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 THE PERFECT PATH 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 THE PEEFECT PATH 
 
 A NOVEL 
 
 BY 
 
 ELIZABETH OLAISTER 
 
 AUTHOR OF 'THE MARKHAM8 OP OLLERTOX ' 'A DISCORD' 
 ' A CONSTAKT WOMAN * ETC. 
 
 Enter the Path ! There spring the healing streams 
 Quenching all thirst 1 There bloom th' immortal flowers 
 
 Carpeting all the way with joy 1 There throng 
 Swiftest and sweetest hours ! ' 
 
 E. Arnold, Light of Asia 
 
 IN TWO VOLUMES 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
 LONDON 
 SMITH, ELDER, & CO., 15 WATERLOO PLACE 
 
 1884 
 
 [All rights reserved'^
 
 U3 
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 THE FIRST VOLUME. 
 
 CHAPTER 
 
 I. SEEKING THE ROAD 
 
 II. A WANDERER 22 
 
 III. AN OPENING . . . . . . . 43 
 
 IV. A DAMSEL ERRANT 62 
 
 V. BY MOONLIGHT 78 
 
 VI. SURVEYING THE GROUND . . . .90 
 
 VII. VARIED OUTLOOKS . . . . . . 109 
 
 VIII. SCENES AND PROVERBS 129 
 
 IX. FAIR PASSAGES 145 
 
 X. A GUIDE 163 
 
 XI. STUMBLING-BLOCKS 182 
 
 XII. MORE ZEAL THAN DISCRETION . . .202 
 
 XIII. A LOOK BACKWARD 222 
 
 XIV. A MEETING ....... 242 
 
 XV. MOTIVE POWERS 262
 
 THE PEEFECT PATH. 
 
 CHAPTEE I. 
 
 SEEKING THE ROAD. 
 
 Aim high, strike high. — rroverb. 
 
 A NICE crisp roll came flying out of the dining- 
 room window of the Hotel des Citrons at 
 Mentone. It flew with more force than pre- 
 cision, and hit the wrong man, who was a quiet 
 invalid strolling down to the shore for his 
 morning walk. It gave him a threefold shock 
 — to his nerves, by smartly striking him on the 
 ear ; to his principles, that good food should be 
 thus wasted ; and to his feelings as an Enghsh- 
 man that a young countrywoman should so 
 misconduct herself. The right man was not 
 
 VOL. I. / "7 B
 
 2 THE PERFECT PATH. 
 
 farther off than the distance between the femi- 
 nine aim and hit. He understood at once, and, 
 without apology to the wrong man, who sadly 
 pursued his way, called out, ' Hulloo, Corks ! 
 bad shot that. What the mischief are you 
 after now ? ' 
 
 A handsome tall girl, of about seventeen, 
 leant out of the window and replied, ' I want 
 you to walk with me. You have missed the 
 train ; it is on the bridge already.' 
 
 ' What a confounded nuisance ! What a 
 scourge you are, Corks ! ' 
 
 ' Not a bit of it. I did not make you too 
 late ; it is better for you not to go to-day, for 
 you are horridly out of luck. I have missed 
 you with the roll, which is one to you ; and I 
 am going to take you for a walk, which is 
 another.' 
 
 ' Don't seem to see it ; you will scamper all 
 over the district ; and I am tired. Can't walk 
 in this hat either/ 
 
 ' Put it in the hall ; I will bring you a soft
 
 SEEKING THE ROAD. 3 
 
 one and a white umbrella. You may have a 
 donkey if you like — Montebello has his saddle 
 on.' 
 
 ' Tha-anks awf 'lly, especially for the donkey ; 
 if I must go, I must, and would rather walk 
 than have you and Mathilde running beside and 
 whacking the poor beast.' 
 
 Mathilde, who passed by just now^ with a 
 grave salutation to the gentleman, was one of 
 the princesses of the Mentonese donkey-women 
 — a beautiful, dignified woman, tall and straight, 
 with a sad expression in her dark eyes, as of 
 one wdio saw many follies pass by her which she 
 w^ould not join and could not prevent. She wore 
 her country dress, perfectly neat and clean — a 
 flat hat with broad black ribbons, and jacket, 
 skirt, and apron of striped cotton, soft both in 
 colour and texture. Hearing that the young 
 lady did not want her this morning, she w^ent 
 on, leading her big brown donkey, who shook 
 his large ears, and took life, w^ithout enthusiasm 
 it is true, but calmly — for if Mathilde often 
 
 B 2
 
 4 THE PERFECT PATH. 
 
 called ' eza ' — shame — upon him, her words 
 were harder than her blows, and he was 
 better ofi* than most of the horses. 
 
 The slangy-looking young man, who so 
 grudgingly accepted his friend's invitation to 
 walk with her, w^as the Hon. George Kingdon, 
 a person of high family and low fortune, who, 
 having failed to qualify himself for a profession, 
 was misspending his time on the Eiviera by 
 living at Mentone and going nearly every day 
 to Monte Carlo ; it was the train to that place 
 which he had just missed. 
 
 The girl who spoke to him was Cordelia, 
 daughter of Lieut. -Colonel John Ashby, by 
 his second marriage with Eosina, daughter of 
 the late Henry Stafford, banker, of Maybury, 
 South shire. A young woman of such re- 
 spectable lineage ought not to be found 
 throwing a roll out of window at a young 
 raan bound to her by no ties of kindred, and 
 behaving as if her conduct were of no con- 
 sequence to any one. Mr. Kingdon would have
 
 SEEKING THE ROAD. 5 
 
 been very angry if his sister had so acted ; but 
 he encouraged this poor Cordeha, and called 
 her ' Corks ' in the open street, for, in spite of 
 respectable names, she was little respected. Her 
 father was more constant at Monte Carlo, and 
 at places where the pleasures of Monte Carlo 
 were to be had, than George Kingdon himself, 
 and was too frequently described as ' rather 
 sliady 'or as ' a doubtful kind of bird.' Mrs. 
 Lichfield, her half-sister, in whose charge Miss 
 Ashby was at present, had nicknames too, and 
 people wondered why Lichfield let her run 
 alout by herself while he was soldiering in 
 India. 
 
 For part of the winter Mr. Kingdon had 
 been one of Mrs. Lichfield's admirers ; but now, 
 in April, he was fallen into the second rank, 
 partly superseded, partly retiring. He was not 
 unhappy in his humbler position, and was 
 nearly as often in the Ashby s' society as before. 
 Cordelia amused him, and he made himself her 
 friend, treating her as child or woman according
 
 6 THE PERFECT PATH. 
 
 to the fancy of the moment. Though quite 
 without conspicuous virtues or any shining good 
 quahties, he was a gentleman, in a feeble and 
 ineffective sort of w^ay, and acted up to the 
 character in treating her as a child when they 
 two were alone, and as a grown-up young lady 
 only when he wished to plague Mrs. Lichfield, or 
 to compel some one else into a show of respect 
 for the neglected girl. 
 
 Probably nowhere in England, even at the 
 quietest watering-place, would Mr. Kingdon 
 have walked with Cordeha in her present guise 
 — dusty boots, a rush liat with a piece of mushn 
 round it, a fine, but shabby and not very clean, 
 gown, and a faded red parasol with a bull-dog's 
 head for the handle. Yet it w^as not so much 
 her dress that made her look wild and uncon- 
 ventional, as her air — her way of walking and 
 of looking about her. Though tall and well- 
 built, with a firm round figure, she looked, not 
 a woman, but a big child, with a child's freedom 
 of step and glance, and a child's outward look.
 
 SEEKIXG THE ROAD. 7 
 
 tlie world and her surroundings being as yet 
 more interesting to her than herself and her 
 relation to them. 
 
 Her companion did not study her, nor 
 greatly care what she looked like here in Men- 
 tone, where, after the manner of his kind, he 
 despised all who were not English as foreigners, 
 or distinguished but to curse the too obtrusive 
 German. He did not know, nor would it have 
 disturbed him to know, that the stately but not 
 more discriminating Mentonese class all the visi- 
 tors together as * les etrangers ' — convenient as a 
 source of income, but inexplicable and not worth 
 explaining; probably mad, and certainly heathen. 
 He did not care, for he was still rather sulky 
 at having lost his train, and yet not entirely un- 
 wilhng to be led off to the hills by Cordelia, and 
 to give up liis proposed amusement altogether 
 for one day. So he tramped morosely for the 
 first dusty mile by the sea, where the beauties 
 of nature are chiefly hidden behind and beyond 
 high walls ; but when they turned under the
 
 8 THE PERFECT PATH. 
 
 olives on the hill behind Eoccabruna, lie resumed 
 his usual mood of apparent good nature and 
 real indifference to all but his own present 
 pleasure, which made him ready to be amused, 
 and to enjoy the rare combination of sunshine 
 just warm enough and shade just thick enough 
 which is found under olive-trees in spring on 
 the Eiviera, and is one of the chief delights of 
 the choice time and place. He found a com- 
 fortable seat, and began to smoke ; Cordelia 
 went on a quest for flowers, and found none — 
 for violets and anemones were over, and the 
 gladiolus and cistus not yet oui ; a great yellow 
 snapdragon was all her reward, and presently 
 she came to sit down by her companion. . 
 
 'I am glad you lost your train, George.. 
 The Colonel is not going to-day; he has not 
 been since the day he dropped so much — 
 Sunday, was it ? His temper is really too nasty, 
 I should have had to stand it all the morning ; 
 as it is, I shall not see him till dinner-time, and 
 Sophy will have to take her share.'
 
 SEEKING THE ROAD. 'J 
 
 ' She is much more in the line of fihal duty 
 than you are.' 
 
 ' Yes. If slie vexed the Colonel, he might 
 have a lit of duty, take her to Worthing, and 
 settle her there with me and a highly recom- 
 mended governess, which Duncan Lichfiuld — 
 bless his innocence! — beheves to be the case 
 at this identical minute.' 
 
 ' That would be rather rou^^rh on your 
 sister.' 
 
 ' Wouldn't it ? Eather different from driv- 
 ing to Monte Carlo, with Lord Twiston in the 
 carriage, and Major Spires, or perhaps you, on 
 the back seat with the Colonel ; then a little 
 dinner after, and perhaps a round game, with 
 pretty gowns and nice complexions, and all the 
 rest of it ! Fancy Sophy at Worthing, sitting 
 in a nice damp place on the sand, with her 
 hair gone soft, minding baby — the darhng, he 
 would like it ! — and knowing all the time that 
 the highly recommended's off eye was on her 
 from the bow- window of the lodgings ; and
 
 10 THE PERFECT PATH. 
 
 might be, for all the mischief there was to get 
 into ! ' 
 
 ' And you, Corks, how would it suit you ? ' 
 
 'Down to the ground, George,' answered 
 the girl, looking at him with the utmost gravity 
 and earnestness. ' Of course, the work and 
 the deportment, and the punctuality and order, 
 and the highly recommended generally, would 
 be huge nuisances ; but life can't be all beer 
 and skittles.' 
 
 ' Have you found that out ? You must 
 have been reflecting deeply.' 
 
 ' People who make their lives like that do 
 not come to much. You are all for beer and 
 skittles, George ; and, unless you pull up very 
 short, you Avill never be much.' 
 
 ' That is what my people say, putting it 
 rather differently. Who knows, however, if 
 you take to moralising ? A good deal depends 
 on how " much " you want me to be.' 
 
 ' You do not want to be anything yourself, 
 you know. I do ; I should like to be some-
 
 SEEKING THE ROAD. 11 
 
 tiling very particular, and that is why I wish 
 Sophy had tried Duncan's plan. It would be 
 hateful ; but I hope I can bear disagreeable 
 things when they are really necessary.' 
 
 ' Hurrah for Corks, the heroine ! You are 
 coming out in a new light, my clierished child.' 
 
 ' Look at me here ; do you suppose I do 
 not know how badly I am treated, and cannot 
 guess how the money goes ? Do you think it 
 is nice to have this queer gown, and to feel 
 Madame Yillemain sneer, and see Baldy and 
 Beaky turn up tlieir eyes — their sort of nose 
 won't turn up, but they feel like it ? Do you 
 think it is sweet to be growing up a raga- 
 muffin, and knowing nothing in jmrticular, 
 nearly eighteen that I am ? ' 
 
 ' You are growing into a very nice-looking 
 girl, which is worth something I should say. Xo 
 one wants you to pass exams., nor earn an 
 honest living, nor be a credit to your family. 
 I think it must be fine to be you. Corks.' 
 
 ' That is all you know about it. I ought to
 
 12 THE PERFECT PATH. 
 
 be exactly different. I like you, George, and 
 it is quite awfully too good of you to chum 
 with me as you do ; but if I were brought 
 up like your sisters, you would not tell me I 
 was nice-looking, nor call me Corks.' This was 
 said with the utmost pathos, and Mr. Kingdon 
 took his cigar out of his mouth and looked out 
 to sea before he answered. 
 
 ' My sisters are not in the least nice-looking ; 
 their names are Lavinia and Isabel, and I never 
 heard that they had anything so jolly as a nick- 
 name between them. It would not amuse 
 them at all to be chummy with me.' 
 
 ' Ah ! you know what I mean. If I had 
 gowns like Sophy's, and went to Monte Carlo 
 when I liked, and not only for a dummy ; and 
 if I rode anything better than Montebello and 
 Grisette, and had some music lessons, and 
 money to spend at Eumpelmayer's, it might be 
 rather jolly here ; but that is not what I really 
 want.' 
 
 'You seem to have morbid longings for
 
 SEEKING THE EOAD. io 
 
 respectability, a backboard, and a German 
 governess. I have none of them to give you, 
 unluckily ; but if you could moderate your 
 desires to a gamble, or a pound of marrons 
 glaces, something might be done.' 
 
 ' It is not respectability that I want — Baldy 
 and Beaky would cive me that anv morning? for 
 the asking ; nor the governess either, unless 
 she were of a sort ; but at Worthing one might 
 have a chance ' 
 
 ' Out with it, old woman ; I cannot bear 
 suspense. What is this mysterious need of your 
 being, that neither I, nor a Friiulein, nor the 
 Misses Greenley can satisfy ? Do you burn to 
 marry a marquis, or a chimney sweeper ? ' 
 
 She w^as sufficiently afraid of ridicule ; her 
 desire was very deep in her heart, so deep that 
 it did not often trouble her, though she w^as 
 usually conscious of it, but to-day it had 
 pushed up to the surface. George Kingdon 
 w\as only moderately sympathetic, yet her 
 desire to tell some one, just to hear how it
 
 14 THE PEEFECT PATH. 
 
 would sound aloud, was so strong as to over- 
 come all minor considerations. 
 
 ' I want to be really very good ; not 
 respectable, or just proper and the right 
 thing — but real strong goodness, the very true 
 best kind.' 
 
 George tried liis best ; he did not wish to 
 hurt the girl's odd, sensitive, unexpected feel- 
 ings, so he struggled ; but the idea of old Grey- 
 leg Ashby's daughter, the sweet Sophy's sister, 
 his friend Corks, aiming at exalted goodness, 
 was too much for him. He looked at the 
 figure by his side — the indescribable cut of her 
 gown, which he justly suspected of being an 
 old one of the Sophy's, the exaggerated frizzle 
 of her hair, the irreconcilable cock of her 
 rush hat, the bad style of her generally, taken 
 with the quickly coming beauty of her hand- 
 some child's face — and he failed, he leant back 
 against the olive trunk, and laughed long and 
 loud. 
 
 Cordelia was a little hurt — not much, for she
 
 SEEKING THE ROAD. 15 
 
 was not used to be considered, and she looked 
 for sometliing like this from George. Tears 
 came into her eyes for a moment, but she 
 turned her face away, and they were gone 
 before George had recovered his composure. 
 
 ' My dear chikl ! My poor old Corks ! 
 What has brought you to this ? Who has 
 been fiUiniy vour venerable head with these 
 notions.^ It is all a lot of narrow-minded 
 rubbish, you know, and it won't do at all, for 
 it is not your line, and there is no greater 
 mistake than taking up anything not in your 
 line. It is not the way of any of your people, 
 unless it be your brother-in-law ? ' 
 
 ' I do not think Duncan's way of being 
 good will snit me : he is very rummy ; but 
 I do not know — I had not thonght of it when 
 he went to India.' 
 
 ' You will have to alter pretty considerably 
 before you join the truly pious. May I be 
 there to see ? ' 
 
 'No, you won't, if I know it. I do not
 
 16 THE PERFECT PATH. 
 
 want to be pious, or to go about converting 
 people, or anything like that. I mean some- 
 thing quite different. I do not think there is 
 any name for it.' 
 
 ' How will you set to work? There were 
 some revival folks about here lately. Is it a 
 Moody and Sankey turn, or will you join the 
 Salvation Army, and hop backwards before a 
 lot of roughs, singing hymns at the stretch of 
 your voice ? That will take some breath, and 
 I don't see that I can help you. Besides, it is 
 very bad form, you know, and will not improve 
 your position with the Colonel or Mrs. Lich- 
 field.' 
 
 George laughed again, but he looked sus- 
 piciously at Cordelia. Girls left to run as wild 
 as she did were always getting into scrapes and 
 making queer acquaintances. Some low fellow 
 had been canting and palavering to the child. 
 He — George — would spoke his wheel for him, 
 and that without delay. 
 
 ' Of course I could not begin here, or by
 
 SEEKING THE ROAD. 1< 
 
 myself, and I may have to wait ages long before 
 I find any one to teach me.' 
 
 ' I thought shepherds always lurked in 
 ambu.sh to devour stray slieep. I wonder very 
 much whose crook is round your leg now. 
 Come, my Corks, make a clean breast of it ; 
 who has been trying to convert you ? I do 
 not deny that you might be better, but I want 
 to know who is going to improve you.' 
 
 '' Xo one ! Oh, George ! I have told no 
 one but you ! ' 
 
 ' That is taking the first step in the right 
 direction.' 
 
 ' Don't you see, it is not just behaving 
 pretty tliat I mean, nor doing anything — but 
 that sort of goodness from inside that a very 
 few people have. They do not do anything 
 particular, but they are stronger and nicer, 
 really better than anybody else ; it just shines 
 out of them.' 
 
 ' Precious rare folks, I should say ; not 
 many running about this wicked world.' 
 
 VOL. I. c
 
 18 THE PERFECT PATH. 
 
 ' No, tliat is just it — tliere are so very few ; 
 but I should like to be one of tliem. I have 
 seen some, or I should not believe in them any 
 more than you do.' 
 
 ' Where are these wonderful people ? Have 
 you seen any here ? ' 
 
 'No ; there is little chance in our set.' 
 
 ' I think that was a parson you hit this 
 morning with the roll. Did you mean gently 
 to hint that he mi^ht find a convert at the 
 Hotel des Citrons ? ' 
 
 ' Next time I want you I will howl out 
 your name into the street ; you will like that 
 better. There are some parsons good in the 
 way I mean, but I do not know them. There 
 was Mary Morton, our washerwoman's mother, 
 at Weymouth ; but she could not teach me, 
 dear old soul ! The best person I know is 
 Soeur Lucie at the convent school I was at in 
 Brussels. I wish I was with her again; but 
 the man who does my grandfather Stafford's 
 business was down on the Colonel for sendint:^
 
 SEEKING THE EOAD. 19 
 
 me to the convent. He was an owl to inter- 
 fere in the wrong phice ! I wonder if he 
 knows that the governess never came with us 
 here.' 
 
 'Did they try to convert you at the con- 
 vent? I beheve that for a foohsh thing and 
 making a general muddle of your prospects 
 in life there is nothing like turning Eoman 
 Catholic. Don't meddle with that. Plymouth 
 Brethren and Moody and Sankey are frightfully 
 low form, but they do not land you in such a 
 pickle with your belongings as the Eomans do, 
 and people are much oftener cured of it.' 
 
 ' I cannot do anything now. Some girls 
 look to beino^ soon married, or to beino- pro- 
 digiously run after, or very rich. I have seen 
 some who went in for being very learned, or very 
 High Church, or nursing, or being great guns 
 over botany and beetles, or dab hands at draw- 
 ing and painting. Those things do not make 
 people nice, and lots of dummies go in for 
 them all. I mean to go in for being good.' 
 c 2
 
 20 THE PERFECT PATH. 
 
 ' And what is to become of me ? Are you 
 going to cut me and leave me out in the cold, 
 or do you mean to convert me too when joii 
 are satisfied with yourself? ' 
 
 ' That would be best ; only you will have to 
 make up your mind and go in for it steadily. 
 When I find some one of the right sort to put 
 me in the way, I will tell you ; only you must 
 promise not to tell any one, nor to plague me. 
 I am sorry now that I told you.' 
 
 ' You need not be sorry, old woman. Now 
 let it be a bargain and fair doings. I promise 
 not to say a word, nor chafi* you ; and you 
 promise to tell me when you find a patron 
 saint to your likmg and begin your holy 
 career.' 
 
 ' Very well, I promise. I have a roll in 
 my pocket ; will you have half ? ' 
 
 * Thanks, no. Eat it yourself, unless you 
 want it to shy at somebody.' 
 
 ' 1 wish I had the other now ; I am s*
 
 SEEKING THE ROAD. 21 
 
 hungry. Let us go round the hill and into 
 the Gorbio valley. There is a path most of 
 the way, and I want to get some irises.' 
 
 ' You are a rum sort of girl, Corks. I 
 wonder what you will grow up like.'
 
 22 THE PERFECT PATH. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 A WANDERER. 
 
 False blood to false blood joined. — SJiakespeay-e. 
 
 About half a mile from tlie country town of 
 Maybury in South shire stands a pretty house 
 known as Ivy Cottage. Its chief architectural 
 feature is a verandah, pleasantly suggestive of a 
 sunny situation ; the garden speaks of sunshine 
 too — the whole is faultlessly neat, and looks as 
 if a comfortable income were spent there. It is 
 only partially screened from the high road, and 
 passers-by catch a commonplace but agreeable 
 glimpse of easy, peaceful, and wholesome life 
 within. And it is life, if of a gentle and unex- 
 citing type, that is to be found at Ivy Cottage, 
 though what the tradespeople call ' the family ' 
 only consists of one old lady, her maids and 
 her man, her one fat dog, and her two tyrannical
 
 A WAXDERER. 23 
 
 Angora cats. One spring morning this old lady, 
 Miss Hooper, stood just within her gate waiting 
 for some one to pass by. She w^as a gentle- 
 woman clearly, though of a very plain and 
 unornamented pattern ; a square simphcity ex- 
 pressed her habits of mind and life — floridness 
 and elaboration were needless to her, she had 
 nothing to hide and nothing to pretend to. She 
 was rather short of stature, sohd rather than 
 stout ; she had a bright complexion, and very 
 bright eyes ; her cap-ribbons were bright too, 
 and her dark grey hair made crisp curls all 
 round her wide forehead. Her head, held 
 upright, expressed great energy; but her figure 
 looked stiff and immovable, for she was lame, 
 and only walked slowly and with the aid of a 
 stick ; to come from the house, through the 
 flower-garden and by the little carriage drive to 
 the gate, about one hundred yards in all, was 
 the extent of her walking powers. She looked 
 along the road in the opposite direction from 
 the town, and presently saw what she had come
 
 24z THE PERFECT PATH. 
 
 to see — Mrs. Wastel, of Wastel Warren, in her 
 old bonnet and grey shawl, walking with a 
 majestic and highly trained air along the liberal 
 greensward that borders the road, holding up 
 her gown with one hand and carrying a tin pail 
 in the other. This is a woman of middle age, 
 tall and graceful, with a fair face still ; gentle 
 and thoughtful, she looks wise with a pure and 
 guileless wisdom, and though she has known 
 both sorrow and joy, it is plain that she has 
 never entered into any hard and vidgar con- 
 liict of life — she has the outward look that 
 comes of inward peace and the total absence of 
 selfish aims and self-conscious struggles. She is 
 Miss Hooper's niece, and she smiles with pleasure 
 at the old lady's greeting. 
 
 ' I thought you would be coming down 
 about this time, JuHa, as it is the day for the 
 district meeting. It is a long walk for you.' 
 
 ' Yes ; but Lettice is going to Lee this after- 
 noon, so I must e'en trudge. Mayne's cart will 
 pick me up on its way from the station. I have
 
 A WAXDERER. ZO 
 
 special business at this meeting, and Dinah 
 Bowhng's soup ' 
 
 Miss Hooper was usually ready to plunge 
 into poor- people talk, but something else was 
 in her mind to-day. 'Julia, I have sent for 
 Eosina's child.' The younger lady forgot her 
 benevolences and drew nearer the gate. 
 
 ' Have you. Aunt Susan ! Is not that more 
 kind than Avise ? Will not a child trouble you, 
 to say no more ? ' 
 
 * You are youn^ enouizh to know how the 
 years go. I thought of a child, too ; but 
 yesterday was Eosina's birthday, and in thinking 
 of her I counted that this girl must be nearly 
 eighteen. As it was wet, and no one came to 
 keep me out of mischief, by post time I had 
 written to that man, and asked for her to visit 
 me. Ever since I have been doubting, and 
 waiting for you to come and call me a foolish 
 old woman.' 
 
 ' Perhaps too kind an old woman. If the 
 burden come, we must share it with vou. I
 
 26 THE PERFECT PATH. 
 
 hope that man will be civil to you. Poor 
 Eosina ! How much this gives one to think of.' 
 
 Mrs. Wastel's eyes grew sad ; very rare 
 tears were in Miss Hooper's. 
 
 ' Poor Eosina ! How we loved her, and 
 what shipwreck she made ! Juha, though she 
 is dead, dead fifteen years, I am never sure that 
 I fully forgive her. Shameful is the only word 
 for her marriage, and I am sore and angry still 
 when I think of it.' 
 
 ' Yes, it hurts us still ; but I am sure you 
 forgive, or your kind old heart would not go 
 out a-wandering after her daughter.' 
 
 ' Perhaps it is only a wilful going in search 
 of trouble, and a throwing away of the peace 
 of these last years. Suppose she is like her 
 mother ; she may be, and it would be too 
 much to go through ail again.' 
 
 ' K only she be not like her father ! ' 
 
 This was putting into words Miss Hooper's 
 secret dread. For forty-nine years of her life 
 the ' wicked man ' of her devotions had been
 
 A WAXBERER. 27 
 
 vague, abstract or varying ; but for the last 
 nineteen years he had become concrete, acquired 
 a distinct personality, and stood in the shoes of 
 Colonel John Ashby, her late niece's husband. 
 She made a comical, yet piteous, face at her 
 friend — this other niece, who was so much 
 better than Eosina, so entirely rejoiced in and 
 approved, yet hardly so dear. 
 
 ' Never mind. Aunt Susan ; a girl of eighteen 
 will not put us all to the rout. We at the 
 Warren are as much bound to her as you are, 
 and she shall be made over to us should she 
 prove too much for you and the old maids.' 
 
 Said Mrs. Wastel presently to Mr. Odiarne, 
 the Vicar of Maybury, ' Aunt Susan is in a little 
 trouble, Phihp. Shall you see her soon ? ' 
 
 ' I was there on Monday ; I will look in this 
 evening, instead of Merridew.' 
 
 Miss Hooper and the Maybury clergy made 
 pets of each other. It was not easy to say 
 why she should be on a different footing with 
 them from the other parish old ladies, but she
 
 28 THE PERFECT PATH. 
 
 was. This favouritism had gone on for years, 
 and though Ivy Cottage was now more of a 
 second clergy-house than ever, owing to Miss 
 Hooper's strong dehght m her present vicar, no 
 one ever found it of any use to be jealous of 
 her. She was the loyal motherly friend of one 
 generation after another of curates ; any well- 
 conditioned young man found it a pleasure to 
 be favoured by the kindly old lady — so shrewd, 
 sensible, and full of fun, and so ready to bear 
 the burden of any trouble they might bring to 
 her. Eeligious talk was seldom heard there, 
 for Miss Hooper was full of shy, old-fashioned 
 reserve on things dearest to her ; but tliere was 
 a quiet confidence that the foundations were all 
 right, that gave a mingled firmness and liberty 
 for all that was said to or before her. 
 
 Just now the Maybury clerical staff consisted 
 only of two curates, though sometimes there 
 were three. Of these two, Mr. Knox, the senior, 
 was a dry, practical little man, upright and 
 severe, carrying terrors for the ungodly, and
 
 A WAXDER R 29 
 
 not generally known to be extremely tender- 
 hearted and to cherish the pathetic romance 
 of a hopeless engagement. The junior, Mr. 
 Merridew, was a bright-faced, happy young 
 creature ; rather embarrassed by his high spirits 
 and sense of the ridiculous, and much afraid of 
 beinsc thouoht frivolous. Mr. Odiarne being 
 unmarried, the body of divines lived at the 
 Vicarage, composing what Mids Hooper called 
 a ruugh-and-tumble household, bestowing on it 
 her sincere but needless pity. 
 
 After Mrs. Wastel's hint, it was not long 
 before Mr. Odiarne went to Ivy Cottage. It is 
 not easy to describe this Vicar, for descriptions 
 convey the idea of quite an ordinary kind of 
 clergyman, and he w^as not ordinary. Mrs. 
 Stepney, a clever flippant sort of person among 
 the neighbours^ said that he was like a chapter 
 in the Bible, having a simple quaint sweetness 
 at first reading, and when read by simple folk, 
 but that scholars and students found him to 
 be full <)f occult learning, deep meanings, and
 
 30 THE PERFECT PATH. 
 
 varied interpretations. He was very tliin and 
 luiusually tall, very straight and upright ; this 
 fine carriage did not prepare people to find him 
 gentle and absent in manner, and rather reluc- 
 tant in speech. His face was straight and firm, 
 with features a little small for his height, his 
 complexion was dark, and his hair and short 
 whiskers were at this time of an iron-grey 
 colour. To those who saw him day by day, he 
 appeared as a quiet, hard-working, and not 
 very popular parson ; he owed the last defect 
 to being quite unable to make a fuss about 
 people, and a very marked dislike to being 
 made a fuss about ; but he was never fully 
 seen or known but in his preaching — then his 
 eyes flashed, and his speech was free, his great 
 powers of mind had full play, his strong, deep 
 enthusiasm burned and glowed, and his elo- 
 quence was the hot overflow of his full heart. 
 
 ' Can you speak like that to an unsympa- 
 thetic audience ? ' asked a brother cleric of 
 him one day after a sermon, durmg which the
 
 A WANDERER. 31 
 
 strong excitement of the conofreoration had been 
 very apparent. 
 
 ' I do not know ; I do not remember ever 
 to have had one,' was the innocent reply. 
 
 Mr. Odiarne was not related to Mss Hooper, 
 but he knew her before he came to Maybury, 
 eight years ago, and he followed the habit of 
 his cousins, the Wastels, and called her ' Aunt 
 Susan,' which pleased her well. 
 
 ' I have not heard much of these Ashbys,' 
 he said, when Miss Hooper told him of her rash 
 act of invitation. 
 
 ' No ; one speaks little of people whose 
 very name is hard to utter. My sister 
 Mrs. Stafford had but one child, and as she died 
 when her baby was quite young, I thought the 
 more of the little one that was left to me. My 
 father was living tlien — an invahd, helpless 
 rather than old — and little Eosina was the 
 bricfhtest and dearest thino^ in our lives. Julia 
 Wastel was the daughter of my half-brother, 
 who lived in London, and she was in no way
 
 32 THE PERFECT PATH. 
 
 dependent on us, or needing motherly care, as 
 Eosina did. We were living in the old house 
 then, Eed Place ; and you know where Henry 
 Stafford lived — in the Marchmont's house, a 
 very good house — the bedrooms are exc^.ellent. 
 We saw the child every day, and in her 
 holidays she stayed entirely with us, and JuUa 
 came too. Eosina was Juha's chosen friend ; 
 and though we all spoilt her, I think Julia's 
 devotion was the most spoihng of all, for 
 she was older, steadier, cleverer, aiid much 
 better brought up. It was the child's beauty 
 that bewitched us all ! ' 
 
 ' You, Aunt Susan, who have quite a pre- 
 judice against good-looking people ! ' 
 
 ' I am going to tell you why. We idolised 
 that girl — her father and mine, Juha and I, we 
 were all alike. We admired her going out and 
 her coming in, her little naughtinesses, as well 
 as her affectionate ways ; every new gown that 
 she had we conveyed to her that it was she 
 who adorned it ; every other girl we found her
 
 A WA>'DERER. 33 
 
 inferior, and we let lier see that we did so. 
 She was very pretty, a lovely child, a graceful, 
 dancing, winning creature, full of frolic and 
 pretty, unexpected ways. She was full of httle 
 rebellious, too. and would play at all sorts of 
 pranks, sure of oiu' forgiveness. We treated a 
 downright disobedience no more severely than 
 a bit of mischief, and did not make enough 
 of the little deceits and playful deceptions by 
 wliich she got her own way. At the time, all 
 this seemed but pardonable weakness, and the 
 indulgence needed to make the life of a 
 motherless girl as happy as possible ; now I 
 know that it was sin. Worst of all in me, for 
 Julia was young lierself, and had a girl's 
 generous infatuation for her younger, prettier, 
 and more brilliant cousin ; Henry Stafford was 
 much engaged and troubled with his business — 
 he had no other joy, and a man, too — but I 
 might have known better ; in me it was sin, 
 blind and selfish sin I ' 
 
 ' You have repented it long ago ; I cannot 
 
 VOL. 1. D
 
 34 THE PERFECT PATH. 
 
 allow you vain regrets,' said Mr. Odiarne, 
 gravely. 
 
 Miss Hooper's vigorous old head bent a 
 moment from its upright carriage, and she was 
 silent for a space. 
 
 ' It must have been a butterfly nature — she 
 could not have had much character ; we made 
 her selfish, and did not look for her faults ; but 
 she must have had little feeling, and certainly 
 no principle.' 
 
