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 ARTHUR 
 
 A KNIGHT OF OUR OWN DAY. 
 
 BY THE 
 
 AUTHOR OF " ALICE GODOLPHIX. 
 
 Indeed he seems to me 
 
 Scarce other than my own ideal knight."— Tkstntsox. 
 
 IN TWO VOLUMES. 
 VOL. I. 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 OHAPMAN & HALL, 193, PICCADILLY 
 
 1876. 
 
 [All rights reserved.]
 
 %Z3 
 
 V.I 
 
 ARTHUR; 
 
 OR, 
 
 A KNIGHT OF OUR OWN DAY. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 ' I have no men to govern in this wood, 
 That makes my only woe." 
 
 Tennyson. 
 
 A pretty little Rectory, nestling under the 
 shadow of the South Downs. There are 
 hundreds like it in England, almost too 
 well known to need any particular descrip- 
 tion. Who cannot picture to himself the 
 long, low, brick house, the colour of the 
 brick picturesquely varied with weather- 
 stains and lichen, and for the most part 
 
 VOL. I. 1
 
 ARTHUR; OR, 
 
 nearly covered with creepers ? The broad, 
 velvety lawn in front, with two or three 
 gay flower-beds, and its one grand horse- 
 chestnut rearing its leafy head — the pride 
 of the Eectory garden. Facing all this — 
 so near that it seems less than its real dis- 
 tance (nearly half a mile) from the house — 
 rises the broad, swelling, green down. 
 11 Flocks of quiet sheep are feeding " here 
 and there, and occasionally, by dint of close 
 watching, you may discern the form of the 
 shepherd moving about with his shaggy dog 
 at his heels. Over all spreads the clear 
 blue sky, flecked with small, fleecy clouds, 
 gradually assuming a rosy tinge towards the 
 west — for it is now evening, and the day is 
 far spent. Pretty, soft white clouds — how 
 well they have done their appointed tasks 
 all day! — sometimes sailing kindly between 
 the earth and the too scorching rays of 
 the sun ; sometimes distilling in refreshing 
 drops of rain to moisten the thirsty ground, 
 and now, all their work done, they are 
 hastening to the west to array themselves 
 in their gorgeous evening robes of scarlet
 
 A KNIGHT OF OUR OWN DA Y. 3 
 
 and gold — part of that glorious pageant 
 displayed every evening before our unob- 
 servant eyes — the setting of the sun ! 
 
 " To Fancy's eye it seems to prove 
 They mantle round the sun for love." 
 
 Some such thoughts as these are passing 
 through the mind of old Mr. Helm ore, the 
 rector of this little village of Arlino* as he 
 sits in his trellised porch, enjoying the soft 
 evening air, which comes to him laden with 
 the sweets of heliotrope and mignonette. 
 A book is lying on his knee, but he has 
 closed it now, and slipped in a rose-leaf as 
 a marker. It has long been too dark to 
 read — too dark, at least, for him ; for in 
 spite of his vigorous, upright form, and 
 clear, steady blue eye, he is a very old 
 man. Several years more than those allot- 
 ted by the Psalmist as the limit of human 
 existence have passed over his venerable 
 snowy head, yet is his " eye not dim, nor 
 his natural force abated." Any moderately 
 skilled physiognomist would tell his cha- 
 racter at a glance. The square, well-deve- 
 
 1—2
 
 ARTHUR; OR 
 
 loped brow shows thought, sagacity, and 
 much benevolence ; and the somewhat large 
 mouth, with its well-cut lips and remark- 
 ably sweet smile, combined with the mild 
 but searching glance of his eye, proclaim 
 him a kind man, but not one liable to im- 
 posture, or likely to be easily deceived. 
 
 His features and expression are accu- 
 rately reproduced in his eldest daughter 
 Elizabeth, who has lighted a little taper, 
 and is now working away busily at the 
 round table in the Rectory drawing-room. 
 By the huge pair of scissors in her hand, 
 and the pile of violet-spotted and striped 
 cottons on the table at her side, it is evi- 
 dent that her occupation is one eminently 
 suited to her father's daughter. She is 
 cutting out frocks and pinafores for the 
 poor people. How deftly the delicate 
 fingers fly about their work ! and with 
 what a bright, happy glance she looks up 
 occasionally to address a remark to her 
 younger sister at the further end of the 
 room. 
 
 Elizabeth Helmore is now three and
 
 A KNIGHT OF OUR OWN DAY. 5 
 
 twenty, but this younger sister cannot be 
 more than eighteen. She is half lying, 
 half reclining, on the sofa near the window, 
 her golden head thrown far back in the 
 endeavour to catch the last rays of light 
 upon her book, w T hich is that most fasci- 
 nating of old-fashioned novels, Miss Bur- 
 ney's "Evelina." The Rectory library 
 does not produce many story-books, but, 
 such as they are, they are eagerly read 
 and couned over by this young lady. 
 
 How lovely she is ! Let us take a quiet 
 survey of her beauty as she lies there, in 
 utter unconsciousness of beino- observed. 
 
 Elsewhere you may have met with a 
 complexion as fair and transparent, fea- 
 tures as regular, hair as brightly golden 
 and wavy ; but where, in broad England, 
 will you find a smile such as Ida Helmore's ? 
 — like a living sunbeam; or that half-loving, 
 half-defying glance of her dark-blue eyes, 
 which finds its way at once to your heart, 
 and takes you straightway captive by sheer 
 force of its sunny sweetness ! Even in her 
 present unstudied attitude, which would
 
 ARTHUR; OR, 
 
 have been awkward in any one else, you 
 can see that her form matches her face in 
 its perfect grace and beauty, badly set off 
 as it is by the plain holland gown, which 
 she has contrived, nevertheless, shall fit 
 closely and neatly enough on the rounded 
 outlines of her waist and shoulders. 
 
 Elizabeth's clear voice now sounds across 
 the room, breaking the profound silence 
 which has been reigning hitherto. 
 
 " Do shut your book, or come to the 
 table, dear Ida. It is so bad for your eyes 
 to strain them over that small print by this 
 light." 
 
 " You dear old fidget, I will come in a 
 minute. " 
 
 " I wish you ivould come and help me 
 with these frocks; they ought all to be 
 ready to-night. Come, Ida, you have had 
 enough of ' Evelina' for one day." 
 
 No answer, she is deep in her book again. 
 
 Elizabeth waits a few minutes, and then 
 speaks with a little impatience — only a 
 little — for the sweet composure of her face 
 is quite unruffled.
 
 A KNIGHT OF OUR OWN DAY. j 
 
 " Ida, do come to the light, you will read 
 yourself blind." 
 
 Ida pays absolutely no attention, but at 
 this moment Mr. Helmore enters the room, 
 and his quiet mandate causes her to lay 
 down the book without delay. 
 
 " I have some news for you, girls," says 
 the old clergyman, standing with his back 
 to the fireplace, in the familiar attitude of 
 an English gentleman, though no fire burns 
 now in the polished grate: "the Ather- 
 stones arrived at the Grange last nisrht." 
 
 " How many of them V inquires Ida, 
 eagerly. 
 
 " Only Sir Henry, and his son, Captain 
 Atherstone. Miss Atherstone is obliged to 
 remain at Torquay." 
 
 " Oh ! then they will not be here long V 
 
 " I should say not ; but I have heard 
 
 nothing about their plans. Elizabeth, my 
 
 child, how industrious you are ; you have 
 
 been cutting out those frocks all day." 
 
 " Oh ! she likes doing it," said Ida im- 
 patiently. " Father, dear " — and she went 
 up close to him, and laid her hands coax-
 
 ARTHUR; OR, 
 
 ingly on his arm — " tell us a little more. 
 What is Captain Atherstone like ? Is 
 he handsome — as handsome as his fa- 
 ther V 
 
 " How can I tell, Ida ? He has been in 
 India with his regiment for seven years; 
 and a young man alters so much at his age 
 in a foreign climate." 
 
 " I dare say he is yellow, and lean, and 
 shrivelled up" (in a disappointed tone). 
 
 " Possibly. We shall be sure to see them 
 in church to-morrow. Elizabeth, will you 
 light the candles in the study ? — I have 
 much writing to do to-night." 
 
 Elizabeth rose, and, having arranged 
 everything for her father's comfort in his 
 own room, and seen him established in the 
 huge, old-fashioned writing- chair, she re- 
 turned to the drawing-room, to find Ida 
 again stretched on the sofa, a look of dis- 
 content on her fair face. 
 
 " One never can get anything out of 
 papa," she began. " What do you say, 
 Elizabeth ? Are our new neighbours likely 
 to be any sort of acquisition to us V
 
 A K NIGH J OF OUR OWN DAY. 9 
 
 " I should not think we are likely to see 
 much of them. If Miss Atherstone had 
 come " 
 
 " Miss Atherstone — she is only an in- 
 valid." 
 
 " Yes ; we might have been of some use 
 and comfort to her" 
 
 " That is just like you, Elizabeth. I do 
 not believe you would ever care to know 
 anybody, if you did not think you might be 
 of some use to them." 
 
 " Or they to me," returned Elizabeth, 
 with a quiet smile. 
 
 " Now, I feel differently ;" and Ida rose, 
 and, throwing the sash window widely open, 
 stood gazing out on the deepening twilight. 
 " You may look amazed, Elizabeth, but I 
 say it is only natural for us girls, mewed 
 up as we are in this dead-alive place, to 
 welcome the advent of any stranger, more 
 especially if he is a young man, rich, well- 
 connected, and good-looking," 
 
 "He may be perfectly hideous, for all 
 you know about it." 
 
 " Nonsense ! how could an Atherstone
 
 io ARTHUR; OR, 
 
 fail to be good-looking ? Oh, Elizabeth ! 
 see ! come here — quick V 
 
 Elizabeth rose in some alarm, and hast- 
 ened to her sister's side. 
 
 The Grange gardens almost bordered on 
 the Rectory grounds ; and just underneath 
 the wall, barely within sight, a dull red 
 light was seen passing slowly to and fro. 
 
 " He is smoking," exclaimed Ida : " that 
 is the light of his cigar. He must be nice, 
 Elizabeth — nice men alivays smoke I" 
 
 " You goose I" smiled her sister ; " you 
 quite frightened me. I thought the pigs 
 had got into the garden again. Do come 
 to the table, Ida, and don't waste the even- 
 ing in watching the light of a cigar, espe- 
 cially as it is just as likely to belong to the 
 steward, or to old Sir Henry, as to Captain 
 Atherstone." 
 
 Somewhat crestfallen, Ida turns away 
 from the open window, and, sitting down 
 at the round table, endeavours to follow 
 her sisters advice — that is to say, she again 
 opens " Evelina," and actually reads nearly 
 three pages. Then she lays down the
 
 A KNIGHT OF OUR OWN DAY. n 
 
 book, and looks up with wistful, troubled 
 eyes. 
 
 " Elizabeth, do you suppose that any two 
 girls of our age (of course I mean ladies) 
 ever led such dull lives as we do V 
 
 " I should think many have done so;" 
 replies Elizabethan a low, half-pained voice. 
 M You have said that so often, lately, Ida ; 
 and, after all, I cannot see that you have 
 anything to complain of. We have many 
 kind neighbours — I do not mean merely 
 people who accidentally live close to us, but 
 real friends ; and as for gaieties, our summers 
 are always cheerful : we have been quite 
 dissipated this June." 
 
 " Five croquet parties and three dinners/' 
 replied Ida, in a dolorous tone. "And 
 what sort of people do we meet when we do 
 go out ? Widowers and old married rectors 
 abound ; but it is a fact that we do not 
 reckon one presentable young man among 
 our acquaintance. I do not count the young 
 Palmers, who are always living on the verge 
 of bankruptcy, or Mr. Sanders, with his red 
 hair and freckled visage, but I can state
 
 12 ARTHUR; OR, 
 
 positively that this part of Sussex does not 
 produce one single eligible, marriageable 
 young man." 
 
 " Are you so very anxious to be married, 
 dear ?" asks Elizabeth, looking at her with 
 a wistful light in her grey eyes. 
 
 " Elizabeth, you are the only person in 
 the world to whom I could say such a 
 thing ; but I declare solemnly to you that 
 I pray, actually pray, every night that I 
 may soon be married ; or if not that, that 
 something else may happen to take me 
 away from this place. I am sick of these 
 downs and fields, sick of this house, sick 
 even of the horse-chestnut on the lawn. 
 I am sick of seeing you eternally bend- 
 ing over your work, in the same holland 
 gown and the same blue bow ; I am tired 
 of seeing father doing the same things every 
 day in just the same manner. Oh, dear ! I 
 know it is all very ungrateful and horrid, 
 but I weary of everything; I feel some- 
 times as if the air of Arling were choking 
 me." 
 
 Elizabeth does not answer at once : she
 
 A KNIGHT OF OUR OWN DA Y. 13 
 
 cannot, indeed, for her heart is very full, 
 and she has much trouble to suppress the 
 hurt, indignant tears. After a minute or 
 so, however, she looks up with a bright, 
 kind smile. 
 
 "It is dull for you, dear, very dull. We 
 will try and manage some change for you 
 this year ; I think it can be " 
 
 But the sentence is never finished, for 
 Ida sees the signs of grief in the kind eyes 
 that have so seldom looked- reproachfully 
 upon her, and, springing up, she throws her 
 arms round her sister's neck, and exclaims, 
 in a smothered, repentant tone — 
 
 " No, no, Elizabeth, dear, you shall ar- 
 range nothing. I shall get on very well 
 here, indeed. I was only — only joking." 
 
 But Elizabeth knows better ; and though 
 she only smiles and smoothes the golden 
 hair back from her sister's fair forehead, she 
 silently begins an abstruse and lengthy cal- 
 culation of ways and means. Her sister 
 shall not mope if she can help it ; if any 
 amount of pinching and paring in that 
 already frugal household can afford her the
 
 H ARTHUR, OR, 
 
 pleasure of a few weeks' change, it shall be 
 done, and done soon. 
 
 Elizabeth and Ida Helmore had no 
 mother. She had died about five years 
 before this story begins, bequeathing her 
 own romantic name and brilliant beauty to 
 her younger daughter — the only legacies 
 that were in her power to bestow. Mrs. 
 Helmore's most indulgent acquaintance 
 (strictly speaking she had no friends) could 
 not pretend to say that her death was really 
 a misfortune to her daughters. Ill-tem- 
 pered, ill-educated, owning no law but that 
 of inclination, no constraining power but 
 that of impulse, it was a standing wonder 
 that the sensible, clear-judging Mr. Helmore 
 should have selected such a woman for his 
 wife. v Well, he had married very young, 
 and at that time Ida Davenport was a 
 bright, taking girl, with fascinating man- 
 ners, and a beauty which might well have 
 turned a wiser head than that of the young 
 curate of five-and-twenty. So they were 
 married, and the amount of happiness pro- 
 duced by their union may be best conceived
 
 A KNIGHT OF OUR OWN DAY. 
 
 from the fact that for nearly ten years Mr. 
 Helmore daily thanked Heaven that he had 
 no children to be contaminated by the daily 
 intercourse and companionship of his wife. 
 
 Then two sons were born, but they died 
 before either came of age ; and then, after 
 another long interval, Elizabeth and Ida 
 were sent to cheer the desolate parsonage- 
 house. Mrs. Helmore had little to do with 
 their training : her health was failing ra- 
 pidly, and their education was confided to 
 nurses and governesses, always carefully 
 selected by their father. 
 
 Poor man ! it was his constant endea- 
 vour to keep the knowledge of their mo- 
 ther's character from his children, and to a 
 certain extent he succeeded. Always pa- 
 tient, always forgiving as he was, ever 
 ready to welcome his wife back into his 
 large, tender heart, if she would bat have 
 given him a little love and confidence in 
 return, it must still have been a great, 
 though unspoken, relief when at last Death 
 relieved him of an almost life-long sorrow, 
 and Ida Helmore, once so beautiful and so
 
 16 ARTHUR; OR, 
 
 tenderly beloved, was laid to rest in Arling 
 churchyard. 
 
 Mr. Helmore's case is, unhappily, not a 
 singular one. It is astonishing how very 
 few really good mothers there are in the 
 world. Tender fathers, kind brothers, loving 
 unselfish sisters, are often to be met with, 
 but where is the ideal mother to be found? 
 The kind, wise, tender soul, to whom every 
 one in the house looks for counsel and 
 guidance — whose very presence is cheering 
 and invigorating like a sunbeam — to whom 
 her daughters — aye, and her sons — turn 
 naturally for sympathy and advice — and to 
 whose clear judgment her husband may 
 safely trust his household and his affairs. 
 
 Are many such numbered among your 
 acquaintance, my reader? No; nor in 
 mine. There are scores of fond, weakly 
 indulgent mothers, selfish mothers, worldly 
 mothers, nervous mothers, who make their 
 nerves an excuse for avoiding every duty, 
 human and divine, and giving way to ill 
 temper and acerbity on all occasions. But 
 in the higher ranks of society — I speak
 
 A KNIGHT OF OUR OWN DA V. i 7 
 
 exclusively of them — good mothers are rare 
 indeed. 
 
 Let English matrons look well to the 
 high and honoured name they bear — let 
 them try to be in all things what they 
 would have their daughters to be — let them 
 throw away the shackles which pride, or 
 fashion, or imaginary ill health, may have 
 thrown round them — and so act that, in 
 the last Great Day, they may give in a 
 good account of the fair jewels committed 
 to their care ! 
 
 What a lono- moralizing digression [ 
 With it let this chanter end. 
 
 VOL. T.
 
 18 ARTHUR; OR, 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 " So we grew together 
 Like to a double cherry, seeming parted." 
 
 Midsummer flight's Dream. 
 
 Sunday morning — one of the brightest 
 and sunniest of all that bright sunny 
 August, but intensely hot. Even inside 
 the shady little village church the heat has 
 managed to penetrate, and the atmosphere 
 feels exhausted and sleep-inspiring even 
 before the service begins. 
 
 This is partly owing, no doubt, to the 
 unusually large congregation. All the vil- 
 lage have assembled to see " t' old Squire/' 
 for the news of his arrival has been duly 
 circulated among his loyal tenants ; and as 
 he very seldom visits Arling, not a man,
 
 A KNIGHT OF OUR OWN DAY. 19 
 
 woman, or child would willingly be absent 
 on the occasion of his advent. 
 
 This is a conservative little village, and 
 the old-fashioned reverence and affection 
 for the hereditary landowner, now un- 
 happily dying out in many parts of the 
 country, exists here in all its ancient in- 
 tensity. 
 
 Punctually at five minutes before eleven 
 the bells cease, and the harmonium peals 
 forth a voluntary, softly and soothingly 
 played as all voluntaries should be, calcu- 
 lated to calm the minds of the congrega- 
 tion, and attune their thoughts to the 
 solemn service about to commence. 
 
 A youog lady sits at the instrument 
 which is placed in the chancel, tolerably 
 well sheltered from observation. By the 
 dark, neat braids of her hair, and the grace- 
 ful sweep of her low shoulders, as well as 
 by the pale, good-looking profile that is oc- 
 casionally visible, you may recognize Eliza- 
 beth Helmore. 
 
 Ida sits by herself in the Rectory pew, 
 and just now she is earnestly trying to pre-
 
 2 o ARTHUR; OR, 
 
 serve a duly stiff and decorous attitude, but 
 her eyes often wander to the door with a 
 look of eager expectation. She is watching, 
 watching intently : no village maiden in 
 all the congregation is more inquisitive, 
 more full of eager curiosity than she. 
 
 The voluntary is just ended, and Mr. 
 Helmore, looking quite patriarchal with his 
 white robes and snowy, stately head, has 
 lust moved forward from the vestry to the 
 reading-desk, when Sir Henry Atherstone 
 arrives, and walks slowly up the aisle, 
 leaning on his son's arm. They enter the 
 Grange pew, and Ida raises her eyes, and 
 takes a hasty but scrutinizing survey of 
 the new comers. She sees a tall, noble- 
 looking old man, evidently of a great age, 
 but upright as a dart ; indeed, so upright 
 and firmly does he stand, that it seems as 
 if he must have leant on his son's arm more 
 as a token of affection than because he felt 
 the need of any such support. A grand- 
 looking old man, an almost perfect specimen 
 of the " fine old English gentleman " —a 
 race now, alas ! well nigh extinct.
 
 A KNIGHT OF OUR OWN DAY. 21 
 
 But surely he will have a not unworthy 
 successor in his eldest son. Captain Ather- 
 stone's features may not be as strictly 
 regular as his father's, but he has a broad, 
 open brow, and there is something pecu- 
 liarly fascinating in the glance of his fear- 
 less blue eye. 
 
 By the end of the first lesson Ida has 
 discovered that he has bright brown wavy 
 hah', and an upright stalwart figure, not 
 quite as tall as his father, but withal taller 
 than the generality of men. Even Eliza- 
 beth has not been able to resist an occa- 
 sional glance at the Grange pew, and what 
 she notices there has pleased her as much 
 as Ida, though they have not been observing 
 quite the same things. She might not 
 have been able to tell you accurately the 
 colour of his eyes and hair, but she has 
 seen with pleasure that the young heir of 
 Arling joins devoutly in the service, and 
 finds the places for his father in the prayer- 
 book and hymn-book — time-honoured arti- 
 cles, with huge print and mouldy purple
 
 ARTHUR: OR, 
 
 binding, which have lain unused for nearly 
 five years. 
 
 His friends are sorry to see that the old 
 Squire's sight is fast failing him, and he 
 looks altogether sad and preoccupied. Even 
 during Mr. Helmore's brief, energetic ser- 
 mon his eyes wander away, and are often 
 fixed on a marble tablet let into the wall 
 opposite the Grange pew. His old eyes 
 cannot see so far, but all Arling knows the 
 inscription on that stone : — 
 
 "Near this place lie the remains of George Henry 
 Atherstone, eldest son of Sir Henry Atherstone, of this 
 parish, who died May 5th, 1860, aged 20. 
 
 " Also of Alfred Mordaunt Atherstone, who died June 
 1st, 1861, aged 20. 
 
 "Also of Blanche and Emma Catherine Atherstone, 
 who both died December 25th, 1870, aged 19." 
 
 Yes, four of the Squire's own children lie 
 there. It seems almost as if some evil des- 
 tiny hung over the Atherstone family, for 
 all were born healthy and blooming enough, 
 and all have faded away with the same 
 incurable disease — all, that is, but the two 
 now surviving. One of these is now sitting
 
 A KNIGHT OF OUR OWN DAY. 23 
 
 by his father, and the other, Mary, is hope- 
 lessly ill at Torquay, fast following in the 
 steps of the others. No wonder the old 
 Squire looks worn and sad : in a few weeks 
 he will have but one child left. All the 
 village knows this, and it causes a certain 
 tender, almost reverential, sympathy to 
 mingle in the kindly, respectful glances 
 they occasionally cast at " t' old Squire." 
 
 Through the service Captain Atherstone's 
 eyes scarcely wander from his book ; or if 
 he raises them at all, it is to look up at 
 the painted window opposite (erected by 
 his father in memory of his dead twin sis- 
 ters), or else to glance into the body of the 
 church, apparently in the hope of recog- 
 nizing some old friend of his boyish days. 
 Never once does he glance at the Rectory 
 pew, and the fair-haired girl sitting alone 
 there. Ida observes this, and is mortified, 
 forgetting that in the deep, old-fashioned 
 seat she occupies very little of her can be 
 seen, except a white bonnet and a twist of 
 golden hair. 
 
 After service they meet in the church-
 
 ARTHUR: OR, 
 
 yard, and Sir Henry shakes hands kindly 
 with Elizabeth, cordially with Ida, glancing 
 at the younger sister with an expression of 
 mingled astonishment and admiration. In- 
 deed, Ida is a pretty picture of the ideal 
 clergyman's daughter this morning, in her 
 simple thick white dress and black mantle 
 — neat, inexpensive, and most becoming. 
 As she stands in the porch, her dark blue 
 eyes modestly cast down, the sunlight fall- 
 ing in a golden shower on her fair waved 
 hair, she is as beautiful as a dream — 
 
 "A sight to make an old man young." 
 
 " I have not seen you for five years, Miss 
 Ida," says Sir Henry, smiling. " I scarcely 
 recognized you at first ; you are so much 
 grown, and — improved. Arthur, these 
 young ladies were both old playmates of 
 yours once, though they seem to have for- 
 gotten you. Ah ! there is my good friend 
 Helmore." 
 
 The two old acquaintances greeted each 
 other cordially, and walked together down
 
 A KNIGHT OF OUR OWN DA V. 25 
 
 the little narrow path, leaving the young 
 cnes to follow behind. 
 
 " It is a long time since you have been 
 to Arling, Captain Atherstone," observes 
 Elizabeth, for lack of something better to 
 say. " You must have nearly forgotten the 
 old place." 
 
 " Indeed I have not/' he replied, warmly, 
 " I have forgotten nothing. Every tree and 
 cottage is as familiar to me as it must be to 
 you. I remembered your face, Miss Hel- 
 more, though I dare say you did not know 
 me." 
 
 "You did not remember me?" asked Ida, 
 glancing up at the young man's fair, hand- 
 some face. 
 
 " Yes " (with a smile). " I have not seen 
 you for nine years, and of course you are 
 more changed than your sister ; but I knew 
 you at once. It is just the same face, only 
 older. I could fancy now that the old days 
 had returned when we used to run races 
 together, and got into disgrace for climbing 
 the cherry-tree in the Rectory garden and 
 breaking two of the largest branches."
 
 26 ARTHUR; OR 
 
 "Do you remember that V said Ida, 
 laughing. " What fun we used to have 1 
 I wish for some reasons that the old days 
 could come back again I" 
 
 " So do I," answered the young man, 
 looking down at her beautiful face. " I 
 have never had such fun since." 
 
 " Do you stay long at the Grange V in- 
 quired Elizabeth. 
 
 " I fear only a few days. My father has 
 a good deal of business to get through, but 
 I can do most of it for him, so he may 
 very likely leave me here for a short time, 
 and return to Torquay himself. lie is 
 anxious to be as short a time as possible 
 away from Mary." 
 
 "Isshetvr?/mr 
 
 " She does not grow rapidly worse, but 
 there is no doubt that her strength is 
 steadily declining. My father grudges 
 every hour spent away from her bedside." 
 
 Elizabeth looked up, her soft eyes full of 
 sympathizing tears. 
 
 "I had no idea she was really dangerously 
 ill ; I am so sorry for you all."
 
 A KNIGHT OF OUR OWN DAY. 27 
 
 " Thank you ; I am sure you are/' he 
 answered, simply. 
 
 They talked a little more on indifferent 
 topics, and then jmrted at the Rectory gate. 
 Sir Henry and his son walked together 
 down the lane, and, strange to say, the 
 father was the first to remark — 
 
 " That is a lovely girl, Arthur ; I never 
 saw any one so much improved. Were you 
 not surprised V 
 
 " She is very pretty," replied Captain 
 Atherstone, briefly. 
 
 " Pretty ! Good gracious, Arthur ! one 
 would think you were as old as I am, to 
 hear you talk. I tell you she is the hand- 
 somest girl I have seen since 1 went with 
 your mother to Court in '52. " 
 
 " Is she r 
 
 " Indeed she is. Arthur, my boy " — and 
 the old man glanced affectionately at the 
 handsome young face beside him — "I 
 should like well to see you married before 
 I die, and to just such a girl as Ida Hel- 
 more — fresh, innocent, beautiful, and just 
 eighteen."
 
 28 ARTHUR; OR, 
 
 The young man smiled. 
 
 " If I were immediately compelled to 
 choose one of them as a companion for life, 
 father, I am not sure that I should select 
 your favourite. Miss Helmore would not, I 
 suppose, be considered beautiful, but there 
 is something very nice about her face. And 
 I should never care to marry a beauty/' 
 
 " Not a stuck-up, spoilt, airified London 
 beauty, perhaps, but a simple country girl 
 
 like this . Well, it is rather premature 
 
 to discuss the subject. How well that 
 plantation is looking, Arthur ; it must be 
 thinned this autumn." And the conversa- 
 tion drifted into other topics. 
 
 According to the wont of summer days 
 in August, the afternoon is rather hotter 
 than the morning. Evening service is not 
 till seven o'clock, so the Miss Hel mores 
 have a good four hours and a half to them- 
 selves after luncheon. They have spread a 
 large rug under the shade of the horse- 
 chestnut on the lawn, and are occupying 
 their leisure hours in different character- 
 istic ways. Elizabeth is sitting upright,
 
 A KNIGHT OF OUR OWN DAY. 29 
 
 using the rough, gnarled trunk of the old 
 tree as a back, Her head is bent low over 
 her " Christian Year. 7 ' She is not content 
 with a superficial reading of one of the most 
 beautiful poems in that lovely but mystical 
 book, but is trying hard to find out its exact 
 hidden meaning. Ida is lying prone on her 
 back, her hands clasped behind her head, 
 which is well set off, in all its golden 
 beauty, by the dark background of the rug. 
 Her eyes are fixed on the sky — not brighter 
 or bluer than themselves. Apparently she 
 is engaged in the profitable occupation of 
 trying to count the little white clouds that 
 are vainly endeavouring to temper the fierce- 
 ness of the sun's rays. She must have good 
 eyes to be able to gaze so long and so 
 steadily into that dazzling empyrean. 
 
 " Have you no book, Ida ?" asks Eliza- 
 beth, looking up. "Shall I fetch you some- 
 thing to read V 
 
 " I have a book, thank you," is the low, 
 dreamy answer. " I am trying to read the 
 words that the leaves are writing against 
 the sky."
 
 3 o ARTHUR; OR, 
 
 " My dear child ! what nonsense !" 
 
 " Nonsense ! why ? If there are ' books 
 in the running brooks/ and ' sermons in 
 stones/ why may not leaves have a lan- 
 guage of their own as well ? There, now, I 
 see it distinctly. Just bend your head this 
 way, Elizabeth, and you will see a word 
 written as clear as print. That tiny twig and 
 leaf together makes A, then R, next comes 
 T, then H (don't you see ?), U, R— Can 
 anything be more clear ? The leaves are 
 saying ' Arthur/ " 
 
 "I cannot see anything of the sort," 
 replied Elizabeth ; " you are in one of your 
 romantic moods, Ida, and see signs and 
 tokens in everything. Why should the 
 leaves spell ' Arthur ' more than any other 
 name f 
 
 " I know why," answered the girl, slowly 
 raising herself from her recumbent position 
 till she stands erect on the grass ; " but I 
 shall not tell you. I think I shall take a 
 turn in the kitchen-garden, Elizabeth ; it 
 is not so hot now." 
 
 " You will be burnt as brown as a berrv,
 
 A KNIGHT OF OUR OWN DAI. 31 
 
 and get a headache into the bargain. Be 
 advised, Ida, and stay where you are, cool 
 and comfortable." 
 
 " I can't stay in one position all the after- 
 noon : it makes me stiff. Perhaps I shall 
 find some peaches on the south wall — they 
 will cool me more than anything. You 
 won't come ? Good-bye, then." 
 
 And she strolls away, humming a song, 
 assuredly not to be found either in Tate 
 and Brady, or the " Ancient and Modern 
 Hymn Book." 
 
 Elizabeth gazes after the graceful retreat- 
 ing figure till it is lost to sight behind some 
 tall laurustinus, and then returns to her 
 book. 
 
 All alone, Ida wanders on, down the 
 shady gravel path, and out into the full 
 glare of the kitchen-garden. How hot it is 
 here — oppressively, almost painfully hot ! 
 What a dreamy, humming noise the bees 
 make as they lazily float — not fly — in the 
 heavy, sultry air, occasionally darting their 
 long trunks into some peculiarly tempting 
 rose or honeysuckle, but assuredly doing no
 
 32 ARTHUR; OR, 
 
 real Hard work. Perhaps it is Sunday with 
 them ; or perhaps — to take a more prosaic 
 view — the heat has dried up the sweet moist 
 juices of the flowers, and there is little food 
 left, even for a bee, in their dry and droop- 
 ing cups. 
 
 Ida begins to think of sunstrokes, and is 
 on the point of retracing her steps, when 
 her eye is caught by a yellow, downy ball, 
 just peeping out from behind a sheltering 
 leaf on the warm south wall. With an ex- 
 clamation of delight she springs forward, 
 and in another moment her white teeth meet 
 in the cool, delicious flesh of the first peach 
 of the season. There are others within 
 reach, but none quite ripe ; and she is pur- 
 suing her researches along the sunny wall, 
 when an event occurs which causes her to 
 stop short and look up in surprise. 
 
 The event is a very common one, not 
 calculated in itself to produce either asto- 
 nishment or alarm. It is simply a whiff of 
 tobacco-smoke, wafted over the wall, and 
 sending a light, odorous cloud full in the 
 girl's face.
 
 A KNIGHT OF OUR OWN DA Y. 33 
 
 Apparently such an accident has never 
 happened to Ida before, as it appears to 
 her in the light of a very choice joke — at 
 least, one may infer this from her conduct. 
 Throwing away the half-eaten peach, she 
 tosses back her golden head, and bursts 
 into a fit of merry pealing laughter — to an 
 impartial observer perhaps sounding a little 
 too loud to be quite natural. It has its 
 effect. A man's voice comes — apparently — 
 from the other side of the wall, speaking in 
 a tone of almost ludicrous dismay. 
 
 " Miss Ida, is that you ? Have I an- 
 noyed you by my horrid smoke ? I apolo- 
 gize a thousand times." 
 
 " Where in the world are you V she ex- 
 claims, looking up and down and on every 
 side. " Have you put on the invisible cap ? 
 
 or oh !" as she is suddenly conscious of 
 
 a whiskered and moustached countenance 
 within two feet of her, and perceives Cap- 
 tain Atherstone cosily half seated, half 
 lying on the top of the wall, his tall form 
 well concealed by the branches of a wide- 
 spreading beech tree that grows on the 
 
 vol. 1. 3
 
 34 ARTHUR; OR, 
 
 other side. " How did you get up there V 
 she asks, looking up at him with bright, 
 eager eyes. 
 
 " I climbed up by means of a ladder, and 
 have been very comfortable ever since 
 luncheon. You have no idea how nice and 
 warm it is up here." 
 
 " Warm ! I should think so. How can 
 you bear the heat ? You will get a sun- 
 stroke. You know there are such things in 
 England." 
 
 " Oh, no ; I enjoy it. It is like my 
 native climate. I could almost fancy my- 
 self back in India again. To tell you the 
 truth, I was nearly asleep. Pray accept 
 that as an apology for having sent a stream 
 of smoke right into your face." 
 
 " Perhaps I may forgive you some time," 
 she laughs. " Come down and eat some 
 peaches." 
 
 " Do you mean it ? May I really ?" 
 
 " Haven't I asked you 1 I am sure you 
 have smoked quite as much as is good for 
 your health. Come down." 
 
