L I B R.ARY 
 
 OF THE 
 
 UN IVERSITY 
 
 Of ILLINOIS 
 
 V.I 
 
A 
 
GODIVA DUELEIGH. 
 
 A NOVEL FOB GIBL8. 
 
 SAEAH DOUDNEY, 
 
 ACTHOa OP 
 A woman's glory," •' WHEBE THE DEW PALLS IN' LONDON," ETC. 
 
 ' Meanwhile to feel and suffer, work and wait, 
 Remains for us. The wrong indeed is great, 
 But love and patience conquer soon or late." 
 
 J. G. Whittier. 
 
 IN THREE VOLUMES. 
 VOL. I. 
 
 LONDON: 
 SAMPSON LOW, MAESTON- & COMPANY 
 
 LIMITED. 
 
 Fetter Lane, Fleet Street, E. C. 
 1891. 
 
 lAll rights reserved.} ; 
 
PRINTED BY WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS, LIMITED, 
 STAMFORD STREET AND CHARING CROSS. 
 

 r^ 3 
 
 
 fe73 
 
 Q 
 
 Y, 1 
 
 r 
 
 I 
 
 TO 
 
 ^ DOCTOK AND MES. SYMES THOMPSON, 
 
 WITH GRATEFUL REMEMBRANCE 
 
 OF THEIR KINDNESS AND SYMPATHY 
 
 AND SINCERE APPRECIATION OF THEIR GOOD WORK, 
 
 I DEDICATE THIS BOOK. 
 
 »0 
 
 ^^^ 
 i 
 
 4 
 
CONTENTS OF VOL. I. 
 
 CHAPTER PAGE 
 
 I. Haunted by a Face ... ... 1 
 
 II. The Salternes ... ... 16 
 
 III. A Joyless Joy ... ... ... 36 
 
 IV. A Dream ... ... ... 66 
 
 V. Sunshine and Calm ... ... 89 
 
 VI. " I WILL tell you when THEY MET " 104 
 
 VII. Kex's Early Days ... ... 127 
 
 VIII. " God hath already said what shall 
 
 betide" ... ... ... 145 
 
 IX. Dreams AND Sunshine ... ... 164 
 
 X. "How^ MANY Simple Ways there are 
 
 TO bless" ... .. ... 186 
 
 XI. "I have finished my Course"... 201 
 
 XII. Days of Healing... ... ... 217 
 
 XIII. What Rex had to say ... 232 
 
 XIV. Farewell Looks and Words ... 252 
 XV. In a New World ... ... 272 
 
GODIVA DURLEIGH, 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 HAUNTED BY A FACE. 
 
 '* Don't go indoors yet, father. Let us 
 walk to the end of the street, close up 
 to the old water-gate." 
 
 Morris Durleigh turned from the door 
 and looked at his daughter for a moment. 
 Her eyes met his with a frank, bright 
 gaze, and then something which made 
 you think of a ray of light passed 
 over his face. It was a face that was 
 visited now and then with a sudden 
 illumination, but its habitual expression 
 was thoughtful and sad. 
 
 VOL. I. B 
 
2 GOBI V A DURLEIGH. 
 
 '* My good little girl," he said slowly 
 and fondly. *^ Always contented with 
 your surroundings — never pining to 
 stretch your wings and fly away from this 
 ugly old street!" 
 
 ^^Not ugly, father. Look at those 
 soft shades of grey in the stone-work of 
 Duke Steenie's old water-gate ! And see 
 how sunshiny the Embankment gardens 
 are this morning 1 I like it all just as it 
 is. "Why should I want to fly away ? " 
 
 It was a fine Sunday in February, and 
 Buckingham Street seemed to be touched 
 with the first sunbeams of Spring. Days 
 of snow and bitter wind were yet to 
 come, but here was a bright hour shining 
 upon the London world after the gloom 
 of a dark winter. Godiva Durleigh was 
 a girl who always made much of her 
 bright hours, and basked in the sunlight 
 while it lasted. 
 
HAUNTED BY A FACE. 3 
 
 *' You must not abuse our street, 
 father," she went on. '' When I think 
 of all the people who have lived here, I 
 feel that they have left us a store of 
 pleasant memories. My dear old gossip 
 Pepys — my still dearer Dickens — and 
 David Copperfield, in his ' young gentle- 
 man ' days ! They have never deserted 
 their old haunts ; I assure you that I am 
 always exchanging friendly greetings 
 with them." 
 
 ''■ I have no time to spend wifch dream- 
 companions, Godiva, although they are 
 very good company : 
 
 * With live women and men to be found in the 
 world — 
 
 Live with sorrow and sin — live with pain and 
 with passion ; ' 
 
 to make my heart ache, and keep my 
 brain busy, I lose my hold on the beings 
 of yesterday." 
 
4 GOB IV A DURLEIOH. 
 
 " Dickens does not belong to yesterday, 
 father," said the girl with soft enthusiasm. 
 " He belongs to this time and all the 
 coming times. A man who lives in the 
 hearts of the people is always a man of 
 to-day." 
 
 ^' Quite true, Godiva," Morris Durleigh 
 answered, and the light passed over his 
 face again. 
 
 They were standing at the end of the 
 street looking through the iron railings 
 at the water-gate. And presently Godiva 
 saw that her father's eyes were gazing 
 far away, over the gate across the 
 gardens, into some invisible world be- 
 yond. She was familiar with this look 
 of his, and always wondered what he 
 was seeing. Sometimes he would answer 
 the question which she seldom put in 
 words ; sometimes he kept silence. 
 
 After lingering for a few minutes, they 
 
HAUNTED BY A FACE. 
 
 retraced their steps to their own door 
 again. They lived in apartments ; the 
 parlour overlooking the street was the 
 room in which Morris Durleigh wrote his 
 leading articles, and did a great deal of 
 hard working and hard thinking undis- 
 turbed by the turmoil of London life. 
 
 After all, as Charles Kingsley said long 
 ago, there is no place so good to work 
 in as London. The small sounds that 
 would irritate us in the country silence 
 are swallowed up in the roar of the city. 
 And in Buckingham Street there was 
 really something like quietness ; even 
 the piano-men had found out that they 
 gained nothing by grinding in front of 
 those dull-looking houses. Morris Dur- 
 leigh's window was partially screened 
 from the gaze of the outer world by large 
 plants which were always in good con- 
 dition. In spite of the smoky atmo- 
 
6 GODIVA BURLEIGH. 
 
 sphere they flourished bravely, and he 
 liked to sit and write in the shade of 
 their greenness. 
 
 Just before the door opened, Godiva 
 asked some trifling question. But she 
 received no reply, and one glance at 
 Morris Durleigh convinced her that his 
 mind was far away again. There was 
 a look of trouble in his eyes which 
 awakened her anxiety. 
 
 "■ Father," she said quickly, ^' there is 
 something the matter, is there not? 
 What is it?" 
 
 And as they crossed the threshold he 
 answered in a reassuring tone — 
 
 '^ Nothing is amiss with me, Godiva. 
 Only I am haunted by a face." 
 
 To a certain extent the answer was 
 satisfactory. It was a relief to know 
 that her father was neither ill nor 
 threatened with any personal calamity. 
 
HAUNTED BY A FACE. 7 
 
 As usual he had appropriated the trouble, 
 real or imaginary, of some one else, and 
 was groaning under the weight of 
 another's burden. ^' To seek and to 
 save" — to right the wrongs of the de- 
 fenceless — to drag hidden cruelty into 
 the strong Hght of day, and reveal it in 
 all its hideousness — this was the work 
 that he felt himself called to do, and he 
 did it mth all his might. 
 
 *^He will tell me all about the face 
 by-and-by," thought Godiva as she went 
 flying upstairs to the top of the house. 
 Her bedroom was under the roof, next 
 door to Aunt Susanna ; and she would 
 not, for the world, have exchanged places 
 with the rich widow who was lodged 
 lower down. She had learnt to love the 
 room when she had first slept in it, a 
 motherless child of ten, with Aunt 
 Susanna watching over her slumbers. 
 
8 QODIVA BURLEIGH. 
 
 And now another ten years had passed 
 away, and she was a woman of twenty, 
 looking back on the child's sorrow as a 
 sad tale that is told ; but the little room, 
 with its simple comforts and decorations, 
 was dear to her still. 
 
 She put off her jacket and bonnet and 
 
 stood in front of the glass to smooth the 
 
 soft rough hair, which took obstinate 
 
 little twists and curls, and refused to 
 
 submit to bondage. Godiva was seldom 
 
 unnoticed, and yet you would have found 
 
 it difficult to tell why she attracted your 
 
 attention. The glass reflected a soft, 
 
 pale, oval face, grey eyes with thick black 
 
 eyebrows and lashes, and full lips that 
 
 trembled at a word or a sound. But she 
 
 was not thinking much of the face that 
 
 she saw there ; she was thoughtfully 
 
 going over in her own mind the words 
 
 that her father had spoken. 
 
HAUNTED BY A FACE. 9 
 
 Would he suddenly announce his in- 
 tention of starting off in search of the 
 person he had seen ? No matter how 
 wild the quest appeared, she knew that 
 he would go forth if the inner Yoice called 
 him. The daughter never criticized the 
 father's doings for a moment. She 
 believed so implicitly in him and his 
 mission, that nothing seemed too hard for 
 him to accomplish. Even Aunt Susanna 
 was silenced at once if she ventured to 
 hint that Morris Durleigh was just a 
 shade Quixotic. 
 
 Godiva ran downstairs, — a slim little 
 figure flitting past the portly widow, who 
 had just toiled heavily home from church. 
 The stout woman looked after the girl 
 with a passing feeling of env}^ and then 
 went back to her fireside chair, thanking 
 her stars that she had a comfortable 
 income without incumbrances. She had 
 
10 QOBIVA DURLEian. 
 
 always carefully avoided little Miss Dur- 
 leigh, who was the daughter of a Com- 
 munist, or a Socialist, or a philanthropist ; 
 she was quite sure about the termination 
 of the word, at any rate. Godiva, how- 
 ever, was utterly unconscious of the 
 widow's precautionary measures ; but she 
 sometimes bestowed a pitying thought 
 on that poor Mrs. Naylor, who was 
 obliged to walk so slowly, and did not 
 care for books. The girl was so happy, 
 and so perfectly satisfied with her life, 
 that other lives seemed poor and tame 
 beside her own. 
 
 Morris Durleigh said little at luncheon, 
 and Aunt Susanna and Godiva talked 
 quietly between themselves. But after- 
 wards, when he had gone to the easy- 
 chair in which he took his Sunday rest, 
 his daughter came to his side with a 
 gentle question. 
 
HAUNTED BY A FACE. 11 
 
 '^Father, are you still thinking about 
 that face?" 
 
 " I wonder if I shall ever cease to think 
 of it ! " he said sadly. ''■ It was a woman's 
 face, Godiva. I saw her yesterday 
 morning." 
 
 ** Was she young, father ? And where 
 did you see her? " 
 
 ** She was a mere girl. John Salt erne 
 had come to the ofi5ce at one o'clock, and 
 he dragged me out with him for a talk 
 before luncheon. You know what a 
 proser he is, Godiva. He started off on 
 his favourite theme — this absurd philan- 
 thropy of mine, which is ruining my 
 chance of success in life, and yours too." 
 
 ** Never mind him, father." 
 
 *' I wish I didn't mind him. If he 
 were not such an honest man as he is, 
 I shouldn't heed him at all. I can bear 
 anything from a man I don't believe in^ 
 
12 GODIVA DURLEIGH. 
 
 But Salterne, with his exasperating 
 dogmas and his detestable platitudes, is 
 genuine to the core. It was while he was 
 holding forth that I saw that poor girl. 
 She was standing outside the railings in 
 Savoy street, and looking at the old 
 chapel and the garden." 
 
 *^ My dear chapel ! " said Godiva softly. 
 '' It is a poem set in the middle of life's 
 ugliest prose." 
 
 *^ That is just what the girl was think- 
 ing. Only her thoughts were sadder than 
 yours have ever been. The little sanc- 
 tuary, with its grass and trees, reminded 
 her of some place that she had known 
 and loved in happier days. Poor thing, 
 she was over young to have had a past ! " 
 
 '^ Was she pretty, father ? " 
 
 *' She ought to have been. God means 
 all girls to be pretty and good, and they 
 would be so if the wickedness of the 
 
HAUNTED BY A FACE. 13 
 
 world did not spoil them. Sin is always 
 thwarting nature's intentions. I can 
 picture that face in a moment of joy ; it 
 would then have been quite beautiful. 
 But its look of hopelessness was beyond 
 expression." 
 
 ** Do you think she was very poor ? 
 Were her clothes in tatters ? " asked 
 Godiva, her grey eyes full of tears. 
 
 " No, she was decently dressed in a 
 long tweed cloak. Salterne was holding 
 me by the arm, and pouring his hoard 
 of maxims into my ear. I wish I had 
 stopped short and knocked him down ! 
 I wish I had done anything but what I 
 did ! The voice within me was louder 
 than the nasal drawFof my dunderheaded 
 old friend ! And yet I let him drag me 
 on." 
 
 Morris Durleigh sprang up suddenly 
 from his chair, as if stung by the sharp- 
 
14 GODIVA DURLEIGH. 
 
 ness of an intolerable pain/and began to 
 pace the room .with rapid strides. Godiva 
 went to him and put her arms within his. 
 
 *' Dear father, you may see her another 
 day/' she said soothingly, although her 
 tears fell fast. 
 
 ^' How can one tell ? I refused to obey 
 the voice, and it may not speak again. 
 Even if I could rescue a thousand unhappy 
 women I should never forget that one. A 
 glimpse of the lost sheep was given me, 
 but I did not lay hands on it and save 
 it." 
 
 ^^ But, father, are you sure that she 
 was quite friendless ? A little thing will 
 sadden a girl sometimes, you know." 
 
 " Godiva, I have not studied human 
 faces all my life without learning to read 
 what is written on them. Some men 
 spend their days in deciphering hiero- 
 glyphics on rocks. As for me, I don't 
 
HAUNTED BY A FACE, 15 
 
 care a straw about the history that a dead 
 and gone nation has left on stone. I go 
 about reading what sin and sorrow write 
 on flesh and blood ; my business is with 
 the living, and their life of to-day. If I 
 do not find that girl she may sink into 
 some unfathomable abyss. I tell you she 
 had come to the end of everything — love, 
 hope, the very means of existence. And 
 the memories that suddenly sprang up 
 round the little chapel were driving her 
 to despair ! Don't you know that the 
 sight of grey walls and green grass is more 
 than some hearts can endure ? " 
 
 He began to walk more slowly, and his 
 voice sank almost to a whisper. 
 
 ** I will go to the street every day," he 
 said, after a pause. '^ She may be there 
 again." 
 
16 OODIVA DURLEIQH. 
 
 CHAPTEE II. 
 
 THE SALTEENES. 
 
 John Salterne was a sober, plodding City 
 man, with a slow brain and a kind heart. 
 He spent a good many of his leisure 
 moments in trying to pull Morris Durleigh 
 into the beaten track, and never ceased to 
 be astonished at the failure of his well- 
 meant efforts. It was really quite true 
 that Morris was doing hard work for small 
 pay — quite true that he might have made 
 a far better income if he had hearkened 
 to the counsels of his old friend. 
 
 Honest John had done his best ; he had 
 heard with horror of Durleigh's resolution 
 
THE SALTERNS S. 17- 
 
 to give himself up to philanthropy, and 
 when he found that Morris had helped to 
 start a new Eadical paper, his indignation 
 knew no bounds. ^' The Champion,'" 
 he said, "' was the most abominable publi- 
 cation that had ever issued from the press. 
 He could not hope that it would succeed, 
 even for Morris's sake. The misguided 
 man was deaf to all good, sensible, old- 
 fashioned advice. He was living in a 
 fever of wild hope and wilder effort, and 
 by-and-by there would come the wretched 
 consciousness of failure, and the final 
 collapse. There was but one end for all 
 these enthusiasts and dreamers." 
 
 Morris accepted these dismal predic- 
 tions with perfect indifference. When 
 John Salterne pressed him too hard, he 
 would sometimes say that it was not for 
 him to expect a better fate than his 
 masters had had. ''It is the seed that 
 
 VOL, I. c 
 
18 GODIVA DURLEIQE. 
 
 lives and grows," lie said, *'not the hand 
 of the sower." Nor did he despond when 
 the Champion proved unsuccessful. He 
 went on with his work just the same, 
 doing editing and leader-writing with un- 
 flagging zeal. It was his mission to speak 
 for the people, to put their wants into 
 words, to be their never silent voice. 
 
 '* Oh, they are ready enough to speak 
 for themselves nowadays," Salterne re- 
 marked cynically. *' They don't ask you 
 to take the words out of their mouth." 
 
 It was very seldom that Morris resented 
 his old friend's plainness of speech. John 
 Salterne was heavy and commonplace ; 
 but a true man instinctively recognizes 
 truth, and John's steadfast integrity 
 atoned for his dulness. In this case a 
 warm heart was held in bondage by dim 
 eyes and deaf ears. He was not quick to 
 see misery, nor could he hear the endless 
 
THE SALTERNES. 19 
 
 wail of suffering humanity. He was 
 utterly unable to understand Morris, and 
 yet he was capable of loving him well, 
 and trying to serve him after his own 
 fashion. Godiva, too, was second only to 
 his own daughter, although he never 
 ceased to find fault with her name. 
 
 But the girl rejoiced in being called 
 after 
 
 " The woman of a thousand summers hack/' 
 
 who had proved her love for the people 
 of her town. In vain did John Salterne 
 argue that the old story was merely an 
 absurd fable ; Godiva only pitied him for 
 not realizing the golden truth that such a 
 fable enshrined. 
 
 Once or twice a year Morris Durleigh 
 and his daughter went to dine with the 
 Salternes at their house at Notting Hill. 
 They both dreaded these festivals, and* 
 returned gratefully to their ordinary life 
 
20 OODIVA DURLEIOB. 
 
 after having been feasted at the Salterne 
 board. 
 
 If John was dull, Mrs. Salterne and 
 Miss Salterne were hopelessly dense. 
 They could not see anything to like or 
 admire in the Durleighs, and always 
 entertained them with great reluctance. 
 But honest John was man enough to 
 be master in his own house, and his 
 wife and daughter were elaborately polite 
 to poor Godiva. They could not help 
 icing their smiles and words a little ; it 
 was so disagreeable to remember that 
 Miss Durleigh's aunt was housekeeper 
 in a lodging-house, and had been a 
 second mother to her orphan niece. 
 One could not expect much refinement 
 in a girl who had been brought up 
 under such circumstances. If Godiva 
 innocently referred to Aunt Susanna they 
 were always ominously silent. 
 
TEE SALTER NFS. 21 
 
 Elizabeth Salterne talked persistently 
 about the costumes worn at the drawing- 
 rooms and fashionable weddings ; and if 
 Godiva tried to introduce the subject 
 of art or literature she was sure to be 
 coldly checked. Morris Durleigh was 
 intimate with many men of mark ; but 
 Elizabeth refused to believe that his 
 daughter had ever met any one who 
 was worth knowing. She had no re- 
 spect for the great thinkers of the day. 
 The men who put their thoughts into 
 pictures or poems were nobodies in Miss 
 Salterne's estimation. Godiva used to 
 resent this contemptuous indifference 
 very bitterly sometimes, and it often 
 cost her an effort to hide her feelings. 
 She did not know that a time was 
 coming when she should be thankful 
 for this power of restraint, first exer- 
 cised in John Salterne's house. The 
 
22 GODIVA DUBLEIGJJ. 
 
 art of self-control (so much nobler than 
 the art of self-defence) was destined to 
 be constantly practised in her after-life. 
 
 It happened that the Durleighs were 
 engaged to dine with the Salternes on 
 Monday, a most unfortunate arrange- 
 ment, for Morris and Godiva were both 
 thinking of the unknown girl of Savoy 
 Street, and the daughter was as much 
 interested in her as the father. They 
 had talked of her and thought of her 
 till they could talk and think of nothing 
 else. Godiva had a hopeful nature; 
 already she had rehearsed a meeting 
 with the stranger; already she had 
 made up half-a-dozen histories of her, 
 and every history had a happy ending. 
 Before she went to bed she had opened 
 her heart to Aunt Susanna. 
 
 Aunt Susanna Hayward understood her 
 niece very well, and never chilled her 
 
THE SALTERNES. 23 
 
 with an unsympathetic response, although 
 she sighed sometimes over the girl's 
 possible future. Godiva always followed 
 her father's lead with intense eager- 
 ness ; she had the true spirit of an 
 enthusiast and partisan. There was no 
 room in her mind for the thousand and 
 one impulses and fancies which actuate 
 most young girls. All her interests were 
 absorbed in her father and his mission. 
 She w^as a great lover of books ; but 
 her favourite authors were those who 
 wrote of men and women, and their 
 daily lives of struggle and strife, action 
 and rest. Her imagination was power- 
 ful and vivid, but it seldom carried her 
 out of the every-day world — that world 
 in which Morris Durleigh worked with 
 such unwearying zest. 
 
 '* I wish we were not going to the 
 Salternes' to-morrow, , aunty," she said, 
 
24 OODIVA DURLEIGH. 
 
 with a deep sigh ; *^ it's such a waste 
 of time, you know. Their dinners 
 always make us feel tired and depressed. 
 Ten minutes of their society seem to 
 w^eigh us down as no ten hours of our 
 ordinary lives have ever done." 
 
 " But they mean to be kind to you/* 
 Aunt Susanna replied ; *• and I don't 
 think they can help being dull." 
 
 Godiva was brushing out her curly 
 brown hair for the night, and turned 
 round, brush in hand, with rather a 
 repentant look. 
 
 ** Have I said anything ungrateful ? " 
 she asked. *' Well, I will try with all 
 my might to like them better. No, I 
 can't! I can't like people in whom it 
 is impossible to kindle any flame." 
 
 ^' I am afraid your father is all flame, 
 Godiva. He is consuming himself." 
 
 She started, gave her thick hair a little 
 
777^ SALTER NES. 25 
 
 shake back, and fixed her clear grey eyes 
 on Miss Hayward. 
 
 *' That was said like Mr. Salterne, 
 aunty, only you express yourself better 
 than he does," she said rather coldly. 
 *^ Of course father is consuming hinaself ; 
 he would tell you that he was created 
 for no other purpose. But I think he 
 w^ll live quite as long as the Salternes, 
 who do nothing but feed and pamper 
 their bodies. I notice that there are 
 all sorts of ailments peculiar to heavily 
 selfish people." 
 
 ** Now I have vexed you, my dear." 
 Aunt Susanna was repentant in her turn. 
 *' Morris Durleigh is the grandest man 
 I know. God bless him ! " 
 
 Godiva instantly went towards her and 
 kissed her. 
 
 Morris Durleigh went to his old 
 friend's house with dreary resignation 
 
26 GODIVA DIJRLEIOH. 
 
 expressed in his voice and face. He 
 always got on better with John when 
 he was away from Notting Hill. Mr. 
 Salterne at home was pompous and 
 grandiose to the last degree. He treated 
 Morris with good-natured indulgence, 
 and spoke with such an air of patronage 
 to Godiva that she lost sight of the 
 real kindliness that lay hidden under 
 the bombastic manner. The truth was 
 that John tried on these occasions to 
 put the Durleighs in a favourable hght. 
 He wanted the ladies of his house to 
 see them to the best advantage. He 
 endeavoured to throw all their peculi- 
 arities into the shade, and the result 
 of all these laudable efforts was the 
 miserable depression of his guests. 
 
 The dinner passed off as usual. Morris 
 talked little, and Godiva knew that con- 
 versation was not required of her. She 
 
THE SALTER NES. 27 
 
 was expected to listen meekly to the re- 
 marks made by the Salternes, and agree 
 with all they said. On the whole she 
 thought they were going on very well. 
 No one had touched on any unfortunate 
 subject ; the talk had trickled monoton- 
 ously into safe channels, and she con- 
 gratulated herself on the prevailing tran- 
 quillity. But it is always unwise to shout 
 before you are out of the wood. A few 
 minutes later and Godiva's peace of mind 
 had taken flight. 
 
 They were all trifling over dessert, and 
 a momentary silence had fallen upon 
 them. Mrs. Salterne was the first to 
 break the pause ; she addressed Godiva 
 with the affable little smile which she 
 always bestowed on her inferiors. 
 
 "You are happily spared any know- 
 ledge of domestic troubles, Miss Dur- 
 leigh," she said. " Some friends of ours 
 
28 QODIVA DVBLEIGH. 
 
 have been shamefully robbed by a nurse- 
 maid. I think you have heard me speak 
 of the Linghams, retired naval people, 
 very well connected ? " 
 
 Godiva dropped a meek little *^ yes." 
 
 " Well, the captain spoils Mrs. Ling- 
 ham entirely. She is a great deal 
 younger than her husband; a delightful 
 person, but so unpractical. I told her 
 from the first that she put too much con- 
 fidence in her young nurse ; but she said 
 that Joy had come to her with an excel- 
 lent character. I believe the girl had 
 bewitched her." 
 
 ** She was clever in managing children," 
 remarked Elizabeth Salterne. *'And 
 Mrs. Lingham, poor thing, is not able 
 to cope with them at all. So she was 
 compelled to leave them to Joy." 
 
 ** I disapprove of lazy mothers," Mr. 
 Salterne put in. 
 
THE SALTERNES. 29 
 
 *' Oh, my dear, we mustn't be hard on 
 delicate women," said his wife. '^ But 
 let me finish my story. Poor dear Mrs. 
 Lingham, in her trustful way, gave Joy a 
 ten-pound note and sent her out shop- 
 ping. While she was out, the Captain 
 chanced to meet her, walking with a very 
 fast-looking young man, and he came 
 home and mentioned the circumstance. 
 But his wife said at once that Joy had 
 told her, from the first, that she was 
 engaged to some one she had known from 
 her childhood." 
 
 *^ The girl had always assumed an air 
 of candour," said Elizabeth, with a 
 cynical smile. ''I used to think some- 
 times that she was almost too ingenuous ! " 
 
 *' By - and - by Joy returned," Mrs. 
 Salterne continued. ''But she had 
 made no purchases. She came in, look- 
 ing very strange and white, and said that 
 
30 GODIVA DUBLFMU. 
 
 the ten-pound note was gone. Of course 
 the Linghams accused her at once of 
 walking with the young man, and she 
 admitted that she had met him. She 
 also admitted, after close questioning, 
 that she had given him her bag to hold 
 for a minute. The purse containing the 
 note was in the bag." 
 
 Morris Burleigh's interest was wide 
 awake. He had fixed his piercing blue 
 eyes on his hostess, and was waiting 
 impatiently to hear more. 
 
 *^It's a marvel that she did return," 
 said Elizabeth. 
 
 "I don't think so," Mrs. Salterne 
 replied. ^' She had lived with Mrs. 
 Lingham a year, and had quite succeeded 
 in winning her confidence. She thought 
 that her mistress would believe any im- 
 probable story that she chose to tell. But 
 mypoor friend had opened her eyes at last." 
 
THE SALTEBNES. 31 
 
 '^ She opened them rather too late," 
 said John Salterne. 
 
 *^ Well, my dear, I never thought that 
 poor Mrs Lingham was keen- sighted. 
 We are not all equally gifted. And then 
 you know that the clergyman's letter of 
 recommendation prepared her to trust in 
 Joy. She was cruelly deceived." 
 
 "Who was the clergyman? Where 
 did the girl come from ? " inquired 
 Morris Durleigh, with startling abrupt- 
 ness. 
 
 Mrs. Salterne tried to assume a dignified 
 expression ; she wished him to under- 
 stand that she was accustomed to be 
 deferentially addressed. But he did not 
 care a pin about her dignity ; he jast 
 wanted an answer to his question. 
 
 *^ Joy came from a remote village 
 miles away," she said in measured tones. 
 *^ She had lived with the vicar anid his 
 
32 GODIVA DDIi LEIGH. 
 
 wife, and had taken charge of their child. 
 Mother and child died, and then the 
 vicar (I don't know his name), decided 
 to go abroad. He saw Mrs. Lingham's 
 advertisement, and instructed the girl to 
 answer it; and he wrote a letter, as I 
 have told you." 
 
 ^^ And what has become of her now ? " 
 
 Morris was more startling than ever, 
 and the lady of the house was seriously 
 displeased. Her eyes sought her hus- 
 band, but he was dissecting the core of 
 an apple, and did not meet her glance. 
 Godiva looked anxiously at her father. 
 
 ^'I don't know," Mrs. Salterne an- 
 swered curtly. *' Of course the Ling- 
 hams got rid of her at once. At the last 
 she made a sensational scene, and offered 
 to serve them without wages till she had 
 paid back the ten pounds." 
 
 ^^ They got rid of her at once," Morris 
 
TEE SALTERNES. 33 
 
 Durleigli repeated slowly. *^ And she 
 was a country girl, without friends in 
 London?" 
 
 ^^ Oh, there was her young man, you 
 know," said Elizabeth, with a sneer. 
 *^ As to friends, Mr. Durleigh, I suppose 
 she had quite a large circle. I dare say 
 if she had kept her place she would have 
 carried on an organized system of rob- 
 beries with her associates." 
 
 '^ Isn't it possible to take a kinder view 
 of her case?" asked Morris, fixing his 
 piercing gaze on Elizabeth's face. 
 
 *' Oh, you can take any view that 
 pleases you," exclaimed Mrs. Salterne, 
 reddening angrily, and rising. ^'We 
 know that you always put on rose- 
 coloured glasses when you look at the 
 lower orders, Mr. Durleigh." 
 
 Elizabeth and Godiva rose also, the 
 former flushed and scornful, the latter 
 
 VOL. I. D 
 
34 OODIVA DURLEIGE. 
 
 pale and troubled. The door closed on 
 the ladies, and Morris Durleigh came 
 back to his seat, and prepared himself to 
 hear one of honest John's long lectures 
 on the folly of philanthropy. 
 
 But for once Mr. Salterne did not do 
 what was so confidently expected of him. 
 Even an elderly Pharisee devoted to 
 business pursuits and pompous respecta- 
 bility sometimes has a soft place in his 
 heart. 
 
