sailor, which means that he will 
 never be quite happy anywhere upon dry 
 land.' 
 
 ' But still it is something to think of in 
 your wanderings, that you have a home like 
 this to come back to ; that these hills will be 
 the same — the house, the stream, this old 
 gray wall, everything. Adonis knows what 
 I mean — do you not, you solemn old thing V 
 
 Hereupon followed an embrace which 
 Adonis bore with good grace, but failed 
 somewhat to appreciate. 
 
 ^ I understand what you mean as well as 
 Adonis,' observed Winyard, with grave 
 humility. ' Although, perhaps, I do not 
 look so solemn about it as he pretends to be. 
 I understand it, and I suppose I feel it all ;
 
 YOUNG MISTLEY. 165 
 
 but the spirit of the tramp is very strong in 
 the family, I am afraid. After all, it would 
 never do to sit here all one's life, as we are 
 sitting now upon this wall in the sunshine, 
 admiring the scenery ! If you were a man, 
 I know you would not do it.' 
 
 ' I wish I were,' she said softly. 
 
 ' Thank goodness you are not 1' he ex- 
 claimed fervently, in a low tone. 
 
 And then they sat there and said never a 
 word, while Adonis watched them with his 
 left ear slightly raised. 
 
 Presently the Colonel appeared at the 
 open window, equipped for the fray, and 
 eager to begin it. Instantly Winyard be- 
 came the polite host, and, raising his hand 
 to point down the valley, he said to Lena : 
 
 ' Do you see that round hill with the steep 
 incline on the south side ? Follow that 
 incline down to where the slope of the next 
 hill cuts it, and just there you will see a 
 faint blue line across the gap.'
 
 1 66 YOUNG MI ST LEY. 
 
 * Yes, I see it ; and that blue line is . . / 
 
 ' The sea. That is called Mistley's Gap. 
 The sea is twenty-six miles from here ; and 
 you can never see that blue line after ten 
 o'clock in the morning. The people about 
 here think that at that time the sea sub- 
 sides, and falls below the level of the valley, 
 on the principle that there is more water in 
 the streams early in the morning than at 
 any other time. In reality, it is of course a 
 mere atmospheric peculiarity. There is a 
 tale told by the shepherds that in olden 
 times a band of Borderers hanged a Mistley 
 in that gap. He was a sailor, and, as he 
 was returning home after a long absence, 
 they caught him and hanged him upon a 
 rouofh sort of sfibbet, in siofht of his home 
 and the sea.' 
 
 ^ So that you know that at least one of 
 your ancestors was hanged,' said the Colonel, 
 with his hearty laugh. 
 
 ' Yes,' returned Mistley ; ' and history tells.
 
 YOUNG MISTLEY. 167 
 
 of others as well who came to grief in the 
 same way, owing to some slight error of 
 judgment regarding other people's sheep. 
 We are an eminently respectable family. 
 But if you are ready, we had better go.' 
 
 The two fishermen then arranged that 
 Winyard should walk two miles down-stream 
 before commencing to fish up, while the 
 Colonel appropriated the water immediately 
 below Broomhaugh. So they parted at the 
 gate, and Winyard went swinging along the 
 road at a pace that promised to make short 
 work of the two miles. 
 
 The bright promise of early morning had 
 received a cloudy check from the west, and 
 now a gray day, if not worse, seemed a safe 
 prognostication. In little more than half 
 an hour the younger angler was at work, 
 rejoicing in the familiar whiz of the flying 
 line. 
 
 There are occupations wherein a certain 
 mechanical portion of the brain is sufficient
 
 i68 YOUNG MI ST LEY. 
 
 to guide and inspire the hand, leaving the 
 remainder free for other work. The steering 
 of a ship is one of these ; hence sailors are a 
 thoughtful race of men, holding quaint and 
 original notions on the way and manner of 
 living through a human life. Give a sailor 
 the spokes of a wheel within the span of his 
 arms — allow to pass unnoticed an unsightly 
 bulge in one cheek — and during two hours, 
 his ' trick ' at the wheel, he w^ill think you 
 out as many solid thoughts as any philo- 
 sopher of inky inclinations. The swaying 
 compass, the pulse of the restless wheel, and 
 the shivering of the topmost sail that curves 
 its w^hite breast to the horizon, are all well 
 within the grasp of his mechanical brain ; 
 that is, of the outer office, where the mere 
 clerks are capable of dealing with the case, 
 only knocking at the door of the sanctum 
 occasionally, and asking advice when mechan- 
 ism fails and authoritative decision is re- 
 quired.
 
 YOUNG MI ST LEY. 169 
 
 It is a mistake to imagine that trout- 
 iishino' belonofs to the above order of thinofs. 
 The man who seeks to catch this dainty fish 
 mechanically will probably catch little beyond 
 the lower branches of a willow across the 
 water. Xoav this shows and fully establishes 
 the mental superiority of trout over the rest 
 of the finny tribe — their business must needs 
 be transacted in the inner office. 
 
 Winyard Mistley possessed the haj)py 
 power of giving his whole mind to whatever 
 work or pleasure he might for the moment 
 have in hand, and his entire attention was 
 therefore accorded this morning to the slay- 
 ing of harmless fish. When youth and a 
 certain activity of brain, combined with a 
 lifeless heart and a lively digestion, work in 
 unison, there are few deeds within human 
 reach that are not feasible, and none that 
 are not worth trvino\ With practised eve 
 and an untiring wrist the young fellow cast 
 his cunning flies on to the rippling surface
 
 I70 YOUNG MISTLEY. 
 
 of every likely pool. The fish were inclined 
 to encourage duplicity and cold murder, for 
 they invariably answered the call made upon 
 them ; not only the young and foolish, but 
 large and burly fellows with misshapen 
 mouths and stout hearts for an uphill fight. 
 
 While his master was enofaofed in studies 
 piscatorial, Adonis was gravely employed in 
 botanical research. With one vigilant eye 
 devoted to the inward swing- of the silverv 
 line (his fly-catching days being over), he did 
 not forget for one moment the pleasant chain 
 of slavery that hung around his neck, and 
 the spirit of sniffing inquiry was held in 
 check by a stern sense of duty which for- 
 bade any straying away. Occasionally, also, 
 , Adonis considered it only polite and resj^ject- 
 ful to take an interest in and inspect the 
 vanquished foe as he lay j^anting on the turf, 
 if only in consideration of his master's feel- 
 ings as a s23ortsman. 
 
 At first the stream ran throusii a level
 
 YOUXG MISTLEY. 
 
 meadow, where the o-rass was rich and o-reen 
 compared with the scanty brown covering of 
 the hill. It was the widening of the valley, 
 and the hills stood far apart, as if dl'a^ving^ 
 back to make their farewell bow to the 
 j^leasant laughing water which did not de- 
 spise their aged company, and brightened for 
 a while with its smiles and glancing merri- 
 ment their erave and timewoiii melancholy. 
 As Winyard progressed up-stream, from 
 pool to pool, by rippling shallows and stony 
 runs, the vale narrowed in, and the great 
 bare slopes began to dictate to the yielding 
 water, and measui'e out its j^J^th. The voice 
 of the stream otcw louder as its existence 
 became more eventful, and the difficulties 
 thereof oTcater. There were bio- rocks to be 
 circumvented, and to be laughed at when 
 passed and gleefully avoided. Soon there 
 were little leaps to be taken with smooth 
 curve and snowy fi'oth, whereunder lay the 
 wise trout awaitine a chance worm torn from
 
 172 YOUNG MISTLEY. 
 
 the broken bank a little higher up. In and 
 about these variations of flow lay deep and 
 tranquil ]30ols, where the water recovered its 
 bright purity after the disturbing influence 
 of eddy and fall. Here dwelt the larger 
 trout — fish of a certain standing in life, with 
 rights of way and habitation, originally ac- 
 quired by strength of tail or fin, and now 
 held by reputation and rights of long posses- 
 sion. 
 
 With gentle turn of wrist, and clever calcu- 
 lation of strength, duly allowing for the cool 
 breeze hurrying down the valley, Winyard 
 searched each pool and corner for the feeding 
 fish ; and already the weight of his creel w^as 
 of some consideration upon his back, with 
 every now and then a thrill of life as some 
 brave trout gave his last convulsive kick. 
 
 Presently Adonis, who, having conceived 
 the idea that there might be water-rats 
 about, had turned his attention to the river's 
 edge, looked up and broke the silence.
 
 YOUNG MISTLEY. 173 
 
 * Woff !' he said — an internal interlabial 
 bark, the sound of which appeared to strike 
 the o'leaminof barricade of teeth, and travel 
 down again to the inward parts of his mus- 
 cular person. 
 
 * I beg your pardon,' observed his master 
 absently, being at that moment absorbed in 
 the deft placing of his flies beneath an over- 
 hanofinof branch across the stream. 
 
 ^ Woff" !' repeated Adonis, showing all his 
 ribs with a sudden dra wing-in of breath. 
 
 ^ Indeed !' said Winyard with kindh^ in- 
 terest, and following the direction of the 
 doo-'s eves, he saw the cause of his annov- 
 ance. 
 
 This was the form of a young artist, who, 
 seated upon a humble camp-stool, was trans- 
 ferring to his tiny paper a very pretty glimpse 
 of the Broomwater. 
 
 As the fisherman passed, the artist slightly 
 raised his hat with foreign politeness, which 
 salutation was immediatelv returned, and
 
 174 YOUNG MISTLEY. 
 
 Mistley continued on his way. When he 
 had passed out of sight the artist promptly 
 rose from his seat, and packed his materials 
 away into a portfolio. 
 
 ' He does not remember me — assuredly !' 
 he murmured in Russian, as he turned and 
 walked rapidly down-stream towards Walso. 
 But in this Ivan Meyer was mistaken.
 
 ^J^M/^rf 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 IN YARD reached Broomhaugli 
 before the Colonel, and as he 
 climbed the narrow stone steps 
 cut in the solid wall, he saw Lena on the 
 terrace. She was sitting reading in the 
 corner whence the view of Mistley's GajD was 
 obtainable. 
 
 ^ Back already !' she said, looking up with 
 a smile. 
 
 ' Yes,' he said slowly. ' Back already.' 
 He seated himself on the low wall beside 
 her, and swinging his creel round, he opened 
 it for her inspection.
 
 176 YOUNG MI ST LEY. 
 
 Mrs. Wright happened to be in her bed- 
 room, and from the window she could see 
 these two young folks. She had no desire 
 to watch their movements — no wish to spy 
 upon anyone — but she could not help noting 
 that the two young heads were very close 
 together over the open basket ; it almost 
 seemed as if Lena's soft dry hair were touch- 
 ing Winyard's lips. 
 
 ^ I wish,' whispered Mrs. Wright, as she 
 turned away from the window — ' I wish I 
 knew what to do. I wish Laurance Lowe 
 were here — he knows Lena better than any- 
 one ; and Willy is enjoying his stay here so 
 much, that I do not like to trouble him with 
 my misgivings.' 
 
 In the meantime Winyard had closed the 
 creel, and having laid it down in a shady 
 corner, he returned and sat down beside 
 Lena again. The water was slowly dripping 
 from his waders, forming two little pools 
 upon the stone pavement. With his foot
 
 YOUNG MISTLEY. 177 
 
 Winyard gravely constructed a little canal 
 connecting these two pools, while Lena 
 watched him in silence. Presently, mthout 
 looking up, he said : 
 
 ' I must write to Charlie to-day about the 
 theatricals — what am I to sa}^ Miss Wright?' 
 
 His eyes were quite grave, but his lips 
 were twitching with suppressed laughter as 
 he gravely awaited her reply. 
 
 ' You are to say, Mr. Mistley . . .' 
 
 ^ Excuse me, you appear to find a little 
 difficulty in saying Mr. Mistley,' he inter- 
 rupted. ' It is awkward, I know — people 
 have remarked upon it often. Mistley is 
 one of those names with which '' Mr." goes 
 badly. You will find '' Winyard " much 
 easier to say .... I think !' 
 
 ' You are to say,' continued Lena, carefully 
 omitting an}^ name whatever, ^ that Miss 
 Sandford will take the heroine's part, and 
 that I will have much pleasure in doing my 
 best as the sprightly widow.' 
 
 VOL. I. 12
 
 1 78 YOUNG MISTLEY. 
 
 ' And that I will commence at once to 
 study the part of the domestic servant who 
 comes in once and says : " The carriage is 
 at the door." ' 
 
 ' No — we settled that you should take the 
 principal part.' 
 
 ' You did.' 
 
 ' Yes !' said Lena, wdth a decisive nod. 
 
 ' And I settled that you should be the 
 heroine/ observed Winyard meekly. 
 
 • But I cannot act it.' 
 
 ^ Why V 
 
 ' Because there is too much pathos in it, 
 and I cannot do pathos ; it is not in my 
 nature, I am afraid.' 
 
 ' You forget,' said Mistley, ' that I have 
 heard you sing.' 
 
 ' Oh, that is a mere matter of tuition !' 
 
 Winyard slowly shook his head. ' You 
 never learnt to sing that song as you sang 
 it the evening I listened behind you in the 
 hall'
 
 YOUNG MISTLEY. 179 
 
 Lena shruo^o'ed her shoulders and lauoiied. 
 ^ Tuition/ she said again. 
 
 ' Then,' said Winyard, turning towards her 
 suddenly, ' let me be your tutor. If you 
 would act that j^art, I know we could make 
 it a success. With Mabel Sandford I simply 
 could not do it ; she has no conception of the 
 character, and would spoil it. When you 
 see her, you will acknowledge that I am 
 right. She is very nice of course, but abso- 
 lutely without the least power or individu- 
 ality. If she had only remained in the 
 country she would have been all right ; but 
 two seasons in town with a scheming old 
 aunt have, according to all accounts, com- 
 pletely spoilt her !' 
 
 ' Do you think that your arrangement will 
 suit Charlie ?' asked Lena. 
 
 ' I am certain of it. In fact, it is not my 
 arranofement, but his. He maintains that 
 he could not take a larger role and be stage- 
 manager as well ; and we must have him as 
 
 12 — 2
 
 YOUNG MISTLEY. 
 
 manager, because no one else can do it so 
 well.' 
 
 At last Lena consented, on condition that 
 it should not be mentioned until after she 
 had made Mabel Sandford's acquaintance ; 
 and with this Winyard was forced to be 
 content. 
 
 While they were still talking over this 
 matter, the Colonel arrived with a very 
 heavy basket of fish, and a sej)arate tale 
 to tell of each individual captive of his 
 rod. 
 
