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 36 Love’s Conflict. 
 
 Florence Marryat. 
 
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 Florence Marryat. 
 
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 Florence Marryat. 
 
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 Florence Marryat. 
 
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 Florence Marryat. 
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 Florence Marryat. 
 
 Ticket. 
 
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 Mrs. Loudon. 
 
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 Colonel Walmsley. 
 
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 Colonel Walmsley. 
 
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 Colonel Walmsley. 
 
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 Mrs.J. H. Riddell. 
 
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 Mrs. J. H. Riddell. 
 
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 Mrs. J. H. Riddell. 
 
 60 The Rich Husband. 
 
 Mrs. J. H. Riddell. 
 
 61 Maxwell Drewitt. 
 
 Mrs. J. H. Riddell. 
 
 62 Par above Rubies. 
 
 Mrs. J. H. Riddell. 
 
 63 A Life’s Assize. 
 
 Mrs. J. H. Riddell. 
 
 64 The World in the Church. 
 
 Mrs. J. H. Riddell. 
 
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 Charles Gibbon. 
 
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 John Saunders. 
 
 102 Fighting the Air. 
 
 Florence Marryat. 
 
 103 Harvest of Wild Oats. 
 
 Florence Marryat. 
 
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 W. G. Wills. 
 
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 36 Love’s Conflict. 
 
 Florence Marryat. 
 
 37 Woman Against Woman. 
 
 Florence Marryat. 
 
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 Florence Marryat. 
 
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 Florence Marryat. 
 
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 Florence Marryat. 
 
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 Florence Marryat, 
 
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 Sidney S. Harris. 
 
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 Sidney S. Harris. 
 
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 Sidney S. Harris. 
 
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 Florence Marryat* 
 
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 Florence Marryat. 
 
 49 Her Lord and Master. 
 
 Florence Marryat. 
 
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 Florence Marryat. 
 
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 Florence Marryat. 
 
 52 The Season Ticket. 
 
 Sam Slick, 
 
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 Mrs. Loudon. 
 
 54 The Chasseur d’Afrique. 
 
 Colonel Walmsley, 
 
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 Colonel Walmsley. 
 
 56 Branksome Dene. 
 
 Colonel Walmsley. 
 
 57 George Geith. 
 
 Mrs.J.H. Riddell. 
 
 58 Austin Friars. 
 
 Mrs. J. H. Riddell. 
 
 59 Too Much Alone. 
 
 Mrs. J. H. Riddell. 
 
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 Mrs. J. H. Riddell. 
 
 61 Maxwell Drewitt. 
 
 Mrs. J. H. Riddell. 
 63 Far above Bubies. 
 
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 63 A Life’s Assize. 
 
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 Mrs. J. H. Riddell. 
 
 67 Race for Wealth. 
 
 Mrs. J. H. Riddell. 
 
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 Florence Marryat. 
 
 69 Ko Intentions. 
 
 Florence Marryat. 
 
 70 Bright Morning. 
 
 Maria M. Grant. 
 
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 Maria M. Grant, 
 
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 Maria M. Grant. 
 
 74 Home, Sweet Home. 
 
 Mrs. J. H. Riddell. 
 
 75 Joy after Sorrow. 
 
 Mrs. J. H. Riddell. 
 
 76 The Earl’s Promise. 
 
 Mrs. J. H. Riddell. 
 
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 Mrs. J. H. Riddell. 
 
 78 Prank Sinclair’s Wife. 
 
 Mrs. J. H. Riddell. 
 
 79 The Ruling Passion. 
 
 Mrs. J. H. Riddell, 
 
 80 My First and Last Love. 
 
 Mrs. J. H. RiddeU. 
 
 81 Gabriel Conroy. 
 
 Bret Harte. 
 
 82 Above Suspicion. 
 
 Mrs. J. H. Riddell. 
 
 83 The Sun-Maid. 
 
 Maria M. Grant. 
 
 84 A Horrid Girl. 
 
 By the Author of “ Margaret’s 
 Engagement.’* 
 
 85 Clytie. 
 
 Joseph Hatton, 
 
 86 Bitter Sweets. 
 
 Joseph Hatton. 
 
 87 Not in Society. 
 
 Joseph Hattofl. 
 
 88 Tallants of Barton. 
 
 Joseph Hatton. 
 
 89 In the Lap of Fortune. 
 
 Joseph Hatton. 
 
 90 Valley of Poppies. 
 
 Joseph Hatton. 
 
 91 Christopher Kenrick. 
 
 Joseph Hatton, 
 
 92 Now or Never. 
 
 M. Betham-Edwards. 
 
 93 The Sylvestres. 
 
 M. Betham-Edwards. 
 
 94 Sweet and Twenty. 
 
 Mortimer Collins. 
 
 95 Prances. 
 
 Mortimer Collins. 
 
 96 A Fight with Fortune. 
 
 Mortimer Collins. 
 
 97 Spring Comedies. 
 
 Lady Barber. 
 
 98 The Queen of Bohemia. 
 
 Joseph Hatton. 
 
 99 Robin Gray. 
 
 Charles Gibbon. 
 
 100 For Lack of Gold. 
 
 Charles Gibbon, 
 
 101 Hirell. 
 
 John Saunders. 
 
 102 Fighting the Air. 
 
 Florence Marryat. 
 
 103 Harvest of Wild Oats. 
 
 Florence Marryat. 
 
 105 Love that Kills. 
 
 W. G. Wills. 
 
 106 Cruel London. 
 
 Joseph Hatton. 
 
 107 Paul Benedict. 
 
 Dr. Holland. 
 
 Bedford Street, Strand. 
 
:i ; it,... 
 
 W’ O f, 0 ! 
 
HER LORD AND MASTER. 
 
BALLANTYNE, HANSON AND CO* 
 EDINBURGH AND LONDON 
 
HER LORD AND MASTER 
 
 
 BY 
 
 FLORENCE MARRYAT, ^t. A . 
 
 [Mrs Boss Church,] 
 
 AUTHOR OF “love’s CONFLICT,” “VERONIQUE,” ETC. ETC. 
 
 ** By pride 
 
 Angels have fallen before thy time.’' 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 FREDERICK WARNE AND CO 
 
 BEDFORD STREET, STRAND. 
 

 CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER 
 
 I. IN LORD CLEVEDON’s CHAMBER 
 
 II. LADY ETHEL S LOVERS , 
 
 ^IJi: THE WHISPER ON THE BALCONY 
 ^ W. MAGGIE HENDERSON 
 
 J ^ V. AUNT LETTY HEARS A SECRET . 
 
 ^ VI. COLONEL BAINBRIDGE AT CRANSHAWS 
 ^ VII. A DECIDED REFUSAL . 
 
 ^ VIII. LADY ETHEL IN DEEP WATERS 
 IX. AT TEMPLE GRANGE 
 ^ X. SPORT TO HER AND DEATH TO HIM 
 '' XI. THE RIVALS 
 -‘S^II. CASTING THE DIE 
 
 XIII. THE NEWS TRAVEL NORTH 
 
 
 XIV. Maggie’s strength 
 
 XV. FROSTED WEDDING FAVOURS 
 
 XVI. ANTICIPATION , 
 
 1 
 
 8 
 
 18 
 
 18 
 
 21 
 
 31 
 
 38 
 
 45 
 
 50 
 
 55 
 
 60 
 
 65 
 
 72 
 
 79 
 
 83 
 
 88 
 
 I i 53 i 93 
 
vi Contents, 
 
 CHAPTER PAGE 
 
 XVII. BRINGING THE BRIDE HOME . . . .92 
 
 XVIII. FIRST IMPRESSIONS . . . . .98 
 
 XIX. GOODNIGHT . . . . . .103 
 
 XX. ACROSS THE MOORS . • . • . 108 
 
 XXI. THE COMMENCEMENT OF HOSTILITIES * . . 115 
 
 XXII. LADY ETHEL IS TAKEN TO TASK . , . .122 
 
 XXIII. A NOBLE RESOLUTION . . . . .130 
 
 XXIV. MAGGIE PLEADS HER COUSIN’S CAUSE . . .135 
 
 XXV. SISTER MARGARET . . . . .139 
 
 XXVI. A SWORD THRUST . . . . .147 
 
 XXVII. GALL AND WORMWOOD . . . , .152 
 
 XXVIII. THE WEDDING VISIT IS ABRUPTLY TERMINATED . 158 
 
 % 
 
 XXIX. LET SLIP THE HOUNDS OF WAR . . , ,168 
 
 XXX. A SCENE AT THE OPERA . . . ,176 
 
 XXXI. THE TELEGRAM . . . , . ,183 
 
 XXXII. LADY CLEVEDON AT HOME . . , .189 
 
 XXXIII. THE SECOND TELEGRAM . . . . , 198 
 
 XXXIV. WHY IT WAS SENT . . . . .207 
 
 XXXV. TOO LATE ..... • 212 
 
 XXXVI. COLONEL BAINBRIDGE MAKES UP HIS MIND . . 218 
 
 XXXVII. ‘‘ MAGGIE, I WANT TO TELL YOU SOMETHING ” . . 222 
 
 XXXVIII. IS IT TIME YET ?...,. 230 
 
 XXXIX. THE WIDOWED BRIDE ..... 235 
 
 XL. TWO LETTERS . . . . . .241 
 
 XLI. OPEN WAR ...... 245 
 
Contents, yj- 
 
 CHAPTER page 
 
 XLII. THE MARQUIS DE LACARRAS HEARS THE TRUTH , 251 
 
 XLIII. A WONDERFUL DISCOVERT .... 261 
 
 XLIV. A SISTER OF MERCY ..... 266 
 
 XLV. INSTALLED IN OFFICE ..... 273 
 
 XLVL SAINT ERMENILDA^S . . . . , 281 
 
 XLVII. THE ICE BEGINS TO THAW .... 286 
 
 XLVIII. HOME AT LAST ...... 294 
 
 XLIX. ‘‘ PEACE ON EARTH, AND GOOD WILL TOWARD MEN.” , 302 
 
HER LORD AND MASTER. 
 
 
 CHAPTER L 
 
 IN LOED CLEVEDON^S CHAMBEB. 
 
 It was past midniglit— and at the close of the London season. 
 Half the weary world was sleeping, whilst the other half (the 
 true labouring class) was toiling to procure the amusement of 
 itself and friends. 
 
 At a liouse in Park Lane, the numerous lights, sounds of 
 music, and gay figures that flitted continually across the open 
 windows, showed that some festivity was taking place ; whilst 
 the long train of carriages in waiting, with patient servants 
 slumbering at their posts, was no proof that the assembly was 
 likely to break up soon. A few night-wanderers, attracted by 
 the glare, and curious perhaps to gain some insight to a world 
 of which they had only heard, were hanging about the palings 
 on that side of the house which looked into the park, and 
 grumbling to each other that Heaven’s gifts were so unequally 
 divided, and that some had all the riches and the pleasure, 
 whilst others, homeless like themselves, looked on from afar, 
 with empty stomachs and repining hearts. 
 
 But all was not so bright as it appeared in the house in 
 Park ^ Lane. The reception chambers might be brilliantly 
 illuminated, but there were other rooms beneath the same 
 roof, where the light burned dim and low, and pain and sick- 
 ness were causing a very different scene to be enacted. In an 
 apartment richly hung with maroon velvet, and furnished in 
 
2 
 
 Her Lord and Master. 
 
 the style of Louis Quatorze — an apartment sufficiently secluded 
 to enable its occupant to remain undisturbed by any noise 
 which might go on beneath him — a man was sleeping in an 
 arm-chair. Not an old man, by any means, and yet so aged 
 from the effects of frequent and acute suffering, that his hair 
 and beard were nearly white, and the long thin hands which 
 lay passively upon his knees were shrunk and wrinkled. At 
 a first glance he seemed to be alone, for the shaded lamp upon 
 the table threw its mild beams upon no other living creature. 
 But his attendants had only left him when he appeared dis- 
 posed to sleep, and were in the ante-chamber, napping them- 
 selves, but ready to start up at the least summons of their 
 master. 
 
 For this was the owner of the house himself — the man 
 whose purse-strings must undraw to pay for all the merriment 
 going on below — Robert, Earl of Clevedon, and his sickness 
 was not a thing of yesterday. For months he had been rest- 
 ing in that arm-chair, unable from the painful nature of his 
 disease to sleep in a recumbent posture, until even those 
 nearest to him had begun to fancy that so lingering a complaint 
 must end in convalescence. And yet the death-like appearance 
 of his handsome face, and the listless heavy manner in which 
 his wasted body pressed the pillows, might have forewarned 
 them that Nature was almost tired of the warfare, and ready 
 to lay down her arms. 
 
 Presently, the door of the bed-chamber was pushed noise- 
 lessly open, and, stepping in the cautious manner with which 
 we approach sleepers, a girl, apparently of about nineteen 
 years old, passed over the threshold and drew near the arm- 
 chair of the slumbering man. Robed in wffiite satin, with her 
 fair arms and neck discovered, and pearls twisted in her hair, 
 she seemed a strange apparition to visit a sick-room at mid- 
 night ; but unconscious as heedless of the fact, she dropped 
 quietly into an adjacent seat, and with clasped hands and 
 parted lips, which betrayed a very sorrowful anxiety, gazed 
 earnestly upon the features of the sleeping earl. 
 
 And at this juncture, a stranger, with permission to observe 
 her undisturbed, would have been less struck perhaps with her 
 beauty than with the lofty patrician order of its merit. Fair 
 as she was, almost to a fault (for the slight bloom which 
 mantled on her cheeks had been called forth by excitement, 
 
In Lord Clevedons Cha^nber, 
 
 3 
 
 and would vanish with the morning), the Saxon hair, blue 
 eyes, and delicately-moulded features, so common to our 
 English aristocracy, attracted less notice than the high brow, 
 oval face, and curled upper lip ; which last, though obviously 
 formed by nature for the purpose, had been materially assisted 
 in its heavenward direction by the excellent opinion entertained 
 by Lady Ethel Carr of herself, her accident of birth, and 
 everything belonging to her. The stately way in which she 
 carried her aristocratic little head, showed that she considered 
 herself as something superior to the rest of the world \ and a 
 glance at her pretty, supercilious mouth was sufficient to prove 
 that the sorest point on which she could be wounded was her 
 pride. And yet there was nothing cold about the expression 
 of her face ; on the contrary, proudly as she could repel the 
 advances of strangers, or check the familiarity of inferiors, 
 there was at times a passion in her glance not often found in 
 eyes of that colour ; and at the moment when we are first in- 
 troduced to her, she seemed to have forgotten every feeling 
 but that of filial love. 
 
 In a few minutes Lord Clevedon stirred uneasily, and then, 
 with a slight sigh, opened his eyes and fixed them on his 
 daughter. 
 
 “ Ethel ! is that you ^ ’’ 
 
 ‘‘ Yes, dear papa ; I hope I have not disturbed you.^^ 
 
 What are you doing here, my dear ? 
 
 “ I only ran up to see how you were going on. I feel un- 
 easy when we are separated for so many hours. Go to sleep 
 again, dear father ; I shall be quite satisfied now I have had 
 a look at you.’^ 
 
 ‘‘ How goes the night, child 
 It is past two o’clock.'^ 
 
 “ Hot later ? I had hoped it was almost dawn ; ’’ and, with 
 a look of resignation, the sick man slightly changed his 
 position. ‘‘ I suppose your party is not over then, Ethel 
 Not yet 3 but I daresay it soon will be.” 
 
 ‘'You had better go back then, my dear; your mother may 
 miss you.” 
 
 “ No fear of that, papa; Lady Clevedon is better engaged.” 
 
 There was a half -hidden bitterness in this reply which did' 
 not escape her father’s notice. 
 
 “ You have not been enjoying yourself, I fear, Ethel” 
 
4 
 
 Her Lord and Master 
 
 Tlie tears rushed to his daughter’s eyes. She rose hastily 
 from the chair on which she was seated, and flung herself upon 
 her knees beside him. 
 
 Enjoying myself ! whilst you lie here ; how could I ? It 
 is a shame there should be any joy in the house, any merry' 
 
 making, even the semblance of it, whilst you 0 father!” 
 
 and here Lady Ethel’s utterance was impeded by her sobs. 
 
 Hush, hush 1 ” said Lord Clevedon, soothingly, as he 
 placed his hand upon her bowed head; ‘^a long illness like 
 mine, child, cannot be permitted to interfere with all the 
 duties we owe to society. My wife occupies a high station in 
 the world, and greater sacrifices are expected from her than 
 would be from a woman of a lower rank. She does not belong 
 entirely to me ; I could not expect it.” 
 
 You expect far too little,” murmured Lady Ethel ; you 
 think of every one before yourself.” 
 
 “ Not so !” replied the earl, with a faint smile. ‘‘Are we 
 not all to be packed off to Nice next week for my especial 
 benefit, and is it not sufficient to set a w^hole household 
 travelling at this time of the year for the sake of one old man? 
 Meanwhile, Lady Clevedon owes something in return for the 
 attentions of her friends and mine, which she is very properly 
 trying to pay off. I would not have had put off her reunions 
 this season for any consideration. How many guests have 
 you to-night — on an average?” he continued, with a view to 
 diverting her attention from himself. 
 
 “About two hundred, I should think — perhaps more,” said 
 Lady Ethel, indifferently, as she rose from her kneeling posi- 
 tion, and stood before the glass drying her eyes. 
 
 “ The Marquis de Lacarras is amongst them, I suppose? ” 
 
 “ Yes.” 
 
 A quick observer might have seen the scarlet flush which 
 mounted to the face of Ethel Carr, as she replied to this 
 simple question : it would have taken a still quicker one to 
 note the look, made half of pain and half of patience, with 
 which the earl received her answer. 
 
 “ And your friend, Ethel, the gallant colonel of artillery, is 
 he there also ? ” 
 
 “ My friend ! ” returned the girl, recovering from her slight 
 confusion ; “ who dares to call Colonel Bainbridge by that 
 name ? ” 
 
In Lord Clevedons Chamber. 
 
 5 
 
 I understand you like him/* 
 
 From Lady Clevedon, father ; she was your informant, I 
 presume '? and EtheFs lip curled to its highest extent. 
 
 ‘‘ Or that he likes you — which is it, Ethel % 
 
 ‘‘ Voila une autre chose^ rejoined his daughter, haughtily, 
 as she coaxed a stray love-lock to lie smoothly on her fore- 
 head. “ Colonel Bainbridge may admire me ; I know nothing 
 about that, and care less ; your footman may do the same, 
 sir, and the admiration of one man is likely to bring forth as 
 much fruit as the other. It is impossible, even for me, to 
 avoid the adulation of the herd : it would be another thins: 
 to encourage it.” 
 
 Come, come, Ethel 1 ” said Lord Clevedon, with some 
 degree of reproof ; you are going too far in speaking like 
 this. Were you agreeable to the proceeding, there would be 
 nothing extraordinary in your marrying a man like Colonel 
 Bainbridge. lie is a gentleman ; and the king cannot be 
 more.*’ 
 
 Lady Ethel stared at her father with unmitigated surprise. 
 
 But your daughter may require more, sir,” she said; and 
 you need not expect she will ever so far forget what is due to 
 her birth and station in society as to sink the name of Carr 
 in that of Bainbridge,” with withering contempt. 
 
 ‘‘ The Bainbridges are a very wealthy family,” resumed 
 Lord Clevedon, in a musing tone, and it would not be the 
 first time a woman has exchanged her noble name for the 
 means of maintaining it. Bern ember that you have no dowry, 
 Ethel ; that when you marry you will take your husband 
 literally nothing.” 
 
 Nothing, father]” she repeated interrogatively, with a 
 satisfied glance at the lovely features reflected in the mirror. 
 
 Ah, child ! I know what you are thinking of ; but beauty 
 is a gift common to peer and peasant alike, and of small value 
 in the matrimonial market. You know I am not rich, Ethel ; 
 in fact, for a man in my position, I am exceedingly poor ; 
 and after my death there will be no separate provision for 
 yourself. Carrhampton and Temple Grange are entailed 
 estates : they both go to your brother Temple, with little 
 enough for the poor child to keep them up on, long as his 
 minority may last; for I regret to say that I am deeply 
 involved in debt. This house, then, and furniture, with the 
 
6 
 
 Her Lord and Master. 
 
 income derivable from her own marriage settlements, is posi- 
 tively all I have to settle on your mother. Were I certain of 
 her remaining as she is, I should feel differently on the sub- 
 ject, for, in any case, she will enjoy the interest of her son^s 
 money till he comes of age; but, as it is, Ethel” — with a deep 
 sigh — ‘‘ Gertrude is young, you see, and very much admired, 
 and it is impossible to calculate on what may happen.” 
 
 ‘‘I understand you, father, and it is no news to me; you 
 have often told me the same thing before; and if it must be 
 so, it must. But no circumstances, however unfortunate, are 
 likely to influence me in making a match below my station in 
 life.” 
 
 ‘‘ But what I want to convince you of is, that birth is a 
 mere accident, and no man, who is a gentleman, can be 
 beneath you. I have been obliged to leave you dependent on 
 your mother, Ethel ; and you do not always get on well 
 together. The thought often makes me feel unhappy.” 
 
 “We get on well enough, father; don’t let that distress 
 you ; but as for this man Bainbridge — ” 
 
 “ Colonel Bainbridge,” mildly interposed Lord Clevedon. 
 “ Colonel Thomas Bainbridge, I believe his name is.” 
 
 “Yes,” rejoined Lady Ethel, with supreme indifference; 
 “ perhaps so, the name fits the man. As for this Colonel 
 Thomas Bainbridge, then, I tell you truly, sir, that I would 
 rather starve as Lady Ethel Carr than owe my means of sup- 
 port to him.” 
 
 “ Kot if you learned to love him, Ethel?” 
 
 “ My eyes are not likely to look on the ground long enough 
 to learn to love him,” she replied, insolently. 
 
 Lord Clevedon regarded his rebellious daughter for some 
 moments in silence, and when he spoke, the sadness of his 
 tone was almost solemn. 
 
 “ Ethel, that pride of yours will some day be brought down. 
 I pray that when it is, your life’s happiness may not be over- 
 whelmed at the same time ;” and then, as though fatigued 
 with the discussion, he added : “ You had better go back to 
 your visitors now, my dear; your long absence will be 
 remarked upon ; and I think, if left to myself, that I could 
 sleep again.” 
 
 Lady Ethel bent down and kissed him almost mechanically, 
 for her ruffled feelings had not quite settled down into their 
 
In Lord Clevedo7is Chamber. 7 
 
 proper place ; but, as she was leaving the apartment, Lord 
 Clevedon called her back. 
 
 “ My child,” he said, with affectionate earnestness, as he 
 drew her towards him, try to be more like your own dear 
 mother who is gone before us; she was so meek and gentle, 
 Ethel. And if I should leave you, dear — if I should join her 
 sooner than you anticipate — don’t forget what I have said to 
 you to-night.” 
 
 Then all the girl’s pride melted beneath her alarm. 
 
 ‘‘Father ! Father, dearest ! what do you mean? You do 
 not feel worse, father j not weaker than you felt yesterday, or 
 the day before ? ” 
 
 “No, no, my dear ! indeed not. What have T said to 
 frighten you ? But death is near at hand for all of us, Ethel, 
 and surely nearer for the weak than for the strong.” 
 
 Lady Ethel shuddered. To her the name of Death con- 
 veyed no notion but that of a dark grave and narrow coffin, 
 and all the soul-repellent horrors with which we invest our 
 funeral solemnities. Her heart had never realised the perfect 
 happiness of ransomed souls set free from the chains of earth 
 and sin ; or the burst of choral singing with which the gates of 
 pearl are thrown open to admit another angel to the Presence 
 that redeemed it. She had no power to look beyond the 
 signs of our mortality. 
 
 Her cheeks blanched, and her frame trembled when Lord 
 Clevedon mentioned his probable decease, but it was more 
 from fright than misery. She did not believe it possible that 
 his surmise was correct, but she shuddered to remember that 
 such a horrid thing as death must inevitably come to every 
 living creature, and would have obliterated the knowledge 
 altogether if she could. 
 
 “ Papa, papa, what are you thinking of % what are you say- 
 ing?” she said, imploringly; “pray don’t speak like that. 
 We shall be at Nice, you know, next week, and then Dr 
 Chalmers says that you are certain to get well again.” 
 
 “ Perhaps so, my child ; as God pleases,” replied the earl, 
 gently. And then, with a blessing, he once more dismissed 
 her. And hastily drawing her handkerchief across her eyes, 
 Lady Ethel quitted the apartment. 
 
8 
 
 Her Lord and Master. 
 
 CHAPTER II, 
 
 LADY ETHEL’S LOVERS. 
 
 But she had scarcely crossed the threshold of his chamber, 
 before the softness which had played about her features as she 
 listened to his last words disappeared, to be replaced by a 
 bearing in which offended pride was the predominant feeling. 
 For the tenour of her father’s conversation returned upon her 
 memory, and she recalled from whom it was he had derived 
 his information of the Colonel’s predilection for herself. 
 
 ‘‘ She would see me married to a tradesman,” thought the 
 girl, bitterly, ‘‘ in order to gratify her own ambition to get 
 rid of me ; but if Lady Clevedon imagines that a Carr will 
 be turned out of her father’s house to enter any but one equal 
 to it, she is very much mistaken.” 
 
 And the remembrance of a title as ancient as the Earl of 
 Clevedon’s, and which she had reason to expect would, before 
 long, be offered for her acceptance, sent the same conscious 
 blush to her fair forehead which had crimsoned it before, and 
 dispelled much of the ugly feeling which was lingering 
 there. 
 
 The suite of reception rooms to which Ethel Carr now took 
 her way were gorgeously furnished with white and gold, and 
 hangings of pale blue satin, in the same old-fashioned style as 
 the bed-chamber. They were profusely decorated, moreover, 
 with hot-house flowers, and crowded with a large and brilliant 
 company, in the midst of which, surrounded by the Uite of 
 her visitors, sat their hostess, Gertrude, Countess of Clevedon. 
 
 In age not over six-and-twenty, with large, clear, grey eyes, 
 fine features, rosy complexion, and an abundance of auburn 
 hair. Lady Clevedon, in the estimation of many of her friends, 
 was considered a handsomer woman than her step-daughter. 
 But a certain coarseness in the outlines of her figure, the 
 sparkle of her eyes, and the appearance of her open mouth, 
 with its full red lips, deterred men of refinement from paying 
 her the admiration which she exacted from the crowd. 
 
 Physically beautiful she certainly was ; but there was less 
 intellect than vivacity written on her face, and more cunning 
 than cleverness depicted in her character. And yet, like many 
 
Lady Ethels Lovers. 
 
 9 
 
 women of her type, she drew simply because she stooped to 
 draw; and the men who now hovered round the ottoman on 
 which she was reclining, and vied with one another in engross- 
 ing her attention, were some of the most flattered and sought 
 after of her acquaintance. 
 
 Conspicuously amongst them shone the Marquis de Lacarras, 
 the mention of whose name had called forth a sigh from the 
 lips of the Earl of Clevedon. This gentleman — even in an 
 assembly where many were handsome, most were young, and 
 all fashionable — was the possessor of sufficient beauty, youth, 
 and mode, to command universal notice. And, perhaps, his 
 manifold attractions were increased rather than diminished by 
 the fact of his nationality, which was not sufficiently promi- 
 nent to raise any great barrier of distinction between him and 
 his associates. Descended from one of the oldest and most 
 noble families of France, and bred and born in the land of 
 his fathers, Victor de Lacarras had yet been educated in 
 England, and formed most of his early friendships with sons 
 of our country. 
 
 From this circumstance, he had been accustomed to pass 
 much of his time here, and on becoming his own master, had 
 so associated himself wdth English manners and people as to 
 be more than half an Englishman himself. 
 
 There was no subject connected with our national customs, 
 laws, or amusements, on which the Marquis de Lacarras was 
 not as well informed as any of his neighbours. He was to be 
 met with on every race-course in England, kept his house in 
 town, his hunters in the country, and his yacht at Eyde; 
 spoke the English language as fluently as he did his own, and 
 never troubled Paris excepting during the season. 
 
 Notwithstanding which, he retained all the grace and 
 polish peculiar to a well-bred Frenchman, knew intuitively by 
 which delicate flattery each woman’s ear was to be gained, and 
 had always the plea of foreign extraction to fall back upon 
 when he found that he had gone too far. 
 
 Finally, Victor de Lacarras was what is called by his own 
 sex a very lucky man. His black, almond-shaped eyes, which 
 could be soft as velvet or hard as steel, as fickle nature 
 dictated to him, were sufficient of themselves to take female 
 hearts by storm, had they not been set in a handsome face, 
 and joined to a supple, well-knit figure. 
 
10 
 
 Her Lord and Master. 
 
 But it is sorry work to attempt to describe beauty. Easy 
 enough to write down a list of features, and say that, amalga- 
 mated, they looked well ; but expression is not to be caught 
 in so many words, and without expression life is wanting. 
 
 The expression of the Marquis was generally an indifierent 
 one ; in repose, he appeared tired of the world and its 
 pleasures, which was perhaps the reason that with him to 
 appear interested was to pay the highest compliment of which 
 he was capable. 
 
 On the present occasion, although he hung conspicuously 
 over the Countess of Clevedon, and even took the trouble to 
 draw off her attention from her other guests, he seemed more 
 listless and indifferent than usual, and his dark eyes roved 
 constantly from the contemplation of her neck and shoulders 
 to the door of the apartment in which they were sitting. 
 
 No such feeling of ennui, however, possessed his fair 
 hostess, for she was all sparkle and flutter at his monopoly of 
 her, and would leave any question unanswered to listen to the 
 faintest murmur from his languid lips. 
 
 It was at this juncture that Lady Ethel descended the 
 broad staircase leading from the upper story. 
 
 A group of men and women, who had been unable to find 
 seats within, or who preferred freedom and flirtation to foul 
 air and chaperones, were clustered on the landing, whispering 
 in couples, or being eloquent in silence.^’ 
 
 They fell apart as she appeared, making way for her to 
 enter, and with a faint smile and inclination of the head she 
 passed through them into the crowd beyond. 
 
 Very lovely ! DonT you think so suggested one young 
 lady to her companion, as the white satin train swept over the 
 threshold of the drawing-room. 
 
 ‘‘ H — m ! said the companion meditatively (he knew that 
 an unqualified ‘‘yes^^ would anything but please the fair 
 querist), ‘‘ some people might think her so, but she’s not my 
 style ; she is far too cold and statuesque-looking to please me.’’ 
 
 At this qualified commendation the young lady felt that 
 she might safely push her argument. 
 
 ‘‘ Oh ! but I assure you Lady Ethel Carr has been con- 
 sidered quite a belle this season ; and at the last drawing- 
 room it was remarked that she was the prettiest woman 
 there.” 
 
Lady Ethers Lovei's. 
 
 II 
 
 Indeed ! then you can scarcely have been present/’ re- 
 turned her cavalier gallantly. 
 
 “ How can you ? ” was the curt but expressive rejoinder, 
 and then, as though to change so personal a subject, the lady 
 continued : But I believe what you said respecting Lady 
 
 Ethel’s appearance is perfectly true as regards her character. 
 Everybody says that she is terribly cold.” 
 
 Of course ! perhaps you will believe me another time.” 
 
 “ She does not get on well with other girls. They complain 
 of her being so uncommunicative and reserved. Hot a bit 
 like dear Lady Clevedon, is it ? ” 
 
 Ho ! — There’s a pretty woman now, if you like,” replied 
 the gentleman, forgetting for a moment his rtle, ‘‘ Such life 
 ' — such colouring ! She is worth two of her step-daughter.” 
 
 But don’t you consider her just a little too stout for 
 beauty inquired his listener dubiously ; and then he saw 
 that he had overstepped the bounds of making himself per- 
 fectly agreeable, and declined to carry on the discussion any 
 further. Meanwhile the subject of their remarks had gained 
 the inner drawing-room. 
 
 A cloud, mingled with an expression of contempt, passed 
 over her face as she surveyed the group upon the ottoman ; 
 and turning quickly to one side, as though to avoid the sight 
 of it, she ran straight upon a tall, dark man, who was leaning 
 against the wall and contemplating her with grave earnest- 
 ness. 
 
 He started ; seized a chair, and stammeringly asked her if 
 she would not take it \ whilst Lady Ethel, scarcely knowing 
 what to answer, accepted the proffered courtesy, and found 
 herself the minute after in possession of a seat, at the back of 
 which stood sentry the man of whom she had spoken with 
 such scorn — Colonel Bainbridge. 
 
 And now, at the risk of wearying my readers with descrip- 
 tion, I must devote a few lines to the notice of this gentleman, 
 who will play no mean part in the story which follows. 
 
 Thomas Bainbridge, a man of thirty, but one of the youngest 
 colonels in the service of artillery, was the only child of a very 
 wealthy Birmingham manufacturer, who, having amassed a 
 large fortune, had for many years past retired from trade, and 
 lived on an estate which he had purchased over the Border. 
 
 Hi3 son having evinced a strong ambition to serve her 
 
12 
 
 Her Lord and Master. 
 
 Majesty, Mr Bainbridge had considered himself justified in 
 consenting to his wishes ; and proud of seeing his child in a 
 I)Osition superior to his own, had forwarded his career by 
 every means in his power. 
 
 At first, Thomas Bainbridge had not found it all smooth 
 sailing in the army ; and there were hours when he had wished 
 heartily that he had chosen a more humble occupation. It is 
 a well-known fact, that sons of our wealthiest tradesmen are 
 to be found in the best regiments of the service, but it is quite 
 as indisputable that they do not always find their position to 
 be a bed of roses; and young Bainbridge’s experience had 
 been no exception to the rule ; yet he had outlived almost 
 the remembrance of it. If, in the first years of his military 
 career, there had been found spirits coarse and ungentlemanly 
 enough to taunt him by a covert allusion to the calling of his 
 father, that time had passed away, and at. the present moment 
 there was not an officer in the length or breadth of England 
 who would not have been proud to shake Colonel Bainbridge 
 by the hand. 
 
 And this change had not been effected by any lavish dis- 
 play or distribution of his riches, for he lived as quietly as any 
 subaltern ; it had been wrought solely by himself and his 
 behaviour. 
 
 In fact, Thomas Bainbridge was a gentleman ; and when 
 Lord Clevedon called him so, he only paid a natural tribute 
 to his mind and manners, which all who knew the man would 
 have been ready to acknowledge due. 
 
 Little by little, without any forward pushing or eager desire 
 for introduction to those above him, he had silently worked 
 his way upward in society, until he not only carried men of 
 high birth back with him each year to spend the shooting 
 season at Cranshaws, but what is far more worthy of note, 
 found himself a welcome guest at their houses in return, and 
 on the visiting-list of such leaders of fashion as the Earl and 
 Countess of Clevedon. 
 
 But ib is not to be supposed that Colonel Bainbridge carried 
 any mark about him by which it might be recognised that ho 
 was not of aristocratic birth ; on the contrary, he was a far 
 finer-looking man than many of the sprigs of nobility by whom 
 he was surrounded ; and his manners, though rather grave and 
 silent, were equal to the best of them. 
 
13 
 
 The Whisper on the Balcony. 
 
 Of unusual height and bulk, and bronzed like a Moor from 
 the Indian sun, beneath which he had passed several years of 
 service, the healthy, uncontaminated blood which he had 
 derived from a race to which luxury was unknown, betrayed 
 itself in his muscular limbs, thick hair and beard, and fine 
 white teeth. His eyes, not large, but searching, were of a 
 dark brown, his nose was prominent, and his mouth (although 
 this latter feature was concealed by a heavy moustache) clean 
 cut and decided. As to his character, if this tale is to tell 
 anything, it may be left to speak for itself. 
 
 CHAPTER HI. 
 
 THE WHISPER ON THE BALCONY. 
 
 Lady Ethel, having accepted the chair which Colonel Bain- 
 bridge offered her, felt very uncomfortable at his close vicinity. 
 
 Her breast was still heaving with indignation at the thought 
 that he presumed to aspire to her hand, or that her father 
 should encourage so ridiculous an idea ; and she was deter- 
 mined to say nothing that could further the notion that he 
 was in any way agreeable to her. 
 
 And so she continued to sit before him in dignified silence, 
 like a beautiful statue j whilst he gazed at her from above, 
 thinking sadly that the sooner all this was ended, and he had 
 put miles between himself and his folly, the better. But at 
 last he ventured to bend down to speak to her, for people were 
 chatting together on all sides, and the silence between them 
 had become oppressive — almost remarkable. 
 
 “ Shall you be at the opera to-morrow night, Lady Ethel?” 
 
 She jerked her head slightly as his voice struck her ear, but 
 she answered him without any appearance of annoyance. 
 
 I am not sure. Our engagements at present depend so 
 much upon papa.” 
 
 “ Lord Clevedon is better, I trust?” 
 
 ‘‘ Yes 1 he ’s better ; at all events, he is no worse.” 
 
 “ The season is fast drawing to its close, and town will be 
 
14 
 
 Her Lord and Master, 
 
 nearly empty, I suppose, next week. Is there any chance of 
 our seeing you on the moors this year 
 
 Lady Ethel lifted her brows in unajffected astonishment. 
 The man would be sending them an invitation to his father's 
 house next, she concluded. Her answer was delivered with 
 some asperity. 
 
 ‘‘Not the slightest ! We shall be at Nice, I hope, this time 
 next week.” 
 
 “Have you ever visited Scotland? Have you seen the 
 Lammermoors when the heather is in bloom?” 
 
 “ No ! and I cannot say I wish to do so. I have never had 
 the slightest desire to cross the Border.” 
 
 She delivered this so curtly that he sighed. It was the 
 merest fragment of a sigh, more worthy to be called a long 
 breath than by that name ; but she heard it, and it irritated 
 her, for it betrayed the interest which the manufacturer s son 
 dared to feel in what she thought, and it urged her to say 
 more than she intended. 
 
 “ The fact is, I hate Scotland, and everything connected 
 with it;” and then, aware of the extreme rudeness of her 
 speech, she added, “You must forgive my plain speaking. 
 Colonel Bainbridge, but the truth will out.” 
 
 “Yes!” he said softly; and then he bit his lip hard, and 
 said no more. 
 
 Meanwhile she sat, red with conscious shame, and fanning 
 herself violently, whilst she wondered how she should make 
 her escape from him, for the crowd seemed to increase instead 
 of diminish, and they were hemmed in by a throng of silken 
 skirts. 
 
 “I suppose you like it as you live there,” she went on 
 presently, feeling that she must say something by way of 
 apology ; “ but I have never been used to the country, you 
 see ; I have lived all my life in a town, and have no fancy for 
 trees, and grass, and all that sort of thing ! How intensely 
 hot it has become here 1 Those windows can never be open, 
 surely !” And, without further preface, she started from her 
 seat and commenced to edge her way towards the other end 
 of the apartment. 
 
 Colonel Bainbridge looked after her in troubled silence. 
 At another time, he would have sprung forward to execute her 
 orders, or accompany her across the room ; but, at the present 
 
The Whisper on the Balcony. j 5 
 
 moment, he saw plainly that her move had been effected to 
 avoid himself, and he was too delicate to follow her. So he 
 remained behind, in the same position as she had found him, 
 but with a sadder heart. 
 
 Meanwhile, Lady Ethel gained her object in escaping un- 
 molested, and passed out of the drawing-room into a wide 
 balcony enclosed with glass, the windows of which had been 
 thrown open to admit the evening air. It was a lovely night ; 
 the dark blue July sky was studded with stars, and the light 
 breeze, which scarcely stirred the passion-flowers trained 
 against the casement, blew refreshingly upon her heated face 
 and neck. She placed both her arms upon the window-sill, 
 and leant out as far as she could, whilst something very like 
 a sob rose in her throat. 
 
 Ethel Carr was angry — but more with the force of circum- 
 stances than herself. She knew she had spoken rudely to a 
 gentleman, who had never given her the slightest cause of 
 offence, unless a silent and respectful admiration could be 
 interpreted as such. Yet she did not blame her own pride as 
 the reason. She considered her behaviour had been forced 
 upon her by the absurd pretensions of the man himself, the 
 interference of her step-mother, and her poor father's ready 
 acquiescence in everything that Lady Clevedon did or said. 
 Still, she was too much of a gentlewoman to feel easy at what 
 had occurred ; to which sensation an intense though unacknow- 
 ledged jealousy of the conversation which was being carried on 
 by the group upon the ottoman, added its share of excitement 
 — excitement which would have probably ended in tears, had 
 not her reverie been interrupted by the sound of footsteps, 
 which followed her into the balcony. 
 
 At that sound, Lady Ethel's unshed tears disdained to fall, 
 and the arms which rested on the window-sill commenced to 
 tremble ; for the girl knew intuitively that the presence which 
 now stood beside her was not that of Colonel Bainbridge. 
 
 “All alone'?" said the voice of the Marquis de Lacarras, 
 after a moment’s pause. “ Lady Ethel Carr must have some- 
 thing very pleasant to meditate upon, to prefer her own 
 company to the worship of her numerous admirers." 
 
 “ She has !" was the sarcastic reply. “ She is meditating 
 on the sweetness of this life and the love we bear our neigh- 
 bours, and the truth and honesty of what the world calls 
 
16 
 
 Her Lord and Master. 
 
 society! Are not such thoughts sufficient to make one 
 enamoured of solitude, Monsieur 
 
 Monsieur pulled a passion-flower from its stem and said 
 nothing. He had scarcely expected to receive so earnest an 
 answer to his idle question. When he replied, he seemed to 
 have grown earnest too. 
 
 “ I cannot allow there is so much fault to be found with 
 the world, Lady Ethel. The present assembly, for instance : 
 what have we done wrong % We have been chatting and 
 laughing together, and making ourselves agreeable, and ” 
 
 “ And pretending we are the dearest friends,” she in- 
 terrupted him, whilst, in reality, there is not one of us who 
 cares a straw for the welfare of the other.” 
 
 ‘‘Do you think so?” he said, in a low voice. “If 1 
 might speak — I could vouch that there is one, at least, 
 whose whole heart — whose every hope — is centred in his 
 neighbour.” 
 
 His neighbour was silent. Her face was still turned from 
 him, for she had not changed her first position ; bat a mist 
 rose before her eyes which made the stars she gazed on look 
 blurred and indistinct, and her heart beat so rapidly that she 
 could count its loud and impulsive throbs. This vras the 
 moment she had been waiting for for weeks, that she had 
 watched, as it were, recede and approach — approach and 
 recede, until hope deferred had made her sicken with anxiety ; 
 and now that it had come, she felt as though she could not 
 bear to remain still and listen. But yet she leant there, her 
 Tvhole frame shaking with nervous emotion, and her beautiful 
 face, from which all trace of pride had fled, turned up to the 
 cold, passionless stars. 
 
 Presently, a hand came creeping softly upon hers, a fine and 
 white, though not effeminate hand, on which, even in the 
 midst of her agitation, she could not help looking down with 
 fond admiration. 
 
 “Am I very presumptuous?” whispered the Marquis, in 
 whose English there lingered just sufficient of his native accent 
 to make the words sound more caressing than when pronounced 
 boldly. 
 
 Still Lady Ethel answered nothing, because she could not 
 have trusted her own voice to speak ; and Victor de Lacarras 
 so favourably interpreted her silence, that in another moment 
 
The Whisper on the Balcony^ 17 
 
 iie had thrown his disengaged arm about her waist and drawn 
 her closely to him. 
 
 , Ethel ! ” he exclaimed, passionately, there is more than 
 one person here to-night who cares a straw for the welfare of 
 the other and if her heaving breast and closed eyes, 
 swimming in tears, told truth, Monsieur le Marquis was 
 correct. 
 
 “ Say ! he went on presently, with all a lover’s fervour, 
 ^^say only that you have seen my love, that you do not 
 despise it, that you sometimes think of me and my affection 
 as not unworthy of you !” 
 
 ‘^0 Victor! can you doubt it'?” she murmured, reproach- 
 fully; and then he bent down, and laid upon her lips the 
 first kiss which she had received from any man, except her 
 father. 
 
 And there was a long pause between them, whilst they 
 stood locked together, and looking in each other’s eyes. 
 
 My darling ! ” commenced the Marquis presently ; 
 
 but at that moment there was a visible commotion amongst 
 the occupants of the drawing-room, and Ethel, gazing timidly 
 from the shelter of her lover’s arms, watched the crowd give 
 way to permit the entrance of Dr Chalmers, who appeared 
 desirous of gaining the presence of her step-mother. 
 
 “ Oh ! hush 1 ” she said, in her surprise, “ what can be the 
 reason that Dr Chalmers has been sent for at this time of 
 night % My father must be worse 1 ” 
 
 N’o ! no ! ” he answered, soothingly; there is no chance 
 of that 1 Ethel, let me once hear you say that you return my 
 love ! ” 
 
 ‘‘ Yes — yes I you know I do,” she uttered, hurriedly, as she 
 disengaged herself from his clasp ; but, Victor, dearest, let 
 me go. See ! Dr Chalmers is leading Lady Clevedon from 
 the room. I am certain that some harm has happened to my 
 father.” 
 
 She darted from him as she spoke, carrying her flushed face 
 and tearful eyes as marks for comment through the crowMed 
 room ; yet no one stayed her progress, or asked the reason 
 of her visible alarm. 
 
 For the intelligence which would so soon be hers had 
 already spread like wild -fire through the fast thinning ranks 
 of fashion. The Eaii of Clevedon’s heart complaint had 
 
 B 
 
i8 
 
 Her Lord and Master. 
 
 reached its climax, and his attendants had found him as his 
 child had left him — peacefully reposing in his arm-chair — but 
 never to wake again this side the grave. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 MAGGIE HENDERSON. 
 
 Cr AN SHAW Castle, or Cranshaws, as the estate of Mr Bain- 
 bridge was generally called, was situated on the Scottish, 
 moors, a little north of the county of Roxburgh. 
 
 The nouveaux riches are usually supposed to be dissatisfied 
 with anything to reside in under a castle or a court ; but it was 
 not the fault of Mr Bainbridge that his possession bore that 
 high-sounding name, for it had neither been built nor baptized 
 by himself. 
 
 He had bought it as it stood, with its many hundreds of 
 adjoining acres, and had been anxious at first to alter its pre- 
 tentious title, but finding that the place was too well known 
 to admit of such a change, sujffered it to remain as its former 
 owner had left it. For Mr Bainbridge was in all things a 
 most humble and retiring man, desirous of nothing more than 
 to avoid publicity, and proud of nothing less than of his self- 
 made fortune. And if any modern erection deserves the 
 name of castle, Cranshaws was that place. Built in the style 
 of the twelfth century, with careful regard to every peculiarity 
 of the architecture of that period, and backed by a noble 
 plantation, it stood, with moat and drawbridge, on the brow 
 of one of the highest undulations of the moors, frowning down 
 upon the smiling valley beneath, and the river which ran 
 rippling through its bosom. But the frown of Cranshaws, 
 like the frown of one pretending to be angry, was but a make- 
 believe, for the house itself was furnished in a light modern 
 style, and the approach to it lay through a beautiful flower- 
 garden. 
 
 All the ground inside the moat was dedicated to flowers and 
 smooth-shaven la wn, the es2)ccial property of Mrs Bainbridge ; 
 
Maggie Henderson, 19 
 
 and the faces which were to be daily seen there w^ere as smiling 
 and contented as the valley they gazed on. 
 
 For, if he could help it, Mr Bainbridge allowed no one about 
 him to be unhappy ; and he was so good a man, and so faith- 
 ful a Christian, with a temper so equable and serene, that it 
 was difficult to live with him and not catch the infection of 
 his kindly spirit. 
 
 He was a universal philanthropist, exercising benevolence 
 in a thousand little ways which w^ere never made public ; 
 spending far more of his wealth on the relief of his fellow- 
 creatures than on his own comforts, and never tlianking God 
 so fervently for the good fortune He had sent him as when it 
 had been the means of furthering religion or alleviating dis- 
 tress. 
 
 For miles before you reached Cranshaw Castle, you drove 
 through the property which belonged to it, and Mr Bainbridge 
 took good care there should be no want within his precincts. 
 He was about the only remaining landlord in those parts who 
 retused to adopt the new hay-cutting and reaping machines, 
 because the use of them threw so many poor Irish, who had 
 crossed the Border expressly to find work at harvest time, our 
 of employment. 
 
 And no labourers were better paid, or horses and cattle 
 better kept, than on the farm at Cranshaws. 
 
 But there were impunities (or what some people would con- 
 sider such) attached to these good things. N 0 man who drank, 
 or ill-used his wife, or was a Sabbath-breaker, was retained at 
 work on Cranshaws ; and, by the same rule, Mr Bainbridge was 
 very particular about the behaviour of his servants and the 
 members of his own family. They had every comfort and 
 luxury which they required, and in all innocent amusements 
 the master of the house took a cheerful and ready part ; but he 
 was most strict with respect to their attendance at church and 
 prayers, and the way in which they spent their Sundays, even 
 to the conversations they maintained on that day. And his 
 opinions on these subjects he diffused freely, both to guest 
 and relative alike, which made a visit to the castle to be felt 
 by many as somewhat of a restraint. At the same time, there 
 were found a few (and amongst them some of the wildest and 
 most careless spirits, whom Colonel Bainbridge took home 
 with him to his father's house), who admired the old man, not 
 
20 
 
 Her Lord a7td Master. 
 
 only for liis sentiments but the rigour with which he main- 
 tained them. 
 
 His own family consisted of his wife, himself, and their son 
 Thomas, who was seldom at Cranshaws, except for the shoot- 
 ing season and Christmas ; but with his accustomed benevo 
 lence, Mr Bainbridge had offered a home to the maiden sister 
 of his wife, and to his own orphan niece. And these two had 
 lived so long at Cranshaws (which had been in the possession 
 of its present owner for more than twenty years), as to have 
 become part and parcel of the family and place. 
 
 Miss Letitia Lloyd (better known as Aunt Letty), that she 
 might not feel herself to be a visitor, had always been deputed 
 a share in her sister’s housekeeping, and she divided with Mrs 
 Bainbridge the love of blooming Maggie Henderson, who had 
 grown up amongst them from a child of three years old to be 
 the pet and darling of the household. The aunts vied with 
 each other which should wait on and caress their niece the 
 most, whilst Maggie returned their affection with all the 
 warmth of a very genuine heart. 
 
 Aunt Letty boasted that she had instructed her in drawing, 
 music, and French, whilst Mrs Bainbridge had reserved to 
 herself the direction of her general education, and made her 
 a good housekeeper and needlewoman. 
 
 These simple-hearted, old-fashioned women had sincerely 
 imagined that, having the time, they had all the requisite 
 capability of imparting to their niece the information they had 
 themselves received — which idea had been strengthened by 
 Mr Bainbridge’s often-expressed dislike to boarding-schools 
 for young ladies, and their own disinclination to introduce a 
 stranger as governess to the family circle. If there had been 
 two or more girls to educate, they argued, it would be dif- 
 ferent, and their duty, perhaps, to endure the inconvenience ; 
 but only little Maggie,” surely the brains of Aunt Letty and 
 Aunt Lizzy combined must be sufficient to make her as accom- 
 plished as it was necessary she should be. Accordingly, 
 “ little Maggie,” having been put through the routine of 
 morning lessons when she felt so disposed, and excused the 
 same whenever she desired to fish in the river or ride her 
 pony or accompany her uncle round the farm, was at eighteen 
 years of age about as unaccomplished a girl as it was possible 
 to find in her station of life. 
 
Maggie Henderson. 
 
 21 
 
 She could ride and fish, and shoot at a mark, and walk over 
 the moors for hours together without feeling fatigued ; but her 
 general knowledge was very small, and she had no idea of 
 pronouncing French, or of fingering a piece of classical music ; 
 above all, she had never mixed in what is termed good society, 
 and her very misty notions of the ways and manners of the 
 fashionable world were derived from the remarks she occa- 
 sionally heard fall from the lips of her cousin’s regimental 
 friends. 
 
 Once or twice Colonel Bainbridge had commented on 
 Maggie’s deficiencies to his aunt and mother, and then the 
 two good creatures had looked at one another, and commenced 
 to fear that they had made a mistake in not confiding the 
 girl’s education to some one more competent to conduct it than 
 themselves. But an appeal to Mr Bainbridge invariably met 
 with the same reply. 
 
 Not accomplished enough ! ” he would exclaim. Tel] 
 Thomas to mind his own business. The child can read, and 
 write, and sew, and what more would you have % We have 
 no need for French and German on the moors, and I should 
 be sorry to see Maggie mixing in the society where they are 
 needed. Let us be content with the station of life in which 
 God has placed us ; the girl will do her duty there, or I am 
 much mistaken ! ” 
 
 And, as far as outward appearance went, there seemed every 
 probability of his prophecy being verified, for Maggie Hender- 
 son was no ordinary character. 
 
 Younger by a year than Lady Ethel Carr, she had already 
 twice the command over her feelings than was evinced by that 
 young lady, and her naturally high temper had been brought 
 into such control, that seldom, if ever, did its ebullitions dis- 
 turb the equanimity of the quiet household at Cranshaws. 
 
 They might disturb her own soul, but on the surface there 
 appeared nothing but sorrow for a nature as yet imperfectly 
 subdued, but which, with few exceptions, was most bright 
 and sunny. 
 
 This effect might, in a great measure, have been owing to 
 example and the method by which she had been reared, for 
 it is difficult to dwell amongst those who live in the presence 
 of another world, and not be imbued with a deep sense of the 
 responsibility of living. 
 
22 
 
 Her Lord and Master, 
 
 At tlie same time. Maggie Henderson owed much to her own 
 energetic spirit, to her warm heart, impulsive feelings, and 
 desire to evince her gratitude to those who had supplied the 
 place of parents to her. 
 
 By nature she was quick and clever — always ready to see 
 a joke, and very fond of making one ; but she had her serious 
 moments when the young heart was too full to laugh and be 
 merry, although it overran with joy and gratitude. 
 
 These were Maggie’s dull hours, as some considered them, 
 for her Aunt Lizzy’s cares were directed more to her bodily 
 than her spiritual comforts ; and her uncle, good man as he 
 was, was of too blunt and rough a temperament to penetrate 
 the finer sympathies of his little niece’s mind. 
 
 But there was one person in Cranshaws who always under- 
 stood Maggie, to whom the girl had no shame in disclosing 
 her most sacred feelings, and from whom she never met with 
 anything but the keenest sympathy in return, and that one 
 was dear Aunt Letty. 
 
 It was on a brilliant afternoon in the beginning of August, 
 that these two, the aunt and niece, were seated on the lawn 
 which bordered Cranshaw Castle, beneath the shade of some 
 far-spreading trees. 
 
 Aunt Lettj^, a pale, delicate-looking woman of about fifty 
 years of age, whose simple cap enclosed a patient face, on 
 which suffering had left its traces, sat on a low garden-chair 
 employed in needlework, whilst Maggie Henderson, with a 
 book in her hand, lay stretched upon the grass beside her. 
 
 She was a fine, healthy girl, with brown eyes and hair, a 
 complexion like blush roses, and usually a most animated 
 expression, but at that moment a serious mood seemed to 
 have stolen over her, for the humid eyes were looking far away 
 into the incalculable distance, and her laughing mouth was 
 firmly closed. 
 
 It was a lovely scene that lay before her, for the farm of 
 Cranshaws, with all its unsightly buildings and enclosures, 
 was situated some half a mile distant on the other side of the 
 castle, and she gazed only upon the pleasure grounds, the 
 moat and drawbridge, the sloping wood which clothed the side 
 of the hill, and then the sparkling river with its salmon-fall, 
 and the miles of heather- covered moor which, far as her eye 
 could reach, stretched out in purply undulations j whilst the 
 
Maggie Henderson, 
 
 23 
 
 only sounds to be beard were the distant bark of a sbeep-dog, 
 or tbe sharp chattering cry of the grouse, as they were startled 
 by it from their coverts. 
 
 But Maggie^s thoughts were occupied with none of these 
 things. 
 
 ‘‘ How glorious it would have been,” she exclaimed, sud- 
 denly, after a long pause, and alluding to the subject of which 
 they had been reading, ‘^to have lived in those times. Aunt 
 Letty ! Fancy being tortured and dying for the faith ; ah ! 
 after all, suffering is the true heritage.” 
 
 Aunt Letty did not immediately respond — she had outlived 
 the enthusiastic age when martyrdom appears a desirable 
 thing ; perhaps, too, she had experienced her share of it, and 
 had no wish to recommence the warfare. 
 
 ‘‘We should be very thankful that we have been spared 
 such a trial, Maggie. It must have been a fearful time for 
 them, poor creatures ! Beading of it only makes one feel 
 inclined to thank God that their sufferings are over ” 
 
 “ But they could not have felt them, aunt,” replied the girl, 
 turning her glowing eyes up to Miss Lloyd’s face ; “ not as 
 they would have felt them under ordinary circumstances, I 
 mean ; the triumph must have made them almost insensible 
 to pain. And then,” she added, in a lower voice, “ I think, 
 when they knew for certain that they were so very near seeing 
 Him, the joy of their hearts must have quite overpowered the 
 weakness of their flesh. For, only fancy what it must be, 
 Aunt Letty, to know assuredly, that within a few minutes it 
 will come to pass. Oh ! I should die with anticipation before 
 they had half expired ! ” 
 
 Aunt Letty patted the blooming cheek laid against her 
 knee, with a very happy and contented look in her own 
 face. 
 
 ‘‘ It would be great joy, my darling, too great to bear, per- 
 haps, were it not in general mercifully hid from us. But it 
 is not absolutely necessary it should be preceded by a life ot 
 suffering ! ” 
 
 “ Don’t you think so ? ” said the girl, thoughtfully ; now 
 it seems to me, Aunt Letty, that all the saints and apostles of 
 old glorified Him by unhappy lives or violent deaths; and 
 that, if our paths were all sunshine, it would seem as though 
 He had forgotten us, or had nothing for us to do for Him ! 
 
24 
 
 Her Lord and Master. 
 
 The Bible says, you know, that He chasteneth every son in 
 whom He delighteth/^ 
 
 “ I know it does, my dear, and also that His chastenings 
 are not grievous \ and yet I should be sorry to think your life 
 was not to be a sunny one. You are not destined for a 
 martyr, my little Maggie ! 
 
 I am not good enough for one, you mean, auntie. Yes ! 
 I know that well enough ; still, I have often wished that I 
 lived in those days, that I might have some means of knowing 
 how much my faith is worth. Aunt, I think that I could do 
 it;’^ and Maggie's eyes sparkled at the idea of testing her 
 strength of mind. 
 
 I think so, too, Maggie ! I think you are capable of doing 
 everything that is right^ — with His help ! ” Miss Lloyd added, 
 reverently ; only sometimes a very happy life, free from all 
 trouble and care, is a greater trial to our faith than misery. 
 Sorrow draws us nearer to Him as our consolation, but pro- 
 sperity and affluence are only too likely to make us forget 
 from whom they come. Your future is likely to be a very 
 bright one, Maggie ; but cling close to Him through it all, 
 and you will be safe." 
 
 ‘‘ Oh ! I will — I do ! " exclaimed the girl, fervently. How 
 could it be otherwise. Aunt Letty, when everything that I 
 possess has come from Him ! " 
 
 And then there was silence between them for the space of 
 some moments, during which Aunt Letty raised her hand to 
 brush away a tear that came gently coursing down her cheek. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 AUNT LETTY HEARS A SECRET. 
 
 The pause at last became almost too long ; it threatened to 
 break up their pleasant intercourse. 
 
 ‘‘ Aunt, shall I go on reading % " 
 
 No, dear, not yet awhile ; I would rather talk, if you 
 have no objection. Your uncle has been speaking to me 
 
Aunt Letty hears a Secret. 25 
 
 of your cousin Thomas. He received a letter from him this 
 morning ! 
 
 Maggie turned her head away directly, and looked out over 
 the moors. 
 
 « Did he?” 
 
 Yes ! and he purposes to be at Cranshaws on the eleventh. 
 He brings two friends with him this time : Captain Grant 
 . and Sir Charles Hammond. You remember Captain Grant, 
 Maggie ? ” 
 
 “ Oh yes, Aunt Letty, quite well ; he was here last season 
 — such a lively, good-tempered young man ! Don’t you 
 recollect the day we went for a picnic, and our letters were 
 brought out to us on the moors ; and he received one that 
 required immediate attention ; how cheerfully he left us all, 
 although he had been enjoying himself so much before, and 
 went home to write the answer? I always liked Captain 
 Grant from that day ; I thought it so good of him.” 
 
 Yet he is not a religious man,” said Miss Lloyd, thought- 
 fully. 
 
 “Religious? No; certainly not, if you take the word 
 literally ; for religion means strictness. But I think there is 
 more deep feeling amongst young men than you give them 
 credit for. Aunt Letty. This Captain Grant, for instance, I 
 remember observing how reverently he used to behave at 
 prayers, or church, although he might have been laughing 
 only the moment before ; and he always joined in the hymns 
 when we sung on Sunday evenings.” 
 
 “ But you don’t consider that those qualities, however pro- 
 mising, are sufficient to make a good husband, Maggie ? ” said 
 Aunt Letty, anxiously. 
 
 The girl burst out laughing ; she had evidently no tender 
 memories connected with the name of the promising captain ; 
 and her mirth seemed to clear away the shade of trouble 
 which had gathered on her aunt’s brow. 
 
 “ I really can’t say, Aunt Letty, for I never sat down 
 seriously to consider ; but I should certainly suppose it 
 requires something more than good-nature, and a gentlemanly 
 desire to accommodate himself to the habits of those around 
 him, to enable a man to guide wife and children aright 
 through the intricate ways of this world. It must be no easy 
 matter, and a heavy responsibility. Poor Captain Grant ha£y 
 
26 
 
 Her Lord and Master. 
 
 I fancy, enough to do to keep himself straight just at present.” 
 And Maggie’s light laugh again rippled over. 
 
 Not like your cousin Thomas, my dear. He is so good 
 and steady as to be competent to be the guide of any young 
 woman. Don’t you think so ? ” 
 
 Miss Lloyd had expected to receive a ready answer in the 
 affirmative ; but her niece’s eyes had dropped upon the ground 
 instead, and the colour deepened in her cheeks. 
 
 “We have no doubt but that he will make his wife happy, 
 have we, Maggie h ” 
 
 “No ! Aunt Letty,” came at last, but in a very subdued 
 voice. 
 
 “ Your uncle has been talking very seriously to me about 
 Thomas, this morning,” continued Miss Lloyd, nervously (for 
 she was anxious to sound Maggie Henderson upon a certain 
 subject, and had not the least idea how to set about it) ; “ he 
 naturally looks forward to his own death as an event which 
 at past seventy cannot be so very far distant, and is desirous 
 to see his son comfortably settled before that time, and 
 prepared to take his place here as soon as he shall be gone. 
 For Cranshaws is very dear and familiar to all of us now, 
 Maggie ! We should not like to see it let, or pass altogether 
 into a stranger’s hands.” 
 
 “ Oh no ! ” replied the girl, quickly. 
 
 “ Then it follows, that Thomas must look out for a wife 
 who shall be contented to live here with him all the year 
 round, and not be continually sighing to go to London for the 
 season, or spend the winter abroad.” 
 
 “ I should think there must be many such,” said Maggie 
 Henderson ; “ he will not have to search far.” 
 
 “ Many who would accept the terms, my dear, but not 
 many, I fear, who would keep them afterwards. And your 
 cousin, having travelled a great deal, will require, perhaps, a 
 particularly home-loving wife to induce him to settle down 
 contentedly as the landlord of Cranshaws. And yet it is his 
 father’s great wish that he should do so. You have never 
 found the place dull, Maggie, have you ? ” 
 
 “ 0 Aunt Letty ! how can you ask me such a question 
 of my own dear home?” and Maggie’s brown eyes glowed 
 with affection. “ Dull ! no ! I should think not. No one 
 has ever been happier in a place than I have been at Cran 
 
Aimt Letty hears a Secret, 
 
 27 
 
 filiaws. I love every incli of the ground, every tree in the 
 plantation. I would not exchange that view of the moors, 
 and the river with its salmon-fall — (do you remember when I 
 caught the big salmon there, Aunt Letty, and he quietly 
 walked down stream with my line and the first joint of my 
 rod Vj — for all the finest sights that London or Paris could 
 afford me. No more than I would exchange you, my own 
 sweet aunt, who has taught me the best of all my little 
 knowledge, for the grandest friends that I could meet there ! 
 And Maggie ended her harangue by throwing herself into 
 Miss Lloyd’s outstretched arms. 
 
 ‘‘ Then, my little Maggie would be quite content to spend 
 and end her life at Cranshaws h ” whispered the elder lady as 
 she pressed her niece to her ; “ she would not think the plea- 
 sures here too limited, nor the society too insignificant and 
 small ] 
 
 ‘‘ I ? No — of course not,” stammered the girl, half-raising a 
 burning face from the shelter of her aunt’s breast ; but I do 
 not suppose, Aunt Letty, that when it happens — that is, when 
 he is married — any of us will continue to live on here.” 
 
 “ Not if he were to choose you as the mistress of Cram 
 shaws, my darling ! ” 
 
 she exclaimed, hurriedly. ‘‘Has Cousin Thomas 
 spoken of it, Aunt Letty h ” 
 
 “ No — no,” said Miss Lloyd, in a soothing voice, as she 
 stroked the head of brown hair which was again buried in her 
 bosom ; “ not yet, dear ; but he is very likely to do so, for 
 his father wishes it, and I should like to know your thoughts 
 upon the subject, Maggie.” 
 
 But to this insinuation there came no reply. 
 
 “Should you object very much to the idea?” demanded 
 Miss Lloyd, after a moment’s pause — “ that is, if all went well, 
 and your cousin was willing to accede to his father’s desire ; 
 would it be disagreeable to you to look upon him as your 
 future husband, Maggie ? ” 
 
 “ O Aunt Letty ! don’t ask me — don’t ask me. I don’t 
 know what to say.” 
 
 The blushing face was still concealed from view, but Miss 
 Lloyd could feel the rapid pulsations of Maggie’s heart as it 
 pressed against her knee, and knew by the heaving of her 
 shoulders that the girl was undergoing violent emotion. 
 
28 
 
 Her Lord and Master. 
 
 Maggie, my dear ! I have not wounded you ? ” she said, 
 anxiously. 
 
 ‘‘No!’^ came presently in a tremulous and broken voice ; 
 but the agitation continued, and there was nothing to be 
 done but to wait till it had subsided. When that occurred, 
 Maggie Henderson voluntarily passed a handkerchief over 
 her face, and lifted two shy, tear-swollen eyes to meet 
 those of her aunt. One look was suiSicient to reveal her 
 secret. 
 
 My darling,’^ said Miss Lloyd, as she kissed the crimson 
 cheeks, ‘‘ I had no idea it had gone so far as this. I am so 
 happy, Maggie.'' 
 
 ‘‘ I don't know why I should feel so ashamed to think that 
 you have guessed the truth," resumed Maggie in a very low 
 voice; ‘‘but I could not bear that any one but you should 
 know it, Aunt Letty. And yet there is no real reason to be 
 ashamed, is there h for I could not help it ! He has always 
 been so good and kind to me ; so thoughtful of my wants and 
 attentive to my wishes, that it was natural I should grow to 
 miss him, and think Cranshaws quite a different place when he 
 is not here. And now, this new idea — of which I assure you 
 I had never dreamed as possible — it seems so wonderful, so 
 startling — and that uncle should desire it, too — I can hardly 
 believe that it is true." 
 
 “ It is not so strange when you come to think of it, my 
 dear. Your uncle has but one child to provide for, but he 
 looks on you as his own daughter. It is natural he should 
 wish to see your interests united with those of Thomas. Has 
 your cousin never hinted at such a probability to you ? 
 inquired Aunt Letty, who was becoming curious to hear if 
 anything which could be construed into a love-passage had 
 passed between the two. 
 
 “ Oh no ! never — indeed, he has not !" asseverated Maggie, 
 who appeared to imagine that blame would attach to him if 
 he had done so. “ We have never talked of such things : 
 how could you think so. Aunt Letty ? " 
 
 “ But your cousin is always very kind to you, my dear ; 
 is he not ? Very affectionate in his speech and manners." 
 
 “ Yes ! " said the girl, with that quick colour, which was 
 her chief attraction, flying to her cheek, “and he never likes 
 to go out shooting or fishing without me, you know. One 
 
Aunt Letty hears a Secret, 
 
 29 
 
 day, when they were going far, uncle said I should be a nuis- 
 ance to them ; and he said — my cousin said that ” 
 
 What did he say, darling h you need not feel bashful with 
 me/’ 
 
 ‘‘ He said,” replied Maggie, with a hanging head, that he 
 should not have half the pleasure in his sport if I were not 
 there.” 
 
 Nor will he have half the pleasure in his life if you are 
 not there,” exclaimed Miss Lloyd, enthusiastically. Maggie, 
 my child, I congratulate you ; I could not conceive a future 
 of greater happiness than that which is opening before you. 
 Thank God for it.” 
 
 But, Aunt Letty,” rejoined the girl, timidly, “it is not a 
 settled thing, you know ; he has said nothing, and ” 
 
 “ But he will, my child, he will. Thomas is a good man 
 and a good son, and when he sees that his father s hopes are 
 set upon this marriage, he will do his duty and make us all 
 happy. Leave it in God’s hands, and it will come right in 
 the end : you may depend upon that.” 
 
 “ But I would never marry him unless he ” and the 
 
 sentence remained eloquently unfinished. 
 
 “ My darling ! who could live with you and not love you ? ” 
 exclaimed Aunt Letty, unintentionally concluding it ; and 
 then, with a promise to preserve her niece’s secret with the 
 strictest fidelity, even towards Mr and Mrs Bainbridge, she 
 embraced her several times, and gathering up her sewing mate- 
 rials, passed into the house, leaving Maggie by herself upon 
 the lawn. 
 
 She was glad to be so left, for her head was still whirling 
 with the unexpected announcement made to her, and she 
 wanted a little time to collect her thoughts before she mixed 
 with the family again. 
 
 It was the fourth of August, and on the eleventh he was to 
 be there ; and when he had seen and spoken to his father, he 
 might speak to her. What should she say to him? The 
 summer sun was beginning to decline and throw long shadows 
 athwart the unshaded moorland, and turn its purple glory into 
 the richest brown. The sheep which had been lying sheltered 
 all day in the heather and the fern, were commencing to bestir 
 themselves again, and speckle the hillside with dots of white. 
 Stray hares and rabbits thought it time to peep out of their 
 
30 
 
 Her Lord and Master, 
 
 hiding-places, and she could see the trout leaping in the clear 
 stream below. 
 
 And even as she thought how peaceful and how dear the 
 landscape was to her, and that she might live her life out 
 amidst its quiet beauties, and beneath the protection of one 
 who was worthy of all her love and reverence, a little bird 
 began to sing shrilly from a neighbouring bush, and Maggie's 
 heart ran over. 
 
 Not in tears : there seemed too much certainty for them : 
 but in a burst of gratitude to the Giver of all good, who had 
 mapped out her present life as He had done the smiling scene 
 before her. 
 
 She had a powerful voice, with tones as clear and dulcet as 
 a bell ; and as she pealed forth a verse of the grand hymn — 
 
 “ Holy, Holy, Holy, Lord God Almighty, 
 
 All Thy works shall praise Thy Name in earth and sky and sea,’^ 
 
 the strain attracted the notice of Mr Bainbridge, who was in 
 the shrubbery close by. 
 
 ‘‘ What ! my little Maggie ! " he ejaculated, “ all alone, with 
 no one but the birds to listen to your singing? Well, never 
 mind, we shall have an audience for you in a few days ; for 
 here is a second letter from Thomas, asking house-room for 
 another of his friends. I was just going in to speak to Aunt 
 Lizzie about it.'' 
 
 “ I don't want an audience," said Maggie, shyly, as she rose 
 and slipped her arm through that of her uncle. 
 
 “ So much the better, my dear. Songs like yours are never 
 lost, for they have listeners up there " — pointing with his 
 finger to the blue arch above them — “ and a chorus too, I 
 reckon, if our ears were only quick enough to catch the sound 
 of it. Ay, and He pays His singers too, as a Eoyal King 
 should do. Stick to your songs, my daughter ; they 're the 
 only ones worth learning, for they 'll endure when Time itself 
 has passed away." 
 
 Kind and fatherly as the manner of her uncle always had 
 been, it was the first time he had actually addressed her by 
 the name of “ daughter," and as the unwonted term of endear- 
 ment struck her ear, connecting it with the circumstance which 
 she had just heard, Maggie’s quick start of pleasure and sur- 
 prise resolved itself into a quick sigh of full contentment. 
 
Colonel Bainbridge at Qmtshaws. 
 
 31 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 COLONEL BAINBRTDGE AT CRANSHAWS. 
 
 Ko further allusion to the subject of her future prospects 
 passed between Maggie Henderson and her Aunt Letty ; and 
 an occasional glance of intelligence on the part of the elder 
 lady was the only intimation by which she conveyed that she 
 had not forgotten the revelation made to her. But, after a 
 while, even this furtive token of sympathy grated on the girl’s 
 feelings. In the first heat of her surprise at the proposition 
 made to her, she had divulged far more than she intended — 
 the secret which she had sacredly guarded for many months 
 beforehand ; and though it was only to Aunt Letty she had 
 betrayed it — Aunt Letty, who had been the depository of all 
 her little joys and troubles since her days of infancy, who had 
 heard all her secrets thitherto, and was as true and as safe as 
 the rock of Gibraltar itself — yet, that she should have dis- 
 closed her love to any one — the love which, up to that moment, 
 had neither been asked of nor offered to her — was a cause of 
 burning shame, and an episode upon which she could not look 
 back without feelings of deepest annoyance. 
 
 She was only a country-bred girl, lacking in most of the 
 requirements of fashionable society, but she possessed a 
 refinement of character too often found wanting in the highest 
 circles. Her tell-tale cheeks and eyes, unused to practise 
 concealment where all about them was done openly, had 
 foolishly blurted out her preference for her cousin before her 
 aunt ; but Maggie was terribly angry with them for doing so, 
 and would have scorned to let them repeat the same story 
 when in his presence. She was up to no one of the thousand 
 little ways by which a woman of the world will let a man 
 know he is agreeable to her, and she would have opened her 
 brown eyes very wide, could she have been initiated into 
 many scenes that take place between members of Belgravian 
 coteries, who have no intention, and in many cases no power, 
 of becoming more than lovers to each other (if triflers in 
 search of mere excitement may be called by such a name). 
 
 Maggie’s simple, old-fashioned notions, derived from the 
 
32 
 
 Her Lord a7id Master, 
 
 homely experience of Aunt Letty and Aunt Lizzie, did not 
 carry her beyond the exploded ideas, that it is the peculiar 
 23rovince of man to make love to woman ; that an engagement 
 deliberately entered into is sacred as a marriage, and that 
 marriage itself is a death to illegal admiration and excitement, 
 and a resurrection to all the domestic virtues which can be 
 crowded into one female form. And, feeling like this, she was 
 horribly ashamed whenever she remembered that she had 
 overstepped the privileges of her sex, in making that revela- 
 tion to Aunt Letty. 
 
 But there was no remedy for it now, and no comfort, 
 excepting in the thought that she had not wilfully done 
 wrong, and Miss Lloyd’s promise of secresy was sacred. 
 
 Yet her distress and nervous anxiety increased as the time 
 for Colonel Bainbridge’s arrival drew near ; and she seemed 
 to realise how much easier, if disappointment came to her, it 
 would have been to bear it all alone ; so that, when she 
 greeted her soldier cousin, she was, in reality, looking paler 
 and less well than she had done for some time before. 
 
 Colonel Bainbridge, in company with his friends, arrived 
 to the day appointed, for he was as particular in private as in 
 professional matters, and, quite unspoiled by the hospitality 
 which had been extended to him abroad, would have been 
 ashamed to upset the regularity of the home management by 
 giving himself any of the airs of a fine gentleman. 
 
 He did not notice the unusual timidity and quietness of 
 Maggie’s welcome, nor the subdued expression in her face ; 
 on the contrary, fresh from contemplating the waxen-like 
 delicacy of Ethel Carr’s complexion, and the trained grace of 
 her movements, his little cousin’s appearance and manners 
 struck him as being far too robust and noisy for those of a 
 young lady, and the fashion of her dress seemed equally to 
 offend him. 
 
 I say, mother ! ” he exclaimed, abruptly one day, as he 
 followed Mrs Bainbridge into her private sitting-room, “ when 
 are you going to let Maggie have some new things % ” 
 
 Mrs Bainbridge, who, with the traces of considerable 
 beauty, and without being positively unladylike (her father 
 bad been a curate), was still one of those stout rosy- 
 complexioned, countrified dames, whom one never suspects 
 of having any blue blood concealed about their persons. 
 
Colonel Bainhridge at Cranshaws. 33 
 
 deposited lier comfortable self in an arm-cliair; and then re- 
 garded her son over her spectacles with unmitigated surprise. 
 
 ‘‘New things, my dear Thomas! new clothes, do you 
 mean ? Why, your cousin had no less than four dresses 
 made last month, and I believe the one she is wearing this 
 morning is put on for the first time.’’ 
 
 “ Really % Well ! I don't know how it is, I don’t pretend 
 to understand such things, but it doesn't look right to me. 
 Ought not ladies’ dresses to have some bobs and tails behind 
 now-a-days, and little crinkley things all round the edge of 
 the skirt ? " 
 
 Lady Ethel’s dresses being the only ones the man had ever 
 taken the trouble to observe, had been made somewhat after 
 the fashion he attempted to describe, and the remembrance of 
 them was still running sadly in Colonel Bainbridge's head. 
 But “ bobs," and “ tails,” and “ little crinkley things," were a 
 paraphrase of the last Parisian mode, and a flight of dress- 
 making altogether beyond the comprehension of his worthy 
 mother. 
 
 “ My dear Thomas 1 " she exclaimed, more amused than 
 interested, “ I really don't know what you are talking 
 about ; Maggie’s dress appears very neat to me, and very 
 suitable for a girl of her age, and Jeanie Ransom, who came 
 over from Borthwick expressly to make it " (Borthwick 
 was the nearest town, distant about ten miles from Cran- 
 shaws), “ said that she was cutting all the ladies' dresses now 
 exactly in the same style. And I know that Jeanie has the 
 fashion-books regularly from London. What fault can you 
 have to find with it ? " 
 
 “ Oh, none, mother 1 it is very suitable for her, as you 
 say; and, after all, it signifies little what one wears in the 
 country — only I should have liked Grant and Hammond to 
 see Maggie at her best ; and don't you think she is just a 
 little brusque in her manners for so young a girl — a little 
 off-hand in her way of answering, and so on ? I may be too 
 particular, but it strikes me so." 
 