 ''It's very seldom that I concern my- 
 self about other people's servants," he 
 remarked, after a pause. '* But it really 
 is a wonderful thing to see how hard some 
 women can be on a pretty girl. The 
 Linghamswere always sending their nurse- 
 maid here with messages and parcels, 
 and that's how I got into the habit of 
 noticing her. My wife and daughter never 
 had a good word to say of the poor thing." 
 
THE SALTER NES. 35 
 
 "John," said Morris suddenly, "did 
 you observe a young woman in Savoy 
 Street, on Saturday ? She was looking 
 through the railings into the Chapel 
 garden. Just think a moment, will 
 you?" 
 
 " My good fellow, no. That's just 
 your way, Morris ; instead of listening 
 to me you were staring about, and trying 
 to find out objects of charity." 
 
 "Her face struck me," said Durleigh, 
 with a sigh. " I had a wild idea that she 
 might have been the very girl you have 
 been talking of." 
 
 " Nonsense," replied his host, with 
 good-natured scorn. " A wild idea in- 
 deed ! That nurse -maid girl must be 
 gone back to the country." 
 
36 GOD IV A DURLEIOH, 
 
 CHAPTEK III. 
 
 A JOYLESS JOY. 
 
 The wind was as sharp as a needle, and 
 now and then a snow-flake drifted down 
 from the leaden skies. That one genial 
 Sunday, with its sweet air and sunshine, 
 had come like a delusive promise of 
 better things, and even Joy Doveridge 
 had been conscious that a faint ray of 
 hope was stealing through the gloom of 
 her life. But the light had faded, the 
 dark, dreary winter had come back, and 
 she was slowly treading that solitary and 
 invisible path that leads to despair. 
 
 It seemed to her that years had gone 
 
A JOYLESS JOY. 37 
 
 since she had been turned out of her 
 place. She was a girl, with all a girl's 
 fresh springs of vitality still bubbling up 
 in her heart, and she was country-born 
 and country-bred. The sight of a green 
 meadow, a cluster of snowdrops in a 
 cottage garden, or the clamour of rooks 
 going home to roost in the tall elms, 
 would have lifted her spirit out of the 
 abyss of hopelessness into which it was 
 sinking fast. But she had got none of 
 these glimpses of her old home-life, and 
 her heart within her was desolate. 
 
 It was bitterly cold, yet she stood close 
 to the window, looking wearily across the 
 Strand to the roofs of the opposite houses, 
 now slightly sprinkled with snow. How 
 miserable and sordid this London world 
 seemed to her at this moment ! She was 
 alone, more utterly alone than she had 
 ever been in her life, and sorrow and 
 
38 GOD IV A DUBLEIGH. 
 
 anxiety had preyed upon her nerves and 
 undermined her health. She had been 
 feeling unlike herself for weeks ; but to- 
 day there was something new in her 
 sensations that frightened her. Was she 
 going to be ill here ? If she were ill she 
 might perhaps die, and be buried in some 
 crowded grave-yard in this cruel, noisy 
 London. 
 
 She would not have feared death if it 
 had come to her in her old country home. 
 There was a sweetness in the thought of 
 being laid down to sleep in the little 
 churchyard miles away. All her best 
 friends were slumbering there ; her 
 grand-parents and the vicar's wife and 
 child had found a peacefal resting-place 
 under the fresh grass. And suddenly 
 the familiar scene rose up with vivid dis- 
 tinctness before her mental sight. She 
 saw it, as it must be looking now in the 
 
A JOYLESS JOT. 39 
 
 cloudy light of a February afternoon. 
 The trees that spread out their delicate 
 network of sprays against the grey sky, 
 and the little brown birds perched upon 
 the bare twigs ; the shiny green of the 
 ivy that mantled the old church walls ; 
 the quiet mounds where snowflakes and 
 snowdrops were lightly scattered to- 
 gether ; — in fancy she could see it all. 
 
 This was the picture that memory 
 showed her ; but what did she see with 
 her bodily eyes ? Houses blackened with 
 smoke and all the foul exhalations of a 
 great city, and down below ^' the raging, 
 brawling Strand." Hundreds of good 
 people were hurrying along in that end- 
 less procession — people who would have 
 spoken a kind word and done a charitable 
 deed if they had known that word and 
 deed were wanted. But Joy did not 
 know them, nor did they know her; and 
 
40 GO DIVA BURLEIQH. 
 
 in her wretched mood the streets seemed 
 to be thronged with restless, pitiless 
 beings, all pursuing their own ends, all 
 blind and deaf to any interests that did 
 not concern themselves. 
 
 When the Linghams, in their wrath, 
 had turned her out of their home at 
 Notting Hill, the cook had taken a little 
 pity on her at the last. She had hastily 
 given Joy the address of an aunt of her's 
 who took charge of a wine merchant's 
 premises. Mrs. Bluff, cook had explained, 
 was not a bad sort of woman, although 
 she couldn't be expected to do a kindness 
 for nothing. And poor Joy, confused, 
 bewildered, crushed by the overwhelming 
 suddenness of her misfortune, had grate- 
 fully accepted the bit of paper on which 
 cook had scraw^led a line to her relative. 
 
 The girl's sinking spirit had revived for 
 an instant when she found that Mrs. 
 
A JOYLESS JOY. 41 
 
 Bluff lived in the Strand. She knew 
 that her George was lodging somewhere 
 near the Strand; that was the address 
 that she had put on the letters she had 
 written to him. And she would seek him 
 as soon as she could, and ask him to help 
 her to find the lost money. G3orge was 
 so clever that he would he sure to think 
 of some plan that had escaped her poor 
 dazed brain. 
 
 A year had passed away since Joy had 
 left her home in the country ; but she 
 had never once gone far from Notting 
 Hill. When it was her turn to go out on 
 Sunday afternoon George had met her, 
 and had sometimes taken her for a long 
 walk ; but she had seen none of the 
 sights of London. She was almost as 
 much of a rustic now as she had been in 
 the old days when she had picked the 
 first primroses in the lanes. And George, 
 
42 GOB IV A DURLETQH. 
 
 although he had often laughed at her 
 simplicity, had never even attempted to 
 give her a wider view of the world. 
 
 Her life in Captain Lingham's house 
 had been overcrowded with duties, and 
 she had enjoyed none of those sweet, 
 restful hours that she had known at the 
 vicarage. From morning till night she 
 had waited on her mistress and the chil- 
 dren, doing a hundred things that Mrs. 
 Lingham's idle hands ought to have done. 
 There had been no order in the house- 
 hold ; the little laws that a good mistress 
 makes were never put in force. Worst 
 of all, the housemaid had been bitterly 
 jealous of the pretty nurse, and had done 
 her many an ill turn without let or 
 hindrance. But Joy, saddened and 
 wearied as she often was, had kept up 
 her courage through everything, and had 
 tried hard to be contented with her lot. 
 
A JOYLESS JOY. 43 
 
 Moreover, the house at Netting Hill 
 was her only shelter from the rough 
 blasts of the world. Joy was an orphan, 
 left at -Q.Ye years old to the care of her 
 mother's parents. They had brought the 
 child up in their simple way in a poor 
 village home, and she had gone to the 
 vicarage as soon as she was old enough 
 to take a situation. And then for five 
 happy years she had served those who 
 were themselves '^ serving," in singleness 
 of heart, fearing God. 
 
 It was very easy to be good at the 
 vicarage — so easy that a bad girl would 
 have lacked opportunities of being bad. 
 The sweet, untempted life glided on as 
 if it would never come to an end. But a 
 woman is seldom destined to spend all 
 her days in a ^'garden enclosed;" and 
 even Joy Doveridge sometimes had vague 
 thoughts about the world outside of her 
 walls of peace. 
 
44 GODIVA DURLEIQH. 
 
 Her first sharp sorrow was the death of 
 the little child ; and although others had 
 noticed the fast- declining strength of the 
 vicar's wife, Joy's inexperienced eyes 
 failed to detect the signs of decay. She 
 thought that Mrs. Elmslie was worn with 
 grieving for her little son, and never 
 dreamt that her dear mistress was so 
 soon to be laid to rest by her boy's side. 
 But the end came rapidly ; and then Joy 
 knew that the rose-covered walls that 
 had sheltered her life were broken down 
 at last. She was now to see what kind 
 of country lay outside of the vicarage 
 garden, and she must learn to do her 
 part in a wider sphere. 
 
 When Mr. Elmslie had advised her to 
 go to the Linghams he believed that she 
 would find a safe home with them. Some 
 people whom he knew had spoken in the 
 highest terms of Captain Lingham's wife. 
 
A JOYLESS JOT. 45 
 
 And it was true that Joy's new mistress 
 was soft and sweet on the surface ; you 
 might have thought her tender all 
 through, if you had not chanced to go 
 too deep, and touch upon the hard core 
 of her selfishness. She loaded Joy's back 
 with burdens which a more experienced 
 girl would have utterly refused to carry ; 
 and she never gave a single thought to 
 her young nurse's inner life. 
 
 Joy Doveridge and George Hunter had 
 been sweethearts ever since they could 
 remember. He was a workhouse boy, 
 whose parents were unknown ; she be- 
 longed to the poorest people in the 
 village. Together they had sat on a stile 
 to scare the crows, sharing their scanty 
 meal, and howling at the birds between 
 mouth fuls. Together they had gone 
 blackberrying in the copse, and brought 
 back a well-filled basket between them, 
 
46 OODIVA DURLEIGIL 
 
 coming down the village hill like Jack 
 and Jill, and earning many a penny as 
 the fruit of their joint labour. Very early 
 in their lives they had entered into part- 
 nership, and when they grew old enough 
 to "keep company," the vicar himself 
 gave his sanction to the engagement. 
 
 In those golden days, away in the little 
 Hampshire village, life was giving many 
 of its best gifts to the boy and girl, 
 although they knew it not. It was a 
 bliss to live and dream away a bright 
 hour under the hedge, while the honey- 
 suckle hung its trailers above their heads, 
 and the wheat-ears nodded in the warm 
 breath of the summer wind. But not 
 until long afterwards did George or Joy 
 realize that this was the sweetest part of 
 their lives. They thought that it was 
 only the prelude to, a lovely song which 
 the future was to sing. 
 
A JOYLESS JOT. 47 
 
 George Hunter was a slim, well-made 
 youth, looking younger than he really 
 was. He had rather a gipsy face, with 
 dark eyes, and dark hair which curled 
 close to his head. His rise in the world 
 was rapid ; from crow-scarer he became a 
 stable-helper in the village doctor's estab- 
 lishment ; and then a friend of the 
 doctor's, who had come down from town, 
 took handy George back with him to 
 London. 
 
 " He is getting on so well," said Mrs. 
 Elmslie to her husband, after reading one 
 of George's letters to his betrothed. *^ I 
 shouldn't wonder if he were to come back 
 here, and want to settle, and then we 
 should lose our Joy." 
 
 George had been away nearly two 
 years when the vicarage household was 
 suddenly broken up. And poor Joy, in 
 spite of grief and loneliness, was not 
 
48 00 DIVA DURLEIGH. 
 
 afraid to go to London. He was there, 
 and perhaps it would not be long before 
 the much-talked-of little home would be 
 ready for habitation. He was so clever, 
 and he knew how to do so many things, 
 that he was sure to make money. 
 
 George was really glad to have his 
 sweetheart in town ; but they did not 
 meet oftener than once a fortnight. 
 Followers were not allowed indoors, and 
 Joy could not go out every Sunday. 
 Sometimes she complained to her lover 
 of Mrs. Lingham's unreasonable demands; 
 but, although George always sympathized, 
 he did not say anything definite about 
 the future. He spoke hopefully, almost 
 enthusiastically, of his prospects, but 
 they seemed to be enshrouded in a 
 glorious haze. Perhaps it was because 
 he was so clever that he had been '^ all 
 things by turns, and nothing long." Any- 
 
A JOYLESS JOY. 49 
 
 how, lie had a way of jumping into 
 situations and out of them with a rapidity 
 which astonished the simple-minded Joy. 
 
 ^^I will go over it all again," the girl 
 thought. ^' I will begin at the beginning 
 of that dreadful afternoon when the purse 
 was lost. I must keep on thinking, 
 and thinking, and thinking ; and then, 
 perhaps, something fresh will come into 
 my mind." 
 
 And she did go over it all again. 
 She remembered that it was a bitter 
 January afternoon, and the clock was 
 striking the quarter after two when she 
 entered the nursery in her plain hat and 
 cloak, ready for her wintry walk. 
 
 Mrs. Lingham was in a very good 
 humour that day ; a new dress had just 
 been sent home, and fitted her perfectly ; 
 her husband had promised her a sealskin 
 jacket, and an admiral, living in Mayfair, 
 
 VOL. I. E 
 
50 GODIVA DUELEIQH. 
 
 had invited thera to dinner. She was a 
 pretty, cosy-looking Hfctle woman ; and as 
 she sat in the arm-chair by the nursery 
 fire, with the children round her, she 
 seemed to be a complete impersonation 
 of home peace. The comfortable room, 
 with a great rocking-horse prancing in 
 one corner, and a doll's house in another, 
 was a cheerful refuge on a bleak, windy 
 day. 
 
 The seven little ones were already de- 
 vising plans for their afternoon's amuse- 
 ment, and Emily, the tall housemaid, was 
 taking all the lesson-books and picture- 
 books down from the book-case, and 
 putting them in order — a task which 
 she performed without much good-will. 
 " It was hard that she should be set to 
 do the nurse's work," she had said, in a 
 grumbling tone, which was meant to 
 reach Joy's ears. Joy, however, was get- 
 
A JOYLESS JOY. 51 
 
 ting used to Emily's unpleasant remarks, 
 and paid but little heed to them. 
 
 Close to Mrs. Lingham's elbow was the 
 small round table, laden with Joy's work- 
 box and a pile of hose to be mended. 
 The nurse's little hand-bag was lying on 
 the top of the box. This bag, of dark- 
 green morocco, had been given to Joy by 
 her mistress as a Christmas giffc, and was 
 highly prized by its owner; first, because 
 it was the only thing that Mrs. Lingham 
 had ever given her, and, secondly, 
 because, being a country-girl, any tasteful 
 knickknack had a great charm in her eyes. 
 When Joy entered, Mrs. Lingham took 
 up the bag, and drew^ her purse out of 
 her pocket. 
 
 *' See, Joy," she said, *^ I am going to 
 trust you with my purse, and a ten-pound 
 note in it. Here is the note ; you must 
 be very careful in counting the change." 
 
52 GODIVA DURLEIGH. 
 
 She opened the purse, showed Joy the 
 little piece of flimsy paper, closed the snap 
 again, and put it into the hand-bag. 
 
 ** I'll be very careful, ma'am," the girl 
 replied. 
 
 ** You have your list, and know exactly 
 what to buy," Mrs. Lingham went on, 
 **But, oh, I was forgetting something ! I 
 want some new strings for my bonnet. 
 Joy, you must go and take the bonnet 
 out of the wardrobe, and cut a little bit 
 off one of the strings. Eemember that 
 the new ribbon must match the old 
 strings perfectly. Be very particular, and 
 make haste, or all the daylight will be 
 gone." 
 
 Joy ran off at once to her mistress's 
 bedroom, and looked into the wardrobe 
 for the bonnet. But it was not there ; 
 and it was very seldom indeed that any 
 of Mrs. Lingham' s belongings were ever 
 
A JOYLESS JOY. 53 
 
 found where they were supposed to be. 
 Her faithful maid at last discovered the 
 bonnet in one of the cupboards. She cut 
 off a bit of the ribbon, and pinned it 
 securely on the front of her cloak, that it 
 might not be lost. 
 
 When she went back to the nursery 
 she found Mrs. Lingham settled in a 
 luxurious attitude of repose. The easy- 
 chair was pulled to the front of the fire, 
 and her mistress, with her feet on the 
 high fender, was lounging in it with an 
 open book. She was too lazy and com- 
 fortable even to turn her head when Joy 
 entered. 
 
 ^' Don't forget your bag," she said, in a 
 drowsy voice. '^ And don't dawdle, or 
 lose anything. '^ 
 
 "I will be very careful, ma'am," the 
 girl repeated. 
 
 The lady said no more, and Joy took 
 
54 GODIVA BUBLEIGE, 
 
 Ler bag from the round table. It was 
 clear that Mrs. Lingham did not mean to 
 do any mendiDg that afternoon, although 
 she had talked about it. She had de- 
 liberately turned her back upon the little 
 work-table and the pile of hose, and was 
 basking in' the glow of the fire. The 
 children were all grovelling on the floor 
 upon hands and knees, absorbed in the 
 arrangement of an extensive zoological 
 garden. Joy was young enough to feel 
 that she would have liked to have set up 
 the impossible trees, and placed the 
 ferocious animals in their red and yellow 
 dens ; but she had to go her way, out into 
 the cold. Emily, the housemaid, was 
 still sulkily dusting the books, and taking 
 no notice of anything. 
 
 It was bleak and bitter out of doors, 
 and very few people cared to brave the 
 cutting north-easter that stripped the 
 
A JOYLESS JOT. 55 
 
 suburban trees of their last dry leaves. Joy 
 hurried on, impatient fco accomplish her 
 business, and return to the warm nursery. 
 But just as she was drawing near Notting 
 Hill Gate, her heart gave a quick throb of 
 delight. There was George — her own 
 George — walking with his shoulders up to 
 his ears, and his hands in his pockets ; 
 but her pleasure changed swiftly to 
 anxiety at the sight of his haggard face. 
 
 " It's very nice to meet you, dear," she 
 said, as he turned to walk by her side. 
 ^' But is anything the matter ? '* 
 
 ^^ Not much," he answered. *^I'm a 
 little out of sorts, that's all. What brings 
 you out on such a day as this, Joy ? " 
 
 She told him, readily enough, about the 
 shopping that she had to do, and added 
 that her mistress had been kinder of late, 
 and had seemed to set a higher value on 
 her williug service. George listened with 
 
56 QODIVA DURLEIOH. 
 
 his outward ears ; but it was plain that 
 his thoughts were wandering. The wind 
 whistled round them dismally, and he 
 shivered and pulled up his coat-collar. 
 
 Joy stopped so suddenly that he started. 
 Her boot-lace was untied, and there was 
 nothing for it but to pause, and put her 
 foot upon a convenient door-step. 
 ' " Let me tie the lace for you," said her 
 lover dreamily. 
 
 *' No, thank you, George; I can do it 
 more quickly," she replied. ** But please 
 hold my bag. And, oh, do be careful, for 
 there's a ten-pound note in mistress's 
 purse inside it ! " 
 
 She wore stout country boots, with 
 thick laces, and the tying was a work of 
 some seconds. It was done at last, and 
 she turned round to take the bag from 
 George's hand. 
 
 At that moment something in her 
 
A JOYLESS JOY. 57 
 
 lover's expression gave her a shock, aud 
 then came a sinking of the heart utterly 
 beyond her small power of analyzation. 
 All her foregone beliefs seemed to be 
 revolutionized in that brief instant. She 
 had been so perfectly convinced of her 
 complete knowledge of George, — she had 
 believed herself so thoroughly acquainted 
 with his very thoughts, — that this new 
 look of his was chilling her with an 
 indescribable fear. Never before had he 
 seemed so like a stranger, living a life 
 entirely apart from her own. What 
 dreadful secret was he hiding from the 
 faithful little soul who had been comrade 
 and friend as well as sweetheart ? In the 
 old Hampshire days there had been but 
 one heart and one mind between them. 
 
 ^' I don't think you are well, George," 
 she said, in a faltering voice. 
 
 *' Indeed I am." The answer came 
 
58 GODIVA DURLEIGH. 
 
 slowly, and with a visible effort. *' That 
 is, as well as any one can be in such un- 
 bearable weather. But, Joy, I came here 
 to meet a man who hasn't turned up, and 
 now I must hurry off to the City. You 
 are going into this shop? Well, good- 
 bye, dear; I am glad to have seen 
 you.'' 
 
 They parted at a linen-draper's door, 
 and Joy looked wdstfully into George's 
 face ; but the dark eyes avoided meeting 
 hers. In another second he was out of 
 sight; he seemed to vanish, somehow; 
 and the girl bethought her of all the 
 purchases that she had to make. 
 
 She tried to put George out of her mind 
 w^hen she stood before the counter with 
 her list in her hand. But it w^as remem- 
 bered against her afterwards that she 
 forgot the bonnet ribbon, and while yards, 
 and yards of flannel and calico were 
 
A JOYLESS JOY. 50 
 
 measured off, her tliaughts went straying 
 after her lover. 
 
 ''And the next thing, madam?" said 
 the civil shopman, who *' madamed " 
 every woman, rich or poor, gentle or 
 simple. He had to repeat his question 
 hefore Joy heard and answered him. 
 
 " Nothing more," she replied. " I will 
 pay you for the things at once." 
 
 The bill was made out and handed to 
 her, and she mechanically opened her 
 little bag. Some seconds passed, and she 
 still stood staring into the bag with a 
 bewildered look on her face. 
 
 " The purse is gone," she said at last, 
 her blue eyes wide open, and all the rose- 
 colour dying out of her cheeks. 
 
 The shopman knew her by sight, and 
 administered ready consolation. " Not 
 the slightest doubt that the purse was 
 left at home," he said ; " such things were 
 
60 OODIVA DVRLEIQH. 
 
 happening every day ; there really was no 
 need for any anxiety." But poor Joy's 
 troubled heart could not accept this com- 
 fort. She had seen, with her own eyes, 
 that the note was put into the purse, and 
 the purse into the bag ; and she set off 
 homeward at a flying pace, her face as 
 white as death, and her brain in a whirl. 
 The storm which broke upon her 
 defenceless head had left traces which no 
 after-peace could ever entirely remove. 
 They would not listen to any of the timid 
 words she uttered; they could not see 
 that, frightened and miserable as she was, 
 she yet concealed nothing, but frankly 
 admitted that she had met and walked 
 with her lover ; and they sneered at her 
 eager promises to make good their loss. 
 Captain Lingham's wrath burnt all the 
 more fiercely because his wife had neg- 
 lected to take the number of the note. 
 
A JOYLESS JOY. 61 
 
 Mrs. Lingham, who beheld her hope of a 
 sealskin vanishing like smoke, was trans- 
 ported with rage. And at last it seemed 
 to Joy that she was swept out of the 
 house in a whirlwind of hysterical screams, 
 threats, and reproaches. The children 
 stood looking on at the scene with round 
 eyes and scared faces, and not one of 
 the little voices dared to whisper a 
 good-bye. 
 
 In the midst of all this turmoil and 
 misery, her bewildered mind took hold of 
 one thought, and clung to it as a drowning 
 man clings to a spar. She w^ould go to 
 George's lodging, and ask him to help 
 her. George was not dull and slow like 
 some of the good folks down in the old 
 village ; he had always been sharper than 
 any one else, quicker in seeing his way 
 through a difficulty, readier in finding an 
 answer to a puzzling question. If any 
 
62 GODIVA DUB LEIGH. 
 
 one on earth could clear up this dreadful 
 mystery it must be George. 
 
 Alas 1 she was here, at the end of her 
 scanty resources, brought to bay with 
 fortune in a dreary London lodging. And 
 George was gone. She had failed to find 
 him, or any trace of him. The people in 
 his lodging-house had told her that he 
 had gone away : and that was all. 
 
 Slowly, and not until she had put it 
 from her passionately, thousands of times, 
 the deadly belief had forced its w^ay into 
 her mind at last. It was her lover who 
 had stolen the money. '' Handy George," 
 who had always been so nimble and 
 clever with his fingers, had taken the 
 purse out of the bag while her back was 
 turned towards him. 
 
 She remembered that her old grand- 
 mother had said that George looked as 
 if he had gipsy blood in his veins. No 
 
A JOYLESS JOY, 63 
 
 one had known the boy's parents ; no 
 one could say whether he came of tlie 
 wandering race or not. In her earher 
 days Joy had never thought anything 
 about George's origin; but now that she 
 was tormented with doubts and fears, 
 certain vague rumours came drifting 
 back. 
 
 If she could only have believed in him 
 still, she might possibly have plucked up 
 heart to battle with misfortune. If she 
 could have found herself once more in 
 her little room at the vicarage, looking 
 out upon the sycamore that brushed the 
 pane — if she could have seen tbe early 
 death of the day behind the dear old 
 hills, and the last silver lights in the 
 wintry west — ah, then her childhood's 
 faith in her lover might have revived. 
 But what hope could visit her in this 
 dark chamber, with its dirty paint and 
 
64 GOmVA BURLEIGH. 
 
 stained wall-paper, and its two broken-* 
 backed chairs ? And wliat whisper of 
 comfort could be heard while this hoarse 
 roar came up from the crowded thorough-r 
 fare below ? She seemed to see her life 
 laid bare before her eyes — her poor hope- 
 less life — not as she had always imagined 
 it would be, but as it really was. 
 
 Godiva Durleigh would never have 
 been thoroughly miserable as long as 
 London sights and sounds were near. 
 The ceaseless roar of the Strand was 
 music in her ears ; the hurrying throngs 
 of men and women were brothers and 
 sisters, children of one Father, knit to- 
 gether by common sorrows and common 
 delights. The daughter of the philan- 
 thropist felt her heart beating freely 
 when its beats were echoed by the throb* 
 biogs of other hearts. In a crowd she 
 was never lonely, because humanity, even 
 
A JOYLESS JOY. 65 
 
 when degraded and debased, touched a 
 sympathetic cord within her. Godiva, 
 like Joy, had an infinite capacity for 
 suffering ; but the balm for her wounds 
 did not grow in solitary places ; it was 
 watered by the tears of a crowd. 
 
 Poor Joy was too timid and too little 
 accustomed to city life to gain courage 
 as days went on. Servants were wanted, 
 it was true ; but what safe home would 
 open its doors to a girl without refer- 
 ences ? At first she had hoped that she 
 could obtain a place by simply saying 
 that she was willing to work ; and, in 
 her ignorance of the world, had looked 
 forward to honest service with a faint 
 sense of comfort. But disappointment 
 met her at every turn. 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
66 OODIVA DUBLEIGE. 
 
 CHAPTEK IV. 
 
 A DEEAM. 
 
 Theee was neither help nor encourage- 
 ment to be had from Joy's landlady. 
 Mrs. Bluff had thought slightingly of 
 her lodger from the first moment of her 
 arrival, and had not scrupled to speak 
 her mind. 
 
 '^You ain't the sort of gal to make 
 your way up here," she had remarked 
 more than once. *^ There hisn't a par- 
 ticle of brass in you, and brass is more 
 wanted than anything else, and fetches 
 the best price in the market. Why 
 don't you go back to the country ? " 
 
A DUE AM. 67 
 
 ** There's no one to go back to," Joy 
 would answer sadly. ^* All my friends 
 are dead. And my village is such a 
 small place, that very few servants are 
 wanted there." 
 
 Out of doors it was growing darker 
 and darker, and Joy began to realize 
 that her limbs were stiff with cold. A 
 light suddenly appeared in the attic 
 window of the opposite house, and the 
 girl vaguely wondered whether there was 
 any heart there as heavy as her own. 
 
 This was Friday, to-morrow she must 
 pay the weekly sum agreed upon for 
 board and lodging. And then ? Well, 
 then her means would be quite ex- 
 hausted. She cast a glance towards 
 the box that she had brought with her, 
 and began, with a weary brain, to 
 reckon up what its simple contents 
 were worth. She had some decent 
 
68 OODIVA DURLEIQH, 
 
 clothes, made in plain, country fashion, 
 of good materials. Mr. Elmslie had 
 behaved thoughtfully and generously, 
 and supplied her with an ample outfit. 
 It would be bitter, indeed, to part with 
 those neat garments for half or quarter 
 of their value ; and yet they were the 
 last frail barrier between herself and 
 beggary. 
 
 Shivering, and feeling wretchedly ill, 
 she crept down flight after flight of 
 steep stairs to the kitchen, where Mrs. 
 Bluff always took her meals. The 
 woman was sitting by a blazing fire, 
 toasting a muJBfin, and there was some- 
 thing in the aspect of her coarse face 
 that made Joy take a seat as far away 
 from her as she could. 
 
 Mrs. Bluff was not absolutely drunk, 
 but she had been drinking enough to 
 bring all her worst qualities into play. 
 
A DREAM. 69 
 
 She fixed a hard scrutinizing gaze on 
 Joy's wan cheeks and lustreless eyes. 
 There were a loaf and butter and tea- 
 pot on the table, and the girl half timidly 
 poured out a cup of tea. 
 
 ** You're looking mortal bad," said Mrs. 
 Bluff, with brutal candour. ^' T'wont be 
 long afore you're laid up, and it don't 
 answer my purpose to have sick people 
 'ere, I can tell you." 
 
 ** I hope I'm not going to be ill," Joy 
 answered, trying to steady the hand that 
 held the cup. 
 
 '' There's no good in ^ opin ' about a 
 thing wot's certain to come to pass," 
 Mrs. Bluff said, in an oracular tone. 
 ''I ain't often deceived, and I always 
 told yer that yer wouldn't do for 
 London life. My niece, as was a fool 
 to send yer 'ere, must have knowed 
 it too. Now what I want to know is — 
 
70 GODIVA DURLEIGH. 
 
 when are yer going to clear out o' 
 this ? " 
 
 Joy felt herself beginning to tremble 
 from head to foot, and for some seconds 
 she could not think of any words to 
 speak. Had Mrs. Bluff divined that 
 her httle stock of money was exhausted ? 
 Partly ; but the woman had a chance 
 of letting Joy's bedroom to a young 
 man, and she was tired of the girl's 
 sad face and silent ways — tired, too, of 
 the restraint which a pure nature uncon- 
 sciously imposes on the grovelling souls 
 around it. When Joy was near she 
 sometimes found herself using choicer 
 language than usual, and walking a little 
 more circumspectly than she would have 
 done if her quiet lodger had been far 
 away. 
 
