PHYliklDA 
 
 pIsOI^ENCE MaHI^YAT
 
 *l
 
 
 ./'>.W
 
 /^ 
 
 f
 
 P H Y L L I D A,
 
 The Popular New Novels at all Libraries. 
 
 TWO MEN AND A MAID. By Harriet Jay, Author oi 
 ' The Queen of Connaught,' etc. 3 vols. Second Edition. 
 
 'Compared with the former works of the authoress of "The Queen of 
 Connaught," this novel must be pronounced second to xiouq.'— Graphic. 
 
 ' The gradual building up of the incidents preceding the wedding and 
 the dim foreshadowing of catastrophe are managed with such skill as tc 
 produce the greatest exxitement of expectation.' — Sunday Times. 
 
 ' Abounding in pathetic incidents and strongly dramatic situations.' — North 
 British Daily Mail. 
 
 TWO RIVAL LOVES. By Annie L. Walker, Authoi 
 of 'Against Her Will,' etc. 3 vols. 
 
 MY SISTER THE ACTRESS. By Florence Marryat, 
 Author of 'A Broken Blossom,' etc. 3 vols. Second Edition. 
 * Will be read through with 2i\\.d.\ty.'— Court Journal. 
 
 WITH COSTS. By Mrs Newman, Author of * The Last 
 of the Haddons,' etc. 3 vols. 
 
 ' Is both clever and entertaining. The writer carries the reader pleas- 
 antly along, and sustains his interest until he has read the last.' — Athencezmi. 
 
 ' "With Costs" is a well-written story.' — John Bidl. 
 
 'We have here a most exciting tale of true love.' — Court Circular. 
 
 THE LOVE THAT LOVES ALWAY. By E. Owens 
 Blackburne, Author of ' A Woman Scorned,' etc. 3 vols. 
 ' Is sure to give pleasure to many readers.' — Morning Post. 
 A RUINED LIFE. Translated from the French of De 
 Rochfort by S. Russell. 2 vols. 
 
 'The English reader will find a great deal to instruct and to astonish.' 
 — St. Jantes' Gazette. 
 
 ALICE WARNER. By Mrs John Allen. 2 vols. 
 
 ' Will please the majority of novel r&a.6.Qrs.'— Court Jojirnal.
 
 P H Y L L I D A, 
 
 A LIFE DRAMA. 
 
 BY 
 
 FLORENCE MARRY AT 
 
 (Mrs FRANCIS LEAN), 
 
 AUTHOR OF ' love's CONFLICT,' ' MY SISTER THE ACTRESS, 
 ETC., ETC., ETC. 
 
 IN THREE VOLUMES. 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
 LONDON : F. V. WHITE & CO., 
 31 SOUTHAMPTON STREET, STRAND, W.C. 
 
 1882. 
 
 \All Rights re served. "[
 
 COLSTON AND SON, PRINTERS, EDINBURGH.
 
 4 
 
 PHYLLIDA. 
 
 PROLOGUE. 
 
 HE reading of that letter seemed 
 to exhaust Nelson Cole's stock 
 of patience, for before he had 
 t finished it he lerked it from his hand, whence 
 r^ it fluttered to the ground. 
 > ' Crow awa^^ my bantam ! ' he said to 
 §; some imaginary listener, as he lit a cigar 
 ^ and elevated his legs until they formed a 
 Tright angle with the mantelpiece. * Crow 
 
 ^ 
 
 away ! You will have discovered your error 
 
 .i 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 2 Phyllida, 
 
 long before you come to my age. Your 
 theory is all very well as a theory, but it 
 won't wash, my Saint Bernard, it wont 
 wash/ But after a while spent in watching 
 the rings of cloudy blue smoke, with which 
 he was doing his best to fill the apartment, 
 Nelson Cole seemed to determine that his 
 friend's letter was too good to lie upon the 
 floor, for he took the trouble to bring his 
 legs down to their normal position in order 
 that he might pick it up, and smooth out its 
 creased pages on his knee. ' Poor dear 
 Freshfield,' he thought, somewhat con- 
 temptuously as he did so, 'he is a deal 
 too good for such a naughty world ! He 
 sees no further beyond him than a week-old 
 puppy. He ought to come to this country 
 to get his eyes opened. He'd see a few 
 marriages here and a few women that would 
 make him view his impossible ideal in its 
 proper light. How can a man live to eight- 
 and-twenty and remain so green ! ' 
 
 The letter, as it lay smoothed out on
 
 Phyllida. 3 
 
 Nelson Cole's knee (or at least the part 
 that had so much amused him), ran thus : — 
 
 * You ask me if I think of marrying again. 
 No ; my dear Cole, that page of my life is, 
 I believe, closed for ever. Not that I have 
 lost the wish or the power to love, far from 
 it — the difficulty is, that in discovering what 
 I have missed, I seemed to have realised 
 a paradise which is too great for attainment. 
 Let me try and explain myself. You know 
 that I married, partly to please my mother, 
 partly to satisfy my conscience. My wife 
 was pretty, amiable, well-bred, and fond of 
 me. We never had a differing word in the 
 course of our married life, and I am sure 
 that she never disreg^arded a wish that I 
 expressed. Added to all this, I had a ten- 
 der affection for her, which I still retain 
 for her memory. You will ask me then 
 what more I could desire, and I cannot tell 
 you, excepting this, that our union did not 
 include the union of our souls, and our 
 separation leaves mine still hungering to
 
 4 Phyllida. 
 
 find its mate. I was fond of poor Alice, 
 and I mourned her loss ; but, at the same 
 time, I could have loved fifty other women 
 as well as I loved her, and all at once, if 
 the laws of my country had permitted it.' 
 ('Hullo!' said Nelson Cole, 'here's a nice 
 specimen of an English parson. This is 
 what they call a " muscular Christian," I 
 suppose. Why, the fellow will be wanting 
 to keep a harem next.') 
 
 ' Now that is not the feeling one should 
 have respecting one's wife. xA. man should 
 as soon be inclined to be untrue to himself 
 as to her, or to have another self as another 
 wife. Once wedded, should be wedded for 
 eternity, and death should come as a veil 
 only, not as a divorce betwe^en man and 
 woman. There should never be a second 
 marriage. Cole ; there never could be, if the 
 first proved the true union of soul to soul. 
 I have made one mistake, you see, but I 
 will never make another. My eyes have 
 been opened, and the next awakening would
 
 Phyllida. 5 
 
 be far more terrible than the first. Of 
 course my mother will not admit my argu- 
 ment. She is a good mother to me, but 
 she holds to the old-fashioned idea that 
 parsons and doctors should be married men 
 for the sake of their patients, as if one could 
 preach truth all the better with a lie in one's 
 right hand. 
 
 ' No, Cole ! I believe I shall die as I 
 live, but I shall go through the world with 
 my eyes open, and should I happily succeed 
 in finding my soul's mate, whether she be 
 clothed in rags or satin, seated on a dung- 
 hill or a throne, I will woo her till she is 
 mine. But do not imagine that I believe 
 in the possibility of such happiness — I only 
 dream of it, as men dream of heaven.' 
 
 ' Yes ! and you may go on dreaming, my 
 boy,' said Nelson Cole, as he twisted up the 
 paper, and threw it this time upon the burn- 
 ing fire ; ' and you will die dreaming, take 
 my word for it 1 Your " soul's mate," indeed ! 
 Show me the women with souls, and I'll
 
 6 Phyllida. 
 
 soon find tHe men to mate with them. But 
 I question with the followers of Mahomet, 
 if women have such things. The Lotties 
 and Dottles and Tottles of the present day 
 go far to persuade us they have not. And 
 your theory is a dangerous one, Saint Ber- 
 nard ! Going In search of your *' soul's mate " 
 will lead you to wooing your neighbour's 
 wife perhaps — or striking up a paradisiacal 
 wedding with your housemaid. I am fond 
 of this boy with his Puritanical Ideas and 
 close-shorn monkish face, and wish I could 
 go to England and look after him a -bit. 
 But it can't be just yet, and I must content 
 myself with a letter of sound practical advice. 
 The lad was always a dreamer with those 
 blue eyes and white cheeks of his. Ah ! 
 wait till you come to forty, Bernard, then 
 you'll know how much a woman is worth 
 striving for, or grieving after.' 
 
 So thinking, our cynical friend reached 
 down his hat and overcoat, and prepared to 
 leave the house. He was a sojourner In the
 
 Phyllida, 7 
 
 city of Chicago, in the United States of 
 America, at this time ; but only for a brief 
 period. His profession, that of a civil engin- 
 eer, had led him out to the New World some 
 years before, and he had been reaping the 
 golden profits of an experienced hand and 
 clever practical brain ever since. He had 
 been employed in laying down railroads in 
 several of the States, and began to feel him- 
 self quite a naturalised American, especially 
 as he w^as well known, and sure of a welcome 
 in most of their hospitable cities. In Chicago 
 he felt himself peculiarly at home, having 
 many old friends settled there, and as he 
 strolled towards the principal theatre, he 
 knew that he should be met by a score of 
 outstretched hands. And from the male 
 portion of creation, Nelson Cole deserved 
 the cordiality extended to him. He was a 
 man of about fifty — grey-haired, keen-eyed, 
 clear-headed, and critical — a bit of a philo- 
 sopher w^ithout an atom of romance in his 
 composition, and w^ishing to be thought more
 
 8 Phyllida. 
 
 hard and bitter than he naturally was. Es- 
 sentially a man's man : fond of sport, politics, 
 late hours, and bachelors' parties, and es- 
 chewing — like the evil one — all assemblies 
 where the female element predominated, or 
 was the principal attraction. 
 
 What Nelson Cole really thought of women 
 few of his own sex had ever heard. He sel- 
 dom mentioned them ; apparently they en- 
 gaged his thoughts as little as though they 
 did not exist. Some men thought that he 
 must have been cruelly disappointed or 
 betrayed in his early days : others that he 
 actually felt as little as he professed to do. 
 But whatever their speculations, Nelson 
 Cole remained a thorough good friend and 
 boon companion to themselves. It was past 
 eleven o'clock as he entered the theatre 
 saloon, and the bar was crowded with noisy, 
 chattering, young men. The babble was 
 so great, and the discussion so animated, 
 that his entrance was at first altogether 
 disregarded, and he had time to gather
 
 Phyllicla. 9 
 
 some notion of the subject of which they 
 spoke. 
 
 ' They say he has dismissed her — it's a 
 d — d shame ! ' cried one. 
 
 * I don't see that. I think she fully de- 
 serves it. The woman was intoxicated,' 
 replied another. 
 
 * Intoxicated !' interrupted a third con- 
 temptuously, as though that word were far 
 too weak. ' She was drtcnk — drunk as an 
 owl ; ' and then the chorus swelled indis- 
 criminately. 
 
 ' But it's the first time, and it's deuced 
 hard a girl should lose her bread for a single 
 offence.' 
 
 ' How do you know it's the first time ? — 
 not likely. A woman tries it on a good 
 many times in private before she ventures 
 to appear before the public in that condition.' 
 
 *Of whom do you speak ?' asked Nelson 
 Cole, and then the general attention was 
 diverted to him. 
 
 ' Oh ! here's Cole. How are you, Cole,
 
 TO Phyllida. 
 
 old fellow ? Glad to see you, my boy ! * and 
 so on and so on. But amongst them all 
 Nelson Cole addressed but one. 
 
 'Jack Neville!' he exclaimed, 'can I be- 
 lieve my eyes ? Where do you hail from ? 
 I thought you were safe in San 'Frisco.' 
 
 The man he spoke to, a fine, handsome, 
 sun-burned fellow of about thirty, coloured 
 visibly even beneath the tan of a Californian 
 sun. 
 
 ' Oh, I left 'Frisco long ago, and have 
 been lounging about the South for the last 
 six months,' he replied hurriedly. * I — I — 
 got into a bit of a scrape down there, you 
 know ! ' 
 
 'And serve you right, my boy, for herd- 
 ing with such a rascal as that Sandie Mac- 
 pherson,' said Cole. ' I told you what 
 he was from the beginning ; and I only 
 hope you've shaken yourself free of his 
 clutches.' 
 
 * Be careful. Cole ! some one may hear 
 you,' interposed the younger man. * Mac-
 
 Phyllida. \ i 
 
 pherson's friend, Pawley, was at the bar 
 not two minutes ago ! ' 
 
 * Pawley may hear me or not,' replied 
 Cole loudly. * Nothing would give me 
 greater pleasure than to have an oppor- 
 tunity of settling old scores with that de- 
 testable Scotch rascal.' But men, as a 
 rule, dislike a disturbance in a public place, 
 especially if it does not concern themselves, 
 and the other loungers at the bar com- 
 menced to crowd about Cole, and reiterate 
 the news that had occupied them on his 
 arrival. 
 
 ' Only fancy, Cole ! poor little Stephanie 
 Harcourt.* 
 
 * That pretty girl, with the blue eyes and 
 golden hair.' 
 
 ' Blue eyes, Marshall ? What are you 
 talking about ? her eyes are as black as 
 night.' 
 
 * Black eyes — rubbish ! Why, the girl is 
 as fair as she can be.' 
 
 ' I tell you, her eyes are black, or nearly
 
 T 2 Phyllida, 
 
 so ; I've been close to them, and ought to 
 know.' 
 
 * Well, well, never mind her eyes ! ' inter- 
 rupted Nelson Cole impatiently. What's 
 the matter with the girl ? ' 
 
 ' Why, she came in so drunk in the 
 burlesque to-night that she couldn't stand, 
 and Evans has dismissed her from the 
 theatre.' 
 
 ' That's nonsense ! she could stmid fast 
 enough ; only she had had a little too much, 
 and forgot her part.' 
 
 ' Broke down entirely in her singing, 
 and you know S'he had the song of the 
 evening.' 
 
 ' Who is Stephanie Harcourt ? ' demanded 
 Cole in an indifferent tone, addressing Jack 
 Neville, who stood next him. 
 
 ' I don't know,' answered Jack slowly, as 
 he moved away. 
 
 'She's quite a beginner — only been on 
 the boards a few months — and I think it's 
 awfully hard lines on her to get her dis-
 
 Phyllida, i -^ 
 
 J 
 
 missal for a little mistake,' said another 
 young man. Nelson Cole's hard voice fell 
 like cold water on his enthusiasm. 
 
 * Drunkenness is never a little mistake 
 with women : when they once begin, they go 
 on, and Evans is quite right to check the 
 first symptoms of it by a summary dismissal. 
 He'll find plenty of girls to take Miss Har- 
 court's place. There are more than enough 
 of them in the world, heaven knows.' 
 
 * You didn't expect to get any sympathy 
 out of Cole, I suppose ?' laughed some of the 
 men at the drinking-bar, as the person they 
 spoke of elbowed his way from amongst 
 them, and went to the private room of his 
 old friend, the manager, where, after a little 
 desultory conversation, he contrived to bring 
 the subject round to Miss Stephanie Har- 
 court's offence. 
 
 ' Sorry to hear you had a fracas on the 
 boards to-night, Evans.' 
 
 ' Yes, a disgraceful business ! Little Har- 
 court perfectly intoxicated ! I was rather
 
 1 4 Phyllida. 
 
 afraid of it from the beginning. She's a 
 strangely excitable girl.' 
 
 ' Got connections in Chicago ? ' 
 
 * Don't know, I'm sure. I've heard some 
 report of her being married, but I don't 
 trouble myself about the affairs of my com- 
 pany outside the theatre. But I was obliged 
 to make an example of her. I had no end 
 of trouble last year with a woman named 
 Harrison, who went on in the same way, 
 so I gave Miss Harcourt her dismissal then 
 and there.' 
 
 ' Shall you miss her ? ' 
 
 ' Not much. She's a sharp girl, but no 
 particular talent, and I fancy she'll not find 
 it easy to get employment on the boards 
 again in this city.' 
 
 ' Not when you've made a public example 
 of her from your theatre, certainly,' replied 
 Nelson Cole, with apparently the utmost 
 indifference to Stephanie Harcourt's fate. 
 Yet the girl's pathetic eyes and mouth, 
 which he had noticed but cursorily in his
 
 Phyllida. 15 
 
 visits to the Athenian Theatre, seemed to 
 haunt him strangely for the remainder of 
 the evening, and when he rose to return 
 home, he passed out by the stage door 
 and asked the porter if he knew Miss 
 Harcourt's address. 
 
 * I can't say I do, sir ; but I think that 
 lady can tell us. Miss Vavasour,' he con- 
 tinued, addressing a tall, closely-veiled figure 
 about to cross the threshold, ' can you 
 tell this (gentleman where Miss Harcourt 
 lives?' 
 
 The veiled Avoman turned, and regarded 
 Nelson Cole somewhat suspiciously. 
 
 * She lives with me,' she replied, with 
 caution ; ' do you wish to send her a 
 message ? * 
 
 * Are you her friend ? ' asked Nelson Cole, 
 stepping out into the street beside her. 
 
 * I am, sir. Are you ? ' 
 
 ' I should wish to be. Miss Vavasour ! I 
 feel for the misfortune that has overtaken 
 her this evening, and if she requires assist-
 
 1 6 Phyllida. 
 
 ance — It Is a delicate thing that I would say, 
 but perhaps you understand me — ' 
 
 ' It Is a kind thing, sir,' replied the actress, 
 they were walking slowly on together by this 
 time, ' and In her name I thank you for It. 
 Her dismissal from the Athenian Is a very 
 serious matter, for she has no other means of 
 support, but I hope she may get work some- 
 how. You mustn't think this Is a habit with 
 her, sir — Indeed — Indeed — It Is the first time 
 she has ever so transgressed. I have known 
 her for eighteen months, and I can swear to 
 It ; but Mr Evans would not take my word.' 
 
 * And what was the occasion of this 
 first transgression. Miss Vavasour ? Do you 
 knov/ ? ' 
 
 ' I am not sure if I should be justified in 
 disclosing Stephanie's secrets, sir ; but she 
 has had great trouble. I can tell you so 
 much, and an old friend met her out to-day 
 and told her some good news, and took her 
 in and treated her to dinner somewhere, and 
 I think it was the load off her mind and the
 
 Phyllida. 1 7 
 
 excitement and the champagne altogether 
 that did it.' 
 
 * Poor child ! no wonder it had an effect 
 upon her. But what will she do now for a 
 living ? ' 
 
 ' I don't know, sir ! You had better ask 
 Stephanie herself. It is here that we live 
 together. This is our door ! ' 
 
 ' Thank you for the information. Ot 
 course I cannot intrude to-night, but to- 
 morrow perhaps, if you would prepare Miss 
 Harcourt for my appearance — ' 
 
 But he had not had time to finish his sen- 
 tence before the door of the house was thrown 
 open, and Stephanie Harcourt appeared upon 
 the threshold. 
 
 ' Bella/ she cried to her friend hysteri- 
 cally, ' it is all over. I am dismissed without 
 salary, and I can't even pay you my share of 
 the week's rent ! The sooner I go to the 
 Tombs with that scoundrel the better ! ' 
 
 * Hush, hush, dear ! there is a stranger pre- 
 sent,' said Miss Vavasour compassionately. 
 
 VOL. I. B
 
 1 8 Phyllida, 
 
 But the 2:irl was too excited to heed her 
 
 o 
 
 caution. 
 
 * I mio^ht have known misfortune was at 
 hand,' she went on passionately, ' for I met 
 him to-day, you know who I mean — my evil 
 genius. There has always been trouble for 
 me following in the wake of Sandie Mac- 
 pherson.' 
 
 At that name, heard for the second time 
 that evening, Nelson Cole started ; but he 
 was too much a man of the world not to 
 conceal his surprise. 
 
 ' Stephanie ! this gentleman wishes to be 
 your friend, but this is not the time for you 
 to speak to him. Come in now and let us 
 go to bed, and to-morrow, when you are 
 more composed, perhaps he will come and 
 hear the story of your troubles,' said Miss 
 Vavasour. 
 
 * I shall never be more composed,' replied 
 the girl incoherently. I have had so little 
 good luck in my life. Why couldn't they 
 have left me the little I possessed. But now
 
 Phyllida. 19 
 
 I've lost everything, and I might just as well 
 be in the Tombs with him as starving in the 
 streets of Chicago. Oh, those horrid dreary 
 Tombs ! Why did I ever meet Jack ?' 
 
 ' Come in, come in,' whispered her friend, 
 in a soothing voice. 
 
 Nelson Cole tried to make his escape 
 without further parley. 
 
 ' I will call to-morrow afternoon,' he said, 
 as he lifted his hat and turned away. 
 
 * Do you know Sandie Macpherson ? ' 
 screamed Stephanie after him, and that 
 name from her lips seemed somehow to 
 send a chill through him. 
 
 What connection this poor little burlesque 
 actress in Chicago could possibly have with 
 the desperate and evil-disposed gold-digger 
 of Sacramento Valley, whose villainy had 
 cast a secret shadow over his own life, he 
 could not imagine ; but the fact of her having 
 mentioned his name would have drawn him 
 to her side again, without the inducement 
 of wishing to befriend her poverty. He
 
 20 Phyllida. 
 
 tried to persuade himself, in his free and 
 easy manner, that the whole affair troubled 
 him but little ; but the fact is that it troubled 
 him very much, to the extent of preventing 
 his going to sleep till the early morning, and 
 not waking up until it was time to keep his 
 appointment with Miss Harcourt. But when 
 he reached her presence, it was a very dif- 
 ferent person who presented herself to him 
 from the flushed and dishevelled Bacchante 
 of the day before. It was a very pale and 
 miserable-looking girl — half frightened and 
 half ashamed — whom Miss Vavasour dragged 
 rather than led into the room to be intro- 
 duced to him. There was none of the 
 brazen defiance of a woman used to vice 
 in Stephanie Harcourt. 
 
 She looked rather like a child who had 
 been detected in some fault and brought up 
 for punishment. 
 
 She knew now what had befallen her the 
 night before ; and it was so terrible to be 
 presented to this grave, elderly man, who
 
 Phyllida. 2 1 
 
 had seen her a prey to the most disgusting 
 •vice of which a woman can be guilty. But 
 the worldly view that Nelson Cole took of 
 the matter reassured her. If he had looked 
 shocked, the girl would have shrunk from 
 his scrutiny. Had he sympathised w^ith her, 
 she would have broken down, — but he treated 
 it as a matter of every-day occurrence, as in- 
 deed it unfortunately was with the women he 
 was most in the habit of seeing. 
 
 * Come, come. Miss Harcourt,' he said, 
 as she held backward, ' this has been an un- 
 fortunate accident ; but accidents will happen, 
 as we all know, in the best regulated families. 
 You will not be surprised to hear that your 
 face is well known to me, as it is to most 
 of the inhabitants of Chicago, and perhaps 
 your friend here, Miss Vavasour, has told 
 you that if I can be of any assistance to 
 you in this dilemma, I will. I am an old 
 man, you see, and you need have no scruples 
 in accepting my help. What can I do for 
 you ?'
 
 22 Phyllida 
 
 ' Can you get me other work ? ' demanded 
 the girl shyly. 
 
 * Perhaps I can. At all events I will 
 try. What do you wish to do ? Do you 
 intend to apply for another engagement in 
 Chicago ? ' 
 
 * Oh no ; anything but that — anything but 
 that,' cried Stephanie, with visible repug- 
 nance. ' I could not bear the shame of 
 another public appearance here. If there 
 were only work that I could do to be pro- 
 cured in the country — in the open peaceful 
 country.' 
 
 * Do you love the country, then ? ' 
 
 * Oh ! to find oneself there,' continued the 
 girl excitedly. ' To wake up and find oneself 
 amongst the primroses and violets, and the 
 cool, cool grass, and the leafy trees and wav- 
 ing corn, and to know that one had done for 
 ever with the noise and glare of the town, 
 and the cruel bricks and mortar that seem to 
 press upon one's heart, and keep all the joy 
 and freshness of life from bubbling over.'
 
 Phyllida. 2 3 
 
 * Stephanie, do think what you are say- 
 ing ! ' exclaimed Miss Vavasour. 'The 
 gentleman asked you what work you would 
 like best. You must excuse her wandering, 
 sir/ she continued to Nelson Cole, ' for she 
 is still weak and feverish, and I don't think 
 she half knows what she is talking about.' 
 
 * Pray, let her talk as she will — I am in- 
 terested in all she can tell me,' he replied ; 
 and,- indeed, a colder man than himself must 
 needs have felt some interest in the ultimate 
 fate of the beautiful creature before him. 
 For Stephanie Harcourt was beautiful, with 
 more than the mere physical beauty of 
 colour and shape. She was about eighteen 
 years of age, with a graceful figure of middle 
 height — a head of rippling golden hair — 
 whether natural or artifical Nelson Cole 
 was not skilled enough to determine, and 
 pathetic eyes of some deep neutral tint, 
 which looked just now like the eyes of a 
 hunted animal. But her greatest charm lay 
 in the far-off look of those eyes, as if her
 
 24 Phyllida, 
 
 soul saw more 'that was presented to her 
 earthly vision, and was filled with high and 
 glowing thoughts. As Nelson Cole gazed 
 upon those upturned eyes, they reminded 
 him of — he knew not what — and he turned 
 away with a shudder. 
 
 * Have you ever lived in the country, Miss 
 Harcourt ? ' he asked her presently. 
 
 * No ! no! Never! I have been reared 
 amongst the glare and the gas of cities. I 
 can remember nothing but the smell of liquor 
 and the sound of oaths, and the clash of the 
 dice and the billiard balls, and the horrid, 
 horrid bricks and mortar.' 
 
 * You must have had a strange experience ? ' 
 ' Ah ! you would say so if you knew all 
 
 I have passed through before I came to 
 Chicaoro — all the horrors that I saw in San 
 Francisco. How I wish,' she went on 
 passionately, * that that place and every- 
 thing connected with it, down to its very 
 name, might be burned off the face of the 
 earth ! '
 
 Phyllida. 2 5 
 
 * You mustn't excite youself like this,' said 
 Nelson Cole. * It Is giving way to their 
 feelings after that fashion that makes people 
 forget themselves, as you did yesterday.' 
 
 * But that was an accident — indeed it was ! 
 How could I imagine a little wine would 
 affect me so ? And Jack said it would do 
 me good. And we laughed and talked so 
 much I did not notice how often he filled 
 my glass, and I felt so well and happy until 
 I walked out of the keen frosty air into the 
 theatre, and then, somehow, all the lights 
 seemed to close round me, and my head 
 felt like a feather, and I seemed to be float- 
 ing somewhere between the flies and the 
 stage, until a crash came and I fell down. 
 But it was all Jack's fault. He ought not 
 to have given me so much champagne.' 
 
 ' Is Jack your husband ? ' 
 ' Who told you I had a husband } * 
 ' You see I know it.' 
 
 'Ah! and so you may! Everyone may 
 know it now, if they choose, for it can't last
 
 26 Phyllida. 
 
 long. Jack my husband ! Oh no ! he's 
 only a friend ; but we came across each 
 other yesterday in the streets, and he gave 
 me news of him that drove me mad.' 
 