 It was nearly three o'clock before they 
 were mounted and on the road to Sandoe ; 
 and as they rode along, ^the Colonel con- 
 tinued to regale the two young people with 
 his experiences during the morning. 
 
 Presently, however, they left the road and 
 turned into a narrow /lane, Lena leading, the 
 Colonel next, and Mistley last. Winyard 
 was quite convinced in his own mind that 
 there was ample room between the hedges
 
 YOUNG MISTLEY. i8i 
 
 for two to ride abreast, but Lena kept in 
 the centre pathway, and the Colonel squarely 
 followed. 
 
 Such lanes are common enough about 
 Walso. A mere strip of grass between two 
 hedges, worn, like you and me, in proportion 
 to the traffic passing over them, and to the 
 friction of wind and weather. Some have 
 only one worn track, and that but shallow, 
 like the late wrinkle on a smooth face ; and 
 again, some have as many as three rugged 
 furrows, like the lines on a scantily thatched 
 liead, which has remained stationary while 
 others passed over it. 
 
 The Sandoe road, however, was well-to-d(. 
 and of evident prosperity and luxuriance. At 
 the foot of either hedge the nettle and gentle 
 dock grew together in harmony ; while over- 
 head the wanton briar-roses, not content with 
 the place assigned to them, S23read long, pliant 
 arms, and carried the sweet beauty of their 
 bloom into other folks' quarters ; notably of
 
 i82 YOUNG MISTLEY. 
 
 the blackthorn and pithy elder, both of which, 
 from jealousy no doubt, grew crookedly, with 
 twist and ugly knot. In and out and every- 
 where, the stealthy woodbine crept upwards 
 with innocent trailing tendril, content to be 
 little seen below, knowing well that overhead, 
 outstripping every other growth, its redeem- 
 ing flower was fairest of all, diffusing the 
 sweetest breath into the air. 
 
 Winyard's horse was young and unsteady, 
 consequently he had but little time to admire 
 the scenery ; also he appeared to prefer for 
 contemplative purposes, when his animal 
 allowed of such, a slim and graceful figure 
 slightly swaying to the movements of a sleek 
 little mare in front. At leno^th the lane was 
 brought to a sudden termination, as is the 
 fate of all such lanes, by a high-road running 
 at right angles to it. 
 
 The Sandfords were simple people of a 
 North-country type, now, alas ! growing rare. 
 Already ' Old Sandford,' as he was uni-
 
 YOUNG MI ST LEY. 183 
 
 versally called, was beginning to find that 
 his daughter had imported all sorts of new- 
 fangled ideas from her South-country board- 
 ing school, that the old home was too simple 
 for her enlightened tastes, and that even his 
 own little personal habits jarred ujDon her 
 sensitive nerves. 
 
 His forefathers, he opined, had always 
 been content to live in Sandoe, though 
 Mabel complained that it was a common 
 farmhouse. They had always found the 
 prospect of hills and low-lying meadow suffi- 
 cient for their eyes, and the knowledge that 
 it was all Sandoe land was happiness enough 
 for their quiet hearts. 
 
 The house was, indeed, little else than an 
 enlarged copy of the solid farmsteads of the 
 neighbourhood ; but the Sandfords were not 
 farmers, and never had been, though why 
 folks should be ashamed of an honourable 
 occupation Old Sandford could not under- 
 stand. Born, bred, and now growing old
 
 i84 YOUNG MISTLEY. 
 
 amidst the solemnity of his beloved hills, 
 where all goes slowly and surely except 
 the clouds overhead — and God's hand guides 
 them, so their speed need alarm no one — the 
 old fellow was himself a slow man, but very 
 sure. Above all he Avas a gentleman by 
 heart and by head as well, though he had 
 never been farther South than Morpeth for 
 his education. 
 
 When the Broomhaugh party entered the 
 roomy, old-fashioned hall, which was used as 
 a sitting-room at Sandoe, they found Old 
 Sandford stamping his feet after a long ride. 
 
 ' Ah, Win, my boy !' he exclaimed. ' Thank 
 God we've got you back to the North country 
 again !' 
 
 Then followed the introductions, and the 
 old gentleman shook hands heartily with 
 Lena and her father, for he had no faith in 
 those new-fangled bows with which strangers 
 honour each other nowadays when they are 
 supposed to be strangers no longer.
 
 YOUNG MISTLEY. 185 
 
 ' Glad to meet you, sir !' he said to the 
 Colonel in his quick abrupt maDner, with an 
 expressive jerk of the head, which seemed 
 to say : ' I may be an old country bumpkin, 
 but I know all about yo^i /' 
 
 Then he proposed an adjourimient to the 
 summer-house, where they would no doubt 
 find Mabel. ' Reading novels, I expect !' he 
 added, with a glance towards Winyard. 
 
 Mabel Sandford was indeed there, and 
 moreover she laid aside a yellow-backed 
 book as she rose to meet them. Winyard 
 she greeted with an effusion which he, at 
 least, thouoiit rather overdone. She was 
 di^essed too well for the occasion, and her 
 brioiit black hair was arrano^ed somewhat 
 more elaborately than was necessary. Xever- 
 theless she was decidedly j^retty, with 
 large dark eyes of the type usually called 
 ' fine,' and a graceful figure full of lithe 
 strenofth. 
 
 Leavino' the two old o^entlemen to amuse
 
 1 86 YOUNG MI ST LEY. 
 
 each other, Winyard began the question of 
 the theatricals at once. 
 
 ^ Charhe is stage-manager/ he said, ^ but 
 he asked me to get things on as far as pos- 
 sible before he came, because we have no 
 time to waste — he goes to the Mediterranean 
 next month, and I may be called away at any 
 time.' 
 
 ^ It is a shame,' exclaimed Mabel Sand- 
 ford, with an exaggerated pout of her full 
 red lips, ^ the way in which we poor females 
 are deserted by everyone ! I have not seen 
 Charlie for months ; and as for you, Win, I 
 am surprised to see you now !' 
 
 * I expect,' replied Winyard, with rather 
 a short laugh, ^ that you will be heartily tired 
 of us both before these theatricals come. You 
 have read through the piece, of course.' 
 
 ' Oh — yes !' replied Miss Sandford. She 
 had just picked a little spray of monthly 
 roses, and was fixing it in her dress, glanc- 
 ing occasionally at Mistley as she did so.
 
 YOUNG MISTLEY. 187 
 
 * Well, we want you to undertake the 
 longest part !' 
 
 ' The heroine ?' 
 
 ' No, the young widow ; there is a great 
 deal to learn, mind,' replied Winyard inno- 
 cently, carefully avoiding Lena's eyes, and 
 meeting Mabel's with infinite audacity. 
 
 ' If you think I can do it, I am quite 
 willing.' 
 
 ' Oh — I am certain of it ! Miss Wright 
 will jDlay the heroine, Charlie the hero, and 
 I the villain. Walter says he will act the 
 old man's part, does he not V 
 
 ^ Yes ; by-the-bye, he is somewhere in the 
 garden. I will go and call him.' 
 
 Mabel Sandford was a little disappointed, 
 but she had too much spirit to show it ; and 
 Winyard's great interest in her part, displayed 
 in the subsequent rehearsals, at length con- 
 vinced her that althouofh she was not the 
 heroine of the j)iece, her part was by no means 
 unimportant. Her brother, who presently
 
 YOUNG MI ST LEY. 
 
 appeared, was a simple good-natured fellow- 
 two years younger than herself. He openly 
 confessed to being in a ' mortal fright' about 
 appearing on the stage ; but expressed a 
 humble readiness to do his best. 
 
 Winyard Mistley was not in the habit of 
 allowing the grass to grow beneath his feet. 
 Without appearing to have or even desire his 
 own way, and by means of gentle suggestions, 
 he arranged all the preliminaries, and even 
 fixed the day for the first rehearsal before 
 leaving Sandoe that evening. 
 
 Heavy clouds had been stealing up over 
 the hills for some hours, and, as the gate 
 swung to behind the Colonel's horse, large 
 sullen drops began to fall into the dusty road. 
 
 The Colonel led the way down the green 
 lane, keeping up a steady trot despite the 
 roughness of the path. At last the rain 
 began in earnest, and he pulled up to suggest 
 that Lena should put on the jacket she had 
 strapped to her saddle.
 
 YOUNG MISTLEY. 189 
 
 ' You two light-weights can soon catch me 
 ip,' he said, riding off. 
 
 Lena stopped in the middle of the lane, and 
 oroceeded to endeavour, unaided, to loosen 
 :he straps round her jacket ; but her gloves 
 ^ere wet, and the slippery leather refused to 
 5ubmit. Then Mistley forced his horse into 
 :he ditch, and so reached her side. 
 
 ' I have no gloves on,' he said quietly, 
 IS he leant over and took possession of the 
 straps. 
 
 ' Thank you,' said she, looking rather an- 
 dously after her retreating parent. 
 
 In a moment Winyard had unbuckled the 
 straps and shaken out the short thick jacket, 
 riien he took her bridle in his disengaged 
 tiand, and so left her free. But fortune wa;^ 
 igainst her ; the collar of the jacket got 
 burned in, and Mistley had to take both reins 
 in one hand while he leant back and assisted 
 lier. When he had done this, and Lena had 
 secured the last button, she held out her hand
 
 I90 YOUNG MI ST LEY. 
 
 for the reins ; but he retained them for a 
 moment longer. 
 
 * Am I forgiven V he asked. 
 
 ' For what ?' Lena looked rather markedly 
 up at the sky, as if in gentle protest against 
 being detained in the rain. 
 
 ' For having my own way.' 
 
 ' Oh — I do not mind acting the part,' she 
 replied with a short laugh. 
 
 It is in little incidents — in the trivialities 
 of everyday life — that a man shows his know- 
 ledge of human nature. Winyard now sud- 
 denly abandoned the subject, and drew aside 
 to let Lena pass. 
 
 * And now for a scamper home !' he ex- 
 claimed cheerily, as the horses sprang forward 
 at a long canter.
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 ^^7^^ HE following evening Charles Mist- 
 ley arrived. This event, unim- 
 23ortant though it may appear, 
 had been awaited with some dread by Mrs. 
 Wright ; indeed, perhaps Mrs. Mistley her- 
 self may have had some misgivings on the 
 matter, though she betrayed no signs of such. 
 The former lady, however, was by no means 
 happ\^ on the subject of her daughter. Of 
 course it was natural, she confessed to her- 
 self, that the two young jDeople should seek 
 each other's society in a household composed 
 of an older generation ; and this great friend- 
 ship (if such it was) might have been expected
 
 192 YOUNG MISTLEY. 
 
 under the circumstances. But an equally 
 close friendship had existed between Charlie 
 and Lena before Winyard appeared on the 
 scene ; and the remembrance of this was not 
 pleasant to the cheery little lady's soul. To 
 her, Lena was a puzzle, as, indeed, she was to 
 a great many people. No subject had hitherto 
 been quite sacred from the girl's raillery ; life 
 had, up to the present time, been a very 
 pleasant affair — mostly laughter, and with no 
 sorrows too serious to be laughed at later on. 
 But now this unwearying mother thought she 
 detected a graver look in Lena's eyes, and, 
 mother-like, she set to work to find out what 
 this shadow could portend. Mrs. Wright 
 loved to look on love, as all good women do ; 
 but she had lived long enough in the world 
 to know that where there is a victory there 
 must be a vanquished, and the old foreboding 
 came back to her that there was danger for 
 Lena in this visit to Broomhaugh. 
 
 In fact, this little lady was puzzling over
 
 YOUNG MISTLEY. 193 
 
 a question which has never been answered 
 yet. This was the possibiHty of a true 
 friendship existing between a maiden and a 
 youth. It is very easy to give an opinion 
 upon it in a general way, and many of us 
 consider ourselves perfectly qualified to do 
 so ; but during life we will have to alter that 
 opinion several times. This peculiarity, how- 
 ever, is common to every generality, because 
 in speaking generally we invariably think 
 individually. We boldly apply generalities 
 to the entire human race, or to one-half of 
 it, without deigning to inquire from whence 
 the inspiration has been drawn ; and on in- 
 vestigation it usually transpires that the 
 opinion applies to one individual only. In- 
 deed, it cannot well be otherwise, as there 
 are no two human lives ahke, and, in conse- 
 quence, no two natures identical. This habit 
 of speaking collectively is usually a youthful 
 fault, which vanishes as experience wears out 
 the bristles of our mental broom. When we 
 VOL. T. 13
 
 194 YOUNG MI ST LEY. 
 
 are young, and the bristles are all astir with 
 self-opiniated and mistaken zeal, we make 
 great broad sweeps around us, collecting — 
 like other new brooms — a little dust, and 
 leaving unsightly streaks behind us, which 
 only serve to show where the dust lies 
 thickest ; but when the bristles are worn 
 down a little we go to work more carefully, 
 not in broad sweeps, but in little sidelong 
 movements, clearing no great space, but 
 leaving no streaks behind us. 
 
 Mrs. Wright had, like most people, her 
 ideas upon this doubtful friendship, though 
 she was too wise to hazard a decided opinion 
 upon the matter. Like many of her sex, 
 she knew men better than women, and ha vino 
 attained a certain age, was capable of judging 
 them impartially. In fact, she saw the gin- 
 gerbread without that gilt which is so apt to 
 dazzle youno-er eves. It is a lamentable fact 
 that there is remarkablv little o-ilt or o4eam 
 of any true metal about young men, until
 
 YOUNG MISTLEY. 195 
 
 they have acquired it from contact with 
 finer wares. The result of Mrs. Wright's 
 observations — which may be worth recording 
 — was, that the man is to blame in almost 
 every case of a spoilt friendship ; that most 
 girls are capable of forming a friendship with 
 a youthful member of the sterner sex, but 
 that the vanity of the latter invariably spoils 
 it, and renders its existence an impossibility. 
 He, in fact, in his superb self-appreciation, 
 cannot realize that a girl may show a liking . 
 for his society without being in love with 
 him, which, after all, he thinks is the most 
 natural thino^ in the world. 
 