 ''- 1 thought that perhaps you would be 
 good enough to keep me a little longer," 
 
A DREAM. 71 
 
 said the girl, in a faltering voice. *^ I 
 meant to tell you that when I have paid 
 j'-ou to-morrow I shall only have one 
 shilling left. But if you would look over 
 my clothes " 
 
 '^ There, do shut up, for goodness' 
 sake ! " Mrs. Bluff's face expressed un- 
 mitigated disgust. ^* Whatever do you 
 spose I could do with your country-cut 
 things ? No, no, this ain't an old clo' 
 shop. You'll jest make up yer mind to 
 be off arter you've paid me. And you 
 may leave yer box here till six o'clock 
 to-morrow night, and not a minute later, 
 so 'elp me." 
 
 When Mrs. Bluff said '' so 'elp me," 
 she brought her hard fist down on the 
 deal table with a bang that set the 
 cups and saucers rattling. Joy did not 
 attempt to move her by any further 
 appeal ; there was nothing in her to 
 
72 GOD IV A DUB LEIGH. 
 
 respond to a prayer, no soft place in her 
 flinty heart that could be touched with 
 a cry of distress. One glance at her face, 
 and Joy's lips were sealed. 
 
 The girl's silence irritated Mrs. Bluff, 
 who was in the mood when anything in 
 the shape of a scene is welcome. Find- 
 ing that Joy did not speak, she presently 
 began a series of insulting remarks about 
 young women with no characters a-com- 
 ing into decent 'ouses and expecting to 
 take root in 'em. Sich conduct was not 
 what Eliza Bluff could put up with. To 
 be eaten out of 'ouse and 'ome by people 
 without references, and nothing but a 
 trumpery box of country-cut does, was 
 anything but what Eliza Bluff considered 
 right. Honest widders, like Eliza, had 
 theirselves to purwide for, and couldn't 
 be filling idle mouths as 'ad no claim 
 on 'em, 
 
A DBEAM. 73 
 
 Joy bore it all patiently, until the 
 *^ honest widder's " voice began to rise 
 higher and higher, and her face grew 
 redder and redder. Then, with a soft 
 step, the girl crept away, and climbed 
 the steep stairs to her wretched bed- 
 room. When she had bolted herself in, 
 she knelt down by the window, and tried 
 to say some of the old prayers that she 
 had learnt in her earliest years ; but she 
 was faint and cold, and could not collect 
 her thoughts. There was nothing for it 
 but to put out the light, and go shivering 
 and restless to her pillow. 
 
 At last, after weary hours of wakeful- 
 ness, a deep slumber did for a time over- 
 take her, and she dreamed a dream. The 
 brief sleep that came to Joy after mid- 
 night was very sweet. She had not 
 known such a quiet rest for many weeks. 
 
 She dreamt that she was toiling slowly 
 
7i GODIVA BUBLEIOH. 
 
 up the narrow lane that led to the grey- 
 church at home ; and although there 
 were no leaves on the trees, and no 
 flowers in the hedges, the birds were 
 singing clear and strong. She listened 
 to the bird-notes with an indescribable, 
 ecstatic gladness ; dead feelings seemed 
 to wake up again ; her old faith in God 
 was coming back. At the summit of 
 the hill the lane widened; there were 
 the red walls of the vicarage garden, 
 and here was the open gate of the quiet 
 churchyard. By that gate she took her 
 stand, and waited for some one who 
 would, she knew, be sure to come. This 
 waiting lasted — who shall say how long ? 
 She could not herself have told, when, 
 long afterwards, she looked back upon 
 the dream. 
 
 The place was quite unchanged. She 
 stood looking at the gravelled path that 
 
A DREAM. ^i 
 
 led straight to the Gothic portal, and 
 the green mounds rising on each side of 
 the way. It was fresh and still and 
 peaceful here ; the winter was scarcely 
 over ■ yet, but all dread of storm and 
 wind was gone. Something that breathed 
 faintly of hope — some subtle hint of 
 Easter joy — was in the very air. She 
 did not find the time long, but she was 
 conscious of continued expectation ; and 
 at last the one for whom she waited 
 came, and stood before her face to 
 face. 
 
 It was her dear mistress, Mrs. Elmslie, 
 who had come to her, not dressed in any 
 unfamiHar fashion, but wearing her old 
 grey gown, and smihng the old placid 
 smile, which had always set Joy's heart 
 at rest. If she had appeared in a white 
 robe, holding a palm-branch in her hand^ 
 the girl would have missed this sweet 
 
76 GODIVA BURLEIOE. 
 
 sense of familiarity which made the meet- 
 ing seem a natural and simple thing. 
 Even in her dream she knew that the 
 vicar's wife was no longer numbered 
 among the living ; yet she did not feel 
 that her return to every-day hfe was 
 strange. 
 
 And then in the twinkhng of an eye the 
 scene changed. The wide, open country 
 and the hills were gone ; there was only a 
 little space of grass and wintry trees ; and 
 a church, greyer, older, and smaller than 
 the village church, appeared before her 
 eyes. The roar of London sounded in 
 her ears again ; the uncertain life with 
 its burdens of fear and sorrow had come 
 back. But somehow the load was easier 
 to bear. She looked up at her mistress 
 and saw that her face was very calm 
 and sweet; and the well-known voice 
 spoke to her in a quiet tone. 
 
A DREAM. 77 
 
 *^ Yoa have been here before, Joy," it 
 said ; ^' and you must come here again." 
 
 She woke up, and found the dayhght 
 stealing slowly into the room ; and then 
 she rose, shook off sleep, and looked out 
 upon the grimy fronts of the opposite 
 houses. It was not snowing now ; there 
 were even vague promises of sunshine. 
 She had slept later than usual, and her 
 sickening dread of Mrs. Bluff's temper 
 revived as she went wearily dowTistairs. 
 
 But, for some unexplained cause, Mrs. 
 Bluff was not disposed to be quarrelsome 
 this morning. She received Joy's little 
 pile of silver with civility, and then 
 suddenly assumed a melancholy air, and 
 sighed loudly over the badness of the 
 times. Joy swallowed a few mouthfuls 
 of bread, and drank some tea, even 
 venturing to warm herself by the fire, 
 before she went upstairs to. pack. her box, 
 
78' OODIYA DURLEIOH. 
 
 When she had closed the lid of her 
 trunk she put on her bonnet and cloak, 
 and wondered vaguely where she should 
 be when night came round again ? She 
 was growing almost apathetic now, and 
 even the sight of her bloodless face and 
 dull eyes reflected in the glass, did not 
 greatly move her. She had been a pretty 
 girl once — not long ago — but what good 
 was in her youth and beauty ? What 
 interest had she in her hair and dress, or 
 in anything? A girl who has lost the 
 innocent vanities of girlhood has lost 
 hope in life. 
 
 George was lost to her for ever ; but 
 she was too dull and spiritless to realize 
 that loss. She only felt vaguely that all 
 her future had been swept away, and that 
 nothing remained but this grim inexorable 
 present with its threats of homelessness 
 and starvation. Without hope and with- 
 
A DREAM. 79 
 
 out energy she left the dreary room, and 
 went downstairs out into the street. 
 
 Her heart ached under a heavy load of 
 pain, and the roar of the Strand was 
 almost more than her over-strained nerves 
 could bear. Oh, to see once more that 
 beloved friend who had come to her in 
 last night's dream ! Oh, to be taken 
 gently by the hand, and led out of this 
 turmoil to some peaceful spot where there 
 was rest ! 
 
 With an intense longing came a swift 
 remembrance of the dream- voice, and the 
 words that it had seemed to speak: — *' You 
 have been here before, Joy ; and you 
 must come here again." She must go 
 and look at the small grey church, stand- 
 ing in the grassy garden where there 
 were old tombstones and ivy and trees. 
 The sight of it might do her a little good, 
 for it would bring the dream nearer to 
 
80 GODIVA DURLEIGB. 
 
 reality. It was not so very much unlike 
 the old church at home ; and it might be 
 possible to call up a vision of Mrs. Elmslie, 
 looking just as she had looked in the 
 dream. There was so little comfort in 
 this noisy every-day world that it was not 
 strange if a sick soul sought solace in a 
 realm of phantoms. 
 
 Her pale forlorn face met with scanty 
 notice in the Strand, and if she was inten* 
 tionally pushed or stared at, she was too 
 weary to resent a rudeness. The clocks 
 were striking twelve as she turned down 
 the sharp slope of Savoy Street ; there 
 were gleams of sunshine ; and a group of 
 choir-boys was standing outside the iron 
 railings that protected the Chapel garden. 
 Joy did not even glance at the boys, and 
 they did not seem to observe her as she 
 stood leaning against the gate. 
 
 What was the girl thinking of, as she 
 
A DEE AM. 81 
 
 stood there, holding the railings with a 
 tight clasp ? Of old peaceful Sundays 
 long past ; of dear ones who had gone on 
 before her to the great resting-place of 
 love ; of a time of peace and re-union 
 which might even now be drawing very 
 near. She did not care to leave this spot. 
 It did not matter to her, just then, that 
 the day was slipping by, and she had not 
 yet found a place of shelter for the night. 
 
 When a hand lightly touched her 
 shoulder it scarcely startled her. Perhaps 
 she had expected something ; perhaps her 
 dream had left so vivid an impression on 
 her brain that she was half prepared for 
 an event. A man with a grave gentle 
 face, was looking at her searchingly and 
 kindly ; and he spoke to her in words that 
 she remembered long afterwards. *^ You 
 were here last Saturday. And I have 
 come every day to look for you." 
 
 VOL. I. a 
 
82 OODIVA DURLEIGE. 
 
 This was strange indeed. But when 
 Joy met the gaze of those mild, yet pene- 
 trating blue eyes, she thought of a picture 
 of the Good Shepherd which had hung in 
 the nursery at the vicarage. Later on, 
 when she had learnt more of the world, 
 and of those who are doing good in it, 
 she knew that there is a seeldng look on 
 the faces of the Good Shepherd's followers; 
 a look which great artists know well, and 
 have stamped on their ideal saviours of 
 men. Morris Durleigh's eyes always told 
 the story of his life and the desire of his 
 life. 
 
 '^ I want to know all about you," he 
 went on quietly. ^^ What is your name ? 
 I think you have come from the country." 
 
 *^ My name is Joy Doveridge, sir, and 
 I am country-born," the girl answered 
 simply. 
 
 Her voice was husky and weak, but 
 
A DREAM. 83 
 
 Morris could tell that it was naturally 
 sweet ; and the poor wan face was flush- 
 ing faintly as hope began to stir again in 
 her heart. In spite of all John Salterne's 
 good-natured scorn, his instinct had been 
 true. It was indeed the friendless country- 
 girl whom he had so eagerly sought and 
 found. 
 
 ^' I have heard your story," he said, 
 " and I see how it is with you now. You 
 have not found another place ? " 
 
 ** No, sir." Her lips quivered. ''If 
 you have heard everything, you know 
 that I was sent away in disgrace from 
 Captain Lingham's house. It seemed to 
 them that I'd stolen the note and given it 
 to the young man I was engaged to. 
 Nothing will ever make them believe 
 that I am innocent. But God knows, 
 sir, that I am willing to work night and 
 day till I've paid back the money 1 It's 
 
84 00 DIVA DURLEIOH. 
 
 ten pounds, sir, that's gone ; and it might 
 take a long time to earn as much, but I'll 
 do ifc if I only get a chance." 
 
 ^* You shall have the chance." Morris 
 spoke in a firm, steady tone, which carried 
 certainty into her mind at once. ** But 
 you are looking white and ill, and it is not 
 good for you to stand here in the cold. 
 Did you come because this place reminded 
 you of some country church far away ? " 
 
 ''Yes, sir; and partly because I was 
 dreaming of it last night," said Joy, 
 drawing a deep breath of relief, and letting 
 go her convulsive hold of the railings. 
 Her fingers were aching and stiff, and she 
 did not know how long she had been 
 clinging to those railings before her new 
 friend had found her. The sun was 
 shining brightly now, striking on the 
 drops of moisture that clung to the 
 boughs of the plane-trees until they 
 
A DREAM, 85 
 
 glittered like gems. There were sparks 
 of light flashing here and there in the old 
 chapel garden ; sparrows were flying about 
 the rugged grey walls. Was this the 
 beginning of spring ? 
 
 Joy asked no questions when they 
 moved away from the chapel ; she walked 
 quietly by her conductor's side, quite 
 satisfied in trusting herself to his guid- 
 ance. As they went along he inquired if 
 she had anything belonging to her, and 
 she told him, in a few words, about Mrs. 
 Bluff, and the box that was left in her 
 care. Then they turned into Buckingham 
 Street, and stopped before the house 
 which had the tall green plants in the 
 parlour window. Her senses were getting 
 quicker now, for she fancied she saw a 
 young face behind the screen of leaves. 
 
 Morris Burleigh had taken out a latch- 
 key, but before he could use it the house 
 
86 GODIVA DURLmGH. 
 
 door was thrown open, and a girl met 
 them on the threshold. Joy looked up 
 at her, and the memory of Godiva, seen 
 as she was at that instant, was imprinted 
 for ever on the tired woman's heart and 
 brain. 
 
 It was one of Godiva's moments of 
 illumination. She had utterly forgotten 
 self; and her face was lit up by the 
 beautiful eager spirit that flamed within 
 her. Her countenance, with its soft 
 innocent lips and clear eyes, was a model 
 of tender womanhood. She held out a 
 slender hand to Joy, and drew her gently 
 into the house. 
 
 '^ Ah, you have found her, father,'' she 
 cried. ^^ Something told me that you 
 would not fail." 
 
 '' Something told me so too," he 
 answered, with a peaceful smile. ** Godiva, 
 this is Joy Doveridge ; we have heard her 
 
A DUE AM, 87 
 
 story from the Salternes, and there is no 
 need to ask her many questions. We 
 must find her first a resting-place, and 
 then a working-place." 
 
 It was no small surprise to Mrs. Blujff 
 when a gentleman asked to see her, and 
 requested that Joy Doveridge's box might 
 be brought downstairs. The ** honest 
 widder " began to wish that she had 
 been less hasty in parting with her young 
 lodger. There was an air of refinement 
 about Joy which had puzzled Mrs. Bluff, 
 while it had irritated her. It was clear, 
 even to her coarse mind, that the girl had 
 been well brought up, and had lived with 
 people of no inferior degree. And now it 
 appeared to her that some of those people 
 had discovered Joy, and were about to take 
 her under their protection again. But 
 nothing was to be extracted from the 
 gentleman who came for the box, and 
 
88 QODIVA DVRLEIQH. 
 
 Mrs. Bluff expended all her best blandish- 
 ments upon him in vain. 
 
 And so Joy passed away out of the 
 noisy house in the Strand, and left not 
 a trace behind her. 
 
( 89 ) 
 
 CHAPTEE V. 
 
 SUNSHINE AND CALM. 
 
 There was an old-fashioned house at 
 Kichmond, with a garden sloping down to 
 the river, which the Dmieighs loved to 
 visit. It was not a large house, but it 
 had a certain dignity which belongs to 
 substantial red bricks, mellowed and dark- 
 ened by time, and ivy that has taken 
 years to grow. No one had thought it 
 worth while to take out the old many- 
 paned windows, and replace them with 
 modern bays ; and no one had felt it 
 necessary to widen the front door, which 
 was very narrow, and was surmounted by 
 
90 GODIVA DURLEIQH. 
 
 an arch filled in with glass. The people 
 who lived there were not fond of altera- 
 tions, and steadily objected to the intru< 
 sion of carpenters and masons. When you 
 had passed through the narrow door, you 
 found yourself confronted by a narrow 
 staircase, and received a general impres- 
 sion of dimness and primness. Of course 
 such a house was clearly meant to be in- 
 habited by two old maids, and a quiet pair 
 of elderly women had dwelt in it for many 
 a year. 
 
 They were real old maids, who never 
 dreamt of dressing up to the fashion, or of 
 changing any of *' their ways " because 
 those ways were somewhat out of date. 
 They wore their soft white hair in barrel 
 curls, kept in place by the tortoiseshell 
 combs which had been given to them 
 when they were little girls, and pinned 
 their laces with the memorial brooches 
 
SUNSHINE AND CALM. 01 
 
 that they had had in their teens. They 
 never seemed to have lost any of those 
 quaint little gold and silver and coral links, 
 which connected them with their girl- 
 hood ; everything had been religiously 
 preserved, and was brought into common 
 use. Godiva Durleigh used to think that 
 they never broke anything in that house, 
 nor threw it away. 
 
 Yes ; they had kept everything. Even 
 their valentines were to be found pasted 
 into albums and scrap-books, and they 
 had a thick volume of beautifully copied 
 music. Upstairs in a wardrobe there 
 were two wax dolls, of a ghastly pallor, 
 dressed in the garb of little girls of sixty 
 years ago. As to needlework, they had 
 enough to supply an exhibition, and their 
 drawing-room was quite a garden of 
 Berlin-wool flowers. But although they 
 surrounded themselves with these relics 
 
92 GOD IV A BURLEIGH. 
 
 of their past life, they did not shut the 
 present out of their hearts. No one, save 
 Morris Durleigh, perhaps, knew how large 
 a portion of their income was spent upon 
 those who were '^ desolate and oppressed " 
 in the noisy overcrowded world of to-day. 
 Henrietta Kemple was two years older 
 than her sister Charlotte, and had the 
 aspect of an elderly dove. Pretty, even 
 in age, with small, regular features and 
 mild eyes, her appearance soothed you 
 even before she opened her lips to say 
 pleasant things. Her grey gown fitted 
 her plump figure perfectly ; and in winter 
 she wore a dainty cross-over of Chinese 
 silk, pinned on her bosom with a little 
 pearl brooch. Godiva liked to watch her 
 delicate hands, always in mittens, moving 
 over her work, and was pleased with the 
 lavender scent that clung to the gray 
 gown. Miss Kemple's old age was a 
 
SUNSHINE AND CALM. 93 
 
 beautiful and imperceptible decay. She 
 had no bitter regrets, no corroding doubts 
 and cares, and these last years were as 
 peaceful as a summer twilight. Life's 
 colours were dimmed ; its gay bird-voices 
 had died away ; but even the slowly- 
 creeping darkness was full of holy 
 promises, and sweet whispers of an eternal 
 dawn. 
 
 If Henrietta made one think of a dove, 
 there was certainly a good deal of the 
 sparrow about Charlotte. She was small 
 and spare, and her movements were like 
 hops and pecks ; her favourite colour was 
 brown, and her eyes were those keen 
 twinkling hazel eyes which keep their 
 youthful brightness a long while. Never 
 as pretty as her sister, she was sharper 
 and wittier than Henrietta had ever been. 
 Naturally, she was disposed to take a 
 cynical view of life, such as might be 
 
94 . GODIVA DURLEian. 
 
 expected of one who had a keener obser- 
 vation for people's sins than for their 
 virtues. But Henrietta was always near 
 to make excuses for the sinners, and a 
 soft word or two from her never failed to 
 silence Charlotte's sharp tongue. 
 
 The sisters loved each other so dearly 
 that their dissimilar characters were in 
 perfect harmony. Charlotte knew how 
 much she owed to Henrietta's restraining 
 gentleness, and Henrietta never ceased to 
 admire Charlotte's practical cleverness 
 and energy. Long years ago, in their 
 girlhood, they had had those little quarrels 
 which arise out of high spirits and clash- 
 ing wills. But they never quarrelled 
 nowadays, partly because all their apples 
 of discord had vanished, but chiefly 
 because their life was so sweet and calm, 
 that they could not bear to destroy the 
 peace or mar the melody. 
 
SUNSHINE AND CALM. 95 
 
 They kept two servants. Cook, a 
 strong, brown-faced woman with sad eyes, 
 had lived with them for twenty years. 
 Her husband, a burglar, had been con- 
 victed of manslaughter and sentenced to 
 penal servitude for life. The Kemples 
 had taken compassion on the miserable 
 wife, and had received her into their 
 house at the risk (their friends said) of 
 having their throats cut, and their plate 
 stolen. But cook neither drank nor stole, 
 nor held any communication with doubt- 
 ful characters. During all those long 
 years she had never gone beyond the 
 garden on week days, and the church on 
 Sundays. And so it came to pass at 
 length that her story was forgotten by all 
 save her mistresses and herself. 
 
 Housemaids came, got on very well 
 with the grave, silent woman in the 
 kitchen, stayed a year or two, and then 
 
.96 QODIVA DURLEIQH. 
 
 married. But the latest comer, although 
 she was prettier than any of her prede- 
 cessors, seemed utterly indifferent to the 
 attentions of the butcher and the baker. 
 She was never known to linger at the 
 door when the tradespeople's young men 
 brought parcels, and she never asked for 
 a Sunday out, or an evening to go to 
 see her friends. They called her Joy ; 
 but Miss Charlotte said that she ought 
 to have been named Discretion, like 
 the fair damsel who belonged to the 
 palace Beautiful, in the *' Pilgrim's 
 Progress." 
 
 It was an afternoon in May, and out of 
 doors there was bright sunshine. But 
 Henrietta and Charlotte Kemple were 
 sitting in the cathedral-like gloom of their 
 drawing-room, and did not see much of 
 the sun. The front of the house was 
 thickly covered with creepers, which hung 
 
SUNSHINE AND CALM, 97' 
 
 in dense masses over the porch, and 
 darkened all the windows. Sometimes 
 a wandering wind would open a gap in 
 the feathery foliage, and then a swift 
 sunbeam would slip into the room, as 
 if to reveal the fact that Henrietta was 
 dozing over her knitting, and Charlotte 
 reading a novel. They never indulged 
 in dozing and fiction till the serious 
 duties of the morning had all been 
 conscientiously performed, and even 
 then, Henrietta thought it necessary to 
 apologize for her nap, and Charlotte for 
 her story. 
 
 " It rests my eyes," said the elder 
 sister, with a soft little sigh for her 
 infirmities. 
 
 ** It rests my mind," said the younger. 
 ^*I am always trying to solve problems, 
 you know, and the tale takes my attention 
 off unanswerable questions." 
 
 VOL. I. H 
 
9S QOBIVA BURLEIOB. 
 
 So the afternoon stole gently away, 
 and there was no one to watch — 
 
 " The flitting hand of the time-piece there, 
 In its close white bower of china flowers." 
 
 nor to see how the little Dresden china 
 shepherd, in a court suit, prospered in his 
 wooing of the shepherdess in her flowered 
 robe and gilt shoes. They had spent 
 years in mute courtship on the mantel- 
 piece, and Joy, when she had carefully 
 dusted them that very day, had wondered 
 how old they were, and how much longer 
 they would stand and smile insipidly at 
 each other? For Joy's duties w^ere so 
 light jiowadays, and she had so much time 
 on her hands, that she was sometimes 
 given to dreaming. 
 
 If you had seen her pacing the garden- 
 walks in the afternoon sun, you would 
 have said that she had very easily got 
 over all her troubles. She was just the 
 
SUNSHINE AND CALM. 99 
 
 kind of young woman that one would 
 associate with daisies and buttercups, and 
 fresh green grass ; and even after years 
 of London Hfe, a girl of her stamp will 
 often retain a look of the country. Joy 
 had grown thinner when she was worried 
 and overworked at Netting Hill ; but she 
 was getting plump and comely again in 
 this peaceful home at Eichmond. 
 
 When Morris Durleigh had found her 
 clinging to the railings in Savoy Street, 
 he had firmly believed that she was on 
 the verge of an illness. But a little 
 comfort and kindness had restored her 
 more quickly than had seemed possible. 
 Quieting words, good food, and sound 
 sleep had brought the colour back to her 
 cheeks, and the light to her eyes, and 
 she had begun to beg for work with all 
 her heart. And then the Kemples were 
 in want of a servant, and she seemed to 
 
100 OOniVA DURLEIGH. 
 
 have been created just for the purpose of 
 living with two quiet old ladies. That 
 was what Miss Charlotte said after only a 
 short acquaintance with her new maid, 
 and Miss Charlotte's judgment might 
 generally be relied upon. 
 
 But did Joy herself feel that every 
 want was satisfied in this safely-sheltered 
 retreat ? And had she indeed *' got over " 
 the loss of her life's faith and love ? 
 
 The old garden was protected by high 
 walls and higher trees. Sycamores caught 
 the sunbeams on the tender green of their 
 young leaves, and a great elm reared its 
 branches against a sky of purest blue. 
 All kinds of sweet old-fashioned flowers 
 were blooming here ; Joy welcomed the 
 favourites of her childhood — anemones 
 and gilliflowers, ranunculuses of burning 
 gold, orange lilies lifting flame-coloured 
 heads against a dark back-ground of ivied 
 
SUNSHINE AND CALM, 101 
 
 wall, large pansies, whose purple velvet 
 might have made the robe of a fairy 
 queen ; and nearly at the end of the 
 middle walk was a thick bed of lilies 
 of the valley, an inexhaustible store of 
 fragrant bells hidden away under their 
 cool broad leaves. 
 
 Joy paused before the lily bed, and 
 bent her head in silent thought, while 
 the sun shone on the thick twists of 
 yellow hair that were pinned up smoothly 
 under her little cap. And then she moved 
 on a few paces, for the garden ended in 
 a great bower of lilacs and laburnums — 
 mauve blossoms and golden pendants 
 gently tossing and swaying together when 
 the soft wind stirred them. 
 
 The girl lifted her hand, pulled down 
 a heavy plume of lilac, and buried her 
 face in the scented mass of bloom. She 
 shut her eyes, and fancied that she was 
 
102 GOD IV A DUPiLEIGH. 
 
 standing in the little garden that belonged 
 to her grandfather's cottage. There was 
 the well, and the great iron-bound bucket 
 full of pure water, and the lilac-bush 
 rising as high as the old thatch. And 
 while she broke off boughs of lilac, a 
 slim boy, with dark ej^es, stood looking 
 on, and laughing when she failed to reach 
 the higher branches. Oh, George ! If 
 she could only hear him speak and laugh 
 again ! 
 
 Surely there is no time like ** the 
 merry May-time " for showing us visions 
 of our vanished joys, and reviving our 
 sense of loss with the breath of young 
 blossoms. Many writers have told us 
 (in many differe„nt phrases) that memories, 
 old sentiments and associations, are more 
 readily reached by the sense of smell thaa 
 by any other channel. And of all the 
 perfumes that set us dreaming of the past. 
 
SUNSHINE AND CALM, 103 
 
 there is none more suggestive than the 
 scent of lilac — that beautiful common 
 shrub that grows just as well in the poor 
 man's garden as in the rich man's grounds 
 — a healthy plant, lavish of odour and 
 blossom, asking little of its cultivator, 
 and giving rich payment for small care. 
 It was no wonder that this country girl, 
 with sensitive heart and brain, should 
 yield to the influence of its strong 
 fragrance, and burst suddenly into a 
 passion of tears. 
 
 Miss Charlotte, if she had been near, 
 would have told her that it was very 
 wrong to cry, that she ought to feel 
 thankful for her deliverance from many 
 snares and dangers, that her lover was a 
 worthless, dishonest young man who did 
 not deserve a single tear. All very true, 
 perhaps ; but is it not for the worthless 
 things in our lives that the most plentiful 
 tears are shed ? 
 
104 GODIVA DUBLEIQH. 
 
 CHAPTEE VI. 
 
 ** I WILL TELL YOU WHEN THEY MET, 
 
 >> 
 
 Joy was wise enougli to check her tears 
 before they got beyond her control. She 
 gently released the lilac bough, and it 
 started back into its place among the 
 Other branches, its blossoms still wet with 
 her weeping. She could only do again 
 what she had done a thousand times 
 before — begin at the very beginning of 
 the day when the purse was lost, and 
 go thoughtfully over all the details of 
 that miserable time. And there was 
 nothing new to be extracted from her 
 memory ; nothing new that could shake 
 
"i WILL TELL YOU WHEN THEY METr 105 
 
 her now firmly - rooted conviction of 
 George's guilt. 
 
 She had been compelled to admit to 
 herself that George had disappointed 
 some of her expectations before the last 
 blow fell. Down in the old village people 
 had said that George Hunter might do 
 well if he wasn't a rolling stone ; and it 
 had not seemed to her that town life had 
 made him less unsettled. He was always 
 fond of her, it is true ; but had he ever 
 loved her well enough to plod on steadily 
 for her sake ? A young man who really 
 wants to marry will keep to the straightest 
 road that leads to his heart's desire, let 
 the way be ever so tame and dull. But 
 George was constantly running off into 
 by-ways, and finding that they led to no- 
 where. Once or twice he had remarked 
 that Joy had no high ambition. A trim 
 little cottage with a garden, the house- 
 
106 ' OODIVA DtmiEicfn. 
 
 work to do, George to love, a child to 
 nurse and toil for, would. have realized 
 all her brightest dreams of future happi- 
 ness. But George, although this tranquil 
 prospect had looked fair in his eyes, was 
 not without aspirations. 
 
 Sometimes she had thought that she 
 was too simple and countrified to satisfy 
 him ; but then an affectionate word or 
 loving look would set her heart at rest. 
 And sometimes she had fancied that he 
 was growing reserved and mysterious, 
 and no longer cared to make a confi- 
 dante of his little rustic sweetheart ; 
 but she had never seen him so strange — 
 so unnatural and constrained — as he had 
 been on the day of their last meeting. 
 - Morris Durleigh and his daughter had 
 listened patiently to her story from its 
 very commencement. They had heard 
 the evidence against George many times, 
 
"7 WILL TELL YOU WHEN THEY MET:' 107 
 
 and both had tried — Godiva especially — 
 not to beHeve him guilty. But it had 
 struck them both that poor Joy had 
 reall}^ known very Httle about her lover's 
 life after he had left Cathrington ; and 
 by his own confession it had been proved 
 to have been a most unsettled life. They 
 said as gently as possible what they 
 thought. George had yielded to a sudden 
 temptation when the bag was put into 
 his iands. He had been, very likely, in 
 great need of money, and he had allowed 
 an evil impulse to conquer him. After- 
 wards — well, afterwards he had had to 
 accept the consequences of his crime, 
 and disappear without leaving a trace 
 behind him. 
 