 ' I do not yet know her fault ; but in such 
 a life she would have been little tried, and have 
 learnt no self-government in the school of ex- 
 perience. You know that ideas of right and 
 wrong can hardly be called principles till they 
 have had many trials.' 
 
 ' I know that an old maid like me is not fit 
 to bring up a child ; and you, Philip Odiarne — 
 well, a man is of no use when a pretty girl, 
 child or woman, is in question ! But you were 
 not there, so you need not look ashamed. 
 Ah! she knew nothino^ of self-denial, self-
 
 A WANDERER. 35 
 
 restraint — and we did not teach her. God 
 forgive us ! 
 
 ' In those days there was a good deal of 
 society about Maybury, of a kind that has 
 passed away now ; it was pleasant for the 
 young people, and I used often to take Eosina 
 out, with and without her father. A Major 
 Ashby was often seen about Maybury in the 
 hunting season, sometimes at the inn, and 
 sometimes in lodgings, when he had his wife 
 and child with him, and on his long leave. 
 They were rackety, ultra-fashionable people, 
 not of our sort. The wife's behaviour was not 
 what was then thought becoming in a married 
 woman, though the husband was much quieter. 
 He was very handsome, and had good manners ; 
 he was more of a man of fashion than most of 
 Eosina's partners, but being at least forty, and 
 married, we saw no reason against her dancing 
 with him occasionally. She would say she 
 hked him better than the young men, of whom 
 she had plenty of choice ; but that seemed only 
 D 2
 
 36 THE PERFECT PATH. 
 
 a little coquettish air, and she made friends 
 with the child in the street, though I do not 
 think she knew the wife. Another winter this 
 Ashby spent his leave with the Maystons, of 
 Stone House, bachelor brothers of no good 
 reputation. He was alone, and it was known 
 that Mrs. Ashby had left her husband ; there 
 was a divorce, and the child was in the father's 
 charge. Of course, this was not much spoken 
 of before Eosina, but she knew quite well that 
 Mrs. Ashby was not dead. Ashby was not at 
 the dances that winter ; we met him in the 
 town sometimes, but he merely bowed ; and it 
 occurred to none of us that Eosina could have 
 any further acquaintance with a gentleman 
 staying at Stone House, and not known to her 
 father. 
 
 'One day some one said significantly to 
 Henry that Miss Stafford seemed to enjoy her 
 walks in the Birch Piece with Major Ashby. 
 You know that the garden of that house opens 
 on the Birch Piece, which was very little fre-
 
 A WANDERER. 37 
 
 quented before the new bridge was built ; and 
 Eosina used to come that way by herself to 
 see us, though she never walked alone through 
 the town or into the country. Henry was ter- 
 ribly vexed, and scolded everybody but Eosina. 
 Slie told him a lie, and partly satisfied him ; 
 but in a few days he went to the Birch Piece 
 himself, and met the two strolling together 
 as if it were quite a habit. Ashby was very 
 cool, and rather insolent. He said he was now 
 free, and wished to marry Eosina ; but we have 
 always thouglit that he had only been diverting 
 himself, and calculated on her father's com- 
 plete refusal. Henry could not bear to see 
 Eosina's tears, and she persuaded him to take 
 the matter seriously, and make some inquiries 
 about Ashby. It was a pity — if he had been 
 sent about his business at once, there would 
 have been a speedy end so far as he was 
 concerned, and Eosina would not have died 
 of a httle fretting — or so we thought, too 
 late.'
 
 38 THE PERFECT PATH. 
 
 ' Ah ! we have most of us pleDty of after- 
 wisdom,' said the hstening Vicar. 
 
 ' Ashby was bitterly angry with Henry for 
 asking about him, and vowed vengeance, which 
 to be sure he took. We heard nothing good 
 of him ; apart from the divorce, which was 
 obstacle enough for us, and the fact that he 
 had been courting the child before he was free, 
 he was a known gambler, and had exchanged 
 from his late regiment under doubtful circum- 
 stam^es ; he had many debts, no prospects, and 
 very little property ; and it was broadly hinted 
 that more care and attention might have saved 
 his wife from her ruin. It was out of the 
 question that he should be engaged to Eosina, 
 and she was told so with all care and tender- 
 ness, and even apologies, from us all. Julia 
 was sent for to be with her, and a foreign tour 
 was planned ; but at the end of a fortnight, 
 when I, an old fool, began to think she was 
 resigning herself, she ran away with that man, 
 and none of us ever saw her again.'
 
 A WAXDERER. 39 
 
 ' Poor girl, poor girl ! ' murmured the Vicar. 
 
 ' Eather say, her poor father ! ' exclaimed 
 Miss Hooper, briskly ; however far astray her 
 own sympathies might go, she desired to find 
 her pastor's in the right place. ' I will not 
 speak of myself, we grow used to our burdens ; 
 but Henry's grief w^as terrible ; most of all he 
 felt her deceit and the lies she had told. It 
 was her heartlessness that hurt Julia and me 
 the most. Even my father took it greatly to 
 heart ; we thought him past caring ; but his 
 last days, otherwise so peaceful, were all 
 clouded by the ^vrong-doing of our darling. 
 Julia was married in that same summer and 
 came to Wastel Warren. We thought very 
 highly of your uncle, and he was so devoted 
 to and suited to Julia, that we could not regret 
 his being a good deal older and having a son 
 already to inherit his property. She was very 
 happy, but we were all so cast down and be- 
 reaved that we could hardly take comfort in 
 Juha's joy.'
 
 40 THE PERFECT PATH. 
 
 *i And Mrs. Asliby?' 
 
 ' She wa^ married — if that can be called 
 marriage — to some horrid foreigner, and has 
 lived abroad. Oh ! you mean Eosina. She 
 never wrote ; she never asked forgiveness ; she 
 died and made no sign, three years after she 
 left us, when her second child was born ; it 
 died too. We think Major Ashby meant her 
 to be reconciled to her father, because of the 
 money ; but he hated Henry, and so put it off 
 too long, deluding her with false hopes : this 
 we gathered from his letters at the time of 
 Eosina's death. For her, the only thing that 
 showed she thought of us again is that she 
 named her girl Cordeha, after her own mother, 
 my sister. That is not much to go upon, for 
 we were all proud of the old family my mother 
 came of, and from which we got the name.' 
 
 ' In this sort of case you must pick up all 
 the crumbs. She probably repented sorely, 
 and, we may hope, fully.' 
 
 ' I sometimes think that if she had fallen
 
 A WAXDKRER. 41 
 
 into a well the clay before Henry heard of her 
 acquaintance with Ashby what a saint we 
 should have made of her, and what a gentle 
 tender regret we should have felt.' 
 
 ' Ah ! the saints are the tried ones, only we 
 do not always see it ! Is tliat all your story ? ' 
 
 'So far as such a story is ever all told. 
 Henry Stafford died a few years after Eosina. 
 He was a true brother to me, and more in my 
 life than Oliver — Julia's father. He lived in 
 hope of reconciliation \nth Eosina ; and when 
 her death deprived him of that, he made no 
 fight in his last illness, and died of what I 
 thought very insufficient bodily cause. He was 
 not rich, apart from his earnings, and he left 
 his property to his brother — except about two 
 hundred and fifty pounds a year to Mr. Horley, 
 his partner, for the benefit of Eosina's child. It 
 is more than strictly tied up, for it is that good 
 Horley's own ; he is only bound, as an honest 
 man, to use it for this girl's benefit ; yet Major 
 — he is now Colonel — Ashby contrives to give
 
 42 THE PERFECT PATH. 
 
 him a great deal of trouble about it. It was 
 a suspicion of Horley's that the girl did not 
 have all the good that she ought to have from 
 the sum he at present allows that decided me 
 to ask her here.' 
 
 Miss Hooper ended with a heavy sigh, as 
 much of foreboding as of the pain of retrospect. 
 
 ' She may be a comfort to you yet, dear 
 Aunt Susan. We will see that she is not too 
 much of a torment.' 
 
 ' Thank jt-qu. Juha says the same ; but I 
 must not pull down a load on my own shoulders 
 and then cry to all the world for help.'
 
 34 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 AN OPEXING. 
 
 She spoke, and, lo I her loveliness 
 Methought she damaged with her tong-ue. 
 
 Jean Ingeloio. 
 
 One day, not long after Cordelia's last walk 
 with George Kingdon, Colonel Ashby was dis- 
 covered to be in a very bad temper. This was 
 not so rare as to excite much surprise, and 
 he was the more vexed because his younger 
 daughter took no notice of his disturbed state. 
 She w^as feeling lonely, dissatisfied, and em- 
 barrassed with herself. Mentone was growing 
 very hot ; she had walked a long way in the 
 morning, and was tired — she who professed to 
 be imtireable ; and she had provoked a battle- 
 royal with the Misses Greenley, and got ruffled in 
 it — she w^ho professed to care nothing for their 
 opinions and denouncements. The elder and
 
 44 THE PERFECT PATH. 
 
 invalid Miss Greenley was tlie more aggressively 
 pious and overbearingly religious of the two 
 sisters. She had a formidable hook-nose, wore 
 a very fierce cap, and was always ready to do 
 battle with the open sinner or the Eomanist, 
 whom she regarded as being on a pretty equal 
 and very low level, as regarded their prospects 
 in the life to come ; she was in the habit of 
 explaining this with great vigour of expression 
 and freedom of outlook. Her sister, who was 
 her constant nurse, seconder, and souffre- 
 douleur, was milder, smaller, and tamer, both in 
 aspect and speech ; she looked as if she would 
 have had delicate health, had not Miss Greenley 
 begun first, and so acquired a prior claim to 
 care and consideration. She wore no cap, 
 though the space between the two sides of her 
 hair was a ' partiug ' indeed, fully two inches 
 wide. 
 
 The places of these ladies at the table of 
 the Hotel des Citrons were next to the 
 Ashbys ; opposite sat a Pole, who possessed all
 
 AN OPEXING. 45 
 
 the talents for conversation with ladies — pretty 
 ones — that so eminent]}^ distinguish his nation. 
 Unused to the freedom enjoyed by English girls, 
 he found Cordelia a dehghtful novelty. The 
 fun between them was often fast and furious ; 
 and Cordelia, on this occasion, stayed in the 
 dining-room to enjoy it after Mrs. Lichfield, 
 who never flirted noisily, nor across the table, 
 had finished her luncheon and gone upstairs. 
 Goaded and scandalised by this behaviour, Miss 
 Greenley expressed an opinion that Cordelia 
 was a reprobate, and required much praying 
 for. 
 
 ' I beg you will not think of it, Miss 
 Greenley. I suppose it is possible you might 
 succeed, and I am sure I do not want the 
 things that you would ask for,' was the flippant 
 answer. 
 
 ' Oh, my dear ! Augusta's prayers are a 
 treasure indeed,' remonstrated Miss Amelia. 
 
 ' I should not mind yours so much. Miss 
 Ameha, though I am afraid you would like to
 
 46 THE PERFECT PATH. 
 
 see me a very damj^, spooney kind of creature ; 
 but I must firmly decline Miss Greenley's.' 
 
 'You know not what you cast away,' 
 pleaded Miss Amelia. 
 
 ' Yes, I do. My family would be truly 
 grieved if they were answered. Have you 
 ever seriously sat down to consider how deep 
 they would be in the waters of affliction if I 
 were to turn goody-goody on their hands ! 
 Picture my aged parent's despair ! I might 
 even come to think it wrong to quarrel with 
 my daily omelette ! ' 
 
 Cordelia retired victorious, to the joy of the 
 Pole ; for Miss Greenley had just given the land- 
 lord, the secretary, and three of the waiters a 
 very poor time about the omelettes served at 
 luncheon. 
 
 In their little salon on the first floor sat 
 Colonel Ashby and Mrs. Lichfield, in peace 
 and amity, till Cordelia came. Colonel 
 Ashby was a very handsome man, tall and well 
 made, with a broad smooth forehead, and darK
 
 AX OPENING. 47 
 
 hair turning grey in a becoming manner : 
 thinner than formerly, but still showing as 
 much inclination to curl as was compatible 
 with patrician fineness and delicacy of growth. 
 His whiskers curled in the same discreet 
 manner, and under his small moustache was 
 seen a mouth that always smiled. He was 
 chiefly terrible when this fixed smile did not 
 accord with his feelings at the moment, and 
 had to be contradicted by the imperative bend 
 of his nose, the uplifting of his well-marked 
 eyebrows, and the flash of his dark eyes. 
 These eyes were handsome in themselves, but 
 their setting sloped too much downward at 
 the outer corners to be in keeping with the 
 Colonel's broad forehead and constant smile. 
 
 ^irs. Lichfield was smaller, fairer, and with 
 less accented features than might have been 
 expected from her father's daughter ; but she 
 resembled him in her smile, and in the pecuhar 
 setting of her eyes. Her pretty head was 
 covered with admirably arranged little curls;
 
 48 THE PERFECT PATH. 
 
 her gown was fresli and lately put on, and she 
 so far respected it that her little son of three 
 years old was made to play at a safe distance 
 from her. 
 
 Fergus was a little fair child, grave and 
 thin. He loved ' Cordie ' better than any one 
 in the world, and made for her directly she 
 came in. Therese, his French nurse, was 
 constantly kind and devoted to him, as French 
 nurses usually are ; but she teased him, and 
 screamed at him, and never let him amuse 
 himself in his own way. Only Cordie under- 
 stood him — she allowed him to play with her 
 as he liked best ; she provoked the slow sweet 
 laughs that did not come if he were hurried or 
 frightened ; and she, who was a proverb for 
 being careless of what she said or did, was 
 unfailing in her tact and patience with the one 
 creature tliat at this time she really loved. It 
 was necessary that the boy should play quietly 
 when Colonel Ashby was there, so Cordeha 
 kept a private treasure of home-made toys in
 
 AN OPEXIXG. 49 
 
 lier pocket for him ; and it was a little store of 
 champagne corks, begged from the waiters 
 for his benefit, that, being one day untimely- 
 brought to light, earned for her the name of 
 ' Corks,' by which she was known to a limited, 
 but not very select, circle of young men, of 
 whom the Hon. George Kingdon was the 
 chief. 
 
 Mrs. Lichfield was clever with her needle, 
 and industrious too ; with help from Therese, 
 and the devotion of her forenoons, she kept her 
 own wardrobe in a high state of efficiency, con- 
 sidering the small amount of help she had 
 from the leaders of the millinery profession — 
 for her husband had very narrow- n^inded views 
 about bills. She was busy now with some 
 minor arrangement of frills and ribbon that 
 absorbed her a good deal. Colonel Ashby was 
 also understood to have his occupations, though 
 what they were was not very plain He was 
 not at all an early riser, and the care of his 
 person occupied much time ; he was often 
 
 VOL. I. E
 
 50 THE PERFECT PATH. 
 
 heard to express great disgust at the uncivihsed 
 habits of persons who could dress in less than 
 two hours. The hotel luncheon was quite 
 unsuited to his tastes ; he had only just left his 
 room, and was taking his dejeuner and reading 
 his letters. 
 
 Only Cordeha had nothing to do; she 
 dawdled hstlessly into the room, thinking that 
 to be impertinent to Miss Greenley was but poor 
 sport, and yet there was no better to be had 
 till after dinner, when she was to act in a comic 
 charade with the Longford boys, the Pole, and 
 two American ladies who were staying at the 
 Hotel des Citrons. She wished her father 
 good-morning, without much attention to or 
 from him, cast a contemptuous glance at her 
 sister, that included her toilette, her work, and 
 her general character, in one concise depre- 
 ciation, and sat down on the floor to play with 
 her nephew. 
 
 ' Cannot you keep that child quiet, 
 Cordelia?'
 
 AN OPENING. 51 
 
 ' Cordelia, shut that window ! Oh dear, 
 will you never learn to manage the bolt ? ' 
 
 ' I will do it, papa,' said Mrs. Lichfield, 
 turning her head that way. 
 
 ' On no account, my dear ; do not rise.' 
 
 Colonel Ashby was always scrupulously 
 polite to his married daughter ; he was often 
 floridly complimentary to other ladies — only 
 to Cordeha was he ever rude or purposely dis- 
 agreeable. He closed the window sharply, 
 treading on and breaking some of Fergus's toys 
 as he went. 
 
 ' Xaughty Colonel ! ' whispered the child — 
 he was not allowed to say ' Grandpapa ; ' 
 Colonel Ashby did not hke it. Cordeha stifled 
 the remark and turned the boy's attention to 
 somethinc^ else : the shielding of Fero was the 
 only domestic duty that she recognised. 
 
 ' Cordeha, get up ! Do not sprawl on the 
 floor hke that ! ' 
 
 This personal remark aroused her to the 
 perception that her father was seriously out of 
 E 2 
 
 LlbKAKt 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF ILLINOli
 
 52 THE PERFECT PATH. 
 
 temper, he so seldom noticed anything she did 
 or said. The sense of danger woke her courage 
 to meet it. She got up from the floor and seated 
 herself in one of the hot and dusty velvet 
 chairs with which the Hotel des Citrons fur- 
 nished its second-best rooms, and waited for 
 the storm. 
 
 ' How ungracefully you sit, and how heated 
 and unladylike you look. You never look like 
 a gentlewoman ; I wish you were more like 
 Sophy.' 
 
 ' Do you ! It would be very expensive to 
 look like Sophy — pins, you know, and little 
 things from the hairdresser, and real new gowns, 
 for even her old ones do not make me look 
 very like her ; if it were not that my waist is 
 inches and inches smaller I could not wear 
 them at all,' said Cordelia, affecting to look 
 critically at her gown. It was of pale blue 
 stuff, and suited its present wearer very well, 
 only it was a little short and tight, and 
 missed the silver buttons, lace, and manifold
 
 AX OPEXIXG. bo 
 
 etceteras that had helped it to adorn the fair 
 Sophy. 
 
 ' CordeUa is getting really too uppish and 
 pert ; nothing I do for her satisfies her. I wish 
 you would consider that j^lan for her, papa,' said 
 Mrs. Lichfield, who never entered into a war of 
 words with her sister, and seldom found faidt 
 with her, but was stung now by the unkind 
 reference to her waist. 
 
 ' What plan ? Are we to go to Worthing ? ' 
 asked Cordelia, pleasantly excited. 
 
 'Worthing? Who is to know what may 
 happen before Goodwood? What nonsense 
 you talk ! Goodwood, indeed, and Croxton 
 Park hardly over ! ' The Colonel was pardon- 
 ably irritated, and drank his claret and pushed 
 his letters about before he spoke again. 
 
 ' A relative of your mother — a Miss Hooper, 
 in fact — \vrites to ask you to visit her.' 
 
 ' Aunt Susie ! Does she really ? To stay 
 with her ? Oh, how screamingly jolly of her ! ' 
 said Cordeha, springing to her feet.
 
 54 THE PERFECT PATH. 
 
 ' You think so, dq you ? I wish you may 
 hke it, on trial.' 
 
 ' I am sure to Hke Aunt Susie ; she loved 
 mamma, perhaps she will love me.' Cordelia 
 was quite off her balance ; she spoke excitedly, 
 and as her father seldom heard her. He 
 promptly checked her inclination to sentiment 
 by saying in his most supercilious manner, — 
 
 ' Doubtless she will love you. Old maids 
 usually require some outlet for their sympathies, 
 and I remember Miss Hooper as a person of 
 many superfluous emotions. One of them must 
 have dictated this letter, though it is not in itself 
 effusive. It will probably appear that her cat 
 is dead, or has escaped from her fond care, as 
 her pets have done before this.' 
 
 ' Will you show me her letter ? ' 
 
 ' Certainly. I cannot recommend it as a 
 model of style ; it is a little dry.' 
 
 ' Miss Hooper presents her comphments to 
 Colonel Ashby. She will esteem it a favour
 
 AN OPEXIXG. 55 
 
 if he will allow his daughter Cordelia, her 
 great-niece, to pay her a visit of some duration. 
 Miss Hooper will be happy to receive Miss 
 Ashby at any time during the coming summer.' 
 
 Ivy Cottage, Mayhury. 
 
 ' How deliciously kind of her ! I call this 
 truly sweet. Fancy a whole summer in the 
 real country in England ! I suppose I may 
 go?' 
 
 ' You must ask your sister ; you are under 
 her charge, though your relative has not the 
 common politeness to refer to her. One must 
 not expect much savoir-vivre at Maybury ; your 
 very existence is a proof of that.' 
 
 Mrs. Lichfield kindly spoke without further 
 asking. 
 
 ' If we had not Cordeha we could afford to 
 stay a little in Paris after Aix-les-Bains ; it 
 would be a great gain to be without her at 
 Trouville this year, it is bad enough to be 
 obliged to take Fero.'
 
 56 THE PERFECT PATH. 
 
 Hearing himself referred to in his mother's 
 dispassionate equal tones, Fero threw himself 
 across his aunt's knee and pensively kicked up 
 his legs. ' My darling ! If only I could take 
 you with me ! But I must go.' Then aloud, 
 ' Sophy's consent is of just the same consequence 
 as her care of me. We can live without each 
 other for a time. Anything must be better 
 than playing this eternal second-fiddle-out-of- 
 tune at every hot watering-place in France. I 
 should like best to go to board at the convent 
 at Brussels, but as I suppose I may not, I 
 should like to go to Aunt Susie.' 
 
 ' I do not know where you learnt to be 
 such an affectionate niece. It is very fine for 
 you to talk of visits here and visits there, but 
 you do not consider the expense to me. That 
 cad Horley, who makes such an intolerable fuss 
 about the shabby pittance he has to dole out, 
 stopped your going to the convent — far the 
 most reasonable place of tuition that could be 
 found for you, and it is not likely that he will
 
 A^' OPEXIXG. 57 
 
 advance anything for your expenses in England, 
 though it is well known to be the most ex- 
 pensive countiy in Europe.' 
 
 ' If there is only a shabby pittance, perhaps 
 he cannot,' said Cordelia, despondingly ; this 
 money difficulty in the way of her pleasures 
 she knew was never got over. 
 
 ' Did you suppose you were an heiress ? 
 Look here, a shabby hundred and fifty is all 
 that can be screwed out of Horley ; though 
 there is more, wdiich he says he is keeping till 
 you come of age — the fool, as if it would be of 
 any use to me then ! He cannot be made to 
 see that capital is frequently advanced for the 
 education of a minor.' 
 
 ' I thought Mr. Horley wished me to have 
 a governess.' 
 
 ' A governess ! Eeally, Cordelia, you are 
 too childish. Can you understand this — your 
 expenses at this hotel, merely for your living, are 
 not less than fourteen pounds a month ; that is 
 at the rate of a hundred and six'iy- eight pounds
 
 58 THE PERFECT PATH. 
 
 a year. If your income is only a hundred and 
 fifty, how do you suppose I am to provide 
 governesses — a hundred and seventy for hotel 
 expenses only, not to mention the daily, the 
 innumerable, calls on my purse for your other 
 requirements.' Colonel Ashby waved his hand 
 largely, as knowing how great these require- 
 ments were. If he had not named them he 
 might have quenched Cordelia, who felt weak 
 in the presence of his arithmetic ; but she clearly 
 knew that her appointments were spare, rarely 
 new, and only obtained at the cost of a fierce 
 wrangle, and also that to have occasionally ' a 
 half-day donkey ' was the only personal luxury 
 she ever attained to. He pushed his worm 
 too far, and she turned. 
 
 ' I do not know about the cost of living — I 
 do not choose anything for myself; but I do 
 know that I am kept very close and shabby, 
 and have nothing nice as other girls have. 
 If I go to Aunt Susan I shall not cost fourteen 
 pounds a month.'
 
 AX OPEXIXG. 59 
 
 ' That is why I mean you to go there. 
 Your mother's friends ought to take their share. 
 I do not know what Miss Hooper's income may 
 be, but in mere justice half of it shoukl be 
 mine ; she has no one dependent on her. You 
 are, even for your age, so singularly devoid of 
 tact that you are not Hkely to induce her to 
 leave you your — or rather my — rightful 
 share.' 
 
 ' I can ask her if you wish ; but I must go 
 there to do it, and I must have some decent 
 clothes to go in, and money to buy them.' 
 
 ' Xo more impertinence, if you please ; you 
 have entirely spoilt my enjoyment of my 
 breakfast, and seriously vexed me. I have 
 ex}3lained to you the state of my affairs as few 
 parents would condescend to do, and you 
 immediately propose to squander more money 
 in dress. Consult your sister about your 
 clothes, as you are pleased to call them, instead 
 of annoying me about trifles. If you have 
 any ladyhke instincts they will tell you that
 
 60 THE PERFECT PATH. 
 
 simplicity of attire best becomes a girl in the 
 schoolroom.' 
 
 ' That is just what I am not, and as I am 
 nearly eighteen the schoolroom must make 
 haste or it will not hold me, any more than 
 Sophy's gowns.' 
 
 Then Colonel Ashby swore at his younger 
 daughter, which she pretended she did not 
 mind, and he closed the discussion by going 
 out, leaving her to get over her excitement as 
 she could. 
 
 ' I wish you would not vex papa ; he will 
 be out of sorts all day,' said Mrs. Lichfield, in 
 a tone that Cordelia thought beneath the 
 gravity of the occasion. 
 
 ' Why should he not be vexed ? I wish I 
 could vex him, really, thoroughly — not a little 
 miff of a temper that he will get over by to- 
 morrow, but a good rousing up, so that he will 
 see that I am going to the dogs and do some- 
 thing to stop it.' 
 
 ' Don't be silly, you are to go to this old lady ;
 
 AX 0P£>'1XG. 61 
 
 why can't you be content ? I will see about your 
 clothes. There is that white cashmere ' 
 
 ' Sophy ! you are worse than papa — much 
 worse ; he is only selfish and wants to be let 
 alone and have no expense ; but you are a 
 thorough cat, always after some secret scheme 
 of your own. I know why you want to have 
 me done cheap and on the quiet this summer. 
 I know who is going to Trouville. Some day 
 you will wish you had let me go to scliool, or 
 have a croverness, instead of leaviniy me with 
 nothing to do but to study you and your little 
 ways. When Duncan proposed that you should 
 stay with us at Wortliing this winter, he meant 
 it for kindness to me, and I shall not forget it.' 
 
 ' Nonsense ! Duncan has nothing to do witli 
 it, and T do not suppose he ever thought of 
 you,' said ]Mrs. Lichfield, speaking lightly, but 
 quailing. 
 
 ' I shall write to Aunt Susan myself ; then 
 papa can say what he likes, and it won't mat- 
 ter,' pronounced Cordeha.
 
 62 THE PERFECT PATH. 
 
 CHAPTEE lY. 
 
 A DAMSEL ERRANT. 
 
 Night by night 
 He and his monstrous rout are heard to howl 
 Like stabled wolves, or tigers at their prey, 
 Doing abhorred rites to Hecate 
 In their obscured haunts of inmost bowers. 
 Yet have they many baits, and guileful spells, 
 To inveigle and invite th' unwary sense 
 Of them that pass unweeting by the way. 
 
 Milton. 
 
 Cordelia's letter was a work of time and 
 thought, during which there was a cessation 
 of hostilities, for, being less ready with her pen 
 than with her tongue, the trials of composition 
 subdued her for the moment. 
 
 ' Sophy, are there two n\s in " affectionate " ? ' 
 ' Yes — at least, I am not sure ; don't you 
 know that it is always written short ? ' 
 
 ' I am not sure how to write it short, so I 
 have put it all as far as the n. I think there
 
 A DA^klSEL ERKAXT. 63 
 
 must be two ; there are two in French, I 
 know. 
 
 Her letter finished, Cordeha sat by the 
 window gazing at the triangles of intense blue 
 sea tliat were visible between the roofs of the 
 neighbouring villas. Mrs. Lichfield thought 
 she was getting over her temper-storm quickly 
 as usual, and that she was herself showing 
 much tact by leaving her alone. But Cordelia 
 was like the lion of primitive natural history, 
 who has a claw at the end of his tail, and 
 when he wants to get into a rage he has only 
 to wag the tail vigorously, and the claw works 
 him up to the required pitch. Her claw, 
 which she was just now digging fiercely into 
 her sides, was the idea of her dead mother 
 of whom she thought so much and knew so 
 little, an idea always painfully excited by a 
 quarrel with her father. 
 
 She knew that her mother was beautiful, 
 because she was reproached for not being hke 
 her, and she knew that her hfe had not been
 
 64 THE PERFECT PATH. 
 
 happy, for who could be happy with Colonel 
 Ashby ; and then he spoke of her in terms of 
 indifference or contempt ; he plainly respected 
 more that first wife who had the courage to 
 show him how cheaply she held him, than, the 
 feebler and better woman who had weakly 
 allowed him to break her heart. Something of 
 the runaway match, and of the grieved and 
 insulted father, Cordelia had gleaned, she did 
 not know how. Of the moderate legacy left 
 to her at secondhand she heard more, for 
 Colonel Ashby never restrained his wrath on 
 account of any feelings his daughter might 
 have. Of Miss Hooper she knew but one 
 thing. Among the few things in her possession 
 that once belonged to her mother was a small 
 manual of prayers that had accompanied the 
 luckless Eosina in her flight ; there was written 
 in it, in a smaller and lighter edition of the 
 same hand that was seen in the letter in Cor- 
 delia's lap, ' Eosina Stafford, from her loving 
 aunt Susie.'
 
 A DAMSEL ERR.i^'T. 65 
 
 On these words, Eosina's daughter — so poor 
 where her mother had been so rich — built 
 castles enough, whole romances of love and 
 forgiveness, reams of imaginary correspondence, 
 and thrilling scenes of reconciliation. Now 
 her heart swelled high — surely her castles had 
 not been built entirely in the air, for they were 
 founded on the old incorruptible stone of Love. 
 ' Aunt k5usie ' was living and loving still, those 
 stiff words of invitation proved it abundantly. 
 Then those prayers were good. Aunt Susie must 
 have wished her mother to be good — perhaps 
 knew about it and would teach her ! 
 
 But this full heart was also a very sore one. 
 Colonel Ashby's taunts and scoldings were 
 added to the old grievance of her mother's 
 trials and supposed wrongs. Mrs. Lichfield's in- 
 difference and selfishness struck with fresh force 
 against Cordelia's vehement wishes and tumul- 
 tuous hopes ; while over all was the sharp, bitter 
 feeling that she was neglected and defrauded, 
 allowed, as she said, to go to the dogs. To this 
 
 VOL. I. F
 
 66 THE PERFECT PATH. 
 
 store of explosives George Kingdon unwittingly 
 set a match. 
 
 ' How do you do, Mrs. Lichfield. Where 
 is the Colonel ? Has he gone to Monte Carlo ? 
 This is an off-day with me, and I hoped to find 
 him at home.' 
 
 ' Ah, Mr. Kingdon ! You are doubly wel- 
 come, for we are dull this afternoon. My 
 father is going to dine with Count Morlaix, 
 and that is absolutely worse than Monte Carlo 
 — he will be ruined, and without the music' 
 
 ' Let us hope he will ruin the Count. What 
 are you doing this evening ? ' 
 
 ' The other Count and Major Spires are 
 coming to meet the Warlingtons and Mrs. 
 Marish here for tea, and a little loo, or a roll 
 of the ball. I w^ould have asked you, but I 
 thought you would certainly be at Count 
 Morlaix's. Come ; though you are too lucky 
 at roulette.' 
 
 ' Only at yours, I do not win many of the 
 Blanc dollars. Hullo, Corks ! What's up ?
 
 A DAMSEL ERRA2sT. bi 
 
 Hot face, red eyes, a dagger-and-bowl expres- 
 sion, an ink-smudge on your nose! You don't 
 mean to say that some one has been rash enough 
 to try to teach you to write ! It has been 
 hard times for that poor chap, I know.' 
 
 Cordeha's chin went up, but she did not 
 speak. 
 
 ' Do not tease her, Mr. Kingdon ; she has 
 been a httle distiurbed this afternoon. A rela- 
 tion of hers has asked her for a visit, and this 
 impetuous child wanted to be off at once, with- 
 out consideration of ways and means, while my 
 father saw that there was much to consider. 
 We do not care to part with her for an indefinite 
 time, and, besides, are not quite sure that these 
 relatives are desirable people for her to be very 
 intimate with ; I fancy my father chose the 
 flower of the family. You see we treat you as 
 a friend, Mr. Kingdon, and lay open our little 
 discussion to you.' 
 
 Cordelia rose up in her wrath and blazed 
 upon them. ' Have you done, Sophy ? Would 
 
 F 2
 
 68 THE PERFECT PATH. 
 
 you like to say any more to George, who knows 
 us all quite well enough to understand ? I will 
 tell him. George, the little discussion was a 
 furious quarrel. Papa is in a diabolical temper, 
 and so am I ; we have said the most atrocious 
 things to each other ; he was the worst, because 
 I was afraid to say all the things I thought of, 
 so I have said them to Sophy, who always keeps 
 her temper at the expense of other people's. 
 They both want to get rid of me — Papa for 
 cheapness, only it goes against him to please me 
 and my aunt too ; and Sophy wants me to go 
 at any price — well, for reasons of her own ; 
 and both of them grudge the money to fit me 
 out respectably — so there ! ' 
 
 ' Come, come, draw it mild ; you must take 
 it easier than this,' said George, feebly. He 
 was going to say ' old girl,' but felt that Cordelia 
 was at too high a strain for that choice epithet 
 to please her ; and ' Corks ' being open to the 
 same objection, his appeal fell rather flat for 
 want of a personal address.
 
 A DAMSEL ERR.iNT. 69 
 
 'Don't be silly, Cordie,' said Sophy, with 
 mild gravity. ' The money is a very secondary 
 consideration, though it is not always easy to 
 find it exactly when it is wanted, and Papa likes 
 to give it spontaneously rather than to be asked 
 for it. You must disguise yourself, and try to 
 win a fortune at Monte Carlo ; must she not, 
 Mr. Kingdon ? ' she finished playfully, as one 
 who would jest and turn to other matters. 
 