 “Towards the other gentlemen, Thomas? — well, perhaps 
 she may be, but I am sure you always find her considerate 
 enough with yourself." 
 
 “ Oh yes 1 I have no complaint to make on that score ! 
 Maggie is most affectionate and kind ; she is a thoroughly 
 
 c 
 
34 
 
 Her Lord and Master. 
 
 good, lionest little creature, and I love her dearly, which is, 
 perhaps, the reason I perceive her faults sooner than I should 
 those of another person/^ 
 
 ‘‘ You can scarcely call it a fault, Thomas. In my time it 
 was considered a desideratum in young women not to be too 
 forward in their manners.^' 
 
 Oh, by Jove ! and so it is now. But Maggie certainly 
 wants a little polish — she 'll never get a proposal if she sets 
 her face so determinately against small talk." 
 
 ‘‘ Our Maggie will not go begging for a husband," said Mrs 
 Bainbridge, with an oracular smile. 
 
 hTo 1 not if I can prevent it," rejoined her son, heartily ; 
 ‘^siie is too good for that." And then he sauntered off 
 to join his cousin in the garden, whilst his mother hurried 
 away to repeat the important conversation which they had 
 held together to his fatherj for with her all his anxiety about 
 Maggie's dress and behaviour tended to but one point — a 
 conviction of the particular interest he took in her. 
 
 That he was interested in her w^as indisputable, though in 
 a very different manner from what his parents imagined. 
 From his boyhood he had seen this girl growing up beside 
 him, like a younger sister, and his earliest memories of 
 Cranshaw^s were associated wdth her bright face and winning 
 ways. After a service of three years in India, he had 
 returned home, about a twelvemonth previously, to find his 
 childish playmate changed into a woman, but ready to extend 
 the same affectionate w^elcome to him as of old. He had 
 thought then (with the memory of the pallid faces he had 
 left behind him fresh in his mind), that he had seldom seen a 
 more attractive countenance than that of his country cousin, 
 and if Colonel Bainbridge had ever stood in danger of falling 
 in love with Maggie Henderson, it must assuredly have been 
 at the moment of his return. A great deal of innocent but 
 affectionate intercourse had taken place between the cousins 
 at that period, but his stay at Cranshaws was necessarily 
 limited, and when he quitted it to rejoin his battery at 
 Woolwich, he left behind him an impression which, even at 
 that date, he would have been shocked to discover. 
 
 Since which time he had mixed much, as has been said, in 
 good society, and had his eyes opened wider and wider to 
 poor Maggie's deficiencies. 
 
Colonel Bainbridge at Cranshaws. 35 
 
 He did not love her less; on the contrary, the more 
 intimately he came to know her character, the more estimable 
 he perceived it to be ; but his organs of sight and hearing, 
 rendered fastidious by the ultra-refinement of the circles in 
 ivhich he moved, began to be shocked by the rusticity of her 
 ^.ddress, and the obsolete, not to say vulgar fashion of her 
 clothes. 
 
 Every one knows what a dress, let the materials be what 
 they may, turned out by a country dressmaker, looks like — 
 how it bulges out wherever it ought to lie flat, and turns all 
 a woman’s curves into squares, and makes its unfortunate 
 wearer appear about as easy as though clothed in a suit of 
 armour. Miss Jeanie Hansom’s productions (although she did 
 come all the way from Borthwick to make them) were no 
 exception to the general rule, and Colonel Bainbridge’s mind, 
 already fllled with a fairer and more fashionable image, had 
 no leisure to bestow on the dissection of the generous, self- 
 denying, womanly heart that beat beneath those ill-made 
 coverings of silk and merino. 
 
 Yet he was pleased to hear his friends speak in warm terms 
 of Maggie’s bloom and youth, and as he gained her presence 
 on the occasion alluded to, and threw himself beside her on 
 the grass, the old brotherly feeling returned so strongly upon 
 him that he longed to make her a confidante of the anxiety 
 then preying upon his spirits. 
 
 This impulsive, tender, and compassionate little heart, he 
 thought, which was always ready to listen, even to a beggar’s 
 tale of misery, would be so sure to sympathise with the 
 prolonged pain of suspense occasioned by his uncertain 
 hopes. 
 
 The girl changed colour as she saw his tall figure issue 
 from the French windows of his mother’s morning-room, and 
 advance towards her, but Colonel Bainbridge was too indolent 
 or too uninterested to observe the action. 
 
 ‘‘ A glorious morning, Maggie ! ” he exclaimed, as he 
 stretched his huge limbs lazily on the smooth sward ; but 
 almost too warm for tramping over heather. I feel sadly 
 inclined to waste a few hours in your company instead.” 
 
 She did not appear to notice the indifferent compliment 
 his words conveyed, but inquired, anxiously : 
 
 Have you a headache. Cousin Thomas 1 ” 
 
36 
 
 Her Lord and Master. 
 
 For Colonel Bainbridge’s altered looks bad been tlie 
 subject of universal comment since his arrival at Cranshaws, 
 and he had been compelled in self-defence to attribute them 
 to the effect of the late hours he had kept during the season. 
 
 “ A mere trifle, Maggie ! — I did not sleep well last night. 
 What a lovely prospect we have from here ! It is a thousand 
 pities that Cranshaws is not nearer some good town. It is 
 terribly isolated.^’ 
 
 But Borthwick is not much more than an hour’s drive/’ 
 replied Maggie, “ and you can get everything there that you 
 can possibly want.” 
 
 Colonel Bainbridge laughed. 
 
 Bah ! my dear child ! why, Borthwick is nothing but a 
 stupid little pottering country town. I don’t suppose there’s 
 a pair of gloves fit to wear to be procured in the place. No 
 woman of fashion could dress herself from a hole like 
 Borthwick.” 
 
 ‘‘ Oh no ! I suppose not. I know so little about such 
 things,” said Maggie, timidly. 
 
 But you are happy at Cranshaws, are you not % ” he 
 resumed presently. “It is pretty lively here, I suppose ? — 
 for the country, that is to say — during the summer and 
 autumn weather. In the winter it must be unbearable.” 
 
 “ I never find it so,” replied the girl, whose heart had 
 commenced to beat very rapidly at his question, so 
 significantly like that of her Aunt Letty ; “ but I have 
 always lived here, you see.” 
 
 “ It might be vastly improved,” he went on, dreamily ; 
 “ there is no croquet-ground, and the paddock at the back 
 of the castle would be just the place for archery. It was a 
 mistake of my father’s not having a billiard- table on the 
 lower floor ; that stupid orangery, which is no good at all 
 and little ornament, just takes up the room required for it.” 
 
 “ He would have had little use for it, you see, cousin, as 
 he never plays billiards himself, and your visits are so few 
 and far between.” 
 
 “ But we shall change all that, perhaps, by and by, 
 Maggie,” he said, with a bright glance upwards. “ I suppose 
 you think I am such an old bachelor, there is no chance of 
 my ever marrying ; but more wonderful things have come to 
 pass before now.” 
 
Colonel Bainhridge at Cranshaws. 37 
 
 ‘‘ Oh yes ! I know,” she answered, confusedly, as she benfe 
 her eyes upon the work in her hands. 
 
 Heaven forbid I should wish to oust the dear old people 
 from their places \ but Cranshaws may own a younger 
 mistress some day ; and if that ever happens, I shall make it 
 as bright and pleasant for her as I can. It would be a jolly 
 place to live in for six months in the year.” 
 
 ‘‘Uncle and aunt have lived in it all the year round,” 
 suggested Maggie, who could not help thinking what his 
 parents would say to hear him speak so lightly of his obliga- 
 tions towards Cranshaws. 
 
 “ Ah ! yes — but then they are old people, who have never 
 been used to mix in gayer scenes ; you could not expect a 
 young girl to be contented with what makes them happy. 
 How, tell me the truth, Maggie : do you really believe that a 
 girl, say of your own age, could settle herself as my wife, 
 down here at Cranshaws, and live through all the weary 
 round of spring, summer, autumn, and winter, year after 
 year, without wishing for something a little livelier than the 
 company of her husband, and the prospect of these everlasting 
 moors % ” 
 
 “ Oh ! I don’t know. I really can’t tell,” faltered his blush- 
 ing cousin. But at that moment the voices of Sir Charles 
 Hammond and his other friends were heard in search of him, 
 and he rose to join them in their morning’s sport. 
 
 “ Think well of it, then,” he answered, laughing, as he rose 
 to his feet, “and let me have your deliberate conclusion. A 
 great deal may depend upon it, Maggie ; you don’t know but 
 what I shall be guided by your answer in one of the most 
 important occasions of my life.” 
 
 And so he left her, jestingly on his part it is true, but with 
 a firm conviction on hers that Aunt Betty’s surmise was 
 correct, and that she should very soon be told that her 
 cousin’s future happiness was bound up in her own. And, 
 thinking on his final words, Maggie shed tears of excited joy 
 and gratitude. 
 
38 
 
 Her Lord and Master. 
 
 CHAPTER VIL 
 
 A DECIDED REFUSAL. 
 
 It was but a few days after the circumstances just detailed 
 that Mr Bainbridge called his son into his study. 
 
 Can you give me a few minutes of your time, Thomas ? 
 
 Certainly, father ! ” and in a second the door was closed 
 behind him. 
 
 lliey were a great contrast, this father and son ; for Mr 
 Bainbridge was a small, stout man, with the rounded 
 shoulders acquired from stooping over a desk, and plain 
 unaristocratic features ; and as he sat opposite his noble- 
 looking offspring, whose personal appearance had been all 
 derived from the other side of the house, a stranger would 
 have found it hard to believe they were so nearly related to 
 each other. 
 
 Yet there was that on the face of Mr Bainbridge which 
 almost beautified it ; which certainly made his friends forget 
 that it was homely, and which, joined to its kindly expression, 
 impressed all who saw it ; and that was the stamp of a settled 
 and abiding peace, such as had never softened the dark 
 features of his son. Indeed, as they now appeared, notwith- 
 standing his disadvantages of age and person, the father 
 looked almost the younger of the two, for in many a tussle 
 with the world and thought, the brow of Colonel Bainbridge 
 had gained deep furrows, which Time, and a heart at rest 
 with God and itself, had smoothed out of the forehead of the 
 other. 
 
 And this fact seemed to strike Mr Bainbridge, as though 
 almost for the first time, as he lifted his eyes and contem- 
 plated the careworn expression of the man who had thrown 
 himself into a chair beside him. 
 
 “ My boy,’^ he said, affectionately, as he touched his hand, 
 there are more lines in your face than there should be at 
 your age. You are not concealing anything from us, 
 Thomas ; you are in good health, are you not ? 
 
 Perfectly so, father,'^ replied Colonel Bainbridge, rousing 
 
A Decided Refusal, 39 
 
 liimself. ‘‘I liave the strength of a lion and the appetite of 
 a horse — if that is sufficient to satisfy you.’’ 
 
 “The reason goes deeper, perhaps?” sail the old man 
 interrogatively, for to see the day when his son should feel 
 as he did, was all he cared to live for ; but we know what 
 Englishmen are when any one, even a parent, attempts to 
 probe their most sacred feelings. Colonel Bainbridge sat 
 bolt upright in his chair, affirmed that if anything was to 
 blame for his wrinkles, it was the climate of India, and 
 putting on a look of the most perfect indifference, begged 
 that he might hear for what purpose his father had desired to 
 speak with him. 
 
 Mr Bainbridge returned to his desk with a sigh, but still 
 with a degree of satisfaction. Here was, perhaps, the very 
 remedy for his son’s waning youth and premature cares ; the 
 means, too, by which Heaven designed to lead him into the 
 way of peace. He entered on his self-imposed business with 
 alacrity. 
 
 “ I have just been looking over these papers,” he said, the 
 title-deeds to the little farm of Brackenhaugh, our Maggie’s 
 single possession, you know. It’s a poor place, very poor 
 indeed ; and we ’ve only been drawing a pound an acre for 
 the best part of it, for many years past. But Taylor, who held 
 it up to Lady Day, has just vacated, and Hobson, the Glasgow 
 manufacturer, wants to take it on lease for the next fourteen 
 years. He has two other farms about there, and Brackenhaugh 
 divides his property. Only he won’t give even as much rent 
 as Taylor did, but promises, on the other hand, to use the 
 ground for arable purposes. Now, my difficulty is this. 
 Brackenhaugh ought to bring in a higher rent than Hobson 
 offers us, and so Maggie will be losing by it for the next four- 
 teen years; but still the place wants draining and a dozen 
 other improvements, and if I let it again to a sheep-grazier, 
 the property will go on deteriorating till it ’s worth nothing 
 at all. Hobson will do his duty by it, for he’s an affluent 
 man and an honest one ; and if Maggie is cheated out of part 
 of her rent, she will profit by the loss in the end. But I should 
 like to have your ideas on the subject, Thomas, for two heads 
 are better than one; and it’s hard to choose for another 
 person.” 
 
 Colonel Bainbridge had listened to this harangue with the 
 
40 
 
 Her Lord and Master. 
 
 utmost astonisliment. It was the first time in his life that 
 his father had appealed to him for advice about anything con- 
 nected with agriculture ; and, considering that he had chosen 
 his profession at an early age, and followed it closely ever 
 since, it was but natural he should know nothing of such 
 matters. 
 
 He remained quiet till Mr Bainbridge had finished speaking, 
 and then, as might have been expected, he replied ; 
 
 “ I am really so totally ignorant of everything concerning 
 the business of a farm, that I am afraid I can be of little ser- 
 vice to you. I have never even seen Brackenhaugh, you 
 know ; so my opinion, if I had any, would be utterly worth- 
 less.” 
 
 ‘‘ Don’t you think it is time you began to think of such 
 things, Thomas?” said the old man, gently. “ I may be called 
 home at any moment ; and if Cranshaws is not to run to waste 
 after my death, you will be compelled to superintend the farm 
 yourself.” 
 
 “ I trust that contingency is a very long way off,” replied 
 his son, affectionately. 
 
 “ That is as He pleases, Thomas, though, whenever you are 
 master here, I hope that you will be a good one. Not that 
 that was my reason for introducing the subject of Bracken- 
 haugh to you this morning,” continued Mr Bainbridge, a slight 
 degree of nervousness becoming apparent in his movements ; 
 ‘‘Maggie’s interests are very dear to me, Thomas, and I 
 should like to feel that you hold them so, and in the same 
 degree.” 
 
 “ I do,” exclaimed the younger man, firmly. “ Have I ever 
 given you reason to think otherwise, sir? I am as fond of 
 Maggie as though she were my sister, and you may rest assured 
 that I shall never divide her interests from my own.” (This 
 he said, thinking that the old man was troubled by the idea 
 of what would become of his orphan niece after his own 
 death.) “ All whom you leave behind you,” continued 
 Colonel Bainbridge, ‘'‘ will become sacred charges to me, and 
 I shall guard their happiness with the greatest care.” 
 
 “ I am sure of that, my son. But Maggie is the only child 
 of my only sister : her poor mother used to be the plaything of 
 my boyhood, as she has been of yours, and when she lay dying, 
 she said I had made death easy for her by the promise that I 
 
A Decided ReficsaL 
 
 41 
 
 •would rear Maggie as my daugliter. Now, I feel as though 
 liiy deathbed would be easier if I could see her future lot 
 decided before I lie down upon it.” 
 
 ‘‘It may be,” said Colonel Bainbridge, encouragingly. 
 “ Maggie leads rather a secluded life here, but I should think 
 she was a girl who attracted a good deal of admiration.” 
 
 “ I don’t want to see her married to a man who only 
 admires her,” replied the other, impatiently ; “ my fondest 
 wish, Thomas, is to leave her settled here at Cranshaws.” 
 
 “ At Cranshaws ? ” repeated Colonel Bainbridge. At first 
 he had some indistinct idea that his father desired to oust him 
 from his heritage, and settle Cranshaw Castle on his cousin 
 instead ; but the moment his eyes met those of Mr Bainbridge, 
 the truth flashed on his mind. “ Do you want me to marry 
 her?” he said, quickly; and then, struck by what appeared to 
 him the absurdity of the idea, he burst out laughing. 
 
 Nothing could have grated so harshly on the feelings of the 
 elder Bainbridge as that undisguised and hearty laugh. Had 
 he been a worldly man, I should have said that he considered 
 Maggie Henderson to be perfection ; but, even as it was, he 
 believed her to be as innocent and free from the taint of sin 
 as is possible to a fallen creature, and that any man could 
 ridicule the idea of an alliance with her was incredible to 
 him. 
 
 Had his son looked surprised or thoughtful, or protested 
 against his chances of success, or a becoming love for his 
 young cousin, hope still might have remained behind, and 
 persuasion have done much, but in that genuine mirth all 
 concealment was impossible. It was evident at once that 
 Maggie Henderson could never reign at Cranshaws. 
 
 Colonel Bainbridge saw that he had hurt his father s feel- 
 ings, and hastened to apologise. 
 
 “ My dear father, I am so sorry that I laughed, but pray 
 dismiss that idea from your mind for ever. It can never ^ never 
 be ! I could as soon think of marrying old Hetty the hen wife, 
 whom I have known ever since I was put into jackets. Maggie 
 and I are far too much like brother and sister to become any- 
 thing nearer. It would be impossible ! ” 
 
 “ I am sorry for it !” was all that Mr Bainbridge said in reply. 
 
 “ She knows nothing about this, I hope ? ” resumed his son, 
 anxiously. 
 
42 
 
 Her Lord and Master, 
 
 Oh no ! ” was the prompt reply, for it must be remem- 
 bered that Miss Lloyd had never even mentioned that she had 
 spoken to Maggie on the subject. 
 
 “ Thank heaven for that ! ” ejaculated Colonel Bainbridge, 
 or it would have broken up all our pleasant intercourse. 
 Father, I can’t imagine what should have put such an idea in 
 your head.” 
 
 It seemed feasible to me, Thomas ; she is a sweet, loveable 
 girl, and I suppose you will marry some day '? ” 
 
 A dark shade passed over his son’s face. 
 
 Perhaps so ! but it is not at all certain. Anyway, I 
 should have thought with your sound sense, that in the event 
 of my marrying, you would have seen the advisability of my 
 extending instead of contracting the family circle.” 
 
 ‘‘ Of raising it, you mean, Thomas ! ” rejoined Mr Bain- 
 bridge, quickly. 
 
 Well, yes, father, of raising it,” was the honest reply. 
 I am not ashamed of my birth, as you know ; but your 
 wealth and my profession enable me to take a higher stand in 
 society than you have done, and to choose a wife in accordance 
 with my improved position.” 
 
 “ You are ambitious of getting one with a handle to her 
 name, perhaps, Thomas.” 
 
 “ She will make you none the worse daughter-in-law for 
 that circumstance, if I am,” was the hasty reply. 
 
 I was rather afraid of that when I heard you had got 
 amongst the aristocracy,” said Mr Bainbridge, with a sigh. 
 
 I am not like many self-made men, Thomas ; I don’t rail 
 against the aristocracy, and think it unfair that some should 
 be born to a high station and others to a low. I know that 
 God appoints our different conditions, and that what He does 
 cannot be wrong. But yet I should be very sorry to see you 
 take a wife from amongst them, and bring her home to Gran- 
 shaws to look down upon your mother, and aunt, and cousin.” 
 
 “ I should never bring home any one but a lady^ sir,” 
 interposed the colonel, with marked emphasis. 
 
 Ladies can be very bitter sometimes,” replied his father, 
 when they don’t fear God. The higher classes are exposed 
 to more temptations in that respect than we are, Thomas ; 
 the flattery they meet with, the requirements of the society 
 they move in, and the demands made upon their time, leave 
 
A Decided RefusaL 
 
 43 
 
 them in general little leisure to devote to serious things. 
 Now, my dear boy, you know that I can’t control you in this 
 matter, and that I should not wish to do so if I could. But 
 promise me one thing : that you will never bring home a 
 careless, irreligious woman to be the mistress of Cranshaws.” 
 
 Colonel Bainbridge moved uneasily in his chair. The only 
 creature whom, at that moment, he would have made mistress 
 of himself and his possessions, he knew nothing of, except 
 that she was beautiful and that her image haunted his 
 imagination. And yet he believed that, however careless in 
 speech, she must be at heart religious (does not every man 
 try to believe so of the woman that he loves ?) ; and was sincere 
 when he replied that he would never take a wife who was not, 
 at the least, as pure and innocent as his cousin Maggie. 
 
 ‘^Nobody is pure in this life,” said Mr Bainbridge ; ‘^and 
 the world’s interpretation of innocence is very different from 
 that of Heaven. Here, every woman is called innocent who 
 has not grossly sinned. You are not a religious man yourself, 
 Thomas (I wish to God you were), but you have been brought 
 up, to the best of our ability, to know the signs of a religious 
 life ; and I conjure you, as you value your own happiness 
 and our honest name, to marry no woman in whom they are 
 absent. I have no more to say to you at present. I suppose 
 your mind will never be altered on the subject we have 
 discussed this morning ? ” 
 
 am sorry to have disappointed you, father; but it will 
 never be altered. No thinking could bring me over to the 
 idea — it is quite impossible.” 
 
 Very well, my son. Let us say no more about it. I 
 trust, when you choose for yourself, that you may get as good 
 a wife and Christian as that girl will make.” 
 
 And then the conversation was concluded, and never again 
 renewed between them. 
 
 But the disappointment which fell upon Aunt Letty and 
 Aunt Lizzy, when Mr Bainbridge made the upshot of the 
 interview which he had held with his son known to them, is 
 not to be described. 
 
 Thomas had positively refused to take their Maggie as Lis 
 wife ; had even laughed at the idea of such a thing — it was 
 incredible to them. 
 
 He must have some other attachment,” concluded Aunt 
 
44 
 
 Her Lord and Master. 
 
 Lizzy. jSTotliing less could make a man indifferent to 
 Maggie/' 
 
 “ I am not so sure of that," replied her husband ; but I 
 am afraid that Thomas is ambitious — that he hopes to marry 
 higher ; and connections entered into for worldly motives 
 seldom turn out happily." 
 
 Aunt Letty said nothing ; she remembered the words which 
 had passed between her and Maggie in the garden, and her 
 heart was bleeding for her darling. 
 
 ‘‘It is lucky our dear Maggie knows nothing of all this," 
 resumed Mrs Bainbridge, presently ; “if her feelings had been 
 concerned in the matter, it would indeed have been a disap- 
 pointment, though time and her good sense would doubtless 
 have worked a cure." 
 
 “ He who permitted the sorrow would Himself have pro- 
 vided the remedy," said her husband, confidently. And Aunt 
 Letty laid up his words in her heart, and crept away to her 
 own room to comfort herself with them as best she might. 
 
 She felt terribly guilty in the matter, as she realised how 
 much more hard it would be for the giri to bear up bravely 
 against her disappointment, knowing that the cause was 
 patent to another. She longed to see Maggie undeceived and 
 put out of pain at once ; but she dared not speak to her upon 
 the subject again — it would be too sore a wounding of her 
 darling's pride. She could only pray that her eyes might be 
 soon opened to the truth, and strength given her to bear the 
 sight of it. 
 
 And, meanwhile, the glorious August and September days 
 went on, and Maggie Henderson lived through them, a little 
 anxiously, perhaps, but still quite undismayed by the pro- 
 spect of the life that lay before her. 
 
Lady Ethel m Deep Waters, 
 
 45 
 
 CHAPTER VIIL 
 
 LADY ETHEL IN DEEP WATERS. 
 
 Lady Ethel Carr felt the shock of her father’s sudden death 
 deeply. 
 
 It startled, frightened, terrified her, and for the first few 
 weeks she was like some wild creature taken captive — flying 
 from side to side to find an outlet for her sorrow, and driven 
 back from all points on herself and her own miserable 
 thoughts. 
 
 And then she sank into a state of apathy, from which 
 nothing seemed to rouse her, and it was sad to see so young 
 a creature sitting hour after hour with her mournful eyes 
 fixed upon the blank wall of her apartment, and turning a 
 deaf ear to the solicitations of her attendants, that she would 
 take either food or rest. 
 
 Yet her despair was not unnatural, for she had no hope 
 with which to brighten it. Unable to remember her mother, 
 and her father having been the only one of the home circle 
 who had engaged her affections, she felt as though in losing 
 him she had lost everything. It was the first time Death had 
 stepped in between her and any one she loved,- and it was all 
 so dark and terrible, she did not dare even to think of it. 
 
 She told herself, of course, and in a manner she believed, 
 that her father had been taken from earth to heaven, and 
 that some day she should meet him there. 
 
 But in Ethel Carr’s ideas (as in the ideas of so many of the 
 young and careless) Heaven, instead of being a happy home 
 to which she might be called upon to journey any day, was a 
 very vague, misty, unsatisfactory sort of a place, where, by 
 some means or other, everybody would be united at last, to 
 spend eternity in a fashion which she had no hesitation in 
 affirming would be abominably dull ; but which was an event 
 so far off in the future, having nothing in common with our 
 present existence, and only connected in her mind with dooms- 
 day and the end of the world, that she never troubled herself 
 to think of it seriously at all. 
 
46 
 
 Her Lord and Master. 
 
 Meanwhile, her father — her dear, dear father whom she had 
 loved so much — had been taken from her, and hid in that 
 dark, dreadful grave, of which she could not think without a 
 shudder. He had disappeared, as it were, into impenetrable 
 blackness, and she could only remember that in this world 
 she should never see him more. 
 
 But, through all her misery, Ethel’s pride continued to reign 
 paramount. She was cold and stately in her grief as the 
 marble statues which adorned the corridors ; she disdained to 
 ask for sympathy, and there was no one found bold enough 
 to offer it to her. 
 
 Lady Clevedon, whose part it should have been, was too 
 much occupied with her crape and bombazine, and the most 
 correct style in which to clothe the youthful earl, to have any 
 leisure to bestow on her step-daughter ; and bitterly as Ethel 
 was grieving, perhaps even at that moment she would have 
 resented any attempt at comfort on the part of her father’s 
 widow as an infringement on her rights as chief mourner. 
 For between these two women there existed, and always had 
 existed, an antagonism which was none the less deadly 
 because it hid itself beneath a mask of smiles and caresses 
 and endearing appellations. 
 
 Lady Clevedon had been jealous of her step-daughter from 
 the first, of her superior influence over the earl, and the lofty, 
 dictatorial air which she had never been persuaded to abandon ; 
 whilst Ethel viewed her young step-mother in the light of an 
 interloper, and her beauty as a fatal snare by which her father 
 had been unfortunately betrayed. 
 
 And, added to this, there had lately sprung up a fresh 
 source of rivalry between the two, which threatened to be 
 more dangerous still. 
 
 With these feelings towards Lady Clevedon, it was very 
 bitter for poor Ethel, when the will was read, to learn that, with 
 the exception of a small marriage dowry, she had been left 
 entirely dependent on her step-mother. She had heard her 
 father say so on the night of his death, and on several occa- 
 sions beside, but she had attached small meaning to his words, 
 or rather she had imagined she should be free from all autho- 
 rity but that of a husband before they would be put into 
 effect ; now she felt as though the circumstance were almost 
 more crushing than the blow which had preceded it. 
 
Lady Ethel in Deep Waters. 
 
 47 
 
 The Earl of Clevedon had died very much in debt, to which 
 the extravagance of his Countess had largely contributed, and 
 his landed property descended by entail on his infant son, 
 who was but two years old. There was little doubt, there- 
 fore, that the young mother would be amply provided for 
 whilst the child’s minority lasted ; and if, on its cessation, 
 her charms were still left “ blooming alone,” she had always 
 her marriage settlement to fall back upon. But Lady Ethel 
 Carr, at once the fairest and the proudest of her sex, was 
 commended to her kind affection’ and maternal care. 
 
 Under other circumstances, this would have been the most 
 pleasant and natural position in which to leave an orphan girl ; 
 but to Ethel Carr it was intolerable pain. 
 
 She had several offers of a home made her, from relatives 
 on both sides of the house ; but her proud spirit saw no 
 difference in one form of charity from another, and she 
 resolved to abide by the lot her father had chosen for her. 
 She had but one comfort in prospect — but one star shining on 
 the dark horizon of her future — and that was that Victor de 
 Lacarras would release her from her bondage before long. 
 Had it not been for that hope, ^she would almost have died 
 from disappointment and wounded pride. 
 
 But the first wildness of her grief over, her heart returned 
 with yearning fondness to the scene which had passed between 
 them on the balcony, and she cherished the words which he 
 had then spoken as a sure pledge that he would be the cham- 
 pion of her future life. She knew it was not the moment 
 that such assurances should be repeated or exchanged ; but 
 with her own ears she had heard the avowal of his love, and 
 she was satisfied. 
 
 As soon as the Earl’s interment was completed. Lady Cleve- 
 don proceeded, as had been pre-arranged, to Nice. A house 
 had been engaged there for the winter, and she thought she 
 could not do better than spend the first months of her widow- 
 hood abroad, where Lady Ethel Carr of course accompanied 
 her. They quitted London immediately after the funeral, 
 and without seeing any of their friends again, for which the 
 Countess had her own reasons, and Lady Ethel was, com- 
 paratively speaking, glad. 
 
 She would not have cared to meet the Marquis de Lacarras 
 after what had passed between them, as an ordinary acquaint- 
 
Her Lord and Master, 
 
 48 
 
 ance. Slie preferred to live upon the memory of that scene, 
 and to wonder how long it would be before it was repeated. 
 
 Could she have overheard a conversation which took place 
 about that time between Victor de Lacarras and one of his 
 club-friends, Lady Ethel would have been better able to come 
 to a decision on the subject. 
 
 The name of the club-friend was Colonel Hartley, familiarly 
 known amongst his intimates as Paul Pry,’^ on account of 
 the wonderful facility with which he wormed out other men^s 
 secrets, and the interest he tbok in everybody's business but 
 his own. 
 
 He was an elderly man, much made-up, both by tailor and 
 hairdresser ; and he attacked the Marquis on the day after 
 Lady Clevedon left town ; and as he was standing in one of 
 the club windows, thoughtfully regarding the traffic which 
 went on in the street below — 
 
 Well, De Lacarras, and so you have lost your friends 
 
 What friends P' demanded the Marquis, turning an indif- 
 ferent gaze upon the speaker. 
 
 Why the Clevedons, to be sure. No Temple Grange 
 shooting for you this season, old fellow, whatever you may 
 have secured by next. Queer will, that of the earl’s, though, 
 wasn’t it 
 
 In what way P’ 
 
 Do you ask me in what way ? I should have thought 
 you would have been the last man to dispute it. Why, in 
 leaving Lady Ethel Carr without a halfpenny. I know it ^s 
 the case, because Hogden, the earl’s solicitor, is doing a little 
 business for me, and I Ve seen him since the reading of the 
 will.” 
 
 I daresay Lady Ethel will survive it.” 
 
 And you P’ 
 
 I have no possible interest in the matter : what should 
 make you appeal to me P’ 
 
 “ Oh ! come. Marquis,” exclaimed Colonel Hartley, with 
 one of his most Paul Pry-ish looks ; “ it is of no use trying to 
 hoodwink me. Everybody knows what was your attraction 
 in Park Lane this season ; and that, had it not been for this 
 melancholy circumstance, w’e should have seen you a Benedict 
 before Christmas.” 
 
 Everybody knows a great deal more about me than I 
 
49 
 
 Lady Ethel in Deep Waters. 
 
 know myself then,” rejoined De Lacarras, with an expression 
 of annoyance ; and if your report is correct, Hartley, you 
 may contradict it as soon as you like.” 
 
 You are engaged to Lady Ethel Carr 
 
 Engaged !” (Victor de Lacarras delivered the word with 
 as much emphasis as if he had been accused of some dis- 
 honourable action). Do I look like a man who is engaged ? 
 I should like to meet the person who has been spreading such 
 folly abroad.” 
 
 ‘‘ I should certainly never have taken you for a marrying 
 man,” said his companion, who began to draw in his horns at 
 the other’s manners. 
 
 Marrying man repeated De Lacarras, contemptuously. 
 
 Now look here. Hartley, judge for yourself if it is likely. 
 Every one knows my circumstances ; that I ^m a regular 
 beggar, without sufficient money to keep up my title, and in 
 debt all over the world. How could I, in the name of all 
 that ^s reasonable, dream of marrying a girl like Ethel Carr, 
 who, by your own showing, has not a halfpenny ? It bears 
 absurdity upon the face of it.” 
 
 “ But you have not been unfavourably received in that 
 quarter, IMonsieur de Lacarras, if rumour speaks true,” ejacu- 
 lated old Hartley, with a meaning look. 
 
 The Marquis turned away to the window with a smile 
 which meant even more than his friend’s look — such a smile 
 as men of the world put on when taxed with gallantries which 
 they have not the strength of mind to deny — such a smile as 
 is death to the hopes of any woman who has been led to 
 place her trust in them. 
 
 ‘‘ That may be so,” it said, as plainly as though he had 
 spoken ; but it is not my part to boast of it.’^ And then the 
 men separated, Victor de Lacarras to think how fortunate it 
 was that he had not committed himself by proposing to Ethel 
 Carr before learning her penniless condition, and Colonel 
 Hartley to spread several reports concerning them, by no 
 means beneficial to her character or his. 
 
 D 
 
50 
 
 Her Lord and MasUr. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 AT TEMPLE GKANGE. 
 
 It was not a long time before the Countess of Clevedon 
 wearied of the monotony of Nice. Six months had been 
 considered the shortest period for which she should observe 
 her retirement ; but long before that time had expired, she 
 announced her determination to return to England and take 
 up her quarters at Temple Grange. 
 
 “ I am quite sure that Nice does not agree with Alured,^’ 
 she said, in explanation to her step-daughter, and alluding to 
 her son ; “ besides which, my spirits require cheering, and at 
 the Grange I can ask some of my sisters down to spend their 
 Christmas with us.'’ 
 
 And cordially as Lady Ethel Carr disliked the Countess's 
 sisters (who were all a degree faster and more flirting than 
 herself), she acquiesced readily in her decision, for she also 
 was becoming, not tired of Nice, but weary for news of Victor 
 de Lacarras. 
 
 She had grown fond of the quiet, peaceful spot w^hich had 
 ministered to her first sorrow, and in a measure taught her to 
 overcome it ; but she longed to hear again that voice, the 
 music of which was ringing in her ears by night and day, and 
 to receive the re-assurance that her lover loved her. For the 
 memory of that interview, which had been interrupted by the 
 fatal tidings of her father’s death, was a sacred memory to 
 her ; she had lived on it for months past, and would have 
 staked her life upon its repetition. 
 
 She was not surprised that she had received no letter from 
 the Marquis, or at least she told herself so. She told herself 
 that it was far more delicate, and honourable, and forbearing 
 in him not to press his suit at a time when he must knew 
 that her heart was sore, and occupied with graver things. He 
 had heard her confess she loved him — and at the recollection 
 of what she had said on that occasion, and his passionate 
 rejoinder. Lady Ethel’s cheeks would flush scarlet with 
 mingled shame and pleasure — he must be certain she should 
 
At Temple Grange. 
 
 51 
 
 never change her mind ; and was satisfied to wait, as she was, 
 until the proper period for a renewal of his courtship had 
 arrived. And yet — and yet — that waiting time was some- 
 times marked by very anxious tears. 
 
 It was December when they arrived at Temple Grange. 
 Everything around was looking bare, grey, and desolate ; and 
 Mrs Mowbray, the Countess’s favourite sister, was confined to 
 her bed with an attack of bronchitis, and powerless to rise 
 and dance attendance on her. 
 
 These circumstances combined to rufiOie the equanimity of 
 Lady Clevedon’s temper, and she was loud in her complaints 
 of the dulness of everything about her. 
 
 ‘‘ I mmt have a few people down, just for Christmas and 
 the New-Year,” she said, when the state of affairs became 
 patent to her; “ my sisters won’t thank me for asking them 
 here without a man to speak to, and Dr Chalmers says that if 
 I don’t take more care of myself I shall be seriously ill. And 
 no wonder, such a time as we have been moping at Nice.” 
 
 “ Is it not rather soon % ” inquired Lady Ethel, alluding to 
 her step-mother filling the house with company, when she had 
 so recently been made a widow, although her own heart was 
 throbbing at the idea that he might be amongst the intended 
 guests. 
 
 “Not at all!” was the pettish rejoinder. “ We mustn’t 
 have any dancing or theatricals, or anything of that sort, of 
 course ; but, otherwise, there is no reason on earth why we 
 should not see a few friends in a quiet way. With that dear 
 child depending entirely on me, ‘ it is of the utmost import- 
 ance,’ as Dr Chalmers says, that I should not permit my 
 health to suffer, which it most assuredly will do if I cannot 
 shake off this dreadful depression. I shall only ask my 
 sisters and the Marchmonts, and two or three men ; and I 
 shall tell them that they are to expect no gaiety, for it is to 
 be quite a family gathering.” 
 
 Lady Ethel asked no further questions, for she knew that 
 Lady Clevedon had guessed her ^penchant for the Marquis de 
 Lacarras, and was too proud to evince any interest on the 
 subject of his being one of the invited. But she had not 
 many days to wait in suspense. 
 
 “ They will both come,” laughed the Countess, lightly, as 
 she threw two envelopes across the breakfast-table to her a 
 
52 
 
 Her Lord mid Master, 
 
 few mornings after. I thought as much.” And Ethel, 
 recognising on one the emblazoned cypher of Victor de 
 Lacarras, took up his letter with a trembling hand, and 
 perused the brief courteous sentences in which he accepted 
 her step-mother s invitation. 
 
 The flush which they called forth had not yet died away 
 when she turned to the second letter, and with a sudden 
 start read the signature of Thomas Bainbridge. 
 
 “ That horrid man ! Whatever made you think of asking 
 him?” she said, abruptly. 
 
 Keally, Ethel ! That is a polite way to speak of one of 
 my friends. I asked Colonel Bainbridge because I like him, 
 and he likes me. Is not that a sufficient reason ? ” 
 
 Certainly, if it is the case ; but I was not aware that 
 your mutual acquaintance had progressed so far. I cannot 
 say I acquiesce in your opinion. The man is beneath us, in 
 birth, and station, and everything.” 
 
 ‘‘ Ah ! you must make allowances for me, Ethel ; my blood 
 is not so blue as yours, remember \ I am but a commoner 
 myself, so I can sympathise with Colonel Bainbridge. Any- 
 way, let us hope that his residence at Temple Grange for a 
 few weeks may not have the power to contaminate you.” 
 
 Were he to take up his residence here for ever,” replied 
 Lady Ethel, haughtily, it would make no difference to me. 
 He and I have nothing in common, and should be no better 
 acquainted at the end of five years than five days.” 
 
 ‘‘Poor Colonel Bainbridge!” said Lady Clevedon, with 
 mock compassion. “ It is well my sisters have a higher 
 opinion of him than yourself, or I should feel inclined to ask 
 him to postpone his visit. But Harriet writes me word that 
 he is still considered the match par excellence^ and seems quite 
 excited at the prospect of meeting him here.” 
 
 “ I trust that Miss Trevanion may derive all the advantage 
 from his acquaintance that she desires,” replied Lady Ethel, 
 as she rose from the breakfast-table. 
 
 Meanwhile, Colonel Bainbridge did not at all consider him- 
 self an object for compassion. He was in a state of the 
 utmost delight at the imexpected invitation he had received 
 to Temple Grange, and feverishly anticipating the moment 
 when he should go there. Since his return from Scotland, he 
 had been working steadily with his battery at Woolwich, 
 
At Temple Grange. 
 
 53 
 
 often heaving a sigh as he thought on the events of the season 
 past ; and wondering if, in the coming one, he should meet 
 with Lady Ethel Carr again. He felt how visionary were his 
 hopes respecting her, but he told himself that if she would 
 not marry him, no other woman should. 
 
 And in the midst of this vague, unsatisfactory train of 
 thought, came Lady Clevedon’s note, like an earnest of 
 success, inviting him to join a family gathering at Christmas 
 time, and in her country house — the first, too, which she had 
 assembled since her husband’s death. 
 
 What man, hoping as he did, would not have been startled 
 by such a proof of interest % He had been but one of hun- 
 dreds who had partaken of Lady Clevedon’s hospitality 
 during the past season, and if his silent admiration of Lady 
 Ethel Carr had been observed (and he had reason to believe the 
 Countess had observed it), there was the greater reason that 
 he should not be singled out to meet her in the privacy of 
 home life. Unless, indeed — and here a hope, faint as to 
 precedents, but strong enough to make the man’s brain reel, 
 would interpose itself, and turn his future into one great 
 glory. He had been going down to Scotland as usual, to 
 spend his Christmas week ; but he wrote and made his 
 excuses for not doing so at once. He told the truth ; the 
 Countess of Clevedon had invited him to spend a short time 
 at Temple Grange, and he should be sorry to lose the 
 opportunity of doing so : he did not seem to consider that 
 any other reason was required for breaking faith with the 
 home circle. At Cranshaws, his announcement was received 
 with various feelings. 
 
 Mrs Bainbridge, notwithstanding her disappointment, was 
 proud to think her son should be associating with such grand 
 people ; but Mr Bainbridge read the title with a sigh ; and 
 Maggie’s face (which had been growing very pale and thin 
 since his visit in the autumn) turned just a shade paler as 
 she tried to console herself with the promise in his postscript 
 that he would try to get another fortnight’s leave, and run 
 down to see them in the spring instead. So true it is, that 
 seldom can one reap joy in this world without entailing sor- 
 row on another. On the day that Victor de Lacarras was 
 expected at the Grange, Ethel Carr did not know herself. 
 She, ordinarily so quiet and self-possessed, accustomed to 
 
54 
 
 Her Lord ajid Master, 
 
 stamp on her emotions with the iron heal of pride, was almost 
 alarmed to find her feelings had outstripped her will, and that 
 she was as nervous and trembling as the most ordinary crea- 
 ture born. She had never realised till then, she said, with a 
 frightened look at her pale anxious features in the glass, how 
 much she cared for him. She felt as though she could not 
 walk down into the room to meet him ; and yet she knew 
 that not only must she do so, but that the eyes of her step- 
 mother and her step-mother’s sisters would be fixed upon her 
 the while, eager to mark her agitation, and delighted if she 
 publicly displayed it. 
 
 That thought alone was sufficient to nerve her for the 
 coming interview, and perhaps Lady Ethel Carr had seldom 
 looked lovelier or more defiant than when she emerged from 
 her dressing-room that evening, and set her foot on the stair- 
 case which led to the apartment where she knew the company 
 to be assembled. 
 
 The deep mourning robes which she still wore for her 
 father set off the transparent delicacy of her skin and the 
 beauty of her golden hair to the greatest advantage ; whilst a 
 soft flush, called forth by anticipation, relieved the pallor 
 which her face had too often displayed since his death. She 
 would not yield to the inclination which called on her to 
 pause and try to calm the rapid beating of her heart, or still 
 her trembling nerves ; but passed swiftly on until she reached 
 the ante-chamber to the drawing-room. Even as she stood 
 upon the threshold, she saw a figure quickly leave the side of 
 Lady Clevedon and advance towards her. She felt the pres- 
 sure of his hand, and heard him utter a few ordinary words of 
 greeting, but she never could remember afterwards how she 
 had met him ; for at the sound of his voice a sickly faintness 
 assailed her, which made her fear lest she should fall, or 
 betray what she was feeling. And perhaps she might have 
 done so, had not a wholesome correction awaited her upon 
 the other side. 
 
 I trust that Lady Ethel Carr has not quite forgotten me,” 
 said a voice from that quarter ; and turning with relief to any 
 distraction from the immediate presence of Victor de Lacarras, 
 Ethel placed her hand almost eagerly in that of Colonel 
 Thomas Bainbridge. 
 
sport to Her and Death to Him. 
 
 55 
 
 CHAPTEH X. 
 
 SPOET TO HER AND DEATH TO HIM. 
 
 The dinner, and evening that followed it, passed mucli in the 
 manner that such entertainments do, where the gathering is 
 small and private, and the conversation becomes general. 
 
 The Miss Trevanions, by forwardness and much talking, 
 contrived, as they usually did, to monopolise the lion’s share 
 of attention ; and, after a due amount of coffee and drawing- 
 room ballads, the party separated for the night, without its 
 having been possible for any two of its members to exchange 
 a quiet word with one another. And yet, somehow, Lady 
 Ethel felt disappointed at the result of the meeting to which 
 she had been looking forward with such ardour, even whilst 
 she was angry with herself for feeling so. 
 
 The Marquis de Lacarras had met her as any other gentle- 
 man of her acquaintance would have done ; as he had been 
 used to do whilst her father was alive ; and under the cir- 
 cumstances she could not have expected him to do more. It 
 would have been wrong, indelicate, unseemly ; she would have 
 been the first to blame him if he had dared to make any open 
 demonstration of his attachment to her ; so she said, with 
 the quick eagerness of a woman to deny any imputation of 
 coldness in the man she cares for. Victor would take a 
 proper opportunity to renew the conversation which had 
 been interrupted ; in a few days all would be right between 
 them, and she would be enabled for ever to silence the in- 
 sinuations and stop the sneers concerning him, which she had 
 so often found it hard to bear from the lips of Lady Cleve- 
 don. And so Lady Ethel went to sleep that first night very 
 full of happiness and trust. But, when day after day slipped 
 away without the Marquis making the slightest effort to see 
 her alone, or the remotest allusion to what had passed 
 between them, her pride took alarm, and she asked herself 
 whether it were possible she could have been mistaken. 
 
 Was the scene which had taken place upon the balcony, 
 and every particular of which she so vividly remembered, 
 
56 
 
 Her Lord and Master. 
 
 only a delusion of her fevered brain ? Had Victor de Lacar- 
 ras never really told her that he loved her, and asked for the 
 assurance of her affection in return ^ and had she been dwel- 
 ling for all these months upon a mere chimera, the product 
 of her vain imagination ? 
 
 Lady Ethel, with her face buried in her hands, sat down in 
 her own room, seriously to consider this. Oh, no ! it was not 
 fancy, her memory was too clear, her love too real, she could 
 never have invented so much happiness. 
 
 She saw again the balcony lighted only by the stars, watched 
 the white hand creeping on her own, heard the low fond tones, 
 and felt the warm kiss laid upon her lips. 
 
 It was not fancy ; she had passed through and felt all this ; 
 she had been deceived and made a fool of j she was of all 
 women the most miserable. 
 
 How it necessarily happens in a small coterie such as was 
 assembled at Temple Grange, that there is little privacy for 
 any one. There is no seclusion so perfect as that of a large 
 crowd, where each individual is occupied with his owm con- 
 cerns, and too busy to pry into those of his neighbour ; but in 
 a family party, separation means estrangement. 
 
 Consequently, Lady Clevedon, who was most particular in 
 impressing on her guests that she was living in the utmost 
 seclusion, and could not hear of anything like gaiety, took 
 care that whether they rode, or drove, or walked, each one 
 should share in the amusement ! but if it happened, as it very 
 often did, that her ‘‘ poor head ached, or her ‘‘ poor heart 
 felt heavy,” and she claimed the privilege of bereavement to 
 be left behind, she generally managed that the Marquis de 
 Lacarras should be her companion. 
 
 ‘‘ You are so good, you will not mind staying with a stupid 
 creature like myself,” she would say, on such occasions ; and 
 Victor de Lacarras, with all a Frenchman’s fervid politeness, 
 Avould affirm that he had no pleasure equal to that of waiting 
 on the wishes of his amiable hostess. 
 
 Lady Ethel was not annoyed at this : she had none of the 
 petty jealousy which would keep a man for ever loitering by 
 her side, and she knew that the manner of the Marquis, like 
 that of many foreigners, was empresse towards every woman 
 with whom he happened to be brought in contact. But when, 
 she found that he never attempted to break the Countess’s 
 
57 
 
 Sport to Her and Death to Him, 
 
 chains in order to remain with, her, and that his services 
 appeared to be always engaged either by her step-mother or 
 the Miss Trevanions, her mind, loath to give itself up to the 
 despair which was fast coming on it, passed into another 
 phase of feeling, and she clung to the idea that it was by 
 Lady Clevedon’s means that the Marquis was prevented com- 
 ing to an understanding with herself. She remembered how, 
 even during her father^s lifetime, her step-mother had vied 
 with her in attracting his attention, and she believed that she 
 was doing all she could to come between them now. 
 
 Lady Ethel knew that she was proud, that many called her 
 cold and reserved, and she was aware that she had never gone 
 one step out of her way to afford Victor de Lacarras the op- 
 portunity for which he might be diligently seeking. On the 
 contrary, on more than one occasion, fearful of her conduct 
 being misconstrued, she had purposely avoided being left 
 alone with him. She might have been wrong ; thinking the 
 matter quietly over in her chamber, she decided now that she 
 was wrong ; and that if such an accident occurred again she 
 would not shirk it. 
 
 A large conservatory opened from the drawing-room at 
 Temple Grange; and two days after she had arrived at this 
 conclusion. Lady Ethel was standing on its threshold, looking 
 at the bright array of winter flowers, when the Marquis de 
 Lacarras approached her leisurely. 
 
 ‘‘A splendid show of camellias,” he said, following her 
 glance. 
 
 Yes ! is it not she answered, in the nervous tone with 
 which she always now addressed him ; and the nearer you 
 look at them the more beautiful they appear,” with which 
 words she stepped into the conservatory. It was a long one, 
 and Lady Ethel walked slowly to the end of it, and back 
 again; but Victor de Lacarras had not followed her. When 
 she returned to the drawing-room. Lady Clevedon was sitting 
 there alone. 
 
 ‘‘ So your invitation was not accepted,” she said, with a 
 sarcastic laugh. Upon my word, Ethel, I did not give you 
 credit for so much forbearance. I should feel just a little 
 piqued with the indifference of Monsieur le Marquis if I were 
 you.” 
 
 The hot blood rushed to Ethel’s cheek and brow, and she 
 
Her Lord and Master, 
 
 58 
 
 was about to give an angry rejoinder, when her words were 
 checked by the re-entrance of the Marquis himself, accom- 
 panied by Colonel Bainbridge. 
 
 “ My dear Lady Clevedon,” he exclaimed, addressing his 
 hostess, ‘‘ we come to ask a favour of you. We have got up a 
 scratch-race in the park below — just a couple of hurdles, you 
 know, and a ditch of water ; but we shall derive no pleasure 
 from our little burlesque unless the ladies honour us with 
 their presence, and encourage us with their smiles. Pray let 
 me conduct you to the scene of action ; the Miss Trevanions 
 have already gone on under the charge of Major Marchmont.’^ 
 What, Monsieur ! is it to take place immediately she 
 said, laughing. ‘‘ Indeed, then, you must manage your race 
 without me, for it is much too cold to stir out this morning, 
 in my estimation. But here is Lady Ethel, who, I am sure, 
 will be only too pleased to accept your escort ; you can offer 
 her your arm instead. 
 
 Lady Ethel, who had been standing, flushed and indignant, 
 by the table whilst Lady Clevedon was delivering her empha- 
 sised harangue, now drew back with a gesture of refusal. 
 
 Many thanks, Monsieur she said, as she bowed in 
 acknowledgment of the Marquis’s extended arm; ‘‘but Ethel 
 Carr prefers to choose her cavaliers to having them chosen for 
 her, even by so good a judge as Lady Clevedon and with 
 a smile that was too openly scornful to pretend to be in play, 
 she passed him by, and placed her hand upon the coat-sleeve 
 of Colonel Bainbridge. 
 
 The Countess burst into a loud laugh, whilst Victor de 
 Lacarras bit his lip and looked annoyed, and Colonel Bain- 
 bridge, colouring with pleasure at the unexpected preference 
 shown to him, led his beautiful companion from the room. 
 
 The glance of displeasure with which the Marquis had 
 viewed this act on the part of Lady Ethel did not escape her 
 notice, and prompted her to follow it by many of the same 
 sort. If he choose to neglect her, she said passionately to 
 herself, he should at least be made to see that there were 
 others ready to take the place he had abandoned. 
 
 And since between Colonel Bainbridge and himself there 
 had always been a very apparent though unavowed dislike, no 
 less than because the former was always near at hand to aid her 
 in her scheme of retaliation, it came to pass that he was made 
 
59 
 
 Sport to Her and Death to Him. 
 
 the tool of Lady Ethel’s revenge, and from having studiously 
 avoided his company it might almost be said she courted it. 
 Her heart, burning with resentment at the slight put upon 
 her by the altered conduct of Victor de Lacarras, she thought 
 of nothing and no one but herself and her own wrongs, and 
 in self-defence she used the first weapon which came in her 
 way. That Colonel Bainbridge, cherishing the feelings which 
 he did for her, should have been that weapon was unfortunate 
 for him and for herself. And yet she scarcely thought of the 
 great evil she was doing him; nor was she conscious of the 
 consequences she was drawing down upon her head until she 
 was roused to a sense of the situation in which she had placed 
 herself by receiving an offer of marriage from him. 
 
 It was after an evening of great excitement on all their 
 parts — an evening during which Lady Clevedon had entirely 
 appropriated Victor de Lacarras, and flirted with him in a 
 manner so open as to call down censure on herself from even 
 the lenient lips of Mrs Marchmont, and in the sight of whicli, 
 Ethel Carr, deaf and blind to everything but what concerned 
 the man whose ungenerous behaviour was eating out her heart, 
 had permitted Colonel Bainbridge to say more, and to go 
 further, than she had ever suffered him before — that she found 
 a note, in his handwriting, placed upon her dressing-table. 
 
 Half fearful of what it might contain, and yet scarcely 
 believing in her intolerant pride that he would presume to 
 make her an offer of marriage, Lady Ethel tore the letter 
 open, and read as follows : — 
 
 Dear Lady Ethel, — If you deem me presumptuous in 
 addressing you on a matter which lies very near my heart, 
 you must blame the kindness which has emboldened me to do 
 so ; but after the events of the last few days, and especially of 
 this evening, I feel that I can wait no longer to ascertain my 
 fate ; for every extra moment of suspense becomes a purga- 
 tory to me. I cannot remain at Temple Grange unless it is 
 as your accepted suitor. Am I to go — or stay ? — Believe me, 
 yours always, Thomas Bainbridge.” 
 
6o 
 
 Her Lord and Master. 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 THE E.IVALS. 
 
 When Lady Ethel read this letter it was late at night; the 
 guests of Temple Grange had separated for their respective 
 chambers an hour before; and had she not, in a vain endeavour 
 to shake off the restless anxiety which oppressed her, been 
 loitering and laughing in the room of Mrs Marchmont, she 
 would have received it on first going up-stairs. 
 
 She was alone — her sleepy maid was nodding in the ante- 
 chamber, waiting for the sound of her mistress’s bell — and no 
 one was witness of the feelings with which she perused it. 
 
 And it was as well, for those feelings were very bitter. She 
 had been thinking much more leniently of Colonel Bainbridge 
 lately; but this letter changed all the current of her thoughts. 
 She was not generous enough to observe what a manly, 
 straightforward proposal it was, nor to remember that her 
 encouragement had forced it from him, but a mighty, un- 
 womanly indignation, and a hot sense of having been insulted 
 in her father’s house by the man whom Lady Clevedon had 
 chosen to invite there, rose up to choke all thoughts more 
 befitting the situation and her sex. 
 
 She was hard, contemptuous, crushing, in the first know- 
 ledge of his presumptuous hopes, and her angry heart cried 
 out against Victor de Lacarras as the accomplice by whose 
 cruel conduct this indignity had been brought upon her. 
 
 Everybody was, in Lady Ethel’s mind, to blame, except 
 herself, and her resentment knew no bounds. As for Colonel 
 Bainbridge and his probable suffering, those were matters left 
 out of the question altogether. Her first impulse had been to 
 tear the letter into shreds, and cast it to the winds ; her next, 
 to show her step-mother what had come of her insisting upon 
 asking people to the house who did not know how to preserve 
 their station in society, and the stern means by which she 
 intended to teach them the lesson. Always impulsive, when 
 her weak point had been interfered with, without further 
 reasoning, Ethel flew down the broad staircase and into Lady 
 
The Rivals. 
 
 6i 
 
 Clevedon’s dressing-room. But it was unoccupied, excepting 
 by the servant working patiently by the fire, who, in answer 
 to the young lady’s excited inquiry, replied that her mistress 
 had not yet come up-stairs. 
 
 It was all the better — so thought Lady Ethel — for her step- 
 mother would be alone ; and what she had to say to her was 
 not a subject fit for listeners. 
 
 Her light feet scarcely sounded on the rich carpets she 
 traversed between that chamber and the drawing-room, which 
 had been deserted, as she thought, so long before. 
 
 But, as she gained the doorway, the low murmuring of voices 
 reached her ear, and without further preface, she drew aside 
 the heavy portiere and stood upon the threshold. 
 
 At the scene she witnessed there her heart seemed as thouglt 
 it turned to stone ; for on one of the low sofas which had been 
 wheeled near the fire, there reclined easily the form of the 
 Marquis de Lacarras, whilst by his side, still in her evening 
 dress, her hand clasped in his, and her wealth of auburn hair 
 laid caressingly upon his shoulder, sat her father’s new-made 
 widow — Gertrude, Countess of Clevedon. 
 
 Lady Ethel stared at them without speaking a word ; yet 
 that undefinable instinct which makes feel without knowing 
 that we are observed, caused the pair upon the sofa to turn 
 their heads and quickly change their position. But before 
 they did so, Lady Ethel had dropped the portiere and was gone. 
 
 Who was that ? ” said the Countess sharply to her com- 
 panion. 
 
 It was Lady Ethel Carr,” he rejoined, moodily, and then 
 they drew apart from one another, and there was silence 
 between them for a little space. It was interrupted by Lady 
 Clevedon’s nervous laugh. 
 
 “ I shall have to make some excuse or other to her, I sup- 
 pose, to-morrow morning'?” she said, inquiringly. “ Can you 
 help me to one, Victor 
 
 “ There is no occasion to ask me,” was the quiet answer ; 
 
 you know that you are much cleverer than I am.” 
 
 The Countess sighed, gathered up a shawl which had fallen 
 off her shoulders, impatiently, and holding out her hand, 
 affirmed it was high time that all respectable people bid each 
 other good-night. 
 
 The Marquis took the proffered hand, released it without sc 
 
62 
 
 Her Lord and Master, 
 
 mucli as a pressure, and turned on his heel towards the smoking- 
 room ; whilst his fair hostess walked off to her own apart- 
 ment, and rated her maid for her stupidity and awkwardness 
 until she drove the unfortunate menial into giving her 
 warning. 
 
 Meanwhile, Lady Ethel Carr was creeping — creeping slowly, 
 like one who has received a severe blow on the head, and is 
 blinded or dizzy from the shock — back to the shelter of her 
 own room. 
 
 She passed through the ante-chamber, mechanically letting 
 fall the sentence, I don’t want you,” to the servant as she 
 went, and then she locked her door and sat down by the 
 dressing-table (still in a kind of stupor), and spread out her 
 hands upon her lap, and tried to understand what was this 
 misfortune that had overtaken her. 
 
 I have drawn her as a vain and arrogant girl — -as one whom 
 many would call heartless ; but in this hour of her deep humi- 
 liation, every head should be uncovered before her. 
 
 O women ! women possessing not only hearts and souls, but 
 warm, full life, and the natural impulse to be loved, I appeal 
 to you if there is any life so cruel, any death so hard to bear, 
 as the life which has been robbed of the affection which was 
 all in all to us, and the death of hopes which we had con- 
 sidered to be certainties. No man can understand this grief 
 as we can, for we were made for them, not they for us ; and 
 love us as they may, we never can fill up every chink and 
 cranny of their lives, as their affection does for ours. And 
 we are so utterly powerless to do more than sit down, and cry 
 our eyes out over their inconstancy. 
 
 When Lord Clevedon died, his daughter thought she had 
 lost everything ; but in this moment of discovering that her 
 lover was untrue to her, she felt that she had never yet known 
 what it is to be really poor. Up to that moment she had 
 hoped against all hope ; now hope was done, and love, and 
 life, and everything finished. She had seen his perfidy with 
 her own eyes. 
 
 When Lady Ethel’s meditation reached this point, a vivid 
 picture of her own deserted and desolate condition rose up 
 before her mental vision, and struck with pity for what lay in 
 the future, she cast herself prostrate on the floor, and gave 
 vent to an exceeding bitter cry. 
 
The Rivals. 
 
 63 
 
 Ob, that her life were ended; that she could die of grief just 
 where she lay ; that she might never more see the hateful 
 light of day, nor hear the voices of her fellow- creatures ! How 
 could she ever bear again to go through the monotonous rou- 
 tine of daily existence : to listen to the song of birds, or walk 
 amongst the flowers : how could she support the intolerable 
 pain of living? 0 Victor ! Victor ! And the mere mention of 
 his name brought down a flood of tears which did not cease 
 until nature was well-nigh exhausted. 
 
 For an hour or more the wretched girl lay on the floor, moan- 
 ing quietly to herself, or giving way to fresh bursts of sorrow, 
 as memory recalled to her what she had lost. And then there 
 came a lull. With a sudden effort. Lady Ethel rose to her feet, 
 and staggeringly approached the mirror. Was it her own 
 image she saw reflected there % or had a midnight ghost sprang 
 up to personate her? Her eyes were bloodshot, her eyelids 
 dark and swollen, her face ghastly pale, and down her fail- 
 smooth cheeks the tears seemed already to have cut two little 
 channels for grief. As she gazed at the effect of her unusual 
 emotion, the idea struck her that in a few hours all the world 
 of Temple Grange would see them too, and become masters of 
 her secret. That thought was sufficient; in a moment her 
 predominant passion had sprung into full play; and Lady 
 Ethel, ashamed of her weakness, even though no eye had been 
 witness to it, hastily bathed her burning features in order to 
 eradicate the traces of her grief. She would not allow him 
 and — and — Lady Clevedon (this last name brought out with 
 a dry, hard sob) to have the pleasure of triumphing together 
 over her crest-fallen and woe-begone demeanour. 
 
 If it killed her, if she died of suppressed agony the moment 
 afterwards, she would yet appear at breakfast on the follow- 
 ing morning, and look them both straight in the face, and 
 make them believe she had never been more happy. 
 
 Happy/ Merciful God ! and everything connected with 
 happiness was over for her ! 
 
 O Lady Ethel ! pray ! If every friend in this world had 
 forsaken you, you have still the Best, and the Highest, and 
 the Nearest of all Friends left ; and One Who takes far greater 
 interest in the blighting of these wretched earthly affections 
 than His creatures give Him credit for. 
 
 But the girl could not pray, she did not even think of pray- 
 
64 
 
 Her Lord a7id Master, 
 
 ing ; from first to last of that long night of agony, a wild 
 mention of the name of the Almighty was all the appeal she 
 made to Heaven for help in her distress. 
 
 How was she to escape from the life-long misery of seeing 
 them together? That was the next question that came to 
 torture her. 
 
 She could act her part for a few hours, for a few days, 
 perhaps for a few months ; but could she trust herself to act 
 for ever ? to live in the same house with him, as the husband 
 of her step-mother — in the position of his daughter — and at 
 the thought, so sadly ludicrous, so unnaturally probable, an 
 hysterical laugh rang sharply on the night air, to be followed 
 by a tremendous burst of passion. It should never be ! — and 
 her foot stamped, and her pale features kindled beneath the 
 rising storm — he had insulted her enough already ; they had 
 combined together to outrage her most tender feelings ; they 
 should never have the satisfaction of seeing her heart daily 
 trampled on. 
 
 But how to escape from it ! she, who was tied down in 
 miserable dependence upon Lady Clevedon’s pleasure : how 
 was it possible for her to evade the hourly pain which her 
 step-mother would so well know how to inflict upon her ? 
 
 At that moment, her eye fell upon the letter which con- 
 tained Colonel Bainbridge’s proposal, in which he made her 
 the offer of his heart, a matter she was perfectly indifferent 
 to — of his home, the refuge she was seeking. Lady Ethel’s 
 breast heaved, and her breath came quickly. Was it possible 
 she could accept it ? She sank into a chair, and taking the 
 crushed letter in her hand, smoothed it out and read it over 
 carefully. She was still gazing at it in a vacant stony man- 
 ner, when the first rays of morning streamed through her 
 bed-room window and looked upon her pale and careworn 
 face. 
 
 Then she rose; and with the same fixed expression as 
 though she were walking in her sleep, deliberately summoned 
 her maid to her assistance, and having first refreshed herself 
 with a warm bath, proceeded to make a most elaborate toilet. 
 
Casting the Die, 
 
 65 
 
 CHAPTER XIL 
 
 CASTING THE DIE, 
 
 There were various feelings at play in the hearts of those 
 who assembled round the breakfast-table at Temple Grange 
 that morning. Lady Clevedon, especially, would have been 
 puzzled to explain exactly what she felt. She was half- 
 nervous at the idea of encountering her step-daughter (for 
 she had never yet arrived at the knowledge of Lady Ethel’s 
 character, and was uncertain whether she would resent the 
 blow her pride had sustained by an open show of resentment 
 or indifference), but at the same time she experienced all a 
 woman’s triumph at the defeat of her rival. For that was 
 the real position in which she stood to her late husband’s 
 daughter. For months before Lord Clevedon’s death, she 
 had viewed the attentions of the Marquis de Lacarras to Lady 
 Ethel Carr with the keenest jealousy, and had done all in her 
 power to divert their tendency. And her first thought on 
 becoming a widow had been how best and easiest to secure 
 them for herself. But the game was not yet in her own 
 hands. She had met the Marquis in the corridor that morn- 
 ing, and with a pretty pout of injured innocence, accosted 
 him with the complaint : 
 
 You have made me quite afraid to meet Ethel again, 
 Victor ; I am sure she will repeat that story everywhere. You 
 have compromised me most terribly.” 
 
 If so, it will be for the last time,” he replied, carelessly, 
 for I return to town this afternoon ; ” and then Lady 
 Clevedon had been ready to contradict all that she had said, 
 in her endeavours to mak^ him stay. 
 
 But the Marquis was determined, for he would rather any 
 contretemps should have happened than that Lady Ethel 
 Carr should have witnessed his familiarity with her step- 
 mother. 
 
 He was a wild, dissipated man, careless and unthinking, 
 but his heart had never so nearly approached loving any 
 woman as it had done the daughter of Lord Clevedon. Had 
 
66 
 
 Her Lord a7id Master. 
 
 her father lived, he would doubtless have proposed to her — in 
 fact, he was on the point of doing so when they were inter- 
 rupted in the balcony ; and notwithstanding he had congratu- 
 lated himself since that he had not gone so far, of late — and 
 especially since Lady Ethel had bestowed so many of her 
 smiles on Colonel Bainbridge — he had nearly arrived at the 
 conclusion that he did care for her, and that, fortune or no 
 fortune, he must tell her so again. 
 
 And now, by one act of folly, he had ruined all his chances 
 of success, for he knew the girl's disposition tpo well to be- 
 lieve she would ever forgive such a direct insult to her 
 affection. 
 
 Why had he ever permitted it ? The Marquis de Lacarras 
 pulled his silky black moustache thoughtfully through his 
 fingers, and was unable to answer the question. 
 
 Ah ! why indeed % Why was he not stronger than ninety- 
 nine out of a hundred of his fellow-men, subjected to the 
 same ordeall He was weak, and selfish, and irresolute by 
 nature ; and “ the woman tempted him ! " 
 
 A man requires to be something more than stoical to push 
 away the head that uninvited is laid upon his shoulder ; to 
 disengage his hand from the soft clinging clasp of feminine 
 fingers ; and, reminding their owner to be a little less free 
 with him, run the risk of being called a “ brute” and a ‘‘ bear,” 
 amidst tears of disappointment for his pains. ‘ Women seldom 
 forgive the man who dares to read them a lesson on the virtue 
 which should be their own peculiar province ; and Victor de 
 Lacarras was not sufficiently bold, nor sufficiently particular, 
 to care to draw down such resentment on his head. 
 
 Besides, the Countess of Clevedon was a very pretty woman 
 — and uncommonly fond of himself — and since no one would 
 be the wiser, no one could be the worse. So had he argued 
 at the moment, and so would he have argued to the end of 
 time, had not the fact of his folly having had a spectator 
 entirely changed the aspect of affairs. Then he was a fool ; 
 Lady Clevedon an intriguante ; and the sooner he turned his 
 back on Temple Grange, and the chance of getting himself 
 into a scrape, the better. 
 
 And so much more uneasy even than Lady Clevedon was 
 he at the idea of seeing Lady Ethel again, that when the 
 breakfast had proceeded half way without her having made 
 
Casting the Die. 
 
 ^7 
 
 her appearance, he would have escaped to the shelter of his 
 own apartment had it not been for the fear of meeting her 
 alone upon the stairs. So he kept his place in moody silence, 
 refusing to smile at his hostesses most brilliant sallies, and 
 making a great pretence of being occupied with the contents 
 of his plate every time a footstep approached the door. 
 
 There was another person at the table that morning who 
 awaited Lady Ethehs approach with nervous solicitude, and 
 that one, as may be supposed, was Colonel Bainbridge. It 
 was the licence with which she had permitted him to address 
 her the last few days, and the bright looks she had cast upon 
 him, which had emboldened him to write to her ; but he had 
 done so while in the flush and excitement of her unexpected 
 notice ; and by the cold morning light, his boldness appeared 
 very like unpardonable presumption. 
 
 Did she consider it so? Was this unusual delay in her 
 appearance an indication of her consent to, or her refusal of, his 
 wishes ; and would her eyes as they met his shed an encourag- 
 ing forgiveness or paralyse him with their scorn ? 
 
 His whole heart filled with these perplexing questions, 
 Colonel Bainbridge sat on thorns till he should learn his fate ; 
 showing but too plainly, by his inattentive and distracted 
 manner, that his thoughts were not with the business in hand. 
 But, even as he pondered, the dining-room door flew open 
 suddenly, and she was in the midst of them. 
 
 The meal had been a dull one until then, for the Countess’s 
 gloom had proved contagious, Mrs Marchmont looking tired, 
 and the Miss Trevanions annoyed at the listless and absent 
 demeanour of their cavaliers. 
 
 But with Lady Ethel Carr the vapidity dispersed, for she 
 came forward so springily, and with such a well-acted smile 
 upon her countenance, that brightness seemed to enter the room 
 with her. At her approach, the men of the party rose to their 
 feet, but she motioned them to their places again with a light 
 wave of the hand. 
 
 “ Pray don’t disturb yourselves. I don^t deserve it, for I 
 know that I am shockingly late. Good-morning, Gertrude. I 
 hope you slept well. Good-morning, Mrs Marchmont. Mon- 
 sieur, we will shake hands when breakfast is concluded,” and 
 then she nodded smilingly to the rest of the company and 
 took the chair which Victor de Lacarras placed for her. She 
 
68 
 
 Her Lord and Master. 
 
 had noticed each one there by word or look excepting Colonel 
 Bainbridge; but as she was about to seat herself, she felt that 
 he was still standing, and involuntarily raised her eyes to his. 
 Something in their expression, something betwixt humble 
 pleading and a man’s demand for his rights, touched the best 
 portion of her nature, and for the first time a sense of the 
 wrong she was about to do him excited her compassion, and 
 rising, she stretched out her hand across the table, and put 
 it into his. 
 
 A quick flush of pleasure kindled the bronze features of the 
 soldier, as he re’^’erently accepted the honour done him ; and 
 the Marquis de Lacarras turned his head the other way, and 
 pretended he had not witnessed the compliment she had denied 
 to himself. 
 
 Meanwhile, Lady Ethel’s tongue ran on glibly. 
 
 “ A beautiful morning, is it not % We really must not 
 waste it in-doors as we did that of yesterday. Gertrude, 
 cannot you devise some plan to amuse your guests % We have 
 done nothing but yawn and look at each other day after day. 
 Could we not make up a riding party somewhere? You are 
 fond of riding. Colonel Bainbridge, of course, — a soldier always 
 is at which appeal the man she addressed coloured again 
 furiously, and said he should be only too pleased to accom- 
 pany Lady Ethel Carr anywhere. 
 
 Lady Clevedon looked at her step-daughter with amaze- 
 ment, and indeed any one cognisant of the facts related would 
 have done the same. She had expected to see her pale and 
 dejected at the very least ; or if she smiled, do so in a forced 
 and unnatural manner ; but nothing could appear freer and 
 more unconstrained than the behaviour of Lady Ethel. Her 
 dress, too, which bore tokens of having been arranged with the 
 utmost care, was lighter than any in which she had hitherto 
 appeared ; her black robes being relieved by mauve-coloured 
 ribbons, whilst knots of the same shade were interwoven with 
 the golden glories of her head. She looked more like a triumph' 
 ant victor than a fallen rival ; and as the Countess regarded 
 her smiling face, she was almost disposed to question whether 
 she had not been mistaken all along, and there had ever been 
 a 'penchant for Monsieur le Marquis de Lacarras lurking in 
 her step-daughter’s heart. 
 
 Some one remarked that the beauty of the morning would 
 
Casting the Die, 69 
 
 not last, and that some one else had prognosticated the 
 approach of rain. 
 
 ‘^In that case,” exclaimed Lady Ethel, “we really must 
 invent some entertainment for in-doors. Gertrude, is it 
 quite impossible that we should get up a dance this evening ? 
 Christmas comes but once a year, remember.” 
 
 “ I am surprised at your asking it,” returned the Countess 
 somewhat indignantly, for she would have been better pleased 
 had her step-daughter appeared less gay ; it robbed her of so 
 much of her victory; “when you know the circumstances under 
 which we are assembled here, and the proviso I made with 
 my guests respecting gaiety.” 
 
 “ Ah 1 forgive me ! I forgot that the days of mourning 
 were not ended,” with an arch look across the table. “ But 
 we young ones really want something occasionally to keep our 
 spirits up. Don’t you find it very dull here, Colonel Bain- 
 bridge 1 ” 
 
 She was still torturing them all round — causing Lady 
 Clevedon to look daggers, whilst her guests tittered against 
 their will ; covering Colonel Bainbridge with confusion by her 
 pointed queries, and making Victor de Lacarras remember 
 every second that she had lifted the 'portiere to the drawing- 
 room the night before — when the breakfast came to a conclu- 
 sion, and the company broke up into little groups and 
 sauntered out of the room, leaving her standing there — with 
 the exception of one other — alone. 
 
 Then all the forced spirit and diablerie died out of the 
 girl’s face ; and she withdrew into one of the embrasured 
 windows, sick at heart and trembling with indecision ; for she 
 knew that the hour was come, and her fate was in her own 
 hands. 
 
 It was not a second before Colonel Bainbridge joined her. 
 
 “ Lady Ethel, let me have my answer,” he said, frankly ; 
 “ suspense is so difficult to bear.” 
 
 But she leant her head against the panelled wall and closed 
 her eyes and answered nothing. She had thought that she 
 had quite made up her mind; that she was determined to 
 accept the relief his letter offered her, but now that it had 
 come to the point of saying “ yes ” or “ no,” her courage 
 failed her, and she felt as though she could not put the sign 
 manual to the death of all her hopes. 
 
70 
 
 Her Lord and Master. 
 
 Her silence threw cold water on the fire of his expectation, 
 and when he next spoke his manner had become much more 
 subdued. 
 
 You received my letter ? 
 
 “ Yes.^' 
 
 Then be merciful, and if there is no hope for me, put me 
 quickly out of my pain. You don’t know — you cannot under- 
 stand ” — here his voice sank at least two tones lower — what 
 I am suffering.” 
 
 “ I cannot — I mean, I ” 
 
 “ You mean that I have made a fool of myself, only your 
 heart is too tender to tell me so. Lady Ethel — if it is the 
 case — only say that you forgive me ; that you can make 
 allowances for my presumption and do not despise my love — 
 an honest one, I swear to you — and I will try to be content 
 with your decision.” 
 
 But still she liad no words in which to tell him that he was 
 mistaken. Again and again she tried to find her voice, but 
 her powers of utterance seemed to have forsaken her, and the 
 8}dlables died away upon her trembling lips. At last the man 
 before her, perceiving her prolonged distress and futile efforts 
 to say what she wanted, accepted her silence as a sign that 
 hope was over for him. 
 
 “Lady Ethel, I see it all. There is no need for you to 
 speak — I thank you for your great forbearance — I shall leave 
 Temple Grange this afternoon.” 
 
 So he said huskily in his deep manly voice, whilst two 
 thirsting eyes were fixed upon her now pallid countenance, 
 drinking in each detail of the beauty they never expected to 
 look upon again. 
 
 She raised her own, scared and half-irresolute ; and at that 
 moment, as though to strengthen her decision, the Marquis de 
 Lacarras, with his hands in his pockets and a cigar between 
 his lips, sauntered leisurely upon the terrace which ran outside 
 the window. At that sight the angry light which flashed into 
 her face would have been apparent to any but a lover. And 
 all her determination seemed at once to return to her. 
 
 “ Colonel Bainbridge, stay one moment ! I wanted just to 
 tell you ” 
 
 “ Don’t be afraid of wounding me,” with a sad smile ; “ I 
 
Casting the Die. 71 
 
 am very strong, remember, and can bear misfortune as well 
 as most men.’^ 
 
 “But this — you may not think it so ; it is, that you must 
 
 not go away ; there is no need ; I 
 
 “ Ethel 1 is ifc possible that you would give me hope % has 
 my great fear misled me]” 
 
 “You can stay at the Grange as long as ever you like. I 
 — I — accept your offer, Colonel Bainbridge.” 
 
72 
 
 Her Lord and Master, 
 
 CHAPTER Xin. 
 
 THE NEWS TRAVELS NORTH. 
 
 It would be difficult, without giving a digest of his character, 
 to explain how this sudden and unexpected fruition of his 
 dearest hopes affected Colonel Bainbridge. 
 
 In the first place, then, he was no universal lover, which 
 circumstance arose, most probably, from the fact that his 
 feelings were deeper than those of most men. Without being 
 that odious hybrid, a male prude, he had never been very 
 open to the attacks of the other sex, chiefly because his mind 
 was occupied with matters of deeper importance. But he had 
 always entertained a wholesome reverence for women — a rever- 
 ence which made him believe the best of them — and hold the 
 old-fashioned creed that the virtuous of their sex were not to 
 be approached or spoken of with undue lightness or famili- 
 arity. A pure woman, whether as maiden, wife, or mother, 
 was in his eyes as something sacred ; and therefore it is not 
 to be wondered at, that for many months he was contented 
 silently to worship Ethel Carr. He had not frittered away 
 his honest heart upon a score of women — knew nothing of 
 their nature — had not been used, in fact, to being courted, 
 and did not therefore recognise the signs of indifference which 
 she exhibited towards him. Had he gone through but one 
 such scene as took place between her and Victor de Lacarras 
 upon the balcony. Colonel Bainbridge would have known better. 
 But for a man, and respecting women^s ways, he was most 
 innocent. Lady Ethel’s coldness he called purity, almost 
 persuading himself he would not have it otherwise, and he 
 regarded her beauty much as we do that of a perfect statute 
 set upon a shrine, as something to dream of, and long after, 
 but not to touch. And when, encouraged by the sudden 
 warmth that came into his statue, he poured forth the story of 
 his love, and found, as he thought, that she was responsive, his 
 happiness knew no bounds — he was like one delirious with joy. 
 