 Now Mrs. Wright had, in a few days, 
 formed a much more correct estimate of 
 Winyard Mistley's feelings than that astute 
 young gentleman suspected. She knew his 
 to be a heart wherein ambition had found its 
 place before love. It is so in some cases, 
 and when love arrives, he finds himself in the 
 position of a dog who comes home to dis-
 
 196 YOUNG MISTLEY. 
 
 cover his kennel occupied by a determined 
 and resolute cat. Some dogs — such charac- 
 ters as our friend Adonis — will make a rush 
 at the kennel, and probably, at the expense 
 of a few scratches, accompanied by much 
 vituperation, will turn the cat out. Others 
 will be more wary, and their tactics wdll per- 
 haps partake more of the orthodox method of 
 warfare : result — scratches galore, and the 
 intruder still in possession. Others, again, 
 will feign to be ignorant of the intrusion, 
 professing a great interest in various objects 
 of refuse that may be lying around, taking 
 care at the same time to turn an unobservant 
 back upon the kennel, and thus afford the 
 cat an opportunity of honourable escape. 
 
 Mrs. Wright shrewdly suspected that the 
 intruder, ambition, was in possession of Win- 
 yard Mistley's heart ; but, womanlike, she 
 promptly thought it possible that the sad 
 dog, love, might be prowling round in search 
 of his own rio^-hts ; and her instinct told her
 
 YOUNG MISTLEY. 197 
 
 that the plan of assault most to be feared 
 was the Adonis -like attack, sudden and 
 daring. 
 
 During the last two years, Lena's mother 
 had thought a good deal uj^on the subject of 
 young men in general, and Charles Mistley in 
 particular. The more she saw of that grave 
 young sailor, the stronger grew her liking 
 for him. She soon learnt that his gravity 
 by no means denoted a dulness of intellect, 
 and discovered each day some new proof of 
 his thoughtfulness for others and forgetful- 
 ness of self — qualities which find greater 
 favour with elderly than with young ladies. 
 Gradually she had dropped into the habit of 
 encouraging the friendship which had sprung 
 up between him and Lena, reflecting that if 
 it grew into something stronger than friend- 
 ship, Charles Mistley was worthy of any 
 woman's love. There was, however, that 
 grim fact of his being a sailor, which was for 
 ever forcing itself upon her notice, and would
 
 198 YOUNG MISTLEY. 
 
 not be permanently quelled by the reflection 
 that there are many appomtments on shore 
 within reach of sailors who, like Charles 
 Mistley, have a moderate income and a 
 certain influence at headquarters. 
 
 The younger brother, Winyard, had never 
 entered into Mrs. Wright's thoughts in the 
 matter, and lo I here he was, barely a fort- 
 night at home, complicating things most 
 terribly by calmly establishing a friendship 
 remarkably like that w^hich had caused so 
 much uneasiness already. Whatever the 
 result might be, this shrewd little woman of 
 the world knew that no good could come of 
 it ; she held the opinion that the influence 
 of a young woman over a young man can be 
 of no earthly good to him. Altogether, 
 Mrs. Wright had no desire to witness the 
 experiment between her daughter and either 
 of the Mistleys. It is a dangerous experi- 
 ment and a desperately unprofitable one, O 
 youthful inquirer — an experiment best left
 
 YOUNG MI ST LEY. 199 
 
 alone, as the writer of these poor Hnes can 
 testify, having burnt his fingers over it ! 
 
 In the meantime, Winyard and Lena 
 seemed to be cheerfully progressing down 
 that flowery path which is so lovely at first 
 sight, so disaj)pointing on nearer inspection, 
 and so exceedingly thorny as one penetrates 
 into its depths. 
 
 They drove into Walso together to meet 
 Charlie, and all three arrived in the highest 
 good-humour with themselves and everyone 
 else, as the first dinner-bell pealed through 
 the house. 
 
 Despite her cheerfulness, however, Lena 
 was a little thoughtful at intervals that even- 
 ing, and during the mystic arrangement of 
 her hair she was so absorbed that she not 
 only forgot to hum a ditty to herself, but 
 she displayed a most unusual awkwardness 
 in the insertion of sundry pins, more or less 
 calculated to keep her head in order, and 
 consequently the entire erection presented,
 
 YOUNG MI ST LEY. 
 
 even more than was customary, an appear- 
 ance of approaching collapse. 
 
 A second attempt, however, was eminently 
 satisfactory, and she tripped downstairs, a 
 demure and fairy-form, long before the second 
 bell rang. With maidenly dignity she entered 
 the drawing-room, cool and serene, as if there 
 were no such thing as dressing in fifteen 
 minutes ; but it was only to find Winyard 
 standing at the open window, cooler and 
 more serene, as if there were no such thing 
 as reducing fifteen to ten. He did not 
 speak, but held back the soft curtain for her 
 to pass out into the garden. 
 
 ^ Not on the grass/ he said with paternal 
 anxiety, as he followed her, ^ your shoes are 
 too thin !' And she obediently walked on 
 the gravel. 
 
 ' Will you be so kind as to wear that 
 dress in the third act V asked Winyard pre- 
 sently. 
 
 ^Why?'
 
 YOUNG MISTLEY. 201 
 
 ' Because . . . oh, because it is the most 
 difficult scene, and I think I could do it 
 better if you wore that particular dress. Do 
 you understand V 
 
 ' Hardly . . .' replied Lena truthfully. 
 She was trying hard to find out whether he 
 was serious or not. ' But still, if there is 
 stimulation in it to do great things, I sup- 
 pose I must wear it ; but I do not think it 
 will be quite appropriate to the scene.' 
 
 ^ Why not V 
 
 ^ Well, that is just the most pathetic part 
 of the whole play, which is in itself by no 
 means cheerful ; and white with a yellow 
 sash is not exactly pathetic !' 
 
 ' Tell me,' said Winyard, with exaggerated 
 gravity, ' why white with a yellow sash is 
 not pathetic' 
 
 ' I do not know,' she replied with a laugh, 
 * but that is my view of the case.' 
 
 * But do you not think that a strong con- 
 trast is always effective ? I have never yet
 
 YOUNG MISTLEY. 
 
 understood why people on the stage should 
 persist in dressing in sombre garb on account 
 of the sorrow that is coming, and of which 
 they are supposed to know nothing. The 
 most touching thing I ever saw on the stage 
 was at the Comedie Fran9aise years ago, 
 when I was at school at Fontainebleau. It 
 made such an impression on me, that I have 
 never forgotten it. The heroine was in a 
 ball-dress, and the hero in ordinary evening 
 clothes, with a decoration in his button-hole. 
 It sounds prosaic, but it was wonderfully 
 effective. The saddest things that have 
 happened on earth have been in the gayest 
 towns, within the very sound of music and 
 laughter.' 
 
 ' Then you think I ought to be gay until 
 the last minute !' 
 
 ' I think so, certainly. It is a principle 
 which one can safely go upon until the end 
 of the chapter, and never regret it. Talley- 
 rand originated that idea, I believe. I am
 
 YOUNG MISTLEY. 203 
 
 quite certain that half of our troubles are 
 only worthy to be met with laughter.' 
 
 ' Do you speak from experience {' asked 
 Lena, thinking of her father's description of 
 Winyard Mistley's dauntless spirits. 
 
 ' Xo, because I have had little or nothing 
 to experiment upon, having always been a 
 lucky individual ; but I cannot help admir- 
 ing people who can laugh when they do not 
 feel like it.' 
 
 ' What a prosaic way of putting it !' 
 
 ' Perhaps so — but you know what I mean, 
 nevertheless. Xow, if you were to wear that 
 dress, I am sure it would prove most effective. 
 There is something about a white cfress — a 
 soft, simple sort of di^ess like yours — with a 
 yellow sash, which always makes me feel 
 most sentimental ; and I am certain that 
 such a result could not fail to be edifying to 
 every onlooker. If you were to add some 
 flowers it would be still better — say jasmine. 
 We will try the eftect to-night.'
 
 204 YOUNG MISTLEY. 
 
 And he stopped to gather a few sweet- 
 smelKng sprays, which somehow took so long 
 to arrange satisfactorily that the bell had to 
 be rung again for their special benefit before 
 they obeyed it. 
 
 ' We will consult the stasfe-manao^er about 
 it/ said Mistley, as they turned towards the 
 house. 
 
 ' No !' she said quickly. ' Please do not 
 do that r
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 T breakfast next morning, Colonel 
 Wright explained at some length 
 that as the stao^e-manao^er had 
 now arrived, he failed to see any obstacle in 
 the way of Winyard and himself indulging in 
 another morning's fishing. This proposal 
 Winyard agreed to with his usual readiness, 
 and immediately after the morning meal they 
 sallied forth together. 
 
 According to arrangement, Winyard went 
 down-stream a^ain, while the Colonel fished 
 up. It was not really a good day for 
 sport. The sky was brilliant, with dazzling 
 white clouds scuddino- before a stronof breeze.
 
 2o6 YOUNG MISTLEY. 
 
 Altogether, matters did not go well. Several 
 times Winyard stumbled as he made his way 
 up the bed of the stream, very nearly break- 
 ing his rod on each occasion. Before he had 
 been at work half an hour, he caught his fly 
 twice in a tree, having to cross through deep 
 water to release it. In fact, he was fishing 
 atrociously. Xow, when a man who is an 
 adept with the rod fails to catch fish, and 
 occasionally hooks a tree, it is fairly safe to 
 surmise that he is not giving his mind to the 
 work before him. Such, indeed, it is to be 
 feared was the case with this cheerful young 
 fisherman. 
 
 The strong will of a strong man is a tough 
 antagonist for the best of us — that is to say, 
 for the best of women, who are superior to 
 us in matters wherein endurance counts 
 heavily. Under a happy and careless man- 
 ner, Winyard Mistley concealed a certain 
 dogged determination, and all this was now 
 centred on the profession which he had
 
 YOUNG MISTLEY. 207 
 
 adopted. Ambition, determination, and patri- 
 otism fought together in the young man's 
 heart — a strong combination under a reso- 
 lute leader, for ambition has led men upwards 
 to the highest pinnacles of fame, despite 
 every obstacle. Pitted against these allies 
 was one small foe, his only arm a bow and. 
 arrow of the frailest workmanship. But he 
 knew no fear, for he had fought the mis- 
 creants before, and vanquished them. In his 
 plucky little heart was the knowledge that 
 those three restless giants (one of whom he 
 loves as a brother) are but mortal, whereas 
 he is a god. He can lurk within the inmost 
 citadel unseen, unsuspected ; sometimes, even, 
 he is content to lie hidden until the battle is 
 over, and he laughingly appears with cyni- 
 cism curling on his rosy lips. 
 
 To Winyard Mistley, Ambition and his 
 allies whispered : ' Leave home and love, 
 cast aside comfort and ease, sacrifice all in 
 order to pierce through the ruck of medioc-
 
 2o8 YOUNG MI ST LEY. 
 
 rity — and pierce you must !' On the other 
 hand, a small voice urged : * I am worth more 
 than fame, more than glory and a country's 
 gratitude, for I outlive them all !' 
 
 No wonder this angler caught trees in- 
 stead of fish, when such inward voices were 
 striving for the mastery. But the strife was 
 destined to be settled by an event, and not 
 by thoughts. It is ever so in our lives — we 
 think great huge thoughts, and, like the 
 waves of the sea, they roll on and are no 
 more, while a tiny event may make a great 
 man greater, and a poor man greatest. We 
 often wonder, in profitless moments of self- 
 study, how we would act in a crisis ; imagin- 
 ing the while that the crises of our lives are 
 ushered in with due regard to stage-eflPect, 
 whereas they are in and out again before we 
 realize it. It is only in looking back that we 
 find the true turning-point, as a man having 
 lost his way goes mentally back over the road 
 to discover where his mistake occurred.
 
 YOUNG MISILEY. 209 
 
 While he fished, Winyard Mistley was 
 actually pondering over the advisability of 
 abandoning his new profession. What con- 
 clusion he miofht have arrived at it were hard 
 to say had he been allowed to think the 
 matter out : but suddenly a new light shone 
 upon it. A light all lurid with the hate of 
 man, red with the g'leam of ao-aressive treach- 
 ery, yet shining with the glory of a steadfast 
 purpose. 
 
 Amid the solitary grandeur of his native 
 hills, by the side of peaceful Broomwater, an 
 event was destined to take place on this fair 
 summer morninof which left its mark on Win- 
 yard Mistley 's life. It was here that the 
 long pursuit, so steadfastly carried out by 
 Marie Bakovitch, was to come to an end. 
 As will be learnt hereafter, he was fully aware 
 of the girl's purpose, and even knew her name 
 and description ; but had always treated the 
 matter lightly, as the passing freak of a highly 
 strunor and io-norant ofirl. Xow he was about 
 
 VOL. I. 14
 
 2IO YOUNG MI ST LEY. 
 
 to learn his mistake ; he was about to face a 
 sudden and unexpected danger, alone and 
 unaided, as he had faced most things in his 
 short life. And the result of it all was to be 
 the appearance of a new ally against the 
 little god who had laid his siege so skilfully. 
 Dogged British pride joined ambition, deter- 
 mination, and patriotism, and drove their 
 small enemy shrinking back. 
 
 Winyard Mistley had made his uneventful 
 way up the stream for about a mile, and was 
 now approaching a spot where the water 
 broadened out, losing, after the manner of 
 earthly things, profundity in so doing. Here 
 were stepping-stones, and on each side a 
 natural unmade footpath. 
 
 Although he was fishing carelessly, Win- 
 yard's eyes were fixed upon the water ; and 
 he therefore failed to perceive the form of 
 a girl at the edge of the stream, upon the 
 opposite side, and a little higher up. 
 
 This young lady had apparently no inten-
 
 YOUNG MISTLEY. 211 
 
 tion of making her way across the stepping- 
 stones, being quite content to stay where she 
 was. Every now and then she glanced down- 
 stream, as if expecting some one ; and yet 
 when Mistley appeared, unconsciously and 
 placidly angling, she appeared surprised and 
 somewhat disturbed. At first she made a 
 movement as if to draw back ; and then, sud- 
 denly stepping forward, she resolutely planted 
 herself at the water's edge, with pale agitated 
 face and quivering lips, while her small un- 
 gloved hand went to the pocket of her dress. 
 Adonis was some distance behind his mas- 
 ter, engaged in botanical discoveries, and 
 therefore oblivious to all around him. With 
 aggravating deliberation the fisherman came 
 slowly on. The water below the stepping- 
 stones was of no use to him, so he raised his 
 rod to gather in the line and pass on. As he 
 did so he lifted his eyes, and found himself 
 face to face with the girl. Her attitude, the 
 paleness of her lovely face, and the wild ex- 
 
 14 — 2
 
 YOUNG MI ST LEY. 
 
 citement gleaming in her eyes were instantly 
 observed by Winyard ; and in a flash of 
 thought he connected her presence there 
 with himself, and with the tall artist whose 
 face he remembered having seen at Victoria 
 Station on the morning of his arrival in 
 England. 
 