 ' Very well ; you have said it, and I will go,' 
 said Cordeha, in accents of passionate despair, 
 rushing out of the room. 
 
 ' Poor httle Cordie ! she is quite upset ; 
 please excuse her, Mr. Kingdon ; it is not often 
 she is so uncontrolled, though she is always a 
 little difficult to manage. Xow sit down, I 
 have not seen you for so long ; have you any 
 news, or the least little titbit of scandal even ? 
 You hear everything. 
 
 George sat down near the window, but he 
 found that he could not command the terrace, 
 and presently he forgot to look out, and gave
 
 70 THE PERFECT PATH. 
 
 himself up to the enjoyment of a quiet half-hour 
 with pretty Mrs. Lichfield, who knew so well 
 how to make it pass agreeably. At the end of 
 it he asked, ' Do you know where your sister 
 is?' 
 
 ' No ; she went away in a pet, poor child, 
 fancying we teased her. I dare say she is up- 
 stairs, playing with my httle Turk.' 
 
 ' I rather think she went out. Is it possible 
 that she has fulfilled her threat, and gone to 
 Monte Carlo ? ' 
 
 ' Oh, no ! surely not ! She could never be 
 so very naughty.' 
 
 ' She looked rather hot, you know ; and 
 when my friend Corks threatens a thing it is 
 not fear that keeps her off it.' 
 
 ' But this would be outrageous. Perhaps 
 she is at Eumpelmayer's ; she is so fond of sweet 
 things, tiresome girl.' 
 
 Mrs. Lichfield sent upstairs to ask for Miss 
 Ashby. She had gone out in haste, half an 
 hour before, reported Therese.
 
 A DAMSEL ERRAXT. 71 
 
 ' I am a little uneasy, 'Mis. Lichfield ; may 
 I go and look for her ? Had she any money ? ' 
 
 ' Xo. Stay — yes, twenty francs ; Papa gave 
 it to her yesterday for some boots, and I know 
 she has not spent it.' 
 
 'Well, I will ask at Eurapelmayer's, and 
 look about the gardens. If I do not see her I 
 will hop over yonder ; it can do no harm, and if 
 she has been so lively as to go I will take care 
 of her. Say nothing to the Colonel.' 
 
 Mr. Kingdon did not trouble himself to go 
 to the confectioner's, nor even to the prome- 
 nade, but went direct to the station. A word 
 with an official confirmed his belief that Cordelia 
 had carried out her threat, and he presently 
 followed her, grumbling to himself for the first 
 time at the miscellaneous company carried by 
 the afternoon train to Monte Carlo. 
 
 Of much less mixed character, tending to 
 pure badness, was the assortment of people who 
 arrived from Nice and overtook Mr. Kingdon 
 as, after a search in the gardens, hoping that
 
 7Z THE PERFECT PATE. 
 
 Cordelia might have lacked courage to go 
 farther, he entered the Casino. He knew that 
 most of them were worse than they looked, and 
 that even the most wilful orirl of Cordelia's kind 
 would be quite unable to appreciate them. He 
 went through the hall, the reading-room, the 
 theatre, all the loitering places, unsuccessfully, 
 but in the first gaming-room, in the thick of 
 that unholy fight, at one of the roulette tables, 
 was Cordelia Asljby, sitting between an old 
 Eussian gentleman and one of the croupiers. 
 Her eyes and her cheeks burned with the excite- 
 ment of the afternoon, and from the hot and 
 nauseous atmosphere of the crowded gas-lit 
 rooms. In spite of the eagerness with which 
 she was pursuing her end, she was playing with 
 the utmost gravity and propriety, with full 
 knowledge of what she was about, so that she 
 was attracting very little attention from the 
 players about the table, and it was past the hour 
 for moralising sightseers. George judged it 
 better to leave her alone for the present, for she
 
 A DAMSEL ERRAIs'T. id 
 
 did not look as if she ^vould be amenable to any 
 liint from liim. 
 
 The gambler's fever was too strong in this 
 young man to allow him to be a quiet watcher. 
 Standing a little beyond Cordelia on the same 
 side of the table, where he could give an occa- 
 sional look to her, he began to play on his own 
 account. At first he staked as she did, half 
 witli the gambler's superstition that such a 
 player must win, and half in curiosity, to see if 
 she won or lost. The crowd increasing, he 
 could not always see what she did, and he used 
 his own judgment in the intervals ; then an 
 unusual run of the numbers attracted his atten- 
 tion, for he knew not how long ; when he next 
 looked for her she was gone. 
 
 Cordelia's start in life was made with a 
 piece of twenty francs. As she dashed out of 
 the hotel, she calculated that this would give 
 her four chances at one of the ' silver tables ' ; 
 but the disadvantage of going through the world 
 in a passion was brought home to her at the
 
 74 THE PEEFECT PATH. 
 
 station, where she must break into her first five 
 francs for her fare. She was known at the 
 Casino, where she had often been with her 
 sister, and, being tall enough to be by courtesy 
 twenty-one, she passed into the gaming-rooms 
 with the fatal facility extended to all who are 
 likely to hesitate for want of it. The evening 
 trains had not yet come in, and there was no 
 great crowd about the tables when she went in, 
 and she soon slipped into a seat, as being at the 
 moment a refuge from the more conspicuous 
 position of standing behind the chairs. The 
 croupier saw that this girl with the three big 
 silver coins for her capital was probably a run- 
 away, and he kept his eye on her and made her 
 first transactions easy. Many games for half- 
 francs and coppers in the private rooms of 
 the hotel had made her quite familiar with the 
 board, and she had also been frequently in the 
 rooms and watched the players, though she had 
 not been allowed to play herself. Thus she 
 was not particularly nervous, and quietly made
 
 A DAMSEL ERRANT. 75 
 
 her stakes on some of the even chances, losing 
 her first venture, winning the second and third, 
 and losing again the fourth. Then she waited 
 for two turns and began again, winning on the 
 whole until she got some gold pieces ; with 
 these she played more boldly, and with varying 
 fortune, never quite coming up to the standard 
 of the two hundred francs which she had set 
 herself to win, and several times sinking within 
 her original capital. Once she lost it all, and 
 was on the point of getting up when the old 
 Eussian, her neighbour, who had also been 
 watching her, said carelessly in English, ' You 
 have not the small money. Take then — take,' 
 and pushed two five-franc pieces towards her. 
 With a great increase of heart-beating on find- 
 ing that she was observed, she took them 
 and staked them separately, losing the first and 
 winning with the second. She tm^ned hot and 
 cold with fright over the last, remembering 
 that if she lost she could not pay, and this was 
 not hke a party of penny roulette among
 
 76 THE PERFECT PATH. 
 
 friends ; but she won, paid her debt, took 
 breath, and went on again with fresh courage, 
 or rather fresh excitement. 
 
 It was just then that George Kingdon came 
 in and saw her. Time flies fast on darkest 
 vans over those tables ; the crowd grew thick 
 about them, and many honest people who were 
 only touching pitch with one finger, when they 
 saw Cordelia's glowing face watching the 
 hopping ball, said, ' That is quite a girl ; what a 
 shame to let her sit there with all that scum 
 about her ! Has she no friends ? Well, perhaps 
 she is as bad as the others,' — and so on. The 
 ' scum ' had their word with the rest. ' These 
 English, they would be so proper, and they 
 allow 2i jeune per Sonne to do thus.' There were 
 some also who said, ' By Jove ! this is coming 
 it rather strong. Where is the Sophy ? ' and 
 ' Old Greyleg Ashby is getting the filly in 
 training early.' Cordelia only knew that the 
 oppression of so many people standing round 
 her and leaning over her chair was becoming
 
 A DAMSEL ERRANT. 77 
 
 intolerable. She began to stake rather wildly, 
 and one lucky choice of numbers bringing her 
 gains up to the ten gold pieces that she wanted, 
 she shpped them into her glove, put down the 
 surplus at random, won again, and got up, her 
 head swimming. ' Ah, miss ! go not now when 
 your chance begins,' whispered the Eussian. 
 
 'No, I have enough; good- night,' she 
 returned, as she struggled out of the crowd, 
 leaving her neighbour to a profound amaze- 
 ment.
 
 THE PERFECT PATH. 
 
 CHAPTEE V. 
 
 BY MOONLIGHT. 
 
 where ehe 
 Shall I inform my unacquainted feet 
 In the blind mazes of this tangled wood ? 
 
 Milton. 
 
 When Cordelia came out of the Casino, the 
 gleaming uncertain lights, the number of people 
 passing up and down the steps, and the carriages 
 with shouting drivers giving cracks like pistol- 
 shots to their whips, bewildered her a little, and 
 the first breath of the fresh night air made her 
 giddy ; but she ran down through the moonlit 
 gardens to the station, where the full waiting- 
 room and the aspect of the throng thoroughly 
 frightened her, and for the first time ! What 
 horrible people ! How dreadful to be alone 
 among them ! They are all looking at her, and 
 — dreadful thought ! — what shall she do when
 
 BY MOONLiaHT. 79 
 
 the train comes ? A man spoke to her, another 
 laughed in her face and completed her dismay. 
 Looking helplessly round, she saw a French 
 couple, of not very distinguished people, who 
 were staying at the Hotel des Citrons ; she 
 hardly was acquainted with them, and had 
 chiefly noticed them to make a mock of their 
 oddities ; but now she tliought a famihar face 
 must needs be a friendly one, and going up to 
 Madame Gar von, she asked if she would be so 
 good as to allow her to go back to Mentone 
 with her. The Frenchwoman made an inde- 
 scribable movement of aversion and contempt, 
 and screeched loudly, ' Impossible, Made- 
 moiselle — impossible ! Si vous trouvez a I'hotel 
 
 que je ne suis bon que poui' rire, ici ' But 
 
 her scornful laugh and gesture were enough ; 
 Cordelia turned and fled out of the station, 
 along the road, up the hill, as fast as anger and 
 fear would carry her. 
 
 She was hardly out of sight, and the 
 laughter that piursued her had scarcely died
 
 80 THE PERFECT PATH. 
 
 away, when George Kingdon came into the 
 station and looked round for her. He too saw 
 Madame Garvon, and, in despair, asked her if 
 she had seen Miss Ashby. She flatly denied 
 it, though she was still shaking with the excite- 
 ment and triumph of her successful snub to 
 her English foe. ' It was, then, with Monsieur 
 that the demoiselle had come — not alone, as she 
 had been told ! ' Between vexation at himself 
 for having named Cordelia, and wrath at the 
 cold-blooded Frenchwoman and her malicious 
 looks, George swore aloud, which pleased her 
 much, for though she had often read of the 
 English ' big, big D,' it had never reached her 
 ears before. He was leaving the station to 
 seek once more at the Casino, when Madame's 
 little husband, a person of no consideration, 
 yet apparently not without human kindness, 
 touched his arm and whispered that Made- 
 moiselle, his sister, had set off on the Mentone 
 road, ' bien vite ! ' 
 
 Without staying to bless after his banning,
 
 BY MOONLIGHT. 81 
 
 and furiously angry with all the world, Mr. 
 Kingdon followed Cordelia on the way pointed 
 out to him, the carriage road to Mentone. The 
 coolness and comparative silence when he had 
 passed the first villas calmed him a httle. It 
 is not very easy, even for a strong person, such 
 as he was not, to keep up a good hot rage and 
 to walk fast uphill at the same time ; presently, 
 too, he saw Cordelia skimming along before 
 him, and the near success of his pursuit helped 
 to bring him to a passable state of mind. How 
 fast she had gone ! She could not have had 
 more than three minutes' start of him, and she 
 was already far up the winding road that leads 
 away from the Eden-hke valley, where the 
 coiled glittering snake lies at the bottom. The 
 moon lighted the whole semicircle of mountain 
 cliffs and garden slopes ; the trees cast deep 
 shadows here and there across the white road, 
 and Cordelia passed quickly through * ebon 
 and ivory.' At last she stood to gather breatii 
 under a great carob-tree, thinking she should 
 
 VOL. I. G
 
 82 THE PERFECT PATH. 
 
 be hidden in the blackness of the shadow ; but 
 her gown being of some very pale and shining 
 blue stuff, she only carried a streak of moon- 
 light into the shade of the dense old tree. She 
 took off her hat, and looked about her, chiefly 
 over the sea, as people naturally do when it is in 
 sight — seeking the infinite, perhaps. She did 
 not notice George, who, for his part, harmonised 
 well enough with the shadow. The moonlight 
 touched the oHves on Cap St. Martin, but left 
 the fir-trees black; the little waves washed 
 white against the rocks ; the bay was smooth, 
 and dark with a soft and living darkness, and 
 beyond it the open sea spread wide in a shining 
 plain. A few red sparks and a deeper dusk 
 showed where old Eoccabruna holds aloof on 
 her pinnacle from the sparkling new world at 
 her feet ; the woods crept up the hill-sides like 
 the waves of another sea ; Turbia, hke a dead 
 queen, lay on her lofty couch ; and, above all, 
 the mountains rose calm and high, their ten- 
 derest dusk just touched with softest hght.
 
 BY MOOXLIGHT. 83 
 
 Cordelia, cooling her glowing cheeks in the 
 soft wind, looked wistfully round on all this 
 beauty, not ignoring it so much as deferring 
 her joy in it. ' It is lovely,' she thought. 
 ' Some day, when I am very good, I shall care 
 more for it, I suppose, and want nothing more 
 to make me glad. Now I only long for some- 
 thing that is not here.' 
 
 ' Do you mean to walk home. Miss Ashby ? ' 
 ' Oh, George ! did you come after me ? ' 
 ' I think so, rather ! What are we to do ? 
 Will you turn back with me and see if we can 
 get a carriage ? ' 
 
 ' Xo ; notliing shall induce me to go down 
 there again — ever again. I must walk back ; 
 I am afi'aid it will be a long way for you. 
 Your voice sounds as if you were in a jolly 
 good rage with me ; and yet, I suppose, you 
 mean to see me home.' 
 
 ' It is three miles from here to the Hotel 
 des Citrons. Walking will be the best now, as 
 we have come so far, if you are up to it.' 
 
 G 2
 
 84 THE PERFECT PATH. 
 
 ' I am quite up to it — and about the 
 
 rage ? 
 
 ' It is a good sizeable one, I assure you, 
 my young friend ; but it is not all for you, and 
 I am not going to scold you now. Come, we 
 must step out.' 
 
 They walked together in silence at a good 
 steady tramp. When they met any one or were 
 overtaken by carriages returning from Monte 
 Carlo, and, above all, when they came to the 
 dark places of which dark stories are told, 
 where the olives close over the road with 
 fantastic, uncertain shadows that seem to move 
 though there is no wind to stir the trees, then 
 she is glad of her companion and walks nearer 
 to him. For his part he does not mind the 
 shadows, but cares a good deal about the car- 
 riages. Cordeha has such a noticeable figure, 
 and this moonlight is so clear ! He does not 
 as a rule care much for the opinion of people 
 in general, and this unwonted exception is tell- 
 ing the more upon him.
 
 BY MOOXLIGHT. 85 
 
 ' How much have you Avon ? ' he asks 
 sharply. 
 
 ' I do not quite know. I have it here ; I 
 can count. Two hundred and eighty-five 
 francs.' 
 
 ' Will that be enough for your gowns ? ' 
 
 ' Yes, I think so ' — in a very small voice. 
 
 ' I hope they will wear well. I know 
 women think all the world of their clothes ; 
 but I did not think you would have run such 
 a rig as this for a Httle finery. What will you 
 do when you are thirty, and dress begins to 
 matter to your looks, if you go such lengths 
 for it now when you do not want it ? ' 
 
 'It was not that, George. You do not 
 understand. It was because I was mad with 
 Papa and wanted to spite Sophy — they ought 
 to have given me the money ! ' 
 
 ' Oh ! I am glad you have such praise- 
 worthy reasons. I hope you are satisfied now. 
 You have put your foot in it deeper than you 
 seem to appreciate.'
 
 86 THE PERFECT PATH. 
 
 ' I was dreadfully frightened.' 
 
 ' I am very glad to hear it.' 
 
 As they came into the western bay of 
 Mentone, the silence of the hotels and pensions 
 all so decorously shut up and with hardly a 
 light to be seen was rather appalling ; it gave 
 such a dead-of-night feeling, though it was not 
 yet eleven o'clock. 
 
 ' Will the " Citrons " be open, or shall we 
 have to rouse the house and call the landlord 
 out of bed ? ' asked George, gloomily. 
 
 ' The Colonel is out to-night ; he is always 
 very late at Count Morlaix's. Max will be up ; 
 but I am afraid the door will be locked. Some 
 of Sophy's people may be still in our salon' 
 
 ' Then I shall have a word with her. Will 
 she be in a great worry about you ? ' 
 
 'She will be disappointed that I am not 
 gone altogether. Papa would not miss me for 
 at least a week, and when he noticed I was 
 gone he would say it was just like my want of 
 savoir-vivre'
 
 BY MOONLIGHT. 87 
 
 ' Poor old Corks ! ' 
 
 ' Don't, George ! ' 
 
 Max let them in discreetly. Max was the 
 head-waiter of the Hotel des Citrons, an unfor- 
 tunate with such a white face, set off by such 
 very black eyes and hair, that he suggested a 
 snow man finished off with soot. Fortunately 
 he had so wide an experience of the queer 
 ways of ' les etrangers ' that nothing could well 
 surprise him. 
 
 On the first landing, George said, ' You had 
 better go upstairs at once. I will tell your 
 sister you have come in. Good-night, and 
 don't do it again.' 
 
 Cordelia began to thank him, but suddenly 
 burst into tears, and ran off towards her lofty 
 abode without another word. In Mrs. Lich- 
 field's salon George found three ladies, seven 
 gentlemen, and a good many bottles. He de- 
 clined a seat at the table where one of the 
 party was holding a roulette-table for the rest, 
 and going to the refreshment tray filled for
 
 88 THE PERFECT PATH. 
 
 himself a sparkling bowl, while Mrs. Lichfield 
 came airily up to him. 
 
 ' Well, did you find that naughty child ? 
 I am afraid you have had a great deal of 
 trouble.' 
 
 He felt that love had indeed grown cold as 
 he answered in a low voice and a tone of 
 infinite contempt — 
 
 ' I found your young sister sitting in the 
 gambling-hell down yonder by herself, playing 
 at one of the tables, among a lot of the delect- 
 able people that are to be seen there of an 
 evening — you know the sort, Mrs. Lichfield, 
 though she does not. It will be all over Men- 
 tone to-morrow before breakfast. There are 
 not many who know as I do that it is no fault 
 of her own that she runs wild and uncared for, 
 and has the chance of such doings as this. I 
 warn you that I will not hear her blamed 
 without saying what I know to excuse her. 
 No, I can't say what you are to do about it ' — 
 in answer to an eloquent little gesture. ' Now
 
 BY MOONLIGHT. 89 
 
 you had better send the poor child some su])per ; 
 she has eaten nothing since luncheon.' 
 
 Mr. Kingdon went away, leaving Mrs. Lich- 
 field disturbed enough at last ; but Cordelia 
 got no supper, and sobbed herself to sleep 
 alone.
 
 90 THE PERFECT PATH. 
 
 CHAPTEE VI. 
 
 SURVEYING THE GROUND. 
 
 . . . Glancing all at once as keenly at her, 
 As careful robins eye the delver's toil. 
 
 Tennyson. 
 
 'Dearest Aunt Susie, — Thanks tremendously 
 for asking me to stay with you, and I am coming 
 in spite of everything. I do not know when, 
 for it is a long way, and it is not certain if we 
 go to Aix-les-Bains. They won't let me travel 
 by myself for the look of the thing ; but I am 
 coming. I suppose the Colonel will write to 
 you ; and I am out of my wits with joy. 
 Eeceive my respectful compliments. 
 
 ' Your most affectionnate niece, 
 
 'Cordelia Ashby.' 
 
 ' Colonel Ashby presents his compliments 
 to Miss Hooper ; he is happy to accede to her
 
 SURVEYING THE GROUND. 91 
 
 request that his younger daughter should visit 
 her. Miss Ashby will arrive at May bury so 
 soon as a fitting escort can be arranged for her.' 
 
 ' Humph ! ' said Miss Hooper, comparing 
 these notes. ' They should be shaken in a bag 
 to make one good, honest letter between them. 
 Plenty of compliments ! Where has that child 
 learnt to say " Aunt Susie," I wonder. She 
 must come up in the omnibus, fitting escort and 
 all, if they give me no more notice than this.' 
 
 Accordingly, one afternoon, at the end of 
 May, the omnibus deposited at the gate of Ivy 
 Cottage a tall young woman in a tumbled 
 gown and the before- mentioned rush hat. She 
 carried a large fan, but had no other travelhng 
 baggage. She bestowed a rapturous hug on 
 Miss Hooper, who was not accustomed to be 
 kissed, and did not like the practice. 
 
 ' My dear, you are very welcome. If we 
 had known you were coming, a servant should 
 have met you with a carriage.'
 
 92 THE PERFECT PATH. 
 
 When Miss Hooper said 'we' she meant 
 herself and her maids, of whom she had five : 
 a thin and aged waiting- worn an, — no one ever 
 called French a lady's-maid — a stout and aged 
 cook, and . a housemaid not much more than 
 middle-aged. These three were the nominal 
 strength of the establishment, but Cook was too 
 old for much work, so her niece waited on her 
 and did anything that required exertion ; while 
 Mrs. French, whose sight was impaired, had a 
 young cousin to perform the same good offices 
 for her. 
 
 ' Dearest dear Aunt Susie, how perfectly 
 lovely it is to come here ! ' 
 
 ' Are you alone, my dear ? And your 
 luggage?' 
 
 ' My portmanteau got itself lost at the 
 junction. I told all the railway people to send 
 it on, or it would be curious for them. Yes, I 
 am alone ; the Colonel does not do escort 
 duty. Sophy is too yellow to be seen after her 
 passage ; and as to Thcrese, she thinks she is
 
 SUEYEYIXG THE GROUND. 93 
 
 dead, and has not turned up in so good a place 
 as she had reason to expect. She is a Men- 
 tonese, you know, and the Charing Cross Hotel 
 is not exactly her notion of Paradise. I think 
 this is mine. How dear of you to let me 
 come ! ' Cordelia took in the chief beauties of 
 Ivy Cottage in one admiring glance, and gave 
 a long sniff at the sweet soft English air. 
 
 ' I am glad to see you, my dear ; I hope 
 we shall make you happy. When did you 
 cross ? ' 
 
 ' Yesterday, in time for the Epsom week. 
 Papa was full of dark engagements for to-day, 
 so I hopped off early — sans adieu.' 
 
 ' Did not your father see you off? ' 
 
 ' Oh, no. He will say it showed more tact 
 than he thought me capable of to spare him 
 the fuss of leave-taking.' 
 
 ' We had better have some tea. Then you 
 can write to announce your safe arrival.' 
 
 ' It will be of no use to write. They are 
 going into lodgings, and I do not know where,'
 
 94 THE PERFECT PATH. 
 
 said Cordelia, placidly, as they passed into the 
 house. 
 
 Next day there was discussion on the sub- 
 ject of Cordelia at Wastel Warren. Mayne 
 Wastel, the master of the house, said to his 
 step-mother, the head of the family, ' Aunt 
 Susan has caught a Tartar.' 
 
 ' Oh, has she come ! ' said Mrs. Wastel. 
 
 ' Have you seen her ? ' asked Lettice, sole 
 daughter of that house, and the second Mis. 
 Wastel's only child. 
 
 ' I looked in at Ivy Cottage this morning on 
 my way from the Board, and found Aunt Susan 
 quite off her balance, not sure if she should 
 laugh, or cry, or be very angry. I advised the 
 first, as soonest mended, and set her a good 
 example when I heard that this young hussy 
 had actually run away from her parent to come 
 here, and arrived with only the clothes she stood 
 up in — queer ones they are. It seems that 
 running away is a vice that goes in the family. 
 She turned up unexpectedly yesterday, and the
 
 SURVEYING THE GROUND. 95 
 
 old maids are all in a twitter about the want 
 of notice, and there is a complication, it seems, 
 about the spare-room carpet. Aunt Susan is 
 furious with the father, who appears scarcely 
 to be a joy to his friends, and has neglected 
 this poor girl till her great wish has been to 
 get away from him.' 
 
 ' I can quite believe that. But any kind of 
 running away is a serious matter. I do not 
 wonder that Aunt Susan is alarmed,' said Mrs. 
 Wastel. 
 
 ' Then she has never stayed in a private 
 house before, certainly not in one like Aunt 
 Susan's. Fancy her making little casual remarks 
 when Aunt Susan read the Bible to the maids, 
 and saying she thought the wise virgins a selfish 
 lot — much as if she had never heard of them 
 before. Then, instead of coming down to 
 breakfast this morning, she sent for coffee 
 upstairs.' 
 
 ' What bad manners ! I am afraid she is 
 not at all nice,' said Lettice.
 
 96 THE PERFECT PATH. 
 
 ' I do not say that. In spite of the con- 
 sternation produced by a call for coflee in that 
 tea-drinking household, and the " putting out " 
 of the old maids, I saw that this young woman 
 had walked straight into Aunt Susan's heart. 
 Lettice will be nowhere. She is like the hen 
 with the ducklings — proud, but puzzled. I was 
 laughing at her when this Cordelia came in.' 
 
 ' What is she like ? ' asked Lettice with 
 curiosity, and her mother with fear. 
 
 ' A very fine young woman, tall and well 
 set up, with a handsome face and a child's 
 expression, good eyes and chin — I do not know 
 about her nose — curly dark hair all in a fiizz.' 
 
 ' What will Aunt Susan say to a fuzz ? ' 
 said Lettice, who had a brown and shining 
 tete (foiseau. 
 
 'Perhaps it may be mitigated, but only 
 shaving her head will work quite a cure. The 
 funny thing is that she is like Aunt Susan 
 herself.' 
 
 ' She does not seem to be like her mother,'
 
 SURYEYIXG THE GROUND. 97 
 
 said Mrs. Wastel, with the yearning sigh that 
 always came with her mention of Eosina. Her 
 stepson noticed the sigh, and wondered at the 
 store of affection that had been lavished on this 
 unsatisfactory Eosina. 
 
 ' She is hke Aunt Susan ; she has the same 
 bright eyes and understanding look, and holds 
 her head up in the same way.' 
 
 ' Is she fafet and slangy ? ' asked Lettice, 
 anxiously. 
 
 ' Well, perhaps — not exactly. You will say 
 so ; but I should not call her slangy myself, 
 though she talks all the slangs I ever heard of. 
 Aunt Susan does not understand half she sayj ; 
 but she has a nice way, a little friendly mannei , 
 like a nice child.' 
 
 ' We must have her here — don't you think 
 so, mother? — and try to do her good,' saivl 
 Lettice. 
 
 ' Yes, it will help Aunt Susan, perhaps ; I 
 do not think Mayne will object, as he seems to 
 be following the aunt's lead. I am bound to 
 
 VOL. I. H
 
 98 THE PERFECT PATH. 
 
 do something for this girl — she is my cousin, 
 and my dearest friend's child.' 
 
 Mrs. Wast el made an early call on Miss 
 Hooper, in her full district equipment of grey 
 shawl, bundle and tin pail. Aunt Susan was in 
 her garden, making her slow progress among her 
 flower beds ; she was flourishing her stick about 
 and poking at any small weed that had got its 
 unauthorised head above ground during the 
 night, for she leant on a strong and wilhng arm ; 
 she was admiring the flowers, and Cordelia was 
 admiring her. As even the back view of a pair 
 of lovers, though walking on opposite sides of 
 the path, will subtly but certainly proclaim their 
 lovership, so did the aspect of Aunt Susan and 
 her great-niece, even from the garden gate, 
 advise Krs. Wastel that they were knit together 
 already in a close bond of affection. 
 
 ' Here is the milkwoman,' said Cordelia. 
 
 After a little mutual * taking stock ' as the 
 three gossiped together, Mrs. Wastel, to gain 
 a little conversation, and to see if the new-
 
 SURVEYING THE GROUXD. 99 
 
 comer had any airs, asked Cordelia to carry 
 the tin pail as far as the almshouses. She was 
 perfectly ready both to carry the pail and to 
 conduct the conversation. 
 
 ' I never heard of you till I came here ; I 
 did not know mamma had any cousins. I only 
 knew of Aunt Susan.' 
 
 ' Yet I loved your mother very much, and 
 was her closest friend. I knew your father a 
 little too; perhaps he does not hke to speak 
 much of your mother.' 
 
 'Very likely not, if he were nasty to her.' 
 
 ' I did not mean that ; I thought he might 
 still feel the sorrow of her early death.' 
 
 ' Not he ! Sometimes he slants me for being 
 like her, or not like her, as it may happen. 
 Fancy the Colonel with a secret grief ! ' 
 
 ' Was he willing for you to come here ? ' 
 
 ' We had a tremendous shindy about it ; but 
 I think he did not mind getting rid of me for a 
 time, and, as I was death on it, it had to be.' 
 
 ' My dear ! '
 
 100 THE PERFECT PATH. 
 
 ' There, I have said something again ! I am 
 awfully sorry, for Aunt Susan does not like it ; 
 and she is such a scrumptious old dear, I do not 
 seem to care about riling her^' said Cordelia, 
 looking full of compunction. 
 
 ' The slang of the rising generation is always 
 a trial to the one in possession ; and you must 
 remember that, as Aunt Susan is two generations 
 older than you are, it is doubly distressing to 
 her. I wonder what were the forbidden expres- 
 sions of her day ; there must have been plenty, 
 for they seem to be a natural outcome of youth. 
 The difference is that young people used to be 
 obhged to restrain themselves, and now they 
 have greater liberty of speech. We cannot 
 imagine slang under the " nips and bobs " of 
 poor Lady Jane's time, can we ? ' 
 
 ' I do not know. I have always talked as I 
 liked, except at school, in French.' 
 
 ' I suppose you have left school now for 
 good, as school-girls say ? ' 
 
 ' I do not mean to go again, unless it is to
 
 SURVEYIXG THE GROUND. 101 
 
 Brussels. I have been to so many schools, day 
 schools chiefly, in France and England — cheap 
 ones. I have learnt exactly nothing, except at 
 the convent in Brussels — the soeurs there were 
 first-rate, and one of them was Good.' Cordeha 
 could always pronounce a capital. 
 
 ' More than one, I hope. That was the place 
 from which you were removed because Mr. Hor- 
 ley objected to a Eomanist education for you ? ' 
 
 ' Yes. How droll that you should know 
 about me, when I knew nothing of you — don't 
 I wish I had ! That old boy did not know that 
 the convent suited me down to the ground, and 
 that I never learnt any religion at all.' 
 
 ' I hope you learnt some of the right sort ? ' 
 
 ' Do you care about it, really ? How odd ! 
 So does Aunt Susie. Xo, I learnt none. I am 
 as ignorant as a hobgoblin, and as bad as I know 
 how to be ; and not on purpose, I am afraid it 
 is nature. My work will be cut out when I 
 set about being good, and it is time I began. 
 Is your daughter good — the real sort ? '
 
 102 THE PERFECT PATH. 
 
 ' Indeed, I trust so. Yes, Lettice is a very 
 good girl.' 
 
 ' Perhaps she can teach me ; so few people 
 seem to know. Aunt Susie is good, but I could 
 not learn of her. I saw some one yesterday 
 who looked as if he knew, and was like Soeur 
 Lucie. It was the parson, the tall one ; he was 
 talking to a man in the lane, and I was sitting 
 in the tree that leans over from Aunt Susan's 
 garden.' 
 
 ' The vicar, Mr. Odiarne. He is one of the 
 best men I know.' 
 
 ' I was sure of it ! They do not have just 
 that look unless they are of the best sort.' 
 
 ' The oddest girl I ever saw ; and I like 
 her,' was Mrs. Wastel's report to her daughter 
 and stepson ; and she said very Httle more. 
 
 Lettice Wastel was more direct when she 
 interviewed her cousin ; she had fewer feelings 
 on the subject, clearer views, and a more dis- 
 tinct object ; youth has also fewer scruples, less 
 experience of a daunting kind, and so fewer
 
 SCRYEYIXG THE GROUND. 103 
 
 fears. Lettice meant to civilise, cultivate, and 
 convert. ' How shall you employ yourself 
 here ? ' she asked of Cordelia, a little later. 
 
 ' The strawberries will not last for ever, I 
 suppose,' said Cordeha, inspecting her red 
 thumbs ; ' but there are good things coming on 
 — currants and raspberries, plums and pears, 
 beside the peaches. The worst of plums and 
 peaches is that you can gather faster than you 
 can eat them ; now strawberries take longer 
 to gather than to eat, so you can always be 
 going on.' 
 
 ' You gi'eedy thing ! Aunt Susan's garden 
 brings every one to that ; Mayne calls every 
 day in fig time. But are you not going to do 
 something serious ? — there is so much time here, 
 and you are to make a good long visit, Aunt 
 Susan says. I am so glad, for we shall have 
 time to be really friends.' 
 
 * I am not very chummy with girls ; they 
 are always after something, and cannot let you 
 rub along in peace. They do not often want
 
 104 THE PERFECT PATH. 
 
 to be friends with me ; but if you do, I'll be on. 
 I dare say we shall scratch on somehow.' 
 
 Lettice, having come down from the Warren 
 carrying the precious boon of her friendship in 
 her hand to offer to this forlorn one, was hardly 
 gratified ; but she was perfectly patient, used to 
 small discouragements, and trained to hide her 
 passing feelings of annoyance. ' We will try. 
 I am rather jealous of you to begin with ; I 
 used to be Aunt Susan's first favourite, and you 
 have cut me out in a fortnight.' 
 