 Not a doubt crossed his mind as to the motive for her 
 acceptance of his offer ; it was her extreme goodness, her 
 
The News Ti'avels North, 
 
 73 
 
 sweet tender nature and undue appreciation of his worth, 
 doubtless, that had prompted her, for the sake of his great 
 love, to overlook his deficiencies of birth and station and 
 character ; but that the heart he considered so valuable a prize 
 was burning away with rage and jealousy and disappointed 
 passion, and that she had only accepted his proposal in order 
 to rid herself of the continual presence of a faithless lover, 
 never entered his ideas for a moment. 
 
 Lady Ethel had said that she would be his wife. In a few 
 months, this peerless creature (in his eyes the fairest and most 
 stately of all w^omankind) was to become his own possession ; 
 to set up in the highest niche to which he could elevate her, 
 and worship with all the strength of his noble generous heart 
 to his lifers end; and Thomas Bainbridge was more than 
 grateful for her condescension. And if, as day succeeded 
 day, and her reserve became, if anything, greater than it was 
 at first, he experienced just the shadow of a disappointment, he 
 consoled himself with the idea that it was the bashfulness of 
 a girl’s first love that made her shrink from any contact with 
 him, and that he would not have seen her free and forward 
 (like the sisters of Lady Clevedon for instance) for all the 
 world. 
 
 Yet, men about to marry” would do well to mistrust the 
 feelings of that woman who, after having confessed a prefer- 
 ence for them, shrinks from the circling embrace of their arm 
 — the pressure of their hand. Nature may teach her modesty ; 
 but modesty and love are not incompatible, and love casts out 
 fear. 
 
 Colonel Bainbridge, at the period spoken of, would have 
 scouted the morality of such a sentiment. To him, timidity 
 and reserve appeared such beautiful and desirable things just 
 then, particularly as Lady Ethel Carr had so large a stock of 
 them on hand. 
 
 He wrote home, to convey the news, in a perfect fever of 
 delight. Totally forgetful, in the exultation of success, of 
 the conversation which had taken place between them in the 
 autumn, he dilated largely, in a letter to his father, on the 
 extreme beauty, high birth, and aristocratic connections of his 
 fiancee. 
 
 Mr Bainbridge was alone when he received this epistle, and 
 it troubled him greatly. 
 
74 
 
 Her Lord and Master, 
 
 He seemed to have had a foreboding all along that it would 
 come to this — that his son s large expectations and position in 
 society would be found sufficient to purchase him a wife, who 
 considered that she lowered herself by becoming his ; but it 
 was no less a disappointment to him. 
 
 All his little schemes about Maggie, his hopes of gaining a 
 daughter for his old age, instead of losing a son, were dashed 
 to the ground at once; for he was too sensible and clear- 
 sighted to suppose that a Lady Ethel, reared in the hot-bed 
 of folly and fashion, would ever be contented to sit down 
 quietly in the domestic circle at Cranshaws, and call him 
 and his good dowdy old wife by the names of father and 
 mother. 
 
 No 1 he must give up that idea once and for ever. Thomas 
 was no longer a boy, and he trusted he had chosen for his 
 own happiness ; but that that happiness would henceforth be 
 separate from theirs, was without doubt. So that it was with 
 a grave face he called Mrs Bainbridge to read her son’s com- 
 munication, and pass her opinion on it. 
 
 It was much more favourable than her husband’s. Woman- 
 like, the good mother was dazzled by the reported beauty and 
 the high-sounding title, and began to think at once what the 
 people of Borthwick would say when they heard of Lady 
 Ethel Bainbridge. She was not at all dismayed, either, at 
 the notion of entertaining a town-bred young lady at Cran- 
 shaws Castle, and even went so far as to wonder if her 
 intended daughter-in-law had any unmated brother that would 
 do for Maggie. 
 
 “ It is the best thing that could possibly have happened to 
 Thomas,” she concluded, oracularly ; “ and it may be the 
 making of his cousin. Maggie will marry a lord, next, my 
 dear — mark my words.” 
 
 “ Oh 1 I hope not — I trust not,” replied the old man, fer- 
 vently. It is bad enough to lose Thomas ; but I couldn ’t 
 part with my little Maggie yet awhile. Pray don’t put such 
 notions into the child’s head, Elizabeth ; she must wait till I 
 am gone before she leaves Cranshaws.” 
 
 “Nonsense 1” exclaimed his wife, who was not to be 
 reasoned all at once out of her conceit. “You would never 
 be so selfish, surely, as to tie the poor girl down to a dull 
 country house, when she might have the chance of getting a 
 
The News Travels North, 
 
 75 
 
 title. When Thomas is married, Lady Ethel will doubtless in- 
 vite Maggie to stay with them in London, and there is no 
 saying what luck may not be in store for her. But come 
 along, my dear, and let us go in to breakfast, and tell the good 
 news to them at once. I am sure, if I set them guessing, it 
 would be hours before they discovered our secret.’^ And 
 dragging her husband with her, Mrs Bainbridge descended, 
 all pomp and flutter, to the breakfast-room, where Miss Lloyd 
 and Maggie were waiting for them. 
 
 Maggie Henderson was certainly not looking well. The 
 sickness of deferred hope had robbed her cheek of much of its 
 bloom, and her figure of its roundness. The neighbours said 
 she wanted change of air, and her uncle and aunt had more than 
 once urged a trial of the remedy upon her ; but Maggie was 
 resolute to stay at Cranshaws, and had been allowed to have 
 her way. She performed all her duties as regularly as thereto- 
 fore; was constant in visiting amongst the farm people, reading 
 to her uncle, and teaching in the Sunday school ; but the viva- 
 city and spirit which had formerly characterised every movement 
 was gone, and a dull listlessness had taken its place. She was 
 as gentle and as good as ever — rather more so in fact — but her 
 bright smile was less often witnessed, and her gay laugh had 
 ceased altogether. She was suffering the tortures of silence 
 and suspense, than which there is no agony more intolerable ; 
 and the hopes which she had almost thought herself authorised 
 to cherish were being slowly starved to death. Yet no one 
 guessed the cause of her altered looks and manner, except 
 Aunt Letty — Aunt Letty, who, unknown, shed tear for tear 
 with her darling, and watched each change in her condition 
 with the anxiety of a mother. 
 
 They were already seated at the breakfast-table, when Mr 
 and Mrs Bainbridge entered the room. 
 
 “ Such news, my dears exclaimed the latter, exultingly, 
 as she received their morning kisses. “ Now, just try to guess 
 what it is — but you never will, it ’s quite impossible.” 
 
 “ Blossom has calved,” ejaculated Miss Lloyd, alluding to 
 the expected accouchement of a favourite* heifer. 
 
 “ Cousin Thomas is married ! ” said Maggie Henderson, 
 with the intuition of affection ; but she was scarcely prepared 
 for the immediate answer. 
 
 “ Yes, you are right ! Only fancy, your guessing it so 
 
76 
 
 Her Lord and Master. 
 
 quickly, Maggie. He is not married, though, but going to 
 be, which is the same thing, and to the daughter of an earl. 
 I never was so astonished in my life.^* 
 
 ‘‘ I hope it may turn out well,” remarked Mr Bainbridge, as 
 he sank with a sigh into his chair. Maggie said nothing, but 
 walked away and seated herself behind the tea equipage, to 
 attend to which was her peculiar province. Aunt Le tty’s eyes 
 involuntarily followed her there, but there was something in 
 the girl’s face that forbid scrutiny, and she re-turned her atten- 
 tion to her sister. 
 
 You surprise me greatly, Lizzie,” she said, in a voice 
 which shook with agitation. “ Surely it is very sudden. Has 
 Thomas written to you himself about it 
 
 ‘‘ He has WTitten to his father ; here is the letter,” replied 
 Mrs Bainbridge, as she produced it ; and I fancy from what 
 he says he must have been courting the lady for some time 
 past. He writes very enthusiastically about her appearance, 
 which he describes as perfect.” 
 
 “ A lover s folly,” ejaculated her husband, impatiently. 
 “We had better leave that until we can judge of it for our- 
 selves.” 
 
 “ But, my dear, Thomas would never be guilty of an un 
 truth, and he says distinctly that she is very beautiful. Just 
 listen here : ‘ It would be impossible for me to describe her 
 loveliness to you ; it must be seen to be appreciated. She is 
 a thorough blonde, with blue eyes and golden hair, and very 
 perfect features, and was considered to be the belle of lai^ 
 season.’ He could scarcely say more than that, I think.” 
 
 “ She must be very handsome,” replied Aunt Letty, with a 
 furtive glance every now and then tow^ards the tea-urn ; “ but 
 you have not told us her name, Elizabeth.” 
 
 “ Lady Ethel Carr,” said Mrs Bainbridge, with great unc- 
 tion, “ the daughter of the Earl and Countess of Clevedon. 
 ‘ Her father is dead,^ Thomas says, ‘ and her little brother, 
 only eighteen months old, is the present earl ; but her mother 
 is still the Countess nothing can rob her of that.” 
 
 “ And it is quite a settled thing, then ; you are sure that 
 Thomas will marry her?” demanded Aunt Letty, presently. 
 
 “ As sure as one can be of anything in this world, I sup- 
 pose,” replied her sister. “ They are engaged to each other, 
 at all events ; and Thomas says it is probable the marriage 
 
The News Travels North. 
 
 77 
 
 will take place shortly, but that it will be quite private on 
 account of Lord Clevedon’s recent death.’' 
 
 ‘‘ Which will prove very convenient in this instance,” said 
 Mr Bainbridge, with what was, for him, a most unusual 
 degree of sarcasm, ^^as it obviates the necessity of asking 
 gne's country relations to take part in the ceremony. I see 
 that Thomas particularly mentions that none but the imme- 
 diate members of Lady Ethel’s family will be present. It is 
 just as well. You and I would be quite out of place there, 
 wife, amongst earls and countesses.” 
 
 “ Now, my dear, I think you are hard upon our boy. 
 Thomas has never been ashamed of his parents yet ; he has 
 been a good son to us ; and surely we may trust him to 
 choose a wife for himself.” 
 
 “Yes, he has been a good son, and I thank God for it; 
 but he has made a mistake in this matter,, as he will find out 
 to his cost by and by.” 
 
 “ Well, I can’t think why you should set your face so much 
 against it, when most people would be delighted at the pro- 
 spect of such a match. Aunt Letty, you have said nothing 
 yet upon the subject. Don’t you think it appears a most 
 desirable connection ? ” 
 
 “ If Thomas is really attached to the lady,’’ commenced 
 Miss Lloyd in a tremulous voice. She was waiting nervously 
 for some sign or sound of agitation from behind the tea-urn ; 
 but, except for the clatter of the sugar-tongs and tea-cups, all 
 there was as still as death. 
 
 “Attached, my dear! attached is no name for it; if one 
 may judge from his own words his affections seem to be most 
 deeply engaged. And, then, fancy what a thing it will be for 
 Maggie there to have a cousin brought up with such advan- 
 tages ; why, as I w^as telling Mr Bainbridge, it may be the 
 making of her. We shall have you coming out as a London 
 belle next season, Maggie.” 
 
 “ Never 1 whilst I have a voice in the matter,” exclaimed 
 her uncle, energetically ; and then Mrs Bainbridge abandoned 
 dangerous ground, and confined her conversation for the rest 
 of the breakfast hour to speculating w^hich room she should 
 give up to the married couple when they visited Cranshaws ; 
 and whether it ought not to be completely re-furnished and 
 decorated for the reception of so aristocratic a bride. 
 
78 
 
 Her Lord and Master. 
 
 Meanwliile, Maggie Henderson had raised neither eyes nor 
 voice; and, fortunately for her maiden pride, both Mr and 
 Mrs Bainbridge were too much occupied with their own 
 reflections to pass any on her silence. 
 
 All she hoped — all she prayed for — was that she might be 
 enabled to preserve her equanimity unbroken, until she had 
 gained the privacy of her own room. And, therefore, she 
 would not trust herself to speak or look up from her occupa- 
 tion, but went on mechanically with her duties, trying even 
 not to think or understand, until she had earned the luxury 
 of doing so. 
 
 Aunt Letty, who was feeling the occasion almost as cruelly 
 as the girl herself, after having made one or two futile at- 
 tempts to turn the conversation into a less painful channel, 
 sat, pale and anxious, on her chair, answering her sister’s 
 questions in monosyllables, and longing for the moment when 
 she should rise from table and release them. 
 
 It came at last. Mrs Bainbridge shook out her ample skirts 
 and stood upon her feet ; Mr Bainbridge, with his hands 
 beneath his coat-tails, took up a station on the hearthrug ; 
 and Maggie, turning the key of the rosewood tea-poy, fled, 
 like a lapwing, to the upper stories. 
 
 There Aunt Letty quickly followed her. She feared lest 
 the strong restraint the girl had placed upon her feelings all 
 through the breakfast-time, should result in an hysterical or 
 fainting fit. She did not yet half know the strength of 
 Maggie s character. 
 
 She reached her bed-room just as she had entered it. 
 Maggie was leaning on the chest of drawers, as though to 
 support herself ; her face was very pale, and she seemed to 
 have some difficulty in breathing ; yet, as she caught sight of 
 her aunt’s anxious countenance, she tried to smile. 
 
 ‘‘ Aunt Letty ! will you leave me quite alone for a little 
 while — no ! not alone ; I never can be that — but, by myself 
 — I shall be all right again in an hour or two.” 
 
 And so Miss Lloyd retreated, having offered neither com- 
 fort nor caress, and left the girl alone with God and sorrow. 
 Where even her love feared to intrude, curiosity must not 
 seek to enter. 
 
Maggie s Strengi/t, 
 
 79 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 Maggie’s strength. 
 
 It was noon when Maggie’s pale face peeped into her Aunt 
 Letty’s bed-room door. 
 
 “ Has anybody been inquiring for me ? ” were her first 
 anxious words. 
 
 “No one, my darling ! Your uncle went out on the farm 
 directly after breakfast, and Aunt Lizzie has been engaged all 
 the morning with her housekeeper. O Maggie ! I am so 
 deeply grieved about this business ! ” 
 
 Her niece closed the door and drew nearer to her, but she 
 answered nothing. 
 
 “ I do so feel for you, my darling ! so young, so full of life 
 and happiness ! to have all your prospects blighted in this 
 manner ; it seems too cruel to be true.” 
 
 All my prospects, aunt? Is that the comfort you draw 
 from your own teaching ? ” 
 
 “All your worldly prospects, dear; though I trust, indeed, 
 that even they may only be blighted for a while. You will 
 get over this disappointment after a time, Maggie, and find 
 some one who will appreciate your affection more than Thomas 
 does ; at least I hope and pray so.” 
 
 At this allusion Maggie started. 
 
 “ Aunt Letty ! tell me one thing ; tell me the truth. Did 
 uncle ever speak to him about — about what he so much 
 wished ? ” 
 
 Her niece’s anxious eyes were staring her full in the face, 
 and Miss Lloyd, even had she dared, could not have evaded 
 the inquiry. 
 
 “ My darling ! I believe he did — just mention it, but your 
 cousin’s affections were, doubtless, even at that time engaged ; 
 and so he could scarcely have been expected, you see, Maggie ” 
 — with a yearning look into the girl’s countenance, over which 
 an expression of the deepest pain was passing. 
 
 “ Of course not ! don’t say anything more about it. Aunt 
 Iietty. It may make it a little harder, but there is only one 
 
8o 
 
 Her Lord and Master. 
 
 thing left for me to do now, and that is to try and bear it 
 as well as I can. And you must help me, dear j not hinder 
 me.” 
 
 Hinder you, Maggie ! when I would sacrifice all I have 
 to give 3^ou any comfort or pleasure.” 
 
 “ I am sure you would, and therefore I have the more con- 
 fidence in asking you, as a favour, to speak to me hence- 
 forward as little on this matter as may be. I have been 
 thinking it well over. Aunt Letty, and I am sure my best plan 
 will be, if possible, never to mention it again. I have spoken 
 too openly and too freely of it already.” 
 
 ‘‘But, my dear child,” exclaimed Miss Lloyd, in whose eyes 
 to discuss and weep over a misfortune appeared the very 
 “ luxury of woe 5” “ what will you do if you have no one to 
 whom you can sometimes unburden your heart ? it wall kill 
 you, Maggie, never to speak of what is weighing on your 
 mind !” 
 
 “ I have always one Friend to whom I can unburden it,” 
 replied the girl, simply. 
 
 “ Look here ! Aunt Letty ! ” she went on presently, finding 
 that her companion made no response to her last words ; “ J 
 should like to tell you exactly what 1 think about this matter ; 
 and then we will consider the subject a forbidden one. 
 
 “ hfo one is to blame, remember. My cousin certainly is 
 not ; and I — I hope I have not done very wrong in encouraging 
 feelings for which he had given me no sanction — therefore, 
 that thought must make it easier to bear than if it had been 
 otherwise, and I have been thinking even this morning how 
 small a trouble it appears besides those that some people are 
 called on to endure.” 
 
 “ The back is fitted to the burden, Maggie, and this is an 
 overwhelming trouble to invade your quiet, inexperienced 
 life.” 
 
 “ Aunt Letty ! do you w^ant to make me more discontented 
 and rebellious than T am 1 If you knew what wicked thoughts 
 I have entertained during the last few hours, you would see 
 no occasion for it. But, in the midst of my ingratitude, I 
 recalled a conversPotion w^hich we had on the day — the day I 
 first told you about myself (do you remember V) and I felt so 
 ashamed — so bitterly ashamed.” 
 
 “ What was it, darling ? it has slipped my memory.” 
 
Maggie s Strength, 8i 
 
 About the martyrs, and their dying for the faith ; and I 
 told you how I wished I had some means by which to ascer- 
 tain how much my faith was worth ; and as soon as I remem- 
 bered that, Aunt Letty, I saw the purpose of this sorrow. It 
 was as though He stood before me, holding out the cross for 
 me to bear. Shall I shrink from it ^ 
 
 Maggie’s figure was drawn up to its full height, her hands 
 were clasped together, her eyes were kindling with devotion. 
 
 Miss Lloyd regarded her with silent admiration ; she felt 
 her pupil had outstripped herself. 
 
 “ And it seems to me, Aunt Letty, that since we miiU 
 endure whatever pain He sees fit to send us, whether we will 
 or no, the only way by which we can show our love to Him is 
 to endure it cheerfully ; to lift up the cross instead of letting 
 it drag after us. And I have read somewhere,” she added, in 
 a lower voice, that when we do that heartily, and with all 
 the strength of our poor will, He alw^ays bears the heaviest 
 end of it Himself. Crosses are ever so much lighter when we 
 carry them in company. Aunt Letty,” with a little wintry 
 smile stealing over her young features. 
 
 “ 0 Maggie ! ” exclaimed Miss Lloyd, in a tone which was 
 almost reverential, you are teaching me a lesson to-day 
 which I shall not easily forget. My brave girl ! I had no 
 idea you were so lion-hearted; you are a little heroine, 
 Maggie 1” 
 
 But at these words Maggie looked up in a hurried fearful 
 manner, as though frightened at the honours she was called on 
 to sustain. 
 
 ‘‘ Brave 1 lion-hearted ! a heroine ! 0 auntie ! how little 
 
 you know of the poor, weak, cowardly spirit I possess 1 ” and 
 to Miss Lloyd’s surprise, in another moment she was sobbing 
 in her lap. 
 
 ‘‘ Let me cry, auntie ! don’t try to stop me ; it is for the 
 last time ! we will forget to-morrow that this has ever been.’’ 
 
 “ Not forget it exactly, perhaps,” she added, after a pause, 
 as she rose to her feet and dried her streaming eyes ; ‘‘ but we 
 must act as though we had forgotten it. I have so many 
 duties here, Aunt Letty. I owe so much to those who have 
 been like parents to me, that I should be worse than ungrate- 
 ful if, in return for all their kindness, I permitted them to be 
 unhappy on my account, or even to suspect that I was so upon 
 
 Y 
 
82 
 
 Her Loj^d and Master, 
 
 my own. Therefore, unless this matter should be forcibly 
 dragged before our notice, we will not talk of it again, will 
 we 1 ” 
 
 Just as you please, my love. But oh ! if I could only 
 see you happy I ” 
 
 Maggie pondered for a moment, and then slowly and 
 deliberately she answered : 
 
 ‘‘ / am happy/ I never knew until this moment how much 
 I owe to your teaching, dear, and to your example, without 
 which I never should have realised that all you taught me 
 was the truth. I suppose this will be a very heavy trouble 
 to me ] but I can say truly in the face of it, that I have lost 
 neither the best Hope, nor the dearest Friend, that I possess.” 
 
 Thank God ! ” ejaculated Miss Lloyd, and when the girl 
 had left her she thanked Him on her knees. 
 
Frosted Wedding Favours, 
 
 83 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 FEOSTED WEDDING FAVOUES. 
 
 It was, perhaps, an hour after she had accepted Colonel 
 Bainbridge's proposal, that Ethel Carr entered Lady Cleve- 
 don's morning-room. 
 
 Are you disengaged, Gertrude ? I want to speak to you.” 
 
 There was so little difference between her age and that of 
 her late father’s wife that she always called her by her Chris- 
 tian name. 
 
 Lady Clevedon glanced up at the determined features of her 
 step-daughter, and grew uneasy. She felt certain she had 
 come with the intention of speaking to her of the occurrence 
 of the night before, as it was not the first time Lady Ethel 
 had taken her to task for light behaviour, and she had no 
 wish to have scandal afloat about her in the early months of 
 widowhood. 
 
 And so, on the principle that the first thrust has the 
 advantage, and forgetful of the adage “ qui s' excuse s' accuse^' 
 she answered the simple query addressed to her with the warm 
 remark — 
 
 ‘‘ I know exactly what you have come to say to me, Ethel ; 
 and though it is altogether out of your province to mention 
 the circumstance, yet as you did see us, I have no objection 
 to tell you that the situation (though, doubtless, sooner or 
 later, it must have occurred) was hurried on by the foolish 
 interest I take in your affairs. I say foolish, because hitherto 
 it has been a thankless task, as you well know.” 
 
 At these words Lady Ethel stood amazed. She had sought 
 Lady Clevedon with the sole intention of informing her of the 
 alteration in her prospects; and to allude in the remotest 
 degree to the conduct of the Marquis de Lacarras was the 
 last thing to which her proud heart would have prompted 
 her. ^^ow, however, as her step-mother’s last sentence struck 
 her ear in her surprise, she ejaculated : 
 
 “ My affairs !” 
 
 “ Yes ! yours. I know that you are very independent, 
 
84 
 
 Her Lord and Master. 
 
 Etliel ; but I have been left by your dear father in the posi- 
 tion of a mother to you — (Lady Clevedon could be so r^ry 
 motherly when it suited her purpose) — “ and I should not 
 have thought I was doing my duty — after all that passed last 
 season, and what I have seen during his visit here — if I had 
 not asked Victor what were his intentions concerning you/^ 
 
 “ Concerning me 
 
 It would be impossible to describe how much force Lady 
 Ethel threw into this sentence, nor how wliite and still she 
 turned, like a living creature suddenly transformed to marble 
 — all except her eyes, which glowed indignant fire on the 
 woman who had prepared this insult for her. 
 
 “ You spoke to the Marquis de Lacarras concerning me 
 she repeated, after a slight pause. Then I consider that you 
 took a most unwarrantable liberty with my name, Gertrude.’^ 
 A liberty ! exclaimed Lady Clevedon ; ‘‘ what next % Do 
 you suppose I was going to permit the man to hang about 
 you as he did last season, causing your name to be connected 
 with his own by every one who saw you, when I had very 
 good reasons for suspecting that he meant nothing more by 
 his attentions than the most ordinary politeness % Your eyes 
 may have been blinded, Ethel ; perhaps, under the circum- 
 stances, it was natural they should be ; but mine were not 
 With what object, then, did you ask the Marquis down to 
 Temple Grange V 
 
 Lady Clevedon commenced to play with an ivory paper- 
 knife. 
 
 ‘‘ I suppose it is not absolutely incumbent on me to divulge 
 the reasons for everything I do to my step-daughter. One 
 object, though, certainly was to discover how far he intended 
 to trifle with your feelings.” 
 
 ‘‘ I am infinitely obliged to your ladyship for the interest 
 you take in what concerns me,” interposed Lady Ethel in a 
 tone of sarcasm. 
 
 ‘‘Now it is of no use your being angry about it, Ethel, for 
 to do so was my plain duty, and I put my own feelings in the 
 matter entirely on one side.” (And here Lady Clevedon bit 
 her lip, and looked sideways at the paper cutter, and tried to 
 get up a little natural confusion.) “ I put the question to 
 him last evening, and his answer — well, I suppose from what 
 you saw that you guess what his answer was — and indeed lie 
 
Frosted Wedding Favours, 85 
 
 only seemed surprised that I should have ever imagined his 
 affections were engaged in any other quarter. Of course I am 
 sorry there should have been any understanding on the sub- 
 ject, Ethel, and I certainly should not have mentioned it 
 
 so soon ; but as it is^' and here Lady Clevedon smiled at 
 
 the paper-knife, and waited in malicious expectation for some 
 token of her rivars discomfiture. 
 
 But if she expected to receive such a gratification she was 
 disappointed, for Lady Ethel’s voice, when raised in answer, 
 was more than urbane — it was positively mirthful. 
 
 Indeed, Gertrude, you have been giving yourself most 
 unnecessary trouble on my account ; for, in the first place, the 
 situation in which I surprised you is not a sufficiently novel 
 one to demand any explanation at your hands ; and in the 
 second, you could not pay me a worse compliment than by 
 supposing I have the least desire to have been your substi- 
 .tute. I am afraid you must have wasted the valuable time 
 of yourself and the Marquis de Lacarras to small advantage ; 
 for had you but left my affairs out of the question until 
 this morning, I could have told you what I have just come to 
 announce — namely, that I have accepted the offer of Colonel 
 Bainbridge’s hand.” 
 
 Lady Clevedon for the moment looked confounded. 
 
 ‘‘ Of the artilleryman 1 is it possible and then she burst 
 into a laugh. “ My dear Ethel, excuse my merriment, but 
 your opinions concerning him must have changed so very 
 rapidly.” 
 
 Opinions do change rapidly, sometimes.” 
 
 And it is really settled — un fait accom^pli ? Well, I must 
 congratulate you, for he is an uncommonly fine-looking man, 
 and will be, they say, as rich as Croesus. So, notwithstand- 
 ing a few trifling disadvantages, I consider you are a lucky 
 girl, Ethel.” 
 
 “ Of course I am. If my marriage only turns out as well 
 as yours did, Gertrude, I shall have nothing to complain of.” 
 
 Ah ! your poor dear father,” — with a sigh — well, it was 
 the will of Heaven, and we must not complain.” 
 
 I am sure I have never accused you of doing so, Ger- 
 trude 1” 
 
 When is your marriage to take place ? ” demanded Lady 
 Clevedon, who thought it as well to change the subject. Lady 
 
86 
 
 Her Lord and Master, 
 
 Ethel's news had quite put the idea of triumphing over her, 
 in re the Marquis de Lacarras, out of her head ; for being by 
 no means certain of that slippery gentleman herself, it was a 
 great object to get her step-daughter married and out of the 
 way, and she felt that the more conciliatory she became the 
 better it would be for her purpose. 
 
 At that question, recalling her to a sense of her situation, a 
 shudder passed over Lady Ethel's frame j but her voice con- 
 tinued steady. 
 
 I do not know — he has not yet spoken of it — ^but soon, I 
 suppose ; in a month or six weeks." 
 
 Ah ! so early ? — but of course you will have everything 
 very quiet, considering our mourning ; and at this time of the 
 year no one will be the wiser." 
 
 Of course ! you do not suppose I should wish to do any- 
 thing to outrage your widow's weeds, Gertrude !" 
 
 At this dart Lady Clevedon reddened, but took refuge in 
 her ready tongue. 
 
 ‘‘ Am I to write to your guardian. Lord Morston, on the 
 subject, or leave the colonel to communicate the news of his 
 own success % " 
 
 I think you had better speak to Colonel Bainbridge, and 
 arrange such matters personally. I only came to tell you the 
 mere fact that I am engaged to him. I leave all the rest to 
 you." And Lady Ethel left the room as abruptly as she had 
 entered it. 
 
 He had been spoken to about her — urged to confess the 
 truth of his affection, the honour of his intentions — and he 
 had denied that he had ever given her occasion to believe that 
 she was dear to him. Oh ! false — false — cowardly heart ! 
 
 It was the remembrance of this fact that kept Lady Ethel’s 
 courage up during the wretched anticipation of the month 
 that followed ; for whenever she found her spirits drooping 
 and her bravery at zero, she had but to recall the triumphant 
 words and looks of Lady Clevedon to reanimate her reso- 
 lution. 
 
 She was spared at this time the presence of either of her 
 lovers ; for the Marquis de Lacarras quitted Temple Grange 
 on the day of her engagement, and Colonel Bainbridge, after 
 a few blissful days at her side, returned to Woolwich and 
 his duty, from which he did not expect to procure further 
 
Frosted Weddmg Favours, 87 
 
 leave of absence until the day before the wedding, wbicb was 
 fixed to take place in the beginning of February. 
 
 Lord Morston, who bad the entire management of Lady 
 Ethel’s slender dowry, found everything concerning marriage 
 settlements and pinmoney from the other side so easily and 
 liberally arranged, that he was seen to rub his hands more than 
 once over the voluminous epistles he received from Cranshaws, 
 whilst he declared that these Bainbridges ” seemed stuffed 
 with gold, and he was sorry they had not another son that he 
 might have secured for his own daughter.’' 
 
 Lady Clevedon, who, notwithstanding her jealous and in- 
 triguing character, had all a woman’s love for purchasing 
 articles of dress that were not to serve as foils to her own 
 beauty, busied herself over the trousseau, that the nouveaux 
 riches might not say the daughter of an earl came into their 
 family unbefittingly attired ; whilst Colonel Bainbridge, de- 
 barred from the sight of his beloved, let scarcely a day pass 
 by without sending her some offering of gold, or gems, or 
 enamel, which made everybody but herself lift rapturous eyes 
 and hands. 
 
 But, though she heard and saw it all, she yet remained utterly 
 cold — utterly indifferent. She hardly believed she was going to 
 be married, though she often wished she could forget it ; and 
 yet there were moments when she caught sight of a well-known 
 monogram on Lady Clevedon’s correspondence, or heard her 
 step-mother, make some pointed remark relating to the past or 
 future, or passed beneath the 'portiere dividing the two draw- 
 ing-rooms, or recalled the moonlight balcony in Park Lane, 
 when Lady Ethel would have given all that she was worth to 
 know that Colonel Bainbridge would return that very day and 
 take her from a place fraught with such hateful recollections, 
 and from society with which it was so diflScult to keep the 
 peace. 
 
 Miserable and lonely, feeding on her own heart, and ap- 
 parently reckless what happened to her, so long as something 
 or somebody — Death or the Colonel of Artillery, it was much 
 the same to her — would come to dissipate the maddening cur- 
 rent of her thoughts. Lady Ethel Carr saw the dawn break 
 which ushered in her wedding-day. 
 
83 
 
 Her Lord and Master. 
 
 CHAPTER XVL 
 
 ANTICIPATION. 
 
 Thomas and his wife will be at the Borthwick Station at 
 five o'clock this afternoon," announced Mr Bainbridge one 
 morning, as he perused his letters at the breakfast-table, “ and 
 they bring a German maid and a lot of luggage, so I shall 
 give orders for the close carriage and the waggonette to meet 
 them, and you had better see after preparing them a good 
 dinner, Elizabeth, for they ought to be hungry after such a 
 long journey.” 
 
 “ They cannot be here till past seven," remarked Mrs Bain- 
 bridge ; “ for it will take Duncan more than an hour to find 
 his way back over the moors these foggy evenings." 
 
 “ Half-past seven, or thereabouts," replied her husband ; 
 and now, look you, my dears," addressing all three of the 
 women, ‘‘I have one word to say to you before this young 
 lady makes her appearance amongst us, and that is, that I 
 am not going to have any of the rules of the castle upset ou 
 her account. Our meals and prayers and hours for retire- 
 ment must go on the same as usual, whether she chooses to 
 take part in them or not ; for I am a methodical old man of 
 business, and cannot have all the regularity of my life dis- 
 turbed because my son chooses to bring home a ‘ lady ' for a 
 wife to Cranshaws. Do you understand % " 
 
 “ My dear ! how can you talk in such a way?" exclaimed 
 his wife, in a tone of remonstrance ; I am quite sure, from 
 all that Thomas says, our daughter-in-law will never wish to 
 do anything that is not pleasant and accommodating." 
 
 I would not be too sure of our daughter-in-law until you 
 see her," said the old man, quaintly. As for Thomas, he is 
 in love, and would think it only too delightful if Lady Ethel 
 were to condescend to use him as a door-mat. You must 
 not trust letters written in the honeymoon, my dear." 
 
 They were married six weeks ago, yesterday ! ” remarked 
 Mrs Bainbridge, who did not like her husband speaking so 
 freely before her sister and Maggie Henderson. 
 
A nticipaticn. 
 
 89 
 
 She was correct in her statement, for it was as long ago as 
 that since the wedding of which I spoke in my last chapter 
 had been celebrated, and Colonel and Lady Ethel Bainbridge, 
 after having made the inevitable continental tour, were about 
 to pay a visit to Cranshaws. 
 
 It was the worst time of the year for Scotland, and Colonel 
 Bainbridge was almost reluctant to take his bride there ; but 
 he was so full of pride of his new possession, and so anxious 
 to show her to his parents, and Lady Ethel was so utterly 
 indifferent where she went, that the journey was finally agreed 
 upon. 
 
 ‘‘Why not?’* she had remarked, when her husband hesi- 
 tated on the propriety of her visiting Cranshaws in the 
 winter. “ I suppose they have fires there as well as any- 
 where else, and we certainly cannot stay in town at this 
 season of the year ; ” and so, after much deliberation and 
 cautions, privately addressed to his mother, on the extreme 
 delicacy of his treasure, the day for their arrival was at hand. 
 
 Anticipation of their immediate appearance threw the 
 women of the household into a flutter. The good-hearted, 
 simple-minded creatures were so utterly ignorant of the 
 customs and manners of high life, that they imagined the 
 preparations for receiving a woman of rank should be made 
 on a more luxurious scale than for a commoner article ; at 
 tlie same time, they knew their resources to be so great that 
 they had no fear but that the bride would be fully satisfied. 
 They little thought that the grand difference to Lady Ethel 
 would lie, not in their surroundings, which were more sump- 
 tuous than what she had been accustomed to, but in them- 
 selves. 
 
 The sleeping-chamber, which had been newly decorated 
 with blue and white hangings for her use, was visited by 
 each one of them at least three times during that day, that 
 they might re-examine the bed with its wealth of fine linen, 
 lace-bordered pillow-cases, and fleecy-white Scotch blankets, 
 or the dressing-table, covered with cut-glass and silver, and 
 make sure that nothing more was needed for the convenience 
 of the coming stranger. 
 
 Maggie Henderson flew about the house like a bird, and it 
 seemed to her Aunt Letty afterwards as though she had never 
 sat down once during the twelve hours. Now she was up- 
 
90 
 
 Her Lord and Master, 
 
 stairs witli Mrs Bainbridge, turning over the contents of the 
 linen-closet (for, with all her riches, the mistress of Cran- 
 shaws was too homely to delegate the duties of housekeeping 
 to her servants), then in the hall, giving orders to the gar- 
 dener for changing the exotics in the library, anon ringing for 
 the housemaid to keep up the fire in the room appointed for 
 the married couple ; only once did Aunt Letty detect her in 
 anything like a thoughtful mood, and that was as she was 
 arranging a small group of hot-house flowers to be placed in 
 a vase upon the bride's dressing-table. Then Maggie had 
 certainly lost herself in a reverie, as she stood with clasped 
 hands, and dim, sad eyes, silently regarding the bouquet she 
 had made. 
 
 ‘‘0 Aunt Letty!" she exclaimed, waking up with a 
 start, as Miss Lloyd approached her, “ do you think my 
 flowers are pretty ? I would have none but white ones, 
 although the honeymoon is over," with a low laugh; because 
 I thought Cousin Thomas might like to see them." And 
 then came a shade over the countenance, and the lips twitched 
 a little. Oh ! how I do hope that she may make him 
 happy." 
 
 ‘‘We all pray for that, my dear," replied Aunt Letty with 
 assumed briskness ; “ and I think there is little doubt of it. 
 But there is old Janet Burns down in the housekeeper’s room, 
 Maggie, waiting to speak to your Aunt Lizzie, and I am sure 
 she is too much engaged to see her this morning. Could not 
 you be her deputy, and hear what it is that the old woman 
 wants?" 
 
 “ Of course I will ;" and Maggie turned from the dressing- 
 table without another look, and ran down to the house- 
 keeper’s room. 
 
 But, as the evening approached, she grew decidedly nervous, 
 although it was only to be detected by those who knew that 
 the sudden laugh brought to a close with a spasmodic jerk, 
 in which she continually indulged, was unnatural to her, and 
 assumed to cover the intensity of her feelings. 
 
 The dinner hour was fixed for eight o’clock, two hours later 
 than usual; and it had been decided in feminine conclave that, 
 in order to pay a compliment to the bride, it was advisable 
 they should dress with greater care than they were wont to 
 do when by themselves. Aunt Lizzie and Aunt Letty, there- 
 
Anticipation, 
 
 91 
 
 fore, were closeted with much state in their dressing-rooms 
 for half-an-hour previously ; and it would have been sufficient 
 for any keen observer to watch the erratic manner in which 
 Maggie Henderson flew from one apartment to the other, and 
 hear the rattling comment she kept up on all their little 
 adornments, to discover that her mind was ill at ease in 
 prospect of the meeting before her. 
 
 “ Aunt Letty, you look charming ! There is no colour suits 
 you so well as grey ; and that is the prettiest cap you have 
 ever had. No, you must not wear that camellia in your 
 dress ; it is too deep, it kills the lilac of your ribbons. I do 
 not care who gave it you, you must take this stephanotos 
 instead ; stephanotos is quite a bridal flower, you know. And 
 now I must run and see how Aunt Lizzie is getting on. How 
 well your dress hangs. Aunt Lizzie — Jeanie Hansom is getting 
 cleverer every day — and your blue ribbons match it exactly. 
 They might have been manufactured for the purpose. Won’t 
 you have some flowers ? I have gathered you such a lovely 
 tea-rose : we should all wear bouquets to-night. Aunt Lizzie ; 
 it is the orthodox thing, brides and flowers always go together. 
 Now you are quite ready, and you couldn’t look nicer. Such 
 a dear, plump, soft old mother to welcome a daughter home. 
 And poor Lady Ethel is like me ; she cannot remember her 
 own mother. I am sure you ought to seem like a real one to 
 her.” 
 
 Mrs Bainbridge turned round and folded the girl to her 
 bosom, whilst something very like a tear rose in her eyes. 
 
 ‘‘My darling Maggie,” she said; “I wish — oh, how I wish'’ — 
 
 Maggie thought she could guess what was in store for her, 
 and struggled to get free. 
 
 “ I will tell you what I wish, aunt ; and that is, that these 
 good people would be quick in coming. Don't you feel the 
 pangs of hunger ? I shall feel disposed to eat them both at 
 one meal if they stop much longer on the road.” 
 
 “ I hear the carriage wheels,” shouted Mr Bainbridge from 
 the staircase ; “ Maggie, my child, come with me ; ’’ and un- 
 knowing what excuse to make for not doing so, the little 
 martyr placed her trembling hand in that of her uncle, and 
 descended to the hall, before the door of which in a few 
 seconds drew up the carriage which had been sent to Borth- 
 wick station. 
 
92 
 
 Her Lord and Master. 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 BRINGING THE BRIDE HOME. 
 
 The servant in attendance threw down the steps, and Colonel 
 Bainbridge quickly alighted. 
 
 What the devil do you mean by being such a time coming 
 over these moors he demanded sharply of the coachman, 
 and without observing the presence of his father and cousin. 
 
 The coachman touched his hat, and said it was impossible 
 to have done the journey quicker. He was an old servant of 
 the family, who had known Colonel Bainbridge ever since he 
 was a child, and as he remarked afterwards in the servants' 
 hall, it was the first time “ Master Thomas " had ever spoken 
 angrily to him. 
 
 “Have you found the journey very tedious demanded 
 Mr Bainbridge, coming forward. 
 
 “Yes, indeed! Ah, father! how are you, and Maggie too? 
 I did not see you before. I should think we must have been 
 an hour and a half, at least, jolting over these horrid moors, 
 and my wife has been nearly shaken to pieces. This place is 
 altogether too much out of the way ; I thought we should 
 never arrive," and then, with the same air of complaint, he 
 turned to the open carriage door. “ Come, Ethel, my dearest, 
 we are really here at last." 
 
 A slight figure, much enveloped in velvets and sables, 
 appeared upon the steps, and, having gained the ground, was 
 passing rapidly through the lighted hall. 
 
 Her husband's voice detained her. 
 
 “ Ethel ! — my father !" 
 
 She stopped short, turned to regard Mr Bainbridge in his 
 quaintly-cut old fashioned costume with wide open eyes of 
 surprise, and then with a faltered apology, held out her 
 hand. 
 
 “ I beg your pardon, I did not see you ; I was only think- 
 ing of the fire." 
 
 Her father-in-law was about to bid her welcome in his 
 hearty manner, when his son again interrupted him. 
 
Bringing the Bride Home, 
 
 93 
 
 The fire ? of course, my poor child, you must be nearly 
 frozen ; this way, Ethel,” and without further parley he led 
 her into the drawing-room, and seating her before the blazing 
 hearth, attempted in his blundering fashion to relieve her of 
 her wraps. 
 
 Meanwhile Mr Bainbridge disappeared to hurry the move- 
 ments of his wife and sister ; and Maggie, unnoticed by either 
 of the married couple, crept after them to offer her assistance. 
 
 I wish you would leave me alone,” she heard the bride 
 say fretfully, as she entered the apartment. ‘‘ I would rather 
 go up to my own room at once. Where is Louise % ” 
 
 “ I will call her, dearest ! O Maggie ! ” perceiving his 
 cousin, “will you tell some one to send Lady Ethel’s maid to 
 her ; and which room is to be ours? ” 
 
 “ The blue room. Cousin Thomas ; the one to the right of 
 Aunt Lizzie’s ; ” and Maggie departed to execute her com- 
 mission. 
 
 “ Who is that girl ? ” she heard the bride say, as she left 
 their presence. The question stung her ; it proved how 
 little he could have thought or spoken of her during his 
 married life. 
 
 On the upper landing she encountered Mrs Bainbridge and 
 Miss Lloyd. 
 
 “ 0 Aunt Lizzie ! they are come ! ” she breathlessly 
 ejaculated, “and she is so cold, and she wants her maid, and 
 Cousin Thomas asked me to fetch her, and she is so beauti- 
 ful,” — with a wild desperate look in the direction of Aunt 
 Letty, — “ her hair is quite golden colour, and she has such a 
 quantity of it, and ” 
 
 “ Hush ! hush, my dear,” remonstrated Mrs Bainbridge ; 
 “ Lady Ethel will overhear you, if you are not more cautious. 
 You had better do as she desires, and join us afterwards. 
 Y/e are just going down to make her acquaintance.” 
 
 But when Maggie, having ascertained that the German 
 lady’s-maid really understood what was required of her, 
 returned to the drawing-room, she found the three elders of 
 the family standing upon the hearth-rug by themselves, the 
 bride and bridegroom having disappeared before they gained 
 the apartment. 
 
 “ Perhaps it is as well,” Mrs Bainbridge was good-naturedly 
 saying, in order to cover the little disappointment which they 
 
94 
 
 Her Lord a7id Master. 
 
 all felt; ‘^for Thomas told his father that the dear girl is 
 dreadfully tired and upset by her journey; and doubtless she 
 is anxious to change her dress and make herself tidy before 
 being introduced to us all. It is rather a formidable thing 
 entering a strange family ; at least, I remember / thought it 
 so, my dear,^^ with a tap on her husband’s shoulder, “ when 
 you first took me to call on your mother at Birmingham. I 
 had plenty of gowns to my back, but I must needs have a 
 new one made to see the old lady in ; and it was a grey 
 merino, piped with blue satin, a very handsome dress, — (you 
 haven’t forgotten it, John X ) — and I was so nervous that I 
 spilt a glass of wine right down the front breadth.” 
 
 But here Mrs Bainbridge’s reminiscences were interrupted 
 by the re-entrance of her son, with an expression which struck 
 Maggie as being rather worried. But as he caught sight of 
 his mother and aunt his face brightened ; and he kissed them 
 both most affectionately. 
 
 “Well, mother, and so here I am, you see, taken in and 
 done for, at last.” 
 
 “ I trust you may be very, very happy, my dear,” murmured 
 his mother, tremulously ; “ and your dear wife, where is she 1 
 We are so anxious to see her.” 
 
 “She will be down directly. I am sorry she should have 
 left the room before you entered it ; but she was nearly faint- 
 ing from fatigue. I am afraid she is not very strong, mother,” 
 with a sudden overclouding of his countenance. 
 
 “ Oh ! my dear Thomas ! — a young wife, and after such a 
 long journey — we must make allowances. She will feel more 
 like herself to-morrow. But, shall I go to her? will she 
 think me remiss in remaining here ? ” 
 
 “ Not at all — she would not expect it — besides which, here 
 she comes ! ” he exclaimed, brightly, and going into the hall 
 to meet her ; in another moment glowing with the pride of 
 possession, he stood amongst them with Lady Ethel on his 
 arm. 
 
 “ Here is your daughter, mother,” he said, as he led her up 
 to Mrs Bainbridge ; “ but she begs you will excuse her dress- 
 ing for this evening, as she is really too tired to undergo any 
 unnecessary exertion.” 
 
 He spoke cheerfully, and the good ladies of Cranshaws, 
 who had prepared all sorts of little kind welcoming speeches 
 
Bringing the Bride Home, 
 
 95 
 
 for their new relation, advanced to receive her, both 
 metaphorically and physically, with open arms ; but there was 
 something in the look and demeanour of the young stranger 
 which checked their ardour, and after having taken courage 
 to imprint a formal kiss upon the passive cheek which was 
 not advanced one inch for their convenience, the conversation 
 relapsed into the merest commonplaces. 
 
 And, indeed, a greater contrast than Lady Ethel presented 
 to her husband’s relations, in dress and style and manner, 
 could scarcely be imagined, and was sufficient to freeze the 
 warm impulses of those who had been ready to welcome her 
 as one of themselves. Attired in the black velvet dress in 
 which she had travelled (for she had not relinquished the 
 mourning for her father), with a morsel of point lace care- 
 lessly tied round her slender white throat, and neither bow 
 nor ornament in the piled masses of her hair, the negligence 
 of her costume alone separated her more from them, than if 
 her charms had been hidden beneath a panoply of silk and 
 jewels; whilst her stately and composed demeanour and air 
 of frigid uninterested languor (so unlike the blushing timidity 
 which Mrs Bainbridge and Miss Lloyd had pictured to them- 
 selves), made the breach seem still wider. The very faintest 
 of smiles passed' over her face in reply to her new relations’ 
 good wishes and congratulations ; and then Lady Ethel sank 
 down into the chair which her husband placed for her, and 
 shading her cheek from the fire with her delicate hand, left 
 him to conduct the conversation unaided by herself, until the 
 dinner was announced. 
 
 Every one felt it to be a relief when they were once fairly 
 occupied round the table ; but even then the bride remained 
 as uncommunicative as before, and her silence threw such a 
 damper over the whole party, that Colonel Bainbridge was 
 obliged to talk much louder and faster than usual in order 
 to cover the unpleasant impression made by the conduct of 
 his wife. He spoke of Paris and Brussels, and the German 
 baths, at which they had been whiling away their time : every 
 now and then appealing for a confirmation of his words to 
 Lady Ethel, with the hope of drawing her into the general 
 conversation, and receiving a monosyllable in reply for his 
 pains ; and then he alluded to the house in Curzon Street, 
 which had been taken and furnished for them by the liber- 
 
g6 
 
 Her Lord and Master, 
 
 ality of Mr Bainbridge, but which would not be ready for 
 their reception until the following May. 
 
 ‘‘ You must come and see us then, mother,^’ he concluded, 
 warmly. It is years since you have been in London, and 
 you would enjoy the change.^' 
 
 “ Oh, my dear Thomas ! exclaimed Mrs Bainbridge, flat- 
 tered nevertheless by the invitation, “ you will have plenty 
 to do and to think of on first setting up house together, 
 without encumbering yourselves with the trouble of looking 
 after an old woman like me.’^ 
 
 I should be sorry to think we should ever have too much 
 business or pleasure to permit of our devoting a little time to 
 you, mother ; and so would Lady Ethel, I am sure ; ’’ and as 
 he spoke, Colonel Bainbridge glanced across the table at his 
 wife, as though urging her to second his assertion. 
 
 But Lady Ethel was playing with a little pile of bread- 
 crumbs at the side of her plate, and did not even appear to 
 have listened to his words. 
 
 And Miss Maggie, too,” he went on rapidly with a kind 
 look towards his cousin ; “ she should pay a visit to town 
 during the season, were it only to say that she had seen the 
 Bow at four o^clock in the afternoon. Can you imagine any 
 one being such a little rustic, Ethel, as never to have set foot 
 further south than Birmingham in the whole course of her 
 existence h ” 
 
 Your cousin?” said Lady Ethel, interrogatively, and 
 forced to say something. 
 
 ‘‘Yes, little Maggie there ; have you never been intro- 
 duced to her yet ? what a shame ! Why, she ’s like a sister 
 to me, and the right hand of Cranshaws ; isn’t she, father ? ” 
 
 “ She is the greatest blessing that Cranshaws has ever pos- 
 sessed,” replied the old man, fervently. 
 
 “A compliment to me,” exclaimed Colonel Bainbridge, 
 with mock distress. “ Can’t you find one word to say in my 
 favour, Ethel ? ” 
 
 “ Oh, my dear Thomas ! ” interposed his mother, taking his 
 jest seriously, “ you must not believe your father to be in 
 earnest. Every one knows the good dutiful son you have 
 been to us, and how thankful we are in your possession ; and 
 though I say it as should not say it, it will be your wife’s 
 own fault if she is not a happy woman.” 
 
97 
 
 BrUiging the Bride Home. 
 
 At tliis little outburst of maternal pride, which was de- 
 livered with a cheerful nod across the table, Lady Ethel red- 
 dened, and Colonel Bainbridge laughed, though not quite 
 easily. 
 
 ‘‘ Come, come, mother; no more of that, or you will set me 
 off blushing. We were talking of Cranshaws, were we not ? 
 I wish that Lady Ethel could have seen it first at a more 
 seasonable time of the year : she will hardly be able to credit 
 what a pretty place it is when the moors are covered with 
 heather bloom.” And then he rattled off again upon all kinds 
 of subjects connected with the country and the farm, though 
 every now and then his dark eyes stole across the table and 
 rested longingly upon the fair creature whom he called his 
 wife, as though yearning to extract a look of interest or kind- 
 ness in return. 
 
 And Maggie, who was still as crimson as a peony, from the 
 effects of the notice bestowed upon her, intercepted one of 
 these glances. 
 
 It turned her cold, and sick, and trembling. She had never 
 seen any look before which expressed such entire devotion to 
 — almost worship of — its object, and she wondered that Lady 
 Ethel did not appear more affected by it, that she could sit so 
 immovable and quiet whilst it glowed upon her, with her own 
 eyes fixed upon a painting on the wall. 
 
 Maggie seemed at that moment to comprehend for the first 
 time how absorbingly a man’s heart can love ; and though it 
 made her see how foolish she had been to imagine that her 
 cousin ever cared for her, the very fact, by absolving him of 
 all blame in her disappointment, made her resolve to do what 
 she could to please him, by making herself agreeable to his 
 idol. Her nature was sufficiently generous to confess that 
 neither of these persons having borne an active part in giving 
 her pain, should be held accountable for it ; and sitting 
 silently at the end of the long table, she prepared to offer up 
 the first-fruits of her cheerfully-accepted sacrifice, by not only 
 feigning, but studying, to feel an interest in what so greatly 
 interested him, and trying to make his beautiful wife feel 
 more at home amongst them than she appeared to do. 
 
 G 
 
98 
 
 Her Lord and Master. 
 
 CHAPTEE XVIII. 
 
 FIKST IMPEESSIONS. 
 
 It was witli this intent that when the ladies found themselves 
 alone in the drawing-room, Maggie, blushing up to her ears 
 at her own audacity, ventured to approach the spot where 
 Lady Ethel had thrown herself into a low chair, and ask if 
 she felt less fatigued than she had done before dinner. 
 
 They were, comparatively speaking, alone, for Mrs Bain- 
 bridge had left the room upon some household business, and 
 Aunt Letty, scared out of her affectionate intentions by the 
 distant demeanour of the bride, had carried her knitting to 
 the further end of the apartment. 
 
 The fair face, with its chiselled features and white fore- 
 head, over which a few locks of golden hair were negligently 
 disposed, slightly turned towards the speaker, as her question 
 was answered in the negative, and Maggie thought she had 
 never seen any one so lovely as this new cousin in her life 
 before. She looked so graceful, so elegant, so composed, so 
 unlike any of the rosy, blooming, vivacious girls, who passed as 
 beauties in that part of the country; so totally unlike herself. 
 
 Maggie’s heart gave one great jealous throb at the con- 
 viction, but her next remark was no less sympathetic for the 
 feeling. 
 
 ‘‘ You look so pale, I am sure the dinner was a worry ta 
 you. Perhaps you are longing for your bed % 
 
 “ Thank you — I am very well as I am 
 
 “You will feel better to-morrow morning, I hope. I think 
 most people arrive here too tired to enjoy themselves. It is 
 a very pretty place by daylight. Are you fond of the 
 country ? 
 
 “ I canT say I am 
 
 “ Oh ! isnT Cousin Thomas sorry for that?*^ said Maggie, 
 quickly. 
 
 “ I really can’t tell you — I never asked him.” 
 
 “ Because he is to live at Cranshaws, you know, when — 
 when — it becomes his.” 
 
First Impressions. 
 
 99 
 
 ‘^Indeed!” 
 
 Lady Ethel's tone added so plainly the query whether I 
 choose or do not choose'?'' that Maggie’s courage suddenly 
 evaporated, and she felt she had said more than she intended. 
 
 Then followed a long pause between them, which was at 
 last broken by Lady Ethel inquiring in a peevish manner — 
 
 What do you do with yourselves all day here ? " 
 
 Oh ! lots of things," was the hearty rejoinder ; there is 
 always work, of course, about the house and grounds, and 
 then there are all the farm people to be looked after, and we 
 generally ride or drive out once a day. Aunt Lizzie does not 
 often go further than the garden, unless there is something to 
 be done in Borthwick ; but Aunt Letty and I have each a 
 little ‘ Sheltie,’ and we go scrambling over the moors whenever 
 we feel so inclined." 
 
 And cannot you reach any place without crossing those 
 dreadful moors?" demanded Lady Ethel with a look of 
 genuine distress, beneath which Maggie's face fell. 
 
 I don't think you will mind them so much after a little," 
 she answered, timidly. There are some beautiful walks 
 amongst them, if you can manage to climb the hills ; and if 
 you like riding, my pony will take you anywhere ; only, of 
 course, it is not so pleasant now as it will be in the summer 
 time." 
 
 ‘‘ Who are your nearest neighbours?" was the next question. 
 
 ‘‘The Duke of Kamsay has a shooting-box about three 
 miles from Cranshaws, but he only uses it during the season, 
 and the Marquis of Booth keeps Herne Hall on the other side 
 for the same purpose. The only real neighbours we have 
 though, who live here all the year round, are the Appletons 
 of Horse-ap-Cleugh, and Mrs Elliott of Burnside, but she is a 
 very old lady, and never goes out anywhere." 
 
 Lady Ethel’s silence was ominous. 
 
 “We don’t depend upon neighbours in a place like this, 
 you see," continued Maggie, who was anxious to defend the 
 charms of her country home ; “ for there is always so much 
 business connected with a large estate, that we have no time 
 for paying and returning visits, and those friends who wish to 
 see us come and stay here ; indeed, if it were not for going to 
 church, I don’t think I should ever care to leave the grounds 
 myself," 
 
100 
 
 Her Lord and Master. 
 
 And where may your church be?’’ 
 
 “ Oh ! only three miles off, at Mindon ; such a dear little 
 place, all covered with ivy, and it is not much bigger than 
 double this room.” 
 
 Three miles across these moors !” said Lady Ethel, with 
 a shudder, as she involuntarily wheeled her chair nearer to 
 the fire, and placed her feet upon the fender-stool. 
 
 She remained thus musing for a while, and then, as though 
 thought had suddenly become oppressive to her, sprang to her 
 feet, exclaiming — 
 
 “ I am really too tired to sit up any longer, and will go to 
 my room at once. You must make my apologies to Mrs 
 Bainbridge ! ” 
 
 But as she spoke the door opened, and her husband, 
 accompanied by his father and mother, entered the apartment. 
 
 Colonel Bainbridge ! I was just going upstairs ; my head 
 aches dreadfully ! ” 
 
 He was by her side in a moment. 
 
 My darling ! I am so sorry ; is there nothing I can do or 
 get for you ? ” 
 
 “ Nothing, thanks 1 Mrs Bainbridge will perhaps excuse 
 my retiring so early.” 
 
 Of course, my dear; do just as you feel inclined,” replied 
 the old lady ; ‘‘ and I think myself that bed will be the best 
 place for you. I will send you up a cup of strong coffee 
 directly.” 
 
 ‘‘ Pray dofft trouble yourself ; I shall take nothing more. 
 Good evening;” and with a bow that included the whole 
 company, Lady Ethel was moving onwards. 
 
 “ Ethel ! my dearest ! I am coming with you,” exclaimed 
 Colonel Bainbridge, as he followed her. 
 
 At that she halted, and turned her pale face towards them. 
 
 I beg you will do no such thing — I would so much 
 rather be alone; and you must have plenty still to say to 
 your family.” 
 
 Her voice and manner were so cold that they would have 
 deterred most men, but they had not the power to deter him. 
 
 I have nothing of interest in this world now in which 
 you are not concerned,” he answered, fondly, as he drew her 
 arm within his own, and led her up the broad staircase to her 
 room. 
 
First Impressions, 
 
 lOI 
 
 Then a blank seemed to fall on the party they had left 
 behind, for this was the first time that they had been alone 
 and together since their introduction to the bride, and each 
 felt that all was not as it should be, whilst each was anxious 
 to hide the fact from the others. 
 
 ‘‘ Thomas seems perfectly devoted to her,^^ sighed Mrs 
 Bainbridge, with the slightest twinge of maternal jealousy. 
 
 There is no doubt about her being very handsome,’^ re- 
 marked the old man. 
 
 Oh no ! she is lovely ! ” said Maggie, with enthusiasm. 
 
 But isn’t it just a little singular, you know,” put in Miss 
 Lloyd, ‘‘ for a wife to address her husband by his surname % 
 I confess I should have been better pleased to hear her call 
 him Thomas.” 
 
 Oh 1 that will all come by and by,” said Mrs Bain- 
 bridge, with the superior intelligence of a married woman. 
 ‘‘ They have not been married many weeks, remember, and 
 for my part I would rather see her too retiring than too forward 
 — she certainly is a most beautiful girl,” falling back upon 
 the fact which was indisputably pleasant. 
 
 “ Yes ! and so aristocratic ! She might be a princess from 
 her appearance. How proud Thomas seems of her.” 
 
 “So he may well be ! He would never have found such a 
 wife down at Cranshaws,” at which Mr Bainbridge grunted 
 dissent. “ And, talking of that, I wonder if Lady Ethel has 
 everything she wants — just run up-stairs, Maggie, and see.” 
 
 But Maggie shrunk backwards. 
 
 “ Oh no, aunt ! they can’t want me, and Cousin Thomas 
 would be sure to ring if anything was wrong.” 
 
 “ My^ dear, what nonsense ! Lady Ethel has probably not 
 yet gone into her dressing-room. Just knock at the door, and 
 ask her, with my love, if she has everything she requires.” 
 
 Thus urged, Maggie started on her errand ; but as she placed 
 her foot upon the staircase she encountered Colonel Bain- 
 bridge. Again she thought (but it might have been her fancy) 
 that his face looked troubled ; but as he caught her eye he 
 smiled. 
 
 “ Well, Maggie ! are you bound also for the Land of Hod V* 
 
 “ Oh no 1 I was just going to ask if I could do anything 
 for Lady Ethel.” 
 
 “ That ’s my kind little cousin ! Yes ! I wish you would ; 
 
102 
 
 Her Lord and Master, 
 
 perliaps your company might do her good/^ And then he 
 added, in a lower and more confidential voice, She ’s not 
 quite the thing to-night, Maggie; she has been upset by 
 travelling, and feels shy and timid amongst a lot of strangers. 
 You are more of her own age ; you must cheer her up, and 
 make her feel at home.^* 
 
 “ I will try,” said the girl, softly ; and with that she passed 
 her cousin, and walking more slowly up the remainder of the 
 staircase, knocked gently at Lady EtheFs door. 
 
Good Night. 
 
 103 
 
 CHAPTEE XIX. 
 
 GOOD NIGHT. 
 
 At first there was no answer; but after a second appeal 
 Maggie thought she heard the words, Come in,” and turning 
 the handle, entered the bed-chamber. What was her amaze- 
 ment at the scene she witnessed there ! She had been pre- 
 pared to find the bride thoughtful, and even dejected, at the 
 strangeness by which she was surrounded; but she little 
 expected to see Lady Ethel sitting by the table, with her head 
 cast down upon her outstretched arms, and sobbing with all 
 her might — a perfect rain of tears, as though she had lost all 
 control over herself. For a moment Maggie stood still and 
 watched her silently, for she was frightened at the sight of so 
 much emotion, and hardly knowing what excuse to make for 
 her own presence there, would gladly have crept away again 
 without having been perceived. But the slight movement she 
 made attracted the notice of Lady Ethel Bainbridge, who, 
 raising her head proudly, and with the tears still glitter- 
 ing on her eyelashes, demanded what it was she required, of 
 her. 
 
 0 Lady Ethel,” faltered the girl, ‘‘I am so sorry. I 
 thought I heard you say ‘ come in.’ ” 
 
 “ It is of no consequence,” returned the other. Have you 
 a message for me?” 
 
 Her pride was wounded that this country-bred girl should 
 have seen her in her hour of weakness; but as it was the case, 
 she was too proud to let her know that she cared anything 
 about it. And so she would not even raise her hand to brush 
 away the tears from her streaming eyes, but sat there, with 
 wet cheeks and humid glances, looking twice as beautiful as 
 she had done before. 
 
 ‘‘ Aunt Lizzie told me to ask if you have everything you 
 want,” said Maggie. 
 
 ‘^Everything, I believe, except my maid, and I suppose 
 she will come if I ring ; or, if she does not, some one else wiJl. 
 Pray don’t trouble yourself on my account.” 
 
104 
 
 Her Lord and Master. 
 
 But it is no trouble, Lady Ethel, and I will send your 
 maid to you. You may not like to see strangers.’* 
 
 “ Thanks ! *’ returned Lady Ethel, curtly ; and then there 
 was nothing for Maggie to do but to go, But yet she could 
 not go. A feeling had come over her, she could hardly define 
 what it was ; but something which seemed to say that she 
 must try what she could do to comfort Colonel Bainbridge’s 
 bride. 
 
 That Lady Ethel — that the wife of her Cousin Thomas — 
 the object of so much love and devotion on his part, could be 
 unhappy, was incomprehensible, and, had Maggie stopped to 
 analyse the probable reason, would have seemed absurd j and 
 yet her immediate conviction was that it was so. 
 
 Why, or wherefore, were puzzling questions reserved for the 
 future, the present was alone before her ; and in the present 
 was a fellow-creature in distress, another woman suffering — 
 and a wild notion struck Maggie’s heart — suffering somehow 
 much in the same way as she had done and was doing still 
 herself. With that, every throb of envy and jealousy, which 
 had been torturing her throughout the evening, died out of 
 the girl’s heart, and in their stead reigned a great womanly 
 compassion and sense of pity. 
 
 And as that feeling gained predominance, Maggie lost her 
 timidity, and going up to where Lady Ethel still retained her 
 seat, she knelt down by the table, and with a sweet manner, 
 half shy and half determined, said, gently — 
 
 Don’t cry, dear ! — pray don’t cry. It would make him — 
 it would make us all so unhappy to think you were so.” 
 
 Lady Ethel bent her sad eyes upon the speaker with sur- 
 prise. It was not often she had heard a woman’s voice 
 appealing to her in tones of affection ; not often that she had 
 met so innocent and pure a glance upraised to her own, or 
 encountered a stranger bold enough to plead with her as with 
 a sister. She was generally excessively haughty and stern 
 with any one who attempted to take a liberty with her ; but 
 there was something in Maggie’s brown eyes — Lady Ethel 
 did not recognise it at that moment, but it was the mysterious 
 light of sympathy — which attracted her as she had seldom 
 felt attracted towards any girl before ; and instead of rebuking 
 the familiarity of her appeal, she placed her hand before her 
 own eyes, and commenced to weep afresh. 
 
Good-Night, 
 
 105 
 
 Yes ! She had reason for her tears; for the glamour and 
 excitement of her unhallowed marriage were wearing off, and 
 leaving her (as any sensible person could have warned her 
 that she would be left) stranded on a shore barren both of 
 sympathy and affection. 
 
 That her husband loved and gloried and trusted in her, 
 that he poured upon her hourly proofs of his passionate 
 attachment, and thought no portion of his life worth living 
 that was passed out of her presence, was only an aggravation 
 of the punishment she had brought upon herself, as no woman 
 will need to be informed ; for the existence bereft of all that 
 it holds dear is far preferable to that which is compelled to 
 suffer caresses obnoxious to it. 
 
 All through that evening, during which Maggie had been 
 silently putting up little prayers to heaven to help her to 
 subdue the evil feelings of jealousy for the happy condition of 
 her cousin's bride, with which her heart seemed filled to burst- 
 ing, Lady Ethel had passed a hundred times through the last 
 interview she had held with her poor father, and heard the 
 answer that he had made to her insolent remark that she was 
 not likeJy to look long enough upon the ground to learn to 
 love a man like Colonel Bainbridge. 
 
 ‘‘ Ethel ; that pride of yours will some day be brought 
 down. I pray that when it is, your life’s happiness may not 
 be overwhelmed at the same time.” 
 
 Wandering about amongst German spas and Parisian society, 
 with a handsome husband devoted to every wish. Lady Ethel 
 had nursed her romantic sorrow for the treacherous desertion 
 of the Marquis de Lacarras, without realising the whole of 
 the bargain she had made with Colonel Bainbridge, for the 
 satisfaction of her outraged womanhood. But to-day, when 
 he had brought her home to his own people, whom he expected 
 her to call her people — and, aware of their deficiencies, had 
 striven so hard to conceal everything that was not just as she 
 had been used to see it — this had been an awakening which 
 she had never quite believed in, although she had talked so 
 loudly on the subject. 
 
 And it had overwhelmed her. The child of folly and 
 fashion, ruined by her own pride and self-indulgence, had had 
 her eyes fully opened at last to the fate she had deliberately 
 carved out for herself, and she shrunk from it as from a 
 
Her Lord and Master, 
 
 io6 
 
 scorpion. She had no friends to turn to in her distress, for 
 she had cut herself off from her own associates to enter a 
 family which she felt could never be congenial to her ; so it 
 is no wonder if the gratuitous sympathy even of this little 
 ignorant, unfashionable stranger seemed for the moment as 
 something too sweet to be rejected. 
 
 But only for a moment : Lady Ethel had accidentally lost 
 command of herself, but she had no intention of adding to it 
 the loss of self-respect. And so she hastily dashed away her 
 newly-risen tears, and answering Maggie’s affectionate address 
 with a deceptive laugh, said, lightly — 
 
 ‘‘ Unhappy ! — what nonsense ! Pray don’t take such an 
 absurd idea into your head. I am only a little overcome by 
 the fatigue of my journey, and shall be all right to-morrow.” 
 
 Still Maggie lingered by the table. Her feminine tact told 
 her that Lady EtheFs nonchalance was only assumed, and she 
 longed to leave her more composed. 
 
 ‘‘ I daresay the castle would look rather gloomy, seen for 
 the first time at night,” she said, thoughtfully. It is large, 
 you see, and difficult to light well, and my uncle has an 
 old-fashioned dislike to introducing gas.’^ 
 
 Oh ! it is not that, I can assure you !” 
 
 I know it is not, but it all adds to it ; and coming to the 
 country too, to which you have never been accustomed, and 
 amongst a lot of strangers, of course would make you feel a 
 little lonely.” 
 
 “ Lonely, child ! what should you know about being 
 lonely h ” 
 
 ‘‘ I feel so sometimes myself,” replied Maggie, simply, 
 even though I live amongst my best friends. We all have 
 thoughts occasionally in which no one else can share — no one 
 on earth, that is to say.” 
 
 Yes j I suppose so.” 
 
 And then the only way to get comfort is to take them 
 straight to Him.” 
 
 What did you say ” 
 
 To take them to our Saviour,” said Maggie, in a low 
 voice, though she grew very red the while, for she had per- 
 ceived from Lady Ethel’s foregoing question that the free- 
 masonry which exists between all those who hold a common 
 interest in a common good was wanting here. 
 
Good-Night, 
 
 107 
 
 ‘‘ Oil I yes — of course,’’ replied the bride, indifferently ; 
 and then she added — ‘‘ If yon are really going to be so kind 
 as to summon Louise for me, I wish you would do it at once, 
 for I think the time must be getting on.” 
 
 ‘‘ May I come back, too % ” inquired Maggie, wistfully. 
 There was something in this beautiful, defiantly unhappy 
 bride which interested her deeply. 
 
 ‘‘No! you had better not. First impressions go a long 
 way, and I am not mistress of myself to-night. Let me go 
 to rest noWj and I shall see you again in the morning.” 
 
 “ Good-night, then, dear Lady Ethel 1 ” and Maggie’s eyes 
 glistened whilst she held out a timid hand. 
 
 The best of Lady Ethel’s nature came to the surface. She 
 was a woman, after all is said and done, and she had a heart, 
 however she< might upon occasions refuse to listen to its 
 dictates. At the present moment she acted just as it 
 prompted her to do, and, as Maggie rose, rose also, and 
 kissed her on the face. 
 
 “ Good-night ! I think that I shall like you ; but don’t 
 judge of me as you have seen me now. We will begin afresh 
 to-morrow.” 
 
io8 ' 
 
 Her Lord and Master. 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 ACROSS THE MOORS. 
 
 Maggie Henderson was down very early on tlie following 
 morning. She had not slept well, for the interview she had 
 held with Lady Ethel had left a deep impression on her mind, 
 and robbed her of her rest. She felt drawn in an inexplicable 
 manner towards this spoilt child of fashion, the beloved object 
 of her Cousin Thomas's affections ; and to be drawn towards 
 her seemed like deserting her own cause, like going over to 
 the enemy against her own bruised little heart. Nature had 
 been fighting against Grace all night long, and a selfish sorrow 
 had nearly gained the victory over charity. Maggie could not 
 help wishing either that Lady Ethel appeared less interesting 
 in her eyes, or that she was not the person of all others she 
 desired to be least interested in; and she was angry with 
 herself for having given vent to the feeling which had come 
 spontaneously to her. Lady Ethel’s hysterical emotion was, 
 doubtless, as she had aflfirmed, due to the fatigue she had 
 undergone, and ought to have been treated like the unreason- 
 ing folly of a child. It was impossible, that so lately married, 
 and possessing everything in this world calculated to make a 
 woman happy, she could have any cause for giving way to 
 sorrow. 
 
 Maggie concluded that she had been far too quick and ready 
 with her sympathy ; had wasted it, in fact, and the thought 
 galled her and prevented her from sleeping. 
 
 So, as soon as the world was fairly awake, she rose and 
 dressed herself, and crept softly down-stairs, with the intention 
 of getting out in the fresh air, and walking off the effects of 
 her vigil before she passed under the scrutinising gaze of Aunt 
 Letty. 
 
 It was a clear, cold morning, in the commencement of April ; 
 but Maggie cared little for the cold. She had been reared 
 hardily, and accustomed to be out in all sorts of weather, and 
 often walked a mile or two across the moors before the elder 
 members of the family had left their beds. And so, wrapped up 
 
Across the Moors. 
 
 109 
 
 in lier woollen plaid, she stepped briskly out upon the terrace, 
 prepared to take an hour’s exercise before breakfast. But, 
 scarcely prepared to encounter Colonel Bainbridge walking up 
 and down, with his hands in his pockets, as though waiting 
 for her to join him. Maggie’s first impulse was to retire 
 again. It was hard enough, under present circumstances, to 
 meet him in the family circle — harder even than she had 
 calculated upon — but she felt as though she could not trust 
 herself to speak with him alone. And yet there was no 
 opportunity for retreat, for he turned at the opening of the 
 door, and came quickly towards her, whilst she felt her stupid 
 cheeks fiame up at the mere consciousness of his approach. 
 
 ‘^Why, Maggie!” he exclaimed, apparently as much sur- 
 prised as pleased to see her, ^^are you too bound for a con- 
 stitutional this fine morning? That’s famous, we will go 
 together; I was just longing for some one to talk to;” and 
 as he took her hand, he placed it snugly within his arm. 
 
 But the girl drew backward — it was no comfort to her ; it 
 was a misery to feel it there. She felt that she could have no 
 part in that support henceforward and for evermore. There 
 are some hearts, so constituted, that they must have all or 
 nothing. 
 
 I never expected to meet any one,” she stammered, as she 
 held both her hands before her, and rolled them round tightly 
 in her plaid. ‘‘It is so very early, not seven o’clock; I 
 thought everybody would be in bed.” 
 
 “ Everybody except Miss Henderson and one oilier ^ I sup- 
 pose,” rejoined Colonel Bainbridge, laughing. “Ah, Maggie, 
 my little cousin, have I caught you out ? And who is the 
 favoured laddie? Hot one of the young Appletons, I hope; 
 for I ’m left your guardian, you know, miss, and intend you 
 for something a great deal better than mistress of that tumble- 
 down old place, Horse-ap- Clench.” 
 
 “ Oh, it is no one, Cousin Thomas, indeed,” replied poor 
 ^Maggie, who, betwixt the desire to exonerate herself, and the 
 fear lest Colonel Bainbridge should press the question, was 
 scarlet with confusion and distress. “ I only came out for a 
 little walk ; I often do so before breakfast.” 
 
 “ Never mind, Maggie 1 ” said her companion, affecting to 
 disbelieve her ; “we won’t say anything more about it ; and 
 let me tell you, as one who has had some experience in such 
 
no 
 
 Her Lord and Master. 
 
 matters, that I don’t believe he would have come this morning 
 at all, for it ’s a great deal too cold for that kind of thing, and 
 love is scared at the idea of red noses and frost-bitten fingers. 
 So let us go for a nice little cousinly walk together instead ; 
 it is a long time since you and I have had a walk, Maggie. 
 Which road shall we go : round the farm, or down by the 
 river*? You had better lead the way, for it is such an age 
 since I was here that I seem to have forgotten all about it.” 
 
 Thus adjured, Maggie turned silently away from the terrace, 
 and commenced to tread a path which led through the shrub- 
 beries of Cranshaws, and across the moorland. 
 
 ‘‘ Now, this is what I call jolly,” said Colonel Bainbridge 
 as he paced close to her side. “ It reminds me of old days. 
 What a splendid air this is ; one seems to draw in a draught 
 of fresh life with every breath. How I wish that Ethel were 
 strong enough to get up and enjoy it with us.” 
 
 How is Lady Ethel this morning ? ” said Maggie, feeling 
 that the allusion called for an inquiry on the subject, though 
 she dreaded introducing it. 
 
 Colonel Bainbridge seized the occasion with alacrity, for 
 that he might be able to talk freely of the thought uppermost 
 in his mind, had been his sole reason for desiring a companion 
 in his walk, and his little cousin appeared a very proper person 
 for the infliction. It was a matter of course that girls must 
 feel interested in the sayings and doings of one another. 
 
 Thank you ! I am afraid she is not feeling very well, but 
 it will take more than one night’s rest to enable her to over- 
 come the fatigue of yesterday. I have told her that she must 
 not get up this morning. By the way, Maggie, I don’t suppose 
 my father will be very particular about her appearing at 
 prayers and Bible -reading, and all that sort of thing — will 
 he?” 
 
 ‘‘For this morning, Cousin Thomas % oh no, decidedly 
 not ; he is always ready to make excuses in a case of illness, 
 and I heard Aunt Lizzie say herself, last night, that she 
 thought Lady Ethel ought to lie in bed until she felt quite 
 recovered again.” 
 
 “ Oh ! yes ! — yes, of course ; but I didn’t mean that ex- 
 actly. You see, Maggie, my wife has been reared in a very 
 different style to what you are accustomed here, and all these 
 continual prayer-meetings and psalm- singings are quite novel- 
 
Across the Moors, 
 
 III 
 
 ties to her ; in fact, I ’m afraid she won’t be got to join in 
 them very easily. It ’s all very well in the country, you know, 
 where one has lots of time, but to people who have been used 
 to a town life it appears perfectly absurd ! ” 
 
 Absurd! Cousin Thomas 
 
 The awed tone in which the girl beside him let fall this 
 word shamed Colonel Bainbridge into silence. He, too, had 
 been reared, as she had, in the midst of worship, which, if it 
 left scope for longings after a ritual more perfect and soul- 
 inspiring, was at all events pure, both in its direction and 
 intent. And there had been a time also when he would have 
 been ashamed to speak of the means by which his good old 
 father tried to lead the minds of his household heavenwards 
 in any terms but those of respect, and when he had half 
 resolved with himself to give up, once and for all, the World, 
 the Flesh, and the Devil, and to make an open profession of 
 those sentiments which his conscience whispered to him were 
 the only ones worth holding ; but he had fallen in with a 
 woman whose feelings were utterly opposed to all religious 
 truths, and having lavished his whole heart upon her natural 
 beauty, forgetful of the shortcomings of her mind, his soul 
 was relapsing into the same indolence as hers. 
 