 '' I can't change anything," thought 
 Joy, wiping her eyes carefully. **I hope 
 Miss Charlotte won't find out that I've 
 l)een crying. It really does seem un- 
 
108 OODIVA DUBLEIGS, 
 
 grateful to cry in such a pleasant place 
 as this. I never could have expected as 
 much peace and comfort as I have found 
 here." 
 
 She went hack along the flower-bordered 
 paths to the house, and entered just as 
 the clock was striking four. At that 
 moment there came a ring which roused 
 the old ladies out of their drowsy calm, 
 and Joy opened the hall-door. Godiva 
 Durleigh, fresh and smiling, was waiting 
 outside with her father. 
 
 " Oh, Joy, how well you are looking ! " 
 she said. 
 
 Morris Durleigh gave the girl a keen 
 glance and a kind smile ; and then the 
 visitors were ushered into the dim draw- 
 ing-room. They found Henrietta waking 
 up softly in her easy-chair, and Charlotte, 
 bright-eyed and alert, standing bolt up- 
 right .to receive them. 
 
•* I WILL TELL YOU WHEN THEY MET:' 109 
 
 Morris had a great deal to say to the 
 sisters about a Home for destitute chil- 
 dren, and two little ones who had been 
 lately placed in it at their expense. 
 Godiva knew all that could be told about 
 the Home, and she was possessed with a 
 girl's longing for flowers and sunshine. 
 Charlotte, always quick, divined her feel- 
 ing in a moment. 
 
 '' Go out into the garden, my dear," 
 she said, ^^ and get a good handful of 
 lilies. We will call you when tea is 
 ready." 
 
 That old garden always seemed to 
 Godiva Durleigh to be an earthly paradise, 
 where sweet things had been growing, 
 and slowly coming to perfection years 
 before she was born. Who were the 
 men and women who had walked here 
 long ago ? The girl went dreaming on 
 about them, looking at the delicate leaf- 
 
110 GODIVA DUBLEIGH, 
 
 sprays and light shadows trembling all 
 around her. 
 
 " Here there was laughing of old, there was 
 weeping 
 Haply of lovers none ever will know." 
 
 What Yows had been whispered under 
 the lilac boughs, she wondered ? If one 
 could only learn flower-and-leaf language 
 and understand the stories that the trees 
 and blossoms told each other ! Godiva 
 had inherited her father's warm heart 
 and sensitive nature ; but she was gifted 
 wdth more imagination than he had ever 
 possessed. Some day she meant to write 
 a tale about the Kemples' old garden; 
 already she had pencilled a few verses in 
 praise of this favourite haunt of hers; 
 but they were locked up securely in her 
 desk, and no one had ever seen them. 
 
 She had nearly reached the end of 
 the middle path when she heard foot- 
 
" I WILL TELL YOU WEEN THEY MET^ 11 1 
 
 steps, and turned to see who was 
 coming. 
 
 It was not> as she had half tried to 
 believe, a gentleman of the old school in 
 a prune-coloured coat and lace cravat 
 and ruffles, but only a tall young man 
 in modern attire. He had a pleasant 
 face with good features, and a clear olive 
 complexion, and carried himself with a 
 certain graceful ease. Altogether he was 
 not unfit to be the hero of a girl's 
 romance, as far as appearance went ; and 
 little Godiva thought that he looked 
 darkly handsome and interesting. She 
 had never seen him before, but the 
 Kemples had made her w^ell acquainted 
 with his photograph. The old ladies had 
 so few relations left that they took a 
 great pride in their only nephew, and 
 hung portraits of him in every room in 
 their house. 
 
112 OODIVA DUBLEIGff, 
 
 He came up to Godiva, lifted his hat, 
 and addressed her with a grave courtesy 
 which sat very well on him. 
 
 ** May I introduce myself, Miss Dur- 
 leigh? I am Eex Longworthy. My 
 aunt Charlotte has sent me here to find 
 you.'' 
 
 ** I have heard them speak of you very 
 often," said the girl frankly. 
 
 ** Ah, they have not many people to 
 talk about ! " A kindly gleam lit up the 
 grave dark face. *^ I have never met you 
 here before, but I generally come to see 
 my aunts on Sundays. I think it must 
 be Sunday here all the week long. What 
 a peaceful old place this is ! " 
 
 ** It is charming," said Godiva. *^ Not 
 a bit like the ordinary suburban garden, 
 where everything is so painfully neat and 
 new ; and the rose-trees are labelled, and 
 the variegated foliage is harshly brilliant 1 
 
" / WILL TELL YOU WHEN THEY MET:' 113 
 
 AH that one finds here has had plenty 
 of time to grow, instead of being hurried 
 and worried into bloom and leafage." 
 
 ** I wonder how long it will stay as it 
 is ? " remarked the young man thought- 
 fully. '^ I should like to think that it 
 will be the same ten years hence. But 
 that's too much to expect, isn't it ? " 
 
 '^Perhaps it will be watched over by 
 some guardian angel," she suggested. 
 
 *^ Who will be strong enough to resist 
 the destroying 'angel of the age. Well, 
 we will hope so ; but I have seen so 
 many bowery old scenes changed to 
 bricks and mortar fchat I can't be san- 
 guine." 
 
 • He did not look as if he could be 
 sanguine about anything, she thought, 
 as she quietly studied his face. He had 
 no beard, and his moustache did not 
 entirely conceal the grave, patient ex- 
 
 YOL. I. 1 
 
114 00 DIVA DUBLEIOH. 
 
 pression of the firm lips. The Kemples 
 had said that he was only two and 
 twenty, but he looked older, sadder, and 
 stronger than a man generally looks at 
 that age. It was a face that suggested 
 power and self-restraint, and seemed to 
 indicate that these forces had been early 
 called into play. Godiva had inherited 
 her father's gift as a physiognomist, and 
 learnt later that all which she had read 
 in Eex's countenance was verily written 
 there. 
 
 As to Eex, he was thinking what a 
 bright sympathetic little girl she was; 
 and how he liked the transparent grey 
 eyes that looked calmly and straight- 
 forwardly at everything from under their 
 black lashes. They were as clear as a 
 child's eyes, yet they were not childish. 
 In thinking over that evening long after- 
 wards he felt that there was a springtide 
 
" / WILL TELL YOU WEEN THEY METr 115 
 
 freshness, not only in the garden, but in 
 the girl who walked with a quiet joy 
 among the flowers. Godiva was able to 
 enjoy things thoroughly, and draw all 
 their sweetness out of them because she 
 could forget herself. If she was effective, 
 it was not the result of studying effects ; 
 and yet there were men, well trained in 
 society's ways, who would have said that 
 the result somehow had been attained 
 without study. 
 
 It was a proof of her sympathetic 
 nature that Eex began to talk to her 
 about the old places he had loved, and 
 seldom spoke of. She had the rare 
 power of stimulating people, and making 
 them give out the best of themselves. 
 She listened with such a bright, clear 
 look, and uttered now and then such a 
 soft little exclamation of interest, that 
 he was drawn on to speak of his past 
 
116 GOD IV A BURLEIGH, 
 
 life freely; so freely, that tie wondered 
 afterwards at himself. 
 
 ** This is the sweetest old garden that 
 I have ever seen, save one," he said. 
 ** My grandfather's rectory garden was 
 like this. There were thick bushes of 
 rosemary and lavender there, just like 
 those yonder ; and his cedars were as 
 fine as these. I dare say the ground 
 was wanted badly enough for a new 
 school-house ; but I can never quite 
 forgive them for the desolation they 
 made." 
 
 ^^ And your grandfather ? How he 
 must miss his garden ! " 
 
 ^* I hope he doesn't; no, I don't think 
 he does." Eex's voice had a ring in it 
 that moved her. ^' He was dead before 
 they began to carry out their plans; 
 they would not touch the garden while 
 he lived." 
 
"7 WILL TELL YOU WHEN THEY MET:' 117 
 
 ^' And could they not really do without 
 it ? " Godiva asked. 
 
 '' I believe not. The rectory stands in 
 the midst of a great overcrowded town, 
 a town that keeps on growing and grow- 
 ing till one wonders what it will come 
 to at last. Every foot of ground is 
 precious there, and it was hard for the 
 poor children to be packed into their 
 close schoolrooms, while my grandfather 
 owned a wide paradise, carefully walled 
 in. Yes, I suppose they were right when 
 they decided that the little kids were 
 worth more than grass and flowers and 
 old trees." 
 
 '* Quite right." Godiva's soft voice 
 took a clear decided tone. ^^ Something 
 always has to be sacrificed when good 
 is to be done. Doing the right thing 
 is sure to be rather hard, I think." 
 
 '' You don't know how hard," 
 
118 GOD IV A DURLEIGH. 
 
 The words seemed to come unawares. 
 Then he looked afc her, and his mouth 
 and eyes relaxed into a smile. 
 
 ** I know I have had Httle experience," 
 she said meekly. ** When I think of the 
 things that people have given up because 
 it was not right to keep them, I wonder 
 at their courage." 
 
 *^ Well, I hope it will never be proved 
 that it is wrong to keep this old garden." 
 He spoke in a lighter tone. ^^ It belongs 
 to my aunts, you know, and they love it 
 dearly. If ever I had to go away from 
 England I should like to know it would 
 be here, just the same, when I came 
 back. I suppose I feel that it is the 
 last of the old flowery places left to me." 
 
 So they lingered in the sun and shade, 
 and talked on, growing better acquainted 
 every minute, until Miss Charlotte came 
 briskly down the long middle path to 
 
" / WILL TELL TOV WHEN THEY MET:' 119 
 
 summon them to tea. Most old maids 
 are either match-makers or match-spoil- 
 ers ; and Miss Charlotte belonged uncon- 
 sciously to the first class, although she 
 had never had many opportunities of 
 bringing her powers into play. 
 
 When she looked down the green vista, 
 and saw the two figures advancing, softly 
 flecked with lights and shadows, a senti- 
 mental feeling took possession of her 
 mind at once. How nice it would be 
 if this pair were to take a fancy to each 
 other, she thought. Supposing that this 
 garden-path, with its over- arching boughs 
 and delicate blossoms, should lead to 
 that long-life path where two may walk 
 happily and safely, clinging closely to 
 each other to the end ! 
 
 If a woman has had no romance in 
 her own Hfe, she is apt to look for it in 
 the lives of others. Charlotte was less 
 
120 GODIVA BURLEIGH. 
 
 amiable than Henrietta, but her imagina- 
 tion was more vivid, and she had felt 
 the lack of romance more keenly than 
 her sister had ever done. It was not 
 the pretty dove-like Henrietta who had 
 wanted to be loved and married ; it 
 was the plain, sharp-tongued Charlotte. 
 And, alas ! the sharp tongue had driven 
 away friends that the warm heart would 
 have given the world to keep ! — men, 
 who might have become lovers, had been 
 kept at arm's length by one who would 
 gladly have drawn them nearer, if she 
 had but known how to do it. 
 
 And so it had come to pass that the 
 young men of Charlotte's youth had gone 
 off to other maidens who could say soft 
 words and sigh. And Charlotte, brusque 
 as ever, trod her solitary way with such 
 a spirited air that no one ever believed 
 she did not enjoy beipg an old maid. 
 
" I WILL TELL YOU WEEN TEEY MET^ 121 
 
 ^* She was meant to be a spinster," 
 said the lookers-on who think they know 
 everything. *^ As to Henrietta, it was 
 clear that she was single by mistake. 
 What a lovely, tender wife and mother 
 Henrietta Kemple would have made, if 
 she had married in her young days ! " 
 Thus spoke those who judge ^'by the 
 outer appearance ; " but it needed a 
 diviner sight to see that the soft, self-in- 
 dulgent nature could never have adapted 
 itself happily to the exactions of a 
 husband. It was Charlotte who could 
 have given, freely and gladly, a wife's 
 unselfish help and generous love. 
 
 ^' They shall have every opportunity 
 that I can give them," she thought, 
 glowing with secret pleasure. *^ But I 
 shall not say one word to Henrietta. 
 Dear Henrietta loves to do good and 
 give money to the poor; but she isn't 
 
122 QOBIVA BURLEIGH. 
 
 interested in the affairs of young people. 
 She doesn't care for novels, which are 
 nothing but love-affairs in volumes. It 
 was always to me that Louisa turned 
 for sympathy when Captain Longworthy 
 was courting her. I dare say I oughtn't 
 to have encouraged her as I did — Joseph 
 and Henrietta both blamed me — but I 
 have my weak points. It is a blessing 
 that dear Rex is not much like his 
 father!" 
 
 She went up to the young pair, her 
 little brown eyes twinkling. Godiva was 
 looking very well that day in a soft grey 
 gown which fitted closely to her slender, 
 pliant figure; her chestnut hair rippled 
 under her straw hat. Never until that 
 moment had Charlotte thought her 
 pretty; but to-day, in her fresh youth 
 and gladness, she seemed suddenly to 
 have bloomed into beauty. 
 
" / WILL TELL YOU WHEN THEY MET," 123 
 
 '' Have you forgotten the lilies ? " 
 asked Miss Charlotte, archly. "I see 
 you have not gathered any yet. Never 
 mind, you can get some by-and-by. It 
 seems a shame to leave the garden yet 
 and come indoors, doesn't it ? But it 
 is not warm enough to bring the tea- 
 table out here, and Henrietta easily 
 catches cold." 
 
 *^ I don't think you ever catch cold, 
 aunty," said Eex, laying his hand cares- 
 singly on her shoulder. 
 
 *' Not often," she admitted. *^ I am 
 ever so much stronger than Henrietta. 
 Beautiful people are generally delicate, 
 I fancy. Your mother was delicate, 
 Kex; and she was lovely, you know." 
 
 **I know; I can remember her," he 
 said gravely. ** She was not much like 
 Aunt Henrietta; mother's eyes w^ere a 
 darker blue." 
 
124 OODIVA DUELEIGH. 
 
 *^ Not as dark as yours," remarked 
 Aunt Charlotte, glancing up at her tall 
 nephew with a loving look. 
 
 Godiva involuntarily looked at him, 
 too, and made a discovery. His eyes 
 were neither black nor brown, but violet ; 
 rich with all possible depths, and prone 
 to sudden lights that gleamed out unex- 
 pectedly from under dark lashes. She 
 looked away again but remembered them. 
 
 They went into the house, and found 
 the old silver teapot and the red-and- 
 blue cups and saucers awaiting them in 
 the dim drawing-room. Eex handed 
 cups, and Godiva sat on an ottoman 
 close to Miss Henrietta's easy- chair. 
 Morris Durleigh, a little tired with 
 earnest talking, was leaning back in a 
 corner of the sofa, and looking quietly 
 at them all, without seeing them. 
 
 In this house there was always a plea- 
 
"J WILL TELL YOU WEEN THEY MET." 125 
 
 sant silence ; you could hear the birds 
 chirping in the creepers all the time 
 people were speaking. The window 
 stood open as far as the old-fashioned 
 sash would go ; slender sprays and ten- 
 drils swayed in a soft breeze ; the sun- 
 shine flickered on the walls of the old 
 room, with its faded needlework and 
 prim furniture. Long years afterwards 
 the sweet atmosphere of that room used 
 to come round about Rex and Godiva 
 when they were miles away from Eich- 
 mond. The heart may forget its storms, 
 but always retains the memory of its 
 times of peace. 
 
 The young people strayed out-of-doors 
 again, and returned with a prodigious 
 bunch of flowers. Miss Charlotte met 
 them with a triumphant smile, aod told 
 Godiva that she had been settling some- 
 thing. 
 
126 GOD IV A DURLEIOH. 
 
 *^ Your father lias giveu his consent," 
 she said. " You are to come to us next 
 Sunday, and stay till Monday. We have 
 arranged it all." 
 
 *^ But he cannot spare me ; I never 
 leave him ! " cried the girl, with a wistful 
 look at the worn face she loved so well. 
 
 ** Oh yes, he can spare you for a little 
 while," Miss Charlotte insisted. **You 
 are pale ; young girls should always have 
 a holiday in May." 
 
 ^^ And we shall meet again," said Eex, 
 with grave satisfaction. '' I am sure to 
 be here on Sunday." 
 
( 12T ) 
 
 CHAPTEK VII. 
 
 EEX'S EAKLY DAYS. 
 
 Heneietta and Charlotte Kemple had an 
 only brother, who preferred his gloomy 
 chambers in the City to the flowery little 
 house at Eichmond. Joseph was the 
 eldest of the family, and had acted, after 
 the father's death, as guardian to his 
 three sisters. He had never married, 
 and having formed a bad opinion of 
 husbands in general, had never desired 
 the girls to marry. Henrietta, a woman 
 after his own heart, had always opposed 
 a gentle indifference to the advances of 
 all her admirers ; Charlotte had frightened 
 
128 OODIVA BURLEIGH, 
 
 hers away ; but Louisa, the youngest and 
 prettiest, allowed herself to be easily 
 wooed, and far too quickly won. 
 
 Of all her suitors (and she had many) 
 Captain Longworthy was the last whom 
 her friends would have had her choose. 
 He was a Charles Surface, handsome, 
 gay, rollicking, and extravagant ; a soldier 
 of a common type, with all the faults and 
 some of the virtues of his class. The 
 Kemples might perhaps have more readily 
 forgiven the faults and esteemed the 
 virtues, if Louisa's lover had not com- 
 mitted the one unpardonable sin of 
 looking down upon them. But Horace 
 Longworthy had inherited the military 
 contempt for tradespeople, and, passion- 
 ately as he loved Louisa, he could never 
 quite succeed in forgetting that she was 
 a City merchant's daughter. 
 
 In spite of Joseph's warnings and 
 
EETS EABLY DAYS. 129 
 
 Henrietta's gentle expostulations, the 
 courtship went on. Charlotte was first 
 on one side and then on the other, and 
 so earned the reproaches of both parties. 
 But the romance of the affair was too 
 much for her at last, and she ended in 
 taking Louisa's part and fighting her 
 battle with all the energy of her 
 character. 
 
 So Louisa was married to her hero, 
 and was received, with stately courtesy, 
 by his father, the rector, and his grand- 
 father, the general. She was refined 
 — interesting — beautiful — and won the 
 hearts of all the Longworthys before her 
 husband took her away to India. 
 
 The Kemples were very sad after her 
 departure. She had said to her people, 
 *' Give me my portion," and had taken 
 it, and was gone away out of their lives 
 for ever. In a few years the portion was 
 
 vol. I. K 
 
130 QODIVA BURLEIGH. 
 
 gone, too. Horace Longworthy loved 
 his wife, but he squandered her money. 
 One or two babies were born and died, 
 and then Louisa's married life came 
 suddenly to an end. There was an un- 
 expected outbreak of the fierce hill-tribes ; 
 a quick call to arms ; a brilliant charge, 
 and Horace fell at the head of his men, 
 gay, dashing, gallant to the last. 
 
 The rest may be briefly told. Little 
 Kex, the only surviving child, came home 
 with his mother to the rectory, where 
 the grey-headed rector mourned, his son 
 alone. The Kemples travelled to the 
 noisy Midland town to see their sister, 
 and found her looking like the ghost of 
 the beautiful, sunshiny girl who had left 
 them. She met them with affection, but 
 clung with pathetic tenderness to the 
 father of her dead husband. Eex was 
 naughty, and refused to be friendly with 
 
BETS EARLY DAYS.- 131 
 
 the strange aunts. They went back to 
 the little house at Eichmond with many 
 tears, feeling that although Louisa had 
 come again to England, she was as far 
 away from them in spirit as ever. 
 
 And yet her heart was not so utterly 
 sundered from them as they believed. If 
 she had lived long enough to overcome 
 her sorrow, and win back her strength, 
 she would have been the sister of old 
 days once more. But grief and the 
 Indian climate had utterly wrecked her 
 health, and even in the peaceful atmo- 
 sphere of the rectory she did not rally. 
 The sight of her boy, growing strong and 
 beautiful, with his father's dark com- 
 plexion, and her own violet eyes, only 
 deepened the anguish of regret. 
 
 Once again the quiet women at Eich- 
 mond travelled to the Midland town, and 
 took their last farewell of Louisa. And 
 
lo2 QODIVA DURLEIGK 
 
 then they knew that she loved them still 
 —had always loved them, even when she 
 had seemed to forget. Little Kex, she 
 said, must stay with his grandfather while 
 the old man lived; this had been her 
 husband's wish. But Henrietta and 
 Charlotte would not forget that he was 
 their own little nephew, would they? 
 Indeed, they would know that she had 
 taught him to love them all — his Uncle 
 Joseph too. 
 
 Afterwards it was in his aunt Charlotte's 
 arms that little Eex wept away the first 
 anguish of his loss. It wrung the hearts 
 of these good women to go back to 
 Eichmond leaving the boy behind. But 
 when the first outburst of grief was over, 
 Eex showed no desire to forsake the 
 rectory. His mother, dear as she was, 
 had always been a feeble invalid, not 
 strong enough to play with him ; and the 
 
BETS EARLY DAYS. 133 
 
 old rector had made the child his com- 
 panion. 
 
 There was something touching in the 
 little fellow's affection for his grand- 
 father ; and although the rectory was a 
 sombre home for a child, it was never 
 unhappy. There were no noisy games 
 nor juvenile parties, but the boy always 
 felt that he was loved, and that quiet 
 consciousness seemed to satisfy him. 
 The rector had never taken much trouble 
 about all the souls committed to his care 
 in the great straggling parish. He did 
 not belong to the ^* earnest " school; but 
 was a clergyman of the old type — 
 courtly, scholarly, and indolent, — and if 
 the ^* hungry sheep looked up and were 
 not fed," so much the worse for them. 
 He had only the driest kind of spiritual 
 food to give them. No one had ever 
 believed him to be a man of strong 
 
134 OODIVA DURLEIQE. 
 
 affections, and yet it was certain that he 
 lavished a wealth of quiet tenderness 
 upon the child. 
 
 After his grandfather, little Eex would 
 be the last of the Longworthys. The 
 general had died, leaving no children ; 
 Horace was gone ; and there was only 
 the little Indian-born lad to bear the old 
 name and wear it honourably. It was 
 a name that had been well-known in 
 military annals ; Longworthy after Long- 
 worthy had won a soldier's laurels and 
 found a soldier's grave ; and the strongest 
 desire of Eex's heart was to be a soldier* 
 
 It was a proof of the rector's indolence 
 that he took no steps to gratify the boy's 
 wish. Death came to him suddenly and 
 painlessly when Eex was sixteen, and it 
 was very soon known that the old man 
 had httle to leave his grandson. 
 
 Mr. Longworthy, quietly as he had 
 
BEX'S EARLY DAYS. 13.3 
 
 lived, had never denied himself anything. 
 The best wines, and all the choicest 
 delicacies of the seasons, were always to 
 be found on his table ; and he had been 
 in the habit of entertaining his old 
 college friends. No man knew better 
 how to give a dinner ; but the pity was, 
 tha,t the dinners were never given to 
 those who were in need of a meal. It 
 was a pleasure to see the stately, white-* 
 haired old clergyman sitting at the head 
 of his board ; a pleasure to hear the 
 clever old-world stories that he told so 
 well ; a pleasure to watch the graceful 
 ease and tact which made his guests so 
 happy in his presence, and so thoroughly 
 in harmony with each other. So pleasant 
 was all this, that one was in danger of 
 forgetting the poverty and misery that 
 pressed close up to the rectory wallsj 
 And Eex, sitting modestly among his 
 
136 GODIVA DURLEIGH. 
 
 elders, and silently enjoying himself, did, 
 indeed, forget all the want and shame 
 and sin that lay just outside his grand- 
 father's door. 
 
 When all was over, and the boy was 
 alone in the old house, after the funeral, 
 his uncle, Joseph Kemple, came to see 
 him. 
 
 Eex had always cherished his child- 
 hood's love for his mother's sisters, and 
 had written to them regularly and often. 
 But he had never seen his nncle Joseph 
 until now, and his first impression of this 
 unknown relative was not favourable. 
 
 First, he found himself wondering how 
 such pretty women as his Aunt Henrietta 
 and his mother came to have such a 
 plain brother. Secondly, he felt a sudden 
 conviction that Joseph Kemple was a 
 complete impersonation of all the dis- 
 agreeable qualities which have dis-- 
 
IIETS EARLY DAYS. 137 
 
 tinguished the bad uncles of fiction, from 
 the heartless kinsman of the Babes in 
 the Wood downwards. Thirdly, he re- 
 solved that he would endure any rough 
 treatment from other hands, rather than 
 submit for an hour to the rule of this 
 obnoxious man. 
 
 But none of these feelings were be- 
 trayed in the lad's manner and face. He 
 stood up, straight and tall, and dressed 
 in deep mourning, looking very much 
 like a young hero of romance. He seemed 
 to have modelled himself upon his grand- 
 father, and received Uncle Joseph with 
 that self-possessed and stately courtesy 
 which had always marked the rector. 
 
 It would be untrue to say that Joseph 
 was quite unmoved by the grand air of 
 his nephew. He was a little amused, 
 and a little disconcerted. It would, he 
 felt, be no easy matter to deal with this 
 
138 OODIVA DURLEIQE. 
 
 grave and courteous boy, who looked at 
 him with such honest seriousness, and 
 gave him a chair with such graceful 
 formality. If the rector had left nothing 
 else to his grandson, he had bequeathed 
 his good manner to the lad, and it was a 
 possession that was likely to last a lifetime. 
 To eyes that had seen a good deal of 
 the world, Joseph Kemple would have 
 seemed an every-day City man, moreJ 
 old-fashioned than his fellows, but quit6 
 able to march with the times. He wa^ 
 not pompous, he never patronized even a 
 pauper ; but he had his own peculiar set 
 of opinions, and stuck to them firmly* 
 As to " manner," he had been so un^ 
 mindful of WilHam of Wykham's maxim, 
 that he had never thought about it at 
 all. He had come to say something to 
 his nephew, and the sooner it was said 
 and done with the better. 
 
JREA'S EARLY DAYS. 139 
 
 ''Rex," he began abruptly, *'I had a 
 long talk with yonr aunts before I came 
 here, and they thoroughly agree with all 
 that I shall say to you. It won't sound 
 pleasant, I suppose ; common sense 
 seldom does. But I mean to insure 
 your good if I can." 
 
 The young fellow bowed slightly, but 
 did not speak. 
 
 '' You know that the rector had nothing 
 to leave but his plate and furniture, and 
 books?" the other went on. ''All this 
 has already been made quite clear to you, 
 has it not ? " 
 
 " Quite clear," was the quiet reply. 
 
 "I know that you have set your heart 
 upon entering the service," said Joseph, 
 clearing his throat. "You have said so 
 many times in your letters to Richmond, 
 and your aunts always regretted this 
 inclination. But you now know that 
 
140 GODIVA BURLEIGH. 
 
 you cannot carry out your plan without 
 getting friends to help you with money ? " 
 
 A dark flush mounted to the lad's fore- 
 head. His heart was heginning to throb 
 at a wild pace, but he managed to pre- 
 serve an outward calm. 
 
 *'Mr. Mansell has said something of 
 the kind," he answered after a slight 
 pause. 
 
 ^' Mansell is a good lawyer ; I had a 
 chat with him in his office this morning," 
 said Joseph. ^' His brother, in London, 
 is an old acquaintance of mine. And I 
 want you to understand that the proposal 
 I am about to make is warmly approved 
 by Mansell." 
 
 Again Rex bowed in silence. 
 
 *^ I am willing to take you into rny 
 business," continued his uncle, speaking 
 impressively, *^ and to give you just such 
 a position as you would have had if you 
 
BETS EARLY DATS. 141 
 
 had been my son. If you do well I shall 
 leave you all that I have — and that will 
 be something considerable. Does this 
 prospect please you ? " 
 
 ^' You are too good, sir," said the boy, 
 and his voice shook a little. *' Don't think 
 that I do not appreciate your kindness. 
 But — no, I'm not fit for business." 
 
 ^^ Any lad with decent brains can make 
 himself fit for business," Joseph replied. 
 
 *^ Most can; but I cannot," Rex 
 answered gravely. ** My heart follows 
 my father's calling. I must be a soldier ; 
 I have never dreamt of being anything 
 else." 
 
 " And out of your magnificent pay you 
 will have to pay back borrowed money," 
 said Joseph, coldly. *^Do you realize 
 that you will be always cramped in 
 means — always practising wretched little 
 economies, or getting into debt ? Surely 
 
142 GODIVA BURLEIGH. 
 
 you must see that a man should never 
 enter the service unless he has a fair 
 income of his own ? " 
 
 *^ I must go on as well as I can," 
 returned Hex, drawing a long breath. 
 '' It will be hard, I daresay; but not so 
 hard as a life that has no charm." 
 
 ^^ Do you suppose the charm will last ? " 
 inquired Joseph, with a slight sneer. 
 
 *' Yes, sir, I do." The boy's violet eyes 
 shone. ^' My father never regretted that 
 he was a soldier. The men of my family 
 have fought in all the great battles ; we 
 are a military race, and we can't make 
 good civilians. Put us in front of the 
 enemy at the head of our men, and we 
 don't do badly ! " 
 
 Something rose up in Joseph's throat, 
 and checked him as he was going to speak. 
 Eex had looked so like his mother at that 
 moment that the shrewd man of business 
 
BETS EARLY DAYS. 143 
 
 passed over the boyish enthusiasm, and 
 thought only of the sister who had been 
 so well loved. Just so had Louisa looked 
 and spoken when she had declared her 
 intention of marrying Horace Long- 
 worthy. But he did not want to be 
 softened just then, and Eex, in his 
 enthusiastic mood, could never be brought 
 to hear reason. The interview must be 
 ended, and the subject dropped for the 
 present. 
 
 '' Well, Eex," he said, rising, '' I will 
 leave you to think over my offer, and if 
 you change your mind you can let me 
 know. Only understand that I shall do 
 nothing for you if you persist in having 
 your whim." 
 
 The lad coloured angrily at the word 
 ^'whim;" but his self-control did not 
 desert him. He thanked his uncle again, 
 sent a loving message to his aunts at 
 
144 QODIVA DURLEIGH. 
 
 Kichmond, and took leave of Joseph with 
 a sad dignity that his youth made pathetic. 
 Joseph went away, admiring his nephew 
 against his will, and turned his steps to 
 Mansell's office. 
 