 There was no ignoring the girl's evident 
 excitement ; he could not pretend to treat 
 her as a villager, and pass on with a local 
 greeting. For a moment the ruddy colour 
 left his face ; but it was not due to cow^ardice, 
 for men grow pale in moments of excitement 
 who do not know what 'fear is. Then he 
 raised his cap, but never smiled or inclined 
 his head. 
 
 The girl ignored his salutation, standing 
 motionless and pale as a marble statue. 
 
 ' I am Marie Bakovitch,' she said simply, 
 the musical tone of her deep voice rising 
 above the brawl of water. 
 
 ^ I know it,' he replied. Even in face of
 
 YOUNG MISTLEY. 213 
 
 her jDale, set features, and under the gaze of 
 her cold blue eyes he could not check the 
 quiver of his lips. He was too chivalrous to 
 let her see his smile, so he said : ' You have 
 caught me at last !' 
 
 Then, rod in hand, he ste23ped into the 
 running water, while Adonis stood upon the 
 bank with his left ear raised, watching these 
 proceedings uneasily. The brook sped past 
 Winyard's legs, rippling and laughing, while 
 with its voice mingled the sad murmur of the 
 pine-trees overhead, like the sound of the 
 surf on a deserted shore. 
 
 Slowly he made his way across, feeling 
 with his encumbered feet for each standing- 
 place, for he dared not remove his eyes from 
 the girl's pale and defiant face. Suddenly 
 she seemed to realize what he was doing, 
 and she raised one hand convulsively to her 
 throbbing temples. Then hastily she with- 
 drew the other hand from her pocket. Mist- 
 ley saw the gleam of polished metal flashing
 
 214 YOUNG MISTLEY. 
 
 in the sunlight, and a moment later he was 
 facing the muzzle of a pistol, while behind it 
 he still met those lifeless blue eyes fixed on 
 his face, with no light of hatred in them. 
 
 The sight of the little black orifice, with 
 its rim of blue steel, drove the smile away 
 from the young Englishman's lips ; but still 
 he slowly approached her with the dogged 
 coolness of his race — not blindly, but calcu- 
 lating his chances as if he were gifted with a 
 dozen lives. 
 
 ' If,' she exclaimed, in her pretty Rus- 
 sianized English, ' you come one step nearer 
 to me, I kill you !' 
 
 No reply came from his lips. The stream 
 laughed on. Overhead the pine-trees sighed, 
 and far away in the blue ether a solitary 
 curlew gave forth his weird cry of warning. 
 
 Facing the mouth of the grim little pistol, 
 Winyard never hesitated. He was half-way 
 across the stream, and with the same sure- 
 footedness he continued his way.
 
 YOUNG MISTLEY. 
 
 Then suddenly the girl dropped her arm. 
 
 * For God's sake, 6fo/> /' she hissed, stamp- 
 ing her foot on the soft tm^f. 
 
 Still he came on towards her, with stead- 
 fast gray eyes fixed on her face. Then she 
 slowly raised her arm again, and turned the 
 pistol towards hun. While facmg it, he was 
 calculating his chances with a deliberation 
 that was surprising even to himself; and 
 there flitted through his mind the recollec- 
 tion of his own failure to shoot a disabled 
 horse, because its eyes met his without 
 fiinchino". 
 
 o 
 
 The bed of the stream was now lisino' at 
 a gentle incline beneath his feet; a few more 
 steps, and he would be in shallower water ; 
 yet another few, and that small white hand 
 would be within his reach. 
 
 Suddenly a streak of white flame almost 
 bhnded him, and a ringing report well-nigh 
 burst his brain. 
 
 The little pufi" of gray smoke rose slowly
 
 2i6 YOUNG MISTLEY. 
 
 on the breeze, and Marie Bakovitch saw 
 Mistley standing in the shallow water. 
 
 ' Pah !' he exclaimed, as he passed his 
 disengaged hand across his eyes. 
 
 The sulphureous smoke had half choked 
 him, and some grains of unburnt powder had 
 flown into his face, causing a momentary 
 sting ; otherwise, he was unhurt. The j)istol 
 was of German manufacture, and threw high, 
 having been made (as might have been ex- 
 pected) to sell, and not to shoot with. 
 
 He gave her no time to attempt a second 
 shot. In an instant he was on the bank, 
 having sent his rod quivering on to the turf 
 beside him. 
 
 He grasped her wrist, but not too fiercely, 
 for even then he remembered his manners, 
 and the wrist was very small and shapely. 
 
 She made no attempt to resist, and re- 
 linquished her hold on the weapon as he 
 firmly took it. Suddenly he felt the life go 
 from her hand, and was just in time to catch
 
 YOUNG MISTLEY. 217 
 
 her as she fell, unconscious and helpless, for- 
 wards into his arms. It took him a moment 
 to realize what had happened ; then he laid 
 her gently on the slope of the bank, and 
 turned to get some water, which element he 
 supposed to be necessary under the circum- 
 stances. 
 
 Across the stream Adonis, with all his 
 sportive instincts aroused by the sound of a 
 firearm, was hunting eagerly, with ears erect 
 and officious tail, for the slaughtered game. 
 
 ^ Adonis,' said Winyard, with comic vexa- 
 tion, ' you're an idiot !' 
 
 A man is not seen to advantage when 
 administering aid to an unconscious woman. 
 He is apt to be clumsy and ridiculously awk- 
 ward, feeling all the while that this is no fit 
 occupation for him, that he is meddling with 
 a delicate machine of which the sensitive 
 workmanship and motive-springs are to him 
 a profound mystery. He is oppressed with 
 the notion that another woman would in-
 
 2i8 YOUNG MI ST LEY. 
 
 stantly put matters right by the simple 
 means of unhooking something, or the per- 
 formance of some similar trivial office of 
 which he knows absolutely nothing, and 
 would rather not attempt in view of return- 
 inof consciousness. With a sufferer of his 
 own sex, it is a different matter ; and from 
 the time of the good Samaritan down to 
 these ambulance-days, a man ministering to 
 a man has always been an edifying and 
 wholesome picture. 
 
 However, it was Winyard Mistley's custom 
 to make the best of most things. There 
 was within him that true British conceit 
 which prides itself upon being equal to every 
 emergency, provided it be human, and the 
 cause more or less a righteous one. There- 
 fore he filled his cap with the cool water 
 that flowed from the Northern hills, and set 
 about to vanquish this unknow^n foe. 
 
 Now it happened that sunstroke was a 
 visitation with which he was more or less
 
 YOUNG MISTLEY. 219 
 
 familiar, having had experience of it on 
 several occasions ; moreover, he was a great 
 partaker in a certain insular love of cold 
 water applied outwardly, and it appeared to 
 him that he might do worse than treat this 
 fair j^atient as he had treated many (less 
 attractive) suffering from sunstroke. 
 
 Carefully holding his cap by the rim, he 
 suddenly tipped it over, and cast upon the 
 girl's lifeless face a cold shock of water, 
 which immediately trickled down her grace- 
 ful neck in a most uncomfortable manner. 
 But what man, under the circumstances, 
 could have been expected to think of that ? 
 This vigorous treatment met w^ith its due 
 reward, for Marie Bakovitch promptly 
 opened her eyes, just in time to save herself 
 the infliction of a second capful. 
 
 ' Where am I V she inquired in French, 
 that being the tongue in which she prayed and 
 thought, having spoken it before any other. 
 
 Winyard was never averse to satisfying
 
 220 YOUNG MISTLEY. 
 
 harmless curiosity ; but to answer this 
 question was a matter of some length, so he 
 ignored it, and said in the same language : 
 
 ' Now you are all right again, is it not 
 so ? Come, let us sit on that great stone. 
 There you will get the breeze.' 
 
 He slid an arm under the light form of his 
 would-be murderess, and gently supported 
 her towards the rock indicated. She allowed 
 herself to be placed thereon in dazed silence, 
 and then slowly raised one hand to the bosom 
 of her dress. 
 
 ' I am afraid you are rather damp,' said 
 Winyard apologetically, but with a cheerful- 
 ness of manner which seemed to indicate that 
 all had occurred for the best. Then, being 
 a gentleman and perhaps a little soft-hearted, 
 he turned away, busying himself with the 
 top of his flask. This gave the girl time to 
 re-arrange the soft masses of hair which had 
 become a little loosened, and to give one or 
 two little cunning touches to her apparel,
 
 YOUNG MISTLEY, 221 
 
 which a woman with only half her senses 
 will still do. 
 
 ' Here,' he said, holding forth the cup of 
 his flask, ' take a little drink of that.' 
 
 Obediently she took the metal cup and 
 drank. If only Ivan Meyer could have seen 
 how Winyard commanded and Marie obeyed, 
 he might have learned therefrom an in- 
 valuable lesson, for the girl was of those who 
 need to be domineered over, and are happiest 
 in obedience. AYhat IvanMever the thouo-ht- 
 fill failed to perceive in length and fulness 
 of years, Winyard Mistley the superficial 
 saw in exactly two minutes, and knew how 
 to profit from it. The cordial appeared to 
 revive her ; a reawakening of life dawned in 
 her eyes, and a faint pink, like the sunny 
 side of a peach, rose to her cheeks. 
 
 ' Did I faint ?' she asked, without looking 
 up ; indeed, her eyes were fixed on the cup 
 she still held, the contents of Avhich were 
 evidently not to her taste.
 
 222 YOUNG MISTLEY, 
 
 * Yes ; but you are all right again now,' 
 was the cheerful and inspiriting reply. 
 
 Then she looked up, and appeared to re- 
 cognise him for the first time, for she started 
 back, exclaiming, ' Oh — oh-h-h !' and covered 
 her face with her hands, as if in horror of a 
 recollection just rising in her brain.
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 IXYARD MISTLEY watched her 
 in silence. He almost expected 
 some hysterical display, or perhaps 
 a vain onslaught upon himself. The colour 
 slowly left her face, and her level red lips 
 were pressed together painfully. 
 
 ' Now do not go and upset yourself !' he 
 said masterfully, as he picked up the cup she 
 had cast from her. ' Let us be business- 
 like and quiet. Do you feel better now ? 
 Is there anything I can do for you V 
 
 She looked up at him in vague amazement. 
 Then pressing back her hair with both hands, 
 she said :
 
 224 YOUNG MISTLEY. 
 
 ' I cannot understand you Englishmen . . . 
 do you know who I am ?' 
 
 ^ Oh yes, mademoiselle,' he replied ; ' I 
 know who you are !' 
 
 He stooped and picked up the revolver 
 which had so lately been pointed at him, and 
 Marie Bakovitch watched in silence while 
 he dexterously removed the five remaining 
 cartridges and threw them into the stream, 
 much to the astonishment of Adonis. Then 
 he politely handed her the firearm. 
 
 ' I have a favour to ask of you, made- 
 moiselle,' he said, ' and then, if you feel 
 restored, I will leave you.' 
 
 '■ Of me ?' The poor girl w^as piteously 
 pale, but showed no sign of womanly tearful- 
 ness or emotion. 
 
 ^ Yes,' he replied, stepping nearer. ^ Will 
 you tell me whether you were sent by your 
 Government or not ?' 
 
 ' I was not.' 
 
 ' And yet,' said Mistley, watching her face
 
 YOUNG MISTLEY. 225 
 
 closely, ' your Government knew of your 
 purpose. They placed every facility in your 
 reach ; they encouraged you as much as they 
 dared . . .' 
 
 She winced as he emphasized the last 
 words. She sat twinino* and intertwininof 
 her ungloved fingers, but never spoke. 
 
 ' They,' he continued bitterly, 'found them- 
 selves outwitted by simple straightforward- 
 ness, which, because it was not their mode of 
 acting, was not expected by them. What 
 they failed to do by telling lies, breaking 
 treaties, and ignoring the commonest points 
 of honour, they attempted to accomplish by 
 foul means, calling in the aid of a woman . . . 
 of a lady, mademoiselle, whose hands should 
 never have been soiled by such dirty work. 
 I shall never cease to regret that this has 
 occurred, and I need hardly tell you that the 
 matter will rest between ourselves, with the 
 exception of Colonel Wright, who must be 
 informed (^f it, not as a personal matter, but 
 
 VOL. I. 15
 
 226 YOUNG MISTLEY. 
 
 as a question of policy. To yourself per- 
 sonally, I bear not the slightest malice ; but 
 oblige me by telling the man who signed 
 your passport, who gave orders to the spy 
 Marloff to watch me and report to you, who, 
 in fact, did his best to make you a murderess 
 — tell him that from henceforth I work no 
 longer from a sense of duty to my country, 
 but from feelingfs of the fiercest hatred to- 
 wards himself and his despicable agents. 
 Ah ! you need not look frightened. In 
 England we say what we mean, and are not 
 afraid of treacherous ears being ever on the 
 qui vive to report every compromising w^ord 
 uttered in confidence.' 
 
 He was roused at last, and the gray eyes, 
 hitherto so calm and restful, flashed as only 
 gray eyes can. 
 
 The girl rose and faced him bravely ; 
 although of a singularly febrile and nervous 
 temperament, she felt at that moment no 
 bodily fear.
 
 YOUNG MISTLEY. 227 
 
 ^ It is for my country that I strive, and 
 not for any man,' she said in a low, concen- 
 trated tone which was wonderfully musical. 
 '/, too, am a patriot. /, too, love my home, 
 and count my life as nothing beside my 
 country's good. You have power, and you 
 are a man whose words are listened to ; but 
 for me it is a different matter. I am power- 
 less, and can never hope to raise myself to a 
 position of power. My life is of no value to 
 Russia ; but by losing it I could make it of 
 value, if, by that sacrifice, I could remove 
 from her path an enemy as implacable, as 
 influential as yourself 
 
 It is painful to have to record the fact 
 that Winyard Mistley shrugged his shoulders 
 at these words. Such patriotism as shows 
 itself in the formino- of societies and makinQf 
 of fiery speeches was particularly distasteful 
 to him. Indeed, it was by his extreme 
 reticence that he made his mark in the 
 diplomatic world. He had shrewdly sus- 
 
 15 — 2
 
 2 28 YOUNG MI ST LEY. 
 
 pected that Marie Bakovitch was the victmi 
 of unscrupulous men, who, possessing a cer- 
 tain gift of hysteric oratory, urged on others 
 to deeds of violence, while religiously avoid- 
 ing all danger to their own persons. This 
 suspicion he now found confirmed by the 
 girl's speech. 
 