 ' Not mad with grief, I hope.' 
 
 ' No ! no ! mad with joy ? And what do 
 you think the news was ? That he's locked 
 up for two years in the Tombs for forgery. 
 Two years! Two long, blessed years. And 
 I shall be free before he comes out, Bella, 
 shan't I ? ' she cried, as she cast herself into 
 the arms of her friend. ' Free from him 
 and from all of them. Free to bury my 
 secrets in the sea ; free from that awful 
 curse — ' 
 
 * Hush, dear, don't talk so fast. Yes, 
 yes, you shall be free, if there's any justice 
 or truth in the laws of our country. But, 
 meanwhile, you must live, you know, and 
 this gentleman is kind enough to say that 
 he will help you, and I do think if he would 
 assist you to go to your friends for a little 
 while, and try and forget all this misery
 
 Phyllida, 2 7 
 
 before you turn your thoughts to work 
 again, that it would be the kindest thing 
 he could do.' 
 
 ' Never fear,' said Nelson Cole, ' but that 
 I will perform all that I have promised. 
 Meanwhile, Miss Harcourt, your disclosures 
 have interested me very much. May I ask 
 the name of your husband ? ' 
 
 * Oh yes ; it is no secret. He is a 
 Brazilian, called Fernan Cortes.' 
 
 * And — pardon me, he is a rascal ! ' 
 
 ' The greatest rascal that ever existed, sir.' 
 
 * My poor child, how came you to marry 
 him?' 
 
 ' I can't tell you that. I was frightened 
 into it in a way that you would hardly 
 understand. Only, thank heaven, I am 
 now delivered from him.' 
 
 * But after his two years' incarceration are 
 over, he will come out again and claim you.' 
 
 ' I will have broken the chain by that time. 
 I will have gone far away where he shall 
 never find me.'
 
 28 Phyllida, 
 
 ' And you met Cortes in San Francisco ?* 
 
 * Yes, sir.* 
 
 *And that scoundrel Sandie Macpherson 
 had some hand in your marrying him ? ' 
 The girl's cheek became as white as ashes. 
 ' Who has told you that ? ' 
 
 * No one. I guessed it' 
 
 ' You have guessed wrong, sir. But I hate 
 Macpherson. God forgive me. I hate him 
 like my life.' 
 
 * You share the feeling with many others. 
 He is a man universally detested.' 
 
 * But few know him as I do,' murmured 
 the girl ; * all his cruelty, his artifice, his 
 secret crimes. And my poor mother — can I 
 ever forget her ? ' 
 
 * He injured your mother too ?' 
 
 ' Ah, sir, do not ask me to speak of it ! 
 Whom has he not injured ? But when you 
 hear me talk of the peace and quiet of the 
 country, as if I were talking of heaven, 
 remember that I can never disassociate 
 the rattle and bustle and glare of the
 
 Phyllida. 29 
 
 town from the thought of cruelty and 
 crime.' 
 
 Nelson Cole left his seat and began to 
 pace up and down the room. 
 
 * Did you live long In California ? ' he 
 asked. 
 
 * Many years. All my life, until I came 
 here.' 
 
 ' Did you ever happen to meet there, — a 
 a — anybody of the name of Summers ? ' 
 
 * A woman ? ' Inquired Stephanie inno- 
 cently. 
 
 ' Yes ; yes ; well — a — a — woman.' 
 
 * No ; I never knew any woman there 
 except my mother, till she died.' 
 
 ' And you said yesterday that you had 
 seen Sandie Macpherson in this town ? ' 
 
 * Oh yes, sir ; I met him suddenly,' with 
 a shudder ; * but he did not see me, and so 
 I escaped him.' 
 
 ' One would think from the way you 
 mention him, that this man had a hold on 
 YOU, Miss Harcourt.'
 
 J 
 
 o Pkylltda. 
 
 Stephanie glanced meaningly at her friend 
 before she answered. 
 
 * No — not a hold — only — I am afraid of 
 him/ 
 
 ' And you would like to get far away from 
 all the places where you are likely to meet 
 him again ? ' 
 
 ' Ah ! so much — so much ! ' 
 
 ' Well, I will put you in the way of doing so. 
 There ; no thanks. I have more money than 
 I know what to do with myself — and if a 
 few dollars can benefit you, you are welcome 
 to them. But I suppose you ought to know 
 my name. I am Nelson Cole the engineer, 
 and you shall hear from me again in the 
 course of the day.' 
 
 So saying, this eccentric man, without a 
 sino-le dance of admiration at the beauti- 
 ful girl, who was sitting with her head bowed 
 in her hands like a repentant Magdalen, 
 seized his hat, and with a curt ' Good after- 
 noon/ left the two women by themselves. 
 And as he returned to his hotel, he was
 
 Phyllida. 3 1 
 
 ready to laugh at himself for a fool for 
 having been taken in by swollen eyelids and 
 a downcast countenance. 
 
 * What is this girl to me,' he thought 
 impatiently, as he traversed the streets, ' that 
 I should offer to throw away my money 
 upon her ? A trumpery little burlesque 
 actress who chooses to disgrace herself by 
 drinking champagne with any Jack who 
 invites her to celebrate with him her hus- 
 band's arrest for forgery. And I must needs 
 put my finger in the pie and offer to provide 
 her with liquor for the next six months. I 
 am a fool, and no mistake. And yet there 
 is somethinor in the child's voice and look 
 
 o 
 
 that attracts me in spite of myself. I don't 
 believe she can be all bad ; however, appear- 
 ances are against her. Well, I've done the 
 job now, and I can't draw back from it. I'll 
 send her a bill for two hundred dollars to- 
 morrow, and wash my hands of the whole 
 affair.' 
 
 For the names of San Francisco and
 
 3 2 Phyllida. 
 
 Sandie Macpherson rankled more In Nelsoi 
 Cole's mind than all the troubles of Steph- 
 anie Harcourt. They had raised up the 
 old bull-dog feeling in his breast, which for 
 years he had attempted to quell by never 
 mentioning the man whom he hated, nor 
 thinking of him more than was absolutely 
 necessary. 
 
 Yet here he was in the same town as 
 himself, and Nelson Cole felt as if it were 
 impossible for him to sleep until they had 
 met, and had it out with one another. 
 
 But an excellent dinner had the power 
 to soothe much of his resentment, and when 
 it was concluded, he prepared, as usual, to 
 finish up his evening at the theatre. 
 
 As he was putting the finishing touch to 
 his attire before the mirror, some thought 
 of Bernard Freshfield's last letter suddenly 
 struck him, and he burst into a loud laugh. 
 
 ' Oh, my saintly parson, with the Impossible 
 theory,' he exclaimed, ' you should see the 
 end of a few of the marriages that are made
 
 Phyllida. 33 
 
 In heaven before you attempt to foist your 
 ideas of an eternal union on the world. 
 The ignoramus ! why, his marriage with his 
 Alice — innocent, inoffensive, and quickly 
 brought to an end — was the true ideal had 
 he only known it ! Where will he ever find 
 such another wife — to live with him peace- 
 ably for two years, and leave him a free 
 man at the end of them ? He has had the 
 luck of one in a ' thousand. Yet he con- 
 tinues to whine after the true soul union. 
 Bosh ! What would he say if he could see 
 poor little Harcourt getting tipsy for joy, 
 because her husband is locked up for two 
 years, or knew of — of — a dozen other cases 
 I could name where men have commenced 
 their married lives with passionate con- 
 gratulations, and ended them by cursing 
 all mankind ? 
 
 ' My Saint Bernard decidedly wants his 
 eyes opened for him, and they'll be opened 
 some day by a woman of a different type 
 from his beautified Alice. 
 
 VOL. I. 'c
 
 34 Phyllida, 
 
 ' Well, well — It matters little. The only 
 question Is, whether It Is possible to save 
 a man from such suffering, or desirable to 
 save him If It were possible. We must all 
 live and learn. But the man who theoreti- 
 cally places woman on such a high pedestal 
 as Freshfield does, Is sure to find out his 
 mistake. Woman was never meant for a 
 pedestal. She Is out of our reach there ; 
 we want her In our arms. Consequently 
 madam has to be pulled down and show 
 her feet of clay. If we could only be con- 
 tent to worship them from a distance, or 
 keep them under a glass-shade, how long 
 they would last. But I mustn't forget my 
 promise to the poor child, who tumbled so 
 unmistakably from her little pedestal last 
 night.' 
 
 So saying he enclosed a bill for two 
 hundred dollars In an envelope, addressed 
 to Miss Harcourt, and strolled off to the 
 theatre, as if he had never done a kind 
 action in his life. He searched eagerly
 
 Phyllida. 
 
 , - oj 
 
 there for Jack Neville, but he was nowhere 
 to be seen. 
 
 'Jack Neville !' exclaimed an old Chicago 
 man, who knew everything and everybody. 
 * You wont meet him here to-night, my boy. 
 He's levanted to the South again ; went off 
 like a shot directly he heard a rumour that 
 that old black-leg Macpherson was in the 
 town.' 
 
 * And quite right of him too/ said another 
 voice. ' Neville's burnt his fineers once in 
 the company of Sandie Macpherson, and the 
 less he's seen with him in the future the 
 better.' 
 
 ' Well, he needn't have been in such a 
 blazing hurry with respect to Sandie this 
 time,' interposed a third speaker, ' for the 
 old man wasn't twenty-four hours in the 
 town, and only passed through on his way 
 from New York.' 
 
 ' Is he gon,e again ? ' demanded Nelson 
 Cole. 
 
 ' That is so, sir. Sandie Macpherson is
 
 o 
 
 6 Phyllida. 
 
 not the man to stay where he isn't sure of a 
 welcome, and he is too well known to our 
 force to be able to walk the streets of Chicago 
 with any comfort by daylight. So he showed 
 his sense by making tracks, sir, as soon as 
 his business with us was concluded.' 
 
 * It is as well, perhaps, for him that he 
 has,' replied Nelson Cole ; and the subject 
 was dropped amongst them. A few days 
 after, a lurking desire to learn Stephanie 
 Harcourt's plans, and to assure her that 
 Chicago was delivered from the presence 
 of her enemy, led him again to the actress's 
 door, where he was met by Miss Vavasour 
 alone. 
 
 ' Oh, Mr Cole ! ' she exclaimed, ' I have 
 been longing to see you, or to leave your 
 address that I might deliver Stephanie's 
 thanks to you for your goodness and gener- 
 osity.' 
 
 ' She received my letter, then ? ' 
 
 * Indeed, she did. It conveyed new life to 
 her. She left Chicago the very next day ! '
 
 ' She has left already ! You surprise me. 
 Where has she gone ? ' 
 
 *That I cannot tell you, for I do not 
 know myself. I agreed with Stephanie, 
 that since her desire is to lose herself in 
 a new name and a new existence, that it 
 was best no one should share the secret. 
 Oh ! she has suffered terribly, sir ; her 
 young life has been a chapter of horrors. 
 You have done a most benevolent action 
 in aiding her to escape from its conse- 
 quences ! ' 
 
 ' I hope she may escape them, but I 
 question if it is possible. Anyway, she is 
 safely out of the city, and has friends, I 
 suppose, to go to ? ' 
 
 * Yes, sir ; she has connections, I believe, 
 on the mother's side, with Avhom she can 
 find a refuge. But I must not forget the 
 packet she left for you.' 
 
 She went to a drawer and produced 
 thence a tiny parcel tied up in paper, and 
 directed to himself. He opened it. It con-
 
 38 Phyllida. 
 
 talned an ordinary wedding-ring, and these 
 words : — 
 
 * Dear Friend, — I am too poor to give 
 you anything but my thanks. But keep 
 this! It was my mother's wedding-ring. 
 It is my best possession. It will remind 
 you sometimes that I was not ungrateful 
 for your goodness. Stephanie.' 
 
 ' Rubbish !' exclaimed Nelson Cole roughly ; 
 * what did the girl mean by leaving me this ? 
 What does she suppose I can want with her 
 mother's wedding-ring ? ' 
 
 ' It was all she had, sir,' said Miss Vava- 
 sour mildly ; * and she was very grateful for 
 your kindness to her.' 
 
 * Stuff and nonsense ! You shouldn't have 
 allowed it. Can't you send it back to her ? ' 
 
 * I do not know her address.' 
 
 * She will write to you.' 
 
 * I do not think so. I think she has gone 
 away from us for ever.' 
 
 ' Well, I suppose I must keep it ; but it
 
 Phyllida. 39 
 
 was an absurd idea on the girl's part. What 
 the d — 1 am I to do with somebody else's 
 wedding-ring ? ' 
 
 He shoved it awkwardly in his waistcoat 
 pocket as he spoke, and having wished Miss 
 Vavasour good-day, turned into the street 
 ao^ain. He would not have confessed the 
 fact to himself, nor any other control for the 
 world ; but he felt quite disappointed to find 
 that Stephanie Harcourt had left Chicago 
 without wishing him good-bye, or leaving 
 any trace of her destination. 
 
 And when he reached home he transferred 
 the little scrap of paper and the old wedding- 
 ring carefully to a safe corner of his dispatch 
 box, where they could neither be discovered 
 nor disturbed. 
 
 And then Nelson Cole went on his way 
 through the busy hard-working world, and 
 except for an occasional remembrance that 
 made him smile rather than sigh, he forgot 
 all about his adventure with the little actress 
 in the city of Chicago.
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 T was a bright, beautiful afternoon 
 in the height of summer — not a 
 miserable, humbugging, makeshift 
 for a summer, such as we have had for the 
 last ten years, but a real, good, old-fashioned 
 one, like those that Adam and Eve enjoyed 
 in Paradise, before rain and cold joined 
 leaofue with the other curses of mankind 
 to come out of their proper season. This 
 had been and was still a glorious time, 
 when all the fragrant essences of grass and 
 herbs were drawn out by the hot sun, and 
 perfumed the land long after he had sunk 
 to rest, when the tangled blossoms rioted
 
 Phyllida. 41 
 
 over the flower-beds In the profusion of 
 their bearing, and the branches of the fruit 
 trees and bushes, over-weighted, hung to 
 the ground, and the earth was warm and 
 dry from early morn to dewy eve. 
 
 The noble acacias on the lawn of Blue 
 Mount formed leafy bowers of themselves, 
 and under the shade of one of them, in her 
 ordinary dress, without fear of the exposure, 
 sat Mrs Freshfield knitting. Mrs Fresh- 
 field was always knitting. No one ever 
 encountered her sitting or standing on a 
 week-day without a huge ball of worsted 
 and two or four large wooden pins in her 
 hands. What she manufactured, or what 
 became of the products of her labour, re- 
 mained a mystery. The shelves of her 
 mahogany wardrobe w^ere piled with pounds 
 of wool of various colours, which gradually 
 became drawn into the general web and 
 disappeared, to be replaced by more ; but 
 where it went to in the form of stitches 
 Mrs Freshfield seemed unable to account
 
 42 Phyllida. 
 
 for. Her daughter Laura declared she made 
 petticoats for old sinners, who sold them as 
 fast as they received them, so that each 
 pensioner wore out about half-a-dozen In 
 the course of twelve months. But Mrs Fresh- 
 field was strictly pious, and in the habit of 
 sternly repressing Laura's profane jests. 
 She had not been a young woman when 
 she married her late husband, John Fresh- 
 field, the Sheffield merchant, who bought 
 Blue Mount and its surroundings as a re- 
 treat for his old age. Mrs Freshfield had 
 been extremely pious even in those days, 
 but her piety had not prevented her marry- 
 ing the Sheffield merchant on account of 
 his money. 
 
 Surely we have seen such things in the 
 world before. A golden bait is almost as 
 Irresistible to the elect as to the ungodly — 
 only they call their temptation by a dif- 
 ferent name. Mrs Freshfield thought that 
 Mr Freshfield's riches would prove such a 
 snare to him that he would require a help-
 
 Phyllida, 43 
 
 meet like herself to counteract their evil 
 influence. She married him to convert him 
 (so she said), but she never succeeded in 
 doing so, for he died as hardened an old 
 sinner as he had lived, begging his physician 
 with his last breath to keep his wife and her 
 cant out of his room. Thus deprived of 
 the triumph of making a saint of her hus- 
 band, i\Irs Freshfield turned her attention 
 to her children. There were two of them 
 — Bernard and Laura, and although they 
 were young people who dared to think for 
 themselves in certain matters, they had cer- 
 tainly so far profited by their mother's train- 
 ing, that the young man was pure and 
 refined and religious in his ideas to a degree, 
 extraordinary in this age of free thought and 
 unbridled actions ; and the girl, though light- 
 hearted and full of fun, was as delicate and 
 modest as any English girl could be. 
 
 Mrs Freshfield was an old woman. She 
 had numbered nearly forty years when Ber- 
 nard was born to her, and he was now past
 
 44 Pkyllzda. 
 
 elght-and-twenty, and from the first she 
 had always destined this unlooked-for bless- 
 ing to the ministry of the church. Bernard 
 had been brought up from an infant with the 
 knowledge that he was to be a parson, and 
 a parson he had consequently become. His 
 father had left him ample means, and he had 
 no need to work ; but it was his mother's 
 wish, and he never dreamt of disputing it. 
 Perhaps he sometimes regretted that he had 
 yielded so easily ; he had his own thoughts 
 and ideas about a parsons duty, and they 
 clashed occasionally with the rules set down 
 for him ; but, if so, he did not express his 
 regrets openly, but laboured as faithfully 
 as he could for the good of the inhabi- 
 tants of Bluemere. 
 
 He did not live with his mother. On the 
 occasion of his marriage he had taken a 
 smaller but very pretty house about half-a- 
 mile from the Mount, and he continued to 
 occupy it and to keep a kennel of sporting 
 dogs, which shocked Mrs Freshfield — and a
 
 Phyllida. 45 
 
 couple of hunters, which horrified her still 
 more. Indeed, the greatest calamities of 
 her life were, that Bernard luojild wear a 
 velveteen coat in the morninors and would 
 not give up smoking. To be a smoking, 
 hunting, shooting parson in a velveteen coat 
 seemed, in poor Mrs Freshfield's narrow 
 mind, very much like selling oneself to the 
 devil ; but still Bernard was a o-ood son to 
 her, and she was a o-ood mother to him, 
 and so they managed to get on together, 
 notwithstanding that on some points he 
 would have his own way. A mother must 
 not hope to exercise any influence but that 
 of love over a son of eight-and-twenty, who 
 possesses a couple of thousand a-year in 
 his own right, and will come into all her 
 property when she dies. But Bernard had 
 always been ]\Irs Freshfield's favourite child, 
 and as she watched him coming across the 
 lawn to her that afternoon, the old lady's 
 eyes glistened and her hands trembled with 
 the pleasure of seeing him again. For Laura
 
 46 Phyllida, 
 
 was absent too, and she had the prospect 
 of havinof the conversation with him all to 
 herself, a pleasure she seldom enjoyed. 
 
 Bernard came up to his mother and greeted 
 her affectionately. This young fellow, al- 
 ready a widower at elght-and-twenty, had 
 a heart brimming over with love for all 
 who loved him. He was not particularly 
 good-looking — no one would have called 
 him an Antlnous or a Hercules, but he 
 had a straight athletic figure — a kind, honest 
 face, and blue eyes that were peculiarly 
 tender and earnest In their expression. His 
 widowhood had not sat very heavily upon 
 his spirits, and he had never pretended it 
 had done so ; but It had left a quiet subdued 
 demeanour behind It, that was particularly 
 noticeable when he was alone. Then he 
 often sighed and heavily— not because his 
 bereavement had bereaved him so much, 
 but because It had bereaved him so lltde. 
 He sighed for himself, because he seemed 
 to have gained something where he had
 
 Phyllida, 47 
 
 really lost, and it made him realise how 
 little he had ever possessed. He was a 
 strange young man, as these pages will 
 show ; but he was honest to himself withal. 
 
 ' Bernard, my dear,' said ]\Irs Freshfield, 
 with some little show of excitement, ' we are 
 to have euests to-morrow. The Muck- 
 heeps have been in London for a month, 
 and are coming to spend a few weeks at 
 Blue Mount before they return to Scotland.' ' 
 
 ' Indeed, mother ! I hope you'll feed them 
 up well. They look as if they needed it — 
 or at all events Miss Janet does.' 
 
 ' Now, Bernard, my dear, I call that a 
 very unkind speech on your part, and quite 
 unbefitting your calling. It would lead one 
 to think that )'0u value your friends on 
 account of their money or money's worth. 
 If the Misses Muckheep — notwithstanding 
 their good old blood — are not as wealthy 
 as ourselves, it is their misfortune and not 
 their fault.' 
 
 Mrs Freshfield delivered the phrase
 
 48 Phyllida, 
 
 ' good old blood ' with an unctuous smack, 
 for, be it known, this very pious lady, who 
 professed to despise the wealth of which 
 she had a superfluity, cherished an over- 
 whelming weakness for * blood,' which was 
 the only thing money could not buy for her, 
 and would have given much to see her 
 son contract a second alliance with some 
 woman of ' family.' 
 
 But the Reverend Bernard did not seem 
 to notice the maternal rebuke. His ear 
 had been caught by another sentence. 
 
 ' I wish, mother/ he said, as he took a 
 seat beside her, ' that you would not speak 
 of everything as either befitting or unbe- 
 fitting my " callingr The term is one that 
 grates upon me. It insinuates that I had 
 a spiritual call to undertake the work of a 
 minister, and you know that I had no such 
 thing. I became a parson because you urged 
 me to the step, and wished to keep me by 
 your side, and I entered the profession with 
 far too little sense of its responsibilities.'
 
 Phyllida. 49 
 
 * Bernard, you don't mean to tell me that 
 you regret it ? ' exclaimed Mrs Freshfield 
 with horror. 
 
 ' No, dear mother, I do not ! Had I to 
 choose over again, I might draw back from 
 undertaking so much more than I feel myself 
 able to perform ; but as the duty has been 
 pressed upon me, I will discharge it as faith- 
 fully as I can. Only don't try to make 
 me out better than I am. Let me work 
 amongst my sick and suffering people in 
 my own way, and comfort them with a 
 friend s sympathy and advice, but don't set 
 me up as an example of piety and virtue, 
 because that you know I am not.' 
 
 ' Bernard ! I am sure that }'ou are all 
 that is best and most praiseworthy. Mrs 
 Pinner was saying, only the other day, that 
 the life you lead is an example to any 
 young man.' 
 
 ' I am much obliged to Mrs Pinner for 
 her opinion, but I should hardly think that 
 her experience enhanced the value of her 
 
 VOL. I. D
 
 50 Phyllida. 
 
 recommendation, and I don't think that a 
 parson should be set up as a little oracle 
 amongst his people. It is the truth he 
 preaches that should be worshipped — not 
 himself. What, am I not a man like all 
 the rest of them ? ' 
 
 ' Oh, Bernard, my dear, don't say that,' 
 murmured his mother deprecatingly. 
 
 ' A man with all the tastes and feelings 
 of a man,' he went on, ' and with no notion 
 that I sin in indulging any taste that 
 is not contrary to law. If hunting and 
 shooting and dancing and smoking are sin- 
 ful, then they are sinful for everybody as 
 well as for me, and we must all renounce 
 them as evil habits. But If they are inno- 
 cent for my parishioners, then they are 
 equally innocent for myself. And yet I 
 know I shock you, my dear mother, and 
 many other estimable people by these worldly 
 proclivities of mine, and you think I can 
 neither go to heaven myself, nor teach my 
 people the way there, unless I systemati-
 
 Phyllida. 5 1 
 
 cally look as if I were bound for the 
 other place ! ' 
 
 ' Oh, my dear Bernard, but then your 
 sacred calling — ' 
 
 ' There you go again, mother ! my '' call- 
 ing," ' said Bernard, as he rose to his feet 
 and walked up and down the grass. ' I 
 tell you if anybody "called" me to the 
 ministry, it was yourself, and I am not 
 going to make what may prove a harmless 
 matter into a very evil one, by living a 
 life false to myself and to my own notions 
 of right, out of prejudice to the opinions 
 of the world.' 
 
 ' Well, well, my dear boy, pray sit down 
 again and don't excite yourself in this need- 
 less manner. I don't know what I can 
 have said to raise such a discussion. But 
 the fact is, Bernard, the house is lonely 
 to you since your great misfortune, and 
 you don't care to stay at home as you 
 ought to do. When are you going to dis- 
 pel the shadow, my son, and brighten your 
 
 LIBRARY 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF ILLINOIS
 
 52 Phyllida. 
 
 home again. It seems quite unnatural, not 
 to say wrong, to me, that a minister should 
 remain unmarried ? ' 
 
 ' Why so ? ' 
 
 But to this plain question Mrs Freshfield 
 seemed puzzled to find an answer. 
 
 ' I can tell you, mother. . Because you 
 think the vows a man makes to heaven 
 are weaker than those he makes to a 
 woman, and that though the latter may 
 keep him in the straight and narrow path, 
 he is not to be trusted to remain faithful 
 to the former.' 
 
 ' My dear Bernard, you really do say such 
 things.' 
 
 ' I only put your thoughts into words. 
 It was with that idea that you threw me 
 into the society of poor Alice, and per- 
 suaded me she was breaking her heart on 
 my account, until I thought it was my duty 
 to marry the girl, and tell the first lie that 
 had ever passed my lips before God's altar.' 
 
 * Bernard, Bernard, it shocks me beyond
 
 Phyllida, 55 
 
 measure to hear you speak in this manner, 
 and of such a dear, good loving wife as she 
 made you too.' 
 
 ' I say nothing against her, poor girl ; God 
 forbid I should. But as far as I was con- 
 cerned, that marriage was a blasphemy and 
 a sacrilege — a blasphemy against love and 
 a sacrilege of the highest human sacrament 
 that God designed for the regeneration of 
 mankind.' 
 
 ' Well, I can't say I follow you, my dear. 
 She was a sweet girl, and you made her an 
 excellent husband, and what more could 
 anybody desire ? ' 
 
 Bernard's quiet eyes were fixed upon 
 the sky, glowing with the first glories of 
 sunset. 
 
 * I don't know if she felt the void,' he 
 said, in a low voice, ' but I wanted — com- 
 pletion.' 
 
 * Oh dear ! oh dear ! ' exclaimed Mrs 
 Freshfield, dropping stitches by the dozen 
 in her perplexity. ' I don't understand all
 
 54 Phyllida. 
 
 these new-fangled terms, but I know what 
 / want, Bernard, and that is to see you 
 happily settled again, and my little grand- 
 children toddling about my knees, before 
 I am called home to join your father.' 
 
 * Dear old mother,' replied the young man 
 affectionately, as he laid his hand upon hers, 
 'it is a very natural wish, and I hope it 
 may be gratified. But would not Laura 
 do as well for the agent of such happiness 
 as myself?' 
 