 But the startled voice in which Maggie Henderson repeated 
 after him the word absurd,^’ in a measure recalled him to 
 himself. 
 
 “ Well, not absurd, perhaps (I ought not to have said 
 that) ; but very unnecessary, and can do people no earthly 
 good when their hearts are not in that kind of thing ; only I 
 should not like my father to be annoyed, or make a fuss 
 about it, and neither, I am sure, would Ethel, though I have 
 not yet mentioned the subject to her.’^ 
 
 “ He will be very much annoyed if she refuses to attend 
 prayers,” said Maggie, quietly. 
 
 ‘‘ But look here ! ” resumed Colonel Bainbridge, who had 
 an idea, and by no means an erroneous one, that to enlist his 
 cousin’s sympathy was to gain his cause. It can make no 
 difference to him you see, and surely it is better she should 
 stay away than attend unwillingly.” 
 
 But why should Lady Ethel be unwilling ? ” 
 
 The question was a simple one, yet he felt puzzled how to 
 answer it. He could not shock her by the information that 
 
II2 
 
 Her Lord and Master. 
 
 liis beautiful wife was callous to everything connected with 
 religion ; that if she said her prayers, or read her Bible, it was 
 in the most formal and unthinking manner ;.and that she never 
 entered a church except to dissipate the ennui by which she 
 was invariably attacked on Sundays. And so he murmured 
 something about not being used to family prayers, and that 
 they had been superseded in the High Church by matins and 
 evensong, and something further about ritual and intoning 
 and the Sacrifice, on which subjects he was very misty him- 
 self, but which served to convey the notion to his hearer s 
 mind that Lady Ethel had been used to so lofty a style of 
 worship that she would be unable to pray in the library at 
 Cranshaws. 
 
 “ Oh, I have heard of that ! ” exclaimed Maggie, with a 
 kindling eye, ‘‘ and I have longed — I cannot tell you how 
 much — that my lot had been cast where I might enjoy such 
 privileges. We have many books upon the subject, written 
 by some of the leading Churchmen of the day, and I must 
 confess that sometimes I have been wicked enough to feel 
 discontented that I could only read of it. Oh yes, I am a 
 true Catholic, Cousin Thomas, and so is Aunt Letty ; and 
 Scotland will never have the power to shake our faith in the 
 Catholic doctrine. But were we on that account to refuse 
 to join in any worship which is not conducted on strictly 
 Catholic principles, what would become of us ] Our places 
 have been assigned to us here, and not by ourselves, and 
 surely God could never intend us to lose the substance whilst 
 we are sighing after what may prove to us the shadow ! ” 
 
 “ But Ethels place is not here — at all events not at pre- 
 sent,” argued her cousin. 
 
 ‘‘ But she might die here. Cousin Thomas,” was the quiet 
 answer. 
 
 “ God forbid ! ” he ejaculated, a look of terror passing over 
 his face ; and then he added, quickly, You have never been 
 accustomed to these things, or you would talk diflferently.” 
 
 But I can imagine them,” replied Maggie, humbly. I 
 can imagine, too. Cousin Thomas,” with a little sigh, how 
 you look in your grand artillery uniform, with all your 
 accoutrements, although I have never seen you w^ear it, and 
 how proud Lady Ethel must feel to see you riding past the 
 flag-staff on a field-day at the head of your soldiers; but she 
 
Across the Moors. 
 
 113 
 
 doesn’t love you less, does she, when you have nothing but 
 plain clothes on ? ” 
 
 ‘‘ I hope not, my child,” he answered, laughing. “ But 
 what are you driving at, Maggie ? ” 
 
 ‘‘ Only that wherever we pray, we worship the same God ; 
 and though it must make one’s heart glow to see His service 
 conducted as we believe He wishes it, yet where it cannot be, 
 where it is impossible — we have an altar, you know — He 
 must be there, and to refuse to go would seem to me like 
 turning our backs upon Him when He was in plain clothes, 
 Cousin Thomas ! ” with a quiet smile at the homeliness of her 
 comparison. 
 
 But Colonel Bainbridge did not smile ; her words were 
 striking deeper in his heart than she calculated on. 
 
 But with regard to Ethel — she is very beautiful, don’t 
 you think so, Maggie ? ” breaking off suddenly from his 
 subject with a lover’s rapture, and waiting eagerly for her 
 answer. 
 
 “ Very beautiful !” echoed the girl, with a sharp twinge of 
 envious pain, for which she despised herself, and did penance 
 the next moment by ratifying her assertion. More beauti- 
 ful than anybody I have ever seen before. Cousin Thomas ; 
 I cannot find a fault in her face or figure ! ” 
 
 ‘‘Nor I,” he answered, glowingly; “ and you ’ve not seen her 
 at her best, remember — for she looked so pale last night. 
 But her eyes — her hair — the moulding of her features — I 
 have never seen them equalled ; and then to think she should 
 belong to me,” with a low, deprecating laugh — “ a delicate, 
 fragile creature like that in the possession of such a great, 
 rough, clumsy brute as I am ! ” stretching out his muscular 
 arm and large powerful hand. “ Why, it seems absurd. One 
 of the six-foot lassies from these parts, with cheeks like 
 nutmeg-graters and elbows like files, would have suited me 
 better, eh, Maggie ? ” 
 
 “ 0 Cousin Thomas ! you would never have been contented 
 with mere common beauty ! ” 
 
 “ No ! by Jove ! not after I had seen her, at all events. I 
 am so glad you like her, Maggie ” (she had never said she did), 
 “because I want you to be friends with her whilst she is 
 here, and make things smooth. And about these prayers, 
 
 H 
 
Her Lord and Master. 
 
 1 14 
 
 and regular meals, and all the other fussy rules of Cranshaws. 
 Don’t you think you could talk my father over for us % ” 
 
 “ No ! Cousin Thomas ! I am sure I could not,” said Maggie, 
 firmly. Uncle is more particular about his rules being 
 punctually complied with than anything else ; and you must 
 remember how he took Sir Charles Hammond to task before 
 us all, for saying he made a practice of reading family prayers 
 to himself in bed. He never tried to evade them afterwards 
 all the time he was staying with us. And I am sure if you 
 were to represent to Lady Ethel that it is uncle’s particular 
 hobby, she would never wish to upset the household arrange- 
 ments by refusing to appear.” 
 
 Oh ! of course not — of course not,” replied Colonel Bain- 
 bridge, who was, nevertheless, anything but sure of his fair 
 lady’s dutiful submission to the wishes of her father-in-law, 
 ‘‘ only I should have preferred her being able to follow her 
 own inclination in the matter.” And then he launched forth 
 upon a second edition of her beauties and virtues ; keeping 
 poor Maggie in such torture that her morning walk proved 
 but an ineffectual remedy for her sleepless night, and she was 
 thankful when they once more stood together within the hall 
 5>f Cranshaws. 
 
The Commeiicement of Hostilities. 
 
 IIS 
 
 CHAPTER XXL 
 
 THE COMMENCEMENT OF HOSTILITIES. 
 
 Nothing transpired on the subject of Lady EtheTs absence 
 from prayers that morning except the expression of a general 
 hope that she would be recovered by the afternoon, and 
 towards luncheon hour the young lady, preceded by an un- 
 usual bustle, descended to the library. Maggie, who, quietly 
 engaged upon some needlework, was sitting there at the time, 
 thought she had never seen so much fuss made about a single 
 person before. First appeared the German maid, Louise, 
 with a shawl, and a cambric handkerchief, and a bottle of 
 eau-de-Gologne, who, after gesticulating wildly in the direction 
 of Miss Henderson and receiving no answer beyond a smile 
 and shake of the head, wheeled Mr Bainbridge’s own arm- 
 chair in front of the fire, placed her burthens on the table, 
 and retreated. Then came Colonel Bainbridge, who declared 
 the room was as cold as a cellar, and violently stirring the 
 fire, dragged out a screen which stood against the door to its 
 full length, and disappeared again, grumbling against the 
 draughts in modern houses and the evils of a northern spring 
 as he went. Maggie looked on in silent astonishment at all 
 these arrangements, and was beginning to think that Lady 
 Ethel must really be consumptive or have some complaint of 
 which they had not yet been informed, when the door opened 
 to re-admit her cousin, not bringing his wife on his arm, as a 
 bridegroom might be supposed to do, but following humbly 
 in her train, laden with a French novel and a foot-warmer, 
 made of a stuffed fox, curled round as though he were 
 asleep. 
 
 The bride looked still more lovely than she had done the 
 night before, or rather, had it not been for the peevish, dis- 
 contented expression on her face, she would have done so. 
 She was robed in a morning wrapper of grey cashmere, trimmed 
 with swan’s-down, which stood up all round her snowy throat 
 and mingled with the golden tresses of her negligently-arranged 
 hair, and such a costume, though one utterly unsuited to, and 
 
Her Lord and Master, 
 
 ii6 
 
 calculated to provoke much surprise at Cranshaws, was 
 entirely in accordance with her fair, delicate beauty. 
 
 She entered with a lip drawn down, for there had been a 
 little discussion up-stairs between her husband and herself (in 
 whi^^h he had come off considerably worsted) respecting her 
 future compliance with the rules of the household. 
 
 So Lady Ethel considered herself aggrieved, and Colonel 
 Bainbridge was in greater disgrace than usual, for having 
 presumed to express an opinion on the subject. Though 
 even in these early days of matrimony, unlimited as was her 
 insolence and power over him, she intuitively acknowledged 
 the superiority of the man under whose control she had placed 
 herself, by simply disregarding his wishes, without being able 
 to summon up courage to tell him what she thought of them. 
 
 Maggie rose at her approach, and went forward to meet 
 her almost cordially, for the mere sight of Lady Ethel seemed 
 to revive the first impressions she had formed regarding her. 
 But the bride, appearing to have forgotten that any but the 
 commonest courtesies had passed between them, chilled her 
 advances with an indifferent ‘‘ Good morning,’^ and imme- 
 diately sunk into the arm-chair that had been placed to 
 receive her. She was too much occupied at that moment, 
 thinking of her own imaginary grievances, to have leisure to 
 remember anything else. 
 
 ‘‘ I don't want it. Colonel Bainbridge,” she said in a 
 petulant manner, as he stooped to place her feet into the foot- 
 warmer ; ‘‘I told you so up-stairs.” 
 
 But your feet are so cold, my darling,” he urged, affec- 
 tionately. ‘‘You had better use it for a little while, until 
 they are warm again.” 
 
 But all the answer his assiduity received was in the speak- 
 ing fact that Lady Ethel kicked the sleeping fox to one side, 
 and placed her slippered feet upon the fender instead. Even 
 this did not seem to annoy him, however, although he made 
 no remark upon it, but drew a chair close to her side, and 
 sitting down after a while, laid his hand caressingly on some 
 portion of her dress or hair. 
 
 “ I do wish jmu would leave me alone,” Maggie heard her 
 say, with an impatient sigh ; “ you do fidget me so. Aren’t 
 you going out for a walk this morning?” 
 
 Doubtless he did fidget her, for nothing on this earth can 
 
The Commencemeiit of Hostilities. 1 1 7 
 
 be more wearisome to a woman than the attentions for which 
 she has no desire ; but then Lady Ethel ought to have remem- 
 bered that she had brought them on herself. 
 
 She had gambled away her pretty humanity and her time, 
 and a score of other trifles, for the sake of maintaining her 
 injured pride; and now that the day for ‘‘paying up’' had 
 arrived, she was, like many others of her sex in the same 
 predicament, uncommonly averse to fulfilling her part of the 
 agreement. And being in the first weeks of marriage, and in 
 the hands of a very indulgent master, she was allowed for the 
 present to have it all her own way. How long such a state of 
 things would last, however, it was difiicult to calculate. 
 
 Colonel Bainbridge seemed rather hurt at his second rebuff, 
 if one might judge by his leaving his seat, and taking 
 possession of the newspaper and a chair on the opposite side 
 of the hearthrug ; but if he gave the feeling a name, it was 
 only to hope that Maggie would not take his wife’s words for 
 more than they were worth. 
 
 His cousin, on her part, was more annoyed than himself, 
 for she felt honestly indignant at seeing him repulsed and 
 treated in so curt a manner, and wounded for his sake that 
 she should have been witness to his discomfiture. She took 
 up her work again, and retired to the further end of the 
 room, and brooded silently and sadly on what she had heard. 
 She thought in that moment that she never could fancy again 
 that she should like Lady Ethel, however beautiful or fascinat- 
 ing she might prove ; for if she was rude to him — if she did 
 not value his affection, or care to make him happy, there could 
 be no good thing in her. 
 
 Meanwhile, Lady Ethel did not even seem to observe the 
 defection of her little acquaintance of the night before, but, 
 listless and unoccupied, reclined in her easy chair in front of 
 the blazing fire, wdth a screen held up before her face, and her 
 large eyes languidly fixed upon the ceiling. She did not look 
 like an ordinary mortal — so Maggie thought as she stole 
 furtive glances in her direction — in her elaborate and fanciful 
 morning dress, but more like some of the characters she had 
 seen portrayed upon the stage when visiting the theatre 
 during her occasional visits to Birmingham. 
 
 It seemed so unnatural to see the pensive, indolent beauty, 
 in her cashmere and swan’s-down, reclining in the library at 
 
1 1 8 Her Lord and Master, 
 
 Cranshaws, and to remember that she was Cousin Thomas’s 
 wife — really his own property, who could never again be 
 separated in thought or deed from him — that Maggie wandered 
 off more than once in a dream of things quite different from 
 what they were, and had to recall herself with a sigh to the 
 reality of life. 
 
 It was not long before the news that Lady Ethel had 
 descended to the library spread through the house, and Mrs 
 Bainbridge and Miss Lloyd hastened to offer their congratula- 
 tions on her re- appearance. Anxious to make the best of 
 everything, they had tacitly agreed to ignore the unfavourable 
 impression of the night before, and came in brimful of cordial 
 greeting and kindly solicitude, — Mrs Bainbridge being even 
 brave enough to address her daughter-in-law by the familiar 
 appellation of ‘^my dear.” 
 
 ‘^Well, my dear! and how do you feel yourself by this 
 time? Our poor Thomas has been quite anxious on your 
 account ; but I hope you are none the worse for your journey.” 
 
 The good, affectionate creature, who would have taken a 
 dairymaid who was honoured by her son’s love to her arms, 
 came forward briskly, with the evident intention of folding 
 Lady Ethel in a maternal embrace, had not the look with 
 which she was saluted driven all such presumptuous ideas into 
 the background. 
 
 The occupant of Mr Bainbridge’s arm-chair, whilst her 
 husband rose immediately to his feet in deference to his 
 mother’s presence, opened her big blue eyes at the greeting as 
 though it considerably surprised her, murmured something in 
 reply about being ‘‘ exceedingly obliged,” and “ much the 
 same as usual,” and — retained her comfortable position. 
 
 The want of politeness was too marked to pass unnoticed. 
 Every one looked uneasy, and poor Mrs Bainbridge, who was 
 the humblest nature possible, and the last person in the world 
 to exact unnecessary homage, perceiving the slight shown her, 
 turned red, and immediately directed her attention to her son, 
 who, flushing up to the roots of his hair, began to talk very 
 loud and very fast in a loyal attempt to cover an action which 
 had discomfited them all. 
 
 All, that is to say, except the perpetrator of the deed, who 
 remained perfectly passive and unconcerned amidst the general 
 confusion, only interrupting the conversation every now and 
 
The Commence^nent of Hostilities, 1 19 
 
 then to peevishly desire Colonel Bainbridge to stir the fire, 
 or bring her a footstool, or perform any one of a dozen little 
 offices which she could have done just as well for herself, 
 though he never would have permitted her to do so. 
 
 “ Will Lady Ethel come in to luncheon ” demanded Mrs 
 Bainbridge, as the meal was announced. The question was 
 put to her son, she did not venture to address the bride again. 
 
 Oh, I think so ! You will come, my dearest, will you 
 
 not ? 
 
 ‘‘No, thanks ; I will have it in here. It is not worth while 
 to leave the fire.” 
 
 “ Of course not, if you prefer to remain here,” acquiesced 
 Mrs Bainbridge, readily, “ and the servant shall bring it in to 
 you, my dear.” 
 
 “ He can bring it, thank you,” said Lady Ethel, with a care- 
 less nod in the direction of her husband, who immediately 
 replied that of course he would, and giving his arm to his 
 mother, led her to the dining-room. 
 
 “ My dear, is it necessary you should take that trouble ? 
 could not James do it as well?” remonstrated Mrs Bainbridge 
 a few minutes later, as she watched her son making a collection 
 from all the daintiest dishes on the table to carry on a tray 
 to his wife. 
 
 “ I would rather do it myself ; Ethel likes me to wait upon 
 her,” was the rejoinder, as awkwardly lifting his unaccus- 
 tomed burden he disappeared from the room. 
 
 Mrs Bainbridge looked across the table at Miss Lloyd, and 
 sighed. They would have preferred to see Colonel Bain- 
 bridge’s young wife running gaily about the house upon 
 errands for her husband : it did not tally with their ideas of 
 his dignity and worth to see him turned into a fetcher and 
 carrier. 
 
 “ Is her ladyship not out of her room yet ? ” demanded Mr 
 Bainbridge, who had only entered the house at the summons 
 of the luncheon bell. “No wonder she looks so pale and 
 delicate if she lies in bed till this hour every day.” 
 
 “ Oh yes, uncle, she has been down in the library for more 
 than an hour,” replied Maggie. 
 
 “ Then why doesn’t she come in to luncheon like other 
 people ? ” 
 
 Mrs Bainbridge shrugged her shoulders. 
 
120 
 
 Her Lord and Master. 
 
 I don^t know, my dear. You should ask Thomas. I am 
 afraid he has chosen but a weakly wife.” 
 
 “ Or a capricious one,” rejoined her husband ; and to this 
 remark there succeeded an eloquent silence. 
 
 Meanwhile, Colonel Bainbridge, who, with the tray in front 
 of him, made a sad bungle of opening and shutting the library 
 door, and let a draught blow straight in upon Lady Ethel, as 
 she took good care to let him know, had reached his wife’s 
 side and deposited his load in safety on the table. 
 
 “ And now you must let me see you eat something, my 
 dearest,” he said, anxiously, as he sat down beside her. 
 
 “ If you are going to sit there and stare at me all the time, 
 I am quite sure that I shall eat nothing,” was the discourag- 
 ing reply. “ Pray go back to your luncheon ; your people 
 will think it so strange your remaining here.” 
 
 I don’t care what they think,” he answered. 0 Ethel, 
 if you only knew what a delight it is to me to sit and look at 
 you, you would not grudge me the indulgence. It is not 
 much to ask, my darling, is it?” and he placed his hand 
 under her chin and turned up her face to his. 
 
 She jerked it away impatiently. 
 
 Ethel ! you are unkind.” 
 
 ‘‘Am I? But I have told you so often that I hate to be 
 pulled about. Is it impossible to perform one’s duties in the 
 married state without it ? I suppose people are differently 
 constituted, but if you want to make me happy, you will 
 leave me alone.” 
 
 He sighed heavily and moved a few steps further from her. 
 And then, after a slight pause, he said seriously : 
 
 “You Icnow (and God is my witness) that I do wish to 
 make you happy ; it is my one great desire, and I suppose I 
 must try and be content not to see it fulfilled in my own way. 
 So long as you love me, Ethel — love and trust in me, dearest 
 — the rest matters little. And so I will leave you now to 
 take your luncheon in peace ; ” and with a cheerful nod he 
 returned to the company in the dining-room. 
 
 As soon as he was gone. Lady Ethel jumped up from her 
 seat, and rushing to the window, gazed on the still, cold, 
 wintry scene outside. It looked like her present life to her. 
 
 “ I cannot bear it — no, I cannot bear it,” was the passionate 
 language of her heart ; and her knitted brow and clenched 
 
The Commencement of Hostilities, 121 
 
 hand attested to the strength of that language ; this horrid 
 place^ — these horrid people — it is more than any woman can 
 bear. But what can I do ? where can I go, away from him ? 
 Oh, heaven ! what a fool I have been. I wish that I was 
 dead ! ” 
 
 And then there came a shower of hot tears, which she wiped 
 away as quickly as possible, lest her discomfiture should be- 
 come patent to ‘‘ the people ” in the other room ; but the 
 traces of which, being detected by the anxious eyes of her 
 husband, drew down a loving rebuke upon her, which drove 
 Lady Ethel to her own chamber for the best part of the after- 
 noon. 
 
122 
 
 Her Lord and Master. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIL 
 
 LADY ETHEL IS TAKEN TO TASK. 
 
 It may be remembered that Miss Lloyd, when speaking to 
 Maggie Henderson of Colonel Bainbridge’s amiable qualities 
 (in those days when they both thought the girl would have 
 been her cousin's choice in marriage), said that Thomas ” 
 was so good and steady as to be competent to be the guide of 
 any young woman ; and that they had no doubt but that he 
 would render his wife happy. 
 
 And so far as Colonel Bainbridge’s true character went, 
 the trust was perfectly justifiable. Moral, from a sense of 
 right as well as refinement; just, because his honour was 
 founded on a rock ; firm, because he possessed both sense to 
 form an opinion and courage to maintain it, his was a mind 
 on which a weaker mind might lean for support, and never 
 fear to find its prop give way beneath it. His muscular 
 frame and splendid physique were but types of his strong 
 will, as well known in the army as he was himself ; and those 
 who saw him intimately could never doubt but that he would 
 be always master in his own house as he was amongst his 
 soldiers. At the same time, no one assumed less power (the 
 really powerful seldom do assume it), or was more silent on 
 the subject of management, or the difference between the 
 intellects of men and women, than Colonel Bainbridge. On 
 the contrary, a stranger might well have imagined that all his 
 convictions leant the other way. 
 
 Good-tempered and unselfish to a degree, and conscious of 
 his superior strength, he was just the sort of man to permit 
 the woman whom he loved to go any length with him ; as a 
 huge Newfoundland or mastiff may often be seen quietly 
 suffering the impotent attacks of a snappish little terrier, 
 without thinking it worth his while to do more than smile at 
 them. 
 
 The woman whom he loved," I said, but I ought to have 
 added, and whom he imagined loved him in return ; for with 
 all his great honest nature, overflowing with the capacity of 
 
Lady Ethel is taken to Task, 123 
 
 devotion, Thomas Bainbridge was too proud to cast down 
 his heart to be trampled on for ever, let the feet be never so 
 small, and white, and delicate, that crushed its life out. 
 
 He loved well and he loved blindly ; but, for that very 
 reason, it would be a more dangerous game to attempt to tear 
 the bandage from his eyes than from those of other men, for 
 he had not hands that could be easily persuaded to tie it on 
 again. And, therefore, had Lady Ethel at that period had 
 any true friend by her side, he would have warned her that 
 in fencing with those two weapons, coldness and caprice, she 
 was sounding the death knell of all future happiness — both 
 for her husband and herself. But she was friendless, and he 
 in no condition to be easily alarmed, for at this time his life, 
 strange to say, appeared to him a paradise. He was too much 
 in love even to perceive her coldness. 
 
 To reconcile this statement with the common sense at- 
 tributed to him (if any excuse is needed for the vagaries of a 
 lover), it must be remembered that Lady Ethehs acceptance 
 of his offer had come on him as such a glad surprise_, and so 
 short a period had elapsed since that circumstance, that he 
 had hardly yet realised to himself that they were really man 
 and wife, and had certainly never thought of exerting any 
 marital influence or authority over her. He was still her 
 most willing slave and ardent admirer, who would have gladly 
 served for her as Jacob did for Bachel, and who, on finding 
 himself in sudden and unexpected possession of his coveted 
 treasure, without having had the opportunity to make any 
 love to her before marriage, was taking it out in the most 
 reverential devotion afterwards. 
 
 Absurd as most newly-married men make themselves, before 
 custom and companionship have turned their angels into 
 commonplace women, Colonel Bainbridge excelled them all ; 
 and his conduct was the more remarkable at Cranshaws, 
 where the whole female community had been used to wait on 
 and make much of him. 
 
 But now the times were changed, and if he were not less 
 grateful for the attentions of his aunt and mother, he took 
 less notice of them, for his whole soul was wrapt up in the 
 contemplation of his idol. He waited on her like a servant, 
 watched her every look lest she should require something, 
 stood lost in silent admiration of her person when she was not 
 
124 
 
 Her Lord and Master, 
 
 speaking, and hung upon her words when she condescended 
 to open her mouth. All that afternoon he had been going 
 on like an enamoured school-boy, pursuing his father to the 
 &tudy, his mother into her own room, Aunt Letty to the 
 garden, and poor hapless Maggie everywhere, in order that he 
 might forcibly extract from them, over and over again, the 
 assurance that his wife was the handsomest woman they had 
 ever seen, or that her figure was most graceful, and her taste 
 in dress perfect. 
 
 But more than this the honest folks of Cranshaws could 
 not be prevailed upon to say, for they rigidly respected truth, 
 and not even to flatter the proud bridegroom (whom one and 
 all dearly loved^ would they praise Lady Ethel’s manners, or 
 disposition, or ajffection for himself. For short a time as she 
 had been amongst them, and unwilling as they were to believe 
 any harm of her, they could not but be already painfully 
 aware of the fact that whatever end Lady Ethel had had in 
 marrying her husband, it had not been the end of loving him. 
 And it galled them that it should be so, it outraged their 
 feelings of affection and respect for the son of the house, the 
 man to whom they looked up as their future head and ruler, 
 who even now possessed the strongest mind as the strongest 
 arm amongst them, and for whom they had imagined no 
 woman could be really good enough. And the little conclave 
 that discussed the behaviour of the bride that afternoon was 
 a very grave one. It was evident that disappointment reigned 
 at Cranshaws. But with the evening things looked brighter, 
 for Lady Ethel reappeared at dinner, having shaken off much 
 of her ill-humour, and if not sociable, had at least forgotten 
 to be glum. 
 
 Perhaps she was tired of sulking (it is a very fatiguing role 
 when kept up for many hours together), or perhaps the 
 genuine, unaffected compliments of her husband on her 
 appearance had softened her heart (for however she may dis- 
 like more particular attentions, a woman’s breast is seldom 
 impervious to flattery) ; any way, she looked more animated, 
 and gave longer answers than she had done the evening 
 before, and Colonel Bainbridge in consequence was uplifted 
 to the seventh heaven, and could scarcely take his eyes off 
 her all dinner time. 
 
 This improved state of affairs, whilst it inspired the others 
 
125 
 
 Lady Ethel is taken to Task. 
 
 with content, had the strange effect of making Maggie’s spirits 
 sink down to zero. She had been employing herself actively 
 all day, studiously avoiding any opportunities of confidence 
 with Miss Lloyd, and hoping to go to bed as bravely as she 
 rose j but now a deep depression unaccountably took hold of 
 her. She ate her dinner almost in silence, and as soon as it 
 was concluded, and the ladies had adjourned to the drawing- 
 room, flew to her harmonium and took refuge in instrumental 
 music. 
 
 But here, in a few minutes, she found that Lady Ethel had 
 pursued her. She raised her eyes, and sickened at the sight 
 of that perfect beauty, set off by lace and delicate muslin, and 
 hung with the ornaments her husband had chosen for her, and 
 Maggie turned her gaze away, almost with a shiver, and bent 
 down closely over the pages of Beethoven. 
 
 But her cousin’s bride was evidently disposed for conversa- 
 tion. 
 
 “ How well you play ! Have you had a music-master'? ” 
 
 Only the organist at Mindon, and a few lessons occasion- 
 ally when I have been at Birmingham,” replied Maggie, with 
 a desperate effort to be agreeable. Do you not sing or 
 play. Lady Ethel ? ” 
 
 Ho ! I have learned, of course; but I left it off — I didn’t 
 care for it; I don’t care for anything ! ” with a sudden, deep- 
 drawn sigh. 
 
 0 Lady Ethel ! how can you say so?” 
 
 ‘‘ It ’s the truth ! One gets so soon weary of everything in 
 this world ; ” and the same expression came over Lady Ethel’s 
 face that had so powerfully attracted the sympathy of 
 Margaret Henderson the night before — an expression of 
 having utterly finished with all the good that life held for 
 her; and the generous impulse that had prompted her ac- 
 tions then rushed over the girl’s heart again as she eagerly 
 replied — 
 
 “ Put you have begun to be weary at the wrong end of 
 life, dear Lady Ethel.” 
 
 ‘‘ Yes ^ Do you find it such a delightful thing to live, 
 then?” 
 
 “ Oh no;” and Maggie’s face flushed crimson. ‘‘I suppose 
 no one really does that — it was not intended ; only there is 
 always so much left to do, so many duties that involve the 
 
126 
 
 Her Lord and Master. 
 
 happiness of others, that I have thought of late — that is, I 
 sometimes think — with a stammering, blushing pause, on 
 finding she had lit on such a subject, with such a listener. 
 
 “ What do you think % ” inquired Lady Ethel, struck by 
 her manner. 
 
 Maggie had ceased playing now, though she retained her 
 seat at the harmonium. 
 
 ‘‘ I think,^^ she continued, in a low voice, lest she should be 
 overheard by Mrs Bainbridge and Miss Lloyd, ‘‘ that it is best 
 when we are not too happy in this world ; that possessing all 
 that our hearts desire must be so apt to make us cling to this 
 life, and look upon death as an evil instead of a blessing. 
 Don’t you find it so h ” with a timid appeal in the direction 
 of her companion. 
 
 Lady Ethel yawned. 
 
 “ Oh ! for the matter of that, I don’t think it much 
 signifies whether we are dead or alive. Do play something 
 lively ; I don’t like that organ-thing half so well as the piano : '' 
 and walking away from the instrument, she turned over the 
 books that lay on the drawing-room table, until the entrance 
 of the gentlemen made the conversation general. 
 
 But as the evening progressed. Colonel Bainbridge became 
 manifestly uneasy, and as ten o’clock struck he was almost 
 nervous. Lady Ethel looked up from a book of photographs 
 on which she was employed to watch the footman placing a 
 row of chairs in regular order at the other end of the room, 
 and demanded, sharply — 
 
 What is all that arrangement for ? ” 
 
 “ For prayers,” said Maggie, softly, remembering the talk 
 she had had with her cousin on the subject that morning. 
 ‘‘We always have prayers at ten o’clock, but they won’t take 
 long ! ” 
 
 Lady Ethel laughed. 
 
 “ It is a matter of perfect indifference to me whether they 
 take an hour or ten, for I am going to bed. Good-night ! ” 
 
 “ Oh ! do stay,” said Maggie, earnestly, “ uncle will be so 
 vexed.” 
 
 “ Ethel ! my darling ! ” remonstrated her husband, in a low 
 •^oice. But the pleading tones irritated her, and she rose 
 from her seat at once. 
 
 “ What nonsense / As if one could not do as one chose in 
 
Lady Ethel is takc7i to Task. 
 
 127 
 
 Bucli a matter. Colonel Bainbridge, be so good as to light me 
 a candle, will you ? ’’ 
 
 The old-fashioned silver candlesticks stood in a row upon a 
 table outside the door, and seeing that his wife was resolute, 
 he fetched one, and placed it in her hand. 
 
 Where are you going to ? ” demanded Mr Bainbridge, as 
 Lady Ethel advanced towards him with the lighted candle. 
 
 To my own room,” she replied, haughtily. 
 
 She knew that the question denoted opposition, for the 
 bed-room candlestick was evidence of her design. 
 
 “ But we are just going to have prayers,” he said, 
 quietly. 
 
 I know that, thank you! but I have no desire to be 
 present. Good-night.” 
 
 His sole reply was gently, but firmly, to take the candle- 
 stick from her hand, and blowing out the candle, to place it 
 on the mantel-piece, whilst Lady Ethel was too much 
 astonished to oppose him. 
 
 What do you do that for % ” she said, angrily, as soon as 
 she had found her tongue. 
 
 My dear,” replied the old man, I don’t think the rules 
 of this house are very hard rules ; but such as they are, I must 
 have them complied with. Nothing but sickness can justify 
 a person from not being present at family worship. I cannot 
 compel you to serve God from your heart, but, as long as you 
 remain at Cranshaws, you must keep up the appearance of 
 doing so. Here are the servants, you see ! Novr, go back to 
 your husband like a good girl, and remain quiet until prayers 
 are over. I shall not detain you a quarter of an hour at the 
 outside.” 
 
 Perhaps Lady Ethel had never been spoken to in such a 
 manner in her life before. She had been opposed and fought 
 against, but to be completely set down and ordered to do a 
 thing, as though she had been a child, was a complete novelty 
 to her. Amazement at the boldness of her father-in-law, and 
 a gentlewoman’s innate desire to avoid anything like an 
 expos6 before the lower orders, forced her back in silence to 
 her seat, where she sat out the prayers that followed. 
 
 But it is doubtful if one word of them reached her ear, far 
 less her heart. 
 
 She was almost lost the while in rage and indignation, 
 
128 
 
 Her Lord and Master, 
 
 brooding angrily on tbe affront sbe had received, and wonder- 
 ing in what way she could resent it. 
 
 Her husband, who was disposed to be almost as offended 
 as herself at his father’s curt way of speaking, viewed her 
 acquiescence in his wishes with the greatest surprise, wonder- 
 ing what had come to his high-spirited darling that she should 
 be so meek. But he was not long left in doubt. They had 
 scarcely risen from their knees, and the train of servants had 
 not yet filed out of the room, when Lady Ethel, casting a 
 withering glance upon Mr Bainbridge (which fell perfectly 
 harmless, as the old gentleman was busy placing the markers 
 in his books), and without a single parting salutation to the 
 rest of the company, swept from the apartment. Her husband 
 of course rushed after her, and then the domestics also dis- 
 appeared, and the Cranshaws’ party was left to itself. 
 
 ‘‘ 0 Mr Bainbridge 1 ’’ exclaimed his wife, in a tone of 
 vexation, as soon as they found themselves alone, ‘‘ what can 
 have induced you to insist upon Lady Ethel remaining to 
 prayers this evening ? I am sure that you have very much 
 offended her, and our dear Thomas into the bargain. Such a 
 pity, so soon, too — and upon their wedding visit. I do 
 think our guests might be allowed to judge for themselves in 
 these matters.” 
 
 Then you think very wrongly,” was the determined reply. 
 
 I never interfere with the amusements of our guests ; they 
 may neglect me as much as they choose, but as long as they 
 remain here they must respect their Maker outwardly, if not 
 inwardly. And I believe, after all, that’s the best way to 
 make them respect me, too.” 
 
 “ But Lady Ethel has never been used to these things,” 
 
 pleaded Mrs Bainbridge, and she is so young, and ” 
 
 She is as old as Maggie, isn’t she ? ” returned her husband, 
 sternly. ‘‘ Elizabeth, it is of no use your attempting to argue 
 the matter with me. When I see a godless young woman — 
 especially the wife of my own son (more ^s the pity), it is my 
 duty to remind her of hers upon the very first opportunity. 
 How can I tell that I shall live till to-morrow to remind her 
 of it, or she, to hear me speak % And as for offending 
 Thomas, that is quite a secondary consideration ; he ought to 
 be ashamed of himself, for having lighted the candle for her. 
 
Lady Ethel is taken to Task, i2g 
 
 A man wlio does not know how to guide his wife aright has 
 no business to be married at all.” 
 
 Here the discussion ended, and though neither bride nor 
 bridegroom reappeared that evening, it was not renewed 
 amongst them. 
 
 Lady Ethel continued to attend family worship whenever 
 she was down-stairs; though she seemed tc^ take delight in 
 behaving as badly as she possibly could during its continuance ; 
 and the slightest reproof from the lips of her husband, or 
 father-in-law, invariably made her worse instead of better. 
 
 Yet, she never forgave the old man for the rebuke he had 
 administered to her pride — not, that is to say, until her for- 
 giveness, as far as this world is concerned, was, to all intents 
 and purposes, valueless. 
 
 I 
 
130 
 
 Her Loi'd and Master. 
 
 CHAPTEE XXIII. 
 
 A NOBLE KESOLUTION. 
 
 It was two days after this event that Aunt Letty, going un- 
 expectedly into Maggie Henderson’s bed-room, was surprised 
 to find her in a deluge of tears. 
 
 Surprised, because during those two days, whilst Lady 
 Ethel had been barely polite to Mrs Bainbridge and herself, 
 and pertinaciously disrespectful to her father-in-law (a circum- 
 stance which the old man felt more than he cared to acknow- 
 ledge), she had been even cordial in her manner towards 
 Maggie, much more so than she was to her husband ; and 
 Miss Lloyd had begun to hope that a friendship between the 
 two girls might help to eradicate all feelings of jealousy from 
 the mind of her niece. 
 
 But she was crying now, as though her heart would break, 
 as though hers were the weakest nature possible, and she had 
 never made that heroic resolution to take up her cross and 
 bear it manfully. 
 
 ‘‘ Maggie, my dear, is it anything new 'I demanded Miss 
 Lloyd, half fearfully, as her footsteps were arrested by the 
 sight of the girl’s grief. 
 
 “ Oh no ! Aunt Letty. Why did you come here to catch 
 me just now ? I bear it so badly — so very badly — I am quite 
 ashamed of myself ! ” 
 
 Badly, my darling ! and when I have been thinking you 
 so brave ! 
 
 “ That is because you don’t know how wicked I am — what 
 evil thoughts I have,” said Maggie, mournfully, as she lifted 
 her swollen eyes to her aunt’s face. ‘‘ Dear — I am sure you 
 will despise me for saying so — but I wish sometimes that I 
 could hate her.” 
 
 0 Maggie ! is that really true ? You seem to get on 
 so nicely with Lady Ethel, better than any one else in the 
 house.” 
 
 “ Yes, I know ; and I do like her, or rather I should like 
 her if she were anybody else; and that makes it worse, because 
 
A Noble Resolution. 
 
 131 
 
 I feel so mean. But, aunt, I didn’t know — I couldn’t realise 
 what it would be to see them together, and all day long, and 
 I shut out from everything — it seems so hard ! ” and here the 
 girl broke down again, and the small table on which she leaned 
 shook with the violence of her emotion. Miss Lloyd was a 
 good comforter ; she knew when to speak and when to hold 
 her tongue ; and on the present occasion she sat down in 
 silence by her niece’s side, and waited patiently until she 
 should renew the conversation. 
 
 “ I don’t know what you can think of me,” said Maggie, 
 presently, making an effort to keep down her choking sobs, 
 after all I said about this, and the fine resolutions that I 
 made; but to act as though I were indifferent to what is 
 going on around us, is more difficult than I thought it would 
 be.” 
 
 You were quite right to make the resolutions, my child,’'' 
 replied Aunt Letty, quietly ; but I should have been very 
 much surprised if you had kept them without a single draw- 
 back ; in fact, I should have been disposed, in that case, to 
 doubt whether you had not deceived yourself in fancying you 
 entertained any affection for your cousin. There has been a 
 great strain on your mind during the past few days, and this 
 is the inevitable reaction. You will go on all the more bravely 
 for a little relief.” 
 
 Oh ! what comfort it is to tell you anything. Aunt 
 Letty,” said Maggie, with a grateful smile struggling through 
 her tears. You always seem to put matters straight again. 
 But I have not told you half my wickedness yet. If I only 
 disliked her, or was jealous and envious of her, however wrong, 
 you know it would still be natural, but it is much worse than 
 that ! I actually feel annoyed with myself because I camtt 
 dislike her, and because, in spite of all her rudeness to uncle 
 and aunt and cousin Thomas, and her careless way of speak- 
 ing of everything serious, I feel my heart drawn towards her 
 in an inexplicable manner ; just as though it were possible that 
 :ve ever could be friends.” 
 
 “ And why is it impossible, my dear % ” 
 
 ‘‘ Oh ! I don’t know ! — but it can never be, Aunt Letty — ■ 
 it is against nature.” 
 
 “ Granted, Maggie ! but I thought that you and I had 
 pledged ourselves to fight against nature It will be difficult, 
 
132 
 
 Her Lord mid Master. 
 
 perhaps, and sometimes very trying ; too trying to endure if 
 you depend upon your own strength — but it is not impos- 
 sible.” 
 
 She does not need me,” murmured Maggie. She has 
 him — she has everything ! ” 
 
 I cannot echo your words, my dear, for I think that poor 
 Lady Ethel may have great need of you, and that her coming 
 here, and taking a capricious fancy for you alone out of all 
 her new relations, may just be one of those mysterious and 
 inscrutable means by which He furthers His designs. One 
 cannot help seeing what she is — careless, irreligious, and 
 wedded to the things of this world — without that strong love 
 for her husband which might prove her safeguard whilst 
 passing through it. May not God have thrown you two 
 together (who are so well suited by sex and age to become 
 friends) in order that you may exert a wholesome influence 
 on each other; she by fortifying your strength under trial, 
 and you by showing her that under no circumstances can a 
 Christian’s life be an unhappy one 1 ” 
 
 0 aunt ! you expect more of me than I am able to per- 
 form.” 
 
 “ Not so, Maggie, for I expect you to do nothing by 
 yourself.” 
 
 “ But, Aunt Letty, I know that He is always ready to hear 
 and answer prayer ; but these petty feelings, these wretched 
 paltry jealousies, and mean heart-burnings at another’s gain — 
 they do appear so utterly opposed to everything we have heard 
 of Him ; so foreign to His purity and sanctity of life, that I 
 feel sometimes as though it must be a desecration of His holi- 
 ness, even to name them to Him ! It is impossible that He 
 can sympathise in the grosser passions of this earth.” 
 
 Maggie, my dear, think what you are saying. You are 
 actually contradicting the Bible, which teaches us that we 
 cannot have one feeling which He has not felt before us.” 
 
 But, Aunt Letty, you don’t mean to say that you sup- 
 pose” — 
 
 And Maggie’s reverence was too great to allow her to com- 
 plete the sentence. 
 
 “ I suppose nothing, dear : but I believe what I have read. 
 Although the details given us of our Lord’s life are few, I 
 know that He was perfect Man, as well as perfect God, and 
 
A Noble Resohition. 
 
 133 
 
 tempted in every point, like as we are, though without sin. 
 And are not these trials of the affections, Maggie, amongst the 
 commonest temptations that fall to men % There is not a man 
 in the world, let him be the greatest saint that ever lived, that 
 has not had, in some shape or other, to struggle against the 
 impulses of his heart, and often to fight long and hard ; to 
 die, sword in hand, before he could overcome the enemy. 
 And is it probable that He, who bore all our sins and griefs 
 in His own person, should have escaped or overlooked what is 
 to His creatures, perhaps, their deepest source of trouble % ” 
 
 “I never thought of that,’^ said Maggie, softly; but ’tis 
 very sweet to believe that He has felt it, and can make 
 allowances. Aunt Letty, you have made the burden lighter. 
 He has lifted up the other end again. I can go on now.” 
 
 “ My child, I know you will, and bravely. And what about 
 poor Lady Ethel, Maggie?” 
 
 Why should you call her ^ poor ? ’ She appears so rich 
 to me.” 
 
 Because, just now, you are not capable of judging. To 
 me she seems the poorest creature I have met for many a day. 
 She has just — nothing.” 
 
 I am sure that she has all his heart.” 
 
 “And values it as much as you would that of her maid. 
 Maggie, I must repeat it, with all her wealth and beauty and 
 nobility of birth, and the affection of her husband. Lady 
 Ethel is a pauper.” 
 
 “ If so, she is a willing one ; for she has but to put out her 
 hand and grasp it all.” 
 
 “ That does not follow, because love is not compulsory. 
 How should you find it, Maggie, were you to give yourself in 
 marriage this very day to one of the young Appletons, or any 
 man to whom you were equally indifferent % ” 
 
 “ But, aunt, you know that I couldn’t; that, under present 
 circumstances, it would be impossible to me.” 
 
 “ Yes, dear, I do know it ; but to some women it is not im- 
 possible, and in that fact may lie a solution to the mystery.” 
 
 “ But that is a very, very sad suggestion on your part, 
 Aunt Letty. I never thought it could be quite so bad as 
 that.” 
 
 “ Kemember that I know no facts, my dear, and that I am 
 only speaking upon supposition. But of one thing I am cer- 
 
134 
 
 Her Lord and Master. 
 
 tain, from whatever cause it may arise, Lady Ethel is not 
 happy. She is an orphan, who does not appear to have any 
 regrets for the home she has left, and certainly is disappointed 
 with the one she has come to, and there seems to be but little 
 confidence between her and her husband. There is only one 
 person here with whom she feels disposed to make friends, 
 and between that person and herself there is a barrier ; a 
 natural barrier, though not an insuperable one. Maggie, my 
 darling, I daresay for a while it will make your trial harder 
 to you ; but if you could resolve, as far as in you lies, to be 
 a friend to this poor girl, I believe that you might do her 
 good, and in the end you will feel happier for it. It may not 
 be the precise way in which you anticipated suffering, but 
 when you promised to carry your cross cheerfully, you made 
 no bargain as to which road you should go.’^ 
 
 There was a short pause, during which the girl was gazing 
 straight out of the window, and striving to make up her mind. 
 
 I do resolve,” she answered presently, in a firm, low voice; 
 
 I will put no further restraint upon my impulses, but let 
 my heart open as wide as it naturally will towards her, and 
 try to gain her confidence in return.” 
 
 It is a noble resolution, Maggie,” said Miss Lloyd, “ and 
 it will bring its own reward. In trying to sound the depths 
 of another suffering heart, you will forget to look so closely 
 upon the wounds of your own.” 
 
Maggie Pleads her Coitshis Cause. 
 
 135 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 MAGGIE PLEADS HER COUSIN’S CAUSE. 
 
 Maggie kept her word ; and during the next few days, by 
 reason of following freely the dictates of her frank nature, 
 made such progress in her intimacy with her cousin’s wife, 
 that Lady Ethel, selfishly unobservant of the feelings or 
 wishes of others, kept her constantly by her side, and in a 
 patronising manner openly expressed to her the dissatisfaction 
 she experienced with everything at Cranshaws. 
 
 Indeed, Maggie, and the German maid, Louise (who, to 
 Mrs Bainbridge’s great dislike, she would continually send for 
 to attend upon her in the general sitting-room, where they 
 carried on lengthy conversations in German, intelligible to 
 none but themselves), were the only individuals with whom 
 Lady Ethel condeseended to exchange more than the com- 
 monest civilities of social life. 
 
 But Maggie, notwithstanding the interest she took in 
 everything that concerned her cousin, and her desire to 
 please him, found enforced friendship with his wife to be no 
 sinecure, and had it not been for her resolution, and the 
 encouragement she received from her Aunt Letty, would often 
 have felt tempted to retreat to her former standing-ground. 
 
 For, in the first place. Colonel Bainbridge, whose eyes were 
 beginning to be opened to the fact that Lady Ethel might 
 conduct herself with greater civility towards the members of 
 his family, was so charmed to find that, notwithstanding her 
 behaviour, one of them, at least, continued cordial with her, 
 that he took to thanking Maggie for her kindness, and 
 imparting little confidences to her concerning his bride and 
 his devotion to her, which were naturally very painful for the 
 girl to listen to. 
 
 And, on the other hand. Lady Ethel so often made remarks 
 derogatory to her husband or his relations in Maggie’s hear- 
 ing, which she felt herself compelled to comment on, that 
 more than once their intimacy had been on the point of being 
 ruptured; for, notwithstanding the fancy she had taken for 
 her, my heroine’s inclinations were subservient to her pride, 
 
136 
 
 Her Lord and Master. 
 
 and it often cost her young friend more pain than any one but 
 herself could calculate, to summon up courage to utter the 
 remonstrance which she felt she had no right to withhold. 
 And yet, though Lady Ethel was often indignant, and more 
 than once seriously offended at her boldness, after a few hours 
 she invariably came back to Maggie’s side again, with the 
 petulant declaration that she was the only creature in Cran- 
 shaws fit to speak to. 
 
 When Sunday came round, the bride refused to go to 
 church with the rest of the family. This was not so remark- 
 able a circumstance, because the church was three miles 
 distant, and the road to it a very rough one ; but whilst dis- 
 cussing the subject with her husband in Maggie’s presence, 
 she spoke so rudely and bitterly to him, that Colonel Bain- 
 bridge, who had kept his patience wonderfully thitherto, sud- 
 denly flushed up to his temples with displeasure, and quitted 
 the room without another word. 
 
 As the door closed behind him. Lady Ethel laughed. 
 
 He ’s in a nice temper, isn’t he, to go to church 1 I hope 
 his psalm-singing will do him good. I am sure he needs it.” 
 
 Maggie did not know what to reply. She was standing at 
 the window, in her bonnet and shawl, waiting for the carriage 
 to come round ; and she had been shocked to hear the tone 
 in which Lady Ethel spoke to her husband. Colonel Bain- 
 bridge had turned once and appealed to her ; and the look of 
 pain in his face had been so great, that the tears had rushed 
 to her eyes at the sight of it, and prevented her from answer- 
 ing. And still, she was feeling the disgrace and the shame to 
 him so deeply, that she could hardly trust her voice to say 
 what she thought of the scene which had just taken place. 
 
 ‘‘ Well, Maggie ! are you sulking up in that corner? Why 
 don’t you speak? Which side will you declare for, Colonel 
 Bainbridge’s or mine ? ” 
 
 ‘‘ I never will declare for a wife against her husband. Lady 
 Ethel, and especially so good a husband as my cousin is to 
 you.” 
 
 “ Dear, dear ! ” exclaimed the bride, sarcastically, though 
 she changed colour and looked uncomfortable at the rebuke, 
 ‘‘ you quite affect me. Under whom have you been studying 
 the duties of married life so closely ? ” 
 
 But sarcasm was a weapon with which Maggie Henderson 
 
Maggie Pleads her Cousins CaiLse, 137 
 
 had no idea of fencing ; it was so completely opposed to every 
 phase of her character : and she answered Lady Ethel’s retort 
 by coming suddenly to the spot where she was sitting, and 
 kneeling down beside her — 
 
 Dear Lady Ethel ! you will think me very bold to say so, 
 but you know that you have been wrong. Why do you not 
 love him more'? What has he done that you should make 
 him so unhappy % ” 
 
 The wet, innocent brown eyes, with their true expression, 
 were gazing earnestly into hers, and Lady Ethel forgot, or was 
 too much astonished, to be angry. But she turned her own 
 eyes uneasily away. 
 
 “ I don’t mean to make him unhappy. I have a right to 
 say what I think. Colonel Bainbridge and I perfectly under- 
 stand each other.” 
 
 But why claim your right when you see it hurts his feel- 
 ings ; he is so good, so tender, and so gentle with all weaker 
 things ” — here the speaker’s voice slightly faltered, but 
 quickly recovered itself — “ and he loves you so much that I 
 am sure there could never be the shadow of a disagreement 
 between you, if you treated him more kindly.” 
 
 ‘‘ Kindly 1 what nonsense you are talking, Maggie ! What 
 do you know about such things ? ” 
 
 I can see that he is not happy, Lady Ethel — and neither 
 are you.’’ 
 
 It was a desperate thing to say to such a woman ; but 
 Maggie felt as though the case were desperate, and her words 
 had a totally different effect to what she anticipated. 
 
 Lady Ethel’s white teeth closed cruelly upon her under lip, 
 and the tears rose to her eyes, though she dashed them im- 
 patiently away. 
 
 “ If it is the case, it is not my fault,” she answered pre- 
 sently, in a husky voice. 
 
 “ Oh yes, it is ! in a great measure,” replied Maggie, em- 
 boldened by the mood of her companion ; for instance. Lady 
 Ethel, the name by which you call him, it sounds so strange — 
 so unlike what most wives do.” 
 
 “ I care nothing about most wives,” rejoined Lady Ethel, 
 growing colder as Maggie entrenched upon the privilege she 
 had gained \ it is his proper name, I believe.” 
 
 No, not for you ! you who are the person he cares for 
 
138 
 
 Her Lord and Master, 
 
 most in all the world. And he would be so pleased if you 
 were to call him ^ Thomas ! ^ with a coaxing little smile ; 
 you will, dear Lady Ethel ! now, won’t you ? ” 
 
 But this was going a step too far. 
 
 Indeed ! I shall do no such thing ; a nasty common name, 
 only fit for stablemen and ploughboys. I hate the very 
 sound of it ! If his parents wanted to hear his name called 
 all over the house, they ought to have given him a decent 
 one.” 
 
 It was his grandfather’s,” said Maggie, indignantly. 
 
 Yes ? I didn’t know he had had a grandfather,” was the 
 bride’s reply. 
 
 Maggie was silent for a moment, and then the full force of 
 the sarcasm striking her, she coloured violently, and rising to 
 her feet, retreated some distance from her companion. 
 
 O Lady Ethel ! you are cruel,” she said, in a low 
 voice, you are worse than cruel — why did you ever marry 
 him ? ” 
 
 Maggie, my dear, the carriage is round, and your uncle is 
 waiting,” said Miss Lloyd, putting her head in at the door ; 
 and, without another word, the girl joined her friends, leaving 
 Lady Ethel to answer to herself, as best she might, the ques- 
 tion she had put to her. 
 
Sister Margaret. 
 
 139 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 SISTER MARGARET. 
 
 The drive to cliurch that morning was not an exhilarating 
 one, for Maggie was unusually silent, and Colonel Bainbridge, 
 who rode on horseback by the side of the carriage, scarcely 
 opened his lips. 
 
 Neither of them could shake off the depression occasioned 
 by Lady Ethel’s words, and yet each was loyally afraid to 
 confess it to the other by so much as a look. 
 
 The church at Mindon was one of those unpretending struc- 
 tures which are to be found plentifully scattered over the 
 land of Scotland, where, although the liturgy of the Church 
 of England is ostensibly performed, it has become so imbued 
 by the example of Presbyterianism on one side, and Dissent 
 on the other, as to be little superior to the services of those 
 communions. Everything about it, in fact, had gone to sleep. 
 The building itself, fast-locked from Sunday to Sunday, was 
 so damp and cold when it was opened, that none but the 
 strong and hearty ventured to worship in it ; the village choir 
 was ignorant, unruly, and constantly disorganised ; and, worse 
 than all, the incumbent was an old man, of the old school, 
 who took no interest in trying to improve the reigning state 
 of things, but thought that what had satisfied their fore- 
 fathers should satisfy them, and that the less alterations that 
 were made or primitive customs revived in the service of the 
 church the better. And yet he was a man of lively tempera- 
 ment, who had a keen curiosity for learning all that went on 
 in the world, and rubbed his hands with satisfaction when- 
 ever his newspaper informed him of some new discovery in 
 science, some idea brought to perfection, or patent put within 
 the reach of all ; and chuckling to his wife, would say, “ that 
 was the way to do it ; that was the way to get on ; ” and the 
 world was a very different world from what it had been when 
 he was young; yet when his eye lit on reports of Ritual 
 Commissioners, or accounts of the actions brought in various 
 quarters by those industrious fleas, the members of the Church 
 
140 Her Lord and Master. 
 
 Association, he altered his tune altogether. Improvements 
 in steam-ships, electric telegraphy, or underground railways, 
 were all right — they were for the use and convenience of man, 
 and to further the commerce and comfort of this precious 
 world in which we live ; but to toil and spend money, and 
 endure persecution for the sake of making the love of wor- 
 shipping God come more home to the senses, and take deeper 
 root in the hearts of sinners, was quite another thing in the 
 eyes of the incumbent of Mindon, and directed his thoughts 
 perhaps too rudely to the damp little church from which he 
 derived his income, the rough choir, who sung all out of tune, 
 and the old sermons, now yellow with age, which, year after 
 year, he monotonously poured into the ears of his sleepy con- 
 gregation without making the least palpable difference in its 
 behaviour. 
 
 Foolish fellows ! foolish fellows,” he would exclaim, mean- 
 ing of course, not the Church Association party ; “ why cannot 
 they be content to leave matters as they have always been ? 
 Well, my dear ! for my part, I cannot feel sufficiently thank- 
 ful that I am out of all that kind of thing ! ” 
 
 And in like manner, doubtless, many of the friends of those 
 ‘^foolish fellows” who were martyred for the faith, of old, 
 congratulated themselves also. 
 
 But unsatisfying as were the Sunday services at Mindon 
 Church, Maggie Henderson delighted in them. She saw so 
 little of congregational worship, and so seldom had the op- 
 portunity of claiming the gracious promise attached to it, that 
 it was a pleasure to her simple soul merely to find herself 
 amongst her fellow-creatures, and to feel that they depended 
 for their salvation on one common hope. And when her 
 cousin sat next her in the pew, and the same words left their 
 lips at the same time, the pleasure was greatly enhanced. 
 
 As Mindon was the only church for several miles round in 
 which the English service was performed, the congregation 
 was generally composed of families who came from some dis- 
 tance to attend it, and it was a great rarity to see a stranger 
 there. 
 
 Maggie could not imagine, therefore, what ailed the people 
 when first she had leisure to notice them that morning ; for 
 they were bobbing up and down in their seats, and whisper- 
 ing together in a most unseemly manner; until her cousin 
 
Sister Margaret 
 
 141 
 
 touched her arm, and, turning her head in the direction inti- 
 mated, she saw, in the pew of their neighbours the Appletons, 
 one of those women who, by their spirit and example of self- 
 sacrifice, are doing so much to raise the standard of religion 
 in the Church of England — a Sister of Mercy. 
 
 There she sat, in her white head-dress and black robe and 
 veil, attired so sombrely and yet with a face so full of cheer- 
 ful, sweet content, dead to the world, but who should live 
 when the world dies, and apparently quite unconscious of the 
 commotion she was causing. 
 
 There was something in the sight of her that powerfully 
 affected Maggie, for she knew the Sister s mission and its 
 cause; and the tears rushed to her eyes, as a sudden new 
 hope sprung up in her heart, that a vision of her own possible 
 future had been granted to her. She gazed at the interesting 
 stranger until the service commenced, and then experienced 
 quite a difficulty in tearing her mind away from her and fix- 
 ing it on the solemn work she had in hand. 
 
 But Maggie did it ; for to control her inclinations had been 
 one of the earliest lessons instilled by her Aunt Letty, though 
 the last-named lady, guessing the cause, was quite amused by 
 the eagerness her niece evinced to get out of church as soon 
 as ever the service was concluded. 
 
 “ The Appletons, aunt,” she whispered. DonT let them 
 go without our speaking to them. I do so want to know who 
 it is they had in their pew to-day.” Bat Maggie need not 
 have been in such a hurry; there was little chance of her being 
 disappointed, for the opportunities for gossip were too rare in 
 that part of the country for neighbours to separate after church 
 before they had spoken to each other. And the Appletons, 
 who were not quite easy at appearing there in company with 
 a friend dressed in so unusual and striking a manner, con- 
 sidered they should only be doing what was due to them- 
 selves, by apologising to their acquaintances for the fact. 
 
 How do you do, Mrs Bainbridge % I hope I see you 
 quite well, ma’am ! My cousin. Miss Thomson ” (indicating 
 the Sister, who smiled pleasantly and held out her hand) — 
 “ Sister Margaret, as I suppose I should call her,” with a 
 shrug of the shoulders and a look half deprecating, half 
 amused; and then Mrs Appleton lowered her voice and 
 became confidential. ‘‘A good creature, Mrs Bainbridge — 
 
142 
 
 Her Lord and Master. 
 
 thorouglily good and honest, I believe — but sadly mistaken 
 in her views, as you must see.” 
 
 “ Oh, I hope not ! ” murmured Mrs Bainbridge, drawing 
 her shawl closer around her as some vague fear of the infec- 
 tion of Popery flitted through her mind. I heard that those 
 kind of ladies did so much good amongst the poor, and were 
 so amiable.” 
 
 I ’m sure it is most kind of you to say so,” replied her 
 neighbour, returning thanks for the united Sisterhood of Eng- 
 land. “ Ah ! well ! we must not judge ! and she has been ill, 
 poor thing ; over-worked herself, I believe, in night-schools 
 or some of these extraordinary new institutions they have got 
 up in London, and has come here for a few weeks to recruit 
 her health. Miss Maggie and she seem to be getting on 
 wonderfully together. I have just been telling your good 
 aunt. Miss Maggie,” she continued, raising her voice again to 
 attract the notice of Maggie Henderson, who was already 
 talking eagerly with Sister Margaret, that my cousin has 
 been ill lately, and has come to Horse-ap-Cleugh to try what 
 Scottish air will do for her.” 
 
 Oh ! it will do her good ! I am sure it will ! ” replied 
 the girl, quickly raising her bright sympathetic eyes to the 
 stranger’s face ; “ it is so fresh and invigorating. Shall you 
 stay here long % ” 
 
 “ I don’t know, but I hope not ; that is to say, I must go 
 back to my work as soon as possible.” 
 
 ‘^And does your work take up much of your tim^l” 
 Sister Margaret smiled. 
 
 ‘‘ All of it — every moment — I have not one to spare ! ” 
 
 But that must be very trying ; no wonder it tells upon 
 your health ; and you do not look strong enough for hard 
 work. Are you not often tired h ” 
 
 No, indeed ! I sooner get weary where I have nothing 
 to do. When one is constantly employed there is no time to 
 think about one’s self.” 
 
 And you do it all for love ? ” 
 
 Oh, no ! My Master pays me well,” returned the Sister, 
 brightly, and the words met with a ready echo in her hearer’s 
 breast. 
 
 How I envy you ! ” she cried, enthusiastically. 
 
 The stranger looked at her. Yes ! there were on her face 
 
Sister Margaret. 
 
 143 
 
 tlie traces of suffering, unmistakable to those who had also 
 suffered — marks that the soul had received its baptism of woe, 
 the gold been dipped in the refiner's fire ; and her interest in 
 the young girl was immediately awakened. 
 
 Sister Margaret must have had great experience in grief to 
 have guessed the truth so quickly, for Maggie's sorrow had 
 not destroyed the freshness of her beauty, as it had done that 
 of Lady Ethel ; and the signs of it were only to be met with 
 in the chastened glances of her eye, and the pensive tremulous 
 expression of her mouth. 
 
 She was suffering ; but not so deeply as my heroine, for 
 there was no bitterness nor self-reproach mingled with her 
 grief, and she had experienced help throughout it, of which 
 Lady Ethel knew nothing. And probably Sister Margaret 
 guessed something of that truth also. 
 
 ‘‘ Perhaps I may see you again, whilst I am at Horse-ap- 
 Cleugh," she said, cordially, as the parties were about to 
 separate. ‘‘ I shall be glad if it is so.*' 
 
 ‘‘Oh! may I come and talk to you? Then I will come 
 to-morrow,” replied Maggie, eagerly — so eagerly that Miss 
 Lloyd laughed, on their way home, at her new-born enthusiasm 
 for Mrs Appleton's cousin. 
 
 They were walking together arm-in-arm over the moors, in 
 the style that Maggie loved ; for the day had turned out so 
 bright and pleasant, that they abandoned the carriage to Mr 
 and Mrs Bainbridge, and preferred to find their way home on 
 foot — Colonel Bainbridge having ridden forward long before, 
 to gain the presence of his beloved tormentor. 
 
 When Miss Lloyd began her gentle quizzing, Maggie only 
 squeezed her arm tight, and pressed up closer to her. There 
 never was greater love nor confidence between women than 
 existed between these two. 
 
 “ I confess I have taken a great fancy for her," she said, 
 laughing ; “ but you needn't be jealous, Aunt Letty ; there is 
 no occasion, for I think it is Sister Margaret's dress that 
 attracts me, quite as much as herself." 
 
 “ Oh 1 my dear, how can you say so ? I think it is the 
 most unbecoming costume I ever saw." 
 
 “ And her name, too," continued the girl, musingly, 
 
 Margaret — the same as mine — it seems so curious that it 
 should be so." 
 
144 
 
 Her Lord and Master, 
 
 But, Maggie, there is nothing particularly strange in 
 that ; it is the commonest name possible in this country/' 
 
 But Maggie did not answer. 
 
 0 auntie ! ” she burst out passionately, after a brief 
 pause. How I wish that I could be the same as she is. A 
 life like that would cure me. To be always working for the 
 suffering and the poor ; waiting on them, and nursing them, 
 and teaching them — there would be no time left (she said so 
 herself) to brood over one’s own petty troubles. Oh ! how I 
 wish — I wish that I could throw off every trammel that binds 
 me to the world — that I could feel that I had renounced 
 everything like comfort and luxury for ever, and go forth 
 amongst the sick and needy, as He did, and spend the rest of 
 my life with them." 
 
 ^‘Do you think you would be any the happier for it?” 
 quietly demanded Miss Lloyd, after a short silence. 
 
 “ What ! doing His work ? Aunt Letty, I wonder you can 
 ask the question ! " 
 
 “ But would it be His work, my child ? That is the point 
 I should like to hear you settle for yourself." 
 
 “ It has always been considered so," replied Maggie, 
 dubiously. 
 
 “ Yes, for some people — some who seem especially called, 
 by loss of friends and consequent exemption from home ties, 
 to make God’s family their own. But you could never 
 imagine that a woman was obeying God’s voice by leaving 
 her father and mother (for instance) against their wishes, to 
 go and wait upon the father or mother of somebody else — 
 would you ? " 
 
 ‘‘ No ; I suppose not." 
 
 “ Therefore, whilst we have duties at home, waiting for us 
 to fulfil, I don’t think we should even let our minds dwell too 
 inquiringly upon a condition which is not likely to become 
 ours, and which in all probability we should relish no better 
 than our present one, if it did." 
 
 1 shall never be able to do anything more for Him than 
 I do now, at that rate,’’ said Maggie, heaving a deep sigh. 
 
 ‘‘ Don’t say that, my dear. Wherever we are placed we 
 must strive to progress, daily and hourly, in the fulfilment of 
 our duties, both towards Him and our neighbours." 
 
 But, oh ! aunt, I have been dreaming such a heavenly 
 
Sister Margaret, 
 
 I4S 
 
 dream. I thought it would be so grand to rise up, and, 
 shaking off all this sorrow that oppresses and keeps me down, 
 to go forth into the world and succour those who have been 
 tried as I have. It looked so easy — so delightful ; and now 
 you say that it can never be ! 
 
 No, Maggie, I did not go so far as that. I only said 
 (and I am sure that Sister Margaret would be the first to up- 
 hold my statement) that we must not imagine we can serve 
 God better, by forsaking the duties He has placed before us, 
 in order to perform others which we think will be more 
 conducive to His glory ! He knows best about His glory : 
 all we have to do as servants is to obey Him.’^ 
 
 “ Then don’t you think that women are ever right to leave 
 home and become members of a sisterhood % Do you think 
 that Sister Margaret could possibly please God better than 
 she is doing now h ” 
 
 “ My dear, I know nothing about Sister Margaret ; I was 
 speaking only of yourself. You would like to run away and 
 desert us all — (we value you more than ever, you know, 
 Maggie, now that your cousin seems lost to us) — and break 
 your poor old uncle^s heart, as I verily believe you would, in 
 order to add your mite of work to the hundreds of hands — 
 hands that perhaps have no one dependent on them — labour- 
 ing amongst the poor.’^ 
 
 Oh no ! Aunt Letty, that is not true,” cried Maggie, 
 warmly ; you know I would never desert you. I would 
 sooner die.” 
 
 “ Well, darling, you must do something more. You must 
 try and believe that since you have been placed and given 
 duties here^ it would be impossible, under present circum- 
 stances, for you to serve God so well anywhere else.” 
 
 ‘‘ I will believe it,” replied the girl, in a low voice. 
 
 I can quite understand your feelings, my dear,” continued 
 Aunt Letty, affectionately. ‘‘ You have had a great and mor- 
 tifying disappointment, and you would like to shake off, not 
 only the grief, but all remembrance of it ; to change place and 
 work and companions ; to change even yourself, if that were 
 possible. But, consistently with duty and gratitude, it is not 
 possible, Maggie, and therefore you must not even indulge 
 yourself by dreaming of it. No one could honour the noble 
 sisterhoods of the whole Catholic Church more than I do. 
 
 K 
 
146 
 
 Her Lord and Master. 
 
 They are a glory and blessing to the nations to which they 
 belong, and I doubt not will receive an exceeding great 
 reward when their work is completed. But, at present, my 
 Maggie, your place is not amongst them. We should sorely 
 miss our little Sister of Mercy at home.^’ 
 
 You say ^ at present,’ Aunt Letty. Do you think, then, 
 it may ever come to pass inquired Maggie, earnestly. 
 
 “ If your life is spared and you continue in the same mind, 
 my dear, there is no saying what may happen during the next 
 fifty years. But I wouldn’t speculate about it. Speculation 
 even is a want of faith in Him who will order all things 
 according to His will.” 
 
 But if He ever wills it, auntie ; if He opens the way for 
 me, and makes all things smooth, you would not keep me back 
 from it, would you ? ” 
 
 ‘‘ Keep you back, my darling % You might as well ask me 
 if I would keep you back from entering Heaven. No, Maggie, 
 when all you speak of comes to pass, I will be the first to put 
 that great ugly flapping cap and black veil upon your dear 
 little head ; and I don’t think I could give you a greater proof 
 of my complete resignation than that, my sweet bonnie girl !” 
 and betwixt laughing and crying, the two women stopped 
 upon the moor, and held each other in a long and fervent 
 embrace. 
 
A Sword-Thrust. 
 
 147 
 
 CHAPTER XXVL 
 
 A SWOED-THEUST. 
 
 There was a slight coolness between Maggie Henderson and 
 Lady Ethel during the remainder of that day. The bride 
 chose to resent the last words that her husband’s cousin had 
 spoken to her, although her heart told her that they had been 
 well merited, and Maggie felt that she could not conscien- 
 tiously profess to be sorry for having said what she should 
 be compelled to say over again did the opportunity recur. 
 And so she left Lady Ethel that afternoon to the company 
 of Colonel Bainbridge, and, taking her book into her uncle’s 
 study, sat on a footstool at his feet, with her head resting on 
 l)is knee, and alternately read and conversed with him, until 
 the gong sounded a summons to dinner. 
 
 She thought, once or twice, during that evening, that she 
 caught Lady Ethel looking rather wistfully in her direction, 
 as though she wanted to be friends again, and her tender 
 heart reproached itself with being hard ; but when she tried 
 to say or do something to show that the occurrence of the 
 morning was forgotten, the remembrance of the insult cast on 
 her cousin — on him — and on her cousin’s family, rose up to 
 prevent it. 
 
 And so they parted for the night with the most ordinary 
 salutation, and Maggie began to think she should be very 
 glad when Lady Ethel’s visit had come to a conclusion. 
 
 The next day was favourable for a walk, and having ascer- 
 tained that Mrs Bainbridge was going to drive to Borthwick, 
 and would not require her attendance, Maggie’s desires turned 
 towards Sister Margaret and Horse-ap-Cleugh, oniy she was 
 not sure whether, after the conversation she had held with 
 Aunt Letty, it would be right to indulge herself by going 
 there. 
 
 “You know, dear,” she said frankly to Miss Lloyd, “ that 
 we shall be sure to talk about her work and the rules of her 
 
148 
 
 Her Lord and Master. 
 
 Sisterhood, and all the other delights, and I shan’t be able to 
 help wishing just a little ; and so if you think it best for me 
 not to go, I will send an excuse instead.’^ 
 
 ‘^Will you promise me, Maggie, if you should see Sister 
 Margaret, and indulge in that sort of conversation, that you 
 will repeat to her faithfully what you told me yesterday, and 
 my remarks upon it h 
 
 Oh yes, aunt ! I should have no objection to do so.” 
 
 Well, then, go, my dear, by all means, for I am quite 
 sure what she will say, and that her advice will do you more 
 good than mine.” 
 
 And so, mounted on her pony, and accompanied by two or 
 three favourite dogs, Maggie set off for Horse-ap-Cleugh 
 directly after luncheon. 
 
 She did not see Lady Ethel before starting, for, either from 
 laziness or ill-humour, the bride had lain in bed again that 
 morning ; and when she descended to the luncheon-room 
 some time after the meal had been announced, she found it 
 deserted by all except her husband, who, with his hands 
 thrust into the side pockets of a loose velvet coat, was loung- 
 ing moodily upon the hearthrug. There had evidently been 
 some difference between them that morning ; for though Lady 
 Ethel entered the dining-room with some clatter, and one or 
 two outspoken complaints against the domestic arrangements 
 of Cranshaws, he did not even move from his position, but 
 with sad eyes and gravely-fixed mouth, continued to gaze 
 stedfastly into the fire ; for though men will be taken in and 
 gulled over and over again by the women who profess to love 
 them, where there is not even a profession made, it does not 
 take them long to shake off sleep and rub their eyes and see. 
 Love, unresponded to, may drag out its existence, but it is 
 quite impossible that it should thrive. The bride did not 
 appear to admire remaining unnoticed. She settled herself 
 pompously in her seat, made raids upon various dishes 
 collected round her, declared there was nothing on the table 
 fit to eat, and then, suddenly throwing down her knife and 
 fork, turned round on him like a little fury. 
 
 “ Why on earth don’t you say something? Sticking there, 
 before the fire, and thinking of no one but yourself. You 
 have no more manners than a bear ! 
 
A Sword-Thrust. 
 
 149 
 
 But the only answer that he made her was to move towards 
 the door. 
 
 Colonel Bainbridge ! ” with an impatient movement of her 
 foot, ‘‘ where are you going % You might have the civility to 
 reply when you are spoken to ? 
 
 Then he halted, came half-way back into the centre of the 
 room, and raised his reproachful eyes to hers. 
 
 “ I should hardly have thought you took so much interest 
 in my movements, Ethel ; I am going with my mother to 
 Borthwick.’^ 
 
 ‘‘To Borthwick — what for?^^ 
 
 “ To see an old friend ! ” 
 
 “ What friend ? 
 
 “No one, I think, that you would care to hear about — my 
 god-mother, Mrs Hodson.” 
 
 “ And who is she — a grocer s wife 
 
 “ No, she is not a grocer’s wife,” he answered, calmly dis- 
 regarding the insolence of her remark, although he flushed 
 painfully as she delivered it ; “ she is the widow of a general 
 in the army.” 
 
 “ Oh, dear me 1 what aristocratic company we are getting 
 amongst. But I am afraid the general’s widow must wait for 
 the pleasure of seeing you. You can’t go this afternoon, 
 because I want you ! ” 
 
 “ 0 Ethel, dearest ! ” he exclaimed, his eyes lighting up 
 with excitement ; “I wish I thought you did want me — that 
 my presence were in any degree necessary to your happiness ; 
 but you know that it is all caprice, and that if I stayed at 
 home to please you, you would probably shut yourself up in 
 your room for the whole of the afternoon ! ” 
 
 “ That is as it may be,” she answered, indifferently ; “ but 
 anyway you must remain at Cranshaws ! ” 
 
 But he would not allow her to press her advantage. 
 
 “ I am sorry to say that I cannot do so, Ethel ; I have 
 already promised to attend my mother.” 
 
 “And you set you mother before me V' 
 
 “ I do not, either in love or duty, as you know well ; but 
 in this instance I must keep to my word. In the first place, 
 I asked you to accompany us this morning, and you re- 
 fused ” 
 
Her Lord and Master, 
 
 150 
 
 As if I am going to visit all the farmers wives for ten 
 miles round ! ” she interposed. 
 
 ‘‘ Very well ! I did not press it — only I cannot permit your 
 fancies to interfere with what I consider to be my duty. I 
 have not accompanied my mother yet to see any of her friends 
 — it pleases her as well as them — and from this lady I have 
 received a great deal of kindness ever since I was a child. 
 Nothing could have given me greater pleasure, Ethel, than to 
 have introduced you to her.” 
 
 Milles remercimens, monsieur she interrupted, with a 
 scornful curtsey ; but I prefer to remain where I am, and 
 that you remain here also.” 
 
 “ That is out of the question,” he said, firmly, as he turned 
 upon his heel. 
 
 Colonel Bainbridge ! you shall stay — I insist upon it,” in 
 a heightened voice. 
 
 Do not be so foolish, Ethel ! Do you intend to make the 
 whole house cognisant of our quarrel % ” 
 
 “ I don’t care if it is ! I don’t care if the whole world 
 knows how disrespectfully you treat me ! You ought to be 
 ashamed of yourself ! ” 
 
 Oh ! my darling ! my darling ! ” he exclaimed, with the 
 vain hope that his love might touch where his determination 
 failed, “ for God’s sake don’t cut up all our happiness in this 
 way ! You know that I would do anything in reason for you, 
 Ethel — that my life and everything that belongs to me is at 
 your service ; but this is not reason, my love ; this is a mere 
 child’s fancy that you have taken into your silly little head,” 
 and returning to her side, as though it were not worth his while 
 to quarrel seriously with anything so young, and soft, and fair 
 as she was, he put his kind arms round her girlish figure. But 
 she shook herself free from his embrace, as though it had been 
 that of a serpent. 
 
 “ Don’t touch me ! ” she cried angrily, and in her anger 
 unheeding what she said, don’t dare to touch me, or to speak 
 to me ! I hate you ! ” 
 
 As the assertion struck his ear, he changed colour, his arms 
 dropped listlessly to his sides, and, without another look, he 
 turned away, and left the room. 
 
 It was the first time her unkind words had hit him mor- 
 
A Sword-Thrust. 
 
 151 
 
 tally. Former ones had come and gone, settling on his heart 
 for a moment, and wounding as they settled ; but their pain 
 had been but transitory, like that occasioned by a stinging 
 
 But these, when taken in connection with the tone, the 
 look, the action, that accompanied them, were as poison 
 dropped upon his soul, the efect of which, though salved 
 over, was never entirely eradicated. 
 
152 
 
 Her Lord afid Master. 
 
 CHAPTER XXYII. 
 
 GALL AND WORMWOOD. 
 
 Colonel Batnbrtdge left tlie house without speaking to his 
 wife again, and as soon as the carriage containing his mother 
 and himself had passed the dining-room windows, from which 
 he kept his eyes carefully averted, Lady Ethel, considerably 
 nettled to find her power was not quite so great over him as 
 she had imagined, shook out her ruffled plumes, and went into 
 the drawing-room with the intention of making Maggie Hen- 
 derson a sharer in her indignation. 
 
 But here she was disappointed, for the apartment proved 
 to be empty. Miss Lloyd having left the house on a round 
 of cottage visits, simultaneously with the departure of her 
 niece. 
 