 Perceiving that Winyard Mistley had no 
 intention of being di^agged into an argument, 
 and was indeed preparing to leave her, Marie 
 suddenly changed her manner. 
 
 ^ I, too, have a favour to ask of you,' she 
 almost pleaded. ' I am in your power, 
 wholly and inevitably ; but as an English 
 gentleman I beg of you to keep . . . this 
 matter ... a profound secret from Ivan 
 Meyer. I am strong again now ... I 
 will go !' 
 
 With a grave inclination of the head she 
 passed him, stepping firmly on the dry turf 
 He watched her as she made her way along 
 the edge of the stream by the little path
 
 YOUNG MISTLEY. 229 
 
 that led to Walso. Adonis having gravely 
 undertaken a search on his own account for 
 the five cartrido'es thrown into the river, 
 now returned unsuccessful, and took his 
 stand by his master's side, with sturdy legs 
 set well apart for greater convenience of the 
 draininof water. He also watched the maiden 
 depart, turning occasional glances towards 
 his master's face with a brisk and question- 
 ino' movement, as if to ask what this was all 
 about. 
 
 Winyard was in the habit of taking life 
 cheerfully, seeking out the sunny side of 
 every cloud, but now he was exceptionally 
 grave. It was characteristic of his somewhat 
 reckless ancestors that he gave no thought 
 to the danger he had just passed through. 
 
 ' Poor girl !' he muttered ; ' she is desper- 
 ately in earnest, and consequently she is 
 miserable !' 
 
 Then he suddenly stooped to pick up his 
 rod.
 
 2^0 YOUNG MISTLEY. 
 
 ' Adonis,' he said ; ' Adonis — I wonder 
 who Ivan Meyer can be. He does not know 
 that she was waiting here for me to-day. 
 There is more in that than meets the eye !' 
 
 Adonis placed his head shghtly on one 
 side, at the same time elevating one ear, a 
 habit he had when puzzled. He also had his 
 thoughts upon all this, but, alas ! he could 
 not speak them. 
 
 When Winyard reached Broomhaugh with 
 rather a jjoor basket of fish uj^on his back, 
 he was told that Colonel Wright had also re- 
 turned and was changing his fishing-clothes. 
 When he came downstairs a few minutes 
 later, he found his chief waiting for him at 
 the door of a little smoking-room which was 
 specially set apart for the gentlemen. 
 
 The old fellow looked grave, and, ignoring 
 Winyard's inquiry as to what sport he had 
 had, he motioned him to enter the room, and 
 followed closely. Then the Colonel closed 
 the door, and held out a telegram.
 
 YOUNG MISTLEY, 231 
 
 Winyard took the pink paper, and read 
 aloud : 
 
 ' Would suggest Mistley engaging a valet 
 whom I can recommend. Marie Bakovitch 
 is in England.' 
 
 The message bore only the initials ' M. L.,' 
 and had been despatched from the West- 
 minster Branch Post Office. Winyard read 
 it over once for his own edification, and 
 turned towards his chief with a smile. The 
 Colonel was standing with his broad shoulders 
 against the mantelpiece, his eyes fixed on the 
 carpet. His hands were thrust deej)ly into 
 his jacket-pockets, and he moved restlessly 
 from one foot to the other. 
 
 ' As usual,' said Mistley, still smiling, as 
 he took a seat on the edge of the table, and 
 carefully tore the telegram into small pieces. 
 ' As usual with news from headquarters — - 
 this comes just too late.' 
 
 ' How V asked the Colonel, looking up 
 rapidly.
 
 232 YOUNG MISTLEY. 
 
 ' I had the pleasure of meeting Miss Mai'ie 
 Bakovitch this mornino\' 
 
 ' You — here V 
 
 ' Yes. She had a cock-shot at me with a 
 very nice httle revolver at a distance of about 
 five yards, and missed me !' 
 
 ' Whew — w — w !' remarked the Colonel. 
 Words usually failed him at a critical juncture. 
 Mistley laughed as he dropped the remains 
 of the telegram into the waste-paper basket 
 — his usual lauofh, which had little hilarity 
 in it, serving, nevertheless, very well as a 
 stop-gap. 
 
 ^ She was in the train by which we came. 
 I remember seeing her at King's Cross. No 
 doubt she is staying at Walso. Privately, I 
 think she is a little vague in the upj)er regions ; 
 she did not appear to know exactly what she 
 was about, and — and it was — desperately 
 poor shooting !' 
 
 The Colonel tugged pensively at his gray 
 moustache, while his kindly eyes rested with
 
 YOUNG MISTLEY 
 
 an expression of wonder on his companion's 
 
 face. 
 
 ' Now that I come to think of it,' he said 
 slowly, ' when I drove vom' mother and Mrs. 
 Wright into Walso the other day I saw a 
 foreign-looking girl accompanied by a tall fail' 
 fellow, who looked like a Scandinavian. The 
 ladies were in a shop, and I was waiting out- 
 side.' 
 
 ' The foreiofn-lookino' oirl was Marie Bako- 
 vitch,' said Winyard, partly to himself He 
 was slowly stroking Adonis with a soft 
 pressure of his slim brown hand on the 
 shaggy head. ' If," he continued, after a long 
 pause — ' if it had oidy been a man, the whole 
 affair would have been intensely funny ; but 
 somehow, since I have seen the girl, the 
 humour of the thing has vanished.' 
 
 Lena and Charlie, passing the open window 
 at that moment, heard Winyard's remark. 
 There was no mistaking the neat enunciation, 
 no misconception of the meaning ; and as
 
 234 YOUNG MISTLEY. 
 
 they jjassed on, each wondered a little over 
 those words caught on the wing. 
 
 Presently the Colonel walked to the win- 
 dow, still pondering over the event just re- 
 lated to him. Then, without looking round, 
 he asked : 
 
 * Will you have this valet V 
 
 ' No, thank you ! I do not believe in that 
 system, for one reason ; and I require no one 
 to protect me from a girl, for another 1' 
 
 Then the Colonel turned sharply round, 
 and faced his companion. 
 
 ' Who was the man I saw with her ?' 
 
 ' I was just wondering,' replied Winyard 
 adroitly. 
 
 After a short pause the Colonel spoke 
 again. 
 
 ' I think, Win, you are a little too rash — 
 too indifferent to life ; either the indifference 
 is counterfeit, or there is something radically 
 wrong.' 
 
 ' Let us say,' replied Winyard impertur-
 
 YOUNG MISTLEY. 235 
 
 bably, smiling, ' that it is counterfeit — at all 
 events, there is nothing radically wiong. But 
 that has not much to do with the question. 
 If this girl is going to be a nuisance she must 
 be made to go ; and, above all, the ladies 
 must not g-et wind of the affair. There is 
 no reason why they should, I think.' 
 
 ' Suppose I go and see the girl — she must 
 be made to leave at once I' 
 
 ' I think,' replied Winyard, ' it would be 
 as well to give her one or two days' grace — 
 say till Tuesday. There is not the slightest 
 fear of her making herself obnoxious in the 
 meantime ; and if she is not away by then, 
 we can put on the screw. Somehow I think 
 she will not be heard of again ; her patriotism 
 has been satisfied by the mere smell of powder, 
 like a French journalist's honour. She was 
 des23erately frightened, I think, and very 
 much relieved when she found she had made 
 a bad shot.' 
 
 ' Well, then,' said the Colonel, with some
 
 236 YOUNG MI ST LEY. 
 
 determination, * you do not go out of my 
 sight till Tuesday !' 
 
 Mistley laughed — a boyish laugh, all glit- 
 tering with lightness of heart — and made a 
 movement towards the door, for he heard a 
 sweet clear voice trilling a very well-known 
 air about the house. But Colonel Wright 
 did not resjDond to the movement. He stood 
 at the window, still tugging at his gray mous- 
 tache — still contemplating the carpet. 
 
 ' I often wonder,' he said at length, with 
 a quick upward glance towards his young 
 companion — ' I often wonder why this girl 
 iofnores me, and directs all her mad hatred 
 against you. If the matter is, as she and her 
 precious companions state, merely a political 
 question, it appears to me that my name, 
 and not yours, should be on their list of 
 persons considered dangerous and likely to 
 be harmful to Russia.' 
 
 Winyard Mistley made no reply. He 
 stooped to caress Adonis, who was sleeping
 
 YOUNG MISTLEY. 237 
 
 on a low chair, and the expression of his face 
 was a masterpiece of innocence and utter 
 emptiness. 
 
 * I think,' continued the Colonel, who felt 
 he was gaining ground, and therefore grew 
 bolder, while his kindly eyes acquired a new 
 keenness — ' I think ... I will o^o and see . . . 
 Marie Bakovitch.' 
 
 ^ No !' exclaimed Winyard incautiously ; 
 ' you must not do that !' 
 
 Then there followed rather an awkward 
 silence between these two men who knew 
 each other so well. The younger busied 
 himself with Adonis, while the Colonel 
 looked on with a strange misty look about 
 the eyes. 
 
 ' You must think me a great duffer, my 
 boy !' he said at length, a little grimly. 
 
 Winyard shook his head, but did not look 
 up. 
 
 * I am afraid,' continued the old soldier, 
 ' that I must be one, or I should have sus-
 
 238 YOUNG MISTLEY. 
 
 pected it before. Now — when it might 
 have been . . . too late, I see it all. That 
 first letter from the Society of Patriots . . . 
 
 * Lunatics, 'suggested Winyard, with rather 
 a lame little laugh. 
 
 ' No, let us call them Patriots, for some 
 of them, at least, are sincere. Their -first 
 letter threatened us both. You answered 
 it, and, contrary to your custom, you forgot 
 to keep a copy of what you wrote. Since 
 then there has been no question of me, but 
 only of you. Oh, what a fool I was not to 
 have thought of it before !' 
 
 As usual, Winyard laughed, but the 
 Colonel held to his point. 
 
 ^ Win, my boy,' said the old fellow slowly, 
 ^ during the last two years we have been 
 very good friends and that, under excep- 
 tionally trying circumstances. We have 
 gone through a good deal together, and we 
 have shared everything ; I think it would 
 have been right and fair ... in fact, you
 
 YOUNG MISTLEY. 239 
 
 must see for yourself that I have a claim to 
 share this additional dano-er with vou as we 
 shared the others.' 
 
 Winyard was very much occuj^ied with 
 the buckle of Adonis's collar, and did not 
 look up at once. Then he looked towards 
 the door, and said : 
 
 ^ Listen !' 
 
 Adonis, who knew the meaninof of the 
 word, instantly cocked his left ear and 
 obeved. Slowlv he wao^oj'ed his tail with 
 little awkward jerks from side to side, and 
 looked round into his master's face as if to 
 say : ' / know who that is !' 
 
 Without, in the low-roofed hall, Charles 
 Mistley was relating some incident to Lena 
 and her mother. It was evidently amusino-, 
 because occasionally the somewhat monoton- 
 ous rhythm of his deep voice (the softest in 
 a drawing-room, and loudest in a gale) was 
 broken by a laugh ; clear and merry from 
 Lena, or soft and true from Mrs. Wrio^ht.
 
 240 YOUNG MI ST LEY. 
 
 At last the tale came to an end, and the 
 two voices were mingled in one happy burst 
 of merriment. 
 
 ' No, Colonel !' said Winyard, shaking 
 his head very wisely. ^ I think you had no 
 right whatever !' 
 
 And, with a low laugh, he passed out into 
 the hall to join the laughers there.
 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 ^Tl fT^HE little parish church of Broom 
 /^ ,^^ was remarkably full on the Sun- 
 ^^^^"^ ^ day morning following these 
 events. This fact was observed by the 
 young vicar without surprise, and moreover 
 without prejudice. 
 
 The Reverend Charles Renforth was a 
 Christian who managed fairly well to hide 
 the muscularity of his ideas ; but in the re- 
 cesses of his charitable heart there lay a 
 mighty worship for all strong things. Under 
 such heading he classed Charles Mistley, 
 having contracted a great friendship with 
 the young sailor during the short intervals 
 
 VOL. I. 16
 
 242 YOUNG MI ST LEY. 
 
 of holiday spent by the latter at Broom- 
 haugh. Of Winyard he had not seen so 
 much, but of his actual deeds knew more 
 Colonel Wright was a public man, and the 
 young parson read the newspapers assidu- 
 ously in his quiet little study, watching 
 events at home and abroad, and learning of 
 the deeds of Englishmen who serve their 
 country by wandering away from it. ' It 
 was never our Government that made us a 
 great nation. England was made by adven- 
 turers, not by its Government ; and I believe 
 it will only hold its j)lace by adventurers.' 
 These true words, written by the greatest 
 adventurer of the nineteenth century, apply 
 to such men as Colonel Wright and Winyard 
 Mistley, of whom there are many in our 
 very midst, unapj)reciated, unadmired, and 
 cast into the shade by a low type of hero- 
 worship, which takes for its idols wordy 
 politicians, mere ranters, wind-bags, and self- 
 seeking humbugs, unworthy of the name of
 
 YOUNG MISTLEY. 243 
 
 patriots. Such men, however, failed to 
 
 impress the athletic young parson of Broom. 
 
 His heart warmed towards a stronger type, 
 
 and the hardy old Colonel was his ideal 
 
 Englishman. 
 
 The Reverend Charles Renforth was 
 
 therefore by no means surprised when his 
 
 little church filled with unwonted faces and 
 
 unknown bonnets from Walso, and even 
 
 beyond that ancient burgh. Nor did he 
 
 take unto himself any undue credit by at- 
 
 tributinof this enlarofed attendance to a laud- 
 ed o 
 
 able desire to hear him discourse upon the 
 Scriptures. 
 
 He shrewdly suspected that these strangers 
 had come, not to worship by preference in 
 his church, but to see the well-known 
 Colonel Wright and his distinguished young- 
 coadjutor; yet he thought no worse of them 
 for that, and was honestly glad to see them 
 all, remembering that a seed sown by the 
 wind may well find a fruitful resting-place. 
 
 16—2
 
 44 YOUNG MISTLEY. 
 
 During the progress of the second lesson, 
 wherein there ^Yere many short pauses, the 
 vicar discovered a face among the congrega- 
 tion which, by reason of its unfamiharity, 
 called for further glances. It was that of a 
 young man — a pale, intellectual face with a 
 square jaw and closed lips, softened by a 
 pair of wondrous blue eyes, wherein lay the 
 shadow of anxiety or hopeless sorrow. The 
 gentle despair of those eyes disturbed the 
 reader, and awakened within his honest 
 breast that sympathetic yearning which the 
 coldest of us cannot but feel in the pre- 
 sence of one whom we know, or imaofine, 
 to be bearing the weight of a genuine 
 sorrow. 
 