 The lawyer was putting on his hat to 
 go home, and met him with a smile. 
 
 *^ You haven't succeeded with the lad, 
 I suppose ? ' he said. 
 
 '* No," admitted Kemple gravely. 
 
 '* Well, don't give him up just yet. Let 
 me have a word or two with his highness 
 before you despair of him," Mansell 
 pleaded. '' Perhaps I may bring him to 
 a right mind." 
 
( 145 ) 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 *' GOD HATH ALEEADY SAID WHAT SHALL 
 BETIDE." 
 
 The lawyer resolved to set about the 
 business of bringing Eex to reason that 
 very evening. He dined at six, thinking 
 about the boy as he 'drank his claret, and 
 answering all Mrs. Mansell's questions 
 in monosyllables. He had no son ; his 
 daughter was married, and lived miles 
 awaj^ ; there were no family cares to 
 absorb his thoughts ; and, in spite of the 
 hardening influence of years of profes- 
 sional life, he really did take a genuine 
 human interest in Eex Longworthy. 
 
 VOL. I. L 
 
146 GODJVA BURLEIGH. 
 
 On this June evening the whole popu- 
 lation of the noisy town seemed to have 
 made up its mind to come out of doors. 
 It was a grimy population, given to slouch- 
 ing outside public-houses, and leaning 
 heavily against door-posts when its day's 
 work was done. The walls of the rectory 
 garden, high and strong enough to had 
 protected a convent, were decorated with 
 cartoons in white chalk, the performances 
 of juvenile artists, who swarmed about the 
 place — poor pallid children who had 
 never, even on feast-days, caught a glimpse 
 of the paradise within those walls. Man- 
 sell heard the people talking to each other 
 as he passed along. Already there were 
 rumours of approaching changes. They 
 were saying that the walls w^ould soon 
 come down ; now that the old rector was 
 gone the new schools w^ould be built upon 
 the garden ground. Nobody spoke regret- 
 
WBAT SHALL BETIDE. l47 
 
 fully of the old man ; the solitary mourner 
 in the silent house had none to share his 
 grief. 
 
 The lawyer was shown into the study, 
 a room in which the late Mr. Longworthy 
 had spent a great deal of his time. It 
 was a remarkably pleasant room, old- 
 fashioned and sombre, but always warm 
 in the evening with the last sunshine of 
 the day. The windows reaching to the 
 ground, opened into a verandah supported 
 by slender pillars. Every column was 
 wreathed with roses, climbing up eagerly 
 to the roof, and there mingling with a 
 mass of foliage. The study w^as full of 
 perfumes, and the rector's old china bowls 
 were freshly filled with the flowers that 
 he had liked best in his lifetime. Every- 
 thing in the study looked so precisely the 
 same as it always had done, that Mansell 
 was almost startled by the absence of 
 change. 
 
148 OB IV A DURLEIGE. 
 
 Rex was sitting under the verandah in 
 his grandfather's cane chair, leaning back 
 on the cushions in an easy attitude of 
 indolence. His hands were folded on his 
 knees — the hands of an idle boy, beauti- 
 fully-shaped, smooth, olive- skinned ; his 
 eyes were gazing dreamily into the green 
 alleys, touched with sunset gold. 
 
 ^^ Dear me, this is a very puzzling lad," 
 thought the lawyer. *' Anglo-Indian in 
 his lounging ways. He sits there as if he 
 were going to stay always in the place, 
 and looks as much at his ease as if he had 
 just come into a fortune. The talk with 
 his uncle doesn't seem to have disturbed 
 him in the least." 
 
 But when Rex rose slowly from the 
 depths of the easy-chair, and stood up to 
 receive him, Mansell was not so sure 
 about his perfect serenity. There were 
 shadows under his eyes, that made them 
 
WHAT SHALL BETIDE, 149 
 
 darker than before, and the lips were 
 firmly compressed, as if he were forcing 
 himself to endure pain without a murmur. 
 
 ** I thought I should find you alone this 
 evening, my boy," said Mansell, with the 
 familiarity of an old friend. ** Don't leave 
 your seat. It's delightful out here among 
 the roses, and one can see the sunset. 
 So you had a visit from Mr. Kemple 
 to-day?" 
 
 *^ Yes," replied Eex, gravely. 
 
 ** And you declined his offer ? You are 
 still bent on being a soldier ? " 
 
 ^^Yes." 
 
 '* Ah ! " Mansell leaned back in his 
 seat and looked musingly across the 
 flower-beds. '* Of course it would be 
 hard for you to give up your heart's 
 desire ; it's quite natural that you should 
 cling to it. But you will need money, 
 you see ? " 
 
150 GODIVA BURLEIGH. 
 
 ** I have been thinking of that/' said 
 Eex, in a quiet voice. ** I wish I could 
 manage without a loan," he added, 
 knitting his smooth brows ; *' but I'm 
 afraid it's impossible." 
 
 *^ Quite impossible, as I have already 
 explained. Have you thought of any one 
 to apply to ? " 
 
 The lad flushed, and paused a moment 
 before he asked the question. 
 
 *^ I have decided to ask Major Walling- 
 ton," he said at last. '^ I don't like it, 
 mind. You understand that I don't like 
 it, Mr. Mansell." 
 
 The lawyer inclined his head, and 
 looked at him keenly. 
 
 ** Isn't there any one else, Eex?" he 
 asked. 
 
 ** There's no one else. Major Walling- 
 ton is quite a rich man, you know; and 
 very few of my grandfather's friends were 
 
WHAT SHALL BETIDE, 151 
 
 rich. Then, too, I am the Major's god- 
 son. My father wrote to him from India, 
 asking him to be godfather ; and he con- 
 sented, and has always taken a great 
 interest in me. I beheve he will be ready 
 to help me." 
 
 ^^ I believe he will," responded Mansell, 
 gravely. ^'He will help you, even if he 
 suffers for it. But it is possible that you 
 have not heard of his altered circum- 
 stances ? " 
 
 *^ Circumstances ? " Kex was startled. 
 He propped his chin on his hand and 
 gazed anxiously at the lawyer with 
 gloomy eyes. " What has happened ? " he 
 asked. 
 
 ^' On the day before the rector died 
 a great Indian bank broke," replied Man- 
 sell, in a calm, impressive tone. '' Major 
 Wallington was implicated in the failure, 
 and when everything is settled he will 
 
15^ GOmVA DURLEIQE. 
 
 find his income much reduced. I am 
 really sorry. He has only one child — 
 a pretty girl, who is engaged to be 
 married.'' 
 
 '* Yes ; I know Ida. Are you quite sure 
 that the news is true ? " 
 
 ** Quite sure, Eex. I wish there was 
 a doubt. But there is none.'' 
 
 The boy was pale now ; but he was as 
 undemonstrative as ever. Leaning back 
 in his chair, he thoughtfully caressed 
 his upper lip in silence. The lawyer 
 watched him narrowly with half-closed 
 eyes. 
 
 The pause was a long one. Slowly the 
 golden lights were fading and changing, 
 and the first soft shades of grey were 
 filling up the nooks and corners of the 
 old garden. A sleepy bird sent forth a 
 smothered chirp now and then ; occasion- 
 ally a hoarse sound from the ever-restless 
 
WEAT SHALL BETIDE. 153 
 
 town reached their ears ; but Mansell 
 had never realized the peace and stillness 
 of the rectory as he realized it now. It 
 was to keep this peace to the end of his 
 days that the rector had been deaf to 
 all complaints about the overcrowded 
 schools. He would not voluntarily yield 
 an inch of his guarded paradise. The 
 lawyer looked furtively at Rex, who was 
 sitting erect and quiet, with a face as 
 darkly still as if it had belonged to a 
 bronze statue instead of a boy. He 
 wondered whether the lad had inherited 
 his grandfather's calm selfishness ? 
 
 ** Major Wallington isn't quite a 
 pauper, Rex," he said. ** I don't want to 
 misrepresent the matter. I only thought 
 it right to let you know that he is likely 
 to be cramped just now. Still, he would 
 make an effort for you ; there can be no 
 doubt of that." 
 
154 OODIVA DURLEIGH. 
 
 Eex turned his head slowly, and there 
 was a light on his sombre face. 
 
 ^*Yes, he would make an effort," he 
 repeated quietly. ^^ But I'm not going to 
 let him do that." 
 
 There was no mistaking the ring of 
 determination in the young voice. Man- 
 sell's keenest interest was aroused; he 
 was quite eager to know what was 
 coming next. 
 
 '* Is there any one else in your mind? " 
 he asked. ^' If so you had better tell me. 
 I know more about men's affairs than 
 you do, of course ; and I can say in a 
 moment whether there is any hope from 
 this quarter or that." 
 
 ** There's no one else." Eex spoke 
 with frank simplicity. ^' If my godfather 
 can't help me, I shan't apply to another 
 man." 
 
 '^Ah," said Mansell, a little vaguely, 
 
WHAT SHALL BETIDE. 155 
 
 '^I see. That is, I donH exactly see 
 what course you mean to take." 
 
 ''Nor do I," the boy returned with a 
 half-smile. '' Not this evening. To- 
 morrow there may be light on my 
 way." 
 
 His face grew grave again while he 
 was speaking. His own words, uttered 
 without thought, had wakened an un- 
 expected echo in his own heart. *' Lead, 
 kindly light," the echo seemed to say ; 
 and the hymn which has, since it was 
 first written, expressed the passionate 
 pleadings of thousands of souls, became 
 for the first time the prayer of this proud 
 young spirit. He did not even know at 
 that moment that it was really a prayer. 
 He thought it was merely a remembrance 
 of some favourite lines (Eex had always 
 appreciated good poetry) ; only the words 
 had come to him with a new strength, 
 
156 GOD IV A BURLEIGH, 
 
 and with a feeling that was a blending 
 of sweetness and stinging pain. 
 
 He was alone, and the ^^ encircling 
 gloom " was deepening on every side. 
 He had chosen his own path, never 
 doubting that it was the right path for 
 him to tread, marked as it was by the 
 footprints of his race, and illumined 
 by that stormy splendour which always 
 dazzles young eyes. And now he saw 
 plainly enough that it was not the way 
 for him to walk in. 
 
 " Well, good-bye," said Mansell, rising. 
 *' If any idea does happen to occur to you, 
 let me know to-morrow morning. There's 
 nothing like thinking a matter well over. 
 It wouldn't do any harm, I fancy, just 
 to give Mr. Kemple's proposal another 
 thought or two ; but after all you must 
 judge for yourself, and I see you've a cool 
 head on your young shoulders." 
 
WHAT SHALL BETIDE. 157 
 
 He went his way ; and, instead of 
 going straight home, called at the hotel 
 where Joseph Kemple was staying. 
 
 ^^ There isn't much of old Longworthy 
 in that young fellow," he said. *^ It's 
 worth while to have a little patience with 
 him. I think you'll get him into your 
 way yet. And if once he puts his hand to 
 your plough there will be no looking back. 
 If he makes his choice he'll stick to it." 
 
 ^'Well, I hope he will," Joseph 
 answered. "My sisters would do any- 
 thing to keep him near them. As for 
 myself, I wasn't particularly anxious to 
 have a boy to look after. But as he 
 belongs to me, I naturally wish to do 
 my best for him. And he shan't be a 
 swaggering spendthrift, puffed up with 
 infernal pride, as his father w^as ! Not if 
 I can help it." 
 
 Mansell smiled* 
 
158 GO DIVA DUHLEIGn. 
 
 *' Horace Longworthy was a fine fellow 
 in Ills way/' he remarked. 
 
 ** Much too fine for me," said Kemple, 
 grimly. ** But Kex is Lousia's child," 
 he added, softening. ** He is a good deal 
 like her sometimes. And his aunts have 
 made up their minds that he's to be the 
 pride of the family. I shouldn't like 
 them to be disappointed." 
 
 '^I don't think they will be dis- 
 appointed," replied the lawyer in a tone 
 of quiet conviction. 
 
 Meanwhile the lad whom they were 
 discussing sat alone in the summer 
 twilight, and silently fought the first 
 battle of his life. 
 
 He knew more of his father's history 
 than any one supposed. A great many 
 details had been gathered from an old 
 servant who had been with them in India, 
 and had nursed his mother through her 
 
WHAT SHALL BETIDE. 159 
 
 last illness. He had learnt that there 
 had been ceaseless troubles arising out 
 of money-matters ; — that if his wife had 
 come to him empty-handed, Horace 
 Longworthy could not have got on at 
 all; — that, as it was, the husband had 
 spent everything. Eex had pondered 
 over all these things ; and he was old 
 enough now to see that there were spots 
 on the sun of his father's glory. 
 
 One fact was quite clear in his mind : 
 it was a bad thing to cany a sword if 
 you had nothing beyond your pay to 
 depend upon. Still worse would it be 
 if you entered the service hampered with 
 a loan, which you must repay out of your 
 slender means. But surely the worst 
 thing of all would be to give up your 
 heart's desire, — sacrifice the career you 
 had pictured for yourself — and go quietly 
 into trade. 
 
160 GOB IV A DUB LEIGH, 
 
 He started up, turned into the study, 
 and stood on the hearth-rug. Then, all 
 alone in the dusk, he drew himself up 
 to his full height, and held his head all 
 the more loftily because he must bend it 
 by-and-by. It was too dark to distinguish 
 the faces of the portraits on the walls; 
 but he knew them all by heart, and was 
 exceedingly well acquainted with that 
 bright youth in uniform who hung over 
 the mantelpiece. That was a certain 
 Herbert Longworthy, who had fought 
 under Wellington at Waterloo, and had 
 been mortally wounded there. But he 
 had lived long enough to hear that his 
 great chief made honourable mention of 
 him; and then had fallen asleep " like a 
 warrior taking his rest." Eex had never 
 envied the lad as he did at this moment. 
 For liim there was no miserable struggle ; 
 — no bitter doubt and anxiety. He had 
 
WEAT SHALL BETIDE. 161 
 
 been bred a soldier; he had done his 
 part ; and gone triumphantly to his 
 laurel-crowned grave. 
 
 But in that young hero's days the 
 Longworthys had been a wealthier family. 
 And now the last of the race, feeling very 
 helpless and lonely, was standing in this 
 empty room, and fighting a stern fight 
 with no audible voice to cheer him on. 
 For a little while he felt passionately 
 angry with Joseph Kemple. If his uncle 
 had really wanted to befriend him, why 
 had he not given him money enough to 
 carry out his long-cherished purpose ? 
 But, on second thoughts, was not that 
 expecting a little too much of Joseph, 
 who had been civilly sneered at and 
 trampled upon by his military brother-in- 
 law? And had not Louisa Longworthy, 
 in her last days, let fall many words of 
 loving regret about the brother and 
 
 VOL. I. M 
 
1G2 GODIVA DUELEIGH. 
 
 sisters, whose affection, although slighted, 
 had never failed ? Yes ; Eex could not 
 help feeling a tenderness towards these 
 despised Kemples, who wanted to be good 
 to him, and provide for him in their ow^n 
 way. 
 
 He was very lonely ; yet gradually, and 
 after a long struggle, there came to him a 
 sense of being helped to a decision. 
 
 When at last the conflict was over 
 he found himself almost in darkness in 
 the room. Out in the garden the leaves 
 were whispering in the starlight, and he 
 heard a sound of closing doors and 
 drawing bolts which told him that the 
 old butler was shutting up the house for 
 the night. 
 
 The mental strife had left him tired in 
 body and mind. He felt that the time 
 had come for breaking all the links that 
 still held him to the past. And he re- 
 
WHAT SHALL BETIDE. 163 
 
 solved, then and there, that he would not 
 linger in the old rectory any longer than 
 was necessary. The new life must be 
 begun at once, if it was to be begun 
 at all. j 
 
164 aODIVA DURLEIQH. 
 
 CHAPTEE IX. 
 
 DEEAMS AND SUNSHINE. 
 
 It was one of those May morniDgs when 
 the young summer finds her way into 
 the nooks and corners of the city, and 
 fills every hit of space with verdure and 
 sunlight and song. Even to Barnard's 
 Inn this glory had come, and the plane- 
 trees in the quadrangle were arrayed in 
 their newest green. Every leaf was deli- 
 cately fresh ; sparrows were twittering 
 merrily on the houghs, and in the trimly 
 kept garden there were geraniums light- 
 ing up the dusky spot with their vivid 
 colours. 
 
DREAMS AND SUNSHINE. 16c 
 
 When the hero of *' Great Expecta- 
 tions '* affirmed that the melancholy little 
 square of Barnard's Inn looked to him 
 like '* a flat burying-ground " he was 
 hardly just to the place. At first, while 
 city life was still new, Eex had spent 
 some gloomy hours in his sitting-room 
 overlooking the quadrangle. When the 
 trees were stripped of leaves, and gusts 
 of wind whirled straws and dust and 
 scraps of rubbish in dreary dances along 
 the silent side-walk, he had felt a bitter 
 craving for the rectory garden of old 
 times. And he had wondered why he 
 had tamely consented to live in the 
 rooms which his uncle had found for 
 him ? Could not Joseph Kemple have 
 selected some brighter spot than this 
 secluded nook where everything seemed 
 quietly going to decay ? 
 
 But perhaps the consciousness that he 
 
166 GODIVA DURLEIGK 
 
 was not compelled to live here made the 
 place .endm-able. Uncle Joseph was by 
 no means a tyrant. If his nephew had 
 found fault with these quarters, there 
 were others to be had. Yet Eex stayed 
 on without complaint, and gradually dis- 
 covered that he was growing attached 
 to Barnard's Inn, and did not want to 
 leave it. 
 
 The sitting-room had two windows, 
 with many panes, and each was furnished 
 with its box of flowers, so that stray 
 visitors, looking up from outside, beheld 
 two little gardens in the air. It was 
 not a large room, but it held Eex's 
 belongings comfortably. His piano stood 
 in one corner ; his books were every- 
 where ; his photographs hung on the 
 walls in simple oak frames. The mantel- 
 piece was draped in an artistic fashion, 
 and a luxurious chair on each side of the 
 
DREAMS AND SUNSHINE. 167 
 
 fireplace told that Eex still clung to his 
 old love of ease. He had parted with 
 the dream of his boyhood, but not with 
 his earliest influences. His grandfather's 
 graceful bearing and never-failing courtesy 
 were reproduced in this young man who 
 spent his days in a city office. His 
 associates did not always understand 
 him, and did not always like him ; but 
 they respected him. 
 
 Something in the freshness of the May 
 morning, and the play of sunbeams and 
 zephyrs among the leaves, had sent his 
 thoughts back into the past. The tea 
 was cooling on the breakfast-table while 
 he stood dreaming at the open window 
 — going off into a vague dream about 
 dreams. 
 
 He remembered that when he first 
 came here he had looked often across 
 the quadrangle to the house that was 
 
168 OODIVA DUB LEIGH. 
 
 opposite to his own. In that old house 
 the last of the alchemists had lived and 
 died ; and Eex had sometimes wondered 
 what changes would have heen wrought 
 in the world if Peter Woulfe's dreams 
 had been realized. He had pictured the 
 dim room encumbered with furnaces and 
 strange apparatus, and the eager-faced 
 man toiling day after day after the un- 
 attainable. 
 
 How long, and oh, how vainly, had 
 Woulfe striven to discover the elixir of 
 life ! Eex could fancy the enthusiast's 
 wild joy when he had believed himself 
 to be on the verge of success, and the 
 cold gloom of ever-recurring disappoint- 
 ment. In that quiet room, whose window 
 was now hidden by the leafy boughs, the 
 fruitless toil had ended ; and perhaps 
 (who can say ?) the spirit, freed from the 
 flesh, had found out that great secret 
 
DREAMS AND SUNSHINE. 169 
 
 at last. Was it worth while to waste 
 a mortal hfe in trying to discover what 
 the immortal life would assuredly reveal ? 
 Why not have enjoyed the common joys 
 of earth, and waited calmly till the in- 
 effable wisdom was given ? 
 
 The birds broke out into a merrier 
 burst than ever, and a light seemed to 
 flash suddenly over the young fellow's 
 sombre face. Not many miles away there 
 was an earthly paradise of blossom and 
 song, and a young girl wandering among 
 the flowers. Kex whistled a tuneful 
 answer to the sparrows, and turned to 
 his neglected breakfast with gladness of 
 heart. 
 
 " People may say that Morris Durleigh 
 is as wild a dreamer as poor old Woulfe 
 was," he thought. '' And they may say, 
 too — with some truth — that he takes 
 little thought about the future of his 
 
170 GODIVA BURLEIGH, 
 
 daughter. But it is good to see how 
 the girl beheves in him, and how that 
 unselfish soul of his lives in her. Godiva 
 is not an ordinary young lady of the 
 period ; but one doesn't want to see her 
 change. Who is it that says — 
 
 * Being everything which now thou art, 
 Be nothing which thou art not ? ' 
 
 I will ask her this very day. The child's 
 head is crammed with poetry." 
 
 Three women were waiting for him at 
 Kichmond, and each was prepared to 
 welcome him in a fashion of her own. 
 Henrietta would be all the more glad to 
 see him because he did not interfere 
 with the nap, which was a Christian 
 privilege on Sunday afternoon. Char- 
 lotte adored her boy, and glowed with 
 pleasure at the thought of a possible 
 love-making. And Godiva Durleigh, full 
 of shy happiness, was wondering why 
 
DREAMS AND SUNSHINE. 171 
 
 the May world was so glorious, and life 
 had put on a new aspect altogether ! 
 She could not believe that Kex had any- 
 thing to do with all this fresh beauty 
 and brightness which seemed to gladden 
 the universe. The weather, she said, 
 was uncommonly beautiful, and it was 
 a delight to bask in the sunshine. 
 
 She stood at a narrow slit of a window 
 on the stairs, and looked down into the 
 road, watching unseen for Kex. Kich- 
 mond is generally noisy on a Sunday. 
 Yet it has quiet nooks and by-ways into 
 which excursionists do not penetrate, 
 and the Kemples' house was in one of 
 these undiscovered spots. Birds were 
 stirring in the ivy that grew so thickly 
 around all the windows, and Go diva, as 
 she watched, listened vaguely to their 
 little chirps and trills. Presently she 
 saw the tall figure coming along, and 
 
172 OODTVA BURLEIGH, 
 
 as Eex drew near he glanced up. Then 
 she drew back with a quick thrill of 
 shame, afraid that he might catch a 
 glimpse of her too soon. What would 
 the two aunts think if they suspected that 
 she was looking out for their nephew ? 
 
 In her haste to go down and receive 
 him properly in the presence of the old 
 ladies, she turned the corner of the stairs 
 too quickly. Miss Charlotte, with quite 
 a jovial air about her, was opening the 
 hall door with words of welcome. Eex 
 was hurried in, questioned, and made 
 much of; but he was looking round for 
 another greeting. Lifting his eyes, he 
 saw Grodiva standing above him, her face 
 delicately flushed, and a shy grace in 
 her attitude. Even Miss Charlotte was 
 struck, and glanced eagerly from the girl 
 to Eex. Had he, too, discovered how 
 charming she was ? 
 
BREAMS AND SUNSHINE. 173 
 
 Perhaps he had; but his grave face 
 and dark-blue eyes seldom betrayed 
 secrets. Godiva came down slowly, step 
 by step, and held out her little hand 
 very quietly. Then Miss Henrietta ap- 
 peared at the drawing-room door, and 
 asked plaintively if they were not ready 
 for luncheon ? She liked her meals, and 
 could not bear to be kept waiting. 
 
 Although Aunt Susanna was a good 
 housekeeper, and comforts were not neg- 
 lected in Buckingham Street, Godiva 
 could not help enjoying the sense of 
 homeliness which came to her in this 
 old-fashioned household. These maiden 
 sisters had ways of their own which 
 seemed to impart a delicate flavour to 
 everything. Even Kex, remembering 
 the dainty banquets at the rectory, could 
 find no fault with the meals at Garden 
 Lodge. And to-day he was conscious 
 
174 GODIVA DURLEIQE.^ 
 
 of finding something that had always 
 been wanting in his grandfather's house 
 ' — a young woman's presence. Godiva 
 did not say much, but her clear eyes 
 met his sometimes. She had put on her 
 best gown — one of her favourite greys, 
 soft in material and very well made — 
 and wore a little cravat of creamy muslin 
 and lace. A bunch of heliotrope was 
 fastened near her throat, and its per- 
 fume floated towards him as he came 
 within the circle of her happy girlish 
 influence. 
 
 Was she pretty? He supposed not, 
 if you judged her face by any rules ; and 
 yet, if a woman has a thoroughly sym- 
 pathetic nature, and a gift of saying 
 things well, she can generally beguile a 
 man into thinking her pretty. 
 
 After luncheon he followed her into 
 the garden, and found a curious, dreamy 
 
DREAMS AND SUNSHINE. 175 
 
 delight in lier society, and in the beauty 
 of the old place. He noticed everything, 
 and drew a keen pleasure out of every- 
 thing — the blue of the sky, seen through 
 a lattice of boughs ; the gentle flutter 
 of a myriad leaves ; the soft colours of 
 flowers. They went to the very bottom 
 of the grounds, and then sat down on 
 a bench to look at the river. 
 
 *' I wonder if all those people are en- 
 joying themselves as much as I am?" 
 Rex said languidly, after a pause. 
 
 Godiva was watching the gay groups 
 below them with a quiet smile—some 
 walking along the towing-path, some 
 darting by in boats, nearly all talking 
 and laughing as if their lives had never 
 known a care. 
 
 *' I think it is all the pleasanter here 
 because we can see them," she remarked, 
 ^'I should not care for the kind of hap- 
 
176 GODIVA DURLEIGE. 
 
 piness that shuts out all sight and sound 
 of humanity." 
 
 He gave her an amused glance, think- 
 ing how widely her notion of happiness 
 differed from the rector's. His grand- 
 father had always found enjoyment im- 
 possible unless there was a massive barrier 
 between '* other people " and himself. 
 And then he was conscious that his own 
 ideas had undergone a change. He had 
 begun to find the sight of holiday-keepers 
 quite endurable, and wondered whether 
 he was slowly becoming Cockneyfied. 
 
 ^' I am discovering contentment where 
 I least expected to find it," he said after 
 another pause. *' It's a great surprise to 
 feel that I really take pleasure in this 
 London life of mine. I had always 
 wanted something very different, you 
 know." 
 
 *'Yes; Miss Charlotte told me," she 
 
BREAMS AND SUNSHINE. 177 
 
 answered, looking at him with a gentle 
 air of interest. And then he reflected 
 that he had talked about himself when 
 he had seen her last, and now he was 
 doing it again. Yet, undeterred by the 
 consciousness of egotism, he went on : 
 ^^ Even Barnard's Inn has an attraction 
 for me now. If Dickens could hear me 
 say so, he would think that I was de- 
 veloping an unwholesome sympathy 
 with moaldiness and mustiness. But — 
 although new places have their advan- 
 tages — it isn't a bad thing to live in 
 some old corner fuU of memories." 
 
 *^ I know. One is never lonely when 
 one has a few harmless ghosts for com- 
 pany," said Godiva. 
 
 He smiled, recalling his morning 
 musings. 
 
 ** I encourage the ghosts," he admitted. 
 ** Sometimes I summon Peter Woulfe to 
 
 VOL. I. N 
 
178 > GODIVA DURLEIGH. 
 
 reappear, and tell me if he has found out 
 all he wanted to know. You must come 
 and look at his chambers one of these 
 days. I don't think there have been 
 many changes since he lived in them." 
 
 *^ He was one of the failures/' Godiva 
 said thoughtfully. ^'But he always said 
 he should have discovered the elixir if 
 he had set about his task in a holier 
 spirit. I wonder if there is just a gleam 
 of truth in that fancy of his ? My father 
 says you cannot achieve any great good 
 until you have prepared yourself for the 
 effort by utter self-renunciation. Dear 
 father — some people say that the philan- 
 thropist is as wild a dreamer as the 
 alchemist ! '* 
 
 The next instant he saw a look of 
 sorrow in her eyes. 
 
 ^^ Never mind what people say," he 
 entreated. " Every strong endeavour to 
 
DREAMS AND SUNSHINE. 179 
 
 improve the world is sure to awaken a 
 clamour of derision. And the man who 
 tries hard always accomplishes something, 
 even if he falls short of his purpose. We 
 should be badly off indeed if we had no 
 enthusiasts among us." 
 
 '* If they would only give him more 
 help!" The words came with a little 
 sigh. *' The paper doesn't succeed, you 
 see." 
 
 If Kex had spoken out his thoughts he 
 would have owned that he, for one, did 
 not desire the success of that paper. 
 But he would not tell Godiva that it was 
 not as an editor that her father shone ; 
 he only said the first comforting words 
 that occurred to him. 
 
 '' Don't fret about the paper, Miss 
 Durleigh. Your father has done more 
 by his life than most men can accomplish 
 with their pens. And I think we are 
 
180 OODIVA BURLEIGH, 
 
 over-deluged with printed matter now- 
 adays. There are lots of people who 
 revere the name of Morris Dmieigh, 
 although they have never read a line of 
 the Champion,''^ 
 
 The shadow passed away from her face, 
 and she smiled at him gratefully. 
 
 ** Some of his friends are hard on him 
 for my sake," she said. ^^ But they don't 
 understand how happy I am, Mr. Long- 
 worthy. Mamma was an invalid for a 
 long time, and our pretty home in Kent 
 was often sad. It was good for me to 
 be moved into Buckingham Street, and 
 taken care of by Aunt Susanna. One 
 can make a home in lodgings just as well 
 as in a villa. I don't want any changes ; 
 I should like to be always with my father 
 in the dear old Strand. People talk, 
 and judge one's life from their own 
 standpoint ; but they can't get a glimpse 
 
DREAMS AND SUNSHINE, 181 
 
 of the inner world in which one really 
 lives." 
 