 ' She thinks some pumpkins of you. She is 
 very good to me ; but I do not know — I do not 
 quite suit her, I am afraid ; she is always looking 
 at me through her spectacles as if I were the 
 queerest lot. Am 1 so awfully rum, do you 
 think ? ' 
 
 Lettice laughed heartily, ' Yes, rather. You 
 have not been brought up like our Southshire 
 girls, and Aunt Susan does not see more than 
 one kind.' 
 
 ' My kind is not quite right for her ; perhaps
 
 SURVEYING THE GROUND. 105 
 
 because I have been kept down, not brought 
 up,' said Cordelia, deplorably. 
 
 ' We might read something together,' sug- 
 gested Lettice, seizing her opportunity. 
 
 ' I do not like reading ; there are so few 
 nice books. I en n not get on with stories, for 
 thinking what fools the people all are, and what 
 a fuss they make about nothing. I suppose no 
 one reads the other sort of books, except the 
 fogies who really like wdiat is stupid.' 
 
 ' Oh, yes. Books that are not stories are 
 the nicest, and you would like them best. It 
 would be interesting for us to read the same 
 books and talk about them.' 
 
 ' What kind of books ? ' 
 
 ' I have been reading Grote's " History of 
 Greece," and MahafTy's books with it, and 
 Worsley's "Iliad and Odyssey." We have 
 " Gervinus " in the hbrary-box ; if you hke we 
 might read some Shakespeare.' 
 
 'We read Shakespeare at one of my 
 schools. I do not think Mrs. Wastel would hke
 
 106 THE PERFECT PATH. 
 
 you to read his book ; he uses so many bad 
 words — downright swearing.' 
 
 ' Perhaps you hke something more modern, 
 " Mrs. Somerville's Life," or " The Voyage of 
 the Challenger " ? ' 
 
 ' See here, Lettice ; this won't do at all, I 
 shall never rise to this, I know. You will have 
 to drop me.' 
 
 ' I cannot drop you, even if I wished, 
 because you are my cousin. There are plenty of 
 nice things we can do together besides reading.' 
 
 ' Why should I do anything ? it is very nice to 
 loaf round here, and talk to anyone that comes.' 
 
 ' But do you not wish to be useful to people, 
 to make your life of value to others ? ' 
 
 ' Not in the least. Do you ? ' 
 
 ' I try,' said Lettice, modestly. ' Of course 
 I know the world will go round without me, 
 but I try to be of all the use in it I can.' 
 
 ' That must make you a great nuisance to 
 people, or it would if you were old and — not 
 nice. What do you do ? '
 
 SUKVEYI>'G THE GROUND. 107 
 
 ' I manage the Uplands Sunday School, and 
 go very often to the day school ; I help the 
 mistress and the pupil-teacher with their work. 
 Then I have the penny bank and clothing club 
 for the Uplands district ; and I read with the 
 younger servants, and go to the night-school 
 sometimes, if Mayne goes. We have to help 
 with things in Maybury, and as some of the 
 property is in other parishes, there is always 
 something on hand that we are expected to do. 
 I have only been a year and a half without a 
 governess, and my mother makes it my duty to 
 read French and German — though I care for 
 neither — and music is a duty, too, you know, 
 in my position.' 
 
 ' Good gracious I Do you do all this 
 because it is right, and part of being good ; or 
 because you hke it ? ' 
 
 ' It is not very easy to say, though of course 
 I ask myself the reasons and motives of my 
 work sometimes. It is part of my hfe ; I have 
 grown into it, and . could hardly do otherwise. 
 Some things I like very much, and others not at
 
 108 THE PERFECT PATH. 
 
 all ; I hope I go through with the disagreeable 
 part because it is right.' 
 
 ' I suppose it is very horrid to be good at 
 all?' 
 
 'Oh no ! There is no other peace and 
 satisfaction. Indeed, indeed, you must believe 
 us when we say that. It is so hard to make 
 people believe it, people who never think of 
 doubting anything else we say. You may be 
 sure of it, Cordie ! ' said Lettice, eagerly, think- 
 ing she saw an opening, and rising at once to 
 the difficulties of her task. 
 
 ' But if it is not horrid, and you only do it to 
 feel jolly and set up with yourself, I do not see 
 any goodness in it. You only do what you like, 
 the same as the others,' Cordelia replied, with 
 an air of deep disappointment. Before Lettice 
 could marshal her arguments to meet her, she 
 changed front, began to whistle the last air she 
 had heard over the garden wall, and could not 
 be brought to listen to any more morahsing.
 
 109 
 
 CHAPTEE VII. 
 
 VARIED OUTLOOKS. 
 
 Health is the first good lent to men : 
 A gentle disposition then : 
 Next, to be rich by no by-ways ; 
 Lastly, with friends t' enjoy our days. 
 
 R. Hei-rick. 
 
 Cordelia was quickly at home with her new 
 friends, so far as outward things went. She 
 pervaded the garden at Ivy Cottage, and 
 gossiped with the gardener and the maids. 
 She took long solitary walks at all hours, which 
 made Aunt Susan rather uneasy, until she 
 recognised that something of the kind was 
 necessary to work off her great-niece's spare 
 energy. She sat a good deal in a tree that 
 hung over the garden wall towards the road, 
 and studied human nature from that novel 
 outlook; but her chief playground, as well 
 as school, was at the Warren, where Mrs. Wastel
 
 110 THE PERFECT PATH. 
 
 allowed her to come and go as she pleased, 
 making her as one of the family. 
 
 The long shining smnmer days favoured 
 this kind of life, and the girl learnt much. 
 Those around her hardly guessed how much 
 she had to learn, or how strange the even 
 tenor of this English country life was, to one 
 who knew nothing but watering-places, health 
 resorts, and the people whose pleasure was 
 their business. For reasons. Colonel Ashby 
 never took this daughter with him on autumn 
 visits to the sporting country houses where he 
 was still received; and for reasons, different 
 ones, Mrs. Lichfield never accepted for her 
 sister sundry invitations to the very decorous 
 and strait-laced houses of her husband's kindred ; 
 thus Cordelia regarded society from the hotel 
 and lodging-house point of view, and had no 
 key to the ways of such people as the Wastels. 
 Aunt Susie was like an old lady in a book — 
 only nicer, she thought ; but for the Warren 
 she had no standard.
 
 VAEIED OUTLOOKS. Ill 
 
 The Wastels appeared to be rich — they had 
 a large house in a small park, a butler, and 
 many maids ; two or three carriages, and horses 
 to match, a liberal housekeeping, and no 
 grumbling on money matters — and yet simple 
 dress, that Mrs. Lichfield would have thought 
 unwearable, old-fashioned furniture, plain food, 
 no kind of display or extravagance, and a 
 perfect indifference to comparison with their 
 neighbours, or the opinion of outsiders ; these 
 things seemed contradictory. Then they were 
 all so busy — they rose early, and worked hard 
 at what they had in hand. Mrs. Wastel was 
 often quite tired with her round of poor people 
 and general benevolence, housekeeping, and 
 letter-writing. Lettice chose her own occupa- 
 tions ; yet she practised diligently, read German, 
 and was busy with the works of which she had 
 told Cordelia ; she never dreamt of novels, 
 tennis, riding, or visiting, till the afternoon, and 
 then only in due subservience to things more 
 important.
 
 112 THE PERFECT PATH. 
 
 Mr. Wastel was still more perplexing. 
 Many people wlio think it wrong for women 
 and elderly persons to live for their own 
 pleasure and amusement, make exception in 
 the case of young men, grant them a liberty 
 denied to their daughters, and, provided they 
 have money enough to live on without their 
 personal earnings, think it consistent with the 
 right order of things that they should exist, 
 not always beautifully, for their own delight. 
 This slackness is a social mistake, for it takes 
 much good breeding, as well as much money, 
 to idle gracefully, while it is not at all difficult 
 to work like a gentleman ; a point which 
 young men with more gold than gentle blood 
 would do well to consider. Mr. Wastel's 
 case was different, for he came of a family 
 that had lived in honour as squires on the 
 same property for five or six generations, 
 and had usually followed some profession in 
 their youth. For all Cordeha could see, there 
 was no reason why he should not spend his
 
 VARIED OUTLOOKS. 113 
 
 time as her father and his friends did ; she 
 knew they would think him a muff for not 
 doing so, and she was a Httle inchned to be of 
 their opinion at first. 
 
 But it was not for nothing that this girl 
 came of the nearly extinct Hoopers, and of 
 common ancestors with Aunt Susan. Her 
 native wit supplied her lack of experience, and 
 people even more young and foolish than herself 
 could not have taken Mayne Wastel's pleasant 
 brown face for that of a muff or any other 
 description of fool, though his expression was 
 more thoughtful tlian quick, and his neat, well- 
 developed figure showed more energy than his 
 face. He kept his body in good training, in 
 working order as well as in subjection ; but his 
 powers of mind being deep rather than agile, 
 and at his age of seven-and-twenty not yet 
 having come to their full power, he gave to 
 the casual observer some impression of stern- 
 ness. This impression was aided by his cir- 
 cumstances. At an age when many men are 
 
 VOL. I. I
 
 114 THE PERFECT PATH. 
 
 enjoying the pride of their youth, with all 
 responsibility of life still on the shoulders of 
 their elders, Mayne Wastel had relinquished 
 one profession and devoted himself to another — 
 one requiring many small sacrifices, and afford- 
 ing few opportunities for great ones, with no 
 place for display or distinction, he had alto- 
 gether come into his kingdom, and begun to 
 live as he meant to die. Had he told his own 
 history, which he was most unlikely to do, 
 unless in time to come he should need to ex- 
 plain himself to the woman he loved — had he 
 told his story, he would have said that there 
 was only one event in it, certainly only one 
 crisis, that had cost him doubt, pain, and 
 sharp self-sacrifice, and that was clearly marked 
 in his memory as the time when he held 
 his life in his hand to turn it this way or 
 that. 
 
 From the boy's birth Major Wastel in- 
 tended his only son to go into the army, and 
 brought him up accordingly. His own spear
 
 VARIED OUTLOOKS. 115 
 
 had been beaten into a pruning-hook in middle 
 life, after a fair share of adventure and a 
 moderate one of active service ; his life having 
 thus been interesting in its opening and satisfy- 
 ing in its close, he looked for the same for his 
 son. Mayne's own tastes and powers led him 
 to choose tlie scientific service ; he passed out 
 of Woolwich with honours, found the Engineers 
 much to his liking, and spent in his corps several 
 hardworking, hopeful, and very happy years. 
 In an evil day for his son's career. Major 
 Wastel fell ill of a lingering illness, which 
 gradually sharpened his temper to an almost 
 insupportable degree, and to a great extent 
 weakened his judgment. He fancied that his 
 property was going to rack and ruin when he 
 could do nothing himself for its management ; 
 he grew suspicious of every one about him, 
 and only placed confidence in his son, who 
 was at a distance. 
 
 Mayne came home on leave when he could 
 do so, and found things at Wastel Warren in 
 I 2
 
 116 THE PEEFECT PATH. 
 
 a wretched state, to which his experience gave 
 no paralleh His father was so ill that he must 
 not be contradicted, and so well that nothing 
 done in the house or on the estate escaped him ; 
 Mrs. Wastel was hollow- cheeked and worn, 
 strained in body and mind almost to the break- 
 ing point ; Lettice had been sent to school, and 
 was dismally unhappy there ; the bailiff had 
 given warning ; the agent was very nearly doing 
 the same; and the doctor was only kept about 
 his patient because he knew, what no one else 
 but Mrs. Wastel would beheve, that all this ill 
 temper was only a ' symptom.' 
 
 For remedy, nothing would serve Major 
 Wastel but that Mayne should give up the 
 army and come home ' to look after things.' 
 
 ' You must come after my death ; come a 
 httle earher ; it will be my best comfort, and 
 it will keep things together — if they go on like 
 this much longer there will be nothing left for 
 any of you.' 
 
 Mayne had by this time learnt that his
 
 VARIED OUTLOOKS. 117 
 
 father's death could not be long delayed, and 
 had looked forward accordingly to duties and 
 necessities that must come. He had no thousfht 
 of giving up his beloved profession so soon as 
 he could live without it ; the Warren estate 
 was not so large as to make it imperative for the 
 owner to live on it ; and though Mayne loved 
 his home and the paternal acres as an English- 
 man should, he had not the same exclusive 
 devotion to them that his father had grown 
 into, and did not see ' that keeping things to- 
 gether ' was his sole purpose in life. But it is 
 hard to resist a dying man, and that man an 
 honoured father, with w^hom his son had never 
 had a wrangle, much less a quarrel, in his 
 life. 
 
 Mrs. Wastel fought a good battle for her 
 stepson, and lost it. 
 
 ' I have done all I can, Mayne,' she said, 
 vrith. tears — ' I have done all I can for you. If 
 you refuse, I will never blame you ; but ask 
 Philip Odiarne, he is the only man who can
 
 118 THE PERFECT PATH. 
 
 judge between you and your father ; ask him, 
 and abide by what he says.' 
 
 Mayne did consult his cousin, who had then 
 but newly come to Maybury as Vicar, though 
 in visits to his uncle's house he had learnt to 
 know him and Mayne and their affairs. Mr. 
 Odiarne, when he had heard all that was in 
 Mayne's mind, appealed to Major Wast el, who 
 gave in at the time, but with such evident 
 misery that Mayne was overcome by his own 
 victory and gave in on his side. Mr. Odiarne 
 could not say to him ' do this or that ' ; but 
 when, desiring only to do right, Mayne decided 
 on his self-sacrifice, he gave him such consola- 
 tion, encouragement, and sympathy, as made 
 them friends for life, instead of, as hitherto, 
 merely friendly cousins — and thus he gained 
 something to set against his heavy loss. 
 
 After a few trying months Major Wastel 
 died, and his son found that when the portions 
 of his sister and his stepmother were taken 
 from the estate he would be too poor a man to
 
 VARIED OUTLOOKS. 119 
 
 be justified in being an idle one. This de- 
 ficiency was not from any failui'e of manacre- 
 ment or realisation of his father's fears, but 
 from an unexpected depreciation of certain 
 investments on which Major Wastel had relied 
 to supply the charges on his estate. It was a 
 hard case for Mayne that he should have given 
 up his profession just when he most wanted it ; 
 but he never appeared soiTy for himself He 
 applied for such appointments as his short 
 service gave him chances for; but appointments 
 are the slowest things in the world to come 
 when they are wanted, and he turned his mind 
 to some plans of his friends for semi-scientific 
 travel, which were congenial and interestingf, if 
 not likely to be immediately profitable. 
 
 Mrs. Wastel proposed to live at Chelten- 
 ham, and leave the Warren to its heir; but one 
 day when she was consulting him about a 
 house there, he said : ' Why do you want to 
 five at that hateful place ? ' 
 
 ' It win suit us, I think, and not be more
 
 120 THE PERFECT PATH. 
 
 hateful than another,' said Mrs. Wastel, sur- 
 prised. 
 
 ' What do you advise me to do with the 
 Warren ? ' 
 
 ' If you travel for any length of time you 
 had better let the house. We will make yom^ 
 home in England for as long and as often as 
 you like ; that will be our holiday-time to look 
 forward to.' 
 
 ' A pretty look-out ! You and Lettice at 
 Villa No. 5,000, hating your lives ; and I at 
 every grubby hotel and cut-throat public-house 
 between here and 'Frisco ; with some fat grocer 
 from Maybury getting fatter at the Warren 
 while we break our three hearts for it ! ' 
 
 ' Dear Mayne ! I know ; but we must make 
 the best of it.' 
 
 ' Don't see the necessity. Look here, dear 
 lady ' — and Mayne turned his back, and looked 
 very shy — ' you are all the mother I have got, 
 and I don't want a better ; and I am all the son 
 you have got, and you can't get a better ; and
 
 VAEIED OUTLOOKS. 121 
 
 Lettice belongs to us both. Why can't you 
 stay here and be comfortable ? If you will, 
 I will.' 
 
 ' If it were right for you, my son ? ' 
 said Mrs. Wastel, scrupulous but vanquished. 
 Widowhood was sore enough to her, and 
 she was young enough for a great shrinking 
 from that villa life, with its narrow scope, its 
 heavy society-tax, and, above all, its manufac- 
 tured artificial duties, which every one seemed 
 to think so very suitable for her, even waxing 
 eloquent about the perfect lady's house, with 
 its bright and cheerful drawing-room that she 
 could fit up in the newest fashion after her own 
 taste. Mrs. Wastel glanced round the large, 
 rather shabby drawing-room at the Warren, 
 vrith its miscellaneous pictures, furniture that 
 was a fortuitous concourse of goods, and 
 colouring that was an harmonious accident, and 
 she loathed that bright cheerful room in pro- 
 spect. She longed, too, that the flower-time of 
 Lettice's life should be spent in her father's
 
 122 THE PERFECT PATH. 
 
 house and among his people, in the simple, 
 healthful, dutiful mode of life that had grown 
 up about his home, and in the wholesome com- 
 panionship of such a man as her brother. For 
 herself it was sweet now, in her sorrow, to feel 
 a warm return for the strong love she bore her 
 stepson. 
 
 ' It will be right if you and I agree ; but we 
 can ask Odiarne,' said Mayne, with manifest 
 pleasure. ' I cannot Hve here without your 
 help, but with it we shall do well. I shall take 
 the two Upland farms into my own hands, and 
 turn into a constitutional Briton.' 
 
 ' And what of the Eocky Mountains ? You 
 are giving up the plan that most interested you.' 
 
 ' The Eocky Mountains will keep ; nothing 
 better. I do not seem to care about travelling 
 if there is no Warren to come home to ; it 
 would lose its zest — hke swimming, after your 
 clothes have been stolen.' 
 
 ' You will wish to marry some day, perhaps 
 very soon.'
 
 VARIED OUTLOOKS. 123 
 
 * Girls ought not to marry till tliey are 
 twenty-one ; you never know what they may 
 turn out till they are at least as old as that. I 
 must be ten years older than my wife, or I 
 shall not have her in hand ; that gives you and 
 me just seven years to rub on together — we 
 shall have time to marry Lettice, and look out 
 for a good villa.' Mayne looked brighter than 
 he had done since he gave up his commission. 
 
 This was four years before Cordelia Ashby 
 came on to the scene. Mayne was now eight- 
 and-twenty, and Lettice nineteen. Lettice had 
 had two offers of marriage, but Mayne had not 
 made even one. The home, as re-constituted 
 had prospered well, and, whatever might be the 
 end, they had four happy peaceful years to the 
 good. 
 
 One hot June day Cordelia spent some 
 hours at the Warren, following Mrs. Wastel or 
 Lettice about the house and garden, taking a 
 nap during the latter 's after-luncheon hour 
 of steady reading, but making Lettice give her
 
 124 THE PERFECT PATH. 
 
 a short sketch both of her subject at large and 
 that day's portion of it, dechning to help in 
 some useful needlework, but condescending to 
 lie in a hammock and watch its progress when 
 Lettice sat down under the beech-trees that 
 made the Warren summer parlour. It was 
 Mayne's hammock ; Lettice never used it, 
 saying that bed once in twenty-four hours was 
 enough for her. Cordelia made no defence, 
 but asked for another cushion, and, with lazy 
 body and active mind, lay looking up to the 
 diaper of golden-green leaves upon the sky, 
 and seeking for the secret of life at the Warren. 
 Before she could hit on the clue, the clang 
 of the distant gate into the avenue was faintly 
 heard through the afternoon stillness, then 
 horse-hoofs, and the sharper clip of the gate 
 near the house. ' It is Judith Carling,' said 
 Lettice ; ' she must have come to talk to my 
 mother. She is always bringing her some 
 sentimental difficulty or some religious straw 
 to split. Mamma encourages her, when if she
 
 VARIED OUTLOOKS. 125 
 
 gave her a good slap and told her to mind 
 her sick mother it would do her some good. 
 Mamma enjoys nothing so much as a religious 
 difficulty.' 
 
 ' I thought rehgious people did not have 
 difficulties, but went on all serene, you know.' 
 
 ' I cannot see why they should,' said Lettice, 
 reasoning from experience, ' but many of them 
 have. It is because it is not necessary to be 
 sensible to be religious I suppose. Judith's 
 conscience is a constant plague ; it worries her, 
 or she worries it, till she is miserable, and then 
 she rides six miles in a roasting afternoon to 
 talk to my mother, who is sweetly sympathising. 
 That comforts her till the next time she can 
 have the horses, when she goes to some one 
 equally good six miles off on the other side, 
 who tells her something exactly different. If 
 she would try to make the poor people at 
 Longhurst send their children to school, her 
 difficulties would be of another sort.' 
 
 From the drawing-room window came to
 
 126 THE PERFECT PATH. 
 
 them a plump young woman in a riding-habit ; 
 she was about seven-and- twenty, with flat, 
 colourless hair, a pale complexion, fine grey 
 eyes, and rather a sad expression. 
 
 ' Ah, Judith ! have you been conferring 
 with my mother? Come here and cheer up 
 a little. This is my cousin, Cordelia Ashby.' 
 
 Miss Carling bowed absently towards the 
 wrong end of the hammock, where Cordelia 
 had placed her rush hat over her toes. ' Some 
 one is claiming Mrs. Wastel's attention; a 
 broken leg, I believe,' she said, in an injured 
 tone. 
 
 ' It is Jacky's hospital ticket ; I must send 
 word about it. Get up, Cordie, and talk to 
 Judith,' said Lettice, very briskly. 
 
 Cordelia obeyed, startling Judith by sending 
 her hat flying from the point of her left foot. 
 
 ' Are you trying to be good ? ' she asked 
 politely ; and as Miss Carhng did not seem quite 
 prepared with an answer, continued, ' Most of 
 the people here are good, it seems ; I have
 
 VARIED OUTLOOKS. 127 
 
 come to the right place. Mrs. Wast el teaches 
 you, does she not ? ' 
 
 ' I think she has a great deal of sympathy ; 
 she understands one's secret longings after a 
 purer and loftier atmosphere. I often take 
 counsel with her,' said Judith, loftily. 
 
 ' She is very good, I know, and so is Lettice 
 and her brother ; but they have not that — that 
 power, you know — the tremendous force and 
 go towards goodness that makes a few people 
 such dabs at it.' 
 
 A smaller soul than Judith Carling's might 
 have suspected a gibe, but she hardly noticed 
 the incongruity of matter and expression. 
 
 ' There are different natures ; some are 
 content with a humble level of mere action, 
 like Lettice, and some aspire and yearn — I do 
 that — towards heights of ineffable calm where 
 all this miserable commonplace does not 
 intrude.' She pointed with her riding- whip 
 over the delicate blue distance divided by May- 
 bury spire, and over the nearer slope of green
 
 128 THE PERFECT PATH. 
 
 tree-tops that fell softly down the hill-side from 
 the Warren. 
 
 Cordelia was interested. ' I know the best 
 people feel that calm within them, and they 
 seem to be on a far-away height ; but how is 
 one to get there ? ' 
 
 ' One must aspire, keep above all these 
 petty miseries,' said the lady, making room for 
 the tea-table ; and in a lower voice, as Lettice 
 returned, she added, ' We must keep ourselves 
 away, free ; abstract ourselves in an ecstasy of 
 devotion, seek to breathe the divine incense — 
 not this gross common air,' and she glanced 
 up at the blue June heaven. 
 
 Mrs. Wastel followed Lettice, bringing a 
 basket of strawberries — she was always carry- 
 ing something good, said Cordelia ; and the 
 four ladies found their different philosophies 
 meet very comfortably in a common taste.
 
 129 
 
 CHAPTEE YIII. 
 
 SCEXES AND PROVERBS. 
 
 To be there as a friend .... 
 
 Seem'd then, seems still, excuse for pride ; 
 For something that abode endued 
 
 With temple-like repose, an air 
 Of life's kind purposes pursued 
 
 With order'd freedom sweet and fair. 
 
 Coventry Patmore. 
 
 When Miss Carling had gone, Mayne Wastel 
 joined the other three, not without suspicion of 
 having watched her departure. 
 
 ' Well, Cordelia, you look oppressed. What 
 did Judith say ? ' 
 
 ' She says she yearns,' answered Cordelia, 
 thoughtfully. 
 
 ' For any one in particular ? ' 
 
 ' I wish she did, then she could be killed or 
 cured,' said Lettice. 
 
 ' Xot if it is for me. I am not equal to 
 
 VOL. I. K
 
 130 THE PERFECT PATH. 
 
 either course.' said Mayne. ' She used to be 
 rather jolly when we were little boys together, 
 bat now I flee from before her ; she has addled 
 her brain with trying to be clever, not guessing 
 what a rare comfort a stupid girl is in these 
 days.' 
 
 ' I do not like you to laugh at her ; she is 
 really in earnest,' said Mrs. Wastel. 
 ' She is a perfect owl ! ' said Lettice. 
 ' She makes earnest ridiculous,' said Mayne. 
 ' I used to feel very much as she does once.' 
 ' Mother ! what a libel on yourself.' 
 ' What cured you, my lady ? ' said Mayne. 
 ' Tell us, for we might try it on this interesting 
 patient ; but I cannot think you were so sad a 
 case. What is sovereign for undigested meta- 
 physics ? ' 
 
 ' What cured you, mother ? ' repeated 
 Lettice. 
 
 ' My dears,, I think it was your father. All 
 that exaggerated feeling and sentimentalism 
 was more common, and also more respected, in
 
 SCE^^ES AXD PROVERBS. 131 
 
 my day than in this ; your follies and exaggera- 
 tions run in the opposite extreme, if I may hint 
 that you have any. When your father's clear 
 good sense was brought to bear on my mind, 
 folly and effervescence calmed down. It was 
 a great thing for a girl to be under such an 
 influence, and I gave myself up entirely to it. I 
 do not always know now which of my thoughts 
 and opinions are my own, and which come of 
 yoiu- father's teaching.' ]\irs. Wastel spoke 
 with a smile and a sigh, and there was a tender 
 little blush on her faded cheek as she moved 
 away from the younger ones. 
 
 ' My mother eould never have been such a 
 goose as Judith ; but she always thinks herself 
 guilty of other people's faihngs,' said Lettice, 
 still fierce. 
 
 ' " There, but for the grace of God, stands 
 John Bunyan." That is her sentiment in presence 
 of the wicked — not that Judith is to be named 
 with such. What do you think, Cordelia ? ' 
 asked Mayne, catching sight of her face.
 
 132 THE PERFECT PATH. 
 
 ' That if I were Miss Carling I sliould not 
 want to be cured, as you call it. Is there any- 
 thing wrong in wishing to be different — very 
 good — as she does? ' 
 
 ' She only wants to talk about herself,' said 
 Lettice. 
 
 ' Nay, she means well ; but I wish she 
 would use ordinary methods and not talk 
 '• promiscuous." It would be a fine thing for 
 her to fall in love.' 
 
 ' To cure her of trying to be good ? ' said 
 Cordelia. 
 
 ' Not exactly ; but it would have a startling 
 effect upon her. Were you ever in love, Miss 
 Ashby ? ' 
 
 'Never. Were you?' asked Cordelia, calmly. 
 Lettice was aghast at her boldness, and thought 
 Mayne foolish, especially when he answered, 
 
 ' I have thought myself so sometimes, but I 
 have seen reason to think myself mistaken very 
 soon indeed ; it had not been tlie real thing, I 
 am afraid.'
 
 SCENES AND PROVERBS. 133 
 
 ' I have seen people make boiled owls of 
 themselves over Sophy, and I have known girls 
 go idiotic over a man, a heap of them at once ; 
 but I never saw the real thing.' 
 
 ' Xot when your sister married ? ' asked 
 Lettice. 
 
 ' Xot she ! Duncan must have been rather 
 gone, for he asked her twice to marry him, and 
 actually spoke to the Colonel. Sophy was mad 
 at that, for she could have kept him floating 
 a long time. When the Colonel heard of 
 it he sat up four hours with her telling her of 
 Duncan's advantages, and made her see it at 
 last.' 
 
 ' You should not repeat those things ! ' ex- 
 claimed Lettice, in deep disgust. 
 
 'I should hardly call that the real thing. 
 When I see a good typical pair of lovers, I will 
 point them out to you, and we will enlarge our 
 minds at their expense. Only when your time 
 comes, Mistress Cordeha, I wish you a more 
 merciful chronicler than you are to your sister,
 
 134 THE PERFECT PATH. 
 
 and I shall take care that you do not tell my 
 story. Come and have some tennis ; it is cooler 
 now.' 
 
 Lettice and her brother were great tennis- 
 players. Lettice's firm little figure was as well 
 poised and as active as a bird's, and she played 
 with great neatness and precision pleasant to 
 behold. Mayne was also a gratifying spectacle, 
 and played well. The ground about the Warren 
 was so undulating that it was difficult to find a 
 good space for more than one court. The lawn 
 they used was rather small. As they went 
 to it, Lettice said, 'I think a ground could 
 be contrived here, below the fence, without 
 much digging.' 
 
 ' Hardly room. Let us step it. Stand here, 
 Cordeha. Eleven, twelve — now mark the 
 corner, Lettice ! ' 
 
 ' If this little hollow were filled up, there 
 would be room,' said Lettice, looking critically 
 along the short fine grass. 
 
 ' It must be cut further back into the slope,'
 
 SCENES AND PKOVERBS. 135 
 
 said Mayne. 'No, ma'am, it will take too 
 much navvy work.' 
 
 ' Will it ? Perhaps in the autumn ? * 
 
 • Too big a job, till autumn twelve months, 
 at least. It is a pity, for it would be sheltered 
 from the wind. Well, " Quand on n'a pas ce 
 qu'on aime, il faut aimer ce qu'on a ! ' " said 
 Mayne. 
 
 ' I thought that was one of the devil's pro- 
 verbs,' said Cordelia, naming the old gentle- 
 man without useless periphrasis, 'encouraging 
 us to be content with lower things, just as 
 " Chassez le naturel, il revient au galop " 
 teaches us to leave our faults alone. Soeur 
 Lucie said so when we were choosing proverbs 
 to play.' 
 
 ' Philip Odiarne says people quote " One 
 may as well be hung for a sheep as a lamb " 
 in excuse for one more sin,' remarked Let- 
 tice. 
 
 ' I must save my character somehow,' said 
 Mayne. ' I suppose even Solomon's " He that
 
 136 THE PERFECT PATH. 
 
 is surety for a stranger shall smart for it " is to 
 be taken as worldly wisdom, and not as an excuse 
 for selfishness.' 
 
 ' Mayne speaks feelingly,' said Lettice ; 'he 
 recommended a stray German to lodgings in 
 Maybury, and then had to pay his bill ; and he 
 will do it again for the next forlorn one. Now, 
 Cordie, serve your ball and don't moralise." 
 
 ' I shall never play,' said Cordelia. ' It is 
 not my style.' 
 
 ' Never say die ! Why not ? Do you 
 mean to give way to idleness and Aunt Susan's 
 cakes ? ' 
 
 ' It is not idleness, but it is not my style to 
 hop about and look sharp, with my wits at the 
 end of my bat. It suits Lettice ; it is her style 
 to do quick brisk things.' 
 
 ' And what is your style, if one may ask ? ' 
 
 'To be majestic and quiet, to sit still and 
 have people round me ; quite the ponderous 
 swell, you know.' 
 
 ' A stately queen — I can see you now, in
 
 SCENES AXD PROVERBS. 137 
 
 purple and gold and peacock's feathers. Very 
 good when you are forty, but in the mean time 
 I advise tennis, for if you get too fat you will 
 spoil the effect,' replied Mayne, laughing. He 
 could well picture Cordelia as a stately beauty, 
 although, in spite of the lavish expenditure of 
 two hundred and eighty ill-gotten francs on her 
 wardrobe, there was still a good deal of the 
 ragamuffin in her appearance. She took the 
 racquet he handed her, and, with the ready 
 docility that made half her popularity, took a 
 rather successful lesson. 
 
 ' Now, you do like it ? ' said Mayne, as she 
 paused, looking very bright and flushed with 
 success, though not with victory. 
 
 ' Yes, I like playing with you, and feeling 
 that 1 can do it a little ; but I should not care 
 to play much — it is not like walking or riding, 
 that give one time to think.' 
 
 ' Is that it ? ' said Mayne, looking at her 
 quizzically, but with understanding. 
 
 He left them after a game with Lettice, and
 
 138 THE PERFECT PATH. 
 
 Cordelia said to the latter, ' Why did you not 
 stick to it? You would have got your new 
 tennis-ground with a little coaxing or bullying, 
 whichever may be the right way with your 
 brother.' 
 
 ' Yery likely ; but Mayne is doing several 
 expensive things just now — some draining that 
 will improve the North Upland Farm ; and 
 there is a very pet scheme for some better 
 cottages.' 
 
 ' But he would like it himself, better than 
 dirty drains and cottages.' 
 
 ' I could not use my influence to persuade 
 him to do what is not right, or to neglect 
 important duties for our own pleasure,' said 
 Lettice, loftily. 
 
 ' Do you think your influence is as tall as 
 that ? ' said Cordeha, not the least impressed. 
 
 Lettice laughed, nothing offended. 'JSTo; 
 it is a long way short. Cart-ropes would not 
 make him do anything really wrong ; but he is 
 so kind that I meant he might wish to please
 
 SCENES AXD PROVERBS. 139 
 
 me at the expense of things important to his 
 interest.' 
 
 ' Is he good ? ' 
 
 ' Of course he is ; no one better.' 
 
 ' Bat he laughs at your Sunday school and 
 at Miss Carhng, and he said strong things about 
 that revival meeting.' 
 
 ' Do you mean, is he religious ? Yes. We 
 women talk and preach, but few of us are as 
 good as Mayne. He never has the things he 
 likes best, but he never grumbles ; and he does 
 not laugh at good work, only at me for making 
 too much fuss. Mayne has the right thing, deep 
 down. He says nothing, but one is sure of 
 him.' 
 
 ' You all seem to be good here, even the 
 young men.' 
 
 ' And why not the young men ? One good 
 man is worth tliree good women. I am not 
 sui'e that they are more rare, but they don't 
 pretend.' 
 