 ' Lattra I ' ejaculated Mrs Freshfield em- 
 phatically. ' No — not at all. In the first 
 place, Laura's children could never be the 
 same to me as yours, Bernard. They would 
 not be Freshfields ; and in the second, a 
 girl can't marry when she chooses, and a 
 man can.' 
 
 ' Oh, that is only a mother's partiality,' 
 laughed her son, ' and I am afraid the 
 marriageable young ladies of Bluemere would 
 not be disposed to record your assertion.' 
 
 ' Nonsense, Bernard ! There are a dozen
 
 Phyllida. 55 
 
 in Bluemere alone who would jump at 
 you/ 
 
 * Let me hear the roll-call, mother. Who 
 knows but what I might take a fanc\- to 
 one or two of them/ 
 
 Mrs Freshfield bridled with importance. 
 She really thought her son was beginning 
 to look at the matter in a practical light. 
 
 'Well, my dear, there is Mrs Xorman 
 She is not older than yourself, and her 
 father's cousin is the Earl of Carisborough ! ' 
 
 ' Mrs Xorman ! The pretty widow at 
 Willow Cottage ? Xo, no. mother, she 
 paints ! ' 
 
 ' Only on occasions, Bernard ; and you 
 could soon break her oft" that.' 
 
 * She wont do, I tell }ou. It is of no 
 use.' 
 
 ' Miss Warrender. You have often re- 
 marked how handsome she is.' 
 
 * The sorrowful lady with a secret in 
 her life ? Mrs Bernard Freshfield's former 
 life must contain no secrets, mother. It
 
 56 ^ Phyilida. 
 
 must be open to inspection as the light 
 of day.' 
 
 ' You can have no such objection to make 
 to Nellie Palmer.' 
 
 ' Pretty little, timid, bashful Nellie. I 
 am afraid she's too shy for me. Those 
 girls who can never look you straight in 
 the face are invariably flirts when your 
 back is turned.' 
 
 * Annie Warren, then, who was our poor 
 Alice's bosom friend, and nursed her like 
 a sister in her last illness, Her chief pleas- 
 ure lies in the parish work, Bernard, and 
 I am sure she loves you already.' 
 
 * And for that very reason I would never 
 make her my wife. Dear little charitable 
 Bluemere would say at once that we had 
 settled the matter over Alice's dying bed. 
 No, mother, none of these women will do 
 to fill the vacant place, and I have only 
 been having a little pleasantry with you in 
 even talking of them. I shall never marry 
 again. I feel sure of it, because I see no
 
 Phyllicia. 57 
 
 chance of meeting the woman whom I could 
 love.' 
 
 ' Not if you continue to be so fastidious,' 
 replied his mother, vexed at finding he had 
 only been In jest. 'But I suppose we may 
 depend upon seeing you at dinner to-morrow 
 to welcome our guests. You know what 
 a dear, good creature Miss Muckheep Is, 
 and what a hearty Interest she takes In 
 ever)^thing that concerns your calling.' 
 
 ' Yes, yes,' cried Bernard hastily, as he 
 jumped to his feet. ' If you wish It, I 
 will be here.' 
 
 ' Of course I wish It, and Bella too ; 
 such a sweet, unaffected girl, without the 
 least pride about her, although her father, 
 the Laird of Muckheep, can trace his an- 
 cestors back to the time of the PIcts and 
 Scots.' 
 
 ' Just so, when they were a party of 
 untamed savages, and wore nothing but 
 skins, if so much. I hope Miss Bella Is 
 a little more civilised than she was on the
 
 58 Phyllida. 
 
 occasion of her last visit here, for I remem- 
 ber thinking her a terrible Goth.' 
 
 ' My dear Bernard, her aunt writes me 
 word that she is everything that is most 
 charming, and imbued with the deepest 
 religious feeling.' 
 
 ' She will be an excellent companion for 
 Laura, then, who is certainly not imbued 
 with too much. I don't believe the monkey 
 would ever come to church except for the 
 pleasure of seeing me ! ' 
 
 ' And you encourage her in it, Bernard ; 
 deeply as I regret to say it, Laura would 
 certainly be more attentive to her religious 
 duties if you spoke with more severity 
 against her neglect of them.' 
 
 ' And make the duties as hateful in her 
 eyes as I should become myself. Would 
 you have me set up as an ogre or janitor 
 to my only sister, instead of a loving friend ? 
 No, mother, I cannot do it. Let Laura 
 follow her own inclinations. An unwilling 
 sacrifice can never be acceptable.'
 
 Phyllida. 59 
 
 *Well, my dear, I cannot help thinking 
 you are far too lax in your ideas, and I 
 wish you had a dear, good partner to con- 
 sult with you on all these knotty points.' 
 
 ' Good-bye, mother, you shall see me at 
 dinner to-morrow/ exclaimed Bernard, as 
 he turned away and walked rapidly across 
 the lawn, fearful lest another minute's con- 
 versation might renew the vexed question 
 of a second wife. 

 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 S he retraced his steps towards 
 Briarwood (as his own house 
 was called), followed by a couple 
 of setters and a greyhound, his face was 
 more thoughtful than usual. For notwlth- 
 standino- Mrs Freshfield's doubts and his 
 own modesty, this young man felt more 
 deeply than he cared to acknowledge the 
 responsibilities of the post he had under- 
 taken. He earnestly desired to show a 
 good example to the people under his 
 charge, and to advise them profitably on 
 the best means of regulating their lives ; 
 but the difficulty with Bernard Freshfield
 
 Phyllida, 6 1 
 
 was to make up his own mind as to which 
 was the best example and the best way. 
 He knew, of course, that a pure and charit- 
 able and useful life was obligatory on all 
 who called themselves Christians ; but it 
 was in the smaller matters, in the petty 
 laws laid down by custom, the rules ob- 
 served because everybody else observes 
 them, the thousand and one fretting obliga- 
 tions imposed upon men by disciplinarians, 
 lest a ' brother should offend,' that Bernard 
 Freshfield hesitated to do more than tell 
 his parishioners to judge for themselves. V^ 
 had seen certain parsons, in their endeavours 
 to drive men like a flock of sheep to heaven, 
 afraid to dance or sing, or join in merriment 
 of any kind, and he knew how futile those en- 
 deavours had proved, to do more than make 
 their fellow-creatures hypocrites. He had 
 watched these ministers, setting themselves 
 up as gods amongst the people, and arrogat- 
 ing to themselves the power they deprecated 
 in those of another faith, of refusing com-
 
 62 Phyllida. 
 
 m union, or marriage, or burial to the persons 
 whom they, in their finite wisdom, deemed 
 unworthy of such privileges. And he had 
 marked how their refusals had hardened the 
 hearts they should have melted, and drawn 
 down curses on their own heads instead of 
 blessings. 
 
 He had seen parsons who frowned openly 
 with the world at the wife's adultery, the 
 maid-servant's seduction, the apprentice's 
 theft ; pass over (also with the world) the 
 master's dishonest dealing, the gentleman's 
 fornication, the fast woman's coquetry, and 
 the mistress's ill temper, because they were 
 unrecognised sins, and they did not feel they 
 had any right to meddle with them. Ber- 
 nard Freshfield did not play parson on this 
 wise. Where he saw what appeared to him 
 to be wrong, he spoke openly, whether it 
 was to poor little Jack with a dirty head, 
 playing at pitch - and - toss with a stolen 
 halfpenny on Sunday, instead of going to 
 school ; or to the squire's son, lounging
 
 Phyllida. 6 
 
 o 
 
 about his father's park on the same day, with 
 bloodshot eyes and aching head, cheerful 
 reminiscences of his debauch of the night be- 
 fore ; and whatever fault Bernard found him- 
 self called upon to tackle, he always had a 
 pleasant way of making the offender under- 
 stand that if he had not committed the same 
 sin himself, he most likely would have done 
 so under similar circumstances, until the 
 humbled heart felt that, given the resolution 
 and the opportunity, it might rise to be as 
 high as the parson himself. Consequently our 
 hero was a universal favourite in Bluemere. 
 The dogs naturally adored him, because he 
 w^as their veterinary surgeon, as well as 
 their friend, and the little children followed 
 suit — for the love of babies and animals can- 
 not be separated. The old men and women 
 regarded him almost as a son ; the married 
 •couples made him their confidant and arbi- 
 'trator in all their disputes ; the youths 
 voted him the jolliest of companions, and, 
 as for the girls, if one or two of them in that
 
 64 Phyllida. 
 
 peaceful village of Bluemere had gone a 
 step too far, and raised their hopes to a 
 vested partnership In Briarwood House, 
 and If their parson knew it, and felt a little 
 flattered by their preference, what matter? 
 He was but a man, as he said himself, and 
 a young man after all, and the blood of youth 
 runs as hotly In the veins of a parson as in 
 those of an officer In the dragoons. The 
 absurdity Is, to suppose, that, by forcing a 
 man into a particular profession, you can 
 change his nature, and, with Impunity, re- 
 fuse him those licences which the world 
 freely allows to another, and the consequence 
 of which is, that the majority of our English 
 parsons — let those deny the assertion who 
 can disprove It — who have adopted the 
 church, just as soldiers adopt the army, 
 for a living, are only so many more proofs 
 of the power the world's opinion has to 
 turn a man, otherwise honourable, into a • 
 living lie. 
 
 Bernard's mind was occupied with some
 
 Phylllda. 65 
 
 such thoughts, wondering what there existed 
 in himself, different from other men, that he 
 should have been elected to walk as a shining 
 light amongst them, when his attention was 
 arrested by the mention of his own name. 
 
 ' !\lr Freshfield,' called a voice as he passed 
 by, ' I wish you would come in and speak 
 to me for a few minutes. I tried so hard to 
 catch you after service last Sunday, but you 
 were too quick for me. It seems an age 
 since you gave me a call.' 
 
 Bernard turned at once, and, with his 
 usual courtesy, greeted a tall, angular, prim- 
 looking old lady, who, with a shawl pinned 
 round her head, was talking to him over 
 a low hedge of French laurels. It was the 
 same who had told his mother that the life 
 he led was an example to all young men. 
 
 'Certainly, i\Irs Pinner, I will come in if 
 it will give you any pleasure. No, don't 
 let my dogs through the gate. They will 
 make havoc in your pretty little garden, 
 and they are used to wait for m.e outside.' 
 
 VOL. I. E
 
 6 6 Phyllida. 
 
 Is there anything that I can do for you?' 
 he continued, as he followed her into a 
 sitting-room on the ground floor. 
 
 ' Oh ! I have a thousand things to consult 
 you about relating to the parish, Mr Fresh- 
 field, but of course this is not the time. It 
 is past five o'clock, and you must be going 
 home to your dinner.' 
 
 * Never mind my dinner if you require my 
 services,' he replied good-naturedly. 
 
 ' Now that is so like you, Mr Freshfield, 
 never thinking of yourself — but, no ! I w^ill 
 not be so selfish — what I chiefly wanted to 
 ask you was, if you could spare us any even- 
 ing this week for just a muffin and a cup 
 of tea, you know, and a little quiet conver- 
 sation. It would be such a privilege — and 
 I am particularly desirous to introduce you 
 to my niece.' 
 
 Now, if there was one phase of parish 
 life which poor Bernard particularly de- 
 tested above another, it was the muffin and 
 cup of tea Mrs Pinner alluded to, which
 
 Phyllida. 67 
 
 generally took him away from his late 
 dinner, and entirely deprived him of the 
 postprandial pipe. But it was one of the 
 little mortifications to which he made it a 
 rule to subject himself, holding the opinion 
 that no man is fit to guide others who is 
 not master of his own appetites, and that 
 to give up our inclinations for the sake of 
 our fellow-creatures is one of the highest 
 phases of love. So he answered readily, 
 if not cheerfullv, — 
 
 ' I will accept your hospitality with pleas- 
 ure, Mrs Pinner — if you cannot transact 
 business with me as well in the morning. 
 But I was not aware you had a niece — ' 
 
 ' Well, she is not a niece, Mr Freshfield. 
 I was wrong to call her so — she is a sort 
 of cousin on the mother's side, and very 
 distantly connected ; but she has been lately 
 left an orphan, poor thing, so I asked her 
 to stay with me for a few months, though 
 I'm afraid she will be obliged to earn her 
 own living when they are ended. But I
 
 68 Phyllida. 
 
 think I can trace a providence in her com- 
 ing to me. She has been very carelessly 
 brought up, and it would be a blessed thing, 
 wouldn't it, Mr Freshfield, if we could guide 
 her feet into the right way before she left 
 us again ? ' 
 
 \ Bernard, who hated all cant, took no 
 notice of Mrs Pinner's pious hope. 
 
 * Is your cousin young ? ' 
 
 ' Yes. Quite a girl ; but with the strangest 
 ideas. She does not seem as if she could 
 make enough of the country, and would 
 idle all her time away if I allowed it.' 
 
 ' Let her idle it away, Mrs Pinner. I 
 daresay her heart is sore from her late 
 losses. This beautiful country In this beauti- 
 ful weather will speak surer peace to her 
 than we could do in any amount of words.' 
 
 ' But it seems so sinful to me, Mr Fresh- 
 field, to see a strong, hearty girl doing 
 nothing day after day, when there is more 
 parish work than there are hands to do 
 it with.'
 
 Phyllida. 69 
 
 * Do you think so ? I think Bluemere 
 is admirably looked after. Sometimes I 
 say too well looked after, particularly when 
 I find that Miss Warren has counter- 
 manded half the orders that I have given 
 for the relief of my parishioners.' 
 
 * Ah, Miss Warren ; but see how she 
 works, Mr Freshfield, and what a head 
 she has got. I always call her your right 
 hand. And then she is so devoted to 
 your Interests, and she is afraid the old 
 people impose on your good nature and 
 get more relief from you than they really 
 require. I am sure Miss Warren Is quite 
 an example — I often say so, and would 
 make a model clergy^man's wife.' 
 
 * She'd better go to the next parish, then,* 
 remarked Bernard curtly. ' I know the 
 new rector who has just been appointed 
 there is a bachelor.' 
 
 * Oh, Mr Freshfield, you are always full 
 of your fun ; but you know that Blue- 
 mere would be quite lost without Miss
 
 70 Phyllida. 
 
 Warren. And she was kind enough to 
 offer to introduce Miss Moss to the Sun- 
 day school, but I am sorry to say she 
 refused/ 
 
 ' Is Miss Moss your cousin ?' 
 
 * Yes. And it's such things I want you 
 to talk to her about, Mr Freshfield, for 
 her notions of religion quite shock me. 
 Only think — she wouldn't go to church 
 with me last Sunday, but sat all day in 
 the garden reading some frivolous story. 
 I was ashamed that my servant should 
 see such a thing. And she doesn't seem 
 to have any more knowledge of the Scrip- 
 tures than a heathen.' 
 
 ' And do you think no one can be re- 
 ligious without knowing the Scriptures, Mrs 
 Pinner?' 
 
 * Well, of course, I know there are some 
 who have been taught as it were of heaven 
 itself ; but Phyllida appears to be as ignorant 
 as a baby.' 
 
 ' Well, I must come and make the ac-
 
 Phyllida. 7 1 
 
 qualntance of your fair barbarian ; but please 
 don't present me to her in the guise of 
 a schoolmaster, or we shall make no way 
 at all. Let me talk to Miss Moss after 
 my own fashion, and I daresay we shall 
 come to an understanding by-and-by.' 
 
 ' I am sure you are only too good to 
 take the trouble, ]\Ir Freshfield. Shall we 
 say Thursday for our little cup of tea ? And 
 I don't think Til tell Phyllida that you're 
 coming, for she seems to dislike the sight 
 of strangers so, that, ten to one, she may 
 run out of the house just to spite ine.' 
 
 * You seem to have got a bargain on your 
 hands,' said Bernard, laughing, as he rose to 
 take his leave. * I suppose, as I do not see 
 her, that Miss Moss is not indoors at 
 present.' 
 
 ' No, she disappeared after our early dinner 
 in her strange fashion, and I haven't set 
 eyes on her since. I'm sure It's very good 
 of you to promise to come to us, Mr Fresh- 
 field, and we shall look forward to it with
 
 72 Phyllida, 
 
 pleasure. Quite alone, you know — a muffin 
 and a cup of tea — next Thursday at seven 
 — thank you so much.' 
 
 And with Mrs Pinner's murmured sen- 
 tences pursuing him like buzzing flies, 
 Bernard passed down the garden path, and, 
 whistling to his dogs, took his way to 
 Briarwood. He had intended to make two 
 or three calls on the road ; but as he looked 
 at his watch he was surprised to see how 
 long Mrs Pinner's conversation had detained 
 him, and determined to take a short cut 
 home by the fields instead. His house of 
 Briarwood was built upon a hill, and the 
 land surrounding it was his own property. 
 Bernard cleared a high fence, and making 
 his way through some low brushwood which 
 he was keeping as a pheasant preserve, 
 entered a grove of larches which formed a 
 foreground to his residence. He was pacing 
 the narrow path with his eyes downcast and 
 his thoughts far away, when he was startled 
 by hearing a low cry of fear, followed by
 
 Phyllida. 
 
 /o 
 
 a hurried exclamation. Bernard looked up. 
 His three dogs were leaping violently, and, 
 as it would seem, with murderous intent, 
 against the slight figure of a girl, dressed in 
 black, who held something to her breast with 
 one hand, whilst with the other she at- 
 tempted to ward off the boisterous attacks 
 of the excited animals. Bernard whistled to 
 them, and then finding they did not in- 
 stantly obey him, he sprang forward and 
 belaboured them well with the stout stick 
 he carried in his hand. But here the girl 
 interposed to save her assailants from further 
 punishment. 
 
 ' Oh, don't beat them — don't beat them ! ' 
 she cried. * They didn't mean to hurt me, 
 the beautiful creatures, only I was so afraid 
 they would kill my litde kitten.' And she 
 displayed to him a fluffy white and tabby 
 creature with pale blue eyes, of a few weeks 
 old, who was still spitting- and scratching 
 with all its puny might, and clinging to the 
 sleeve of her dress.
 
 74 Phyllida, 
 
 ' Go to heel ! ' exclaimed Bernard In a 
 voice of thunder to his conscience-stricken 
 hounds, who slunk behind him, and then 
 he took off his hat to the stranger, and 
 trusted that her favourite was not hurt. 
 
 * Oh no, they didn't touch her ; I was 
 only afraid they would. Poor things,' she 
 said pityingly, ' how unhappy they look ! 
 Do pat them and speak kindly to them 
 again.' 
 
 ' I had better not,' replied Bernard. ' At 
 all events until the temptation to transgress 
 is out of their reach. They are apt to 
 presume upon indulgence. You love ani- 
 mals I see,' he added with a smile ; for he 
 loved them so well himself he felt affinity 
 with all who shared his tastes. 
 
 ' Very much — particularly dogs ! they are 
 so faithful and affectionate. I like them 
 ever so much better than I do men and 
 women.' 
 
 Bernard laughed. 
 
 * You think me foolish, perhaps, or wrong,
 
 Phyllida, 75 
 
 as Mrs Pinner does, — she says It Is sinful 
 to waste time and food on animals when 
 there are so many poor people starving and 
 in want of help.' 
 
 * If we neglected our fellow-creatures to 
 lavish time and substance upon animals, 
 I should feel Inclined to agree with Mrs 
 Pinner ; but It may not He within the range 
 of our duties to attend to poor people, and 
 these dumb creatures are certainly confided 
 to our care. It would be wicked to neglect 
 them. But from, what you say, I presume 
 I have the pleasure of speaking to Mrs 
 Pinner's niece.' 
 
 ' Yes ; I am Phyllida Moss. And do 
 you, then, know my cousin Pinner ? ' 
 ' Very well, indeed ! ' 
 
 * I am glad of that. Then perhaps she 
 will not think It wronor of me to have 
 spoken to you — cousin Pinner thinks every- 
 thing wrong. She says she is going to 
 bring the clergyman of the parish to talk 
 to me about my doings.'
 
 76 Phyllida. 
 
 'Indeed! Have you been very naughty, 
 then ? ' 
 
 ' I can't say. I didn't go to church last 
 Sunday — that is what bothered her.' 
 
 ' Don't you Hke going to church ? ' 
 
 * Not much ; it's all so prim and stiff, and 
 the sermons make me sleepy. I like going 
 out by myself on the hill-side and sitting 
 on the grass and thinking better. I put 
 my head right down in the grass and no 
 one knows, who doesn't do that, what won- 
 derful sights and sounds there are to be heard 
 and seen there. The wee wee flowers, no 
 bigger than a pin's head, like little red and 
 blue stars with golden eyes that grow down 
 amongst the blades ; and then the insects 
 that talk to one another, and carry their 
 food about and build their snug houses, 
 for all the world as well as if they were 
 giants. And I think you know that to lie 
 and listen to all this and think about it, 
 and how it came to pass, does one more 
 good than sitting for two hours within four
 
 Phyllida, 7 7 
 
 walls and hearing a lot of things you don't 
 care about/ 
 
 * And so do I, a thousand times over,' said 
 Bernard heartily. ' And you have never 
 seen the parson of Bluemere yet, then, Miss 
 Moss ? ' 
 
 * No, and I reckon I don't want to, 
 either.' 
 
 'Why not?' 
 
 ' Oh, because cousin Pinner thinks so 
 much of him ; it frightens me. You see I 
 haven't been brought up amongst parsons 
 myself. 1 am not good, it's no use denying 
 it ; and what's more, I don't feel as if 1 ever 
 should be.' 
 
 ' Why should you say that ? I am sure 
 your impulses are good, even from the few 
 words we have exchanged with one an- 
 other/ 
 
 ' I don't feel good. My life's been all 
 trouble and misfortune, and that makes one 
 hard. But it's nonsense for me to talk like 
 this to a stranger ! '
 
 78 Phyllida, 
 
 ' I wish you wouldn't look on me as a 
 stranger. I know Mrs Pinner so well, that 
 it is only natural I should know you also.' 
 
 ' You won't tell the parson ? ' she said, 
 with an arch glance. 
 
 As Bernard Freshfield met her eyes, he 
 thought — and truly — that he had never seen 
 so lovely a woman before. 
 
 She was dressed exceedingly plain in a 
 suit of deep black, but her bronze-coloured 
 hair was tucked up in profusion under her 
 plain straw hat, beneath the brim of which 
 gleamed at him large, soft, long eyes of the 
 clearest brown, which reminded Bernard 
 somehow of the eyes of his favourite setter 
 Rose. Her nose was straight; her chin 
 pointed ; her mouth a perfect bow ; and her 
 dark lashes lay on her cheek like a fringe 
 of silk. It was a child-like face without 
 being an innocent one — that is to say, it 
 had an open confiding expression, and yet 
 the languid eyes showed that the girl had 
 passed through the experience of this world,
 
 Phyllida. 79 
 
 and known its sorrow. When Bernard 
 Freshfielai came to know Phyllida Moss 
 more intimately, he found she w^as a strange 
 mixture of child and woman : of careless 
 mirth and thoughtful despondency ; but in 
 the moment of their first introduction, he only 
 thought her as she stood there conversing 
 as freely with him as if they had been ac- 
 quainted all their lives, with the little kitten 
 clinging to her breast — simply charming. 
 
 And with each sentence she uttered, she 
 charmed him more. 
 
 Her last words almost upset his gravity, 
 but he managed to reply that he would 
 not tell the parson. 
 
 ' Well, then, I think long prayers and 
 sighs and groans and texts, and all that 
 sort of thing, you know, nonsense. I 
 knew a man once,' with a shudder, ' oh, 
 the very worst man I ever knew, and when 
 it suited his purpose not to lie and gamble 
 and cheat, he used to go to prayers in- 
 stead, and pretend to be pious, and it worked
 
 8o Phyitida, 
 
 with some folks, I suppose ; but It sickened 
 me, and that's the truth, and I've never felt 
 as though I could say a prayer since.' 
 
 * Mrs Pinner tells me you have lost your 
 father and mother. Were they good parents 
 to you ? ' 
 
 ' My mother was — an angel ! and she's one 
 now, I know. Nothing could knock that 
 out of me.' 
 
 ' Doubtless she Is. And you used to tell 
 her all your troubles, I daresay.' 
 
 The tears rushed to Phylllda's brown eyes. 
 
 ' Ah, I used ! God bless her ! and she 
 was never weary of listening, though she 
 had enough of her own, poor soul ! ' 
 
 ' And It comforted you to go to her '^. ' 
 
 * Of course It did. Who can comfort one 
 like a mother ? ' 
 
 ' But she wouldn't have cared for your 
 confidence If It hadn't been true, If you 
 had pretended to be In trouble when you 
 weren't really so ! ' 
 
 * Well — no — how should she ? '
 
 Pkyllida. 8 1 
 
 * The church is like your mother, Miss 
 Moss, and her children's prayers are their 
 confidences. Whilst you have nothing to 
 tell her, I say keep away, and don't insult 
 her by a pretence of requiring her con- 
 solations.' 
 
 There was a pause between them for a 
 moment, and then Phyllida inquired, — 
 
 ' Are you the parson ? ' 
 
 ' I am ; but don't let that fact frighten 
 you. You see I am not very formidable.' 
 
 ' Oh no ; only perhaps I have said things 
 I shouldn't.' 
 
 * Not at all. There is no good in a 
 parson, unless you can speak your mind 
 to him.' 
 
 ' And do you think my mind is very 
 wrong ? ' 
 
 ' I think you have had some great trouble, 
 and it has hardened you.' 
 
 ' Oh, no, no,' commenced the girl vehe- 
 mently, ' it has not hardened me ! I love 
 the flowers and the birds and trees more 
 
 VOL. I. F
 
 S2 Phyllida. 
 
 than I can tell you, and the little children and 
 the animals, and I love to get out amongst 
 them and try to fancy myself a child once 
 more, and to begin life over again with them. 
 That is what I want, sir, to begin life 
 over again, to forget all that has gone 
 before ; to wipe it oat as if it had never 
 been, and to feel a girl again with the birds 
 and flowers, a girl as I used to do before 
 my mother died,' she said in a low wailing 
 voice. 
 
 Bernard felt very paternal, he often did 
 feel paternal when pretty girls bestowed 
 their confidences on him. 
 
 ' My poor child,' he replied, * I understand 
 you so well ; I can sympathise with every 
 word you have said. I too have known 
 trouble, Miss Moss, very heavy trouble, 
 not only from domestic loss, but from doubts 
 and fears upon religious matters, similiar to 
 if not identical with your own. Will you 
 therefore try and look upon me not only 
 as a friend, but as a fellow-searcher after
 
 Phyllida. 8 
 
 o 
 
 truth, and help me with your confidences 
 as I will help you, if possible, with my 
 experience.' 
 
 * But I'm not fit to be your friend, Mr 
 Freshfield — the friend of a parson. You 
 don't know how careless I am. Mrs Pinner 
 calls me a perfect heathen.' 
 
 ' Child, you don't know of what you are 
 talking. It is far more likely that the 
 parson is not fit to be friends with you. 
 But please speak of me by any name but 
 that ; I do not like it. I would rather the 
 people of Bluemere thought of me only as 
 their friend.' 
 