 She looks so pretty, standing there with
 
 A KNIGHT OF OUR OWN DAY. 35 
 
 upturned eyes, no unfit personation of our 
 mother Eve, with the downy fruit in her 
 hand, her fair, loosened hair looking more 
 golden than ever, with the sun shining on 
 and through its silken masses. 
 
 A sound of scrambling and scuffling, 
 during which two branches of Mr. Hel- 
 more's favourite peach-tree are broken short 
 off, a high and almost perilous leap, and he 
 stands before her, hot, panting, and tri- 
 umphant. 
 
 " No joke, that jump," is his first remark, 
 as he wipes his warm brow. " What a 
 height these old walls are !" 
 
 Now she has got him she does not quite 
 seem to know what to do with him, but 
 lowers her eyes, and stands in a bashful 
 silence, which is very pretty and becoming, 
 but rather unsatisfactory. 
 
 He glances at her half amused. 
 
 " Where are these peaches V he asks, 
 smiling. " I will never forgive you, Miss 
 Ida, if you have brought me down on false 
 pretences." 
 
 " It is a very good thing for you that I 
 
 3—2
 
 36 ARTHUR; OR, 
 
 brought you down on any pretence,' ' she 
 retorts, the hot carnation in her cheeks 
 gradually fading to a more natural and be- 
 coming hue. " It can't be good for you to 
 smoke so many hours ; and how can you 
 tell that Sir Henry does not want you, and 
 has not been searching for you high and 
 low ?" 
 
 " Oh, no ; he has not wanted me. If he 
 had he would have summoned me. Did 
 you notice the little gold whistle that 
 hangs at his watch-chain? When he 
 wants me he sounds that twice, and I 
 can hear it distinctly in any part of the 
 grounds." 
 
 " How odd ! just as if you were a re- 
 triever," says Ida, laughing. 
 
 Captain Atherstone has no answer to 
 make, but the tone of her remark does not 
 quite please him. They walk on silently, 
 till the lady speaks again. 
 
 " No one would imagine you had been in 
 India, Captain Atherstone : you are not in 
 the least tanned. I expected you would
 
 A KNIGHT OF OUR OWN DAY. 37 
 
 have come home either copper-coloured or a 
 dusky yellow." 
 
 " Ah ! I was brown enough at one time," 
 he replied ; " but I had a fever just before 
 coming home, and it is wonderfnl how ill- 
 ness alters the complexion. When I re- 
 covered I was as fair — as you are ; no, not 
 quite that," he adds hastily, glancing down 
 at the delicate pink and white loveliness 
 beside him. 
 
 " Were you very ill ?" she asks, looking 
 up at him with blue, pitying eyes. 
 
 "Very ill, indeed. I should think no 
 one could be worse who did not die after 
 all. I am glad I got well after it," he adds, 
 looking up dreamily into the sunny sky 
 above them. 
 
 " I suppose you are !" — laughing. 
 
 " Not entirely for my own sake," he re- 
 plies gently ; " I was not thinking of my- 
 self at all, then : but it would have been a 
 desolate thing for my father to be left quite 
 childless in his old age." 
 
 They stroll on, a little subdued for some 
 minutes, and then other topics of conversa-
 
 38 ARTHUR; OR, 
 
 tion arise, and an hour slips pleasantly 
 away. At last Ida glances at her watch, 
 and exclaims in surprise — 
 
 " Five o'clock ! They will be waiting 
 tea for me, Captain Atherstone; I must 
 race home. Good-bye." 
 
 Seeing her haste, he makes no attempt 
 to detain her, and she flies away like a lap- 
 wing, and enters the Rectory drawing-room 
 just as tea is placed on the table. 
 
 " How late you are, dear !" says Elizabeth. 
 " Have you been in that hot garden all 
 this time ?" 
 
 " Yes ; it was not so very hot." 
 
 " The peaches must have been very en- 
 ticing." 
 
 " So they were ; very enticing." 
 
 Meanwhile Captain Atherstone strolls 
 slowly back to his own grounds, this time 
 choosing the more prosaic but safer mode of 
 entrance by a gate in the lane, instead of a 
 flying leap over the wall. 
 
 " That is a pretty little girl," he muses to 
 himself; "but it was a regular ruse about 
 the peaches. Just the sort of thing most
 
 A KNIGHT OF OUR OWN DA Y. 39 
 
 girls would have attempted ; but somehow 
 one does not expect Mr. Helmore's daugh- 
 ters to be quite like other girls. I wish I 
 had seen Elizabeth."
 
 40 ARTHUR; OR, 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 " Yourself were first the blameless cause to make 
 My nature's prideful sparkle in the blood 
 Break into furious flame." 
 
 Tennyson. 
 
 Bain — heavy, persistent, hopeless rain. 
 Those lovely August days have passed 
 away, and September has commenced his 
 mild but gloomy career, decking the russet 
 woods indeed with "a sunshine of their 
 own ;" but their brilliant colours can 
 scarcely be distinguished through the thick 
 fog which dismally envelopes the whole 
 country. The Rectory garden is almost 
 swamped ; there is a large pool under the 
 horse-chestnut tree, large enough to float a 
 child's toy-boat; and the flower-beds, a 
 week ago so neat and bright, look now all
 
 A KNIGHT OF OUR OWN DAY. 4r 
 
 draggled and soaked, the drenched, soiled 
 leaves falling every moment to the ground. 
 
 The drawing-room is all confusion to-day,, 
 for the Misses Helmore are taking advantage 
 of the wet morning to get through a little 
 business. Piles of old dresses, jackets, and 
 cloaks are to be seen in every direction, 
 covering the chairs and even the floor. 
 There is a sewing-machine on the table, 
 and on the rug lies a grey merino dress, 
 which Ida is inspecting with an air of ex- 
 treme gravity and anxiety. 
 
 "It is no use. Elizabeth," she says, im- 
 patiently at last, contemptuously spurning 
 the despised garment with her foot ; "I 
 can never make it look respectable. You 
 must get papa to give us new dresses this 
 autumn." 
 
 " I know he cannot afford it," replies 
 Elizabeth, quietly, without raising her eyes 
 from her task of unripping the torn and 
 soiled lining of an old black silk skirt. 
 " Indeed, Ida, I think we ought not to ask 
 him ; those dresses are not really shabby, 
 except just under the arms and at the back
 
 ARTHUR; OR, 
 
 of the sleeves, and if we have them mended 
 neatly and dyed " 
 
 " I am sick to death of all this piecing 
 and dyeing and contriving," exclaims Ida ; 
 "surely papa might afford us a couple of 
 guineas apiece to make ourselves look decent 
 — I would not ask him for more. It is 
 so particularly aggravating, just now, too, 
 when I — when we want to look our very 
 best." 
 
 " Why should we want to look our 'very 
 best ' just now ?" asks Elizabeth, raising 
 her calm eyes in astonishment. "It is just 
 the dullest and quietest time of all the 
 year." 
 
 Ida's cheeks are glowing as she turns 
 away, and replies hastily — 
 
 " Oh ! I don't know ; we are seeing more 
 people just now." 
 
 "Ida, you are dreaming; we have not 
 seen a soul for a fortnight, except, of course, 
 Captain Atherstone." 
 
 " Well " — and Ida turns round, and an- 
 swers half shyly, half defiantly — " I should 
 not like him to think we dressed shabbily ;
 
 A KNIGHT OF OUR OWN DA Y. 43 
 
 men do sometimes notice these things, and 
 it would not be very pleasant if he wrote 
 and told his sister Mary that the Rector's 
 two daughters were got up like farmers' 
 wives." 
 
 M Poor Mary Atherstone ! she has Other 
 things to think of!" sighs Elizabeth : "and 
 I do not suppose Captain Atherstone will 
 trouble himself as to how we look. He 
 appears to me to be profoundly indifferent 
 to everything except his father and his 
 cigars. Will you come here, Ida ? I want 
 to try on this body. I won't keep you a 
 minute." 
 
 Ida complies, and it so chances that she 
 is standing before her sister, a half-made 
 body pinned on her slender shape, her fair 
 hair all tossed and tumbled, when a tap 
 comes gently at the window, and a young 
 man's voice is heard, familiar enough now 
 to both the sisters. 
 
 "Will you let me in, Miss Helmore ? I 
 am dripping wet." 
 
 With an exclamation of dismay, Ida 
 wrenches herself from her sister's hand,
 
 44 ARTHUR; OR, 
 
 dislodging all the carefully-placed pins, and 
 rushes away through the open door. 
 
 Returning in five minutes duly clothed 
 and tidied, she finds Captain Atherstone 
 warming his feet before the fire, comfort- 
 ably sipping a glass of sherry, which 
 Elizabeth's hospitality has pressed upon 
 him. 
 
 " I hope my sister has apologized for the 
 untidiness of the room," says Ida, advancing 
 with that easy grace of manner which is 
 vainly imitated by many in the great world, 
 but seemed to come naturally enough to 
 her. " I assure you we don t always live in 
 such a state of chaos. " 
 
 "I highly approve of your industry/' 
 replies the Captain, laughing. " Miss Hel- 
 more tells me you make all your own things, 
 and I know, to my certain knowledge, that 
 you clothe. half the village."" 
 
 " Elizabeth is very fond of parading our 
 imaginary virtues," replies Ida, a little 
 crestfallen. " We dont make all our own 
 dresses — at least, I don't." 
 
 " Don't you ? Well, it is a very useful
 
 A KNIGHT OF OUR OWN DA Y. 45 
 
 talent ; I wish my sister could do it. Miss 
 Helmore, as you tell me you go in so 
 strictly for economy, I wonder you begin 
 fires so early in the year." 
 
 " That is the one thing Elizabeth is ex- 
 travagant about," said Ida, eagerly ; " she 
 xv ill have a fire if it is the least chilly, even 
 in June." 
 
 " Not for myself," says Elizabeth, gently 
 — "it is for papa. You know" — turning 
 to the Captain — "his throat is extremely 
 delicate. He cannot bear damp weather or 
 cold rooms." 
 
 "We know how much to believe of that," 
 laughed Ida. 
 
 Captain Atherstone glanced at her as 
 she stood by the fireplace, her head a little 
 bent, the firelight falling on her golden hair 
 and fair, perfect features. Her crimson 
 lips were curled in merry scorn, and there 
 was a covert sneer in her blue eye — a lovely 
 picture, but scarcely a satisfactory one. 
 
 Elizabeth made no reply to her sister's 
 remark, but, after a short pause, she said — 
 
 " If you are really wet through, Captain
 
 46 ARTHUR; OR, 
 
 Atherstone, you had better change your 
 things at once. Indeed you have been 
 very imprudent to wait so long. Papa is 
 in his study ; shall I ask ? " 
 
 " No, no, thanks ; don't trouble your- 
 self; the rain was only a good excuse for 
 stepping in here. You can't think how 
 warm and cosy you looked as I passed the 
 window ; so different to our great, dreary, 
 half-furnished room." 
 
 " I am sure this is dreary enough," 
 sighed Ida. " Oh, how sick we are of this 
 place !" 
 
 " Is Elizabeth sick of it ?" the young man 
 asked, turning to her ; and then adding 
 quickly, " Excuse me for saying Elizabeth ; 
 it slipped out somehow. You are so little 
 altered, that it seems only the other day 
 since we played together like brothers and 
 sisters. You won't be offended ?" 
 
 " Oh, no ;" but the sweet face flushed as 
 she bent closer over her work, and she did 
 not give him the permission he hoped for. 
 
 " You have not asked if you may call me 
 by my Christian name," said the gay, ring-
 
 A KXIGHT OF OUR OWN DAY. 47 
 
 ing voice on the other side. " Is only 
 Elizabeth to be so honoured ?" 
 
 He smiled. " I meant to ask you, too. 
 Let the subject be settled now once for all. 
 I will call you both Elizabeth and Ida, and 
 you shall call me Arthur." 
 
 " Agreed," cried Ida. 
 
 " As you please/' said Elizabeth, a little 
 coldly ; (C we are very old friends. " 
 
 The young man looked disappointed, 
 and, leaving his warm seat, he walked to 
 the table, and began to look at some of 
 Ida's drawings which were lying about. 
 
 She soon joined him, and the two en- 
 tered into an animated discussion ; for 
 Captain Atherstone considered himself 
 something of an artist (as most young men 
 do once in their lives), and thought he was 
 qualified by his knowledge of the art to 
 apply gentle criticism and discriminating 
 praise. 
 
 After about half an hour so employed, 
 he took his leave, and Ida, at once laying 
 aside her gay manner, came to sit on a 
 stool at her sister's feet, and gazed thought-
 
 48 ARTHUR; OR, 
 
 fully into the fire. After a time she said — 
 " Elizabeth, is it not three weeks since 
 the Atherstones came V 
 
 "Just three weeks." 
 
 " And during that time, how many visits 
 has Captain Atherstone paid here V 
 
 " I really don't know, dear ; I have not 
 kept count of them." 
 
 " Then I will tell you. Twenty at least ; 
 very often twice in one day. Elizabeth, he 
 must be very much taken with one of us : 
 which is it V 
 
 Elizabeth looks up with heightened 
 colour. 
 
 "Don't say those things, Ida; some people 
 would think you meant them." 
 
 " I do mean them. It is all very well to 
 talk about old friends and that sort of 
 thing ; but do you suppose any young man 
 would haunt a house like Arthur Ather- 
 stone does this, merely because his father 
 has known ours for about fifty years ? It 
 is absurd !" 
 
 " I do not see that you have any right 
 to attribute such motives to Captain Ather-
 
 A KNIGHT OF OUR OWN DA Y. 4 9 
 
 stone, dear. Candidly, I do not see that 
 he prefers one of us to the other." 
 
 " Candidly, Elizabeth, should you not be 
 very glad if he did ? Should you not think 
 it an immense thing, an immense thing, for 
 the family if he were to fall in love with 
 one of us ?" 
 
 " I don't know." 
 
 " Elizabeth, you are too provoking. 
 Come, be rational for once in your life, 
 and say that it would be a good thing — a 
 glorious thing. The heir to a baronetcy 
 and fifteen thousand a year ! Why, papa 
 would " 
 
 " He would say that his little girl was 
 talking great nonsense," said a grave voice. 
 and, turning hastily round, Ida saw her 
 father standing in the doorway. " You are 
 a vain, foolish child, Ida. If you were a 
 few years older I should say more. Let 
 me hear no more such unladylike conversa- 
 tion, or I shall have to be ashamed of my 
 daughter. Elizabeth, I want you for a 
 moment. Come to the study, will you ?" 
 
 Elizabeth rose, and Ida went to her 
 
 vol. i. 4
 
 5o ARTHUR; OR, 
 
 room in high dudgeon. Not caring to go 
 downstairs till positively summoned by 
 the dinner-bell, she drew a chair to the 
 dressing-table, and, taking up a hand-glass, 
 gazed long and earnestly into her own 
 lovely face — no unfrequent or uncongenial 
 occupation with her. 
 
 " Surely he will love me !" she murmured 
 half aloud to herself. " I never set my 
 mind on a thing in my life, but I obtained 
 it sooner or later. Let him try to be in- 
 different and cold, if he can ; his manner to 
 me will alter soon — it is altering even 
 now. Let me but have another week — 
 one short week more — and he will be mine 
 — my own ! Perhaps he loves me now — 
 who can tell ? But if not, he will soon — 
 he must — he shall/"
 
 A KNIGHT OF OVR OWN DAY. 51 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 " As she fled fast thro' sun and shade 
 The happy winds upon her played, 
 Blowing the ringlet from the braid ; 
 She looked so lovely, as she sway'd 
 The rein with dainty finger tips." 
 
 Tennyson. 
 
 Next day rose bright and sunny, and after 
 breakfast Ida announced her intention of 
 driving into Daylesford, the town nearest 
 to them, in order to make some purchases 
 necessary to the completion of their autumn 
 wardrobes. 
 
 "You had better let John drive Dobbin," 
 said Elizabeth ; " he has not been out for 
 three days, and will be rather fresh." 
 
 " Can't you come V 
 
 4—2 
 
 U ^s /ry 
 
 «**&*<*»
 
 ARTHUR; OR, 
 
 " No, dear Ida, it is impossible ; I want 
 every second of my time this morning." 
 
 " Then I shall go alone. I hate a tete- 
 a-tete with John. I always feel as if I 
 ought to say something to him, and I don't 
 know a bit what to talk about. I have 
 no turn for conversing with the lower 
 orders. Besides, I can drive as well as he 
 can." 
 
 " ' Being so very wilful, you must go,' " 
 quoted Elizabeth, with a smile. " I never 
 knew you to alter a decision, Ida., or even 
 resign a whim, to please anybody." 
 
 " No, I am one of the ' Positive Club/ 
 whose opinions, once expressed, are as un- 
 alterable as those of the Medes and Per- 
 sians." 
 
 And off ran the young lady, and ap- 
 peared in about half an hour dressed in a 
 tightly-fitting black jacket, admirably suited 
 to display the graceful proportions of her 
 perfect figure, and a black hat, ornamented 
 with a small blue feather. To be sure, the 
 jacket had been bought second-hand two 
 3^ears ago, and the hat, like the Revised
 
 A KNIGHT OF OUR OWN DA Y. 55 
 
 Code, had been altered and improved till 
 it retained very little of its original shape 
 and material. Still, both were yet pretty 
 and becoming, and the fresh young beauty 
 would have been still bewitching with much 
 shabbier surroundings. 
 
 " You are rather smart to drive into 
 Daylesford by yourself," observed Eliza- 
 beth, glancing at the blue feather. 
 
 "Never mind," was the gay reply ; "it 
 is always well to be on the safe side, and if 
 one is well dressed, one is never taken at a 
 disadvantage. Who knows if I may not 
 come across ' Mr. Right/ as Eva Fletcher 
 used to say." 
 
 Elizabeth smiled, the half-puzzled, half- 
 pained smile with which she usually met 
 Ida's sallies. 
 
 " ' Mr. Eight' would appreciate you all 
 the more if you had a veil on when you 
 were driving in the town. Do, Ida, dear ; 
 that hat is no shade at all to your face." 
 
 The girl wilfully shook her head and 
 took her seat in the pony carriage, gather- 
 ing up the reins in a scientific manner,
 
 54 ARTHUR; OR, 
 
 which showed she was no novice in the art 
 of driving. 
 
 " I don't half like your going alone," said 
 Elizabeth again, as she stood in the porch 
 shading her eyes from the sun with one 
 hand, while with the other she patted nob- 
 bin's sleek chestnut neck. " At any rate, 
 the horse ought to have been exercised ; 
 look at his ears." 
 
 " He always cocks them in that way 
 when I am going to drive him," laughed 
 Ida. " He knows he will have to go at a 
 pretty good pace. Good-bye, dear old 
 woman, take care of yourself." And in 
 another moment they had rounded the 
 corner at a sharp trot, and were speeding 
 along the high road at a pace which scarcely 
 permitted Elizabeth's last words to reach 
 her sister's inattentive ear. 
 
 " Be sure, Ida, and avoid the viaduct at 
 half-past one. That horse will not stand 
 the express train to-day." 
 
 How delicious it was rushing through 
 the sweet autumn air that lovely morning, 
 the fresh smell of the moist earth pervading
 
 A KNIGHT OF OUR OWN DAY. 55 
 
 the breeze; that subtle, indescribable fra- 
 grance which is surely only experienced in 
 an English September day after a night of 
 heavy rain. Ida's spirits rose higher and 
 higher. She was only eighteen ; she was 
 very beautiful, she had no trouble on her 
 mind to disturb or harass her, and she was 
 being carried through the air without any 
 exertion to herself at the rate of eio'ht 
 miles an hour. What more is necessary 
 to describe the perfection of earthly happi- 
 ness ? As they neared the town Dobbin 
 relaxed hi3 efforts from a smart canter to a 
 sober trot, by his mistress's desire as much 
 as his own, for she wished to look about 
 her, and make sure of passing no friends 
 by unobserved. It was market day, and 
 the little town, usually almost oppressively 
 clean and tidy, was crowded and dirty 
 enough, the narrow streets almost blocked 
 up with carts, driven cattle, and a few — 
 very few — gentlemen's carriages. Out of 
 the window of one of these a hand was ex- 
 tended as Ida passed, and a lady's voice 
 called —
 
 56 ARTHUR; OR, 
 
 " Ida Helmore, is that you? Stop one 
 moment ; I have a note for your father." 
 
 Ida drew her reins tight, so peremptorily 
 checking Dobbin's career, that the little 
 horse resented the interference by straight- 
 way rearing almost on end, and shaking his 
 glossy mane in displeasure. Ida was used 
 to his vagaries, and remained perfectly 
 composed, but the lady by whom she had 
 been addressed uttered a scream of terror, 
 and exclaimed — 
 
 " Good heavens ! what an awful crea- 
 ture ! Don't leave him, Ida, I will get 
 out." And in another minute she was 
 standing in the street, a tall woman, 
 dressed entirely in black, with a long, 
 melancholy nose, and small, short-sighted 
 blue eyes, a tolerably ladylike but unpre- 
 possessing-looking person. 
 
 " Mr. Helmore ought not to allow you to 
 drive that animal, my dear," she said, gin- 
 gerly shaking hands with Ida ; " it is not 
 really safe, and on market-day too !" 
 
 " He did not know I was coming." 
 
 " Then, Elizabeth "
 
 A KNIGHT OF OUR OWN DA Y. 57 
 
 " Oh, Elizabeth is a dreadful old fidget ! 
 I never attend to what she says. Dobbin 
 is amiable enough, it is only his play. Did 
 you say you had a note, Mrs. Fletcher ?" 
 
 " Here it is ; it is only to ask you all to 
 dinner on Thursday week ; and you might 
 have taken a message, but I like to do 
 these things in a respectful way, especially 
 to a clergyman/' 
 
 There was a patronizing ring in her sharp 
 voice which made Ida toss her proud little 
 head as she replied, 
 
 " No one can accuse you of informality, 
 Mrs. Fletcher " 
 
 " I hope not, my dear. If cleanliness is 
 next to godliness, I am sure courtesy is 
 next to cleanliness. Are the Athers tones 
 still at Arling V 
 
 " Sir Henry leaves to-morrow ; I believe 
 his son will stay a few days longer." 
 
 " Oh, indeed ! I suppose you see a great 
 deal of the young man? Bless me ! here 
 are some oxen. How I do hate this town 
 on a market-day ! Man ! keep your beasts in
 
 58 ARTHUR; OR, 
 
 order, can't you see they want to come on 
 the pavement V 
 
 "Don't be afraid, Mrs. Fletcher," said 
 Ida, laughing ; " they are quiet enough. 
 How are you, old fellow V and she actually 
 gave a fat old ox a prod in the side with 
 her whip handle, thereby causing the 
 animal to defeat the designs of his driver 
 by charging down a bye-street. 
 
 Amid the shouting and confusion that 
 ensued Ida managed to get away, and pro- 
 ceeded down the street at a gentle trot, 
 leaving the hapless Mrs. Fletcher to struggle 
 against the crowd till she reached her own 
 conveyance, without having enjoyed the 
 bit of gossip which had induced her to 
 leave it. 
 
 As she gained the door a dark handsome 
 head drew back from the window, and a 
 young man's voice exclained, 
 
 " Who is that girl ?" 
 
 " Ida Helmore ; have you never met 
 them?" 
 
 " No, never had the luck ; she's marvel- 
 lously nice looking, whoever she may be."
 
 A KNIGHT OF OUR OWN DAY. 59 
 
 " Tliey will all dine with us on Thursday 
 week, for the first time this year I am 
 ashamed to say. She is a nice-looking girl, 
 but very bad style. Only imagine her 
 driving into Daylesford by herself on a 
 market-day. I call it a forward and un- 
 ladylike proceeding. If one of my daugh- 
 ters " 
 
 " I suppose it is rather a queer proceed- 
 ing ; but no doubt she gets tired of ' wast- 
 ing her sweetness on the desert air ' of 
 Arling. Mind that you introduce me on 
 the next opportunity, Aunt Mabel, or I 
 vow I will never come and stay with you 
 again." 
 
 Happily unconscious both of the admira- 
 tion she had excited, and the criticism that 
 had been passed on her conduct, Ida drove 
 about the town in her gay reckless way, and 
 transacted her shopping with her usual 
 happy disregard of economy, paying for 
 nothing, but contriving to run up one or 
 two considerable bills. 
 
 She always enjoyed an expedition of this 
 kind ; even the open-mouthed admiration
 
 6o ARTHUR; OR, 
 
 of the young shopkeepers and clerks did 
 not come amiss to her. Doubtless she 
 would have preferred it if they had been 
 young viscounts and earls, but, failing 
 these, she applied the French proverb to 
 her own case, 
 
 " Si Ton n'a pas ce qu'on aime, 
 II faut aimer ce qu'on a." J 
 
 It was surely better to be admired by an 
 inferior class in the social scale than not to 
 be admired at all. 
 
 At last she had accomplished all her 
 business, and turned Dobbin's head to- 
 wards home, giving him a touch of the 
 whip, which caused the little animal to 
 gambol and curvet in a way which showed 
 that his spirit was by no means exhausted 
 by his three hours' work. 
 
 Back again through the broad level 
 country roads, deeply rutted by heavy carts 
 and the pouring rain of the preceding day, 
 in some places sparsely covered by the fallen 
 leaves, blown down before their time by the 
 boisterous autumnal winds. 
 
 It was nearly half-past twelve when they
 
 A KNIGHT OF OUR OWN DAY. 61 
 
 left Daylesford, and Ida began to feel as if 
 luncheon would be very acceptable 
 
 Suddenly she caught sight of a gentle- 
 man walking on in front, dressed in a grey 
 shooting jacket. 
 
 This apparition had the effect of making 
 her draw the reins tighter, and reduce the 
 pony's speed from a hand-gallop to a trot. 
 
 Surely there was only one man in or near 
 Arling who walked at that free swinging 
 pace, with upright noble figure, and shoul- 
 ders well thrown back, his whole bearing 
 that of an officer and a gentleman. 
 
 Yes, it was Captain Atherstone, and Ida's 
 heart beat quickly as she saw him stop and 
 turn round, his attention attracted by the 
 sound of the pony's hoofs on the road. 
 
 He raised his hat as he caught sight of 
 Ida, and would have walked on, but she 
 stopped the little chaise, and leant down 
 from her seat to shake hands. , 
 
 "You are taking a long walk, Captain 
 Atherstone ; have you been into Dayles- 
 ford?" 
 
 " Yes, I went to meet an old friend of
 
 62 ARTHUR; OR 
 
 mine, but we missed somehow. What a 
 beautiful day, is it not, Ida V 
 
 "It is, Arthur." 
 
 They both laughed, and, leaning on the 
 side of the little carriage, the young man 
 glanced into her lovely flushed face, which 
 she averted as she said, 
 
 "Let me give you a lift home, you must 
 be very tired ." 
 
 He hesitated for a moment. Surely it 
 was rather a strange proposition. Anglo- 
 Indian young ladies often did such things, 
 but generally English ones were more par- 
 ticular. 
 
 Well, it was not his business to raise 
 objections which did not seem to occur to 
 her, so after that scarcely perceptible 
 moment of consideration, he gave a grate- 
 ful assent, and took his place by Ida's side. 
 
 Away went Dobbin, at a good pace, but 
 not quite so fleetly as before. It was a 
 long drive, and doubtless Ida did not wish 
 to fatigue the poor pony ; as for her appe- 
 tite, well, that was now quite a secondary 
 consideration.
 
 A KNIGHT OF OUR OWN DAY. 63 
 
 Captain Atherstone leant back in his 
 comfortable seat, and surveyed, with artis- 
 tic appreciation, his companion's delicate 
 complexion, the dark sweep of her eye- 
 lashes, and the thick bands of her waved 
 golden hair, a little disordered now by the 
 wind. But though there was much genu- 
 ine admiration, there was no tender interest 
 in the earnest gaze of his honest blue 
 eyes ; she was simply a beautiful girl to 
 him, a clever girl, even an agreeable girl, 
 but certainly not one to be loved, or even 
 warmly esteemed. 
 
 With that native intuition which is 
 almost a sixth sense with some women, Ida 
 was perfectly aware of this, and yet she did 
 not give up hope. She had a perfect and 
 tranquil faith in the power of her own 
 matchless beauty, and the difficulty of this 
 pursuit only added to its zest. 
 
 After a few moments' silence, she opened 
 thecampaign, innocently enough. 
 
 " Do you think of remaining much longer 
 at Arling?" 
 
 u My father 1 eaves to-morrow. He would
 
 64 ARTHURj OR, 
 
 have gone before, but the accounts of my 
 sister have been much more favourable of 
 late. After all, the doctors thinks she may 
 get through the winter. " 
 
 " I am so glad ; how you must be longing 
 to see her again." 
 
 " I am, indeed ; I wish I could start to- 
 morrow, but there is no hope of my being 
 able to get away this week." 
 
 He spoke warmly, and with undoubted 
 sincerity. 
 
 A shadow darkened the pretty face at his 
 side. 
 
 " And yet Arling is a very pleasant 
 place," she said softly. 
 
 "Very: I love" every inch of the old 
 house, but of course Mary is more to me 
 than Arling. But I shall always be glad 
 that we came here now (and he turned to 
 her with a pleasant smile). It is so nice to 
 have known you both so well ; we are as 
 good friends as ever we were, are we 
 not?" 
 
 Her answering smile was a little forced ; 
 she would have preferred a less open decla-
 
 A KNIGHT OF OUR OWN DAY. 65 
 
 ration of his friendship. Men really in love 
 are more reserved in their expressions. 
 
 " We are very glad to have renewed your 
 acquaintance, Captain Athsertone," she said 
 coldly, " though I dare say it will be another 
 ten years before we meet again." 
 
 "Captain Atherstone, have you forgotten 
 our compact ? — don't let us get formal and 
 tiresome again." 
 
 "Arthur, then, if you really prefer it." 
 
 " I do prefer it ; we are such old friends, 
 you know." 
 
 Ida almost stamped her foot ; really this 
 young man's persistent and obtuse friend- 
 liness was too provoking. But she only 
 said, 
 
 " Is not Dobbin a duck of a pony V 
 
 "He is very handsome, but, I should 
 think, difficult to drive. I never saw a 
 more excitable-looking little animal." 
 
 " What time is it V asked Ida suddenly. 
 
 " Twenty minutes past one ; are you 
 late V s For she uttered a low exclamation, 
 and gave Dobbin a touch of the whip, which 
 urged him to the top of his speed. 
 
 vol. 1. 5
 
 66 ARTHUR j OR, 
 
 " I must try and get well past the via- 
 duct before the express passes," she said, 
 turning round her lovely flushed face. " It 
 is due at the half-hour. Just look along 
 the line, Arthur ; can you see anything of 
 it?" 
 
 " Nothing at present. Don't over-hurry 
 the poor little animal, Ida, you don't see 
 how hot he is getting." 
 
 She paid no attention, but touched Dob- 
 bin's sleek sides again and again with the 
 whip, till the excited animal flew along like 
 the wind. 
 
 Amid all her real anxiety she smiled to 
 herself at the considerable increase of inti- 
 macy which had been engendered by a 
 quarter of an hour's familiar and solitary 
 intercourse : it came naturally enough now 
 to say " Arthur " and " Ida." 
 
 Again Captain Atherstone leant back and 
 watched her set anxious face with a feel- 
 ing of quiet amusement, for to his calm, 
 soldierly nature the danger appeared quite 
 imaginary. 
 
 But she was not mistaken. Already in
 
 A KNIGHT OF OUR OWN DA Y. 67 
 
 the distance a faint whiff of smoke was 
 apparent ; it became more and more dis- 
 tinct ; surely his watch was slow, or the 
 express before its time — most likely the 
 former. 
 
 On it came at lightning speed, rushing, 
 panting, roaring, like some fabled monster 
 of antiquity, the thundering noise grew 
 
 louder and louder, and then in despair, 
 
 Ida pulled up short, perhaps the worst 
 thing she could have done. 
 
 For one instant Dobbin stood perfectly 
 still, shaking in every limb, then turning 
 sharp round, with a few energetic kicks 
 freed himself from the traces, and galloped 
 back towards Daylesford, leaving the over- 
 turned carriage in the road with a broken 
 shaft, but otherwise uninjured. 
 
 Captain Atherstone was pitched on his 
 back in a muddy ditch half filled with 
 water, but though soaked and dirtied from 
 head to foot, he found himself uninjured by 
 so much as a bruise. 
 
 His first thought was to look round for 
 his fair charioteer. 
 
 5—2
 
 68 ARTHUR; OR, 
 
 She was lying in the road only a few 
 feet from him, but even as he caught sight 
 of her, she moved, and managed to struggle 
 into a sitting posture. 
 
 " My dear Ida, are you hurt ?" he ex- 
 claimed, hastening to her side. 
 
 She glanced up in his face, and much to 
 his astonishment, and a little to his alarm, 
 burst into a fit of laughter. 
 
 " Oh, Arthur ! what have you done to 
 yourself? you look like a tramp, your coat 
 is all over mud, and your hat I" 
 
 He surveyed his dripping attire with a 
 slight air of discomfiture ; no man likes to 
 feel that he is presenting an absurd appear- 
 ance, more especially in the eyes of a very 
 pretty girl. 
 
 " I do look disreputable,'' he said rue- 
 fully ; " but upon my honour, Ida, you 
 don't look much better — your hat seems to 
 have disappeared altogether — oh, there it 
 is !" 
 
 The unfortunate article was swimming 
 in a large pool of rain water; and, as Arthur 
 held it up, the soaked straw and straight
 
 A KNIGHT OF OUR OWN DA Y. 69 
 
 dripping feather presented a very hopeless 
 appearance. 
 
 " It is done for," said Ida, " and so is my 
 jacket ; oh, Arthur, how unfortunate we 
 are ! It is all the fault of your stupid 
 watch " (with a sudden irresistible burst of 
 temper). 
 
 " I am afraid it was, but it can't be 
 helped now. It is a great mercy that 
 neither of us are hurt ; are you quite sure 
 you feel all right?" 
 
 She took his proffered arm, and rose to 
 her feet, though with some difficulty. 
 
 " I don't think I am hurt, only I feel 
 awfully stiff and bruised. Don't I look a 
 fearful object, Arthur ?" 
 
 He glanced down at her white face and 
 great blue appealing eyes, now fast filling 
 with tears. 
 
 She had been brave enough at first, but the 
 reaction was beginning, and her lips grew 
 ashy and trembling, it was all she could do 
 to stand. 
 
 " You do look rather bad," he said, com- 
 passionately ; ' f and the worst of it is, I don't
 
 70 ARTHUR; OR, 
 
 know how on earth to get you home. You 
 couldn't walk ?" — (very doubtfully). 
 
 " I suppose I could if I must. Oh, dear ! 
 how my shoulder aches !" 
 
 " Poor child ! I am so sorry for you. 
 Lean on me, Ida — your full weight — so. 
 Good gracious ! how white you look !" 
 