 ' They do not always take to it hke ducks
 
 140 THE PERFECT PATH. 
 
 to a pond. Nor do I, worse luck ! I do not 
 see my way at all yet,' Cordelia ended, with a 
 sigh. 
 
 ' Oh, Cordie, if only I could help you ! I 
 know Aunt Susan's ways are not always just 
 suited to girls ; and as for the clergy — men do 
 not always understand, and I dare say you are 
 shy of them. I shall be so very glad if I can 
 help you.' 
 
 ' Thank you, but you can't at all ; I do 
 think you are as good a girl as I know, but it 
 
 must be a ' Cordelia was beginning to 
 
 drop some of her flowers of speech as she learnt 
 which of them distressed her new friends, but 
 this time her only resource was to say, ' a very 
 dab hand at it.' 
 
 The girls parted, and Cordelia, full of 
 thought, went down the Maybury road towards 
 Ivy Cottage. It was a warm, cloudy evening ; 
 she took her hat off her tangled head and 
 swung it over her shoulder on her red parasol, 
 and never noticed that as she walked along the
 
 SCENES AXD PROVERBS. 141 
 
 frequented road man}' people turned to gaze 
 at her — a party of young men returning 
 from a cricket match, two or three more on 
 bicycles, the Yicar going to dine at the Warren, 
 Mr. Horley for his evening ride, a carriage full 
 of people coming from the station, and a good 
 many young couples bound for a country stroll. 
 Most of them stared at Cordelia — the cricketers, 
 I regret to say, cheered her ; only the Vicar did 
 not appear to see her, and the Vicar was the 
 only person Cordeha noticed, as she recognised 
 his thin face in a hansom cab. ' Voila mon 
 affaire ! ' she thought, ' if I can but manage it.' 
 
 Aunt Susan was in the garden in her 
 favourite position commanding the gate and 
 the passers-by. She knew exactly who had 
 passed during the last quarter of an hoiu*, what 
 their objects w^ere, and who would meet 
 Cordeha. 
 
 ' Dearest Aunt Susie, how sweet to find you 
 glad to see me ! I never remember my elders 
 and betters glad to see me in all my Hfe ]
 
 142 THE PERFECT PATH. 
 
 ' I have been looking for you ; it is nearly 
 our tea-time. I fear you have not left Lettice 
 time to dress for dinner.' 
 
 « Oh, Lettice will soon tumble into her clean 
 frock ! ' 
 
 ' And, my dear, have you come all the way 
 down like this — without your gloves, and your 
 hat off ? You would meet Mr. Odiarne, and 
 the Kilburne carriage ' 
 
 ' I am afraid I met all Maybury. I never 
 thought you would mind. I am awfully cut 
 about it since you do. Here is a note from 
 Mrs. Wastel. I know what is in it, and I don't 
 want to go.' 
 
 ' Gently now ! Julia never learnt to write 
 a really ladylike hand ; and what absurd paper ! 
 You are asked to the Warren to go to the 
 fete at Sir John Somers', and to stay a few days. 
 That will be nice for you.' 
 
 ' I had rather stay with you. Aunt Susie. I 
 have only been here a fortnight, and I feel 
 more at home than ever I did in my life.'
 
 SCENES AND PROVERBS. 143 
 
 ' It is only for a few days ; an old woman is 
 not enough for a child like you, and I wish 
 you to be at the Warren ; it is good for you.' 
 
 ' Do you wish me to be like Lettice ? I 
 think it will not be much use to try. She is 
 not bad, but she is not my style. I should not 
 make much out of trying to be like Mrs. Wastel 
 either ; though I think, next to you, she is 
 quite the too most awful duck I ever spotted.' 
 
 ' You are the most awful quite a goose. If 
 you and I are to be friends we must speak the 
 same language ; and as you do not learn mine 
 very quickly, I must learn yours. I hope you 
 think it suits my cap and stick ? ' 
 
 ' How you laugh at me ! so does Mayne ; 
 but when I say rummy things, without meaning 
 it, Lettice looks unutterable, and I feel vile. 
 Mayne would make the best model, and learn 
 me manners best.' 
 
 ' Certainly, if you were a young man ; but 
 as you are not, it would be more modest to 
 propose his sister as your model.'
 
 144 THE PERFECT PATH. 
 
 Cordelia blushed furiously, and looked 
 ofiended. ' I suppose you mean I am not to 
 be so go-ahead ; " modest " is a cracker of a 
 word to use ? ' 
 
 'Words alter their force as years go on. I 
 only intended a very light rebuke, my dear. 
 To be as dutiful and unselfish as Mayne Wastel 
 would be good for man or woman. Have you 
 dresses suitable for this visit ? ' with a glance at 
 her niece's costume, which bore traces of the 
 hammock. 
 
 'Yes, auntie. That new dark-blue frock 
 for morning; the black with red ribbons for 
 evening ; and for the fete^ I have a gown that 
 Sophy got in Paris, white — it is all right, I 
 think,' said Cordelia, confidently. She had 
 spent her ten pounds cleverly, and had never 
 been so well fitted out before. Miss Hooper 
 had seen the dark-blue and the black gowns, 
 works of a Mentone dressmaker, and took the 
 white one on trust, as a younger woman would 
 not have done.
 
 Wo 
 
 CHAPTEE IX. 
 
 FAIR PASSAGES. 
 
 O day most calm, most bright, 
 
 The fruit of this, the next world's bud. 
 
 G. Herbert. 
 
 The great eveut of the Maybury neighbour- 
 liood cluriug this summer was the coming of 
 age of Sir John Somers' eldest son, and most 
 of the country-houses near were filled with 
 visitors for the fete. At the Warren were 
 Captain Longley, once a brother officer of 
 Mayne Wastel's, with his young wife, a stout 
 handsome little woman, who admired herself 
 and her married position immensely ; and Mr. 
 Conyngham Sedley, a London man, approach- 
 ing middle age, whose family had once resided 
 in the county, and who was everybody's old 
 friend. He represented himself as full of en- 
 gagements in this early July, and as being only 
 
 VOL. I. L
 
 146 THE PERFECT PATH. 
 
 torn with great difficulty from the friends to 
 whom he was necessary in town ; but it was 
 well understood that he had looked forward 
 for months to this visit to Wast el Warren, and 
 would stay as long as he could stretch his 
 invitation. Mr. Odiarne was also to be of the 
 Warren party. Cordelia's handsome young 
 face and bright considering eyes made a nota- 
 ble addition to the circle. She did not talk 
 much, though she responded readily when ad- 
 dressed. Neither she nor Lettice were noisy, 
 or inclined to Hirt or to become excited with 
 talking, and this for exactly opposite reasons. 
 Lettice was proud, well trained, and self- 
 respecting, as well as a very little self-con- 
 scious ; she never forgot her manners. Cordelia 
 looked on herself as of no account ; she was 
 absolutely unembarrassed and perfectly simple 
 in all her ways ; treated every one, old and 
 young, male and female, with exactly the same 
 calmness ; was deeply interested in other people, 
 and never dreamt that any one could be in-
 
 FAIR PASSAGES. 1 47 
 
 terested in her, or care for what ?he said or 
 did. 
 
 Some of the neighbours dined at the Warren 
 on the Saturday. Mrs. Wast el remarked that 
 being a Saturday she could not hav-e a large 
 or late party, puzzling Cordelia a good deal. 
 What difference could the day of the week 
 make ? It was the latter's first experience of 
 English country society ; she admired, but was 
 awed. Mrs. Wastel's handsome evening dress 
 showed off the old-fashioned type of her beauty, 
 which belonged to the bygone time when soft- 
 ness and grace were admired, and ' elegance ' 
 was sought after ; when a delicate complexion 
 was cherished, and a white and shapely fore- 
 head was a feature not to be concealed. Dress 
 made very httle difference to Lettice. She 
 looked the same trim and neat little woman at 
 all times, and went about her social duties with 
 the same completeness and accuracy that she 
 brought to all her occupations, perhaps with 
 the same shade of complacency. 
 l2
 
 148 THE PERFECT PATH. 
 
 Mrs. Wastel was a very good musician, and 
 played both piano and harp with great taste 
 and dehcacy. Lettice's lesser powers had been 
 carefully cultivated, and she sang well. Mayne 
 sang better, and had a fine voice ; but their 
 chief musical allies were absent this evening ; 
 and, as a relief from strictly family music, Mrs. 
 Wastel asked Mrs Longley to sing. She de- 
 clined ; and Mayne, while she was still making 
 her excuse, casually asked Cordelia if she did 
 not sing ; he thought he had heard her. ' Oh, 
 yes, I will sing, if you like,' she answered 
 obligingly, and without fiurther invitation or 
 prelude struck a single note on the piano, near 
 which she stood. She sang a rollicking httle 
 French song in praise of wine, in a fresh, 
 strong, quite uncultivated voice. Some of the 
 gentlemen thought it and the singer charming ; 
 but Mr. Conyngham Sedley lifted his eyebrows 
 high in response to Mrs. Longley 's glance. 
 Lettice, whom the jovial measure brought from 
 the other end of the room, expressed her rehef
 
 FAIR PASSAGES. 149 
 
 that it was French, and no worse. She knew 
 some of Cordeha's songs. 
 
 Sunday morning at the Warren was fresh 
 and shining. The very flower-beds looked 
 cahn and orderly. The scent of the hay from 
 one field suggested placid waiting for Monday, 
 while the clean raked surface of another told 
 of work finished on Saturday. There was no 
 post-bag till midday, at which Mr. Sedley 
 meant to grumble, but forgot. Lettice was in 
 a white frock, but was so far out of harmony 
 with the scene as to wear a business face : the 
 Sunday school was on her mind ; nothing, and 
 no one, must keep her from it. She wss also 
 desirous that all the party should go to the 
 Uplands for service ; a tiny church, served by 
 the Maybury clergy, and where she, Lettice, 
 was general director ; and that they should not 
 stray away for possible town attractions at 
 Maybury. Mrs. Wastel answered for herself 
 and Mrs. Longley. Captain Longley asked 
 which walk was the coolest, and Mi\ Sedley
 
 150 THE PERFECT PATH. 
 
 declared that the whole Sunday duty of coun- 
 try ladies was to ' set a good example,' and he 
 would help Lettice in this, to him, novel func- 
 tion. Then there was Cordelia. 
 
 'May I go with you, Lettice, and see a 
 Sunday school ? ' she asked. 
 
 ' Oh, yes ! I should hke to show you how 
 we manage.' 
 
 ' Miss Ashby is not of the Sunday-school 
 pattern. Will she be up to pranks?' asked 
 Conyngham Sedley of Mayne, as they stood on 
 the portico and watched Lettice set off with an 
 armful of books, accompanied by Cordelia, the 
 correctness of whose Sunday attire was marred 
 by the shabby red parasol with its bull- dog 
 handle. 
 
 Across the large park-like field that gave 
 its name to the Warren, and by a deep green 
 lane, they came to the Uplands Church — a 
 very venerable building indeed, on which 
 learned, and therefore wary, archasologists 
 spoke in the most guarded and uninstructive
 
 FAIR PASSAGES. 151 
 
 terms. Painters, who are a freer folk, loved 
 the pure silver grey of the low thick walls, 
 and the steep and high-tiled roof, which was of 
 every colour that time all- softening, lichens 
 white and orange, and mosses brown and 
 green, can turn a roof that no living man 
 remembers to have been red. The hillocky 
 churchyard was enclosed by stout oaken posts 
 and rails, on which were perched about forty 
 of the Uplands children. At sight of ' Miss,' 
 and on this occasion of ' one with her,' they 
 scampered off to a small schoolhouse adjoining 
 the churchyard, and sorted themselves into 
 order before Lettice arrived and took the com- 
 mand, a small but efficient captain. Her two 
 lieutenants, the village schoolmistress and a 
 farmer's daughter, appeared a minute later, 
 and read in Lettice's eye that they were that 
 minute behind time. She read prayers, called 
 over names, distributed books, and presently 
 established Cordelia in a chair on one side of 
 a hollow square, with nine middle-sized boys
 
 152 THE PERFECT PATH. 
 
 filling the other three sides. ' Now, boys, you 
 must be very good with this lady, as she is 
 kind enough to teach you. Jimmy ! What are 
 you thinking of.^ Give me those bulls'-eyes 
 immediately ! ' Jimmy meekly handed over a 
 small sticky screw of newspaper, which Lettice 
 pocketed without a shudder. ' Hear them say 
 their collects and hymns, and then give them a 
 lesson on the Second Commandment,' she whis- 
 pered to Cordeha, who began to wish she had 
 taken Mayne Wastel's hint and declared for 
 Maybury Church. 
 
 They were nice little boys, Cordelia 
 thought, on a second glance, and it would 
 be easy to make friends with them. They 
 were very much alike, with flaxen hair, blue 
 eyes, and pink cheeks ; but one, who was pale, 
 with brown hair and a sad look, reminded 
 her of Fero, and made her heart long for the 
 child. This boy had learnt the collect, and 
 would by no means be disappointed of re- 
 hearsing it, in a high voice at a wonderful
 
 FAIR PASSAGES. 153 
 
 speed, with his eyes stonily fixed on the 
 wall above Cordelia's head. Another boy fol- 
 lowed, saying something else. He was rebuked 
 for this by the head boy, who, finding that 
 Cordeha was deaf to his insinuations — ' It be 
 the wrong un ; it be last Sunday ; he ain't 
 learnt it ' — at last found the place in a prayer- 
 book, and summarily convicted her of not 
 knowing which Sunday after Trinity it was. 
 ' Slie dunno, she doan't,' was wdiispered round 
 the class, and Cordelia felt that she must do 
 something to revive her faihng prestige. ' Do 
 you say hymns ? ' she asked. This produced 
 another book, and the boys repeated each some 
 verses with much decorum, and Cordeha felt 
 afloat again. 
 
 One of the hymns repeated went to a 
 popular tune, and Cordelia began to lunn it 
 in brisk time, giving it an airy and dancing 
 tilt, which the tune bore better than the 
 w^ords. The boys were delighted, and took it 
 up vigorously ; but they were hardly in swing
 
 154 THE PERFECT PATH. 
 
 when* a peremptory message came down the 
 room from Lettice. They must not sing now, 
 and would Miss Ashby keep her class quiet ? 
 This was not so easy, but a glance at the boy 
 who was like Fero inspired her. She took her 
 parasol and twisted her handkerchief round it 
 to make a body for the bull-dog's head, the 
 boys looking on with breathless interest as she 
 cleverly twisted the corners to make his fore- 
 paws and his curly tail. Then announcing him 
 as the real dog Toby, she began a little play with 
 him that had often been little Fero's joy. The 
 boys, silent at first, began to snigger with 
 delight, then to laugh aloud, and very soon 
 there was an uproar that threatened to involve 
 the whole school. All at once, as the boys 
 were clustered about Cordeha's knee, an awe 
 fell upon them, their faces stiffened from their 
 grins, though their mouths remained open ; 
 they sank back into their places and gazed, 
 wondering what might befall. 
 
 A grave voice behind Cordelia said, ' Are
 
 FAIR PASSAGES. 155 
 
 the boys troublesome? Perhaps you are not 
 used to them.' Looking round, she saw Mr. 
 Odiarne, his tall head far above her, casting 
 inquiring glances at the boys, at her, and at 
 the dog Toby, who grinned unabashed at him 
 from the parasol stick. 
 
 'I wanted to keep them quiet,' she mur- 
 mured, feehng that things had somehow gone 
 wrong. 
 
 ' Give me your place for a few minutes. 
 Sit here, if you will, on the bench.' 
 
 Cordelia gladly subsided, and after a ques- 
 tion or two, till the boys had recovered the just 
 balance of their behaviour, Mr. Odiarne began 
 to give them a lesson. It was on the Good 
 Shepherd. He spoke so clearly that Cordelia, 
 really more untaught than the least of the 
 boys, Hstened with deep interest, amazed also 
 to find how much these children knew as they 
 unfailingly answered the scientifically put ques- 
 tions. Then the Vicar went on to speak of the 
 Shepherd's love and tender care, and Cordelia's
 
 156 THE PERFECT PATH. 
 
 eyes swam and the tears even dropped over, as 
 her heart swelled and filled with the sense of 
 consolation, and as the aching places in it were 
 touched. The little boys listened gravely and 
 with evident enjoyment, but they were not 
 too much absorbed to see Cordelia's tears, nor 
 to confide to each other as they filed out of the 
 schoolroom that ' She were a rum 'un, she 
 were ; and she must reckon she were agoing 
 to catch it. Gyals always cried when Muster 
 Odiarne he give it 'em.' 
 
 It was unusual for the Vicar of Maybury 
 to take the morning service at Uplands, the 
 dignity of his ofiice requiring him to be at the 
 parish church ; but to-day a stranger was 
 preaching there, and he was free for a duty that 
 he particularly liked. He took the whole 
 service, and preached a simple direct kind of 
 sermon from the lectern. Cordelia listened 
 as she had never Hstened before ; Mr. Odiarne 
 seemed so near, and his words to come with the 
 force of an individual address, more personal
 
 FAIR PASSAGES. 157 
 
 and closer than ^hen he took part in the 
 stately service in the great church at Maybury, 
 or preached from tlie lofty pulpit to the 
 crowded, intelligent, and eager congregation 
 who liked to have an intellectual exercise as 
 well as, or for their own choice much better 
 than, a spiritual instruction. 
 
 ' What a treat to have Philip here ! ' said 
 Mrs. Wastel, as they all walked home together. 
 
 'I think I like him best when he brings 
 down, or, I had better say, condenses his great 
 powers to an old woman's sermon.' 
 
 ' It w^as nice and short,' said Mrs. Longley. 
 
 ' Odiarne is a very good hand — too good for 
 the rustics ; he should get a London church,' 
 said Mr. Conyngham Sedley. 
 
 ' I like him best at Maybury,' said Lettice ; 
 ' when he gives one really something to think 
 of and work out — not a mere Sunday-school 
 lesson, as to-day.' 
 
 ' Which Miss Wastel of the Warren could 
 have given as well ? * whispered Mayne to her,
 
 158 THE PERFECT PATH. 
 
 with a glance at Cordelia, who was close by, 
 that met Avith no response. 
 
 ' Yes,' said Lettice, simply ; ' so I like to 
 learn something to add to my store.' 
 
 ' What do you say. Miss Ashby ? ' asked 
 Captain Longley, who admired her, and liked 
 to draw her out, as he called it. 
 
 ' I have no store, only an empty basket ; 
 while Lettice's is full and bursting. I think I 
 can put a nut in mine to-day. I never listened 
 to a sermon before.' 
 
 ' You are honest. What a mind you must 
 have to entertain yourself through all the 
 sermons you have to sit through. I am afraid 
 I often listen from pure vacancy.' 
 
 ' I do not often go to church — Sophy 
 seldom goes — and I do not like it much yet ; 
 some day I suppose I shall.' 
 
 Mrs. Longley heard this. She had her 
 doubts about Cordelia: the girl was so evi- 
 dently new to the sort of life the Wastels led ; 
 her style was so odd; she must have had a
 
 FAIR PASSAGES. 159 
 
 queer bringing up ; there was a screw loose 
 somewliere. i\Irs. Longley was sure that her 
 own screws were tight, and so found it agree- 
 able to finger other people's, to make certain 
 that there was not a little excitinor slackness 
 
 o 
 
 here and there. Mr. Odiarne overtook them 
 here. Mrs. Longley was minded to say a word 
 about Cordeha, but was deterred ; she knew 
 not why. 
 
 ' Cordie, you got on pretty well with your 
 class for a first attempt, though you must learn 
 to keep the boys a httle quieter,' said Lettice, 
 kindly, when they were alone. The bull-dog 
 expedient had been lost on Lettice, absorbed 
 with her big girls. 
 
 ' I will not try again. I must learn some- 
 thing myself — from Mr. Odiarne if I can. 
 He spoke so to the children ; those little 
 scamps listened ! And I was a pulp in no 
 time.' 
 
 ' Dear Cordie, we will all teach you, and 
 you will be the best of pupils ! ' Lettice stood
 
 160 THE PERFECT PATH. 
 
 on tip-toe to kiss Cordelia's cheek, which was 
 not at all bent towards her. 
 
 Before Mr. Odiarne left the Warren after 
 luncheon, Lettice caught him. ' I am coming 
 down the avenue with you, Philip ; I want to 
 ask you something — it is not an old woman 
 this time, but a young one — Cordelia Ashby.' 
 
 ' What of her ? Do you wish to beg pardon 
 for having set her down to teach in my Sunday 
 school without leave ? ' 
 
 ' No. I found, however, that I had made 
 a mistake ; she does not know how to keep 
 order.' 
 
 ' There are two or three more little things 
 that she does not know. I thought you were a 
 wiser superintendent than that, Lettice. Never 
 mind. What do you want to say about her ? ' 
 
 ' I want you to see to her a little. Cousin 
 Phihp ; though she is so wild and has been so 
 queerly brought up, her great wish is towards 
 better things, and she wants teaching.' 
 
 ' Does she want to be taught ? '
 
 FAIR PASSAGES. 161 
 
 ' Yes, I meant that.' 
 
 ' You may find her above your hands as a 
 pupil.' 
 
 ' I have offered to help her more than once, 
 but she flies off; and though she loves dear 
 Aunt Susan, and seems to think great things of 
 my mother, she is not wilhng to be taught by 
 them. She would listen to you, I know.' 
 
 * Knox looks after the young women ; she 
 had better be under him.' 
 
 ' I am afraid Cordie would laugh at him ; 
 she calls him ' 
 
 ' Xever mind what ! I am sure she has 
 great powers of characterisation.' 
 
 ' Yes,' said Lettice, laughing. ' But she has 
 also really serious aspirations, and I want so 
 very much to do her good. You will talk to 
 her, Philip ; no one will be of so much use to 
 her as you will.' 
 
 ' I must take your word for it that she is in 
 earnest. I have small faith in my powers of 
 doing any good to a flippant young person who 
 
 VOL. I. M
 
 162 THE PERFECT PATH. 
 
 only wants to be amused, and will bestow some 
 sticking nickname on me for my pains — not 
 that it will do any harm to me, but I cannot 
 have her ridicule serious things.' 
 
 ' You know I would not risk that.' 
 ' Well, I will think of it, for Aunt Susan's 
 sake as well as for your asking. I am going 
 with you to the Silverwood fete to-morrow, 
 and I will take another look at your cousin.*
 
 16; 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 A GUIDE. 
 
 And there evermore was music, both of instrument and singing, 
 Till the finches of the shrubberies grew restless in tlie dark ; 
 But the cedars stood up motionless, each in a moonlight ringing, 
 And the deer, half in the gUmmer, strewed the hollows of 
 the park. 
 
 E. Barrett Bro^oning. 
 
 The fete at Silverwood, to celebrate the coming 
 of age of Sir John Somers' heir, was a com- 
 prehensive entertainment, beginning, so far as 
 the gentry were concerned, with a dinner on a 
 scale that seemed to require the use of the word 
 ' banquet ; ' going on to fireworks so soon as the 
 summer night would darken sufficiently to 
 allow of strange fires ; and ending with a ball. 
 Earher in the day the tenantry were enter- 
 tained, and before them the labourers and the 
 school-children. Sir John, who had married 
 
 M 2
 
 164 THE PERFECT PATH. 
 
 late in life, and was the father of three daughters 
 before his much-desired eldest son was born, 
 was glorious on this day, and by far the hap- 
 piest person present. Lady Somers looked a 
 little anxious and tired as she stood, a fair con- 
 ventional woman, who always struggled up to 
 what was expected of her, between her husband 
 and her son, and replied bravely to yet another 
 batch of congratulations ; but Sir John was 
 quite fresh, though he had made four speeches 
 that day and looked forward to two more. He 
 beamed on all the world, fairly anticipated 
 congratulations, hstened to nothing that was 
 said to him, and looked on the younger John 
 as if that worthy had taken a city, instead 
 of merely thriving on the fat of the land for 
 twenty-one years. 
 
 Mrs. Wastel, in full sympathy with her 
 neighbour's joy, said the prettiest possible 
 things to her hosts and to the hero of the day. 
 
 ' You poor Jock, shall you pull through ? ' 
 was Lettice's saUitation to the heir.
 
 A GUIDE. 165 
 
 ' I am bearing up ; thanks. Keep the second 
 waltz for me. Wish it was come ! Lots to go 
 through before then,' whispered Jock, hurriedly. 
 He was a plain youth, with a square frowning 
 brow, and a wide mouth that would look better 
 when he had a little more moustache ; but he 
 was unexceptionable in everything but looks, and 
 he was a general favourite. Mayne's greeting 
 to him was a compound of nod and wink, that 
 conveyed sympathy, encouragement, and a hope 
 of meeting when better times should come. 
 
 ffiss Ashby was presented in due form to 
 the seniors — the young Somers' had met her 
 before — and the Wastel party moved on. Miss 
 Somers met them — a tall fair-haired girl, like 
 her mother, but with more originality and force 
 of character. ' You dear people ! How glad I 
 am to see some one to whom I need not be 
 polite. Caro and I have been at it for seven 
 hours already ; this is my third clean frock and 
 second box of gloves ; and all the time we 
 feel such inferior creatures, such mere women ;
 
 166 THE PERFECT PATH. 
 
 while Tim and Toby, who are nearly as good 
 fellows as Jock on other days, are made to feel 
 their junior position acutely. Not one of us 
 dare to go near Jock for fear of catching his 
 eye, or if once he laughs it is all over with 
 him.' 
 
 In spite of her complaints Charlotte Somers 
 looked wel] and spoke at her best. She was 
 excited to just the right pitch of animation by 
 the knowledge, or rather the feeling, that there 
 was some one standing near in whose eyes 
 she could do no wrong, and in whose ears the 
 simplest word she said was perfection. 
 
 Tim and Toby, hereafter to be known to 
 fame as Theodore and Alexander Somers, now 
 came up. They were taller, better-looking, 
 and more assured young men than their elder 
 brother, and, though the estate was strictly 
 entailed, they were lighter of heart on this par- 
 ticular evening. 
 
 ' Poor Jock,' said Tim, ' all his dances are 
 cut out for him. He may dance once with
 
 A GUIDE. 167 
 
 Lettice, but he won't get a turn with Miss Ashby 
 because she is a stranger. I shall cut Lettice 
 because she snubbed me about the volleys the 
 other day, and dance with Miss Ashby as often 
 as she will let me.' 
 
 ' Don't you talk ! ' said Toby ; ' Mayne, he 
 has to do Miss Prigeon and Mrs. Wad dell 
 before he may look out for himself, and as I 
 am but a youth I am let off with Miss Martin- 
 dale.' 
 
 * And a very nice girl you'll find her ; 
 She'll pass very well for forty-three 
 In the dusk with the light behind her,* 
 
 chanted Cordelia, gaily, in not too low a voice. 
 
 Miss Somers looked round nervously ; Toby 
 was delighted. Mr. Odiarne, who had heard 
 the words but not their application, put on a 
 comical face, and looked at Lettice. 
 
 ' Come, Cordelia, and look at Jock's tea- 
 pottings, and don't bear so hard ; any of us 
 may be forty-three some day,' said Mayne, 
 taking the rash young creature to the other end
 
 168 THE PERFECT PATH. 
 
 of the long drawing-room. Lettice gazed after 
 them anxiously. Mrs. Longley made an expres- 
 sive gesture as she said, ' Did you see her before 
 she got into the carriage? I did not, or I 
 would have warned you. Where can she have 
 laid hands on such a thing ? ' 
 
 The ' thing ' in question w^as Cordeha's 
 gown ; it was only in part responsible for 
 Lettice's look, but a hard little woman like 
 Mrs Longley could not be permitted to tread 
 on tender places. The gown was certainly a 
 grievance, even to people far less sensitive in the 
 matter of clothes than Mrs. Longley. It w^as 
 of white cashmere, slashed with red satin and 
 trimmed with gold braid — harmless materials 
 enough, but the costume was made in Paris for 
 Mrs. Lichfield to wear at a fancy ball ; the whole 
 style of it was so fast — it was so audaciously 
 kilted up in one place and let down in another, it 
 w^as so short in front and so long behind, that 
 Cordelia's tall figure and handsome vivacious face 
 w^ere made altogether too conspicuous. Besides,
 
 A GUIDE. 169 
 
 the wliite was dimmed, the satin frayed, the gold 
 tarnished, so that the garment was more hke 
 an old theatrical property than the companion 
 of the fresh, correct, and rather prim and stiffly 
 worn dresses of the English country girls. 
 Cordeha had not thought twice on the matter ; 
 she had a fine gown— not so fresh as she could 
 have wished, but undoubtedly fine, and good 
 enough for her, Cordelia, a person of no 
 account. She heartily admired Lettice in soft 
 cloudy white, like a cotton-grass tuft, though 
 wishing some broad touches of decided colour 
 were added. ' Lettice has so much character ; 
 she is not that vaporous kind of person really, 
 and her dress should be distinct too.' She also 
 saw that Mrs. Longley, in an arrangement of 
 shining blue and green, with dots of coral 
 pink, very tight, well padded and important, 
 looked like a pigeon — a resemblance that she 
 pointed out to Mayne ; but she never thought 
 of her own dress, nor of the effect she might 
 produce.
 
 170 THE PERFECT PATH. 
 
 For the great dinner in tlie tent Tim Somers 
 provided Miss Ashby with a partner in their 
 London lawyer's son — a young man on whom 
 he could thoroughly depend — and bade him 
 place her on his, Tim's, right hand. Captain 
 Longley was opposite to them, with a very 
 lively young married lady ; and the fun at that 
 table, somewhat removed from the elders and 
 betters in the chief seats, was fast and furious. 
 Mayne Wastel, with Judith Carling, was near 
 enough to see much and hear a little, but too far 
 off to join. Judith was very metaphysical and 
 abstruse ; his head was bent towards her, but 
 his gaze went beyond, to the spot where his 
 young guest was making a fool of herself in 
 such a very bewitching manner that he wished 
 on all accounts he had been nearer. He hoped 
 that Lettice was out of earshot. 
 
 ' We must consider Thought quite apart 
 from the thing thought of — Thought as Thought 
 in the abstract. If we are not able to throw 
 ourselves outside of ourselves, and watch the
 
 A GUIDE. 171 
 
 operations of our own minds ' Judith 
 
 was saying, when her neighbour's earnest look 
 attracted Cordeha's glance. Not content with 
 replying in kind to his little nod of recognition, 
 it entered into her head to testify her regard by 
 throwing at him a large pink sugared almond 
 from the cracker she had just pulled with Tim. 
 Just at the moment when there arose above the 
 din the trembling accents of poor Jock, once more 
 returning thanks for the flattering terms in which, 
 &c., &c. — flop ! went Cordeha's missile right into 
 Miss Carling's glass of champagne, sending the 
 cheering hquor into her eyes, and breaking the 
 glass with a clash. Judith squeaked aloud ; some 
 one else thought it must be a bullet as the likehest 
 thing to come skimming down the table at that 
 juncture, and screeched in concert. Cordelia's 
 neighbours betrayed her by giggles and laughs 
 that amounted to an interruption of the speech. 
 Jock broke doAvn, and about half the guests, 
 in their indignation or amusement, forgot the 
 applause that would have covered everything.
 
 172 THE PERFECT PATH. 
 
 During the fireworks Cordelia was missing ; 
 but wlien the dancing began she was found to 
 be well provided with partners among a number 
 of young men, who, being admitted to Silver- 
 wood on rare and great occasions only, were a 
 little oppressed with the burden of an honour 
 unto which they were not born. They intro- 
 duced themselves or each other to Miss Ashby, 
 and made a little subsidiary queen of her. 
 Lettice, popular as well as pretty, was in great 
 request as a partner among her own set ; but 
 though much occupied, she had time to feel 
 greatly hurt and annoyed when she came across 
 Cordelia, with her loose hair and her undesirable 
 gown, dancing with young Taylor from the 
 Maybury bank, or Horace, known as ' Horrid ' 
 Greeson, the agent's son — youths who did not 
 dream of the honour of dancing with the county 
 princesses, and for whom a sufficient number of 
 each other's sisters and cousins had been duly 
 provided. 
 
 Cordelia, though a novice in society, and
 
 A GUIDE. 173 
 
 disposed to make her own laws, yet observed 
 that when Mayne asked her to dance her 
 followers fell back respectfully. One with whom 
 she was about to stand up, murmured, like 
 Mr. Toots, that 'it was of no consequence,' 
 and effaced himself. Cordeha thought this was 
 only due to the natural superiority of every- 
 thing belonging to the Warren, and, pleased 
 at i\Iayne's cousinly treatment of her, went off 
 chattering gaily. After their dance he took 
 her to Mrs. Wastel, who had not seen her 
 since dinner. After sitting near her a httle 
 while in the seats of honour, Cordelia remarked 
 that her next partner would never venture to 
 fetch her from there, and walked down the 
 ballroom to meet him under all the eyeglasses 
 of the august matrons. 
 
 ' Who is that girl ? ' asked Lady Isabel 
 Kingdon of Mayne, as Cordelia passed them. 
 
 ' She is my sister's cousin — my half-sister's, 
 that is — ]\Iiss Ashby. She is staying with us. 
 She is a child in most thinss, but she is fresh
 
 174 THE PERFECT PATH. 
 
 caught from no bringing up at all. She is a 
 very jolly little thing, but she looks odd to- 
 night. That is a queer get-up ; Lettice ought 
 to have seen about it.' 
 
 ' Quite dreadful kind of girl, I should say ! ' 
 said Lady Isabel, calraly. 
 
 ' Is she not the daughter of a man they call 
 Greyleg Ashby ; and did he not run away with 
 her mother, uncommon pretty girl ? ' asked old 
 Sir William Torwell, who stood by. 
 
 ' Yes ; do you know him ? ' said Mayne. 
 