 * As a friend, then, sir, good evening. 
 Kitty and I must be going homewards, or 
 Mrs Pinner will have reason to think that 
 we are lost.' 
 
 ' Gocd-night, my child ! Depend on it, 
 it is not for nothing that we have been 
 led to meet each other in this fantastic 
 manner, and that your lips have been un- 
 sealed so freely to me. Good-night ;
 
 84 Phyllidd, 
 
 It will not be long before we meet 
 again.' 
 
 And as Bernard Freshfield turned to 
 watch the graceful figure in black descend- 
 ing the hill, cuddling the mewing kitten to 
 her breast, he felt a strange exhilaration, as 
 if a new interest had suddenly sprung up 
 in his uneventful life.
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 HE following morning Mrs Fresh- 
 field was considerably startled by 
 receiving a note from her son : — 
 
 * My dear Mother, — Since you make a 
 point of my dining at Blue Mount to-day, 
 you must let me bring my friend Anderson 
 with me. He turned up unexpectedly at 
 Briarwood last night, and I cannot leave 
 him to spend the evening alone. — Yours 
 affectionately, Bernard/ 
 
 Now, Charles Anderson was an old college 
 chum of Bernard's, to whom he was deeply
 
 8 6 Phyllida. 
 
 attached. The young men had gone rather 
 different ways since starting in hfe, Anderson 
 having become deeply imbued whilst at 
 Oxford with High Church tendencies, which 
 had subsequently led him to the communion 
 of Rome. But Bernard and he had never 
 severed a link of their early friendship in 
 consequence, and it was one of Mrs Fresh- 
 field's grievances against her son, that he 
 stoutly refused to relinquish any part of his 
 intercourse with Anderson. The old lady 
 was busy when the note arrived giving her 
 housekeeper sets of sundry linen sheets and 
 frilled pillow cases wherewith to furnish forth 
 the bed-chambers of the expected visitors ; 
 but this piece of intelligence was too dread- 
 ful to be kept to herself, and she trotted 
 off at once to communicate it to her 
 daughter. 
 
 * Laura ! ' she exclaimed, with the most 
 helpless, hopeless look upon her countenance 
 as she came upon that young lady copying 
 a profane love song, ^ can you conceive
 
 Phyllida. 87 
 
 it possible that Bernard proposes to bring 
 Mr Anderson to dinner here this evening ? ' 
 
 ' Oh, I am glad,' replied Laura blithely, 
 ' Charlie Anderson is so entertaining, he'll 
 help to take the Miss Muckheeps off our 
 hands.' 
 
 ' Laura, I am surprised to hear you speak 
 in this manner of a person who has proved 
 himself to be so utterly without principle. 
 Have you forgotten that Mr Anderson is 
 a Roman Catholic — a Papist — an Apostate ? ' 
 
 ' One name is enough for him at a time, 
 isn't it mamma ? But he is Bernard's friend, 
 you know, notwithstanding, and I cannot 
 see what his tenets have to do with his 
 being an amusing companion.' 
 
 ' Your poor brother is sadly mistaken in 
 keeping such a friend — it is unaccountable 
 in one who professes to hold the pure 
 Protestant faith as it was transmitted to us 
 by the glorious Luther. And to bring him 
 to my table too, and to sit down with Miss 
 Janet Muckheep. It is an insult.'
 
 SS Phyllida. 
 
 ' I am sure Bernard would much rather 
 dine at home mamma ; you know how he 
 hates a dinner party. If you object to 
 Mr Anderson's presence here, why not write 
 and tell Bernard so quietly, and let him 
 enjoy the evening with his friend at Briar- 
 wood.' 
 
 ' No, Laura, my conscience would not 
 permit of that. Who knows with what 
 principles this poor lost soul might not 
 imbue your unhappy brother .-^ We must 
 make the sacrifice, if it is only to keep 
 Bernard under our own eyes.' 
 
 * Well, mamma dear, let us make it then, 
 and say no more about it. Though I must 
 say you do not give dear Bernard credit 
 for much steadfastness of purpose or know- 
 ledge of his own mind.' 
 
 ' My dear, I know human nature better 
 than you do, and I grieve to say that 
 some of your brother's doctrines are any- 
 thing but orthodox. However, we must 
 make the best of this annoyance, and
 
 Phyllida. 89 
 
 trust it may be overruled for good.' By 
 which Mrs Freshfield meant that she trusted 
 her conversation and that of Miss Muckheep 
 might have some influence in causing the 
 unhappy Mr Anderson to see the error of 
 his ways. She loved to throw a stone at all 
 Popery and Papists, and this Papist in par- 
 ticular, — having made of himself as it were 
 a fearful example almost within their gates 
 — but she had had no intention from the 
 beginning of being deprived in consequence 
 of the glory of seeing her son at the head 
 of her table. So she resigned her herself, 
 though not without many Protestant groans, 
 to the inevitable, only hoping that Miss 
 Janet Muckheep might not discover the 
 principles of her fellow guest. The ex- 
 pected visitors arrived in the course of 
 the afternoon, and were received by Mrs 
 Freshfield much after the same fashion as 
 that in which Abraham entertained the two 
 angels. Indeed, if her real mind with re- 
 gard to Miss Janet Muckheep could have
 
 90 Phyllida. 
 
 been laid bare, it would have been seen 
 that Mrs Freshfield did regard her as very 
 little lower than the angelic host. She was 
 not a woman of strong mind or fixed prin- 
 ciples, notwithstanding her stock of plati- 
 tudes, and the old Scotchwoman's eternal 
 cant and dragging in of holy names and 
 holy subjects in every-day conversation, was 
 accepted by her as the very quintessence 
 of godliness. 
 
 Miss Janet Muckheep was the sister of 
 a man who was styled (or styled himself) 
 the Laird o' Muckheep, or The Muckheep, 
 and Miss Bella was his daughter and her 
 niece. The laird had married early in life, 
 and lost his wife within two years of the 
 marriage, since which bereavement he had 
 spent most of his time abroad. He had left 
 his infant daughter at Barrick-gallagas Castle, 
 as his feudal domains were grandly termed, 
 under the charge of his maiden sister, and 
 had only visited Scotland at intervals since. 
 Miss Janet affirmed that the laird's feelings
 
 Phyllida. 9 1 
 
 would not permit him to live on the spot 
 where he had buried his wife ; but less 
 partial judges were not surprised that he 
 should find pleasanter habitations than the 
 bleak tumble-down castle of Barrick-gallagas 
 on its stony barren lands, and more cheerful 
 society than that of Miss Janet and IMiss 
 Bella Muckheep. There, for five-and-twenty 
 years, therefore, had they lived together, until 
 the younger lady had developed into a full- 
 grown woman, and the aunt had drilled 
 her into what she considered a perfect 
 model of lady-like deportment and religir 
 ous training. But at five-and-twenty Miss 
 Bella was still considered and treated by 
 her aunt as though she were a child, and 
 scarcely permitted to eat or drink, to walk, 
 or talk, without an injunction or a caution 
 from her duenna. 
 
 Miss Janet herself, now an old lady of 
 sixty, was the picture of a strong, active, 
 hard-featured Scotchwoman. She talked 
 such broad Scotch that it was difficult at
 
 92 Phyllida. 
 
 times to understand what she said, but she pro- 
 fessed to scorn to use the southern tongue as 
 though it would be a disgrace to her, and she 
 forbade her niece to do so either. She was 
 unpleasantly candid and outspoken, never tak- 
 ing heed to any one's feelings, and her religi- 
 ous doctrine was as hard and uncompromising 
 as her features. Yet with all Miss Janet's 
 cant and professions of Christian humility, 
 she had, like her friend Mrs Freshfield, one 
 great weakness, and that was for the family 
 blood. She could never say enough on the 
 subject of the Muckheeps and the feudal 
 homage paid to them in their native country 
 as lords of the soil. To hear Miss Janet 
 talk of Barrick-gallagas Castle and its sur- 
 roundings, one would have imagined that 
 she and her niece lived there in pomp and 
 luxury like two queens, surrounded by their 
 vassals. And one would have been rather 
 surprised, if led by chance to visit this rem- 
 nant of an age of princes, to find the two 
 queens supping on oatmeal porridge, and
 
 Phyllida. 93 
 
 waited on by a red - haired serving - maid 
 without shoes or stockings, whilst the wind 
 whistled through the ruined walls of their 
 castle, and the thistles grew up to the 
 tumble-down front door. 
 
 But Miss Janet did not consider she was 
 telling or acting a falsehood by thus up- 
 holding the glory of the Muckheeps, and 
 Mrs Freshfield listening to her grand 
 accounts, felt her own blood quicken at 
 the thoughts of how her Bernard's wealth 
 entitled him to seek a match with this im- 
 poverished daughter of a long line of 
 Scottish kings, and tried to hit upon the 
 best plan of introducing the matrimonial 
 alliance to his consideration. And to her 
 intense satisfaction Miss Muckheep's own 
 conversation seemed to land in the same 
 direction. 
 
 * 'Deed ! ' exclaimed the old Scotchwoman, 
 as she peered like a witch over her spec- 
 tacles, * it's weel you and I have met for a 
 crack this simmer, Mrs Fraichfield, for the
 
 94 Phyllida. 
 
 laird himser talks of retairning to Barrack- 
 gallagas In the fa' of the yair, and ance he 
 sets his fut on Scottish ground It's little 
 they'll let him or me lose sight of the 
 calrs-tle again.' 
 
 ' Your brother is coming home, Miss 
 Janet ? You don't mean to say so ? What 
 a delightful meeting Is In store for you ! 
 How you must be looking forward to his 
 return ! ' 
 
 'Ay. I don't say but we regaird it with 
 as much pleeasure as Is ret for puir sinfu' 
 creatures to look falrward to that which 
 may never come to pairse. But It Is noo 
 five yairs sin' the laird has seen the lassie 
 theer, and I'm thinkin' he consee-ders It 
 time he should come hame and give her 
 a tocher and a laird for hersel'. Bella — 
 held ! ' 
 
 Which last mysterious sentence was not 
 as English ears might have Interpreted a 
 caution only, but a straightforward direc- 
 tion to Miss Bella to hold up her head
 
 Pkyllida. 
 
 9d 
 
 — that young lady being in the habit of 
 stooping. Indeed, to judge from Miss 
 Janet's constant animadversions on her 
 deportment, it would be difficult to say 
 what portion of her niece's somewhat re- 
 dundant frame she did not misuse in the 
 using. Bella, a stout, full-faced, red-haired 
 young woman with blue eyes, high cheek- 
 bones, and the colour of a peony, jerked 
 up her head, as a horse does when touched 
 on the curb, gave a kind of snort, and went 
 on with her work composedly. She had 
 been used to these admonitions since her 
 infancy, and never dreamed of resenting 
 them at five-and-twenty. 
 
 ' Oh, indeed ! yes,' replied Mrs Fresh- 
 field sympathisingly ; ' and I wonder that 
 Miss Bella has not found a husband for 
 herself before now. I am sure it must be 
 her own fault that she is still single, sweet 
 girl!' 
 
 * Ech, woman ! ' returned Miss Janet, ' but 
 that's noo the way the lairds o' Muckheep
 
 96 Phyllida. 
 
 marry their dalrghters. I've brought up the 
 lassie in the fear o' the Laird, and free from 
 a' cairnal procleevities, and she kens too 
 weel what is due to hersel', as a dairghter 
 of the Muckheep, to cairst sheep's eyes at 
 any carl that her faither hasna chosen for 
 her. Bella— back ! ' 
 
 Bella drew in the offending member with 
 a suddenness that threw all the rest of her 
 body out of gear ; but Miss Janet did not 
 seem to notice the awkwardness of her ap- 
 pearance, although poor Laura choked with 
 laughter, and was sternly frowned down by 
 Mrs Freshfield. 
 
 ' I am sure you need not remind me, dear 
 Miss Janet, of how admirably you have 
 trained your interesting charge, and the ex- 
 cellent principles with which you have 
 imbued her. Any one could see from merely 
 looking at your dear Bella how sweetly 
 Christian humility blends with the know- 
 ledge of her ancient lineage in being de- 
 scended from those grand old Scottish kings!'
 
 Phyllida. 97 
 
 ' Ay, but we're a that ! ' replied the old 
 Scotchwoman with pride. ' My brither 
 himsel' would ha sat upon the throne o' 
 Scotland if the country had had its reets. 
 The Muckheeps came in a de-reect line 
 from the fairst James, and the bluid has 
 been untainted on their side till noo. But 
 I'm no sayin' we can expeect the same to 
 laist for ever ; and if the lassie there can 
 find a gude mon, and a God-fearing ane, 
 to cheerish her innocence and keep her 
 from cairnal procleevities in a proper fashion 
 for ane wha has Scottish royal bluid runnin' 
 in her veins, why, the laird and mysel' 
 would give her our blessing with that of 
 heaven. Bella — shoulders ! ' 
 
 Laura was too much interested in the 
 conversation this time to care whether Bella 
 carried her shoulders up to her ears or down 
 to her heels. She was a sharp girl, and 
 soon perceived, notwithstanding the fencing 
 with which they carried it on, that her 
 mother and Miss Muckheep had the same 
 
 VOL. I. G
 
 98 Phyllida. 
 
 notion in their minds — namely, that her 
 brother Bernard would make a very good 
 match for the young lady in question, and 
 she shuddered at the mere anticipation of 
 such a sister-in-law. 
 
 ' Ah ! you must look out for a good son, 
 dear Miss Muckheep,' sighed Mrs Freshfield, 
 * and then he is sure to make a good hus- 
 band — such a son now as my Bernard has 
 been to me. You can scarcely credit how 
 good he is — the residents of Bluemere say 
 they never saw such another young man — 
 with such principles — and such charity — 
 and such unselfishness. He is quite a 
 father to his people, though so young. I 
 trust he may some day marry again, for he 
 must feel very lonely in that fine place, 
 Briarwood, with no lady to look after it. 
 Such furniture, Miss Janet, it seems a sin 
 it should not be used, and his income, too, 
 a clear two thousand a-year besides his 
 stipend. What is a young man to do with 
 so much money all by himself? But, as
 
 Phyllida. 99 
 
 he was saying to me only yesterday, he 
 cannot find the woman he could love in 
 Bluemere. For my dear son is very par- 
 ticular, and he will marry no one who has 
 not received a strictly religious training of 
 the good old-fashioned sort, or who is not 
 of undoubted birth and breeding. "Above 
 all things, mother," he said, *' she must have 
 good blood, and be a confirmed Christian." ' 
 
 Here Laura, who had been listening in 
 silent amazement to this extraordinary com 
 bination of requirements in a wife, broke in 
 with her usual vehemence. 
 
 * Why, mamma, we have always considered 
 Bernard such a radical. I didn't think he 
 cared a pin about blue blood. I have heard 
 him say he would take a wife off a dung- 
 hill if he found a true wife there. And I am 
 sure poor Alice was not very aristocratic. 
 Her grandfather was a cotton-spinner.' 
 
 ' My dear Laura,' interposed Mrs Fresh- 
 field, ' pray do not bring in the name of that 
 dear saint in heaven. Whatever she may
 
 I oo Phyllida. 
 
 have been Is no concern of ours now. And 
 as to your dear brother's principles, they 
 are strictly conservative in every way, and 
 the Queen has no more loyal subject than 
 himself.' 
 
 Miss Muckheep, whose mouth had been 
 watering at the description of Briarwood, 
 and the fortune that maintained it, took up 
 the cue at loyalty. 
 
 ' Ay, but it's a fine thing is loyalty, Mrs 
 Fralchfield, and ye would say so if ye could 
 see the respeect and the hoo-mage that is 
 ay peed to the lairds o' Muckheep when 
 they Stan' on their ain heather. King 
 James himsel' cou'dna have received mair 
 dairference fra the vassals of his coort. And 
 the same dairference wad be peed to a his 
 de-scendants in the dereect line. And though 
 the bawbees air unco' guid things in them- 
 sels, and I wadna be sayin' that the laird 
 wad refuse the han' of his dairghter to any 
 mon wha had the siller to keep her as would 
 be expectit, yet I ken weel that sae lang
 
 Phyllida. i o i 
 
 as he had no calrnall pro-cleevltles, he 
 wad geev'e the prair-feirence to ane wha 
 held con-salrvatlve views. Bella — chin ! ' 
 
 Bernard Freshfield and his friend Ander- 
 son walked over to Blue Mount some little 
 time before dinner, and Laura, alarmed at 
 the conspiracy which she had detected, took 
 an early opportunity to draw her brother on 
 one side and confide her suspicions to him. 
 
 * Bernard, dear,' she exclaimed, as she 
 followed him into the hall, where he went 
 to deposit his hat and stick, * isn't Bella 
 Muckheep horrid ? Do say you think so.' 
 
 ' She is not charming, my dear Laura, 
 either in person or manner, at all events, 
 on a first acquaintance. But what is the 
 matter ? Why do you look at me in that 
 extraordinary way ? ' 
 
 ' Because — I know you will not believe 
 me — but I assure you 'tis the truth — mamma 
 and Miss Janet want you to marry her. 
 They have been giving broad hints to each 
 other on the subject the whole afternoon.'
 
 I02 Pkyllida. 
 
 Bernard burst out laughing. 
 
 * And you are afraid your innocent 
 brother will be entrapped Into matrimony 
 against his will, like the forlorn heroine of 
 the last romance you indulged in, and led 
 like a victim to the hymeneal altar, eh ? ' 
 
 But Laura did not laugh. She blushed. 
 
 ' Not quite that, Bernie, only — don't be 
 angry, dear — you remember how mamma 
 persuaded and cajoled and coaxed you before 
 about poor Alice, until there seemed nothing 
 for you to do but to give In. You are so 
 good to mamma, Bernie, and so mindful of 
 her feelings, that you forget to consider 
 your own.' 
 
 Bernard drew his sister into the morn- 
 ing - room, where they could talk with 
 greater freedom, and when he got her 
 there he took her in his arms and kissed 
 her. 
 
 ' Thanks, dearest Laura, for your thought 
 and care of me. But don't be afraid, little 
 sister. Your big blundering brother will
 
 Phyllida, 103 
 
 not make a second mistake. My eyes have 
 been opened, Laura. I see and know now 
 what love is, and I will never accept respect 
 nor friendship nor liking instead of it. It 
 must come to me like a revelation from 
 heaven, — full, free, and without reserve, — 
 pouring upon me because it has no power 
 to contain itself, and glorified by passion 
 as the sun tips the clouds with gold and 
 azure. No more half hearts nor modified 
 affections, Laura. My next love must give 
 me all or nothing, and receive the same 
 from me.' 
 
 ' Oh, Bernie, I am so glad to hear you 
 speak like that. It is just my own idea 
 of what a love that terminates in marriage 
 should be. But I dare not say so before 
 mamma, because she calls me bold and un- 
 maidenly to hold such opinions, and I would 
 rather be thought anything than that. She 
 says that if I esteem the man I marry, 
 it is all I ought to do before I am his 
 wife.'
 
 1 04 Phyllida. 
 
 * A false principle, Laura, and one that 
 may lead to any amount of unhapplness. 
 Love comes from God, and marriage was 
 ordained by Him, and the man who separ- 
 ates the two, who marries for convenience' 
 or conscience' sake, or because he considers 
 it advisable, commits a blasphemy against 
 the God of Love, and deserves all he may 
 suffer in consequence. I would rather marry 
 a bad woman who loved me than a good 
 woman who did not. Love might reform 
 the first, but mere goodness could never 
 make me love the other. Don't mistake 
 esteem for love, dear. They are not the 
 same thing, and they never will be.' 
 
 * And you are quite, qttite sure, then, 
 that you could never come to love Bella 
 Muckheep .^ ' 
 
 ' Quite, quite sure, little sister. I am 
 afraid that I am too fond of beauty ever 
 to be able to enjoy an ugly wife. I like 
 to be surrounded by beautiful things — to let 
 my eyes dwell on them — to drink in each
 
 Phyllida. 105 
 
 detail of their perfections. You know how 
 I value my beautiful china, my pictures 
 and statuettes. They are a never-failing 
 source of pleasure to me. My wife must 
 be the same. She must be lovely and 
 lovable, or I will die as I am. Miss 
 Bella's fat cheeks and unmeaninof features 
 will never tempt your brother to alter his 
 condition. So you may take me back to 
 her presence with the most perfect safety ! ' 
 
 When they re-entered the drawing-room, 
 Miss Janet was holding forth to Mr Ander- 
 son on the perfections of her favourite 
 minister. 
 
 * Ech, mon ! ' she said, ' but ye should set 
 oonder the Rairverend Doctor Felinus, if 
 ye would hae pure darctrine and the most 
 eestimable example. Ay ! but to hair him 
 cairse the sinner, and depeect the tairrors 
 of hell prepared for the licht-minded and 
 ungardly, wud mak each hair on your heed 
 Stan' on eend. He is a rare fine preacher 
 is the Rairverend Doctor Felinus. It would
 
 1 o6 Phyllida, 
 
 be wairth your wheele to traivel to Barrick- 
 gallagas, jest to get a waird of exhoortation 
 fra the leeps of sae gardly a mon.' 
 
 * But my friend Mr Anderson does not 
 belong to the same church as Dr FeHnus, 
 Miss Muckheep/ interposed Bernard at this 
 juncture, * added to which he has dozens 
 of celebrated preachers of his own faith to 
 whom he could listen with greater benefit to 
 himself.' 
 
 * Ay, but I canna believe it,' replied Miss 
 Janet decisively. * No young mon could do 
 better than to leesten to the exhoortations 
 and the prayers of sech a meenester as Doc- 
 tor Felinus, while he expoonds the glorious 
 darctrines of Calvin, the greet refairmer of 
 the warld.' 
 
 ' Why did you not tell us of him before ! ' 
 exclaimed Mrs Freshfield enthusiastically. 
 ' I should have been so charmed, dear Miss 
 Muckheep, to receive your estimable minister 
 as a guest beneath my humble roof, and to 
 have benefited by some of the precious say-
 
 Phyllida. loy 
 
 ings that would have dropped Hke honey 
 from his Hps.' 
 
 ' You, mother ? ' said Bernard, frowning. 
 ' What should you want with the teachings of ' 
 a Calvinistic minister ? Haven't we parsons 
 enough in our own country to serve your 
 need ? I can understand your wishing to 
 receive Miss Muckheep's friend at Blue 
 Mount, as a friend, but not to place your- 
 self under his ministration as a disciple. And 
 you of all people, who (as a rule) are so espe- 
 cially hard upon any one who dares to think 
 differently from yourself in religious matters.' 
 
 Bernard accompanied this last remark with 
 a glance at Charles i\nderson, which made 
 Mrs Freshfield colour with vexation. 
 
 ' My dear Bernard,' she replied testily, 
 'you are utterly mistaken. It is true that 
 I cannot tolerate a wilful turning from the 
 truth — an abandonment of the faith in which 
 we have been reared.' 
 
 * Come, come ! we have had enough of 
 that,' interposed her son authoritatively.
 
 io8 Phyllida. 
 
 ' But It does not follow/ continued Mrs 
 Freshfield, 'that I should not derive spiritual 
 benefit from association with a saintly man 
 like Dr Felinus, the doctrines of whose 
 church are precisely the same as our own/ 
 
 ' That shows all you know about it/ re- 
 plied Bernard. ' Dr Felinus may be, and 
 doubtless is, an excellent man, but we do not 
 require his teachings in Bluemere/ 
 
 * Ech, sirr ! ' chimed in Miss Janet, 'but 
 ye coudna speak with greater heat if the 
 gude dochter were a bluidy Peepist, reedy 
 to massacre ye with the sward if ye didna 
 sweer at ance, to adhere for aye to his 
 demooralising and darmnatory dawctrlnes/ 
 
 ' Madam,' said Bernard, ' I must ask you 
 to drop all theological discussion for this 
 evening, as my friend here, Mr Anderson, 
 is a member of the church you speak of 
 
 *A meember of what?' exclaimed Miss 
 Muckheep. 
 
 ' Of the Holy Roman Catholic Church,' 
 repeated Anderson reverently.
 
 Phyllida. 109 
 
 * And therefore,' continued Bernard, * you 
 will see that as his faith differs as much 
 from mine, as mine does from that of Dr 
 Felinus, if we wish to spend a pleasant 
 evening together, it will be wise to put 
 our religions in our pockets, and think only 
 of our dinner.' 
 
 ' Ay, but a Peepist ! ' ejaculated Miss 
 Janet, 'a real bluidy Peepist; it is awfu' 
 to think on, and I canna say it is what I 
 expectit in this hoose to be asked to seet 
 doon at the table with a disciple o' the 
 scairleet woman ! ' 
 
 ' Indeed — indeed, dear Miss Janet, it is 
 not my doing,' interposed Mrs Freshfield. 
 
 * Mother, you forget what is due to my 
 father's name,' said Bernard sternly ; but his 
 expression quickly changed as he turned to 
 Miss Janet. 'Come, madam, look well at 
 my friend, and you will see he is not so for- 
 midable an antagonist after all. Turn this 
 way, Anderson, and let us have a good view 
 of your apostate features.'
 
 iio Phyllida. 
 
 ' Ech, sirr ! but Tm no sayin' that the 
 young mon has not a gude face of his a In, 
 mair's the peety it should fa' doon to warr- 
 ship blocks of stone and idols. And is it 
 true, sirr, that the meeneesters canna marry 
 in your misguided chairch ? ' 
 
 ' Quite true, madam,' replied Anderson, 
 with a bow. 
 
 ' Ay ! but it's an awfu thing to con- 
 teemplate, and I sincairly weesh that the 
 rair-verend Dr Felinus had been hair 
 to pint oot to ye the air-rer of your 
 ways.' 
 
 ' And I am sincerely thankful he is not,' 
 cried Bernard, laughing, ' or we should have 
 been victimised to listen to a religious argu- 
 ment that would have spoiled our dinner.' 
 
 'Come, Miss Muckheep,' he added, as the 
 butler announced that the meal was ready, 
 * let us leave our spiritual duties alone for 
 awhile, and attend to the wants of the inner 
 man. I am sure you are ready for your 
 dinner as well as myself, and when it is
 
 PJiyllida. 1 1 1 
 
 over we will join In a bumper to the healths 
 of the Archbishop of Canterbury, the Pope 
 of Rome, and Dr Fehnus, and feel ever so 
 much better Christians for the act.' 
 
 And Miss Muckheep, although dread- 
 fully scandalised at hearing the name of her 
 favourite minister linked with those of two 
 such reprobates as a pope and an arch- 
 bishop, possessed too many ' cairnal pro- 
 cleevltles ' of her own not to relish the idea 
 of a good dinner, and trotted off on Ber- 
 nard's arm without another word. 
 
 * Mother ! ' he said, over his shoulder on 
 their way to the dining-room, ' I have re- 
 ceived such a nice long letter from dear old 
 Nelson Cole.' 
 