 Again did E,ex keep his thoughts to 
 himself. He did indeed admire Morris 
 Durleigh from the bottom of his heart, 
 but he could not feel that the father was 
 doing justice to his child. Morris had 
 brought Godiva up in a place which is 
 supposed to be unfavourable to a girl's 
 growth and culture. Very few of those 
 advantages which she ought to have had 
 were given to her. Even Miss Henrietta, 
 who seldom concerned herself with other 
 people's affairs, had said that Godiva Dur- 
 leigh ought to have lived in a different 
 kind of home. 
 
 And Eex agreed with Aunt Henrietta, 
 conscious that his early notions of a girl's 
 life and surroundings could never change. 
 He did not know that a good deal of the 
 old Longworthy pride was clinging to 
 
182 GOD IV A DUBLEian. 
 
 hiin still. The Longworthys had never 
 cared to gather a flower unless they 
 approved of the soil from which it had 
 sprung. They might praise its sweet- 
 ness, but the earth which had nourished 
 the blossom was of more importance than 
 the blossom itself. Kex found himself 
 suddenly wishing that Godiva had been 
 less contented with her lot. 
 
 '^ I wish/' he said, breaking the brief 
 silence in a low voice, ^' that your outer 
 world was better fitted to contain the 
 inner world of which you speak." 
 
 She turned, with a slight start and 
 a vague look of troubled w^onder in her 
 glance. 
 
 ^^ Oh, you are blaming my father in 
 your mind," she cried. '^ I was afraid 
 that you would." 
 
 *' No," he said eagerly, '^ you must not 
 have such fancies. But you are so happy 
 
BREAMS AND SUNSHINE. 183 
 
 in this pretty old garden, that one likes 
 to think of you in a sheltered home. It 
 seems as if you had no business to live 
 in an ugly street where never a flower 
 can grow." 
 
 But she was only half satisfied with 
 his words, and had begun to say some- 
 thing in defence of her beloved street, 
 when a loud scream came up from the 
 path below the terrace. 
 
 In an instant Rex was on his feet, and 
 had leaped right over the side of the 
 terrace on to the path below. A moment 
 afterwards he was in the river, striking 
 out towards something that sank and 
 vanished before he could get near it. 
 Grodiva stood up, dumb, with clasped 
 hands and straining eyes. But the people 
 on the towing-path were anything but 
 dumb. They were shouting and gesticu- 
 lating wildly, and the loud clamour of 
 
184 OODIVA BURLEIGH. 
 
 their voices bewildered the girl's brain. 
 She could only stand there waiting, her 
 hair pushed back from her white face. 
 
 ** Ah, he's got hold of it!" cried a 
 woman's voice shriller than the rest. 
 Eex had clutched a little heap of clothes 
 which had reappeared on the surface of 
 the water; and presently, amid shouts 
 and confused murmurs, he brought his 
 dripping bundle safe to land. 
 
 Then Godiva collected her senses and 
 remembered the steps that led down to 
 the side-door. She flew to the door and 
 unbolted it. 
 
 " The child is unconscious," panted 
 Eex, hurrying up the steps with his 
 burden. *^ Godiva, the little thing fell 
 out of a boat. Its mother will be here 
 presently, and you must bring her into 
 the house." 
 
 He rushed away with his load, running 
 
DREAMS AND SUNSHINE. 185 
 
 up the garden at a frantic pace. And 
 Godiva stood watching two yonng men 
 rowing towards the landing with a dis- 
 tracted woman in their boat. 
 
 A few minutes later she was conduct- 
 ing the frightened young mother along 
 the path to the house, and trying to 
 soothe her as they went. 
 
 *^ We ha.ve sent for a doctor/' said 
 Miss Charlotte, meeting them in the 
 hall; *^ but; cook has got the child, and 
 says it will come back to life ! '* 
 
186 GODIVA DURLEIOH. 
 
 CHAPTEK X. 
 
 *'how many simple ways there are 
 
 TO BLESS." 
 
 And cook was right ; the child did come 
 back to life, and was recovering itself 
 when the doctor arrived. The young 
 mother, pallid and helpless, clung to 
 Godiva, and could hardly believe that 
 her little girl was really restored to her. 
 The Kemples drew a deep breath of relief 
 when the men took the pair away in a 
 cab. Henrietta was kind at heart, but 
 hated anything in the shape of a scene ; 
 and Charlotte was always anxibus on her 
 sister's account. 
 
SIMPLE WATS TO BLESS. 187 
 
 '^ Henrietta can't bear excitement," she 
 explained. ^^ You see, Godiva, you are 
 quite used to having things happen. 
 Young people like adventures and start- 
 ling incidents. I don't think Eex minded 
 jumping into the river with all his 
 clothes on. How brave he is, dear 
 boy ! " 
 
 But when all emotion had subsided it 
 was discovered that Eex was in an awk- 
 ward position. His own clothes were 
 unfit for immediate use, and he was ring- 
 ing bells upstairs, and sending peremptory 
 messages to his aunts to get him some- 
 thing to wear. It was cook who came to 
 the rescue when the ladies were at their 
 wits' end. 
 
 '* There's the old gentleman across the 
 road," she suggested. ^^He must have a 
 lot of clothes, surely, and he never goes 
 beyond his garden. He's tall, too ; much 
 
188 OB IV A BURLEIGH. 
 
 about Mr. Longworthy's height if he 
 didn't stoop." 
 
 The sisters demurred. They had never 
 asked favours of neighbours, and did not 
 want to break their rules. And then the 
 bell upstairs gave another loud peal ; 
 and Joy was hastily dispatched to old 
 Mr. Eomilly. 
 
 She came back with her arms full of 
 garments. A little later Eex appeared 
 in the drawing-room, looking like some- 
 body in the ** Arabian Nights," and 
 challenging criticism fearlessly. A rich 
 Oriental dressing-gown, with a silken 
 girdle, draped him from neck to foot; 
 and Miss Charlotte at once committed 
 the imprudence of openly admiring him. 
 Henrietta looked grave, and sank back 
 in her chair with a litfcle sigh which 
 recalled her sister to a sense of propriety. 
 
 If the truth must be told there was 
 
SIMPLE WAYS TO BLESS. 189 
 
 something in Henrietta's gentle depres- 
 sion which damped the spirits of the rest. 
 She confided to Charlotte afterwards that 
 she had thought Eex's costume almost 
 indecent. He ought to have shut him- 
 self up in a room alone if he had to be 
 dressed like that. It was really dreadful 
 to see him talking to Godiva in a dress- 
 ing-gown. But in Godiva's eyes the 
 unusual costume had a strange charm. 
 It reminded her of his heroic action. 
 Her strong idealism had magnified Eex's 
 simple exploit into a magnificent deed. 
 
 She had, however, too much natural 
 modesty and grace to make any display 
 of hero-worship. It was expressed only 
 in a certain quietness of speech and 
 thoughtfulness of look ; but Eex under- 
 stood that he had made an impression, 
 and did not regret his cold bath. It was 
 very pleasant to know that a pair of grey 
 
190 GODIVA DURLEIQH. 
 
 eyes were looking at him with furtive 
 devotion. He had been cheaply turned 
 into a hero, it was true ; but he saw no 
 reason why he should not wear the laurel 
 that had been so painlessly won. 
 
 Later on in his life he looked back on 
 the Eex of that evening with a bitter 
 contempt. He was accepting every- 
 body's affection as easily and naturally 
 as if it had been a gift of summer flowers. 
 But afterwards, when the winter of his 
 days set in, he remembered all the rare 
 sweetness of that simple love, and won- 
 dered why it had been so lightly prized. 
 
 Before they went to bed. Miss Hen- 
 rietta had forgiven him for being so 
 comfortable and unembarrassed in the 
 dressing-gown. She had asked Godiva 
 to play some hymn-tunes, and they all 
 sang hymns in the evening stillness. 
 Godiva was not a fine singer, but her 
 
SIMPLE WAYS TO BLESS. 191 
 
 Yoice was sweet and true, and harmon- 
 ized with the quiet mood of her hearers. 
 The little drawing-room was more home- 
 like than it had ever been before — more 
 homelike even than any of those beauti- 
 ful old rooms in the rectory which Kex 
 had once loved so well. 
 
 It is an important moment in a young 
 man's life when he gets his first glimpse 
 of a possible home ; and that moment 
 came to Kex Longworthy in the little 
 Eichmond house on this Sunday even- 
 ing. Such moments come to all men's 
 lives, and are swept away, often enough, 
 by a tide of new experiences and 
 anxieties ; yet they seldom pass without 
 leaving some faint memory behind. 
 
 There is always something sacred in 
 the first yearning of a man for his Eden. 
 It seems such an easy happiness to attain 
 — ^just a common kind of bliss that only 
 
192 OODIVA durleigh: 
 
 needs a little nook to contain it — just a 
 nest where two may sing the old song 
 together, and be alone with their joy. 
 Ah, if one could only build that nest as 
 the swallows build theirs, with little bits 
 of stick and clay, how soon one could 
 make a home ! But poor human lovers 
 must needs encumber themselves with 
 bricks and mortar, tables and chairs, 
 before they can begin that sweet wedded 
 life which they pine for. There are too 
 many ^^ social wants that sin against the 
 strength of youth." 
 
 I wonder whether we should hear less 
 about marriage as a failure if two persons 
 who fancy each other could fly straight 
 away together to the nearest parson, and 
 be tied up without any fuss ? While the 
 settlements are drawn out, and the house 
 is being furnished, and the trousseau 
 made, there is time for the dew to dry. 
 
SIMPLE WAYS TO BLESS. 193 
 
 Love, like a field - flower, should be 
 gathered in the first freshness of its 
 morning. I once heard a man say, with 
 evident sincerity, that it was an easy 
 thing to fall in love, and a difficult 
 thing to get married. 
 
 But on the other hand there are those 
 who warn us against '^ raw haste," and 
 speak of the slow sweet growth of an 
 affection that strikes its roots deep into 
 the soil of life. They tell us that 
 ''patience must have her perfect work " 
 before the reality of love is duly proved. 
 All the voices have reason in them ; but 
 their tones clash sometimes, and leave 
 us, too often, with the confused din of 
 many doubts murmuring in our ears. 
 
 With Godiva near, Kex was floated 
 along by waves of pleasant sensation 
 which made life easy. There were no 
 wild heart-throbs, no passionate desires: 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
194 GOD IV A DURLEIQH. 
 
 but a calm satisfaction deepened with 
 every hour of their intercourse. The 
 light faded slowly ; Miss Charlotte sat by 
 the window, and silently repeated scraps 
 of sentimental poetry to herself. Miss 
 Henrietta, growing sleepy, was lulled by 
 a gentle sound of young voices, and 
 closed her eyes in peace. 
 
 ^^ Good night," said Eex, with a linger- 
 ing hand-clasp. *^ This has been a per- 
 fect day. I shall go back to Barnard's 
 Inn with May perfumes lingering about 
 me. Won't you ask your father to spare 
 you for another Sunday, Miss Durleigh ? " 
 
 *' No ; I can't ask him that." Godiva's 
 cheeks flushed faintly. ** He would miss 
 me so — all the more because he wouldn't 
 say a word." 
 
 " But his mind is always full of plans. 
 Do you think he has leisure to miss any 
 one ? " 
 
SIMPLE WAYS TO BLESS. 195 
 
 Her face had been slightly averted, but 
 now she turned it towards him. 
 
 ^'Nothing ever makes him forget me,'' 
 she answered confidently. *^ If I am not 
 near he is always conscious of a sense 
 of loss, although he doesn't talk of it. 
 Aunt Susanna is good, but she can't fill 
 my place." 
 
 ^* That I can believe," he said, with an 
 intent look. 
 
 The girl went away to her room, un- 
 able to understand her own unreasonable 
 happiness. What reason was there for 
 this strange delight in life ? She had 
 spent a happy time with a new friend 
 who seemed to Hke her, that was all. 
 At twenty Godiva was more ignorant 
 than most girls ; she had never had a 
 lover. 
 
 One or two leading novelists had come 
 to see her father sometimes; and she 
 
196 OODIVA DUBLEIGM. 
 
 had read love-scenes, written by these 
 very men, which had thrilled her from 
 head to foot. But the men themselves 
 had seemed to her to be the most prosaic 
 creatures in existence. They created 
 heroes; they idealized men and women, 
 and presented them to the reader as 
 human beings touched with divine light. 
 The creations were exquisite, but the 
 creator was of the earth, earthy to the 
 last degree. This was Godiva's estimate 
 of her father's friends ; but Morris liked 
 the genial, hearty men, and found help 
 and comfort in their frank sympathy. 
 
 As she sat that night in her room, and 
 looked out through a frame of leaves into 
 the bright moonlight, she felt that one of 
 her dreamed-of men had stepped out of a 
 novel, and stood in flesh and blood beside 
 her. Eex was so heroic, she thought. 
 All his gentleness to his two aunts, all 
 
SIMPLE WAYS TO BLESS. 197 
 
 his grave courtesy to herself, rose up 
 before her mind and strengthened the 
 spell of fascination. For a little while 
 even her father was forgotten. Leaves 
 quivered and rustled in the low breeze ; 
 clouds drifted near the moon and caught 
 her silver light ; flowers sent up their 
 faint, sweet breath; and Godiva leant 
 out, dreaming, into the night air. 
 
 Monday morning dawned, a sweet rain- 
 washed morning, and Eex, when he came 
 downstairs, found Godiva alone in the 
 breakfast-room. 
 
 *' I am to see that you have a good 
 breakfast," she said. ** Miss Henrietta 
 feels a little shattered, and Miss Char- 
 lotte is waiting upon her upstairs. The 
 kindest thing you can do this morning is 
 to be hungry. If you are not hungry 
 they will lay the blame of your bad 
 appetite on me." 
 
198 GOD IV A jDURLEIGB. 
 
 " You shan't be blamed for any sins of 
 mine," he answered, watching her stead- 
 fastly as she' took a seat at the table, and 
 poured out his coffee. 
 
 The morning light, which visited the 
 back of the house, made its way into the 
 cosy room through a maze of tendrils 
 and ivy leaves that cast light shadows 
 on Godiva's gown. She did not eat 
 much, and rarely looked up without 
 meeting his eyes. 
 
 Eex was not accustomed to receive the 
 little housewifely attentions of a young 
 woman, and this experience was new and 
 strange and very sweet. His mother 
 had died in his childhood, he had never 
 had a sister, at the rectory his grand- 
 father had always presided at meals ; and 
 his life at Barnard's Inn had only been 
 varied by his visits to Garden Lodge. 
 To find himself sitting alone with a 
 
SIMPLE WATS TO BLESS. 190 
 
 girl, accepting pretty little services from 
 her hands, was something pleasant and 
 bewildering. 
 
 The oddest part of the matter was its 
 perfect naturalness ; it was as if his past 
 life had been a dream, and he had sud- 
 denly awakened to a happy reality. It 
 seemed as if they two ought to have 
 been sitting at one table for years, and 
 should be looking forward to sitting so 
 together till the end of their days. 
 
 All the trivial words they spoke were 
 invested with a curious importance ; com- 
 mon things became significant ; Char- 
 lotte's robin, hopping on the window-sill, 
 was felt to be a sharer of their joy, and 
 a harbinger of good. Henrietta's cat, 
 trained to affect a total disregard of 
 birds, came purring round them so loudly 
 that the sleepy contented sound filled 
 up every pause in the talk. These living 
 
200 OODIVA BURLEIGH. 
 
 soulless creatures seemed to divine their 
 happiness, and be glad of it in a fashion 
 of their own. 
 
 ^* I shall find my way to Buckingham 
 Street/' he said, when they were parting. 
 ** You are going back soon ? '* 
 
 *VTo-morrow," she replied. 
 
 *' Going back to all the delights of the 
 Strand, and your dear old Water-gate ! 
 Well, I shall come and try to discover 
 the attractions of that part for myself, if 
 you will let me.'' 
 
 ^* Yes," she answered, ^' I will let you 
 
 come.'* 
 
( 201 ) 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 "l HAVE FINISHED MY COUKSE.'* 
 
 The cool sweetness of May gave place 
 to a hot June, and Rex, when he went 
 to see the Durleighs, always wondered 
 how any one could spend a summer in 
 the Strand. Yet Godiva, with her gentle 
 enthusiasm about the nooks and by-ways 
 of the place, almost overcame his dislike 
 to her surroundings. And Morris, with 
 his intense eagerness, his manifold plans 
 and aspirations, awakened the young 
 man's warmest sympathies. 
 
 Godiva had the art of dressing well, 
 but she had very little money to spend 
 
202 GODIVA BURLEIGH. 
 
 on her gowns. Sometimes when she had 
 made up her mind to have a new costume 
 there was a case of pressing need; a 
 child was destitute and must be clothed 
 and fed; and at the mere suggestion of 
 distress she forgot her own small wants 
 and flew to the help of the needy. It 
 seemed to her the most natural thing in 
 the world to care for the children of the 
 poor. 
 
 '* There is so little that one can do for 
 grown-up people," Morris used to say. 
 **But there is everything to be done for 
 the children. If we have any hope of a 
 better future for humanity it must come 
 through them. It is to them that we 
 must look for our harvest — ^ the harvest- 
 time of love.' " 
 
 *'You must have long patience if you 
 wait till that harvest comes. It won't 
 be in your life," said Kex thoughtfully. 
 
"7 HAVE FINISHED MY COURSE:' 203 
 
 ** No," Morris answered ; *' I have 
 never dreamt of being more than a sower 
 of seed. But I have always felt that 
 even this is worth living for." 
 
 ** Yet a sower's is a kind of unfinished, 
 disappointing life," Eex said. '^ I could 
 not stand it." 
 
 ^'I used to think so," Morris spoke in 
 a very quiet voice ; *' but now I am sure 
 that we must live as close to our ideal 
 life as we can if we would escape the 
 worst kind of disappointment. To some 
 of us, perhaps, there is a sweetness in the 
 sense of failure ; it is a promise that God 
 will complete the work that we cannot 
 finish. Victor Hugo has said that suc- 
 cess is a hideous thing. I will not go as 
 far as that, yet there is truth in the harsh 
 saying." 
 
 There was a silence. Eex remembered 
 afterwards how quickly the last of the 
 
204 OODIVA BURLEIQE. 
 
 summer day seemed to fade that evening. 
 Then Morris spoke again. 
 
 '^Perhaps at the very last the work 
 may not look as unfinished as it does 
 now. We may even have a sense of 
 completeness given us at the end. St. 
 Paul must have had to leave many things 
 undone, and yet he could say at the 
 close, ' I have fought a good fight, I 
 have finished my course, I have kept the 
 faith.' " 
 
 A few seconds of intense quietness fol- 
 lowed these words. Then Godiva stirred 
 with a little quick breath, and Morris 
 rose from his seat. 
 
 ** Father," she pleaded, *^ don't go out 
 again this evening; it is growing quite 
 late. Why not take some rest ? You 
 have been working so hard ! " 
 
 *^ I must go," he answered. '* I 
 promised to see Lizzy Hammond at half* 
 
"7 HAVE flNISEED MY COURSES 205 
 
 past nine. At that time the man will be 
 out of the way, and there will be a chance 
 of peace. She says that she must hear 
 something of her child or go mad ; and 
 she wants to talk to me about little Ted." 
 
 '' Shall you send little Ted to the 
 Kefuge, too ? " Godiva asked. 
 
 '^He is almost too old; but something 
 must be done. Drink has turned Ham- 
 mond into a perfect fiend. Poor Lizzy is 
 pining after her baby girl." 
 
 *' Then the baby is taken from her ? " 
 said Eex. 
 
 *^Yes; she gave it to us just to save 
 its life. Hammond would have dashed 
 its brains out if it had been left in its 
 mother's care. Poor Lizz}^ is pining 
 after the little thing. Poor Lizzy ! she 
 was a mother at sixteen, and she is but a 
 girl still." 
 
 So Morris turned to go his way. But 
 
20(> OODIVA DURLEIQH. 
 
 before he could reach the door Godiva 
 sprang after him. 
 
 ^* Kiss me, father/' she cried, Hfting up 
 her face to his. 
 
 He gazed at her steadily for an instant, 
 as if he were plunged in deep thought. 
 Then his eyes brightened, although he 
 looked aged and worn. 
 
 *• My dear," he said, '^ my only dear 
 child ! " He drew her into his arms, and 
 kissed her tenderly. The door closed, 
 and she came slowly back to the parlour, 
 where Eex was sitting in the lamplight. 
 She sat down opposite to him, and, rest- 
 ing her elbows on the table, dropped her 
 forehead upon her hands. 
 
 *'I am afraid you are very tired," he 
 said gently. '^ It has been a hot day; 
 the weather is exhausting, and you need 
 change and fresh air." 
 
 She looked up quickly with a faint smile. 
 
"/ HAVE FINISHED MY QOURSEr 207 
 
 *' No," she answered ; '' not exactly- 
 tired, but burdened with a weight of 
 feeling. When father carries such a 
 heavy load some of it must rest on me." 
 
 ''It is too much for him and for you," 
 Eex exclaimed. 
 
 "But I would not have it otherwise," 
 she said in a low sweet voice. " We 
 understand each other — father and I." 
 
 Eex made a slight movement of im- 
 patience, but instantly grew quiet again. 
 
 " I have wondered sometimes whether 
 you have any young relatives? " he said 
 after a pause. " Girls of your own age, 
 you know. It would be nice to get out 
 of London and stay with them for a little 
 while, wouldn't it ? " 
 
 "Oh no; I shouldn't like it at all! " 
 she replied. " I have some first cousins 
 — three girls. They are the daughters of 
 father's only brother, a lawyer, who lives 
 
208 OODIVA BURLEIGH, 
 
 in Silversea. My father was to have 
 been a lawyer, but he gave up the 
 idea." 
 
 " Have you ever seen those cousins ? " 
 Kex asked. 
 
 ^^ Only once." Godiva laughed a little, 
 and pretended to shudder. ** They were 
 staying at the Langham Hotel, and I 
 called on them. I dare say the interview 
 was as unpleasant to them as to me. 
 We tried to make conversation and 
 utterly failed. Disapproval was written 
 in every line of their faces." 
 
 *'But why should they disapprove of 
 you ? " Kex inquired. 
 
 ''Because I am father's daughter." 
 She flushed as she spoke. '' They are 
 ashamed of being connected with him ; 
 they hate his opinions, and they don't 
 see the beauty of his life." 
 
 ''Perhaps if they knew you better," 
 
"/ EAVE FINISHED MY COUBSE." 209 
 
 suggested Kex, '^ they would learn to 
 love him for your sake." 
 
 Her tender heart beat with a quick 
 delight, but she answered firmly — 
 
 '^ That wouldn't satisfy me. They 
 must learn to love him for his own sake, 
 and learn to realize all the good that he 
 is doing, before I can be their friend." 
 
 *' You are wonderfully loyal," he said. 
 
 ^^ Is loyalty an uncommon quality?" 
 she asked. *^I think not. Disloyalty 
 seems to me to be much more difficult 
 than loyalty." 
 
 Their talk drifted away, after a time, 
 from the theme of Godiva's cousins. 
 Kex saw that she did not care to speak 
 of them, and found that she really had 
 very little knowledge of them. Then 
 they chatted about the books they had 
 read, the pictures they had seen, the 
 poems that lingered longest in their 
 
 VOL. I. p 
 
210 OODIVA DURLEIQH. 
 
 memories. At last the clock struck ten ; 
 and Aunt Susanna, who had been busy 
 elsewhere, came suddenly into the room. 
 As she entered Eex got up to go. 
 
 ** I have stayed an unconscionable 
 time," he said. 
 
 " No," she answered ; '* I am glad you 
 have stayed, Mr. Longworthy. It would 
 have been lonely for Godiva if you hadn't 
 been here. I thought Mr. Durleigh 
 would have come home earlier." 
 
 ^'I wish he would come!" Godiva 
 exclaimed. *' Hark ! " 
 
 There was a rattle of wheels in the 
 narrow street, and a cab stopped at the 
 door. 
 
 Eex never knew why he was suddenly 
 possessed with the conviction that some- 
 thing had happened; yet it was certain 
 that as he stood in the little parlour, 
 looking steadfastly into Godiva's eager 
 
"/ HAVE FINISHED MY COURSE:' 211 
 
 face, lie was bracing himself to meet a 
 coming shock. 
 
 Miss Hay ward went to the hall- door 
 and opened it, and Eex stood looking 
 into the entry over Godiva's head. He 
 saw the elder woman start and put her 
 hand up to her forehead ; and then, w^ith 
 a very gentle movement, he swept Godiva 
 aside. 
 
 *^ Some one is hurt," said Aunt Susanna 
 in a terrified whisper. 
 
 They were bringing Morris Durleigh 
 back to the house he had left scarcely 
 two hours ago, and they carried him 
 gently across the threshold. Eex helped 
 to support the helpless figure in his 
 strong young arms, and laid him down 
 tenderly on the sofa. The men who had 
 brought him were rough fellows w^ho 
 knew him, and knew also where he lived. 
 It had all happened close by, in one of 
 
212 GODIVA DURLEIGE. 
 
 those dark alleys which teem with life 
 and its mysteries of suffering and sin. 
 And it was Hammond who had struck the 
 blow — mad Hammond, drunken Ham- 
 mond ! — whose baby Morris Durleigh had 
 rescued from destruction. 
 
 So this follower of the Good Shepherd 
 had given his life for the sheep, as his 
 Master had done before him. 
 
 They thought at first that he might 
 be spared to them ; but the doctor, who 
 came at Kex's summons, saw that there 
 was no hope. He rcTived once, and once 
 only, and recognized his daughter's face 
 bending over him. 
 
 **I have saved some of the people's 
 children," he said in a faint voice. ^' I 
 leave my child to God." 
 
 They did not move him from the couch 
 where he had often lain in his brief 
 intervals of rest. There was only a short 
 
period of pain and delirium, and then the 
 perfect quietness of eternal peace. 
 
 Thus died in the prime of manhood, 
 and by a violent death, a man whose 
 whole life had been laid as a sacrifice 
 upon the altar of humanity. He had 
 trodden a rough path, made rougher than 
 it need have been by his own blunders, 
 but planted nevertheless with sweeter 
 flowers than ever grow in the world's 
 common way. He had loved God's 
 whispered ^^ Well done " better than 
 men's shouts of acclamation ; and he 
 had learnt that the essence of Christ's 
 meaning is found in many warring 
 sects, and His love in many hearts 
 whose creeds are always clashing against 
 each other. 
 
 Some days afterwards, when those who 
 had loved him were turning over his 
 papers, they came upon certain words 
 
214 GODIVA DUBLEIGE. 
 
 written when he had undertaken the 
 editorship of the unsuccessful journal : — 
 ^* My duty as an Editor will be to 
 know all men, to use everything, and to 
 fear nothing — that is the ideal. To help 
 all good causes, to smite with the 
 thunderbolt of God all baseness, false- 
 hood, devilishness ; to add fresh hope 
 to every good man or woman working 
 in every good cause, to be the dread of 
 every evil-doer. I ought to reproduce 
 in my paper the ideal of a God : the 
 helper of those who have no helper, the 
 hope of the oppressed, the cloudy pillar 
 by day, the^fiery cloud by night. I ought 
 to be the revealer of the secrets of God, 
 the director of the steps of His people, 
 the centre of a beneficent influence flow- 
 ing out over the whole world. A real 
 paper ought to be the strengthener of 
 all good tendencies ; a bulwark against 
 encroaching wrong ; the enlightener of 
 
"7 HAVE FINISHED MT COURSE:' 215 
 
 all men as to the good in their neigh- 
 bours, and as to the wrongs which remain 
 unremoved ; the great tribune of the 
 poor, the conscience of the rich ; the 
 brooding influence which will quicken 
 into activity all good aspirations and 
 spur into unrest all lethargic souls; the 
 constant presentation of a sublime ideal, 
 side by side with an intensely practical 
 guidance as to every immediate step to 
 be taken towards its attainment ; a 
 medium of intercommunication between 
 all departments of human activity ; a 
 source of consolation and inspiration to 
 all the better longings of the human heart. 
 In short, I ought to make my paper like 
 Longfellow's * Universal Church '— 
 
 * As lofty as the love of God, 
 And wide as the wants of man.' 
 
 *' To that I am called. ... I may do 
 none of these things. Others may be 
 
216 GODIFA DUB LEIGH. 
 
 called to do the work which I see needs 
 to be done. So be it. I am well con- 
 tent, so the work be done. But who 
 can hear the wail of misery that runs 
 ceaselessly from the great aching heart 
 of man ! Who can see the frightful seeth- 
 ing gulf of wretchedness, the sulphurous 
 hell in which whole generations welter, 
 without wishing to multiply a thousand- 
 fold the agencies by which their fires 
 can be quenched, and their feet planted 
 on the rock; that, in short, Thy king- 
 dom may come on earth even as in 
 heaven, without crying, ' Here am I ; 
 send me ! ' And I believe that God has 
 called me and anointed me unto this 
 mission. And I shall be not only a 
 centre of lifei and love and power in my 
 own paper, but the whole ideal of news- 
 papers will be so raised that my own 
 paper will be but as one among many, 
 I am content if it be done by others." 
 
( 217 ) 
 
 CHAPTEE XII. 
 
 DAYS OF HEALING. 
 
 The cruel blow that had fallen upon 
 Godiva leffc her prostrate for many weary 
 days. While she lay, half-stupefied with 
 grief, in her little room at the top of the 
 house, she knew very little of what was 
 going on downstairs. The doctor said 
 she had narrowly escaped a nervous 
 fever, and insisted on perfect quietness. 
 
 The trial most dreaded by her friends 
 was the day of her coming down into 
 the w^orld again — that world in which 
 there was such a terrible void now. 
 
 Aunt Susanna and Charlotte Kemple 
 
218 GO DIVA BURLEIGH, 
 
 had devised a plan for her good, and Eex 
 was at hand to help them in carrying 
 out their scheme. 
 
 The summer evening was soft and 
 bright when they brought her down. 
 Eex was standing, tall and straight, at 
 the foot of the stairs, and a cab was 
 waiting at the open door. She looked 
 up languidly into his face, and said that 
 Aunty was going to take her for a drive. 
 