 Strange to say, as the gentleman's cheer- 
 fulness disappeared, the lady's courage rose 
 visibly. 
 
 " I must try and walk home," she said. 
 " It is nearly two miles, but I can do twice 
 the distance any ordinary day. There is 
 no chance of getting hold of that little 
 beast, he will gallop right back to Dayles- 
 ford." So they slowly advanced arm-in-arm, 
 Ida carrying her crushed hat in her hand, 
 her golden hair hanging rough and dis- 
 hevelled, almost down to her waist. 
 
 Certainly some women are the better for 
 a small misfortune of this kind, especially 
 those who, as a rule, are rather masterful 
 and imperious in manner. All Ida's high 
 spirits had deserted her ; she trudged along 
 wearily, clinging fast to Arthur's arm, a
 
 A KNIGHT OF OUR OWN DA Y. 71 
 
 tired, drawled figure. All the smartness 
 and neatness of her appearance had gone, 
 but in his eyes she had never seemed so 
 fascinating. Could he but have had a 
 glimpse into her mind, he would have seen 
 that in spite of the gentle weariness of her 
 manner (caused by the late shock to her 
 system), her heart was beating high with 
 joy and triumph. Weeks of ordinary in- 
 tercourse would not have brought them so 
 near together as the misfortune they had 
 mutually experienced. Surely it was well 
 worth while to have been overturned, even 
 at the risk of spoiling her best clothes and 
 losing her credit for good driving, for the 
 sake of this two-mile walk with Arthur, 
 during which he entirely laid aside any 
 previous coldness of manner, and was all 
 that is most kind and sympathizing. 
 
 Had Ida possessed but a little more in- 
 sight into character, she would have known 
 that this alteration was not of much real 
 signification as regarded her secret hopes. 
 Arthur Atherstone was a true gentleman 
 in every sense of the word ; he would have
 
 72 ARTHUR; OR, 
 
 assisted any aged woman or man who had 
 met with an accident with exactly the same 
 gentle solicitude which he was now bestow- 
 ing on his beautiful companion. Still, it 
 was a pleasant walk to both of them ; and 
 perhaps Ida was not very far from the 
 truth when, on safely reaching the Rectory, 
 she congratulated herself on having ad- 
 vanced several degrees in her companion's 
 liking and esteem. Captain Atherstone 
 wisely refused to enter, and hastened on to 
 the Grrange to change his wet clothes. 
 Ida paid very little attention to Eliza- 
 beth's exclamations and inquiries, and con- 
 siderably astonished that kind sister by 
 saying, as she rushed upstairs to her own 
 room — 
 
 " You need not pity me in the least , I 
 have been enjoying myself immensely. I 
 only wish the same thing could happen 
 every day." 
 
 " You enjoyed the accident !" 
 
 "Yes ; enjoyed it immensely."
 
 A KNIGHT OF OUR OWN DAY. 73 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 " And Merlin looked, and half believed her true, 
 So tender was her voice, so fair her face, 
 So sweetly gleamed her eyes behind her tears, 
 Like sunlight on the plain behind a shower." 
 
 Tenntboh. 
 
 A dreary, foggy day. 
 
 Captain Atherstone is sitting by himself 
 in the Grange library, a large room, hand- 
 somely furnished, every article of the best 
 manufacture, and elegant — even choice, of 
 its kind, but it lacked that peculiar air of 
 comfort and refinement which only femi- 
 nine occupation can bestow. 
 
 Everything is in its place — the books 
 arranged in martial order around the cen- 
 tre table, the newspapers carefully folded 
 and laid in a pretty receptacle something
 
 74 ARTHUR; OR, 
 
 like a toast- rack : in short, the genius of 
 order seems to hold undisputed sway here 
 not tidiness, which is always pleasant, 
 but order — stern, unromantic, implacable 
 order, 
 
 Arthur Atherstone is looking dull and 
 dispirited to-day : perhaps he is thinking 
 of the time when this silent room, now 
 quiet and lonely as a vault, was alive with 
 merry voices, when Lady Atherstone's sweet 
 motherly influence pervaded the whole 
 place, and his sisters' sunny faces and 
 merry songs converted the dull old Grange 
 into fairy-land. Ah, well ! that happy time 
 is gone for ever ! Of those sweet sisters, 
 one was lying in her lonely grave in Ma- 
 deira ; the other was fast fading away from 
 earth and all its cares and pleasures ! A 
 few short months, perhaps weeks, and of all 
 that large and merry party, one only would 
 remain ! 
 
 " I — I only am left !" muttered the young 
 man to himself as he rose from his seat 
 and walked restlessly up and down the long 
 room. "A strange fatality pursues my family.
 
 A KNIGHT OF OUR OWN DAY. 75 
 
 Surely ere long it will overtake me as well 
 as the others. I feel well and strong now, 
 but no doubt I have the seeds of some 
 incurable malady within me. Why should 
 I escape more than they ? With such an 
 a*vful, certain, inevitable doom hanging 
 over my head, I have no right to live as 
 other men do — no right to cherish bright 
 hopes or ambitious aspirations — no right 
 to marry /" 
 
 A.t this stage of his melancholy reflec- 
 tions the door suddenly opened, and the 
 butler announced — 
 
 " Lord Trevor." 
 
 In he came, a tall, handsome, dark young 
 man. You have seen him once before, 
 reader: he is the same who was driving- 
 through Daylesford in Mrs. Fletcher's car- 
 riage, and had been struck with admiration 
 at sight of Ida Helmore. 
 
 Arthur advanced with outstretched hand. 
 
 " My dear Launcelot, where did you drop 
 from ? I had no idea you were in this 
 part of the country." 
 
 "That is odd, my dear fellow, as you
 
 76 ARTHUR; OR, 
 
 made an appointment to meet me yester- 
 day in Daylesford." 
 
 iC To be sure I did; and I kept it, too. 
 It is very odd how we managed to miss each 
 other in such a small place. But I thought 
 you were only in Sussex for a couple of 
 hours on your way to London." 
 
 " That was my intention, but you see I 
 have altered it. I always was a changeable 
 fellow, you know ; but this time I had good 
 reason for the change. We have been 
 friends for nearly twenty years, Arthur : I 
 am not going to let you make an important 
 change in your life without consulting me. 
 Don't imagine it. I have come in like the 
 disagreeable fatherly friend on the stage, 
 who always appears when he isn't wanted, 
 and intrudes his advice where it is not 
 required or expected." 
 
 " You are talking in riddles, Launcelot, 
 and J can't profess to understand you. I 
 am meditating no important change in my 
 life, unless it is the change through which 
 we must all pass — death." 
 
 " Nonsense, Arthur, don t be lugubrious.
 
 A KNIGHT OF OUR OWN DAY. 77 
 
 Do you mean to say you really don't under- 
 stand me ? or is it that you wish to keep 
 the matter a secret V 
 
 " On my word and honour I don't under- 
 stand you." 
 
 " Well, you shall hear the whole story. 
 I came to Daylesford yesterday morning, 
 intending to spend a few hours with old 
 Mother Fletcher : you remember her — the 
 good old soul we always call Aunt Mabel, 
 though she is only my mothers half-sister. 
 We drove all over the place for about two 
 hours, but could see nothing of you, so I 
 yielded to my affectionate aunt's solicita- 
 tions, and agreed to return home and spend 
 some days with her, instead of proceeding to 
 the great metropolis by the 5.15. I ac- 
 cepted her invitation, partly because I had 
 caught sight of the most exquisite face I 
 ever saw in the town, and — well, Arthur, 
 I confess to you that for the time I was 
 almost in love — almost, old fellow, not 
 quite, so don't be jealous." 
 
 " Jealous ! what can it signify to me, 
 except as it concerns you V
 
 78 ARTHUR; OR, 
 
 " It signifies a great deal to you, or ought 
 to do so. I little thought that my rustic 
 beauty would turn out to be your Miss 
 Helmore. " 
 
 " what r 
 
 " Ah ! I have touched you at last, have 
 I ? Well, in the course of our drive we 
 chanced to come upon a Miss Scarsdale 
 (one of the Day les ford aristocracy), and she 
 informed us, after a little adroit question- 
 ing on my part, that the golden-haired 
 beauty who was driving through the town 
 with such a charming air of independence 
 was Miss Ida Helmore, second daughter of 
 the Hector of Arling, and reported to be 
 your engaged wife." 
 
 " Launcelot, it is a falsehood — a bit of 
 abominable old maids' gossip. I am not 
 engaged to any girl on earth, nor am I 
 likely to become so." 
 
 " Then you must have been flirting a 
 Voutrance. Miss Scarsdale told us you 
 almost lived at the Rectory, and that when 
 you were not chatting with the girls you 
 were conversing on intimate terms with the
 
 A KNIGHT OF OUR OWN DA Y. 79 
 
 father. That looks suspicious, Arthur, you 
 must allow. She finished by saying that 
 no doubt your excuse of pressing business 
 was a mere pretence to induce your father 
 to allow you to remain on at Arling, and 
 that probably your family would not cor- 
 dially approve of the match." 
 
 " She is wrong there — they would ap- 
 prove of it ; my father himself suggested it, 
 but it is not likely to take place. I shall 
 never marry, Launcelot." 
 
 Lord Trevor sat down opposite his friend, 
 and gazed earnestly into his face. 
 
 " You are in low spirits, Arthur ; don't 
 deny it — I see you are." 
 
 " I do not attempt to deny it. Have I 
 not cause \ You know that Mary M 
 
 " I know everything, my dear fellow ; 
 don't pain yourself by repeating it. Your 
 family troubles have been, and are, very 
 heavy, and I deeply sympathize with you 
 on their account, but that is not what I am 
 thinking of. It may be that your sister 
 will not recover — though I hear she is 
 much better ; but what has that to do with
 
 80 ARTHUR; OR, 
 
 your never marrying? Nothing at all; 
 there is something else." 
 
 " There is something else. With our 
 hereditary tendencies to disease, I have no 
 right to link any woman's fate to mine. 
 I " 
 
 "Arthur, shall I tell you what is the 
 matter with you ?" 
 
 "Do." 
 
 " In one word, then, it is fog. You are 
 not used to this dreary English autumn 
 weather, and it depresses and enervates 
 you ; you are out of spirits, and therefore 
 talk sentimental nonsense. You are no 
 more likely to die prematurely than I am ; 
 and as for not having a right to ' link any 
 woman's fate ' to yours, the woman is much 
 to be envied who secures you for a hus- 
 band, though I wish Hullo ! who's 
 
 that T 
 
 His lordship sprang from his seat and 
 flew to the window, in time to catch sight 
 of two young ladies who were walking 
 quickly across the lawn. 
 
 " My rustic beauty herself ! What an
 
 A KNIGHT OF OUR OWN DA Y. 8r 
 
 unlucky fellow I am — always just too late 
 for everything ! I say, Arthur, you couldn't 
 run after them, could you? I dare say 
 they wouldn't object to a cup of tea : I 
 believe women would drink tea at midnight 
 if they had the chance." 
 
 " I think they would be rather astonished 
 at the request," replied Arthur, smiling. 
 " They have leave to pass through our 
 grounds on their way home from the village 
 because it's a little shorter, but if they 
 were molested by us they would never 
 come again. Elizabeth Helmore is a par- 
 ticular young lady — very much so." 
 
 After a little more conversation, which 
 did not bear any direct reference to my 
 story, and therefore shall not be recorded 
 here, Lord Trevor took his leave, and 
 rode back to Daylesford, fully persuaded 
 that the report of his friend's engagement 
 was pure gossip, and therefore not worth 
 another serious thought. But the subject 
 was not so easily dismissed from Arthur 
 Atherstone's own mind. A more truthful, 
 conscientious, honourable character than his 
 
 vol. i. 6
 
 82 ARTHUR; OR, 
 
 never existed ; some men might have satis- 
 fied themselves with the consciousness that 
 they had never committed themselves by 
 word or deed, and that their conscience 
 was clear of any intention to deceive, but 
 he could not so quiet his mind. Certainly 
 he had been very often at the Rectory, 
 and was on most friendly and intimate 
 terms with the sisters, but surely they 
 must see how naturally it had come about. 
 A young man, living by himself in a dull, 
 empty house, within a stone's throw of two 
 pretty girls, is likely to find himself very 
 often in the society of those girls, especially 
 if they are old friends, and their's the only 
 gentleman's house within five or six miles. 
 Yet, if through any indiscretion of his 
 Ida's name had been compromised, surely 
 he owed her reparation. 
 
 But why had the gossiping tongues of 
 Daylesford selected Ida as the lady of his 
 supposed affections ? If anything, he had 
 paid more attention to Elizabeth. It was 
 all very annoying and perplexing, and 
 Arthur impatiently threw open the win-
 
 A KNIGHT OF OUR OWN DA Y. 83 
 
 dow and stepped out on the lawn, hoping 
 to compose his thoughts, and get rid of 
 the head-ache which was oppressing him 
 by a brisk walk in the chill autumn morn- 
 ing. How annoyed and disgusted would 
 he have been if the clue to the report of his 
 matrimonial engagement had been given 
 him, and he had traced it to its real source, 
 Ida herself, for such was the fact. 
 
 Ida's ambition and pride had suggested 
 to her a means of expediting her engage- 
 ment with Arthur Atherstone by a few 
 judicious hints and innuendoes to some of 
 her Daylesford acquaintance, all done in a 
 quiet, ladylike manner, but distinctly con- 
 veying the impression to them that she was 
 being wooed, and might shortly be won. 
 Of course, it was merely a speculation, he 
 might never hear of it, but if he did (and 
 Ida depended greatly on the gossiping 
 propensities of the Daylesford ladies), then 
 it would be a powerful incitement to him 
 to propose to her. She reckoned on the 
 almost morbid sense of honour which was 
 
 6—2
 
 84 ARTHUR; OR, 
 
 one of Arthur's most striking character- 
 istics, and she did not reckon in vain. 
 
 Before he returned from his walk that 
 foggy autumn morning, Arthur Atherstone 
 had decided that since he had been (how- 
 ever innocently) the cause of Ida's name 
 being connected with his, it was his duty, 
 as an officer and a gentleman, to give her 
 the opportunity of accepting him as her 
 husband. Perhaps, after all, she would 
 refuse to marry him, and, if not — if not — 
 well, there would be no harm done. Where, 
 in broad England, would he find a wife so 
 lovely, so accomplished, as Ida Helmore ? 
 If she had faults, they were but trivial 
 defects, incidental to her age and circum- 
 stances — a motherless country girl has so 
 few advantages. The cares and responsi- 
 bilities of married life would sober her, and 
 make her as faultless in mind as she was in 
 person. And yet — and yet — in the dreams 
 of a possible future married life, which had 
 come to him as they come to all young men, 
 it had not been of such a girl as Ida that 
 he had thought. His ideal was a gentle,
 
 A KNIGHT OF OUR OWN DAY. 85 
 
 gracious woman, of perhaps two-and-twenty, 
 with mild, loving eyes, and a low, persuasive 
 voice — the voice which, as some writer has 
 beautifully said, is best learnt by the cradles 
 of little children. To his certain know- 
 ledge Ida hated children (never an amiable 
 characteristic in a young woman), her lovely 
 blue eyes were bright and expressive, but 
 by no means soft, and her voice, though 
 clear and gay, was very often the reverse 
 of sweet. 
 
 After all his cogitations, Arthur felt very 
 undecided, and at last he formed a resolu- 
 tion contrary to his usual energetic and 
 decided character. He would do nothing 
 hastily ; he would wait the progress of 
 events. He would watch Ida closely, and 
 if he saw the smallest sign of real affection 
 (in his humility he called it simply prefer- 
 ence) for him, he would lay his hand and 
 fortune at her feet. No man or woman 
 should ever have the right to call him a 
 flirt and a deceiver. 
 
 Poor Arthur Atherstone ! he is not the 
 first man who has been made the dupe of a
 
 86 ARTHUR; OR, 
 
 fair, false woman, and has deemed himself 
 the object of a pure and true affection, 
 when all the time he is walking unsus- 
 pectingly into the snare laid for him by an 
 artful and designing cupidity. 
 
 That afternoon old Mr. Helmore in- 
 formed his eldest daughter that he in- 
 tended to have a curate, and that a young 
 Mr. Norman, from Oxford, had been sug- 
 gested to him as one able and willing to 
 undertake the post. 
 
 " I am glad to hear it, papa," replied 
 Elizabeth. " Many people have told me 
 that you ought to have had assistance long 
 ago. This is a large and scattered parish, 
 and some of our people have to be left un- 
 visited, though I do what I can." 
 
 " I know you work hard, my dear, but 
 I never see Ida assisting you in any way. 
 She is old enough now to be of some 
 
 use." 
 
 " She thinks she has no gift for con- 
 versing with poor people." 
 
 " It is a gift all may acquire. I fear she 
 is getting to lead an idle, selfish life. You
 
 A KNIGHT OF OUR OWN DAY. $7 
 
 should see to it, Elizabeth ; you stand in 
 the place of a mother to her." 
 
 " I have often tried, dear papa, but Ida 
 is a little difficult to manage, now she is no 
 longer a child. I have very little control 
 over her." 
 
 Mr. Helmore sighed, and walked to the 
 window. Suddenly he gave a start, and 
 exclaimed — 
 
 " Elizabeth, come here — quick ! Is that 
 Ida? Who is with her?" 
 
 She hastened to her father's side, and at 
 once saw what his failing eyesight had but 
 dimly distinguished. Ida was walking 
 down the gravel path with Captain Ather- 
 stone ; her arm was linked in his, and her 
 beautiful face was upturned with a bright, 
 sweet smile. They looked unmistakably a 
 pair of lovers. 
 
 Mr. Helmore turned to his eldest daugh- 
 ter, and said, sternly — ■ 
 
 " Is this the care you have taken of your 
 sister V 
 
 Elizabeth stood bewildered, her eyes fill- 
 ing with tears, her fair cheeks deeply
 
 88 ARTHUR: OR. 
 
 flushed with mortification and annoyance. 
 They were not kept long in suspense. Ida 
 had dismissed Arthur at the gate leading 
 into the lane, and, before her father and 
 sister could say another word, she stood 
 before them, looking more radiantly lovely 
 than they had ever seen her, her eyes abso- 
 lutely flashing with triumphant joy 
 
 " Ida," began her father, " is this seemly 
 conduct ? Where have }^ou been ?" 
 
 " I have been in the garden all the after- 
 noon, father." 
 
 " With Captain Atherstone T 
 
 " With my affianced husband." 
 
 Mr. Helm ore stood confounded, scarcely 
 knowing whether to be most displeased or 
 annoyed. 
 
 "You do not object, father?" said the 
 young girl, anxiously. "It is a great 
 match for me, you know." 
 
 - " God forbid that my daughter should 
 marry for such .a reason as that! My 
 child, do you love him V 
 
 One moment's hesitation, then she 
 looked up half defiantly.
 
 A KNIGHT OF OUR OWN DA Y. 89 
 
 " What an old-fashioned idea, papa ! Of 
 course I shall love him — all wives love 
 their husbands/' 
 
 "Ah, dear ! not all. Will you answer my 
 question ? I did not say, Witt you love 
 him, but do you love him V 
 
 " Well, if it will satisfy you, yes — I — I do 
 love him. Elizabeth, not a word from you ! 
 I thought you would be so pleased." 
 
 But Elizabeth had turned away with a 
 heavy sigh. She had no congratulations 
 to offer. 
 
 That evening, any curiosity which she 
 might have felt was gratified, for Ida con- 
 fided in her fully and freely. It seemed 
 that she had gone into the garden that 
 afternoon with no idea of meeting Arthur, 
 but with the simple intention of bringing 
 in some apples for dessert. He had acci- 
 dentally caught sight of her from the road, 
 and she had very naturally invited him to 
 enter the garden and assist her to shake 
 the trees. 
 
 " And then," continued Ida, kneeling at
 
 90 ARTHUR; OR, 
 
 her sister's feet in their own little bedroom, 
 " then, Elizabeth, while we were talking he 
 looked into my face and said, quite sud- 
 denly, that he was going away, that his 
 business at Arling was all but finished, and 
 that by this time to-morrow he hoped to be 
 at Torquay. I did not know what to say ; 
 my heart seemed to stop beating — it was 
 so sudden, so dreadful. After all my plans 
 and hopes, that he should be taking leave 
 of me in that heartless, commonplace man- 
 ner, as if we were only ordinary acquaint- 
 ances. What do you think I did, Eliza- 
 beth r 
 
 11 Said good-bye and wished him a plea- 
 sant journey, of course." 
 
 " You dear old prosaic thing. No, I did 
 nothing of the sort. I just turned away 
 my head and burst out crying." 
 
 " Ida, Ida, how could you betray your- 
 self so !" 
 
 u Wait a bit. You will be more shocked 
 before I have done. Well, when he saw I 
 was crying, he bent down, and took one of 
 my hands in his, and said, so gently and
 
 A KXIGHT OF OUR OWN DAY. 91 
 
 kindly, ' Does my going away make you so 
 unhappy, Ida V and I replied, ' I never 
 was so miserable in my life !' So lie was 
 silent for a moment, and then he said, 'You 
 shall not be made unhappy, Ida; if you 
 really love me, dear, why should we not be 
 married, and never separated again ? 117// 
 you be my wife V And I said something 
 — I don't quite know what it was, but it 
 meant Yes, and he understood me." 
 
 " Was that all, Ida ?" 
 
 " That was all." 
 
 " Not a word of his love for you f 1 
 
 " Not a word ; I did not expect it. 
 Why, Elizabeth, he does not care much 
 about me, I know that ; but he will — wait 
 a few weeks, and you will see." 
 
 " But I can't understand, dear, if he does 
 not love you, why did he ask you to marry 
 him?" 
 
 " Oh ! I don't know ; he is a very 
 honourable man, and all that sort of thing ; 
 and you see he has been a good deal here, 
 and people are beginning to talk ; besides,
 
 92 ARTHUR; OR, 
 
 he thinks I adore him. Oh dear! oh dear I 
 what geese men are I" 
 
 " You are a strange girl, Ida ! How can 
 you bear to contemplate the life which lies 
 before you — a life spent with a man who 
 does not care for you, and* who only pro- 
 posed to you from a feeling of duty and 
 honour ! I cannot " 
 
 " Oh ! don't preach, Elizabeth. I know 
 all you have to say, and I am sure it is 
 very reasonable and right ; but it is of no 
 use to argue with me. My mind is fully 
 made up ; I am sick of Arling and all its 
 surroundings : if I do not many I shall 
 ran away or do something eccentric which 
 will shock you all. Believe me, I know 
 what is best for myself." 
 
 " But is it best for him V 9 
 
 Elizabeth had moved to the window- 
 seat, and sat there, her face turned away 
 from the lighted room, looking out on the 
 still September night. 
 
 " Do not think worse of me than I de- 
 serve," said Ida, in a lowered voice. "I 
 know you think me deceitful, and am-
 
 A KNIGHT OF OUR OWN DAY. 93 
 
 bitious, and scheming, and everything that 
 is bad ; but indeed, indeed, Elizabeth, I 
 mean to make him love me — I mean to 
 try and make him happy. I believe I 
 am one of those persons who can be 
 very good and kind if they have their 
 own way, but a disappointment w-ould 
 have soured me for life. I have not been 
 disappointed ; everything has turned out 
 well and happily, so you need not fear 
 for me, Elizabeth. I shall be a model 
 wife, and Arthur will be the happiest of 
 husbands !" 
 
 Elizabeth made no reply, and feeling 
 chilled and hurt, Ida turned away, and 
 began brushing her hair vehemently. Had 
 she been a little closer to her sister, she 
 would have seen that her features, ordi- 
 narily so calm, were now working with sup- 
 pressed feeling, her very lips were white, 
 and the soft grey eyes were brimming over 
 with tears. Only for a few minutes, how- 
 ever ; her habitual self-command soon came 
 to her aid, and when she turned again to 
 the light, no trace of unusual emotion was
 
 94 ARTHUR; OR, 
 
 visible in her sweet face. She then crossed 
 the room and kissed Ida, who was sitting 
 reading on her bed. 
 
 " Forgive me if I have seemed unsympa- 
 thizing, dear," she said, kindly; "it is all 
 so very sudden, and — and — I have not got 
 quite used to the idea. But I do congra- 
 tulate you — I congratulate you with all my 
 heart." 
 
 Ida looked up in surprise : the tone was 
 so constrained, the words so set and con- 
 ventional, altogether so unlike Elizabeth — 
 what had come to her ? She had no oppor- 
 tunity of inquiring, for Elizabeth had 
 quickly turned away, and, taking a prayer- 
 book from the table,' began her evening 
 reading with an air which showed she did 
 not wish to be disturbed. So Ida won- 
 dered on. Perhaps some light would have 
 been thrown on her perplexity if she had 
 overheard the words which her sister con- 
 stantly murmured during her restless 
 night — 
 
 " If she had only loved him I could have 
 borne it ! but she does not — it is only to
 
 A KNIGHT OF OUR OWN DA Y. 95 
 
 get away from home. I might have made 
 her happier. Oh, Ida, Ida !" 
 
 Vain reproaches ! and as undeserved as 
 vain !
 
 96 ARTHUR; OR, 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 " If to her share some female errors fall, 
 Look in her face, and you'll forget them all." 
 
 Pope. 
 
 Those of my readers who have accom- 
 panied me thus far will probably imagine 
 that the plot of this story is now plain, if 
 indeed they had not guessed it from the 
 first. Of course, as time went on, Arthur 
 became aware of the unworthy part Ida 
 had taken to promote her own hasty and 
 ill-advised engagement, and equally, of 
 course, he became persuaded of the su- 
 perior excellence of Elizabeth's character, 
 and ended by marrying her and freeing 
 himself from the shackles which had been 
 unfairly riveted upon him. Nothing of all 
 this took place.
 
 A KNIGHT OF OUR OWN DA Y. 97 
 
 Contrary to all the rules of poetical 
 justice, Ida's deceit prospered better even 
 than she could have expected : not only 
 did Arthur never discover that his keen 
 sense of honour had been taken advantage 
 of, but in the course of a very few days his 
 lingering doubts entirely disappeared, and 
 he began to be thoroughly happy in his 
 engagement. 
 
 The accounts of his sister continued 
 so satisfactory, that he determined to re- 
 main a fortnight longer at Ailing before 
 returning to his expectant family at Tor- 
 quay. During these last days Ida brought 
 into play all the wonderful attractive power 
 of which she was possessed, in order to win 
 the heart of her somewhat apathetic lover. 
 She succeeded beyond even her most san- 
 guine hopes. 
 
 Gradually Arthur began to change the 
 opinion which he had at first conceived of her 
 character ; she was so gentle, so considerate 
 always of his feelings and his convenience, 
 all the old coquetry and wilfulness was laid 
 aside, and with it that gay, flighty manner 
 
 vol. 1. 7
 
 9 8 ARTHUR; OR, 
 
 which at one time had almost disgusted 
 him. 
 
 Ida was not altogether acting a part. 
 She had spoken the simple truth when she 
 had told her sister that she was one of those 
 persons who are much improved by pros- 
 perity. She was thoroughly happy now 
 all the old discontent and. weariness of 
 life had passed away ; .she had a bright 
 future before her, and the consciousness of 
 this made her gracious and sweet to every 
 •one. 
 
 Arthur Atherstone was not an exigeant 
 lover, but he was a very attentive one. 
 He showered magnificent and costly pre- 
 sents on his betrothed ; he was at her beck 
 and call all hours of the day ; and his man- 
 ner to her was marked by a gentle, chival- 
 rous courtesy, which would have soon won 
 the hearts of most girls. 
 
 Elizabeth watched her sister closely, and 
 tried hard to make herself believe that the 
 affection which had certainly been wanting 
 before her engagement was wakening into 
 life now. But she could not persuade her-
 
 A KNIGHT OF OUR OWN DA Y. 99 
 
 self that such was the case ; many small, 
 but significant, circumstances went to dis- 
 prove it. When a handsome gold locket, 
 enriched with splendid rubies and pearls, 
 was sent to Ida from Arthur, she gazed at 
 it and toyed with it for a whole morning, 
 but she let his photograph lie neglected for 
 an entire week on a table in her own room, 
 scarcely takiDg the trouble to glance at it, 
 till one morning Elizabeth saw it lying on 
 the floor, and put it carefully away. Most 
 girls treasure up their love-letters ; Ida 
 tore hers up, or threw them carelessly be- 
 hind the grate. 
 
 Strange to say, of all the parties con- 
 cerned, Mr. Helmore was the only one who 
 expressed any outward dissatisfaction with 
 the engagement. Both Sir Henry and 
 Lady Atherstone wrote kind, affectionate 
 letters to the young couple, expressing 
 their warm approval of the attachment, and 
 thus giving a proof of the loving, unworldly 
 spirit which prompted them to sanction 
 their only son's engagement with the 
 penniless daughter of a country clergyman. 
 
 ■7—2
 
 ARTHUR; OR, 
 
 But though he was grateful for their kind- 
 ness, and to a certain extent flattered by 
 his daughter's conquest, good old Mr. Hel- 
 more's mind was not at ease. Perhaps the 
 ill-success of his own matrimonial venture 
 had made him a little over cautious, and 
 imparted a tinge of suspicion to his other- 
 wise candid and genial nature. 
 
 " I fear the marriage will not turn out 
 happily," he said one day to Elizabeth ; 
 " her heart is not in it." 
 
 '*' I think he is very much attached to 
 her," was the answer, " and love begets 
 love." 
 
 " His attachment must be of very 
 recent date ; I saw no signs of it a week 
 ago." 
 
 " Let us hope they know what is best 
 for their happiness, dear papa. I do really 
 think that Ida is very much improved by 
 her engagement; she is more gentle and 
 steady than she ever was before." 
 
 The conversation dropped, but neither 
 party felt really convinced or satisfied. 
 Three days before Arthur's departure he
 
 A KNIGHT OF OUR OWN DAY. 101 
 
 received a note from Lord Trevor, which 
 ran as follows : — 
 
 " Dear Arthur, 
 
 What an astonishing fellow you 
 are. So you were trying to hoodwink me 
 when I called at Arling, and saw your fair 
 inamorata crossing the lawn, and you swore 
 you had no idea of making her an offer. 
 I think you might have confided in me ; 
 indeed I don't understand now why you 
 did not. All I can say is that if your 
 indifference was all acting, it was uncom- 
 monly well done ; and if it was genuine, 
 your love is the fastest-growing plant I 
 ever heard of — Jonah's gourd is a fool to 
 it. Write directly and explain it all, for I 
 never felt so puzzled in my life. 
 " Yours ever, 
 
 " Trevor." 
 
 It is unnecessary to say that Arthur did 
 not write directly, and when at last he set 
 himself to reply, the letter was not one 
 exactly calculated to satisfy his friend's
 
 io2 ARTHUR; OR, 
 
 curiosity. It only consisted of two or three 
 lines. 
 
 u Dear Trevor, 
 
 " You should know enough of me 
 by this time to be sure that I did not 
 attempt to ' hoodwink ' you the day« you 
 came here. I did not care for Ida Helmore 
 then, nor had I any thoughts of making 
 her my wife. Don't ask for explanations. 
 i am now perfectly happy and satisfied, 
 and am convinced that I shall never regret 
 the choice I have made. 
 
 "Yours sincerely, 
 
 "A. Atherstone." 
 
 Now that she had safely hooked her fish, 
 Ida was naturally impatient to complete 
 the business, and land him high and dry 
 in the matrimonial basket. Indeed, there 
 was no reason for delay, and it was finally 
 settled that if Miss Atherstone's health 
 continued to improve, the wedding should 
 take place early in November. 
 
 The day that Arthur was obliged to-
 
 A KNIGHT OF OUR OWN DAY. ioj 
 
 leave Arling, Ida gratified him considerably 
 by proposing to walk with him to the 
 station, though his train left at eight 
 o'clock, and as a rule she hated early rising. 
 It was a fine morning, bright and mild, 
 and the young betrothed looked as fresh 
 and sweet as a rose, as she walked down 
 the lane to meet Arthur at his own gate. 
 
 " You are punctual, darling," he said, 
 as he came to meet her. " Do you know, 
 I had my doubts if, after all, you would 
 summon resolution to get up in time." 
 
 " It is a very small sacrifice to make for 
 you, Arthur," she replied, looking up in his 
 face with a smile ; " and who knows how 
 long it may be before I shall have a chance 
 of another walk with you." 
 
 " Not many days, I hope. If Mary is 
 really so much better, I may even be back 
 before the end of this week." 
 
 " If you think so, why go at all ?" 
 
 " Because I cannot rest satisfied without 
 seeing her. She is the most unselfish girl 
 in the world. Even now I do not know 
 that she may not have been persuading
 
 io4 ARTHUR; OR, 
 
 my mother to keep the worst from me, for 
 fear I should hurry away from you for her 
 sake." 
 
 " I think you are very fond of your sister, 
 Arthur." 
 
 u Certainly I am ; are you not fond of 
 Elizabeth ?" 
 
 " Yes, of course, but not, I think, quite 
 in the same way. I would not be hurried 
 away from you for twenty Elizabeths." 
 
 " My dear Ida, do not speak in that re- 
 proachful way. Do you not see that I 
 must go ?■" 
 
 " No doubt you think you must. Here 
 we are ; what a short walk it has seemed. 
 You must make haste, Arthur ; the five 
 minutes' bell has rung." 
 
 A hasty dash into the office for his ticket, 
 a glance to assure himself that the cart 
 with the luggage had arrived safely, and 
 he was again at her side. 
 
 " One word, Ida, the train is just in 
 sight. My darling, I want you to promise 
 me one thing, will you V s 
 
 "Anything, dear Arthur — anything."
 
 A KNIGHT OF OUR OWN DA Y. 105 
 
 " Don't drive alone into Daylesford, 
 especially on a market-day. You are 
 not offended, dear ? It is only a fancy of 
 mine." 
 
 " It is rather absurd, Arthur ; but I 
 promise." 
 
 " Thank you, dear. Write often to me, 
 Ida." 
 
 " I will answer every one of your letters, 
 but I warn you, I am a very bad letter- 
 writer. Good-bye, Arthur." 
 