 Ivan Meyer had not come to church from 
 mere curiosity, but with a set purpose. 
 Marie Bakovitch had been more incompre- 
 hensible than ever during the last few days, 
 and her patient lover was slowly awakening 
 to the fact that her mind was no longer
 
 YOUNG MISTLEY. 245 
 
 reliable. Nevertheless he hoped on ; but 
 to continue hoping and watching in silence 
 and alone was a heavy task for one of his 
 impulsive nature. He suddenly determined 
 therefore to seek assistance, and this from 
 Winyard Mistley himself Something in 
 his artistic soul, some strange love of a crude 
 contrast, prompted him to do this ; and so 
 convinced was he of the wisdom of his 
 appeal, that he had come to Broom Church 
 with a little note in his pocket to be passed 
 into Winyard's hand. 
 
 By chance the Colonel and his secretary 
 were sitting next to each other, forming, as 
 they invariably did, a striking contrast. The 
 old soldier sat motionless, with his powerful 
 gray head reclining against the panel of the 
 black oak pew — a calm and thoughtful face, 
 with eyes a little inclined to be dreamy at 
 times, and vacant in their gaze ; while Win- 
 yard, with his quick glance and erect head, 
 was the very incarnation of energy and
 
 246 YOUNG MISTLEY. 
 
 resource. Here was no dreaming, no 
 absence of mind, but a cheerful readiness to 
 face every emergency, and a merry sugges- 
 tion for every difficulty. 
 
 As the preacher preached, and looked 
 over the heads of his listeners, his eyes fre- 
 quently rested on the two men ; and every 
 time they did so, he felt humbled. He 
 could not help comparing and weighing in 
 the balance of his mind the relative merits 
 of words and deeds. His words, and the 
 deeds of these two men. His own work, he 
 was convinced, was the noblest that is placed 
 in the hands of man ; but at times it ap- 
 peared to him essentially a work of words, 
 and a young man at some period or other of 
 his existence is sure to conceive a sudden 
 hatred for the vanity of words. The ne- 
 cessity for action comes to us all at some 
 moments, and this usually happens between 
 the ages of twenty-five and thirty-five — 
 after the growing and before the vegetat-
 
 YOUNG MISTLEY. 247 
 
 ing period ; when the human plant has 
 attained its full height, but has yet to 
 form its own wood from a green and pliant 
 stalk, which, if slightly bent, will grow in 
 crookedness, hardening as its growth gains 
 force. 
 
 As the congregation trooped down the 
 narrow aisle, Winyard caught sight, for the 
 third time in his life, of Ivan Meyer ; and 
 in his eyes he saw the gleam of recognition 
 which is so difficult to conceal, and with it 
 he thought he detected a peculiar pleading 
 expression which he failed, at the time, to 
 understand. Without turning round to look, 
 he felt that the tall foreigner was im- 
 mediately behind him as he passed out of 
 the low door, and it was characteristic of his 
 readiness of mind that he showed no sur- 
 prise when a note was thrust rather clumsily 
 into his hand. He must have slipped it 
 into his pocket with wonderful celerity, 
 because he was shaking hands the next
 
 248 YOUNG MISTLEY. 
 
 instant with Miss Mabel Sandford, who ap- 
 peared to be completely satisfied with the 
 effect of her new summer costume. 
 
 Her interest in the theatricals was rather 
 too ostentatious ; and Mrs. Wright, with a 
 woman's quick insight, saw, as she came out 
 of the porch, that she was displaying her 
 intimacy with the young diplomate for the 
 sole benefit of her lady friends. 
 
 Mrs. Mistley had for some days been 
 trying to secure a t6te-a-tete with her son, 
 and with little difficulty she now succeeded 
 in arranging that they left the churchyard 
 together. For some moments the mother 
 and son walked side by side in silence, then 
 Winyard glanced over his shoulder, and 
 said : 
 
 * The Colonel has been caught by Old 
 Sandford, which means that he will not get 
 away for at least a quarter of an hour.' 
 
 Mrs. Mistley smiled vaguely, but made 
 no reply for some moments.
 
 YOUNG MISTLEY. 249 
 
 ' He told me yesterday,' she said at length, 
 ' that if any further mission were offered to 
 him, he would refuse. He says the work is 
 too hard for a man of his age !' 
 
 ^ Yes ... I know. He has often said 
 the same to me. . . . Perhaps it is better 
 that he should give it up, though of coui'se 
 that is a mere excuse. He is as strong as 
 ever, and as capable, but he has had a long- 
 life of wandering, and it has been weary work 
 for Mrs. Wrio^ht . . . and Lena. He feels 
 that, I know — he feels that Mrs. Wright's 
 life has not been an easy one, though she is 
 so brave and cheery. She seems to have no 
 relations, no sisters I mean, or brothers — or 
 even old friends.' 
 
 ' Only Laurance Lowe !' said Mrs. Mistley, 
 in a low voice full of gentle sympathy. 
 
 ' I do not understand Laurance Lowe,' 
 said Winyard thoughtfully. 
 
 ' Xo ... I think . . . very few people 
 
 do :'
 
 250 YOUNG MISTLEY. 
 
 They were now walking by the Broom- 
 water, and the ripple of the stream as it 
 danced and tumbled along filled in the inter- 
 vals of the conversation, and led to long, 
 thoughtful pauses. 
 
 'Tell me, Win,' said Mrs. Mistley at 
 length, with a hesitating glance towards 
 him. ' What do you think of doing in the 
 future V 
 
 ' I ?' he began vaguely. * Oh, I told them 
 at headquarters that I was ready to go any- 
 where at any moment !' 
 
 ' You have no thought of settling down 
 yet V gently and suggestively. 
 
 ' Settling down ?' 
 
 ' Yes ; marrying and going into Parlia- 
 ment, and behaving generally as a well-off 
 and somewhat ambitious young Englishman 
 ought to do, according to precedent !' 
 
 ' I have no respect for precedent, mother 1' 
 
 ' Nor I. But why not give up wander- 
 ing. Win, and go into Parliament V she asked
 
 YOUNG MISTLEY. 251 
 
 softly. * A man who has mastered a speci- 
 ahty, as you have this Russian question, is 
 certain to get on there.' 
 
 ^ But I have not mastered it yet.' 
 
 ' Weh — you and the Colonel are the ac- 
 knowledged authorities upon the matter. I 
 do not see what more you can require. 
 Whether you have mastered it or not, you 
 know more than any other man.' 
 
 ' Yes, but it is like exploring a new 
 country — there is no end to it. One must 
 keep up to the times and be ever in the 
 front, or it is useless competing. Once the 
 ground has been travelled over by another 
 man, the interest is lost. While I am here, 
 the Russians are not by any means idle ; and 
 if I started for Central Asia to-morrow, I 
 should find that thinofs had moved onwards 
 since I was there before — onwards for them, 
 backwards for us !' 
 
 ^ Then you have not altered your plans. 
 You intend to continue being a wanderer on
 
 252 YOUNG MISTLEY. 
 
 the face of the earth, a man whom the Cabi- 
 net keejD m sight, as being reckless enough 
 and clever enough to send on any wild-goose 
 chase thej may have in hand !' 
 
 ^ Do they keep me in sight on that account, 
 mother ?' 
 
 ' I was told so by a Minister.' 
 
 ' I am glad to hear it. A man may get 
 very good sport after wild-geese, and who 
 knows what may come of his knowledge of 
 the country at some future day ! I tell you, 
 mother, this is an age of specialities — univer- 
 sality is at an end. My speciality is this 
 Central Asian question. At any time, at 
 any moment, we may find ourselves upon the 
 brink of the biggest fight the modern world 
 has seen ; then my time will come. Then 
 the first words of the AVar Ofifice will be : 
 " Send for Colonel Wright and Winyard 
 Mistley " — the one to plan, the other to exe- 
 cute. When that time comes, mother . . . 
 nous verrons /'
 
 YOUNG MISTLEY. 253 
 
 ' In the meantime, it seems to me that 
 your entire Hfe is being sacrificed to be in 
 readiness for an event which may never 
 occm\' 
 
 * Ah ! Of course it may not come in my 
 time, but that is a chance I must be content 
 to run.' 
 
 ^ There is a view of the question which 
 you a^^pear to have overlooked. Win,' said 
 Mrs. Mistley, with quiet firmness. 
 
 ' Yes V 
 
 ^ Suppose you wished to marry !' As the 
 httle lady uttered these words she suddenly 
 raised her head, and looked keenly into her 
 son's face. 
 
 Beneath his moustache, Winyard slowly 
 drew in his lips as if to moisten them, though 
 the air was cool enough. 
 
 ' As the tree stands, so must it fall !' he 
 said with a sudden laugh. 
 
 ' Which being translated means ?' 
 
 ' That no man who feels the restless spirit
 
 254 YOUNG MISTLEY. 
 
 of the wanderer within him has a right to 
 ask a girl to marry him.' 
 
 He looked down at her, and smiled calmly. 
 
 ^ But the girl may be stronger than the 
 spirit.' 
 
 ' Temporarily V 
 
 ' No, permanently.' 
 
 ' I doubt it,' said Winyard. ' Look at a 
 case we have before us now. Colonel Wright 
 has never settled down.' 
 
 ^ Perhaps, Win, his wife has never asked 
 him to. Perhaps she has thought of his 
 career in life before her own happiness. 
 Women have been known to do that before 
 now.' 
 
 The practical young man looked doubtful. 
 
 ' And do you consider that her life has 
 been a success V he asked. 
 
 ' Most certainly I do. And you men may 
 be thankful that women have the power of 
 loving for love's sake ; that absence makes 
 but little difference with them. Especially
 
 YOUNG MISTLEY. 255 
 
 you, of the great army of wandering English- 
 men, who turn up in all parts of the world 
 with your brown faces and ready hands. 
 You are all the same ; the only soft part of 
 your hearts is reserved for the love of Nature ; 
 and unfortunately women love wanderers, 
 and soldiers and sailors, more than other 
 men.' 
 
 ^ Mother,' said Winyard, with a cheery 
 laugh, ' you are getting sentimental, and that 
 will never do. If you infect me, I shall die 
 off in a week. And as for talking in that 
 insinuating manner about settling down, 
 how about a certain elderly lady who is 
 always flying about the world — Scotland, 
 London, Paris, Rome, and even St. Peters- 
 burg — nursing the stricken, and consoling 
 such as are love-sick or martyrs to indiges- 
 tion ?' 
 
 ' When you marry I will settle down in a 
 cottage near at hand, take to needlework, 
 and worrv vour wife. There is Lena comino^
 
 256 YOUNG MISTLEY. 
 
 alone ; run away and meet her while I go 
 in and take off my bonnet.' 
 
 They were now upon the stone terrace, 
 and Mrs. Mistley pointed down the valley 
 as she walked towards the house. 
 
 ' I expect/ said Winyard partly to himself, 
 ' that Charlie has been caught by the Sand- 
 fords.' 
 
 At the head of the narrow steps which he 
 had just ascended, he drew the note handed 
 to him in church from his pocket. It was 
 in French, one line in a fine clear hand- 
 writing : 
 
 * Meet a friend to-night at the bottom of 
 the small stej^s. — /. M.' 
 
 ' I. M. !' mused Winyard — ' Ivan Meyer ; 
 and he calls himself a friend. I am gradually 
 getting into a fog with all these muddling 
 conspirators.' 
 
 Then he thrust the note back into his 
 pocket, and ran lightly down the steps to 
 meet Lena.
 
 YOUNG MISTLEY. 257 
 
 * You are polite !' was her greeting. 
 
 * I am,' he rephed, bowing low. ' I am 
 nothing if not polite.' 
 
 ' Then you are nothing,' she answered 
 saucily. 
 
 ' Thank you. I was afraid you did not 
 think much of me.' 
 
 ' You have allowed me,' she continued 
 severely, ' to walk home from church alone, 
 and to carry this unassisted.' 
 
 She held out for his inspection a tiny 
 Prayer-book, of which the weight might 
 safely be set down as three ounces. 
 
 ' Good gracious !' exclaimed Winyard, ' you 
 do not mean to say that you carried that all 
 the way !' And he gravely took the burden 
 from her hands. 
 
 ' I thought Charlie was with you,' he con- 
 tinued apologetically. 
 
 ' No, Mr. Mistley, I was alone.' 
 
 ' It shall not occur again, Miss Wright.' 
 
 * It is not polite to mimic people, Mr. 
 
 VOL. I. 17
 
 258 YOUNG MISTLEY. 
 
 Mistley,' said Lena, looking straight in front 
 of her. They were at the foot of the stone 
 stairs cut in the wall, which were just broad 
 enough for two persons to pass. Then her 
 humour suddenly changed. 
 
 ' How very foolish we are !' she exclaimed, 
 laughing. Just as she spoke, she slipped 
 backwards, and her laugh turned into a little 
 cry of fright. 
 
 Winyard, who was a step behind her, 
 appeared almost to have foreseen the mishap, 
 for his arm was round her before it was 
 possible to know whether she would have 
 fallen or not. It was doubtless owing to the 
 narrowness of the steps that he found it 
 necessary to throw his arm right round her, 
 instead of contenting himself by supporting 
 her with his hand. 
 
 ' Perhaps we are,' he observed gravely, as 
 she recovered herself quickly and passed on. 
 
 ' Perhaps we are what V she asked, keep- 
 ing her face studiously turned from him, and
 
 YOUNG MISTLEY. 259 
 
 plucking little tufts of lichen from the wall 
 as she passed. 
 
 ' Foohsh !' 
 
 ' I am, at any rate,' said Lena, with a little 
 lauofh. ' I never do remember that sillv 
 stej). The way it tilts forward when one 
 stands on it is most alarming. Now I am 
 sure you had forgotten it.' 
 
 * Excuse me, I remembered it.' 
 
 ^ And you did not warn me. Perhaps 
 you wished me to tumble down to the bottom, 
 and come to an untimely end in the depths 
 of the Broomwater.' 
 
 Winyard did not answer at once ; he 
 appeared to be pondering over the words 
 before he spoke them. 
 
 ' Perhaps,' he said in a voice so low that 
 Lena could scarcely hear it — ' perhaps I 
 wished to have the pleasure of saving you 
 from all that.' 
 