 Lady Ethel rang the bell, and hearing that every one was 
 out, threw herself into a chair and commenced to turn over 
 the freshly-cut pages of the various magazines and papers with 
 which the Castle was always liberally supplied. But they did 
 not interest her ; for, though she pretended to be completely 
 indifferent to the scene that had just taken place between her 
 husband and herself, in reality she was not only piqued but 
 a little bit unhappy on the subject ; added to which there 
 was a nasty uncomfortable feeling knocking at her heart 
 w^hich bore a strong resemblance to fear lest she might have 
 gone too far with him \ and on discovering which, she 
 experienced quite as much surprise as Colonel Bainbridge 
 would have done. She kept glancing at the clock and 
 wondering how long it would take him to call on “ that old 
 fogy at Borthwick ; ” and whether he would return home in a 
 better humour than he had left it ; and if he did not, what 
 she could do, without compromising her dignity, to bring 
 him round again. 
 
 As this thought flashed through her mind. Lady 
 smiled consciously to herself ; for she knew, well enough^ 
 he had been caught and entangled by the wondrous light in 
 her liquid eyes, and the golden meshes of her hair \ and that 
 
Gall and Wormwood. 
 
 153 
 
 she had but to exhibit one or other of her many charms to 
 bring him back, adoring to her feet. 
 
 Yes, Lady Ethel, it works well for a certain number of 
 times j but there are limits to all things, and some wounds 
 are more than skin deep — and not even to be healed by beauty. 
 
 She was ruminating much after this fashion, when the door 
 opening roused her from her reverie, and looking up, 
 expectant of the entrance of Maggie or Miss Lloyd, her eyes 
 encountered the trim, old-fashioned figure of her father-in-law. 
 
 Now there was no one at that moment whom Lady Ethel 
 would not have sooner seen than Mr Bainbridge \ for since 
 the evening that he had compelled her to remain to prayers, 
 she had felt a mingled dislike and fear of the old man, which 
 was quite as patent to him as to herself ; and on the present 
 occasion, the grave and almost stern expression of his face 
 seemed to warn her that their interview was not to be a 
 pleasant one. 
 
 She guessed at once that he had entered with a purpose, 
 for he was never known to occupy the drawing-room during 
 the day-time j and yet now, first closing the door carefully 
 behind him, he came deliberately forwards, and took a seat 
 by her side ; whilst Lady Ethel, recalling the loud tones in 
 which she had spoken to her husband, grew a shade paler 
 and moved her chair away. 
 
 You have no need to be afraid of me, my dear,’^ quietly 
 remarked the old man in a tone which was very offensive to 
 her pride. “I have a few plain words to say to you, it is 
 true, so I am glad that I have found you alone ; but I shall 
 make them as mild as I feel to be consistent with my duty.” 
 
 Lady Ethel stared at the intruder as though she had never 
 seen him before. 
 
 “ I am not aware what you can have to speak to me about, 
 Mr Bainbridge,” she replied, haughtily ; but whatever it may 
 be, it is not likely to have the effect you seem to anticipate.” 
 
 Well, we shall see, we shall see said her father-in-law, 
 in no wise disconcerted by her address. I have little desire 
 to wound you, and therefore, if I can point out your faults 
 without doing it, so much the better ! ” 
 
 Point out her faults! hers! Lady Ethel Carr’s? (Lady 
 Ethel never thought of herself by any other name ) What 
 would the vulgar, low-born old man dare to do next ? 
 
154 
 
 Her Lord and Master, 
 
 She did not say this. She only thought it, as drawing her- 
 self up majestically in her seat, she answered with cutting 
 politeness ; 
 
 “I am sure I am infinitely obliged by your solicitude. 
 Pray go on. I am quite impatient to hear the list of my 
 iniquities.” 
 
 Mr Bainbridge turned and looked at the petulant beauty 
 with a strange yearning expression in his gaze — a gaze, which, 
 in its tender compassion, passing over all her attractions, and 
 even her faults, saw only the young spirit at war with the 
 world and itself, and sorely standing in need of friendly 
 counsel. 
 
 “My dear,” he said kindly, “it is a misfortune that you 
 should have been left without a father at the very time when 
 you were about to take upon yourself the most important 
 duties of your life.” 
 
 But an allusion to her father, and from Mr Bainbridge, 
 was more than Lady Ethel could stand just then. The tears 
 rose behind her burning eyeballs, but with a strong effort she 
 repelled them ; and the violence which she thus did her feel- 
 ings, made her voice sound harsh and discordant. 
 
 “ I will thank you not to mention my father to me, sir. 
 You were not acquainted with him ; his life or death can be 
 a matter of little consequence to you.” 
 
 But Mr Bainbridge saw that he had touched her, and he 
 pressed the question. 
 
 “ Had he been here. Lady Ethel ! could he have heard you 
 speaking to your husband in the dining-room this afternoon, 
 what comment would he have made upon the circumstance ? ” 
 
 Her mind rushed back pell-mell to the darkened chamber 
 with its maroon hangings ; the handsome emaciated face 
 patiently reclining on its pillows, and the dear faint voice 
 recommending the man whom she had married to her merci- 
 ful consideration. 
 
 Well ! she had married him ! But what right did that 
 give this old farmer, in his leathern gaiters, and rough coat, 
 and rougher words, to come and forcibly remind her of one 
 of the bitterest memories of her life ? 
 
 Her spirit rose against it; she was indignant at his 
 presumption, and the feeling was apparent in the tones of her 
 voice as she replied : 
 
Gall and Wormzvood. 
 
 155 
 
 ‘‘ I was not aware that eaves-droppiiig was considered to be 
 a virtue at Cranshaws. I have always been taught to look 
 upon it as a vice.*’ 
 
 ‘‘ There was no eaves-dropping, Lady Ethel! You spoke, 
 so loudly and with the door unclosed, that the whole house 
 might have heard you. To me, sitting in my study, it was 
 impossible that the sounds should not reach.” 
 
 “ You were quite welcome to hear them. I am not 
 ashamed of what I said,” she answered with an assumption of 
 indifference. 
 
 Not ashamed / My dear, think twice of what you affirm. 
 Not ashamed of telling the man to whom you have been 
 married scarcely two months — who is entirely devoted to you, 
 and whom you have sworn solemnly to honour and obey — 
 that you hate him ? Surely, upon reflection, you will retract 
 your words.” 
 
 But Lady Ethel tossed her head in the air and was silent. 
 
 Perhaps I should not have taken upon myself to speak to 
 you,” continued the old man, were it not that you seem very 
 friendless j and that I know you hold the happiness of my 
 only son — my only child — in your hands. He has been a 
 very good son to us. Lady Ethel 1 from a boy I cannot remem- 
 ber that he ever wilfully disobeyed his mother or myself, and, 
 as you may suppose, all that concerns him is of the deepest 
 interest to us. He is very much attached to you ; his whole 
 heart appears to me absorbed in the admiration of your 
 personal appearance ” (here Lady Ethel with a smile of self- 
 satisfaction slightly turned her face towards the speaker). 
 
 Yes ! yes, my dear 1 I know that you are very beautiful — I 
 am neither too old nor too vulgar to perceive that ” (at this 
 allusion the girl coloured) — but your beauty will be of little 
 avail to you in the sight of men, and none at all in the sight 
 of God, if it is not joined to a meeker and more tractable 
 spirit. You have the face of an angel ; but if you were to die 
 to-night, my dear, do you think that would make you fit to 
 take your place amongst the company of heaven h ” 
 
 1 don’t know anything about it,” she returned, brusquely, 
 
 and I don’t care. If you have any more pleasant truths to 
 tell me, Mr Bainbridge, you will oblige me by doing so at 
 once, for you interrupted me in my reading, and I shall be 
 glad to return to it»” 
 
156 
 
 Her Lord and Master. 
 
 “ The reading can wait,” said her father-in-law, as he laid 
 a sacrilegious hand upon the number of ‘‘ Temple Bar ” she 
 was holding before her face, and laid it quietly upon the 
 table, ^‘for my business is of greater importance. I must 
 warn you, Lady Ethel — both for my son’s sake and your own 
 — against the course you are pursuing with him. He 
 possesses a noble temperament, kind, generous, and long- 
 suffering; but if you out-step your privileges — if you once 
 thoroughly rouse his jealousy or destroy his faith in you — you 
 will find his is a nature that does not easily forget. At 
 present you might do anything with him, for he loves you far 
 too well for his own peace of mind, and is blind to your 
 faults ; but if you repeat the game you were playing with him 
 this afternoon — you will do it once too often, that is all ! ” 
 Lady Ethel's cheeks were flaming, and her foot was beating 
 an impatient tune upon the hearthrug. 
 
 And if I do, it is my own concern, and no one else’s.” 
 
 “ Pardon me ! It is not only his happiness but ours which 
 you seem bent upon destroying ! ” 
 
 I was not aware that in marrying Colonel Bainbridge I 
 had married his whole family.” 
 
 And yet it is the usual thing, surely, when you enter a 
 family to consider it as your own. Lady Ethel, I have felt 
 anxious more than once lately, to learn what reason you 
 possibly could have had for marrying my son ! ” 
 
 She started from her seat, and turned upon him eyes of fire. 
 ‘‘ Not to be insulted by his father, Mr Bainbridge.” 
 
 Only to insult himself, I suppose ! Well, my dear, I 
 daresay you consider you did us a great honour by con- 
 descending to assume our name ; but if you do not love your 
 husband (and I cannot reconcile your words this afternoon 
 with the belief that you do love him), all I can say is that I 
 would rather he had taken a dairymaid to wife, who looked 
 up to and reverenced him as he deserves,” and Mr Bainbridge 
 drooped his head upon his breast in a very despondent 
 manner. 
 
 ‘‘ I will not stand this language any longer ! ” exclaimed 
 Lady Ethel, angrily. ‘‘ As if it were not sufficient that I should 
 have lowered my father’s noble name by marrying beneath 
 my station in life, I am expected to stand by quietly and 
 hear his daughter compared at a disadvantage with a dairy- 
 
Gall and Wormwood, 
 
 IS7 
 
 maid. I wish to Heaven your son had married a dairymaid, 
 sir ; he would in that case, have taken a wife from a condi- 
 tion more equal to his own ; but since — (with a gasping sob) 
 — ‘‘I have committed the irrevocable folly of linking my fate 
 with his, I can at least refuse to subject myself to the indignity 
 of having the fact hourly cast in my teeth by one whose age, 
 if not his knowledge of the requirements of polite society, 
 should have taught him better. I shall leave Cranshaws 
 to-morrow 1 And sweeping past her father-in-law, as though 
 she feared he might contaminate her, Lady Ethel flew to her 
 room, and left Mr Bainbridge to his own reflections. 
 
153 
 
 Her Lord and Master. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVIIL 
 
 THE WEDDING VISIT IS ABRUPTLY TERMINATED. 
 
 It was a real effort to Colonel Bainbriclge to make himself 
 agreeable during that visit to “ the old fogy at Borthwick ; ” 
 for whilst he was receiving congratulations on his marriage, 
 and answering inquiries, all his thoughts were with the 
 rebellious girl whom he had left at home ; and his faithful 
 heart was aching with the remembrance of the last words she 
 had said to him. 
 
 At first he almost believed that they were true, and was 
 tempted to despair at the idea ; but as time lengthened, and 
 their cruel echo beat less distinctly on his memory, he tried 
 to persuade himself that he also had been in the wrong, and 
 provoked his darling to an exhibition of impatience for which 
 perhaps she was already grieving as deeply as he was himself. 
 
 He knew that she was capricious, and at times unreason- 
 able ; it was the fault of those who from her childhood had 
 surrounded her with flattery and adulation, and he who was 
 so much the stronger, and bound over to protect her, should 
 have been more careful to shield her from the temptation of 
 yielding to such weakness. 
 
 And after all, had not her temper risen because she was 
 disappointed at his leaving her ; because she did not like to 
 be separated from him, though but for a few hours ; and felt 
 a twinge of jealousy, foolish child ! at his apparent preference 
 of the society of others. 
 
 As this soothing view of the case struck Colonel Bainbridge’s 
 imagination, he forgot his previous pain, and even the bitter 
 truth which had occasioned it, in his anxiety to reach home, 
 and assure his dearest girl that he had no pleasure in life 
 except when by her side and ministering to her wishes. 
 
 So distorted becomes the judgment of men whose eyes 
 are blinded by a passionate attachment. 
 
 The old coach-horses seemed to creep back to Cranshaws 
 on that afternoon, and the rugged road to be more tediously 
 impassable than ever, whilst he sat by his mother in the close 
 
The Wedding Visit is Abruptly Terminated. 1,59 
 
 carriage listening to her uninteresting remarks on what they 
 had seen and heard at Mrs Hodson’s, and longing with his 
 whole heart that he could fly back to the presence of his wife, 
 and read in her eyes that all was right again between them. 
 
 They reached the Castle about seven o’clock, just as the 
 dinner-gong was sounding, and Miss Lloyd and Maggie 
 Henderson, dressed for the evening, were passing through the 
 hall. 
 
 Colonel Bainbridge, having handed his mother out of the 
 carriage, hurried up the staircase to Lady Ethel’s room, 
 expecting to find her in the midst of her toilet. 
 
 But what was his astonishment, on opening the door, to 
 Bee her clothed in a white dressing-gown, with her long hair 
 rippling down her back, quietly seated by the fire ; whilst 
 Louise, surrounded by her mistress’s travelling- cases in every 
 stage of preparation for a journey, was receiving and obeying 
 the directions given her. 
 
 My dearest Ethel ! ” he exclaimed, stopping short upon 
 the threshold, and forgetting everything he had intended to 
 say to her, what does this mean % ” 
 
 It means that I am going back to town to-morrow,” she 
 answered, curtly. Do come into the room. Colonel Bain- 
 bridge, if you are coming, and shut that door behind you ; 
 you are letting a most horrible draught blow right upon my 
 feet ! ” 
 
 He did as she desired him, and took up his position on the 
 hearthrug, just in front of her. 
 
 ‘‘Going back to town to-morrow?” he repeated, “you 
 must be joking, Ethel, surely.” 
 
 “ I consider it anything but a joke to be insulted.” 
 
 “ Insulted ? Who has dared to insult you in this house ? ” 
 
 “ The owner of it ! ” and then turning to her maid with a 
 few words of German, she dismissed her from the room. 
 
 Colonel Bainbridge could scarcely believe that he had 
 heard arigbt. 
 
 “ My father, Ethel ! You must be mistaken.” 
 
 “ Mistaken ! when I heard him with my own ears. I tell 
 you that he has insulted me most grossly, and without the 
 slightest provocation j and I refuse to remain in this house an 
 hour longer than is necessary.” 
 
 She looked so beautiful, with her heated face, and in her 
 
i6o 
 
 Her Lord and Master. 
 
 simple undress — so like Colonel Bainbridge’s mundane 
 conceptions of an angel, and his affections were so entirely 
 hers, that even though his father were the supposed offender, 
 all his sympathies were enlisted on her side, and he replied, 
 w^armly 
 
 “ Tell me about it, dearest. I am not going to have you 
 annoyed in this manner for all the relations in the world ! 
 
 He threw himself down upon the hearthrug as he spoke, 
 and clasped his hands about her waist, and Lady Ethel 
 suffered it. It would not have been politic in her to repulse 
 him now, for her pride demanded she should be permitted to 
 quit Cranshaws, and she knew she could not do so without 
 his consent. 
 
 Your father has insulted me most bitterly,^^ she went on, 
 quickly, and trying to avoid the passionate gaze he fixed upon 
 her face ; “he came into the drawing-room this afternoon as I 
 was sitting alone, and told me that he had overheard what we 
 said in the dining-room (he must have been listening at the 
 door), and that I was a mass of faults, and not so good as a 
 dairymaid, and he wished that you had never married me, 
 with a great deal more in the same strain that was equally 
 polite. And I decline to be subjected to such an indignity 
 again ! ” 
 
 “ He mentioned you in the same breath as a dairymaid ! 
 exclaimed her husband, indignantly. “Ethel, my dearest, 
 can it be possible ? he mu$t be mad ! My own girl ! my 
 own noble, peerless, beautiful girl ! I know, if no one else 
 does, what an incalculable honour you did me by becoming 
 my wife ! ” 
 
 “ I must leave this place,” she went on, unheeding his 
 address ; “I cannot stay here after all he said to me — it is 
 impossible. You will let me go back to town to-morrow — 
 xvont you ? ” with more appeal in her voice than she had ever 
 used to him before. The tone electrified him. 
 
 “ Let you go ! Of course I will ! Do you think I would 
 wish you to stay one hour in a house where you have been 
 made uncomfortable ? My queen ! you little know me ! I 
 can’t imagine what my father can have been thinking of to 
 dare to speak to you in such a manner. It would not have 
 happened if I had been at home.^' 
 
 He raised himself up slowly as he spoke, until bis lips met 
 
The Wedding Visit is Abruptly Terminated, i6i 
 
 hers, and, as they did so, almost timidly, husband and wife 
 both coloured. 
 
 This fact alone would have betrayed to an observer the 
 footing on which they stood to one another. That was not 
 the full frank caress of happy married love, but to Colonel 
 Bainbridge it was a glimpse of paradise. 
 
 My darling I he whispered, presently, tell me only that 
 what you said (you remember !) — those dreadful words — say 
 they were not true — that you did not mean them ! ” and his 
 dark eyes sought hers for an answer. But Lady Ethel leaned 
 back in the chair, and closed her own. 
 
 “ Of course not ! Haven’t I told you, lots of times, that 
 you are never to believe anything I say ! ” 
 
 They were too cruel,” he murmured ; they rung in my 
 ears the whole afternoon. 0 Ethel ! you don’t half know 
 how much my happiness is bound up in your affection ! If I 
 thought for a moment that what you said could really be the 
 case, I should feel tempted to destroy myself ! Oh ! what 
 fools you women make of us ! ” 
 
 He seized both her hands in his, and carried them to liis 
 lips, and she, unknowing what to answer, and longing to be 
 able to release herself without offending him, was on the 
 point of making some unnecessary excuse for changing her 
 position, when, to her relief, a tap came opportunely on the 
 door, and Colonel Bainbridge, with all an Englishman’s 
 dismay at the idea of being caught love-making, sprang to his 
 feet, and stood on the opposite side of the fire-place. 
 
 But no one entered : to their invitation there only responded 
 the cheerful voice of Maggie Henderson, with a message from 
 Aunt Lizzie to the effect that the second dinner-gong had 
 sounded for some time, and that they were all waiting for 
 Cousin Thomas and Lady Ethel. 
 
 Tell them not to wait,” shouted Colonel Bainbridge from 
 the hearth-rug ; I shall be down directly,” and then he 
 turned to his wife, inquiringly — 
 
 ‘‘And you, my darling? ” 
 
 “ I am not going down. Colonel Bainbridge. They can 
 send me up some dinner here, or they can leave it alone, just 
 as they please ; but I would rather starve to death than sit at 
 the same table with your father again.” 
 
 “ I shall certainly demand some explanation from him of 
 
Her Lord a7id Master. 
 
 162 
 
 his conduct,” said her husband, as he walked away into his 
 dressing-room. 
 
 The small show of complaisance which he had so unex- 
 pectedly received from Lady Ethel had completely enrolled 
 him on her side ; and when, shortly afterwards, he descended 
 to the dining-room, it was with a lowering countenance and 
 in a very undutiful state of mind. 
 
 Is your wife not coming down this evening, Thomas % ” 
 demanded Mrs Bainbridge in surprise as he entered the apart- 
 ment alone. “ I hope she is not poorly.’^ 
 
 ‘‘ She is not quite well,” he replied, with grave courtesy, 
 and she prefers to keep her room this evening,” with a 
 glance towards his father, who, conscience-stricken, buried his 
 face in his soup-plate ; “ so perhaps you will be kind enough, 
 mother, to have her dinner sent up to her.” 
 
 “ Of course I will ; but, dear ! dear ! this is sad work, poor 
 Lady Ethel being so often laid up. Is she always so delicate, 
 Thomas h ” 
 
 She is never robust — I don’t think any of the women in 
 her sphere of life are. You must take her bringing up into 
 consideration. And — and” — after a moment’s hesitation, 
 ‘‘ this place is too bleak for her. I should not have brought 
 her here.” 
 
 “ Oh ! I hope you don’t think it has done her any harm ] ” 
 said Mrs Bainbridge, anxiously. 
 
 “ Not yet,” he answered; and most people might have seen 
 he was only making an excuse to prepare them for what was 
 to foUow ; ‘‘ but it would have been better to wait till the 
 spring was more advanced ; and I am doubtful now whether 
 it will be prudent in me to keep her here much longer.” 
 
 Well, of course you must do as you think best, my dear,” 
 rejoined his mother ; ‘‘ for Lady Ethel’s health is of the first 
 consideration to you.” And then conversation seemed to flag, 
 for no one dared to advocate, and no one cared to deprecate, 
 the proposed departure. But after the ladies had left the 
 room. Colonel Bainbridge drew his chair closer to his father, 
 with whom, during dinner-time, he had scarcely exchanged 
 two words, and plunged at once into the subject that was 
 vexing him. 
 
 ‘‘Father, I am going to take my wife back to town to- 
 morrow.” 
 
The Wedding Visit is Abruptly Terminated. 163 
 
 ‘‘Well, Thomas, I am not surprised to hear it, for from 
 what you said at dinner, I concluded you had some such 
 project in your brain/’ 
 
 “You spoke to her this afternoon in a manner which 
 greatly wounded and irritated her. She is a high-spirited 
 girl, who has not been used to brook control, and your 
 language appeared to her insulting. After which, it is quite 
 impossible that I should ask her to remain in a house where 
 she no longer feels at her ease.” 
 
 “ Had Lady Ethel been truthful in repeating to you what 
 took place this afternoon, Thomas, you would not speak of it 
 in the terms you do. If any insults passed between us, they 
 did not proceed from me. I never insulted a woman in my 
 life, and am not likely to begin with my son’s wife.” 
 
 “ But I think what passes between married people, father, 
 should be sacred. Let them make up their little differences 
 in their own way. It is not likely but that Ethel would 
 resent the interference of a third person between her husband 
 and herself.” 
 
 “ I spoke for my own sake as well as yours, Thomas. The 
 ‘ little difference,’ as you call it, was carried on so publicly as 
 to be patent to the household.” 
 
 Colonel Bainbridge bit his lip. 
 
 “ She is hasty, I know, but it is soon over. She meant 
 nothing.” 
 
 “lam glad to hear it ; but, in that case, Lady Ethel should 
 be taught that others may misconstrue her unmeaning words. 
 I said nothing to her, Thomas, which, under the same circum- 
 stances, I should not have said to my own daughter — that I 
 should not repeat to-morrow did the occasion for it arise.” 
 
 “ I can take care of my wife myself, thank you, father,” 
 rejoined Colonel Bainbridge, hastily. 
 
 “ I hope you can, but you will find a difficulty in it.” 
 
 “ Of course you are set against her on account of her birth ; 
 but she is no more responsible for that than I am for mine.” 
 
 “You are quite wrong, Thomas. I may think you have 
 committed a mistake in bringing a woman of noble birth 
 into our family ; but the mere fact can never raise or lower 
 Lady Ethel in my estimation. No, no ! my objection to my 
 daughter-in-law consists in something of far greater import- 
 ance. It is, that she is both careless and irreligious.” 
 
164 Her Lord and Master, 
 
 Well, you will not have her bad example set before you 
 much longer,” returned Colonel Bainbridge, drumming im- 
 patiently on the table with a spoon. 
 
 It would not much signify if I did ; but you have bound 
 yourself to pass your life beneath it. Oh ! my dear son, you 
 refused to take my previous warnings ; but, as you value your 
 wife’s welfare and your own peace of mind, do not despise 
 the advice I give you now — in all cases gently but firmly to 
 insist upon her doing what you know to be right. I am 
 quite aware that in your present state of mind my counsel 
 may appear unpalatable, perhaps unnecessary, but you know 
 that I have never yet interfered in your private affairs with- 
 out a sincere desire to do you good.” 
 
 I know that, father, and I thank you for the interest 
 YOU take in me,” returned Colonel Bainbridge, whose heart 
 felt sorely divided between its affection for his parents 
 and his wife ; only it is not to be expected that every one 
 should feel the same, and — it is better we should go ; is it 
 not?” 
 
 ‘^If Lady Ethel is bent upon going, most decidedly,” 
 replied his father. “ The day may come when she will wish 
 to return to Cranshaws ; but, whether or no, this home is 
 always open to you or yours, Thomas.” 
 
 Colonel Bainbridge grasped his father’s hand, but he could 
 not speak. With all his blind idolatry for Lady Ethel, he 
 believed in this instance she might have been the one in the 
 Avrong. 
 
 The news of their intended departure did not create the 
 amazement in the drawing-room which he had anticipated, 
 for Mr Bainbridge had related the incidents of the afternoon 
 to his wife, and she had already prepared Miss Lloyd and 
 Maggie to hear of some change. 
 
 All the remarks that met his announcement were polite 
 regrets for the sudden termination of the wedding visit, and 
 hopes that when the weather was warmer they might see 
 Lady Ethel there again ; but Colonel Bainbridge missed from 
 their voices the ring of genuine sympathy which usually 
 accompanied all their comments on his actions ; and sick at 
 heart for want of it, he urged the fact of having preparations 
 to make for the morrow as an excuse for quitting their 
 company early. 
 
The Wedding Visit is Abruptly Terminated, 165 
 
 The day-mail passed through Borthwick during the fore- 
 noon, and the travellers were obliged to leave Cranshaws 
 by nine o’clock. Lady Ethel, holding to her determination 
 not to speak to her father-in-law again, refused to appear at 
 breakfast, and the carriage was standing at the door when, 
 having parted with Miss Lloyd and Mrs Bainbridge on the 
 upper landing, she descended to the hall. 
 
 Maggie Henderson was there, superintending with Colonel 
 Bainbridge the packing of the luggage. Her eyes were heavy, 
 and her face pale, for she had been grieving not only for her 
 uncle and aunt (who felt the sudden departure of their son 
 acutely), but for her cousin, who was scarcely less distressed 
 than his parents ; and in her loyalty towards these three, so 
 dear to her, her feelings for the capricious creature who had 
 been the cause of all their annoyance, were anything but 
 friendly. 
 
 Yet, when Lady Ethel stood on the last step of the stair- 
 case and called her by her name, the old attraction came so 
 forcibly upon her, that Maggie could not help answering with 
 alacrity — 
 
 “ Yes ! here I am. Can I do anything for you ? ” 
 
 ‘‘No, thank you ; Louise has done everything. I only 
 wanted to give you this.” And Lady Ethel thrust a large 
 gold cross into her hand. 
 
 . Maggie did not know what to ansv/er ; but she was sure 
 that she could not accept it. 
 
 “ Oh ! no ! — pray don’t — it is not fit for me — I must not 
 take it. Lady Ethel. 
 
 “ What nonsense ! If it is not fit for you I am sure it is 
 still less so for me ; I have not much to do with such things ! ” 
 with a little grating laugh ; and then, as her companion stood 
 silently regarding the ornament with a perplexed expression 
 of countenance, she added, hurriedly, “ Don’t forget me, 
 Maggie ! I feel as though I should be safer if you think of 
 me sometimes in your prayers.” 
 
 She was going forward then, in obedience to a summons 
 from her husband, when sbe hastily returned, and casting her 
 arms round Maggie’s neck, kissed her three or four times upon 
 the cheek. The girl looked up, half-startled by the action, 
 and saw that tears were standing in Lady Ethel’s proud blue 
 eyes. That fact was quite sufficient to melt the thin ice upon 
 
Her Lord and Master, 
 
 1 66 
 
 Maggie’s lieart, and, opening lier arms, she folded her cousin’s 
 wife in a warm embrace. 
 
 won’t forget you ! I will pray for you every day,” she 
 whispered. God bless you : try to make him happy.” 
 
 ‘‘Ethel! my dearest, everything is ready!” exclaimed 
 Colonel Bainbridge. And Maggie fled away to hide her wet 
 eyes in the dining-room. 
 
 As Lady Ethel passed the threshold, Mr Bainbridge stood 
 upon it. 
 
 “My dear !” he said, almost humbly, “you will not refuse 
 to give your hand at parting to an old man who may have 
 blundered, but had not the intention to offend you ! ” 
 
 She was a different creature then to what she had been a 
 moment before. She placed her hand in that of her father- 
 in-law, it is true, but no forgiveness shone out of the cold face 
 she turned upon him. 
 
 “ Of course she won’t, father ! ” exclaimed Colonel Bain- 
 bridge, promptly, trying to make up by his own heartiness for 
 the shortcomings of his wife. “ Ethel knows as well as I do 
 that you meant it for the best ! ” 
 
 But the old man did not heed his son’s remark. He was 
 still holding the small gloved hand she had delivered to him, 
 and gazing up earnestly into her beautiful unmoved face. 
 
 “May God Almighty bless you,” he said, solemnly, “and 
 make you a blessing to your husband and your children, if 
 you have any ; and grant that we may meet above, my dear. 
 Good-bye ! ” and abruptly dropping her hand, with a farewell 
 grasp to his son, he turned away and walked slowly back into 
 the house. 
 
 Colonel Bainbridge, having watched his figure till it disap- 
 peared behind the study door, put his wife into the carriage, 
 and got in after her. 
 
 “ The dear old man,” he said, musingly, as they drove away, 
 “ I am sure he didn’t mean to be rude to you, Ethel. He has 
 a blunt way of speaking, but it is mostly due to his country 
 manners.” 
 
 She did not immediately reply, and he thought she might 
 have been touched by the last words of his father. 
 
 “ Don’t you think so, my dearest ] Can’t you make a few 
 allowances for an old man who has seldom had to do with 
 such a dainty bit of goods as you are ? ” 
 
The Wedding Visit is Abncptly Terminated, i6y 
 
 It is of no use your speaking to me whilst we are jolting 
 over these horrid roads, Colonel Bainbridge. I can't hear 
 half you say, and have enough to do to keep myself from 
 being shaken to pieces.” 
 
 He sighed heavily, and turned his attention to the view 
 from the opposite window. 
 
i68 
 
 Her Lord and AL aster. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIX. 
 
 LET SLIP THE HOUNDS OF WAR. 
 
 The house in Curzon Street, which had been taken and 
 furnished for the bride and bridegroom by the liberality of 
 Mr Bainbridge, was nearly ready for their reception ; and 
 after a few days spent at an hotel, they entered on their first 
 experiment in housekeeping. 
 
 It was now the end of April. London was filling fast, and 
 between the excitement of meeting former friends, and setting 
 her new residence in order for the season. Lady Ethel shook 
 off much of her previous lethargy, and appeared more like 
 herself than she had done since her father’s death. She had 
 not visited town since that time ; and reviewing old scenes 
 and reviving old memories, lent her, for the moment, a false 
 stimulation which might well be mistaken for happiness by 
 those who were unacquainted with the secret of her heart. 
 
 She never appeared tired of running about from shop to 
 shop to select ornaments for the decoration of her drawing- 
 room or herself, or of returning the visits of her numerous 
 acquaintances ; whilst Colonel Bainbridge, delighted at the 
 welcome change in her demeanour, permitted her to do exactly 
 as she chose. 
 
 He had not forgotten — far from it — the disagreeable cir- 
 cumstances attendant on their journey north ; but as the 
 merest allusion to Cranshaws appeared to revive his wife’s 
 ill-humour, the subject was seldom mentioned between them ; 
 and he tried hard to banish the unpleasant memory, as she 
 seemed to have done. 
 
 Meanwhile, there were few amongst the unmarried portion 
 of her female acquaintances who were not disposed at that 
 juncture to envy Lady Ethel for the possession of one of the 
 prettiest houses, the best-appointed equipages, and the most 
 indulgent husbands in town. 
 
 The six months’ leave which Colonel Bainbridge had ob- 
 ' tained upon his marriage, extended over the season, and con- 
 sequently he had nothing to do except to frequent his club 
 
Let Slip the Hounds of War. 169 
 
 and dance attendance on his lovely wife, though Lady Ethel 
 thought that she would have gladly dispensed with the latter 
 obligation, had she been able to do so. 
 
 There had been some talk at Cranshaws of his selling out 
 of the army and settling down quietly at home ; but love for 
 his profession, and a great horror of idleness, had prevented 
 him hitherto from taking any steps in the matter. It would 
 be time enough, he thought, to come to a decision when his 
 present leave had expired. 
 
 For Colonel Bainbridge, though he spent thousands yearly, 
 was, with the exception of his regimental pay, entirely depen- 
 dent on his father. 
 
 He was as sure of receiving his annual income as though it 
 had been legally his own, but every shilling of the money he 
 expended had been coined by the sweat of the paternal brow 
 at Birmingham; and though he accepted it from the paternal 
 hand with as little scruple as he had done half-crowns when 
 a boy, yet he had all an Englishman's pride at the thought 
 of resigning the last scrap of independence he possessed. 
 
 At his father's death he knew that all would be his own to 
 do with as he thought fit ; but until that event took place, he 
 did not relish the idea of relinquishing his profession. Even 
 to think upon the subject was an evil day, which he put off 
 as long as possible ; he had nothing to do in the present but 
 to enjoy himself. 
 
 April slipped unconsciously into May, and Lady Ethel's 
 moods of excitement deepened daily. She would go out 
 driving in the park every afternoon, and return home with a 
 bright carmine spot in either cheek, and eyes of unusual bril- 
 liancy ; and her husband, without guessing the reason of it, 
 saw only that it made her look more beautiful, and knew by 
 experience that she did not like to have the alteration noticed. 
 But attributing the change to her increased content, he only 
 trusted that his darling would not over-fatigue herself, nor 
 injure her health by too much exertion. 
 
 Meanwhile, Lady Ethel was awaiting, with mingled dread 
 and longing, an event which she knew to be imminent — the 
 advent of her step-mother in London. Would she be accom- 
 panied by him ? 
 
 At last it occurred. Towards the middle of May, the 
 Morning Fos>t announced that the Countess of Clevedon had 
 
170 
 
 Her Lord and Master. 
 
 arrived at her town residence for the season ; and Lady 
 Ethel knew that if the courtesies of society were to be kept 
 up between them, it was imperative tiiat she should be 
 among the first to pay the compliment of a call in Park 
 Lane. 
 
 She dressed herself most carefully for the occasion, return- 
 ing again and again to her glass to be certain that her bonnet 
 was becoming, and not a lock or braid of her hair out of 
 place ; and that she looked just as a happy bride ought to do ; 
 so that when she descended to the carriage, her husband, who 
 accompanied her, was loud in his approval of her general 
 appearance. They found Lady Clevedon at home, and alone. 
 
 Bewitchingly attired in the faintest of half-mourning, and 
 with her rich coils of hair arranged in the most girlish fashion, 
 the Countess did not look a day older than one or two and 
 twenty ; and Lady Ethel, who had braced herself up to the 
 point of meeting her successful rival amidst a crowd of chat- 
 tering guests, grew deadly pale as she submitted her face to 
 the undivided scrutiny of her young and radiant-looking step- 
 mother. Lady Clevedon was loud in her commiseration of 
 her appearance. 
 
 ^‘My dear Ethel !’’ with uplifted hands ; what have you 
 been doing with yourself? why, you are a perfect ghost ! I 
 declare I shouldn’t have known you in the street.” 
 
 At this remark Colonel Bainbridge became seriously anxious. 
 
 “ Do you really think she looks so ill ? ” he exclaimed, and 
 fixing his gaze upon the pallid features of his wife. I did 
 not consider she was at her best in Scotland ; but she seems 
 to me to have improved so much since her return to town ! ” 
 Well, my dear Colonel ! she may have improved — I don’t 
 deny that — but there must have been room for it. She looks 
 quite shocking to me.” 
 
 “ I am perfectly well, nevertheless,” said Lady Ethel, with 
 all her old hauteur, for she read the meaning which underlay 
 her step-mother’s compassionate remarks, and never felt 
 better in my life. When did you arrive in town, Gertrude ? ” 
 
 “ Last Thursday. I ought to have been here sooner, only 
 Victor — you remember your old friend Monsieur de Lacarras 
 — was suddenly called over to Paris; and his departure 
 rather delayed me in my preparations.” 
 
 Her grey eyes were staring Lady Ethel full in the face as 
 
Let Slip the Hounds of War. 17 1 
 
 she delivered this sentence ; but the blue ones which they 
 encountered were a match for them, and if the girPs teeth 
 clenched beneath her firmly-closed lips, no one was the wiser 
 for it but herself. 
 
 “ Indeed ! I suppose Temple Grange has been very full 
 of company this spring ! 
 
 ‘‘ Pretty well ! Oh, we managed to enjoy ourselves,'^ with 
 a smile of secret satisfaction. ‘‘And you — you also have 
 been very gay, I presume, at Cranshaws Castle ! 
 
 “ Well ! I am afraid poor Ethel can scarcely say that,’^ 
 interposed Colonel Bainbridge, smiling ; “ for my father and 
 mother are a very old-fashioned couple, who live in the depths 
 of the country, and have not much opportunity to give their 
 friends more than a hearty welcome.” 
 
 “We did not go there for society,” interposed his wife. 
 
 “ Ah i solitude was no detriment in your eyes, I daresay, 
 Ethel. We all know that newly-married people think no 
 company so charming as that of each other.” 
 
 At this Colonel Bainbridge coloured and laughed, and 
 looked shyly at his wife, in the stupid way that even sensible 
 men adopt when twitted on their most sacred feelings ; but 
 she was occupied, apparently, with examining a photograph 
 upon the table. 
 
 “ How is Alured 'I ” she said, presently. “ I have not asked 
 after him, Gertrude ! ” 
 
 “ Oh ! your dear little brother ! How could I be so forget- 
 ful]” ringing the bell; “of course you must see him:” and then, 
 as the servant appeared, she gave the order for Lord Clevedon 
 to be brought down at once ; and the subsequent arrival of 
 his lordship, in a highly embroidered and blue-ribboned con- 
 dition, turned the conversation into anotner direction. 
 
 “ Oh ! you have changed his mourning ! ” exclaimed Lady 
 Ethel. She still wore mourning herself, although she did not 
 dress exclusively in black ; and that the heir to her father s 
 titles and estates should be permitted to discard it before the 
 usual term had expired, appeared to her neither right nor 
 reasonable. Lady Clevedon coloured. 
 
 “ Well ! he is but an infant, you see ! ” she replied, apolo- 
 getically ; “ and under the circumstances — and with the sea- 
 son coming on — my friends thought — that is, I was advised, 
 to put off his black with the cold weather.” 
 
172 
 
 Her Lord and Master. 
 
 I daresay it is more consistent you should do so/’ said 
 Lady Ethel, quietly, as she lifted the child upon her knee. 
 
 She had never evinced much affection for her infant brother, 
 for beyond the fact of being her father’s son, he did not 
 appear to have any claim upon her ; being the image of 
 his mother, and bearing no resemblance whatever to the 
 Carrs. 
 
 “ Well, Alured,” she said, as he turned his full grey eyes 
 upon her, “ have you quite forgotten me ” 
 
 The youthful Earl of Clevedon, who, amongst other mater- 
 nal virtues, had inherited the gift of a very long tongue, was 
 able to make himself perfectly well understood in reply. 
 
 I don’t know who you are.” 
 
 Why ! I ’m your sister, you ungrateful little creature ! 
 Don’t you remember me at Temple Grange ? ” 
 
 “ I remember Temple Grange, and Victor. Mamma,” 
 raising his voice, “ when is Victor coming back ” 
 
 ‘‘ Soon, darling, very soon ! ” exclaimed Lady Clevedon, in 
 the midst of a conversation with Colonel Bainbridge, and the 
 knees which supported the little questioner trembled beneath 
 him. 
 
 And so you have forgotten Sister Ethel altogether ? ” 
 resumed the quivering lips. 
 
 Yes ! I suppose so ! ” with amusing earnestness ; but 
 perhaps I could remember, if I tried. Did you ever give me 
 bonbons ? Victor used to give me large boxes of bonbons, — 
 so large ! ” clasping both his rosy hands together. 
 
 In another moment, greatly to his surprise, he found him- 
 self deposited upon the carpet. 
 
 Colonel Bainbridge ! I think it is time that we were 
 going.” 
 
 ‘‘Just as you please, my love,” he answered, rising to his 
 feet. 
 
 “ So soon ! ” exclaimed the Countess ; “ why, this is quite 
 a formal visit. You must both come and dine with me some 
 evening — quite by ourselves, you know ; and I ’ll get one or 
 two of Ethel’s old friends to meet you. But you must really 
 do something to put a little colour in your face, my dear, or 
 we shall have people saying that the Colonel hasn’t treated 
 you well.” 
 
 Lady Ethel turned upon her cheeks of fire. 
 
Let Slip the Hoimds of War, 173 
 
 She doesn’t look pale now,” said Colonel Bainbridge, 
 eagerly. 
 
 No ! — but that is not natural ; perhaps the room bas been 
 too warm for her. I advise you to go into the park, my 
 dear, and get a little appetite for dinner. I am sure you 
 cannot eat enough.” 
 
 Her remarks went home to Colonel Bainbridge, and though 
 Lady Ethel stoutly denied their truth, he could not shake otl’ 
 the impression they made upon him, and as soon as they 
 were in the carriage he alluded to it. 
 
 “Ethel! my dearest! Lady Clevedon has made me so 
 unhappy ! Is it really true that you are not feeling well 
 Let me look at your face 1” 
 
 But she was sitting with her back towards him, gazing out 
 of the opposite window, and refused to yield to the gentle 
 force with which he tried to turn her round. 
 
 “ What nonsense ! Do leave me alone ! You heard what 
 I said to her. I am as well as ever I was in my life ! ” 
 
 “But people are not always the best judges of their own 
 health, Ethel. And now I come to think of it, you do not 
 eat so much as you ought to do. How miserable I should be 
 if you were to fall ill.” 
 
 “ I have already told you that I am not ill.” 
 
 “ But why, then, do you look so thin 1 ” 
 
 “ I always was thin.” 
 
 “ Oh, no ! I am sure you were not so when I first knew 
 you. And you are paler than you used to be. And I know 
 you do not sleep well at night.” 
 
 Lady Ethel returned no answer to his anxious remarks. 
 She kept her eyes determinately fixed the other way, and had 
 bitten her lip till the blood came in her endeavour to keep 
 down the emotion which she felt gaining the mastery over her. 
 Her interview with Lady Clevedon, and the allusions which 
 had been made during the course of it, had revived her old 
 pain more bitterly than she had calculated on. At last, her 
 husband became alarmed at her long silence. 
 
 “ Ethel ! I am sure that you are concealing something 
 from me ; and if you refuse to tell me what it is, I shall send 
 for Dr Chalmers as soon as we get home, and ask him to find 
 out the truth ; for you are much too precious to me to have 
 your health trifled with in the slightest degree.” 
 
1/4 
 
 Her Lord and Master. 
 
 But the mention of Dr Chalmers’ name was just the feather 
 needed to overbalance the woman’s tottering strength of mind, 
 and turning quickly from the window to the centre of the 
 carriage, she hid her face in her hands, and burst into a storm 
 of tears. 
 
 “ O Heavens ! ” she said impatiently, between her sobs, 
 “ what have I done that I am to be worried — worried — 
 worried — in this way, and never allowed to have a peaceful 
 moment to myself ? I hate it — I am sick of it — this constant 
 surveillance ; not to be able to eat a little more or less, or to 
 hold one’s tongue for five minutes together, without being 
 brought to book for it, like a child. You’ll kill me, Colonel 
 Bainbridge, if you go on in this way ; no woman on earth 
 could stand it. It ’s enough to make one wish one’s self in the 
 grave ! ” 
 
 So she declaimed, with her impetuous little tongue, whilst 
 her heart was weighing a very different matter ; and he, 
 deeply wounded by her manner, and still more by her words, 
 sat quietly in his corner of the carriage, till she should have 
 concluded. 
 
 When that occurred, she expected that at the least he 
 w^ould have reproached her; but still he sat silent, though 
 his countenance was very grave. 
 
 At last, she lifted up her head, disclosing an inflamed and 
 tear-swollen face, on 'which the traces of violent emotion were 
 but too evident. They were driving, then, towards the park. 
 
 “ Don’t you think we had better go home ?” remarked her 
 husband, quietly. 
 
 Yes,” said Lady Ethel, in a low voice. She wished that 
 he would fly out at her in return ; she did not understand 
 having her turbulent passions treated with so much coolness ; 
 and she was almost reproaching him with his indifference 
 during the course of their drive home. Yet he did not relax 
 in any of his usual attentions to her ; but having handed her 
 out of the carriage and into the drawing-room, summoned 
 Louise to her assistance before he ventured to leave her alone. 
 But then he walked off to his club, and did not appear again 
 till dinner-time, during which interval Lady Ethel found it 
 exceedingly dull, and had occasion more than once to miss 
 the manifold services of love with which of late her life had 
 been surrounded. 
 
Let Slip the Hounds of War, 
 
 I7S 
 
 “ He doesn’t care for me ! ” slie murmured, with female 
 inconsistency. ‘‘No man who cared for a woman would walk 
 out of the house in that way, on a horribly dull afternoon, 
 and leave her to look after herself. They are all alike ! There 
 is not one of them better than another. I wish to goodness 
 I had never set eyes upon a man at all ! ” 
 
iy6 
 
 Her Lord and Master. 
 
 CHAPTER XXX. 
 
 A SCENE AT THE OPERA. 
 
 Colonel Bainbridge, far from reproaching his wife for the 
 burst of temper she had exhibited towards him, did not even 
 allude to it ; but spent his evening as usual by her side, and 
 made no difference either in his manner or his words. 
 
 But this was no proof that he had not felt the circumstance. 
 Sorely against his will, he had been forced of late to acknow- 
 ledge that Lady Ethel was not the perfect creature for which 
 he had taken her, nor responded to his love as he would have 
 her do ; but still his generous heart framed excuses for her on 
 the score of youth and faulty training, and hoped against hope 
 that her indifference was only “ manner.’^ For (so he argued), 
 without caring for him, what reason could she have had for 
 becoming his wife % 
 
 Her momentary impatience in the carriage he attributed, 
 upon reflection, to the fact that it was the first time she had 
 visited the house in Park Lane since her father’s death ; and 
 her attachment to his memory, no less than the painful trutli 
 that he had left one who was more than a stranger to her (for 
 the mutual dislike of Lady Ethel and her step-mother, though 
 not its cause, was well known to Colonel Bainbridge), in the 
 position which she ought to have occupied, seemed sufficient 
 reasons in his lenient judgment for rendering her a little 
 irritable and unwilling to have her silence broken in upon. 
 
 He wished, with a deep sigh, that his dearest girl could love 
 him well enough to turn to him in all her doubts and difficul- 
 ties, but he trusted that the day might come when she would 
 do so ; when patience should have her perfect work, and Lady 
 Ethel would find that his unfailing sympathy had become one 
 of the necessaries of her life. 
 
 How little he thought that, far from grieving for her dead 
 father, whos^e absence from a world which she found so bitter 
 Lady Ethel had already learned to rejoice at, every nerve of 
 her soul had been quivering at the fresh wrenching asunder 
 f)f wounds, whose edges, though unconsciously to herself, had 
 
A Scene at the Opera. 177 
 
 already commenced to close beneath the balm of his affec- 
 tion. 
 
 He treated her that evening much as one treats a child that 
 is a little out of sorts — that is, without inquiring further into 
 the cause of her distress, he petted and coaxed her whenever 
 he had an opportunity ; and, persuading her to go early to 
 bed, sat for a couple of hours by himself, buried in thought as 
 to the best method by which he could procure her amusement 
 and distraction. 
 
 Acting on the decision he arrived at, he sallied forth the 
 next morning, and bought her what she had more than once 
 expressed a wish to have — an opera-box for the season. But 
 it was a small box on the second tier, and by no means came 
 up to Lady EtheFs ideas of what was befitting her rank and 
 circumstances. 
 
 “ Why couldn’t you have let me know before you got it ! 
 she said, fractiously ; men always make some stupid mis- 
 take when they undertake to do things they know nothing 
 about.” 
 
 ‘‘ My darling, there is not a box on the grand tier to be 
 had ; this is the best procurable, I can assure you ; and I had 
 no end of trouble to get it.” 
 
 ‘‘Well, your trouble has been thrown away then, for I’m 
 not going to sit in it.” 
 
 At this Colonel Bainbridge frowned, and looked gravely at 
 the bit of paper representing so many wasted pounds, which 
 she had tossed to one side. He was beginning to think Lady 
 Ethel’s caprice might be carried a little too far. 
 
 “Very well, then,” he rejoined, coolly, “I will give it to 
 some one who will. Only 1 ’m not going to buy two boxes in 
 a season, remember.” 
 
 She glanced up quickly ; he had never presumed before to 
 use so authoritative a tone to her ; was it possible he could be 
 in earnest? In her dread of it she so far forgot her pride as 
 to stretch out her hand and place it on the paper. 
 
 “ That I am sure you shan’t,” she said, half defiantly; “it 
 is mine. Colonel Bainbridge; you gave it to me.” 
 
 He smiled at her vehemence ; for, to see her interested in 
 anything was pleasure to him, and his eyes and tongue told 
 her so. 
 
 “ My dearest Ethel, you know that everything I have and 
 
 M 
 
178 
 
 Her Lord and Master. 
 
 am, is yours. How could it be otherwise But what is the 
 use to you of an opera-box in which you declare you will not 
 sit 1 
 
 I cannot sit on the second tier, and so far from the stage. 
 I should never see anything that was going on, and the gas- 
 lights make my head ache. But you can exchange it for a 
 couple of stalls.^^ 
 
 “ Would you really rather have two stalls'? ” 
 
 Yes, since this box is too small to admit any but our- 
 selves.^’ 
 
 “ I thought it would be so cosy,” lamented Colonel Bain- 
 bridge. He had not been married long enough to mind being 
 shut up alone with his wife for two or three hours. 
 
 Too cosy, in my estimation,” rejoined Lady Ethel. It 
 would be as hot as a furnace. And sitting there alone, too, 
 night after night • fancy how stupid.” 
 
 He did not an^er her directly, he was gazing dreamily at 
 the table-cloth. 
 
 Well, Colonel Bainbridge,” impatiently ; “ are you going 
 to change this box for me or noT’ 
 
 ‘‘ Colonel Bainbridge will do nothing for you, Lady Ethel,” 
 he said, gently ; ‘‘ but your husband will, if you ask him.” 
 
 Her persistence in calling him by his surname had become 
 a source of great distress to him ; for, unable to blind himself 
 longer to her indifference, the cold appellative stung him to 
 the quick each time she used it. But, as yet, he had failed iu 
 persuading her to abandon it; and as he alluded to the custom 
 now, she turned her face away from his scrutiny. 
 
 ‘‘ Which of us is to go, Ethel ? ” he continued, playfully. 
 
 You are.” 
 
 “ And who am I ? ” coming round to her side. 
 
 “ Yourself, I suppose;” and then the complaint burst from 
 him almost without his meaning it. 
 
 ‘‘ Oh, my darling ! why can’t you be a little kinder 1 You 
 know how I am longing day after day to hear you say you 
 care for me.” 
 
 She sat down on the nearest chair, and put her feet up on 
 the fender, and was silent. 
 
 He stood by her for a moment, expectant of an answer ; but 
 none coming, he went on passionately — 
 
 ‘‘ Say something, anything to me before I go.” 
 
A Scene at the Opera, 
 
 179 
 
 “I have said something — I’ve told you to change that 
 opera-box for me ] and when people profess to be so very fond 
 of one another, they generally care to do the things that are 
 asked of them.” 
 
 He seized up his hat and gloves, thrust the offending bit 
 of paper violently in his v/aistcoat pocket, and, turning on his 
 heel, left the room without another word. He was desperately 
 in love, but he had some pride as well as herself. 
 
 The stalls were procured, and from that day Lady Ethel, 
 although not particularly fond of music, was to be seen at the 
 opera at least three times a-week. 
 
 Her husband was astonished at the pertinacity with which 
 she went there, the excitement she betrayed in going, and the 
 extreme langour which attacked her coming home, and more 
 than once remonstrated with her seriously on the amount of 
 fatigue which she encountered ; but Lady Ethel, as usual, was 
 not well disposed to listen to any counsel that ran counter to 
 her inclinations. 
 
 She was living at this time under a continual fear of meet- 
 ing the Marquis de Lacarras again, and yet there was nothing 
 that she desired more than to meet him. 
 
 She did not know how much Lady Clevedon might not 
 have revealed to him of the feelings she had discovered in 
 herself, nor to what motive he attributed her hasty marriage, 
 and she longed by her conduct to make him believe that she 
 had grown utterly indifferent to the claims he once had upon 
 her. At the same time, she could not be sure how far she 
 might trust her pride and courage in seconding her will, and 
 she thirsted to have the ordeal over, and feel that she was 
 safe. It was only the first sudden meeting that she dreaded, 
 for after intercourse she could depend upon herself. But day 
 succeeded day, and neither at the opera nor in the park did 
 she see anything of the Marquis, and she could not bring her- 
 jelf to ask her step-mother when he was expected to return. 
 
 One evening. Lady Ethel was particularly pale and languid, 
 so much so that her husband entreated her to give up the 
 opera and remain quietly at home ; but she persisted in going, 
 and had not been seated in the house many minutes, before, 
 overcome by the heat and glare, she fainted away. 
 
 She did not even have any warning of what was going to 
 happen to her, but quietly lost consciousness whilst sitting by 
 
I So 
 
 Her Lord and Master. 
 
 her husband’s side, and remembered nothing more until she 
 found herself supported in his arms in the crush-room, with 
 some one standing over her with a glass of water. 
 
 Where am I ? oh ! where am Ih” she exclaimed, in the 
 vague manner in which people always put that question on 
 first coming to themselves. 
 
 Here, dearest, with me ! you are quite safe,” replied 
 Colonel Bainbridge, whose face with alarm was almost as pale 
 as her own. 
 
 You have been ill, my dear,” interposed the unwelcome 
 tones of Lady Clevedon ; you fainted in your stall, but it is 
 all right now, and the carriage will be here in a minute to 
 take you home.” 
 
 “ Lady Ethel’s carriage is already in waiting,” replied a 
 voice, the sound of which thrilled through her languid nerves 
 like an electric shock ; ‘‘ and if she will permit me to offer her 
 my arm, I will have the pleasure of conducting her to it ; ” 
 and looking up, almost with horror. Lady Ethel encountered 
 the dark eyes of Victor de Lacajras. 
 
 Yes ! do, Victor,” said Lady Clevedon, familiarly ; “ the 
 sooner she gets home the better ; such a strange attack, and 
 so very sudden ! ” 
 
 “ Thanks, monsieur,” answered Lady Ethel, coldly, as she 
 attempted to rise from her recumbent posture, ‘‘ but Colonel 
 Bainbridge’s support will be sufficient for me and she turned 
 toAvards her husband, who eagerly responded to the appeal. 
 But she had miscalculated her strength ; her weakened frame 
 was as yet unable to sustain her without further aid, and 
 Colonel Bainbridge was compelled to demand for her what 
 she had refused for herself. 
 
 I must ask you to support Lady Ethel on the other side,” 
 he said to the Marquis, for she is quite powerless to stand 
 by herself j ” and then, as between them they conducted the 
 sinking girl down stairs, and placed her in the carriage, he 
 added, “ I am sure I am infinitely obliged to you for all the 
 trouble you have taken ; I scarcely know what I should have 
 done without your assistance.” 
 
 The Marquis only answered by raising his hat respectfully 
 to Lady Ethel, and as they drove away from the opera-house, 
 the last thing she saw was his figure, standing bareheaded on 
 the pavement. 
 
A Scene at the Opera, 
 
 i8r 
 
 She lay back on the cushions with closed eyes, passively 
 leaving the hand which her husband had clasped in his where 
 he had placed it, and was silent. She never asked where the 
 Marquis de Lacarras had come from, or how he happened to 
 be there ; she felt too weak to enter upon that, or any other 
 subject. But the next morning, when, by the advice of Dr 
 Chalmers (whom Colonel Bainbridge had insisted upon sum- 
 moning), she kept high holiday in bed, her husband came and 
 sat by her, and told her the whole story. 
 
 You frightened me most dreadfully, my darling,” he 
 began, in his fond way, as he played with the long tresses of 
 hair which lay upon her pillow, ‘‘ for I was occupied with the 
 stage and what was going on there, when down dropped your 
 dear head upon my shoulder, and you looked just as if you 
 were dead. I didn’t know what to do with you at first, when 
 the Marquis de Lacarras leapt over the front of his box (he 
 was in one on the ground tier with Lady Clevedon), and came 
 and helped me to carry you out. But you made quite a sen- 
 sation, I can assure you. There was not a man in the stalls 
 that didn’t want to help too. I never liked De Lacarras in 
 the old days, Ethel, but I suppose that was only because I 
 fancied he was in love with you, for he seems a very nice 
 fellow. You can’t think how good-natured and active he was 
 last night ; it was raining hard, you know, but he went out in 
 it all to look for the carriage, though Lady Clevedon seemed 
 to be in a great state of mind lest he should come to harm. 
 Is there anything between those two, Ethel % They appear 
 very intimate with one another.” 
 
 “You had better ask Lady Clevedon yourself if you are 
 curious on the subject. I am not in her confidence.” 
 
 “ Ah ! well, I shouldn’t wonder if there were, for it looked 
 like it. By the way, Lady Clevedon expressed so much sur- 
 prise at your fainting. She said it was so unlike your usual 
 liabit, and that when you entered the theatre she thought you 
 looked so well. You went off just as she was pointing you 
 out to the notice of De Lacarras.” 
 
 “ Indeed ! a remarkable coincidence. Colonel Bainbridge, 
 I think if you were to leave me to myself a little while that I 
 could sleep.” 
 
 Sleep ! that was a strange sleep that attacked Lady Ethel 
 as soon as she was left alone, as with a burning head 
 
Her Lord and Master. 
 
 182 
 
 and throbbing eyeballs she turned restlessly on her uneasy 
 pillow. 
 
 So, by an unhappy accident, she had failed (without con- 
 nivance on her part, for she had been quite unaware of the 
 presence of the Marquis de Lacarras in the opera-house) at tlie 
 very time to which she had been looking forward to display 
 her courage, and her pride quailed at the thought of the con- 
 struction which would be put upon her conduct, both by the 
 Countess of Clevedon and her lover. 
 
 Fainted 1 dropped off lifeless — at the moment when his eye 
 was first directed towards her, when he might reasonably sup- 
 pose she also had caught sight of him, and in the centre of a 
 crowded theatre. As Lady Ethel reflected on it, she thought 
 that fate must surely be against her. 
 
The Telegram, 
 
 183 
 
 CHAPTER XXXI. 
 
 THE TELEGRAM. 
 
 B(JT she was not a woman to sit down quietly and cry over 
 misfortune. Temporarily worsted in the engagement with her 
 step-mother she acknowledged herself to be ; for physical 
 •weakness and an unavoidable contretemps had for a while 
 placed her at a disadvantage, but so long as she had power 
 to rise again and renews the encounter, the calamity was not 
 irremediable. 
 
 When she arrived at this conclusion. Lady Ethel became 
 all anxiety to leave her room and return to the arena she had 
 quitted ; and, notwithstanding her husband’s entreaties and 
 Dr Chalmers’ prohibition to the contrary, she was down 
 stairs again on the day but one after the accident had 
 occurred. 
 
 The first things that met her eye on entering the drawing- 
 room were the cards of those friends who had called to 
 inquire after her health, conspicuous amongst which naturally 
 appeared the names of the Countess of Clevedon and the 
 Marquis de Lacarras. Lady Ethel tossed them contemp- 
 tuously to one side, thankful only that their owners had not 
 reserved the expression of their deep interest in her welfare 
 until that afternoon, by which means she ran the chance of 
 gaining a little strength before meeting them again. But it 
 was w’ith different feelings that she opened and perused the 
 contents of an envelope in the handwriting of her step-mother, 
 which set forth, on highly-scented paper, that the Countess 
 of Clevedon would be ‘‘At Home ” upon the following 
 Thursday. Lady Ethel knew by experience what these “ At 
 Homes ” meant, and that the familiar invitations, scribbled in 
 apparently so oflf-hand a manner, usually resulted in some of 
 the most brilliant gatherings of the season, comprising all the 
 beauty and fashion and wit of Lady Clevedon’s wide-spread 
 circle of acquaintance. 
 
 It had been amidst the clamour and confusion of such a 
 gathering that her father had breathed out his soul — in such 
 
184 
 
 Her Lord and Master. 
 
 a scene tliat he, the Marquis, had dared to outrage her by a 
 false profession of his love. 
 
 At this remembrance Lady Ethel drew herself up, and 
 resolved, at all hazards, that she would be present at the 
 forthcoming assembly. They might say that she had been 
 overcome at the first sight of her lover ; but they should not 
 have it in their power to cap the falsehood by the assertion 
 that she was afraid to trust herself in his presence. It was 
 there he had insulted her, and there was the most fitting 
 place for him to hear that she defied his inconstancy to 
 interfere either with her happiness or peace of mind. 
 
 She would go : with her husband by her side, and brilliant 
 as it was possible for art to make her, she would challenge 
 the world to detect the traces of tears upon her cheek, or a 
 false ring in the lightness of her laugh. 
 
 Her heart’s language, unlike that of jealous Guinevere, 
 “ Tell her she shines me down,” was rather a determination to 
 shine down not only her rival, but every woman she should 
 meet that night, forcing him who had rejected her to acknow- 
 ledge that she was the fairest of them all. 
 
 The idea excited and lent her a new strength ; it was a 
 fresh trumpet-call to battle, and Lady Ethel was eager for the 
 fray. 
 
 But when Colonel Bainbridge became aware of her inten- 
 tion, he was very much annoyed. It wanted but two days 
 to Thursday, and Dr Chalmers had warned him that if his 
 wife were not kept quiet for a little while she might be 
 seriously ill. 
 
 But what availed advice to Lady Ethel? Opposition to 
 her wishes only made her more determined to follow them ; 
 and her husband, seeing that his attempts at persuasion were 
 worse than fruitless, consoled himself with the idea that 
 he should be by her side, and ready to warn her if she went 
 too far. 
 
 Her bridal robes, which she had never used since the 
 wedding-day, were prepared for the occasion ; a professional 
 coiffeur was engaged to dress her hair, and as upon the night 
 in question Louise put the finishing touches to her mistress’s 
 toilet, the mirror had certainly never flashed back on any one 
 a lovelier reflection of womankind. 
 
 The soft white satin and rich lace, without power to 
 
The Telegram. 
 
 185 
 
 detract from the fairness of her skin, drooped in easy folds 
 over her slight figure ; brilliants flashed upon her bosom, and 
 amid the flowers in her hair, contrasting strangely with the 
 innocent and natural-looking love-locks which lay upon her 
 forehead ; whilst a heightened colour on her cheeks, and 
 brilliancy in her eyes, though both false and fleeting, added 
 in no small degree to the marvellous effect of her general 
 appearance. 
 
 She was looking at herself with interest, not conceitedly, 
 for she cared nothing for the weapons apart from the use she 
 was about to make of them, when a tap sounded on her door. 
 
 She thought it was her husband, who, after dinner, had 
 sauntered over to his club, promising to be back in time to 
 dress and go with her ; and gave the command to enter with 
 alacrity. She was eager to have his opinion added to her 
 own, to receive the burst of applause with which he was 
 certain to greet her appearance, and hear him say that she 
 had never looked so handsome. Not because she loved his 
 commendation (or thought she loved it), but that it would be 
 satisfactory to know another thought her armour fitted well. 
 
 But the comer was not Colonel Bainbridge ; it was only a 
 servant with a large, long envelope in her hand. 
 
 A telegram, if you please, your ladyship, for my master ; 
 and he ^s not home yet,” she said, in a half -frightened manner, 
 for telegrams are alarming, even when we have no reason to 
 anticipate misfortune — they come so suddenly and unex- 
 pectedly, and it is such a time before our trembling fingers 
 can open the fast-closed end of the oflScial envelope : with 
 most people, that is to say ; but Lady Ethel at that particular 
 juncture was so perfectly easy with regard to the fate of all 
 the world, that a dozen telegrams would not have had the 
 power to disturb her equanimity. 
 
 “ Is it paid h ” she demanded, supinely, of the servant. 
 
 ‘‘ Oh, yes, iny lady ! I believe so ! ” 
 
 “ Very well, then. Leave it on the table ! ” and the woman, 
 having deposited the paper as she was desired, disappeared. 
 
 At first. Lady Ethel seemed supremely indifferent as to 
 what the envelope might or might not contain ; but, after a 
 while, having turned from one side to the other to afford 
 liouise readier access to the upper portion of her dress, she 
 moved her hand slowly towards the table, and taking up the 
 
Her Lord and Master. 
 
 i86 
 
 paper whicli was directed to her husband, deliberately opened 
 it and read the message it contained. It was as follows : — 
 
 From Mrs Bainbridge, Cranshaws, 
 
 To Colonel Bainbridge, Curzon Street. 
 
 Your father is seriously ill ; come to us as soon as possible. 
 The carriage shall meet the mail train at Borthwick to-morrow 
 morning.’^ 
 
 The mail train ! and if her husband went by that, he must 
 quit home as soon as he had entered it ; must start at once, 
 leaving her to go to Lady Clevedon^s alone, or to give up the 
 triumph which she contemplated j neither of which prospects 
 suited Lady Ethel's inclination. 
 
 As she took in the full consequences of the message sent, 
 all her indifference vanished. She started, flushed deeply, 
 knit her brows, and finally crushed the telegram between her 
 hands. 
 
 ‘‘It is impossible^ she said to herself ; ‘^he cannot start off 
 in this manner at a moment’s notice. It is unreasonable to 
 ask him.” 
 
 She thought of the ill-natured comments which would be 
 made on her appearing without her husband at the first large 
 evening party she had attended since her marriage ; and 
 of the malicious exultation which her step-mother would 
 experience if she stayed aw^ay altogether : of how she would 
 deplore her w^eakness and its cause in the ears of her dear 
 Marquis, and call him a “ dangerous fellow,” and a “ sad 
 naughty man,” for having broken the heart and ruined the 
 happiness of her “ poor pretty step-daughter ; her dear Cleve- 
 don’s legacy,” &c., &c. 
 
 Lady Ethel ground her teeth over the probability of such 
 an ignominious mention of her name, and then she glanced at 
 her reflection in the mirror, and considered if it were possible 
 that she could waste all the trouble she had taken, or consent 
 to throw away the opportunity for which she thirsted. 
 
 And that it should be her father-in-law who thus threatened 
 to interfere with her plans, was an aggravation of the evil in 
 her mind, for she had never forgiven the old man for his plain 
 
The Telegram, 
 
 187 
 
 speaking to her. She had not mentioned the fact to her 
 husband, or any one else; but it was quite sufficient for 
 Colonel Bainbridge to allude to Cranshaws or his own family 
 to stop all conversation on his wife’s part, and consequently 
 the subject was seldom mooted between them. 
 
 Yet she felt sure that if he received the telegram in time, 
 no entreaties from her lips (even if she stooped to entreaty), 
 would prevent bis obeying the summons of his mother. 
 
 And Lady Ethel, with a heaving breast, and a heart not 
 entirely at ease, told herself that he was her property, not 
 Mrs Bainbridge s, and that his first duty lay towards his wife ; 
 and crushed the unwelcome messenger more and more between 
 her fingers as she did so. 
 
 She was still uncomfortable, still undecided, still flushed 
 and palpitating with uncertainty, when a second tap upon the 
 door was followed by the intrusion of her husband’s head. 
 
 “ Lots of time, darling ! ” he said, cheerfully, in anticipation 
 of a reprimand for being late ; “ I sha’n’t be ten minutes 
 dressing,” and then, struck by the appearance of his wife, he 
 came further into the room. ‘‘By Jove, Ethel!” he ex- 
 claimed, as, with eyes glowing with admiration, he surveyed 
 her from head to foot, “ you are a success ! I never saw you 
 look so well in your life — you are a perfect picture. I pity 
 the poor wretches you dance with to-night,” with a happy 
 chuckle over his own good luck ; “ you will take the room by 
 storm ! ” and then he stooped down, like a foolish lover, and 
 kissed the white arm which hung by her side, in the hand of 
 which was crushed the telegram entreating him to fly to the 
 . bedside of his poor old father, 
 
 “ You will be late,” she answered, “ if you do not go at 
 once 1 ” 
 
 “ If you only knew how hard it is to tear one’s self away 
 from you, you little witch 1” he said, laughing, as he left the 
 room. 
 
 His fervent praise, which had given her proud heart more 
 pleasure than it would acknowledge, decided the fate of the 
 telegram from Cranshaws. Ho, she could not give up the 
 prospect of the evening before her — it was impossible I If 
 there were any real danger, which with a fat, red-faced old 
 man, like Mr Bainbridge, was most improbable (so Lady 
 Ethel argued), they would be sure to send again, and then 
 
Her Lord and Master, 
 
 i88 
 
 it would be quite time enough for her husband to go to them ; 
 meanwhile what should she do with the obnoxious paper ? 
 
 There was a fire burning in the grate, for the evenings 
 were still chilly, and, without further thought, she threw the 
 telegram upon it. Her conscience did just give her an un- 
 easy twinge as she watched the ready flame seize, scorch, and 
 shrivel it to nothing, but she had been too much used to have 
 her own way in everything to feel much alarm at the thought 
 of the probable consequences of what she had done ! 
 
 At all events, it was gone — there was an end of it ; she 
 could not recall her act, and it was no use crying over spilt 
 milk. And in another quarter of an hour she was seated in 
 the carriage by her husband^s side, and driving rapidly 
 towards the residence of the Countess of Clevedon. 
 
Lady Clevedon at Home. 
 
 i8g 
 
 CHAPTEE XXXIL 
 
 LADY CLEVEDON AT HOME. 
 
 Pekhaps it is scarcely necessary that I should halt at this 
 portion of my narrative in order to assure my readers that not- 
 withstanding their apparent intimacy, the Marquis de Lacarras 
 had no intention of marrying the Countess of Clevedon. It 
 is true that he spent much of his time in her society, called 
 her by her Christian name, and treated her generally in a 
 very nonchalant and familiar manner ; but undue licence 
 between man and woman is not always the token of impend- 
 ing marriage ; on the contrary, it oftener means that nothing 
 further is wished for or intended. 
 
 It meant so with the Marquis de Lacarras, although Lady 
 Clevedon was hard to be convinced, and hoped against all 
 hope. 
 
 The intercourse between them had always been more upon 
 her side than on his, for it was she who invited him to her 
 house ; breaking, without scruple, all engagements that inter- 
 fered with meeting him, and set him the example of an 
 address, which naturally he copied, but would never have 
 presumed to originate. 
 
 Without doubt he liked the attentions of the Countess ; it 
 was pleasant to have the habitual entree of a good establish- 
 ment, with a pretty woman at the head of it ; pleasant, too, 
 when he had no higher game in prospect, to be caressed and 
 flattered by such rosy lips as Lady Clevedon's j and, what 
 the Marquis perhaps valued more, there was a pleasant 
 prestige for him amongst his fellow-men, in being known as 
 ihe recipient of so much favour, to which, at the best, he was 
 but tolerant. 
 
 Yet still Lady Clevedon believed that success would even- 
 tually be hers j it seemed so improbable that a man who 
 made her the confidante of all his pecuniary and amatory 
 difficulties, and was to be seen day after day hanging about 
 her opera-box and drawing-room, should learn to live without 
 the sympathy with which she never failed to greet him. But 
 
Her Lord and Master. 
 
 190 
 
 the net for his feet was spread in vain ; for Victor de 
 Lacarras was not a marrying man, and if he had ever enter- 
 tained the idea of throwing himself away, it had been before 
 Lady Ethel Carr had committed a similar error — though her 
 step-mother continued so blind to the truth, that she persisted 
 in drawing his attention, in a derisively compassionate man- 
 ner, to the supposition of the girl’s hopeless attachment for 
 himself. 
 
 Yet, though men can be very hard against the obstinate 
 faith of women for whom they never cared, or have lost their 
 first fancy, the case assumes a different aspect where their 
 own hearts are concerned, or rather where their vanity is 
 flattered. 
 
 And Victor de Lacarras was exceedingly vain, more so than 
 the generality of his sex (which is saying a good deal for 
 him), — and the notion that a woman, who promised to be the 
 belle of the season, was dying of love for him, was very sooth- 
 ing to his feelings ; it was more than soothing, for, added to 
 the little uncertainty respecting his former regard for her, it 
 almost made him think that he was ready to return her love. 
 
 So, conceited and fastidious with his hostess to a degree, 
 he was awaiting Lady Ethel’s advent that evening with an 
 unusual amount of eagerness ; and when, in all the pride of 
 her youthful beauty, she entered the room leaning on the arm 
 of her husband, and he heard every stranger asking who she 
 was, and all those who knew her remarking how beautiful she 
 looked, he started forward to demand her hand for the 
 dance, as though, above all others, he had a right to claim her 
 preference. 
 
 Lady Clevedon advanced to meet her step-daughter with 
 an affectation of welcome and congratulations on the restora^ 
 tion of her health, which ill disguised her envy. Her quick 
 eye, taking in at a glance every detail of the bride’s costume, 
 noted how admirably it suited her, and how much handsomer 
 it was than the grey moire antique and black lace that she 
 wore herself ; and she became jealous accordingly, and with 
 her jealousy a little tarter than was quite politic. 
 
 Victor de Lacarras noticed the change in the Countess’s 
 manner, and smiling insolently to himself, resumed his atten- 
 tions to the new-comer, whilst Lady Ethel, opposed to both 
 her antagonists at once, felt as though every joint and buckle 
 
Lady Clevedon at Home. 19 1 
 
 of lier armour had been tightened. She had studied well her 
 part before venturing to appear before them, and the result 
 did credit to her powers of acting. 
 
 How blooming you look, my dear I cried Lady Clevedon, 
 as she saw the bright smile with which Lady Ethel greeted 
 her. ‘‘ I am sure no one would suspect you of mysteriously 
 fainting away at inopportune moments. 
 
 So stupid of me, wasn’t it % ” replied the girl, as she 
 placed one hand cordially in that of her step-mother, and 
 extended the other to the Marquis de Lacarras, and to have 
 you both waiting on me, too, when I had no idea that you 
 Avere even in the house ! Monsieur ! I embrace the oppor- 
 tunity of thanking you for the trouble which my husband 
 tells me you took on my behalf, though I trust it may be 
 for the first and last time. A waltz]” glancing at the pro- 
 gramme which he tendered for her acceptance. ‘‘Yes, certainly, 
 with the greatest pleasure. Is it commencing now ] Here, 
 dearest ! ” turning to her husband, who started and coloured 
 at the unusual appellation ; “just hold my flowers for me, will 
 you ? ” and in another moment Lady Ethel Bainbiidge was 
 spinning round the room in the embrace of Victor de Lacarras. 
 
 The Marquis was astonished ; in fact, he hardly knew what 
 to think of her ready consent and cheerful volubility ; above 
 all, the terms in which she had addressed her husband. 
 
 From the representations of the Countess he had expected 
 to meet a depressed and love-sick girl, covered with confusion 
 by his presence, and trembling at the sound of his voice : 
 but here she was, the woman supposed to have contracted an 
 unhappy marriage from despair at his neglect of her, bright 
 and smiling, and waltzing as though she had not a care in the 
 world. 
 
 The circumstance piqued him ; he felt unaccountably 
 injured by the liveliness with which Lady Ethel carried on 
 a conversation over his shoulder on all that she had seen and 
 done since quitting Temple Grange. It was not what he 
 had expected of her, and the higher her spirits seemed to 
 rise, the more silent did he become, until, as after the third 
 or fourth round, they stopped to breathe themselves, and 
 scanning the crowd, she said, with assumed anxiety — 
 
 “ Where is my husband ] Can you see him anywhere, 
 monsieur ? ” 
 
192 
 
 Her Lord and Master, 
 
 The only answer that he made her was — 
 
 That seems a strange question for you to put to mey Lady 
 Ethel ; at least, there was a time when I should have said 
 so/' 
 
 At these words Lady Ethel's heart gave a great thump, — 
 a thump of excitement and agitation, rather than of love, 
 although she may have mistaken it for the latter feeling. It 
 was so familiar to her to hear the measured tones of his voice, 
 and meet the meaning glance of his dark eyes, that on being 
 for the first time brought again beneath their influence, she 
 may be pardoned for having mistaken the ghost of the past 
 for the spirit of the present. Yet she restrained herself, and 
 answered, lightly — ■ 
 
 ‘‘Times change. Monsieur le Marquis^ and indeed it is 
 almost longer than one cares to count since you and I last 
 danced together." 
 
 “ Too long for you, perhaps," he whispered, “ but as to 
 myself, it has been counted for me, in days and nights of 
 pain." 
 
 But here remembering what she had witnessed between 
 him and her step-mother. Lady Ethel frowned, and slightly 
 drew herself up. The man must be cautioned not to go 
 too far. 
 
 “ Shall we proceed, monsieur ? I am quite rested." And 
 as he passed his arm round her waist again, she thought she 
 heard something like the word “ crueller “ Whilst we are 
 on the subject of marriage," she said, with an attempt at a 
 laugh, as they continued their dance, “ will you allow me, 
 as an experienced person, to recommend it to your notice, 
 monsieur f I hear that for some time past you have been 
 shivering on the brink, but you do not appear able to make 
 up your mind to take the final plunge. But, as an old friend, 
 let me advise you not to waste any more time. It is like the 
 measles, one takes it so much more favourably whilst young." 
 
 “ I shivered on the brink too long. Lady Ethel, and the 
 bank gave way beneath me. I shall never take the plunge 
 you speak of now." 
 
 Was it possible she had heard him right, or did he dare a 
 second time to dupe her ? Lady Ethel believed it was the 
 latter case, and made a desperate attempt at an indifferent 
 reply. 
 
Lady Clevedon at HG7ne, 
 
 193 
 
 What nonsense ! You cannot deceive me, for I know all 
 about it, excepting the day fixed. And did I question Lady 
 Clevedon on the subject, I dare say she could tell that too.’^ 
 
 There was no balcony to retire to on that evening, for tl]e 
 season was not sufiiciently advanced to leave the windows 
 open ; but as Lady Ethel made this bold assertion, her 
 partner suddenly stopped dancing, and, placing her upon a 
 sofa, sat down beside her and looked her in the face. 
 
 “ What do you mean by that % ’’ he demanded, in a low 
 voice, and speaking his own language, which he always used 
 with intimate friends. 
 