 The train came puffing and roaring into 
 the little station, and in another minute 
 was slowly winding its long length out 
 again. Ida stood and watched it till the 
 last whiff of smoke disappeared into the 
 tunnel, and then turned and walked home 
 slowly, thinking to herself, " I was cer- 
 tainly born under a lucky star. How 
 handsome he looked this morning, and how 
 affectionate he was to me. I do believe 
 that he has set himself to care for me with 
 his whole heart and soul, just because he 
 thinks it is his duty, and he will never rest 
 till he has given me his whole heart." She 
 was quite right.
 
 io6 ARTHUR; OR, 
 
 Let the scene change to the drawing- 
 room of the little house at Torquay, where 
 Lady Atherstone and her daughter Mary 
 are awaiting the arrival of the much-loved 
 and only son. Lady Atherstone is stand- 
 ing by the window, a handsome, matronly 
 figure still, though age and many sorrows 
 have silvered her dark hair, and a little 
 dimmed the brightness of her loving blue 
 eyes. Her features are regular and noble 
 ia outline, and her hands remarkably deli- 
 cate and beautiful. There is about her 
 that peculiar charm which can only be pos- 
 sessed by one who unites the gentle, dig- 
 nified composure of a perfectly well-bred 
 woman, with all the loving warmth of a 
 most tender and unselfish mother. Close 
 to her, on a sofa, lies her daughter Mary, a 
 young woman of perhaps four or ^.yq and 
 twenty. There is the pallor of incurable ill- 
 health on her thin cheek, but it is a pleasant 
 face to look at still. There is much of her 
 mother's peculiar grace and refinement 
 about her small, regular features, and she 
 has that great and rare charm in a woman, 
 a very low, sweet-toned voice.
 
 A KNIGHT OF OUR OWN DAY. 107 
 
 " He is late, mamma/' she says. " Did 
 
 he not promise to be here to luncheon V 
 
 "He will not fail, darling; I never knew 
 Arthur to break his word. Ah ! there 
 
 he is r 
 
 A fly drove up, and the light, active 
 figure they knew so well jumped out, and 
 in another minute was embracing his mother 
 and sister. 
 
 " My dear boy, we thought you were 
 never coming back to us," said Lady Ather- 
 stone, holding his hand in hers, and look- 
 ing at him in the peculiar adoring, satisfied 
 way that mothers have. 
 
 " Dear mother, you know " 
 
 " Yes, Arthur, we did not expect you," 
 said Mary, smiling up at him. <: I think 
 it was very good of you to come at all." 
 
 " Shall you be able to stay now ? — No, I 
 suppose we ought not to expect that," said 
 Lady Atherstone, a little anxiously. 
 
 " I will stay till Mary is better," he re- 
 plied, seating himself by her side. " You 
 are not looking quite strong yet, dear sis." 
 
 After a little more conversation Lady
 
 io8 ARTHUR; OR, 
 
 Atherstone left the room, thinking, in her 
 unselfishness, that no doubt the brother 
 and sister would like to be alone for a time. 
 Then Mary nestled closer to her brother's 
 side, and said — - 
 
 " Now, Arthur, tell me all about her." 
 
 He straightway launched into a descrip- 
 tion of Ida, and became both enthusiastic 
 and poetical in his word-painting, but his 
 sister listened almost with impatience. 
 
 "But, dear Arthur," she said at last, " I 
 want to know more about her. You tell 
 me she has golden hair and a lovely com- 
 plexion, and beautiful eyes, but is she a 
 girl I can love ? Will she, in any way, 
 take the place of a sister to me ? Is she 
 gentle and unselfish, like dear Blanche V 
 
 Arthur hesitated. It was easier to give 
 an inventory of Ida's personal charms than 
 to dilate upon the excellences of her cha- 
 racter. Could he, in truth, say that she 
 was gentle and unselfish ? was she really in 
 any way like his dead sister, whom he re- 
 membered as the best and sweetest girl he 
 had ever known ?
 
 A KNIGHT OF OUR OWN DA Y. 109 
 
 Mary began to fear she had been indis- 
 creet as the minutes passed on, and he 
 made no reply. 
 
 " Perhaps she is not quite that sort of 
 girl," she said at last, anxiously ; " perhaps 
 she is very strong-minded, and clever 
 and " 
 
 " No, she is not that" he replied, hastily. 
 " I scarcely know what to say about her 
 character, Mary, you see, we have been 
 engaged such a very short time. I think 
 you will like her. She is very bright and 
 amusing, and such an exquisite face. There 
 were some pretty English girls in Bombay, 
 but I never saw one the least like her,' 7 
 etc., etc. 
 
 Mary had turned away her face, and lav 
 looking out on the still, blue sea, an anxious 
 expression on her face, that a little marred 
 its gentle sweetness. She had every wish 
 to be pleased and satisfied, but she could 
 not help feeling a little puzzled. 
 
 All this talk about personal appearance 
 was very unlike Arthur; he had always 
 said that he would never marry a beauty,
 
 no ARTHUR; OR, 
 
 and yet he seemed to have engaged him- 
 self to a girl whose sole attraction lay in 
 her good looks, and in being bright and 
 amusing. It was not quite satisfactory. 
 
 At this moment Sir Henry entered the 
 room, and greeted his son with much affec- 
 tion. 
 
 " So, my boy, you took my advice after 
 all," he said, in his happy, genial way; 
 " depend upon it, the old folks are gene- 
 rally right in the end. Mary, my dear, 
 your brother is going to give you a sister- 
 in-law, who will be an honour to the family. 
 You are a lucky fellow, Arthur, though the 
 girl has not a farthing. I had rather you 
 married a daughter of my old friend Hel- 
 more than any heiress in London." 
 
 Here Lady Atherstone returned, and 
 the conversation became general. Only 
 Mary lay silently back on her sofa, feeling 
 wholly unable to join in the merry talk, 
 not only from physical weakness, but from 
 mental depression. That feeling of un- 
 defined anxiety and apprehension as re- 
 garded her brother's marriage was very
 
 A KNIGHT OF OUR 01 VN DA Y. ur 
 
 strong upon her, and it grew heavier each 
 day of Arthur's visit. 
 
 Was it in truth only the nervous fancy 
 of an invalid girl, or was it that marvellous 
 clearness of perception, almost amounting 
 to prophecy, which is sometimes given to 
 the dying, and which weighed upon her 
 constantly, urging her to warn this dear 
 brother against a marriage which would 
 bring him no happiness. For she was 
 dying — in spite of the doctor's cheering 
 opinion, in spite of the renewed hope of 
 those around her, in spite of the very de- 
 cided improvement in her health, she never 
 lost the conviction that Death was near at 
 hand. He might be delayed for a time, but 
 his stealthy footsteps never faltered, never 
 turned back — she was doomed to die as 
 her sisters had died — suddenly, painlessly 
 — just when their recovery had been pro- 
 nounced possible, and even probable ! 
 
 Mary knew this, but Arthur never sus- 
 pected this. Those days at Torquay passed 
 away very peacefully and pleasantly : in 
 after years Arthur looked back on them as 
 the happiest time in his life.
 
 112 ARTHUR; OR, 
 
 Lady Atherstone once proposed that Ida 
 should be asked to visit them, but he did 
 not second the motion, and she was only 
 too glad to have her son to herself. Arthur 
 felt that it might be as well that his family 
 should not see very much of his young 
 betrothed till they were actually married. 
 Ida was everything that was lovely, and 
 charming, and affectionate, but she was not 
 the least like the Atherstones ; her inno- 
 cent gaiety would seem like frivolity to 
 them, their calm, quiet, .gentle ways would 
 appear cold and uninteresting to lier. 
 
 " If it had been Elizabeth," argued Arthur 
 with himself, " she might have come to us, 
 and I know my mother would soon have 
 loved her ; but Ida is so very different — 
 I don't think even Mary would have ap- 
 preciated her." 
 
 No doubt he was right.
 
 A KNIGHT OF OUR OWN DAY. 113 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 " And yet believe me, good as Tvell as ill, 
 Woman's at best a contradiction still." 
 
 Pope. 
 
 The evening before her wedding-day Ida 
 was sitting by herself in their little bed- 
 room. Elizabeth was engaged in many 
 household matters, and her father was in 
 the parish, so there was nothing to disturb 
 the young bride, and she had remained in 
 that pleasant window-seat alone for nearly 
 an hour. 
 
 Everything around bore tokens of the 
 important event that was to take place on 
 the morrow. On the bed lay the wedding- 
 dress, a sheeny, glossy heap of white satin, 
 tiny bunches of orange-blossom showing 
 
 vol. 1. 8
 
 H4 ARTHUR; OR, 
 
 here and there ; a few half-packed boxes 
 and bags littered the usually tidy little 
 rooom — not many, for the country clergy- 
 man's second daughter could not afford 
 the magnificent and extensive trousseau 
 that most young ladies consider an indis- 
 pensable part of their marriage arrange- 
 ments. Neither were there many wedding 
 presents. Sir Henry Atherstone had sent 
 her a handsome pearl necklace, which Lady 
 Atherstone had supplemented with a tiara, 
 bracelets, and earrings en suite. Mary 
 Atherstone had given a pretty gold and 
 ruby bracelet, and Mrs. Fletcher a set of 
 pink coral. This was nearly all, except a 
 few trifling souvenirs from old friends in 
 the village — " little and good," as Ida had 
 laughingly remarked the day before. 
 
 The wedding was to be quite private — 
 not even a breakfast. Ida was to change 
 her dress immediately after they returned 
 from the church, and in half-an-hour's time 
 they were to be en route for Folkestone. 
 There was to be no foreign tour — Ida did 
 not care for it, and Arthur was glad to be
 
 A KNIGHT OF OUR OWN DAY. 115 
 
 saved the necessity of going far from home 
 while his sister continued in so precarious 
 a state. 
 
 He had now arrived at Arling, but Ida 
 had, somewhat to his surprise, refused to 
 see him the day before the wedding. " We 
 shall see enough of each other afterwards," 
 she had said, half laughing, half wearily, to 
 her sister. So Arthur had taken a long, 
 solitary ramble on the downs, and Ida sat 
 in her own little room alone. 
 
 Well, she has succeeded in her expecta- 
 tions, she is on the very eve of grasping all 
 she has most longed for — ease, luxury, 
 wealth, and a young, loving, and handsome 
 husband to boot. Yet she does not look 
 absolutely happy. There is an anxious 
 look on her fair young face as she leans out 
 of the open casement, heedless of the damp 
 November evening air. Her pretty slender 
 fingers are nervously clenched, and she has 
 drawn off her diamond engaged ring, and 
 thrown it half impatiently on the dressing- 
 table. 
 
 Hitherto we have shown only the darkest 
 
 8—2
 
 n6 ARTHUR: OR, 
 
 side of Ida Helm ore's character ; but she 
 was not really a bad girl — not worse than 
 many others who hold a fair position in the 
 world, and are much loved and esteemed. 
 Her faults were all young faults, such as 
 are common to many a beautiful girl. 
 She was a little frivolous, a little selfish, 
 and not a little ambitious. 
 
 Ah ! there it was. She had allowed 
 herself to indulge discontented thoughts, 
 till her present mode of life, from being 
 only uncongenial, had become simply in- 
 tolerable ; and she was prepared to do, say, 
 or suffer anything that might procure her a 
 release from it. Had she failed, she might 
 have been a soured, discontented, unami- 
 able woman for life; but. having succeeded, 
 softer and wiser thoughts began to pass 
 into her mind. 
 
 A really religious education is never 
 quite lost — really good seed can never be 
 utterly fruitless. Looking back on her 
 past life, she began to see how peaceful and 
 sheltered it had been, how happy it ought 
 to have been. What a kind father she had
 
 A KNIGHT OF OUR OWN DAY. 117 
 
 possessed ! what a loving, devoted sister ! 
 And Arling itself — what a sweet, healthy 
 spot it was ! what a warm, cosy nest was 
 this parsonage home of theirs ! how beauti- 
 ful the view from the windows ! how pure 
 and invigorating the fresh breezes from the 
 Down ! Yes, it was all very delightful, 
 and it was fast drawing to a close ! A few 
 more hours, and she would have left this 
 quiet spot, and the peaceful life of the 
 daughter of an English country clergyman, 
 and entered upon the more brilliant, but 
 perhaps less safe, career of a married lady 
 of wealth, position, and fashion. 
 
 Ida did not, at any rate in these last 
 moments, attempt to deceive herself. She 
 did not love her handsome, chivalrous lover; 
 she had used him as the indispensable means 
 to a desired end ; she admired and respected 
 him, but of that warm affection which a 
 good wife should bear to a loving husband 
 she knew that her heart was wholly empty. 
 " But I will try to love 'him— I will try 
 hard," she murmured to herself; " and 
 surely I must succeed. He is so good, and
 
 n8 ARTHURS OR, 
 
 so fond of me, surely it cannot be very 
 difficult." 
 
 Ah, Ida ! love is too brave and hardy a 
 plant to flourish in the heated atmosphere 
 of a forcing-house. It must be shone upon 
 by the bright sun of heaven and nourished 
 by its dews, pure breezes of reciprocal 
 affection and kind deeds and words must 
 constantly refresh it, and in such an atmo- 
 sphere 
 
 " They sin who tell us love can die." 
 
 * 
 
 But like the little blue speedwell of the 
 Sussex lanes, love will spring here and 
 there at its own sweet will, rejecting a 
 cultivated soil, and punishing every inter- 
 ference with its freedom by a premature 
 withering and decay. It must be a pecu- 
 liarly noble nature that, having withheld 
 its best affection during the illusive season 
 of courtship, will bestow them after the 
 grave and unromantic realities of mar- 
 riage. 
 
 Arthur Atherstone had no such mis- 
 givings on the eve of his wedding-day.
 
 A KNIGHT OF OUR OWN DAY. 119 
 
 When not depressed by the thought of the 
 dismal fate that seemed to pursue his 
 family, his was a singularly blight and 
 hopeful nature, disposed to make the best 
 of everything and think the best of every- 
 body. He looked forward with confidence 
 to a life of much hajDpiness spent with his 
 young wife : her exquisite beauty and win 
 ning ways had completely taken possession 
 of his heart, and he deemed himself the 
 most fortunate man in England. He would 
 now have rejected the faintest shadow of a 
 doubt as to her love for him, or as to the 
 perfect simplicity and beauty of her cha- 
 racter, as an unworthy and dishonourable 
 feeling, to be suppressed without a mo- 
 ments hesitation. In a few brief hours 
 she would be his — his own beautiful, peer- 
 less Ida — a treasure to be guarded care- 
 fully, and cherished most tenderly, till 
 death should part them. 
 
 The short November day ended at last, 
 and Ida was obliged to leave her quiet 
 retreat, and come downstairs to the last
 
 i2o ARTHUR; OR, 
 
 dinner she was ever destined to eat in 
 Arling Rectory. 
 
 They spent a very quiet evening. Mr. 
 Helmore tried hard to talk and be cheerful, 
 but made conversation is seldom a success, 
 and by degrees they all relapsed into 
 silence. Neither did the sisters talk much 
 when they were alone in their own room 
 that night. Elizabeth moved quietly about, 
 gathering up small forgotten odds and ends, 
 and closing bags and boxes with her usual 
 neat dexterity, but it was all done very 
 silently. 
 
 When all was finished, she came close to 
 her sister's bedside, and bent down to say 
 the last good-night. Ida's arms folded 
 round her neck in a close, tight embrace, 
 which seemed as if it never would unclose ; 
 and when, at last, Elizabeth gently drew 
 herself away, she found the front of her 
 dress wet with tears. She deemed it wiser 
 not to notice this, but she tenderly smoothed 
 the fair, ruffled hair with her motherly hand, 
 and, by sundry loving, soothing words,
 
 A KNIGHT OF OUR OWN DAY. 121 
 
 showed the sisterly sympathy she scarcely 
 dared to express openly. 
 
 After all, it was not unnatural ; many 
 girls were low and depressed on the point 
 of leaving old friends and associations for 
 ever. It may be doubted whether any girl 
 feels cheerful on the eve of her wedding- 
 day, though she may have every reason to 
 look forward to a bright future. 
 
 So argued Elizabeth, sensibly enough no 
 doubt, but she failed to convince herself, 
 and, in spite of all her endeavours, the 
 morning of that memorable Sth of No- 
 vember found her nervous and depressed. 
 The weather was not inspiriting : a dense 
 fog in the early morning changed about 
 ten o'clock to a dreaiy, mizzling rain, and 
 there was some difficulty in getting the 
 bride dry to church. She was obliged to 
 walk some few steps, and so damp was the 
 atmosphere, that even in that moment the 
 fog hung in heavy drops from her hair, and 
 the lace veil drooped limp and flabby. 
 
 To Elizabeth it all seemed like some 
 strange, awful dream. The gaslights,
 
 122 ARTHUR: OR, 
 
 burning yellow and dim through the thick 
 atmosphere, her father's surpliced form, 
 less erect than usual, as he pronounced the 
 solemn, unaccustomed words; Arthurs 
 flushed, handsome face, brighter than ever 
 from the contrast of the gloom around ; 
 and the bride's graceful, bending figure, 
 looking almost unearthly with her gleam- 
 ing hair and set, white face. 
 
 Could that indeed be her own sister ? — 
 she who had been her constant companion 
 day and night for eighteen years — that 
 stately lady in the flowing satin dress and 
 wreath of orange-blossom, who was now 
 listening so intently to the exhortation 
 which commanded her to be a follower of 
 all " holy and godly matrons V It was all 
 most strange, most unnatural. 
 
 With the same dreamy feeling Elizabeth 
 followed the married couple into the vestry, 
 and mechanically kissed her sister, and 
 received Arthur's warm shake of the 
 hand. 
 
 Luncheon was ready in the dining-room 
 when they returned — too simple a repast
 
 A KNIGHT OF OUR OWN DAY. 123 
 
 to be dignified by the name of a breakfast, 
 but distinguished by a certain grace and 
 fitness which characterized all Elizabeth's 
 undertakings. 
 
 Ida had barely time to change her dress 
 and swallow a few mouthfuls of food, 
 when the carriage drove to the door, and 
 they had to hurry away to catch the train 
 for Folkestone. A few minutes of bustle 
 and agitation, a momentary embrace of the 
 bride in her rich dark blue silk and white 
 bonnet — and they were off! 
 
 Elizabeth stood in the porch, heedless of 
 the misty, drenching rain, watching the 
 Atherstone carriage with its four greys, 
 till it faded into a mere dot along the 
 broad turnpike road. Then she went back 
 into the drawing-room, and, sitting down 
 on Ida's favourite sofa by the window, 
 strove to collect her scattered senses. 
 
 " Married and done fof," " wooed and 
 married and a' " — how common are such 
 sentences, and yet how untrue. If a girl 
 is married at all, the event generally takes 
 place before she is thirty, often before she
 
 J24 ARTHUR; OR, 
 
 is five-and-twenty, with all the best years 
 of her life before her, containing all their 
 limitless possibilities of joy and sorrow, 
 well-doing and sin. Do not the real records 
 of a life begin when in novels they most 
 frequently end, when the bride has signed 
 her maiden name for the last time, and 
 the wedding-bells have ceased to clash 
 through the air ? 
 
 How merciful is the veil whidhhides from 
 us not only our own future, but the future 
 of those dearest to us ! Poor Elizabeth, 
 sitting there in her desolation, trying hard 
 to rouse herself from her despondency with 
 thoughts of comfort and hope ! Could she 
 but have had but one glimpse of the future 
 which lay before that fair young bride, 
 would she not have striven desperately to 
 recall her ? would she not have invented 
 any pretence, any excuse, which might 
 serve to avert, or at any rate postpone, 
 the inevitable hand of destiny ? 
 
 But she knew nothing — foreboded no- 
 thing ; and when at last she went to seek 
 her father in his study, she found him
 
 A KNIGHT OF OUR OWN DAY. 125 
 
 composed and cheerful. Any misgivings 
 that he might have had as to the prudence 
 of the marriage were at an end now, and 
 his usual peaceful serenity had returned to 
 him.
 
 126 ARTHUR; OR, 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 " But all my heart is drawn above ; 
 
 My knees are bowed in crypt and shrine ; 
 I never felt the kiss of love, 
 Nor maiden's hand in mine." 
 
 Tennyson. 
 
 The morning after Ida's wedding rose clear, 
 cold, and beautiful. Elizabeth determined 
 to take a long walk to see some cottagers 
 at the far end of the village, partly for the 
 exercise and partly to fulfil a charitable 
 purpose; partly, also, in the hope that a 
 brisk walk in the frosty air might do some- 
 thing to remove the feeling of languor and 
 depression that hung over her. In her 
 neat black hat, waterproof cloak, and com- 
 fortable strong boots, she looked every inch 
 the good, useful, clergyman's daughter, and
 
 A KNIGHT OF OUR OWN DAY. 127 
 
 the country people turned as she passed, 
 and blessed the calm, sweet face that 
 always seemed like a messenger of comfort 
 to them. 
 
 No busy, useful person who has good 
 health and a clear conscience, can remain 
 long depressed, and Elizabeth felt her 
 spirits rise as she stepped quickly along 
 the hard road, and long before she had 
 gone a couple of miles, she was disposed to 
 see everything in a more cheerful light ; 
 even the lonely life spent in an obscure 
 village which she imagined lay before her. 
 " I shall never marry," she mused to her- 
 self; "it is most unlikely that I shall ever 
 see any one to care for me in Arling ; 
 and it is just as well, for, after all, I believe 
 old maids are the most contented people in 
 the world. I shall have enough to do for 
 the present in looking after papa, and help- 
 ing in the parish, and by-and-by I shall be 
 the useful, comfortable maiden aunt to 
 Ida's children. Dear Ida ! I wonder what 
 
 she is doing now ? I wonder " 
 
 But her meditations were here cut short
 
 128 ARTHUR; OR, 
 
 by an unexpected sight on the road before 
 her. Two gentlemen were walking slowly 
 along side by side ; one was Mr. Helmore, 
 the other a tall young man, in clerical cos- 
 tume. Surely it could be no other than 
 the new curate. He had not been ex- 
 pected until the next day, but no doubt 
 something had occurred to induce him to 
 alter his plans. ^ 
 
 Mr. Helmore stopped when he saw Eliza- 
 beth, and introduced the stranger to her, 
 adding — 
 
 " I met Mr. Norman walking from the 
 station, my dear, and we are going to take 
 a turn round the village. Are you going 
 far?" 
 
 " Only to Deanworth, papa. I want to 
 see those poor Watsons/' 
 
 " You must be a good walker," said the 
 curate, smiling ; " Deanworth is nearly four 
 miles from here." 
 
 "I believe it is quite that. Do you 
 know this part of the country ?" 
 
 " I have visited Daylesford once or 
 twice."
 
 A KNIGHT OF OUR OWN DA Y. 129 
 
 " You must not delay, Elizabeth, or you 
 will not be back to luncheon," said her 
 father ; and the gentlemen walked on, and 
 were soon out of sight 
 
 Elizabeth hurried on, but she was not 
 destined to reach Deanworth that morn- 
 ing. At the turn of the road she encoun- 
 tered Mrs. Fletcher's well-appointed car- 
 riage, and the good lady stopped at once 
 and entered into conversation. 
 
 i( My dear Elizabeth, I was just coming 
 to the Rectory. How fortunate to have 
 met you. Where are you going V 
 
 " To Deanworth, dear Mrs. Fletcher. I 
 am so sorry that I cannot stop, but it is a 
 long way, and " 
 
 " My dear girl, it is absurd : you will 
 never get there. These bright mornings 
 are not trustworthy. Look at that bank 
 of clouds coming up with the wind ; there 
 will be a drenching shower presently." 
 
 " I have a parcel to leave, and with my 
 waterproof cloak " 
 
 " I will leave your parcel as I drive 
 
 VOL. I. 9
 
 i 3 o ARTHUR; OR, 
 
 home ; it will not be ten minutes out of 
 my way. Jump in, Elizabeth, like a good 
 girl, and I will drive you back." 
 
 She was so earnest that Elizabeth allowed 
 herself to be persuaded, and in another 
 minute they were swiftly rolling back to 
 Arling. 
 
 " Now, my dear," began the elderly lady, 
 " tell me all the news. How did the wed- 
 ding go off? Of course our dear little 
 bride looked beautiful." 
 
 " She did, indeed. It was a pity the 
 day was so gloomy. Everything looked sq 
 drenched and wretched." 
 
 " Of course, people who want sunny 
 weather mustn't be married in November. 
 I have loads of things to ask you, Eliza- 
 beth, but of course I shall forget half of 
 them. Are you quite satisfied with the 
 marriage, dear ? Was it really and truly 
 a love-match V 
 
 Elizabeth felt the question somewhat 
 impertinent, but nevertheless she would 
 have given worlds to have been able to 
 answer it satisfactorily. Her momentary
 
 A KNIGHT OF OUR OWN DAY. 131 
 
 hesitation did not escape her companion's 
 watchful eye. 
 
 " People have been saying that the en- 
 gagement took place very soon after they 
 became acquainted — very soon indeed, but 
 of course there has been time since then 
 for the young people to know each other 
 thoroughly." 
 
 M I wish £ people' would mind their own 
 business," replied Elizabeth, with a sort of 
 weary irritation. 
 
 This conversation was brinonnof back the 
 anxious, doubtful feelings which had been 
 partially dispelled by her long walk. 
 
 Mrs. Fletcher looked wise, and nodded 
 indescribable things. 
 
 " Well, my dear, I won't press you ; we 
 must hope it will all turn out for the 
 best. To change the conversation, how do 
 you like the notion of a curate coming to 
 Arling ?" 
 
 " He has come already ; he arrived un- 
 expectedly this morning." 
 
 " Indeed ! He must be a zealous young 
 disciple. I know a little about him. The 
 
 9—2
 
 i 3 2 ARTHUR; OR, 
 
 Normans are a very good Hampshire family, 
 and this young man ought to have money. 
 He is the eldest son, is he not V 
 
 " I don't know, indeed ; I have made no 
 inquiries. " 
 
 " Just like you, Elizabeth ; you always 
 were the most inconsiderate young person 
 about these matters. Have you not thought 
 that a possibility exists of thia young man 
 taking a fancy to you ? Possibility! I may 
 almost call it a certainty ; he will see no one 
 else, and most curates have a genius for 
 marrying. If you have no idea of his 
 future prospects, how are you to answer 
 when he makes you an offer V 
 
 Elizabeth smiled. 
 
 " Our new curate is a High Churchman, 
 Mrs. Fletcher and papa say, and is particu- 
 larly averse to the society of young ladies. I 
 very much doubt if I shall ever interchange 
 a word with him except an occasional 
 greeting, which I suppose we cannot well 
 avoid." 
 
 " 'When I said I should die a bachelor, 
 I did not think I should live till I were
 
 A KNIGHT OF OUR OWN DAY. 133 
 
 married/" quoted Mrs. Fletcher, laughing. 
 "Never despair, Elizabeth, the most de- 
 termined anchorites are conquered at last. 
 Rely on it, I shall congratulate you as Mrs. 
 Norman before next year closes." 
 
 " Indeed, I assure you M 
 
 " There, there, my dear, that will do ; I 
 know what you are going to say. All 
 young ladies think it necessary to make 
 affirmations of perpetual celibacy, but there 
 is not one who would refuse a good offer if 
 she could get it. When I was a girl, I 
 scouted the idea of matrimony as much as 
 any of you, but it was a different thing 
 when Mr. Fletcher proposed to me. You 
 have no mother, Elizabeth — more's the 
 pity — but you may always confide in me" 
 
 It was useless to reply, and Elizabeth 
 leant back silently in her seat, and felt con- 
 siderably relieved when they reached the 
 Rectory gate; and Mrs. Fletcher, declining 
 to enter, drove away with the parcel l for 
 Deanworth. 
 
 Mr. Helmore met his daughter in the 
 porch.
 
 134 ARTHUR; OR, 
 
 " I have asked Mr. Norman to stay to 
 luncheon, Elizabeth ; they did not expect 
 him at his lodging, and nothing was pre- 
 pared/' 
 
 " Very well, papa ; I will see about it." 
 
 She gave the necessary directions to the 
 cook, and soon appeared in the drawing- 
 room, where she found the curate engaged 
 in what was apparently a very interesting 
 discussion with her father. He was so 
 absorbed that she could watch his counte- 
 nance without risk of observation, as she 
 sat working on Ida's sofa. 
 
 He was certainly a very handsome man, 
 though he had nothing of the rosy English 
 comeliness which made Arthur Atherstone's 
 face such a pleasant one to look at. On 
 the contrary, his form was thin almost to 
 meagreness, his large blue eyes were un- 
 usually bright and keen ; and his high, pale 
 forehead and emaciated features, regular 
 and handsome as they undoubtedly were, 
 gave one the impression of very delicate 
 health. 
 
 All sorts of comparisons flitted through
 
 A KNIGHT OF OUR OWN DAY. 135 
 
 Elizabeth's mind as she watched him ; but 
 perhaps the one which remained longest 
 and made deepest impression on her mind 
 was that of St. Augustine. 
 
 As she entered the drawing-room he was 
 speaking earnestly and rapidly. 
 
 u Rely on it, Mr. Helmore, the extreme 
 Ritualists are doing us good service. Ro- 
 mantic and wavering enthusiasts are led bv 
 them to forsake our Church for the Romish 
 Communion — their natural and proper 
 place ; we are glad to get rid of them, and 
 they are welcomed there. I am convinced 
 that many good persons make themselves 
 very uneasy about the present state of 
 ecclesiastical matters without the smallest 
 occasion. Never has our Church been so 
 flourishing or so useful, never has her in- 
 fluence been so widely spread or so uni- 
 versally acknowledged as in the present 
 day." 
 
 " A house divided against itself falleth/' 
 replied Mr. Helmore, sadly. "I cannot 
 but regret all these dissensions ; the spirit 
 of Christian charity seems far enough re-
 
 136 ARTHUR; OR, 
 
 moved from us at present. Fifty years 
 ago, when I first entered the ministry,, 
 there were even those who entertained 
 hopes of uniting the Nonconformists to our 
 Church by means of a few simple and un- 
 important concessions ; but what man in 
 his senses would dream of such a L thing 
 now ? Disputes and discord are the order 
 of the day. Look at the disgraceful scenes 
 that are witnessed even at our Church 
 Congresses." 
 
 " Fifty years ago, sir/' replied the young 
 man with animation — "fifty years ago 
 there were no disputes because there was 
 no enthusiasm. You can make pretty sure 
 of peace if you will consent to put up with 
 indifference. The hunting, smoking, drink- 
 ing clergy of half a century ago 'cared for 
 none of these things ; ; they rattled through 
 their ten minutes' sermon once a week, 
 visited a few of their wealthiest parish- 
 ioners, occasionally read to a sick person if 
 they were requested to do so, and considered 
 their duty done. No one is so tolerant as 
 a sceptic upon religious matters, simply
 
 A KNIGHT OF OUR OWN DAY. ' 137 
 
 because he does not concern himself in the 
 least about them. You need fear no oppo- 
 sition from a dead body ! Contention is at 
 any rate a sign of life." 
 
 The elder clergyman sighed wearily. 
 
 " No doubt it is easy to be charitable 
 and moderate when no deep feelings are 
 involved in the discussion, but one does 
 weary of all these disputes. Who, in my 
 youth, would have believed that we should 
 see clergymen actually going to law upon 
 insignificant matters of ritual ?" 
 
 " Nothing is insignificant that can be in- 
 terpreted wrongly by the ignorant," broke 
 in the younger man : " every minutiae of 
 the ritual that appears so unimportant in 
 some eyes is intended to convey soaie secret 
 meaning to the initiated. We do not 
 object so much to the ritualistic ceremonial 
 in itself, absurd and extravagant as it often 
 is, but because it is the sign and symbol of 
 various forms of the Romish persuasion." 
 
 " That may apply in some points, but 
 surely not in all. I think much unchari- 
 tableness arises from very insignificant
 
 138 ARTHUR; OR, 
 
 causes. My neighbour in the next parish, 
 Mr. Ducie, is what some people call Ritual- 
 istic. Several of my brother clergy have 
 quarrelled with him on this account, but I 
 have attended his church once or twice, 
 and saw nothing that could justify me in 
 proceeding to that extremity. If he likes 
 to waste his parishioners' money and his 
 own, with burning wax candles on the 
 communion-table in broad daylight, that is 
 his affair entirely, and ought not to be 
 made a matter of dispute. Again, he wears 
 an extraordinary garment bordered with 
 gold, with a cross and a ship embroidered 
 on the back, and this is varied by a green 
 robe, worked all over with little crosses. I 
 think he makes himself look both undigni- 
 fied and absurd, and much more like a 
 Jewish priest than an English clergyman. 
 But, again, what is that to me ? If he 
 became a heretic or an infidel, I should 
 withdraw myself from his society; but at 
 present I see no reason why he is not to be 
 treated as a Christian brother, more es- 
 pecially as he L is one of the kindest and
 
 A KNIGHT OF OUR OWN DA Y. 139 
 
 most charitable of men. I believe fully, 
 that as he is a very young man, these 
 vagaries will pass away with the sober 
 wisdom taught by maturer years. I am 
 content to await that day in hope, and 
 meantime am careful not to strengthen 
 fanaticism by opposition. He shall not 
 have the opportunity of considering him- 
 self a persecuted martyr as far as I am 
 concerned." 
 
 " Sir, I assure you " began the young 
 
 curate eagerly, but he was interrupted by 
 the announcement of luncheon, and t soon 
 after took his leave. 
 
 u Well, what do you think of him V 
 asked Mr. Helmore of his daughter, as the 
 door closed behind the new arrival. 
 
 " I should think he was clever, papa, 
 and certainly quite a gentleman, but he 
 expresses his opinions with a good deal of 
 freedom for so young a man." 
 
 " Ah ! my dear, that is but natural ; he 
 is young and enthusiastic. These Oxford 
 lights must think us steady-going old 
 stagers terribly behind the times. I am
 
 Mo ARTHUR; OR, 
 
 glad he has come ; he will wake us up a 
 bit. One's ideas are apt to get rusty, living 
 year after year in a retired place like this ; 
 .sometimes one is almost tempted to re- 
 gret/' 
 
 " Regret what, dear papa ?" asked Eliza- 
 beth, anxiously. 
 
 " Nothing, my child ; nothing of any 
 consequence. I have chosen my lot in life, 
 and I must abide by it. Still I am glad 
 Mr. Norman bids fair to be a profitable 
 companion ; one is never too old to learn,, 
 even from one's juniors/ ' 
 
 Something in this remark touched Eliza- 
 beth ; she laid her hand fondly on her 
 fathers arm, as she answered, with her 
 eyes full of tears — 
 
 " You are the best, and kindest, and 
 wisest father in the world, and Mr. Norman 
 would do well if he were to learn from you. 
 I do not like his domineering style of argu- 
 ment, and his remarks about the clergy of 
 the last fifty years was almost rude, con- 
 sidering your age." 
 
 " Hush ! my dear ; he did not mean
 
 A KNIGHT OF OUR OWN DAY. 141 
 
 that. I like the young man, and I am 
 convinced [he will turn out a gem of a 
 curate." 
 
 So the event proved. Elizabeth soon 
 found she had very little time for sad and 
 unprofitable musing, or for feeling her lone- 
 liness without Ida. Mr. Norman worked 
 hard himself, and of course her assistance 
 was required in everything, A new night- 
 school was instituted — who could instruct 
 the elder girls, but Elizabeth ? An organ 
 was placed in the church at the young 
 curate's sole expense — and there was no one 
 to play it but Elizabeth. A choir must be 
 formed and instructed — and no lady would 
 undertake the novel and arduous labour 
 but Elizabeth. These and innumerable 
 other duties fell to her share, and they 
 were all cheerfully and readily under- 
 taken. 
 