 ' Indeed, Bernard ! and what is his news ?' 
 
 ' Well, he wont be home yet awhile, I 
 am sorry to say, but as that is the conse- 
 quence of his abilities being appreciated in 
 the new world, his friends must not grumble 
 at It. And he says that when he does re- 
 turn, his first visit shall be to Briarwood.'
 
 112 Phyllida, 
 
 As the party seated themselves at table, 
 Charles Anderson found himself next to 
 Laura. 
 
 ' Why do you look so solemn ? ' she 
 whispered to him, laughing. 
 
 'I was only thinking — that Is, hoping, 
 Miss Freshfield, that you do not share Miss 
 Muckheep's sentiments with regard to my 
 religion.' 
 
 ' I do not share her sentiments on any 
 subject; you may rest assured of that,' re- 
 turned Laura. ' And, above all things,' she 
 added, with a bright look that reflected itself 
 immediately on her comfianion's counten- 
 ance, ' I admire freedom of thought, and the 
 courage that puts it into action.'
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 HEN Bernard Freshfield went to 
 his mother's house that evening, 
 he had fully intended asking his 
 sister Laura to accompany him to Mrs 
 Pinner's ' tea and muffin ' on the following 
 Thursday, and make the acquaintance of 
 Miss Phyllida Moss. But somehow — he 
 hardly knew w^hy — when he had any oppor- 
 tunity of introducing the subject, a sudden 
 shyness seized him and he said nothing. He 
 was vexed with himself afterwards, and deter- 
 mined he would write to Laura — yet he did 
 not write. Why was It ? The passion of love 
 could not have made this staid young man its 
 
 VOL. I. H
 
 1 1 4 Phyllida. 
 
 victim at one interview — a single sight of 
 that mobile face, those starry, far-seeing 
 eyes and that sensitive mouth could not 
 have thus shaken his reason in her equi- 
 librium ? No ; but he instinctively felt the 
 approach of some great change ; and when 
 the love of woman does come upon man 
 with an overwhelming force that bears down 
 all barriers of circumstance or policy or 
 difficulty before it, he has an inkling of, 
 what will befall him from the very be- 
 ginning. The affection which Is grafted 
 upon esteem and a knowledge of character 
 may last longer, but it knows none of the 
 bliss that is born of mutual instinctive 
 passion. It is the offspring of the reason 
 we have cultivated — not of the nature which, 
 however we may lower It, came as a gift 
 from God, and Is a part of His own essence. 
 When spirit is destined to meet spirit m 
 this world, they look out of the human eyes 
 and tell the truth at once. So, although 
 Bernard Freshfield had only spoken in a
 
 Phyllida. 1 1 5 
 
 grave and somewhat catechising manner to 
 a young girl who, without being shy or re- 
 served, had scarcely smiled once in answer- 
 ing him, he had an undefinable feeling at 
 the idea of meeting her again — a desire 
 that made him excited at the prospect, 
 combined with a reluctance that almost in- 
 duced him not to go at all. But it was almost 
 — not quite. Something — the nineteenth 
 century will laugh at me for calling it his 
 fate, yet why should it not have been his 
 fate since things happen in this world 
 w^hether we will or no, and no power nor 
 prayer of ours seems able to prevent them 
 — something at any rate, that was stronger 
 than his own inclination, drew him to Mrs 
 Pinner's on Thursday evening, although he 
 thought that he w^ould much rather have 
 remained at home. And when he reached 
 his destination and found that INIiss Annie 
 Warren, decked out in w^hite muslin and 
 pink ribbons, was one of the guests invited 
 to meet him, he thought so still more.
 
 1 1 6 Phyllida. 
 
 Miss Warren, as has been already inti- 
 mated, was a parochial light in Bluemere, 
 although some people were unkind enough 
 to say she had not found out her vocation 
 until there was a good-looking young parson 
 for her to work under. She was a dark, 
 Jewish-looking woman, with a profusion of 
 black hair which she wore in innumerable 
 twists, plaits and curls, and was now con- 
 siderably over thirty years of age ; never- 
 theless she cherished very strong hopes of 
 stepping into the vacant shoes at the 
 rectory. She had made herself necessary 
 to Bernard's late wife by taking all her 
 parish and domestic duties off her hands, 
 until the weak-minded Alice had imao^ined 
 she could not order a dinner without the 
 assistance of her friend. So it came to 
 ' pass that, when the poor girl fell into the 
 decline of wdiich she died, Miss Warren 
 not only attended to the wants of the 
 villagers, but constituted herself Mrs Fresh- 
 field's head nurse. And the husband, how-
 
 Phyllida, 1 1 7 
 
 ever much he disHked her, could not but 
 appear grateful for a kindness which pro- 
 fessed to be disinterested. 
 
 But when Alice died, Bernard found 
 himself placed in rather an awkward posi- 
 tion with rec^ard to Miss Warren. 
 
 She had obtained so firm a footing at 
 Briarwood that she almost seemed a fixture 
 there ; and it was not without calling in 
 the aid of his mother that he could per- 
 suade the young lady that her duties as 
 nurse and housekeeper were at an end. 
 
 But as for stopping her interference in 
 the parish, he found that to be almost an 
 impossibility. Miss Annie Warren was 
 always so ready to defer to his wishes 
 and carry out his directions, that he could 
 find no actual fault with her, and the only 
 objection he really had to her acting as 
 his lieutenant was, that she so identified 
 his interests with her own, that the people 
 of Bluemere began to believe they were 
 similar.
 
 1 1 8 Phyllida. 
 
 She had an obnoxious habit too of speak- 
 ing of ' our dear AHce ' and ' our dear lost 
 saint/ for which Bernard could not rebuke 
 her, and yet which jarred upon him more 
 with each repetition ; so that he did not 
 feel particularly pleased when Miss Warren 
 came skipping to open Mrs Pinner's garden 
 gate, — she had an infantine habit of skipping, 
 * as if she were bounding on cork soles,' 
 which made her look terribly young, — and 
 scolded him for being late, as if he were her 
 own property. 
 
 ' You naughty, naughty man,' she cried 
 playfully. * Here have we been waiting for 
 you for the last twenty minutes. I don't 
 know what colour the tea can be by this 
 time, but the poor muffins are as dry as a 
 bone. But you shcint be scolded,' she went 
 on, as she passed her arm familiarly through 
 his, and led him triumphantly up the garden 
 path. ' I daresay you are tired, poor dear, 
 with parish work, and want your tea as 
 much as any of us. Tell me what you've
 
 Phyllida. 119 
 
 been doing this afternoon. Have you visited 
 the almshouse, and, by the way, did you go 
 and see the man at Gray's, who broke his 
 leg falling from the haycart ? ' 
 
 Bernard tried to wriggle his arm out of 
 her s, but without effect. 
 
 ' No ; I haven't been to Gray's,' he 
 answered somewhat curtly, * nor to the alms- 
 houses either. I was too much occupied 
 with other things.' 
 
 ' Your sermon for next Sunday, perhaps,' 
 suggested Miss Warren. ' Well, I think 
 It Is better for you to write It early In the 
 week. You know how tired you generally 
 are by Saturday afternoon.' 
 
 ' Excuse me/ was the young man's reply, 
 as he stooped down to tie an Imaginary 
 shoe-string, and thus released himself from 
 Miss Warren's hold. He was determined 
 not to be led into the presence of Mrs 
 Pinner and her cousin, like a sheep to the 
 slaughter. 
 
 ' Here he is,' exclaimed Miss Warren, as
 
 1 20 Phyllida. 
 
 she preceded him into the sitting-room ; ' and 
 now, Mrs Pinner, you must be good enough 
 to let him have his tea at once, and not 
 say a word to him until he has finished it, 
 because he is just '' done up " with work 
 and worry, and I don't know what your 
 opinion may be, but I think it is awfully 
 good of him to come here and see us at 
 all; 
 
 * Miss Warren gives me credit for a self- 
 denial of which I am utterly incapable,' said 
 Bernard, as he shook hands with Mrs 
 Pinner and two or three other ladies, and 
 looked anxiously round the room for a form 
 which did not appear ; * for, in the first 
 place, Mrs Pinner, \ am as fresh as a daisy, 
 having been asleep half the afternoon under 
 my big mulberry tree ; and in the second, I 
 could have no greater pleasure than in ful- 
 filling my engagement with you.' 
 
 ' Ah ! dear Mr Freshfield, everybody in 
 Bluemere knows how good and self-deny- 
 ing you are; there is no need to try and
 
 Phyllida. 121 
 
 hide your light under a bushel,' sighed his 
 hostess. 
 
 * No, indeed, and he couldn't do it if he 
 tried/ pertly interposed Miss Warren. ' Who 
 should krtow that better than myself, who 
 have seen him under the most painful 
 circumstances. Ah ! that sad, sad autumn, 
 two years ago, when our darling lay, day 
 after day, beneath the mulberry tree, and 
 we never knew, from hour to hour, which 
 would be the last. No one could have 
 watched your behaviour then, Mr Fresh- 
 field, and doubted if you were self-denying 
 or not.' 
 
 ' Well, let us talk of something more con- 
 genial than my domesticVirtues,' replied the 
 young man hastily, as he turned his back 
 upon Miss Warren. At that moment he 
 positively hated her and her reminiscences, 
 and could have boxed her ears with the 
 greatest pleasure, had it but been consistent 
 with his profession as a parson. 
 
 ' I hope Miss Moss is well,' he continued
 
 122 Phyllida, 
 
 to Mrs Pinner, 'and that I shall have the 
 pleasure of seeing her this evening ? ' 
 
 'Yes, she is well enough, thank you. 
 She was here a minute ago, but went up- 
 stairs as you entered the gate. Miss 
 Warren, my dear, will you call Phyllida 
 for me ? ' 
 
 ' Such an extraordinary girl,' whispered 
 Miss Annie familiarly, as she passed his 
 chair, ' it is hardly to be credited that such 
 a creature belongs to the same race as our 
 sweet lost Alice. I hardly know what 
 you'll make of her ! She is not our style 
 by any means.' 
 
 Bernard shook his head impatiently, as 
 though a gad-fly had buzzed past his ear 
 as Miss Warren, with, an arch smile, left 
 the room. 
 
 ' I suppose Miss Moss has told you of 
 our meeting in the Briarwood copse on 
 Monday ?' he said, addressing Mrs Pinner. 
 
 * No, indeed ! What an odd thing that 
 >he should conceal It. Oh, Mr Freshfield,
 
 Phyllida. 123 
 
 she is a very strange girl ! I am almost 
 afraid you will blame me for asking her to 
 Bluemere. And so you have already seen 
 her ? And what was she doing at Briar- 
 wood ? Not trespassing, I sincerely hope ?' 
 
 * Indeed, no' replied Bernard earnestly, 
 ' Miss Moss was only taking an ordinary 
 walk, and I trust she will make use of my 
 grounds whenever she feels disposed to do 
 so. And Mrs • Pinner,' he continued in a 
 lower key, ' I don't think you should speak 
 of your cousin in such terms before strangers. 
 You will give them an unfavourable impres- 
 sion of Miss Moss. I see nothing extra- 
 ordinary in her myself; we had a long talk 
 together, and her ideas are much the same 
 as other people's, except perhaps that she 
 expresses them more openly. And pro- 
 bably they are due to her bringing up 
 as much as to anything else. Where did 
 you tell me she came from ? ' 
 
 * She came to me straight from St 
 Domingo, Mr Freshfield, where some of
 
 124 Phyllida. 
 
 her mother's friends reside, and I beheve 
 you may call it her home, though she has 
 travelled a great deal about. My cousin, 
 Agnes Summers, went out to the West 
 Indies, where she married her first hus- 
 band, and this girl Is her daughter by a 
 second marriage. However, I never knew 
 either Agnes or the men she married, 
 so It's of little consequence to me either 
 way, only I hope I haven't done wrong In 
 letting Phyllida come to Bluemere.' 
 
 ' I am sure you have not. Take my 
 word for It,' replied the parson fervently, 
 and Mrs Pinner believed In him so fully 
 that she began to think that, on the con- 
 tary, she had done a very clever thing. 
 
 ' Here Is Phyllida ! ' she exclaimed, a 
 moment after, as Miss Moss entered the 
 room with Annie Warren. She was still 
 dressed In deep black, and the lace round 
 her throat was the only ornament that 
 relieved her sombre attire. The two young 
 ladles In white muslin, and the widow In
 
 Phyllida. 125 
 
 purple satin who formed the other guests, 
 exchanged furtive looks and smiles at the 
 simplicity of the stranger's dress ; but Ber- 
 nard saw only the humid eyes and the 
 marvellous complexion, and the parted lips 
 like rose leaves with the dew on them, as 
 he rose and clasped the hand she extended 
 to him. After Phyllida's entrance and the 
 few commonplace inquiries that suceeeded 
 it, a blight seemed to fall upon our parson 
 as regarded conversation, and the ladies 
 had all the chatter to themselves. 
 
 The tea and muffins duly made their 
 appearance, and Bernard was conscious of 
 being assiduously waited on by Miss Warren 
 and Miss Masters and Miss Lacy, whilst 
 Mrs Pinner and Mrs Norman talked to 
 him in soft, purring tones, and he answered 
 their inquiries at haphazard, and was 
 half alive to what was passing round him. 
 For Miss Moss was sitting at an open 
 window ar the opposite side of the room, 
 with her face from him, and he kept watch-
 
 126 Phyllida. 
 
 ing the soft evening light as it shimmered 
 on the rippHng waves of her rust-coloured 
 hair, and wondering to himself why each 
 time she made a movement, as though she 
 would turn and look at him, a shock ran 
 through his veins as if they had been sub- 
 jected to electricity. It was quite time our 
 young parson was recalled to himself. 
 
 ' Now, didn't I say he was regularly 
 '' done up," ' ejaculated the shrill voice of 
 Miss Warren. ' Look at his tea and muffin, 
 both as cold as stones. As if he could 
 deceive me', she continued in a tone of 
 triumph, ' who have watched his moods for 
 weeks together. Have you forgotten the 
 time when I had regularly to coax you to 
 take your breakfast, Mr Freshfield, and 
 if I left you to yourself for a minute 
 you'd be off and leave it untasted on the 
 table ? Ah, those were sad times, weren't 
 they ? but mingled with much sweetness, 
 and blessed to both of us, I hope.' 
 
 ' I am sure they were times that neither
 
 Phyllida. 1 2 7 
 
 you nor Mr Freshfield can ever forget, 
 live as long as you may,' chimed in Mrs 
 Pinner, * for the whole village mourned 
 with you and with him. Such a life, and 
 such a death. Ah, — sweet saint.' 
 
 ' Ah, indeed,' sighed Mrs Norman, and 
 all the young ladies looked mournfully 
 sympathetic. 
 
 * We often think of you, dear ]\Ir Fresh - 
 field, in your lonely rooms, and pray for 
 you. It was as terrible loss to incur so 
 early in life ; but depend upon it, it was 
 not sent for naught. It will be overruled, 
 and there are happy days in store for 
 you still at dear Briarwood.' 
 
 ' I hope so,' replied Bernard simply, and 
 he meant to say no more, but catching a 
 glance of too much sympathy from the black 
 eyes of i^IIss Warren, he went on hurriedly, 
 ' I know, my good friends, that you all feel 
 for me, and mean It for the best, but I think 
 it is almost as well not to allude to such 
 things, at all events in company like the
 
 128 Phyllida. 
 
 present. The past is past, you know, and 
 I am a great advocate for burying the past 
 as much as lies in our power. I think it 
 was intended we should do so. I think 
 the Creator meant us to be as happy as 
 we can, consistently with an honourable 
 living; and that when He sends us trouble, 
 He does not wish us to nurse it longer 
 than is necessary. And, added to this, I 
 feel almost as if I should be exciting your 
 sympathy on false pretences, if I did not 
 tell you that, whatever I may have passed 
 through, I am very happy now. I can never 
 feel really lonely, you know, with my good 
 mother and sister to keep me company, and 
 I have no present intention nor desire to 
 have any other society than theirs, and 
 that of my friends of Bluemere. So let 
 us talk of something more cheerful than my 
 past troubles ; which, I can assure you, Mrs 
 Pinner, have nothing to do with the present 
 deplorable condition of my tea and muffin. 
 It is a real shame of me to have neglected
 
 Phyllida. 129 
 
 them ; but if the truth must be told, I dine 
 too late to make a good hand at tea, and 
 I came here for the pleasure of your society 
 only. Will you forgive me, and let some 
 of these young ladies seal my pardon with 
 a little of their charmincr music ? ' 
 
 By which it will be seen that the Reverend 
 Bernard Freshfield had not been able to 
 keep himself entirely free of using the 
 small change which passes current in vil- 
 lage society. But whilst he caused the 
 hearts of Miss Lacy and Miss Masters to 
 flutter with excitement at his request, as 
 they looked out their most pathetic ballads 
 for his edification, Bernard's thoughts were 
 fixed only on the silent figure by the window, 
 which had not once joined in the general 
 conversation. Phyllida had looked up sud- 
 denly, it is true, when Bernard said that it 
 was a duty to bury the past, and her won- 
 derful eyes had met his, and told him in- 
 tuitively that she too had a past to bury : 
 but the glance had lasted but a second, like 
 
 VOL. I. I
 
 130 Phyllida, 
 
 a flash of lightning though — Hke the Hght- 
 ning, it revealed so much, and he longed 
 to see the dark lashes raised aeain. The 
 young ladies were warbling 'Two Wander- 
 ing Stars' together by this time, whilst 
 Miss Warren turned over the leaves of the 
 music, for it was Miss Warren's role to 
 appear as the benefactor, help and guide of 
 everybody in the parish, and Mrs Pinner 
 was enlightening Mrs Norman on the sub- 
 ject of Miss Moss's antecedents. So Ber- 
 nard left his seat, as nervously as if he 
 were a school-boy, and approached the 
 window where the stranger sat alone. 
 
 ' Not one word for me this evening ? ' 
 he inquired in a low voice. 
 
 ' Do you require any ? I thought you 
 were so fully occupied,' replied Phyllida, 
 ' and what should / say in a company 
 like this .^ ' 
 
 * Probably something more interesting 
 than anyone else. Mrs Pinner tells me 
 yOu are a great traveller.'
 
 Phyllida. 1 3 1 
 
 The girl coloured visibly. 
 
 ' She invented the information then ! / 
 never told her so. I have travelled of course 
 — who has not in these days — but not half 
 as much as some people.' 
 
 ' But you came from the West Indies ? ' 
 
 ' Yes, my mother had many friends 
 there. I thought at one time I would make 
 it my home for good ! But circumstances 
 caused me to alter my mind.' 
 
 ' I am so glad of those circumstances.' 
 
 ' Why ? ' 
 
 'Cannot you guess? If they had not 
 happened, we might never have met.' 
 
 'That would have been no great loss to 
 you, Mr Freshfield/ she answered quietly. 
 ' I am not a good subject for conversion. 
 You will only waste your time attempt- 
 ing it.' 
 
 He was about to answer her, when Miss 
 Warren distracted his attention. 
 
 ' Mr Freshfield, isn't It wrong of IMiss 
 Lacy's brother ? He is a clergyman, you
 
 132 PJiyllida. 
 
 know, in London, and he actually allows 
 his wife to go to the theatres.' 
 
 * Really, Miss Warren, I am no judge 
 of another man's actions. If Mr Lacy con- 
 siders the play a suitable amusement for 
 his wife, he is perfectly justified in letting 
 her attend it' 
 
 ' But think of the scenes enacted there — 
 think of the dreadful characters of the poor 
 lost actors and actresses ! I remember when 
 our beloved Alice — ' 
 
 ' Hush ! please don't let us revert to that 
 name,' interposed Bernard; 'I am not aware 
 that I was ever narrow-minded enough to 
 attempt to bias the opinion of any one in 
 any matter that is not strictly forbidden. 
 My sister Laura is very fond of the theatre, 
 and I have never tried to dissuade her from 
 attending it.' 
 
 * But you don't go yourself, Mr Fresh- 
 field ? ' said Mrs Pinner. 
 
 * Because there is no theatre in Bluemere,' 
 he laughed, and then he added, ' that is
 
 Phyllida. 133 
 
 quite another thing. I may refrain from 
 doing so for expediency's sake, but it does 
 not follow that I consider it wrone. On 
 the contrary, I wish I could indulge my 
 very natural inclination that way. And I 
 daresay many are of the same opinion. 
 What do yoiL say, Miss [NIoss ? Are you 
 not fond of the theatre ? ' 
 
 He had to repeat his question before 
 she answered in a very low but decided 
 voice, — 
 
 'No!' 
 
 ' Perhaps you have seen too much of it, 
 and are already blasde ? ' 
 
 She shook her head again. 
 
 * It is not that — but if your conscience 
 approves of it, don't try and persuade them 
 to like it in order to follow your opinion. 
 It is not the theatre, ]\Ir Freshfield, but 
 the company and the excitement and the 
 late hours. Oh, let them continue to love 
 the pure air of the country and the in- 
 nocence and freshness that is around them,
 
 134 Phyllida. 
 
 and don't imbue them with a second-hand 
 taste for what can never do them so much 
 good as harm.' 
 
 She spoke rapidly, and almost in a 
 whisper, but he could hear every word, and 
 marked the glow which overspread her 
 features, and bespoke the sincerity which 
 actuated her speech. 
 
 ' Thank you,' he said in answer ; ' you 
 have become my teacher.' 
 
 ' No ! no ! I did not mean that ; it 
 would be the height of presumption — only 
 you do not know, you cannot tell.' 
 
 ' Do you sing ? ' he asked, to fill up the 
 pause. ' Will you sing for us ? ' 
 
 ' Oh yes ; Phyllida can sing. She has 
 a very pretty pipe of her own,' replied 
 Mrs Pinner, who, with the rest, had been 
 unable to catch the substance of what had 
 passed between her cousin and the parson. 
 But Miss Moss seemed unwillino- to show 
 off her accomplishments. 
 
 * Do sing,' urged Bernard, ' for me!
 
 Phyllida. 
 
 OD 
 
 ' Are you fond of music ? ' 
 
 ' Of m2Lsic ? Yes. But one seldom hears 
 
 it; 
 
 Phyllida went to the piano and struck 
 the opening chords of Ascher's song, ' Alice, 
 where art thou ? ' 
 
 ' You can't si no- that ! ' cried Miss Annie 
 Warren, in a nervous heat. Phyllida looked 
 up to her for explanation. 
 
 ' Why not ? ' 
 
 ' Because — its the very name. Oh, ]\Irs 
 Pinner, please make her sing something 
 else ! ' 
 
 ' And why are we not to hear Ascher's 
 song ? ' demanded Bernard, who knew the 
 ballad, and the reason Miss Warren objected 
 to it perfectly well. 
 
 ' Oh, if yojt can bear it, let her go on,' 
 replied Miss Warren huskily ; ' but as for 
 myself, I must ask leave to quit the room,' 
 and with that she disappeared. 
 
 * What am I to do ? ' asked Phyllida, be- 
 wildered.
 
 136 Phyllida. 
 
 ' Go on,' said the parson, and so she 
 went on, and sang her song through to the 
 end. When she had finished, every one 
 except Bernard looked as grave as a judge. 
 
 ' Thank you so much,' was his comment. 
 ' I never heard anybody sing so beautifully 
 as you do, before.' 
 
 She had sune the sonof in a manner most 
 unusually heard in private life. For though 
 she made no effort, and indeed had taken 
 but little trouble in the matter, her voice 
 was so well trained that she could not use 
 it ill, and the simple song of love and 
 death appealed to the hearts of all present. 
 
 When it was concluded, Bernard took 
 possession of the chair by the window 
 that she had vacated, and looked more 
 solemn than before. 
 
 ' There, you cruel girl, see what you have 
 done!' exclaimed Miss Warren, as she re- 
 entered the room ; ' you have made him 
 downright miserable, and no wonder.' 
 
 ' But he asked for the song himself. And
 
 Phyllida. 137 
 
 why should he mind It more than any 
 other ? ' rejoined PhylHda, glancing some- 
 what ruefully at the parson's downcast face. 
 
 * He told you to go on because he was 
 too polite to stop you ; but It has awakened 
 the most sorrowful memories in his breast. 
 His wife's name was Alice ; the sweetest 
 creature you ever saw, and my dearest 
 friend, and we watched by her dying bed 
 together, and I know what he suftered, dear, 
 dear creature I and what an excellent hus- 
 band he was to her, and more like a brother 
 than a friend to me.' 
 
 Phyllida's lip curled. 
 
 ' Perhaps you will be able to console 
 him, then,' she said shortly as she turned 
 away. 
 
 ' Oh, Mrs Pinner, did you ever hear 
 of such heartlessness ! ' exclaimed Miss 
 Warren, as she repeated the circumstance 
 during a whispered confidence in the corner 
 -of the room. 
 
 ' It is a sad insight, my dear; but perhaps
 
 138 P/iyllida. 
 
 the poor thing has never been happy 
 enough to know what trouble is, and will 
 be mercifully chastened before long. But 
 tell Mary to bring in the tray, my dear. 
 A little refreshment may rouse our dear 
 minister from his sad recollections.' 
 
 The little refreshment, which consisted 
 of stale sponge cakes and bad sherry, did 
 have the desired effect of rousing Bernard, 
 for, in his anxiety to avoid taking any 
 himself, he waited so assiduously on his fair 
 friends, and talked so incessantly to them, 
 that they did not notice the fact that he 
 neither ate nor drank, and Miss Moss 
 followed his example, she neither ate sponge- 
 cakes nor drank sherry. 
 
 ' I am glad to see the signs of a little feel- 
 ing in your cousin,' said Miss Warren, with 
 her mouth full, to Mrs Pinner. ' She can- 
 not take any refreshment. She is evidently 
 thinking over the mischief she has done.' 
 
 ' Ah ! these things are all ordained for us,, 
 and doubtless it will be overruled,' replied
 
 Phyllida. 1 39 
 
 Mrs Pinner, and she would have heaved a 
 pious sigh, only a bit of the stale sponge- 
 cake went the wrong way and made her 
 cough instead. 
 
 When the ladies rose to oret their cloaks 
 and bonnets, and Bernard realised that 
 his term of purgatory was over, he looked 
 round for Aliss Moss in vain. It was a 
 lovely summer night, and the village was 
 as light as though it were day, yet Mrs 
 Pinner's guests. Miss Warren in particular, 
 had quite depended on securing Mr Fresh- 
 field's services to escort them to their homes. 
 But their hopes proved futile. Mr Fresh- 
 field shook hands with them all at the 
 garden gate, but remained inside of it 
 himself. 
 
 ' What can he be stopping for ? ' said 
 Miss Warren anxiously, as they were com- 
 pelled to start without him. 
 
 ' Perhaps he has some parish matter to 
 speak of with Mrs Pinner,' suggested Mrs 
 Norman.
 