 Just what I said, monsieur ; it has been made no 
 secret.” 
 
 “ That I am about to marry the Countess, your step- 
 mother 'I ” 
 
 “ That you are engaged to her,” replied his companion, 
 turning away her head. 
 
 “ And you can believe that. Lady Ethel 1 ” he responded, 
 earnestly. 
 
 Her heart was throbbing violently, her head confused, her 
 thoughts flying at a tangent, anywhere, and she upon the 
 point of crying out, No ! No ! / might have known it was 
 false ! 0 Victor ! we are lost to one another ! ” when the 
 
 remembrance of the night on which she had seen those two 
 together, the attitude and look of her step-mother flashed 
 again upon her mind, and turning flercely round upon the 
 Marquis, with eyes brilliant and replete with scorn, she replied, 
 firmly — 
 
 Of course I can. Did not I see you sitting upon the sofa 
 together at Temple Grange ] How easily you must think I 
 am to be deceived.” 
 
 At Temple Grange ! ” he repeated, musingly. Yes, I 
 remember it — but too well. It tvas about a month before 
 your marriage, Lady Ethels 
 
 She coloured, and was silent ; then felt that she was losing 
 ground, and resumed the attack vigorously — 
 
 It was, but that matters nothing. I understood from 
 Lady Clevedon at the time that you were engaged ; and 
 considering the circumstances, I was not surprised to hear it.” 
 
 Ah ! the circumstances ! But who wau to blame for them, 
 I wonder % It is a delicate matter to handle, but has a man 
 
 N 
 
194 
 
 Her Lord and Master. 
 
 the option to refuse attentions wMch are lavished on him 
 gratuitously 
 
 Monsieur, pray think of what you are saying. You are 
 calling in question the character of your hostess — and your 
 betrothed.’’ 
 
 “ Of my hostess — yes ; and, as such, I humbly ask her 
 pardon. Of my betrothed — no. And if this rumour has 
 become public. Lady Ethel, I must beg of you to contradict 
 it. The subject of marriage has never been canvassed between 
 Lady Clevedon and myself.” 
 
 Lady Ethel was thunderstruck ; she did not know how to 
 proceed with the conversation. 
 
 A month before she would have been overwhelmed at the 
 thought that by her unnecessary rashness she had for ever 
 severed all possibility of union with the man who sat beside 
 her; but now, though she felt flattered to hear that he had not 
 forsaken her for her step-mother, the news did not seem to 
 waken any great emotion in her mind, and she was as amazed 
 with her own tranquillity as with the Marquis’s assertion. 
 
 ‘‘ You surprise me, monsieur ! ” she said, after a moment’s 
 pause ; I have been looking forward to the event as a cer- 
 tainty.” 
 
 You are the last person in the world who should be 
 surprised. Lady Ethel,” he replied ; I do not possess the 
 control over my memory for which you seem to give me credit.” 
 
 The dance was ended by that time, and other partners were 
 already claiming her attention. The Marquis de Lacarras, 
 with a long, lingering gaze, relinquished her to their care, and 
 refusing to yield to the Countess’s solicitations, that he should 
 join in the galop just commencing, took up his station in a 
 corner whence he could observe Lady Ethel’s movements, and 
 throw a hot sigh or a pensive look after her every time that 
 she approached him. 
 
 Meanwhile, Colonel Bainbridge, leaning over his amiable 
 hostess, was being instructed in the secret of true happiness — 
 suspicion ! 
 
 “ How wonderfully well our dear Ethel is looking ! ” she 
 exclaimed, as together they watched the graceful figure and 
 lovely flushed face of the girl gyrating round the room ; “ she 
 seems to have perfectly recovered her little attack of the other 
 night.” 
 
Lady Clevedon at Hojne, 
 
 195 
 
 “ Well, I am afraid a great deal of it is excitement,” replied 
 Colonel Bainbridge, gravely; “ for she was so weak this after- 
 noon, I was quite alarmed at the idea of her coming here.” 
 
 ‘‘ Dear me ! She would have been much better in bed, I 
 dare say.” 
 
 “ So Dr Chalmers thought, but she was determined to come.” 
 
 “ I am surprised at that, for there is not much attraction 
 for her, one would think, to-night. What does Chalmers say 
 about her fainting ? ” 
 
 ‘‘ He considers it entirely due to the lowness of her nervous 
 system. He says she is weaker than she ought to be, and 
 must keep quiet, but he does not appear at all anxious about 
 her.” 
 
 And she wouldn^t stay at home to-night h How foolish 
 of her ! It was curious her fainting just at the time she did.” 
 
 ‘‘Just as we had entered the theatre]” he said, interroga- 
 tively. 
 
 “ Well, just as I had pointed her out to the notice of my 
 friend there, Monsieur de Lacarras. He is an old flame of 
 Ethel’s, as perhaps you know, and I had but that moment 
 said to him, ‘ Look, Victor ! ^ ” 
 
 But Colonel Bainbridge did not appear to be listening to 
 her words — he was craning his neck to obtain a view of what 
 was passing at the other side of the room. “ She is going to 
 dance again,”. he said, in reply to Lady Clevedon’s looks of 
 inquiry. “ I wish she would sit down this time ; I am afraid 
 she will be so tired ! ” 
 
 “ Why not tell her to do so, my dear Colonel ] ” suggested 
 the Countess, as though, in her ideas of a wife’s duty, to be 
 told was to obey. 
 
 “ It is too late,” he said, laughing, “ she is off again ! ” and 
 as he spoke. Lady Ethel passed them in the mazurka. She 
 was dancing for the second time with the Marquis de Lacarras. 
 
 Lady Clevedon watched them with a frown. 
 
 “ I really must speak to Victor,” she exclaimed ; “ he knows 
 how delicate she is ; it is unreasonable in him — and ” (after 
 a slight pause) “ not the best thing in the world for her. 
 By the way, my dear Colonel, whilst I think of it, don’t let 
 that dear girl make herself at all conspicuous this season ; for 
 she is very thoughtless, you know ; and a young woman gets 
 so soon talked about, and ” 
 
196 
 
 Her Lord and Master, 
 
 Well, I hardly know, my dear lady, how I am to prevent 
 her being either ^ conspicuous ' or ^ talked about,^ ’’ he replied, 
 with a glowing smile, whilst she continues to be the prettiest 
 woman wlierever I take her — present company excepted, of 
 course.” 
 
 You foolish fellow ! ” said the Countess, playfully, I do 
 really believe you are in love with your own wife. But, 
 jesting apart, I mean what I say. Ethel is a dear creature, 
 as we all know ; frank and high-spirited, and generous ; but 
 she is not over fond of being controlled, and the Marquis, 
 though an excellent fellow, and a great friend of our family, 
 is apt to be rather careless about such things.” 
 
 He will let her overheat herself — yes, that is just what I 
 am most afraid of,” replied Colonel Bainbridge, innocently ; 
 
 if you will permit me I will go and fetch her cloak.” And 
 he left the room for that purpose. 
 
 “ The man a fool,” thought Lady Clevedon, as she 
 watched his retreating figure, and there ^s that girl flirting 
 under his nose, as though she had never been married at all. 
 It’s perfectly disgraceful — I will not have such things going 
 on in my house, and shall take good care to let Victor know 
 my mind on the subject.” 
 
 But Lady Ethel was not flirting, or at all events in the 
 manner her step-mother ascribed to her ; she was only keep- 
 ing up an appearance of great hilarity in order to mislead the 
 Marquis as to the real state of her feelings. For the news 
 he had told her affected her more than she dared to let him 
 see, and she was curious to hear the climax of his story, to 
 learn how far she had been deceived, and if he never cared 
 for any but herself (there was triumph in that thought for 
 Lady Ethel), why he had hung back from offering her his 
 hand ! Her cheek was flushed, and her eye sparkling with 
 the excitement of the discovery she had made, and yet it never 
 struck her that she did not feel so miserable at its futility as 
 she ought to have done. That revelation was reserved for a 
 later and more momentous occasion. 
 
 Only one other opportunity had the Marquis of speaking to 
 her privately that evening, and he made good use of it. It 
 was in the supper-room that they found themselves alone 
 altogether. 
 
 I don’t think that Lady Ethel Bainbridge half credits 
 
Lady Clevedon at Home. 
 
 197 
 
 what I told her/’ he said, softly, as she was engaged in taking 
 the refreshment he had brought her. 
 
 “ It is difficult to do so/’ she replied, as she turned her 
 burning face away. 
 
 ‘‘ Where is the difficulty. Lady Ethel ? To believe that no 
 woman can ever again engage a tithe of my attention ; or to 
 comprehend how a man could commit so fatal an error as to 
 fear to speak his mind ? Fatal, because defeat could not have 
 placed him in a worse position than he stands at present ; 
 and success — success. Lady Ethel,” in a low voice, and look- 
 ing quickly away from her, would have turned this life into 
 a paradise for him.” 
 
 She could not profess to misunderstand his meaning. 
 
 You must not speak to me like that,” she commenced in 
 an agitated voice, and her husband entering the room at that 
 moment in search of her, she ran up to his side with great 
 relief. 
 
 ‘‘Yes, yes,” she said, hurriedly, in answer to his inquiry if 
 she were ready to go home ; “ I have had quite enough. I 
 am tired out ; let us return at once,” and with a nervous bow 
 in the direction of the Marquis, she suffered Colonel Bain- 
 bridge to lead her to the carriage. 
 
Her Lord and Master. 
 
 198 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIII. 
 
 THE SECOND TELEGRAM. 
 
 Lady Ethel Bainbridge reached her own home in a very 
 fervid condition. All the old doubts and difficulties which 
 she had trampled under foot (as she thought) months before, 
 had commenced again to surge within her breast and sway her 
 mind ; and though (unperceived by her) the passionate regret 
 which used to mingle with them had disappeared, they were 
 sufficiently interesting to disturb her whole being by their 
 unexpected recurrence. Was it possible, she asked herself, 
 as, released from the attentions of Louise, she reclined in an 
 arm-chair before the fire in her dressing-room — possible 
 that, after all, she had been mistaken ; had judged him too 
 harshly, too hastily ; and that Victor de Lacarras, as insinuated 
 by himself, had permitted her to slip through his fingers from 
 sheer want of boldness to declare his wishes? Was it her 
 step-mother who had been their enemy ; and by her forward 
 intervention, prevented their reading each other’s hearts more 
 clearly ? or was it the fault of her own pride which had made 
 her shrink from anything that looked like affording him the 
 opportunity for which he had been sighing ? 
 
 Lady Ethel could not say ; perhaps she did not care too 
 closely to inquire. She seemed to have forgotten the long 
 months during which the Marquis de Lacarras left her in sus- 
 pense and uncertainty as to his intentions regarding her, and 
 the weeks they had passed together in which he had made no 
 sign. The sight of his eyes, looking as they had done of old, 
 before the blight of disbelief in him had fallen on her heart, 
 and the accents of his voice, lowered for her ear alone, had 
 revived so much of her former feelings, that her soul was fast 
 becoming absorbed in a sentimental pity, not for her own 
 loss, but for that of the man whose ill -fortune had been 
 revealed to her. In fancy she pictured the long life which lay 
 before him : unlighted hj the possession of her love, or of 
 herself ; a miserable, lonely existence, which could never be 
 freed from the sting of regret ; and then to think that he had 
 
The Second Telegram, 
 
 199 
 
 missed his happiness by a mere chance, a stroke of ill-luck, 
 which could never be remedied — a lost opportunity, which 
 could never be recalled. Poor Victor ! poor Marquis de 
 Lacarras, with the reproachfully sad eyes ! Was it possible 
 she was the cause of all this misery h that she alone was to 
 blame for his unhappy life h He seemed to think so, and that 
 she might have saved him from it. And yet all the while her 
 heart had been full of the most bitter reproaches. Should 
 she, could she ever forgive herself ? 
 
 Profoundly wrapt in some such reverie, with her pretty face 
 supported by her hand, and her eyes mournfully fixed upon 
 the fire, Colonel Bainbridge found Lady Ethel still sitting up, 
 when, having finished his last cigar, an hour and more after 
 their return to Curzon Street, he sought his bed-chamber. 
 
 ‘‘ My dear Ethel, he exclaimed, not yet in bed? Why, 
 do you know what time it is, darling ? past six o’clock ! What 
 would Dr Chalmers say ? ” 
 
 ‘‘ Oh ! don’t tease me,” she answered, fretfully. 
 
 She had just arrived at that pitch of mental fervour, when 
 having discovered that both her happiness and that of the 
 Marquis had been ruined for evermore, she decided that 
 thenceforth they should pass through life with sunken cheeks 
 and sad eyes, taking part in the hollow amusements of the 
 world, it is true, but testifying to each other by their appear- 
 ance and demeanour that they were devoured by regret for 
 their irrevocable loss. And it was annoying, to say the least 
 of it, to have a romantic reverie like this broken in upon by 
 the common-place remonstrance of a great, strong, muscular, 
 everyday husband, as to why she did not go to bed and to 
 sleep, like anybody else, whose heart was not broken. 
 
 Colonel Bainbridge recoiled at the tone in which his wife 
 addressed him. He had been so elated by the one term of 
 affection she had unexpectedly used to him at Lady Clevedon's 
 soiree^ that he had been calculating on its effects ever since. 
 But though her answer threw cold water on his joy, it had 
 not the power to make him retaliate. His was too generous a 
 nature to return evil for evil. 
 
 “ I did not mean to tease you, dearest,” he said, gently ; 
 “ but this fire is nearly out, and you will take cold. Shall I 
 make it up again ; or — would it not be better if you came to 
 bed ? You must be very tired.” 
 
200 
 
 Her Lord and Master, 
 
 She was very tired, and her musing had been interrupted, ■ 
 so Lady Ethel resolved for once to follow the advice given 
 her, though long after her husband had fallen asleep, she con- 
 tinued too excited to close her eyes, but lay awake, believing 
 herself to be the most unfortunate and miserable woman in 
 the world, as with false sympathy she pondered on the revela- 
 tions which had been made to her. 
 
 When at last she fell asleep, it was to slumber profoundly 
 for a few hours — so profoundly that on being roused again, she 
 sat straight up in bed with a start, having forgotten everything 
 that had occurred the night before. It was broad daylight 
 then ; the sunshine was streaming through the closed blinds of 
 her windows ; and as she rubbed her eyes she became conscious 
 of a gentle tapping on the bedroom door, which had been the 
 cause of her awaking. 
 
 “ Colonel Bainbridge,” she said, quickly, there is some one 
 knocking at the door.’' 
 
 Her husband did not answer, and she turned to where, 
 flushed and warm, with one arm beneath his head, he lay 
 beside her, wrapt in a deep sleep. 
 
 How handsome he appeared — better than handsome — ^how 
 manly, how powerful, how big ! Night and forgetfulness had 
 smoothed away the lines of thought which impressed his brow 
 by day ; his face was tranquil and careless as a boy’s, and his 
 huge muscular limbs were stretched out in perfect rest. 
 
 “ What a Goliath ! ” thought Lady Ethel, as she regarded 
 him ; and yet a proud feeling of possession ran through 
 her, as she laid her little hand upon his broad shoulder. It 
 lasted but a moment — that feeling — though it endured to all 
 eternity ! 
 
 Colonel Bainbridge ! ” she repeated, with as vehement a 
 pinch as her fingers could accomplish, there is some one at 
 the door ! ” 
 
 Is there, my darling h ” he replied, as with a sudden 
 movement he jumped out of bed, threw on his dressing- 
 gown, and turned the key in the lock. 
 
 “ What do you want ] ” he demanded of the servant who 
 was waiting there. 
 
 “ A telegi*am, if you please, sir ! I thought it best to bring 
 it up to you, in case it should be of importance.” 
 
 “ Oh, yes; of course — all right. Thank you ! ” and without 
 
The Second Telegram, 
 
 201 
 
 Rtopping for furtlier inquiry, Colonel Bainbridge closed the 
 door, and walking to one of the windows, pulled up the blind, 
 and tore open the official envelope. 
 
 As he did so, there rushed back upon the mind of Lady 
 Ethel, who was still sitting up in bed, all the circumstances of 
 the previous evening : the telegram which she had destroyed ; 
 the buzz of admiration which had greeted her entrance to Lady 
 Clevedon’s drawing-room ; and then the Marquis, with his sad 
 reproachful eyes, aiid his assurance that he had not, and never 
 had had, the least intention of marrying her step-mother — of 
 marrying any one except herself, whom, % ill-luck or treachery, 
 he had lost. 
 
 And as all this came back on Lady Ethel’s memory, she sunk 
 down on her pillows with a deep-drawn sigh. She had just 
 remembered that her heart and the heart of Victor de Lacarras 
 were both broken, and that there remained no happiness in 
 this world for either of them again. 
 
 The reception of his telegram seemed greatly to disturb 
 Colonel Bainbridge, for he read it more than once, and had 
 his wife been watching him, she would have seen his hand 
 tremble. 
 
 There must be some mistake here 1 ” were the first words 
 he uttered, as he violently pulled the bell. 
 
 What is it about % ” said Lady Ethel, with affected 
 languor, though naturally she guessed the news it must con- 
 tain. 
 
 My poor father is ill — dangerously ill. I doubt if I shall 
 ever see him again alive,” he replied, in a broken voice ; and 
 then, as the servant’s knock resounded on the door, he put 
 the question — 
 
 When did this telegram arrive ? ” 
 
 Now, sir ! not ten minutes ago ; I brought it up directly.” 
 
 But it is the second that has been sent me ; at least it 
 says so. Have you seen anything of another 1 ” 
 
 Not since last night, sir.” 
 
 “ What do you mean by ^ last night ] ’ ” 
 
 The telegram that came for you, sir ! just before you 
 started. You were not at home, so I took it up to her lady- 
 ship’s room.” 
 
 Ethel ! did you receive it 1 ” he asked, quickly appealing 
 to his wife, but she had turned away her face from observatiom 
 
202 
 
 Her Lord and Master, 
 
 Oil, yes, sir ! ” interposed the woman, who feared to incur 
 blame from the transaction. I gave it into her ladyship’s 
 own hands myself.” 
 
 ‘‘You did no such thing,” replied Lady Ethel, tartly, “you 
 put it on the table.” 
 
 “ That will do,” said Colonel Bainbridge, who saw there 
 was something wrong. “ Tell James to take the Bradshaw 
 into my dressing-room at once, and look out my things for 
 travelling. I shall start for the north as soon as it is possible 
 to do so ; ” and then he shut the door again, and came round 
 to the other side of the bed. 
 
 “ Ethel ! where is that telegram? and wdiy did you not give 
 it to me ? ” 
 
 His voice was firm and decided ; it had lost all the winning 
 sweetness with which he usually coaxed her to do a thing ; 
 it was a voice not to be trifled with ; and his wife chose to 
 resent the tone he had assumed. 
 
 “I’m sure I can’t tell you where it is ; in the dust-hole I 
 conclude, as I put it on the fire ; and I didn’t give it to you, 
 because if I had done so it would have prevented our going 
 to Lady Clevedon’s.” Her nonchalant manner roused his ire. 
 
 “ But do you know what it contained ? ” he said, indignantly. 
 
 “Of course I do ; I read it!” Colonel Bainbridge took 
 a step backward. 
 
 “You read it ! — read that my father was dangerously ill — 
 that my immediate presence was required at Cranshaws — 
 and burned the message ? Ethel I how dared you ? ” 
 
 His voice was more than firm now ; it was stern, and she 
 shrunk before it \ but she was true to her feminine nature — 
 that unworthy little nature that, knowing its impotency is its 
 safeguard in the hands of a generous man, will claw, and spit, 
 and hiss like a cat when beyond reach, sooner than say one 
 word that shall acknowledge it is in the wrong. 
 
 And, with the falsehoods of Victor de Lacarras ringing in 
 her ears. Lady Ethel had worked herself up to that pitch of 
 self-commiseration which makes every rebuke, however well- 
 deserved, assume the appearance of injustice. 
 
 “ Dare / ” she exclaimed, springing up in bed, “ I dare 
 everything ; I would burn it over again to-morrow if I thought 
 fit. to do so. It is you who dare too much in speaking in 
 this way to me.” 
 
The Second Telegram. 
 
 203 
 
 Come ! come ! I am not going to have any nonsense of 
 this sort/^ replied Colonel Bainbridge. “ If you were aware 
 of the contents of the telegram, you did a very cruel act in 
 destroying it, and one which may never be repaired. My 
 father will most likely be dead before I reach Cranshaws.’’ 
 
 She was a little shocked at the idea of what she had done 
 then, but still she carried it off with a high hand. 
 
 “ It’s not my fault ! she murmured. If they had made 
 themselves a little more agreeable to me whilst I was under 
 their roof, I might have felt better disposed to give up my 
 amusement to satisfy their whims.” 
 
 ‘‘ Whims ! you call it a whim in a dying man to wish to see 
 his only child again % ” 
 
 How could I tell he was dying 1 ” 
 
 ‘‘ You knew that he was seriously ill — and that he wanted 
 to see me ; and you were unwilling to relinquish a few hours’ 
 pleasure for the sake of permitting a father and son to meet 
 for the last time upon earth. You are heartless — cruel — un- 
 womanly ! Ethel ! I thought better of you ! ” and sitting 
 down upon the nearest chair, Colonel Bainbridge covered his 
 face with his hands. 
 
 The action, instead of softening, seemed to irritate her. 
 
 ‘‘ Who told you to think better ? ” she demanded, sharply ; 
 “ and what have you ever seen in my behaviour to lead you 
 to suppose that I was so particularly interested in your father’s 
 feelings, or your own ” 
 
 Nothing — God knows ! ” he answered, bitterly ; your 
 conduct whilst at Cranshaws was a source of the greatest 
 pain to me ; but since you are my wife, and my father has 
 become yours, a sense of duty might ” 
 
 But his speech was interrupted by her shrill laugh. 
 
 Duty ! Is it not sufficient that I should have consented 
 to marry yow, without being called upon to show filial duty 
 towards a man who ” 
 
 Colonel Bainbridge rose from his seat with a lowering brow. 
 
 “ Have a care, Ethel ! You had better be cautious what 
 you say to me just now ! ” 
 
 Oh ! you don’t frighten me, I assure you. No one could 
 have behaved more rudely to me than your father did.” 
 
 ‘‘No one could have taken your rudeness to him and my 
 poor mother, in a spirit of greater patience and charity.” 
 
204 
 
 Her Lord and Master. 
 
 That is your opinion, perhaps. I say I did you enough 
 honour by accepting the offer of your hand, without being 
 expected to adopt all your relations into the bargain. And 
 
 if I had known — if I had known growing suspiciously 
 
 hysterical. 
 
 “ If yon had known what ? ” he asked, sternly. “ Do you 
 mean to insinuate, Ethel, that you were unaware, before our 
 marriage, that my family was not on an equality with your 
 own ? 
 
 Oh, yes ! I knew that too well.” 
 
 ‘‘ What then % Have I been fool enough to marry a woman 
 who does not care for me ? ” 
 
 I should think you might have answered that question for 
 yourself. You have received ample proofs of the truth,” she 
 said, scornfully. 
 
 “ Perhaps you will go further, and inform me that you cared 
 for some one else.” 
 
 And what if I did ? ” 
 
 He did not answer her ; but he advanced to the bedside, 
 and Lady Ethel saw that every one of his strong limbs was 
 shaking. 
 
 “ Are you insinuating the truth to me — or a lie % ” he 
 demanded, hoarsely. 
 
 She was frightened at his manner ; she knew that she had 
 gone too far ; and yet, with a bravado with which the weakest 
 of her sex is at times familiar, she threw the apple of discord 
 in his face. 
 
 ‘‘ The truth — of course ! How dare you accuse me of any- 
 thing else ? What motive on earth do you suppose should 
 have induced me — me, the daughter of earls, and connected 
 on every side with the purest blood in England, — to lower 
 myself by marrying into the family of a tradesman — yes ! you 
 needn’t look at me in that way, for you know perfectly well 
 that your father was nothing but a tradesman — unless there 
 had been some reason — some deep and miserable reason,” 
 with a sob, that I should try to forget who I was, or that I 
 liad ever been;” and Lady Ethel buried her face in her 
 hands. 
 
 “ And the ^ deep and miserable reason,' madam ; I am 
 waiting for that,” he said. 
 
 “ My heart was broken , continued his wife in a burst of 
 
The Second Telegimn. 205 
 
 tears ; my life was wasted ; I had lost everything I cared for 
 in this world \ or rather I thought that I had lost it.” 
 
 And the fragments were good enough for a tradesman s 
 son,” replied her husband. I am vastly indebted to you 
 for your condescension, Lady Ethel. One word more, and I 
 have done. What is the name of the man in the face of 
 whose loss, real or supposed, you were pleased to throw your- 
 self away upon me % ” 
 
 ‘‘ I shall not tell you,” she said, quickly. She already 
 regretted, though she little foresaw the effects of the folly 
 into which she had been betrayed. 
 
 ‘‘ But I intend to hear it,” was the decisive reply ; and as 
 he spoke Colonel Bainbridge took her two hands prisoner in 
 his, and forced her to look him in the face. 
 
 She might as well have tried to struggle against a pair of 
 handcuffs. 
 
 “ I shall not detain you long ! ” he said, solemnly. You 
 have but to speak the word, and you are free. What is his 
 name ? ” 
 
 The influence of his glance subdued her even more than 
 the powerful grasp of his hands. 
 
 ‘‘ You know it,” she answered, sullenly. Victor de 
 I/icarras I ” 
 
 “ And you care for him 1 ” 
 
 She made no reply, but her eyes flashed up at him in- 
 dignantly, and were cast down again. 
 
 “ And married me because you could not marry him % ” 
 continued Colonel Bainbridge. 
 
 ‘‘ Yes / ” with a desperate effort to get free j if you will 
 have the truth, and nothing but the truth, there it is for 
 you.” 
 
 He let her go as she spoke ; and she twisted away from 
 him, and buried her head in her 23illow. 
 
 But once more his hands — those kind, strong hands that 
 had never handled her before but with the tenderest, gentlest 
 touch — came about her face, and turned it to confront his 
 own. 
 
 Turned it to meet two hungering, despairing eyes, the 
 gaze of which haunted her for many a lonely day and nigljt 
 succeeding ; and a sad drawn mouth which seemed to ask 
 what he had done to be requited by such treachery. 
 
2o6 
 
 Her Lord and Master. 
 
 He looked at her, perhaps for a full minute, which appeared 
 to her guilty conscience like an hour ; and then he dropped 
 his hands, turned suddenly away, and left the room. 
 
 The iron had entered into his very soul. 
 
 As he gained his dressing-room, he was greeted by the 
 intelligence that there was no train by which he could travel 
 north, before eight o'clock in the evening. 
 
 Very good ! " he replied, with easy indifference ; then 
 there is no hurry. Pack my portmanteau, and meet me with 
 it at the King's Cross Station at a quarter to eight.” 
 
 And having dismissed his valet, Colonel Bainbridge dressed 
 himself, and left the house before Lady Ethel had appeared 
 downstairs. 
 
W/ij/ it was Sent, 
 
 207 
 
 CHAPTEK XXXIV. 
 
 WHY IT WAS SENT. 
 
 Things had been going on very quietly at Cranshaws, between 
 the time that Colonel and Lady Ethel Bainbridge left the 
 castle, and the occasion for sending that first telegram to 
 Curzon Street. 
 
 Spring advanced but slowly in that northern climate, but 
 each day Nature unfolded something new and fresh and beau- 
 tiful for the contemplation of her admirers; and the final 
 demolition of the frost brought plenty of work for those who 
 wanted it, both in-doors and out. The season for ploughing 
 and sowing had arrived; for the housing of young lambs, 
 and counting of apple-blossoms ; for calculating how long the 
 ■winter stores would last, and how soon the upsp ringing grass 
 would afford pasture for the increasing flocks and herds. And 
 Mrs Bainbridge found almost as much occupation as her hus- 
 band, for she permitted no one to superintend the poultry- 
 yard but herself, and held daily conferences with the old 
 hen-wife, for the purpose of mutual congratulation on the suc- 
 cessful efforts of young pullets, or the happy hatching of large 
 broods. In the house. Miss Lloyd was employed in ransacking 
 the linen presses, calling over the roll of preserve jars, and 
 giving Maggie Henderson loving little lectures ; whilst for the 
 girl herself, perhaps this was the bitterest phase of the trial 
 through which she was passing. 
 
 It may be remembered that, on the day Lady Ethel resolved 
 to leave Cranshaws, Maggie had gone to pay a visit to Sister 
 Margaret, at Horse-ap-Cleugh. 
 
 The interview, as her aunt prophesied, had done her good. 
 The gentle sympathy she had met with, the calm counsel 
 received, and, above all, the assurance with which she had 
 been impressed, that whatever was right and best for her in 
 the future would be brought to pass without the help of any 
 violent effort on her own part, had left a sense of trustful expec- 
 
2C8 
 
 Her Lord and Master. 
 
 tation OR her mind, which was the best feeling she could carry 
 back to lighten the duties to which she was bound. 
 
 She had often seen and talked with good women before ; 
 she had been brought up under the example of her aunts, who 
 both led humble and religious lives ; yet, until she met Sister 
 Margaret, Maggie had never known what it was to read in 
 another’s eyes the complete happiness that springs from the 
 surrender of one’s life to God. 
 
 From that hour she felt her own vocation fixed ; not 
 assuredly to be a Sister of Mercy, not even to labour amongst 
 the sick and suffering, if He did not so will for her ; but to 
 be His faithful servant to her life’s end. 
 
 She had dreamed of such a service before ; she had longed 
 for, and, in part, adopted it ; but now she felt as though it 
 were impossible to keep back anything for commoner use ; and 
 gave herself to Him body and soul, to do with as He thought 
 tit j believing, as Aunt Letty had taught her, and Sister Mar- 
 garet had endorsed, that true religion consists not in what 
 Ave do, but how we do it ; and less in great efforts than in 
 complete obedience. 
 
 And so, when her new friend left Horse-ap-Cleugh (which 
 she did not do without a promise to keep up their intercourse 
 by correspondence) Maggie returned to her uneventful life with 
 a firm determination to perform everything, however trivial, 
 that came to her in the shape of duty ; and, for His sake, to 
 perform it well. 
 
 Thence her existence should have been all sunshine, rest, 
 and quiet ; blissful in the satisfaction of an easy conscience, 
 and changed from dark to light, by the hope of her reward ; 
 yet it was not so — not, at all events, in this stage of her 
 recovery. 
 
 The path of wisdom is not always a happy path, let Solo- 
 mon say Avhat he will. It is a hard path ; sometimes it is 
 bitterly, cruelly hard, stained with the blood of feet unused to 
 tread it, and the tears of eyes that have wept themselves blind 
 before they found it j and, since it is so, we have no right to 
 say it should be otherwise. 
 
 For, though hard and bitter, it is the furnace that puri- 
 fies the gold, and there is another fact to be borne in 
 mind : it is the only sacrifice we have it in our power to 
 render up to Him who has done all for us. This sacrifice of 
 
Why it was Sent, 
 
 209 
 
 self, our tears and sighs, fierce resolutions, and ultimate vic- 
 tories — gifts of His own though they be — are the sole offerings 
 He can take from our hands ; because they only typify our love 
 and whole submission to Him; and we have nothing else to 
 give. Nor are they lost in His immensity j we all know that. 
 He sets our tears as jewels in His crown, and gives us in 
 exchange eternal smiles. 
 
 Shall we have time to think about them then? But 
 betwixt “ then and now,” how wide a difference, He who 
 was human knows. 
 
 With the excitement of her cousin s and Lady Ethers visit 
 over, and the solace of Sister Margaret^s company past, 
 Maggie Henderson sometimes felt as though her mere exist- 
 ence were a calamity too heavy to be borne. She was neither 
 despairing nor jealous ; she no longer gave way to violent 
 bursts of grief ; she did not even desire things to be other 
 than they were j yet all the lightness and the sunshine seemed 
 to have died out of her life, and left her stranded on the 
 barren shore of her dull thoughts — from which she often 
 had not strength to rise to prayer or praise. She went 
 through her routine of little duties carefully — being even 
 more punctual, solicitous, and affectionate, than usual ; so 
 that Aunt Letty was deceived by her demeanour, and Mrs 
 Bainbridge did not once question the fact of her complete 
 contentment. 
 
 But one person did : one who (though unknown to himself) 
 was drawing near the confines of the other world, and had his 
 sympathies perhaps quickened by the unseen influences he was 
 approaching; and that was her uncle. Mr Bainbiidge had 
 never been quite himself since the departure of his son. He 
 had gone about his farm as usual, it is true ; settled bargains 
 with his drovers, checked his bailiff’s account-books, and 
 determined what works were to be set in operation during the 
 ensuing season. And yet he, like Maggie, had lost the cheerful 
 activity which characterised all his former movements, and the 
 girl perceived the change and attributed it to the disappoint- 
 ment he had experienced in her cousin’s marriage. She knew 
 what his hopes had been, and the knowledge drew her closer 
 to him, so that these two became very sympathetic and near 
 friends during the last weeks of their companionship together. 
 Not that Maggie ever told her uncle of her trouble, nor he ex- 
 
 o 
 
210 
 
 Her Lord and Master, 
 
 press what lie felt to his niece ; but whenever the day’s labour 
 left an interval of quiet, the girl was to be found by the old 
 man’s side ; walking with him hand in hand, or sitting at 
 his feet, or leaning with her head upon his shoulders ; and 
 they both felt happier and more contented when it was so. 
 Afterwards she took it as a sign of God’s good will, that she 
 had been left so sweet a legacy of love, by him who had stood 
 in the place of her own father to her. 
 
 One afternoon in May, the same day on which Lady Ethel 
 destroyed the telegram, Mr Bainbridge, to the consternation 
 of the household, was suddenly taken with a stroke of 
 paralysis — found prostrate and helpless on his study floor, 
 and unable to articulate more than the word “ Thomas ” as he 
 was carried to his bed. In this dilemma, by which both Mrs 
 Bainbridge and Miss Lloyd were overwhelmed, Maggie proved 
 the guardian angel of the family. It was she who despatched 
 a messenger post baste for medical aid, who wrote and sent 
 the telegram to Curzon Street, and then took up her station 
 at the sick man’s side, ready to interpret to her aunt each 
 feeble action by which he strove to make his wishes under- 
 stood. 
 
 The doctor came and stayed all night, during which the 
 feeble flame of life was flickering to and fro, and keeping 
 them in miserable suspense, and by the morning Mr Bain- 
 bridge was so much weaker that it was considered doubtful 
 whether he could survive to see his son again. 
 
 But he wes still alive when the carriage went to Borthwick 
 to meet the mail train, and returned to them — empty * no 
 Colonel Bainbridge having arrived by it. 
 
 His mother was almost in despair. She insisted that 
 Thomas must be ill himself, unable to quit the. house — perhaps 
 his bed ; for nothing else would have detained him from his 
 dying father ; and she was about to lose both of them at once. 
 
 It was in vain that Maggie represented to her that in such 
 a case, they also would have had a message ; and that by far 
 the likelier solution of the mystery was that her cousin and 
 Lady Ethel were away from home. Mrs Bainbridge was 
 quite certain she was to be rendered childless as well as 
 widowed, and divided between her desire to rush off to town 
 to see after her son herself, and the duty which kept her at 
 the bedside of her- husband. 
 
Why it was Sent. 
 
 211 
 
 ‘‘It is useless to attempt anything like argument with 
 your good aunt,” observed the doctor, confidentially, to 
 Maggie ; “ but if Colonel Bainbridge is to see his father again 
 alive, you must send another telegram at once.” 
 
 And so the second telegram, which was still more strongly 
 worded than the first, reached London about noon, and the 
 same evening saw its recipient on his way to Cranshaws. 
 
212 
 
 Her L?rd and Master. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXV. 
 
 !rOO LATE. 
 
 Colonel Bainbeidge alighted hurriedly from the hired vehich? 
 which had conveyed him to his fathers door, and without 
 inquiry passed at once into the dining-room. There was no 
 one there but Maggie Henderson. She was looking pale and 
 tired, for she had sat up fo ? two nights at her uncle's bedside ; 
 and as she came forward and placed her hand in Colonel Bain- 
 bridge's, he guessed at once that he had arrived too late. 
 
 “ O Cousin Thomas, I am thankful you are come ! Aunt 
 Lizzie will be so glad to see you — but it ’s all over ! '’ 
 
 His presence had no power to make her blush or tremble 
 then ; but her sad, compassionate eyes rested calmly upon his, 
 as though he had, indeed, been the brother to her which he 
 called himself. 
 
 Colonel Bainbridge broke a, way from her kindly grasp, and, 
 sinking into a chair, for a moment concealed his face from view. 
 
 “ All over ! " he muttered, hoarsely ; “ all — quite — quite 
 over ! It seems too hard — and yet it is but what I expected. 
 When did it happen, Maggie ? " 
 
 “ This morning at four o'clock,'^ she whispered. ‘‘ He went 
 so happily ; so full of faith, and hope, and love. Had you 
 been here you could never have forgotten it. Ke said he had 
 but one wish left ungratified.'’ 
 
 ‘‘ And that was " 
 
 ‘‘ To see yourself. O cousin ! why did you not come as 
 soon as you received the telegram ? " 
 
 “ I did not receive it,” he answered, brusquely ; “I was at 
 a party that night, and still asleep the following morning when 
 your second message came to hand. I started as soon as it 
 was practicable.” 
 
 ‘‘ And your servants never gave it to you on your return ? 
 How very careless of them ! If they had only known the con- 
 sequences involved in their neglect ! ” 
 
 “ It is of no use talking of it,” he said, moodily. ‘‘ How is 
 my mother, Maggie ? How does she bear all this 1 '* 
 
Too Late. 
 
 213 
 
 Oh ! she has been in despair, cousin ; and when the 
 carriage came back from Borthwick yesterday without you, 
 I thought she would have gone wild with fear. She imagined 
 something must be wrong. But since — since this morning, she 
 has been much quieter ; and when I went upstairs about half 
 an hour ago, was fast asleep upon her bed. Poor soul ! she 
 has not closed her eyes once before sir oe uncle was taken ill ; 
 and she is unused to fatigue, you know. But shall I tell her 
 you are here % ” 
 
 By no means, Maggie. Let her sleq) while she can ; and, 
 to speak the truth, I don’t feel equal to encountering her just 
 yet. I fear to read reproach for my tardiness in her eyes.*’ 
 
 0 cousin ! you will never do that ; she loves you too 
 fondly. She will feel at once that it cculd only have arisen 
 from a mistake.” 
 
 “ It is an awful shock,” he continued, presently. Your mes- 
 sage did not prepare me for so sudden a termination, Maggie.” 
 
 ‘‘Not the third one?” she inquired. 
 
 “ Was there a third one ?” he replied, indifferently. 
 
 “ Of course there was. I despatched it about three o’clock. 
 It must have reached Curzon Street before you started. The 
 first was necessarily worded with some uncertainty, but directly 
 Dr Mackenzie pronounced him to be sinking, I sent another to 
 prepare you for the worst. Did you not receive that either?” 
 
 “ No.” 
 
 “ But at what hour did you leave town, cousin ? ” 
 
 “ By the eight o’clock train.” 
 
 “ And it had not reached your house before that time ? ” 
 
 “ I do not know — I was from home,” he said, uneasily ; and 
 then, after a pause, “ the fact is, I leff Curzon Street at one 
 o’clock, and did not return there again.” 
 
 “ Oh ! ” replied Maggie, thinking the proceedings sounded 
 unusual, but ignorant what remark to make upon it. Then 
 there was the silence of a minute between them, during which 
 the clock upon the mantelpiece ticked as though it had been 
 the only live thing present. 
 
 “ Won’t you have some breakfast, Cousin Thomas ? ” she 
 inquired, timidly, as the servant appeared with the tea and 
 coffee ; “ it is quite ready now.” 
 
 “ No, thank you, my dear; I have no appetite.” 
 
 “ A cup of coffee,” she said, coaxingly ; “ you really should 
 
214 
 
 Her Lord and Master, 
 
 try to take something after your long journey. Remember 
 how much there will be for you to do and think of. Aunt 
 Lizzie will depend on you to do everything.’^ 
 
 ‘‘ Well, a cup of coffee, then,” replied Colonel Bainbridge, 
 though he made no attempt to leave the arm-chair into which 
 he had thrown himself, and approach the table. 
 
 “ He suffered no pain,” continued the girl, softly, as she took 
 up her station behind the breakfast equipage, and tried to 
 think of something that should console her cousin. “ Dr 
 Mackenzie, who has been with him from first to last, and only 
 went to lie down about an hour ago, told me himself that in 
 all his practice he had never seen a more peaceful death-bed, 
 and that thought ought to be a comfort to us, cousin.” 
 
 ‘‘ Yes ! — I am thankful to hear it !” 
 
 ‘‘ And in several conversations that dear uncle and I had 
 together, previous to his being taken ill, he told me what a 
 consolation it was to him to leave Cranshaws and — us — that 
 is, Aunt Letty and Aunt Lizzie, you know — to the care of 
 one whom he felt would look after them just in the same way 
 he should have done himself.” 
 
 ‘‘Eh? — what? — I beg your pardon!” exclaimed Colonel 
 Bainbridge, starting from a reverie. 
 
 He was evidently not listening to her; and presently 
 Maggie tried if another subject would rouse him from his 
 mood of despondency. 
 
 “ Did you observe the country as you came along, cousin ? 
 It begins to look very green and lovely.” 
 
 “Very lovely, Maggie ! ” 
 
 “But I suppose the trees are more forward with you south 
 than they are here.” 
 
 “ Yes ! I suppose so.” 
 
 His face looked so dark and so despairing as he sat there, 
 supporting it upon his hand, that the girl’s heart bled for him. 
 He must not reproach himself too much for a mere accident. 
 What could she say to recall his mind to happier thoughts ? 
 In her anxiety to comfort, she probed the wound which 
 agonised him. 
 
 “ I hope ” — she began, with some degree of hesitation — 
 for Maggie had not yet learned to speak the name so freely as 
 she should have done, — “ I hope, cousin Thomas, that you 
 left Lady Ethel quite well” 
 
Too Late. 
 
 215 
 
 But had she been prepared for the electrical effect of her 
 words, she never would have uttered them. 
 
 Colonel Bainbridge, with a violent expression (she was not 
 quite sure what it was), started from his chair and rushed 
 towards the wdndow, as though he were going right through 
 it. 
 
 For God’s sake!” he cried, vehemently, ‘‘don’t mention 
 her to me.” 
 
 At this outburst, so unexpected and apparently uncalled 
 for, Maggie turned white with apprehension. What horrible 
 tragedy could have happened in that establishment, the mis- 
 tress of which she had often been weak enough to envy 1 She 
 regarded her cousin in silent dismay. 
 
 “ You will think me a great fool,” he said, presently, passing 
 a handkerchief over his clammy brow ; “and so I am — the 
 greatest fool that was ever born— but I would rather discuss 
 any subject but that of my wife at present. And now,” 
 returning to the table, “let me have the cup of coffee you 
 promised, Maggie ; after which, as I am not to see my mother 
 yet, I will go up to my room.” 
 
 Perceiving how he had alarmed his cousin (for Maggie’s 
 hand shook as she poured out the coffee for him), he tried to 
 converse more calmly after that, and entered into several 
 details concerning his own journey and his father’s illness ; 
 but she was quite unable to imitate his affected ease. She 
 could not shake off the remembrance of that sudden ejacula- 
 tion, and the tone in which it had been uttered j it penetrated 
 even the sad subject on which they were engaged ; and full of 
 forebodings for his happiness, and dread of forthcoming 
 revelations, she sat almost in silence, until relieved by the 
 entrance of the doctor, who had been informed of Colonel 
 Bainbridge’s arrival, and on whose appearance she slipped out 
 of the room. 
 
 Dr Mackenzie was an old man, who had known the Bain- 
 bridge family for years, and his greeting to the son of the 
 house was as cordial as the circumstances under which they 
 met permitted. 
 
 “ How do you do, my dear Colonel I very glad to see you,” 
 > — with a prolonged shaking of hands, — “ though you have 
 only come in time to hear bad news.” 
 
2i6 
 
 Her Lord and Master, 
 
 I was prepared for it, doctor, and have at all events the 
 comfort of feeling that since you were here, nothing further 
 could have been done for him.” 
 
 ‘‘ You are very good to say so, my dear sir, verygood,^^ was 
 the doctor’s reply; ‘‘ and I think I may affirm, that no amount 
 of skill could have saved your father’s life. His constitution 
 received so severe a shock in the first seizure, that had he not 
 been a remarkably hale man, he could not have survived to 
 have a second, which he did yesterday afternoon. It was a 
 pity you were not here — a great pity ! ” 
 
 “ It was impossible,” said Colonel Bainbridge, brokenly. 
 
 I have been explaining the circumstances that detained me 
 to my cousin. I would have given worlds to be present.” 
 
 “ Well — well ! we must look upon the bright side of things. 
 He died easy in mind and body, and we shall be lucky if 
 our friends can say as much for us by and by — eh 1 Cran- 
 shaws is looking very pleasant, sir, just now !” 
 
 ‘‘ Very pleasant,” was the mechanical reply. 
 
 ‘‘ You will find plenty of work up here. Colonel, both for 
 hands and head. It ’s a fine estate ! I suppose you ’ll be for 
 selling out of the army now, and settling down as a county 
 gentleman, eh?” 
 
 I don’t know ; I have had no time to think about it.” 
 
 “ Ah ! I expect that is what the old gentleman intended 
 you to do, though. But perhaps you would not care to bury 
 yourself in the country just yet. Colonel I You ’ll wait till 
 you ’ve got half-a-dozen boys and girls to pull the house down 
 about your ears for you. How is her ladyship ? well, I hope ! ” 
 
 Colonel Bainbridge winced, but answered, firmly — 
 
 “ Quite well ! I thank you !” 
 
 Ah ! she ’s a beautiful creature ; it ’s not often we see the 
 like of her in these parts. And so she keeps her health, eh 1 
 Very gay up in London, I suppose?” 
 
 “Very gay!” 
 
 “Dancing all night and sleeping all day, eh? Not quite 
 the best thing to preserve good looks, though. Is it. Colonel ? ” 
 
 “ I suppose not I ” 
 
 “You must bring her ladyship here again as soon as the 
 season is over. Nothing like Scotch air for setting one up. 
 No prospect of a family yet. Colonel, eh ? ” 
 
Too Late, 
 
 217 
 
 But here the Colonel, who had been on thorns for the last 
 ten minutes, and looking round wildly for some means of 
 escape, opportunely heard the voice of Mrs Bainbridge on the 
 staircase. 
 
 My mother ! '' he said, quickly, I must go to her,” and 
 in another moment he was folded in her arms. 
 
2i8 
 
 Her Lord and Master. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVL 
 
 COLONEL BAINBEIDGE MAKES UP HIS MIND. 
 
 It was so sweet, so good to have him there, and to have him 
 there alone ; that though he came in an hour of deep distress, 
 Mrs Bainbridge felt as though half her grief were lifted off her 
 shoulders as she gazed into his face. 
 
 My son ! my dear, dear son ! my own Thomas ! ” she 
 repeated over and over again, clinging to him as the weaker 
 clings to the stronger, and pouring the story of her sorrow into 
 his sympathising ears. 
 
 “ Oh, if you had but been here, my dear ! He asked so often 
 for you. The only word he uttered upon being seized was 
 your name ; and, afterwards, I am sure the door never opened 
 but what his poor eyes turned in that direction, hoping it was 
 you.^^ 
 
 Oh, don’t ! mother, don’t ! ” he urged, implaringly. I 
 cannot bear it ! I wish to God I had come sooner ! ” And 
 then he placed her in a chair, and sat down by her side, whilst 
 she sobbed for a few minutes in her handkerchief. 
 
 ‘‘ You see, my dear,” she continued, presently, through her 
 tears, it is best that you should hear all. this. It may be 
 })ainful now, but it will be a comfort to think of hereafter. 
 Your father loved you very dearly, Thomas ; he was a good 
 father to you, and a good husband to me. We have sustained 
 a great loss in him.” 
 
 “ Heaven knows we have ! ” her son replied. 
 
 ‘‘ But we need not make it worse by unnecessary self- 
 reproach. Maggie has told me all you said to her this morn- 
 ing on the subject ; and of course your absence could not have 
 been helped. It was an accident, and nothing more.” 
 
 ‘‘ But did he think it so % That is the doubt that will haunt 
 my lifetime.” 
 
 ‘‘We must hope he did, my dear ! At all events, he knew 
 your circumstances, and how much engaged you are ; and 
 doubtless made allowances for the delay. He could never 
 have thought you would refuse to come to him.” 
 
Colonel Bainbridge makes itp his Mind, 219 
 
 I hope not. He little knew me if he did.'" 
 
 ‘‘ Oh, no ! He had perfect faith in your affection. Even 
 of late — during the last few months — since your marriage, 
 that is to say (you know, my dear, without my telling you, 
 that he was just a little disappointed at your choice) — he has 
 always expressed himself as completely satisfied with all you 
 did, or were likely to do after his decease. I think now that 
 he must sometimes have had a kind of inkling he was not 
 long for this world. O Thomas ! what are we to do with- 
 out him % "" 
 
 And Mrs Bainbridge relapsed into a natural but very dis- 
 tressing exhibition of feeling, which made her son thankful of 
 an excuse to quit her presence, for the purpose of procuring 
 the refreshment of a bath and change of linen after his night’s 
 journey. It was a melancholy meditation that he indulged 
 in as soon as he found himself alone. There he was, master 
 of Cranshaws, and the bulk of his father’s prodigious fortune 
 — the richest man, perhaps, in the army — as rich a man, cer- 
 tainly, as is, ordinarily speaking, to be found there ; yet the 
 poorest, he felt, shuddering — the poorest wretch that traversed 
 this wide earth; than whom a beggar clothed in rags, but 
 warmed by love, lived, by comparison, in affluence. 
 
 O Lady Ethel ! what a ruin you have created here ! 
 
 He threw his thoughts back to that time last year, when he 
 had first seen and become enamoured of her ; and remembered, 
 with set teeth, how that man — the one whose name she had 
 mentioned to him — had been always hovering about her, and 
 he had felt jealous of him even then. 
 
 But her treatment of himself at Temple Grange ; her altered 
 manner, warm caressing glances, and preference openly con- 
 fessed to : had it all been a falsehood, a delusive maddening 
 dream, from which he had but just awakened, to find that in 
 order to avenge herself she had cruelly made shipwreck of his 
 hopes ? 
 
 Yes ; it had been a dream, and he had wakened from it. 
 He recalled her fiaming looks upon the morning that they 
 parted, her taunting speeches and insulting words, and felt 
 that w^hat she said then w^as the truth — the woman he adored 
 had never loved him. Oh ! it was hard to bear ; harder than 
 any other trial could have been to him, for his pride was 
 great as his love, and both were sorely wounded. He had 
 
220 
 
 Her Lord and Master, 
 
 wasted all the strength of his passionate nature on this 
 woman, and she had turned and mocked him for his folly. 
 He had given up everything he possessed to her — name, and 
 wealth, and happiness ; almost the affection of his family — 
 and she had thrown them back into his face, telling him 
 openly that she had used both him and them as tools — mere 
 instruments wherewith to carve out her revenge. 
 
 The deed was as wicked, and far more cruel than that of 
 savages, who sacrifice a life to appease the supposed anger of 
 their gods ; and he did not feel the torture less because it 
 was administered by fair soft hands that seemed too delicate 
 to crush a heart, and feet too light to trample on it. 
 
 He was crushed as he sat there — unmistakably crushed — 
 body, soul, and spirit, and he did not care to deny it, even to 
 liimself. He acknowledged freely that the world, or what 
 constituted in his eyes the world, was over for him. 
 
 And it was for this woman — this false, forsworn, and evil 
 nature, who could marry whilst she despised him, and after 
 receiving all he had to give her, cast in his teeth as accusa- 
 tion what was no fault of his — that he had refused to listen to 
 the advice so affectionately tendered by the father who now 
 lay lifeless in the room next to his own ; had brought her 
 home to be a cause of misery and strife in the house which 
 had never been the scene of anything but domestic happiness 
 till then ; and finally, by her chicanery, had missed the fare- 
 well blessing, without which he now felt as though he never 
 more should know the name of peace. Would he subject 
 himself to be the occasion of her insolence again 1 Would he 
 bring his wife to Cranshaws, to wander through the apart- 
 ments which had been his parents’, and abuse their memory 
 at every turn ; place her in his father’s chair, at the head of 
 his mother’s table, only to encounter the bitter truth when- 
 ever her jeering lips chose to deliver it, that she had lowered 
 herself by marrying a tradesman’s son in order to excite the 
 jealousy of an aristocratic and more favoured lover % 
 
 No, he would perish first : and Cranshaws might go to rack 
 and ruin before he would install Lady Ethel as mistress there. 
 On one point his mind was made up — he and she would never 
 live in the same house again ! 
 
 Yet — “ how to take last leave of all he loved ! ” Oh ! the 
 golden hair, the ’wildering blue eyes, and marble skin ! Even 
 
Colonel Bainbridge makes up his Mind. 221 
 
 in tliat hour of dark despair, before he had looked upon the 
 corpse of his father, or realised that he was indeed gone from 
 them for ever, such trivialities commenced to haunt and vex 
 him, like a swarm of gnats about a wounded man. The force 
 of a great blow stuns us into silence, but it is these small 
 extraneous memories which goad the brain to madness. Yet, 
 as, an hour later. Colonel Bainbridge stood by his dead father’s 
 side, gazing through tears which he was not ashamed to brush 
 away, upon the closed eyes that would never again meet his 
 own, the sealed lips that never more could bless him, and the 
 folded hands that had responded for the last time to his 
 pressure, he felt that had Lady Ethel been twice as beautiful, 
 and he had loved her twice as much, it would still have been 
 the same, and he could not have forgiven her for wantonly 
 depriving him of the consolation of being present at his 
 parent’s death-bed. 
 
 He was a tradesman, it was true (and here the son, regard- 
 ing the figure stretched upon the bed, involuntarily drew him- 
 self up), but he had given him life, and no one who despised 
 him, or his honourable calling, should fatten on the produce 
 of his labour. 
 
 From that moment Colonel Bainbridge’s resolution was 
 fully taken. 
 
222 
 
 Her Lord and Master, 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVIL 
 
 MAGGIE, I WANT TO TELL YOU SOMETHING.’’ 
 
 The next few days passed much as such days usually do. 
 Every window of the castle was closed and blinded, and 
 chance visitors to Cranshaws, glancing up half fearfully at 
 that of which the sash was raised a couple of inches, whis- 
 pered to each other that the corpse lay there. 
 
 Colonel Bainbridge passed most of this time in his own 
 room. There was plenty of business to be transacted with 
 lawyers, bailiffs, and undertakers, which all devolved upon 
 him, and therefore his seclusion appeared neither unnecessary 
 nor strange. 
 
 At stated periods the family assembled for meals, at which 
 the conversation, if it could be called such, was stilted and 
 unnatural, and seldom turned upon any but the most indif- 
 ferent topics. Consequently, he had not so much to endure 
 from the mention of Lady Ethel's name, or his future inten- 
 tions with respect to her, as he had anticipated. 
 
 Indeed, the subject of his domestic life was seldom alluded 
 to at all. His mother, when her first emotion at meeting 
 him was spent, had spoken of his wife, and asked a few 
 particulars concerning her ; but Colonel Bainbridge answered 
 curtlj^, and the theme, not being one on which they had much 
 sympathy, was soon discarded. 
 
 No one, therefore (excepting Maggie), had a suspicion that 
 his evident depression was due to any cause but their gene- 
 ral affliction ; and only noticed it to praise his filial duty, and 
 say he bid fair to make as good a man as his father was 
 before him. 
 
 But Maggie knew better. Maggie, remembering the look 
 and gesture with which, on the morning of his arrival, he had 
 commanded her to avoid the mention of his wife to him, felt 
 there was a deeper shadow than the shadow of death resting 
 on his soul, and her own yearned to administer the sisterly 
 comfort which she almost felt competent to do. For she had 
 so far schooled herself that her cousin's presence was no 
 
Maggie, 
 
 223 
 
 longer an active pain to her. To hear his voice, and meet 
 his glance, and watch his movements, knowing, meanwhile, 
 that so to hear, and meet, and watch, was all the part she 
 evermore could bear in his existence, made her heart feel 
 heavier, perhaps, but had no power to quicken it. 
 
 The first stage of nervous suffering was past for Maggie 
 Henderson. She had prayed so much that she might be 
 enabled to regard her cousin as something altogether beyond 
 her reach ; and she had striven so hard to attain the blessing 
 which she confidently expected to receive, that it had come to 
 her; as sooner or later it does come to all who trust and 
 pray. 
 
 The fever and passion of her grief were over ; and though 
 much weakness remained, much despondency, and, at times, 
 even want of faith, yet she w^as out of danger and on the road 
 to convalescence — thanks to the Physician who never fails to 
 heal. 
 
 And even now the first token of her reward was appearing 
 in the hope that she might be the means of comforting her 
 cousin in his secret distress. But how to introduce the 
 topic after he had so violently disclaimed it, Maggie knew not ; 
 yet she watched patiently, hoping that an opportunity might 
 occur. When it did, it was himself who broached it. 
 
 The funeral was over ; the will — by w^hich, with the excep- 
 tion of a couple of thousand a year to his mother for her 
 lifetime, and trifling annuities to Miss Lloyd and Maggie 
 Henderson, Colonel Bainbridge was rendered sole possessor of 
 his late fathers fortune and estates — had been read, and the 
 castle being cleared of lawyers' clerks and undertakers' men, 
 the blinds were drawn up to admit the cheerful sunshine, the 
 windows thrown open, the rooms set in order, and the family 
 re-assembled to look each other in the face and ask what they 
 were to do next. 
 
 “ I suppose, my dear Thomas," remarked Mrs Bainbridge, 
 
 that you will not take possession of Cranshaws before the 
 summer is over ; or shall you move into it at once ? Either 
 plan will be equally convenient to me, you know. And with 
 respect to the house in Curzon Street, shall you retain that as 
 it is ? I am afraid you will find no room for the furniture 
 here, for your dear father disliked nothing so much as a half- 
 furnished room. But I ‘suppose you will require to be in 
 
224 
 
 Her Lord and Master, 
 
 London until you have settled something with regard to resign- 
 ing your profession 
 
 Such questions Colonel Bainbridge hardly knew how to 
 parry. 
 
 “ My dear mother,” he would reply, the very last thing 
 I should wish you to do would be to hurry out of Cranshaws. 
 Make it your home for as long as you like ; altogether, if it 
 pleases you to do so.” 
 
 “ But, my dear Thomas, that would be quite unreasonable 
 both on your part and mine. You have Lady Ethel to con- 
 sult in these matters, remember ; besides, dear as you are to 
 me, I should never feel comfortable whilst living in another 
 person’s house, and have long made up my mind if I should 
 be so unfortunate as to survive your father, to go and settle 
 near my own friends at Birmingham. It was there he met 
 me, my dear, and married me” (with a little sob), ‘‘and I 
 would rather die there than anywhere else — only you ’ll pro- 
 mise, when that happens, to bring me back, Thomas, and lay 
 me by his side in Mindon churchyard.” 
 
 It was after some such conversation as the above that 
 Colonel Bainbridge called his cousin abruptly to his side. 
 
 “ Come here, Maggie, I want to tell you something.” 
 
 It was a bright, beautiful morning the day after the funeral, 
 and they were sauntering on the terrace which ran round the 
 castle. 
 
 “ Well, cousin, I am all attention.” 
 
 “ My mother seems to imagine (you heard what she said 
 at breakfast just now) that I am about to throw up the army 
 at once, and settle down at Cranshaws. Now, I am not going 
 to do any such thing, and you must break it to her.” 
 
 Maggie’s face fell ; she guessed his resolution had some- 
 thing to do with Lady Ethel, and knew how great a disappoint- 
 ment it would prove to Mrs Bainbridge. 
 
 “ But, Cousin Thomas, if you don’t live here, and Aunt 
 Lizzie goes away to Birmingham, who is to look after the 
 place ? ” 
 
 “ I don’t know — the bailiff, I suppose ; he can manage it 
 much better than I could — I am totally ignorant of farming 
 matters.” 
 
 “ But the house, the garden,” said Maggie, as the tears 
 rose to her eyes, “ all the little improvements which dear 
 
Maggie. 
 
 225 
 
 uncle took such pride and pleasure in, because they were for 
 you — are they to go to rack and ruin for want of use and 
 supervision, cousin % ” 
 
 “ If they must, they must,” he answered, moodily, for I 
 am quite resolved not to live here at present.” 
 
 ‘‘ If it is only Lady Ethel’s wishes that you are considering,” 
 continued Maggie, timidly, I do not think she could object 
 to Cranshaws as a summer residence. It is very pretty in 
 the summer, you know. Cousin Thomas, and you will always 
 want to shoot over the preserves. And residing here for half 
 the year would be better than not at all.” 
 
 ‘‘It is my profession that stands in the way,” he replied, 
 evading her question as they turned into the shrubbery 
 together. “ I have no wish to leave the army, and whilst I 
 remain in it I must work. It is not improbable that I may 
 have to go out to India again.” 
 
 In her astonishment, Maggie, with clasped hands, stopped 
 short before him in the path. 
 
 “ Is it possible % oh, you cannot be in earnest % What 
 reason should there be for you, under present circumstances, 
 to return to that horrid climate ? Who would do so, excepting 
 of necessity ? ” 
 
 “ Well, / would ! ” he answered, with a short laugh. “ Any 
 place appears preferable to England in my eyes, just now.” 
 
 “ But Lady Ethel,” urged his cousin, “ would she accompany 
 you ? or could she bear to be left here, all alone % and so 
 shortly after marriage too ! You must consider her.” 
 
 “ Oh, I think she would prove amenable to reason,” replied 
 Colonel Bainbridge, with an affectation of indifference. But 
 Maggie was not to be so deceived. 
 
 “ Cousin Thomas ! ” she exclaimed, eagerly, as she laid her 
 hand upon his arm, “ I am sure that something dreadful has 
 happened between you and Lady Ethel ! oh, what is it ? 
 Do tell me the worst ! It is terrible to see you suffer thus.” 
 
 Her plain speaking, no less than her earnest manner and 
 that pathos in her tone which the French call larmes au voix^ 
 touched the overstrained chord in the man’s heart and snapped 
 it. Beceding from her, he threw himself upon a bench coiled 
 round a tree hard by, and covered his face with his hands, 
 and in another moment, the girl who stood beside him was 
 shocked to see the tears trickle through his fingers. 
 
 p 
 
226 
 
 Her Lord and Master, 
 
 ‘^0 cousin! cousin!’’ she pleaded, in a voice which 
 trembled with emotion, “ what have I said — what have I 
 done to cause this 1 Pray, pray forgive me ; but I cannot 
 understand how anything short of her death or her desertion 
 should make you feel like this.” 
 
 ‘‘ It is worse than death, Maggie.” 
 
 ‘‘ Worse than death ? ” Maggie could only repeat his words, 
 and attend their explanation. 
 
 “ Yes, a thousand times worse ! She doesn’t love me, 
 Maggie ! she never loved me ! and I have been but as a tool 
 in her hands.” 
 
 And she dared to tell you so h ” 
 
 The indignation of the heart which could have loved him 
 so truly and faithfully, had it fallen to its lot to do so, was 
 too great to check the exclamation. 
 
 She would dare everything ! she has no more fear of me, 
 than she has of breaking my heart. And, Maggie, I loved 
 her so. God is my witness how I loved her.” 
 
 And how you love her still,” replied the girl, with 
 trembling lips. Cousin Thomas, this is but a quarrel ; you 
 will make it up by and by. All will be right again between 
 you.” 
 
 Never, Maggie ; it is kind of you to say so, but it is 
 quite impossible. I have made up my mind, we shall never 
 live together again.” 
 
 ‘‘Never live together,” she echoed, in her consternation; “but 
 she is your wife. Cousin, think of what you are saying.” 
 
 “ I have thought of it,” he replied, “ bitterly and often 
 enough. Heaven knows. Would you have me go back to the 
 arms of a woman who has told me to my face that she never 
 cared for me ; that she lowered herself by marrying a 
 tradesman’s son to accomplish her own revengeful purposes ; 
 and that she despises me no less for my folly and short- 
 sightedness, than for my birth ? ” 
 
 “ She could not have intended it,” said Maggie, earnestly ; 
 “ she could never be so cruel ; she is sorry for her words now, 
 depend upon it.” 
 
 Sorry 1 ” he repeated, with a gesture of incredulity, “ you 
 have not seen her as I have, or you would not say so. And I 
 have not told you the worst yet, Maggie, though that shall 
 remain locked in my own breast.” 
 
Mao-^ie, 
 
 227 
 
 She did not know what comfort to give him then ; it seemed 
 too dark and terrible a grief to be meddled with, even by hands 
 as loving as her own. So she remained silent. 
 
 “ The long and the short of it is/’ exclaimed Colonel Bain- 
 bridge, after a moment’s pause, as he jumped up from the 
 bench and stretched himself, ‘‘ that I intend to serve Her 
 Majesty for some little time longer yet, under which circum- 
 stances, if my mother declines to live at Cranshaws, the dear 
 old place must consent to be shut up for awhile and look after 
 itself. And what I want you to do for me, Maggie, is to 
 bring my mother gradually round to the idea. As soon as I 
 am gone — I return to town to-morrow — let her know posi- 
 tively I hkve no intention of selling out of the army at 
 present, and when I have left England you may tell her the 
 reason why. It will reconcile her to my absence more than 
 anything else would do.” 
 
 But when you have left England, cousin % Surely that is 
 only a contingency.’’ 
 
 It is more than that, Maggie,” he replied, in a low voice. 
 
 I have already effected an exchange with one of my brother 
 officers, and I start to join his battery next week.” 
 
 She answered nothing, but her tears fell fast upon her 
 sombre mantle. 
 
 It could not be otherwise, my dear ; it would be im- 
 possible for me to stay in England now. I should cut my 
 throat if I did. I must have change ! Don’t cry, my dear 
 girl ! perhaps we shall tread these old paths together yet, 
 when we are both grey-headed — who knows ] ” 
 
 ‘‘ With your grandchildren running on before us,” she 
 answered, with sweet wet eyes, that tried to smile at him. 
 
 My grandchildren ! Ho — never ! — or, at least I hope so ! 
 The fewer children that enter the world the better, Maggie, 
 for there is nothing but misery on all sides for them to inherit.” 
 
 With a great hope to brighten it, dear cousin, and make 
 it bearable.” 
 
 Is there any hope extant ? ” he answered, gloomily. 
 
 Maggie, thrusting her hand down the bosom of her dress, 
 drew thence a little crucifix which Sister Margaret had given 
 her, and held it up before him. 
 
 “ There is always she said, with a bright upward look. 
 
 For you, perhaps, Maggie ; not for me.” 
 
228 
 
 Her Lord and Master. 
 
 For all of us,” she rejoined, quickly. 0 cousin, what 
 would he have said to hear you speak like that 
 
 Or to see me as I am ! I don't know, Maggie ! I have 
 felt thankful sometimes during the last few days to think 
 that he can never see or hear me speak again.” 
 
 ^‘But are you sure of that?” with an earnest, searching look. 
 
 “ Why ! do you imagine that he can ? ” 
 
 I imagine nothing,” she replied ; but I cannot believe 
 that glorified he has less powers than he possessed on earth, 
 or that if in the service of his God he ministers to the heirs of 
 salvation, the interests of those who are dear to him would not 
 be nearest to his heart. And if you believed. Cousin Thomas, 
 that he was watching with the deepest anxiety every working 
 of your spirit and action of your life, would it not make you 
 more desirous of walking worthy of a love which death had 
 had no power to overcome ? ” 
 
 “ Perhaps it might.” 
 
 “ And is not our Lord then watching you with as much 
 intensity of purpose, and a far more enduring aiffection ? O 
 cousin, you have forgotten that ! ” 
 
 He walked on silently, pulling his moustache. 
 
 ‘Hf — if” — continued the girl, “your happiness has vanished, 
 which I cannot quite believe, there still remains your duty, 
 which no sorrow authorises us to shirk. It will be harder 
 than it used to be, but not the less imperative.” 
 
 “ Maggie ! you talk like a child, or rather like a very 
 innocent woman. Your theory may be good, but you would 
 find it rather difficult to put in practice. What should you 
 know about a grief like mine ! Try it, and then prate about 
 accepting duty in the stead of love.” 
 
 “ I did not say that,” she answered, modestly ; “ but only 
 that the loss of love does not release us from the obligations 
 of our duty. And — and — I am not quite so ignorant of the 
 matter as you seem to think, cousin ! I have had my little 
 troubles as well as you, and I do not recommend what I have 
 not tried myself.” 
 
 “ Have you ? — poor dear child ! ” said Colonel Bainbridge, 
 affectionately, as it struck him for the first time that Maggie’s 
 face was not quite so round, nor her eyes so full of mirth as 
 they used to be. “ How I pity you — but it is the same with 
 every one — sorrow is the common lot.” 
 
Maggie. 229 
 
 You need not pity me,” slie answered, softly, ‘‘ for I 
 have left off pitying myself. Cousin Thomas.” 
 
 ‘‘You have got over it, I suppose, Maggie ! Well, it will 
 be a long time before I get over mine.” 
 
 “ No ! 1 have not,” she said, stopping suddenly and laying 
 her hand upon his arm ; “ I have not got over it. Cousin 
 Thomas ! I did nothing of myself : it is all His work.” 
 
 “ Whose ? ” demanded Colonel Bainbridge. But as he put 
 the question, he read the answer in her reverent gaze. 
 
 “ He did it all,” said Maggie, whilst tears of love welled 
 up into her eyes. “ He made me see that sorrow borne with 
 Him is better than happiness without Him ; and that if we 
 would be numbered amongst His servants, we must bear the 
 mark upon our foreheads, of His blood-stained Cross — the 
 baptism of woe. We must all pass through it. Cousin, 
 perhaps He is just calling you to yours ; be true — don’t 
 shrink from it ; and, however events turn out, they must 
 come right in the end. I know it from experience 1 ” 
 
 She looked inspired, as her eyes eagerly sought hi^ for an 
 answer to her words ; but none came. 
 
 “ Your advice is very good advice, my child,” said Colonel 
 Bainbridge, in a tone of voice which made her relax her 
 grasp upon him, with a sigh ; “ but it comes a little too late. 
 My lot is fixed, Maggie, and in another fortnight I hope to 
 be miles away from England.” 
 
 And then they fell to discussing less important matters, and 
 Maggie had no further opportunity of speaking to her cousin 
 on the subject of his wife. 
 
230 
 
 Her Lord and Master. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVIIL 
 
 IS IT TIME YET ? 
 
 Well, I must say I am disappointed in your cousin Thomas! 
 very much disappointed ! said Miss Lloyd, shaking her 
 head in a methodical manner. It was about a fortnight after 
 the conversation detailed in my last chapter, and she was 
 sitting with Maggie Henderson in the library at Cranshaws. 
 
 Colonel Bainbridge was, as he had anticipated, on the sea, 
 and hundreds of miles away from his native land ; and the 
 unexpected news of his departure, although accompanied by 
 every expression of filial love and gratitude towards herself, 
 had descended on his mother s heart, still quivering beneath 
 the effects of her recent affliction, as a second and almost 
 severer blow. 
 
 She had filled the house with lamentations over her loss, 
 wondering why her poor husband need have toiled half his 
 life to lay up wealth if it were to bestow no greater benefit 
 than this on his survivors ; and why Thomas could not have 
 followed his father’s wishes, by selling out of the army as he 
 was desired to do, or should ever have married if he intended 
 to desert his young wife three months after the wedding- 
 day. 
 
 The affectionate letter that she had received from Colonel 
 Bainbridge, and in which, whilst prophesying (for her sake) 
 a speedy return to England, he assured her that everything 
 that was necessary to be done with respect to her money he 
 had placed in the hands of one far more competent to con- 
 duct it than himself, and begged her to use Cranshaws as 
 though it still belonged to her, during the term of his absence, 
 had no effect in stemming the flow of her regret, nor her 
 indignation at his leaving Lady Ethel. In short, so much 
 disposed was she to cast all the blame upon the shoulders of 
 her son, that Maggie, taking advantage of his permission, 
 partially enlightened her aunt as to the reason of his de- 
 parture ; and the explanation which had taken place that 
 jnorning, although it had no power to comfort Mrs Bainbridge, 
 
Is it Time Yet"? 
 
 231 
 
 had, at least, turned the torrent of her displeasure in another 
 direction. 
 
 And it was in commenting upon this subject (after having 
 received a few extra particulars concerning it, from the mouth 
 of Maggie Henderson), that Miss Lloyd gave vent to the ex- 
 clamation with which this chapter opens, and expressed her- 
 self very much disappointed in Colonel Bainbridge. 
 
 “ It is not so much his fault as hers/’ said Maggie, warmly, 
 for she felt hurt that every one should be in league against 
 her cousin. ‘‘I was sure she did not love him when they 
 were down here together. Oh ! what a foolish thing it is for 
 people to marry in such a hurry.” 
 
 He was blinded,” replied her aunt. If he had not been, 
 lie would have thought twice of his dear father’s proposal to 
 him ! Ah ! Maggie ! he would have had a different kind of 
 wife in you ! ” 
 
 Maggie blushed, but only to hear herself praised. 
 
 Perhaps so ; yet it does not follow he would have had a 
 better one.” 
 
 ^^My dear ! but you would always have loved him !” 
 
 I hope so, Aunt Letty ; but it is impossible to tell. You 
 see I used to think so very much of him, and it has struck 
 me more than once lately, that on a nearer view he might not 
 have come up to my expectations.” 
 
 ‘‘What used you to think of him, Maggie P' 
 
 “ Oh ! at one time — about a year ago, you know. Aunt 
 Letty — I really thought there was no one in the world to 
 compare with Cousin Thomas. He seemed so brave, so 
 honourable, so wise ; I believe I would have trusted my very 
 soul in his hands in those days.” 
 
 “And you would not trust it nowP* 
 
 The girl shook her head. 
 
 “Good, he is — that I am sure of; it would be strange if, 
 coming of such a father and such a mother, he could be other- 
 wise than good ; and honour is involved in goodness. But is 
 he brave or wise, Aunt Letty ? Is it bravery to run away 
 directly he is attacked by disappointment % or wisdom to leave 
 his young, beautiful wife alone, without even the safeguard of 
 her love for him? to say nothing of his poor mother, who 
 needs his help so much just now! I could hardly have 
 believed it of him !” 
 
232 
 
 Her Lord and Master, 
 
 Then you have quite altered your opinion with respect to 
 him, Maggie?^’ 
 
 “No! I don t think that so much as that my opinion is 
 altered with respect to myself. I was not competent to pass 
 judgment on my cousin. He remains the same as he was 
 then ; but I can see more clearly. He is a dear, good fellow ; 
 he will always be very dear to me ; but he is an ordinary 
 man, neither better nor worse than the generality of his 
 fellows.’^ 
 
 “But don’t you think that must be the end of most 
 inordinate affections, Maggie ? that the scales falling from our 
 eyes, we perceive the glitter which we took for gold is only 
 the reflection of our own love — partly of our own wishes — and 
 that our idols are but clay % ” 
 
 “I daresay it is, Aunt Let by ; but it must be a dreadful 
 thing to wake up and find one’s self bound to that which is not 
 what we took it for. I have suffered, as you know, but ’tis 
 nearly over now ; and I have been so thankful lately to feel 
 that I have taken on myself no other ties than those which 
 nature gave me.” 
 
 “Why, my darling?” demanded Miss Lloyd. 
 
 “ That I may devote the remainder of my life to those for 
 whom He laid down His. O Aunt Letty 1 ” (with clasped 
 hands and an appealing face;) “ you don’t know how much I 
 have thought and dreamt of it lately. You said, you remem- 
 ber, on the day that we first saw Sister Margaret, that if the 
 time ever came when I might conscientiously enter on that 
 vocation, you would not hold me back from it 1 And has not 
 the time come now?” 
 
 “Do you think it has, dear Maggie?’^ said Miss Lloyd, 
 gravely. 
 
 “ Why should I not. Aunt Letty ? Uncle is gone ; I can 
 be of no further use to him ; Cranshaws is to be vacated, and 
 Aunt Lizzie goes to her own friends at Birmingham. And 
 you, my own sweet aunt, you love Him far too much yourself 
 to grudge Him the service of His meanest creature.” 
 
 At that moment their conversation was interrupted by the 
 entrance of Mrs Bainbridge. 
 
 “I could not think where you had got to, Maggie,” she 
 said, in a complaining voice. “ They say that old Hetty is 
 worrying to see me, and that Mr Dobson has come over from 
 
Is it Time Yet'i 
 
 233 
 
 Bortliwick with an authority from your cousin to look over 
 the stables, and really I have not the heart to speak to them. 
 I wish you would go and see what it is all about. I am 
 sure/* sinking into a chair as she spoke, if people only knew 
 what an exertion it is to me to give my attention to business, 
 they would be a little more merciful. It all falls upon me ; 
 there is no one to do it but myself.*’ 
 
 There is always Maggie,” said her sister, pointedly. 
 
 Ah ! true ! and she is the greatest comfort a woman ever 
 had. Well, go, my dear, and get it over quickly;” and as 
 her niece left the room, she ejaculated, audibly, “ God bless 
 her ! I don’t know what we should do without her ! ** 
 
 In a few minutes Maggie re-appeared, having executed her 
 commissions satisfactorily, and then Mrs Bainbridge asked her 
 if she would take a turn in the grounds with her. 
 
 It seems quite an age since I have been round the flower- 
 garden, and I think it would do me good. Thank you, my 
 dear,” as Maggie readily acquiesced in the proposal ; you 
 are just like a daughter to me : you are all I have left me 
 in the world. I will be ready to accompany you in five 
 minutes.** 
 
 As Mrs Bainbridge quitted the library to put on her walk- 
 ing attire. Miss Lloyd looked Maggie Henderson in the face. 
 Well, my dear, do you think the time has come yet ?” 
 
 “ No, aunt,” replied the girl, meekly, but there was a shade 
 of sadness on her countenance as she spoke. 
 
 ‘‘ You are disappointed, darling,” said Miss Lloyd, affection- 
 ately : “ but were you to follow your inclinations in opposition 
 to your duty, you would be more so. Bemember what you 
 preached to your cousin, and don’t fall short in your own 
 practice. The path of duty is generally straight before us ; 
 but we are too fond, even when most in earnest, of looking 
 for it in the far distance, or in some almost impracticable 
 by-way. It is so hard to convince beginners that grace is not 
 always where most sensibly felt.” 
 