 Delighted at finding so untiring and 
 energetic a prime minister, Mr. Norman 
 dropped a little of his usual chilling reserve 
 of manner to ladies, and condescended to 
 talk to her of some of the schemes and pro-
 
 142 ARTHUR; OR, 
 
 jects that lay nearest his heart. Some of 
 them appeared wild and Utopian enough 
 to her calm, unromantic imagination, but 
 she listened readily and kindly, and they 
 became fast though most undemonstrative 
 friends. 
 
 To a girl like Elizabeth it was really a 
 satisfaction to have secured so able a help- 
 mate for her father, without running the 
 risk of any awkward situations for herself. 
 Mr. Norman was so entirely wrapped up in 
 his work, and besides this he was so tho- 
 roughly a gentleman, and naturally so cold 
 and reserved in manner, that his Rector's 
 daughter could spend hours in his company 
 without the least embarrassment or self- 
 consciousness on either side. 
 
 Mr. Helmore was glad to see the friendly 
 feeling that had sprung up between them, 
 and by degrees almost resigned the reins of 
 the spiritual government of the parish into 
 their active and willing hands, secure that 
 all would go well. 
 
 It was a strange, but not unprofitable, 
 life for a young woman. By dint of living
 
 A KNIGHT OF OUR OWX DAY. 143 
 
 always with two most unworldly, though 
 very talented, people, she lost any taint of 
 fashionable young \ ladyism which might 
 have lain dormant in her character. She 
 became as active, as unwearied, as self- 
 forgetting (a very different and a far harder 
 thing than self-denying) as any young nun 
 or hermit of the middle ages. 
 
 Mr. Helmore was amazed, Mr. Norman 
 was delighted. Here was a brave disciple 
 truly ! — a lady, young and delicately nur- 
 tured, who would sit up all night beside a 
 fever-stricken patient, with no more thought 
 of infection or fatigue than one of the holv 
 people of old mentioned above. No weather 
 could deter her from her work, no task was 
 too difficult or disagreeable for her to 
 undertake. 
 
 Hitherto Mr. Norman had looked on all 
 girls as a hindrance rather than a help in 
 this work ; a class useful and necessary in 
 their way, no doubt, but, as a class, the 
 reverse of congenial to him. But in Eliza- 
 beth Helmore he found none of the faults of 
 her sex. She never expected any compli-
 
 144 ARTHUR; OR, 
 
 merits, or anything beyond the most ordi- 
 nary civility and attention ; she never re- 
 quired any coaxing to do her duty, and 
 coquetry, impatience, and wilfulness seemed 
 alike foreign to her nature. 
 
 " She is my right hand — she is simply 
 perfection !" he exclaimed one day, in a fit 
 of enthusiasm, to her father. 
 
 He smiled, and took the compliment at 
 its proper worth, giving a loving, simple 
 assent. 
 
 Truly, since those halcyon days when 
 monks and nuns lived near together and 
 even shared their holy work without thought 
 of either love or wrangling, there has 
 seldom existed a happier, more unworldly, 
 more simple-minded party than these three 
 at Arling Rectory. 
 
 Meanwhile the world looked on, won- 
 dered, and of course misunderstood. 
 
 "It is all coming right,"' wrote Mrs. 
 Fletcher in a confidential letter to Ida. 
 " Your father's new curate is everything he 
 ought to be, and Elizabeth being of course 
 everything she ought to be, there is no
 
 A KNIGHT OF OUR OWN DA Y. 145 
 
 doubt that they will be married before 
 the year is out. What a perfect couple 
 they will be — they ought to reform the 
 world r 
 
 In consequence of this intimation, young 
 Mrs. Atherstone wrote a letter to her sister, 
 which provoked the following reply : — 
 
 " Dearest Ida, 
 
 " Mrs. Fletcher is (I must say it) a 
 vulgar, gossiping woman. Mr. Norman 
 has as little idea of marrying me as I have 
 of marrying at all. We are a good deal 
 together — it is necessary that it should be 
 so — but do not credit any reports that may 
 be spread to our disadvantage." 
 
 Ida showed these sentences to her hus- 
 band, saying, with a smile — 
 
 " What can she mean, Arthur ? ' To 
 our disadvantage f One would think it was 
 a sin to marry. I think it would be the 
 best thing she could do." 
 
 "Elizabeth is growing romantic; that 
 letter is not like her," was the answer. 
 
 vol. 1. 10
 
 146 ARTHUR; OR, 
 
 " Depend upon it the new curate is trying 
 to teach her some of his new-fangled ideas, 
 and has partially succeeded." 
 Which was certainly true.
 
 A KNIGHT OF OUR OWN DA Y. 147 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 " If ladies be but young and fair, 
 They have the gift to know it." 
 
 Shakespeare. 
 
 In one of the comfortable sitting-rooms of 
 the Bedford Hotel, Brighton, sits the young 
 bride, Ida Atherstone. Three weeks of 
 married life have altered her considerably. 
 She is handsomely dressed in dark green 
 velvet, with silver ornaments, a colour 
 admirably suited to her bright, pure com- 
 plexion. The pretty golden hair is arranged 
 in a new and most becoming fashion, and 
 her attitude, as she leans back in the easy- 
 chair, is quite perfect in its simple grace. 
 It is marvellous to note how soon the un- 
 tutored country girl has assumed the man- 
 
 10—2
 
 148 ARTHUR; OR, 
 
 ner and appearance of a grande dame, even 
 to the languid inflection of the voice, and 
 the easy dignity of each movement. Per- 
 haps she overdoes it a little, but that will 
 soon wear off. Arthur considers her per- 
 fectly charming, and all Brighton is dis- 
 posed to agree with him. 
 
 In that most, delightful of autumn water- 
 ing places nice-looking girls, healthy-look- 
 ing girls, distinguished-looking girls, even 
 pretty girls, are common enough ; they 
 may be met with in crowds on the Kings 
 Road, the Pier, or disporting themselves 
 gracefully at the Skating Rink, but nothing 
 so exquisitely and perfectly beautiful as 
 young Mrs. Atherstone had been seen there 
 of late years. The two infallible signs of a 
 beauty soon appeared ; the ladies all criti- 
 cised her, and the gentlemen were all dying 
 to be introduced to her. 
 
 Any young lady who is much " talked 
 about " by her own sex may be tolerably 
 certain that she is considered to be a 
 dangerous rival. Uninteresting, or plain 
 girls, can be safely left in peace to air their
 
 A KNIGHT OF OUR OWN DA Y. c 4.9 
 
 innocuous attractions ; they need fear no 
 enemies, and are allowed to pursue the 
 even tenor of their ways in happy tran- 
 quillity. But envy, detraction, and even 
 dislike are certain to follow in the steps 
 of a girl who is either an acknowledged 
 beauty, or possessed of that nameless, in- 
 definable fascination which is, in reality, 
 far more dangerous to the hearts of 
 men. 
 
 Do you suppose the queen of beauties, 
 that pearl among women, Mary Queen of 
 Scots, owed her universal sway over the 
 minds of all who beheld her, to her hazel 
 eyes, her graceful figure, or her bands of 
 glossy auburn hair ? Did Cleopatra govern 
 Antony by her black eyes, her swarthy 
 complexion, or her queenly presence ? No. 
 Surely the influence of beauty may be great 
 and all powerful for the time, but it is 
 transient in its very nature. It was the 
 bright witchery in the eyes of the Scottish 
 queen, and her loving, yet coquettish ways 
 that won all hearts, and all but subdued 
 the sternest of the Calvinistic reformers so
 
 ifo ARTHUR; OR, 
 
 long as he was under the attraction of her 
 immediate presence. 
 
 Had Cleopatra not been a genius as well 
 as a woman, she had never so enchained 
 her haughty warrior, and compelled him to 
 forget alike his interests and his honour for 
 the sake of her love. 
 
 To return from this digression. Ida 
 Atherstone added to her beauty a wonder- 
 ful charm and sweetness of manner, and it 
 was this, even more than her personal attrac- 
 tions, which excited such universal admi- 
 ration, and converted her young husband 
 from a somewhat indifferent lover into her 
 most devoted and submissive slave. Look 
 at him now as he sits reading by the win- 
 dow, the light falls full on his face, and 
 reveals clearly how bright and well he is 
 looking. He seems ten years younger than 
 when we saw him sitting alone in the 
 Grange library, now more than two months 
 ago. If any one had asked him the ques- 
 tion, he would have stoutly affirmed that no 
 man on earth ever was, or ever could be, so 
 perfectly and intensely happy as himself.
 
 A KNIGHT OF OUR OWN DAY. 151 
 
 It is nearly eleven o'clock, and Ida throws 
 down her book. 
 
 "Arthur, don't you think we ought to 
 go out ? It is such a glorious morpjxtg." 
 
 " To be sure ; I had forgotten the time. 
 Get your things on, darling, I am quite 
 ready." 
 
 In five^ minutes they are out on the 
 sunny Pcxrade, already crowded with people, 
 early as it is. 
 
 " Let us go to the Rink," says Arthur ; 
 "there is no wind ; it is just the morning 
 for you to learn to skate/' 
 
 " I shall only tumble down, and make 
 myself a ridiculous spectacle," she laughs. 
 
 " Never mind, every one tumbles down. 
 I believe it is quite the exception for any 
 one to keep upright. Hullo ! who's that f 
 This exclamation was occasioned by the 
 sight of two young ladies, who were walking 
 on in front. I said two young ladies, but 
 on a nearer inspection it is evident that 
 one of them must have numbered at least 
 five and thirty summers, in spite of her 
 unexceptionable figure and youthfully-
 
 152 ARTHUR; OR, 
 
 arranged flaxen locks. She had apparently 
 heard Captain Atherstone's exclamation, for 
 she instantly looked round, and in another 
 minute they were cordially shaking hands, 
 and Ida was introduced to Lady Laura 
 Marjoribanks and her daughter Alda, 
 
 The young lady was about Ida's own 
 age, perhaps a year or two younger, and 
 appeared painfully shy, colouring up to her 
 ears when she was addressed, and appa- 
 rently desiring nothing so much as to 
 remain entirely unnoticed. Arthur walked 
 on with her, endeavouring to make her 
 enter into conversation in his kind, cordial 
 way, and the two married ladies fell behind 
 together. 
 
 With one glance of her keen, light eyes, 
 Lady Laura had seen that her companion 
 was young, beautiful, and elegantly dressed, 
 and she knew her to be wealthy and well 
 connected — at any rate, through her hus- 
 band's family. She was, therefore, in every 
 sense, well worth cultivating, and it was in 
 an unusually cordial tone of voice that her 
 adyship commenced the conversation.
 
 A KNIGHT OF OUR OWN DA Y. 153 
 
 " What a charming place this is in 
 autumn, Mrs. Atherstone ! I always say 
 that Brighton is the only town I ever 
 visited in November in which one hears 
 people complain of having too much sun- 
 shine." 
 
 " It seems very pleasant," replied Ida, a 
 scarcely perceptible shade of diffidence in 
 her tone. It was the first time in her life 
 that she had ever spoken to a real live 
 ladyship, and she felt uncertain as to 
 whether she should use her title or not. 
 
 " Of course you know it well," continued 
 Lady Laura. " You have always lived in 
 Sussex, have you not ?" 
 
 " Yes, but we never came bo Brighton ; 
 indeed, we never went anywhere. I have 
 only seen London once, about seven years 
 ago, when papa took me up to see a dentist." 
 
 Lady Laura opened her eyes. Here 
 was a novice, indeed, in. the fashionable 
 world. Here, surely, w^s an opportunity 
 for her universal benevolence to exercise 
 itself. For Lady Laura was a very bene- 
 volent person — at least she considered her-
 
 154 ARTHUR; OR, 
 
 self so. There was nothing that gave her 
 greater pleasure than to take some debu- 
 tante by the hand, be she married or single 
 — in the first instance with the object of 
 obtaining for them a favourable reception 
 into the most exclusive clique in the world, 
 the creme de la creme of London society 
 —in the latter, to procure them introduc- 
 tions and opportunities which should result 
 in a grand matrimonial triumph in St. 
 George's or Westminster Abbey. 
 
 Hitherto her efforts had not always been 
 attended with success, but she was by no 
 means discouraged, and hailed a new and 
 promising pupil with as much joy as Frede- 
 rick the Great did an unusually tall re- 
 cruit to swel) the magnificence of his guard 
 of honour. So her ladyship instantly formed 
 the resolution to " take up " Ida, and give 
 her some notion of the fashionable world 
 that was so new to her, and in which 
 she was so well fitted to shine. It was 
 therefore in atone of increased friendliness 
 that she continued the conversation. 
 
 " This gay scene must be new to you,
 
 A KNIGHT OF OUR OWN DAY. 155 
 
 then, Mrs. Atherstone. Arling is quite a 
 retired little village, is it not T 
 
 " How in the world did she know I came 
 from Arling ?" thought Ida; but she an- 
 swered simply in the affirmative. 
 
 " Not much conversation," thought Lady 
 Laura. " Poor young thing ! she is very 
 shy. I must try and draw her out." 
 
 "I am so glad to have this unexpected op- 
 portunity of making your acquaintance," she 
 said, taking the young wife's arm in hers, 
 with a sudden accession of cordiality, at 
 which Ida did not know whether to be 
 most frightened or pleased. " I have been 
 intimate with your husband's family for so 
 many years, and it gratifies one of the 
 dearest wishes of my heart to see Arthur so 
 happily married." 
 
 Ida blushed, looked down, and began 
 to think her new acquaintance a very fasci- 
 nating person. 
 
 " I shall hope to see a great deal of you 
 while we are here, dear Mrs. Atherstone ; 
 we have taken a house in Palmeira Square 
 for two months — I suppose you will not be 
 here so loner V
 
 156 ARTHUR; OR, 
 
 " Oh ! no ; I believe Arthur means us to 
 go on to Torquay next week. I have not 
 seen Lady Atherstone yet — since my mar- 
 riage, I mean." 
 
 "Ah ! but he must not hurry you off so 
 soon as that ; there are some capital balls 
 coming on in a few days. Mrs. Archibald 
 Douglas gives one on the 29th. You do 
 not know her, I suppose V 
 
 " No ; I know no one here." 
 
 "Ah! perhaps that is just as well; a 
 very young married lady like you cannot be 
 too careful of her acquaintances in a place 
 like Brighton. There is an enormous mix- 
 ture here, and, I am sorry to say, very few 
 unexceptionable people. Ah ! here we are 
 at the Rink — what a pretty sight it is I" 
 
 Certainly it was a pretty sight, and to 
 Ida's unaccustomed eyes it appeared quite 
 charming. She did not trouble her head 
 as to whether all the performers were " un- 
 exceptionable " people or not ; they were 
 most of them young and well dressed, and 
 many of them remarkably nice-looking. 
 Some were skimming along with the
 
 A KXIGHT OF OUR OWN DAY. 157 
 
 easy grace of birds on the wing, some 
 were advancing cautiously with the aid of 
 a stick or some friendly arm, and some 
 dashed into the conflict with a dangerous 
 bravery, which usually ended in an igno- 
 minious downfall about every five minutes. 
 
 " How delightful it looks, Arthur ; do 
 let me try," exclaimed Ida, quite forgetful 
 of her previous fears. 
 
 Miss Marjoribanks was equally anxious 
 to make the attempt, and in a few minutes 
 both young ladies were standing on the 
 asphalte, while Lady Laura cackled on the 
 edge, like a careful mother hen who beholds 
 her adventurous brood attempting to cross 
 the water. 
 
 " Now take care, Alda, my dear ; you will 
 be over. My dear Mrs. Atherstone, don't 
 attempt to move alone. Good gracious ! 
 there's another one down ! My dear Arthur, 
 do tell them to come off, it is really a most 
 dangerous amusement I" 
 
 The effect of all these exclamations was 
 to make her daughter so painfully nervous, 
 that she found it wholly impossible to ad-
 
 58 ARTHUR; OR, 
 
 vance a step ; but Ida only laughed and 
 struck out boldlv, disdaining even her 
 husband's assistance. 
 
 As a general rule, a salmon on a gravel 
 path is in a happy and appropriate situation 
 compared with a young lady who is at- 
 tempting roller-skating for the first time, 
 but Arthur always said that it was impos- 
 sible for Ida to appear awkward in any 
 situation, however trying or ludicrous to 
 less graceful people, and his words were 
 fully borne out on the present occasion. 
 While other beginners w r ere floundering 
 and rolling about in every direction, she- 
 went on her way, slowly, indeed, and diffi- 
 dently, but with a certain ease, composure, 
 and, above all, safety, which excited much 
 envy and admiration. 
 
 " What a lovely girl!" remarked a young 
 officer, as she passed ; " who is she? ' 
 
 " I have not the least idea," replied his 
 companion ; " she is certainly pretty, but 
 shocking bad style. You see she is all alone ; 
 and that bright golden hair is always dyed." 
 
 Ida caught the remark, and the idea
 
 A KNIGHT OF OUR OWN DA Y. 159 
 
 seemed to her so supremely ridiculous that 
 she burst out laughing, thereby seriously 
 endangering her balance. Indeed, she must 
 hav.e fallen, but a strong arm caught her, 
 to which she clung nervously for a moment, 
 without seeing to whom she was indebted 
 for the timely assistance. 
 
 When she looked up she saw a pair of 
 bright dark eyes, regarding her with con- 
 siderable surprise and attention, and their 
 owner, who was no other than Lord Trevor, 
 exclaimed, with some embarrassment— 
 
 " Mrs. Atherstone, I believe ? You must 
 allow me to introduce myself. Perhaps 
 you may have heard your husband speak of 
 Launcelot Trevor." 
 
 " Certainly I have," she replied with 
 animation. " You are great friends, are 
 you not V 
 
 " I hope I may call myself so. Here is 
 Arthur himself. My good fellow, allow me 
 to congratulate you. Your wife has had a 
 narrow escape of a broken arm." 
 
 "If it had not been for your kind in- 
 tervention," the young wife added, laugh-
 
 i6o ARTHUR; OR, 
 
 ing, as she quitted Lord Trevors arm for 
 her husband's. 
 
 " My dear Trevor, is it really you ?" ex- 
 claimed Arthur in much astonishment. " I 
 had no idea that we should see you here." 
 
 " Neither had I the slightest expectation 
 of meeting you," replied his friend. " Now 
 that we are aware of each other's prox- 
 imity, I shall do myself the ho>nour of call- 
 ing. You are at the Grand, of course." 
 
 "No— at the Bedford. Come in to tea 
 this afternoon, will you ?" 
 
 " With the greatest pleasure. Arthur, 
 who is that frantic woman standing on the 
 edge of the Rink ? She will be over in a 
 minute. I declare she is making signals to 
 you." 
 
 " No doubt," replied Arthur, laughing. 
 " It is Lady Laura Marjoribanks ; she 
 came here with us, and has been in an 
 agony of fright ever since. We can't be 
 bothered with answering her signals now. 
 If she glances this way she will have the 
 satisfaction of seeing that we are yet alive. 
 Come, Ida, are you rested ?"
 
 A KNIGHT OF OUR OWN DA Y. i6r 
 
 They moved on, and Lord Trevor, raising 
 his hat, skated away with easy grace, and 
 was soon lost to sight in the crowd. 
 
 By the time the Atherstones had navi- 
 gated their way to Lady Laura, they 
 found her just ready for departure, having 
 captured her daughter, whose performance 
 •on the skates had been of a very limited 
 character. She took leave of our young 
 couple with much affection, promising to 
 call in a day or two. 
 
 Ida remained for an hour or so, and by 
 the time she left the Rink was qualified to 
 consider herself a very fair performer. 
 
 " What a pleasant man Lord Trevor 
 seems to be !" she remarked to her husband 
 that afternoon, as they were sitting in their 
 cosy sitting-room, over the walnuts and 
 wine which followed their early din- 
 ner. 
 
 "He is a very good fellow," was the 
 hearty answer ; " eccentric in some things, 
 but the best-hearted man in the world." 
 
 " Why is he not married ? He looks 
 older than you."' 
 
 vol, i. 11
 
 162 ARTHUR; OR, 
 
 " He is, some years older ; bat that is 
 one of his oddities. He is capable of ad- 
 miring a pretty girl, no man more so, but 
 he always says he never intends to trust 
 his honour and his happiness in any wo- 
 man's hands. For all his gay, jolly manner, 
 he has the most deeply-rooted prejudices 
 of any man I ever knew. He has but a 
 poor opinion of the sex, foolish fellow." 
 
 " Perhaps he has been jilted.'" 
 
 " Oh, no ! he would have told me if any 
 thing of that kind had taken place. So 
 far from that, he has never even had so 
 much as a flirtation with any woman, mar- 
 ried or unmarried." 
 
 Ida rose and walked to the window, as 
 if somewhat weary of the subject, but 
 nevertheless her mind was running on what 
 she had heard. 
 
 " I could fancy," she thought to herself, 
 " I could fancy, if one was disengaged, that 
 it would be a very exciting pursuit to try 
 and subjugate a man like Lord Trevor. It 
 is strange that a young nobleman, so hand- 
 some and wealthy as he is, should be so
 
 A KNIGHT OF OUR OWN DAY. 163 
 
 determined a misogynist. It is not natural 
 — there must be some history about him. 
 I will ask Lady Laura." 
 
 "Oh, Arthur!" Captain Atherstone had 
 risen from the table and walked to his wife's 
 side, passing his hand affectionately round 
 her waist. She moved a little uneasily. 
 " Take care, Arthur ; don't do that, please ; 
 we are rather en evidence from this win- 
 dow." 
 
 " It is all right, dear ; no one can see 
 me. Come here ; I want you to look at 
 this ring." 
 
 She turned round, and he took an opal 
 ring from his pocket, and slipped it on one 
 of her delicate little fingers. 
 
 " Oh, how lovely ! where did it come 
 from ¥' 
 
 " It was my mother's ; she gave it to me 
 for you, but I have always forgotten about 
 it. It is an old family ring, Ida, so you 
 must take care of it, There is a tradition 
 that great misfortune will befall our house 
 if it is ever lost or given away." 
 
 "Of course I will take care of it, dear 
 
 11—2
 
 1 64 ARTHUR; OR, 
 
 Arthur. How good of you to let me wear 
 it !" 
 
 He bent to kiss her, and at that moment 
 the door opened, and the servant announced 
 Lord Trevor. He followed so quickly, that 
 the married lovers had barely time to se- 
 parate. 
 
 Ida came forward with blushing cheeks, 
 and in her haste the precious ring fell to 
 the ground from her hand, and Lord Trevor 
 trod it under foot. 
 
 He restored it uninjured, with many 
 apologies, and Ida smiled her forgiveness ; 
 but, strange to say, Arthur, usually so 
 ready to overlook any little accident, ap- 
 peared somewhat annoyed. 
 
 " It is a valuable ring, Ida/' he said ; 
 " you should not be so careless with it." 
 
 She made no profession of sorrow, but 
 pouted her pretty scarlet lips — a proceed- 
 ing which ruins most women's beauty, but 
 only served to enhance hers. So, at least, 
 thought Lord Trevor, though the reverse 
 might have been inferred from his manner. 
 
 He turned to Arthur, and began an
 
 A KNIGHT OF OUR OWN DAY. 165 
 
 animated conversation with him, which 
 lasted for nearly an hour, scarcely inter- 
 changing a word with the young wife, who 
 sat silent, but observing. 
 
 When at last he took his leave, Arthur 
 turned to her, saying, with a smile — 
 
 " Well, was not I right about him, dear ? 
 Is he not the only man in England who 
 would have sat an hour in the presence of 
 a girl like you, and scarcely make a remark 
 to her r 
 
 " Wait a little," she replied ; " he will 
 like me better by-and-by."
 
 166 ARTHUR; OR, 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 " Heaven from all creatures hides the book of fate." 
 
 Pope. 
 
 Next day, about three o'clock, young Mrs. 
 Atherstone was lying on the sofa in their sit- 
 ting-room, absorbed in the exciting pages of 
 one of Miss Braddon's novels. Any species of 
 sensational reading was entirely new to her, 
 and it is not too much to say that her pre- 
 sent freedom of choice in this respect was 
 regarded by her as one of the peculiar ad- 
 vantages of married life. It may be that 
 Arthur should have prevented this, or, at 
 any rate, tried to divert the current of her 
 mind into a more improving channel, but, 
 to say the truth, it did not occur to him. 
 So she read with avidity everything that
 
 A KNIGHT OF OUR OWN DAY. 167 
 
 was sent her from the library, good, bad, 
 •and indifferent ; and when conscience 
 pricked her as to the waste of time in- 
 volved, and the utter uselessness of such 
 employment, she would endeavour to con- 
 vince herself that she was gaining much 
 knowledge of the world which was un- 
 known to her before, and which was indis- 
 pensable to a young married lady in her 
 position. 
 
 It was true that she was gaining much 
 knowledge of the world, but it was a know- 
 ledge that had better have been kept from 
 her. The unnatural crimes and dark in- 
 trigues which form the plots of so many of 
 our modern stories, are, in truth, intensely 
 interesting, and often exciting, but the 
 morbid character of such feelings is suffi- 
 ciently shown by the distaste engendered 
 in habitual novel readers to every kind of 
 improving and innocent literature. It 
 seems as " dull, flat, and unprofitable " to 
 them as bread and milk to a child whose 
 appetite has been vitiated by curries and 
 sweetmeats. It may be questioned whether
 
 1 68 ARTHUR; OR, 
 
 sensational* novels are of real use to any 
 class of society except the over-worked 
 man of business, whose mind needs and 
 hails the excitement of such reading after 
 a long day's hard mental labour as an abso- 
 lute rest and refreshment. 
 
 The same argument may apply to many 
 of our modern amusements, but Ida had no- 
 such excuse. Yet look at her now, as she 
 leans back on the soft pillows, her blue 
 eyes bent with eager interest on the page 
 before her, her fair cheeks flushed with the 
 exciting climax, which is invariably reached 
 at the end of the second volume. Arthur 
 has gone out for a stroll on the Parade, 
 tired of waiting, and Ida has no distrac- 
 tion to draw her attention from her book. 
 Indeed, so absorbed is she, that a thunder- 
 ing knock falls unheeded on her ear, and 
 the door opens, and Lady Laura Marjori- 
 banks is announced, before she can recall 
 her ideas to the events of ordinary life. 
 
 " I am so glad to find you in, dear Mrs. 
 Atherstone," says her ladyship, advancing 
 with outstretched hand. " I caught sight
 
 A KXIGHT OF OUR OIVX DAY. 169 
 
 of Arthur alone on the Parade, so I judged 
 that you were at home, most likely pre- 
 paring to join him. Is it so ? Shall I in- 
 terfere with your walk V 
 
 "Indeed, no, Lady Laura. I did not 
 mean to go out for an hour, at any rate." 
 
 "Ah, I am glad of that, for I wanted to 
 have a long comfortable chat with you. 
 Alda is on the cliff with my friend, Mrs. 
 Douglas, and I told her to come here in 
 half an hour s time." 
 
 " I wish you had brought her." 
 
 " Oh, she is very happy, looking at the 
 shops. Mrs. Douglas is very kind to her ; 
 she is one of the few people who appreciate 
 my poor girl, and she is a good girl, in spite 
 of her unfortunate looks." 
 
 " Unfortunate looks !" exclaimed Ida, in 
 astonishment. " What is there unfortunate 
 in her looks, Lady Laura ?" 
 
 " Oh, my dear Mrs. Atherstone, surely 
 you need not ask ; hers is the most hope- 
 less style of ugliness. That miserable flaxen 
 hair, which looks as if it ought to be golden, 
 and some wicked fairy had rubbed all the
 
 ^ 
 
 170 ARTHUR; OR, 
 
 gold off. And those small, pale, pinched- 
 up features, with that wretchedly unhappy 
 expression, as if some one was perpetually 
 pinching her. And then, poor girl, her 
 figure ! I go to the best dress-makers, but 
 what can they do with such irremediably 
 high shoulders, and such a fatally thick 
 waist as Alda's. I assure you my waist- 
 bands will not meet round her by a good 
 inch and a half. It is perfectly awful, and 
 at seventeen ! What will she be at seven 
 and twenty ? I shudder to think of it." 
 
 " She seems most amiable and good," 
 observed Ida, scarcely knowing what to 
 reply. 
 
 " Ah, well, she is that, I must say. But, 
 after all, I suppose, most young ladies are 
 good, and as for amiability, it is a very 
 negative sort of recommendation. I never 
 was the least amiable myself, and I have 
 done very well in the world. Now let us 
 talk about yourself, dear Mrs. Atherstone. 
 By the bye, I wish you would let me call 
 you Ida. It seems strange to ask it after 
 so short an acquaintance, bat I know
 
 A KNIGHT OF OUR OWN DAY. \;i 
 
 •all your dear husband's family so intimately, 
 and " 
 
 " Please do, Lady Laura, I should like it 
 so much better. I am not yet used to my 
 married name. Arthur is quite amused by 
 the way I stare at him sometimes when he 
 introduces me as Mrs. Atherstone." 
 
 " Ah, that is very natural. I remember 
 feeling the same just after I was married. 
 To be sure, I married very young ; I was 
 two months younger than my daughter is 
 now." 
 
 " Only seventeen ?" 
 
 " Only just seventeen, and poor Sir Leo- 
 nard was nearly thirty years older. He 
 has been dead eleven years now. I will 
 tell you all about my married life some 
 day, it will amuse you ; but now I want to 
 talk about yourself. I have an invitation 
 here for you to Mrs. Archibald Douglas's 
 ball on Thursday. You will like to go, 
 will you not V 
 
 ".It is very kind of you, Lady Laura, 
 but — I scarcely know. I have never been
 
 172 ARTHUR: OR, 
 
 to a ball in my life, and I have not a ball- 
 dress in the world." 
 
 " Oh, that is of no consequence. Han- 
 nington's people will make you up a nice 
 dress in a few days. We can go and see 
 about it this afternoon. You have no en- 
 gagements ?" 
 
 " Oh, no ; but there is one thing I am 
 not quite sure if Arthur would like me to> 
 think of going to a ball just now while his 
 sister is so ill. I should scarcely like to 
 propose it." 
 
 " Oh, that is nonsense, my dear ; she 
 may go on in the same state for months. 
 He can't expect you to shut yourself up on 
 account of a sister-in-law whom you have 
 never seen. I think better of Arthur than 
 to suppose he can be so unreasonable. Ah, 
 here is Alda," as that young lady was 
 announced. " Come in, my dear child,, 
 and don't look as if you were being con- 
 ducted to execution. You know Mrs. 
 Atherstone." 
 
 Ida shook hands kindly with the poor 
 girl, who blushed up to the eyes at her
 
 A KXIGHT OF OUR OWN DAY. 173 
 
 mother's remark, and Lady Laura took 
 Tier leave, after making an arrangement to 
 meet at the corner of East Street in Half 
 an hour's time, in order that they might go 
 together to choose the ball-dress. 
 
 When they had gone Ida went up to 
 dress, feeling a little dissatisfied. " I am 
 horribly weak,'"' she thought to herself; " I 
 know I ought not to have given way about 
 
 o 
 
 ray 
 
 that ball. I am afraid Arthur will be 
 annoyed, but fortunately there is still time 
 to ask him about it." She hurried on her 
 hat and jacket, and went downstairs, but, 
 alas ! when she reached th*e Parade, no 
 Arthur was to be seen. He had probably 
 got tired of waiting, and gone to the read- 
 ing-room, or perhaps to the Bink. She stood 
 irresolute for a moment, feeling consider- 
 ably annoyed at her position, for to this 
 country girl the mere fact of being alone 
 amongst a crowd, many of whom stared at 
 her with evident admiration, was embar- 
 rassing in the extreme. She began to con- 
 sider whether it would not be best to leave 
 Lady Laura in the lurch, and beat a retreat
 
 174 ARTHUR; OR, 
 
 to the hotel, when she heard herself ad- 
 dressed, and turning hastily, she saw Lord 
 Trevor. 
 
 " You seem to be looking for some one, 
 Mrs. Atherstone ; can I be of any assist- 
 ance V 
 
 " Oh, thank you, so much ; I don't quite 
 know what to do. I can't see Arthur any- 
 where, and I am quite alone, and — and — the 
 people do stare so." She was very near tears. 
 
 He smiled. " Will you take my arm ? 
 We will see if we cannot find Arthur. He 
 is not far off, for I saw him five minutes 
 ago." 
 
 Accordingly, they walked together down 
 the Parade ; but among the many young 
 men answering to the same description — 
 " tall, fair, with a low black hat and grey 
 coat ; ' — no Arthur was to be seen. 
 
 " I wonder you do not drive here, Mrs. 
 Atherstone," remarked his lordship, think- 
 ing it best to try and make some conversa- 
 tion. " I know you can drive very well, 
 for I have seen you." 
 
 " Where ? Oh, no, you cannot ! "
 
 A KNIGHT OF OUR OWN DA Y. 175 
 
 " Indeed I have ; I was with Mrs. Flet- 
 cher that morning when you drove into 
 Daylesford alone on a market-day, and got 
 rather into difficulties in a crowded street. 
 You must remember it, it is not so very 
 long ago." 
 
 " Oh, yes, how strange that you should 
 have been there ! I never saw you." 
 
 " No, but I saw you, and from something 
 I heard in the town that day, I imagined 
 that you would shortly be married to 
 Arthur. I taxed him with it the next 
 day, but he denied it most emphatically — 
 the sly fellow." 
 
 " Did he V 
 
 " He did, indeed. I hope you have cured 
 him of telling stories, Mrs. Atherstone." 
 
 So, talking merrily, they paced up and 
 down, till Ida uttered an exclamation of 
 
 " There is Arthur. Thank you so much, 
 Lord Trevor. I do not know what I should 
 have done without you." 
 
 He raised his hat, and turned back, while 
 she joined her husband.
 
 176 ARTHUR; OR 
 
 " My dear Ida," he exclaimed, " have you 
 been alone V* 
 
 "No, indeed; Lord Trevor has been 
 taking charge of me. I could not imagine 
 what had become of you ; we had been 
 walking up and down for nearly half an 
 hour." 
 
 " That was good natured of Trevor ; as a 
 rule, he hates walking with a lady. My 
 dear child, how you are racing !" 
 
 " Yes, we must make haste ; I promised 
 Lady Laura to meet her in East Street, and 
 she must be waiting." 
 
 As they walked quickly along, she told 
 Arthur about the ball at Mrs. Douglas's, 
 and 'Lady Laura's offer of superintending 
 her costume. 
 
 " You don't mind, Arthur, do you ?" she 
 said, glancing up earnestly in his face. 
 " Tell me if you do." 
 
 " No, dear ; not if you really wish to go." 
 