 ' Did once. Too shady a lot for me now. 
 By Jove ! young Wastel, that girl will want 
 looking after ! Comes of a bad stock, you know. 
 Don't go and marry her without a warrant. 
 Those things run in families ; bolting is in the 
 blood, and other things— gambling, for one.' 
 
 ' Cannot they be trained out, if you begin 
 early ? ' asked Mr. Odiarne, as Mayne and his 
 partner moved away. 
 
 ' Don't know much about girls — never had 
 one,' replied Sir William. ' Don't suppose
 
 A GUIDE. 175 
 
 they are any easier to train than horses. Horse 
 with a bad temper is worth the trouble if he is 
 all right otherwise. Girl has got good points, 
 but she will want a good deal of lunging to 
 bring her into form.' 
 
 ' I think I will try,' said the Vicar to him- 
 self. 
 
 Later in the evening, when Mrs. Wastel 
 asked for Cordeha, Mr. Odiarne volunteered to 
 look for her. He heard of her as having gone 
 towards a pavilion in the grounds, which had 
 been hghted and decorated as a place for 
 hcrhter refreshments. Sounds of lauuhter and 
 song came far down the shrubbery-walk that 
 led to the spot. As he drew nearer, the song 
 became plain as an Italian street song, almost 
 too festive a strain, that the singer, our Cor- 
 delia, had picked up from some Neapolitan 
 street musicians on the Eiviera. For the more 
 effective rendering of this choice bit, she was 
 standing on the end of a little balustrade which 
 enclosed the steps leading up to the pavihon,
 
 176 THE PERFECT PATH. 
 
 and she was accompanying herself on a child's 
 tambourine which had been left there, and had, 
 indeed, suggested the performance. No other 
 ladies were then at the pavilion, nor were Tim 
 or Toby visible ; Cordelia's applauding audience 
 consisted of four or five of the odd young men 
 aforesaid, some of whom were smoking, of 
 several servants and w^aiters, and of two old 
 gentlemen who had been all the evening 
 within easy distance of the refreshments. 
 
 ' Tra-la-la ' went the song, ' ting-a-ting-ting ' 
 the tambourine, when Mr. Odiarne's tall 
 straight figure and quiet uplifted face came 
 within the circle of light from the pavilion 
 lamps. He did not look at all severe, for he 
 was smiling a little at a thought that had come 
 to him as he passed through the cool dusk 
 garden ; nor did he take in the details of the 
 scene before him very quickly ; but the effect of 
 him was magical. Not only on the young men, 
 who recovered themselves instantly from their 
 easy attitudes and late-in-the-evening demean-
 
 A GUIDE. 177 
 
 our ; but Cordelia, suddenly mute and with 
 cheeks hotly flaming, threw down her tambour- 
 ine, sprang from her pedestal, and made as if 
 she would have run away. His voice detained 
 her as effectually as if he had seized her. 
 
 ' I have come for you, Miss Ashby, so do 
 not be in a hurry, but walk back with me, if 
 you will so favour me.' 
 
 Xo answer ; but Cordelia stepped meekly 
 by his side, the change from the smell of wine 
 and tobacco to the fragrance of cedar and pine 
 not more complete than that of her behaviour. 
 
 ' Mrs. Wastel is going away ; you and 
 Lettice and I are told off with lier to the first 
 Warren carriage. Do you know that although 
 I have seen you several times I do not know 
 yet whether you are a child or a grown-up 
 young lady. I think I have been treating you 
 as a child and from Aunt Susan's point of 
 view, calling you Cordelia, as my cousins 
 do ; and yet to-night you look older, and of a 
 standing for more ceremony.' 
 
 VOL. I. N
 
 178 THE PERFECT PATH. 
 
 No answer, and it is too dark to see lier 
 face ; but that drooping head suggests dis- 
 couragement. 
 
 ' Your unusual name is pleasant in the 
 mouth, and as you are young enough for a 
 doubt I shall claim the benefit of it, and say 
 " Cordelia " as often as I find it musical.' 
 
 ' Yes.' 
 
 ' Perhaps it was the duty of one of those 
 young men to escort you to the house, and I 
 have clumsily taken you from your partner ? ' 
 
 ' Oh, no ; it is so much better to be with 
 you ! ' 
 
 ' If I had known that I would have come 
 sooner,' he answered, laughing at her emphasis. 
 
 ' I — I am so ashamed — I ought not to have 
 been singing like that ; I did 7iot know it was 
 wrong till I saw you.' 
 
 ' Am I then so awful that folly dies at the 
 sight of me ? ' 
 
 ' I never thought of it. Those fellows were 
 laughing, and their feeble minds are so soon
 
 A GUIDE. 179 
 
 astonished. Aunt Susan would not have hked 
 it, would she ? ' 
 
 ' Very likely not. I hardly know what is 
 thought becoming now for young ladies. Some- 
 thing depends on whether we are to consider 
 you as a child, or as a responsible young 
 woman.' 
 
 ' I am seventeen and live months. Girls 
 do all sorts of things, and nobody minds ; but I 
 ought not to run rigs, because — I do not really 
 care for larks, and only take them because there 
 is notliing else yet ; but what I have come 
 for is to learn to be very good, the really best 
 kind of goodness. Will you teach me, Mr. 
 Odiarne ? Will you show me how ? I have 
 been thinking of it for a long time, and I have 
 quite made up my mind, but I do not know 
 the least thing about it — will you help me ? ' 
 
 They had come now to the windows of the 
 drawing-room ; the clergyman looked at the 
 wild figure that turned round to him on the 
 step in the light that shone on her from 
 
 N 2
 
 180 THE PERFECT PATPI. 
 
 within ; he saw her strange dress, her rough 
 hair, her flushed face and eager eyes, and read 
 the strong appeal that entirely animated her as 
 she put up her hands and nearly, but not quite, 
 touched his arm, and repeated * Teach me to 
 be good.' He was deeply stirred, for his pro- 
 fessional instincts, very strong — for he was 
 clergyman to his finger-tips — his personal con- 
 victions, which were stronger still, and strongest 
 of all, his kind heart, all drew him to this sup- 
 pliant. There was a doubt, it is true, caused by 
 the perception that even he could not escape, of 
 the incongruity of her appearance and conduct 
 with her aspirations ; but he was still more 
 conscious of a disinclination for the inevitable 
 boring and fuss that would come to him if he 
 undertook this task ; and as this was unworthy 
 and must be checked, he answered the more 
 readily — 
 
 ' My child, I will help you — if you will 
 remember that it is help only from a fellow- 
 learner.'
 
 A GUIDE. ISl 
 
 ' Oh, thank you ! You have promised ; you 
 will not forget ! ' said Cordelia, in soft triumph, 
 and with a look of ecstasy. She went home 
 from her first ball in absorbed silence, savin<y 
 to herself, ' Xow I shall begin. It will be all 
 right ; now I shall begin.'
 
 182 THE PEKFECT PATH. 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 STUMBLING -BLOCKS. 
 
 who will show me those delights on high ? 
 
 Echo . . .'L' 
 Thou, Echo, thou art mortal], all men know. 
 
 G. Herbert. 
 
 The next day Mrs. Wastel thought that inter- 
 views on the subject of Cordeha would never 
 cease. Mayne was the first, begging that she 
 would keep her at the Warren a day or two 
 longer. ' We all like her, you know, and it 
 must be dull with Aunt Susan and the old 
 maids — besides, they will be glad of a little 
 peace.' 
 
 Mrs. Wastel fancied that her stepson was 
 not speaking all his thought, and her look 
 questioned him. 
 
 ' That is not all. I heard some fellows 
 speaking of her father with something a good
 
 STUMBLING-BLOCKS. 183 
 
 deal short of respect a ad esteem ; and perhaps 
 if the girl goes about a httle with you and 
 Lettice, it will show that she is all right, and 
 that we take her on her own account.' 
 
 ' Thank you, Mayne. I am glad you told 
 me. Xo harm can come of having her here ; 
 but it would be greatly against my wish that 
 her father should darken doors of yours or 
 mine.' 
 
 ' He does not seem an oppressively loving 
 parent, and he will liardly affect this neigh- 
 bourhood. If he should turn up he must be 
 handed over to Aunt Susan. May I be there 
 to see ! ' 
 
 Lettice looked bright and fresh at break- 
 fast, and explained that she did not allow going 
 out in the evening to interfere with her duties 
 next day ; Tuesday was one of her school 
 mornings. Cordelia came down last, rather 
 pale, and surprised to find even the gentlemen 
 finishing their breakfast. 'I thought no one 
 came down to breakfast after a dance ; I only
 
 184 THE PERFECT PATH. 
 
 came now because Lettice was sure to be up ; 
 and I met her going out.' 
 
 'You cannot do better than follow her 
 example in a good many things,' said Mrs. 
 Longley, tartly. 'How nice Lettice looked 
 last night, Mrs. Wastel, so ladylike and sweet. 
 Lettice has such nice manners, so quiet and 
 gentle ; there is nothing fast and vulgar about 
 her, and you never hear her talking loudly or 
 see her making herself conspicuous in any way.' 
 
 ' Here is some hot toast, Cordie. May I 
 cut you some ham, or is Sedley to be honoured 
 with your commands ? I am so glad you are 
 late ; Lettice is perfectly horrid the morning 
 after a ball,' said Mayne to his young guest, 
 whose colour was effectually restored by Mrs. 
 Longiey's remarks. 
 
 ' Have a brandy-and-soda. Miss Ashby. 
 Wastel has recommended it to me ; it is my 
 belief that Sedley has had his in bed and Miss 
 Wastel hers overnight,' said Captain Longley, 
 who also wished to be kind.
 
 STUMBLING-BLOCKS. 185 
 
 'I was nine hours in my dress clothes,' 
 moaned Mr. Sedley ; ' how you ladies could 
 stand it in your tight — well — things, I cannot 
 tell.' 
 
 ' At least, Miss Ashby wore nothing tight,' 
 said Mrs. Longley, who did not join the laugh. 
 
 ' Mind you never do, Cordie, or you will 
 get a red nose,' said Mayne, making it worse 
 with Mrs. Longley. 
 
 ' I suppose you will have to speak to that 
 young lady presently, Mrs. Waste],' Mrs. 
 Longley began in the course of their morning 
 stroll. ' It is always a nuisance to have to 
 take out strange girls ; they are sure to vex 
 you in some w^ay.' 
 
 ' I am not vexed with my young cousin ; 
 but I am vexed with myself for not making 
 sure that she had a suitable dress for last 
 night.' 
 
 ' But her goings on all the evening — mak- 
 ing an uproar at dinner, marching about inde- 
 pendently, and never coming near you ! You
 
 183 THE PERFECT PATH. 
 
 really ought to know that my husband heard 
 she danced a hornpipe and sang to a lot of 
 tipsy young men and all the servants down by 
 the pavilion ! I know that is true, for I saw 
 Mr. Odiarne bringing her back.' 
 
 ' She is very young still, but she is not like 
 the young bear, for so many of her troubles in 
 the way of disadvantages are past that we may 
 hope not many more lie before her,' said 
 Mrs. Wastel, so gently that her gentleness was 
 a reproof. ' When you come down at Christ- 
 mas I hope you will find her quite toned down. 
 We all think there is much very good material 
 in her for the making of a noble woman. It is 
 a fine natural character.' 
 
 Mrs. Longley burned to suggest that Mr. 
 Wastel would be the most efficient tutor, and 
 seemed well inclined for the office ; but she was 
 awed. Her Harry was devoted to the Wastels, 
 but she did not share his feeling, being em- 
 barrassed by a superiority that she had no desire 
 to imitate. She contented herself with a mean-
 
 STUMBLING-BLOCKS. 187 
 
 ing look at the portico where Cordeha stood in 
 close conversation with Mayne. 
 
 ' You are not going away to-day,' he was say- 
 ing. ' Aunt Susan is delighted to be rid of you, 
 and we are more delighted to keep you here.' 
 
 ' As I don't beheve about Aunt Susan, I 
 can't believe about you. Do you know she 
 kissed me before I came away on Saturday, 
 and said " God bless you." No one ever said 
 that to me before.' Cordelia's eyes were moist 
 as she said this ; she did not guess that Mayne 
 felt a little pinch at his heart, and relieved it 
 by inwardly repeating Aunt Susan's benedic- 
 tion. 
 
 ' It is nonsense to talk of going to-day ; you 
 must stay.' 
 
 ' Must ? ' Cordelia threw back her head 
 and looked dangerous. Mayne remembered 
 the manner of her arrival at Ivy Cottage. 
 
 ' Stay to please us, Cordelia ; to please the 
 mother and Lettice, not to speak of me. You 
 know the mother insists on all the invitations
 
 188 THE PERFECT PATH. 
 
 being mine, so I have the pleasure of asking 
 you.' 
 
 ' I am not sure about Lettice ; she is angry 
 with me. But I should like to please you and 
 my cousin, for I do not think you are saying it 
 only for pretty. Mayne, will you tell me some- 
 thing, on your very faithful promise ? ' 
 
 ' Yes ; what is it ? ' 
 
 ' What did I do wrong last night. I know 
 I made an awful mull of it all. Lettice is 
 furious, and Mrs. Longley is like an angry 
 black pigeon this morning — poo-oo-oo, poo- 
 00-00. Why are you not as tight and black as 
 I am, poo-oo-oo ? What was it ? ' 
 
 ' If I tell you, and you are angry with me, 
 I shall think you shabby.' 
 
 ' I am no sneak — go on.' 
 
 ' Well, you know, you are not quite hke the 
 girls about here — and though it is not your 
 fault ' 
 
 ' It makes people lift up their eyebrows — 
 so — and look at me up and down as you look
 
 STUMBLING-BLOCKS. 189 
 
 at a horse that some one else has bought. And 
 you would rather they did not, when I am in 
 your crowd ? ' 
 
 ' I am not too selfish about it, Cordie. I 
 think you are much too nice a girl for any one 
 to lift eyebrows at. Another time we must 
 contrive that you do not dance with all the 
 Maybury cads ; but you need not trouble your- 
 self about that, for they will not have another 
 chance.' 
 
 ' Were they cads ? I am afraid I do not 
 know many nice men ; they were as good as 
 most of the Colonel's little lot; and, of course, 
 I did not expect them to be hke you.' This 
 compliment was said with an air of sorrowful 
 gravity that quite prevented Mayne from 
 showing that he appreciated it. Then, with 
 a sudden enlightenment, she said, ' You do not 
 know the worst thing I did last night ? ' 
 
 ' The bull's eye in Miss Carhng's champagne, 
 you bad child ? ' 
 
 ' That was nothing ! but down at that
 
 190 THE PERFECT PATH. 
 
 drinking-place I found a tambourine, and one 
 of the cads asked me if I could sing — so I 
 jumped on a post, and sang " Carlino." ' 
 
 ' And I was not there to see I ' 
 
 ' Worse than that happened. Mr. Odiarne ! 
 He came up with that look of his — ^you know, 
 up above everything. I felt something like bad 
 when I saw him. Once I did a worse thing than 
 that, and on purpose, and I was marched back 
 in the dark and scolded all the way; but I was 
 not nearly so cut up. He did not scold one 
 word ; he hardly knew what I had been up 
 to, and. of course I felt all the greater wretch.' 
 
 • What did you say to him ? ' asked Mayne, 
 yielding to the vice of curiosity. 
 
 ' I asked him if he would teach me to be 
 very good. He actually said he would, and 
 never laughed at me. I have always wanted 
 to go in for that kind of thing ; now I can begin 
 at last ! That is why I want to go back to Ivy 
 Cottage.' 
 
 ' No one can help you better than Philip ;
 
 STUMBLING-BLOCKS. 191 
 
 but you will not lose time by staying here this 
 week. We have a garden-party to-morrow, 
 and he will most likely come up ; only you 
 know you cannot hold high talk over the tea 
 and tennis-balls.' 
 
 ' I shall give up all those things.' 
 
 ' Not at Philip's bidding, since he takes 
 most of his own recreation that way. Xow, go 
 and make it up with Lettice ; I must be off to 
 the workhouse.' 
 
 Lettice had consulted her mother in dire 
 perplexity. The difficulty must be unusual 
 that made Lettice consult her mother ; though 
 she loved her heartily, and was a fairly dutifid 
 daughter to her, she was not the first of her 
 admirers. ' Mother is so sentimental, and has 
 so many considerations ; she never goes straight 
 at a thing,' was her verdict ; and she could not 
 understand the influence Mrs. Wastel exerted. 
 
 ' What am I to do with Cordeha, mother ? 
 She is so slippery and contradictory that I do 
 not know what to make of her. She is always
 
 192 THE PERFECT PATH. 
 
 talking of being good, till I really thought she 
 meant it. On Sunday, particularly, when she 
 wished to come to school with me, and seemed 
 to take to it. I saw her listening with all her 
 might in church.' 
 
 ' So did I. Poor child, I prayed for her 
 then. When we think of the hopelessness of 
 her surroundings hitherto, it seems as if she 
 were specially led towards a higher life ; 
 we are too apt to think it a mere result of 
 training.' 
 
 ' But can she be in earnest ? Just look at 
 her behaviour since ! I tried to talk seriously 
 to her after that, but she slipped away from me 
 as usual ; so I thought perhaps Philip might suit 
 her better, and asked him to see to her ; then, 
 the very next night, she behaves in such a way ! 
 Philip will think 1 am a proper goose.' 
 
 ' And you can never bear to be thought 
 mistaken ; but I do not think you are far wrong 
 this time.' 
 
 ' But last night, mother ! She was disgrace-
 
 STUMBLING BLOCKS 193 
 
 ful ! I was so ashamed of her ; and Mayne had 
 to dance with her ! ' 
 
 ' She was trying, certainly ; but a good deal 
 can easily be mended, and a good deal more 
 will mend itself. It is not in the power of a 
 girl hke that to disgrace your brother, nor you 
 either. For her mother's sake, or rather for 
 mine, I must ask you to be patient with her. 
 Do not try too hard to do her good yourself, 
 but just be friendly and companionable. I am 
 asking it as a favour, liettice.' 
 
 ' Oh, don't make so much of it as that, 
 mother ! She must behave decently, and I will 
 try her again.' 
 
 The two girls settled their difference ; 
 Lettice being again surprised by Cordelia's 
 change of tone, and receiving her penitence 
 with srreat kindness. She even offered further 
 guidance, which Cordelia again dechned. 
 
 At the Warren garden-party Cordelia was 
 almost too exemplary — eschewing the society 
 of the young and frivolous, and devoting herself 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 ]94 THE PERFECT PATH. 
 
 to Aunt Susan, who had come up for this her 
 one gaiety, and sat on the terrace, looking Hke 
 an old fairy, with her bright eyes and curly 
 hair, with her crutch-handled stick and black 
 satin cloak. Jock Somers was particularly 
 anxious to make up for lost time in his acquaint- 
 ance with Cordelia ; but he was disappointed, 
 for Tim and Toby had given a vivid sketch of 
 the fun to be got out of her, and the decorous 
 figure in dark blue and a hat that Lettice had 
 perhaps too vigorously reformed, did little to 
 recall the gay and festive young person of 
 yesternight. 
 
 ' If you won't play tennis, come and have a 
 shy at " Aunt Sally." ' 
 
 ' Aunt Susan is my only joy ! ' 
 
 ' She does not want you,' said Jock ; ' don't 
 you see she is carrying on with my father. She 
 is the only person here who was not at our kick- 
 up the other day, and so she is very interesting 
 to the dear old boy, for he can fully describe it 
 to her.'
 
 STUMBLIXG-BLOCKS. 195 
 
 This was so obvious that Cordelia went to 
 the seats overlooking the tennis-court, whither 
 Jock followed. ' I am afraid you find this sort 
 of thing desperately slow ; but in the country, 
 you know, we cannot get up a dance, or thea- 
 tricals, or any kind of lark more than once in 
 three months.' 
 
 ' Oh, no ! that is not why I cannot play 
 these games. I am going to do something 
 different, and I shall give up jolly dogs and 
 all sorts of sprees.' 
 
 ' Oh, I say. Miss Ashby ! Are you going 
 into a convent, or — or something of that sort ? ' 
 
 ' I do not know. I may have to do it ; but 
 good people do not always.' 
 
 ' I should think not ! Lettice is the best 
 girl I know, and she does not look like a con- 
 vent, does she ? ' 
 
 ' Not just now.' Lettice was making a 
 vigorous rally at tennis against a tough oppo- 
 nent, and both Cordelia and Jock paused to 
 admire and then applaud her. 
 2
 
 196 THE PERFECT PATH. 
 
 ' Now, Miss Ashby, you agree it is possible 
 to be good and play tennis too ? ' 
 
 ' Of course it is ; did I say it was not, you 
 particularly stupid young man ? * and Cordelia 
 told him about the project for a new tennis- 
 lawn, and the way in which Mayne and Lettice 
 gave it up. She was rather disappointed that 
 Jock took it as a matter of course. 
 
 A little later, Mr. Odiarne — a tall black 
 figure between the shorter white ones of Mayne 
 and Tim Somers — came to where Cordelia was 
 sitting, on a grassy bank, a little apart from the 
 rest. She received them with a fine red blush, 
 that Tim, sage youth, thought must be on 
 Mayne's account. Mayne thought it proceeded 
 from twinges of conscience at sight of Tim. Mr. 
 Odiarne did not notice it at all ; he was so much 
 away from and above the region of small things 
 that his observation was not very quick. Find- 
 ing that Cordelia would not play tennis, Mayne 
 carried off Tim and left her to the Vicar. 
 
 'Well, Cordelia, what are your morning
 
 STUMBLING-BLOCKS. 197 
 
 thoughts ? Do you still hold me to my promise 
 of the other night ? ' 
 
 Cordelia's face glowed assent, but she said 
 nothing. Mr. Odiarne sat down by her on the 
 bank. 
 
 ' I should laugh at one of my curates if 
 he were to begin professionally on a young 
 lady at a garden-party ; but I am old enough 
 for exceptions, and there is no time like the 
 present. Lettice would approve of that senti- 
 ment.' 
 
 ' Yes, she always begins at once.' 
 ' Ah ! not many people have such a well- 
 regulated mind as Lettice, or, if they begin 
 with it, they do not keep it to double her age. 
 Tell me something of your history — what you 
 know, what you like, and what you want to 
 know.' 
 
 ' I have learnt very nearly nothing.' 
 ' Whose fault has that been — yours ? ' 
 Cordelia told her httle tale of neglect and 
 loneliness, of her desultory hfe and utter
 
 198 THE PERFECT PATH. 
 
 lack of training and sweet influences, not 
 knowing how pathetic it seemed to her 
 liearer. 
 
 ' Now tell me what and whom you like. 
 I want to know the favourable side of you.' 
 
 ' I love Aunt Susan dearly, and]\irs. WasteL 
 I like Mayne and Lettice ; Miss Carling, too, 
 a little, though she is rather an odd bird.' 
 
 ' That is good, especially Aunt Susan. 
 Any one would like the others, but she is of the 
 nature of salt. A child or a foolish person 
 might find the taste of her a little sharp ; but 
 she is one of the indispensable, the savour of 
 all things. But who were your friends before 
 you came here ? ' 
 
 ' I care very much for Fero, my sister 
 Sophy's boy. He is not like her, but such a 
 darhng ! I hke George Kingdon too, one 
 of the Mentone crowd ; he is a baddish lot, I 
 am afraid, but he is always chummy with me. 
 Soeur Lucie is the person I have always 
 thought most of. Do you think it is wicked
 
 STUMBLIXG-BLOCKS. 199 
 
 to love a Eomanist? She is quite too awfully 
 good, and I want to be like her, if you can 
 show me how.' And Cordelia, warming into 
 slang, told her new friend of the saint-like 
 sister who had influenced her so strongly. 
 Then a few more questions sounded the depth 
 of her own personal negligences and igno- 
 rances, told with a freedom and candour to 
 which Mr. Odiarne was unaccustomed. 
 
 ' In a few days I will give you some books, 
 and something to learn by heart ; I am going 
 to treat you as a child, a little step backward 
 will not hurt you. You had better attend a 
 class that Mr. Knox holds for girls.' 
 
 ' I w^ould rather you taught me.' 
 
 ' I am going to teach you — a little sub- 
 mission.' 
 
 ' To learn as you think fit ? Well — yes, I 
 will do it. When am I to begin ? ' 
 
 ' I will give you one thing to begin on at 
 once, as I see you wish that. It is to speak 
 always respectfully of your father.'
 
 200 THE PERFECT PATH. 
 
 'How can I if I do not respect him, 
 and how can I respect him if he is an 
 old ' 
 
 ' Hush ! ' Mr. Odiarne looked so stern that 
 his pupil felt more awe than she had ex- 
 perienced before human being up to that hour. 
 Of course she admired him in proportion, and 
 listened reverently to his very short enforce- 
 ment of the principle of the fifth command- 
 ment, which, as the first moral lesson she had 
 ever set herself seriously to apply, opened to 
 her the enormous, the life-long difficulty of the 
 step that lies between knowing and doing. 
 
 ' Thank you. Cousin Philip ; you are the 
 very best man in the world ! * whispered Lettice, 
 when they were all standing about the tea- 
 table, and Cordeha was carrying queen- cakes 
 to Aunt Susan. 
 
 ' Very much so, indeed,* answered the Yicar, 
 grimly ; ' and your cousin Cordelia is the best 
 young woman in the world ; so I beg that you 
 will treat her as such, and neither try to teach
 
 STUMBLIN'G-BLOCKS. 20l 
 
 her anything, nor let her think herself interest- 
 ingly wicked.' 
 
 ' Very well ; but you had better warn 
 Mayne too about the last, for that is just what 
 he thinks her,' returned Lattice, with a grain 
 of malice, and not sorry to see the Vicar look 
 discomfited.
 
 202 THE PERFECT PATH. 
 
 CHAPTEE XII. 
 
 MORE ZEAL THAN DISCRETION. 
 
 Ye holy men, so earnest in your care, 
 Of your own mighty instruments beware ! 
 
 Woi'dsworth. 
 
 ' Dearest, sweetest, loveliest Aunt Susan ! 
 how perfectly delicious it is to come back to 
 you and to Ivy Cottage, and to the old maids 
 and home ! I must call it home ; you don't 
 mind, do you ? And oh. Aunt Susan I such a 
 beautiful thing has happened to me, and I am 
 to have my great wish ! ' 
 
 Cordelia paused, not from want of words, 
 but to give her news due effect. Miss Hooper 
 settled her cap, recovered her newspaper, and 
 pretended to be very much fussed by her great- 
 niece's sudden entrance. ' My dear ! we did 
 not know you were coming this afternoon. 
 Tell French at once, so that there may be
 
 MORE ZEAL THAX DISCRETION. 203 
 
 cakes for tea ; and stop, my dear, Andrew will 
 take your box upstairs.' 
 
 ' Oh, my box ! I dare say it will come 
 when they send for the second post. Never 
 mind that, my dearest dear. I want to tell 
 you my good news ! ' 
 
 Aunt Susan looked at her anxiously. She 
 was not such a child after all ; she seemed to 
 have grown older in these last ten days ; and 
 you can never depend on young men, even 
 such as Mayne ; and how very awkward it 
 would be if there should be anything — Colonel 
 Ashby such a very undesirable connection! 
 The child seemed quite excited. Miss Hooper's 
 heart stood still as CordeUa went on, with one 
 of her bicfcrest blushes too. 
 
 ' Only think what a splendid thing for me ! 
 What I have been longing, and trying, and 
 scheming for, and now it seems too good to be 
 true ! Mr. Odiarne, his very own self, is going 
 to teach me to be good — very good ; of the 
 same kind of goodness as his own ! Is it not
 
 204 THE PERFECT PATH. 
 
 frightfully good of him, when I have just been 
 running such rigs ? ' 
 
 ' Is that all, my dear ? You quite frightened 
 me. I am glad to hear it ; and it is very kind 
 of the Vicar. But you must not be a charge 
 on his time ; you know he has all the parish to 
 teach.' 
 
 ' Yes, but I am to learn something special. 
 I think it is called the higher Hfe.' 
 
 ' If you mean a Christian life, nothing can 
 be higher than that; and he wishes all his 
 people to lead it.' Aunt Susan spoke tartly. 
 
 ' And do they ? ' 
 
 ' If they do not, there is no excuse for 
 them. No one in Maybury can plead that 
 they have not both teaching and example.* 
 
 ' But are they better ? ' 
 
 ' Indeed I think so. A great many are 
 following his lead, and the young people are 
 especially touched ; but Mr. Odiarne himself is 
 always anxious that we should not try to count 
 converts, to separate wheat from tares, or to
 
 MORE ZEAL THAN DISCEETION. 205 
 
 estimate what is necessarily unseen by line and 
 rule. I can say for myself that I have learned 
 much from this young man, although I thought 
 I knew all about it before he was born/ 
 
 ' Do you call Mr. Odiarne a young man ? ' 
 
 ' He is not much more than forty-five. That 
 is young in my old eyes.' 
 
 'Forty! that is quite old. I am glad of 
 that, for I do not think young men can teach 
 one, do you ? ' 
 
 ' They always think they can , so perhaps 
 they are right sometimes.' 
 
 Cordelia turned over her new leaf with a 
 good deal of rustle and flutter. She fairly 
 chattered about 'Mi. Odiarne, his likes and dis- 
 likes, his goings and comings, his sermons, and 
 even his lessons to her. Aunt Susan rather 
 enjoyed hearing all this, and did not check 
 her. Lettice was contemptuous, and set her 
 cousin down for a fool, and Cordelia woidd not 
 take advice from her in consequence. Then 
 Mrs. Wastel interfered, and Cordelia promised
 
 206 THE PEKFECT PATH. 
 
 to obey, but could not understand, and it was 
 not advisable to damp her by telling her that 
 she was unduly and unwholesomely excited. 
 
 ' You love all sorts of goodness and of 
 good people, and you often speak of these 
 things,' she said one day, when Mrs. Wastel 
 was trying to tone her down a little. 
 
 ' Yes ; but I do not speak at all times nor to 
 every one. Then I am so much older than 
 you are, graver too, as becomes my years and 
 what has come to pass in them. I am more 
 estabhshed, as it were, and my surroundings 
 are oftener in tune with high subjects than 
 yours can be. I do not sit on the hall table 
 in a Tam-o'-Shanter cap to-day to explain the 
 views on baptismal regeneration that I learnt 
 yesterday, as I saw some one doing this morn- 
 ing. My friends are older than yours, and 
 many of them think with me. If you listen a 
 little you will find that we indulge in these 
 topics rarely, and only when we are sure of 
 being all of one mind on great matters. You
 
 MORE ZEAL THAX DISCRETIOX. 207 
 
 made me very hot the other day at kmcheon 
 by talking to Mr. Merridevv about instantaneous 
 conversion when Mr. Stepney was there, who 
 calls himself an agnostic. Xow Mr. Stepney 
 is a thoughtful person whom I much respect, 
 and think very much better than his opinions. 
 We often have a httle discussion on them when 
 no one is listening, and he is always very 
 careful not to drop a word that may offend 
 me. Judge of my feelings when I heard you 
 making yourself ridiculous on the gravest 
 matters, of which you cannot possibly under- 
 stand all the bearings.' 
 
 ' I am sorry, cousin. I saw Mr. Merridew 
 did not hke it ; but I thought he was ashamed 
 of goodness and of being a parson.' 
 
 ' Not he ! He was ashamed of your want 
 of tact, and afterwards begged my pardon for 
 your fault.' 
 
 ' Did he ? How first-rate of him ; he is 
 not lialf bad I But, cousin, I often hear you 
 and Aunt Susan and Mr. Odiame say things
 
 208 THE PERFECT PATH. 
 
 that make one see and think of the very best 
 things.' 
 
 'Do you? I am glad of that. My aunt 
 is an old-fashioned Christian, of a pattern that 
 is often thought cold and hard, severely respect- 
 able, and wanting in enthusiasm and sympathy, 
 therefore often failing to exert a wide influence ; 
 but she has all the virtues of her school, and 
 few of its failings. She is so clear and upright, 
 as well as so kindly, that she is a tower of 
 strength to those who do not find her too 
 rugged and grim.' 
 
 ' And you, cousin ? ' 
 
 ' I humbly trust that I have the root of the 
 matter ; but I am like a climbing plant, with 
 little strength of my own, and I lean on any 
 one who has more firmness than I have. My 
 way is to sentimentalise too much, to lean too 
 much to the side of feeling, to over-refine, and 
 so lose the clearness and honesty of mind and 
 soul that, next to a hearty desire for goodness, 
 are perhaps the most essential to real progress.'
 
 MORE ZEAL THAN DISCRETION. 209 
 
 ' But is not speaking out the most honest 
 way? And how is one to learn and to under- 
 stand people if one does not talk of these 
 things ? ' 
 
 ' In one way, the way of observation, you 
 can learn from every one ; but observation 
 means silence. As to words, it is surprising 
 how few people teach one anything directly. 
 Then you know these matters are the very core 
 of the heart ; very few like to speak of them at 
 all ; there is a feeling that there is a lack of 
 modesty and reserve in proclaiming the deep 
 and secret workings of God in the soul before 
 the multitude ; it is the grace of spiritual shy- 
 ness. I should greatly doubt any older person 
 whom I saw to be without it. And for you, I 
 think it will develop as you understand better. 
 Philip Odiarne is an appointed teacher ; yet 
 how cautious he is in his deahng with deep 
 subjects ! ' 
 
 ' One cannot imagine him less than perfec- 
 tion ! ' 
 
 VOL I. P
 
 210 THE PERFECT PATH. 
 
 ' He would not say so ; and though he has 
 his weaknesses, it is not necessary for you to 
 look for them. He has the gift of a singularly 
 pure and noble nature. This is, as it were, a 
 vantage ground for him ; he is called, in an 
 especial manner, to be a saint ; and it seems to 
 be required of him that he should attain to 
 lofty heights of goodness, and raise others with 
 him. He impressed me in this way when I 
 first knew him ; yet I can see — feel, rather — 
 that he has advanced much in these fifteen 
 years. His spiritual life has become both 
 deeper and higher.' 
 