 140 Phyllida, 
 
 ' Nonsense,' was the sharp retort; 'as if 
 she had anything to do with the parish ! 
 Mr Freshfield consults me only in such mat- 
 ters, — indeed, he leaves them to me to settle 
 without any consultation. I always did the 
 work for him in dear Alice's lifetime, and I 
 have never relinquished it since.' 
 
 ' Wont it place you in rather an awkward 
 position if Mr Freshfield marries again ? ' 
 inquired the widow, who, like all the eligible 
 ladies of Bluemere, aspired to the post of 
 parson's wife, and was proportionately jealous 
 of Miss Warren's interference. 
 
 ' I don't think so,' w^as the fair Annie's 
 reply, delivered with a certain secret satisfac- 
 tion that aggravated her rivals. 
 
 ' Laura Freshfield told me she hoped her 
 brother would marry again, and soon, too,' 
 remarked yellow-haired Miss Lacy, 'and 
 have another fair wife into the bargain, for 
 she hates dark women.' 
 
 'As if Mr Freshfield would choose a wife 
 to suit his sisters fancy!' ejaculated Miss
 
 Phyllida. 141 
 
 Warren, with an Indignant toss of her head, 
 which resulted in silence, and lasted until 
 the ladies parted at their respective doors. 
 
 Meanwhile, the parson, standing in ]\Irs 
 Pinner's garden, had asked that lady's per- 
 mission to lio^ht a cicrar, which she, from 
 the door-step, with her head enveloped in a 
 woollen wrap, had graciously accorded. It 
 was a very obstinate cigar, however, and 
 after at least a dozen alhunettes had been 
 struck on the heel of his boot, and gone out 
 of themselves, whilst Bernard's eyes roved 
 up and down the house and garden path, he 
 spoke again, — 
 
 ' I don't think I said good-night to Miss 
 Moss, Mrs Pinner. I hope she will not 
 think me neglectful ? ' 
 
 ' Oh no, indeed, Mr Freshfield, but I will 
 go and look for her, and if she has not yet 
 retired I will send her out to you.' And 
 the old lady, who was very glad to get out 
 of the night air, beat a hasty retreat. 
 
 As she disappeared, a slight form came
 
 142 PhylUda. 
 
 round the other side of the house, and a 
 subdued voice said, — 
 
 ' Were you asking for me, sir ? ' 
 
 Bernard turned to her with alacrity. Oh, 
 if Miss Warren could only have seen it ! 
 
 ' I was, indeed. I should have been sorry 
 to return home without wishing you good- 
 bye.' 
 
 ' And I was waiting here to speak to you 
 also, that is, if I could manage it, without 
 the presence of all those women.' 
 
 'All those women have gone home,' 
 laughed Bernard, ' and you may speak with 
 impunity.' 
 
 ' But it is no laughing matter, sir. I 
 guess I have wounded your feelings to-night, 
 and stirred up old memories which you de-- 
 sired to forget. I am very sorry for it — that 
 is all I can say, but I did it unintentionally. 
 I know what trouble is myself, and I would 
 have bitten out my tongue sooner than care- 
 lessly rake up yours.' 
 
 ' But, my dear child,' replied Bernard, ' I
 
 Phyllida. 143 
 
 don't know to what you allude. You have 
 done nothing this evening but afford me 
 exquisite pleasure by your beautiful voice 
 and manner of singing.' 
 
 ' You orrew silent afterwards, and Miss 
 Warren accused me of cruelty in singing a 
 song with that name in it. She said it 
 was the name of your dead wife, whose loss 
 you mourn so much, and I am sorry for it, 
 since it may make you dislike me.' 
 
 Bernard's reply was slow in coming, and 
 he prefaced it by placing his hand over the 
 one with which she leaned on the top of the 
 garden gate. 
 
 ' I cannot speak to you openly,' he said, 
 ' and yet I wish you to understand me. 
 Will you believe me, ■Miss ]\Ioss, when I say 
 that Miss Warren is utterly mistaken in 
 thinking that I did not enjoy your song. 
 And yet it made me feel sad in the midst 
 of pleasure. Why ? Because I have never 
 yet found my '' Alice ! " She is still in 
 Shadow Land, for me and mv heart is alwavs
 
 / 
 
 1 44 Phyllida. 
 
 crying ''Where art thou ?" You may think 
 it very strange for a widower to speak Hke 
 this, but I feel I can trust you with my 
 secret. I have been a husband, but I have 
 never been married. My wife — the woman 
 who is to be one with me in heart and soul 
 I — have yet to meet. And perhaps I may 
 never meet her. Perhaps I may end my life 
 still crying, '* Where art thou ? " And that 
 is what made me sad — not your sweet song, 
 and sweeter voice.' 
 
 ' Poor girl/ sighed Phyllida, with a sort 
 of gasping sob. 
 
 ' To whom do you allude ? ' 
 
 ' To your dead wife.' 
 
 ' No, don't say that. Don't run away 
 with the idea that because I had a want un- 
 satisfied, she must needs have been unhappy. 
 I thank God I sincerely believe she led as 
 peaceful and contented a life as is possible, 
 and died without the faintest idea but that I 
 had done the same. She was a good, dear 
 girl, and I was fond of her, and grateful to
 
 Phyllida, 145 
 
 her for all her forbearance with me, but I was 
 not happy with her — that Is all.' 
 
 ' Well, and I repeat my words,' said 
 Phyllida, ' " Poor girl ! " doubly poor in 
 having failed to come up to the require- 
 ments of the lofty position to which you 
 raised her.' 
 
 ' The " lofty position " of a parson's wife,' 
 laughed Bernard. 'It is evident you are 
 not imbued with English ideas, Miss Moss, 
 or you would not have made such a terrible 
 mistake. We don't think much of parsons 
 in England — and as for the parsons' wives, 
 they are nowhere.' 
 
 ' But Isn't it a great thing to be the wife 
 of a real good man,' said the girl thought- 
 fully ; ' to be his companion and his friend, 
 and to learn to be as good yourself as 
 he is ? ' 
 
 'It is a better thing to be his all on 
 earth,' replied this material young man 
 earnestly. ' I am afraid too many women 
 accept men as husbands on the score of 
 
 VOL. I. K
 
 1 46 Phyllida. 
 
 their supposed goodness, and find afterwards 
 that a sense of duty alone suppHes a very 
 unexhilarating sort of wine with which to 
 fill the cup of life. Parsons' wives, as well 
 as the wives of other men. Miss Moss, must 
 build their married happiness on love — on 
 true and mutual love — or expect it to fail 
 them in their most urgent need.' 
 
 ' I should think that to be the wife of a 
 good man was sufficient happiness for any 
 woman on earth. Think what it is — I mean 
 only fancy what it must be — to be tied to 
 a bad man, a thief or a murderer ' (with a 
 shudder), ' always swearing at you or cursing 
 you — and then see what a heaven the other 
 would look like.' 
 
 ' But you are imagining an extreme case, 
 Miss Moss, such an one as could never 
 enter except into your imagination. How 
 you tremble. Do you feel the night cold ?' 
 
 * No, no ! ' the girl replied with a 
 shaking voice, that sounded ominously like 
 tears.
 
 Phyllida. 147 
 
 ^ ' You are sad,' said Bernard kindly. * You 
 are in trouble. What is it '^. ' 
 
 But all the answer Phyllida gave was to 
 throw her hands up to her face and give 
 vent to a sudden burst of grief 
 
 * Oh, how I wish I was dead ! ' she ex- 
 claimed as she dashed the tears from her 
 eyes with an impatient gesture at her own 
 weakness ; ' how I wish I was at rest with 
 your Alice or the thousand other girls that 
 have dropped to sleep in this peaceful 
 village before care or misery came upon 
 them.' 
 
 * Don't say that/ cried Bernard, startled 
 out of all propriety by her unexpected 
 emotion. ' If you only knew what I feel, 
 what it would be to me,' and then, recalling 
 himself just in time, he added more calmly, 
 * Miss Moss — Phyllida, if I may call you so — 
 never do such a thing again as to wish for 
 death, however tempted you may be. It is 
 foolish and wrong. Death is not oblivion, 
 remember, and whatever ills we have to bear
 
 148 Phyllida. 
 
 in this life, may be doubled in the world 
 to come. I guess — I feel that you have 
 suffered : be patient, look on me as your 
 friend, and some day you may gather heart 
 to come and tell me all, and I will give you 
 absolution for it.' 
 
 * Oh no — not you — not you ! ' exclaimed 
 the girl fearfully. ' I could not tell you! 
 
 * Then I will be your friend without re- 
 ceiving your confidence. Any way, I must 
 — I will be — your friend.' 
 
 The soft brown eyes went up to meet 
 the glance of his, and sunk beneath it. 
 Bernard pressed the hand he had again 
 taken in his own. 
 
 ' Phyllida,' he whispered ; and then he 
 heaved a sigh and turned on his heel and 
 walked slowly down the lane. 
 
 She stood for a minute where he had 
 left her, gazing after him. 
 
 * Oh, what is this ? ' she asked herself with 
 a sort of fearful joy. 
 
 * Phyllida,' said the shrill voice of Mrs
 
 Phyllida. 
 you said 
 
 o^ood-nlorht 
 
 o o 
 
 149 
 
 to 
 
 Pinner, ' have 
 the minister ? ' 
 
 ' Yes, cousin. I have said good-night 
 to him,' rephed the girl as she returned 
 to the house.
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 T is the teaching of the world 
 that has made us lay down the 
 axiom that to act upon impulse 
 is a folly. How few of our impulses are 
 wrong. What benevolent impulses, and 
 sympathetic impulses, and generous im- 
 pulses we relinquish upon second thoughts, 
 for fear that we may be 'taken in/ or 
 * make fools of ourselves/ or * not show 
 a proper pride,' and the world — the heart- 
 less, lying, snobbish world — may jeer at 
 an impulsive error. Ah, better to be taken 
 in a thousand times than break one heart 
 (and that one perhaps our own) from a
 
 Phyllida. 1 5 1 
 
 dilatoriness that can never be amended. 
 Yet so strong is the influence of our 
 childhood's teaching, that we seldom act 
 on impulse without entertaining a host 
 of misgivings as to whether we have not 
 done wrong. 
 
 Bernard Freshfield felt so as he walked 
 home that night. He had only done the 
 most natural thing for a young and im- 
 pressionable man to do, when brought in 
 contact with a young woman in trouble. 
 He had tried to console her, and he had 
 permitted his voice and his eyes to con- 
 vey the sympathy he felt. If he had 
 followed his impulses to their full extent, 
 he would have kissed the sweet, tearful 
 face that was uplifted to his in the moon- 
 light, but at this point he had restrained 
 himself. Yet he blamed his own weak- 
 ness as he walked home to Briarwood, 
 and condemned his conduct as unbecoming 
 his profession, and wished he had not 
 said ' Phyllida,' in that particularly soft
 
 1 5 2 Phyllida. 
 
 and winning voice as he left her side, of 
 that he was at Hberty to act and feel 
 Hke other men of his age and position. 
 
 He vexed himself on every point, In fact, 
 until he reached his destination, and made 
 grand resolutions to be more circumspect for 
 the future. What should a minister of the 
 gospel, he thought, have to do with falling 
 In love at first sight? It was Indecorous 
 and unseemly! Besides, It couldn't be love, 
 ablaze In this manner at a moment's notice, 
 and for a woman he knew nothing of, and 
 had never seen but once before. It 
 must be some baser passion, born only of 
 a beautiful face and lustrous languid eyes, 
 and It was his duty to trample it under 
 foot as a temptation of the devil. 
 
 He went to bed In this praiseworthy 
 frame of mind, and he waked in the morn- 
 ing with but one idea in his head — how 
 could he contrive to meet Phyllida Moss 
 again! He wanted to bring her to Briar- 
 wood — to see her walk through his rooms
 
 Phyllida. 153 
 
 and sit in his chairs, and leave the influ- 
 ence of her enchanted presence behind her 
 when she left again. A happy thought 
 struck him! The Miss ]\Iuckheeps' visit 
 to Bluemere as his mother's guests, rendered 
 it almost imperative on him to show them 
 some attention at Briarwood. He would 
 invite the whole party over to meet Mrs 
 Pinner and her cousin, and one or two 
 other friends. They would not have a 
 formal dinner only, they should spend a 
 day there — a whole, long, sunny, happy, 
 heavenly day amongst the flower gardens 
 and shrubberies of Briarwood. As soon as 
 Bernard had conceived this idea, there was 
 no longer any rest for him until he had 
 put it into execution. He sprung from 
 his bed, and walked over to Blue Mount, 
 delighting his mother by appearing at the 
 breakfast-table in the most affable humour 
 with her and everybody else. 
 
 * We have had such a glorious summer, 
 and the country is looking so beautiful,
 
 154 f^hyllida, 
 
 that It really Is a sin for anyone to remain 
 in bed when he may be abroad with nature,' 
 he said, in excuse for his early visit. ' My 
 old gardener, Armstrong, has turned Briar- 
 wood Into a perfect Paradise. I hope you 
 are going to bring your visitors over to see 
 my flowers, mother ? Are you fond of a 
 garden, Miss Muckheep ?' he added to Miss 
 Janet. 
 
 ' Ay,' replied the old woman In one long 
 drawn-out syllable. ' I'm no denyin' that 
 the flo-ors air as bonnie as the reest o' the 
 wairks o' the creation, but to be ower fond 
 of a gair-den or a doog, or a beestle of any 
 sairt is a cair-nal procleevity fra which I 
 thank the Laird I ha' been presairved. 
 Bella — een !' 
 
 ' Ah, well,' replied Bernard, laughing ; 
 ' perhaps I should have said are you an 
 admirer of nature Instead, Miss Janet ? 
 Any way, if you and your niece will honour 
 me by accompanying my mother and sister 
 to Briarwood some day, I think I can show
 
 Phyllida. 155 
 
 you as pretty a flower-garden, on a small 
 scale, as is to be found In the county.' 
 
 Mrs Freshfield became quite excited at 
 this proof of her son's evident desire to make 
 himself agreeable to her friends. 
 
 * I am sure you will enjoy it, dear Miss 
 Janet,' she interposed. ' My Bernard is an 
 excellent host, and Brlar^vood itself is worthy 
 of a visit. I want you to see the rooms 
 and the furniture,' she continued. In a lower 
 and more confidential key. ' Such a draw- 
 ing-room, all ebonlsed chairs and tables, with 
 pale pink hangings, and the library, too, in 
 solid oak and morocco leather. No ex- 
 pense was spared, I can assure you, in 
 fitting It up, for I felt I could not do too 
 much for the wife of my beloved son, as I 
 shall feel again, if the happy day ever 
 arrives for me to welcome a new mistress 
 to Briar wood.' 
 
 ' Eh, weel, woman, it's na' seelks nor 
 sal-tins as ye maun set your mind upon, 
 but a clean hairt and a reet speerit, and
 
 156 Phyllida. 
 
 then a' the reest maun follow In due coorse. 
 Not that I wudna be sayin' that a guid 
 tocher Is an eestlmable thing to set up the 
 hoose with, and I trawst that Bella's carle 
 will be fain to oreeve her foornlture accair- 
 din' to her station ; but we mauna think 
 too much of oor sinful bodies and the 
 cawm-forts of this walrld.' 
 
 ' No, no ; of course not,' replied Mrs 
 Freshfield, who was rather taken aback 
 by this unexpected rebuke, ' still I am 
 sure you will say you never saw anything 
 more elegant than the decorations of 
 Briarwood.' 
 
 Bernard, meanwhile, had drawn his 
 sister aside. 
 
 * I want you to write two or three in- 
 vitations for me, Laura. They will come 
 better from mother than from myself 
 
 'Why, Bernard, are you going to have a 
 party ? ' 
 
 ' Oh. no ; nothing particular. Only a 
 few friends will make the visit more agree-
 
 Phyllida. \ 5 7 
 
 able to the Muckheeps, and it Is a good 
 
 opportunity for me to pay off some old 
 
 debts in that way.' 
 
 ' To whom shall I write, then ? ' 
 
 ' To the Ashleighs. Ask Captain and 
 
 Mrs Ashleigh, and their son. I have dined 
 
 there several times this year.' 
 
 * Very good ; and who else ? ' 
 
 * The Langleys ; they are nice girls, and 
 have two officers staying with them. And, 
 let me see ! You may as well ask Mrs 
 Pinner and her cousin, Miss Moss.' 
 
 ' Has Mrs Pinner a cousin ?' asked Laura 
 in surprise. ' When did she come ? I never 
 heard of her.' 
 
 ' I thought the village crier — Miss Warren 
 — would have been sure to tell you all about 
 her. Miss Moss has been in Bluemere for 
 some weeks, and I have met her at the 
 Pinners.' 
 
 * And Is she nice, Bernie ? ' 
 
 * Oh, she's well enough ; a little barbarian, 
 fresh caught from St Domingo, but with
 
 158 Phyllida. 
 
 more In her perhaps than the generality 
 of her sex — (no offence meant, my dear, 
 and I hope none "took").' 
 
 ' Never mind, I am used to 3^our com- 
 phments. But is it necessary to ask this 
 girl, Bernie ? You can't have every- 
 body.' 
 
 ' She may as well come,' replied her 
 brother indifferently, ' Mrs Pinner will not 
 care to walk backwards and forwards to 
 Briarwood alone.' 
 
 ' Very well. Any more ? ' 
 
 ' No ; the others will be men, and I will 
 write to them myself. ' 
 
 ' Not Miss Warren?' 
 
 ' Certainly not Miss Warren, she is de- 
 testable ! ' replied Bernard, with unnecessary 
 warmth. 
 
 * Oh dear ! ' laughed Laura with a mis- 
 chievous look. She was well aware of 
 Annie Warren's aspirations with regard to 
 Briarwood and its master, and was not sorry 
 to think that for once that Individual would
 
 Pliyllida. 1 59 
 
 be unable to boast of her Intimacy with 
 the family of Freshfield. 
 
 Bernard remained at Blue Mount all 
 the morning, and it was arranged that the 
 festivities of Briarwood were to take place 
 on the following Tuesday, and to consist 
 of a collation on the lawn at five o'clock, 
 and a supper In the house at half-past nine. 
 Croquet, lawn-tennis, and archery were to 
 be the amusements of the afternoon, and 
 the parson was actually rash enough to pro- 
 pose a fiddler and a dance on the green, 
 to give them an appetite for supper, but 
 Miss Janet nipped his frolicsome propensities 
 in the bud. 
 
 'If ye will ha' seckit calrnal palrstimes 
 at yon hoose of Bree-arwud, never expectit 
 to see me within its walrls, Mr Fralchfield. 
 You mak me bloosh to hear ye coonten- 
 ance sic ungawdly plee-sures. Na, na ; 
 Bella doesna' set fut in Bree-arwud till ye 
 can tell me there will be na sic profane 
 seeghts to meet her ee'. Bella — shoolders !
 
 1 60 Phyllida. 
 
 ' Oh, no, no ! dear Miss Janet, Bernard 
 was only joking. Were you not, my son ? ' 
 exclaimed Mrs Freshfield, horrified at the 
 turn thinors were taklne In her visitor's 
 mind. ' He would never dream of any- 
 thing so frivolous as dancing. Would you, 
 Bernard ? We have all agreed long ago 
 that It Is a vain and godless amusement, 
 and quite unfitted for one of his sacred 
 calling.' 
 
 ' Well, I don't know about di^eaming of 
 it, mother,' replied Bernard frankly. ' I am 
 afraid I very often do dream of it, and wish 
 it were more feasible ; but I can assure you 
 and Miss Janet that there shall be no 
 dancinof at Briarwood If the Idea Is the 
 least offensive In your eyes.' 
 
 ' That's my good son ! ' replied Mrs 
 Freshfield, and so the matter was happily 
 settled, and Bernard returned home to con- 
 sult his housekeeper about the preparations 
 for the coming entertainment, and to pass, 
 as best he might, the few hours of feverish
 
 Phyllida, 1 6 1 
 
 suspense which must elapse before he re- 
 ceived an answer from Mrs Pinner. 
 
 It came at last, and it was favourable. 
 It would give Miss Moss and herself the 
 greatest pleasure to accept the Reverend ^\r 
 Freshfield's kind invitation for Tuesday next. 
 
 What else did he expect the woman to 
 say, considering that all days wei'e dis- 
 engaged days in Bluemere, and an invitation 
 to Briarwood or Blue Mount was considered 
 the very height of honourable dissipation. 
 Of course everybody said that they would 
 come, and only too glad to do so. 
 
 Yet the foolish, love-stricken young man 
 felt the hot blood course wildly through 
 his veins as he read }*Irs Pinner's common- 
 place reph', and he raised the old woman's 
 crabbexl writing to his burning lips. 
 
 The weather behaved as it ought to do 
 oh that particular Tuesday, and the August 
 sun was streaming like a flame of glory 
 over hill and dale and foliage and flowers, as 
 Bernard Freshfield stood in the portico of 
 
 VOL. I. L
 
 1 62 Phyllida. 
 
 Briarwood to receive his guests, dressed 
 in a brown velveteen coat with a noisette 
 rose in his button-hole. His mother nearly 
 had a fit as she descended from her carriage 
 and beheld his costume ; but no one thought 
 of wearing Pall Mall suits in Bluemere, and 
 she trusted that Miss Janet might not be 
 aware of the English etiquette concerning 
 the clothes of parsons, who though they 
 have been strictly enjoined to take no 
 thought as to what they shall put on, are 
 as particular about the shape of their collars 
 and the brims of their hats as if they 
 were young ladies in their first season. 
 
 However unorthodox might Bernard's 
 coat and trousers have been, and that 
 worldly and carnal noisette rose blooming 
 so saucily in his button-hole, there was no 
 fault to be found with his frank, smiling 
 face and hospitable greeting, and he looked 
 the very picture of a fine young English- 
 man as he welcomed his friends to Briar- 
 wood.
 
 Phyllida. 163 
 
 * How handsome Bernle is looking to- 
 day/ whispered Laura to her mother. * I 
 have not seen him so bright and merry 
 since Ahce died.' 
 
 * Happier days are coming for him, thank 
 heaven/ repHed Mrs Freshfield, with a gush 
 of premature gratitude, as she thought of the 
 round-faced Bella, who, attired in a Stuart 
 tartan, and a hat of purely Scotch manu- 
 facture, looked very much as if she had 
 come out of a Noah's ark. 
 
 A cricket tent had been erected on the 
 lawn, which sloped down to the copse where 
 Phyllida first met Bernard, and from which 
 even Miss Janet was obliged to confess 
 that the view was like a peep of Paradise. 
 The smooth turf ran for some distance 
 green, pliant, and close shorn as a piece 
 of emerald velvet, and the beds of flowers 
 bloomed all round it like a belt of beauty 
 and of sweetness. Shrubberies enclosed 
 the garden on either side, shutting off the 
 stables, the kennels, and the kitchen de-
 
 164 Phyllida. 
 
 partment. To the back was a pine grove 
 to shelter the house from the east wind ; 
 beyond the copse in front were richly pas- 
 tured meadows where Bernard's Alderneys 
 grazed, and his colts took their summer 
 pastime. Look on which side you chose, 
 Briarwood presented the picture of a well- 
 ordered and well-kept English homestead. 
 There was but one thing wanting there, — 
 it was a Paradise without an Eve ! 
 
 Mrs Freshfield whispered something of 
 this kind to Miss Muckheep, as the ladies 
 followed Mrs Garnett, the housekeeper, to 
 the room which had been prepared for 
 their temporary use. 
 
 'Not in here, Mrs Garnett,' she ex- 
 claimed, as the servant turned the handle 
 of the principal bedroom door. 
 
 ' Yes, madam, his reverence gave me 
 orders it was to be so,' Mrs Garnett re- 
 plied, as she ushered the party into a large 
 bedroom, magnificently furnished in the 
 French fashion with white and blue and gold.
 
 Phyllida. 165 
 
 ' Dear me, how very peculiar,' remarked 
 Mrs Freshfield, as soon as they were alone. 
 ' This was poor, dear Alice's bedroom, Miss 
 Janet, and my son has never occupied it 
 since she was called away. I wonder what 
 made him order it to be prepared for our 
 use to-day! It is very flattering; don't 
 you think so ? I know it is not everybody 
 whom Bernard would admit to this room, 
 and it is a direct compliment to you 
 and dear IMiss Bella. How sweet she 
 looks ! ' 
 
 ' Mamma ! mamma ! who is that lovely 
 girl?' exclaimed Laura, interrupting Mrs 
 Freshfield's confidences, as the door re- 
 opened to admit another party of guests. 
 ' Oh, there is Mrs Pinner ! it must be her 
 cousin, Miss Moss!' 
 
 Phyllida, in a dress of some clear black 
 stuff, made full and high to her throat, and 
 which yet revealed the creamy fairness 
 of her arms and shoulders — with a large 
 Rembrandt hat upon her head, with a
 
 1 66 Phyllida, 
 
 drooping black feather, and not a single 
 ornament to clash with the perfect beauty 
 of her features — did look pre-eminently 
 lovely, and startled even her own sex 
 with a first view of her charms. But 
 she stood beside Mrs Pinner, silent and 
 unsmiling ; without a single glance that 
 betokened knowledge of her own fairness : 
 and Laura's second thought concerning her 
 was, how sorrowful she looked for one so 
 young. 
 
 ' Is this your cousin, Mrs Pinner; please 
 to Introduce me,' she said quickly. 
 
 * Oh yes ! certainly, Miss Freshfield, with 
 pleasure. Her name is Phyllida Moss. 
 It was so good of our dear minister to 
 include her in his invitation. She actually 
 didn't want to come, but I told her that 
 would appear most ungrateful to Mr Fresh- 
 field and all of you.' 
 
 * I did not think there would be so many 
 people,' interposed Phyllida, ' but it is quite 
 a party.*
 
 Phyllida. 167 
 
 ' I understand/ replied Laura, with a 
 glance at the stranger's mourning ; ' and you 
 have not been out much lately. But now 
 you have come, Miss Moss, I hope you will 
 enjoy yourself, and try and make friends 
 with me. There are so few companionable 
 young ladies in Bluemere.' 
 
 She had been smitten at first sight with 
 the girl's pensive beauty, and was eager 
 to know more of her. But Phyllida did 
 not respond in like measure. Rather she 
 smiled at Miss Freshfield's sudden enthu- 
 siasm as from the heights of a superior 
 wisdom. 
 
 ' I should have thought there were too 
 many,' she replied, alluding to the young 
 ladies, as she shook the dust from the skirt 
 of her black dress. 
 
 * You overlooked my adjective/ said Laura 
 merrily. ' But if you have finished arrang- 
 ing yourself, let us get out of this room. 
 I can't bear it. It is the one in which 
 my sister-in-law died.'
 
 1 68 P/iyllida. 
 
 Phylllcla looked round at the white and 
 blue and gold adornments with interest. 
 'And does not your brother use it now ? ' 
 
 * No, never! He sleeps in a tiny room 
 at the other side of the house.' 
 