 An affectionate wife w T ould surely have 
 noted the hesitating tone, and inquired the 
 reason ; but Ida was quite satisfied, and 
 thought she had fully discharged her duty.
 
 A KNIGHT OF OUR OWN DAY. 177 
 
 "It is very kind of Lady Laura," she 
 said ; " I can't think what should make her 
 take such an interest in me." 
 
 " She is rather fond of taking up young 
 married people. I do not want you to 
 become very intimate, Ida, dear, she is 
 not quite the best style of person. My 
 mother dislikes her very much." 
 
 " Arthur, what do you mean ? Surely 
 her style must be unexceptionable ; she is 
 an earl's daughter." 
 
 " There are some duchesses whom I 
 should be sorry to see you resemble. Your 
 father has taught you the good old Con- 
 servative reverence for rank, but it is very 
 far from being an infallible test of worth in 
 society." 
 
 "■/I suppose not. But you would not 
 call Lady Laura unladylike." 
 
 " That is not quite what I mean. Ah ! 
 there she is. I will go on to the library, 
 Ida. No doubt Lady Laura will see you 
 home." 
 
 He turned away, and Ida joined her 
 friends, and in ten minutes' time had 
 
 vol. 1. 12
 
 178 ARTHUR; OR, 
 
 completely forgotten the slight sense of un- 
 easiness caused by her husband's words in 
 the excitement of choosing a regular ball- 
 room outfit under the superintendence of 
 Lady Laura. 
 
 Meanwhile Lord Trevor was walking 
 along the cliff in solitary meditation, when 
 he was hailed by a loud voice. 
 
 " Hollo, Trevor, where are you off to ?" 
 
 " Hollo, Moncrieff, who thought of seeing 
 you down here V 
 
 "I am glad to see you, old fellow ; I 
 have not met a soul I know yet, and I have 
 been here three days. There's nothing so 
 disgusting as being alone in a crowd." 
 
 " Very true. Come along, and let us have 
 a look at the young ladies. Did you ever see 
 such costumes ? Look at that girl in front : 
 she is a regular aviary — a bird in her hat, 
 a bird in her muff, a bird at her throat, and 
 a couple of birds swinging from her ears." 
 
 " Absurd, is it not ? By the bye, did I 
 see you just now walking with Atherstone's 
 pretty wife ?" 
 
 " Yes ; do you know her ?"
 
 A KNIGHT OF OUR OWN DAY. 179 
 
 " No ; but I saw them at Folkestone. 
 What an exquisite face she has ! You 
 seemed on excellent terms, Trevor, eh V 
 
 " She is very pretty, but she has not 
 much to say — quite a little country girl." 
 
 " Ah ! I forgot. To be sure Atherstone 
 is a bosom friend of yours, so no doubt you 
 would consider it beneath you to venture 
 on the smallest flirtation." 
 
 " Certainly I should; but fortunately 
 there is no temptation — I am not the least 
 attracted by her." 
 
 (Oh ! Lord Trevor, is that quite true ?) 
 
 " Well, I am not bound in that way," 
 replied Captain Moncrieff, " and I must 
 say I should like to have another look at 
 those blue eyes." 
 
 " Ah ! that is all you fellows think of. 
 For my part, I cant imagine what induced 
 Arthur to marry a mere pretty doll like 
 that. He is the best fellow in the world : 
 I do not believe the woman exists who is 
 really worthy of him." 
 
 " No doubt you think so. Well, I must 
 
 12—2
 
 i8o AR'IHUR; OR, 
 
 be off, Trevor. Look me up at the Bedford 
 some day, will you V 
 
 He strolled away, and Lord Trevor, 
 meeting Arthur soon after, walked up and 
 down with him till the shades of evening 
 began to descend, and the Parade was 
 wholly deserted.
 
 A KNIGHT OF OUR OWN DAY. 18: 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 " My good blade carves the casques of men, 
 My tough lance thrusteth sore, 
 My strength is as the strength of ten, 
 Because my heart is pure." 
 
 Tennysox. 
 
 "It would be the greatest possible help, 
 Miss Helmore ; but of course you must not 
 overtire yourself." 
 
 " Indeed, Mr. Norman, I do not feel the 
 least overworked. I am sorry you had 
 the trouble of coming here so early. Your 
 time is valuable, and a message sent by one 
 of the school-children would have done 
 quite well." 
 
 Elizabeth was sitting in the Eectory 
 drawing-room as she spoke, and opposite 
 her stood the curate, of course bent as
 
 182 ARTHUR: OR, 
 
 usual on some eager and immediate reform. 
 She was looking very nice this morning, 
 dressed in a dove-coloured merino, a bow of 
 blue ribbon at the neck — her favourite 
 colour — and with no other sort of ornament 
 except her watch-chain. Her smooth, fair 
 cheeks were unusually blooming, and there 
 was the light of a steadfast purpose in her 
 blue eyes. But had she resembled Lot's 
 wife after her transformation into the salt 
 pillar, Mr. Norman could not have regarded 
 her (or perhaps I should say her outward 
 appearance) with more complete indiffer- 
 ence. He was wholly bent on the object in 
 view, which was certainly an important one. 
 " I think my plan good," he continued. 
 " I wanted to talk it over with you, so I 
 could not send a messenger. It seems to 
 me that a Bible-class, held here by you 
 once a week, expressly for young girls be- 
 tween the ages of fifteen and twenty, would 
 be a very useful and valuable undertaking. 
 This parish is so large and so outlying, that 
 the difficulty of getting any hold on the 
 young women is enormous. I have abso-
 
 A KNIGHT OF OUR OWN DAY. 183 
 
 lutely not an evening free during the week, 
 or I would not have troubled you." 
 
 " Indeed I shall be glad to do it, Mr. 
 Norman ; at any rate I will try, though I 
 have had very little experience of that 
 kind of teaching — with young women, I 
 mean." 
 
 " You may encounter a few obstacles at 
 first, but they will disappear before your 
 energy and perseverance. I do not know 
 another young lady of your age who could 
 wisely begin such an undertaking, but yo in- 
 capabilities are great. You are blest with 
 so much good temper and clear practical 
 sense, that you might safely enter on any 
 work of this kind. I wish I could say as 
 much of any other lady in the neighbour- 
 hood/' 
 
 " The Miss Ducies are anxious for some 
 work ; their own parish is so very small. 
 Do you not think they might be asked to 
 assist in some way ?" 
 
 " Heaven forbid F exclaimed the young 
 curate ; " their presence would be sufficient 
 to breed discord and schism in the parish.
 
 1 84 ARTHUR, OR. 
 
 The youngest has much zeal, but it is 
 wholly untempered with discretion, and the 
 eldest is a rank Puseyite — in other words, 
 a moderate Roman Catholic." 
 
 Elizabeth inherited too much of her 
 father's gentle, tolerant nature to join in 
 this very sweeping condemnation, and she 
 replied gently— 
 
 " Marion Ducie is much beloved in their 
 own parish. I believe hers is a most un- 
 selfish life." 
 
 " Very possibly ; but nevertheless some 
 of her proceedings are only to be explained, 
 by the supposition that she is a little de- 
 ranged. I am told that she has adopted 
 the American notion that popular tunes are 
 the most suitable for sacred poetry, and, 
 that she insists on her school -children 
 shouting out the 'Marseillaise' to holy 
 words, and one of our most beautiful hymns 
 is degraded by being sung to the air of 
 ' Drink to me only with thine eyes.' "* 
 " It is certainly injudicious," answered 
 
 * This last is a fact.
 
 A KNIGHT OF OUR OWN DAY. 185 
 
 Elizabeth, with a smile, "but they mean 
 no harm, and it may not strike the poor 
 people as anything irreverent." 
 
 " Perhaps not ; but I should object to 
 that sort of thing here. Miss Helmore, 
 would you kindly let me glance at your 
 Coal and Provident Society accounts ? I 
 find mine are not quite correct/' 
 
 In a moment both the dark heads were 
 bent over Elizabeth's neat columns of 
 figures ; and neither caught sight of a lady 
 who walked briskly up the gravel path,, 
 and, being evidently on familiar terms with 
 the family, just glanced in at the window, 
 and then entered the house without the 
 ceremony of knocking. It was Mrs. 
 Fletcher, looking considerably heated and 
 discomposed. Her heavy velvet bonnet 
 was pushed back from her flushed brow, 
 and her hands quite trembled with excite- 
 ment as she knocked at Mr. Helmore's study 
 door. 
 
 A gentle " Come in," replied, and the 
 good lady entered, and straightway sank 
 into the chair that was courteously offered 
 her.
 
 186 ARTHUR; OR, 
 
 She was decidedly in an excited and per- 
 turbed frame of mind, but the sight of the 
 venerable old man, with his snowy head and 
 unruffled brow, had the effect of calming 
 her very considerably. There was some- 
 thing in the influence of Mr. Helmore's 
 presence, and the glance of his kind, yet 
 keen, blue eyes, which had a wonderful 
 effect on her coarser nature ; and when, at 
 last, she found breath to speak, her tone 
 was gentle, and even a little embarrassed, 
 though her words were somewhat abrupt. 
 
 " Mr. Helm ore, I have called to speak to 
 you about your daughter." 
 
 " About Ida?" 
 
 " No ; about Elizabeth." 
 
 " Indeed !" 
 
 Mr. Helmore paused, much surprised. 
 
 Mrs. Fletcher bent forward, and spoke 
 earnestly and emphatically, but still with 
 moderation. 
 
 " Mr. Helmore, you will excuse my 
 speaking very plainly. I have known your 
 two dear girls since they were born, and I 
 think, next to yourself, no one can take
 
 A KNIGHT OF OUR OWN DA Y. 187 
 
 more interest in them than I do. I had no 
 hand in Idas marriage ; even the proba- 
 bility of such an event was concealed from 
 me till the last moment ; but I am resolved 
 not to be hoodwinked this time. Things 
 are not going on as they should, Mr. Hel- 
 more ; believe me, things are not going on 
 as they should." 
 
 "Indeed, Mrs. Fletcher, I am at a loss 
 to understand what you can mean," was the 
 bewildered yet dignified reply. " My eldest 
 daughter, at any rate, is not likely to have 
 committed any imprudence. I would as 
 soon suspect myself as her." 
 
 " My dear sir, Elizabeth is an angel, but 
 she is more fitted to be the abbess of a 
 Carmelite convent than a young lady cf 
 the nineteenth century. In many things 
 she has clear, practical common sense (more 
 than most people), but in matters relating 
 to the proprieties she is as ignorant and as 
 innocent as a new-born baby." 
 
 Matters relating to the proprieties ! Mr. 
 Helmore grew more and more puzzled. 
 
 "I should be obliged to you, Mrs.
 
 ARTHUR; OR, 
 
 Fletcher, if you would explain yourself 
 clearly," he said at last. 
 
 Mrs. Fletcher rose from her seat and 
 assumed an attitude absolutely tragic, while 
 her voice almost shook with suppressed 
 feeling. 
 
 " I will speak plainly, Mr. Helmore, and 
 to do so, I will ask your attention for only 
 a very few minutes. I allude to your 
 eldest daughter's intimacy with your 
 curate, Mr. Norman ; I allude to the long 
 walks they constantly take together in 
 daylight and in dusk, to the private inter- 
 views which take place daily between 
 them, to the notes which are continually 
 interchanged; in a word, to the whole of 
 the unaccountable and most imprudent 
 intercourse which has become the common 
 talk of the neighbourhood, and bids fair to> 
 destroy your daughter's peace of mind for 
 ever. If the young man's intentions are 
 open and honourable, let hirn declare his 
 attachment, if " 
 
 Mr. Helmore had hitherto listened with 
 a sort of stunned feeling, composed partly
 
 A K WIGHT OF OUR OWN DAY. 189 
 
 of surprise and horror, but perhaps chiefly 
 of very genuine indignation. But now he 
 deemed it well to interrupt the voluble 
 lady, and he did so decisively, but still 
 calmly. 
 
 "You are mistaken, Mrs. Fletcher, and 
 I must request that you will not continue 
 to speak in this way. I have the fullest 
 confidence in Elizabeth's good sense and 
 discretion, and I have also a very high 
 opinion of my curate. They are un- 
 avoidably thrown much together, as my 
 daughter takes so active a part in parish 
 matters, but there has been nothing like 
 imprudence." 
 
 " Ah, you do not know." 
 
 " Pardon me, I am acquainted with all 
 my daughter's movements — as a rule I 
 know where she is every hour of the day. 
 As for the evening walks to which you 
 allude, I conclude that she has been some- 
 times joined by Mr. Norman on her way 
 back from the night school. It was con- 
 siderate of him if it was so, and I am much 
 obliged to him for it. I have been some-
 
 190 ARTHUR; OR, 
 
 times a little uneasy at her coming home 
 alone these dark evenings." 
 
 Mrs. Fletcher elevated her eyes and 
 hands. 
 
 " And I am to conclude then that you 
 approve of all this intimate intercourse 
 between Elizabeth and a young man you 
 have scarcely known five weeks." 
 
 " I see no reason to disapprove of it ; I 
 have perfect confidence in them both." 
 
 " You see of course the natural sequel 
 to all this — they will be married before 
 the year is out." 
 
 An annoyed flush rose to Mr. Helm ore's 
 brow. 
 
 " I do not think so," he replied ; " I do 
 not anticipate anything of the kind ; in fact, 
 I may affirm positively that such a union 
 never will take place. Mr. Norman does 
 not approve of the clergy marrying " 
 
 " Then Mr. Norman must be a snake in 
 the grass, or a fool," broke from Mrs. 
 Fletchers impatient lips. 
 
 There was no reply. 
 
 " Well, I have no more to say," said the
 
 A KNIGHT OF OUR OWN DA Y. 191 
 
 good lady at last, rising, " if you see no 
 reason for interfering, of course it is not 
 my business to say another word. I sup- 
 pose you would not approve of my giving 
 a hint to Elizabeth ?" 
 
 " Indeed, I think it would be better not. 
 Good-bye, Mrs. Fletcher, I am sure you 
 meant kindly by coming to me this morn- 
 ing ; you must forgive me for not taking 
 your advice." 
 
 In another moment she was walking 
 down the gravel path, feeling considerably 
 snubbed and depressed. In her own circle, 
 at Daylesford, she was an oracle, partly 
 owing to the superior position she occupied 
 in the little country town, and partly to 
 her peculiarly positive, dictatorial style of 
 talking, which passed for wisdom with 
 many people. Yet she felt she had made 
 no impression on this gentle, unworldly, 
 old-fashioned country clergyman ; on the 
 contrary, she had been made to feel very 
 small in her own estimation, and almost as 
 if she had been impertinently intrusive in 
 offering her advice.
 
 192 ARTHUR; OR, 
 
 Under these humiliating circumstances, 
 it was a real gratification at this moment 
 to behold the young curate himself, walking 
 down the turnpike-road a little in front. 
 It was true that Mr. Norman's pace was 
 extremely fast, even for a young man, and 
 Mrs. Fletcher was stout, and a good deal 
 heated, but the opportunity was too good 
 to be lost. So she toiled and panted along 
 the hard road, till within speaking distance, 
 when she raised a feeble call, which fortu- 
 nately succeeded in rousing the Curate's 
 attention. 
 
 He turned at once, and beholding his 
 fair pursuer, flushed and exhausted, he 
 kindly offered his arm. She could not 
 refuse, for she felt really tired, but it was 
 not quite what she had intended. It is 
 difficult to put a series of searching ques- 
 tions to a young man, and perhaps finish 
 by giving him a severe lecture, while all 
 the time you are clinging fast to his arm 
 for support. 
 
 But her undaunted spirit ross the higher 
 for this apparent obstacle, and after a few
 
 A KNIGHT OF OUR OWN DAY. 193 
 
 preliminary observations on the weather 
 &c., she dashed into the subject with some- 
 what injudicious haste. 
 
 "Elizabeth Helmore is a remarkably 
 nice girl, Mr. Norman/' 
 
 "She is indeed/' he replied warmly, 
 " she is the greatest help to me in the 
 parish, I cannot think how we should get 
 on without her." 
 
 Come, this is encouraging, thought his 
 interlocutor, and her next question went 
 some degrees nearer the mark. 
 
 " She would make an excellent wife,IMr. 
 Norman/' 
 
 " Yes, happy the man who wins her. I 
 never met her equal among young ladies, 
 such clear common sense and absence of 
 affectation." 
 
 "Very true, and such a sweet temper." 
 
 " Such indefatigable industry." 
 
 " Such an affectionate heart." 
 
 " So thoroughly orthodox in her views." 
 
 " So very unselfish." 
 
 " With such a talent for teaching." 
 
 " I do believe he is going to confide in 
 
 vol. 1. 13
 
 194 ARTHUR; OR, 
 
 me," thought the delighted lady, hanging 
 with increased warmth of affection on the 
 curate's arm. " I will give him an open- 
 ing." 
 
 " Mr. Helmore would be pleased to see 
 Elizabeth comfortably married." 
 
 " Do you think so f* 
 
 " Indeed I do, especially to a clergy- 
 man." 
 
 " Really ? I should have thought her 
 marriage the greatest misfortune that could 
 happen to him. They are so devoted to 
 each other." 
 
 " Ah, that is true, but he is an unselfish 
 father, and would rejoice in his daughter's 
 happiness. No, Mr. Norman, he would 
 oppose no such short-sighted objections to 
 your — to her wishes." 
 
 " Ah, well, you know him best. Do you 
 see we are building a new room for the 
 infants on to the school, Mrs. Fletcher ? 
 Will it not be an improvement ?" 
 
 "Yes, yes, no doubt, but to return to 
 the subject we were discussing, I think 
 that as a clergyman's wife "
 
 A KNIGHT OF OUR OWN DAY. 195 
 
 " Pray excuse my interrupting you, Mrs. 
 Fletcher. I see our schoolmaster in front ; 
 I must try and catch him. I have an im- 
 portant message to deliver." 
 
 "To be sure. But, talking of Elizabeth, 
 don't you agree with me that, as a clergy- 
 man's wife, she would shine a bright ex- 
 ample to this parish, or to any parish V 
 
 u No doubt she would. My own opinion 
 is entirely adverse to the marriage of the 
 clergy ; but that would not, of course, affect 
 Miss Helmore's views. I must hasten on, 
 Mrs. Fletcher. Excuse me. Good morn- 
 mcr. 
 
 o 
 
 And he was off, striding along the hard 
 road, as if (to use an expression of Mrs. 
 Fletcher's when narrating the whole scene 
 at home) he " had the seven-leagued boots 
 on." 
 
 Foiled on every point, she descended the 
 steep road into the village, where her car- 
 riage was waiting. 
 
 "After all, I have done no good," she 
 thought ; " and I fear I have only put the 
 young man on his guard. What a very
 
 196 ARTHUR; OR, 
 
 disappointing conversation, to be sure ! I 
 thought we were getting on so nicely. I 
 do hope he wont go and repeat anything I 
 have said." 
 
 She need not have troubled herself; Mr. 
 Norman straightway forgot the entire con- 
 versation ; and if ever it reverted to his 
 mind, it was only in the form of a sincere 
 wish that no human being, layman or cler- 
 gyman, would ever make an offer of mar- 
 riage to Miss Helmore ; for if by any un- 
 lucky chance she accepted it, what would 
 become of the night-school ? 
 
 So the little party at Arling went on 
 their way in peace. Even Mr. Helmore 
 soon dismissed the disagreeable impression 
 w T hich had been left on his mind by Mrs. 
 Fletcher's warning, and smiled to himself 
 as he looked at Elizabeth's calm, unruffled 
 face, and Mr. Norman's enthusiastic absorp- 
 tion in his work. Ida's letters dropped in 
 occasionally, almost like missives from an- 
 other planet, so different was the atmo- 
 sphere of worldliness, excitement, and 
 pleasure which they breathed, to the tran-
 
 A KNIGHT OF OUR OWN DA Y. 197 
 
 quil, intensely practical life led at the 
 Eectory. Sometimes when she received 
 one of these daintily-scented notes, with 
 their elaborate blue-and-gold monogram, 
 Elizabeth would hold it dreamily unopened 
 in her hand, and muse how it would have 
 
 been if Ida had not married, or if she 
 
 had been the one chosen by Arthur. She 
 would chide herself afterwards for indulging 
 in such vain and unprofitable thoughts, but 
 nevertheless they were her real safeguard 
 against any possible danger which might 
 have arisen from her intercourse with Mr. 
 Norman. 
 
 Oh, Arthur ! blind, honourable, devoted, 
 mistaken husband ! had you but waited 
 and observed a little longer — had you not 
 gone to work in such haste to repair an 
 imaginary wrong, you might have gained a 
 heart noble and pure indeed — a heart which 
 would have remained yours in all faithful- 
 ness till it ceased to beat ! 
 
 Sweet Elizabeth Helmore ! it was well 
 for her that the regular, steady, practical 
 business of life prevented that half-conscious
 
 198 ARTHUR; OR, 
 
 feeling from developing into a heart-ache. 
 The calm sweetness of her nature was still 
 tmembittered by any real regrets. But 
 nevertheless this was the reason that so 
 early in life she began to lead the life of 
 a Protestant nun, caring only for her father 
 and her sister, and never even casting a wish 
 towards the happy married life which is the 
 desired bourne of most girls. I do not 
 think she was the less bright and contented 
 for this. 
 
 In our state of society marriage certainly 
 occupies a far too prominent place in the 
 minds of our young women. If the right man 
 comes accept him by all means, gratefully 
 and rejoicingly, but if not — do not marry for 
 the mere sake of being married, or sink 
 into a state of listless apathy and despair. 
 We have the highest authority for saying 
 that though a man who gives a daughter in 
 marriage does " well," he who keeps her at 
 home does "better." 
 
 " Old maids " are the kindest race in the 
 "world, the most unselfish, the most useful. 
 Cheer up, my unmarried sister of five-and-
 
 A KXIGHT OF OUR OWN DAY. 199 
 
 thirty or forty : yours, after all, is the 
 most peaceful lot in this life, and as- 
 suredly it will not be the least blessed in 
 the next !
 
 20O ARTHUR; OR, 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 " Then Arthur charged his warrior whom he loved 
 And honoured most, Sir Launcelot, to ride forth 
 And bring the Queen." 
 
 Tennyson. 
 
 " Look here, Launcelot, what on earth am 
 I to do V The speaker was Captain 
 Atherstone, and he was addressing Lord 
 Trevor as they stood together in the coffee- 
 room of the Bedford Hotel. " I have just 
 received this letter from my mother, and I 
 don't see how I can delay an hour. Yet I 
 can't bear , to disappoint Ida ; the poor 
 child is upstairs at this moment trying on 
 her dress." 
 
 His friend took the note held out to 
 him, and read as follows : —
 
 A KNIGHT OF OUR OWN DAY. 201 
 
 u Torquay. 
 
 "Dearest Arthur, 
 
 " Your sister is very much worse. 
 
 The doctor thinks there is no immediate 
 
 danger, but she is in a critical state. She 
 
 longs to see you. Come as soon as you 
 
 can, my dear boy. Bring your wife, if she 
 
 likes to come. 
 
 " Your loving mother, 
 
 "A. M. Atherstoxe." 
 
 The unsteady hand, the short, broken 
 sentences, so unlike Lady Atherstone's 
 usually graceful, well-composed epistles, 
 told a tale of sore agitation and anxiety. 
 
 " I think you should go," said Lord 
 Trevor, gravely, as he returned the letter. 
 
 " Of course, of course ; but the question 
 is, when ? You see Ida never knew my 
 sister. I cannot expect her to feel much 
 about it, or to be ready to give up the ball 
 to-night on her account. I think it would 
 be unreasonable to expect that." 
 
 " Unreasonable to expect your wife not 
 to go to a ball when your sister is flying f 
 burst hotly from Lord Trevors lips.
 
 ARTHUR; OR, 
 
 " She is not dying" said Arthur, hastily. 
 " Give me the Railway Guide, Launcelot ; 
 it is just behind you on that table." 
 
 As he hastily ran his eye down the 
 columns of figures, an expression that was 
 almost relief came over his face. 
 
 " See here, Launcelot," said he ; " I 
 could not go to-night, possibly. , The last 
 train leaves at five o'clock, ten minutes 
 from this time. I will go and tell Ida, and 
 if she seems to wish it I can take her with 
 me by the 8.40 to-morrow/' 
 
 He went upstairs. There stood his wife 
 before the long pier-glass, dressed in a flow 7 - 
 ing robe of some gauzy white material, 
 made low to show her exquisite neck and 
 arms ; here and there clusters of apple- 
 blossom were placed, their delicate pink 
 contrasting with the pure white. The vain 
 child had put on all her ornaments, and 
 the diamonds flashed in her ears and round 
 her throat as she turned and saw Arthur. 
 
 " Well, sir, is not the dress perfect ?. 
 Can you suggest any improvement ?" 
 
 " You look lovely, my darling, as you
 
 A KNIGHT OF OUR OWN DA Y. 203 
 
 always do. But I want to speak to you 
 about a serious matter, so pay attention for 
 one minute." 
 
 " About a serious matter ! Oh, dear, 
 what a bore ! Can't it be deferred till to- 
 morrow, Arthur ? I feel the reverse of 
 serious at this moment." 
 
 And she began to execute a few waltz 
 steps before the glass, turning her head to 
 watch the graceful sweep of her long train. 
 
 '•' Come here, Ida, and throw a shawl 
 over your shoulders. You will catch cold." 
 
 He took her hand, and led her reluctantly 
 to the sofa, and, seeing there was no help 
 for it, she sat down, saying a little impa- 
 tiently — 
 
 " Don't be long, Arthur ; I expect Lady 
 Laura in a few minutes." 
 
 Most men would have exclaimed, " Hang 
 Lady Laura !" if indeed they had not used 
 a more forcible expression ; but Arthur 
 only replied gently — ■ 
 
 e: I will not keep you long, dear. I have 
 just heard from my mother, and she says 
 Mary is much worse, in a very ' critical 
 state.' "
 
 2Q4 ARTHUR; OR, 
 
 " Oh, dear ! I am sorry for that ; but 
 she has been a long time ill, has she not f 
 
 " Yes ; but not like this. I fear she may 
 not recover ; and she wishes so much to see 
 
 me." 
 
 " Arthur, you are not going — not to- 
 night, at any rate ? Think of the ball !" 
 
 The colour rose to Arthurs cheek ; the 
 best tempers in the world have their limits, 
 and his were nearly reached. 
 
 " I think more of my sister," he said, 
 rather shortly. And then, seeing her look 
 of disappointment, he added, kindly, "You 
 shall go to the ball all the same, dear. 
 Lady Laura will take charge of you ; and 
 you will know Trevor and Captain Mon- 
 crieff, at any rate. I shall leave by the 
 early train to-morrow." 
 
 " But, Arthur, you will go to-night; pray, 
 pray say you will. Think how strange it 
 will look if I am there alone, when we have 
 not been married six weeks." 
 
 " I would rather not." 
 
 " But you will not disappoint me, dear 
 Arthur, for my sake."
 
 A KNIGHT OF OUR OWN DA Y. 205 
 
 A little more pleading and coaxing, and 
 she gained her point. Arthur consented 
 with a heavy heart, and Ida ran gaily 
 downstairs to receive Lady Laura. Some- 
 how it had never even crossed his mind to 
 ask her to accompany him to Torquay on 
 the morrow ; and he could not help feeling 
 a little hurt that she had not even asked 
 when he was likely to return. 
 
 " Well, she is but a child," he thought,. 
 " and I can't expect her to care much for a 
 person she never saw. My poor, poor 
 Mary !" 
 
 So it came to pass that Lord Trevor was 
 amazed that night to behold Mrs. Ather- 
 stone enter the ball-room a perfect blaze 
 of beauty and jewels (if it is allowable so 
 to apply the word), accompanied by her 
 husband, looking grave and careworn in- 
 deed, but evidently making strong efforts 
 to appear cheerful for his wife's sake. 
 
 So indignant was his lordship, that he 
 strode up to Ida as she stood near the door- 
 way, and asked her for the first dance, in 
 a suppressedly hostile tone of voice, intend-
 
 2o6 ARTHUR; OR, 
 
 ing to take the opportunity of reading her 
 a lecture. 
 
 " I am surprised to see you here to-night> 
 Mrs. Atherstone," he began, as they took 
 their places at the head of the quadrille. 
 
 " Are you ? Did you not know we were 
 coming V 
 
 " I knew that you were coming ; but I 
 imagined that this sad news from Torquay 
 would have made some difference. Arthur 
 cannot be in much heart for gaieties." 
 
 A flush rose to her fair cheek ; she felt 
 a little conscience-stricken. 
 
 " I am afraid it was selfish of me, Lord 
 Trevor ; but I was so anxious to come. I 
 never was at a ball before." 
 
 " Could you not have come without vic- 
 timising Arthur ?" was the stern rejoinder. 
 
 He was determined not to be mollified, 
 though her pretty face of penitence, and 
 the innocent way in which she took all the 
 blame on herself, would have touched a 
 harder heart than his. 
 
 " Of course I could have come with Lady 
 Laura," she replied ; * but I thought it
 
 A KNIGHT OF OUR OWN DA Y. 207 
 
 would seem so odd — we have been such a 
 short time married." 
 
 No answer ; and the rest of the qua- 
 drille was gone through in dead silence. 
 Ida found herself courteously but coldly 
 handed through the figures, her delicate 
 little ringers held by their extreme tips, 
 while Lord Trevor's stern judicial face 
 would have alarmed a much more hardened 
 sinner than she was. 
 
 " I am afraid you think I have been very 
 wrong, Lord Trevor," she said, as the last 
 bars of music sounded from the band, and 
 they turned to walk through the rooms. 
 
 He looked down, and saw her blue eyes 
 brimming over with tears. 
 
 '*' Poor little soul !" he thought, l ' it is a 
 shame to spoil her first ball." And he re- 
 plied, kindly, "You did not mean to be 
 selfish, I am sure." 
 
 " Indeed I did not ; but I am so stupid 
 and thoughtless sometimes. No, Captain 
 Moncrieff, I am not engaged." 
 
 And she was borne off, while Lord Trevor 
 leant against a pillar, and watched her
 
 20S ARTHUR; OR, 
 
 graceful form till it disappeared among the- 
 dancers. 
 
 " She has a good heart, I am convinced," 
 he mused. " How meekly she took all my 
 cool speeches ! I suppose I am the only 
 man whom she will dance with to-night 
 that will not overwhelm her with compli- 
 ments ; and no wonder, she is the loveliest 
 girl I ever saw. She will make Arthur a 
 jewel of a wife, if she is not spoilt." 
 
 If she is not spoilt ! Those who watched 
 Ida Atherstone that night (and many eyes, 
 critical as well as friendly, noted her every 
 movement) came soon to the conclusion 
 that she was in a fair way to be spoilt. 
 Her perfect innocence and freshness, and 
 the naive interest she took in the gay 
 scene (so new to her), proved almost as great 
 an attraction as her exceeding beauty. 
 Mrs. Douglas, the giver of the ball, to use 
 her own expression, " quite fell in love " 
 with, her ; for Ida had yet not learnt to 
 have a different set of graces and smiles for 
 ladies and gentlemen, and was equally 
 charming and fascinating to both.
 
 A KNIGHT OF OUR OWN DA Y. 209 
 
 Captain Moncrieff had accomplished his 
 introduction to her two or three days 
 before, and took advantage of this ball to 
 pay desperate court to the young wife, no 
 doubt reckoning on an easy conquest over 
 her apparent simplicity. He followed her 
 everywhere, but in spite of the violent 
 siege he laid to her heart, he did not suc- 
 ceed in making the smallest breach in the 
 fortress. Indeed, she thought him rather 
 a bore than otherwise ; and during the 
 evening she frequently cast a glance at 
 Lord Trevor, as he gaily danced and flirted 
 with the young Brightonians, wishing that 
 he had been her partner instead. 
 
 " It is strange," she thought to herself, 
 " he laughs, and talks, and compliments 
 other women — some of them married wo- 
 men — it is only to me he is grave and 
 severe, only to me. He is the only man I 
 know who never makes pretty speeches to 
 me, or seems to care to be with me. Oh 
 bother that Captain Moncrieff, here he is 
 again." 
 
 Still it was an evening of intense enjoy- 
 
 vol. 1. 14
 
 210 ARTHUR; OR, 
 
 merit to Ida, and the brilliant success of 
 her first appearance filled Lady Laura with 
 delight. 
 
 " Oh/' remarked that good lady to her 
 •daughter, " if only I had the bringing out 
 of that girl, she should have secured a 
 better match than Arthur Atherstone. 
 With that face and figure, she might have 
 been a duchess. " 
 
 The only drawback to Ida's perfect hap- 
 piness — if we accept Lord Trevors cold 
 unfriendliness — was when she glanced at 
 Arthur. He stood near the door most of 
 the evening, occasionally exchanging a few 
 words with. a friend, but not dancing at all, 
 and with a tired, bored look on his face, 
 which never varied. But when his weary 
 blue eyes rested on his wife, in her spark- 
 ling jewels, and not less sparkling beauty, 
 he momentarily forgot the sad household 
 at Torquay, the mourning, heart-broken 
 mother, the dying sister, and tried to 
 appear more cheerful, lest his want of 
 gaiety should cloud hers. At last Ida's 
 conscience pricked her so unmercifully, that
 
 A KNIGHT OF OUR O WN DAY. 211 
 
 she went up to him, and laying her white 
 gloved hand on his arm, she whispered, 
 
 " Dear Arthur, you do look so miserable, 
 let us go home." 
 
 " Not really, Ida ; you are not tired 
 jet?" 
 
 " Yes I am, I want to go. I don't want 
 to stay one minute longer. By the bye, 
 what time do you start to-morrow ; you 
 never told me ?" 
 
 " By the first train ; I think it leaves at 
 8.40." 
 
 u And I have kept you up all this time. 
 Oh, how selfish I have been ! Get me my 
 cloak, quick, and do order the carriage." 
 
 With quite feverish haste she bid adieu 
 to the hostess and Lady Laura, and in five 
 minutes they were driving rapidly back to 
 the hotel. 
 
 " Arthur, do you mean to take me to- 
 morrow V she asked, when they had reached 
 their own room. 
 
 "My darling, do you mean that you 
 wish to come?" 
 
 " I don't like you going away without 
 
 14—2
 
 212 ARTHUR; OR, 
 
 me, and I don't like being here alone," she 
 answered, doubtfully. "But it is a long 
 journey to Torquay, and I have a cold. 
 On the whole, I would rather that you 
 decided for me." 
 
 " Well, then, Ida, I will decide that you 
 shall remain here till Monday, at any rate ; 
 I will come back on that day, and then, if 
 you wish it, you can return with me." 
 
 As he expected, her face brightened at 
 once. 
 