 Maggie did not ansv/er. She was standing by the window 
 with something very like a tear in her eye ; it was so difiicult 
 to believe that any one could go wrong in a hearty and sincere 
 effort to please his Master. 
 
 *• You think that Aunt Lizzie won’t want you at Birming- 
 ham, Maggie,” continued Miss Lloyd ; that in a strange 
 
234 
 
 Her Lord and Master. 
 
 house and place she will not miss her husband's voice and her 
 son’s kind attentions so much as if she stayed at Cranshaws, 
 but I think you are mistaken. I think, were you also to pro- 
 pose to leave her now, that she would feel as though she were 
 bereft of all for whom she cared at once. But you are your 
 own mistress, my love, and must therefore take my counsel 
 for just as much as it is worth.” 
 
 ‘‘ I am not my own mistress, aunt,” replied the girl, and 
 I never wish to be. I see that you are right ; the time has 
 not yet come.” 
 
 And suppose it never comes, Maggie ? ” 
 
 Then I must be content.” 
 
 Content to do the will of Him that formed you ! Were 
 it to live crippled in a garret for the rest of your life, child, 
 it would come to the same thing in the end. Our love to 
 Him is not shown forth in what we do, so much as in what 
 we suifer ! ” 
 
 “ Suffer with Him and reign with Him,” responded Maggie, 
 smiling. 
 
 Suffer with Him for love of Him, without calculating on 
 the reigning. The first is too much honour for such poor 
 weak wretches as ourselves. Suffer with Him in Birmingham, 
 my child ! His heart know^s yours, and beats to the same 
 measure ; and He will do your work in London (or wherever 
 in the future it may lie) until you are freed by His will to 
 take it from His hands.” 
 
 O aunt, you are such a blessing to me,” cried the girl, 
 enthusiastically ; you seem to put everything in the right 
 light.” 
 
 ‘‘Hot more a blessing than you are to me, my darling. I 
 have often prayed, Maggie, that I might be enabled to counsel 
 you aright in this particular ; for it is very selfish pleading, 
 iny dear 1 I can’t yet think what home would look like to 
 me without you.” 
 
 “You shall never see it so, dear aunt, wuthcut j^our free 
 consent. I don’t think I could go myself, unless you pro- 
 mised to go with me.” 
 
 Miss Lloyd laughed at the idea, and shaking off a few 
 bright tears that had gathered on her eyelashes, released 
 Maggie from an affectionate embrace, just as the door opened 
 to admit Mrs Bainbridge. 
 
The Widowed Bride. 
 
 235 
 
 CHAPTEH XXXIX. 
 
 THE WIDOWED BRIDE. 
 
 Lady Ethel Bainbridge did not feel very comfortable after 
 her husband had left her, on the morning of their quarrel. 
 There was a cold, sickening, palpitating sensation about the 
 region of her heart, which bore a strong likeness to remorse- 
 ful fear, though she would not have acknowledged the 
 feeling. 
 
 She knew that she had gone too far — much further than she 
 wished or intended; and believed the probable consequence 
 of her gratuitous information would be an entire separation 
 between herself and the Marquis de Lacarras; but, strange to 
 say, notwithstanding the interest she still professed to take 
 in that gentleman and his proceedings, the prospect of never 
 seeing him again did not give her nearly so much uneasiness, 
 as the idea that Colonel Bainbridge would revert to what she 
 had told him, and reproach her with it. Surely, if she pro- 
 mised never to speak to Victor again, it ought to appease his 
 anger. 
 
 “ Men are always so unreasonable,’^ she thought to herself, as 
 she lay coiled up in her luxurious bed, with rather an anxious 
 face pressing the lace-trimmed pillows ; “so jealous, and ex- 
 acting, and fussy ; it is only necessary to mention the name 
 of another man to have them looking drawn daggers at you 
 at once. As if a woman could be expected never to speak to 
 any one but her husband. Such nonsense ! Or to marry her 
 
 first love — particularly when she ’s not bad- looking. Does 
 
 the man imagine no one thinks me pretty but himself % 
 Absurd ! And then to stare just as though he were going to 
 eat me ! Scottish manners, I suppose. And, after all, what 
 did I say that was so very atrocious ? ” 
 
 But here, a faithful memory bringing two or three expres- 
 sive truths back to Lady Ethel’s mind, caused her to turn 
 restlessly upon her pillow, w^hilst the uneasy sensation at her 
 heart proceeded with redoubled violence. 
 
 Pooh ! what folly it was to think twice about the matter ; 
 
Her Lord and Master, 
 
 236 
 
 she Lad much better go to sleep again, and it would be all 
 right by the evening. 
 
 But she could not sleep ; she had been too thoroughly 
 roused ; and after ineffectually lying with closed eyes for a 
 longer time than was agreeable to her, Lady Ethel vacated 
 her couch and rang for Louise to assist her in dressing. 
 
 When she descended to the dining-room, it seemed very 
 bare and empty ; breakfast was laid upon the table, but had 
 not been touched ; and three unopened letters addressed to 
 her husband, and which in the anguish of his spirit he had 
 overlooked, were placed beside his plate. 
 
 Yet he did not appear. 
 
 You had better tell your master that breakfast is ready,” 
 said Lady Ethel to the servant in waiting. 
 
 The Colonel has gone out, my lady,” was the reply. He 
 left the house about a couple of hours ago.” 
 
 Oh ! very well ! ” in a querulous, discontented voice ; 
 remove the covers then.” 
 
 And the covers being removed, disclosed their respective 
 dishes in precisely the same condition in which they re- 
 covered them when the meal was concluded, her ladyship 
 attributing her want of appetite to the fatigue she had under- 
 gone the night before. 
 
 A weary afternoon upon the sofa ; then a solitary drive 
 round the park, which she accomplished mostly with closed 
 eyes, and Lady Ethel returned to Curzon Street in time for 
 an eight o’clock dinner. 
 
 For this meal she waited rather more than half-an-hour 
 before she rung the bell to inquire if anything had yet been 
 seen of Colonel Bainbridge ; but the only answer she received 
 was, that he had not re-entered the house. 
 
 ‘‘ Where is Bussell % ” she demanded, sharply, alluding to 
 her husband's valet. 
 
 ‘‘ He is gone to the King’s Cross station, my lady, with my 
 master’s portmanteau and hat-box. He started rather better 
 than an hour ago. I believe he expected to meet the Colonel 
 there.” 
 
 Very good ! ” replied his mistress, flushing, nevertheless, 
 with disappointment, “ I shall not wait any longer. Let the 
 dinner be served.” 
 
 The dinner did not prove a much greater success than the 
 
The Widowed Bride, 
 
 237 
 
 breakfast had been ; and, after lingering in the drawing-room 
 till nearly midnight, Lady Ethel betook herself to bed in a 
 highly excited and indignant frame of mind. She had for- 
 gotten her fears of meeting Colonel Bainbridge again by that 
 time, and only felt greatly injured by the slight put upon 
 her. 
 
 ^‘The idea of his starting for Scotland in that manner, 
 without even telling her his intentions, or the train by which 
 he meant to travel ; leaving her in perfect ignorance of his 
 plans, and making her a laughing-stock to her own servants. 
 He ought to be ashamed of himself ; he would have no 
 further need to talk about good or bad behaviour, after the 
 rudeness with which he had treated her. But that was just 
 what came of marrying a bear ; it was not likely that any one 
 reared in an out-of-the-way country hole like Cranshaws, 
 would know the meaning of the word ‘ politeness.^ It was 
 her own fault ; she had brought it all on her own head ; she 
 had no one to thank but herself. She was the most miser- 
 able, desolate, insulted woman in existence ! ” 
 
 And here Lady Ethel shed a passing shower of hot, smart- 
 ing tears, which she brushed away proudly, calling herself a 
 natural and an idiot to care two straws if the man went and 
 hung himself, or no. If he left her, and in peace, so much 
 the better. Thank Heaven, she was not entirely destitute of 
 friends, and would manage to enjoy life as well without him 
 as with him, perhaps better — who knew % Vive la bagatelle ! 
 And so, when the next day, and the day succeeding, and the 
 day after that, came and went, without bringing her a letter 
 from her husband — not one line of entreaty, reproach, or ex- 
 planation — Lady EthePs spirits rose, apparently, to the very 
 highest pitch. Wherever she could go alone, she showed her- 
 self in public, laughing, talking, and flirting, just as the fancy 
 took her, and but too often, to the disgust of Lady Clevedon, 
 with the Marquis de Lacarras in her train. 
 
 The sober portion of the fashionable world shook their 
 heads, and began to ask each other where was Colonel Bain- 
 bridge ? but Lady Ethel lightly disposed of all inquiries, by 
 the announcement of her father-in-law’s illness, and her de- 
 termination to take a little more out of the season, before she 
 retired into crape and bombazine. 
 
 The Countess of Clevedon appeared to regard the matter 
 
238 
 
 Her Lord and Master, 
 
 in a far more serious ligtt, and it was edifying to Lear tLe 
 prudent cautions sLe thought fit to administer to her volatile 
 step-daughter at this juncture, and the sudden and deep 
 interest she evinced for the feelings of Colonel Bainbridge. 
 
 really do think, my dear Ethel,” she said, in a most 
 maternal manner, that you should keep at home during this 
 melancholy period of uncertainty respecting old Mr BaUn- 
 bridge’s health. Why, he may be lying dead at this very 
 moment, and just consider what your dear husband’s feelings 
 would be, were he to return home to-night with the mournful 
 tidings, and find you dancing at Lady Taunton’s ball. It 
 does not look well, indeed it does not.” 
 
 ‘‘ I do not care one straw about looks, Gertrude ; you are 
 so over prudent that you see these things in too serious a 
 light. Please to remember that I am a married woman, and 
 supposed to be competent to judge for myself. And as for 
 my father-in-law being dead, he is much more likely eating a 
 hearty dinner ; only he ’s so selfish, he won’t let Colonel 
 Bainbridge return to London.” 
 
 Though at this moment, as I have related, old Mr Bain- 
 bridge was actually gone, and in the face of the announce- 
 ment of his death, which appeared in the Times shortly after- 
 wards, Lady Ethel, unable longer to deny the truth, was 
 compelled in decency to remain in-doors until suitable mourn- 
 ing had been provided for her. 
 
 But still she received no intimation that her husband 
 thought of or regretted the misunderstanding that had arisen 
 between them ; and in spite of her affected gaiety, her heart 
 was daily becoming heavier beneath the influence of a sup- 
 pressed longing to see him again, and a growing fear that her 
 conduct might produce more serious consequences than she 
 had anticipated. 
 
 It was but a few days after her re-appearance in society, 
 that, as she was reclining, a most fashionable mass of bugles 
 and black crape, upon the cushions of her open carriage, the 
 block which usually takes place in the Bow every afternoon 
 during the season, brought her to a standstill alongside of 
 Lady Clevedon. 
 
 ‘‘ Well, my dear ; so you have got your husband back again. 
 I congratulate you,” exclaimed that lady, who, with the baby 
 earl, got up in a manner regardless of expense, by her side, 
 
The Widowed Bride, 
 
 239 
 
 and more than a suspicion of rouge on her cheeks, was at- 
 tracting, as she desired, universal attention. 
 
 Lady Ethels heart gave a rapid bound, but no one would 
 have guessed it from her manner. 
 
 Where did you see him % she demanded, as though she 
 had just parted from him herself. 
 
 Down by the Horse Guards, about an hour ago. I 
 stopped the carriage to speak to him. You find him a little 
 altered, do you not I thought him looking remarkably 
 dark and thin. You should have persuaded him to drive with 
 you. The air would do him good.^’ 
 
 Colonel Bainbridge doesn’t like the Bow,” murmured 
 Lady Ethel, evasively. 
 
 “ Few men do — married men, that is to say. I wonder 
 when we shall be able to move. Have you seen Victor to- 
 day 1 ” with a searching glance. 
 
 He looked in for half-an-hour after breakfast.” 
 
 “ Ah ! very sociable and friendly, but not always so safe. 
 He’ll have to give up some of those free and easy little 
 habits, my dear, now that your lord and master has returned. 
 Well, here v/e are actually making progress at last. Good- 
 bye. I shall look in upon you in the course of a day or two,” 
 and the next moment, to Lady Ethel’s infinite relief, the 
 carriages were separated. 
 
 He had come back then ; was in London, most likely in 
 Curzon Street at that very time ; and sick with impatience to 
 meet him again, and have an explanation regarding her 
 conduct and his own, as soon as she was satisfied that her 
 step-mother was no longer witness to her proceedings, Lady 
 Ethel pulled the check-string and gave the order to be driven 
 home at once. 
 
 Arrived at Curzon Street, she had hardly descended the 
 steps of her carriage before she put the eager inquiry, Any 
 one called 'I ” to the servant who received her, and an answer 
 . in the negative made her spirits sink to zero. 
 
 “ He was trying her too far,” she said, indignantly, to her- 
 self, as, without waiting for the assistance of Louise, she tore 
 off bonnet and mantle, and cast them impetuously upon the 
 bed. “ It was all very well for a man to show he had some 
 pride — she knew that she was esteemed rather proud herself — 
 but when it came,” pulling a glove off inside out, and flinging 
 
240 
 
 Her Lord and Master, 
 
 it to the other end of the room, when it came to treating 
 her with utter contempt — walking about the place openly, 
 and speaking to her friends, before he had even advised her 
 of his return,’^ here flew the second glove after its fellow, 
 
 she would let him know pretty plainly that she was not 
 going to stand such behaviour/’ And, sitting down upon the 
 strength of it. Lady Ethel fanned her heated face, while she 
 impatiently tapped the carpet with her foot. 
 
 But, notwithstanding her ire, she took care to make a most 
 becoming toilet for that day’s dinner; and to issue an im- 
 mediate command that she was at home ” to no one for the 
 afternoon or evening. 
 
 Could Colonel Bainbridge have read her wilful spirit and 
 appeared to take advantage of it, he might have sealed his 
 happiness from that hour ; but there was no angel near to 
 presage his good fortune to him. The only angel that sat 
 brooding on his heart that night, was the prophet of sorrow 
 amounting to despair. 
 
 When the dinner had been served, and cleared away again. 
 Lady Ethel’s excitement vanished with it, and she lay on a 
 sofa in her drawing-room, listening with strained ears to every 
 cab- wheel that rattled in the street, to every footfall that 
 sounded on the pavement, and trying to cheat herself out of 
 the knowledge that time was passing rapidly away, and he 
 had not yet come home. 
 
 At length, it was nearly ten o’clock, and the last postman 
 commenced to give his double knocks all up the street. As 
 he stopped at their door. Lady Ethel thought little of it, for 
 her correspondence was, like that of most ladies, voluminous ; 
 but when the servant, bringing up the tea-tray, handed her a 
 letter in her husband’s writing, all her demeanour changed. 
 ‘‘ He was not coming then — he passed a night in town and 
 not at his own house — he chose to write instead of speaking to 
 her — well,” with a heaving breast and something which felt 
 very uncomfortable just at the top of her throat, ‘‘ we shall see, 
 Colonel Bainbridge, which loses the most by that proceeding.” 
 
 “No, I don’t want any tea ; you can take it away,” she 
 exclaimed, with such uncalled-for energy, to the servant in 
 waiting, that he beat a hasty retreat again, and she was left 
 alone with her unwelcome messenger. The door had scarcely 
 closed, before she had torn open and devoured it. 
 
Two Letters. 
 
 241 
 
 CHAPTEK XL. 
 
 TWO LETTERS. 
 
 P)UT, as she did so, standing tremblingly beneath the gaslight, 
 her cheek paled and paled until it was as white as the flowing 
 robes she wore. 
 
 “ How am I to address you (so the letter ran) after the 
 bitter truths with which you have acquainted me ? You know 
 by this time that my father is dead ; that, thanks to you, he 
 died without the small consolation of seeing me again ; but 
 for which, now, I feel almost thankful. It would have been 
 too hard, perhaps, for me to stand face to face with him and 
 death, and to conceal what all the world must soon guess — 
 that you have destroyed my happiness. 
 
 ‘‘ I have no intention of reproaching you. I ascribe the 
 error to your artificial rearing, and the little sanctity with which, 
 in these days, marriage is invested, more than to yourself ; but 
 you must forgive me if, under the circumstances, I find it 
 impossible to live with you again. Could you have loved me, 
 if only with a friend^s affection, I would have laboured to 
 procure your happiness to my life’s end ; but my spirit rebels 
 against being further subjected to the avowal of your scorn. 
 I have thought it better, therefore, both for yourself and me, 
 that we should not meet again, and, with that intention, 
 have made arrangements for joining a battery of artillery in 
 India. 
 
 ‘‘ I start to-morrow ; and, if fortunate, may never return to 
 provoke unfavourable comparisons in your mind again. But 
 do not imagine I have forgotten what I owe to you, or neglected 
 to make arrangements for your comfort in my absence. There 
 is no rival in my thoughts of you, nor will there ever be. 
 
 Cranshaws is ours, as you will surmise, and if at any time 
 you have a fancy to spend a few weeks there, you have but to 
 Avrite to the steward, and give orders that it is prepared for 
 your reception. But, as a residence, you will prefer the house 
 in Curzon Street ; and the management of your income (which 
 will be the same as it is now) I have placed in the hands of 
 
 Q 
 
242 
 
 Her Lord and Master. 
 
 my solicitors, who have advices from me to give you all the 
 assistance in their power. 
 
 ‘‘ If, in my hurry, and the confused state of my mind, I have 
 overlooked anything which is necessary to your well-being, 
 you need but apply to those gentlemen in order to procure it. 
 
 I met your step-mother to-day and spoke to her ; and, 
 fearful of the gossip that is certain to arise from my sudden 
 departure, I have written for your sake to tell her that I am 
 unexpectedly ordered back to service in India, and, not having 
 yet made up my mind to resign the army, we have decided on 
 a brief separation. Whether to carry out or deny my pious 
 fraud, I leave to yourself. I had not the courage to confess 
 the truth. And now I must close this ; for I dare not trust 
 myself to speak to you of what I have lost in losing the con- 
 viction that you loved me. You married me (I had it from 
 your own lips) for your convenience ; and my fatal money 
 was the means of bringing down this curse upon me. 
 
 Well, then, take my money. I shall never bear the sight 
 nor touch of it again ; and thank me for removing myself out 
 of your presence ! However unwillingly, I could never prove 
 anything but a shame and a reproach to you. 
 
 “ Thomas Bainbeidge.” 
 
 So the letter ended. She stood with it in her hand, shaking 
 — shaking like an aspen-leaf — feeling as though she should' 
 fail upon the ground, and yet too proud to cry, even though 
 she was alone. But an hour later she was stiU standing there 
 — still gazing at the letter in her hand — still slowly reading 
 it over and over again, and trying to comprehend all the 
 consequences that it involved ; to extract all the supposed 
 insult that it contained, and to fortify her pride by the con- 
 viction that it had been penned with the hope of making her 
 suffer in return for the suffering she had entailed upon him ; 
 of giving her back indifference for indifference, scorn for scorn, 
 and slight for slight. And it was this self-deception that for 
 a while sustained ,her. Woman-like — because the man had 
 felt so keenly in the construction of those sentences, that he 
 had not dared to trust himself to use one affectionate expres- 
 sion — she judged that they had emanated from a spirit heart- 
 lessly cold and severe. She had no power to interpret the 
 proud, despairing tone which breathed in every word ; which 
 
Two Letters, 
 
 243 
 
 forbid bis making any fresh appeals to a love which he did not 
 believe existed for him ; which betrayed that, although mortally 
 wounded by her cruelty, he was resolved to die and make no 
 sign. 
 
 She only searched eagerly, from one sheet to another, for 
 the familiar forms in which he had been wont to tell her he 
 adored her ; and, disappointed at failing to find them, assumed, 
 or chose to pretend that she assumed, that her husband had 
 never really cared for her. 
 
 No more than I have cared for him,’’ she exclaimed, as 
 ashy pale she started from her reverie, and tearing the paper 
 into a dozen pieces, scattered them upon the floor. ‘^So much 
 for your letter. Colonel Bainbridge. You hope, perhaps, that 
 I shall not enjoy my life so much without the protection of 
 your presence. You will live to find yourself wonderfully 
 mistaken.” And she was about to quit the room. 
 
 But as she stood upon the threshold, she turned her head, 
 and two weary eyes rested lingeringly upon the morsels of 
 paper cast upon the ground. 
 
 Was it advisable to leave them there, for any servant who 
 ■was curious to place together in their original position, and 
 peruse ? The credit of her name was involved in such an 
 accident. So, slowly retracing her steps, Lady Ethel gathered 
 up the buttering fragments and conve^^ed them to her room. 
 And when Louise had left her to herself, she drew out needle 
 and thread, and carefully stitched them all together again. 
 
 It would be as well, she thought, to preserve a written 
 record of the man’s barbarity. 
 
 Could she have read a hurried scrawl from him, which 
 about the same time reached the hands of Margaret Hender- 
 son, Lady Ethel would surely have altered, if not her whole 
 opinion, at least that final substantive. 
 
 “ I write to you on the eve of my departure,” it com- 
 menced, and in great distress of mind, so pray forgive all 
 but the intention with which these words are written. Maggie, 
 at this moment, when there is no possibility of changing, I 
 am haunted by a miserable doubt whether, in deciding to leave 
 England, I have acted either wisely or well. To live again 
 with her under present circumstances, appears impossible to 
 me ; but perhaps I ought to have sacrificed my own feelings, 
 in order to afford her the protection of the love which she 
 
244 
 
 Her Lord and Master, 
 
 has trampled under foot. She is so young, so beautiful, and 
 so admired ! If any harm comes to her, I shall never for- 
 give myself. Dear Maggie ! my sister more than my cousin, 
 I entreat you, by the memory of the affection of our child- 
 hood, to befriend my darling, should it ever be in your power 
 to do so. She appeared to like you. I think you are the 
 only person in our family she was ever intimate with ; and, 
 though it seems improbable, a dread oppresses me that the 
 day may dawn when she will look round for a woman-friend 
 and find none. Should she be sick or in trouble (though I 
 pray God to protect her from every ill), and express the least 
 desire for your presence, I depend on you to go to her. This 
 is my last charge, Maggie, and should it be the last I ever 
 make, I ohall be a happier man than I am now. Cheer up 
 my mother by every means in your power 5 and be, as you 
 have always been, the good angel of our household. I have 
 no sweeter memory to carry into exile than that of the afifec- 
 tionate solicitude which in your person is associated with every 
 incident of my life, and every individual of my family.’’ 
 
 This letter, scribbled during the last hour that Colonel 
 Bainbridge spent in England, was marked private j ” but 
 Maggie had no secrets from Aunt Letty. 
 
 ‘‘ What do you think of it 'I ” inquired Miss Lloyd, as she 
 returned the epistle to her niece. 
 
 It is much more than I deserve,” said Maggie, with glisten- 
 ing eyes. 
 
 ‘‘We won’t argue about that, my dear, and it was not what 
 I meant. What do you think of the prospect of new work 
 carved out for you ? Ah, Maggie ! and you were afraid that 
 you would be so idle ! ” 
 
 “It is scarcely a prospect. Auntie.” 
 
 “ My dear,” said Miss Lloyd, seriously, “ it is more than 
 enough for prayer to turn into a certainty ; and something 
 tells me it will come to pass. Lady Ethel is very wilful, 
 Maggie ; but she is not utterly heartless. It will be a grand 
 thing to bring those two together again ! ” 
 
 “ Oh ! if one but could ! ” exclaimed the girl, clasping her 
 hands ; “it would make him so happy.” 
 
 “And half repay you for the past, my child.” 
 
 “ Half, Aunt Letty ? It would be full measure ; pressed 
 down and running over,” replied Maggie Henderson. 
 
open War. 
 
 245 
 
 CHAPTER XLL 
 
 OPEN WAR. 
 
 When Lady Ethel rose from her bed upon the following 
 morning, she was quite convinced that she had been much 
 ill-treated by her husband, and resolved to let the world see 
 his absence had no power to affect her happiness, to which 
 intent, it being the day on which she usually received her 
 friends, she attired herself with the greatest care (for she knew 
 a woman’s dress is taken as index of her mind), and was in 
 her drawing-room, lovely, languid, and complacent-looking 
 as ever, ready to receive the first visitor who arrived. 
 
 The first was Lady Clevedon, who, red-hot from the receipt 
 of Colonel Bainbridge’s letter, appeared full thirty minutes 
 before the hour of reception. 
 
 My dear Ethel,” she exclaimed, I have come early on 
 purpose that I might speak to you alone. What is this ex- 
 traordinary freak on the part of your husband ? Is he mad, 
 or have you quarrelled with each other ] We shall have all 
 London ringing with the scandal before another day is over.” 
 
 What scandal % ” demanded Lady Ethel. 
 
 My dear, you know what I mean as well as I do. Why, 
 Colonel Bainbridge running away from you in this manner 
 before you have been married four months. What on earth 
 is the reason of it ? ” 
 
 I understood Colonel Bainbridge to say that he had in- 
 formed you, Gertrude.” 
 
 ‘‘ He wrote me a few lines to say he was ordered at once 
 upon foreign service ; but I want to know why he went. He 
 has money enough to buy up half the regiments in England. 
 Why did he not sell out of the army when you first married 
 him ? ” 
 
 ‘‘ I should think that was his own business. A man may 
 surely be allowed to judge for himself in such a matter.” 
 
 But to leave you here alone so soon after marriage, and 
 in the height of the season ; I think it is perfectly improper ; 
 
246 
 
 Her Lord and Master, 
 
 and if your poor dear father had been alive, Colonel Bainbridge 
 would not have dared treat you in so nonchalant a manner/^ 
 Lady Ethel flushed. 
 
 Dared^ Gertrude ! what daring is there in the matter 1 
 One would imagine he had gone without consulting me.’^ 
 
 You should not have let him go ; you should have per- 
 suaded him to stay at home,” said Lady Clevedon, hotly, for 
 she was by no means pleased to see the way paved so com- 
 pletely for the attentions of the Marquis de Lacarras. 
 
 That is a subject for argument,” replied her step-daughter, 
 as she played with a fan. 
 
 No one will believe but that there is something wrong 
 between you.” 
 
 Is that the case whenever a married officer has to join his 
 regiment ^ It must cause a good deal of awkwardness,” was 
 the laconic reply. 
 
 DonT talk nonsense, Ethel ! You know how widely 
 Colonel Bainbridge’s circumstances differ from those of most 
 people. He has no need to remain in the army at all.” 
 
 Not from a mercenary point of view, perhaps ; but he 
 dislikes a country life, hates an idle one, and is fond of his 
 profession. I should think that was reason sufficient for his 
 doing as he pleases.” 
 
 ‘‘ People will say he ought to be fonder of his wife,” re- 
 marked the Countess, in a tone of malice. 
 
 People always say so much more than there is any occa- 
 sion to do. They might leave that question to be settled by 
 his wife.” 
 
 But how do you like the prospect yourself, Ethel ? You 
 •will have to keep very quiet during Colonel Bainbridge’s 
 absence, you know.” 
 
 Yes ? In what way ? ” 
 
 Why, you can hardly go about to theatres and balls as 
 you have been doing, surely ! ” 
 
 ‘‘My husband has laid no restriction on me,” 
 
 “But I suppose you will go into the country — to Cran- 
 shaws, or to his mother, will you not ? You would never 
 think of staying in Curzon Street alone.” 
 
 Lady Ethel opened her blue eyes. 
 
 “ And why not ? Is there any chance of my being devoured 
 by the natives % ” 
 
open War. 
 
 247 
 
 Colonel Bainbridge could never desii'e you to reside in 
 town and mix in the gaieties of the season without the safe- 
 guard of his presence,’^ exclaimed Lady Clevedon, with virtu- 
 ous indignation. The idea of her step-daughter reigning there 
 in solitary unprotected beauty, and throwing wide her doors 
 alike to simple and noble (Victor de Lacarras included), was 
 gall to her. At any risk, the scandal must be prevented, and 
 the rapid advance in propriety and morals which the thought 
 occasioned in the Countess’s mind, was almost as wonderful to 
 behold as the Indian juggler’s mango -tree, which grows as 
 you gaze upon it. 
 
 Did he tell you so % ” demanded Lady Ethel. 
 
 No ; how should he be aware of the customs which obtain 
 in our sphere of life ? But modesty, and decorum, and a 
 womanly sense of what is right to be done, Ethel, no less than 
 a knowledge of the world (pur world), warn me that you are 
 contemplating an act which will be ruinous to your character, 
 both for propriety, and attachment to your husband.” 
 
 Dear me ! I had no idea it was so much as all that!” said 
 Lady Ethel, with provoking coolness. But if the world 
 knew that Colonel Bainbridge had especially desired me to 
 remain in Curzon Street, perhaps it would alter its opinion, 
 and give me instead some credit for conjugal obedience.” 
 
 It is not possible he can have done so ! ” 
 
 ‘‘ It is more than possible ; it is true ! ” 
 
 Well 1 I could not have conceived he had so little sense! ” 
 replied Lady Clevedon, who was trembling with vexation ; 
 
 and you must forgive me if I cannot uphold his decision. I 
 confess that I have been reared to see things in a different 
 light, and I should not think I was following the wishes of 
 your dear lost father, if I countenanced his daughter in a step 
 of which I am certain he would have disapproved. When 
 your husband was with you, Ethel, I was always glad to see 
 you at my house, as you well know ; but, without his protec- 
 tion, I should not consider I was doing my duty in asking you 
 there. Balls and parties are no fit scenes for a young wife 
 separated from her husband ; and if you cannot see that for 
 yourself, I am the proper person to point it out to you.” 
 
 How extremely obliged I am to your ladyship for the 
 tender solicitude you show for my good name ! ” replied Lady 
 Ethel, sarcastically. “ To be excluded from your reunions will 
 
248 
 
 Her Lord and Master, 
 
 be a terrible trial to me ; but I will try to bear it with all the 
 fortitude of which I am mistress, sooner than cast the slightest 
 slur upon your hitherto spotless character.’’ 
 
 Ah 1 you may laugh ! ” exclaimed the Countess, who had 
 risen to her feet, but what I tell you is the truth ! You 
 have chosen to make a thorough mesalliance; to lower your- 
 self to the level of a tradesman’s daughter-in-law; and it 
 behoves you, in consequence, to be more particular than others 
 what you do or say, lest the world should think that you have 
 lost the power of rising above your surroundings.” 
 
 At this bitter taunt. Lady Ethel, who had also risen to her 
 feet, turned deadly pale. She could cast a sneer herself at 
 the family of her adoption ; but it was not in human nature 
 to take it quietly from stranger lips, and those the lips of her 
 step-mother. She flew at Lady Clevedon with her own weapons. 
 
 “ A mhalliance ? And if I have, who did all in her power 
 to hasten its fulfilment ? who urged me on to it, by goad and 
 taunt ? who tried to take my lover from me ? There are no 
 secrets between us, Lady Clevedon, though we may not have 
 had the opportunity to give them vent.” 
 
 Tried ? What are you talking of ] ” 
 
 ‘‘ I am talking of you and the Marquis de Lacarras, who 
 will never be more to you than he is now, for all the trouble 
 you have taken to ensnare him.” 
 
 I shall not stay here to be insulted ! ” exclaimed Lady 
 Clevedon, as she moved towards the door. 
 
 “ I have no wish that you should stay at all. There has 
 been war between us long enough. Let it be open from this 
 time henceforward.” 
 
 I believe that you are mad ! ” replied her step-mother, too 
 angry to know what to say. 
 
 “ I daresay that I am,” said Lady Ethel. “ Four months’ 
 close companionship with a tradesman’s son must be cause 
 sufficient in your eyes to turn the strongest brain. And, 
 therefore, perhaps you will the more readily excuse the eccen- 
 tricity of my avowal that I have little desire to see you here 
 again. Though I conclude that the customs which obtain in 
 your sphere (I have quitted it myself, please to remember) 
 would prevent your visiting the tradesman’s daughter-in-law, 
 whom a stern sense of duty prevents your inviting to your 
 house in return.” 
 
Ope 7 t War, 249 
 
 And with a sweeping curtsey, Lady Ethel Bainbridge 
 bowed her indignant step-mother out of the room. 
 
 Who could have guessed that saw her half an hour after- 
 wards, sipping chocolate with her numerous visitors, and 
 dispensing small talk on every side, that she had just fought 
 so sharp a battle in her husband’s cause Victor de Lacarras 
 was amongst the number of her guests ; Lady Clevedon had 
 passed him in the hall, and, to her great annoyance, been quite 
 unable to persuade him to turn back and drive in the park 
 with her instead. Here he was, lounging in his easy, half- 
 insolent fashion over the sofa of her step-daughter ; by look 
 and manner daring any one to take his place. 
 
 Eegarding him as the proximate, though unconscious agent 
 in her present trouble. Lady Ethel would have felt most dis- 
 inclined to make him welcome, had it not been for the interview 
 through which she had just passed. Each glance or word 
 from Monsieur de Lacarras, recalling, as they did, the anger 
 and the coldness of her husband, made her feel uncomfort- 
 able ; but Lady Clevedon’s insolent truths were ringing in 
 her ears, and she could not afford to give the Marquis his 
 conge yet. 
 
 Her step-mother should not have it in her power (so she 
 thought) to point at her for being deserted by lover and 
 husband at the same time ; she should not say that she had 
 attempted to number Victor de Lacarras amongst her ring of 
 satellites, and failed to do so ; but she should live to see his 
 attentions — those attentions for which the Countess would 
 give all that she possessed — pressed on her, and cast away as 
 less than worthless. For that was the estimation at which 
 she had learned to hold them. Pride, and the love of 
 revenge, were still busily at work in Lady Ethel’s heart, 
 prompting her to trifle with her character — with the good 
 name of her husband — and, if she went too far, even to make 
 shipwreck of the happiness which still remained to her. 
 
 But it was an excitement — a distraction from the troubles 
 which, though unacknowledged, pressed heavily upon her 
 heart ; and Lady Ethel went in for it as heedlessly as the 
 soldier rushing into battle shuts his eyes to the probability of 
 being wounded, or left dead upon the field. 
 
 She laughed and talked that afternoon, in her soft rippling 
 way (one of her great charms was that, unexcited, she never 
 
250 
 
 Her Lord and Master, 
 
 laughed or talked in a loud voice), as though she had been 
 the most contented creature in existence; and when her 
 guests alluded to her husband’s sudden departure in terms of 
 pity or surprise, was ready with an answer, calculated in 
 seeming to set all things right. 
 
 His absence was not to be for long ; Colonel Bainbridge 
 required change ; his father’s death had been a shock to him ; 
 and for her part she was glad to know he was not compelled 
 to remain in London. To pass through the remainder of the 
 season would have been an aggravation of his trial, and he 
 could return when he chose. 
 
 But did you not long to be able to go with him ? ” 
 inquired one lady, who considered separation from her hus- 
 band to be living death. 
 
 Colonel Bainbridge would not allow me,” was her host- 
 ess’s reply; “the climate, the hurried journey, and probability 
 of his early return, were all against such an idea ! ” 
 
 “ I suppose so ! But how you will count the hours until 
 you see him again.” 
 
 Lady Ethel turned her face away ; the old sickly sensa- 
 tion had crept over her as she listened to her friend’s remarks. 
 What would she not have given for such happy confidence ! 
 
 “ Must we resign ourselves to miss you at the opera h ” 
 whispered Victor de Lacarras. 
 
 “Why should you ? I shall probably go oftener than 
 before.” 
 
 “ What a pleasure to hear you say so ! you do not intend 
 then to shut yourself up from all society ? ” 
 
 “ Most certainly not ! Do you consider me addicted to 
 solitary confinement ? ” 
 
 “ And your friends may sometimes claim the honour of 
 being admitted here ? ” 
 
 “ My friends are always welcome,” replied Lady Ethel, 
 though she thought, a moment afterwards, that she might 
 have made him a more prudent answer. 
 
 And accustomed to be courted by insinuations and innuen- 
 does, the Marquis de Lacarras took her words for much more 
 than they were intended to convey. 
 
The Marquis de Lacarras hears the Truth. 251 
 
 CHAPTER XLII. 
 
 THE MAEQUIS DB LACAEKAS HEAES THE TEUTII. 
 
 It was June when Colonel Bainbridge started for the Eact. 
 London was as full as it could be, and the season considered 
 at its height. 
 
 Dejeuners, botanical fetes, at homes, dinner parties, and 
 dancing parties, followed each other in rapid succession ; 
 every hour of every day was filled up by the fashionable 
 world with some fresh scene of folly ; and wherever mirth 
 Avas loudest, and youth and beauty most abundant, was to be 
 met the bride and belle of the season — Lady Ethel Bain- 
 bridge. 
 
 Everywhere, that is to say, with the exception of Lady 
 Clevedon’s reunions ^ — and as the two ladies had refused to 
 speak to one another since the day of their quarrel, it was not 
 surprising that the Countess rigidly adhered to the resolution 
 which had been the primary cause of it. 
 
 Her firmness had its drawbacks, however, for she found, to 
 her annoyance, that the Marquis de Lacarras could be as 
 obstinate as she was ; and because her fair step-daughter 
 ceased to grace her assemblies, too often absented himself 
 from them also, in order to spend the evening hanging over 
 Lady Ethel’s stall at the opera, or dancing attendance on her 
 at a ball. 
 
 Indeed, the constancy with which he adhered to her society 
 had already provoked comment from half the town. 
 
 To her he proffered gladly attentions that no other woman 
 had ever had the power publicly to extort from him — trans- 
 forming himself into a holder of bouquets or carrier of 
 mantles, into a conversationalist or a dummy, a partner or a 
 wall-flower, just as the humour struck his companion that he 
 should be. 
 
 Yet, though Lady Ethel professed to enjoy his society, 
 though she took false pleasure in exercising her airs and graces 
 on one hitherto considered invulnerable, and letting her 
 friends see how she could turn and twist him at her will, she 
 
252 
 
 Her Lord and Master, 
 
 was actuated by no warmer feeling in the pursuit of her 
 amusement than a desire to annoy Lady Clevedon, and let her 
 husband hear (as sooner or later she was certain he would 
 hear) that the indignities he had heaped upon her were power- 
 less to affect her equanimity. 
 
 People talked, of course. 
 
 All the women of her acquaintance (and especially those 
 who had set their caps at the Marquis and failed to attract 
 him) were properly scandalised at her behaviour; and even 
 men — those lenient judges when a pretty woman is put into 
 the prisoner’s dock — began to say it was a great pity that 
 Bainbridge should have no hint given him of how affairs were 
 going on at home. 
 
 And if the public was impertinent upon the subject, the 
 Countess of Clevedon was perfectly furious. 
 
 To watch the attentions of her admirer, dwindling day by 
 day, until they resolved into mere commonplace politenesses — 
 shadows of their former selves — was in itself sufficient aggrava- 
 tion ; but when she saw her rival monopolise, without making 
 the least effort to retain them, her rage knew no bounds. To 
 have seen Lady Ethel pass through the agonising gradations 
 of hope and fear, and uncertainty and suspense, that she had 
 done herself, before she could allure the Marquis from her 
 side, and to know that her efforts, if finally successful, could 
 only culminate in her ruin, would have been some sort of 
 consolation to Lady Clevedon’s wicked heart ; an allevia- 
 tion, though a nugatory one, of the disappointment she was 
 enduring. 
 
 But, happily for my heroine, there was no such solace in 
 the future for her step-mother, and the Countess was quick 
 enough to perceive that though some secret burden evidently 
 weighed at times on Lady Ethel’s mind, it was no longer 
 connected with Victor de Lacarras, whose pertinacious atten- 
 tions she treated wdth perfect sang-froid, and returned far 
 oftener with frowns than smiles. But the Marquis had 
 arrived at that stage of his amatory fever when repulses had 
 no effect except to render his pursuit more ardent ; and had 
 Lady Ethel cherished a desire to be revenged upon him for 
 his former conduct to her, she could have found no better 
 opportunity than this to take it in ; but her thoughts at that 
 time were all directed in another quarter. 
 
The Marquis de Lacarras hears the Truth, 253 
 
 Slie was neither well nor happy. Day after day she forced 
 herself to drive, and walk, and talk as usual ; and evening 
 after evening she dragged her tired limbs through the routine 
 of fashionable pleasure (so called) that awaited them, but half 
 the time she would have been thankful to remain quietly at 
 home instead. 
 
 And yet she could not rest at night : weary as her life 
 made her, and few the hours that she spent in bed, she gene- 
 rally passed them waking; she was full of nervous fancies 
 and uneasy sensations, and her appetite seemed to have 
 vanished with her powers of sleep. The German maid Louise 
 became quite alarmed on the score of her mistress’s health, 
 for Lady Ethel had fainted several times during the past 
 month, and grown so thin and weak, that more than one con- 
 sultation had been held in the servants’ hall as to the pro- 
 priety of giving Dr Chalmers a private hint upon the subject. 
 
 Still, the object of their solicitude was not anxious about 
 herself. She knew that she felt ill at times, and was oftener 
 fatigued than not, but she attributed the unwelcome change 
 to the heat of the weather and the life of excitement she was 
 leading ; and often affirmed that as soon as the season was 
 over she should be quite well again. She was accustomed at 
 this period to keep her bed till about noon, a circumstance 
 which was not entirely attributable to the late hours she 
 indulged in. The fact being that, when down stairs. Lady 
 Ethel missed, and sometimes to a degree that was insupport- 
 ably painful to her, all those little fond cares and attentions by 
 which, since the moment of her marriage, her life had been 
 surrounded. 
 
 She missed the bright genial glance, too often disregarded, 
 that had welcomed her at every fresh meeting ; the chair and 
 foot-stool set for her convenience ; the news, political or 
 otherwise, which she was too idle to glean from the papers 
 for herself ; above all — oh ! remorseful — bitterly remorseful 
 memory ! — above all, the kind arm round her waist, or hand 
 upon her shoulder, and the warm kiss laid upon her lips. 
 
 On how many occasions had she jerked that hand away, or 
 turned her own face to one side ; and how much would she 
 have given now to feel herself a prisoner in his grasp. 
 
 She did not say so, but she felt it, and it required but one 
 more turn in Fortune’s wheel to make her openly confess she 
 
254 
 
 Her Lord a7td Masfe;^ 
 
 was enamoured of her husband. And Fortune’s hand was on 
 the tire. 
 
 It was a warm, hazy, sleepy afternoon towards the close 
 of June ; the heavy air that stole into the house, laden with 
 the scented breath of flowering stocks and mignonette, had no 
 power to stir the smallest atom of the canvas-awnings stretched 
 across the windows; the whole town seemed slumbering; the 
 noise of wheels had ceased ; dogs even found it was too hot 
 to bark ; and the pleasant dripping of the water-carts upon 
 the burning pavements was the only sound which made itself 
 apparent. 
 
 Lady Ethel having denied herself to visitors, was lying clad 
 in a white muslin wrapper upon a sofa in her drawing-room, 
 but neither book nor work was in her hand. 
 
 She had been up late the night before, at a brilliant enter- 
 tainment given by some of her aristocratic friends, where she 
 had looked so beautiful, and achieved so great a triumph, 
 that one of the highest personages in the realm had singled 
 her from every woman there, and, dancing with her half the 
 evening, appeared unable to tear himself from her society. 
 
 Yet it could scarcely have been of this flattering circum- 
 stance that Lady Ethel was dreaming now ; for as her head lay 
 back upon the cushions of the sofa two tears had stolen from 
 under her closed eyelids, and were standing on her cheek. 
 
 How silent everything appeared, how solitary ! She won- 
 dered what o’clock it was in India, and if the sun could 
 possibly shine brighter there than he was shining over 
 London. 
 
 What nonsense ! As if it signified ! — Colonel Bainbridge 
 had been gone a month ; by that time he must be in Bengal. 
 What a distance ! They could have no legitimate reason 
 thenceforth for complaining that they troubled one another ! 
 
 She had received no communication from him since he 
 quitted England ; but she had not expected it ! What could 
 he have to say ] She supposed he never would write to her 
 again. 
 
 If she died — (and she often wished that she were dead ! 
 there would be an end of trouble then, and all this fretting 
 jealousy and suspicion !) — he would read it in the Times, 
 if the servants were sharp enough to put it in. Ha ! 
 ha ! — and if he — if anything w^ere to happen to him — if they 
 
The Mai'qttis de Lacarras hears the TruilL 255 
 
 were never to — to — to.” And here the twin tears, finding 
 themselves dislodged from their position by a couple more, 
 rolled slowly down her cheek and settled in the corners of 
 her mouth. 
 
 At this juncture the drawing-room door was cautiously 
 pushed open. 
 
 “ Pray, don't let me disturb you,” said the soft voice of the 
 Marquis de Lacarras. 
 
 Lady Ethel sprung to a sitting posture. She had con- 
 sidered herself secure against all witnesses, and the present 
 intrusion did not seem to please her. 
 
 I told the servants to say ‘ Not at home,’ ” she uttered 
 hastily ; the tears still glistening on her eyelashes. 
 
 “ Not to mg, I hope,” replied the Marquis, who was quick 
 to notice the traces of her agitation, but if my presence is 
 unwelcome to you. Lady Ethel, I will go.” 
 
 Common courtesy forbid she should dismiss him. 
 
 ‘‘ It does not signify, monsieur. Pray, be seated ; but I 
 hardly expected that any one would take the trouble to call on 
 so oppressive an afternoon.” 
 
 ‘‘ You cannot be in earnest when you talk of trouble to 
 me,” he said, as he drew his chair beside her couch ; ‘‘ but 
 what are those tell-tale drops I see upon your cheek ? I must 
 have interrupted a reverie. Lady Ethel.” 
 
 Perhaps you did,” she answered, dashing her hand across 
 her wet eyes. 
 
 A pleasant one % ” 
 
 Cela depend ! People have such different opinions, 
 monsieur^ 
 
 “ Shall I divine its subject ^ ” 
 
 If you can.” 
 
 You were dreaming of the absent.” 
 
 Lady Ethel coloured ; she had not imagined that he would 
 really guess her meditations. 
 
 ‘‘ No harm if I were,” she answered lightly, as her thoughts 
 flew to Bengal. 
 
 ‘‘ Harm / who says so ? Not myself, most certainly ! I 
 should be the last person in the world to blame you. Lady 
 Ethel.” 
 
 “ Indeed ! Have you become an advocate for constancy, 
 then, monsieur ? ” 
 
Her Lord and Master. 
 
 256 ' 
 
 He bit his lip. 
 
 “ I feel that my one unfortunate mistake will never be for- 
 given in your eyes, or assume a different colouring to that with 
 which it was first invested by your fancy. 
 
 But this was a topic which had become distasteful to his 
 hearer. 
 
 “ Excuse me, monsieur ! It has been both forgiven and 
 forgotten long ago, and we have agreed to be good friends. 
 There no occasion to revert to it.” 
 
 ‘‘ And yet it has left its sting behind it. Lady Ethel.” 
 
 If so, it is a sting totally unconnected with itself,” she 
 answered proudly, ‘‘and one of which you probably know 
 more than I do.” 
 
 “ You cannot deceive me thus,” he exclaimed eagerly. 
 “ Ethel ! you know that you are not happy ; you cannot deny 
 the truth to me.” 
 
 “ I have no wish to deny it.” 
 
 “ And that I am the cause ; the base and unpardonable 
 cause.” 
 
 “I am glad you have come to view the past in its true 
 light, monsieur. But I have sufficient reasons for my un- 
 happiness (if you will have it that I am unhappy) without 
 laying the blame on you. My present position is attributable 
 to my own fault.” 
 
 “ But from the consequences of which I would rescue you 
 at the peril of my life. Ethel, there must be no further mis- 
 understanding between us. We have missed our happiness 
 once ; let us secure it for the future. For your sake, and in 
 order to retrieve my folly, I would brave everything and dare 
 everything. Only say that you will accept the protection of 
 my love against the horrors of the pit in which my blindness 
 plunged you.” 
 
 He rose from his chair as he was speaking with the intent 
 to gain her side ; but she rose also, and as he concluded, and 
 his eyes met hers, he read at once that he had made an error. 
 
 Lady Ethel was strongly agitated ; but it was the emotion 
 consequent on anger rather than on love, and by look and 
 gesture she forbid him to approach her nearer. 
 
 “ Monsieur de Lacarras,” she ejaculated at last, “ I think 
 that in this matter you have made a slight mistake.” 
 
 Her tone of irony galled him. 
 
The Marquis de Lacarras hears the Truth. 257 
 
 You 'J^ay say so, Lady Ethel, he replied, but I am not 
 bound to take your word against my own interests. Mistaken, 
 when I have had opportunity to interpret your every word and 
 look for a month past, and the knowledge that no one amongst 
 your numerous admirers has been so honoured by your open 
 preference as myself ! 
 
 She covered her face with her hands : trembling hands that 
 almost refused to be held in that position. 
 
 Oh, you are right/^ she answered, mournfully, ^^you are 
 quite right, I have nothing to complain of ; I have brought 
 this on myself.” 
 
 How could love err ? ” he said enthusiastically, or fail to 
 read the heart that beats for it % It is no such easy matter to 
 conceal our feelings, dearest ; spite of ourselves, they shine out 
 of our eyes. I hnew you loved me.’’ 
 
 Oh, no, .no, no ! ” she exclaimed, retreating further from 
 him with each word. Indeed you are quite wrong. I care 
 for — for no one 
 
 Except myself T he answered, with a smile of confidence ; 
 come, my dear girl, you have teased me long enough. My 
 memory is not so short that I have quite forgotten a certain 
 balcony in Park Lane, where the only woman that I ever 
 cared for told me she loved me in return. You have but to 
 repeat the same words.” 
 
 But the sacrilegious hand he tried to lay on her was arrested 
 by the expression of her face. 
 
 How dare you mention it P’ she said, indignantly. 
 
 ‘‘ Is it so bitter a remembrance, then ? ” 
 
 ‘‘The bitterest I have,” was the quick answer; “though 
 not for the reasons you attribute to me. Listen, monsieur. 
 I do not blame you for the insult of to-day, because I 
 acknowledge I have brought it on myself ; but you shall not 
 leave this house until you learn the motive that actuated my 
 behaviour.” 
 
 She turned very pale then, and for a moment almost 
 seemed as though she would faint; for to humble herself 
 before another was a new and difficult position for Lady Ethel 
 Bainbridge. 
 
 “I confess,” she went on presently, whilst silently he 
 waited for her explanation ; “ I confess that in my desire to 
 triumph over Lady Clevedon, and for — for one other reason, 
 
 R 
 
Her Lord and Master. 
 
 258 
 
 I have permitted you to associate more familiarly with me of 
 late than I should have done ; but I never dreamt you would 
 presume to go so far as this.’’ 
 
 You thought, in fact, that I was made of stone, or any 
 other substance not generally considered inflammable,” he said 
 sarcastically. 
 
 I am afraid I thought very little about the matter, or if I 
 did, it was not in the direction you imagine, monsieur. 
 
 May I ask in which, then?” 
 
 She did not immediately reply, and from the rapid manner 
 in which her bosom rose and fell beneath the flimsy materials 
 of her dress, he understood how great a?a efibrt it was to her 
 to speak. 
 
 I am going to tell you,” she said presently. When — 
 
 when you deserted me, monsieur^ yes — deserted — there is no 
 other word for it — and I rushed heedlessly into my destiny, I 
 took as much misery to scatter broadcast in tho family I 
 entered, as you had endowed me with — and that was no small 
 amount, as I have little need to tell you.” 
 
 “ You loved me then^^ he exclaimed, triumphantly, think- 
 ing he perceived his advantage. 
 
 Excuse me,” she replied, “ I despised you then ; the love 
 died on the evening that I saw you with my step-mother.” 
 
 Ten thousand curses on her — ” he commenced ; but Lady 
 Ethel went on without heeding the interruption. 
 
 What treatment should you say that, under such circum- 
 stances, I deserved ? What treatment would you have given 
 me had I become your wife, in order to revenge the slight cast 
 on me by another ? The treatment I have received, Monsieur 
 De Lacarras, is unmitigated love and tenderness.” 
 
 You call it love that leaves you by yourself — alone and 
 unprotected — to be the subject of scurrilous reports, and the 
 object of universal admiration ! Love guards its treasure. 
 Lady Ethel, in a better way than that ! ” 
 
 “ But it is my own fault I am so left,” she eagerly rejoined, 
 I dared him to it. I goaded him on by sneers and imputa- 
 tions ; I said I did not love him ; that I had married him for 
 
 mere convenience. I said that — that Oh ! my God ! ” 
 
 cried Lady Ethel, as suddenly breaking down, she buried her 
 face in her hands and burst into tears ; “I have lost him — 
 my dearest and my best — for ever ; I shall never, never see 
 
The Marquis de Lacarras hears the TriUh. 259 
 
 him any more ! and for a few moments there was no sound 
 to be heard in that apartment but her unrestrained and chok- 
 ing sobs. 
 
 Victor de Lacarras seized the hat which he carried in his 
 hand, and vigorously commenced to smooth the nap beneath 
 the influence of his kidded palm. 
 
 “This is deeply interesting !” he observed, presently, when 
 Lady Ethehs emotion having partially subsided, he thought 
 he had some chance of being heard. “ I had no idea that 
 Monsieur votre mari had made such an impression on your 
 heart, or I might have hesitated to convey the sentiments of 
 my own to you. But you are doubtless in the right. Lady 
 Ethel ; to profess devotion to the man she has married is 
 always the most respectable, if not the most pleasant, course 
 for a woman to pursue ; and in your case, I should think 
 respectability was as much as you could aspire to.” 
 
 The coarse insinuation did not escape her notice, and love 
 made her equal to the emergency of meeting it. 
 
 “If your conduct is noble, monsieur^'' she exclaimed, 
 angrily, “ heaven save us from more than that which is 
 respectable ! But if your words are intended to convey a 
 reproach towards that man — in whose presence you are no 
 more worthy to sit than my footman is to take his ease before 
 me in this drawing-room — I tell you that I would not change 
 my husband — little as you think of him — for the bluest blood 
 that runs in Christendom. He is not noble in your accepta- 
 tion of the word — looking on you, and on my step-mother, 
 and others like you, I can say, thank God, he is not noble — 
 but he has the noblest body, the noblest heart, the noblest 
 soul, of any man who walks the earth this day. And I love 
 him ! Heaven is my witness that I love him as much as 
 ever he loved me ! and I have wronged him, and driven 
 him away ; and I am the most miserable woman that God 
 ever made ! Fancy ! how much I love him,” she exclaimed, 
 in a sudden torrent of eagerness, as with clasped hands she 
 started forward, and regarded the Marquis in the face ; 
 “ fancy ! to what a pitch of despair this parting has reduced 
 me, that I can humble myself before you to-day, regardless 
 of everything but to preserve my faith to him ! ’’ 
 
 Yes ; it was true ; Lady Ethel had humbled herself at 
 length ; and from that hour she commenced to rise. 
 
Her Lord and Master. 
 
 260 ' 
 
 I am sure I am only too glad to hear it,” returned Victor 
 de Lacarras, in a voice of the most studied politeness ; “ but 
 under the circumstances, what can I do but offer you my 
 heartfelt congratulations? I could scarcely be expected to 
 pursue and bring him back again.” 
 
 ‘‘ But you can remove yourself from my presence,” she 
 said, nettled at the continued sarcasm of his tone, and I 
 would be alone, monsieur ! Your visit has agitated me, and 
 I feel ill.” 
 
 I have no pleasure except in following your wishes,” he 
 answered, “ and for the same reason. Lady Ethel, I shall not 
 trouble you again ; ” and with a courteous inclination, he left 
 the room. 
 
 He is gone ! ” she said, in a hysterical manner, as the 
 slam of the hall-door reached her ear, they are all gone now. 
 There is not one left ” — and then, with a bewildered look and 
 the sharp cry, Oh, my love ! my love ! will you never come 
 back to me ? ” Lady Ethel, after making one or two feeble 
 efforts to maintain her equilibrium, sunk fainting to the 
 ground. 
 
A Wonderful Discovery. 
 
 261 
 
 CHAPTER XLIII. 
 
 A WONDERFUL DISCOVERY. 
 
 It was fortunate that Louise, desiring to learn her lady’s 
 wishes with respect to the trimming of a ball-dress, knocked 
 at the door a few minutes afterwards, and, receiving no reply 
 to her appeal, ventured to pass the threshold, and found her 
 mistress stretched upon the floor. 
 
 Else Lady Ethel’s illness might have been attended with 
 very serious consequences, for though the German maid 
 quickly procured assistance and conveyed her to her room, 
 unlike her former attacks, she did not regain consciousness 
 from this till Dr Chalmers was sitting by her bedside. 
 
 The first things which became patent to her returning 
 senses were the pressure of his fingers on her wrist, and a 
 general perception of strong odours, and being very cold 
 about the head and breast. 
 
 ‘‘What is the matter?” she said, in a frightened manner, 
 as she opened her eyes and attempted to quit the recumbent 
 posture. 
 
 “ Nothing — nothing,” replied the calm tones of the phy- 
 sician, as with gentle force he replaced her on the bed ; “ you 
 have been a little faint, that is all, but you must keep quiet 
 for an hour or two.” 
 
 Lady Ethel threw herself back upon the pillows with a 
 sigh. 
 
 “I feel terribly weak. Have I been worse than usual, 
 doctor ? ” 
 
 “ Not that I know of ; but you should have told me of 
 these attacks before, to which your maid says you are very 
 subject. Why, what have you been doing with yourself ?” 
 
 “ I am sure I don’t know. Just the same as other people.” 
 
 “ Have you been dancing much ?” 
 
 “ Yes, pretty well.” 
 
 “ And keeping late hours ?” 
 
 “ Of course. Who keeps early ones in London ?” 
 
 “ And exciting yourself in other ways ?” 
 
262 
 
 Her Lord and Master, 
 
 Perlinps so. But what has that to do with my fainting?” 
 
 Everything ; and I am going to lay strict orders on you 
 to give it up.” 
 
 Lady EthePs eyes opened to their widest extent. 
 
 Give up balls, and dinner-parties, and going out alto- 
 gether ! What nonsense, doctor ! It is not the end of June 
 yet.” 
 
 If it were the beginning of May, my dear Lady Ethel, 'it 
 would be the same thing. Your health requires perfect rest, 
 and you must observe it.” 
 
 It is impossible,” she said, querulously ; you might as 
 well tell me not to eat at once. It would kill me to remain 
 shut up here all alone.” 
 
 “It may kill more than one if you are obstinate,” replied 
 Dr Chalmers, gravely. 
 
 More than one ! What do you mean ?” 
 
 “ I mean. Lady Ethel, that if, against my advice, you per- 
 sist in pursuing this constant round of gaiety, you will be 
 answerable, not only for your own life, but that of your 
 child.” 
 
 “ My Child?” 
 
 The motherless girl, who had never known what it was to 
 hear that sacred title from a woman’s lips, who had been 
 denied the blessing of brothers and sisters, and (with the 
 exception of the Countess of Clevedon’s son) not even brought 
 in contact with the holy influences of childhood, did not seem 
 at first as though capable of comprehending the prospect 
 opened out before her by the doctor’s words. 
 
 “ My Child?” 
 
 A picture rose before her mental vision of tiny hands to 
 clutch and cling to her ; pure eyes to gaze into her own ; and 
 trembling feet to toddle by her side ; of something very indis- 
 tinctly traced, it is true, yet helpless, loving, and dependent, 
 which should belong to her alone, and call her by the holy 
 name of “ Mother,” and that at that thought the evil spirit 
 that had so long possessed her heart spread wings and flew 
 away, and the woman shone out in her true colours. . 
 
 “ O Dr Chalmers ! are you quite — quite sure that it is 
 true ?” 
 
 Springing up in bed as she spoke, with crimson cheeks, 
 dilated eyes, and parted lips, she seemed to demand some 
 
A Wonderful Discovery, 263 
 
 further proof of this wonderful revelation at the physician’s 
 hands. 
 
 ‘‘Yes, quite sure,” he answered, soothingly; “have you 
 not suspected it ? Come, Lady Ethel, you must lie down 
 again ; I cannot allow you to excite yourself like this.” 
 
 But, to his surprise, she turned upon her pillow, and burst 
 into a flood of tears. Oh, where was he who would have been 
 so proud to hear this news ; who would have encompassed her 
 with solicitude and care, supported her courage when it 
 drooped, and nursed her with more than woman’s tenderness % 
 where was the father of her child ? She sobbed so bitterly 
 as the wide gulf which stretched between them, mentally and 
 physically, became apparent to her understanding, that the 
 very centre of her being seemed to be stirred by the violence 
 of her emotion. And mixed with the hopelessness of their 
 re-union, there came another feeling, a lower, narrower, yet 
 still natural sense of profound shrinking from the trial which 
 inevitably awaited her ; for, born and reared in sensuousness, 
 Lady Ethel had never yet been taught that self-control is 
 virtue, and was a very coward in the face of pain. 
 
 Dr Chalmers had had too much experience in the treatment 
 of feminine weakness to attempt to check her tears ; but as 
 soon as they had given place to low gasping sobs, and she had 
 turned her pallid stained face to the light again, he held a 
 cordial to her lips and bade her drink it. 
 
 “ That ’s a good girl ! ” he said, in a paternal manner — (he 
 had known her almost from her birth)— as she submissively 
 swallowed the contents of the wine-glass ; “ and now I must 
 have you lie quiet and try to go to sleep, or you will be 
 iU.” 
 
 “ But, one word, doctor,” laying her white hand on his ; 
 “ will it be very soon ? I feel so horribly afraid.” 
 
 The question made him smile. 
 
 “ Pooh — pooh ! there’s nothing to be afraid of, and it’s a 
 long while to look forward to yet ! I shall have you as strong 
 and saucy again as ever before it happens. 1 see that Colonel 
 Bainbridge has arrived in Calcutta. Is any time fixed for his 
 return ? ” 
 
 “ I don’t know — I believe not,” she answered faintly. 
 
 “We shall have him home fast enough when he hears the 
 good news, I warrant. And, meanwhile, I cannot allow you 
 
264 
 
 Her Lord and Master, 
 
 to live any longer by yourself. You must have some woman 
 to stay with you.^^ 
 
 I have Louise ; no one could be kinder.” 
 
 “ Kindness is all very well in its way ; but you want com- 
 pany, Lady Ethel, and you must ask some lady — one that is 
 young and cheerful and will keep up your spirits, to come and 
 remain here until your husband joins you again. Now, who 
 shall I send for ? ” 
 
 ‘^Oh! I’m sure I don’t know!” with a despairing little 
 sigh. 
 
 Lady Clevedon'? ” suggested the doctor. 
 
 ‘‘ Most decidedly not. We never speak to each other.” 
 
 Never speak to your fathers widow ? — that’s a bad sign. 
 Lady Ethel. Your aunt, then. Lady d’Eyncourt.” 
 
 I have not seen her for years.” 
 
 “ Has not Colonel Bainbridge a mother living?” 
 
 Oh ! yes 1 — but I could not ask a favour of her,” returned 
 his patient, with a sudden shrinking that was very patent to 
 her hearer. 
 
 “No sisters, then, or cousins % ” 
 
 “No ! — yes ! though stay, there is one — but I am not sure 
 if she would come to me,” said Lady Ethel, as her thoughts 
 lighted upon Margaret Henderson. 
 
 “We can but try ; and the need is really urgent. Let me 
 have the lady’s address, and I will write to her at once. If 
 we are expeditious we shall save the country post.” 
 
 “ Miss Henderson, Cranshaws, Borthwick ; but. Dr Chal- 
 mers, I really don’t feel justified in putting her to so much 
 trouble. I dare say I shall get on very well alone, and — and 
 — it is all my own fault that I am left so,” in a lowered 
 key. 
 
 Dr Chalmers looked upon the fair, sad face laid upon the 
 pillows, with intense compassion. He had known Lady Ethel 
 Bainbridge, proud, wilful, and determined from her very 
 childhood, and had more than once suspected that her married 
 life was not a happy one ; but her present mood was quite a 
 new phase in her character to him. He could not understand 
 the subdued tones of her voice, the softened expression in her 
 face, the tears standing on her eyelashes ; she did not look 
 like the same girl whom he had been accustomed to attend ; 
 and his heart warmed towards her, so young and fragile and 
 
A Wonderful Discovery. 265 
 
 beautiful, and left so utterly alone. Could it be, as she 
 affirmed, by her own fault? 
 
 However that may be, my dear,” he answered, I alone 
 am responsible for the step we have in contemplation. You 
 are under my charge, and I consider the presence of a female 
 friend to be indispensable to you ; and if Miss Henderson 
 cannot come we will find some one else. Meanwhile, you 
 must try to go to sleep, and I will look in again this evening.” 
 
 Dr Chalmers did not write to Cranshaws ; for his object 
 being as soon as possible to convey relief to his patient’s 
 mind, he telegraphed the news that she was ill and in imme- 
 diate requisition of a woman’s presence, begging her husband’s 
 family to let him know at once if Miss Henderson could be 
 spared to nurse her. 
 
 And when he visited Curzon Street at ten o’clock the same 
 evening, and found Lady Ethel free from emotion, but still 
 very weak and sorrowful and languid, he showed her the 
 answer which had reached his hands an hour before : — 
 
 ‘‘ Most glad to be of use ; will travel by earliest train to- 
 morrow.” 
 
 When my heroine fell off to sleep that night, the telegram 
 was underneath her pillow. 
 
266 
 
 Her Lord and Master. 
 
 CHAPTER XLIV. 
 
 A SISTER OF MERCY. 
 
 Dr Chalmers’ telegram found Mrs Bainbridge, her niece, and 
 sister still at Cranshaws, for various delays on the part of 
 house-builders and decorators in Birmingham had prevented 
 their vacating the Castle as speedily as they had intended, 
 and for the moment there were divided opinions on the 
 advisability of answering it in the affirmative. 
 
 That Mrs Bainbridge should feel rather unwilling to part 
 with Maggie Henderson, who was her right hand, at the very 
 time when she most needed her, and for the sake of her son’s 
 wife, was not unnatural. She bore no malice towards Lady 
 Ethel, but she could not forget the haughty manner in which 
 she had treated her husband’s family, nor that it was due to 
 her misconduct that Colonel Bainbridge was, at that hour, an 
 exile from his native land. 
 
 And it was hard to believe the message had been dictated 
 by the wishes of her daughter-in-law. She had not cared for 
 them in health, why should her thoughts turn in their direc- 
 tion when she needed a sick-nurse ? and surely, were the case 
 emergent, it were far more reasonable to expect some member 
 of her own family should go to her assistance. Mrs Baiu- 
 bridge did not like the idea that Maggie should be ordered 
 from one place to another to suit the convenience of her 
 cousin’s wife ; and perhaps to meet with insult or indifference 
 for her pains. She had half a mind to say she could not 
 spare her. 
 
 But gentle Aunt Letty saw the matter in a very different 
 light. Dr Chalmers was a physician of high repute, who 
 would not have needlessly alarmed them ; and if the necessity 
 could have been met nearer, what reason had he for incurring 
 the delay consequent on an appeal to them. She was quite 
 sure that it was Maggie’s duty to go to Lady Ethel’s aid at 
 once ; but if her sister felt she could not spare her, why, she 
 would go herself. They could never look in Thomas’s face 
 again if they neglected to offer to his wife that assistance 
 
A Sister of Mercy. 267 
 
 which they were ready to extend to every poor woman about 
 Cranshaws. 
 
 Upon which Mrs Bainbridge, with somewhat of impatience, 
 said, ‘‘ if that was the view her sister took of it, Margaret had 
 better settle the question for herself.” 
 
 And Maggie had but one opinion on the subject : that she 
 should answer — as she did — in the affirmative. 
 
 Not that she entertained any strong desire^to travel south- 
 ward by herself, and take up a position in the fashionable 
 circle of which they had heard that Lady Ethel was the 
 centre ; on the contrary, the prospect rather dismayed her. 
 She, too, had her painful memories of the wounds this girl 
 had recklessly inflicted on her uncle and her cousin ; of the 
 father, who, for her caprice, had drawn his last breath before 
 he saw his only child again; and of the son, driven from 
 England, the comforts of his home, and the embraces of his 
 widowed mother, rendered hopeless and almost desperate by 
 the cruelty of the woman who had sworn to love and cherish 
 him. 
 
 These were not the thoughts which, humanly speaking, 
 would have inclined her heart towards Lady Ethel ; but, for- 
 tunately for both of them, Maggie’s conduct was actuated by 
 higher motives than those of this world, and had she been 
 disposed to hesitate, she had but to throw one glance in the 
 direction of Aunt Letty to make up her mind. 
 
 ‘‘ Full measure, pressed down and running over,” whispered 
 the elder lady in her ear, and Maggie turned at once to Mrs 
 Bainbridge. 
 
 ‘‘ Aunt Lizzie, if you are willing, I would rather go. He 
 loved her so much, and — and, suppose she should be fretting 
 after him 1” 
 
 ‘‘Little chance of that, I’m afraid, my dear,” said Mrs 
 Bainbridge, with a sigh ; but she offered no further opposition 
 to the idea. And the next morning Maggie Henderson, with 
 Aunt Letty (who insisted, at all events, upon seeing her 
 darling safe within the doors of Curzon Street), started for 
 London, where they arrived in safety the same evening. 
 
 Lady Ethel’s carriage had been waiting for them at the 
 station, and when they entered the house Dr Chalmers met 
 them in the hall. 
 
 “ This is real charity,” he said, shaking hands with both of 
 
268 
 
 Her Lord and Master, 
 
 them ; that poor young creature upstairs is terribly lonely ; 
 it will put fresh life in her to hear that you are come. May 
 1 ask which is Miss Henderson ? ” 
 
 “ This is my niece, replied Aunt Letty, as she pushed 
 Maggie forward. “ I only accompanied in order to protect 
 her, and return to-morrow. She is much the same age as 
 Lady Ethel, and I hope may be of use in cheering her.’’ 
 
 The doctor looked critically at the fresh, glowing colour, clear 
 complexion, and bright eyes of the country girl, and decided 
 that his application northwards had been a great success. 
 
 Strong constitution,” he said, mentally, cheerful tem- 
 perament, and plenty of brains, that’s the article for my 
 money ! Is this a specimen of your rearing, madam % ” he 
 he continued, vocally, ‘‘for if so, it does you great credit ! I 
 wonder what some of our London belles would give just now 
 for a little of that bloom You are not often troubled with 
 headaches. Miss Henderson, or I am much mistaken.” 
 
 “ Not often,” she said, smiling. 
 
 “ No ! nor heartaches, nor vapours, nor hysterics, nor any 
 of the thousand and one complaints into which our girls 
 dance and dress themselves down here. Poor Lady Ethel is 
 a specimen of the bad effects of over-exertion just now. She 
 is very low, very weak, and very despondent, and your cheer- 
 ful company will do her more good than any amount of 
 physic or advice. You know how to laugh, Miss Hender- 
 son % ” 
 
 “ When there is occasion for it, doctor.” 
 
 “Ay, ay! laugh with those who laugh, and weep with 
 those who weep 1 I can read off your character like a book ; 
 you’re all sympathy ! But just at present I want you to go 
 on another tack ; Lady Ethel is all tears, and you must be all 
 smiles. Do you understand ? ” 
 
 “ I will try, sir.” 
 
 “ And you will succeed. You are not going to leave us, 
 madam ? ” to Miss Lloyd. 
 
 “ Yes ! I only came to deposit my niece here in safety, and 
 pass the night at the house of an old friend. To-morrow, if 
 all goes well, I will see Lady Ethel before I return. Good- 
 night, my darling 1 ” and with a farewell salutation to Dr 
 Chalmers, Aunt Letty re-entered the carriage. 
 
 “ Will you come upstairs at once % ” inquired the doctor ; 
 
A Sister of Mercy, 
 
 269 
 
 and, laying aside her bonnet and shawl, Maggie followed him, 
 notwithstanding a certain fluttering at her heart, for she 
 hardly knew what sort of welcome waited her, to Lady 
 Ethel’s room. 
 
 ‘‘ I have brought you a present,” said Dr Chalmers, gaily, 
 as he pushed the door open, what will you give me for it 1 ” 
 I am sure I don’t know,” replied a voice, so weak and 
 weary that Maggie scarcely recognised it as that of her 
 cousin’s wife. ‘‘How does the time go. Dr Chalmers? is 
 it late ? ” 
 
 “Just about time for the Edinburgh mail to be in, I 
 should think,” he answered, with a sly look at Maggie. 
 
 Lady Ethel heaved a deep sigh. 
 
 “ I don’t think she will come to night ; I am trying not to 
 expect her ; it would be too much.” 
 
 “ Well ! perhaps she had better go back again,” he con- 
 tinued. 
 
 “ Oh ! has she arrived ? ” 
 
 A faint colour struggled into Lady Ethel’s face, which 
 deepened to a blush as she turned and caught sight of 
 Maggie standing in the doorway. That timid look of shame 
 appealed more nearly to the new comer’s heart than any 
 boisterous welcome could have done. It was so strangely 
 different from what she had expected. In a moment Lady 
 Ethel’s numerous offences, her pride, her coldness, and un- 
 sociability, were blotted from her memory as with a sponge, 
 and remembering only her present weakness and the deep 
 interest which, from the flrst, and against her inclination, she 
 had taken in her cousin’s wife, she sprung forward and knelt 
 by the bedside. 
 
 “Dear Lady Ethel ! I came as quickly as I could : I am 
 so grieved to find you ill.” 
 
 Lady Ethel started up to greet her, and Maggie was sur- 
 prised to see how thin and pale she had grown ; still more 
 surprised to feel her arms clasped round her neck, and hear 
 the proud girl sobbing on her shoulder. 
 
 “O Maggie! how good of you to come; but it was the 
 doctor sent for you ! I never could have done it ! Do you 
 know all ? Did — did — Colonel Bainbridge tell you ? ” 
 
 “ Hush 1 hush ! yes — partly — but you must not speak or 
 think of sad things now.” 
 
2/0 
 
 Her Lord and Master. 
 
 \ cannot help it ! I am thinking of it night and day,” 
 she wailed ; I think of nothing else.” 
 
 Maggie Henderson, afraid lest her emotion should do Lady 
 Ethel harm, looked round for Dr Chalmers, but he had dis- 
 appeared. 
 
 ‘‘ Try to calm yourself,” she urged, as she disentwined the 
 white arms from her neck. “ I am come to see if I can 
 cheer you up j but this is a bad beginning ! If my company is 
 to be the signal for tears, it will do you more harm than good.” 
 
 What is there left for me but tears?” said Lady Ethel, 
 mournfully. 
 
 Faith in God ! All will come right in the end if you do 
 but trust in Him ! And now, do you know that I have been 
 travelling for ten hours, on nothing but a basket of sand- 
 wiches, and feel uncommonly hungry?” 
 
 “ Dinner is waiting for you,” said Lady Ethel, eagerly. 
 ‘‘ I ordered it for eight o’clock.” 
 
 ‘^Dinner?” with a comical gesture of distaste. ^‘What! 
 all by myself downstairs ? Might I not have a cup of tea up 
 in this room instead ? ” 
 
 By my bedside ? Would you like it so ?” 
 
 “ Of course I would ! What have I come for, but to be by 
 your bedside ? ” 
 
 ‘‘ Oh ! that would be delightful ! ” and Lady Ethel’s eyes 
 actually sparkled at the idea ; and you are sure you will not 
 mind ? ” 
 
 ‘‘I shall mind very much if you send me away,” was 
 Maggie’s answer ; and then Louise was summoned to show her 
 to her room, and to take the necessary orders for their pro- 
 jected meal. 
 
 When Margaret Henderson had changed her travelling dress, 
 and returned to Lady Ethel’s side, she was struck by the 
 animation with which she was directing her maid to lay the 
 tea-table. 
 
 ‘’^Tell Wells to send up some dishes from the second 
 course ; and there is no guava jelly. Make haste, Louise ! — 
 here is Miss Henderson ! ” 
 
 I hope you are not making all these preparations for me. 
 Lady Ethel,” said Maggie, laughing, for my appetite is a 
 very healthy one, and will take kindly to anything in the 
 shape of food.” 
 
A Sister of Mercy, 
 
 271 
 
 For both of us/’ replied the other. I feel as though I 
 could eat to-night. It is such a comfort to have you here.” 
 
 And thereupon she commenced to speak of her illness, 
 dwelling on each detail as a woman feels it such a comfort to 
 do when she has been fretting by herself, and drawing on her 
 friend for sympathy at every turn. 
 
 “ Dr Chalmers says I shall not leave my bed for weeks, or 
 perhaps months. Can you imagine anything more dreadful? ” 
 
 ‘‘Yes — many things!” said Maggie, cheerfully; “to be 
 confined to it for life, for instance.” 
 
 “ Oh 1 but that would be too terrible — I should die 1 ” 
 
 “I don’t think you would. There are many who live 
 through it.” 
 
 “Good people, perhaps; not sinners, like myself! You 
 don’t know what I am, Maggie ! ” 
 
 “ I can see what you might be, and what it lies in your 
 power to become,” rejoined her companion, with a smile. 
 “We are not always the best judges of ourselves, Lady Ethel.” 
 
 Still, though they talked familiarly and cheerfully together, 
 the principal topic which engrossed both minds seemed by 
 mutual consent to be avoided. Neither had courage to 
 mention Colonel Bainbridge, and even when Maggie spoke of 
 Cranshaws, the sudden flush on Lady Ethel’s cheek, the 
 quick drooping of her eyelashes, or nervous motion of her 
 hand, showed that the allusion was a painful one. 
 
 They were still engaged over their meal, when Dr Chalmers, 
 peeping into the room, was so surprised to hear the altered 
 tones of his patient’s voice, that he jestingly declared that he 
 should discontinue his visits now that Dr Henderson had 
 arrived. 
 
 “ All that you have to do with this rebellious subject,” he 
 said, in allusion to Lady Ethel, “is to keep her quiet, and make 
 her eat as much as &he can. And the sooner you can per- 
 suade her to go back with you to Scotland, Miss Henderson, 
 the better.” 
 
 But at this suggestion the subject of it coloured so pain- 
 fully, that the doctor saw that he had made an error. 
 
 “ We must neither of us sit up late to-night,” said Maggie, 
 when he had departed, “ for you have excited yourself more 
 than usual, and I am very tired. Shall I read to you before 
 I go, or will you do that for yourself?” 
 
272 
 
 Her Lord and Master. 
 
 ^‘Eead?’* repeated Lady Ethel, interrogatively. 
 
 The Bible, said her friend, as she looked round for one. 
 