 * How stranofe ! ' 
 
 * Do you think so ? I should say how 
 natural ; what do we want with harbouring 
 unpleasant memories ? There is enough 
 trouble in the world without that.' 
 
 ' But when we have loved a person, can 
 the memories be unpleasant ? ' demanded 
 Phyllida. 
 
 Laura laughed. 
 
 ' I am not to be drawn into a philo- 
 sophical discussion to-day, Miss Moss. I 
 have come here merely to enjoy myself ; 
 besides, I don't think my brother has ever 
 cared for anybody in the way you mean. 
 Let us go down and secure good seats 
 for this famous collation.' 
 
 And the first view Bernard had of Phyl- 
 lida that day was linked, arm in arm.
 
 Phyllida. 1 69 
 
 with his lauehincT sister Laura. The si^ht 
 warmed his heart as he hastened to greet 
 the two girls — and PhylHda s cheeks flushed 
 red as the heart of a damask rose when 
 she perceived him. The collation was 
 perfect ; and as Bernard kept on heaping 
 good things upon Miss Muckheep's plate, 
 his mother secretly wondered how he had 
 contrived to import aspic jelly and plovers 
 eggs, and truffles, and perigord pie to Blue- 
 mere, and why he had considered it worth 
 while to do her guests such honour as this, 
 when his native hams and home-made cakes 
 and strawberries and cream, had been con- 
 sidered sufficient provision for all former 
 parties at Briarfoot. 
 
 ' Ech, mon!' exclaimed Miss Janet, as he 
 piled her plate with lobster salad, * I'll nob- 
 but be sayin' but your jeelies and sallets, 
 and troofled tairkies air a' gude in their way, 
 but dinna forgit that they air but cairnal 
 pleesures, an' that in a few shairt yairs, we 
 shall a' be where seckit things air unknown.'
 
 1 70 Phyllida. 
 
 'Well, we have no actual proof of that, 
 Miss Janet,' replied Bernard, laughing; 'but 
 if it is the case, let us make the most of 
 them whilst we are here.' 
 
 ' Eh, young man, but your puir feet air 
 no in the reet pairth, if ye can airgue in sic 
 a manner. I wish ye cou'd hair my gude 
 brither the Laird o' Muckheep discoorse on 
 seckit things. Ay, but he's a gude mon, 
 and a Gawd - fearing, and treeds a' sic 
 cairnal pleesures under his feet.' 
 
 ' Why does your brother stay so much 
 from home, Miss Janet?' inquired Laura; 
 ' why doesn't he live at Ballick-gallagas 
 Castle with Bella and you ? ' 
 
 *Ay, but my dear, is it for the likes 
 o' you and me to question the goin's and 
 comin's of a pee-ous and Gawd - faering 
 man like the Laird o' Muckheep ? If he 
 doesna' see fit to bide at Ballick-gallagas, 
 ye may be sure 'tis the Laird's wairk as 
 keepit him elsewheer. For my brither 
 sheds the licht o' the garspel round him
 
 Phyllida. 171 
 
 wheerever he goes as a shinin' ray, and 
 when it is needed at the cairstle he will 
 be cad hame.' 
 
 * Where is the laird now ? ' asked Bernard, 
 wishing to be polite. 
 
 ' I canna say for cairtain, Mr Fraichfield, 
 but he's ay at Noo Yairk, or Cailifoornia 
 or the Valley o' Saicremeentc, or any other 
 pairt wheer his blessed teachins air most 
 needed by the larist and ungardly souls, 
 wha' he was bairn to refairm.' 
 
 ' What is the matter ? ' said Laura to her 
 neighbour, Phyllida Moss. The girl had 
 turned as white as marble, and the blue 
 veins on her forehead stood out like cords. 
 
 * Nothing, nothing ! only the day is rather 
 warm,' she answered. 
 
 Bernard glanced towards her anxiously. 
 
 ' Take a glass of wine,' he said, pouring 
 out some sherry. ' You require it, Miss 
 Moss, you have turned quite pale.' 
 
 But she pushed the glass from her, and 
 turned her head the other way.
 
 1 72 Phyllida. 
 
 'You will not get Phyllida to touch wine, ' 
 remarked Miss Pinner. ' She is quite a tee- 
 totaller and cannot bear the sight of it. 
 Perhaps you had better take a turn In the 
 garden, my dear,' she added, * if the ladles 
 will excuse your absence. I am afraid the 
 walk up here In the heat has been too 
 much for you.' 
 
 But Phyllida refused to leave the table, 
 declaring she was all right again, and sat 
 out to the end of the meal, whilst Bernard 
 kept looking at her white face anxiously, 
 and blaming his own stupidity In not having 
 thought of sending a carriage to convey her 
 and Mrs Pinner to Briarwood. As soon as 
 the collation was over, the old people dis- 
 posed themselves on garden chairs and 
 benches, whilst the young ones repaired to 
 the lawn-tennis ground, and soon a merry 
 party were sending the balls flying every- 
 where but over the net, whilst shouts of 
 laughter accompanied each fresh failure or 
 success. Bernard did not care to play him-
 
 Phyllida, 
 
 /J 
 
 self; he was not by any means a croquet and 
 worsted-work parson ; but his young curate 
 Frank Robinson enjoyed himself to the 
 utmost, and tried hard to persuade Miss 
 Moss to take a racket ; but she shrunk 
 visibly from the mere idea. 
 
 ' Oh no ! ' she kept on saying, ' I could 
 not run like that before everybody. Indeed, 
 I couldn't. I should trip over my dress and 
 fall, or do something dreadful ; besides, I 
 don't want to try ; indeed, I don't ! ' 
 
 ' Don't tease ^liss Moss, Robinson,' in- 
 terposed Bernard ; ' the heat is trying her, 
 and she would rather remain quiet.' 
 
 Mr Robinson departed with a bow, and 
 Phyllida looked gratefully at the parson. 
 
 ' Would you like to rest indoors till it is 
 cooler ? ' continued Bernard. ' I want to 
 show you my house before it grows dusk. 
 Will you come ? ' 
 
 He held out his hand with a smile as he 
 spoke, and she accompanied him without a 
 word. Some remembrance of the last time
 
 1 74 Phyllida. 
 
 they had been alone together In the moon- 
 light, leaning over Mrs Pinner's gate, was 
 doubtless in the mind of both, but neither 
 spoke of it. The hall and sitting-rooms of 
 Briarwood felt deliciously cool after the un- 
 sheltered heat of the garden, and Phyllida's 
 colour began to revive. It was a relief to 
 her to lose the sound of the loud laughing 
 and talking that was going on outside ; to be 
 led by Bernard into one pretty shaded room 
 after another, and to be invited to repose 
 on the luxurious chairs and couches, seemed 
 like the peace and quiet of heaven after the 
 rattle of the world. She followed him first 
 to the drawing-room, which was quaintly 
 furnished in the Louis Quinze style, with 
 sateen of a pale pink colour, decorated with 
 little cuplds and ribbons in blue, and had a 
 grand piano standing in one corner, and 
 mirrors framed in ebony and gold to match 
 the chairs and tables. Bernard wanted Phyl- 
 lida to try the piano, but she shrank from 
 awakening the echoes in that empty house.
 
 Phyllida. 175 
 
 * Don't ask me/ she said, with evident 
 repugnance. * It would seem Hke sacrilege 
 to sing to that piano. I guess it was her's, 
 and I should fancy she was listening all 
 the while, and reproaching me for daring 
 to use her things.' 
 
 * It will be very unfortunate for me if 
 every one holds your opinions,' said Bernard 
 gravely, as he closed the piano lid. ' Is 
 my house always to be a house of mourn- 
 ing, because my first venture turned out a 
 failure ? ' 
 
 But he did not ask her to sing again, and 
 he led her quickly through the other apart- 
 ments, until they reached the library, which 
 was hung w^ith purple velvet and furnished 
 wuth old oak. Bernard's writing-table and 
 chair stood on a Persian carpet at one end 
 of the long room, and over the mantelpiece 
 hung an oil painting of a girl, with a delicate 
 face and soft braids of fair hair and a lap- 
 ful of flowers. Phyllida guessed it was the 
 portrait of the dead wife.
 
 176 Phyllida. 
 
 * I shall keep you a prisoner here,' said 
 Bernard playfully, ' until you look yourself 
 again. Come, take off your hat and lean 
 back in that chair, it is my own particular 
 lounge when I am lazy, and I know you 
 will find it comfortable. Do you hear that 
 sound ? It is my dogs baying to get loose ; 
 it is about the time when the groom takes 
 them out for exercise. I love to sit here 
 and listen to their voices. They are 
 company for me when I am alone.' 
 
 He threw open the v/indow as he spoke, 
 and leaned his arms upon the sill. 
 
 'Ah, Mrs Benson!' he exclaimed as he 
 recognised a figure walking slowly through 
 the grounds, ' what brings you here to- 
 day ? ' 
 
 ' I came to see you, sir, but they told me 
 you had company on the lawn, and so I 
 was just taking my way home again.' 
 
 ' But that was wrong of Mrs Garnett. 
 She knows I am always at the service 
 of my friends. Is anything the matter '^. '
 
 PJiyllida. 177 
 
 ' Rachel's gone, sir,' replied the old 
 woman, and as she advanced to the open 
 window, Phylllda could see that the tears 
 were coursing down her cheeks ; ' she went 
 this morning at seven o'clock, and her 
 last words were a prayer and a blessing 
 for you.' 
 
 ' My poor friend,' said Bernard, as he 
 took the woman's withered hand In his, ' I 
 feel for you deeply. It must be very hard 
 to bear, now It has come — though we ex- 
 pected It so long.' 
 
 ' I would be the last to complain, sir. 
 It was written she was to go, and I kept 
 her longer than I had any reason to hope. 
 And, thanks to your goodness, my poor 
 Rachel was ready for her change when it 
 did come.' 
 
 ' Say, rather, thanks to the goodness of 
 God, Mrs Benson,' corrected the parson 
 gendy. 
 
 ' No, sir, I can't unsay my words. I 
 know of course that it was the ofoodness 
 
 VOL. I. M
 
 1 78 Phyllida. 
 
 of God as enabled you to do it — so 'twould 
 be if you gave a crust to a starving crea- 
 ture ; but yotid give it all the same, and 
 if it hadn't been for your patience and long- 
 suffering and prayers, my poor Rachel would 
 have left this world as careless as she lived 
 in it. It's all owing to you, sir, as I can 
 believe and trust that she's in glory now.' 
 
 ' But you mustn't say such things, Mrs 
 Benson ; indeed you mustn't,' replied Ber- 
 nard, visibly disturbed by the old woman's 
 laudation. ' I did nothing more for your 
 daughter than any other man would have 
 done under the circumstances — Mr Robin- 
 son for instance, or Mr Blackett of Rivers- 
 dale, or any other clergyman.' 
 
 'Why didn't Mr Robinson do it, then?' 
 demanded the mother shortly. ' You know 
 it isn't the visiting nor the reading nor 
 the teaching I speak of, sir. It's the 
 Christian love you give my poor child — 
 and the sympathy, and the prayers you 
 prayed for her at home. I know you did
 
 Phyllida, 1 79 
 
 now, so it's no use denying it — that broke 
 down all the pride in her poor heart. And 
 the last words she said to me was, " Am 
 I going, mother ? Then may God bless 
 Mr Freshfield for ever and ever." Them 
 was my Rachel's last words, sir/ continued 
 the woman, wiping her eyes, 'and I'll 
 never forget them nor you, till the grave 
 closes over myself.' 
 
 Bernard Freshfield looked as stupid and 
 conscious during this harangue as though 
 he had been detected in a crime. His fair 
 cheeks crimsoned like those of a woman's, 
 and he did not once glance in the direc- 
 tion of his guest. 
 
 ' Mrs Benson,' he said, quietly ignoring 
 all that had passed, ' don't go home until 
 you have had some refreshment. Go to 
 Garnett's room and get a glass of wine or 
 a cup of her good tea. You are not fit to 
 undertake the walk back without — ' 
 
 ' No, sir, don't ask me. I couldn't 
 touch bit nor sup, nor would I have
 
 1 80 Phyllida. 
 
 come up to-day If I'd known you were 
 engaged. But she looks beautiful, sir — so 
 peaceful and happy — and you'll come . and 
 see her, wont you, before she's screwed 
 down ? I know she'd like to think you did.' 
 
 ' I will come the first thine to-morrow 
 morning, Mrs Benson.' 
 
 ' God bless you, sir ! you've been more 
 like an angel than a human being to us. And 
 you'll bury her, too, sir. Won't you ? ' 
 
 ' Of course, I will ! ' 
 
 ' Ah ! It's a shame for every one to come 
 a troubling you as we do, when you've 
 had so many troubles of your own to 
 bear. There's never a burying In Blue- 
 mere, but every one on us thinks of the 
 day when 3^ou laid your sweet lady under 
 the ground. But you trampled down your 
 own griefs for our sakes, and may the 
 Lord, in His infinite mercy, send you the 
 happiness as you deserve at last. That 
 was Rachel's prayer, sir, and it is mine 
 as well.'
 
 Phyllida. i8i 
 
 'Amen,' said Bernard solemnly; and he 
 leaned out of the window and watched 
 the old woman's fiorure till it was out of sio^ht. 
 
 o o 
 
 When he turned to Phyllida again, it 
 was with half an apology that their tcte- 
 ct-tete should have been interrupted by a 
 matter of parochial interest. 
 
 ' These poor people are absurdly en- 
 thusiastic,' he obser\ed, 'and fond of mak- 
 ing mountains out of mole hills.' 
 
 But as he looked at the girl leaning 
 back in the purple velvet arm-chair, with 
 her hair lying somewhat loosely on the 
 cushion, and her large eyes fixed upon 
 the sky, he saw that there were tears 
 upon her cheek. 
 
 ' Phyllida ! — Miss Moss — what is this ? 
 Are you ill again ? Let me fetch you 
 some iced water.' But all the answer she 
 gave him was to catch his hand impulsively 
 between her own, whilst she exclaimed, 
 'How good you are! How very good 
 you are ! '
 
 1 82 Phyllida. 
 
 ' Indeed, indeed, I am not. You must 
 not think so. You distress me by the Idea.' 
 
 * Why do you try to hide it ? ' cried 
 Phyllida, ' to live such a life as you do ; 
 what can be better ? To teach people 
 how to be good ; to turn their thoughts 
 aw^ay from this wicked, heartless world 
 and give them the blessed hope that there 
 will be another, where we can begin life 
 over again, and forget all the misery we 
 endured in this ? ' 
 
 'Can you doubt it? Have you ever 
 doubted it ? ' he said tenderly. 
 
 ' Thousands and thousands of times. I 
 have always doubted it. I do so now. 
 What have I seen or heard to make me 
 believe ? My experience is, that the wicked 
 succeed and the good are miserable ; that 
 our prayers go out upon the empty air, 
 and come back to us unanswered ; that the 
 young and happy die, and those who long 
 for death live on for ever. And no one 
 has ever tried to teach me otherwise.'
 
 Phyllida. 183 
 
 Bernard looked very grave, for some of 
 the girl's arguments were unanswerable, and 
 he knew that neither Church nor Bible held 
 the key to them. There is but one thing 
 that reconciles the trials of this world with 
 the belief in the next — the love, human and 
 divine, that sanctifies and alleviates and 
 shares the first, and will endure unto the 
 second ; and Phyllida knew no such love. 
 
 ' If I had been taught like your Alice,' 
 she went on vehemently ; ' if I had had a 
 friend and a guide like her, I might have 
 been a different creature with a different 
 mind ; and yet she, who had everything in 
 this world, died and left it, whilst I live 
 on. Oh, how could she — how cottlci she 
 die,' continued Phyllida, raising her wet 
 eyes to the portrait, ' with so much good- 
 ness and happiness around her ? Had she 
 no energy — no courage ? The very thought 
 of what I had to leave behind me would 
 have made me live ! ' 
 
 ' Do you consider, then, that Alice's lot
 
 1 84 Phyllida. 
 
 was such a happy one ? ' asked Bernard 
 softly. 
 
 ' How Gould it have been happier ? You, 
 who love and pray for even the poor of 
 your parish, who are no relations to you, 
 would not have done less for the wife of 
 your bosom/ 
 
 * I hope not,' he replied. ' Alice was too 
 good and pure to need my teaching ; but 
 my sympathy and counsel were always hers 
 to claim.' 
 
 * And yet she died^ said Phyllida. 
 
 ' God called her,' said Bernard, ' and 
 when His call comes it must be obeyed. 
 If love and care could have kept her here 
 she would have remained ; but she was 
 quite content to go — contented, obedient, 
 and resigned.' 
 
 * I should not have been.' 
 
 The words left Phyllida's lips almost 
 unintentionally, but Bernard heard them, 
 and the deep flush of passion mounted to 
 his face. He forgot everything — their slight
 
 Phyllida. 185 
 
 acquaintance, his staid profession, his utter 
 ignorance of her antecedents — and remem- 
 bered only that he was a man. 
 
 ' PhyUida,' he exclaimed in a low trembling 
 voice, * is it possible you envy her ? Speak 
 to me ; don't keep me in suspense. You 
 must have guessed what I feel for you. 
 From the moment we met I knew that I 
 and my fate had come together. Say you 
 will fill her place. No, no ! what am I 
 dreaming of? Say rather you will fill the 
 place in my heart that has never yet been 
 occupied — that has been waiting for your 
 image, my darling and my wife.' 
 
 He pressed upon her as he spoke ; he 
 would have taken her in his arms then 
 and there, but Phyllida sprang from her 
 seat and kept him off with both her 
 hands. 
 
 ' No ! no ! What are you thinking of ? 
 You must be mad! I your wife — / — the 
 wife of a man whose life is spent in doing 
 good! Oh! you do not know me — your
 
 1 86 Phyllida. 
 
 eyes are blinded- — you will be terribly sorry 
 for all this to-morrow.' 
 
 Bernard stopped short, and put his hands 
 to his head as if bewildered. 
 
 ' You are talking- reasonably, I suppose,' 
 he said. ' Let me try and answer your 
 words. I do not know you ! Not if you 
 count by weeks or months, perhaps — but 
 love needs no such knowledge. I read your 
 heart instinctively the first hour we met, 
 and years could not increase the sympathy 
 nor interest I feel in you. I do not know 
 your parentage, nor antecedents, nor your 
 character, perhaps — but I do not want to 
 know them. All I want is, to be one with 
 you henceforward. You have felt sorrow — 
 I want to comfort you. You need instruc- 
 tion — I want to teach you. You have no 
 clear hope of nor belief in a merciful Creator 
 and a blissful hereafter — I want to give them 
 you. I want to make you happy and hopeful 
 and good, by infusing my life in yours, and 
 showing you that love is the great re-
 
 Phyllida. 187 
 
 generator of the world. In one word, 
 Phyllida, I love you ! I cannot tell why — - 
 I do not know how. I know only that 
 you must be mine, or I will go through 
 life unmated. Come to me, darling. See, 
 how open my arms are to receive you ! 
 Come, and find your rest and refuge here ! ' 
 
 But she shrank still farther from him, 
 reiterating, ' I cannot — I cannot. Oh, how 
 I wish I could ! ' 
 
 ' Child ! do you love me ? ' 
 
 * I do not know ! I am so bewildered I 
 cannot tell — only I would go to you with 
 perfect confidence as I am.' 
 
 ' And I would hold you safe against the 
 world by the force of my passion ! What 
 is it that comes between us, then '■ Is 
 there any obstacle to our marriage 1 ' 
 
 She shook her head decidedly. 
 
 ' Does it exist in your imagination 
 only?' 
 
 ' I am not worthy.' 
 
 Bernard sighed, but remained steadfast.
 
 i88 Phylliaa. 
 
 ' I do not ask your confidence. Some 
 day when you are my wife you will give it 
 me without asking. Only — granted that 
 you are right — it makes no difference to 
 my love. You shall but have the larger, 
 fuller need of it to absolve you from your 
 sin. I repeat I love you ! ' 
 
 ' Oh, Mr Freshfield ! It must not, can- 
 not be ! You have only seen me three 
 times altogether ! ' 
 
 ' Three times or three hundred times are 
 all the same to me ! The more I see of 
 you perhaps, the more I shall esteem you, 
 but esteem is not love. As love is a free 
 gift from God to man, so is it free from 
 man to woman. I do not want to bargain 
 with you for an exchange for my love. It 
 is yours without limit or restraint, because 
 I cannot help giving it to you.' 
 
 'And neither can I help loving you. 
 Heaven have mercy on me!' cried Phyl- 
 lida, with a burst of tears. But Freshfield 
 would not let them flow. He took her
 
 Phyllida. 189 
 
 hands from before her face and kissed 
 her passionately. 
 
 ' My love — my darling — my true wife ! 
 Say you will come to me ! ' he exclaimed, 
 as he held her in his arms. 
 
 ' I must not — I cannot ! Oh, do not 
 ask mie ! ' 
 
 ' You have confessed your love for me, 
 and I will not let you take it back again. 
 Only for the sake of Bluemere I will give 
 you time. How soon may I tell the world 
 that you are mine.' 
 
 ' I am not ! I will not let you say so I 
 But I will give you my decision in a 
 month. And before that time you will 
 reo^ret vou ever asked for it.' 
 
 ' In a month ! A long, drawn-out, weary 
 month ! Think of the days and nights of 
 suspense that I shall suffer ! Oh, my 
 love ! make it less than a month.' 
 
 ' I cannot! It is far too short a period. 
 I must have time to consider and decide 
 what is right for me to do.'
 
 IQO Phyllida. 
 
 ' You might think and consider for twice 
 two hundred months/ said Bernard, ' but at 
 the end of that time, PhylHda, you would 
 be mine. It is fate — do not try to battle 
 with it, for It will be useless. God has 
 given you to me, and you are mine ; mine 
 for time and for eternity.' 
 
 He held her from him for a few moments, 
 gazing at her as though he were drinking 
 in every detail of her beauty ; then, almost 
 roughly, he kissed her upon brow and lips 
 and bosom, and put her away from him. 
 
 Phyllida stood where he had left her, too 
 much overcome to speak or move, whilst 
 Bernard took two or three hasty strides up 
 and down the room. 
 
 When he returned to her side, he was 
 the courteous, smiling host of an hour before. 
 
 ' Shall we go back to the garden ? ' he 
 said, drawing her arm through his own. 
 ' I think you are rested now, and will enjoy 
 the cool evening amongst my beautiful 
 flowers.'
 
 Phyllida. 1 9 1 
 
 But before they passed out of the Hbrary 
 he stopped once more and gazed in her 
 face. 
 
 ' My wife,' he said, with a look of in- 
 effable tenderness, ' my true wife found at 
 last ! Thank God ! thank God ! '
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 '^^,T was about five or six days after 
 that eventful party at Briarwood 
 that Miss Annie Warren met 
 PhylHda, walking very slowly and steadily, 
 with her eyes fixed on the ground, beside 
 the broad lake or mere, from which the 
 village took its name, and which was on 
 the road to one of the outlying districts of 
 the parish. Phyllida had chosen that path, 
 because she thought It unlikely she should 
 meet Mr Freshfield there. She knew 
 nothing of the patch of common beyond, 
 and his parishioners who lived upon it. She 
 had been hiding from him ever since that
 
 Phyllida. 193 
 
 passionate scene in the library in which he 
 had claimed her as his, whether she would 
 or not ; and he was too delicate to break 
 voluntarily on her seclusion, although he 
 had paid more than one visit to Mrs Pinner, 
 in hopes of seeing her. His mother and 
 sister also had called upon Phyllida, and 
 Laura had been disappointed on that occa- 
 sion by Miss Moss's absence ; but Mrs Pinner 
 had no idea where she was gone, although 
 she had but run to hide herself amongst 
 the cabbages at the back of the house, as 
 soon as she heard the carriage wheels. She 
 was shy in fact of meeting any of the family, 
 until the mighty question Bernard had raised 
 between them should be settled, and all day 
 long she walked or sat about in the lone- 
 liest places she could find, asking herself, 
 ' What shall I do ? What shall I do ? ' 
 
 Miss Warren could not comprehend such 
 shyness. Had she been placed in the posi- 
 tion of Phyllida, all the parish would have 
 been acquainted with the fact twelve hours 
 
 VOL. I. N
 
 194 Phyllida. 
 
 after. She could only imagine, therefore, 
 that this melancholy air was put on to curry 
 favour with the parson ; perhaps even to 
 induce him to employ her in the parish, 
 which her presence on the road to Brick 
 Common seemed to verify. Miss Annie was 
 in a spiteful mood that day, she had been so 
 ever since the party to which she had re- 
 ceived no invitation, and Miss Moss seemed 
 a fit subject to vent it upon. 
 
 * You here ? ' she exclaimed with well- 
 acted surprise as she came up with Phyllida. 
 She had seen and recos^nised her full three 
 minutes before. ' I am surprised. What on 
 earth q,2Sv yott be doing at Brick Common ? ' 
 
 ' What are you doing here yourself ? ' 
 retorted Phyllida. 
 
 ' Oh ! / am at my parish work, of course. 
 My hands are full from morning till night ; 
 thanks to the entire confidence reposed in 
 me by our dear minister. He gives Mr 
 Robinson his instructions daily, but he never 
 thinks of interfering with anything I may
 
 Phyllida, 195 
 
 do. He has known me and my method 
 too long, you see. And as for giving me 
 a rival to share my parochial duties, I 
 believe he would as soon think of cut- 
 ting off his right hand,' continued Miss 
 Warren, with a laugh that was intended to 
 be the height of confidence. ' For he 
 knows that I should resign my position at 
 once, and he would lose my services 
 altogether.' 
 
 * I should think you need have no fear 
 of any one wishing to supplant you. Miss 
 Warren. Attending to old men and women 
 cannot be very pleasant w^ork.' 
 
 * Not if you look at it in a worldly 
 light ; certainly not,' replied Miss Warren, 
 severely, ' but why should I talk to you 
 on the subject ? The wisest words fall 
 unheeded on the ears as yet unstopped by 
 grace. And what sort of party did you 
 have at Briarwood last Tuesday ? I was 
 so busy, I had no time to come.' 
 
 ' Were you asked ? ' demanded Phyllida
 
 ig6 Phyliida. 
 
 innocently. Miss Warren grew very red, 
 but stood to her ground. 
 
 ' It will be a strange day, indeed, when 
 there are parties given at Briarwood, to 
 which I am not asked,' she said ; ' but every- 
 body in Bluemere is talking of the extra- 
 ordinary manner in which the invitations 
 for this one were sent out. All Mr Fresh- 
 field's deai^est and oldest friends omitted, 
 and perfect strangers of whom he knew 
 nothing, asked instead. Whoever counselled 
 him, did very unwisely. It has created 
 quite a scandal in Bluemere.' 
 
 ' But perhaps it was Mr Freshfield's 
 own wish, Miss Warren. The society of 
 strangers makes a pleasant change some- 
 times, in a dull place like this.' 
 