 ' Fifteen years ! Has it taken him so long 
 to be so good ? ' 
 
 ' Longer than that ; more than forty. He 
 has from his baptism lived the rest of his fife 
 according to that beginning. What we see is 
 the growth in grace, "shining ever more 
 unto the perfect day." Fifteen years is as 
 nothing in such a life^ — a life that is not mortal, 
 but immortal ; it takes long enough to under-
 
 MORE ZEAL THAX DISCRETION. 211 
 
 Stand it from the outside, to see it in all its 
 bearings.' 
 
 ' You say that nature is a gift. Do you 
 mean that some people are born with it, a 
 fahy gift of goodness, so that they cannot 
 help it ? ' 
 
 'It is God's gift, most truly, and a very 
 rare and precious one. Some people do seem, 
 as you say, born with it ; the qualities are in 
 some measure hereditary, and it is part of the 
 blessing on the children of the righteous. 
 Colonel Odiarne, Philip's father, an excellent 
 officer, who distinguished himself in active ser- 
 vice in India, was a man who exerted a strong 
 influence for good in his regiment, at a time 
 when to lead a Christian life under such circum- 
 stances was to suffer a very real persecution.' 
 
 ' There would have been a chance for me 
 if I had been the daughter of that Colonel,' 
 said CordeHa, \nth a sigh, which made Mrs. 
 Wastel wish she had not taken her moralising 
 quite so far. 
 
 p 2
 
 212 THE TERFECT PATH. 
 
 * We are speaking of an especial and singu- 
 lar gift, you know. If our talents are but two, 
 or one, they must be used.' 
 
 ' I mean to be something very special. It 
 will be all the harder if it is not in me, as it 
 is in Soeur Lucie and Mr. Odiarne.' 
 
 Cordelia took some warning about promis- 
 cuous talking ; but she did not yet, nor all at 
 once, attain the grace of spiritual modesty and 
 reserve, not until she began to feel the real 
 stress of the spiritual conflict for which as yet 
 she was only storing the weapons. 
 
 Mr. Odiarne did not bestow much time on 
 his pupil, but he gave her some books and 
 directions for studying them, with some instruc- 
 tion and advice as to private devotion, and he 
 put her in the way of learning what was taught 
 in the Maybury Sunday schools to the elder 
 children. She would have thriven better on 
 the lessons to the little ones, so destitute was 
 she of the usual teaching ; but her good will to 
 learn stood her in good stead, and Mr. Odiarne,
 
 MORE ZEAL THAX DISCRETIOX, 213 
 
 though he might only talk to her for a few 
 minutes at long intervals, allowed her to feel 
 that she was his own pupil and special care. 
 No more than this was needed to keep her 
 constantly eager, and at the fiill stretch of her 
 powers. He was amazed at her capacity for 
 learning, and refreshed and encouraged by her 
 intense devotion to her subject, so different 
 from the childish, unwilling, or indifferent 
 minds that formed so large a proportion of 
 those he had to teach. This made her a most 
 attractive pupil, and her master built up a fair 
 scheme of rapid and noble development for 
 this fresh and ready hearer, who seemed to 
 present no opposing force to the pure and 
 exalted conception of Christianity that he 
 strove to put before her. Insensibly led by 
 her untiring attention and ready comprehen- 
 sion, he went on from the truths and doctrines 
 to his own meditations and reflections on them, 
 and would try the effect of some personal view, 
 some new thought, some private speculation,
 
 214 THE PERFECT PATH. 
 
 upon her receptive mind. It seemed to matter 
 little what he said, in one way, for Cordeha 
 drank in everything, classic or original, with 
 the same avidity and perfect faith in him, 
 though she constantly disregarded his warnings 
 as to what might not be fiilly thought out, 
 or a matter on which there were grave 
 differences of opinion, or a thought that had 
 only crossed his mind at the moment of 
 speaking. 
 
 Finding that Cordeha's ignorance of the 
 letter of Scripture greatly impeded her under- 
 standing of his illustrations, the Yicar begged 
 her to attend a Bible class for young women, 
 held weekly by the senior curate, Mr. Knox. 
 Here she was not exemplary ; she made light 
 of Mr. Knox, chiefly because he was not Mr. 
 Odiarne ; he had a small rasping voice, and a 
 dry manner, which she would not forgive, even 
 when she began to share the interest his other 
 pupils found in their work. 
 
 ' What have you been teaching Miss Ashby
 
 MORE ZEAL THAN DISCRETIOX. 215 
 
 Oil the theory of prophecy ? ' asked i\Ir. Knox 
 of his chief. 
 
 ' I ? nothing ; not much at least. Why do 
 you ask ? ' 
 
 * She said something so odd yesterday about 
 the visions of Ezekiel, I coukl not tell what 
 she was diiving at ; but she quoted you with 
 much confidence, and I suppose she had taken 
 hold of something you said wrong way first — 
 women always do,' said the much tried little 
 man. 
 
 ' Does she ask questions ? ' inquired the 
 Yicar, who was at one with him as touching 
 women in general. 
 
 ' I allow questions at the end of the lecture 
 only, otherwise I cannot keep these young 
 persons at all to the point ; allow one to speak, 
 and the conversation immediately becomes 
 general. Miss Ashby does not so much ask 
 questions, as give us all instruction in your 
 name. She said something about the eagles 
 and the \ine, and the highest branch. I think
 
 216 THE PERFECT PATH. 
 
 it was to the effect that some people were the 
 favoured ones, the higher branches, and so 
 more acceptable. I confess I do not see all the 
 bearings of the passage myself, and I did not 
 attempt to answer her.' 
 
 ' I think I was building up a theory of 
 spiritual aspiration, and of the glorious ambition 
 of those who would win a special crown, and 
 press forward to the farthest mark.' 
 
 ' Is that milk for babes ? ' 
 
 ' I hardly look on her as such ; she is 
 capable of receiving a great deal,' said the 
 Vicar, with a shade of apology in his tone. 
 
 ' She does not yet thoroughly know the 
 Catechism.' 
 
 ' Very likely, she does not submit herself to 
 her spiritual pastors. However, she can appre- 
 hend the truths without the form of words.' 
 
 ' The form of words is a very serviceable 
 anchor : I have bidden her learn her " duty to 
 her neighbour," as well as the kings of Israel 
 and Judah.'
 
 ArOEE ZEAL THAX DISCRETION. 217 
 
 ' Very good. You are a better teacher of 
 youth than I am, Knox.' 
 
 ' Not so. You are professor in a higher 
 school than I ; but in this case your disciple has 
 not first graduated in the lower one, as is the 
 wholesome custom.' 
 
 About this time, Cordelia wrote a letter— so 
 rare an occurrence, that Miss Hooper, seeing 
 her busy with pen and ink, looking hot, and 
 with her hair rumpled, asked if she were writing 
 to her father. 
 
 ' Oh no, he knows where I am, and does 
 not want reminding of me. I am writing to 
 George Kingdon. Do not you think it is a 
 pity to put in commas, they spoil the effect if 
 you get them in the wrong places ? ' 
 
 ' But you must learn to put them in the 
 right places ; it is a mark of a gentlewoman 
 that her letter is rightly punctuated.' 
 
 ' George thinks me a cad, to begin with, and 
 I don't beheve he knows much about stops 
 himself.'
 
 218 THE PEKFECT PATH. 
 
 ' Is it necessary to write to sucti a person ? ' 
 
 ' Yes ; he is rather a shady lot, but he is a 
 gentleman, and thinks it very poor form not to 
 keep promises.' 
 
 'My dear! can you have anything to say 
 to make it needful to write to a doubtful cha- 
 racter ? ' 
 
 ' It is all right, Aunt Susan. I am only 
 telling him what a good thing it is for me to 
 have hopped across Mr. Odiarne.' 
 
 Miss Hooper was divided between her duty 
 as in charge of her niece and her delicate feelings 
 about other people's letters. As she pondered, 
 Cordelia came to an end, with only one more 
 difficulty. 
 
 ' Ought I to say " yours sincerely " or 
 "truly".?' 
 
 ' As you write to a gentleman, " truly " will 
 be better, I tliink.' 
 
 ' Easier to spell, that decides it ! ' and Cor- 
 delia read over her letter with modest satis- 
 faction.
 
 :n[ore zeal than discretion. 219 
 
 'Dear George, — I promised to tell you 
 Avhen I found any one to teach me how to be 
 very good. So here I am. It is Mr. Odiarne, 
 the Vicar here ; he is quite tremendously good 
 — the best man I ever met — bar none. There 
 is no question of laughing at or chaffing him, I 
 can tell you. I hope soon to be very rehgious, 
 and wish you would learn the same — there is 
 nothing hke it, as I told you. The people here 
 are all good, and very jolly too. 
 ' Yours truly, 
 
 'Cordelia Ashby.' 
 
 Miss Hooper's cogitations led her to propose 
 that Cordelia should have a morning governess 
 for a few weeks. She propounded the plan 
 diffidently. 
 
 ' Will she teach me about the commas, and 
 the meaning of words in the Bible, or will she 
 bother with German declensions and the history 
 of British India ? ' asked Cordelia, cautiously. 
 
 'She shall teach you the things in which
 
 220 THE PERFECT PATH. 
 
 you feel most deficient. I hardly kuow what is 
 taui^ht now. I learnt grammar and geography, 
 ciphering and the use of the globes ; your 
 mother learnt arithmetic and Italian and 
 chemistry ; Lettice learnt mathematics and 
 physiology and German and Latin.' 
 
 ' Oh dear, I shall never rise to that. Had I 
 not better learn reading and writing, and all the 
 little things that everybody knows ? ' 
 
 ' Yes, indeed, my dear. Miss Spenser, who 
 has been a governess and is a superior young 
 person, is obliged now to live with her mother, 
 who thinks herself a great invalid ; I do not 
 know what her complaint is, but she requires 
 attention. We will enquire about Miss Spenser 
 to-morrow.* 
 
 So Cordelia spent the long summer morn- 
 ings in patching up her rickety education. The 
 restraint galled her, but she submitted bravely 
 for the most part, only taking an occasional 
 break out. Mrs. Wastel advised an easy rule, 
 lessons in the garden, a good deal of talking, or
 
 MORE ZEAL THAN DISCRETION. 221 
 
 conversation lessons, as Miss Spenser preferred 
 to call them, and by a happy hit, some his- 
 torical novels — Scott, James, Bulwer, and Miss 
 Yonge — with all the educational side-lights to 
 be thrown on them by maps and dictionaries. 
 Miss Spenser proved sensible ; but she chiefly 
 gained her pupil's respect by confessing herself 
 an ardent admirer and disciple of Mr. Odiarne, 
 and her attention by going over his lectures 
 and sermons so as to teach Cordelia the im- 
 portant lessons of how to learn and how to 
 listen.
 
 222 THE PEKPECT PATH. 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 A LOOK BACKWARD. 
 
 Thou standest in the rising sun, 
 And in the setting thou art fair. 
 
 Tennyson. 
 
 One morning Mr. Odiarne was walking to the 
 Uplands on some pastoral business. His passage 
 through the town was constantly interruptc d ; 
 a word from the doctor about a patient, 
 then a great many from a district visitor 
 about a naughty girl. Then a woman — her 
 sister's husband had beaten his wife, and wasn't 
 drunk either — would the Vicar see about it ? 
 Then his eye fell on a small girl ; being a prac- 
 tised eye, it distinguished her from seven or 
 eight other small girls with whom she was im- 
 portantly marching home from the infant school. 
 'Amelia Barnes, why does not your sister 
 come to school now ? '
 
 A LOOK BACKWARD. 223 
 
 Amelia's fat face looked very wise ; being a 
 trained infant, she spoke up distinctly from the 
 height of the Vicar's knee — 
 
 ' She ain't coming to big school no more. 
 She goes to Methodist.' 
 
 ' Indeed ! And does she like that ? ' 
 
 ' Oh-h, yes. She hkes it ; they give her 
 two apples every day, and sixpence for going ! ' 
 ■ Next came an old woman in great grief. 
 
 ' Pig doyed last night. Took bad, he was. 
 We fetched him in to the fire and wrapped him 
 up in the blanket ; but 'twarn't no use, he 
 wouldn't stop ! ' 
 
 Of another old woman Mr. Odiarne asked 
 after her son who had gone for a soldier. 
 
 ' He be getting along very well, thank you, 
 sir. He be got among the " awls " ; he be 
 either a generawl or a corporawl, I don't rightly 
 know which, but it be among the " awls." ' 
 
 The day was very hot, and, coming out of 
 the town, the Vicar kept under the shadow of 
 the wall, topped by a hedge, that bounded Miss
 
 224 THE PERFECT PATH. 
 
 Hooper's garden. In this hedge grew a far- 
 spreading yew-tree, very accessible from the 
 garden side, but some height above the green 
 border of the highway. There was a great 
 rustle and creak in this tree as he came near, 
 and Cordelia Ashby swung herself down from 
 the branches just before him. 
 
 ' I have startled you, Mr. Odiarne ! You 
 did not know I could get through this tree ! ' 
 
 ' I did not know that you would ; and I did 
 not know you wore red stockings.' 
 
 Cordelia's face matched her stockings. 'I 
 am always doing wrong things, and only finding 
 them out when you look at me. I saw you 
 coming, and thought I would ask you about the 
 sins of the fathers beino; visited on the children. 
 What does it mean ? ' 
 
 ' George Luck got drunk and fell over the 
 cradle ; the baby was hurt and will always be 
 lame.' 
 
 ' Poor baby ! What a shame ! I am the 
 worse for the Colonel's little ways, and because
 
 A LOOK BACKWARD. 225 
 
 he spends the money on himself that ought 
 to have gone for my schooHng. Is that what 
 you want to say ? ' 
 
 ' AVhat is Miss Spenser doing ? ' 
 
 ' Eating raspberries, finding the places in 
 the map of Spain that are mentioned in the 
 " Conquest of Granada," and wondering what 
 has become of me.' 
 
 ' Now^ I am going to speak very plainly to 
 you ; and as Miss Spenser has the raspberries, you 
 may walk up the hill with me. You remember 
 what I said to you about honouring your father 
 and mother? ' 
 
 ' Yes. I have done as you told me about 
 him — the prayers. How surprised he would be 
 if he knew ! It is no trouble to honour poor 
 mamma in my thoughts. I always think of her 
 as so beautiful and unliappy.' 
 
 ' Her story is a very sad one ; and, though it 
 must give you pain, I think it will be good for 
 you to hear it. Aunt Susan gave me leave, 
 and you can ask her for the details. She was, 
 
 VOL. I. Q
 
 226 THE PERFECT PATH. 
 
 as you say, very beautiful ; and she was unhappy, 
 for she spoilt her own life. She had a great 
 power of attracting strong love ; her father 
 must have idolised her ; Aunt Susan and Mrs. 
 Wastel deeply love her still, and they love you 
 for her sake — there you get the benefit of her 
 best and most lovable qualities. But there is 
 another side — she was not dutiful, she did not 
 honour her father, nor trust him ; possibly she 
 only found out too late how much she loved 
 him. Cordelia, she broke his heart by leaving 
 her home secretly and running away to marry 
 your father ! ' 
 
 ' Oh, Mr. Odiarne ! ' 
 
 It was a severe blow. Cordelia blushed 
 and gasped as she looked blankly at the kind 
 face of her friend, and, reading many unsaid 
 things there, she looked down blushing again, 
 and two large tears rolled down her cheeks for 
 the pity of it, of that long ago sin. 
 
 'It must be pain to you, poor child. I 
 \\nshed you to be told sooner, for you were sure
 
 A LOOK BACKWARD. 
 
 99' 
 
 to hear it some day. You know I would not 
 wilfully grieve you,' said tlie Vicar, very gently, 
 and Cordelia presently looked up again ; nothing 
 could be too grievous when he seemed grieved 
 for her and spoke with such kindness ; he had 
 something to say too, and she must listen. 
 ' Xow, think of this : every wilful lawless thing 
 you do, every carelessness of speech or behaviour, 
 reflects back on your mother as well as on your 
 father. Here are people to say, " That was her 
 mother's spirit," and to recollect her conduct 
 with more harshness than they otherwise would. 
 On the other hand, if you are dutiftd and 
 gentle, a good woman and a gentlewoman, 
 there are others, far better and more worthy of 
 being heeded, who will say, '' Her mother was 
 very sweet ; she is like her, and reminds us of 
 all the best of her." More than this — your 
 shortcomings may be part of her punishment ; 
 they certainly would have been had she lived — 
 or rather, she now sees her own in the light of 
 eternity, she measures them by the height and 
 Q 2
 
 228 THE PERFECT PATH. 
 
 depth and agony of her forgiveness. And you, 
 her daughter, you must hve with both sides of 
 her example before you, yet referring all to the 
 great Example.' 
 
 Cordeha did not speak, but she looked her 
 acceptance of this, and Mr. Odiarne went on : 
 ' See now, here, in her own place, you more 
 than any one may honour her memory ; and if 
 you begin to do that rightly, you will learn 
 how to forgive and honour your father too. It 
 is hard for you, but it must be done. Begin 
 with a little outward sign — do not call him 
 "the Colonel" any more; say "my father"; 
 then you must needs remember the Father of 
 Whom both you and he are erring children.' 
 
 He stopped and bade her good-bye, sug- 
 gesting an excuse to Miss Spenser. Cordelia 
 dashed down the hill and into her own room. 
 Miss Spenser did not see her eccentric pupil at 
 all that day ; on the next, ' Mr. Odiarne was 
 talking to me,' was ample reason for the defec- 
 tion, and from that time the governess found
 
 A LOOK BACKWARD. 229 
 
 her, if not always docile and attentive, at least 
 seriously anxious to be so. 
 
 Miss Hooper believed herself to spend 
 Sunday in extreme quiet and repose. Eeally, it 
 was the busiest day of her week. She wore her 
 best gown, which was in itself exciting ; she 
 drove with much state and ceremony to May- 
 bury Church, where, though the seats were 
 strictly free and unappropriated, she would 
 have been much surprised to miss her usual 
 chair. The Yicar and churchwardens winked 
 at this indulgence, declaring that for no one but 
 Miss Hooper would other people submit to the 
 monopoly. 
 
 To Cordeha these Sundays became a deep 
 excitement. She was learning to follow the 
 services, and to fix her unaccustomed attention, 
 enlarging her capacity for devotion by slow 
 degrees. Meanings began to unfold for her 
 here and there, and her brioiit intellis^ence 
 applied well what w^as taught her ; but when it 
 was a question of matters in which ]\Ir. Odiarne
 
 230 THE PERFECT PATH. 
 
 had personally instructed her, she fastened on 
 them eagerl}^, with a flash of her spirit and a 
 glow of her heart that seemed to burn them in. 
 Surely it was the pure love of God that made 
 her feel thus — so lifted out of herself, so 
 radiantly happy in all good things ? When the 
 Vicar preached she sat in rapt attention, her 
 whole soul bent to understand ; and when he, 
 rising beyond eloquence, poured out his soul in 
 warm inspiration, she was the first to feel it, to 
 sit with bowxd head and fast-dropping tears ; or, 
 kindling quick at his enthusiasm, her hot young 
 heart would burn within her, she knew not 
 why ; nor did she think it strange or perilous 
 that only one voice would move her so, that 
 only one utterance she received as a real mes- 
 sage to herself — for was not this her chosen 
 teacher ? 
 
 There was a custom at Maybury that on 
 Sundays the clergyman who went to the Uplands 
 for morning service came afterwards to Ivy 
 Cottage for luncheon, saving time and walking
 
 A LOOK BA.CKWARD. 231 
 
 before he went to another outlying hamlet. 
 Aunt Susan always apologised for the plain 
 meal that such old-fashioned people as herself 
 thought befitting the day of rest to the man- 
 servant and the maid-servant, and no one 
 thought it advisable to point out that it was 
 the daintiest meal of the week. Mr. Merridew, 
 the junior curate, much appreciated Cordelia, 
 who in turn liked him ; he was a cheery boyish 
 creature, hearty both at work and play, and 
 giving good promise for the future in his pre- 
 sent rather raw undevelopment. He was a 
 little afraid of Aunt Susan, who could not for- 
 give Ms youth nor forget his great-uncles — 
 venerable friends of hers who died of old age 
 before their great-nephew was born. He found 
 Cordelia a welcome relief from tlie tete-a-tete 
 luncheons, and was extremely disconcerted 
 when Miss Hooper saw this, and told him so as 
 a mere matter of observation. Mr. Knox was 
 much more staid and dry ; he was excellent, 
 but entirely professional. ' It is lucky that he
 
 232 THE PERFECT PATH. 
 
 chiefly comes on Sundays ; I should not know 
 what to say to him on a week-day,' said Aunt 
 Susan. As it was, they talked of Church and 
 Dissent, old women and temperance societies. 
 There was high fete at Ivy Cottage when the ' 
 Vicar came ; but this was rare. 
 
 A Sunday seldom passed without a visit 
 from some of the Warren party on their way to 
 or from May bury Church. Mrs. Wastel would 
 rest and talk, while Lettice walked about the 
 garden with Cordelia, and Mayne inspected the 
 pigs and the pony, and prescribed for Aunt 
 Susan's fruit and rose trees. It happened about 
 the time of Cordelia's receiving the above lecture 
 that Mayne Wastel was away from home for a 
 fortnight, ' between hay and harvest,' as he 
 said in his character of British farmer, and also 
 that he had not met Cordelia for some days 
 after his return. Coming in alone one Sunday 
 to the Ivy Cottage luncheon, he watched 
 Cordelia and Mr. Merridew while he talked to 
 Aunt Susan ; and afterwards going with the
 
 A LOOK BACKW.\IID. 233 
 
 younger lady to the kitchen garden, he ob- 
 served, ' So they have tamed you, Cordeha?' 
 Mr. Odiarne was not the only person who 
 found Miss Ashby's Christian name pleasant on 
 the tongue. 
 
 ' They are trying ; and so am I. Do you 
 think I get on ? ' 
 
 ' Only too fast. There is a change in you, 
 my young friend. You have a caught and 
 combed look ; your gown is the most correct 
 and fashionable imitation of a bottle ; and you 
 have done something to your hair, or is it a 
 wig? ' 
 
 ' A wig ; an old one of Mrs. Peabody's.' 
 
 ' I thought bay was her colour. But this 
 is not all ; w^hy is this gentle melancholy, this 
 subdued light, this touching dignity ? Above 
 all, where are the picturesque expressions ? I 
 have not heard one all the morning.' 
 
 ' I am trying to leave off. Is it slang to 
 say a thing is a rummy go, when it is — well, 
 very rummy, you know ? '
 
 234 THE PERFECT PATH. 
 
 ' Some people would think so. So much 
 depends on whom you speak to. I would not, 
 if I were you, say it to Lady Somers ; Merridew 
 might forgive you. It would sound very stuck- 
 up if you always spoke like a book ; only cads, 
 prigs, and cultured Americans do that — people 
 whose gentility is so nicely balanced that it 
 would be overset by a word not according to 
 Cocker. I do not approve of the girl who said 
 to her mother, " Now, old gal, let's be toddling ; " 
 but if she had said " My honoured parent, my 
 mind misgives me lest further delay should 
 cause inconvenience," I should not like her 
 much better.' 
 
 *■ You do not help me. I am trying so 
 hard to get up a little behaviour, but you like 
 to be able to laugh at me for being outra- 
 geous.' 
 
 ' Not quite such a brute as that,' said 
 Mayne, shortly, and with a flash that let Cor- 
 delia into secrets. This was not a man after 
 George Kingdon's pattern, caring not what was
 
 A LOOK BACKWARD. 235 
 
 thought of him ; he was incapable of the mean- 
 ness, and did not like to be accused of it. He 
 went on in a different tone. ' What hum- 
 bug it is, trying to make you flat and prim, and 
 all sorts of things that are not the least in your 
 style.' 
 
 ' I am " thoroughly bad style," you know.' 
 
 ' That is Mrs. Longley ; never mind her. 
 Are they not bearing too hard on you, Cordie ; 
 too much curb ? You might tell me.' 
 
 Cordelia looked the other way, and her 
 voice shook a little as she began, ' Don't you 
 hke me in this gown ; it is new, and very much 
 the thing ; now you say it — it is like a bottle,' 
 and she considered gravely the smooth dark- 
 green surface. 
 
 ' I do not think much of the gown, one 
 way or other, I like you in it immensely ; it 
 is a pity there is not a button-hole some- 
 where about it, this yellow^ish rose would 
 make a good arrangement ; it is " Marie van 
 Houtte." '
 
 236 THE TERFECT PATH. 
 
 Cordelia put out her hand for the rose, and 
 pinned it under her chin. 
 
 ' Did you ever try to be very good, Mayne? 
 I thought it would be as easy as fun, when 
 once I had made up my mind to go in for it ; 
 I meant it, and thought I could do as I please ; 
 it is very strange that one cannot. What do 
 you make of it ? ' 
 
 ' Not much. The fact is, that it is collar 
 work all the way, and one must put one's heart 
 into it, like a willing horse. I try after a 
 fashion, for I know well enough that down hiil 
 leads to the deuce. You are good for a strong 
 pull, Cordie, and — well, the coach is never quite 
 too heavy.' 
 
 Mayne coloured, even through his summer 
 complexion ; Cordelia was beginning to know 
 what it was to be shy, but she was hardly 
 able to appreciate what this confession cost her 
 friend. 
 
 ' I should scorn to mind about giving up 
 pleasant things — dancing, nice clothes, good-to-
 
 A LOOK BACKWARD. 237 
 
 eat, and even jokes ; but Mr. Odiarne does not 
 want anything of that sort ; he says I am to 
 rule myself before I rule the world.' 
 
 ' Is Philip too heavy on you ? He has 
 always kept himself in such strict order that he 
 does not know how^ hard it is for happy-go- 
 lucky people like you and me.' 
 
 ' Oh, no. He is just perfect, and knows all 
 about one better than oneself,' she said, w^ith a 
 heavy sigh. 
 
 That Sunday evening Cordelia stretched 
 herself on the hearthrug at her aunt's feet, 
 saying, ' Aunt Susan, will you tell me all you 
 know about my mother ? All, please, good and 
 bad together.' 
 
 ' My dear, I have wished to tell you. Truth 
 is best, and truth will so far prevail that I do 
 not fear you will love her less if I must tell you 
 some things that are not good. But it always 
 pains me to speak of her, and I cannot do it 
 while you he on the floor like that.' 
 
 ' I beg your pardon ! I wish I had learnt
 
 238 THE PERFECT PATH. 
 
 manners ; they are harder to make up than 
 spelhng even. Will this do, on the footstool 
 under your elbow ? Auntie, I have heard the 
 worst of her — that she ran away, but I want to 
 know how it came about.* 
 
 Miss Hooper told Eosina's story much as 
 she told it to Mr. Odiarne before Cordelia 
 came, but with a wonderful difference in her 
 own feelings. Eosina's child had warmed her 
 heart in her old age, and taken away some of 
 the sting of Eosina's misdeeds ; Cordelia had 
 come to her with a message of love and peni- 
 tence from the dead. Her hearer said little, 
 until she heard of the deceit and the elope- 
 ment ; then she was roused. 
 
 ' She must have been a horrid girl to serve 
 you so ! I cannot help feeling it, for it seems 
 as if you were telling of a girl like me, not of 
 my mother. It was mean, it was sneaky of 
 her — and stupid too, to fancy any one could be 
 better to her than you and Mrs. Wastel. To 
 be sure, my father, when he likes, can persuade
 
 A LOOK BACKWARD. 239 
 
 a horse's hind-leg off, and I dare say she 
 thought he was quite a trump-card,' 
 
 ' Cordeha, do not talk your slaug about 
 this ! It sounds hateful to me.' 
 
 ' Dearest ! I am so sorry ; I forget some- 
 times, and sometimes I do not know the right 
 words.' 
 
 ' Yes. Eosina had been so carefully guarded 
 that she really did not know a bad man when 
 she saw him — ahem — I mean that she had no 
 experience of various characters ; still she knew 
 better than that, she must have known that she 
 was doing very, very wrong.' 
 
 ' And think what she must have felt when 
 she found out the Colonel's little w^avs — I mean, 
 that my father was not what she expected ! ' 
 
 ' I am sure that when she came to herself 
 she would struggle to make the best of him — 
 for love, as you must do for duty, my child.' 
 
 ' Mr. Odiarne said so. I wonder what he 
 would say if he knew him. Auntie, it is as if 
 you told me of a stranger, not of the mother I
 
 240 THE PERFECT PATH. 
 
 have always fancied. It is hard to forgive her 
 for having hurt you so.' Cordelia kissed the 
 square and faded hand that rested near to her 
 on the crutch-handled stick. 
 
 ' It was because we loved her so much that 
 she hurt us so deeply. We spoilt her, and 
 made her the centre of our lives ; she fancied 
 the world was made for her to take what she 
 liked out of.' 
 
 ' And she took him ! Oh, ye powers ! ' 
 murmured the Colonel's daughter. 
 
 ' You are not very like her, Cordelia. She 
 was smaller and fairer, and very dainty and 
 pretty in all her ways and manners; but you 
 have a better temper, and a more unselfish and 
 affectionate nature. One sees those things later — 
 too late — and all the mistakes. God forgive us ! 
 Eemember, my dear, when you bear a grudge, 
 as I fear you do, against your father for his 
 neglect of you, that although it has been bad 
 for your manners and ladylike training, yet it 
 may have been better for you than spoihng. I
 
 A LOOK BACKWARD. 241 
 
 could hardly have borne to trace your mother's 
 failings in you, and so find new cause for self- 
 reproach. So I love my big, awkward, truth- 
 telling Cordeha, without too sore a heart about 
 my poor darhng, our broken idol.' 
 
 'And what about my father?' asked Cor- 
 delia, after a silence. 
 
 ' My dear, you must ask Philip Odiarne 
 about him, not me,' replied Aunt Susm, quite 
 restored to her usual crispness. 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 242 THE PERFECT PATH. 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 A MEETING. 
 
 . . . Tliose blind motions of the spring, 
 That show the year is turn'd. 
 
 Tennyson. 
 
 ' The Sandbay regatta is to be on Thursday, 
 my lady ; if the Somerses will come I will drive 
 you all in the break,' said Mayne Wastel to 
 his stepmother. 
 
 ' Very good. I will write to Silverwood. 
 How many can you take ? ' 
 
 ' We will drive Cocktail and the Grey ; they 
 will pull eight easily. Toby is after grouse ; 
 so there will be Jock and Tim, with the two 
 
 girls 
 
 Mayne's sentence did not sound quite 
 finished. Mrs. Wastel said, 'That will be 
 eight, with Jones ; for you must needs take me
 
 A MEETING. 243 
 
 as odd old woman, unless you propose Lady 
 Somers.' 
 
 ' Fancy her in the break — like a peacock in 
 a higgler's basket ! I shall not want Jones : 
 Tim can open the gates. Then we can have 
 Cordelia ; she is better company than Jones.' 
 
 !Mrs. Wastel paused, considering. There 
 had been a good deal of Cordelia lately, except 
 during the fortnight of Mayne's absence ; that 
 might be accidental — but then it might not. 
 Lettice spoke quickly. ' Yes, let us have 
 Cordeha ; it will do her good.' 
 
 ' I thought Miss Spenser was the agent for 
 doing her good,' said Mrs. Wastel. 
 
 ' She will be all day away from Mayl:)iny, 
 and ' 
 
 Here Mrs. Wastel was called away, saying, 
 as she left the room, ' Ask her, if you like.' 
 
 ' Go on, Lettice,' said Mayne. 
 
 ' About Cordelia ? I think there is some- 
 thing odd about her.' 
 
 ' There was a ^ood deal. I thouojht the 
 
 Pv 2
 
 244 THE PERFECT PATH. 
 
 poor tiling was being shaped to pattern 
 now.' 
 
 ' This is different. I think she is going to 
 take up some rehgious turn.' 
 
 ' There are people who think that a good 
 thing.' 
 
 ' Of course, Mayne ; you know what I 
 mean. Cordelia is not natural over it ; she is 
 so vehement and furious, taking quite a craze.' 
 
 ' A little enthusiasm is refreshing when it 
 is not on too small a matter. Her subject is 
 momentous enough. Do the parsons bear too 
 hard on her ? ' 
 
 ' She listens to no one but Philip, and is so 
 excited over him ; she is worse than the May- 
 bury ladies ; if she is not as absurd as Miss 
 Peabody, she is more tHe montee.'' 
 
 ' Don't speak Prench, unless you wish to 
 show off. She might have a worse craze than 
 a parsonic one, and Philip will do her nothing 
 but good in the long run. She is of a different 
 nature from you ; she is not so ranges.
 
 A ^lEETIXG. 245 
 
 There, I can be as fine as you in the matter 
 of French ! Get along, old girl, and don't shy 
 at shadows.' 
 
 Cordelia went to Sandbay, and on the box 
 of the break. ]\Irs. Wastel thought Mayne 
 would keep that seat for Caro Somers, a very 
 merry, spirited girl, and good- looking too. 
 When the time should come for Mrs. Wastel to 
 leave the Warren to a stepdaughter-in-law she 
 thought she could leave it for Caro Somers 
 with a very good grace. But surely a man 
 may do as he hkes wuth his own box-seat, 
 particularly when he is driving from it himself. 
 Cordeha looked a credit to any one's break, and 
 she chattered all the way in her friendliest 
 fashion. Tim Somers was content to walk up 
 the hills with her. Fifteen miles of country, 
 chiefly fir plantations and open heathery com- 
 mon, lay between the Warren and the coast ; 
 the hills were steep, the road sandy, and the 
 horses must be eased a little. Charlotte Somers 
 had lately engaged herself to a young barrister.
 