 '^Miss Hay ward is not going," Eex 
 answered, taking the slender little hand 
 and drawing it through his arm. *^ You 
 must trust yourself to Aunt Charlotte 
 and me. Godiva, everything is arranged, 
 and you are to stay at Eichmond till you 
 get strong." 
 
 ^' Oh no ; let me stay here," she 
 pleaded feebly. *^ There is so much to 
 think of; so many things to be done." 
 
 ** But you are not fit to do anything 
 
DAYS OF HEALING. 219 
 
 yet," said Eex, with gentle firmness. 
 *^ Trust to us, Godiva ; we will manage 
 better for you than you can for yourself." 
 
 He led her out of the familiar door, 
 and, half lifting her into the cab, placed 
 her by Miss Charlotte's side. Then he 
 gave a quick direction to the driver, and 
 got in after her. 
 
 Godiva saw nothing during that short 
 drive to Waterloo Eailway Station. She 
 kept her eyes shut, and the tears forced 
 their way between the closed lids ; yet 
 she was conscious of the clasp of Miss 
 Charlotte's arm, and felt a vague sense 
 of comfort and protection. And then 
 came the little journey to Eichmond, 
 the clear warm tints of the sky at sun- 
 set, the cool green of trees and fields, 
 and the gleam of the shining river. At 
 the door of Garden Lodge stood Joy 
 awaiting her coming. 
 
220 GOD IV A DURLEIGH. 
 
 As the eyes of these two girls met 
 they both remembered their first meeting 
 on a winter day gone by. Then it was 
 Godiva who had stood, fall of gladness, 
 on the threshold to welcome the forlorn 
 wanderer in. Now it was Joy's turn to 
 bind up the broken heart, and strengthen 
 the weak hands held out to her in mute 
 entreaty for help. At this desolate 
 moment of her life no one, perhaps, 
 could have comforted Godiva so well as 
 the woman who owed peace and safety 
 to him who was gone. 
 
 The Kemples wisely left her in Joy's 
 care that night. It was strange to find 
 herself lying in a little bed with white 
 curtains, and feeling the scented breath 
 of the summer night coming softly 
 through the open window. Joy moved 
 about noiselessly, and at last sat down 
 in a chair by the bedside. She sat thus. 
 
DATS OF HEALING. 221 
 
 holding Godiva's hand until the sick girl 
 slept. 
 
 The waking, soon after daybreak, was 
 bewildering. Godiva's head was still 
 weak from recent illness, and she col- 
 lected her thoughts slowly ; yet, by-and- 
 by, lying in her white nest, she tasted 
 the sweetness of being away from the 
 scene of her sorrow. 
 
 The room in which she lay had a 
 charming quaintness which pleased her 
 eyes, and carried her mind off into a far- 
 away past which did not belong to her 
 own life. The looking-glass, in its carved 
 frame, stood on a slender-legged table 
 in company with a large pin-cushion, 
 which looked as if it had been whipped 
 up into a foam of muslin frills. In a 
 corner there was a triangular washing- 
 stand with an enchanting ewer and basin 
 of straw-coloured china. The pitcher 
 
222 GOD IV A DURLEIGH. 
 
 was high, and wrought all over with a 
 basket-work pattern ; and spout and 
 handle were composed of roses, massed 
 together with green leaves. The basin, 
 shallow and broad, had a garland of roses 
 all round the brim. Miss Charlotte had 
 remembered how her own eyes had been 
 gladdened, in her youth, by this gay 
 ware, and she had got out the things 
 and set them in Godiva's room. Godiva 
 was fanciful, she said, and would like to 
 imagine that the water smelt of the roses. 
 Other roses, short-lived but far sweeter, 
 were brought to her bedside in the early 
 morning. They made their appearance 
 with Joy and a cup of cocoa. 
 
 '' Mr. Longworthy gathered them for 
 you, miss," said Joy, putting them down 
 gently on the coverlet. *' He was out 
 in the garden before breakfast with Miss 
 Charlotte's 'best scissors." 
 
DAYS OF HEALING. 223 
 
 ** The poor scissors ! " Godiva mur- 
 mured. 
 
 ^^ Yes, miss ; he took them out of her 
 work-basket without leave. He wanted 
 you to have the flowers as soon as you 
 were awake. You know, miss, he had 
 to go off early to business." 
 
 *'He is very kind." Godiva bent her 
 pale face over the roses, and Joy watched 
 her with quiet satisfaction. ^' I suppose 
 he won't come back this evening ? " 
 
 " No, miss, not till Saturday. But 
 this is Thursday." There was a great 
 deal of meaning conveyed in those four 
 simple words. Joy wanted Godiva to 
 feel that only to-day and to-morrow stood 
 between Kex's next visit to Garden 
 Lodge ; and Godiva, crushed and shat- 
 tered as she was, had enough vitality 
 left in her to thrill with gladness. 
 
 She was young, and she and Kex had 
 
224 GODIVA DURLEIGH. 
 
 glided swiftly and easily into that close 
 intimacy which, between two young 
 people, is the beginning of union. He 
 had known and valued her father; he 
 had stood by when Morris Durleigh drew 
 his last breath. In Godiva's heart Eex 
 was glorified by the solemn light of that 
 great sorrow ; she could not think of her 
 grief without a thought of him. 
 
 The man who appears at any great 
 crisis of a woman's life is sure to influence 
 her afterwards. Eex had supported her 
 in her hour of anguish ; he had been 
 calm and strong when others had lost 
 courage ; he seemed to possess all the 
 attributes of a true hero. And there was 
 a rare gentleness combined with his 
 strength, and a tender consideration for 
 her tastes and likings — else why had this 
 bunch of roses found its way to her 
 bedside ? 
 
DATS OF SEALING, 225 
 
 When she came downstairs, looking 
 very frail and white, there was a cheer- 
 fulness in her face which the Kemples 
 had hardly expected to see. They 
 plucked up spirit enough to tell her that 
 a dressmaker was coming to make her 
 some black gowns, and Godiva owned 
 sadly that she had felt too ill to think 
 about mourning. 
 
 ** Your aunt left the matter to us, my 
 dear," said Henrietta, gently. *' We shall 
 give you as little trouble as possible. 
 But you must have good clothes, nicely 
 made. A girl cannot be too particular 
 on that point." 
 
 ^' Oh, it doesn't matter how the things 
 are made ! " Godiva sighed. 
 
 *^ Excuse me, my dear, but it does 
 matter." Miss Henrietta was mild, but 
 positive. **You do not know where you 
 will have to wear your clothes ; you may 
 
 VOL. I. Q 
 
226 GOD IV A BURLEIGH, 
 
 be going to new scenes, among new 
 l)eople, and you must make a good im- 
 pression." 
 
 ** New scenes ? " repeated Godiva, 
 wearily. ** When I leave Garden Lodge 
 I am going back to Buckingham Street. 
 Dear Miss Henrietta, there will be 
 nothing new there, excepting — excepting 
 the vacant place that will never be filled 
 up in this world ! " 
 
 Miss Charlotte got up, with tears 
 twinkling in her sharp hazel eyes, and 
 overturned a little table. Miss Henrietta 
 was going to cry too, but when she saw the 
 table fall she mildly reproved her sister. 
 
 '^ You are so impetuous, dear Char- 
 lotte," she said. ^* My poor nerves ! " 
 
 Charlotte set the table on its 
 ' treacherous little legs with an angry 
 jerk. Why should a weakly bit of furni- 
 ture come betwixt herself and her emo- 
 
BATS OF SEALING . 22 T 
 
 tions ? Why should they concern 
 themselves with this senseless thing 
 when a human being was on the verge 
 of heart-break? But Henrietta, she re- 
 flected, would worry over a dropped 
 stitch in her knitting while heaven and 
 earth were passing away around her. 
 Henrietta would fret about a spot on her 
 gown if the solid ground were crumbling 
 to pieces beneath her feet. 
 
 Poor Go diva, undisturbed by the fall 
 of the table, was crying quietl}^, and 
 vaguely wondering why they were so 
 fussy about her mourning ? And then a 
 swift flash of remembrance warmed her 
 pale cheeks. Eex was one of those men 
 who know what women wear, and can 
 tell when they are well dressed. Perhaps 
 the aunts — good creatures — were study- 
 ing Kex's taste, and thinking how to 
 please him. 
 
228 GO DIVA DURLEIGH. 
 
 She did not in the least suspect that 
 they had something to say to her, and 
 did not know how to say it. Once 
 Henrietta began in a feeble way — 
 
 ** It was a pity you could not see your 
 uncle Hugh, my dear." 
 
 '^ Uncle Hugh ? " Godiva had almost 
 forgotten his existence. *' Oh yes ; he 
 came to the — the funeral ; but I was 
 upstairs, and hardly knew that he was 
 in the house. Aunt Susanna said he 
 was very nice and kind." 
 
 *' Oh, very nice and kind," repeated 
 Henrietta with unusual animation. ^' My 
 brother has heard him exceedingly well 
 spoken of. And Joseph's opinion may be 
 safely relied upon." 
 
 '^ Yes, he was always grateful to my 
 father," said Godiva, trying to take an 
 interest in the subject, and say something 
 kind about the relative of whom she knew 
 
BAYS OF HEALING. 229 
 
 SO little. '* He has never forgotten that 
 my father lent him money when he 
 wanted it very badly in the beginning 
 of his business life. It was nice in Uncle 
 Hugh not to forget the benefit, but I 
 know his wife and daughters were angry 
 that it should be remembered.*' 
 
 *^ My dear child, you must endeavour 
 to encourage a charitable spirit," re- 
 marked Miss Henrietta, softly patting 
 the girl's shoulder with her dehcate 
 mittened hand. ^* I am sure your cousins 
 are very kindly disposed towards you. 
 Miss Hayward said that they sent mes- 
 sages of sympathy which you were too 
 ill to receive. You know, my love, that 
 young people easily become friends ; you 
 will learn to like your relations when 
 you know them better.'* 
 
 *^ But I shall never know them better." 
 Godiva looked at her with a sad wonder. 
 
230 OODIVA BURLEIGH, 
 
 '' Of course I shall always be poor, and 
 they are rich ; their mother had a good 
 deal of money, I believe, and Uncle 
 Hugh has prospered. It is not likely 
 that they will have anything to do with 
 me." 
 
 Miss Henrietta's dove-like eyes ap- 
 pealed to her sister. But Charlotte saw 
 that the time for making a certain reve- 
 lation had not yet come. She got up a 
 little fuss, declared that Godiva must be 
 ready for beef-tea, suggested that she 
 should sit in the garden in the afternoon 
 sun, and wondered whether Eex would 
 bring the Japanese umbrella which was 
 to be fixed on the garden chair. Nothing 
 more was said about the Durleighs at 
 Bilversea till the old ladies were alone at 
 night. 
 
 ** How are we ever to tell her? " in- 
 quired .'^Henrietta, in a tone of gentle 
 
BAYS OF HEALING, '231 ; 
 
 despair. '' I had no idea it would be so \ 
 
 difficult ! " ■ 
 
 ^* We have both tried and failed," said ] 
 
 Charlotte, ** and we won't try any more. \ 
 
 Eex must do it." ; 
 
232 GODIVA DVRLEIOIL 
 
 CHAPTEK XIII. 
 
 "WHAT KEX HAD TO SAY. 
 
 Sunday afternoon had come round again, 
 and Kex and Godiva were sitting under 
 the cedar in the old garden. He was 
 looking at her as she sat propped up 
 with cushions in a large cane chair, and 
 thinking what a slender thing she was, 
 and how impossible it would be for a 
 fragile girl to fight the battle of life. 
 
 But there was not any need for her to 
 fight ; fate was kind, and a comfortable 
 home had opened its doors to receive her. 
 There she might dwell in peace, and lay 
 up stores of knowledge and experience, 
 
WEAT BEX HAD TO SAT. 233 
 
 until Here Eex pulled himself up 
 
 short, and smiled. He was very young, 
 and was not quite certain that he had 
 found his ideal woman ; yet there were 
 not many doubts to trouble his mind. 
 
 But now he had to say something to 
 Godiva which would not please her at 
 all; the aunts had tried to say it and 
 failed, and had left the task on his hands. 
 He was not unwilling to undertake that 
 task, although it was certainly a painful 
 one. If she was to suffer, it was better 
 for him to inflict the suffering than for 
 any one else to do it. He understood 
 the art of healing as others did not. 
 He was sure of his own power to still 
 her quivering nerves, and represent the 
 future in bright colours to her sad eyes. 
 Dear little Godiva — as he looked at her 
 his heart gave a quick throb of tender- 
 ness. 
 
234 OODIVA DURLEIQB. 
 
 *' If one could but take her away from 
 all her troubles! " he mused; and then 
 she turned and met his gaze. 
 
 '^ Don't be vexed with me if I am 
 stupid to-day," she said, with a wistful 
 smile. ^* It is so beautifully calm here, 
 that one sits and watches the lights and 
 shadows in silence." 
 
 *' Do you call it stupid to be silent," he 
 asked. *' I wish some people thought it 
 stupid to talk, and then we should have 
 a little more peace in a noisy world. 
 No, Godiva; it does me good to see you 
 at rest." 
 
 ^' The rest won't last very long, I'm 
 afraid." She sighed slightly. ''Eex, I 
 must think about finding something to 
 do, as soon as I get well." 
 
 ** Oh, you are not to think about that," 
 he answered. ^* And you are a long way 
 from being well yet ; there are a good 
 
WBAT BEX BAD TO SAY. 235 
 
 many weeks of comfortable invalidism 
 before you." 
 
 '*No, no." She shook her head with 
 a quiet air of resolution. " It isn't good 
 for me to be petted and made lazy ; I 
 shall get so used to this sunny paradise 
 that it will be all the harder to face a 
 bleak world. Don't tempt me to stay 
 here too long." 
 
 Eex smiled. He was heartily glad at 
 that moment that there was to be no 
 facing a bleak world for her. But he 
 knew that she would not receive the 
 announcement of her good fortune with 
 any delight. 
 
 She had sunk back upon the cushions 
 again, and was looking languidly at the 
 golden lights slipping through twisted 
 boughs upon turf and gravel. There was 
 a sleepy droning of bees ; tall lilies stood 
 up, white and pure as angel sentinels 
 
236 OODIVA DURLEIGH, 
 
 guarding a sacred Eden ; marigolds 
 burned here and there like amber stars. 
 Godiva gazed at everything with thought- 
 ful grey eyes ; and Kex, swinging a bit 
 of stick with an affectation of careless- 
 ness, was studying her face intently. 
 
 '^ You want a complete change, 
 Godiva," he said at last. *^ It is good 
 for us all to be taken out of an old groove 
 and set in a new. If our positions in the 
 world were fixed and unalterable how 
 terrible life would be ! " 
 
 ** Perhaps it would," she murmured. 
 '* And yet — who doesn't know the agony 
 of change? " 
 
 " My dear child, it is very natural that 
 you should find sadness in everything 
 just now. Godiva, I wish I could bear 
 your sorrow for you ; but I cannot. I 
 can only tell you that I understand what 
 you feel. Oh, poor child, surely there 
 
WHAT REX HAD TO SAY. 237 
 
 can't be much more suffering reserved 
 for you ! Your bright days are coming 
 fast." 
 
 She turned to him with eyes full of 
 earnest gratitude, confident in her young 
 trustfulness, that he was a prophet, fore- 
 telling certain bliss. He met her glance 
 frankly and tenderly, for he had spoken 
 in all sincerity ; and yet if he could have 
 looked into the future he would have 
 seen that her bright days were still far 
 off, and that some of her darkest hours 
 would come through him. 
 
 *' Yes, you must believe in the happy 
 times that are drawing near, even if 
 they don't seem happy just at first," 
 he went on. ^^ Godiva, haven't you 
 had enough of streets and houses and 
 smoke ? Shouldn't you like to live by 
 the sea?" 
 
 ** The sea? I have never thought 
 
238 GODIVA DURLEIGE. 
 
 about it," she replied, with a puzzled 
 look. ** You know that my only home 
 is wdth Aunt Susanna." 
 
 ^' But another home is open to you," 
 he said impressively, *' and it was your 
 father's wish that you should go and 
 live in it. Godiva, I see that you don't 
 understand. He did not hint to you that 
 he desired you to live at Silversea ? " 
 
 ^'At Silversea? No, Eex," she fal- 
 tered, growing very pale. *' I never 
 heard him speak of such a thing." 
 
 **But he thought of it and spoke of 
 it," Eex continued, with quiet earnest- 
 ness. ** And ^just before he was called 
 away from us he had a long talk with 
 his friend Salt erne." 
 
 '' With Mr. Salterne ? " Godiva flushed 
 faintly, and there was a slight touch of 
 scorn in her tone. *' Oh yes, he was 
 always lecturing father and advising him 
 
WHAT BEX HAD TO SAY. 239 
 
 to do good sensible things ! But his 
 words could have had no influence." 
 
 *' They had an influence. Dear Godiva," 
 — he laid his hand softly upon hers — "you 
 must not undervalue a good friend be- 
 cause he is a little prosaic and common- 
 place. I dare say Salterne often bored 
 your father very much, but his counsel 
 was followed after all." 
 
 Godiva had a broad brow, over which 
 the curly hair grew low, and Eex had 
 learnt to watch a slight knitting of the 
 forehead which gave a tender troubled 
 look to the whole face. It was a look 
 which said plainly that she wanted to do 
 right, even if right-doing was a terribly 
 hard thing. After a moment's pause she 
 turned towards him appealingly, and 
 spoke with a sad tremor in her voice. 
 
 *' You have to tell me something," 
 she said. " It has not been told sooner 
 
240' QODIVA DURLEIQE. 
 
 because I wasn't strong enough to bear 
 any agitation. But I see — yes, I do see 
 now — why your aunts have been so 
 particular about my black gowns. Oh, 
 Eex, did father really say that I must 
 go to Silversea? '* 
 
 ** Godiva, you know how I hate to 
 pain you," he began, still keeping his 
 hand on hers. *^ Only I feel that the 
 thing which looks like a trouble will 
 prove to be a blessing. Now I must 
 speak plainly, and you will try to believe 
 that all is arranged for the best. As I 
 was saying just now, John Salterne's 
 words had an influence, and your father 
 wrote to your uncle, and said " 
 
 '^Yes, Eex?" 
 
 ** Said that if ever you were left an 
 orphan he wished his brother to take" 
 your father's place. And Hugh Durleigh 
 readily promised to do this.. He is more 
 
WHAT REX HAD TO SAY. 241 
 
 than willing, Godiva, to fulfil that 
 promise now." 
 
 She leaned forward a little, and tried 
 to draw her hand from his clasp ; but he 
 would not let it go. Slight as she looked, 
 there was such an intensity of deter- 
 mination in her face that its expression 
 startled him. 
 
 **Kex," she asked suddenly, *^ I have 
 a little money, haven't I ? " 
 
 ** Yes," he said with great gentleness. 
 '^ John Salterne is taking care of it for 
 you, and the interest which you are to 
 receive will suffice to pay for your dress 
 when you live with your uncle. You 
 must not think that you will depend on 
 him for everything." 
 
 A change had taken place in her 
 manner ; the nervous wistfulness was 
 gone. There was a sort of deadly still- 
 ness about her now which disquieted 
 
 VOL. I. R 
 
242 GODIVA DURLEIOH. 
 
 Kex, and told him that the worst part of 
 the struggle was coming. 
 
 ** I won't go to Silversea," she said. 
 ^^ I will live with Aunt Susanna, and 
 make the money go as far as it can. 
 My attic is good enough for me ; I don't 
 want luxuries and fine clothes. I want 
 to live in the dear old street, and see 
 the great crowds and work among them. 
 I can't give up the People's Garden, and 
 the people " 
 
 She stopped short. Her voice had 
 broken, and she turned her pale face 
 away from Kex. 
 
 He gave her hand an earnest pressure. 
 
 *'Dear Godiva," he said, **I knew it 
 would be hard. But you will have to 
 
 go." 
 
 She drew a long breath, and for a 
 moment they looked into each other's 
 eyes. Hers were wild and miserable. 
 
WHAT BEX HAD TO SAT. 243 
 
 *' Oh, I can't bear it," she cried. 
 '* Kex, I had a plan which I meant to 
 keep a secret. My plan was to write 
 stories. I don't think I am a genius; 
 but father used to say that talent some- 
 times got better paid than genius, and I 
 believe I have a little talent." 
 
 " And I believe you have a great 
 deal," he replied. ** But it will not do 
 to depend upon it. Think of the 
 thousands who try literature and fail ! 
 Your father would not have his daughter 
 exposed to the disappointments of such 
 a life as you dream of. It would not be 
 good for you, poor child ; it would harden 
 you." 
 
 *' Don't you think that it would harden 
 me more to live with uncongenial 
 people ? " she asked bitterly. 
 
 ^^ No/' he answered. *' You may find 
 unexpected sympathies among them. 
 
244 GODIVA DUIiLEIQE, 
 
 Few people are absolutely unendurable. 
 Only we mustn't expect too much; we 
 must not begin by expecting perfect 
 harmony ; it is best even to be prepared 
 for a jarring note or two. But anyhow 
 if we are sensible we can manage to get 
 on." 
 
 *^ Manage to get on ! That is not my 
 idea of living," she said with quiet scorn. 
 " And it was not my father's idea at all. 
 Oh, Eex," the sweet voice trembled 
 with passionate pain, *^ do you think 
 father really meant me to go to Uncle 
 Hugh ? Isn't it a mistake ? " 
 
 *'It is not a mistake; you shall read 
 your father's letter to your uncle," he 
 replied, watching her very closely. 
 ** And, indeed, it will be the best thing 
 for you — the very best thing. You will 
 be thoroughly rested before you go, and 
 then you will see everything in a new 
 
WHAT BEX HAD TO SAY. 245 
 
 light. I dare say my words sound very 
 cold and tarae, poor child; but I am 
 feeling deeply with you." 
 
 ''Yes," she returned, without looking 
 at him, '' I am sure that you do feel. 
 But you are mistaken in saying that I 
 shall ever see this matter in a new light. 
 To me it will always look just as it does 
 now. And father never knew that I did 
 not like the Durleigh girls. Oh, if I 
 could only see him for one moment, and 
 tell him how miserable I am ! " 
 
 She threw up her hands with a quick, 
 despairing gesture that went to Eex's 
 heart. He got up, flung his bit of stick 
 upon the grass, and looked away into 
 space. 
 
 " Listen, Godiva," he said after a 
 brief silence. '* I, too, have had to 
 choose the path I hated to tread. I 
 had to turn my back upon the soldier's 
 
246 GODIVA DUBLEIGH. 
 
 life that I had dreamed of from my 
 childhood. I had to force my mind 
 into a new channel, and learn to be a 
 man of business. Do you think that 
 your case is harder than mine? " 
 
 She did not speak, but looked at him 
 anxiously, waiting to hear more. 
 
 ^^ If I had become a soldier," he went 
 on, ^* I must have borrowed the necessary 
 funds from an old man whose means 
 were not large. I knew he would have 
 helped me at any cost; but I wasn't 
 quite such a cur as to let him do it. 
 And so I just accepted my fate." 
 
 *'And you don't regret your decision?" 
 she asked with suppressed eagerness. 
 
 '^ No ; I should do the same again if 
 it had to be done. Mind, I don't say 
 that I've forgotten the old dream. It 
 looks just as fair as ever, even now. 
 Sometimes I seem to see a ring of 
 
WHAT BEX HAD TO SAY. 247 
 
 friendly faces round the barrack fire ; 
 sometimes I am haunted by the fife and 
 drum ; and the wandering soldier's life, 
 rough and cheery, often strikes me as 
 being the most desirable life in the 
 world." 
 
 *' You did right to give it up," said 
 Godiva. ^* But my case isn't quite the 
 same. I might give all my money to 
 Aunt Susanna, and " 
 
 ^'Forgive me," he broke in, sitting 
 down by her side again, ^' but you girls 
 don't understand money matters. How 
 should you ? Again I say forgive me 
 when I tell you that the interest of your 
 money is not sufficient to cover all your 
 expenses. Dear Godiva, you would not 
 burden Miss Hayward ; she would bear 
 the burden willingly enough, and rejoice 
 under it ; but she is poor." 
 
 She sprang up from her seat among 
 
248 GODIVA BURLEIGH, 
 
 the cushions, and stood before him for 
 the instant a new creature, very fragile, 
 and yet stronger than he had thought it 
 possible she could be, her large grey eyes 
 bright with intense feeling, a spot of 
 colour burning on each pale cheek. 
 
 '^ You need not say another word," 
 she said in a clear sweet voice. *' Oh, 
 how good it is for people to be told a 
 plain downright truth ! And how dense 
 I have been ! Why did I not know 
 everything instinctively, and spare you 
 the pain of speaking out? Eex, I will 
 not trouble any one again with my stupid 
 opposition. I will go to Silversea, and 
 try to be as agreeable and conventional 
 as I can. Let me have time to practise 
 before I depart, because I foresee that I 
 shall require a great deal of polishing ! " 
 
 She ended her speech with a brave 
 little laugh, which was not unmusical, 
 
WHAT REX HAD TO SAT. 249 
 
 although it had not much mirth in it. 
 And then all her fictitious strength 
 suddenly deserted her; the colour died 
 out of her cheeks and the light out of 
 her eyes. 
 
 "I soon get tired now," she said 
 faintly. Eex put his arm round the 
 slight figure and drew it back into its 
 resting-place. 
 
 There was enough to pity in her. She 
 saw pain and tender compassion in the 
 deep blue eyes that looked into hers ; 
 but she did not know how white and 
 worn she was. Only once a sob broke 
 from her as she clung to the cushions 
 in a helpless way like a child. 
 
 '* Oh, Godiva," he said, '^ I wish, with 
 all my heart, that I could have spared 
 you this ! " 
 
 ^'You have been good to me," she 
 answered. ^'You said a hard thing 
 
250 GOD IV A DUBLEIQH. 
 
 softly and kindly. I will do as well as 
 I can. I will try to be all that my 
 father's daughter ought to be. But 
 don't wonder at my weakness now." 
 
 ^'Indeed," he said, ^'I am wondering 
 at your strength." 
 
 For a few seconds there was stillness 
 — such stillness as the rustle of many 
 leaves and the murmur of small winged 
 things only seem to deepen. When 
 Kex spoke again his voice was so low 
 and sweet that it seemed to come from 
 far away. 
 
 *^ Godiva," he said, '^ is there any 
 need for all this terrible suffering ? You 
 feel that you are going into exile ; true, 
 but exile does not always mean perpetual 
 banishment. In a year or two you may 
 come back to us and the life you love 
 best." 
 
 He had said very little ; and yet the 
 
WHAT HEX HAD TO SAY. 251 
 
 words, sweetened by his manner and 
 tone, sounded something like a promise. 
 She was feeling just then so weak and 
 spent that she drank in the tonic almost 
 greedily, and brightened in a moment. 
 
 The afternoon mellowed into misty 
 gold ; velvety shadows rested on the 
 grass, and even the leaves left off 
 whispering and seemed to sleep in the 
 universal calm. Godiva's misery had 
 almost exhausted itself; it might gather 
 new force and come back by-and-by; 
 but just for a little while there was an 
 interval of peace. 
 
 *' Give me one smile," said Eex softly. 
 "It is a poor little smile ; but it will da 
 if you have nothing better. Now, Godiva, 
 don't you think you have exaggerated 
 your troubles ? " 
 
252 GOB IV A DURLEIGE. 
 
 CHAPTEE XIY. 
 
 FAEEWELL LOOKS AND WORDS. 
 
 Amid much planning, sewing, and busy 
 labour, Godiva's last days at Eicbmond 
 flew away. She had resigned herself to 
 her fate, and had even written a suitable 
 and grateful letter to her uncle Hugh — 
 a letter which Henrietta highly com- 
 mended. And she had thankfully accepted 
 the handsome outfit which the two old 
 ladies had given her. It was good to 
 feel that she was indebted to them for 
 this kindness, and not to the uncle at 
 Silversea. After a brief struggle with 
 herself and a quiet talk with the sisters, 
 
FAREWELL LOOKS AND WORDS. 253 
 
 she felt that it was well to go to the 
 Durleighs beautifully dressed, and pro- 
 vided with everything that a girl, taking 
 a new position, would inevitably require. 
 
 ^^For father's sake I will try to win 
 them all," she used to murmur to herself 
 in those last days. *^And I must let 
 them see that his influence is still a 
 living influence in my life. If I am 
 haughty, or bad-tempered, or self-willed, 
 they will blame his training for my 
 faults, and that must never be. It may 
 take a long, long time to prove to them 
 what father really was; but I must do 
 it, and my patience must hold out to 
 the end." 
 
 It was this idea which helped her to 
 endure the thought of coming changes ; 
 and it did more, for it consoled her in 
 the deeply sorrowful hours that came to 
 her when she was alone. It was not an 
 
254 aODlVA DUBLEIGH. 
 
 aimless life that she was called upon to 
 live, although it was not the life that she 
 had always planned for herself. There 
 were quiet moments, spent in her little 
 room at daybreak, when she gathered 
 strength for the days that lay before her, 
 storing up love and trust and tender 
 memories to subsist upon by-and-by. 
 
 At last there came a day when she felt 
 strong enough to go and take a farewell 
 of the old street where she had spent 
 the happy years of her girlhood. Aunt 
 Susanna was not living there now. The 
 house became unendurable to her after 
 her niece had left it, and the shadow of 
 death seemed to linger in every room. 
 She had accepted the post of house- 
 keeper in a large house in a West-End 
 street, and was beginning life again with 
 the quiet courage that elderly single 
 women often possess. Nobody knew any- 
 
FAREWELL LOOKS AND WORDS. 255 
 
 thing about the convulsive tears she had 
 shed for the dear motherless child whom 
 she had loved so long. Susanna Hayward 
 was as silent in her grief as she had ever 
 been in her joy. 
 
 When Charlotte Kemple heard of 
 Godiva's proposed visit to Buckingham 
 Street she wanted to accompany her. 
 But the girl was steadfastly purposed to 
 go alone. 
 
 '^ I am afraid it won't be good for you, 
 my dear," said Miss Charlotte, yielding 
 the point reluctantly. ^* But as you will 
 have it so, I will leave you to yourself. 
 You will come to me at Barnard's Inn, 
 and Kex will give us an early cup of 
 tea." 
 