 ' You don't know Mr Freshfield, or you 
 would not say so — he is not the man to 
 neglect those who have been with him 
 through all his trouble. I expect the in- 
 vitations were left to his mother and 
 sister, and that old lady Miss Muckheep
 
 Phyllida. 197 
 
 has got a finger in the pie. Everybody 
 says she is mad, and Laura Freshfield is 
 not much better. She doesn't care with 
 whom she associates ; she actually walked 
 straight through the village the other day 
 on the arm of a Roman Catholic' 
 
 * How dreadful ! ' cried Phvllida, lauehino-. 
 
 * Ah ! you may laugh, Miss Moss, but 
 we in Bluemere have been taught to think 
 differently from yourself ; and our minister 
 is like a beacon set on a hill — he can do 
 nothing that is not known and commented 
 on far and wide. I can tell you that poor 
 dear Alice hardly dared do anvthins:, until 
 she knew what Bluemere would think of 
 it. I remember once her takinq- a feather 
 out of her hat, because some one said that 
 it looked too gay — a minister's wife cannot 
 be too particular, nor a minister in the 
 choice of his friends. But some people 
 will push their way anywhere. What did 
 you do at Briarwood?' continued Miss 
 Annie, who was dying to hear all about it.
 
 198 Phyllida. 
 
 * Can't you ask somebody else, Miss War- 
 ren, since you know every one in Bluemere ? 
 / am a stranger here, remember ! Besides, 
 I was not well on that day, and did less 
 than any one else/ 
 
 Something in the girl's look and tone 
 warned Miss Warren she had said enough. 
 
 ' Of course I can,' she replied, jerking 
 the heavy basket on her arm. ' I can ask 
 Mr Freshfield himself for that matter, as 
 I am just going to meet him. Good-bye, 
 Miss Moss. I wouldn't keep on this road 
 U I were you — for Farmer Green's bull is 
 allowed to roam about these meadows at 
 his will, and he is dangerous with strangers,' 
 
 ' Thank you ; but I am not afraid of 
 bulls,' said Phyllida, as her companion 
 left her to herself. But as soon as Miss 
 Warren was out of sight, she did quicken 
 her steps, though it was not from fear of 
 Farmer Green's bull. ' I cannot meet /izniy' 
 she thought to herself ; ' he will renew that 
 subject, and I shall not know what to tell
 
 Phyllida. 199 
 
 him. That woman is right — with all her 
 spite and jealousy, she speaks the truth. 
 A minister is like a beacon set on a 
 hill. He cannot lower himself without 
 lowering his profession. Oh, I must not 
 — I must not do as he asks me. It 
 would be so sweet to feel myself safe 
 and good with him, but I am unworthy 
 of It, and if he knew me as I am, he 
 would not press me to share his happy 
 home. I love him' she continued, grind- 
 ing her pretty teeth together, ' I feel I 
 love him for all his goodness to me and 
 every one. He is like an angel from 
 heaven to me, and so I must not marry 
 him. Oh, I will not — I will not. I 
 will run away, where he shall never find 
 me again. I will go back to my old 
 life — I will do anything except tell him 
 the truth. But It is hard— hard. Why 
 was I created to be different from other 
 women ? Why should I be unfit to be 
 a pure and happy wife and mother }
 
 200 Phyllida. 
 
 Why must /, who long so much to be 
 good and innocent and free from blame, 
 refuse the very means which would make 
 me so ? I could love him a thousand 
 times better than that pale-faced, stupid- 
 looking girl who w^as his wife ; but she 
 would have borne his contempt more 
 quietly than I could. For I would kill 
 him before I would see his love change 
 to hatred or indifference. Oh, how I 
 wish I had never met him. I wish I 
 had the courage to throw myself to the 
 bottom of that lake and forget everything 
 that has ever happened to me.' 
 
 She leaned far over the water as these 
 thoughts passed through her mind, and 
 looked down into its placid depths. They 
 were dark but clear as a mirror, and as 
 Phyllida gazed at her own reflection, 
 another face appeared beside her's, smiling 
 eagerly. It was that of Bernard Freshfield. 
 She started as if she had been shot. 
 
 'Take care, my love!' he exclaimed
 
 Pkyllida. 201 
 
 anxiously ; * these banks are very steep and 
 slippery, and unless you can swim, I would 
 not answer for your reappearance after a 
 submersion in the Blue Mere. Of what 
 were you thinking, Phyllida, that my 
 sudden apparition should make you start 
 so violently ? ' 
 
 The answer was very different from what 
 he expected. 
 
 * I was thinking how much trouble it 
 would save me, to be lying asleep for ever 
 down there.' 
 
 * Haven't I already told you that is 
 wrong ? ' he answered gravely ; ' besides, it 
 is cruel to me. How do you think / 
 should feel now if your dear eyes and 
 mouth were closed to me for ever. Would 
 you trample down my new-found happi- 
 ness with the memories of another coffin 
 and another grave ? ' 
 
 Mt is for your sake I would do it,' 
 cried Phyllida passionately, ' that you might 
 forget you had ever seen or heard me-
 
 202 Phylltda. 
 
 Oh, Mr Freshfield, you must never speak 
 to me again as you did last Tuesday. 
 It is quite impossible. It can never 
 be. You lower yourself by the mere 
 idea.' 
 
 ' That is my business, is it not ? ' said 
 Bernard Freshfield ; ' and if I tell you that 
 I feel lifted up to the very heights of 
 heaven by the feeling you have excited in 
 me, how can you gainsay my words ? Phyl- 
 lida,' he continued, coming closer to her, 
 ' you have given me the grandest gift that 
 one mortal can give to another — you have 
 taught me how to love. Henceforward 
 I am greater, nearer to God, for the love 
 I bear you, and I cannot, will not, give 
 it up.' 
 
 ' Think of your mother — your sister,' she 
 murmured. ' Think of the people of Blue- 
 mere, and what they will say to such a 
 folly on your part.' 
 
 His lip slightly curled. 
 
 ' How Httle you know me, child, to ima-
 
 Phyllida. 203 
 
 gine that the opinions of the world would 
 sway my resolve ! How little you must 
 comprehend the depth of the passion I 
 have conceived for you — unsought, unwished- 
 for, but overwhelming, if you think that 
 ten thousand relations or friends could stand 
 in the way of its accomplishment ! I love 
 you, as man loves woman only once ; and 
 I will hold you against the world. Don't 
 wound me by saying you cannot under- 
 stand it.' 
 
 The girl turned suddenly and threw her- 
 self into his arms. 
 
 * I do understand it ! Bernard, I under- 
 stand it far better than you think. If you 
 must have me, then, if it be necessary to 
 your happiness to call me yours, take me ! 
 Make me your slave, your servant, what 
 you will ! I will work for you in secret, 
 and love you in secret, and be grateful to 
 you for the least sign that tells me you 
 are happy in my love. But don't make 
 me your wife, for 1 am not worthy.'
 
 204 Phyllida. 
 
 The young man's arms, which had been 
 clasped tightly round her supple form, fell 
 from her like failing reeds. 
 
 * What ! ' he exclaimed, * mine and yet 
 not my wife ? Phyllida, do you know 
 what you are saying ? ' 
 
 * Oh, it would be far better so,' she went 
 on wildly. * You have told me several times 
 that marriage should be of the heart, and 
 not dependent upon formal ties. Take me 
 then for your true wife — if you will ! I 
 will be true to you, Bernard, in thought 
 and word and deed ; and I will never, 
 never ask for more than you may choose 
 to give me. But don't marry me. I have 
 •seen what marriage means. A gradual 
 but sure decay of feeling and respect and 
 courtesy. I could not bear that from you. 
 The contempt of a good man would be 
 my ruin. You shall not pull yourself down 
 for my sake. It were better, far better, 
 that I were lying in the waters of the 
 mere.'
 
 Phyllida. 205 
 
 He put his arms about her then, and 
 drew her forcibly from the spot. He seemed 
 to be afraid lest she should really cast her- 
 self headlong in the lake. 
 
 * Listen to me, dear,' he said tenderly. 
 ' I have told you how I love you. Now, I 
 tell you that I would rather see you dead 
 than slay your purity with my own hand/ 
 
 ' And you despise me for proposing it.' 
 
 * Not so. If you could be dearer to me 
 than you have already grown, this noble 
 sacrifice of self would make you so. I know 
 what a woman must feel before she con- 
 sents to give up all that makes life valuable 
 to her for the sake of a man. I am glad 
 you said it, because it proves how much 
 you love me, but you must never say it 
 again. My wife must be above suspicion.' 
 
 ' And of me you know — nothing.' 
 
 ' Oh, don't say that ! Has not my love 
 
 taught me what you are .^ Have I not read 
 
 the purity of your feelings — the warmth of 
 
 your heart — the earnest desires you enter-
 
 2o6 Phyllida. 
 
 tain for goodness and virtue. It is in you, 
 Phyllida, to become all that is most honour- 
 able and good, and with me (and the help 
 of God), you shall attain it.' 
 
 ' I almost think I could,' she answered, 
 weeping. 
 
 * And I am sure of it ! Tell me, now, 
 may I not claim your promiise to be my 
 wife ? ' 
 
 * No, no ! not yet. You know we settled 
 that we were to take a month's considera- 
 tion.' 
 
 * You did,' he answered, smiling. * Well 
 then, sweetheart, I will not worry you ; but 
 there is but one answer that I will accept 
 at the end of that time. And now I must 
 leave you, for I was on my way to Brick 
 Common. This has been a dreary week 
 to me without your presence, but it is so 
 many days nearer the moment when I shall 
 claim you for my own. Good-bye, good- 
 bye.' 
 
 He went away smiling till he was out of
 
 Phyllida, 207 
 
 sight, but her mind was full of perplexity 
 and fear. The old question came to the 
 surface, and Phyllida went on her way, 
 wringing her hands and crying, ' What 
 shall I do ? ' 
 
 When she reached home the point seemed 
 solved for her. Mrs Pinner, like many an- 
 other charitable Christian, had benevolently 
 invited Phyllida to Bluemere, more for her 
 own sake than that of the girl. 
 
 She had thought it would be so pleasant 
 to have some one to run messages for her, 
 and do needlework, and generally undertake 
 the housekeeping. And when Miss Moss 
 failed to display any domestic proclivities 
 whatever, and preferred roaming about the 
 meadows with a volume of Shakspeare in 
 her hand, to washing and combing Mrs 
 Pinner's pet poodle Tiny, or accompanying 
 her to the Dorcas meeting, held once a week 
 under the supervision of Miss Warren, her 
 cousin began to wish she had never asked 
 her to Bluemere. But she had a sister, a
 
 2o8 Phyllida. 
 
 Mrs Penfold, also a widow, who lived at 
 a little town on the sea coast, called Gate- 
 head, where she made her livelihood by 
 letting furnished lodgings. As soon, there- 
 fore, as Mrs Pinner found that Phyllida 
 was likely to prove only an encumbrance to 
 herself, she wrote the most laudatory ac- 
 counts of her beauty and goodness to her 
 sister Penfold, in hopes that lady would 
 offer to take her off her hands ; and since 
 a young dependant relation, who is willing 
 to make herself generally useful, is quite as 
 desirable an inmate of a sea-side lodging 
 house as of a. cottage in the country, the 
 bait took, and Mrs Penfold was just as 
 eager to get Phyllida to Gatehead as Mrs 
 Pinner had been to induce her to visit 
 Bluemere. 
 
 And this intelligence Mrs Pinner made 
 known to her over the tea-table, where she 
 appeared that evening, white, heavy-eyed, 
 and languid. 
 
 ' Why, bless my soul, Phyllida ! ' exclaimed
 
 Phyllida, 209 
 
 her cousin, and with reason, ' how ill you 
 look. You have been sitting out in that 
 blazing sun again w^ithout anything on your 
 head. You will have a sunstroke some day 
 if you don't take more care of yourself.' 
 
 ' I have been in the shade all the after- 
 noon,' was Phyllida's quiet answer. 
 
 ' I have just received a letter from my 
 sister, Maria Penfold. Such a nice letter,' 
 continued I\Irs Pinner. ' Maria is an excel- 
 lent creature, one of the salt of the earth, 
 and Gatehead is the prettiest sea-side place 
 you ever saw.' 
 
 ' Cousin Penfold lets lodgings there, 
 doesn't she ? ' inquired Phyllida, who saw 
 no sin in letting lodgings. But Mrs Pinner 
 had some particles of the old man still 
 clinging to her, and one weakness which 
 she shared with the carnal-minded was a 
 'false shame with respect to the occupation 
 of her poorer relation. 
 
 Mr Pinner and Mr Penfold had been 
 equal in point of station in this world, but 
 
 VOL. I. o
 
 2 1 o Phyllida. 
 
 one had succeeded in business and the 
 other had failed ; hence Mr Pinner's widow 
 was a lady in comfortable circumstances in 
 Bluemere, and Mr Penfold's was a lodging- 
 house keeper in Gatehead, and the lady of 
 Bluemere was very much ashamed of the 
 fact. It was some time before she could 
 collect her thoughts to answer suitably to 
 her cousin's straightforward question. 
 
 ' Well, my dear,' she said at last, ' she 
 certainly does in a measure, but you will 
 agree with me that it is as well not to 
 mention it.' 
 
 * But it isn't zu7^ong' quoth Phyllida. 
 
 * Wrong ! I should hope not, indeed,' re- 
 plied Mrs Pinner, with a jerk of her head. 
 ' It would be a sad day when any one 
 connected with me by blood did anything 
 that was wrong. Still, to let lodgings is 
 not an occupation to which any of my 
 father's daughters ever thought to come 
 down, and therefore I have never said any- 
 thing about it to my friends in Bluemere.
 
 Phyllida. 211 
 
 ' I see ! You are ashamed of cousin 
 Penfold; said Phyllida boldly. 
 
 ' Phyllida, you really do have the most ex- 
 traordinary ideas ! How cottld I be ashamed 
 of my own sister, — born of the same good 
 parents as myself, and walking side by side 
 with me in the light of the truth to heaven ? 
 Have I not already told you what an ex- 
 cellent creature is Maria ? And she does 
 not exactly let lodgings either. Her house 
 is too large for her, for she is childless like 
 myself, and an old gentleman and lady 
 occupy the first and second floors. They 
 are highly respectable both of them, and 
 have been living with ]\Iaria for years past, 
 so you see it is not like being a common 
 lodging-house keeper to share her very 
 comfortable home with them.' 
 
 ' I see that cousin Penfold must be a 
 nice woman, or they wouldn't have stayed 
 with her so loner. I wonder if she would 
 be good to me too, and find me some occu- 
 pation in Gatehead. For I am tired of this
 
 212 Phyllida, 
 
 idle life, cousin Pinner, and it is time I 
 did something to support myself.' 
 
 This was the very opening Mrs Pinner 
 required. 
 
 * How strange you should say so, Phyl- 
 lida, for Maria is most anxious to make 
 your acquaintance. I wall read you what 
 she writes, " Do you think Phyllida Moss 
 could be persuaded to pay me a visit at 
 Gatehead ? I remember her mother as a 
 girl, though you do not, and should be 
 glad to know her daughter. The sea-side 
 is charming just now. Our little season 
 has just commenced, and Gatehead is as 
 full as it can be. If our young cousin would 
 like to spend a few weeks with me, tell her 
 to come before the fine weather is over." 
 There,' continued Mrs Pinner folding up her 
 letter, 'you see what Maria says on the 
 matter, and you can make your own choice.' 
 
 But she was hardly prepared for the 
 energy with which Phyllida entered into 
 the new scheme.
 
 Phyllida. 1 1 3 
 
 * I will go at once,' she said. ' I shall 
 enjoy it above all things ; and I am sure 
 the sea will do me good. How far is 
 Gatehead from here, cousin Pinner, and 
 can I start to-morrow ? ' 
 
 ' You seem to be in a tremendous hurry- 
 to go,' replied Mrs Pinner, who, though she 
 wanted to get rid of her visitor, was not over 
 pleased at her alacrity to leave. ' Gatehead 
 is half-a-day's journey from Bluemere, and 
 I shall have to borrow a time-table from 
 the rectory before I can tell you at what 
 hours the trains leave Westertown.' 
 
 ' Don't think me ungrateful,' said Phyl- 
 lida. as she took the old lady's hand ; ' I 
 am afraid I have been a great bother to 
 you since I came here, and you have been 
 very patient with me. Only — I have had 
 trouble (as you know) and it doesn't seem 
 to lessen, and I think the sooner I set 
 to work the sooner I shall learn to over- 
 come it.' 
 
 ' Don't say any more, my dear,' replied
 
 2 1 4 Phyllida. 
 
 Mrs Pinner ; 'I'm too old to be a good 
 companion for you, and you don't seem 
 to have taken to the young ladies of Blue- 
 mere — but you will have gayer scenes and 
 perhaps gayer friends in Gatehead ; for 
 though my sister Maria has been trained 
 in the ways of grace, I sometimes fear 
 that her heart still inclines to carnal pleas- 
 ures and company/ 
 
 Phyllida heaved a sigh of thanksgiving 
 on the spot. But she had another petition 
 to proffer. 
 
 ' You wont send to the rectory for the 
 time-table, will you, cousin Pinner ? ' 
 
 * Why not, my dear '^. Our dear minister 
 is always but too ready to share his good 
 gifts with his people ! ' 
 
 * Yes ; but I don't want Mr Freshfield 
 to hear that I am going to Gatehead. I 
 think, perhaps — at least, I feel almost sure 
 — that (in his capacity as minister, you 
 know) he might consider it his duty to 
 urge me to remain in Bluemere and try
 
 Phyllida, 2 1 5 
 
 and live down any troubles with parish 
 work, and so forth.' 
 
 ' But, my dear,' commenced Mrs Pinner, 
 who w^as alarmed at this prospect of recan- 
 tation, ' Mr Freshfield could hardly take the 
 parish work out of Miss Warren's hands — 
 she does everything in that way, you know 
 — it would be a positive insult to her ! And 
 where am I to borrow a time-table except 
 from him ? We travel so little from Blue- 
 mere.' 
 
 ' Perhaps Miss Warren may have one,' 
 suggested Phyllida. 
 
 ' She may. That is a happy idea on 
 your part, for her brother lives in London, 
 and is often here on a visit. Shall I send 
 Mary over to ask her ? ' 
 
 * Yes, cousin Pinner ; and say why you 
 want it. Miss Warren \\\\\ not try to 
 prevent my leaving Bluemere — I am sure 
 of that.' 
 
 And the upshot of this conversation was, 
 that Phyllida Moss and her box were
 
 2 1 6 Phyllida, 
 
 driven to Westertown the very next day ; 
 and she had reached her destination of 
 Gatehead before her lover was aware that 
 she no longer breathed the same air as 
 himself. 
 
 It was the evening after her departure 
 that he came sauntering up Mrs Pinners 
 garden path, hoping to catch the ladies 
 over their frugal tea. But Mrs Pinner sat 
 alone at the radish-crowned board. 
 
 'Is Miss Moss still roaming?' he asked 
 pleasantly, as he entered the little room. 
 ' What an inquisitive young lady she is. I 
 do not believe that there is a nook or corner 
 of Bluemere that she has not explored. She 
 is a thorough lover of the country.' 
 
 * Have you not heard that my cousin has 
 left me, Mr Freshfield ? She went to my 
 sister's at Gatehead yesterday,' replied Mrs 
 Pinner, on whom Phyllida had laid no em- 
 bargo as to concealing her destination. For 
 she believed that once out of Bluemere, she 
 should at least be allowed as much time as
 
 Phyllida. 2 1 7 
 
 she chose, In which to make up her mind 
 respecting Bernard Freshfield, for a parson 
 (so she imagined) must remain at his post 
 of duty until she saw fit to rejoin him. 
 When Mrs Pinner made her announcement 
 to Bernard, his face grew as pale as ashes. 
 She said afterwards (when circumstances 
 had thrown their light upon his behaviour) 
 that she guessed the truth from merely look- 
 incT at him. But that was not the case. At 
 the moment she only thought that he was ill, 
 or vexed at letting a probable convert slip 
 through his fingers. 
 
 * Dear me, ]Mr Freshfield,' she exclaimed, 
 *you look quite poorly. Do sit down and 
 have a cup of tea. Yes, Phyllida went off 
 to my sister Penfold's yesterday. It was 
 rather a surprise to me, as you may imagine, 
 for I had invited her to stay with me over the 
 winter, but I am afraid our ways didn't suit 
 her. She's rather flighty, and I have been 
 brought up, as you know, in the strictest 
 principles, and used to refer all my doings
 
 2 1 8 Phyllida. 
 
 to the Throne of Grace, and it did not suit 
 the girl. Two cannot walk together, as 
 we know, except they be agreed. And the 
 ways of the righteous are as a stumbling- 
 block to the ungodly.' 
 
 * No, no tea, thank you,' the parson said 
 in rather a strange voice, as he put back the 
 cup she offered him. * To Gatehead, did 
 you say ? ' 
 
 ' Yes, to my sister Maria. She lives in 
 Shirland Villas, Gatehead, and was kind 
 enough to invite the girl to stay with her. 
 Directly Phyllida received the invitation, she 
 jumped at it — ungratefully, I cannot but say 
 — and insisted upon going off the very next 
 day. I wished her to consult you upon the 
 matter, Mr Freshfield, for, as I said, what 
 greater privilege can we have than a 
 minister's advice ; but she is a wrong- 
 headed creature, and she wouldn't hear of 
 it. She said you'd keep her here, and set 
 her about parish work. Such nonsense ! 
 But I've often thought that Phyllida is a
 
 Phyllida, 2 1 9 
 
 little wanting. I hope my sister Penfold 
 may make more of her than I did. And you 
 wont take any tea then, Mr Freshfield ? ' 
 
 ' No, thanks,' he stammered ; and then 
 rising suddenly, ' I must go on to Blue 
 Mount. I have something of importance 
 to tell my mother,' and before his hostess 
 could remonstrate with him he was gone. 
 
 * So strange, my dear,' as she observed 
 to Annie Warren somewhat later, ' to leave 
 me all alone in that way, and when I was 
 just in the humour to enjoy a little com- 
 pany ! Not like a minister, I must say ; 
 but still, as he went to Blue Mount, I sup- 
 pose I must not complain. He said he 
 had something of importance to tell his 
 mother. I wonder what it can be.' 
 
 If Mrs Pinner could have followed her 
 minister to Blue Mount, she would have 
 been still more astonished. He entered 
 Mrs Freshfield's private sitting-room with 
 troubled eyes and ruffled hair, looking more 
 like a man walking in his sleep than an
 
 2 20 Phyllida. 
 
 animate being, and flung himself upon the 
 nearest seat. The old lady was alone, oc- 
 cupied with her eternal knitting. 
 
 * Good heavens ! Bernard,' she exclaimed, 
 as she looked up at him over her spectacles, 
 ' what is the matter ? ' 
 
 * Nothing,' he said, starting. * Do I look 
 as if there were. It is this diabolical heat' 
 
 'Bernard !' cried Mrs Freshfield. 
 
 * I beg your pardon, mother, I mean 
 it is the heat that has upset me. I don't 
 feel at all well to-day. It's enough to make 
 any man seedy, to tramp over a parish 
 from morning till night, in such sun as 
 this.' 
 
 *You should wear a "solar topee,"' re- 
 marked his mother practically. 
 
 * I want change — that is the truth — and 
 I intend to take it. Robinson can do the 
 work of Bluemere very well for a few 
 weeks by himself. You know, mother, 
 that I have not left the parish since my 
 wife died.'
 
 Phyllida. 2 2 1 
 
 * No, my dear, you have not ; and a 
 most excellent opportunity presents itself at 
 present. Dear Miss Janet was lamenting 
 only yesterday that Dr Felinus was not 
 here to accompany her and that sweet 
 Bella back to Scotland. What would be 
 more charming than for you to offer these 
 two estimable ladies your escort ? You 
 would get a thorough change in the brac- 
 ing air of Scotland, and see something o! 
 the beauties of that delightful country. Ber- 
 nard, it is a most happy idea on your part ; 
 and if you are put to any extra expenses in 
 the matter, of course I will defray them.' 
 
 * What ! to go journeying about the 
 country with that old woman I No, by 
 Jove! I won't.' 
 
 'Bernard', again exclaimed his mother, 
 in a tone of horror, ' what has come to 
 you this evening ? ' 
 
 * I don't know, I'm sure,' replied the 
 young man, passing his hand wearily over 
 his brow. ' I am out of temper, I sup-
 
 2 2 2 PhyUida, 
 
 pose, or out of sorts. Anyway, I can't 
 be the Miss Muckheeps' escort. I must 
 be free and alone, and I must start at 
 once.' 
 
 'You surely will not leave Bluemere 
 whilst my friends remain with me, Bernard ? 
 Think how strange it will appear, and what 
 every one will say about it ! ' 
 
 ' What do I care for what people say ? ' 
 he exclaimed impetuously. ' The Muck- 
 heeps are no friends of mine, and never 
 will be. Don't worry me on the subject, 
 mother, for I came to say good-bye to you, 
 and I shall start to-morrow.' 
 
 ' Oh, this is terribly sudden ! What can 
 be the reason of it ? ' cried Mrs Freshfield. 
 'It is not customary for a minister to 
 desert his flock in this way at a moment's 
 warning.' 
 
 * My flock will be well provided for, or 
 I should not leave it. The shepherd wants 
 most looking after at present' 
 
 * And where are you going, Bernard .^ '
 
 Phyllida. 223 
 
 demanded Mrs Freshfield in a solemn 
 voice. 
 
 * I cannot tell you. I am not sure if I 
 quite know myself; but you shall hear 
 from me as soon as possible, and perhaps 
 I may be able to tell you the reason of my 
 determination.' 
 
 Mrs Freshfield only shook her head in 
 sorrowful protest against such vicarious 
 doings. 
 
 'Well, good-bye, mother,' said Bernard, 
 risinof. ' I don't want to 0^0 into the draw- 
 ing-room, nor to see Laura nor anybody. 
 I am not fit for any company but my own 
 to-night. Tell them of my determination, 
 and let them put what interpretation upon 
 it they choose. It is hard if a man, who 
 works as much as I do, cannot take a few 
 weeks' relaxation without publishing his 
 reasons to the world. I "dJisJi it, and I 
 should think that ought to be sufficient 
 
 And so saying, Bernard Freshfield turned 
 on his heel, and with the same fretful
 
 2 24 Phyllida. 
 
 despondent look upon his face, left the 
 room. Such is the power that the thwart- 
 ing of his fleshly inclinations may produce, 
 even upon a man proverbially even-tem- 
 pered, pious, and self-sacrificing ! 
 
 END OF VOL. L 
 
 ^- 
 
 COLSTON AND SON, PRINTERS, EDINBURGH.
 
 w^^r^^
 
 ^'^'.J(f,5?,!T.T..??"-UN0H.UMANA 
 
 3 0112 049086967