 246 THE PERFECT PATH. 
 
 who must get a little further on in his pro- 
 fession before he could claim her. She liked 
 to stay with Mrs. Wastel in the carriage and 
 talk about him, while Caro walked with Mayne 
 by the horses' heads, discussing a litter of collie 
 puppies that were her uppermost delight at 
 present. Thus by hill and dale they came to 
 the last cliff overlooking Sandbay, halted 
 to combine the best jDoint of view with due 
 attention to the luncheon-basket, and so down 
 into the pretty watering-place, which had made 
 such an effort to be gay and festive that it w^as 
 more evident than usual that it was an ex- 
 tremely quiet place. 
 
 The regatta was not exciting, and there 
 was a slight mist over the sea, so that the 
 yacht races were for the most part invisible. 
 The spirits of the party were quite unimpaired 
 by this trifle. Mrs. Wastel went to see a 
 friend ; the others strolled on the sands and 
 climbed over the rocks into the next bay, a 
 salt and solitary recess where their laughter
 
 A MEETING. 247 
 
 seemed out of place until some one proposed 
 sea-songs. Charlotte led them, and they sang 
 several together ; then she sanpj alone the 
 ' Sands of Dee.' Tim voted this too tragic, 
 and asked Cordelia to sing. She declined en- 
 tirely, and with some confusion which seemed 
 out of place. Mayne guessed that she remem- 
 bered with shame her Silverwood singing, and 
 named a Neapolitan fisher song that he had 
 heard since. She shook her head, and began 
 the hymn for those at sea, ' Eternal Father ' ; 
 the rest joined her, and it sounded sweet and 
 solemn over the summer sea. More than one 
 of the young people thought of ' perils on the 
 sea' of this troublesome world, which as yet 
 seemed blue and shining for all of them. 
 Lettice could not have been one of these, for 
 she said to Tim, as he helped her over the 
 rocks on their way back, ' I could bear to 
 be taken for cheap trippers, but to be thought 
 a revival party is too much for my strength of 
 mind.'
 
 248 THE PERFECT PATH. 
 
 Before they left the town, Cordeha, with 
 Jock and Caro, set off up the steep httle main 
 street of Sandbay in search of a shop where 
 Jock said toffee was sokl of a peculiar and 
 excellent make. They found it, and laid in a 
 good stock for use on the homeward journey. 
 Jock, with his sticky parcel, was a step behind 
 the girls, when, in leaving the shop, they met 
 two gentlemen, in yachting dress, arm in arm, 
 very jocose, and a little disposed to turn them 
 off the narrow pavement. Caro went quietly 
 past as if she saw not, and Jock from behind 
 lifted up his ugly face with such an air that the 
 heroes recollected themselves and were giving 
 way, when one of them, who was the Hon. 
 George Kingdon, recognised Cordelia. 
 
 ' Hullo ! Why, Corks, it's never you ! ' 
 Cordelia stopped short, looking at him 
 bravely but with scarlet cheeks. ' How do 
 you do ? ' she asked, faintly and incuriously, as, 
 with a glance at her companions, he hfted his 
 hat, a little too late for a perfect salute.
 
 A MEETING. 249 
 
 The Somerses went on a few steps, but Mr. 
 Kingdon's companion leant against the bow- 
 window of the toffee-shop and considered 
 Cordelia at his ease. 
 
 ' I hardly knew you myself, and I am sure 
 your parent would not dream that this dignified 
 young lady was his once-loved Corks.' 
 
 ' Hush ! Is he here ? ' Cordelia threw a 
 wild glance around her as if she would run, 
 coidd she but see a safe direction. 
 
 ' Calm yourself. He is at Merle Hill, six 
 good miles from here, laid up with some com- 
 plaint that he does not give a name to, but 
 which makes him short in the temper and the 
 legs. What a brick you were, Corks, to send 
 me that message ! I roared over it at first, 
 and then I thought it was a beastly shame to 
 laugh.' 
 
 ' It ivas I Good-bye.' But, quicker than 
 she could fly, he seized her arm. 
 
 ' Don't be silly ; I am planning to go and 
 see you on Monday, when I go through May-
 
 250 THE PERFECT PATH, 
 
 bury. I shall call at your Cottage without 
 fail, unless you think it better to stroll clown 
 to the station at four o'clock. You shall tell 
 me all about it, 'pon my word you shall — as 
 you promised, you know. Good-bye till 
 Monday.' 
 
 Cordelia twitched her elbow from his de- 
 taining hand and sped down the street to her 
 friends. 'A man I knew at Mentone,' she 
 explained airily, but they saw she panted and 
 her face still flamed. Jock turned off to help 
 Mayne with the horses, and Caro said to 
 Cordelia, 'Why do you blush so when you 
 meet any one ? You turned scarlet when that 
 man spoke to you.' 
 
 ' There was no reason, but I cannot help 
 it.' 
 
 ' You must help it ; you are not a ninny, 
 and need not look like one ; besides, it makes 
 men think all sorts of things — that you think 
 too much of them.' 
 
 ' The wretches. I think very little of this
 
 A MEETING. 251 
 
 one. I hate them when they think things, 
 don't YOU ? ' 
 
 'I do ; but they will, even the nice ones. 
 A governess we once had showed me that it 
 would not do to colour up and look as if some 
 great thing were happening if a gentleman 
 spoke to one unexpectedly. You know some 
 girls are such fools, one would not care to be 
 thought like them.' 
 
 ' Xo one ever told me that kind of thing. 
 You were all tremendously well brought up ; 
 at first I did not hke you because of that, but 
 now I see you are just as chummy as if you 
 had not been brought up at all.' 
 
 Caro laughed. ' That is great praise, for 
 you are the chummiest girl I know, and you 
 were not three days in learning to like us.' 
 
 Cocktail and the Grey made light of eight 
 persons in the cool of the evening, and trotted 
 merrily when their heads Avere turned home- 
 wards. There was not much walking till they 
 came to the last hill, then all the insides got
 
 252 THE PERFECT PATH. 
 
 down, leaving Mayne and Cordelia on their 
 lofty seat. 
 
 ' Tired, Cordie ? You have not spoken for 
 the last four miles.' 
 
 ' I am not tired ; but the sunset makes me 
 think, or yearn, as Miss Carling would say,' 
 she answered, turning her face toward the clear 
 yellow light that shone behind the fir-trees on 
 the hill to the left of them. 
 
 ' You are new to thinking, and work too 
 hard at it, child. Did you meet a friend in 
 Sandbay ? ' 
 
 Her face changed suddenly ; she had not 
 been thinking of George Kingdon, though a 
 Httle time before she was rejoicing and trem- 
 bling over her narrow escape, saying to herself, 
 ' I should have to run away and hide for shame 
 if these dear people knew that I was called 
 Corks.' As a matter of fact, Jock had heard 
 perfectly, and told Mayne, who watched her as 
 she ans^^ ered, ' Yes. How did you know ? ' 
 
 ' Two fellows came into the inn-vard as the
 
 A AIEETING. 253 
 
 horses were put to. One I know to be about 
 the worst bargain in the county, Mostin of 
 ^lerle Hill, a man I do not care to speak to ; 
 all the decent fellows about here have cut him. 
 Soniers did not even know him by sight. He 
 said the other man had been speaking to you.' 
 
 ' Yes, it is George Kingdon, Lord Rowe's 
 son.' 
 
 'He is a very chickaleery-looking chap, 
 and keeps poor company. I should think he 
 would be the only person likely to complain if 
 you di^opped him, Cordie.' 
 
 ' Suppose it had been my father ! He is 
 staying at Merle Hill, and is as chickaleery- 
 looking as George. You have never seen my 
 awful dad.' 
 
 Mayne was taken aback, and did not know 
 how to proceed udth his lecture. Her father ! 
 
 • It would be rather sneakish to drop 
 George, don't you think ? He has been very 
 good to me for two winters, when no one else 
 was ; he often took me for a walk at Mentone ;
 
 254 THE PERFECT PATH. 
 
 and once lie went without his dinner and 
 walked four miles to get me out of a 
 hobble/ 
 
 ' What could you have been doing to want 
 such a haul as that ? ' 
 
 ' If you had asked me when I first came 
 here I should have told you — not now. Do 
 you know, I am a sneak, for if I had seen 
 George before he saw me I should have run — 
 down that queer little street, right into the sea ! 
 When he was talking to me, with that man 
 standing by sneering, I was quite frightened 
 to think that I belong to them.' 
 
 ' Belong to them ! Cordelia ! ' 
 
 ' Yes ; they are my father's friends, Sophy's 
 too. We Ashbys are that sort of people — ^just 
 that, Mayne.' 
 
 ' Nonsense ; no one can be said to belong to 
 their father's acquaintance ; and as to your 
 father ' — here honest Mayne felt himself in 
 difficulties — ' well, he is your father, and you 
 must make the best of him.'
 
 A MEETING. 255 
 
 ' So every one says. No one has told me 
 how, yet.' 
 
 ' As to his friends, if they are of Mostin's 
 stamp — good heavens ! the less you see of them 
 the better. Besides, you belong, as you call it, 
 to your mother's people as well.' 
 
 ' K I could only belong to them I — really, 
 always ! ' 
 
 ' You shall if you choose,' said Mayne, who 
 could only himself be said to belong to them 
 by a stretch of courtesy. 
 
 Here the top of the hill became obvious, 
 even to the horses, and the others were heard 
 lamenting that they had not been taken up a 
 quarter of a mile past. 
 
 The next Simday Mr. Odiarne preached a 
 mighty sermon on the power of a holy life 
 over the lives of others ; without such a life no 
 words, no works, will avail to benefit them ; 
 but with it the humblest may win his thou- 
 sands. There is not in the world so great a 
 power, so strong an influence, as is exerted by
 
 256 THE PERFECT PATH. 
 
 such a life — far greater, stronger, and more 
 widely reaching than an evil life ; for ' greater 
 is He that is for us than he that is against us.' 
 It must be a life the inner springs of which are 
 hid with Christ in God ; from that it follows 
 that it is pure, saintly, disciplined : that it is 
 full of lovingkindness and humihty, of patience, 
 hope, and good deeds. It must be a life of 
 constant and entire self-sacrifice, often one of 
 suffering ; though the suffering and the sacrifice 
 may be hidden from the public eye, and not to 
 be measured by the popular estimate. Such a 
 life w^ill deepen and brighten as it runs its 
 course, till it lends glory to the countenance 
 and power to the speech ; till the face shines 
 like Stephen's, and the voice pleads like Paul's. 
 Through all its years, and often long after 
 death, such a life will draw up, strengthen, 
 inspire, and sustain other lives that more or 
 less nearly touch it, and is one of God's great 
 instruments of conversion. The power of such 
 lives can be traced in all history, is felt in all
 
 A MEETING. 257 
 
 experiences, the strongest, sweetest, most abid- 
 incr influence that man can brincf to bear on his 
 fellow-man, the infinite, the immeasurable, tn^ 
 eternal power of a holy life. 
 
 That day ^Ir. Merridew was at Ivy Cot- 
 tage; he had been in the parish church in the 
 morning. 
 
 ' Mss Hooper, who did you think of most 
 when the Vicar was preaching this morning ? ' 
 he asked. 
 
 ' Of those who were dead before you were 
 born ; of my mother chiefly, she answered well 
 to that description. It is strange, but Cordeha, 
 her great-granddaughter, sometimes brings her 
 to my mind.' 
 
 ' And you, Miss Ashby ? ' he asked, looking 
 a little disappointed. 
 
 ' I thought a little of dear Soeur Lucie, and 
 of an old woman I used to know, but most of 
 Mr. Odiarne himself.' 
 
 ' That is right ! ' said the curate, with 
 restored radiance. ' I thought every one must 
 
 VOL. I. S
 
 258 THE PEKFECT PATH. 
 
 be thinking of him, and he would be so as- 
 tonished to hear that any one did.' 
 
 ' I did not forget him, Mr. Merridew ; but — 
 thank God for them — I have known many such 
 hves, and have seen them finish their course,' 
 said Aunt Susan, with feehng, yet a httle 
 severely. 
 
 ' I have never seen any one like him. I do 
 not see how any one could be like him ! ' said 
 Cordelia, hotly. 
 
 'Such men are always rare, but the holy 
 lives he speaks of are not so very uncommon 
 — as Elijah found. They are the salt of the 
 earth, and I believe there is always salt enough 
 to keep even times like these sweet. You 
 must think so, too, or you will lose heart,' said 
 the old lady to Mr. Merridew. 
 
 ' I do believe it, though I have been lately 
 passing through the stage of believing every 
 one bad, because I could no longer believe 
 every one good.' 
 
 ' Did you ever do that ? ' said Cordelia,
 
 A MEETING. 259 
 
 surprised that even this young parson could 
 ever have taken so fresh a view, while her 
 aunt was surprised that he could have advanced 
 beyond it. 
 
 ' It is the best belief to be brought up in, I 
 think, that " the wicked man " is a vague ab- 
 straction heard of chiefly in church ; but it is 
 sore work coming out of it. The Yicar keeps 
 up one's heart, however. I thought he was 
 very fine to-day. When he warms up and gets 
 that exalted spiritual look, even his appearance 
 is very striking.' 
 
 ' 1 think he is always beautiful to look at — 
 Hke the saints in the windows,' said Cordelia, 
 with quiet force. 
 
 ' You young people think so much of looks,' 
 said Aunt Susan. 
 
 ' Would you like the Vicar as well if he 
 were very fat and had a purple face ? ' asked 
 Mr. Merridew, laughing, as he prepared to 
 go. ' Miss Ashby, would you not like to go to 
 the Brook Street schoolroom this evening.^ I 
 B 2
 
 260 TUE PERFECT PATH. 
 
 think the Vicar will be there,' he added, as 
 Cordeha began to decline. 
 
 ' Oh, Aunt Susan ! may I ? ' 
 
 ' My dear, I do not think you ought to be 
 in Brook Street so late in the evening. Well, 
 see if French will go v/ith you.' 
 
 This was an enormous concession for Aunt 
 Susan, who disliked that even the old maids 
 should go to evening services ; that young 
 women should stay at home and read their 
 Bibles after dark was her theory, but the spirit 
 of the times was too strong for her in the 
 matter of practice. 
 
 Mr. Odiarne, pursuing the thoughts of his 
 morning sermon, spoke in the same spirit, 
 but in different form, to the simple folk who 
 gathered in the Brook Street schoolroom. He 
 told them that they ought to help each other 
 along the narrow way, and he told them how 
 to do it. 
 
 One consequence of his day's preaching was 
 that Cordeha decided that it was her duty to
 
 A MEETING. 261 
 
 take the present opportunity of influencing 
 George Kingdon. ' I must meet him,' she 
 thought, ' or else get out of the way altogether. 
 It will not do to let him come swinging up 
 the garden, and perhaps call out " Corks " at 
 the window. Besides, I cannot possibly speak 
 seriously to him with Aunt Susan looking on.'
 
 262 THE PERFECT PATH. 
 
 CHAPTER Xy. 
 
 MOTIVE POWERS, 
 
 And young and kind, and royally blind, 
 Forth she stepped from her palace door. 
 
 E. B. Bi'owning. 
 
 On Monday afternoon, a little past four o'clock, 
 Mr. Odiarne and Mayne Wastel were walking 
 towards Maybury down the hill by Ivy Cottage. 
 All was silent in the hot garden, and the road 
 too was nearly as deserted. Suddenly, thirty 
 yards ahead of them, Cordeha Ashby dropped 
 out of the yew-tree on to the turf border of 
 the road. She, never looked in their direction, 
 but walked quickly towards the town. The 
 two men laughed. 
 
 ' I thought she had given that up,' said 
 Mayne. 
 
 ' And I begged her not to do it ; so much 
 for one's counsel,' answered Mr. Odiarne.
 
 MOTIVE POWERS. 263 
 
 ' By Jove ! look there ! ' This was drawn 
 from Mayne at the sight of George Kingdon, 
 who at tliat moment met Cordeha. She must 
 have seen him from the yew-tree. They 
 slackened their pace, expecting the pair to 
 turn ; but Cordelia, slipping her arm through 
 Mr. Kingdon's, turned him abruptly down a 
 little lane that led from the high road past the 
 end of Miss Hooper's garden. When they 
 crossed the end of the lane Cordelia and her 
 friend were going towards the fields ; she had 
 dropped his arm, but was talking eagerly to 
 him. 
 
 ' Who is it, Mayne ? Any one you know ? ' 
 
 ' He is the Hon. George Kingdon — some 
 
 precious scamp of her father's delectable circle 
 
 of acquaintance. One of the Merle Hill set ; 
 
 old Ashby is there now\' 
 
 ' And what of this proceeding ? ' 
 ' I don't understand it. She met the fellow 
 for a few minutes in the street at Sandbay last 
 Tveek, but the monkey told me — I mean I
 
 264 THE PERFECT PATH. 
 
 warned lier that he was not the best of com- 
 pany, and she expressed some dread of him, 
 saying she would gladly not have spoken to 
 him ; this is the last thing I expected.' Mayne 
 looked very much vexed, and Mr. Odiarne 
 hardly less so and much more severe. 
 
 ' This is an arranged meeting. It will be 
 heart-breaking to Miss Hooper to find herself 
 so cfTosslv deceived.' 
 
 ' Perhaps my people had better see to 
 it,' said Mayne, regretfully. ' Unless you will 
 speak to her yourself, Philip. I do not like the 
 idea of springing a mine on her ; but this must 
 be stopped.' 
 
 ' In any case I must speak to her ; she is 
 not only deceiving her aunt, but playing the 
 hypocrite in a way I cannot permit.' 
 
 ' She would not do that ; I am sure she 
 speaks the truth. Perhaps this fellow has some 
 hold on her ; if so he must be kicked. She 
 did say he got her out of some scrape at Men- 
 tone. I can credit a man with any villainy
 
 MOTIVE POWERS. 265 
 
 who stays at Merle Hill, but not so easily 
 believe she is playing us all false.' 
 
 ' If you knew what tricks our pupil-teachers 
 and other picked girls will sometimes play us, 
 you miglit not be so confiding. I always tiun 
 them over to Knox, who is impervious to all 
 wiles and wheedles. I wish I had left this one 
 to him ; but she belongs to you all in a way, 
 and Lettice answered for her ; I thought these 
 girls understood one another. I am very much 
 disappointed here, for I believed in this child's 
 sincerity and single-mindedness,' growled the 
 Vicar.' 
 
 ' Get a wife, Philip. Perhaps if you under- 
 stood one good woman you might find a clue 
 to the rest.' 
 
 'I should be stone-blind then, instead of 
 only one-eyed. I doubt if a woman can be 
 said to be proved till she is as old as Aunt 
 Susan. If there w^ere not a man hke Knox 
 here and there to tackle them, I could wish 
 that women had no souls.'
 
 2G6 THE PEEFECT PATH. 
 
 ' There's a sentiment for a popular preacher ! 
 Why, Philip, that minx CordeHa cried a pailful 
 on Sunday while you were preaching, and 
 Lettice said she went with Merridew to hear 
 you again in Brook Street.' 
 
 ' I may forgive her this prank, on her sub- 
 mission ; but if she makes a fool of Merridew I 
 won't, so there.' 
 
 ' As you saw her just now, I leave this to 
 you, for I suppose she must have her bad 
 quarter of an hour over it, poor girl.' 
 
 ' Certainly she must ; and the more I like 
 her the less she must be spared.' 
 
 A few days passed before Mr. Odiarne was 
 able to go to Ivy Cottage. His distaste for his 
 errand did not make him find the opportunity 
 any ftister, in which he differed from Mr. 
 Knox, who would have had it out at once. 
 Cordeha was sitting in the verandah ; the 
 moment she saw the broad hat over the shrubs 
 she ran down to meet the wearer, with a very 
 downcast and troubled face.
 
 MOTIVE POWERS. 267 
 
 ' I want so much to see you ; can jou spare 
 me a little of the precious time in the garden 
 before you go to Aunt Susan ? ' 
 
 ' It is you that I come to see to- clay/ said 
 the Yicar, wondering if Mayne had been before- 
 hand with him. 
 
 ' I have not really read the chapters you 
 marked for me, nor got on with this book at 
 all, for I can think of nothing but the dreadful 
 mess I have got into. You will be very angry.' 
 
 ' Not if you tell me all the truth about it.' 
 
 ' All the truth ! ]\Ir. Odiarne, I should 
 despise my very self if I told anything but the 
 truth to you. I don't often tell a lie, never on 
 purpose, I always thought it sneaking ; but I 
 should be wicked indeed if I told anything but 
 the very truth to you.' 
 
 ' To me ! I have told you before that you 
 consider too much what I may personally think ; 
 you trust me to teach you aright, and that is 
 enough. You must try to act on the principles 
 I show you ; truth is one of the first, and
 
 268 THE PERFECT PATH. 
 
 because both God and man require it of you in 
 all things you must tell it now, not because 
 you are talking to me.' 
 
 The tone was far gentler than the words ; 
 Cordeha answered with a look of perfect trust, 
 the respect and affection that prompted it were 
 plain enough, but it was doubtful if she took in 
 the force of the appeal to general principles as 
 well as if it had been made by ]\Ir. Knox or 
 Aunt Susan. 
 
 ' It was a man I met at Sandbay, a friend 
 of mine at Mentone. Mayne told me he was 
 no good at all. I know that ; all the men we 
 knew there were a shady set; but George 
 Kingdon was different — not at all a good man, 
 but not a bad fellow, you know.' 
 
 ]\Ir. Odiarne signified his comprehension of 
 this delicate distinction. 
 
 ' He looked horrid at Sandbay, not nice at 
 all ; but he said he was coming here, and wanted 
 me to tell him about you, and all you have 
 taught me. I promised long ago that I would
 
 MOTIVE POWERS. 269 
 
 tell him as soon as I found any very good person 
 to teach me. He used to be jolly and friendly 
 to me when no one else was, and I longed so 
 much — so very much — to tell him some of the 
 beautiful things you have told me, and say in 
 yom' sermons, and what it is to be good. I 
 think George might be good if he made up his 
 mind, though all our people would scream with 
 laughter at the idea of it ; but I know George 
 better than a good many of them — or I thought 
 I did. He was so disagreeable at Sandbay, 
 and Mayne thought I ought to cut him, so that 
 I was in a great puzzle about it for a day or 
 two, and could not tell if I would or I would 
 not ; but you made up my mind on Sunday. I 
 was sure it would be right to use my influence 
 and to show him the beauty of hohness ; you 
 said so ? ' 
 
 ' Not quite. Once I told you a much 
 easier thing — not to jump out of that tree.' 
 
 ' So you did ; but I thought it would not do 
 to think of manners when it was a question of
 
 270 THE PERFECT PATH. 
 
 a person's soul, and I knew George would not 
 precisely suit Aunt Susan, so I stopped him 
 and took liim down Crookett's Lane. I spoke 
 very seriously to him, the very best I knew ; 
 all I could think of that I had heard from you, 
 
 and things Mrs. Wastel had said, and — but ' 
 
 Here Cordelia got into difficulties, she grew hot 
 and shy, and sobs came into her voice. It was 
 too much to say face to face sitting there on 
 the garden bench. Mr. Odiarne made her pace 
 along the rose walk by his side, and with her 
 face meekly drooped out of sight by his elbow, 
 she struggled on. 
 
 ' He did not take it rightly at all ; he does 
 not really care. He laughed and said dreadful 
 things, going on in the old horrid fashion that 
 I never thought funny even then, but now it 
 hurts me — and he said things that made me 
 ashamed, about you. I need not tell them, 
 need I ? ' 
 
 ' No ; and you need not mind them, 
 either ; do not let them trouble you in the
 
 MOTIVE POWERS. 271 
 
 least. Is there any more that you must tell 
 me?' 
 
 ' Only just the worst. He thought I was 
 not in earnest, and only wanted to meet him — 
 him — as if — I cared for him — -just foolishly. 
 Oh, Mr. Odiarne ! I have made him hate good- 
 ness instead of loving it, and despise me ; what 
 ought I to have said ? ' 
 
 ' Nothing at all. But tell me the end of 
 your interview.' 
 
 'When I found he only wanted to talk 
 nonsense, as if I were Sophy and cared for 
 that sort of thing, I jumped down that bank at 
 the turn of the lane, where it is wet, and ran 
 across the long field to the end of the garden. 
 I got up the sunk fence into tlie orchard, and 
 when I looked back he was lighting a cigar 
 and prospecting for the road to the station. If 
 he found the foot-bridge, he would be in time 
 for his train.' 
 
 Mr. Odiarne was moved to laughter, and 
 guilty of a wish to impart these confidences to
 
 272 THE PERFECT PATH. 
 
 Mayne ; but even this informal confession must 
 be sacred, and as for tlie laughter, Cordeha's 
 real distress quenched that desire. He said 
 gravely, ' So you have been casting your 
 pearls before swine.' 
 
 ' Svrine ! Oh, is not that rough on poor 
 George ? ' 
 
 ' They are not my words ; they were spoken 
 to those who, like you, had but lately found 
 their pearls. You are but a child, Cordelia, 
 when you rashly show your treasures to the 
 first comer. And then you are so new a 
 learner, do you think you are fit to teach ? ' 
 
 This rebuke went home, and Mr. Odiarne 
 went on to say more than can be written down 
 here, ending with, ' Do not be discouraged. 
 When you are ready to teach others you will 
 find work ready to yoiu' hand, and when you 
 make your next experiment let it be with a 
 more suitable person than a fast young man.' 
 
 ' I can never speak to him again after the 
 tilings he said. Once he was very kind to me
 
 MOTIVE POWERS. 2t6 
 
 when I got into a scrape, almost as kind as you 
 are now.' 
 
 A question as to the nature and extent of 
 her obhgations brought out the story of Cor- 
 delia's expedition to Monte Carlo. She was 
 ashamed of it, but not so much so as of her 
 recent failure. Full of pity for the neglected 
 girl, and unwilling to complicate her duties for 
 the future, Mr. Odiarne made very little remark 
 on her story ; but in speaking of the gambling 
 he said, ' If you are living near that place 
 agaio, I would advise you not to go there 
 unless it be an actual matter of obedience to 
 your father ; and surely you need not play 
 again." 
 
 ' Never, I promise you. But the money ? 
 I spent it all, and the frocks are worn out.' 
 
 ' Well, you can make it up in course of 
 time by small self-denials, and that will make 
 it a fit offering when you can see your way to 
 its doing good. Take care that it is yourself 
 that you deny, not other people ; and if you 
 
 VOL I. T
 
 274 THE PERFRCT PATH. 
 
 are some time in saving this sum it will keep 
 you the longer in mind of this talk, among 
 other things. The money is a trifle. I want 
 you to do something that will cost you more. 
 I will only point it out, and you can do it of 
 your own free-will. I shall not ask if it has 
 been done. It is that you should tell all this 
 to Mrs. Wastel. Is that hard ? ' 
 
 ' Yes.' 
 
 ' But you love her ? ' 
 
 ' Oh, yes ! She is the dearest dear ! ' 
 
 ' And you have told me.' 
 
 ' That is different, quite ! ' 
 
 ' It would distress Aunt Susan, and to no 
 good purpose. She is a generation further 
 from you than your cousin, and she is unused 
 to modern ways and modern forms of evil. 
 Do you know, she was much in my mind in 
 my sermons the other day. I have known 
 many conspicuous saints, such as those whose 
 names illumine the ages all along ; but there 
 are many more who are rarely spoken of, never
 
 MOTIVE POWERS. 275 
 
 "svritten of, whose holy lives are of scarcely less 
 value. Hers is one of them. I am never with 
 her without feehng its power. I cannot have 
 that pleasure to-day, for I have spent my time 
 on you.' 
 
 Cordelia executed herself bravely in the 
 matter of confession to Mrs. Wastel, and she 
 liad her reward, not only in a taste of the 
 mother-love that could never be fully hers, 
 but in a great opening out, under her gentle 
 counsels, of the perfumed ilower of woman- 
 hood, the outer leaves of which George Kingdon 
 had so rudely brushed ; the bud had hitherto 
 been folded too tightly for either softness or 
 sweetness, there was only a flush of the 
 brighter tones of colour and the promise of 
 future expansion. In the succeeding weeks 
 she made rapid progress in outward things, and 
 even Mayne was ^villing to allow that there 
 might be a happy medium between a fair 
 barbarian and a conventional young lady. 
 
 ' And I think that w^e may consider her as 
 t2
 
 276 THE PERFECT PATH. 
 
 a proof that love, a lover's love, is not the only 
 civiliser,' said Mrs. Wastel. 
 
 ' I know you think that although love in 
 the Eevised Version sense is the one means of 
 good, yet that the power of romantic love is 
 much exaggerated,' said Mayne. 
 
 'The exaggeration lies in its being repre- 
 sented as the only power ; the poets and 
 novelists do this very often for art purposes, 
 and in all the fair realm of romance Love is 
 the rightful king, as Beauty is crowned queen ; 
 but even in the lives of the young and fair 
 there are other forces than love and other 
 kingdoms than romance, and they ought to 
 be taken into account. The family and 
 filial love that goes for so much with most 
 girls has been absent from hers till now, and 
 she is enjoying it with all the more zest 
 that it has not come to her naturally and insen- 
 sibly.' 
 
 ' She is not very romantic,' said Mayne. 
 
 ' Do you think not ? She lives entirely in
 
 MOTIVE POWERS. 277 
 
 her feelings,' observed Lettice, who had not yet 
 spoken, contrary to her custom. ' Something 
 is improving her very much.' 
 
 ' Yes,' answered Mrs. Wastel. ' I think it 
 is grace — not manner, nor manners only, though 
 it shows so much in that way — but Grace, with 
 a capital. She is striving after goodness with 
 all her heart, and it softens and beautifies her 
 whole character from the inside. I am so glad 
 we persevered with her, and w ere not disgusted 
 at first. It will be a great healing of an old 
 sorrow for us elders if Eosina's daughter should 
 turn out well.' 
 
 ' It will be a great credit to some people if 
 Colonel Ash by 's daughter should turn out well ; 
 but you must work upon her for a considerable 
 time longer,' said Mayne, who was a little sore 
 that he had never fully fathomed the George 
 Kingdon episode. Philip told him it was all 
 right — Cordelia was not much to blame ; and 
 his stepmother had given him the same unsatis- 
 factory assurance. Lettice, his usual resort.
 
 278 THE PERFECT PATH, 
 
 was unavailable, for he would not betray Cor- 
 delia to her unbiassed judgments. 
 
 When they were alone Lettice said to her 
 mother, ' You will think I am a vixen ; but I 
 cannot take quite the same view of Cordelia as 
 you do. I am not so sure about the power 
 that is moving her.' 
 
 ' Surely you do not think she is deceiving 
 us?' 
 
 ' Oh, no ! But I think she is deceiving her- 
 self. I am sure she is trying honestly to be 
 good ; but she is too new at it, and floundering 
 about far too awkwardly among her new mo- 
 tives for her goodness to have any beautifying 
 effect just yet. It is something else.' 
 
 ' Oh, Lettice ! do you mean Mayne ? I do 
 not want to be a foolish old hen, but I have 
 watched them ; she treats him exactly as if it 
 were you — rather too much like you some- 
 times ; but it is a fault on the right side. Then 
 her connections are so doubtful, and Mayne is 
 so particular.'
 
 MOTIVE POWERS. 279 
 
 ' Mayne is very like other young men ; but 
 I was not thinking of him.' 
 
 ' Of Jock Somers ? ' asked Mrs. Wastel, 
 much relieved, though whether Lady Somers 
 would have shared her relief is at least 
 doubtful. 
 
 ' Philip taught me, as he does Cordeha ; 
 and I am for ever grateful, and think him the 
 best of men, and the first of cousins ; but do 
 you think I ever made such a fuss about him 
 as Cordeha does ? ' 
 
 ' Oh ! Let me have time to take this in — 
 I do not like the suggestion at all. You cannot 
 surely think her so base, so wicked, as to make 
 
 her Christian training a cover for . Oh, 
 
 Lettice ! It is too bad to contemplate ! ' 
 
 ' No, no ! She is quite sincere ; but she is 
 thinking, moving, breathing, in an atmosphere 
 of Philip. He is more like an idol than a saint 
 to her, she has so glorified him. She has an 
 ascetic turn on now, and will not eat anything 
 she likes, so that the old maids are distracted,
 
 280 THE PERFECT PATH. 
 
 and Aunt Susan has hunted out a family recipe 
 for spring medicine ; Cordie would have taken 
 it because it is so nasty, only it is September, 
 and French thinks it might not suit the time of 
 year. She has bought a pair of cotton gloves, 
 baggy at the thumbs, and v^hen I declined to 
 be seen v^ith them, she said she v^ould buy 
 another pair, for Mr. Odiarne told her to deny 
 herself, not other people ; I wish she had stuck 
 to the cottons, it would have been more natural/ 
 
 Mrs. Wastel laughed. ' You frightened 
 me at first, but this only shows a youthful 
 enthusiasm ; Philip is the last man to 
 encourage it.' 
 
 ' He is the last man to see it. He raises 
 his lofty head, and fixes his far-seeing eyes on 
 distant realms of bliss, and will never notice 
 that a httle nincompoop like Cordie is making 
 a fool of herself under his feet.' 
 
 ' Well, my dear, you would not wish him 
 to be always on the look-out for little nincom- 
 poops.'
 
 MOTIVE POWERS. 281 
 
 ' No, and I have no objection to Miss 
 Peabody and Mrs. Bloxer talking about the 
 dear Vicar, and the edification of a conversa- 
 tion with him at the street-corner about the 
 coal club, but I do not like it to be our 
 cousin.' 
 
 ' It will be better to take no notice, it is 
 only a passing absurdity. There was a very 
 stirring and popular preacher in London when 
 I was young, about whom I and my friends 
 made great geese of ourselves ; but it evaporated 
 in good time, and I, for one, gained much solid 
 good as a residue when the effervescence was 
 past.' 
 
 END OF THE FIRST VOLUME. 
 
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