 " I shall have Lady Laura to walk with," 
 she said, " and Mrs. Douglas has offered to 
 take me out driving any afternoon, But, 
 Arthur, you will come back on Monday V 
 
 "If all goes well at home, I promise 
 it," 
 
 So the matter was settled. At half- 
 past eight the next morning, Arthur was 
 walking up and down the draughty plat- 
 form of the Brighton Station. It was a 
 bleak, disagreeable morning, a bitter north- 
 east wind was blowing, and occasionally a 
 light shower of sleet fell. At his second 
 turn he almost ran against a tall, great-
 
 A KNIGHT OF OUR OWN DAY. 213 
 
 coated, moustached individual, very like 
 himself, and exclaimed, 
 
 " Why, Trevor, is it you V 
 
 " Of course it is ; I have come to see you 
 off. Is not your wife here V 
 
 " No, poor child, I left her fast asleep. 
 It is far too bitter a morning for her to 
 come out. Well, this is friendly of you, 
 old fellow." 
 
 " Not at all, I like it." 
 
 The two friends walked up and down, 
 arm-in-arm, occasionally indulging in a 
 vigorous stamp to warm their half-frozen 
 toes. 
 
 " I am particularly glad to see you, 
 Trevor," said Arthur, at length, " for there 
 is something I wanted to ask you to do for 
 me." 
 
 " All right, fire away; the train will be up 
 in five minutes." 
 
 " It is about Ida. You see, I don't half 
 like leaving her alone, even for a few 
 days, she is so unused to it. I dare say 
 Lady Laura and Mrs. Douglas will look 
 after her, but I don't particularly care
 
 214 ARTHUR; OR, 
 
 about her being so very intimate with, 
 them/' 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 " I don't want it to be a tie upon you, 
 but if you could now and then go and see 
 Ida, and be in some way a friend to her. 
 That young Moncrieff plagues her a good 
 deal, and she is so perfectly inexperienced, 
 that she really does not understand how to 
 get rid of a bore." 
 
 "I am not sure that I quite under- 
 stand " 
 
 " Oh, if it would be a bother, don't think 
 of it." 
 
 "There now, my dear fellow, don't be 
 huffy ; I will do my best. Only you know 
 Mrs. Atherstone mayn't quite fancy being 
 looked after by me." 
 
 " You need not fear any difficulty there, 
 she likes you very much." 
 
 " Does she I" 
 
 " Yes, and she knows what old friends 
 you and I have always been. I should like 
 you to know each other well. Sometimes,
 
 A KNIGHT OF OUR OWX DAY. 215 
 
 Trevor, I have fancied that you don't quite 
 take to my wife." 
 
 "Indeed, I — I — like her very much. I 
 will do my best, Arthur, indeed I will ; you 
 may rely on me." 
 
 Something in his tone of voice made 
 Arthur turn and look at him, but he 
 promptly averted his face. 
 
 " I have thought lately that you were 
 not looking well, Trevor. You have seemed 
 rather dull and out of spirits. Does this 
 place suit you ? The air is too strong for 
 some people." 
 
 " I am all right, thanks." 
 
 " Are you sure ?" 
 
 " Well, perhaps I am not quite the 
 thing. I think I will try change in a 
 week or so." 
 
 The undecided, hesitating tone was so 
 unlike his friend, that Arthur looked at 
 him again with some anxiety. If he had 
 been a woman, he would have taken Lord 
 Trevor's hand, and whispered earnestly, 
 " Confide in me, dearest. We will have no
 
 216 ARTHUR; OR, 
 
 secrets from each other, will we ?" Being a 
 man, he only said quietly, 
 
 " If there is anything wrong, you would 
 tell me ?" 
 
 " Certainly, of course. Here is the 
 train, Arthur. Have you got your 
 ticket V 
 
 " Yes ; all right, Good-bye, Trevor, and 
 don't forget my little commission." 
 
 " I won't forget. You will be back on 
 Monday ?" 
 
 " I hope so. I shall do my best." 
 
 The train steamed out of the station, and 
 Lord Trevor walked slowly home. Arthur 
 was right, he was changed. The gay 
 spirits that had been so remarkable in him 
 were departed, or only revisited him by 
 fits and starts. The openness and candour 
 which had been the great charm of his 
 manner, had given place to a morose kind 
 of melancholy, and he was growing thin 
 and pale. In every sense of the word he 
 was not the same. Poor young man ! he 
 felt it bitterly himself, and as he walked 
 alone along the Parade, he lifted his hat
 
 A KNIGHT OF OUR OWN DA Y. 217 
 
 from his brow, and let the keen wind lift 
 his brown locks and cool his burning fore- 
 head, as he muttered to himself, " Some 
 madness possesses me. I must get rid of 
 it, or I shall do some awful wicked- 
 ness. He has such confidence in me, such 
 complete, innccent trust. Oh, Arthur, 
 Arthur r
 
 ARTHUR; OR, 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 11 Then fell upon the house a sudden gloom, 
 A shadow on those features fair and thin ; 
 And softly, from that hushed and darkened room, 
 Two angels issued, where but one went in." 
 
 Longfellow. 
 
 Owing to some unavoidable delay, it was 
 late in the afternoon before Arthur reached 
 Torquay. The red December sunset threw 
 a lurid light over the pretty little town, 
 and the rippling sea was turned in some 
 parts to liquid gold, reminding him, with a 
 strange, sudden pang, of the " sea of glass 
 mingled with fire," before which another 
 ransomed spirit would so soon stand. 
 
 Lady Atherstone met him in the hall, 
 composed and gentle as ever, though her 
 voice sounded unnaturally hoarse and low
 
 A KNIGHT OF OUR OWN DA Y. 219 
 
 as she asked him to come into the dining- 
 room and have some dinner. 
 
 " You will be exhausted, iny dear boy/' 
 she said, anxiously; "you have been travel- 
 ling and fasting all day." 
 
 " No, indeed, mother ; I dined on the 
 way. Only a glass of wine and a biscuit, 
 please. Can I go upstairs V 
 
 "Yes, she is quite ready; but she will 
 be distressed that you have had nothing." 
 
 " I shall do very well indeed, mother. I 
 only want to see Mary. She is not much 
 worse, is she ? Tell me." 
 
 Lady Atherstone was saved a reply, for 
 at that moment the door opened abruptly, 
 and Sir Henry entered. It seemed to 
 Arthur that the old man was terribly 
 altered. His face was very thin and care- 
 worn, there was a nervous twitch round 
 his mouth, and his hand shook as he greeted 
 his son. 
 
 "How are you, Arthur — how are you, 
 my boy ? You look well — doesn't he, mo- 
 ther i — quite well. Where's your wife ? 
 Not come, eh — not come V
 
 220 ARTHUR; OR, 
 
 "My dear father, you look tired; pray 
 sit down," replied Arthur, much shocked 
 at the sudden and alarming change in his 
 father's usual tranquil, dignified manner 
 and appearance. " No, Ida is not come ; 
 she had a cold, and — and I thought it best 
 not to over-fatigue her, and it is bitter 
 weather, and " 
 
 " Ah ! I see ; she didn't care to come to 
 a sick house. Gay young thing ! No balls 
 and parties here. Natural enough — natural 
 enough." 
 
 "Indeed, dear father, she would have 
 oome, if I had wished it, to-day, and she is 
 anxious that I should go and fetch, her next 
 Monday." 
 
 "My dear Arthur, you are not going 
 away next Monday," exclaimed Lady Ather- 
 stone in dismay. 
 
 " Only for the day, mother, just to fetch 
 Ida. I can't leave her for long, you see ; 
 she is so very young, and she is quite 
 alone." 
 
 " Of course she wants you back," mur- 
 mured Sir Henry. "Young wives must be
 
 A KNIGHT OF OUR OWN DAY. 221 
 
 considered before the old parents — aye, 
 before the old parents/' And he dragged 
 himself out of the room without another 
 word or look. 
 
 Arthur turned to his mother in utter 
 dismay, for the moment even forgetting his 
 sister. " Mother, what is this ? What has 
 happened to my father ? Why is he so 
 changed T' 
 
 " My poor son, we ought not to have 
 kept it from you," replied Lady Atherstone, 
 in a voice half stifled with tears. 
 
 " He has been ill, then ?" 
 
 " He has had a slight paralytic seizure. 
 The doctors think it is not a serious case at 
 present, but you see how it has affected 
 him. At times he is scarcely himself." 
 
 " When did this take place V 
 
 " Three days ago. He is much better to- 
 day; yesterday he scarcely spoke or moved. 
 Oh ! my boy, this is terrible news for you !" 
 
 For, wholly overwhelmed by this second 
 calamity, Arthur had sunk down in a chair, 
 covering his face with his hands, his whole 
 frame shaking with suppressed passionate
 
 222 ARTHUR; OR, 
 
 grief. Only for a moment, however; his 
 manly, unselfish nature soon reasserted 
 itself, and he looked up, and met his mo- 
 ther's tranquil, sorrowing eyes. 
 
 " Dear mother, forgive me. I ought not 
 to give way; only this is so sudden, so 
 awful ! Let me go to Mary." 
 
 He spoke the last words with an earn- 
 estness that was almost abrupt. Lady 
 Atherstone smiled, her gentle, heart-broken 
 smile. She, too, knew that Mary's room 
 was the best place for him just then — 
 Mary's sweet face the best cordial ito his 
 weary spirit. So she silently led the way, 
 and in another moment Arthur saw his 
 sister once more. 
 
 She was lying on her bed, wrapped in a 
 light-blue dressing-gown, her face turned 
 towards the window, so that he only saw at 
 first the small, shapely head, with its soft 
 brown plaits, neat and smooth as ever. 
 
 " Mary T 
 
 " Arthur!" 
 
 She turned quickly, and he knelt down
 
 A KNIGHT OF OUR OWN DAY. 223 
 
 by the bed, and threw one arm round her 
 in the old protecting brotherly way. 
 
 H My darling, how are you ? — not so vert/ 
 ill, after all ?" 
 
 She held him close to her, kissing his 
 brow and cheeks with a strange, passionate 
 fervour, unlike the quiet, reserved Mary of 
 old. 
 
 " I am glad to have seen you, Arthur, my 
 only brother; I could not have died without 
 that/' 
 
 " Died ! You are not going to die, Mary ; 
 you — are — not — going — to — die. 
 
 The last words were forced out slowly 
 and with difficulty, for, exhausted by the 
 effort of rising from her pillows, Mary lay 
 back panting, her eyes closed, her cheeks 
 white and deathly indeed. Ah ! how sunk 
 they were, those pretty cheeks ! what deep 
 hollows lay beneath the closed eyes ! and 
 with what a visible painful effort the 
 struggling breath came and went. Arthur 
 noted all this with anxious, jealous eyes, 
 almost fearing to speak lest he should dis-
 
 224 ARTHUR; OR, 
 
 turb her, but in a few minutes she looked! 
 up and said — 
 
 " I have so much to say to you, Arthur, 
 dear, and as much to ask you. Come a 
 little closer, for I am very weak." 
 
 He moved a chair to the side of the bed, 
 and then leant forward, his dark head 
 almost touching her pretty hair, his hand 
 tightly clasped in hers. 
 
 " What is it, Mary ? Don't try to hurry, 
 dear; tell it me all quietly." 
 
 " Well, first about Ida. You will think 
 I am very foolish and superstitious, Arthur, 
 but I have had such strange, sad dreams 
 about you two lately : they have come so 
 often, that they almost seemed like a pre- 
 sentiment. But I know it is all nonsense 
 and nervousness, and I will try to think na 
 more about it if you will just tell me that 
 hitherto you have been perfectly happy and 
 satisfied with her. It seems a strange, 
 almost a wrong, thing to ask, Arthur, but 
 you know invalids have their fancies." 
 
 She paused suddenly from exhaustion, and 
 for a minute or two there was no sound in
 
 A KNIGHT OF OUR OWN DA Y. 225 
 
 the room but her labouring breath, and the 
 soft plash of the waves below. During 
 that momentary interval, many thoughts 
 passed with the rapidity of lightning 
 through Arthur's mind. Had he not lately 
 observed in his wife instances of selfishness, 
 thoughtlessness, even (a severe judge might 
 say), heartlessness, which had both hurt 
 and surprised him ? Had her conduct 
 lately been that of a perfectly loving, tender, 
 sympathetic wife ? In spite of her beauty, 
 her innocent gaiety, and her bright, winning 
 ways, could he in very truth say that he 
 was "perfectly happy and satisfied" with 
 her. No, his wife was very dear to Arthur, 
 but truth was still dearer. Not even to 
 soothe a dying sister's anxieties could he 
 stain his lips with the shadow of a falsehood. 
 He bent over Mary, and touched her fore- 
 head lovingly with his lips, as he gave his 
 somewhat tardy reply. 
 
 " There is no cause for you to be anxious 
 about us, dear — about our happiness, I 
 mean. Ida has her faults — who has not ? 
 
 VOL. I. 15
 
 226 ARTHUR; OR, 
 
 But she is a good girl on the whole, and 
 my very dear wife." 
 
 Something in the tone of those last words 
 caused the hot blood to rush into Mary 
 Atherstone's face as she quickly turned 
 away her head. Hers had not been an un- 
 natural question under the peculiar circum- 
 stances, but it had been an unwise one. 
 " If," she thought reproachfully to herself, 
 " if her fears really had some foundation in 
 fact, would not the being compelled to an- 
 swer them give a definite shape to feelings 
 which would otherwise have remained hap- 
 pily dormant ? Why raise suspicions which 
 had so much better be lulled to rest ?' 
 Perhaps some of these thoughts reflected 
 themselves in her expressive countenance, 
 for Arthur leant over her again, and said 
 tenderly — 
 
 " You are weak, dear Mary, and so you 
 are nervous and fanciful. I wish you could 
 have seen Ida ; I hope you will see her in a 
 few days. Her sweet face would lay your 
 doubts to rest more effectually than any 
 words of mine could do."
 
 A KNIGHT OF OUR OWN DAY. 227 
 
 " She is coming- to see me then f 
 " I hope to fetch her on Monday." 
 " I shall not live till Monday, Arthur. 
 Don't interrupt me, dear ; it does me good 
 to talk, and I dare not say a word to 
 mamma. She has enough to bear. Do 
 you know they have promised me to go 
 back to Arling when I am dead V 
 " Have they T 
 
 The tone of his voice was unnaturally 
 low and calm. Mary glanced at his face, 
 and saw the effort he was making to listen 
 quietly to words which cut him to the 
 heart. She laid her hand lovingly on his, 
 saying— 
 
 "I won't say much more, Arthur; in- 
 deed, I cant. I only want you to tell me 
 you will remind them of that promise. 
 They dread seeing Arling, for the sake of 
 the sad memories there ; but it is their 
 duty not to forsake the old place. I am 
 told Elizabeth Helmore is working very 
 hard there ; but they want new schools, 
 an d » 
 
 She paused again ; and, through the 
 
 15—2
 
 228 ARTHUR: OR, 
 
 deepening twilight, Arthur saw that a 
 strange pallor had crept over her face. 
 Much alarmed, he rose to ring the bell ; 
 but at the same moment Lady Atherstone 
 entered the room, and beckoned to him to 
 withdraw. 
 
 On the stairs he met Sir Henry, making 
 a slow and laborious ascent, pausing at 
 each step to cling to the banisters and gasp 
 for breath, in a way which showed the effect 
 was almost too much for him. Ah ! and 
 one short fortnight ago he had mounted 
 those same stairs as easily and almost as 
 briskly as Arthur himself. 
 
 " My dear father, you should have called 
 me," said Arthur, offering his strong arm, 
 which was eagerly seized by the feeble old 
 man. " You are not strong enough to climb 
 these steep stairs." 
 
 " I was strong enough a few days ago," 
 murmured Sir Henry. "What has changed 
 me so ? No, my boy, not that way ; I am 
 going to Mary." 
 
 " Not just now, dear father. I had to 
 leave her only this minute. She has ex-
 
 A KNIGHT OF OUR OWN DAY. 229 
 
 hausted herself with talking to me. Come 
 to your own room." 
 
 " Do you wish to keep me from my own 
 daughter V was the querulous reply. 
 
 But after a little gentle expostulation, 
 he yielded ; and Arthur took him to his 
 own room, where he sunk into a chair, and 
 seemed to fall into a kind of heavy torpid 
 slumber. There was nothing to be done 
 for him, and after summoning his own ser- 
 vant, Arthur went to his room and wrote 
 to Ida. 
 
 That night was a heavy, anxious, sleep- 
 less one to him. Such men as Arthur 
 Atherstone have very warm family affec- 
 tions ; and though he was well used to sor- 
 row, each successive blow did not fall the 
 less heavily because it had been preceded 
 by others. 
 
 When the tardy morning broke at length, 
 and he arose and dressed with the first rays 
 of daylight, he was startled by the reflec- 
 tion which met him in the glass. Yester- 
 day his eyes had been bright and sparkling 
 with health, his cheeks had a fresh bloom,
 
 230 ARTHUR; OR, 
 
 his aspect had been that of a young mau 
 in the prime of life, robust, healthy, happy; 
 to-day his face was pale and careworn, his 
 eyes dim and swollen, his pulse weak and 
 fluttering. Years might have passed over 
 his head instead of one single night. 
 
 " This will never do/' he muttered, 
 angrily, to himself. " I ought to be a sup- 
 port to my mother and Mary ; and here I 
 am, as weak and incapable as a girl." 
 
 He threw the window wide open, and 
 eagerly inhaled the fresh salt breeze. Then 
 he heard his door gently open, but did not 
 turn round immediately. When he did, a 
 letter lay on the dressing-table, directed in 
 Ida's small, somewhat straggling hand. 
 He tore it open, and read as follows : — 
 
 " Brighton. 
 
 " Dearest Arthur, 
 
 " Is it not good of me to write so 
 soon ? You have not left the house two 
 hours, and here I am scribbling away as 
 eagerly as if we were engaged lovers, in- 
 stead of old married people of nearly two
 
 A KNIGHT OF OUR OWN DA V. 231 
 
 months' standing. I hope you found your 
 father and mother all right, and Mary 
 better. I wish she could have managed 
 her attack a little later, so as not to take 
 you away just now, when I want you so 
 much. Lady Laura has just sent in a note 
 to say that Mrs. Douglas gives an ' at 
 home ' to-morrow, and that she will take 
 me if T like to go. I don't know how I 
 shall decide ; at present my cold is very 
 bad, my eyes fishy, my nose swollen, and 
 altogether I look hideous. Come back on 
 Monday — mind, you promised — and if Mary 
 is all right, we need not perhaps go to Tor- 
 quay for a day or two. Herr Kithe is going 
 to give some grand concerts. The town 
 band has just struck up the ' Blue Danube' 
 outside. I must snatch the opportunity of 
 practising my waltz steps, in which you 
 say I am so backward. 
 
 " Your affectionate wife, 
 
 " Ida." 
 
 Arthur laid down the letter with a heavy
 
 232 
 
 sigh, for which he reproached himself the 
 moment after. 
 
 " She is only a child," he thought ; "how- 
 can I expect her to have the feeling and 
 sympathy of a woman ? She does not 
 know how ill Mary really is." 
 
 Here another knock came at his door — 
 a hurried, feeble tap. He opened it at 
 once, and there stood Lady Atherstone, 
 her cheeks deadly white, her eyes dry and 
 dilated. She laid her cold, trembling 
 fingers on his arm. 
 
 " Come to Mary, Arthur, she wants 
 
 you." 
 
 In another moment he had crossed the 
 narrow passage, and stood by his sister's 
 bed. There she lay, the sweet face calm as 
 ever, scarcely disfigured by the grey pallor 
 which never comes but once on any human 
 countenance, For nearly half an hour she 
 lay thus, silent and motionless, but with 
 the old unchangeable sisterly love beaming 
 in her blue eyes, whenever she turned them 
 on Arthur. 
 
 Lady Atherstone had gone to send an-
 
 A KNIGHT OF OUR OWN DAY. 233 
 
 other message for the doctor. Sir Henry 
 could not be aroused. Only Arthur was 
 there, when, between the long, painful 
 respirations, he caught the words, " I had 
 another dream, Arthui*, I can't tell you — 
 but — trust God — it will all come right — " 
 Anxiously he raised her in his arms, and 
 strove to catch the last feeble words, but it 
 was in vain. Even as he watched, the light 
 came over her face which 
 
 " Never shone on land or sea," 
 
 and that which he laid down so tenderly 
 on the pillow, was no longer Mary Ather- 
 stone.
 
 23S ARTHUR; OR, 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 " It is the little rift within the lute 
 That by-and-by will make the music mute, 
 And, ever widening, slowly silence all." 
 
 Tennyson. 
 
 On the afternoon of the day after Arthur's 
 departure, Ida was sitting alone in the 
 hotel, feeling very low spirited and solitary. 
 In truth, she was not quite happy in her 
 mind. No doubt it had not been kind to 
 allow Arthur to start alone on his melan- 
 choly journey, and, after all, what had she 
 gained by remaining behind ? 
 
 The sky had clouded over, and it was 
 raining heavily ; no chance of a walk or 
 drive to-day, very little chance even of a 
 visitor. " Suppose this weather should 
 continue, suppose Arthur should be de-
 
 A KNIGHT OF OUR OWN DA V. 23$ 
 
 tained at Torquay beyond Monday, how 
 dreary and desolate Brighton would be- 
 come. Arling itself could not be much 
 duller." 
 
 " I do think Lord Trevor might call to- 
 day," she murmured to herself. " Men 
 don't mind rain, and Arthur said he would 
 be sure to come and see me. That is one 
 blessing of being a married woman, one can 
 receive gentleman visitors without a chape- 
 rone. Well, if he did call, I don't know 
 that he would be much amusement ; he 
 says very little, and is always stern and 
 grave with me. It is very odd ; I suppose 
 it must be my stupid shyness that makes 
 him feel awkward and constrained. Ah ! 
 who is that ?" 
 
 A tali figure, clad in a long mackintosh, 
 sleek and shiny with the wet, was strug- 
 gling along the King's Road, engaged in a 
 desperate endeavour to hold an umbrella 
 against the boisterous wind, which blew 
 furiously in his face, and at the same time 
 avoid running foul of any other luckless 
 pedestrian. So effectually did his dress
 
 236 ARTHUR; OR, 
 
 disguise him, that Ida could not be certain 
 if she knew him, though she was not much 
 surprised when, a moment after, " Lord Tre- 
 vor " was announced, and she saw the 
 dark, handsome face, so bright and engaging 
 to others, so cold and unsympathetic only 
 to her. He shook hands with his usual 
 stiff formality, and took a seat at some dis- 
 tance from her sofa. 
 
 " It is a miserable day, Mrs. Atherstone. 
 I suppose you have not attempted to go 
 out r 
 
 " No, not at present ; but it is so awfully 
 dull here all alone, that I had serious 
 thoughts of putting on a waterproof, and 
 having a fight with the elements. You are 
 very wet, Lord Trevor. " 
 
 " Oh, it does not signify, thanks ; I 
 never mind rain. I do not remember ever 
 catching cold in my life." 
 
 " Really ! You must be a very fortu- 
 nate person." 
 
 " I believe I am." 
 
 Silence. Ida looked down, and began to 
 fidget with her rings ; his lordship gazed
 
 A KNIGHT OF OUR OWN DAY. 237 
 
 out of the window at the dismal, foggy 
 prospect, and racked his brains for some- 
 thing to say. Of course the lady spoke 
 first, and equally, of course, her observation 
 had better have been left unsaid. 
 
 " I am afraid you find my society very 
 depressing, Lord Trevor. We never seem 
 to have anything to say to each other, do 
 we ? 
 
 He looked up hastily, and a close observer 
 might have noted a strange, pained look 
 in his dark eyes, as he replied, 
 
 " On the contrary, Mrs. Atherstone, it 
 is I who am to blame. Every one pro- 
 nounces you a most amusing companion, 
 but I have been very dull lately. I think 
 I am not quite well. You must excuse my 
 stupidity ; we do not meet often." 
 
 " But I see you talking quite gaily to 
 other people," continued Ida, who, like all 
 her sex, never knew how to leave well 
 alone. " It is not very complimentary to 
 me, Lord Trevor, you always seem bored in 
 my society." 
 
 His cheek flushed, and taking an ivory
 
 *3S ARTHUR; OR, 
 
 paper cutter from the table, he began to 
 turn it nervously about in his fingers. 
 
 "I do not feel bored in your society, 
 Mrs. Atherstone," he said after a short 
 pause, speaking in a measured formal tone, 
 " I am very far from feeling that, as you 
 must know." 
 
 " I know nothing of the kind," she said, 
 in a pettish voice, like a discontented child. 
 
 " Witness my coming to see you this 
 pouring wet day, I will answer for it you 
 will have no other visitor." 
 
 " Well, that is a charitable action cer- 
 tainly," and she threw herself back on the 
 sofa cushion, and sighed wearily. "I do 
 hate bad weather — days when one cannot 
 get out, I hate them even when Arthur is 
 with me, for though he does his best to 
 amuse me, he has absolutely no conversa- 
 tion, as I dare say you know." 
 
 She was tired and a little out of humour, 
 or she had not spoken in this way, but her 
 visitor did not seem disposed to make any 
 allowances. 
 
 " Arthur used to be a capital companion,"
 
 A KNIGHT OF OUR OWN DAY. 239 
 
 he said dryly, " he can talk intelligently on 
 almost any subject." 
 
 " Oh, no doubt ! but don't you know 
 there are days when he does not want to 
 talk intelligently, days when one would 
 rejoice in 
 
 ' A creature not too bright and good 
 For human nature's daily food.' 
 
 Some one for instance like Captain Mon- 
 crieff, who would rattle away and keep 
 one amused. Or — such a companion as I 
 think you could be, Lord Trevor, if you 
 only let yourself be natural." And she 
 glanced at him saucily out of her merry 
 blue eyes. The paper-knife in Lord 
 Trevor's hand snapped in half. 
 
 " Never mind," said Ida, negligently, in 
 reply to his somewhat unnecessarily profuse 
 apologies, "it is not real ivory." 
 
 It was very careless. I have a way of 
 fidgeting with things. If I can be of any 
 use to you during Arthur's absence, Mrs. 
 Atherstone, I hope you will let me know. 
 You have my address."
 
 240 ARTHUR; OR, 
 
 He rose to go. 
 
 " Are you tired of me so soon ¥' she 
 replied, making no attempt to rise, but 
 glancing up at him with smiling, sleepy- 
 eyes. " Do you know how long your visit 
 has lasted ? Just six minutes." 
 
 His expression did not change ; he did 
 not even make the plausible excuse that 
 most men would have done. Yet that 
 sweet pleading face would have tempted 
 most men to linger ; even the dull, foggy 
 atmosphere, so fatal to the appearance of 
 most fair persons, could not succeed in 
 dimming her radiant beauty. No sculp- 
 tured Yenus, no pictured houri, could look 
 more enchanting than Ida Atherstone in 
 that negligent graceful attitude ; but ap- 
 parently she made no favourable impression 
 on her visitor. He held out his hand, say- 
 ing courteously but coldly • — 
 
 " I must go now, Mrs. Atherstone. I 
 have a good deal to do. Have you any 
 commissions in the town V 
 
 " If you are going anywhere near Trea-
 
 A KXIGHT OF OUR OWN DAY. 24 r 
 
 cher's Library, will you change these books 
 for me ? I want the third volume." 
 
 He took the novels from her hand, and 
 his face changed as he saw the title. 
 
 " This is a clever authoress, Mrs. Ather- 
 stone ; but her works are scarcely edifying. 
 Does Arthur know you have read this V 
 
 " I don't know. I don't suppose he 
 would care." 
 
 " I do not think he would approve of it. 
 I will get you something else." 
 
 And before she had sufficiently recovered 
 her astonishment to expostulate, he was 
 gone. 
 
 " Well, of all cool proceedings," ex- 
 claimed the young lady, " that is the 
 coolest I ever heard of. How amused 
 Arthur would be ! It is positively the 
 first time I ever saw his lordship the least 
 interested in anything that concerned me." 
 
 At that moment the door again opened, 
 and a servant entered with a salver, on 
 which lay an ominous-looking envelope, 
 directed in large and flourishing letters. 
 Ida opened it hastily, and stood in dismay, 
 
 vol. 1. 16
 
 242 ARTHUR; OR, 
 
 the colour forsaking her cheeks, as she sur- 
 veyed a formidable row of figures, amount- 
 ing in all to £47 17 s. 
 
 It was the bill for her ball-dress and 
 other articles for the toilette, which had 
 been purchased under the surveillance and 
 by the advice of Lady Laura. The amount 
 might not have seemed outrageous to an 
 experienced woman of fashion, but to Ida, 
 who had never in her life had a dress 
 which cost more than five pounds, it ap- 
 peared simply appalling. 
 
 After a moment's hesitation, she flew up- 
 stairs, tossed on her hat and cloak, and, 
 forgetful alike of wind and rain and her 
 usual nervous dislike to going out alone, 
 flew along the moist, slippery bricks to 
 Lady Laura's house. 
 
 So it came to pass that the good lady 
 was roused from her comfortable afternoon 
 siesta by the appearance of a forlorn, drip- 
 ping figure, with scared, woe-begone face, 
 who rather sunk into than seated herself 
 in the chair offered to her, and incon- 
 tinently burst into tears.
 
 A KNIGHT OF OUR OWN DAY. 243 
 
 " My dear girl, what is the matter V 
 exclaimed her ladyship, in much alarm. 
 " Have you had bad news from Arthur? 
 Try and speak calmly, and don't sob so ; 
 you will make yourself ill." 
 
 " I have had no bad news from Arthur ; 
 but oh, Lady Laura, look at this ! What 
 am I to do ? How can I tell him how 
 wicked I have been, and just now, when 
 he is in such anxiety V 
 
 Lady Laura took the bill from her out- 
 stretched hand, and the slightest possible 
 expression of contempt passed over her 
 features as she surveyed the amount. 
 
 " My dear Ida, you must be nervous this 
 afternoon," she remarked, coolly. " No 
 doubt, for a simple country clergyman's 
 daughter, this bill would have been extra- 
 vagant ; but you must remember your posi- 
 tion is verv different now. Your husband 
 could afford to pay twice the amount every 
 month if you asked him ; and he would do 
 so gladly, I am sure. Whatever faults he 
 may have, Arthur Atherstone never was 
 
 mean." 
 
 16—2
 
 244 ARTHUR; OR, 
 
 " But, Lady Laura, this is not my only 
 bill. There was that sealskin jacket you 
 persuaded me to buy the other day, which 
 cost fourteen pounds." 
 
 " Well, and very reasonable too. I call 
 that jacket a perfect bargain." 
 
 " And the hat with those long ostrich 
 plumes, and the silver chatelaine, and the 
 inlaid writing-desk ! Oh, it is perfectly 
 awful ! I shall never dare to tell Arthur. 
 What would Elizabeth say V And she 
 buried her face in her hands, and sobbed 
 bitterly. 
 
 Lady Laura yawned ; she was getting a 
 little bored. 
 
 " I must say this excessive grief is un- 
 called for," she said, languidly. " I do not 
 admit that you have been extravagant; 
 and even if you have, a little lavish expen- 
 diture is always excusable in a young bride. 
 You need not even tell Arthur, unless you 
 choose, I suppose he gives you an ample 
 allowance V 
 
 " He has said nothing about that yet ; 
 he has always paid my bills himself."
 
 A KNIGHT OF OUR OWN DA V. 245 
 
 " Oh, dear ! that is a very uncomfortable 
 plan. You must get him to let you have a 
 fixed sum every year — it ought to be five 
 hundred pounds, at least, with his fortune. 
 Here is Rogers with the tea. You must 
 have a cup, my dear ; you are nervous and 
 depressed, and so imagine all sorts of 
 miseries." 
 
 Lady Laura's confident tone partly re- 
 stored Ida's equanimity. She dried her 
 tears, and endeavoured to appear more 
 cheerful, more especially as she discerned, 
 with a woman's unerring tact, that her 
 friend was more inclined to be bored than 
 sympathising. 
 
 Alda came into the room just as Ida was 
 rising * to take her leave, and shook hands 
 in the peculiarly shrinking, nervous man- 
 ner which always succeeded in arousing 
 her mother's ire. The young girl had con- 
 ceived a romantic admiration for the beauti- 
 ful young wife ; but this did not tend to 
 make her more talkative. On the contrary, 
 she preferred to establish herself in a dis-
 
 246 ARTHUR; OR, 
 
 tant corner of the room, and gaze at her 
 idol— 
 
 " Her rapt soul sitting in her eyes ;" 
 
 or, as Lady Laura less poetically described 
 it, like a stuck pig. 
 
 " Will you allow your daughter to come 
 to tea with me some day, Lady Laura?" 
 asked Ida, good-naturedly. " I shall be 
 quite alone till Monday, and it would be a 
 great pleasure to me to see her." 
 
 "Alda has no conversation, and is the 
 stupidest companion in the world," replied 
 her affectionate parent. " Don't look so 
 amazed, my dear Ida. She knows it per- 
 fectly well herself; I tell her so twenty 
 times a day. She is not lively by nature, 
 and she makes no effort to improve. How- 
 ever, if you are good-natured enough to 
 wish to have her, she may go." 
 
 " Would you like to come and see me ?" 
 said Ida, sweetly, turning to the poor girl, 
 who had blushed till she could blush no 
 longer, and seemed on the verge of tears. 
 
 " Oh, thank you so much ! I — I should
 
 A KNIGHT OF OUR OWN DA Y. 247 
 
 be so pleased — so — " mumble, mumble. 
 The rest of her eager reply was inaudible. 
 
 " There, you have stammered enough," 
 said her mother, contemptuously. " Mrs. 
 Atherstone will excuse your saying more. 
 You shall go on Sunday — if that is con- 
 venient to you, Ida T 
 
 " Indeed, I shall be very pleased to see 
 her/' replied Ida, moving towards the 
 door, 
 
 " One moment, my dear," said Lady 
 Laura, making a quick sign to her daughter, 
 which caused her to vanish through a side- 
 door with a celerity born of long habit. 
 " My servant will fetch you a cab ; you 
 can't walk home in these torrents of rain. 
 Now take my advice, Ida, and don't worry 
 yourself about these bills. When you have 
 had a little more experience, you will laugh 
 at your own foolishness in allowing such 
 trifles to disturb your tranquillity." 
 
 " If you think I could manage without 
 telling Arthur." 
 
 " Of course, if you are nervous about it 
 that is easily done. Ask him to let you
 
 248 ARTHUR; OR, 
 
 have an allowance, and pay these accounts 
 with the first instalment." 
 
 " Thank you for that suggestion, Lady 
 Laura, you are so good to me. I shall 
 certainly follow your advice." 
 
 " There is a good child. I shall come and 
 see you on Monday. Here is your cab. 
 Good-bye, and don't let me see such a panic- 
 struck face again for the sake of a few 
 paltry bills." 
 