 Then the ingenuous youth changed the 
 conversation skilfully, knowing that maidens 
 
 17—2
 
 26o YOUNG MISTLEY. 
 
 are delicate in their susce23tibilities, and love 
 little a joke that is pressed too far. That 
 loose step, with its alarming weakness, was 
 never again overlooked by Lena ; and by 
 some strange sinuosity of her maiden mind, 
 abetted by her imaginative heart (an un- 
 fathomable shallow, all criss-cross currents), 
 she came to loving it beyond its forty-seven 
 mossy fellows. 
 
 Even gray, dead stones can be endowed 
 with individuality by the associations of a 
 past that never comes again. The power 
 and memory of them lie round us as we pass 
 on through life, like landmarks left behind 
 the westward-travelling wanderer, who, facing 
 the glorious uncertainty of sunset gold, turns 
 back and looks on that which he will never 
 see with quite the self-same eyes again. We 
 think that our ancestral halls are dear to us 
 by the power of their own individuality, but 
 it is not really so. It is the magic touch of 
 human sympathy, human love, and human
 
 YOUNG MISTLEY. 261 
 
 interdependence that awakens the quick thrill 
 of memory. All earthly things — and more 
 particularly all human things — live by past 
 association in the human heart. To this there 
 is but one exception — the sea, which, like a 
 wayward mistress, demands a life's devotion, 
 to be repaid by fickleness and cruelty. She 
 scorns all outward aid of human origin ; but 
 with simple blend of cloud, sunshine, and blue 
 water, offers a variety of aspect unequalled 
 by wood and mountain.
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 HE moon had bravely taken uj) 
 her nightly task of sweeping clear 
 the heavens. But there were 
 some huge clouds that promised to strain her 
 cleansing powers to the utmost. The good 
 folks walking home from church had clasped 
 tight their woollen wraps as they spoke of 
 coming rain ; but that was three good hours 
 earlier in the night, before the moon had risen 
 and set to work with all the ardour of a new 
 broom. Here and there in the clouded vault 
 little puffs of silvery white betrayed weak 
 spots in the canopy of vapour ; and through 
 these the white scavenger was boring as-
 
 YOUNG MISTLEY. 263 
 
 siduously, leaving no breach unattempted. 
 In some places she had even broken through, 
 and the stars twinkled faintly down towards 
 the labouring earth. 
 
 The cool night wind came smoothly over 
 the bare hills, moaning through the stately 
 fir-trees, while the smaller and more demon- 
 strative undergrowth of beech and thorn 
 rustled with the crispness of approaching 
 autumn already in their leaves. 
 
 Far up, on the hillside, some fond ewe, 
 whose maternal heart was not reconciled to 
 the inevitable, bleated dismally ; and after 
 waiting vainly for an answering cry, bleated 
 again, and wandered on over the brow of the 
 hill. The inevitable in her case was the 
 progress of little woolly legs from awkward- 
 ness to sprightly gambollings, and thence by 
 natural sequence to the dread companionship 
 of mint sauce. 
 
 Winyard Mistley sat on the stone sill of 
 his bedroom window, ten feet from the ground,
 
 264 YOUNG MISTLEY, 
 
 with his legs danghng in the darkness, and 
 listened absently to the distant lamentation. 
 It may be that he was picturing to himself 
 the lonely mother's clumsy anxiety as she 
 stumbled on, totally disregarding the in- 
 equalities in her own path, and gave forth 
 that unheeded wail to the grim hills and 
 laughing stars. 
 
 The ears of a man who has seen the darker 
 side of human nature become very keen, with 
 that blessed adaptability which characterizes 
 all our senses ; and Winyard was waiting for 
 the sound of a footfall or the crackle of a 
 branch on the little path far down below the 
 wall, knowing that in the stillness of night 
 he could not fail to hear it. 
 
 The monotonous cry of the sheep was not 
 the only sound of woe in the air, for in the 
 darkened room behind the solitary watcher 
 the silence was every now and then broken 
 by a little muffled whine. Adonis was allowed 
 to sleep in his master's room, and he was now
 
 YOUNG MISTLEY. 265 
 
 lamentino' o^entlv and continuously that it had 
 been considered expedient to attach him to 
 the bed-post on this occasion. Apart from 
 the indignity of being held j^risoner by such 
 an extremely domestic deyice, he felt deeply 
 that he had not been trusted to obey orders. 
 But Winyard knew the dog's simple character 
 too well. He knew well enough that while 
 the command was still fresh in his mind, 
 Adonis could be implicitly trusted to obey ; 
 but the most ardent watcher is open to a 
 sudden attack of sleepiness, and the shortest 
 nap ineyitably di^iyes an unsympathetic order 
 from the canine memory. This result Win- 
 yard wished to ayoid, as Adonis would un- 
 doubtedly haye undertaken a vigorous search 
 for his master despite such a trifling obstacle 
 as a ten-foot drop to the ground. 
 
 The scene w^as so loyely, the thousand 
 night-odours so sweet, that the time slip23ed 
 rapidly away, while the watcher almost forgot 
 to note its passage. He had been sitting
 
 266 YOUNG MISTLEY. 
 
 there nearly half an hour, when at length he 
 heard the rustle as if of some one moving 
 through the underwood upon the slope down 
 towards the stream. With a last whisper of 
 admonition to Adonis, he placed his two 
 hands on the window-sill and threw himself 
 far out into the darkness. He lighted softly 
 on the mossy turf, and crossed the lawn. 
 
 His eyes were now accustomed to the 
 darkness, and he could recognise the form of 
 each stately tree, drawn in sharp black fili- 
 gree against the gray sky. In the shadow 
 of the wall at the foot of the long flight of 
 steps, he soon discovered a tall figure leaning 
 against a tree, with the leisurely patience of 
 one who knows that his waitinof is not 
 vain. 
 
 For a moment it struck Winyard that if 
 this man had evil intentions, nothing would 
 be easier than to shoot him as he descended 
 the steps with the moonlight shining full 
 upon his face ; but the thought was only
 
 YOUNG MISTLEY. 267 
 
 fleetino', and untino^ed with anv likelihood of 
 tui-ning to a fear. 
 
 As the young Englishman approached, 
 Ivan Meyer stej^ped forward, and, with an 
 artist's ever-present love of harmless efiect, 
 raised his hat as he said : 
 
 ^ MonsietLT Mistley V 
 
 Winyard was one of those mifortunate 
 people whose sense of hmnour is irrepressible 
 — unfortunate, because it invariably strikes 
 at the wrong moment, and because the pos- 
 session of it makes one see deeper pathos in 
 everyday life than those whose smile is 
 slower. The incongruity of the whole affair 
 suddenly forced itself into Winy ard's thoughts, 
 and he was thankfid that his face was in the 
 shade as he raised his hat slowly and coldly, 
 with a truer knowledge of dramatic effect 
 than Ivan Meyer possessed. 
 
 ' I am Winyard Mistley,' he explained. 
 ' It is, perhaps, my elder brother with whom 
 monsieur wishes to converse.'
 
 2 68 YOUNG MISTLEY. 
 
 It may have been that Meyer thought he 
 detected a shght shade of irony in the for- 
 niahty of this reply, for he instantly dropped 
 the ceremonious mode of address in the third 
 person. 
 
 ' No, monsieur, it is yourself whom I seek,' 
 he said, with a nervous hesitation which did 
 not fail to raise him considerably in his com- 
 panion's estimation. ^ You will pardon my 
 indiscretion, but I was hard pressed before I 
 sought assistance — you can believe that ?' 
 
 With characteristic foresight the young 
 Englishman began to wonder how much 
 money he had about his person, as he bowed 
 in acquiescence. 
 
 Instantly Ivan Meyer saw that his words 
 had been misconstrued, and hastened to ex- 
 plain. 
 
 ^ I am here,' he said, in a tone showing more 
 self-assertion, ' to ask a strange favour !' 
 
 ^ I will endeavour to assist you — Mon- 
 sieur . . . ?'
 
 YOUNG MISTLEY. 269 
 
 ' Meyer — Ivan Meyer. I am a Russian 
 by nationality ; a Swede by rights, for I am 
 a native of the Baltic Provinces.' 
 
 Again Winyard bowed, and waited with 
 the same unsympathetic silence for further 
 information. 
 
 * You know the name of Marie Bakovitch, 
 monsieur V 
 
 ' I do.' 
 
 * She is at present in Walso, near to 
 here.' 
 
 ' Do you come to me on the j^art of made- 
 moiselle ?' asked the Englishman somewhat 
 coldly. 
 
 * No ; I come on my own account.' 
 
 ' Indeed !' Winyard moved restlessly from 
 one foot to the other, and by casting glances 
 up at the clouds, down towards his own boots, 
 and indiscriminately around, indicated gently 
 that he was not desirous of prolonging an 
 interview with this mysterious youth. 
 
 Suddenly Ivan Meyer took courage, and
 
 2 70 YOUNG MI ST LEY. 
 
 stepping closer to his companion, he said 
 passionately : 
 
 ' I come to you because you have ruined 
 my life. I am the lover of Marie Bakovitch. 
 Her love for me, or the prospect of winning 
 it, was the one bright spot in my existence, 
 which has been as dark as that of every 
 young Russian. For her I worked night 
 and day, in the hopes of one day becoming a 
 great artist ; for her sake I would willingly 
 have thrown my life awa}^ But for her 
 sweet influence I would have become a 
 Terrorist, fighting a glorious battle by means 
 so foul that God can only frown upon the 
 righteous side and uphold the tyrant. For 
 her sake I forgave my father's exile, my 
 mother's death, my own miserable childhood ; 
 and, just at the moment when happiness 
 seemed within my reach — when I felt sure 
 of winning Marie's love, you rose upon the 
 bright horizon of my joy — and now . . . now 
 you are driving her mad. I should have
 
 YOUNG MISTLEY. 271 
 
 hated you ; at one time I thought I did, but 
 now I know that it is not you but your 
 power that I hate. I have known of Marie's 
 project for a year, and have ever since striven 
 to make her give it up. It is not for your 
 sake that I have done this, but for hers — 
 nevertheless, I have some claim upon you. 
 Surely I am justified in calling upon you 
 now, in the name of the Blessed Virgin, to 
 obey me — to come, now, with me to Marie 
 Bakovitch !' 
 
 ' But,' said Winyard with true British 
 calmness, which appeared almost cruel in its 
 striking contrast to Meyer's excitement — 
 ' but what good can I do ?' 
 
 ^ I do not know — we are in the hands of 
 Providence ; but she is for ever askino- for 
 you !' replied the Russian defiantly. 
 
 ' For me f 
 
 ' Yes ; in her moments of calmness the 
 name of Mistley is ever on her lips, and 
 when she becomes excited she attempts to
 
 272 YOUNG MI ST LEY. 
 
 come out to seek you. I have locked her 
 in our httle sitting-room, promising to come 
 and find you. Sometimes I think she is 
 mad, monsieur, and at other moments I 
 think I am so myself. Will you come ? I 
 have provided for everything. Marie is 
 calmer to-night, but she never sleeps now. 
 Mrs. Armstrong, our landlady, has her room 
 in an outbuilding — all Walso is asleep ; it is 
 safe !' 
 
 Still Winyard hesitated ; Ivan Meyer 
 evidently did not know of the meeting by 
 the stream, he reflected ; and the sight of 
 the man she had attempted to murder might 
 have a terrible effect upon the girl. 
 
 ' Is it . . . possible . . . that you think this 
 a traj) V asked Meyer slowly. 
 
 That decided the young Englishman. 
 
 ' I will go with you,' he said simply. 
 ^ The thought you suggest never entered my 
 head.' 
 
 ' Thank you, monsieur. The way is not
 
 YOUNG MI ST LEY. 273 
 
 long if we go by the fields. The path is too 
 narrow for us to walk together — shall I lead 
 the way V 
 
 ' I think I know this path better than 
 you ; I will go first.' 
 
 ' I thought . . .' began Meyer, and then 
 suddenly cheeked himself 
 
 Winyard turned, and in the moonlight 
 the two young men looked into each other's 
 eyes for a moment in silence. The English- 
 man was smiling, but his companion was 
 grave. 
 
 ' You thought V said the former interroga- 
 tively. 
 
 ' I thought that you might consider your- 
 self at an undesirable disadvantage.' 
 
 With a shrug of the shoulders and a short 
 laugh, Winyard turned again and led the 
 way. At the first they were silent, but 
 later, when they were able to walk side by 
 side, they talked — or, to be more correct, 
 Meyer talked while his companion listened. 
 
 VOL. I. 18
 
 274 YOUNG MISTLEY. 
 
 Thus they made their way across the dewy 
 fields together — the artist and the diplomate, 
 one whose feehnofs are his sfreatest aid and 
 virtue, while to the other such commodities 
 must necessarily be a drag and hindrance. 
 The impetuous foreigner, transparent as the 
 day in his unreserved sorrow, and the cool 
 Englishman with his ready smile, as impene- 
 trable as the ripple on the surface of a 
 mountain lake, which hides the depth and 
 dissembles unsuspected recesses beneath the 
 glance of superficial merriment. 
 
 The young Russian made no pretence of 
 talking on general topics. Marie Bakovitch 
 was the one interest of his life, and of her 
 he spoke with that nawe enthusiasm which 
 is less apt to make us smile when it is ex- 
 pressed in French. To Winyard, however, 
 these raptures had a peculiar interest, and 
 he was far from laughing at them. Gradu- 
 ally he learnt the true character of the girl 
 who had devoted a year of her life to the
 
 YOUNG MISTLEY. 275 
 
 quest of his, and the more he learnt the 
 more he wondered. It is difficult for a 
 strong man, whose control over his mind 
 and heart is almost as great as that exercised 
 over the more mechanical j^ortions of his 
 bodv, to understand the character of a mrl, 
 passionate yet weak, firm and yet febrile, 
 like Marie. Still more difficult is it for him 
 to sympathize with such a character. In 
 his eyes the j)assion has no grandeur, it is 
 mere weakness ; the firmness is nought else 
 than unreasoning obstinacy. As Meyer 
 talked on, Winyard was half ashamed to 
 find that he could only despise Marie and 
 pity her lover. It is not a pleasant sensa- 
 tion for a young man to feel that he despises 
 a girl, especially if she be young and beauti- 
 ful, as this strange maiden undoubtedly was. 
 The thought jars against his sense of chivalry, 
 and seems almost a sacrilege ; it upsets, 
 once and for all, one of youth's most precious 
 illusions. 
 