 Oh I my dear ! don’t give me any of that, for goodness* 
 sake ! I don’t believe I have looked into it for years.” 
 
 Maggie Henderson stopped short, and earnestly regarded 
 her. 
 
 “Not for years ! — not when you pray ? ” 
 
 “ I never pray ! ” 
 
 The assertion was so defiant that it was met in silence ; but 
 after the pause of a few minutes. Lady Ethel, glancing up at 
 her companion’s face, saw that it was bathed in tears. 
 
 “ Have I said anything to tart you ” 
 
 “ Not to hurt mg,” said Maggie, in a broken voice. 
 
 She was thinking how patiently One must have stood for 
 years at the door of that little careless heart, knocking for 
 admittance, and in vain. 
 
 “ Who then 
 
 “ You know. Lady Ethel ! You know as well as I do. 
 There is no need to tell you.” 
 
 She was right; and in the interval that followed there 
 came no refutation of her words. 
 
 “ If you don’t pray to Him,” Maggie went on, presently ; 
 “ if you never take the trouble to ask Him for what you want, 
 or thank Him for what He gives, I don’t wonder that every- 
 thing goes wrong with you. How could it be otherwise % ” 
 
 This appeal was made so simply, and with such an air of 
 interest, that it carried no offence with it ; but neither did it 
 gain an answer, except such as was conveyed by total silence. 
 
 “ 0 Lady Ethel 1 ” cried Maggie, earnestly, as she threw both 
 arms round her ; “ try to speak to Him. Try to realise that 
 He is here, close by you, ready to listen and to sympathise, 
 and all the remainder will come easy.” 
 
 “ Don’t call me ‘ Lady ’ Ethel any more,” whispered the 
 other, as she embraced her in return. “ I want to be ^ Ethel’ 
 to you, Maggie ! I feel somehow as if a sister had been sent 
 to me ! ” 
 
 And Maggie felt that to have met with no repulse was 
 something gained. 
 
Installed in Office. 
 
 273 
 
 CHAPTER XLV. 
 
 ^ INSTALLED IN OFFICE. 
 
 Lady Ethel slept so much later, on the following morning, 
 than she had been used to do, that Miss Lloyd was compelled 
 to return to Scotland without seeing her. 
 
 “ It is just as well, perhaps, my dear,’’ she observed, after 
 hearing Maggie’s account of the glowing welcome which she 
 had received ; my presence could have added nothing to Lady 
 Ethel’s pleasure, and might have been the means of reviving 
 disagreeable recollections.” 
 
 ‘‘ Then you won’t stay in town another day % ” said Maggie, 
 wistfully. 
 
 “Ho, darling, don’t tempt me. Aunt Lizzie was very good 
 to let you come, remember, and I am sure she cannot spare 
 both of us at once. Has Lady Ethel made no mention of her 
 husband % ” 
 
 “Hot the slightest, after having once spoken his name, in 
 asking if he had told me of their disagreement. Is it not 
 strange ? And yet she seems so to shrink from any approach 
 to the subject, that I am sure her silence is owing to the pain 
 it gives her.” 
 
 “ She will speak by and by, my dear, but do not try to 
 force her confidence. With a proud nature like Lady Ethel’s, 
 the least encroachment would cause her to retire within 
 herself again. You must wait, and watch, and hope.” 
 
 “And write all the particulars to my Aunt Letty.” 
 
 “ Oh yes, keep us well informed of everything that goes on 
 here ; and if she manifests the least inclination to visit us 
 again, remember how glad your Aunt Lizzie and myself would 
 be to receive her. And don’t overwork yourself, my little 
 Maggie ; we can’t afford to have our right hand laid up on the 
 sofa.” 
 
 Maggie laughed at the idea. 
 
 “ Fancy me upon a sofii,” stretching out her firm round 
 arm. “ Ho, aunt, if I fall sick of anything it will be of too 
 little exercise, like Mrs Appleton’s old spaniel. I shall be 
 
 s 
 
274 
 
 Her Lord a7id Master, 
 
 afraid to walk out in tkis crowded place alone. It would tire 
 me so to be always trying to keep out of other people’s way.” 
 
 ‘‘ You will have the carriage, my dear.” 
 
 “ Oh !” — with a shrug of martyrdom — ‘‘ fancy driving about 
 in state by myself, and all the swells wondering who that red- 
 cheeked, countrified-looking creature stuck up in Lady Ethel 
 Bainbridge’s barouche can be h ” 
 
 “ Maggie ! I will not have you speak of yourself in that 
 fashion,” exclaimed Miss Lloyd ; besides, it is not the truth. 
 You heard what Dr Chalmers said last night, that the London 
 belles would give half their fortunes to have such a bloom as 
 yours.” 
 
 “ All talk, auntie, particularly when they can buy it ready 
 made. And really a natural colour does look coarse. You 
 should see my skin beside Lady Ethel’s now. Aunt,” with 
 sudden seriousness, she is very lovely ; I don’t wonder at 
 Cousin Thomas having had no eyes for some one else.” 
 
 Nonsense, my dear,” replied Miss Lloyd, rather im- 
 patiently, for she had not yet recovered from the pain of 
 seeing her darling rejected for another \ ‘‘ looks had nothing 
 to do with it. Beauty is proverbially skin deep, and I am 
 sure it has proved so in this instance. I dare say your poor 
 cousin has often regretted his headstrong choice.” 
 
 “ Oh, no ! ” exclaimed the girl, earnestly, “ indeed, I don’t 
 believe it. Whatever she is. Aunt Letty, he loved her ; and 
 how could he have done less than ask her hand in marriage % 
 And if I am not mistaken,” with a light smile, Lady Ethel 
 is coming to the knowledge that she loves him too; and 
 when that occurs it will be all right again. What a happy 
 day, Aunt Letty ! We shall have no more talk about regret- 
 ting then ! ” 
 
 Aunt Letty turned and regarded the dear, honest face that 
 was beaming on her for a few moments without speaking. 
 
 “ O my darling^'* she exclaimed, at length, as she took 
 the girl in her arms, “ Cod bless you ! ” 
 
 It was not much to say, but the three words spoke volumes 
 from one heart to the other. 
 
 When Miss Lloyd was gone again, Maggie felt at first a 
 little lonely. Breakfast was on the table, but she had no 
 inclination to sit down by herself, for her ladyship was still 
 asleep, and the large house seemed silent and deserted. 
 
Installed in Office, 
 
 2/5 
 
 So Maggie sat down to think instead. 
 
 She thought of her cousin — banished from this pleasant 
 home which had been prepared for him by his hither’s bounty 
 — of how much he might be suffering — how much be called 
 upon to suffer — before the discord which had separated him 
 from all he loved was reduced to harmony again. 
 
 Yet she felt that with so determined and resolute a character 
 as his, that happy end would never be accomplished until 
 his wife recalled him of her own free will. It was she who 
 had inflicted the wound; from her hands alone could come the 
 remedy. And to effect a reconciliation between them was the 
 great wish of Maggie’s heart — the aim of all her present actions. 
 
 As she sat there that morning in the very arm-chair her 
 cousin had been used to call his own, she determined to leave 
 no stone unturned that might advance the cause for which 
 she laboured ; to bring all her efforts to bear upon that end, 
 and to be patient, watchful, and trusting as her aunt desired 
 her to be. She might lead to the subject as much as she 
 thought fit, but Lady Ethel must be the first to broach it. 
 All she had to do was to invite her confidence, and pray to 
 be enabled to advise her right when she received it. 
 
 With this intent it was a happy, loving face she took into 
 the bedroom when Lady Ethel’s bell was heard to ring ; so 
 much so, that the other asked, with an eagerness that did 
 not pass unnoticed, if she had heard any news % 
 
 “ None ; excepting that the clock has just struck half-past 
 ten, and therefore I hope your ladyship feels refreshed by 
 your night’s rest." 
 
 Lady Ethel looked disappointed. 
 
 Oh, yes, I feel much stronger, thank you. But is it 
 really so late ? I hope that you have had your breakfast." 
 
 ‘‘No; I waited for you, though I am not quite sure I 
 shall be so polite another morning. May I help you in your 
 toilet % " 
 
 “ Oh, Louise will do it, thank you. It will be such a 
 trouble, won’t it % " with an appealing glance that seemed 
 to beg for an answer in the negative, 
 
 “ Of course it will be — a most horrible trouble ; but all 
 children are that to their mothers. I shall be your mother 
 till you are well, you know." 
 
Her Lord and Master, 
 
 276 
 
 You are tlie first I have ever had,” said Lady Ethel, 
 despondently. 
 
 “ That is a bond between us,” replied Maggie. 
 
 Is there no other h ” asked her friend. “ 0 Maggie ! 
 I dreamed last night I was alone again, and it was such a 
 blessing to wake up and remember you were here.” 
 
 ‘‘ Well, let me prove I am a blessing, by combing through 
 this long hair without making you call out. You must let 
 me plait it for you, Lady Ethel ”• 
 
 Ethel,” interposed the other, quickly. 
 
 Ethel^ then — dear Ethel, if you will.” 
 
 Dear Maggie,” said her cousin’s wife ; and then the girls 
 (both under twenty, remember) threw their arms round each 
 other’s necks and exchanged a hearty kiss. 
 
 The day passed happily, Maggie taking up her station 
 altogether in the sick-room, and whether she worked, read, 
 or wrote, carrying on her business under Lady Ethel’s eye, 
 so that she was constant company. 
 
 Dr Chalmers looked in upon them once, declared his 
 patient’s pulse to be much stronger, laid a few injunctions 
 with respect to her on Maggie, in whom he seemed to have 
 implicit confidence, and disappeared until the following day. 
 With this exception they saw no one ; and Maggie, who 
 had heard so much of the constant round of gaiety in which 
 her cousin’s wife engaged, and the large circle of her fashion- 
 able acquaintance, was surprised to find that no lady came 
 to sit with her for a few minutes, or to cheer her up with 
 prognostications of a quick recovery. Had she been ill at 
 Cranshaws, every farmer’s wife for ten miles round would 
 have jolted over the moors in her spring cart to inquire if the 
 braw young leddy was no richt yet h ” 
 
 It is true that people called, for at the close of the after- 
 noon Louise brought up a salver full of visiting cards, but 
 the unflattering comments with which her mistress turned 
 them over, did not seem to intimate there were any she termed 
 friends amongst them. 
 
 “ Lady Kitchener ! and about time she did call ! it ’s a 
 month since she dined here 1 
 
 Mrs Carmichael ! a disgrace for any one to have her car- 
 riage standing at the door I 
 
Installed in Office, 277 
 
 ‘‘ Mrs Fuller ! of course she must know the why and the 
 wherefore of everything ! 
 
 ‘‘ Lady Rosa Yokes ! oh, the old scarecrow ! What a mercy 
 I escaped her ! 
 
 ‘‘ Mr and Mrs Trevanion ! Thank you, none of that tribe 
 for me ! 
 
 Colonel Marshall ! What eJffrontery ! I only danced 
 with the man once ! Here, Louise, take them all downstairs 
 and put them in the card-basket. I expect it will be a long- 
 time before I trouble myself to return them/’ 
 
 It must be very unsatisfactory work paying calls alone,” 
 said Maggie, innocently. 
 
 Lady Ethel coloured. 
 
 “ I think it generally falls to a woman’s lot, though. Men 
 always shirk visiting.” 
 
 Is Lady Clevedon in town, and your little brother ? ” 
 
 Yes,” hesitatingly, but I don’t often see them.” 
 
 He is quite a baby still, is he not % ” 
 
 About three years old.” 
 
 Oh, what a nice age ! Aren’t you very fond of him ? ” 
 
 I can’t say I am. You see, his mother and I are not the 
 best of friends, Maggie. Do you know why I am ill Has 
 Dr Chalmers told you ” 
 
 “ From over fatigue, is it not, and perhaps a little worry 
 combined with it h ” said Maggie, affectionately, as she laid 
 her hand on Lady Ethel’s. 
 
 Well — yes ; but that is not all. I am going to have a 
 baby.” 
 
 Maggie had been looking earnestly in her face the while, 
 but at these words she rose and, dropping her hand, turned 
 suddenly away to the window. 
 
 Indeed, dear ! ” the words were cheerfully delivered, 
 though the voice was rather strained, that is grand news ! 
 How pleased you must be.” 
 
 She thought she had been reconciled to the marriage of her 
 cousin, but this information staggered her. 
 
 Why is it that a woman, by strength of will and steady pur- 
 pose, can bring herself to contemplate the fact that the man 
 she cares for has preferred another — can even force herself to 
 be a friend, where she has been a lover — and yet have no 
 firmness to look on children, born of such an union ? 
 
278 
 
 Hc 7^ Lord and Master, 
 
 She can let the man go ! If he has lost his love for her, 
 with what object should she seek to stay him ] Let him wed 
 elsewhere, if so it pleases him ; but let it be a silent house he 
 goes to ! She does not say so, perhaps she hardly dares to 
 wish it ; but it is the natural language of her heart. 
 
 If he finds greater pleasure, warmer looks, more constant 
 love, in the embraces of a stranger, she is content ; but may 
 no sweet child seal the unhallowed union to bind their hearts 
 irrevocably to each ether. For children are a pledge — a sign 
 — a token of affection — which no other thing can be ; and 
 the man who can look upon a woman and forget she is the 
 mother of his offspring, is less than man — he is not deserving 
 of the name. It is a sacred seal set on her which should for 
 ever preserve her from the blight of coldness, unkindness, or 
 neglect ; and women, who have faith in the honour of the 
 men they love, know it to be so. 
 
 Maggie would not have altered one phase of her existence, 
 if she could ; she had no wish but to see her cousin happy 
 with the woman whom he loved j and yet at the thought of 
 this new life on its waj^-, she trembled, and grew hot and cold 
 by turns. 
 
 I only tell it to depict her resolution. This was nature, 
 and she was natural from head to foot ; but there was a 
 stronger power within to overcome it. 
 
 ‘^I am not sure about being pleased,” said Lady Ethel, in 
 answer to her last observation, ‘‘ it came on me as a great 
 surprise, and I think I have been rather sorry since than 
 otherwise.” 
 
 Oh ! don’t say that ! ” replied Maggie, quickly, as the 
 thought of her cousin’s feelings, when he should hear the 
 news, flashed across her mind. “ It will be such a blessing 
 
 when it comes ! Think, Ethel, of a little creature ” here 
 
 she halted for a moment, but only for a moment — “ all your 
 own, to love you and look up to you ; there could be no 
 greater happiness ! ” 
 
 Lady Ethel’s breast heaved ; she was not insensible to the 
 prospect laid out before her, only she was still a little too 
 proud to confess it. 
 
 “ Well, I don’t know 1 It will be an immense trouble, and 
 I feel very nervous ; and — and ” — with a quivering lip, “ 1 
 am all alone, you see I ” 
 
Tnstalled in Office, 279 
 
 Bat you will not be alone then/’ said Maggie, confidently. 
 
 Lady Ethel lacked away. 
 
 ‘‘ At all events it is inevitable ! ” she replied, after a pause, 
 “ so it 's no use grumbling about it, Maggie ! Is it not nearly 
 time for tea? I am so thirsty and her willing messenger 
 flew to give the required orders. 
 
 The days slipped tranquilly one after another. Maggie 
 had nothing but good accounts to send to Cranshaws, and 
 Lady Ethel progressed in strength and devotion to her hus- 
 band’s cousin ; yet she w^as selfish in her gratitude. 
 
 Beared in an atmosphere of self-pleasing, and accustomed 
 to regard every thing and body exactly in proportion as it 
 ministered to her gratification, she seemed to imagine that 
 Maggie’s constant attendance in her sick-room was amply 
 repaid by thanks and multiplied caresses. She could not go 
 out herself, and therefore it never struck her that her nurse 
 w^as suffering for want of exercise ; and it was not until Dr 
 Chalmers had spoken to her on the subject that she asked 
 Maggie if she did not think a walk would do her good. 
 
 Maggie was enduring a slight headache at the moment, for, 
 used to an abundance of fresh air and exercise, she had felt 
 the close confinement to a London bedroom more than she 
 cared to acknowledge; but she declined to avail herself of 
 Lady Ethel’s offer till the morrow. 
 
 “ To-morrow will be Sunday, you know,” she said, with a 
 smile, ‘‘ and then, if you can spare me, Ethel, I should be 
 glad to go to church. I have a friend belonging to the sister- 
 hood of Saint Ermenilda’s, and I want to attend service there.” 
 
 Saint Ermenilda’s ! ” repeated Lady Ethel ; ‘‘ why, that is 
 our church ! we always go there.” 
 
 Is not the service very beautiful ? ” 
 
 ‘‘ Oh, yes ! there is splendid music ; and a boy in the 
 choir with a voice like a thrush. But horribly hard chairs ; I 
 advise you to take a shawd, or something to sit down upon. 
 And you have a friend amongst the sisters ? those women with 
 black hoods and things ? how funny ! I do not know any of 
 them ; but I will order the carriage to be ready at a quarter 
 ])ast ten to-morrow to take you there. But not twice a day, 
 Maggie ! I can ’t spare you for more than the morning ser- 
 vice, and I ’m sure that’s long enough for anybody.” 
 
 And Maggie smiled, and promised not to be encroaching. 
 
28 o 
 
 Her Lord and Master. 
 
 whilst her heart beat faster at the idea of worshipping in the 
 same church as Sister Margaret. 
 
 Yet, all this while, she had been unable to say a word 
 about her cousin Thomas. A score of times his name had 
 been upon her very lips, but something in the face of Lady 
 Ethel had restrained her. They had spoken of Cranshaws, 
 of London, of the house they lived in, of the child that was 
 expected; and yet the owner, the master, the husband, and 
 the father, was a forbidden subject. 
 
 Maggie felt sometimes as though she could not bear it — as 
 though she must transgress all bounds to plead the cause of 
 him who could no longer plead his own — as though she must 
 tell Lady Ethel either to give him her affection or withhold it 
 from herself. It seemed so cruelly hard that of all topics 
 spoken of between them, his name should be the only one for- 
 bidden. But the remembrance of Aunt Letty and her last 
 advice restrained her. 
 
 Maggie had the utmost faith in Miss Lloyd’s good sense 
 and counsel. She had told her not to force Lady Ethel’s con- 
 fidence, and so she waited, patiently and in hope. 
 
Saint Erinemlda^s, 
 
 281 
 
 CHAPTER XLVI. 
 
 SAINT EEMENILDA’s. 
 
 “ I SUPPOSE I may ask for your pew % ” said Maggie, the next 
 morning, as she stood by Lady EthePs bed, drawing on her 
 gloves, and waiting for the carriage to come round. 
 
 Pew^ my dear child ! you dl get nothing so comfortable 
 as a pew at Saint Ermenilda’s, I can promise you. Go and 
 sit down in the first rush-bottomed chair you see, and con- 
 sider yourself lucky if you have not a dressmaker on one side 
 of you and a housemaid on the other. That ’s the worst part 
 of these high churches, they let everybody in without the 
 slightest regard to one’s feelings, and you never know next to 
 whom you may sit.” 
 
 ‘‘ The rich and the poor are met together,” said Maggie, 
 smiling. 
 
 ‘‘ Just so,” replied Lady Ethel, without the least conception 
 of the meaning of that smile, ‘‘ and I assure you I have some- 
 times had the shabbiest people possible put next to me. But 
 if you go at once, dear, and get into the front seats, there 
 will not be so much fear of it.” 
 
 “ I am not afraid,” said Maggie, as she kissed her friend 
 and went downstairs. 
 
 When she found how near Saint Ermenilda’s was to Curzon 
 Street, she was almost ashamed to have had the carriage 
 ordered for her ; but she was quite ignorant of London, and 
 would have had to ask her way. Besides, the church, which 
 was a large solid structure of dark-red brick, stood back from 
 the dwellings in the thoroughfare it occupied, and by a 
 stranger might easily have been passed by, though its deep 
 bell gave sonorous notice of its proximity. It was approached 
 through massive iron gates, and Maggie Henderson had 
 scarcely set her foot within its court before the stillness of 
 the place fell on her, and her heart said, this is the gate of 
 heaven.” 
 
 And if she felt so without its walls, how much more so, 
 when she had entered them 1 The church was dim, almost 
 
2S2 
 
 Her Lord and Master, 
 
 dark, for all its glass was stained, and in the chancel, gas was 
 lighted, even for the morning service; but Maggie diad no 
 eyes for anything but the numerous worshippers already 
 scattered about the sacred building, and engaged in prepara- 
 tory prayer. She longed to join them ; to feel herself one 
 with them in purpose as she was in spirit ; and timidly taking 
 up her station at some distance from the altar, she remained 
 lost to all things earthly, until the rising of the congregation 
 roused her to the knowledge that the stalls were filled with 
 white-robed choristers, and the ambassadors of Christ were 
 ready to fulfil their mission. Maggie had never witnessed 
 such a congregation, and as she stood up and saw, not only 
 the sittings, but the aisles, crowded with eager faces all turned 
 towards the chancel, the verse flashed across her mind : “ I 
 was glad when they said unto me, We will go into the House 
 of the Lord.” 
 
 She had never seen such joyous, anticipating looks in church 
 before ; never more solemn ones. The priests knelt ; every 
 knee dropped simultaneously upon the stone floor of St Erme- 
 nilda’s, and for a few moments the silence of death pervaded 
 the vast building. Then commenced the service. 
 
 There is no need to chant the praises of our liturgy, which 
 every Church acknowledges to be as nearly perfect as it is 
 possible for human work to be, but Margaret Henderson had 
 not thought it could be rendered as she heard it then. 
 
 E-apidly but majestically it proceeded, without hurry and 
 without hesitation, yet with an amount of reverence conveyed 
 by every look, and gesture, and position, which was as un- 
 usual as it was apparent. 
 
 Maggie listened to it all, as though she had been in some 
 happy, heavenly dream ; it was too surprising, too wonderful 
 at first almost to believe : certainly to adopt as one’s own 
 rightful heritage. As the two bands of choristers answered 
 each other in the psalms — the glorious organ, whether sad or 
 joyous, plaintive or solemn, tallying with the words they sang 
 — they seemed to acquire a new meaning in her ears ; and 
 she took her part in the responses with the keenest pleasure. 
 Then came the Lessons, succinctly and decisively delivered : 
 the glorious Te Deum and the happy Jubilate, the brief prac- 
 tical sermon, the solemn Credo, followed by the still more 
 solemn Celebration. 
 
Saint Ermenildds, 
 
 283 
 
 Maggie liad entered Saint Ermenilda’s with the intention of 
 communicating, but when the moment came, her courage 
 failed her, and she could not go up to the altar. An awe 
 had fallen on her senses, a sudden new appreciation of the 
 Majesty on High and her own littleness ; and she could only 
 fall upon her knees and worship; whilst she prayed to be 
 made more worthy of that privilege. Hot smarting tears fell 
 on the chair she leaned against — tears wrung from her by a 
 bright vision of His love and her ingratitude — and yet tears 
 that thanked Him for their flowing. She had loved Him all 
 her life; yet now, loving Him no less, she glowed and trembled 
 in His presence, as she had never done before. 
 
 It was as though she had seen her Saviour lifted from the 
 manger to the Throne — from the Cross to the right hand of 
 God; that He whom she had worshipped in His painful 
 earthly travail had appeared before her decked in robes of 
 glory, making her for the first time fully aware of all His 
 condescension in having permitted her to love Him in return. 
 
 What wonder she fell doAvn and worshipped Him ! 
 
 Let none dream, however, that I imagine outward things 
 make any difference in the soul’s interior converse with its 
 Maker ; they elevate, but cannot widen it. Were it not so, 
 God help the many who from the cradle to the grave possess 
 no such advantages as those I write of; and had not Margaret 
 Henderson been depicted in her country home as serving 
 faithfully, I might not have dared to draw her feelings upon 
 this occasion. But what she had said erstwhile to Colonel 
 Bainbridge was the truth ; she would have scorned to desert 
 His presence on an altar decked in rags, therefore she had 
 earned the rapture she experienced now. 
 
 Faithful in a few things, who would grudge her entrance 
 into the joy of her Lord? 
 
 When she lifted up her face again — her blistered, tear- 
 stained, happy face — there was a glow upon it, such as may, 
 perhaps, at times have shone on that of His disciples. It 
 was still lingering there as she re-entered the deep porch, 
 where Sister Margaret, who had been apprised by letter of 
 her coming, was waiting to receive her. 
 
 The look exchanged between them was significant. 
 
 “You like it,” said the Sister, as they clasped hands of 
 true fellowship. 
 
284 
 
 Her Lord and Master, 
 
 Like it ! ” Maggie’s eloquence failed to express all she 
 felt. “ 0 Sister Margaret, I can think of nothing but that 
 I love Him with all my heart, and with all my soul, and with 
 all my mind, and with all my strength. I have seen ‘ the 
 King in His beauty.’ Blessed Saint Ermenilda ! ” as lovingly 
 she gazed back into the empty church. “ Shall I ever forget 
 this day ? I am not the same creature that I was on entering 
 these walls.” 
 
 “ When are you going to become one of us ? ” inquired her 
 companion, smilingly. 
 
 “ When He pleases, Sister Margaret ; I am all His, as you 
 are, and cannot move hand or foot of myself. And just now 
 I have a little work at home,” and then she detailed the 
 circumstances of Lady Ethel’s illness, and the probability of 
 her being much detained in-doors. 
 
 But you must come and see us before leaving London,” 
 said the Sister ; and Maggie, promising so much, they sepa- 
 rated to their respective destinations. 
 
 The happy look that shone upon her face did not escape 
 the notice of Lady Ethel. 
 
 ‘‘ You like Saint Ermenilda’s ! ” she exclaimed, as Maggie 
 went up to her side. 
 
 “ Like is no name for it,” said Maggie, enthusiastically ; 
 “ I am charmed — delighted. I have had such a happy 
 time.” 
 
 ‘‘ I thought you would, every one admires it so. Are not 
 the windows lovely ? ” 
 
 Maggie started. 
 
 ‘‘ I don’t think I saw the windows, Ethel.” 
 
 “ Not the painted windows with the history of Saint 
 Ermenilda ? Why, where were your eyes ] They are con- 
 sidered the best things there. And the carved screen too.” 
 
 “ The screen ? Is that the part which divides the chancel 
 from the nave 1 ” 
 
 “ Of course ; it is all in marble, and came, I believe, from 
 Italy. What colour did the altar wear to-day 1 ” 
 
 “ What colour ? I do not understand you, Ethel.” 
 
 “ Was it vested in red or green 1 Bed is for the martyrs 
 and saints, you know, but green means nothing. It wears 
 green every day.” 
 
 ‘‘ I am sure I can’t tell you,” replied Maggie. 
 
Saint Errnenildd! s. 285 
 
 ‘‘ What a queer girl you are ! I thought you were such a 
 devotee. I suppose you never looked at the altar at all h 
 Oh, yes, I did/' said Maggie, eagerly, and at the paint- 
 ing above it — the Blessed Virgin holding out the infant 
 Saviour to the people. How beautifully it is done ; the 
 Child seems almost to stand out from her arms ; and the 
 expression of His face, too ! I could hardly take my eyes off 
 it.” 
 
 “ The lectern is generally considered to be a very fine piece 
 of workmanship.” 
 
 ‘‘ I don't think I observed the lectern.” 
 
 What anthem did they sing to-day at the Consecration ? '' 
 
 “ I do not remember,” said the other. 
 
 ‘‘ You haven't seen anything, and you don't remember any- 
 thing. Why, what were you doing all the time ? ” 
 
 Maggie was going to reply; she struggled to get out an 
 answer, but she could not manage it, so she stooped down, 
 and kissed Lady Ethel on the cheek instead. 
 
 ‘‘You might just as well have been at home with me,” 
 observed her ladyship, pouting. 
 
 “ I must go some other day,” said Maggie, “ and see the 
 things of which you speak. They would give me infinite 
 pleasure, I can assure you. Only this morning — it was all so 
 new, you see — and — I was thinking of something else.” 
 
 “ What else ? ” demanded Lady Ethel. 
 
 Maggie lingered for a moment by the bedside as though 
 uncertain what to answer, and then, without speaking, left the 
 room. 
 
286 
 
 Her Lord and Master. 
 
 CHAPTER XLYII. 
 
 THE ICE BEGI2^S TO THAW. 
 
 The rest of the day passed very quietly, for Maggie was more 
 thoughtful than usual, and Lady Ethel dozed, or seemed to 
 doze, away the greater part of the afternoon upon her bed. 
 
 It was dusk when she fully roused herself again ; a soft air 
 was creeping in at the unclosed windows, and the figure of 
 her friend was but just discernible in the dim twilight. 
 
 Lady Ethel turned upon her heated pillow with a deep- 
 drawn sigh. Something had affected her ; she was more 
 low-spirited than usual. 
 
 ‘‘ How long the days are, and how horrible and silent every- 
 thing appears ! Why don^t you light the candles ? 
 
 ‘‘ Too soon, is it not % and I thought that they might wake 
 you.” 
 
 ‘‘ I have been awake for hours ! What are you doing, 
 Maggie % You can't be reading, though you have a book iu 
 your hand.” 
 
 No ! it is too dark. I was thinking, Ethel ! ” 
 
 Of what r’ 
 
 The sermon which I heard this morning.” 
 
 “ What a lively subject ! ” 
 
 It was very interesting, as you would acknowledge had 
 you heard it. So short, and yet so practical, and to the 
 point. It was on charity, and the erroneous manner in which 
 some people translate the word. The preacher said that, 
 doubtless, there were many women present who, in a moment 
 of excitement, would throw a bracelet into the offertory bag, 
 or bestow the shawl they wore upon a beggar, who would be 
 incapable of resigning the enjoyment of an hour in order to 
 set a good example, or gratify the wishes of another 1 So 
 true ; is it not ? ” 
 
 “ I daresay it is,” with a yawn ; only I have not much 
 faith in all that self-denying business, and people pretending 
 that it gives them pleasure.” 
 
 “ Have you not % ” The remark struck Maggie painfully, 
 
The Ice degins to Thaw, 
 
 287 
 
 remembering, as she did, bow often her cousin had given up 
 his will to Lady Ethel's, and sought no return. But you 
 must often have seen and admired it, Ethel I There is 
 nothing so lovely as unselfishness ! " 
 
 We were not addicted to practising the virtue at Lady 
 Clevedon's." 
 
 And I have seen so much of it ! " said Maggie, musingly. 
 
 I believe my dear uncle was one of the most unselfish crea- 
 tures that God ever made ! ” 
 
 To this remark there was no answer. 
 
 I have been thinking so much of him to-day,’' she went 
 on, presently. ‘‘I wanted him in Saint Ermenilda's. He 
 had never attended any but country services, you know, and 
 fancied nothing else would please him ; but he was so 
 thoroughly good and unaffected, so ready to believe that, in 
 religion, everybody must be before himself, and so anxious to 
 promote the glory and honour of God, that I am sure he 
 would have altered his opinion. He could not but have 
 acknowledged the grandeur of what I heard to-day, as a fitting 
 tribute to the King of kings, and his heart would have thrilled 
 and melted under it as mine did. Dear uncle ! " 
 
 Still there was no answer to her observations, but Lady 
 Ethel turned restlessly about, until her face was hid from 
 view. 
 
 Of course I can't expect that you should follow me,’' 
 
 continued Maggie ; ‘‘ you saw so little of him, but ” 
 
 ‘‘ I wish you wouldn’t speak to me of him ! ” 
 
 The words came so abruptly and so vehemently, that her 
 companion started. 
 
 ‘‘ Not of my uncle ? 0 Ethel 1 surely you are not cherish- 
 
 ing resentment for him still. Bemember where he is — and 
 that he can never vex you more ! " 
 
 “ It is not that ! " The voice which spoke was broken. 
 ‘‘Not that Dear Ethel ! what have I said to make you 
 cry ? You cannot believe that he has not forgiven ; he who 
 forgave you over and over again, before he died.” 
 
 “ Did he 1 O Maggie ! ” and round came the penitent 
 arms to clasp themselves about her neck. 
 
 “ Don't sob so ! dear, don’t sob so, or you '11 upset my 
 calmness too. The occasion for it is all past. He will never 
 feel annoyance or vexation more.” 
 
288 
 
 Her Lord a7td Master. 
 
 “ But I — I never shall forget/’ said Lady Ethel, weeping. 
 
 His last looks, his last words, they haunt me day and night. 
 Do you remember what they were % ‘ God Almighty bless 
 
 you — and — and — your children — if you have any ! ’ ” 
 
 Well, dear ! and they ought to comfort instead of distress- 
 ing you. He never mentioned that name lightly. It was a 
 prayer he prayed for you ; and you must have belief in its 
 fulfilment.” 
 
 “ But I made him so unhappy ! I was so — so — rude — 
 and — uncivil to him. And then he died without my having 
 seen him again. I did not think he would.” 
 
 “ But not without having forgiven you, darling ! He 
 talked so often of you during the last few days, it seemed as 
 though he intended you should hear how entirely he had 
 forgotten your behaviour.” 
 
 “ What did he say ? ” 
 
 “ That he was sure you had so much sterling worth, 
 beneath the crust of pride raised by your artificial education, 
 that it depended on your husband’s judiciousness whether you 
 turned out a good wife or a bad one.” 
 
 “ How little he knew of me ! I am not teachable like 
 that ! ” 
 
 And that the greatest blessing God could send you would 
 be children. Baby hands to pull down your reserve ; baby 
 voices to distract your attention from yourself ; and baby 
 wants to make you grow less selfish. I speak plainly, dear, 
 as he spoke ; don’t let me offend you.” 
 
 There seemed little fear of that, if one might judge from 
 Lady Ethel’s low continued weeping. 
 
 “ But Maggie — do you know — did he ever tell you that the 
 reason that he was too late to see his father, was — because — 
 because — I ” 
 
 “ He did not tell me, Ethel, but I guessed it. It was very, 
 very sad, but you could not foretell consequences, and it is all 
 right now.” 
 
 All right now ? ” 
 
 In her surprise at the assertion, Lady Ethel stayed her tears 
 to lift a flushed face of inquiry to her friend. 
 
 “ With regard to uncle. He knows now why his son was 
 absent from his dying bed, and such things have no more 
 power to vex him.” 
 
The Ice begins to Thazv. 
 
 289 
 
 But be cannot know that I am sorry.” 
 
 “ Why not, dear % I believe he does ; and thanks God 
 for his death, if it has been the means of changing your state 
 of mind. Dear Ethel, you don^t half know what a loving 
 soul he was. He never had an unkind thought for any living 
 creature — is it likely he would begin now ? Why do you cry 
 still ? You will be ill if you can’t control yourself, and then 
 Dr Chalmers will be angry with me.” 
 
 Yet still her face was bowed upon the pillow, whilst her 
 trembling frame gave evidence of her emotion, and Maggie 
 felt the time to speak had come. 
 
 ‘‘ Ethel, there is something further. Your self-reproaches 
 are not all for your careless speeches to my uncle. A deeper 
 wound than that is troubling you. Why not give it vent % ” 
 
 ‘‘ 0 Maggie ! you must guess what it is. He was angry 
 with me — justly angry ; and in my resentment I insulted him 
 upon his tenderest point. I said what was not true, and 
 drove him from his home : and now — now ” — with a failing 
 voice — I am so miserable ! ” 
 
 ‘‘ But, dear, I thought you did not care for him.” 
 
 Not care for him ! not care for him h ” exclaimed Lady 
 Ethel, hysterically, as starting up she threw her arms above her 
 head. “ I care for him as my life, I would die to bring him back 
 again ! I am thirsting to hear the sound of his voice or feel 
 the touch of his hand ; but I have driven him from, me, and I 
 know that I shall never see him again as long as I live. And 
 the child too — the child — I shall never put it in its father’s 
 arms. O Thomas ! Thomas ! ” and with hidden face she 
 rocked herself backwards and forwards in her bed. 
 
 Thank God ! ” said Maggie, solemnly. 
 
 For what ? For utter misery ? ” inquired Lady Ethel. 
 
 ‘‘For the dawn of hope,” replied the other. “ If you love 
 him, everything is easy. A word will bring him back to 
 you.” 
 
 “ Oh, no ! ” despairingly; “ you do not know what passed 
 between us, Maggie ! I told him that I cared for some one 
 else, and he will never forgive it or forget it. I said I hated 
 him — I hated him ! — him whom I would have died in the 
 same hour to serve ; but it was all my wretched pride, and I 
 am rightly punished for it. O Maggie, my heart is broken ; I 
 shall never, never be a happy woman again.” 
 
 T 
 
290 
 
 Her Lord and Master. 
 
 “ Husli ! hush ! no one can say so much as that, no ono 
 should dare say it whilst he lives. 
 
 But so far off, and in that dreadful climate, he may never 
 return.’^ 
 
 If so, you will not be left alone.” 
 
 I may never have the opportunity to tell him I am sorry.” 
 
 It will be told him for you, Ethel.” 
 
 “ I may have to pass my life without seeing him again.” 
 
 “ But not without One who loves you far more than Cousin 
 Thomas does ; who suffers with every pain experienced by 
 your heart, and echoes every repentant sigh you heave. 0 
 Ethel,” with clasped hands falling on her knees beside the bed, 
 “ do try to believe that He is by you at this very moment, 
 hearing every word, reading each thought, and able by a 
 breath to fulfil your dearest wishes if you make them known 
 to Him.” 
 
 “ I have forgotten Him so long,” said Lady Ethel, in a low 
 voice. 
 
 “ He has never forgotten you, dear.” 
 
 ‘ But that makes it so much harder. How can I go to 
 Him just because I want something, when I never remem- 
 bered Him in my happiness? It seems so mean.” 
 
 ‘‘ Nothing can be mean, dear, that brings us to His feet. 
 And it is so sweet, whilst kneeling there, to think that He 
 knows everything ; there is no occasion even to speak to Him ; 
 our tears are all the explanation that He needs.” 
 
 And then, seeing that they still streamed down the cheeks 
 of Lady Ethel, Maggie bent over the repentant girl, and took 
 her in her arms as though she had been a little child, and 
 sweetly kissed them all away. 
 
 Dear Ethel, don’t cry any more. Everything will come 
 right in time ; I am sure it will. And now you must let me 
 ring for candles and your tea, or you will have a headache 
 and be unable to sleep.” 
 
 And assuming a bright, cheerful countenance, she coaxed 
 the invalid to eat and drink until her former composure was 
 restored, and she saw her drop off tranquilly to rest. 
 
 But the next morning, as soon as Lady EtheFs toilet was 
 completed, Maggie came dancing to her bedside with pen, ink, 
 and paper, and placed them all before her. 
 
 ‘‘For what?” she asked, in genuine surprise. 
 
The- Ice begins to Thaw. 
 
 291 
 
 To write to him, dear. You must write at once to Cousin 
 Thomas and tell him to come home. A word from you will 
 bring him back again.” 
 
 But Maggie had been too precipitate, and Lady Ethel 
 shrunk from the proposal. In a soft moment she had acknow- 
 ledged both her fault and her repentance, but she was hardly 
 prepared to put a seal to the confession, and a remnant of the 
 old pride rose to hinder it. 
 
 Oh, no ! indeed I could not.” 
 
 Maggie^s face fell. 
 
 ‘‘You will not tell him what you told to me ? ” 
 
 “ Some day, perhaps — when he has written to me ; but 
 surely it is his part to write first.” 
 
 “ Do you imagine he will think you care to hear from him ? ” 
 
 “He has not asked me yet. And we have not even received 
 the news of his arrival in Calcutta.” 
 
 “ I know the address of his agents, who will forward the 
 letter to him.” 
 
 But still Lady Ethel did not attempt to take either pen or 
 paper from her hands, and Maggie saw her errand for the 
 time was fruitless. 
 
 “ May I write to him, Ethel 'i ” she inquired, after a short 
 pause. 
 
 “ Of course ! What has my leave to do with it ? He is 
 your cousin.” 
 
 “Yes 1 but you know what I mean. May I write and tell 
 him you are ill, and lonely, a»nd in bad spirits, and that he 
 must come home ] ” 
 
 “ If you like,” after a slight hesitation — “but nothing more, 
 remember, Maggie ! How promise me.” 
 
 “ You shail read my letter,” was her answer, “ and send or 
 tear it up, as seems agreeable to you. That is a fair bargain, 
 is it not ? And now I must go and write it, or it will not be 
 ready for to-morrow^'s mail.” 
 
 In another hour she returned. 
 
 “ There is my production, Ethel,” placing two crossed sheets 
 of paper in her hand ; “ a fearful scribble, but 1 dare say you 
 will be able to decipher it ; and there is the envelope ready 
 stamped and directed. If you don’t like my letter tear it up; 
 but if it meets with your approval, you had better send it to 
 the post at once. I am just going round to see Sister Mar- 
 
292 
 
 Her Lord and Master, 
 
 garet, but shall be back before your luncheon time. Good-bye,” 
 and with a kiss she left her. 
 
 Lady Ethel regarded the sheets before her with somewhat 
 of dismay. She knew Maggie’s energetic character ; and felt 
 as though she held her own fate in her hands. 
 
 At one time she thought that she would send them to the 
 post unread ; but curiosity overpowered the half-formed reso- 
 lution, and she commenced to peruse them. And as she read, 
 and her own heart was laid bare before her, the tears gathered 
 in her eyes and fell upon the paper. 
 
 Maggie had not spared her, had not meant to spare her. 
 She spoke freely to her cousin of the mental anguish he had 
 suffered and divulged to her at Cranshaws ; enlarging on his 
 love for Lady Ethel, and his bitter disappointment at the 
 discovery it was not reciprocated ; and then she touched upon 
 the present weakness of his wife, her loneliness and need of 
 careful treatment, and begged him to return to England as 
 soon as it was possible to do so. And her allusions and 
 entreaties pierced the very heart of the woman for whom they 
 had been written. 
 
 Maggie had dexterously placed a pen and inkstand by the 
 side of Lady Ethel’s bed, and as she came to the end of the 
 epistle, where a little slip of fair paper had been left, unwritten 
 on, her longing to have some communication with the man 
 whose hands should touch it next, grew too strong for her 
 resistance, and seizing the pen, she wrote, hurriedly, just below 
 his cousin’s signature — Oh, come ! do come ! I want you.” 
 
 The deed done, she felt half ashamed of it. Supposing he 
 should refuse a reconciliation, and desire her to write no more, 
 or taunt her with having made an ineffectual act of humilia- 
 tion. Alarmed at the idea. Lady Ethel smeared over the 
 words she had transcribed, to render them, as she thought, 
 illegible ; but the ink had already sunk into the thin foreign 
 paper, and having disfigured without effacing them, she 
 hastily folded the letter, and enclosing it in the envelope, 
 ordered Louise to have it taken to the post. 
 
 ^^Isit gone*?” cried Maggie, when she returned from her 
 visit ; and being answered in the affirmative, told Lady Ethel 
 that she would lay her a thousand pounds, if she had them, 
 that in two months’ time Colonel Bainbridge would be back 
 in England. 
 
The Ice begms to Thaw. 
 
 293 
 
 I don’t believe it/’ said the wife, despondently ; it takes 
 more than a letter to make up a quarrel like ours — besides, 
 two months I just fancy, Maggie, what a time to wait ! It 
 seems an eternity in prospect.” 
 
 Nevertheless, she was much more cheerful after the letter 
 was posted than she had been before, and that evening, when 
 Maggie was bidding her good-night, said, rather awkwardly, 
 but with evident sincerity — 
 
 If you are going to read — you always do so, do you not 1 
 ■ — you may just as well read here as in your own room.” 
 
 So Margaret Henderson sat down again by the bedside, 
 and read a certain gracious promise to the intent that, though 
 a woman may forget her sucking child, there is One by whom 
 we can never be either forgotten or forsaken. 
 
 I cannot remember my mother,” said Lady Ethel, thought- 
 fully (she had alluded more than once of late to the same 
 subject) ; but I have heard my father say that the last word 
 she uttered was my name. A mother’s love must be a very 
 holy thing.” 
 
 “ Yes, or it would not have been chosen as a type of His. 
 But, I thank Heaven, I have never known the loss of it. Aunt 
 Lizzie has been my mother.” 
 
 ‘‘ Is she so good to you 1 ” 
 
 “ Oh, very good ; so sweet, and patient, and forbearing. 
 She has never made the least difference between me and 
 Cousin Thomas, although he is her own child, and she dotes 
 on him. And in sickness or trouble, there is no one like her ; 
 except, indeed. Aunt Letty, who is my peculiar property.” 
 
 Lady Ethel sighed. 
 
 “ It must be very sweet to have a mother,” she repeated. 
 
 You have one, Ethel.” 
 
 The blue eyes were fixed inquiringly on her face. 
 
 Aunt Lizzie. Who could be more a daughter to her than 
 her dear son’s wife ? And I am sure that no one would be 
 readier to act a mother’s part to you. She would love you 
 just the same as if you were her own. For Ms sake, if for 
 nothing else.” 
 
 And Lady Ethel fell to sleep with those words sounding in 
 her ears, and a smile upon her lips. 
 
294 
 
 Her Lord and Master. 
 
 CHAPTEE XLVIIL 
 
 HOME AT LAST. 
 
 The time went on, until Maggie had nearly been a month in 
 Curzon Street, and Lady Ethel had so far regained her 
 strength as to be allowed to move about the house, and take 
 carriage exercise. But she never cared to drive out in the 
 Park, nor would she go anywhere without her friend. Maggie 
 seemed to have become indispensable to her, and the old 
 haunts distasteful ; so, by mutual consent, they made daily 
 excursions into the surrounding country, and spent as little 
 time as possible in the crowded thoroughfares. 
 
 Yet even with this precaution it was not practicable for 
 Lady Ethel entirely to avoid the remembrances that pained 
 her. More than once, as she and Maggie Henderson drove 
 out together, they came in contact with a showily-appointed 
 carriage, containing a handsome woman, with a child seated 
 by her side; a woman who, passing Lady Ethel without 
 apparent recognition, stared with supercilious contempt at her 
 companion, eliciting a justly- deserved condemnation from the 
 lips of her step-daughter. 
 
 There is my father’s widow, Maggie, and a specimen of 
 courtesy for you. Not that I should blame her though, for 
 I have been rude enough in my day, and have no wish to 
 renew my intercourse with her. I suppose the secret of it is, 
 that true politeness must be founded on some firmer basis 
 than the mere desire to keep up one’s character for a know- 
 ledge of the requisitions of society. How I wish it were pos- 
 sible to get into the country, without driving through these 
 hateful streets.” 
 
 And the next moment, as a gentleman in passing lifted his 
 hat to her (a tall slight man with dark eyes, whom Maggie 
 could not help remarking for his elegant appearance). Lady 
 Ethel, flushing scarlet, desired the coachman to turn at once 
 into a by-road and take them anywhere, by any route, so that 
 she might be spared the worry of these constant recognitions. 
 
Home at Last, 
 
 295 
 
 But that night, when she was laid in her bed, and Maggie 
 stooped to give her a last kiss, she found her cheek was wet. 
 Dear Ethel ! what has happened to disturb you 
 Oh — nothing ! do not think of it — only that man (you 
 saw him, Maggie) who bowed to me at the corner of Hyde 
 Paik this afternoon, he is the occasion of all my misery ; it 
 was for him I quarrelled with my husband ; and now I hate 
 the very sight of him. I wish that I might never see him 
 more. 0 Thomas ! 0 my darling ! when will you come 
 back to me 
 
 And Maggie spoke dear words of comfort to her, as she 
 always did, promising a future of happiness if Ethel would 
 but seek it in the way appointed ; then crept to her own 
 room, but not without a tear (for if the memory of her past 
 was laid to sleep with holy words, it was not quite forgotten), 
 and soothed her heart by praying that all those she loved 
 might yet be re-united, and at peace. 
 
 But Mrs Bainbridge was getting clamorous that Maggie 
 should return to Cranshaws. She was desirous to remove 
 thence, and would not let a case be packed until she had the 
 assistance of her niece. 
 
 Her last few letters had been filled with plaintive inquiries 
 as to the probable duration of her absence, and Maggie had 
 experienced no small difiiculty in concealing her demands from 
 Lady Ethel, by whom she felt the news of her impending de- 
 j)arture would be received with the deepest lamentation. But 
 the country letters generally arrived about the time that they 
 had breakfast ; and one morning, as they were sitting in the 
 dining-room together, the intelligence conveyed to Maggie by 
 her aunt was too important not to be inferred from the rapid 
 change of her countenance. 
 
 ‘‘ What is the matter*?’’ exclaimed Lady Ethel ; you have 
 had bad news.” 
 
 “ Oh, no j I hope not,” said the other, trying to speak 
 cheerfully ; “ but my aunt has had a letter from Calcutta.” 
 
 ‘‘From Calcutta*?” 
 
 •‘How, don’t be frightened, darling ! really it is nothing, 
 only Aunt Lizzie is so nervous and so easily alarmed. She 
 has heard from Cousin Thomas : he was quite well when he 
 wrote (remember that), had made a good passage, and arrived 
 in Bengal safely ; but he found orders waiting for him to pro- 
 
296 
 
 Her Lord and Master. 
 
 ceed immediately up country, and could not stay in Calcutta 
 long enough to receive our letters/' 
 
 ‘‘ But why — why go up country ? " 
 
 ‘‘Why, his battery is up country, you little goose, and 
 they wanted him. There had been a slight rising amongst 
 some of the hill tribes in the north provinces (they are always 
 rising up there), and Cousin Thomas wrote that he was likely 
 to have some skirmishing, at which Aunt Lizzie says he seems 
 uncommonly delighted ; but, of course, like most mothers, she 
 is horrified at the mere name of fighting, and fancies all sorts 
 of coming trouble. But that arises from her overweening love 
 for him." 
 
 “ They are going to fight 
 
 The voice seemed so unlike Lady Ethel's voice, that Maggie 
 looked up, quickly. There she stood, having risen from her 
 chair, grey as ashes, and trembling in every limb. 
 
 Ethel I you will never be so foolish as to worry yourself 
 for a little thing like this. Would you have a soldier for a 
 husband and not let him ply a soldier's trade ! What non- 
 sense ! Bouse yourself, my dear ! You are worse than even 
 poor Aunt Lizzie." 
 
 She spoke sharply ; and went up to her as she spoke, and 
 took her roughly by the hand. 
 
 “ Ethel ! you will make me angry in a minute ! This is 
 perfect folly ! I never should have told you, except as an 
 excuse for the news that I must leave you. Aunt Lizzie 
 wants me to go home again." 
 
 But the beautiful, pleading face, that, amidst all its know- 
 ledge of the world, had retained so much of childlike inno- 
 cence in its expression, was lifted to her own ; and Maggie 
 felt her powers of resistance ebb away. 
 
 “ Oh, do not leave me ! and just now too. I could not 
 bear the suspense by myself ; it would kill me !" 
 
 “ What can I do, dear 1 I don’t want to go ; but Aunt 
 Lizzie has great claims on me, and I have been here a month, 
 and she is anxious that I should return. Do you think I 
 like to leave you, my dear sister ? " 
 
 “ Take me with you," whispered Lady Ethel. 
 
 “ To Cranshaws Would you really like to go % ” 
 
 “ If she — his — his mother will receive me. Do you think 
 she will?" 
 
Home at Last, 
 
 297 
 
 ‘‘ I do not ihinTc, Ethel, I am sure of it.” 
 
 ‘‘ What, after all h Oh ! if she would — ^if she would let 
 me stay near her ! I fancy by her side I could be patient, 
 whatever happens. O Maggie ! ” with clasped hands, for 
 God’s sake, tell me that he will come back again ! 
 
 ‘‘ How can I tell you that, my darling ? But of one thing 
 I am certain, that God will give him back to you ; and if 
 you have to wait, Ethel, until you meet him in another world, 
 remember that we all deserve less at His hands than we re- 
 ceive. But, now, if you have quite decided to go back to 
 Cranshaws with me, we must write to Dr Chalmers, and ask 
 his opinion on the subject.” 
 
 The physician caught at the idea : country air was all his 
 patient needed to restore her to her usual health, and he could 
 advise nothing that was likely to do her greater good. The 
 only stipulation which he made was that the long journey 
 should be broken by a night’s rest at York, which gave 
 Maggie time to prepare her aunts for the reception of their 
 unexpected visitor; and though she had kept them well- 
 informed of all that had occurred in Curzon Street, and the 
 love which Lady Ethel had evinced for herself, it must be 
 confessed that the proposition of her advent struck Mrs 
 Bainbridge with dismay. 
 
 Lady Ethel coming with her ! and when I wanted Maggie 
 just to help us in the packing ! This is very awkward, Letty ; 
 it will turn the house all topsy-turvy again.” 
 
 ‘‘ Oh ! I hope not, Elizabeth. You see how affectionately 
 Maggie writes of Lady Ethel ; and how well they seem to 
 agree together. I hope we may find her much changed for 
 the better.” 
 
 ‘‘Fond of Maggie she evidently is,” said Mrs Bainbridge; 
 “ but who could help being fond of Maggie — especially when 
 she had nursed them through an illness ? But that, in all 
 probability, will only make Lady Ethel cling to her the more ; 
 and, perhaps, monopolise her services and her society. You 
 remember how selfish she was with poor dear Thomas.” 
 
 “ Let us try not to remember it, Lizzie. She was newly 
 married then ; had been much spoiled ; and likely to be a little 
 overbearing. And now she has felt what it is to be in sickness 
 and in trouble, poor child ; and, from Maggie’s account, she 
 must behave very differently from what she did then.” 
 
298 
 
 Her Lord and Master, 
 
 ‘^Maggie is always enthusiastic, particularly where her 
 affections are concerned,” said Mrs Bainbridge. Well, of 
 course, I must always feel kindly towards any one whom my 
 dear Thomas loves ; but I must say, I should have been 
 better pleased if Lady Ethel had delayed her visit till we 
 were settled in our new home/* 
 
 Perhaps she wants to come and help you, Elizabeth, as 
 Maggie does,” suggested Miss Lloyd. 
 
 ‘‘Now Letty ! just think of that girl, with her delicate 
 mincing ways, and all her pretty fashionable fal-lals, and say 
 if that is probable. Help me, indeed ! she is far more likely 
 to keep the whole house (myself included) waiting upon her.” 
 
 “ She is a fragile creature,** said her sister, “ and looks as 
 if she had been born to be waited on. How proud Thomas 
 was of her.** 
 
 “ Ay, and think of him now, poor dear, exiled to that 
 horrid country, because of her unkindness. When I remem- 
 ber that, Letty, I hardly feel as though I could receive her 
 in a cordial manner.’* 
 
 “ She would not have proposed to come to us, unless she 
 felt the want of our affection. Don’t let it be said that by 
 our coldness we checked the first impulse which her heart has 
 conceived towards us. Beceive her as a daughter — as if 
 nothing unpleasant had occurred between you (she has no 
 mother of her own, remember) — and you will do more, Eliza- 
 beth, to show her she was wrong than any amount of 
 reproaches would- effect. But I do not believe she is coming 
 to us in the same spirit that she did before ; for I have faith 
 in Maggie’s representations, and know that, though enthu- 
 siastic, she never exaggerates ; nor would she take so great an 
 interest in any one who was not disposed to look kindly upon 
 those she loves.” 
 
 Yet, notwithstanding all Miss Lloyd’s cheerful prognosti- 
 cations, Mrs Bainbridge continued quite nervous at the 
 prospect of seeing her daughter-in-law again ; and when the 
 carriage had been sent to Borthwick to fetch the travellers, 
 wandered restlessly from room to room, unable to settle any- 
 where, and evidently much discomposed by the meeting that 
 awaited her. 
 
 “ Here they come,” cried Aunt Letty, as she pursued her 
 sister to the Library, “ the carriage has just passed the brow 
 
Home at Last. 
 
 299 
 
 of tlie hill, and I can see Maggie’s dear round face out of the 
 window. Come, Elizabeth, let us meet the children in the 
 hall.” 
 
 But Mrs Bainbridge, trembling with anxiety, stood rooted 
 to the spot. 
 
 0 Letty ! if she should speak and look as she did before, 
 and neither of them here to stand between us ! I don’t think 
 I could bear it — I don’t indeed ! ” 
 
 Nonsense ! exclaimed Aunt Letty ; “ you are frighten- 
 ing yourself with shadows, Lizzie. Why, there is Maggie’s 
 voice already in the hall. My darling, are you really here at 
 last ? ” 
 
 At lasL you may say indeed, auntie. Poor Ethel is 
 tired out of her life ; she is not yet strong enough for such 
 long journeys.” And then as she was embraced by each in 
 turn, Maggie pushed Lady Ethel forward. “ Aunt Lizzie, I 
 have brought your daughter to you, who wants all the love 
 that you can spare from Cousin Thomas to console her for his 
 absence, and all the care and petting you can give her for the 
 sake of a little secret of her own. There, Ethel,” as she 
 placed the hand of her companion in that of Mrs Bainbridge, 
 “ there is your mother, and here is mine,” turning to Aunt 
 Letty ; “ and now that we have one apiece, we shall not quarrel.” 
 
 Mrs Bainbridge glanced timidly at her daughter-in-law, but 
 one look at the pale harassed face raised imploringly to hers, 
 was sufficient to make her kind maternal arms fly open. 
 
 My dear girl, you look very ill ! what has been the matter 
 with you? How miserable my dear Thomas would be to 
 know it.” 
 
 O mother ! ” whispered Lady Ethel, clinging close to her, 
 ‘^do you — do you think there is any fear that he will not come 
 home again ? ” 
 
 “ Not come home, my dear? what, Thomas ? God forbid ! 
 But I am very anxious, naturally — and so must you be, until 
 we hear that he is safe and well again at Calcutta.” 
 
 “ I thought I could not bear it away from you and all he 
 cares for,” murmured the girl, feverishly ; ‘‘I should have 
 seen faces that were not there, and heard voices when nobody 
 was talking. It seems so long — so very long — since he went 
 away ; and there is so much before me, I don’t think we shall 
 ever meet in this world again.” 
 
300 
 
 Her Lord and Master. 
 
 Maggie !” exclaimed Mrs Bainbridge, in a voice of alarm. 
 
 Why does she talk so strangely % My dear, you ought to be 
 in bed.^’ 
 
 ‘‘ I think she is very tired, Aunt Lizzie ; but nothing would 
 do her more harm now than to be silent. Let her say all she 
 has to say, and then carry her up -stairs and put her to bed in 
 your own dear comfortable way.^’ 
 
 Yes, let me speak,” went on Lady Ethel, hurriedly, just 
 a few words ; I might not live to say them till the morning. O 
 mother ! (if I may call you mother), I behaved so ill when I 
 was here before ; I was proud, and selfish, and presuming ; I 
 did not know how necessary love is to life ; and now that I am 
 stripped of everything, I come home to ask it at your hands.” 
 
 ‘‘ My dear daughter, you have no need to ask, it has been 
 always ready for you. You had but to stretch your hand and 
 take it.” 
 
 “ And may I stay here until he comes back to me — or I go 
 to him ? I feel as though I could not live now except in 
 places with which he has been familiar.” 
 
 My dear, Cranshaws is your own. You are the mistress 
 here.” 
 
 “ Oh, no ! no ! shrinking backwards, ‘‘I cannot feel that ; 
 I would rather be your daughter and your guest. And if — 
 if — anything should happen — if he never comes again, you 
 will let me try to be your child instead of him. But I could 
 not live — indeed, indeed, I could not live without him. ]\Iy 
 heart is breaking now,” and bursting into tears, Lady Ethel 
 fell upon the homely breast of the woman she had so despised. 
 Mrs Bainbridge, powerfully affected, could only strain her 
 to her heart, and cry with her, and had not Maggie interposed 
 her authority, the invalid might have been rendered seriously ill. 
 
 Come, Ethel, try to calm yourself. What would Dr 
 Chalmers say to such an exhibition % Aunt Lizzie, make her 
 go up-stairs, and then you can wait on her, and cosset her to 
 your heart’s content, until she goes to sleep.” 
 
 Acting on which opportune advice. Lady Ethel was per- 
 suaded to allow herself to be made much of (a proceeding to 
 which the young woman was at no period averse), and Mrs 
 Bainbridge seeing her eat her dinner and made comfortable 
 for the niglit, had a very happy tearful time of it until she 
 V as called down-stairs again hj the ringing of the prayer bell. 
 
Home at Last, 
 
 301 
 
 ‘‘ Only to think,” she observed to Aunt Letty, as, waiting 
 the appearance of the servants, she wiped her moistened eyes, 
 ‘‘ that that poor darling is fretting for Thomas even more than 
 I am ; and would give her right hand not to have offended 
 him. And I daresay he was partly in the wrong ; men are so 
 difficult to deal with.” 
 
 I do not think Ethel would agree with you there,” said 
 Maggie, smiling. 
 
 Ah ! she is all sweetness. It is beautiful to hear her 
 speak of him, and of herself, and her expected baby ! Who 
 could have dreamt she would be so altered ? She is not like 
 the same person.” 
 
 “ Let us thank God for it,” said Aunt Letty, as the long 
 train of domestics filed into the room. 
 
302 
 
 Her Lord and Master. 
 
 CHAPTER XLIX. AND LAST. 
 
 PEACE ON EARTH, AND GOOD WILL TOWARD MEN.^'^ 
 
 Whilst these events were happening in England, Colonel 
 Bainbridge, in a very restless and unhappy state of mind, 
 was wandering about the north-west provinces of Bengal. 
 For that which, on the eve of his departure, he had written 
 to his cousin Maggie, was the truth. Scarcely had he con- 
 cluded the terms of his exchange, and paid down his passage 
 money to the East, before he repented that he had been so 
 rash. 
 
 To go back to his wife, and without some further explana- 
 tion of her words, to claim the empty casket whence the gem of 
 love had been extracted, would have been impossible to him ; 
 but the thought which haunted him throughout the tedious 
 journey, that in order to save his own wounded feelings, he had 
 abandoned her to temptation and the power of the man for 
 whom she had confessed a preference, nearly drove him mad. 
 
 By the time he reached Calcutta, he had almost forgiven 
 her ; or rather, absence, and the strong desire to prove her 
 cruelty not wilful, had so softened the remembrance of it, 
 that the thought of all he had loved best in her, her pretty 
 childish ways, her grace, her beauty, and her mock imperious- 
 ness, was the predominating thought ; and, blaming himself 
 more than he blamed her, he would have returned to England 
 by the next steamer if he could. He was not perfect ; this 
 great, honest, short-sighted Englishman, bred of the middle 
 classes ; but he was a very fair type of a gentleman who truly 
 loves the woman he has sworn to cherish. There is weakness 
 apparent in his hasty flight, and incapability to stand by and 
 look upon the desolation of his hearth j still more, perhaps, in 
 his quick following repentance and desire to return and ‘‘ make 
 it up again ; ” but weakness, where a woman is concerned, is 
 pardonable in the man who loves her, and firmness too often 
 prognosticates an absence of affection. It is so hard to hold 
 out against anything which we can crush at will. 
 
 By the time that Colonel Bainbridge had reached his desti- 
 
Peace on Earthy and Good Will toward Men!' 303 
 
 nation, therefore, he had a thousand excuses ready hatched for 
 Lady Ethel. She was so young, so beautiful, so much admired. 
 He had proposed to her too hastily, and without sufficient 
 encouragement, she had never told him that she loved him ; 
 he had no one to thank for his gross error but himself. And 
 then, was she quite unimpressionable, that fair, soft, girlish 
 creature % that, instead of attempting to provoke her love, he 
 had deserted, without giving her due warning, and left the 
 field open to his rival. Fool ! idiot ! madman ! The only 
 remedy he could think of was to return at once. 
 
 But when he got to Calcutta, Colonel Bainbridge experienced 
 the unpleasant fact that when a man is bound to his pro- 
 fession, saying and doing are two different things. 
 
 Despatches waited for him (or rather for the officer in whose 
 stead he appeared there), demanding his immediate presence 
 with his battery up country, where a disturbance had broken 
 out amongst some of the hill tribes, and, unable to do more 
 than write a few hurried lines to his mother (when it came to 
 the point, his courage failed him to address his wife), and 
 leave directions with his agents to forward all his letters, he 
 took the speediest means to reach his destination. Arrived 
 there, he found the mutiny more important than he had 
 imagined ; regiments were ordered out in several directions, 
 and he was immediately placed in command, and sent to do 
 duty somewhere in the jungle. 
 
 Here Colonel Bainbridge remained for several weeks, seeing 
 no service, with the exception of a few skirmishes and night 
 surprises, which he called child's play, and receiving no hurt, 
 unless a cut across the head from a glancing spear, which he 
 declared too trifling to demand the doctor s aid, could be called 
 such. 
 
 Colonel Bainbridge, however (always the last person to 
 look after himself), in this instance proved too careless ; for 
 though the wound was not dangerous, the weather was so; 
 and a sunstroke supervening on exposure, threw his already 
 heatedframeintoa state of fever which threatened his existence. 
 For weeks he lay delirious on his bed ; raving of things past, 
 present, and to come; and when his malady was at last 
 abated, and consciousness restored, he was so feeble as to 
 seem desirous of one thing only, and that was to die. He 
 appeared to have lost all memory, interest, or curiosity, and 
 
304 
 
 Her Lord and Master, 
 
 the only occasions upon which his medical attendant could 
 rouse him to anything like energy, was when he mentioned 
 the desirability of his proceeding immediately to England; 
 and then Colonel Bainbridge, with all the firmness of which 
 he was master, would declare his willingness to go to Australia, 
 the Cape, or the Mauritius, anywhere, in short, but to his native 
 land. 
 
 No country but England will set you up again,” the doctor 
 urged. 
 
 Then I will die here,” was his patient’s answer. For 
 during his illness, all the softened thoughts which he had 
 entertained for Lady Ethel on his voyage out, had faded into 
 the far distance, to be replaced by one idea, the indisputable 
 conviction that she hated him — that she had said so — and 
 that he must never see her more. With strength had vanished 
 his powers of discernment, and he could only lie quiescent, 
 and in his feeble way, rehearse over and over again the last 
 sad scene he had gone through with his wife ; until he con- 
 vinced himself that the best thing for her, for him, for both 
 of them, was that he should die where he lay, and never 
 trouble her again. ‘^Yet, 0 Ethel! O my God! How I 
 have loved her 1 ” 
 
 It is this fact that accounts for the circumstance that it was 
 five months before he returned to England. Part of that 
 period he spent up in the jungle, unable to post letters or to 
 receive them ; but by far the larger half was passed in apa- 
 thetic indolence upon his couch, when his mental condition 
 had attained to such a pitch that he refused to open the 
 advices which were forwarded to him ; and whilst his friends 
 were thirsting for news in England, really believed himself 
 incapable of either answering or perusing what they sent him. 
 
 But the day came when he could feign apathy no longer, 
 when his body sprung from bed, renewed and buoyant ; and 
 his mind waking up to action, as at a trumpet-call, he seized 
 on his large packet of hitherto despised despatches, as the 
 famished seize on food, and devoured them ! 
 
 What a feast he found there 1 
 
 The first which he tore open was Maggie’s long, warm 
 letter, sent from Curzon Street, with the little smeared-over, 
 but still legible postscript, in the hand he loved. Could he 
 believe his eyes, his senses % or was this a renewal of the deli- 
 
Peace on Earth, and Good Will toward Menr 305 
 
 rium that had oppressed him Yet every line of the epistle 
 he held in his shaking hand confirmed the fact; she had 
 misjudged herself, her heart, her feelings. His darling was 
 his own again. 
 
 Thank Godt 
 
 The aspiration as it came bubbling, bursting, welling up 
 from the deepest depths of his great heart, and bringing a 
 rush of scalding tears with it from his yet weak eyes, can 
 never be expressed by printed letters. To be appreciated, it 
 ought to have been heard ; but no one heard it but the One 
 to whom it was so gratefully addressed. 
 
 After this, the doctor found no difficulty in persuading 
 Colonel Bainbridge to return to England, the difficulty was in 
 preventing his travelling there in such hot haste as to materi- 
 ally injure a frame which was still delicate. 
 
 But I must go, doctor ; it is absolutely tiecessary. Affairs 
 of the utmost importance call me home, and if rail and steam 
 can take me there, I spend my Christmas-day in England.” 
 
 Well, Colonel, I have not had you for a patient for 
 nothing, and if you must go, I suppose you must. Only, 
 bear in mind that in such an instance most haste may be 
 worst speed.” 
 
 Bear in mind ! Could he bear in mind anything, excepting 
 that his beloved had arrived at the true knowledge of herself, 
 and that he carried a precious letter from her (written after 
 her arrival at Cranshaws) next his heart, and was hastening 
 to rejoin all he loved ? 
 
 The voyage did him no harm, for expectation bore him 
 through it, and it read him a good lesson upon patience, 
 which he sorely needed ; but when he once set foot in Eng- 
 land, he hardly allowed himself the time to eat, before he was 
 rushing onward to the north. Oh, how lingeringly, how 
 wearisomely slow the express train seemed to run with him. 
 
 “ All well ? ” he inquired breathlessly of the groom who 
 waited at the Borthwick station with a saddle-horse (he had 
 particularly requested in a telegram, that the carriage should 
 not be sent to jolt him homewards at a foot’s pace). 
 
 ‘‘All well, sir,” said the man, smiling; and as Colonel 
 Bainbridge took the reins from him, he thought his face 
 looked very bright and cheerful, as though it held some 
 hidden joy. 
 
 u 
 
3o6 
 
 Her Lord and Master. 
 
 Yet, wliy should it not, when joy reigned on every side of 
 Cranshaws 1 joy at the mere thought of which his own heart 
 stood still. 
 
 Not so the heels of the animal he bestrode ; for as the idea 
 crossed his mind, he struck spurs into the horse’s side, and 
 sent him clattering over hill and dale in a manner to which 
 he had been of late but very little accustomed. Eeeking and 
 breathless he brought him to a standstill before the door of 
 his own house and flung himself from out the saddle. 
 
 His mother met him in the hall. 
 
 “ My son ! my dearest ! ” it was all she could find voice to 
 say, “ we are so happy.” 
 
 She is here — mother — she is well — I can see her ? Oh, 
 do not keep me waiting ! If you only knew what I have 
 suffered ! ” 
 
 “ My dear boy, you shall see her in a minute, but I must 
 prepare you ; it was her wish you should not know of it 
 beforehand ; that there is a child — a son for you — born this 
 morning, Thomas ! and all well as possible. Are you not 
 thankful ? ” 
 
 Is gratitude expressed by sudden pallor, a fixed face and 
 trembling limbs? Mrs Bainbridge was quite frightened at 
 the alteration in her son’s appearance. 
 
 My dear ! they are quite well, and Ethel is so proud — 
 she only wants you to complete her happiness. And such a 
 fine child, Thomas, the very image of yourself with large 
 dark eyes. Everybody who has seen him says so ; and when 
 I took him first to his dear mother ” 
 
 But Mrs Bainbridge had to finish her interesting description 
 of the new comer’s charms to the hall-table — for darting past 
 her without another word. Colonel Bainbridge had already 
 scaled the staircase and gained the upper landing,^ where, 
 Maggie waiting, without the least effort to detain or greet 
 him, silently opened the bed-room door, and ushered him into 
 the presence of his wife. 
 
 It was through her instrumentality that they had been 
 brought together again : it was fitting she should be the one 
 to turn that handle for him. 
 
 Then the door closed, and she was left outside. 
 
 But not alone. No ! Maggie, dear, generous, faithful 
 Maggie ! never again, through life or death alone ! 
 
‘‘ Peace on Earthy and Good Will toward Meny 307 
 
 The room was darkened as such rooms are, and the curtains 
 partly drawn about the bed, by the side of which stood, 
 curtseying, a substantial nurse, who evidently considered that 
 the bundle of flannel she pompously held in her arms was 
 better worth inspection than all the Lady Ethels in the world. 
 
 But not so the man who loved her, who, pressing past both 
 nurse and infant, saw nothing but two weak arms stretched 
 out to welcome him, and flew to their embrace, and found his 
 heaven there. 
 
 ‘^Oh, love, can you forgive?” was all she whispered, but 
 the inquiry received no answer, and Lady Ethel never pressed 
 for one. 
 
 There is a silence more eloquent than words — a silence 
 during which hearts speak to one another, and souls are joined 
 in marriage — and such a silence reigned between them now. 
 
 When Thomas Bainbridge unlocked himself from that 
 embrace, he knew that for the future no explanations would 
 be needed — that he and his wife were one. 
 
 It was in November that he reached his home ; and with 
 the dawn of Christmas-day, a happy party assembled in the 
 breakfast-room of Cranshaws. Lady Ethel, as beautiful as 
 ever, and become what her husband termed ^‘impudently 
 strong ” again (which meant that as usual she gained her own 
 way in everything), was seated between him and Mrs Bain- 
 bridge, and engaged in carrying on what appeared to be a 
 most animated discussion. 
 
 “Well, you must settle it between yourselves then,” said 
 Colonel Bainbridge, as he rose from table, and took up the 
 Englishman’s favourite position on the hearth-rug. 
 
 “ Of course we will,” replied Lady Ethel, laying her hand 
 in that of her mother-in-law, “7 settle it by saying that 
 mother must live with us at Cranshaws, and give up all idea 
 of Birmingham once and for ever.” 
 
 Mrs Bainbridge looked intensely gratified, but she still held 
 back. 
 
 “ My dears, it is very good of you to propose it, too good, 
 indeed, but I am half afraid. You will get tired of seeing an 
 old woman like me about the house ; I shall be in your way, 
 and you will not like to tell me so. I think it will be best 
 
3o8 
 
 Her Lord and Master, 
 
 for all parties that I should adhere to my old plan, and go to 
 Birmingham.’’ 
 
 Then I shall adhere to my old plan,” said Lady Ethel, 
 resolutely, ‘‘and refuse to live at Cranshaws.” 
 
 “ My darling, I thought you had quite made up your mind 
 to occupy it for six months in the year?” 
 
 “Not without you, mother; I should be lost in this great 
 place all by myself ; and do you think I would keep baby 
 here, ten miles from a doctor, and so ignorant as I am of 
 children, unless I had some one to help and advise me? No ; 
 I am quite decided. If you go to Birmingham, baby must 
 go to Curzon Street.” 
 
 “Oh, that would be ten thousand pities, my dear, and when 
 he is getting on so splendidly in this fine air. I am sure he 
 is twice as big as old Hetty’s grandchild ; and there is only 
 a fortnight’s difference in their ages,” 
 
 “ I know it,” replied Lady Ethel with mock despondency, 
 “ and in Curzon Street, in all probability, he will shrivel up 
 to the size of a prawn. But if grandmamma won’t stay and 
 look after him, he must shrivel. 0 Thomas,” with sudden 
 coaxing earnestness, as she jumped up and placed her hand 
 upon her husband’s arm, “ make your mother stay with us. 
 No one can see after baby and me as she can. I should be 
 lost without her. Besides,” with rather less assurance and a 
 faint blush, “it was she, you know — she, and dear Maggie — 
 who kept me alive when you were absent, and taught me to 
 be hopeful and patient, and to trust in God. I owe my pre- 
 sent happiness to them ; it would not seem complete if they 
 were missing.” 
 
 “ Can you resist this pleader ? ” demanded Colonel Bain- 
 bridge, as he raised the sweet face to his own and kissed it. 
 
 “ Letty, my dear ! what shall I do ? ” said Mrs Bainbridge, 
 in a flutter of delight. 
 
 “ Stay with them, I should say, and thank God for your 
 son and daughter.” 
 
 “But you” 
 
 “ Aunt Letty stays where you do, mother,” exclaimed Lady 
 Ethel. “ Eemember, Cranshaws will be deserted. by us half 
 the year, and will want its housekeepers.” 
 
 “And our home will always be dear Maggie’s,” added 
 Colonel Bainbridge, smiling. 
 
Peace on Earth, and Good Will toward Menr 309 
 
 Maggie ! I should think so,” said Lady Ethel, as she 
 rushed to her embrace, Maggie, my sister — my friend — my 
 dear, dear Maggie ! 0 Thomas, we owe everything to her 
 
 — our love, our happiness, our very selves. I dare not think 
 what life would have been like if Heaven had not sent us 
 Maggie.” 
 
 “ Heaven will reward her,” said her cousin pressing her 
 hand, and as she met the calm look of contentment with 
 which he regarded her, Maggie felt that the reward had come. 
 
 Hark ! was not that the sound of bells ? ” exclaimed Aunt 
 Letty as she flew to the window. Ethel, my dear, this air 
 will not hurt you, it is too dry and bracing,” and as she threw 
 up the sash, the distant chime of Christmas bells came faintly 
 through the frosty atmosphere. 
 
 Peace on earth and good will towards men,” said Colonel 
 Bainbridge, as he drew his cousin and his wife towards the 
 window. “ Hark, Ethel ! listen, Maggie ! Peace and good 
 will. My dear girls, how good God is to us 1 ” 
 
 It was on that same evening that Miss Lloyd surprised 
 Margaret Henderson in a reverie. 
 
 ‘‘ My darling, what are you thinking of ] ” 
 
 Saint Ermenilda’s, auntie, and the services they are 
 holding there. How glorious they must be I ” 
 
 You wish you could be present.” 
 
 I should like it, dear, and so would you.” 
 
 Well, go, my child, then.” 
 
 Maggie stared ; Aunt Letty was not used to practical jok- 
 ing, and especially on serious subjects. 
 
 What do you mean % ” 
 
 Hot that you should start off to-night, my darling, to 
 make one of the congregation in Saint Ermenilda’s, but that 
 you should consider yourself, from this moment, free to act 
 in that matter as you think fit. The time has come, my 
 Maggie.” 
 
 0 Aunt Letty ! are you really in earnest 1 ” with a 
 deep-drawn breath. 
 
 ‘‘Yes, child. If it were the cutting off of my right hand, 
 or my right arm, I must still say so. The time has come. 
 
310 
 
 Her Lord and Master, 
 
 Your place in Cranshaws is filled up. Aunt Lizzie has pro- 
 cured, through your means, another daughter, and may well 
 spare you to heaven.” 
 
 But you, my dearest aunt, to whom I owe so much, can 
 you quite spare me ? ” 
 
 Aunt Letty made an effort to control herself, and then went 
 on, calmly : 
 
 ‘‘ Yes, darling, I have thought of that ; I, too, am willing. 
 I shall not loose you more than I should do, if you were 
 married ; perhaps less, and I shall always have the comfort of 
 knowing that each step you take will bring us nearer in the 
 end. Maggie ! I said once to you ‘ Stay,’ and you stayed 
 most dutifully. Now I say — and quite as earnestly — Go ! 
 my child — my blessing — in the name of God ! ” 
 
 And in His name she went 
 
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