 It was now early in September, and the 
 great tide of humanity pouring through 
 the Strand seemed at first to deafen 
 Godiva with its rush and roar. She had 
 
256 GOD IV A DURLEIGH. 
 
 been shut up a long while in the quiet 
 house, hardly ever straying beyond the 
 old garden, dreamy with the still lights 
 and shades of autumn ; her head was still 
 too weak and her heart too faint to bear 
 this sad return to a noisy world. 
 
 A little timid, a little uncertain about 
 her strength, she turned slowly down 
 the steep incline of Savoy Street, and 
 lingered, looking at the grey chapel in 
 its peaceful garden. It was good to 
 come here, for it was here that her father 
 had found the friendless girl clinging to 
 these iron railings, and had brought her 
 home. That girl was now in a safe 
 shelter, leading her quiet, useful life in 
 peace. Many a stray sheep had been 
 gathered into the folds of Kefuges and 
 Homes ; and he who had gone about 
 seeking the lost ones was now himself 
 at rest. 
 
FAREWELL LOOKS AND WORDS. 257 
 
 At that moment there came a soft 
 peal of the organ, and then of boyish 
 voices bursting sweetly into a hymn. All 
 her life afterwards Godiva recalled the 
 autumn light on golden leaves and green 
 grass, and the wave of music sweeping 
 out through the chapel door. It was a 
 moment of parting and sadness and 
 strange peace. Lingering there a little 
 longer, she glanced up at a window which 
 overlooked the sanctuary and its garden. 
 It was at that window that Charles 
 Dickens sat and wrote his pleasant paper 
 on the Savoy precinct, and the verdant 
 spot that he had loved preserved its old 
 freshness still. 
 
 Then (still afraid to trust herself in 
 Buckingham Street) she strolled on to 
 the People's Garden, on the Embank- 
 ment. There were men and women 
 sauntering about ; children were playing, 
 
 TOL. I, 
 
258 QODIVA BURLEIGH, 
 
 but tliey were quiet in their play, and a 
 sweet calm seemed to have fallen every- 
 where. A light mist was slowly rising 
 from the river; all was fair and faintly 
 coloured, and touched here and there 
 with dim gold. The air was filled with 
 the scent of mignonette, a perfume which 
 does not, like that of the hyacinth, bring 
 melancholy thoughts with it. To Godiva 
 this odour seemed to carry a faint sug- 
 gestion of cheerfulness. 
 
 She went on slowly until she came to 
 a seat that was near the old Water-gate, 
 and then her heart began to beat with 
 swift emotion. In days gone by she had 
 come here with her father; he had sat 
 on this very bench by her side, lost in 
 his own musings while she had been busy 
 with her dreams. While his mind had 
 been occupied with all the perplexities 
 .of the men and women of to-day, hers 
 
FAREWELL LOOKS AND WORDS. 259 
 
 had wandered away to the people of the 
 past. The full river surged up to the 
 steps of Duke Steenie's Water-gate ; 
 Vandyke figures of nohles and ladies 
 filled the stately barges, and stepped out 
 gingerly on those grey stones ; the 
 favourite duke himself, with his stiff ruff, 
 delicate features, and pointed chin, rose 
 up before her eyes. Well, they were 
 gone — gone to their own place — and 
 where the palaces of the great lords used 
 to stand, there were streets teeming with 
 busy life ; where their barges had floated 
 there were gravelled paths for humble 
 men and women to tread in their leisure 
 hours ; and under the grey shadow of the 
 duke's Water-gate the children of the 
 poor had met to play. Years had come 
 and gone with their good times and bad 
 times, but bringing slowly and sui'ely the 
 victory of the people over the proud ones 
 of the earth. 
 
260 QODIVA DURLEIGE. 
 
 But how is that victory won? Not 
 by deeds of rapine and violence ; not by 
 such wild mobs as those who laid waste 
 the old Savoy Palace of John of Gaunt, 
 and left some of their number to perish 
 miserably in his wine-cellars ; but by the 
 patient courage of men and women who 
 forgot themselves, and lived for their 
 brethren ; and by the wisdom of the few 
 who calmly set themselves against bigotry, 
 cant, and misrule. Sitting there in the 
 sober autumn light, Godiva could be 
 thankful for the conquests of the old 
 days, and hopeful for the new. 
 
 And as the sweet wind touched her 
 face, like a kiss of peace, she remembered 
 the good Fuller's words, spoken, perhaps, 
 within the grey walls of the old Chapel 
 Royal, Savoy. '^Not as a vulture, but 
 as a dove," he said, *'the Holy Ghost 
 came down from heaven." It was the 
 
FAREWELL LOOKS AND WORDS. 261 
 
 dove-like spirit that she must carry with 
 her to Silver sea if the victory there was 
 to be gained. 
 
 She was quite calm now — her eyes 
 were no longer wet; and a woman in 
 shabby mourning, holding a baby in her 
 arms, ventured to draw a little nearer. 
 Godiva turned her head and looked at 
 her. 
 
 *' Lizzy Hammond," she faltered, grow- 
 ing very pale. Then she put one hand 
 on her heart, and shivered from head to 
 foot. But still the woman crept nearer, 
 holding up her baby. 
 
 **Miss Durleigh," said Lizzy,' trehi- 
 bling, " I hardly know whether you'll be 
 able to bear the sight of me. If you 
 can't, dear miss, only make a sign, and 
 I'll go away." 
 
 For some seconds Godiva could not 
 trust herself to answer; but she made 
 
262 00 DIVA DURLEIOn. 
 
 no sign, and the woman stood still and 
 waited. The baby, pleased with the 
 sweet air and sunshine, set up a little 
 shrill crow. 
 
 There was something in the tiny voice 
 that touched the latent desire of mother- 
 hood which lies deep in the heart of 
 every true woman. If Godiva had felt 
 any repugnance to speak to Lizzy^ it 
 was gone now. She looked up quietly, 
 and although her lips quivered she could 
 smile. Then she gave a slight start. 
 
 *^ Lizzy," she said hurriedly, ^^your 
 cap ! I did not notice it at first." 
 
 ''I thought they would have told you, 
 miss," Lizzy answered in a steady voice. 
 *'It was well that he was taken. God 
 knows I've never been a hard woman, 
 even when he's used me worst; — but I 
 can't wish him back." 
 
 Godiva looked away for a moment ; 
 
FAREWELL LOOKS AND WORDS. 263 
 
 she could not meet the widow's eyes. 
 Her glance fell on a young couple, — 
 evidently an artisan and his sweetheart, — 
 stopping to admire the scarlet geraniums. 
 Would that girl ever be called to pass 
 through Lizzy's experience ? Would 
 that man darken and blight the lives 
 that were nearest to his own ? 
 
 ** Sit down here, Lizzy," she said 
 gently. ^' I want to hear all about it. 
 I don't know why I have not heard ; 
 — perhaps they thought I could not 
 bear it." 
 
 " Ah, miss, you've been ill, — very ill ! " 
 Lizzy looked anxiously into the girl's 
 wan face. ^^ Often and often I've longed 
 to know how you were ; but I didn't dare 
 to go near your house. And when I went 
 to the Kefuge to fetch baby they couldn't 
 tell me anything. When Dick was took 
 off to prison, miss, I went straight for 
 
264 OODIVA DURLEIGH. 
 
 baby. I couldn't live without baby a 
 minute longer." 
 
 She gave the child a hug and a kiss. 
 He was a bright- eyed little fellow of 
 eight or nine months, and his soft, round 
 cheeks bore witness to care and good 
 feeding. Godiva suddenly bent forward 
 and kissed him too. 
 
 ** Father was always so fond of chil- 
 dren," she said. " And he was so anxious 
 about this little one." 
 
 The courting couple, sauntering past, 
 looked with passing pity at these two pale 
 girls with a cheery baby between them. 
 
 Lizzy Hammond had once been pretty, 
 with delicately cut features and a rose- 
 tinted face ; but now the face was a 
 sickly white, and the cheeks hollow. 
 And Godiva, with her bronze hair rippling 
 under her black bonnet, looked touchingly 
 young and sad. 
 
FAREWELL LOOKS AND WORDS. 265 
 
 " Tell me everything, Lizzy," she went 
 on. '^ My illness has kept me in ignorance 
 of many things which I ought to have 
 known ; and I had not courage enough 
 to ask questions. They took — him — to 
 prison, you say ? Oh, don't be frightened, 
 Lizzy ; I am quite strong now ! " 
 
 *' You aren't strong yet, miss," said 
 the widow, keeping back a sob. ^^But 
 maybe it will do you no harm to hear 
 all I can tell. Yes ; they took Dick 
 to prison, kicking and yelling like a 
 demon, and he didn't know what he had 
 done till he came to himself. And 
 then " 
 
 ^' Yes, Lizzy?" 
 
 '' He was a long while before he came 
 to himself. He'd drunk and drunk his 
 senses clean away, and there was nothing 
 left in him but passion and devilry. But 
 at last he did come to, and then they 
 
2()6 QOBIVA DURLEIOH. 
 
 told him. He never rallied again, miss ; 
 only asked whether he'd killed one of the 
 children as well as '' 
 
 Something seemed choking in Lizzy's 
 throat. Godiva, white as marble, was 
 calm. 
 
 '* Did he die in prison, Lizzy ? " she 
 asked. 
 
 " Yes, miss. There was some sort of 
 disease at work in him, and anyhow he 
 couldn't have lived much longer. I never 
 saw him again alive after that awful 
 night. But they said he kept praying 
 with all his might to be taken. And he 
 bade them tell me to keep little Ted 
 from the drink. He sent his love to me, 
 and said I was to get away back to my 
 friends if I could." 
 
 Lizzy hid her face behind the baby, 
 and wiped away a few tears. At last 
 Godiva spoke again. 
 
FAB E WELL LOOKS AND WORDS. 267 
 
 '^ Have you anywhere to go to, Lizzy? " 
 she said. 
 
 '* My old country home was broken 
 up years ago, miss," the other answered 
 sadly. ^^ I married Dick against every- 
 body's will, and when he turned out so 
 bad, and we sank lower and lower, I just 
 dropped writing to my people. There's 
 only my brother Ned left now. He and 
 I were always fond of each other, and I 
 named my Ted after him. When Dick 
 was dead I wrote to Ned, and sent the 
 letter to the vicar of the old parish at 
 home. But Ned had left the place, and 
 gone to Northsea." 
 
 ''Northsea?" Godiva repeated. ''I 
 think that must be near Silversea." 
 
 '* Yes, miss ; quite near. Ned settled 
 there and married, and took to a nursery- 
 man's business. His wife died a few 
 months ago and left him with a baby 
 
268 QODIVA DURLEian. 
 
 girl ; and he's asked me to bring my 
 children, and come and take care of the 
 child. 'Twill be like beginning a new 
 life," said Lizzy, musingly. 
 
 ** I, too, am going to begin a new life." 
 Godiva laid her hand on the widow's arm 
 with a kind touch. ^' We shall see each 
 other sometimes. My uncle lives at 
 Silversea, and it is arranged for me to 
 live with him." 
 
 Lizzy dried her eyes, and looked at 
 her in wonder. 
 
 '^ It seems too good to be true," she 
 said. " And, miss, I can't think how 
 you can be so kind as to bear the sight 
 of me ! If it hadn't been for me and all 
 my wretched troubles, the best man in 
 the world would be alive now. I could 
 have forgiven Dick for spoiling my life, 
 but I never can forgive him for robbing 
 the poor of their best friend." 
 
FAREWELL LOOKS AND WORDS. 269 
 
 ^' I hope God forgave him," said Godiva, 
 with a very sweet look in her steadfast 
 eyes. '^ Lizzy, instead of sundering us, 
 this great sorrow ought to bring us 
 nearer together. Father did not count 
 his hfe dear ; he was resolved to save 
 your children at all costs, and he has 
 saved them. His intention was to get 
 the little ones out of their father's way, 
 and then see what could be done with 
 Dick. But that night " 
 
 Lizzy held up a thin hand in entreaty. 
 
 '^ Oh, stop, miss," she said; *' you'll 
 never know what that night was to me. 
 I shall carry the wounds that he gave 
 me to my dying day. Why need we go 
 over it? Every day you may read a 
 story just as sickening in the police 
 news. He'd well-nigh done for me before 
 your father came." 
 
 ** Then we will not talk about it any 
 
270 GODIVA DUBLEIOK 
 
 more." Godiva spoke with wonderful 
 calmness. '^ Lizzy, I am going next 
 week, and I will write to you if you 
 will let me have your address. Now I 
 shall take a farewell look at the river, 
 and then at the old home." 
 
 Old Mike, the street porter, was stand- 
 ing at the corner of Buckingham Street, 
 and one or two other shabby men came 
 up to Godiva. She had a word for each 
 of them. She did not lose her courage 
 when they spoke of Morris ; for his sake, 
 and for those whom he had helped, she 
 could bear anything. There was so 
 much to say to the men, so many last 
 things to tell them, that her good-bye 
 to the old house was very brief. She 
 noticed that the broad-leaved plants had 
 been taken away from the window, and 
 that there were new lace curtains smartly 
 tied up with coloured sashes ; and she 
 
FAREWELL LOOKS AND WORDS. 271 
 
 did not linger long at the familiar 
 door. 
 
 The men said many words about her 
 father that were good to hear. Such 
 words took the smart of pain out of her 
 heart, and filled it with great peace, and 
 ^' a solemn scorn of ills." Perhaps, in 
 all his hard-working life Morris had 
 never realized all that he had achieved 
 as his daughter was realizing it now. 
 He had sowed the good seed with labour 
 and pain, and his death seemed to have 
 forced it suddenly into flower and fruit. 
 
 Was the golden age nearer than she 
 had ever believed it to be ? To-day, in 
 spite of all her sorrow, it seemed very 
 near — the time that her father had prayed 
 and toiled for. 
 
 " That Pentecost when utterance clear 
 To aU men shall be given, 
 When all shall say, My Brother^ here, 
 And hear My Son in heaven 1 " 
 
272 GODIVA DURLEIQH. 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 IN A NEW WOKLD. 
 
 Twilight was coming on when Godiva 
 joined Miss Charlotte at Barnard's Inn. 
 Rex met her at the entrance of the 
 narrow passage that leads to the Inn, 
 and took care of her with grave kindness. 
 His aunt was troubled at the sight of 
 her pale face. 
 
 ''It has been too much for you, my 
 dear," Miss Charlotte said. ''I tried to 
 talk you out of your intention; but 
 young folks are so self-willed. I was 
 sure that no good would come of it ! " 
 
 *' Dear Miss Charlotte, good has come 
 
IN A NEW WORLD, 273 
 
 of it," Godiva answered, ** although it was 
 harder even than I thought it would be." 
 She was so sweet and quiet that her 
 voice thrilled Eex with sudden emotion. 
 He put her gently into an easy-chair, 
 and waited on her with silent tenderness. 
 Tea was laid on Kex's round table ; there 
 was dainty brown bread and butter in an 
 antique china plate ; books were cleared 
 away, and flowers were arranged in a 
 pretty crystal vase. A small fire was 
 burning in the grate, but the windows 
 were open, and again the scent of 
 mignonette came softly drifting across 
 Godiva in her corner. If she looked at 
 Eex, he did not return her glance, and 
 yet she knew that he saw her plainly 
 enough, and took care that she lacked 
 nothing. Presently Miss Charlotte, hav- 
 ing got over her brief vexation, began 
 to talk. 
 
 VOL. I. X 
 
274 GOD IV A pURLEIGH. 
 
 *' Bachelors know how to make them- 
 selves comfortable," she remarked. "I 
 wonder whether Kex will fare any better 
 .when he is a married man ? " 
 
 ** My laundress came to ask if I was 
 expecting two elderly ladies," he said. 
 ^* She eyed the flowers with a suspicious 
 air. I think she has a chronic objection 
 to young women of every grade, and I 
 don't believe she ever was a girl." 
 
 '^But it wouldn't do, you know, to 
 have a flighty young thing waiting on 
 you," Miss Charlotte replied ; ^* and 
 very likely she would neglect your com- 
 forts. Yet I will say that your laundress 
 is thp worst mender of socks I ever saw. 
 Godiva, you are eating nothing ! " 
 
 Godiva smiled. Kex was standing 
 with his elbow on the mantelpiece watch- 
 ing her quietly. Outside the windows 
 golden leaves were dropping in the 
 
IN A NEW WORLD. 275 
 
 gathering dusk, and the air grew colder. 
 Miss Charlotte rose to go. 
 
 **You are not going to Silversea till 
 next Monday?" said Eex, as Godiva 
 gave him her hand at parting. 
 
 " I am going on Thursday," she 
 answered. *' Did you not know ? My 
 uncle is coming to town on business, 
 and will take me back with him." 
 
 He had not thought that the time 
 of her departure was so near. Miss 
 Charlotte, wishing to produce an effect 
 at the last, had not told him. The old 
 lady fancied herself a diplomatist, and 
 walked off to the windows to smell the 
 mignonette in the boxes. Eex was silent 
 for a moment. He stood looking at 
 Godiva, and a light seemed to come from 
 his dark-blue eyes. 
 
 "This is not good-bye," he said in a 
 low voice that thrilled clear and distinct 
 
276 GODIVA DURLEIOn. 
 
 through the little room. ** I shall come 
 to Silversea. Godiva, you will expect 
 me after Christmas? You will not 
 forget?" 
 
 She blushed up, and hesitated from 
 sheer inability to express her pleasure. 
 
 '^ I shall be glad to look forward to 
 something," she answered at last ; ^* you 
 know I shall be very lonely." 
 
 They did not say any more ; and Kex 
 conducted his visitors down the winding 
 stairs, and out into the dusk. Godiva 
 took a farewell glance at the plane trees 
 shedding their gold into the quiet little 
 quadrangle, and went forth into the noisy 
 world to dream a girl's dream. 
 
 The last hours glided quietly away at 
 Kichmond. Godiva was very still, some- 
 how ; there were none of those outbursts 
 of sorrow which the Kemples had dreaded. 
 It was easy to see that she was weary 
 
IN A NEW WORLD. 277 
 
 with heartache ; yet it seemed as if she 
 could look away from the pain to some 
 distant spot of sunshine and rest. It 
 was that distant glimpse which made it 
 possible for her to live her life just then ; 
 and she knew, long afterwards, that it is 
 often this *^ devotion to something afar " 
 which helps many a pilgrim over the 
 roughest places in his journey. The 
 ** something afar" may turn out to be 
 only a mirage after all — ^just a phantom 
 paradise, made of chance lights and 
 vapours — but not a few of us have been 
 strengthened and heartened by such 
 visions ; ay, and have been led onward 
 by them to a city '' which hath founda- 
 tions, whose builder and maker is God." 
 It was even harder to say good-bye 
 to Joy than to the Kemples. Godiva 
 always felt as if some mystical bond had 
 existed between her father and the girl 
 
278 GO DIVA BURLEIGH. 
 
 he had saved from want. She remem- 
 bered how Joy's face had haunted him, 
 and how he had found her with great 
 rejoicing at last. And she loved Joy all 
 the better for the sorrow that still lay 
 like a cloud over her young life — the 
 sorrow and yearning for her lost George 
 and her lost faith in him. 
 
 Miss Charlotte went as far as Waterloo 
 with Godiva and her luggage, and put 
 her safely into her uncle's hands. There 
 were last kisses, last promises to write 
 very often; and then the train moved 
 off, and Godiva found herself in the 
 corner of a first-class carriage, face to 
 face with Uncle Hugh. 
 
 It was not an unkindly face that con- 
 fronted her, and there was, now and 
 again, a fleeting look of Morris. But 
 the eyes had not the peculiar stead- 
 fastness and clearness which had made 
 
IN A NEW WORLD. 279 
 
 Morris's eyes so remarkable. Hugh 
 looked like a man whose life had been 
 fretted by small worries, although it had 
 never known one of those great sorrows 
 which confer a dignity on any life. He 
 had worked hard and looked to the main 
 chance, and had married a woman whose 
 money had helped him on in his pro- 
 fession ; but somehow his home had 
 never been the resting-place that a tired 
 man needs. Honor and Janet and Sybil 
 loved him in their own fashion. They 
 were not troublesome girls, always cry- 
 ing out for more than he gave them ; 
 and yet in his house he was vaguely 
 conscious of an atmosphere of discon- 
 tent. When he looked at Godiva, sit- 
 ting opposite to him, with her pale 
 young face and quiet eyes, he wondered 
 a little at the peaceful expression that 
 she wore. 
 
280 OOmVA BURLEIGH, 
 
 It was a dreary journey, although uncle 
 and niece were honestly bent on getting 
 on well together. He could not help 
 wondering what would become of her 
 if he were to die. While he lived he 
 could give her a comfortable home, but 
 he could not provide for her at his 
 death ; all that he had would belong 
 to his children. Would she be likely 
 to marry ? He could not tell. In his 
 eyes she seemed attractive, despite her 
 paleness and fragility. His own girls 
 were tall and large and fair — thoroughly 
 Saxon, their friends said — and he scarcely 
 thought that Godiva would be noticed 
 when they were near. Yet who could 
 say ? . This girl's delicate face, with the 
 bright soul shining through it, might 
 win the attention of some who would 
 pass her cousins by. 
 
 It was evening when they reached 
 
IN A NEW WORLD. 281 
 
 their journey's end. Mr. Durleigh was 
 as kind as ever, but he could not be 
 quite at ease when he thought of the 
 ordeal that lay before him. Honor had 
 said that she would, of course, receive 
 her cousin with due courtesy; but 
 Honor's notion of courtesy was intense 
 frigidity. He knew that his girls did 
 not like the intruder, and sooner or 
 later they would make her feel this dis- 
 like. He was very sorry for their lack 
 of cordiality; Morris had been the best 
 brother in the world, and he wanted 
 every one in his household to be good 
 to Morris's child. 
 
 The mist was thickening every moment 
 — lights were gleaming, vehicles coming 
 and going, when they drove away from 
 the railway- station. By-and-by a chill 
 salt breeze came blowing into Godiva's 
 face through the window of the cab. 
 
282 GOD IV A BURLEIGH. 
 
 *' Uncle," she said, *^ are we near the 
 sea?" 
 
 '*Yes," he answered, **and we shall 
 be at home in a minute or two. I hope 
 you will like the sea air, my dear ; it 
 ought to put new strength into you. 
 Dear me, what a slow horse this is ! 
 Ah, well, here we are at last." 
 
 Godiva's heart seemed to give a great 
 bound, and then stand still. It was a 
 chilly evening, and she began to shiver 
 from head to foot. When Mr. Durleigh 
 helped her out of the cab he felt that 
 she was trembling. He drew a deep 
 breath of anxiety, and devoutly hoped 
 that there would not be a scene. 
 
 The hall door opened. A stream of 
 light flowed down the steps ; a butler and 
 a page presented themselves to Godiva's 
 bewildered eyes. She did not know how 
 she got into the hall, but had a grateful 
 
7^ A NEW WOULD. 283 
 
 remembrance afterwards of her uncle's 
 sustaining hold. They entered the 
 drawing-room together ; and some one 
 who was playing on the piano stopped 
 short. 
 
 *' How do you do?" said Honor, in 
 exactly the tone that Hugh Durleigh 
 had expected of her. **It must be four 
 years since we met. Are you very tired 
 after your journey ? " 
 
 Godiva tried to speak, and said some- 
 thing in a husky voice. A dry blast 
 seemed to her to be beating about the 
 house, choking her poor parched throat. 
 They all thought her very stupid, she 
 was sure. Her two younger cousins 
 shook hands with her almost in silence. 
 
 ** Perhaps you would like to go to 
 your room," Honor continued. ** We 
 dine at half-past six to-night ; our usual 
 time is seven, but we are going ta a 
 
284 QODIVA DURLEIQH. 
 
 concert. Don't trouble to dress. I am 
 sure you are too tired." 
 
 They were all very much dressed ; 
 their gowns were black, it is true, but 
 there was nothing sombre about them 
 save the colour. Such a glitter of jet 
 ornaments on arms and bosoms, and 
 such a beady twinkling among their 
 draperies ! Godiva was thankful for the 
 permission to retire, even for a little 
 while, and collect her scattered thoughts. 
 Her face looked so pale and frightened 
 that they believed she was overwhelmed 
 by their splendour. 
 
 Slowly, and with tottering steps, she 
 followed a housemaid upstairs, and found 
 that she was being taken to the top of 
 the house. It was a small room which 
 had been allotted to her, not too luxuri- 
 ously furnished, although no necessaries 
 were wanting. But that which struck 
 
IN A NEW WORLD. 285 
 
 the girl painfully was the utter lack of 
 any little embellishment. It had not 
 occurred to any one to hang up a 
 picture or a wall-pocket, or even to 
 put a pretty pin-cushion on the dress- 
 ing-table. Godiva recalled the quaint 
 decorations of her little room at Kich- 
 mond; Miss Charlotte's dainty muslin 
 flounces and frills, and the roses on 
 ewer and basin ; and never did simple 
 love and kindliness seem so precious to 
 her as now. Her new bedroom seemed 
 to say plainly enough, *^ You are not 
 wanted here ; we will give you nothing 
 more than the things you cannot do 
 without. You shall have a shelter for 
 your head, but it shall be a shelter un- 
 adorned with any token of goodwill." 
 
 When she had laid aside out-of-door 
 garments, and had made a feeble attempt 
 at smoothing her soft, rough hair, she 
 
286 aODIVA DURLEIGB. 
 
 felt very forlorn indeed. The glass re- 
 flected a pale face with two black marks 
 under the eyes ; the black gown with 
 its crape folds looked heavy and plain ; 
 and the girls downstairs were waiting 
 to criticize her. Here was a cheerful 
 beginning of her first evening ! She 
 glanced at the narrow white bed in the 
 corner, and wondered how many miser- 
 able nights she was destined to spend 
 in it. 
 
 Her head ached, her heart ached ; one 
 loving word would have made the world 
 a different place. She was glad to be 
 alone, even in this bare little room, but 
 she dared not indulge long in soHtude. 
 And then, quite suddenly and incon- 
 sequently, she began to look back on a 
 bygone summer day when she had been 
 with her father in the People's Garden. 
 The bare walls were gone ; there were 
 
IN A NEW WORLD. 287 
 
 the shrubs and flowers ; the couples 
 walking, the children playing, and the 
 sun shining on the grey stonework of 
 the old Water-gate. As she thought of 
 all this her father's image came before 
 her so vividly that she almost stretched 
 out her arms. It was only an instant's 
 impression, but when it had passed away 
 she felt as if he had been really with her. 
 All her resolutions to be strong and wise 
 for his sake came back to her with renewed 
 force. She must go downstairs and face 
 them all, and live with them calmly and 
 peaceably as he would have her live. It 
 would not be easy, perhaps, but it must 
 be done. 
 
 Tired as she was, it seemed a long 
 journey down to the drawing-room where 
 they were all awaiting her. The three 
 girls scanned her with rapid glances, and 
 then they went in to dinner in solemn 
 
288 OODIVA DURLEIQH. 
 
 procession. Godiva tried to be hungry, 
 and tried to be grateful for the good 
 things set before her ; but gratitude had 
 come more readily at Garden Lodge 
 when Miss Charlotte had hovered round 
 her meals with all sorts of tender in- 
 junctions ; and Miss Henrietta had cooed 
 over her. Still, . there are times in all 
 our lives when we have to do without 
 the presence of love; and these times 
 are lived through with a fortitude which 
 often makes us wonder at ourselves. 
 
 "Are you fond of music ? " said Honor, 
 addressing her cousin in a chilly, affable 
 way. *^I suppose you went to concerts 
 very often in town ? " 
 
 "We seldom went," Godiva answered. 
 "But — yes — I am fond of music. I like 
 to hear good singing." 
 
 " Then Janet must sing to you," said 
 Hugh Durleigh, with a glance of satis- 
 
IN A NEW WORLD. 289 
 
 faction at his second daughter. " She is 
 worth hearing." 
 
 ** Godiva will soon hear enough of 
 her," remarked Sybil, who was out of 
 temper. 
 
 Godiva looked at Janet, whose face 
 crimsoned with anger ; and then she 
 noticed that this second girl had a 
 troubled expression about the brow and 
 eyes. It was a stormy face that never 
 looked at rest even when the features 
 were in repose; a face that stirred up 
 a vague sense of pity in Godiva's heart, 
 and softened her voice (always gentle) 
 when she spoke. 
 
 *^ I shall look forward to Janet's sing- 
 ing," she said, with a smile. 
 
 The smile was not returned. Honor 
 came forward promptly with some trivial 
 question, and Uncle Hugh helped her 
 to make conversation with praiseworthy 
 
 VOL. I. U 
 
290 GOD IV A BURLEIGH. 
 
 persistence. But there was a look of 
 relief on his face when they rose from 
 the table. 
 
 Of the three girls Janet was the 
 plainest. All three were tall, and some- 
 what heavily made ; all three had light- 
 blue eyes, complexions freshly pink and 
 white, and plenty of fair hair, which was 
 neither flaxen nor golden. Honor at 
 two and twenty was good-looking, almost 
 handsome perhaps, but too stiff and 
 formal for her years. Janet was not so 
 stiff, but more clumsy; and Sybil, who 
 had the brightest face, could sometimes 
 look malicious. 
 
 **Mrs. Steene always goes out with 
 us," said Honor, putting on a furred 
 cloak. ^* She is a charming woman, 
 Godiva — our next-door neighbour. Of 
 course, you won't stay up till we return. 
 Goodnight." 
 
IN A NEW WORLD. 291 
 
 They went their way, and Godiva did 
 not linger in the empty drawing-room. 
 She toiled wearily upstairs, and shut 
 herself into her Httle room with a con- 
 sciousness that it would, ere long, become 
 a haven of rest ; and then, mindful of 
 Miss Charlotte's counsel, she went early 
 to sleep. 
 
 END OF VOL. I. 
 
 LONDON : Pl;INTl-.D BT "WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS, LIMITED, 
 STAMFOED STKEET AND CHAKING CKOSS.