 Ida drove off, feeling considerably cheered 
 by the judicious mixture of irony and sym- 
 pathy contained in Lady Laura's words. 
 The bills were straightway locked up in 
 her desk, to be paid when Arthur should 
 return home. Nevertheless, there was a 
 certain weight of anxiety at her heart 
 which lay there heavy as lead, and was 
 not materially lightened even by the con- 
 soling reflection that all ladies of any 
 pretensions to fashion went into debt, and 
 that it was a mark of inferior and country 
 breeding, to be guilty of the anomaly of 
 paying one's way. 
 
 On her table she found a few lines from
 
 A KNIGHT OF OUR OWN DAY. 249 
 
 Arthur, briefly announcing his sisters 
 death, and ending with the words, 
 
 " I shall hope to return to Brighton on 
 Thursday or Friday next, but it is impos- 
 sible quite to fix the day. I am sorry to 
 disappoint you, my darling, but after the 
 funeral I have persuaded my father and 
 mother to leave at once for Arling, and I 
 cannot feel happy about them till I see 
 them comfortably settled at the Grange. 
 I hope by the middle of January we shall 
 all be there for the rest of the winter." 
 
 Must it be confessed that Ida's first 
 feelings on reading this letter, were those 
 of annoyance rather than of grief. Of 
 course it was very sad about poor Mary, 
 and no doubt Lady Atherstone was much 
 overcome, but she bad a husband to take 
 care of her. Why on earth should they 
 insist on Arthur's remaining away ? 
 
 " There is no doubt," said the young 
 lady decidedly, replacing the letter in the 
 envelope with a gesture expressive of much 
 irritation. " There is no doubt it is a 
 great bore to marry a man who is afflicted
 
 250 ARTHUR; OR, 
 
 with delicate family connections. Arthur 
 says his father is very much altered, most 
 likely he will be the next to give way, and 
 want his son to go and nurse him, and then 
 probably my dear mother-in-law will suc- 
 cumb, and so it will go on for ever. Arthur 
 has the most exaggerated idea of his duty 
 as a son, and they seem to have no scruple 
 in trespassing on his good nature. As for 
 spending the winter at Arling with two 
 sick old people, I simply will not do it. I 
 can just fancy it, father with the rheuma- 
 tism, Elizabeth racing about the village all 
 day with blankets and beef- tea, Sir Henry 
 groaning in one corner of the fire-place with 
 gout, and Lady Atherstone in the other 
 with neuralgia, while Arthur will go about 
 with a face like a mute at a funeral. That 
 is not what I married for. No, no, London 
 is the place for me, and to London we will 
 go. Arthur will do anything I ask him 
 with a little coaxing." 
 
 No doubt in ordinary matters, but where 
 duty was concerned, the young wife had 
 vet to learn that Arthur could be as im-
 
 A KNIGHT OF OUR OWN DAY. 251 
 
 movable as a rock. Ah, what a revelation 
 those last words of hers would have been 
 to his unsuspicious nature, " That is not 
 what I married for! 1
 
 2,2 ARTHUR; OR, 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 " Fair tresses man's imperial race ensnare 
 And beauty draws us with a single hair." 
 
 Pope. 
 
 Sunday morning rose bright and glorious. 
 The Brighton climate differs from other 
 English towns in this respect, it generally 
 either rains or shines, it very seldom sulks. 
 The dwellers in this delightful watering- 
 place may indeed be subjected occasionally 
 to the infliction of a pouring wet day, but 
 they are spared the long weeks of gloomy 
 weather which have inspired foreigners 
 with such a righteous horror of our English 
 autumns, weeks when the sun seems to 
 have snugly rolled himself up in a thick 
 impervious blanket of clouds, and obsti- 
 nately refuses to show himself.
 
 A KNIGHT OF OUR OWN DAY. 253 
 
 The brilliant weather, cold and frosty as 
 it was, had a cheering effect on Ida's some- 
 what depressed spirits, and she determined 
 to take advantage of the fine morning to 
 walk to St. Michael's church, about half a 
 mile distant from the hotel, and situated 
 at the top of a very steep hill. She was 
 looking very pretty to-day. A black 
 velvet costume trimmed with sable fur 
 suited her fair complexion admirably, and 
 her wavy hair shone like gold in juxta- 
 position with a charming little blue velvet 
 bonnet, one of Lady Laura's choice. Many 
 people turned to look after her as she 
 mounted the steep flight of steps leading 
 up to the church ; the attention she ex- 
 cited tinged her cheeks with crimson, and 
 she began to regret not having brought a 
 maid with her. It was no easy matter to 
 obtain a seat, as every visitor to Brighton 
 well knows. The careful and admirable 
 manner in which the Anglican service is 
 performed at St. Michael's, renders it one 
 of the most popular churches in the town. 
 Ida stood irresolute in the doorway,
 
 254 ARTHUR; OR, 
 
 scarcely knowing whether it was any use 
 to try and press up the crowded aisle, 
 when a low voice sounded in her ear, 
 
 " I have the use of two sittings here, 
 Mrs. Atherstone ; will you follow me V 
 
 It was Lord Trevor, who walked quickly 
 up the church without waiting to hear her 
 eager thanks, and showed her into an ex- 
 cellent seat, just under the pulpit. When 
 she rose from her knees she glanced round 
 expecting to see him by her side, but he 
 was not there, and after a few minutes she 
 caught sight of his dark head towering 
 above the others in a seat near the door, 
 in the middle aisle. 
 
 " So, he will not even sit next me in 
 church," was her mortified reflection, and 
 true enough the chair next to her own re- 
 mained unoccupied till the beginning of the 
 psalms, when it was appropriated by some 
 weary stranger. How truly it has been said : 
 
 " Not e'en the tenderest heart and next our own 
 Knows half the reasons why we smile or sigh," 
 
 and how far less can we guess at the secret
 
 A KNIGHT OF OUR OWN DAY. 255 
 
 known to us, by their outward actions. 
 Little did Ida imagine how often durino* 
 the service Lord Tievor's sad dark eyes 
 wandered to her golden head ; and how 
 often those next to him observed him start 
 and flush as some movement on her part 
 brought the fair profile into view. The 
 reader has probably by this time guessed 
 Lord Trevor's secret. 
 
 From the day that he first saw Ida 
 Helmore driving her pretty restive pony 
 in the little town of Daylesford, her image 
 had taken strong possession of his mind, 
 and the unavoidably frequent, though 
 formal, intercourse of the last few weeks 
 had completed the enchantment so in- 
 auspiciously begun. It was this fatal 
 secret which was wearing out his young 
 manhood, filling his heart with a wild 
 despair and remorse which at times almost 
 drove him to frenzy. 
 
 At the age of thirty-two he had never 
 yet felt anything approaching to a serious 
 attachment for any woman on earth, and 
 now his pent-up affections flowed in
 
 .56 ARTHUR; OR, 
 
 an overwhelming torrent which almost 
 threatened at times to undermine his in- 
 tellect. Sometimes it seemed to him a 
 strange awful nightmare, a catastrophe too 
 abhorrent to be possible that he should 
 have fallen in love with the wife of his 
 dearest friend, Arthur, the companion of 
 his boyhood, he who had taken the place 
 of a brother to him since the days when 
 they had played together as little children. 
 What could he do ? he sometimes asked 
 himself wearily, how break the fascination 
 that bound him ? " What could he do ?" 
 I hear some indignant reader exclaim, " why 
 did he not leave Brighton without an hour's 
 delay, and put hundreds of miles of land 
 and sea between him and the sweet face 
 that was luring him to his destruction V 
 
 Ah, my friend, have you always fled 
 so promptly from temptation ? have you 
 always dashed away the sparkling cup 
 when it was displayed, glittering and 
 radiant, before your thirsty lips ? Have you 
 ever turned your back on paradise, and fled 
 away out into the howling wilderness for
 
 A KNIGHT OF OUR OWN DAY. 257 
 
 fear lest the shadow of a sin should stain 
 the white purity of your soul ? If so, you 
 may sit in judgment on Launcelot Trevor, 
 not unless. A more generous chivalrous 
 soul than his never existed ; at this time 
 he would have cut off his right hand, or 
 thrown himself deliberately into the sea, 
 sooner than have spoken a word to Arthur's 
 wife which might not have been heard and 
 approved by Arthur himself. Nay, more, 
 he strove hard to convince himself that 
 Ida was not worthy to have inspired any 
 strong affection in the heart of a good man. 
 
 Over and over again he assured himself 
 that she was (as he once told Captain Mon- 
 crisff) a "mere pretty doll," incapable of 
 any deep feeling or generous sentiment,, 
 and over and over again had one glance of 
 her blue eyes, one pressure of her soft hand 
 sent all these disparaging thoughts to the 
 w T inds and again forced him into a slavery 
 as abject as it was unwilling. Earnestly 
 he resolved (and the resolve needed to be 
 many times renewed) to be as markedly 
 cold in his manner to his fair idol as was. 
 
 vol. 1. 17
 
 258 ARTHUR; OR, 
 
 compatible with courtesy, and as we have 
 seen, he had hitherto managed to carry out 
 this resolution with tolerable success. But 
 oh, if there is a sin in the sight of Almighty 
 God, which is sure in the end to bring dis- 
 grace and misery on the offender, it is that 
 daring obstinacy and pride which refuses 
 to take warning by the example of count- 
 less hapless ones who have striven to walk 
 the same slippery path, and while praying 
 every day with his lips that he may not be 
 led " into temptation/' advances wilfully so 
 near the edge of the fatal precipice that it 
 needs but a chance unexpected word or 
 look to hurl him over. 
 
 The service proceeded, and Ida's atten- 
 tion was gradually drawn away from her 
 ■own private vexations by the exceeding 
 beauty of the music, and still more by the 
 energetic talent and force of a sermon such 
 as that favoured congregation often hear, 
 hut which struck her as something mar- 
 vellous after her fathers excellent but sim- 
 ple discourses. 
 
 As the congregation filed down the nar-
 
 A KNIGHT OF OUR OWN DAY. 259 
 
 row aisle to the sound of a parting volun- 
 tary, solemn (yet cheerful) such as that 
 part of the music always should be, Ida 
 looked out for Lord Trevor, but he was no- 
 where to be seen. Her eyes fell instead on 
 Lady Laura, who waited for her at the 
 bottom of the steps, and the two ladies 
 walked together down Montpelier Road. 
 Her ladyship did not seem in the best of 
 humours. After her first greeting, she 
 walked along silently for some minutes (a 
 most unusual proceeding for her), and. then 
 asked somewhat abruptly — 
 
 " Is Arthur coming back on Monday V 
 
 " No ; I am sorry to say he will be de- 
 tained for some days longer on account of 
 poor Mary's death. She died the day after 
 he arrived there." 
 
 " Dear me, how very sad ! I feel for 
 poor Lady Atherstone ; but I suppose there 
 has been no hope for a long time. You 
 will have to go into mourning, Ida." 
 
 " Yes ; I must get my things to-morrow. 
 Oh, Lady Laura, more bills !" 
 
 " Nonsense, my dear, your husband can 
 
 17—2
 
 26o ARTHUR; OR, 
 
 well afford to pay them. I have never 
 seen you at St. Michael's before. You do 
 not usually go there V 
 
 " No ; but I thought I should like the 
 walk this lovely morning." 
 
 " Lord Trevor was very civil in offering 
 his seat." 
 
 "Yes; I wished to have thanked him 
 again, but he has vanished somewhere 
 among the crowd." 
 
 "Ah, just as well, perhaps," was the 
 mysterious reply. 
 
 "Why ?" asked Ida, innocently. 
 
 " Well, my dear, you are very young and 
 inexperienced, and you must just let me 
 give you a hint. You have been seen a 
 good deal about with Lord Trevor; and 
 though he is a young man of most excel- 
 lent character, it would be as well if people 
 did not notice you were much together 
 during your husband's absence. Brighton 
 is the most gossiping place on the face of 
 the earth ; it is the reason that I made up 
 my mind never to live here." 
 
 " I do not understand you, Lady Laura.
 
 A KNIGHT OF OUR OWN DAY. 261 
 
 Lord Trevor is a great friend of Arthur's, 
 and so he sometimes joins us in our walks, 
 but his manner to me is always particularly 
 distant ; indeed, quite remarkably so." 
 
 "Well, I am glad to hear that. You 
 see, Ida, it would really be a pity if he was 
 to take any absurd fancy into his head for 
 you, a married woman. I am not afraid of 
 any flirtation od his part, for he is a very 
 honourable, highly-principled man, but it 
 might prevent his marrying, and he really 
 ought to marry now. It is a magnificent 
 property, and he would make an admirable 
 husband." She stopped rather abruptly. 
 
 A slight flush rose to Ida's brow. She 
 did not really care about Lord Trevor, but 
 he puzzled her a good deal, and interested 
 her still more. She was beginning to enter- 
 tain just that sort of feeling for him which 
 did not amount to much more than friend- 
 ship, and which yet made the idea of his 
 marriage not quite an agreeable one to her. 
 But she said nothing, and Lady Laura pro- 
 ceeded, confidentially laying her hand on 
 her companion's arm.
 
 262 ARTHUR; OR, 
 
 " I feel that I am safe in entrusting- 
 a little secret of my own to you, Ida. I 
 have known Lord Trevor's family inti- 
 mately for some years, though I never met 
 him till this autumn. Last year his sister. 
 Lady Jane, said to me, apropos of her] bro- 
 ther's settlement in life, 'What an excel- 
 lent wife your Alda would make for Laun- 
 celot f It was said half in joke, but the 
 idea took root in my mind, and was the 
 real cause of my coming down to Brighton 
 this autumn when I heard his lordship was 
 likely to be here/' 
 
 " But, Lady Laura, Alda is so very 
 young." 
 
 " Only one year younger than you, 
 and she looks much older" — (this was a 
 fiction on her ladyships part). " They 
 have met twice at Mrs. Douglas's, and 
 Alda thinks him very agreeable. If I 
 could only be sure that the admiration was 
 mutual " 
 
 " You would miss her dreadfully, Lady 
 Laura, your only child." 
 
 " My dear girl, her marriage would re-
 
 A KNIGHT OF OUR OWN DAY. 263 
 
 joice me beyond measure. She is no com- 
 panion to me, we don't get on as well as we 
 might ; she is — well, I don't know how to 
 express it — not the least sympathetic with 
 rne. I find many mothers make the same 
 complaint of their daughters." 
 
 " You treat her as if she was a child." 
 . " Yes, I do that on principle ; I have no u 
 idea of being domineered over by my own 
 daughter." 
 
 Ida thought there was little chance of 
 the meek, undemonstrative Alda ever at- 
 tempting to " domineer " over any one, but 
 she made no reply, and Lady Laura turned 
 off to the right at the bottom of the hill, 
 crying, as she shook hands, 
 
 " Of course the little secret I have told 
 you will be kept quite to yourself, dear Ida. 
 Very likely it may all come to nothing, and, 
 in any case, I should not like to have it 
 supposed that I have been manoeuvring to 
 bring it about. You know I am the last 
 person in the world to do that" 
 
 " Of course not." 
 
 " Only, my dear, I thought I would just
 
 264 ARTHUR; OR, 
 
 give you a hint, in case Lord Trevor should 
 seem inclined to pay you any particular 
 attention. It might so occur, you know. 
 Good-bye." 
 
 Ida walked quickly home, conscious of a 
 certain ^indefinable uneasiness, caused by 
 Lady Laura's words, but feeling consider- 
 ably more annoyed with herself for being 
 annoyed. 
 
 "The whole world seems to have entered 
 into a conspiracy to worry me," she 
 thought irritably to herself, while taking 
 off her bonnet. "Lady Laura is very 
 absurd, and rather impertinent. As for 
 Lord Trevor ever falling in love with that 
 plain, half-idiotic Alda, the idea is too 
 ridiculous. It is a cruel thing to put it 
 into the girl's head." 
 
 About five o'clock Miss Marjoribanks 
 made her appearance, and Ida received her 
 kindly, but with more distance of manner 
 than was usual with her. The poor girl 
 was by no means surprised at this. She 
 had been so often told by her mother that 
 she was the most stupid and wearisome
 
 A KNIGHT OF OUR OWN DA Y. 265 
 
 companion in the world; that she had 
 almost ceased to hope that her presence 
 could be anything but an unmitigated bore 
 to any one, and her affectionate gratitude 
 to Ida for condescending to endure her sole 
 company for an hour or two, was something 
 quite touching to behold. Her gentle 
 humility of manner soon thawed her young- 
 hostess, and before they parted the two 
 became excellent friends. 
 
 A clever modern authoress declares, in 
 one of her latest works, that she finds it 
 difficult to account for the origin of the 
 religious supposition entertained by most 
 people, of a state of future punishment for 
 sin, as, according to her experience of life, 
 every offence is chastised with prompt and 
 extreme severity during our present state 
 of existence. 
 
 However this may be, the converse is 
 certainly true. No good deed — were it 
 only the saying of a kind word, or the gift 
 of a cup of water — ever passes without its 
 reward in this life, often immediate, but 
 always certain, and one which can be defi- 
 nitely traced to its cause.
 
 266 ARTHUR; OR, 
 
 Ida's small act of good nature in asking 
 Alda Marjoribanks to spend the afternoon 
 with her, had an immediate beneficial effect 
 in rendering her more cheerful and calm, 
 for, when freed from her mother's chilling 
 presence, the young girl proved anything 
 but a dull companion, and talked with a 
 surprising amount of good sense, and even 
 humour. 
 
 Alda had grown up under the depressing 
 sense of being hopelessly misunderstood,, 
 and her want of personal advantages had 
 so preyed on her mind, that had it not been 
 for the intervention of a few kind friends, 
 she might have become hopelessly melan- 
 choly. Some people think that conceit is 
 the besetting sin common to most young 
 girls ; we are inclined to believe, on the 
 contrary, that a certain half-morbid, half- 
 nervous sense of deficiency in mind, man- 
 ners, or appearance (often entirely without, 
 any just foundation), is a far more common 
 and dangerous foe. 
 
 Conceit is pretty sure to be cured in 
 time, as the 4< Country Parson " truly re-
 
 A KNIGHT OF OUR OWN DAY. 267 
 
 marks. Whatever strong shoots of self- 
 sufficiency may develope themselves in 
 youth, the keen pruning-knife used by the 
 world will surely and rudely lop them off, 
 or reduce them to an insignificant size, but 
 a want of due appreciation of ourselves is a 
 more subtle and insidious enemy, more 
 dangerous, because less open. 
 
 Never in her life had Ida done a kinder 
 act than when she encouraged Alda's art- 
 less confidences, and, as we have said, the 
 good action met with its corresponding 
 reward. She went to rest that night, dis- 
 posed to take a more lively view of her 
 prospects in life, even should they involve 
 a long winter spent at Arling Grange. 
 
 She wrote a few lines to Arthur, to be 
 despatched by the early post, ending with 
 these words : 
 
 " Lord Trevor gave me a seat at St. 
 Michael's this morning, which was very 
 civil and attentive of him, especially as it 
 seems he so dislikes a lady's company in 
 church, that he declined to sit next me, and
 
 268 ARTHUR; OR, 
 
 betook himself to a wretched place near the 
 door, where he could have heard little, and 
 seen less. He seems to have a horror of 
 my company, which is certainly not flatter- 
 ing, as he can talk well enough to other 
 people. I am a little huffy on the subject, 
 and you may tell him so if you like. 
 
 " Your affectionate wife, 
 
 " Ida."
 
 A KNIGHT OF OUR OWN DAY. 269 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 " Men only weak 
 Against the charm of beauty's powerful glance." 
 
 Milton. 
 
 At Arling, matters were not progressing 
 quite as favourably as might be desired. 
 Mr. Helmore was laid up with his usual 
 winter foe, rheumatism, and Elizabeth had 
 verified the predictions of all her friends, 
 and worked so hard, early and late, in all 
 sorts of weathers, that her health had also 
 given way, and she was confined to the 
 house by incessant and agonizing attacks 
 of neuralgia. 
 
 An enormous and unprecedented amount 
 of work had therefore fallen on the shoulders 
 of the young curate, and as he utterly re-
 
 vjo ARTHUR; OR, 
 
 fused either to abandon any of his philan- 
 thropic designs, or commit their direction 
 into less competent hands, the strain upon 
 him was almost more than his strength 
 could bear. 
 
 No one hated idleness more than Eliza- 
 beth, but necessity owns no law, and for 
 more than a fortnight she was totally 
 unable to stir from the house, or to 
 transact any business which required much 
 head work. Unfortunately the weather con- 
 tinued to be very trying ; bleak east winds 
 alternated with heavy storms of hail and 
 snow, and these were succeeded by dense 
 fogs, drenching far more effectually than 
 the heaviest rain, and rendering the little 
 sheep paths, which led to the cottages on 
 the Down, very dangerous, and sometimes 
 quite impracticable. It was on one of 
 these dismal afternoons that the melancholy 
 party from Torquay arrived at the Grange. 
 Years might have passed over Sir Henry's 
 head instead of a few months since he last 
 trod that familiar threshold. His noble 
 white head was now so bowed that he
 
 A KNIGHT OF OUR OWN DAY. 271 
 
 seemed to have lost some inches in height, 
 and his once keen blue eye was now dim, 
 and he wandered through the familiar rooms 
 with a vacant, yet yearning glance, which 
 nearly overcame his wife's composure. 
 There was not a dry eye among the crowd 
 of assembled domestics as Lady Atherstone 
 passed through the hall, dignified and erect 
 as ever, but with- cheeks as white as the 
 handkerchief she held in her hands, and 
 pale compressed lips, telling of the sore 
 grief within. 
 
 " Surely few have been tried as my lady 
 has," said old Mrs. Drury the housekeeper, 
 over her tea that evening, "it is grievous 
 to think on. Five children buried now, 
 and as fine a family as you would wish to 
 see ; all such healthy beautiful babies. I 
 cant believe sometimes that Mr. Arthur is 
 the only one left of them all, and his was 
 by no means the strongest constitution 
 when he was a little boy. There's a look 
 in his eyes now sometimes that I don't half 
 .like." 
 
 " He don't look strong to my mind
 
 272 ARTHUR j OR, 
 
 neither," remarked Sarah, the under house- 
 maid, " and I doubt if that bright colour is 
 altogether right. 'Tis too much like them 
 beautiful red apples that is never sound 
 within." 
 
 " You know nothing about it, Sarah 
 Dawkins," retorted the housekeeper 
 sharply, " 'tis like you to be always croak- 
 ing about something or other." 
 
 " 'Twas yourself that alluded to the 
 subject first, Mrs. Drury," was the humble 
 answer ; " I'm sure I trust we may both be 
 wrong. And the captain has got a young 
 wife to look after him now, 'tis to be hoped 
 she'll be a comfort in the family, pretty 
 dear." 
 
 " They do say she is as beautiful as the 
 dawn," remarked Thomas, the under-foot- 
 man, a poetical individual, and a new 
 arrival. 
 
 " That she is," was Mrs. Drury 's warm 
 reply. 
 
 " The loveliest complexion you ever see," 
 said Sarah. 
 
 "And the beautifullest hair, just like
 
 A KNIGHT OF OUR OWN DAY. 273 
 
 threads of gold," added the housekeeper, 
 glancing regretfully at her own sparse grey 
 locks, " much the same as mine was when 
 I was a girl." 
 
 Here certain pantomimic gestures, ex- 
 pressive of diversion and incredulity, passed 
 between the footman and Sarah, which 
 unfortunately caught the eye of the elder 
 lady, and caused the instant dispersal of 
 the tea-party. 
 
 Upstairs the scene was very different. 
 Sir Henry sat in his favourite easy-chair, 
 the green-shaded reading-lamp standing 
 by a table at his side, just as Arthur 
 always remembered to have been the 
 custom since the days of his childhood, 
 but though the newspapers and periodicals 
 were all arranged as usual, ready to his 
 hand, he made no attempt to look at any 
 of them, but gazed into the fire all the 
 evening with a weary listless air. 
 
 Lady Atherstone reclined on the sofa, 
 her head turned away from the light, as 
 though to hide the tears that occasionally 
 escaped from her closed eyelids, and traced 
 
 vol. 1. 18
 
 274 ARTHUR; OR, 
 
 their furrows down the wan, thin cheek. 
 Arthur sat by the table, making a pretence 
 of reading, but in reality his eyes seldom 
 wandered from this sad picture, while he 
 tried to fancy how different it w r ould all 
 look when Ida would be sitting there ; 
 surely she would come like a sunbeam into 
 this gloomy place, with her sweet face and 
 sunny, winning ways ! 
 
 The effect of his meditations was to in" 
 duce him to delay no longer in going to 
 fetch his wife, and he communicated this 
 idea to his parents before they separated 
 for the night. He proposed leaving for 
 Brighton the next morning, and bringing 
 Ida back on the afternoon of the same day. 
 But a new and unexpected difficulty arose. 
 Nothing would induce Sir Henry to part 
 with his son, even for a single day, or half 
 a day. 
 
 Hoping that a good night's rest would 
 dissipate this unreasonable fancy, Arthur 
 said no more that night; bub when he 
 renewed the subject next morning at break- 
 fast, the old man was as unpersuadable as
 
 A KXIGHT OF OUR OIVX DA Y. 275 
 
 ever, and finally declared that if it was 
 absolutely necessary for his son to go to 
 Brighton, he would go with him. 
 
 Of course this idea could not be enter- 
 tained for a moment, and poor Lady Ather- 
 stone was in despair. It was finally settled 
 that Sir Henry could not be crossed, and 
 Arthur sat down with a heavy heart to tell 
 Ida that she must manage the hour-and-a- 
 half's journey by herself, and he would 
 meet her at the station. He had an idea 
 that she would be somewhat annoyed by 
 this arrangement, but he little imagined 
 the storm of indignation with which his 
 letter was received. Already somewhat 
 disposed to think herself neglected, Ida 
 now proved herself fully as unreasonable 
 as Sir Henry, without his excuse of old age 
 and infirmity ; and after a fit of passion, 
 which it was as well that no one witnessed 
 except her own maid, threw herself on the 
 sofa, and cried till she made herself abso- 
 lutely ill. 
 
 Such was the scene which met Lord 
 Trevor s eye as he looked in for a cup of 
 
 18—2
 
 276 ARTHUR; OR, 
 
 afternoon tea, to which Ida had invited 
 him, and which appointment she had very 
 naturally forgotten. 
 
 As he was announced Ida rose from the 
 sofa, and he stood in dismay at the melan- 
 choly spectacle — the pretty blue eyes red 
 and swelled, and the fair hair hanging in 
 most " admired disorder," making her look 
 like a naughty passionate child. 
 
 Forgetting for a moment his usual cau- 
 tious reserve of manner, he hurried forward 
 and took the trembling little hand in his 
 with much sympathy. 
 
 " My dear Mrs. Atherstone, what is the 
 matter ? have you had any bad news ?" 
 
 In reply she handed him Arthurs letter. 
 He read it once, twice, and then looked up 
 with a puzzled expression. 
 
 " I do not understand. Is this all V 
 
 "All! is it not enough?" burst from the 
 offended young matron. "I told Arthur 
 in my last letter that I could not and would 
 not spend the winter at Arling, and now 
 he writes without a word of explanation or 
 apology, just to tell me to come at once,
 
 A KNIGHT OF OUR OWN DAY. 277 
 
 and alone. I, who at home was never even 
 allowed to take a walk by myself ! I think 
 the whole family must be going mad." 
 
 " I am sure that Arthur would not cross 
 your wishes without great cause ; you see 
 how very ill Sir Henry is." 
 
 " I don't believe a word of it ; it is just 
 an excuse." 
 
 " I must say, Mrs. Atherstone, that I 
 think you are a little unreasonable." 
 
 " Oh ! of course ; I did not expect any 
 sympathy from you." 
 
 Lord Trevor felt sorely puzzled. His 
 own womenkind were remarkably sensible 
 and gentle. Never in his life had he been 
 obliged to encounter that most unreasonable 
 of human beings — a young wife who fancies 
 herself neglected. However, his natural 
 good sense dictated the only course which 
 could prove effectual. He did not attempt 
 to argue the matter, but after a few minutes' 
 silence, during which Ida sobbed without 
 restraint, he said gently — 
 
 " This is not a very formidable journey, 
 Mrs. Atherstone ; there are. no changes.
 
 278 ARTHUR; OR, 
 
 Would it make it more comfortable for you 
 if I accompanied you as far as Thurles wood ? 
 It is the station just before Arling. I have 
 a friend there who would give me luncheon, 
 and I could return here the same day." 
 
 " Oh ! Lord Trevor, how very kind ; but 
 I could not ask such a thing." 
 
 " It would be no trouble ; I intended to 
 go to Thurles wood some day soon/' 
 
 (It may be hoped that this last assevera- 
 tion was pardoned on account of its good 
 nature, but it certainly belonged to the 
 genus called white lies.) 
 
 " If that is really the case, Lord Trevor, 
 it would of course be a great comfort to me. 
 You have no idea what a baby I am about 
 travelling ; many a child knows better how 
 to manage than 1 do." 
 
 " Arthur does not know that." 
 
 " No, and pray don't tell him ; I should 
 not like him to think me the incapable 
 goose I really am." 
 
 And her good humour having fully re- 
 turned, the two sat down to their tea on 
 friendly and comfortable terms.
 
 A KNIGHT OF OUR OWN DAY. 279 
 
 Id truth, during the last few days Lord 
 Trevor had beeu persuading himself that 
 he had beeD erring lately od the side of over- 
 caution almost amouutiDg to incivility, and 
 he told himself that this line of action 
 must not be pursued too far. 
 
 " She must not suppose that I wish to 
 avoid her," was his secret argument, "or 
 she will wonder why" 
 
 Indeed, so far had he reasoned and 
 schooled himself, that he began almost to 
 doubt the existence of his own great love, 
 after all. Perhaps it was only a wild, de- 
 lirious fancv, such as has sometimes seized 
 men for most unlikely objects ; perhaps it 
 might pass away with more familiar inter- 
 course, and he would have "disquieted him- 
 self in vaio." 
 
 " Alas ! like some fatal diseases, love is 
 often most severely experienced by those 
 who are unaware of their own hopeless con- 
 dition. Lord Trevor should have known 
 himself to be no weak and fanciful dreamer, 
 no wild enthusiast ; his temperament was 
 not even as poetical arid rouiantic as
 
 28o ARTHUR; OR, 
 
 Arthur's. In healthy, sound, practical 
 natures like his, love takes deep root, and 
 grows with a hardy vigour which only the 
 icy frost of death can check. But such 
 thoughts as these were far from his mind 
 just now, and he talked and laughed with 
 his fair hostess in a manner which was not 
 much more delightful to him than it was 
 to her. 
 
 You might have seen the sparkle of 
 gratified vanity in her eyes as the time 
 passed on, and her hitherto stiff-mannered 
 and indifferent cavalier showed no sign of 
 weariness, but continued to chat away with 
 an easy abandon which he had never given 
 way to before in her presence. When he 
 chose, Lord Trevor could be a most delight- 
 ful companion ; his conversation was spark- 
 ling, and his wit at once pointed and re- 
 fined. No wonder that Ida heaved a deep 
 sigh (not unobserved by him) as he rose to 
 go, and she was left to pass a long, dull 
 evening alone. And can you not believe 
 that these moments of unrestrained inter- 
 course were sweet beyond measure, more
 
 A KNIGHT OF OUR OJVX DAY. 
 
 intoxicating than the wildest, brightest 
 dreams to the man whose heart was filled 
 with so great a love, a love which grew 
 every moment in force and intensity, though 
 he still honestly believed that he was doing 
 no harm, and, indeed, only performing a 
 charitable and kindly action in endeavour- 
 ing to while away one of the solitary hours 
 spent by Arthur's young wife. Perhaps 
 few men of his age and temperament, and 
 under his peculiar circumstances of tempta- 
 tion, would have refrained, at any rate, from 
 indulging in a few complimentary phrases 
 during that hour of private and free inter- 
 course, but here Lord Trevor was firm. Not 
 one glance even of admiration did Ida win 
 from him ; not one sentence did he utter 
 which might be construed into a senti- 
 ment warmer than friendship. He talked 
 brilliantly and well, but managed to steer 
 clear of all dangerous and delicate topics 
 with a wisdom and astuteness worthy of a 
 practised diplomate, in spite of the many 
 traps laid for him by his fair auditor. But
 
 282 ARTHUR; OR, 
 
 in spite of all his caution, lie did not escape 
 undetected. 
 
 Ah, my soft-hearted and diplomatic 
 young friend, fresh from Sandhurst or the 
 University, never believe, in spite of all 
 your feigned indifference and studied cold- 
 ness, but that the fair object of your adora- 
 tion is as fully sensible of your devotion to 
 her as you are yourself. Do you think she 
 does not see through your stealthy, hastily- 
 averted glances, your nervous hand-pres- 
 sures, your laboriously easy and graceful 
 attitudes ? Women have in these matters 
 of the heart an instinct which never lies. 
 Sooner or later your secret will be disco- 
 vered, and no ostrich flying to bury her head 
 in the desert sand will be more defenceless, 
 more utterly powerless to conceal itself 
 than you. 
 
 When Launcelot Trevor took leave that 
 night with such an approving conscience 
 and comfortable sense of a perilous duty 
 well and wisely performed, he little dreamed 
 of the mischief he had wrought, never to be 
 undone till the day when all mistakes shall
 
 A KNIGHT OF OUR OWN DAY. 283 
 
 be rectified. He little dreamed of the Ions: 
 hours that Ida lay awake that night with 
 flushed cheeks and tossed fair hair floating 
 on the pillow, her blue eyes sparkling with 
 the feverish excitement caused by the gra- 
 tification of a long-cherished and secret 
 desire. 
 
 Do not think too harshly of her, my 
 reader ; do not blame her more than she 
 deserves. At this period of her life she 
 was like a spoilt child, well nigh satiated 
 with excitement and adulation, spurning 
 the many wholesome and innocent pleasures 
 around her, and longing, with a child's 
 feverish wilfulness, for the one treasure 
 which had been hitherto out of her reach. 
 She had cried for the moon in the admi- 
 ration of Lord Trevor, and now that it had 
 fallen at her feet (following the analogy of 
 the spoilt child), she scarcely knew whether 
 to be most surprised or alarmed, yet she 
 could not help feeling gratified at the 
 admiration (suppressed and covert as it 
 was) of such a man as Lord Trevor. The 
 triumph, such as it was, was innocent
 
 284 ARTHUR. 
 
 enough on her part ;' she dreamed of 
 no disloyalty to Arthur ; nay, she even 
 thought, with amused pride, of his sur- 
 prise when she should tell him that his 
 flinty-hearted friend had at last been com- 
 pelled to do homage to her charms. Lord 
 Trevor's tardy attentions flattered and 
 pleased her ; to the possibility of his love 
 she never cast a thought. 
 
 END OF VOL. I. 
 
 BILLING AND SONS, PRINTERS, GUILDFORD, SURREY.