 18—2
 
 276 YOUNG MISTLEY. 
 
 With a man's impartiality (for no woman 
 ever yet placed both sides of a question on 
 an even footing — thank goodness !) Win- 
 yard combined the happy possession of an 
 intuition delicate and sensitive as that of a 
 woman. It is by aid of this mental sensi- 
 tiveness that women o-ain in a short con- 
 versation, or even a momentary glance, an 
 impression which was never conveyed by 
 words, or passed from eyes to eyes. It 
 comes — and there, long after the remem- 
 brance of the accompanying incidents has 
 passed awa}^ it is found like the precious 
 deposit at the bottom of a gold-digger's 
 pan. 
 
 Upon Winyard's mind this midnight con- 
 versation — the only one he ever had with 
 Ivan Meyer — left a distinct impression, with- 
 out, however, any reasoning to bear it up. 
 No doubt the more delicate machinery of a 
 woman's mind would have turned out neater 
 handiwork; but such as it was, the impression
 
 YOUNG MISTLEY. 27; 
 
 was there : and ever afterwards he knew and 
 felt that Marie had never loved Ivan Meyer, 
 and that therein lay the explanation of her 
 strange conduct.
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 HE streets of Walso were deserted 
 when the two men entered the 
 httle town. The moon, now raj^idly 
 clearing the heavens of a few fleecy clouds 
 that still remained, shone placidly down upon 
 the gray- stone houses with their red-tile 
 roofs. No window was lighted up, and the 
 clean white blinds gave back the soft moon- 
 light, and seemed to sjjeak of healthy, 
 quiet slumber, the rew^ard of a hard day's 
 toil. 
 
 Meyer opened noiselessly the door of Mrs. 
 Armstrong's cottage. 
 
 ' I covered the windows,' he said in a
 
 YOUNG MISTLEY. 279 
 
 whisper, ' from inside, so that one cannot see 
 the light of the lamp.' 
 
 Winyard followed his guide into the dark 
 passage, closing the door behind him. A 
 moment later his companion pushed open 
 that of the tiny parlour, and a stream of 
 light poured out on to the plain wall and oil- 
 cloth-covered floor. 
 
 ' Come, monsieur,' he said, after glancing 
 into the lighted room ; and as Winyard 
 obeyed he mechanically and critically noted 
 the hideous pattern of the oil-cloth upon the 
 floor. 
 
 Marie was seated near the table, with 
 both arms resting upon its dull red cover. 
 The soft lamp-light gleamed upon her flaxen 
 hair, and defined her white profile against the 
 dark wall beyond. She turned her eyes 
 wearily towards the door as the two men en- 
 tered, but there was no light of recognition 
 in her face. It was at that moment that 
 Winyard was struck for the first time by the
 
 28o YOUNG MISTLEY. 
 
 wonder of her great beauty. He had never 
 before seen her without her hat, and in the 
 soft hght her lovely supple hair had a gleam 
 of gold upon it, borrowed from the lamp's 
 rays. Her light blue eyes looked darker by 
 the same reason, and from the red table- 
 cloth there arose a pink glow which cast 
 over her pallid face a rosy hue of life. But it 
 was a soulless life, and the young Englishman 
 winced as he met those vacant, pleading eyes. 
 
 Meyer motioned him to stand aside in a 
 corner near the ' ikon,' where the tiny oil- 
 lamp flickered little ruby shafts of light across 
 the holy picture. Then he approached her 
 and said : 
 
 * Marie, I have brouofht him.' 
 
 The girl took not the slightest notice ; in- 
 deed she did not appear to hear his voice, 
 but sat gazing dreamily at her own hands 
 lying idly on the table before her. And 
 now the patient lover went to her side, and 
 laid his hand upon her lifeless wrist.
 
 YOUNG MISTLEY. 281 
 
 * Marie !' he whisjjered, speaking Russian 
 for the first time in Mistley's presence. 
 ' My little Marie ! I am Ivan — do you not 
 know me V 
 
 She slowly raised her eyes from the con- 
 templation of her own hands, and fixed them 
 searchingly on his face. 
 
 ^ Ivan !' she said at length, in a sweet deep 
 voice. ' You have come alread}" ! Are they 
 waiting to take me away ?' 
 
 ' Who, my Marie V 
 
 ' The soldiers, for I have killed him — I 
 have killed him !' Her voice died away to 
 a whisper. 
 
 ' No, you have not killed him, Marie. 
 He is here !' said Meyer, speaking slowh^ as 
 one speaks to a child. 
 
 ' Who is here V 
 
 ' Winyard Mistley — he has come at your 
 own request !' 
 
 ' No, Ivan ; no ! I shot him at the 
 stream. I killed him. I will never see him
 
 .282 YOUNG MI ST LEY. 
 
 again, for he is dead. I told him to stop, 
 but he came nearer ; he never took his eyes 
 off mine — he never hesitated ; and as he 
 <jame — as he looked at me — I thouQfht it was 
 the other. He looked so brave and calm, 
 but . . . but the other is bigger . . . bigger 
 and braver !' 
 
 When Winyard was excited, or at moments 
 when his nerves were on tension, awaiting 
 the time for action, he had a peculiar habit 
 of drawing in his lij^s, first the lower and 
 then the upper, as if they were j^arched 
 and needed moisture. This action made his 
 square jaw look squarer, and by sympathy 
 his gray eyes grew dogged and dark beneath 
 the motionless lashes. 
 
 All this time he had been standing in the 
 darker corner of the little room, with keen 
 observant eyes upon the lovers. One brown 
 hand was religiously executing Mr. Czerny's 
 Xo. I. five-finger exercise on the top of an 
 old three-cornered oak cupboard ; and his
 
 YOUNG MISTLEY. 283 
 
 lips \Yere slowly iDoistening each other. 
 Perfectly calm and collected, watchful, alert, 
 and keen, he waited his time. At last he 
 stepped forward, and with a little sign to 
 Meyer to let him speak, he said : 
 
 ' Xo, Mademoiselle Bakovitch ; you are 
 entirely mistaken. You did not shoot me.' 
 
 The girl looked up at him with eyes 
 vague at first and wondering ; but gradually 
 the rays of a reasoning soul shone through 
 them, and with a motion of her hand towards 
 the soft hair over her temple, she spoke : 
 
 ' You — here,' she said ; ' you ! Why have 
 you come ? Where is the other ? He does 
 not come. I want him ; not you.' 
 
 She rose from her seat, and wandered 
 vaguely up and down, glancing at the two 
 men from time to time furtively, with 
 troubled, distrustful eyes. It seemed as if 
 reason had completely forsaken her brain, 
 for she murmured incoherently in a strange 
 medley of lano^uao-es. After a few moments
 
 284 YOUNG MISTLEY. 
 
 she suddenly recovered her senses, and ap- 
 peared to recognise the two men again. It 
 was a terrible sight, and even Winyard 
 Mistley looked pale and bewildered, while 
 his companion watched Marie with the dull 
 calmness of despair. 
 
 With a gesture, which was almost a com- 
 mand, he bade her resume her seat, and then 
 in a masterful tone he spoke : 
 
 * Mademoiselle,' he said, ' I must ask you 
 to leave England at once. You will return 
 home, and immediately send in your resigna- 
 tion to the Society of Patriots on account of 
 your approaching marriage with Monsieur 
 Meyer, which will disqualify you as a mem- 
 ber. Have I your promise that you will 
 leave here — if not to-morrow — as soon as 
 possible ? I ask this of you, though it is in 
 my power to command. And now I beg of 
 you, for the sake of Ivan Meyer, for the 
 sake of all you love on earth, to give up 
 for ever your connection with any political
 
 YOUNG MISTLEY. 285 
 
 society. Politics are not for women ; it is a 
 man's work — leave it to men. Every woman 
 who has meddled with them has brought 
 misery to herself and sorrow to those who 
 loved her.' 
 
 The girl slowly raised her e^^es to his, and 
 watched his earnest face as he s2)oke. There 
 must have been something strange in her 
 gaze, for the young fellow winced beneath 
 it. It had never been his lot to look on 
 genuine, hopeless misery before ; but he in- 
 stinctively recognised what he saw in those 
 sad blue eyes. 
 
 ' I will go,' said Marie softly. 
 
 Then Winyard mechanically moved to- 
 wards the door. AVith a silent inclination 
 of the head, he left them. Meyer alone 
 returned the salutation, but did not stir from 
 his position near to Marie Bakovitch. 
 
 With deliberate care and noiselessness, the 
 young Englishman passed out into the pas- 
 sage, and raised the latch of the outer door.
 
 286 YOUNG MI ST LEY. 
 
 The little street lay silently in the white 
 moonliofht, which touched the old houses and 
 moss-grown tiles with a fairy-like glint. As 
 he paused on the threshold, he heard a quick 
 footstep behind him, and Ivan Meyer stood 
 at his side. 
 
 ' You see,' he whispered, ' she is going 
 mad !' 
 
 In all and through all, Winyard Mistley 
 was eminently practical. 
 
 ' Are you quite alone V he asked. ' Have 
 you no friends in England ? Has she no 
 maid, even, with her V 
 
 ' Yes ; she has a maid who is now sleeping 
 in her room. She is young, but intelligent.' 
 
 ' You must rouse her. Let her persuade 
 mademoiselle to go to bed, and she must 
 remain by her side to-night. In the morn- 
 ing, if mademoiselle is better, you must get 
 her away from here at once. If ... if she 
 is worse, send to me, and my mother will 
 come to her ... a woman will know best
 
 YOUNG MISTLEY. 287 
 
 what is to be done. I cannot understand 
 . . . anything ; but I am convinced that 
 mademoiselle is not going mad : it is only 
 temporary. I think it must be what is 
 called hysteria. Have you no friends in 
 England V 
 
 ^ We have but one — a Monsieur Jacobi, of 
 London.' 
 
 ^ Monsieur Jacobi, of London . . . who is 
 he V asked Winyard. 
 
 ' I know him very slightly ; but he has 
 been kind to Marie. He is a musician, and 
 . . . and is connected with some society ta 
 which Marie belongs.' 
 
 Winyard shook his head. 
 
 ' He is no good then,' he said. ' You 
 must go to your Consul, that is all. If I 
 do not hear from you by eleven to-morrow 
 morning, I will know that you have left 
 Walso ; but if you require assistance of any 
 description, write to me or telegraph at 
 once. Put my name in full — Winyard —
 
 YOUNG MISTLEY. 
 
 W-i-n-y-a-r-cl — in the address, so that no 
 mistake can arise. Do not thank me, for I 
 have done nothing yet. Good-night.' 
 
 And so they parted. With everything to 
 make them bitter enemies, they had yet been 
 friends. Their acquaintance had been of but 
 a few hours' duration, for they never met 
 again. To one it was a mere incident in a 
 busy hfe, a few hours taken from the many ; 
 an unavoidable divergence from the clearly- 
 defined path of his career, to aid a straggler 
 on the mountain-side. To the other, it was 
 an event of some importance in an existence 
 overshadowed by persistent ill-fortune. It 
 was a ray of light upon the darkness, which 
 only passed away and left the shadow deeper 
 by comparison. 
 
 Ivan Meyer re-entered the cottage, and 
 closed the door. Marie was waiting for him 
 in the little parlour. She was sitting by 
 the table, and her attitude was characterized 
 by a peculiar stillness which had no feeling
 
 YOUNG MI ST LEY. 289 
 
 of repose about it. He stood watching her 
 for some moments with weary, vearnino- eyes 
 and hao-aard face. 
 
 ' Marie/ he said at length, in a voice that 
 was no longer pleading as of old, ' let us 
 understand each other.' 
 
 ' Yes, Ivan,' she rejolied softly. ' What 
 do you not understand V 
 
 He came nearer, and, leaning one hand 
 upon the back of her chair, he bent over 
 her. 
 
 ' Will you do what the Enoiishman 
 asks?' 
 
 * Yes,' she replied in a dull voice. 
 
 * All ?' he asked, with trembling lips. 
 
 ^ Yes, Ivan — all. We will go to i^merica 
 as you desire. Oh ! I am so tired — my 
 head is throb binof ! I will o^o to bed now. 
 Good-night, Ivan !' 
 
 She rose and extended her hand to him. 
 In a wondering manner he raised the deli- 
 cate fingers to his lips — very tenderly, very 
 
 VOL. I. 19
 
 290 YOUNG MI ST LEY. 
 
 lovingly — and held the door open while she 
 passed out. 
 
 Then he dropped into a chair, and sat 
 staring stupidly at the paraffine lamp till the 
 distant chime of two o'clock aroused him, 
 and sent him mechanically to his room. 
 
 Winyard Mistley walked slowly through 
 the peaceful fields. He had lighted a be- 
 loved briar-wood pipe, and in the calm air 
 the transparent puffs of smoke rose with a 
 pensive regularity. He noted the soft mist 
 lying over the lowlands by the river ; he 
 followed the bold outline of the distant hills 
 against the glowing heaven, wondering at 
 the lace-like fineness of the trees, each tiny 
 branch of which stood in dark relief — and 
 yet he was not thinking of these darksome 
 glories. The hurried scuttle of an occasional 
 mouse in precipitous retreat disturbed him 
 not, for he knew the night, and loved it with 
 the love of an Oriental. 
 
 A few hours before, he had felt only an
 
 YOUNG MISTLEY. 291 
 
 unchivalrous contempt for Marie Bakovitch 
 — the contempt of a strong and steadfast 
 mind for a weak and wavering — and now 
 there was nought but pity in his heart. A 
 change brought about by one long glance of' 
 her mournful eyes, and he despised himself 
 a little for this same Christian weakness — 
 pity. 
 
 ' I know now,' he said to himself beneath 
 the still night sky — ' I know now why 
 women invariably come to grief over jjolitics. 
 It is because they cannot separate the two 
 lives — the political life and that of a woman. 
 There is something in this beyond me alto- 
 gether — something that I cannot get at. 
 Another fellow is mixed up in it, that is 
 certain ; but who he is, and what he is, and 
 where he comes in, goodness knows ! The 
 ^•' other," she calls him, and somehow it 
 sounds like Charlie, which is of course ridi- 
 culous . . . unless . . . bv Georofe ! . . . unless 
 she has mistaken him for me, and he has 
 
 19 — 2
 
 292 YOUNG MISTLEY. 
 
 been playing the same trick on me as I have 
 been playing on the Colonel. But all that 
 is practically impossible. There was some- 
 thing about the expression of her face that 
 I cannot understand . . . perhaps some day 
 I will.' 
 
 His thoughts then drifted on in other 
 channels, and he increased his pace. 
 
 END OF VOL. I. 
 
 BILLING A SONS, PRINTERS. GJILDKORD. 
 
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 Vol.1
 
 UNIVERSITY OF ILLINOIS-URBANA 
 
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